#I've been a fan of them for over 15 years I can't think of anything right now

[password-is-idols]

Hiatus

I'm sorry, I'll be taking a break for a while ...

[skylarkking]

I've been whacked with the valveplug stick again and I have headcannons for some of the Lost Light crew.

🔞 under cut

I'm gonna start off by simply listing the characters I know currently (I've read up to the issue where overlord first appears but have read other snippets scattered on the internet) and the list will begin with my favorites:

Rung

Definetly into BDSM

Uses interface as therapy

Despite being a fucking tiny adorable nerdy twink he knows how to work big bots

His glasses sometimes fall off during sessions and when they do he's often too blissed out or focused on the other bot to care

He is a moaner and makes all sorts of sounds that bots are obsessed with

He has tried everything and anything

He attended one of Ratchet's orgies during Ratchet's college years as a Party Ambulance

He and Froid DEFINETLY had angry interface before and you can't tell me otherwise

Rodiumus

Legit a horndog

This mf gets so worked up that throughout the day he has to step aside and take care of himself

He's a bottom who tries to play top and FAILS miserably

Drift and him are fuck buddies (you can't tell me otherwise)

He's capable of gentle and intimate interface with someone he loves, but due to his inexperience and somewhat childish attitude (not his fault I mean he's essentially a guy in his 20s) he prefers quickies over that

After interface he sometimes forgets about aftercare

Drift

Way hornier than he lets on

Loves to have his neck bitten

When he is in heat he is either gonna top every bot in his reach and make them beg through tears or he's gonna beg Ratchet with tears in his optics. I'm sorry I don't make the rules here

I think when he was a Decepticon he was Hella into knifeplay

And I mean HELLA into it

Like this bitch would pop a boner if someone licked a sword or some shit

He bottoms for Rodimus mostly but in a sort of bossy bottom sort of thing

Ultra Magnus/Minimus

This guy.... this guy may act like he's only into vanilla shit, but I fucking GUARENTEE he's a freak

He's fragged Swerve before (size kink when he's in the Magnus armor)

When he's in the Magnus armor sometimes the connections for his own spike and the armor's get wired wrong and he has to "adjust himself" (like human amabs have to do with their dicks)

Out of the Magnus armor he secretly feels extremely vulnerable and anxious when it comes to interface because of how tiny our little dill pickle is

Side note: give him a fucking HUG DAMMIT! HE NEEDS IT!

Swerve

If any of the bots would fuck a human, it would be this bastard

He'd also have human kinks (like mommy/daddy kink [thanks @archie-sunshine for rotting my brain with that idea])

Despite being a motormouth I think he can easily be silenced by a pair of thick thighs around his head

Side note: I think minibots have WAY HIGHER stamina verses their larger counter parts, so swerve will be going at it for a loooooong time

Secretly has a stash of human porn in his bar

Magnus has found said porn once and for a week Swerve was on edge in keeping his secret

Skids

Since he can learn anything really quickly I think this bastard can master the art of seduction

Like he could simply give a bot those bedroom eyes and BAM! He's fucking

He's a massive cuddler after interface

Has fragged Nautica at LEAST 15 times

When he overloads his headlights sometimes flick on by accident

Ratchet

Oh you cannot TELL ME this guy hasn't had a kinky past

Party Ambulance is fucking cannon and no one can tell me otherwise idc if it's only a fan thing ITS CANNON AND ILL FIGHT GOD ABOUT IT

Not as horny as he use to be but when Drift or Rodimus get their heat cycles you better fucking BELIEVE he's on the case

A true master of aftercare

Really into bondage

These are only a few lmao I have SO MANY MORE

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

The Woman in White

(A/N: I am only gonna do the first 5 seasons of this show. I think I'd go insane if I did all 15 seasons lol. But, I do hope you guys enjoy my new fan fiction series.)

Masterlist of all of my stories / Next Chapter

"Dad, please!"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. But unfortunately, cancer is a monster you can't beat."

"C'mon, there's gotta be something!"

"You heard the Doctor..."

"The hell with what the Doctor said! I-I-I...I just...I can't do this on my own!"

"(y/n), honey, you are more than capable of doing the hunting buisness on your own than anyone I've ever known. And you know our contacts if you need any help."

"D-Dad..."

"It's okay, honey. I believe in you. I love you, sweetie, and don't you forget it."

"I love you too, Daddy. And I'll do my best. Say hi to mom for me." 

"I will..."

I sit up in my hotel bed then placed my hands over my face. I take a few deep breathes as I try to fight back the tears. That memory keeps coming back into my dreams. My dad's last day on this Earth, which happened just last year.

I let out a long sigh then brought my arms down and placed them on my knees, which was pulled up to me. I run my hand through my hair as I replay the memories of my father over and over in my head. I don't really have many memories of my mother as she died when I was very young. Dad told me that a demon had killed my mother.

That's right, a demon. 

I found out at a young age that demons, ghosts, monsters, they all exist!

Dad told me that these groups of people called the hunters are the ones that take care of those monsters. He also told me that he was one of them and he was one of the best. But the moment he met my mother, he decided to retire and settle down and then they had me.

But the peace didn't last long as a demon killed my mom by pinning her up to the ceiling and setting her on fire. My dad tried to save her as quickly as he could but the demon left. So then on, he decided to get out of retirement then started to train me once I was old enough.

I sighed once again when I heard something shift next to me, I look over and see a naked man sleeping next to me. I stare at him for a moment, kinda confused, but then I remembered that I went to a bar and started drinking, celebrating a successful hunt. 

Then this guy started chatting me up and we talked and drank until I took him back to this hotel and we ended up sleeping together. From what I can remember, he wasn't bad but...I've had better to be honest.

He stirred a bit in bed but doesn't wake up. I smirk a bit before I get out of bed and pick up my discarded clothes on the floor next to the bed.

After getting dressed, I grab my clothes bag and head out of the hotel room. I walk towards my dad's motorcycle, climb on it then turn it on and drive off.

*****

I, eventually, stopped at a diner and began to eat breakfast while also looking through the internet on my laptop. I skimmed through some articles when one catches my eye, it was an article about a missing person in Jericho, California. This young boy, Troy, disappeared on a bridge the night before and, as I continue my research, it turns out there's been other missing men that disappear around that bridge in the span of twenty years.

"Hmmm, interesting." I muttered as I sip my drink. I shut my laptop then finish my breakfast. I go and pay for it then get on my bike and head for Jericho.

Once I arrived, I get off of the bike and look down at my outfit, which was a white button up shirt, black pants and a black blazer. When you impersonate a person of the law, you've got to look the part. I grab the badge and put it in my pocket as I make my way to the bridge while I see some officers looking around the bridge.

"You guys find anything?" An officer shouts as he leans over the railings, looking down. "No! Nothing!" A voice shouts back at him as I walk up to the officer. "Hello Deputy." I greet as I walk up to him. "Hello, Miss...?" He started to ask as we go and shake hands. "Cooper. Agent Cooper." I said as I show him my badge.

"Deputy Jaffe. You look a bit young to be a marshal." He said and I chuckled. "Yeah, I hear that alot." I said and he nods at me. "Well, Agent Cooper, I appreciate you coming but...I think we've got this..." Jaffe started to say as he turns to the car in the middle of the bridge.

"Well, it's just I've done a little research and noticed that you had similar cases like this in the past twenty years. My boss found this very interesting and sent me here." I said and the deputy looks at me as another officer was looking through the car. "Yeah, we..." Jaffe started to say when the other officer comes up to him.

"No sign of struggle, no footprints, no fingerprints. Spotless. It's almost too clean." The second officer said when we heard someone arguing. "No citizens beyond this point." An officer said and I look over to see an officer arguing with two young men, one was really tall man with a little bit longer hair than the shorter man. 

I smiled as I recognized the two men as they argue with the officer. "Don't worry, sir. We're here for buisness." The shorter man said as he holds up his badge. "We've already got one of you here." The officer said and the men look a bit confused.

"They're with me!" I said as I walk up to them. The two young men look over at me and I could see a flash of recognition on their faces. "Bout time you two." I said to them. "Well...you know, traffic..." the shorter man said, smirking, and I shake my head but chuckle.

"They're federal marshals?" Jaffe asked me, shocked and confused. "Yes, they're rookies. I'm training them." I replied and he nods then he let's the boys through as the two of them look over at me, I smile and nod at them.

These two men were the Winchester brothers, Sam and Dean. I've known these two since I was a kid, their dad, John Winchester, and my dad were good friends and they took on some hunting jobs together. Before I was trained to be hunter, my dad would leave me with Sam and Dean while he and John went out to do some jobs.

Sam and I had similar interest in stuff and we got along pretty well. Dean, Sam's older brother, would always tease us and say we would end up together but Sam and I already had that discussion and both of us agreed that our feelings were just of that as a friend. Heck, Sam used to tell me that I was like a sister to him and I told him he was like a brother to me.

No, Sam wasn't the one I liked, in that way...it was actually Dean who I really liked. And, honestly, I still do like him. It didn't help that Dean was very good-looking but he had this persona of a bad boy. You know the ones, the ones you couldn't bring home to your parents. He also flirted with every girl he'd meet. I swear when our dads would go off on jobs and we had to go to a school together, Sam and I would take bets on which girl Dean would pick and how long it would take him to get with her.

The loser usually bought the winner either a soda or an ice cream with the little money we had. 

And if you're wondering who won the most, it was Sam. 

"I know my brother." is what Sam told me once when I asked how he was almost always winning our bets. 

But, yeah, Dean had all the girls fawning for him and I happened to be one of them. I was a bit shy and nervous when I first met him and he would kinda tease me. But then as I got older and more confident, I was able to tease him back which took him by surprise. 

And no, I never kissed or slept with Dean. I'm probably one of, if not the only, girl that has been a part of his life that hasn't slept with him. Shocking, I know but the moment just never came up. Sure, we flirted back and forth as we got older but I guess I wanted to play hard to get with him, just to make him go crazy and see if he was really into me.

But it's been a few years since I've seen them and the last I heard, Sam left the hunting buisness and went to college. I remember dad telling me that after he got a phone call from John. But I guess something must've happened for Sam to come back to the hunting buisness.

"You did have another one just like this, correct?" Dean asked Jaffe as we go back to the middle of the bridge, pulling me out of my memories. "Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that." Jaffe replied.

"So, this victim, you knew him?" Sam asked him and the officer nods. "Town like this, everybody knows everybody." Jaffe said while Dean circles the car, looking around.

"Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?" I asked Jaffe. "No. Not so far as we can tell." Jaffe replied.

"So what's the theory?" Sam asked after he looks at me and I give a slight nod to him.

"Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?" Jaffe said, shrugging, as Sam goes over to Dean.

"Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys." Dean said. I whipped my head towards him and glared while Sam stomps on Dean's foot.

Dean holds in his scream of pain while I turn to Jaffe. "Thank you for your time." I said and I turn to the boys and jerk my heard towards our vehicles. They began to follow me. "Gentlemen." Sam said to the officers and we walked away.

As we put some distance between us and the officers, I turned to the boys. "Well, well, well, Sam and Dean Winchester. What are you boys doing here?" I asked them. Sam was about to answer when Dean goes and smacks him on the back of the head.

"Ow! What was that for?" Sam asked Dean. "Why'd you have to step on my foot?" Dean asked him, angrily. "Why do you have to talk to the police like that?" Sam asked Dean, just as angry, and I shake my head.

"Come on. They don't really know what's going on." Dean said as I scoff.

"Oh, how I missed you boys." I said as I look at them.

"Anyway, it's good to see you, (y/n)." Sam said. "Good to see you, Sam." I said as I give him a quick hug then I look over at Dean, who had a small smile on his lips. "It's nice to see you too, Dean." I said as I pull away from the hug. "It's been awhile." He said and I smirk. "Yes, it has." I said then I look between them.

"So...what are you guys doing here? Last I heard, you went to college, Sam." I said. "We'll explain later but thanks for covering for us back there." Sam said. "No problem, we've got to have each others back." I said then I see a couple of FBI agents coming up to us.

"Can I help you three?" One of the agents asked as Dean turns to them. "No, sir, we were just leaving." Dean said. As the agents walk past us, Dean nods at each of them. "Agent Mulder. Agent Scully." He said and we walk past them and head off.

"Still driving around in that Impala, I see." I said as we walk up to their beautiful black Impala. "Yep. You still driving that Harley Davidson?" Dean asked me and I smiled. "Of course, it is Dad's last gift to me." I said as I stand in front of Dean.

"It's a helluva bike." He said and I smirked.

"Yeah, it is. Just like your car." I said as I pat the hood of the Impala.

"So, you wanna follow us?" Dean asked me. I nodded and Dean gives me a smile. "I'll see you guys in a few." I said as I walk away and head to my bike. Once I get on and get my keys out, the boys' car comes up next to me. I start my bike then Dean drives ahead and I began to follow them.

*****

Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger.

I can never go home...

I furrow my brow at this once Dean stops the recording of John's last voicemail to him after we parked our vehicles in a parking lot in the city. But that EVP of this female voice was very creepy and weird. "Never go home." I muttered, confused.

Apparently, John was out on a hunt, following this story of these men disappearing on this bridge, and has been missing for a few weeks so Dean came to Sam for help. 

"Yeah, that's what we're trying to figure out." Sam said. "And you guys think this...ghost...woman... is involved with your dad's disappearance and these other disappearances?" I asked and the boys nod then I let out a sigh. "All right, so...what's next boys?" I asked them and they look at me like I'm crazy.

"What?" I said, confused. "You want to help us?" Dean asked me and I smirked. "Well, yeah. I was about to investigate this case on my own but...the more the merrier. That is...if you guys want me to help." I said.

"No, no, no, that's fine! Like you said, the more the merrier." Sam said as Dean shrugs but smirks.

"Okay then...so where should we start?" I asked.

*****

"I'll bet you that's her." Dean said as we see a young woman putting up missing posters on the wall. "Yeah." Sam and I said as we walk up to the girl. "You must be Amy." I said and she looks up at us.

"Yeah." She said, hesitantly, as she looks us over. "Yeah, Troy told us about you. We're his uncles and aunt. I'm Dean, this is Sammy and this is (y/n)." Dean introduced.

"He never mentioned you to me." Amy said and she begins to walk away but we walk with her. "Well, that's Troy, I guess. We're not around much, we're up in Modesto." I, quickly, explained.

"So, we're looking for him too, and we're kinda asking around." Sam said to her as another woman comes up to Amy and puts a hand on Amy's arm.

"Hey, are you okay?" She asked Amy.

"Yeah." Amy said to her.

"You mind if we ask you a couple questions?" I asked them and they look between us.

Later, the five of us were sitting in a booth of a diner, Dean, Sam and I sit opposite of Amy and her friend, Rachel. "I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did." Amy replied. "He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?" Sam asked her and she shakes her head. "No. Nothing I can remember." She replied. 

Then I noticed Amy's necklace, which was a pentagram inside of a circle. "I like your necklace." I said as I point at it. She looks down then holds the pendant and smiles. "Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents with all that devil stuff." She laughs. I chuckle a bit and I could feel the boys staring at me.

"Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing." I informed. "Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries." Dean remarks and I rolled my eyes at him as he takes his arm off the back of my seat and leans forward.

"Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything..." Dean said then the girls look at each other, an uneasy look washed over their faces.

"What is it?" Dean asked them.

"Well, it's just..." Rachel stammers as she looks back at us. "I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk." She said.

"What do they talk about?" Dean, Sam and I asked in unison, then the three of us look at each other before looking back to the girls. "It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago." Rachel said as we watch her, attentively.

"Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever." Rachel said and the boys and I look at each other.

Later, we were in the library and Sam and I sit on either side of Dean as he opens up a web browser on the computer. He types Female Murder Hitchhiking into the search box then clicks go. The screen tells him there are (0) Result. Dean replaces Hitchhiking with Centennial Highway with the same response. 

"Let me try." Sam said as he reaches over to the computer but Dean smacks his hand. "I got it." Dean said to him but then Sam shoves Dean's chair out of the way and takes over. "Dude!" Dean exclaims as he hits Sam in the shoulder.

"Okay, children! That's enough." I said as Sam gets ready to type while Dean glares at his brother. "You're such a control freak." Dean grumbles at his brother.

"So angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?" Sam asked us. "Yeah." Dean and I said. "Well, maybe it's not murder." Sam said and he replaces Murder with Suicide and finds an article entitled Suicide on Centennial.

"Good job, Sam." I praised and patted his shoulder. Meanwhile, Dean glances at Sam as he opens the article, dated April 25, 1981.

"This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river." Sam said as he points at the screen where the picture of Constance is displayed.

"Does it say why she did it?" I asked.

"Yeah." Sam replied.

"What?" Dean and I asked as Sam continues.

"An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Apparently her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die." He said and my jaw drops a bit while Dean raises his eyebrows.

"Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch." Sam reads as he scrolls down then a picture of the bridge appears.

"The bridge look familiar to you guys?" Dean asked and Sam and I nodded.

****

That night, we walk along the bridge, then stop to lean on the railing and look down at the river. "So this is where Constance took the swan dive." Dean said as we look down. "That's a nice way of putting it." I said to him.

"So you think Dad would have been here?" Sam asked Dean.

"Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him." Dean said as I walk along the bridge and try to concentrate on the job as they argue with each other.

I just half listen to what they say as I feel like it's not my place being a part of this.

"Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—" Sam said, slightly, annoyed as I pull out my flashlight and skim it across the lake below. "Monday. Right. The interview." Dean said.

"Yeah." Sam said and I look over at them.

"For college?" I asked Sam and he nods. "Congratulations, Sam!" I said. "Thanks, (y/n). At least someone appreciates my decision to go to college." Sam said as he glares at Dean

"You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?" Dean asked him. "Maybe. Why not?" Sam said.

"Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?" Dean asked him as Sam steps closer.

"No, and she's not ever going to know." Sam said. "Well, that's healthy." Dean grumbles and Sam clenches his jaw.

"You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are." Dean said as he turns around and keeps walking, Sam and I follow him.

"And who's that?" Sam asked as I was on Dean's right side and Sam was on his left. "You're one of us." Dean said as he gestures between me and him and Sam hurries in front of us.

"No. I'm not like you guys. This is not going to be my life." Sam said then he turns to me. "No offense, (y/n)." He said and I shrug. "None taken. I don't blame you, Sam." I said and Dean looks over at me.

"Are you kidding me? You're on his side?" He asked me, clearly annoyed and angry. "I'm saying it's his life, Dean! He doesn't have to follow this if he doesn't want to." I said, exasperated. "Honestly, if I could, I would go to school as well..." I said and Dean rolls his eyes. 

"Oh, you gotta be freakin' kidding me." He grumbles as he turns away. "But unfortunately I'm way in too deep with this job and this life. There's still time for Sam..." I said until Dean turns to me. "He has a responsibility to—" He started to say but Sam talks over to him.

"To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like." Sam shouts and we look over at him. 

I frown at this as Sam continues, mainly cause I know how that feels. I don't remember what my mom looks like, but dad did have a picture of the three of us when I was a baby. "And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back." 

Dean grabs Sam by the collar and shoves him up against the railing of the bridge, which made me jump. "Dean!" I said, fearfully, as I walk up next to them while Dean glares at his younger brother.

"Don't talk about her like that." Dean threatened then he releases Sam and walks away. "You okay?" I asked Sam. "Yeah, I'm fine." Sam said when Dean calls out to us.

"Sam. (Y/n)."

We come to stand next to Dean and see Constance standing on the edge of the bridge. She looks over at us, then steps forward off the edge. We run to the railing and look over to see she had disappeared. "Where'd she go?" I asked. "I don't know." Sam said as Dean shrugs and shakes his head.

Behind us, the Impala's engine starts and its headlights come on. The three of us turn to look. "What the—" Dean said, shocked and angry. "Who's driving your car?" I asked him. Dean pulls the keys out of his pocket and jingles them. My eyes widen as the car jerks into motion, heading straight for us. We turn and run. "Go! Go!" Sam yells at us.

The car begins moving faster than we were; when it gets too close, we dive over the railing. Unfortunately, I didn't grab onto the edge quick enough and fell into the water below. Once I fell into the water, I blacked out for a moment as the water felt like it was replace with concrete.

As I started to come back to reality, I felt a pair of strong hands grab me then I felt my head hit the surface of the water. 

I cough then look next to me and see that Dean was the one that grabbed me and helped me out. "Thanks." I said, before I started to cough. "Don't mention it." He said.

"Dean? (Y/n)? Guys!" Sam's voice calls out and I look up and see that he had grabbed onto the ledge of the bridge and was looking down at us.

"What?" We shouted at him.

"Hey! Are you guys all right?" Sam asked us. Dean holds up one hand in an A-OK sign while I nodded and gave the thumbs up sign, which made me realize that my arm was covered in mud. Grrreeeaaattt...I thought, annoyed.

"I'm super." Dean calls out to him. "Just fantastic!" I said as Sam laughs, relieved, and scoots away from the edge.

****

After getting back on the bridge and looking over the Impala, Dean shuts the hood of his car and leans on it. "Your car all right?" Sam asked him. "Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!" Dean exclaims and I chuckled as I stand next to him and lean against the spot next to him.

"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure." I said and Dean gives a curt nod.

"So where's the job go from here, genius?" Sam asked Dean as he settles on the hood on Dean's other side.

Dean throws up his arms in frustration, then flicks mud off his hands while I shake my head and try to get it out of my hair.

Sam sniffs, then looks at us. "You guys smell like a toilet." He remarks as Dean and I look down at ourselves. I sighed, annoyed, then the boys head into their car while I go over to my bike and we take off.

[princeescaluswords]

damn never knew what sterek was but of course it's ppl shipping a teenager with an adult who embarrass themselves in front of the cast 🙄

The story is far more complex, I believe, and far more disturbing.

Yes, Sterek is a ship between a character, Stiles, who was 16 at the start of the series and a character, Derek, who was, as at a minimum 21 at the start of the series. Let me make it clear, I don't think that there would be anything wrong with shipping these two in fandom activities, as long as the power differences between them weren't ignored. I've always maintained that when it comes to age, numbers don't tell the whole story.

There are mitigating factors. To begin with, Derek's age was never outright stated in the show. In fact, there was an early draft of the first episode that had his age as 19. That did not make it into the actual filmed scenes, and with good reason. Kate Argent, a villain, seduced Derek to learn the secrets of his family home so she could burn the family alive. While that event had been given a range of dates between six and ten years before the start of the show, if it had been Kate Argent, would have been a 22-year-old substitute teacher seducing a 13-year-old werewolf. It's obvious that while they wanted to paint Kate as a monster (and she was!) the production made an effort to age up Derek, to the story's benefit. After all, we learn that a 15-year-old Derek was responsible for the death of his first girlfriend before Kate seduced him in Visionary (3x08) and 117 (4x02). He couldn't have been 19 in Wolf Moon (1x01).

But the embarrassment they cause the cast isn't due to the age difference. It's caused by the utter overwhelming strength of this ship's grip on the fandom when the relationship ultimately had nothing to do with canon. Of course, Derek and Stiles had an evolving relationship, but there was never the slightest hint of them being romantically interested in each other. Stiles certainly had instances of questioning his sexuality, but Derek was never remotely involved with those instances. Derek never had any scenes which presented him as anything but a heterosexual male.

Of course -- and this can't be stressed enough -- this doesn't invalidate the ship in and of itself. Sterek, as a ship, has many things to recommend it. Instead, it is the behavior of Sterek shippers that causes the discomfort. It was the way they swamped conventions and tried to make them exclusively about a ship that wasn't canon. It was the way they felt entitled to their ship; they insisted that it be talked about as if it was part of the story. When it turned out not to be, they ended up despising the show, the cast, and especially the lead protagonist, Scott McCall, and his actor, Tyler Posey because they felt cheated about something that was never going to happen and never promised by the text itself as possibly happening. They attacked the writing and the acting out of sour grapes; they created meta completely divorced from canon and made a cottage industry out of fanfiction twisting the narrative not to celebrate their favorite ship but to disparage the canon that wouldn't. Fifty percent of all fanfiction focuses on this ship. There are 49,846 stories on Ao3 exclusively focused on this ship, compared to the 340 stories exclusively focused on the primary canon romantic couple.

For example, once, and only once, Tyler Posey responded to a question about the ship with the idea that Sterek shipping had become weird and that if so-called fans were watching the show for a ship that wasn't going to happen, they were watching for the wrong reason. Even ten years after "Poseygate," people still hate Posey for even suggesting that looking for Sterek in canon was going to be -- as it obviously should have been seen as -- fruitless.

The hostility of the Sterek shippers to canon is still ongoing, over six years since the show ended. In fact, one could argue that hatred of canon and hatred of the lead protagonist (and his actor) has become more important to many Sterek shippers than the actual ship itself. The powerful canon relationships between Derek and Scott is treated as if non-existent; the powerful canon relationship between Stiles and Scott is treated as if it were the lead protagonist's delusion. Racist stereotypes of Mexicans appear applied to the lead protagonist regularly and without pushback throughout Sterek shipping content. Sterek shippers decided to hate the recent movie without many of them actually seeing it. Remember, this show's been off the air since 2017, and they're still angry about this.

If you were a member of the cast, would you possibly have any idea how to respond to that type of behavior? How could you be comfortable with the idea that your work has been so deliberately and thoroughly misinterpreted? Would you want to confront a vicious "fandom" that often expresses their disappointment by descending into racism and misogyny? I wouldn't know how to do it.

[thewritingofspencerrose]

She's My Everything

Lewis Hamilton x OC

"That's your girlfriend?"

"Before you say anything-"

"She's a sweetheart, that's all I was going to say," George is quick to cut off his teammate, knowing the spiral that was set into motion as soon as June was mentioned. "I caught her, her little boy and Carmen chatting with Lily and Alex earlier. All Carmen could say afterwards was that she absolutely loved her."

"Oh," Is all Lewis can mumble, pleasantly surprised by the response to his love of 3 years. "Sorry for jumping down your throat mate, we've just had some issues with people voicing less than kind opinions the last few years," Lewis is quick to explain, his teammates smile dropping. In his years as Lewis' teammate, he has learned how to tell when something truly bothers the older man, even when he's masking.

And this is one of them.

"I've noticed she seemed antsy but wasn't sure why," The younger driver explains, his eyes drifting back to the woman standing only a few meters from them, talking animately with their reserve driver, Mick smiling brightly. "She seems to enjoy talking to Mick though."

"She told me he's our grid kid now, that she wants to unofficially adopt him," Lewis explains, a smile lighting up his face as he watches her. "I've also been made aware that we've adopted Sargeant and Piastri too."

"What could people possibly take issue with her for? I have never seen Elowyn be anything but wonderful."

Lewis sighs, eyes never leaving his girlfriend. "They don't like that she's a curvy woman. That she's not simply a smaller woman that everyone imagines me to be with," He explains. "They also aren't a fan that she's younger than me by 15 years and a single mom."

"So they hate her for being unique in the world of sports wives and girlfriends?" George attempts to clarify, mildly disgusted at the concept.

"Lew! I just told Mick he could come visit Kaia and Roscoe when you're all on break," Elowyn interrupts the pensive look on Lewis' face, it being replaced with a smile as he pulls her into his side, giving her a gentle peck and taking a sleeping Matthew from her arms and onto his hip.

"Sounds good to me, Love."

"George," She adds, looking over to the boy that is even older than she is. She's aware of what people say, it's hard not to when it's everywhere on social media. "You and Carmen are more than welcome to join, I'm sure Max, Kelly, and P will as well. I'm sure Roscoe and Kaia would be thrilled. So would Mattie, he's kind of a big fan," She adds with a chuckle.

"Oh really? How does that make you feel Lewis? That your boy is a fan of mine," George brags, the cheekiest smile on his face causing Lewis to roll his eyes, scoffing.

"My boy is a Mercedes fan. The fact that you're a driver on the team is just a coincidence. He's a daddy's boy through and through," He boasts, kissing the top of the boy's head.

And you can tell that Elowyn's heart nearly bursts at the show of affection towards her son.

Yes they've been together for years, from the time she was six months pregnant to now Lewis had been in their lives, but the idea that Lewis not only cared for Mattie, but cared for him in a way only a father could.

"Good job today," Toto's deep voice joins the conversation before the debated on who Mattie's favorite driver was could continue. "And it was good to see you and Matthew," He adds, head turning in the direction of Elowyn.

"It was a joy to see you and your family as well. I think playing with Jack tuckered out Mattie," Is Elowyn's response, missing the smile on Lewis' face that George caught.

"Jack and Mattie played together today?" He asks, smiling between a joyful Toto and his girlfriend.

"Mattie, Jack and Kelly's daughter Penelope spent the whole day together. Jack and P were amazing about including Mattie," Is his girlfriend's response before she turns back to his team principle. "You and Susie are really raising a great little guy," She compliments, making Toto's smile larger.

And George can't help but ask himself once more, how any fan could dislike this woman who puts such a bright smile and look of love on their idols face.

But he knows it doesn't matter to Lewis, his arms wrapped tightly around the boy that's practically his son, love vibrating off his body so loud it'd rival the engine of one of their cars.

No matter what anyone says, these two are who he loves.

[thewxtchwhowrites]

Hit the pedal, heavy metal - Part 2

Summary: Dustin asks you to pick him up at Hellfire that night, since Steve can't make it, and maybe that way you'll meet his friend… Eddie.

Words: 1.025.

Warnings: ¿Inuendos? I don't know.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reblogged, I love you all very much. I'm sorry it took me so long to do the next part, I've been working and I've been full.

The first part here → Hit the pedal, heavy metal

Classes had started at Hawkins, which meant that the atmosphere was much calmer, especially after hearing the strange news that was going around.

They didn't sound very sane.

"You did what?" Robin seemed surprised after you recounted what happened during the end of the summer.

"Well, yeah, I went with some friends from my other school. There was a battle of the bands at a bar and I smoked with a stranger…" Steve not only looked at you with surprise, but also placed his hands on his waist.

Seeing him reminded you of a mother, maybe he had been a mom in his past life.

"Y/N you're crazy…" Robin laughed after shoving a scoop of chocolate ice cream into his mouth.

"Sounds like a dangerous and very irresponsible thing to do to me…" Steve blurted out amidst the laughter from both of you, "... Besides, who would be capable of calling their son Kaz?"

"Oh, shut up, Harrington" they both said in unison.

"What? Dangerous people are real, plus that description you gave sounds familiar…" Steve looked at you for a couple of seconds, while making that dumb face at the thought, "… I think I heard it from Dustin, only your version is PG-13, with someone who wants to look like a mysterious vampire."

Steve just went to attend to some girls who had arrived. He turned one last time to speak to you.

"Tell me we won't go through the plot of My Best Friend Is a Vampire, please..."

You stared at him as he left, Dustin was your neighbor and had never seen him with a guy with that description, and you doubt he was friends with someone like Kaz.

"Dustin, please…" you said as you walked beside him, "…you want me to go on a campaign of what? D&D?"

"Yeah, besides that way you know Eddie" Dustin was always telling you about that friend who was quite the master when it came to D&D and his campaigns, the truth is you always pictured him as Mike, but with acne and maybe gelled hair.

You laughed, thinking that could be real.

Anyway, you would end up in a basement of some house with underage kids, fans of whatever that game was...

Which would mean that, if you accepted that proposal, your days of bullying Steve for being the babysitter of choice would be over.

Over your dead body, you were going to let those days end.

"What about Nancy?" You asked. "Robin?"

"They're working now, they don't have time for anything, and Nancy is not a fan of D&D" Your chances of accepting seemed to increase, but not before hearing from Dustin that you was the only one who could accept.

"And what about Steve..." but Dustin shook his head and stopped.

"Eddie and Steve don't get along, I think Steve is jealous that Eddie is now my friend..." he smiled somewhat proudly after he said that.

You didn't agree to accompany them during the campaign, as you knew it would last for hours, but you could go and look for him when it was over.

What could happen? You ended up walking home alone, as Dustin sped off.

It was late at night, you knocked on the door of one of the old houses in Hawkins that Dustin pointed out to you, it looked a bit abandoned, and you wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to play a joke on you.

But a boy no more than 15 years old opened the door.

"Who are you?" he asked you in a rather serious tone, the boy looked you up and down as if he were a policeman.

"I'm here to pick up Dustin..." you raised an eyebrow.

"Magic word?" The boy narrowed his eyes, waiting for the answer.

You looked down at your hand, where you had written down in marker the password for the week that Dustin had given you, "Holy Sword…"

The boy smiled and opened the door for you.

"Welcome to Hellfire, miss." The house smelled funny like candy, Cheetos, soda or maybe old beer, and you didn't know if the other unidentified smell was vomit or old carpet or maybe wet carpet.

"Hey Eddie, a girl is here…for Dustin." The boy sat back down on what appeared to be a pillow.

Dustin waved gently at you, as did Mike and Lucas. The old manual dropped on the table, revealing the mysterious identity of the Dungeon Master.

Long tangled hair, the same look only without eyeliner, and he was wearing a t-shirt that said "Hellfire Club".

The two looked at each other in surprise.

"Kaz?" you whispered as you heard his name, his real name, "So you're Eddie?"

"Angel…" he replied in surprise as he quickly stood up from the old chair.

"Oh, so you two already know each other…" Dustin smiled, as Mike began to piece together what was going on, he had overheard Nancy talking on the phone with you a few nights ago.

Girl talk, grown-up girl talk.

He looked at Dustin with a look of displeasure on his face. The others in the club were waiting for a response, not only from the two of you, but the reason Mike had that expression on his face.

"So you're Henderson's little neighbor…" he walked around you, as if he were an animal analyzing its prey.

"And you, the excellent dungeon master?" you searched his eyes, once he had finished analyzing you up and down, just as he had done that night. "So this is what you do, when you're not…"

But he didn't let you finish, he leaned closer, smirking mischievously and took your hand and kissed it, taking you by surprise.

"I am at your service… soul and body… my lady."

You could hear the emphasis on the word body perfectly, after he kissed your hand. And his gaze gave a clear message, too.

He didn't take his eyes off you for a few seconds and his mischievous smile stayed too.

Mike and Dustin told you they were ready to leave, so you waved goodbye to Eddie as he bowed.

[sunhatllama]

20 Questions for Fic Authors

Thank you so so much @silvercap for the tag!! I love these games :DD

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 22 works on ao3!

2. What is your AO3 wordcount?

237,770 words and counting :))

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I have written for a few things over the past few years, but right now I am writing pretty exclusively for Resident Evil, though I do have a Call of Duty fic in progress that might see the light someday.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

(Im going to go with only Resident Evil ones because i said so)

1) what are you willing to sacrifice for peace? - my Vendetta fic! also the start of my connected chreon series

2) Please Don't Leave Me - a Leon sickfic I haven't gotten around to finishing yet lmaoooo (also part of the chreon series)

3) in my dreams, we're far away from here - part two of the chreon series, a 3+1 with carrying as the theme :))

4) When I need you, you're always there - another part of the chreon series, Leon has a nightmare

5) all it takes is a snap - my singular whumptober fic with hurt Leon haha (chreon ofc)

None of my newer fics are getting traction but thats okay! gonna enlighten as many people to the hurt Chris agenda

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! i sometimes am busy and forget to, but if i see one i usually comment back!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

To be fair, I haven't killed anyone off yet. All my fics end happy because my poor heart can't take a bad ending.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

oooo, good question...either what are you willing to sacrifice for peace? or in my dreams, we're far away from here because of happy chreon :))

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't yet, but I don't get too much engagement anyway. I don't think I have had the opportunity to get any. Haven't gotten any hate here either.

9. Do you write smut? If so, which kind?

I do!! I used to not, but now that I kind of know how it's done, I've been experimenting and practicing. Most of my fics nowadays have sex scenes in them (or multiple) but i have written a pure smut fic.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest crossover you’ve ever written?

I haven't! I'm not the biggest fan of crossovers and often avoid reading them because I'm not interested. Doesn't mean they're bad though. Just not my thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not! Not that I'm aware of at least.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have not (though if you wanna, please ask! I'm very open to it)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, I have! I am actually in a roleplay server and have a writing partner. We have been turning many an rp in a fic for you guys! Like I can't escape this now, unless you show me how (mine and @leon-thot-kennedy 's re 5 chreon au)

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

CHREON!!! I have liked a lot of ships from other fandoms, but chreon is without a doubt my favorite Resident Evil ship as well as all around ship. Other ships are just fine but chreon is my OTP, the source of all happiness in my life.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh definitely Please Don't Leave Me. I have an outline and a plan and everything, just haven't had the juice to write hurt Leon nowadays. I hope to come back to it though!!!

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't actually know haha. No one has told me anything, but I like to think I do suspense fairly well? Not as good as other people but I'm still learning! This year marks my fourth year of writing though so that's exciting :))

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Definitely balancing dialogue, action, and internal thoughts. I always have too much of one of those. Also I tend to reuse phrases or sentence structure and I need to learn to spice it up a little lmaoo

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I think writing dialogue in another language is perfectly fine. Especially if the character speaks another language. You just have to be aware that not everyone will understand what is being said. But if it's essential to the plot, saying that they said it in another language works too.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Trek (2009) or the reboot movies lmao. It's funny, I started out not shipping anyone, but then started to ship Jim and Bones. But then I watched the original series and shipped Spirk in the old series. So I actually think that this was my first foray into shipping men together. Haven't been the same since hehehehe.

I was into Star Trek for about a year and a half! longest to date and I would say it was my first true hyperfixation. Resident Evil is creeping up on length though haha.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Favorite fic is hard but I actually REALLY like I can't escape this now, unless you show me how . It's my baby, my magnum opus. The best thing I have had a hand in creating (even if only half of it is mine). For fics that are purely mine, The Stars Were Out was the most fun to write with the forest and stuff. Was kind of experimental but it was fun to try and describe things a little better and draw out the scenes.

Tagging- @wisecrackingeric-2 , @spectralharvest , aaaaand i was going to tag more but I have suddenly forgotten every writer friend I know that hasn't already been tagged. If you see this, and wanna do it, go for it! <33333

[thefirstknife]

The destiny reddit is an absolute warzone right now. Do yourself a favor and avoid it like the plague

Oh no. I saw a lot of negative comments overall and while I understand where they're coming from, I think at some point, some people should calm down.

I mentioned some of the issues I had with the campaign and I stand by them, I think some of this stuff definitely felt rushed and that we're sorely lacking basic information to understand the plot. But I can get over that if it's fairly reasonable to believe we'll find out eventually (and it is) and if the rest is solid. And to me, the rest is solid.

I know people have issues with strand taking too much time from the campaign, and I get it. But also to me, strand being such a huge part of the story made the campaign feel more personal and invested for US, the Guardian. To me, that was the point. I do wish the campaign was a bit more expansive, perhaps another mission or two would've been perfect imo. An extra mission could've delved into the history of the Veil and what it means. It's a legitimate complaint that I share, but also some people online have been expressing it... rather explosively.

I'd also add a counter to my own complaint; when it comes to the plot about the Veil and the Witness and the Traveler, it's clear that this isn't the end; it's a setup. Everything that happened here we can learn about retroactively in a month or six months or a year. It may suck because it's content for THIS expansion so we want to know now, but it CAN be explained later.

But strand? Strand can't. We have to learn it NOW. We can't get strand and then have a really cool personal discovery quest about mastering it in a month or six or a year. So if they didn't have time to fit another two missions into the campaign, it's fairly obvious what is being cut.

Is it clumsy? Yeah, definitely. I definitely feel like some crucial information has been deliberately cut away and removed, possibly waiting to be delivered during the year to prepare us for The Final Shape. I'm not a fan of that method, I would prefer a solid chunk of lore about the current story to be delivered in the current story. If anything, then for clarity. Especially because the majority of the players will not be waiting around to read 15 lore tabs during the year to figure out what's the Veil. A major expansion should be self-contained.

But for the love of god, some of what I've seen online is basically some players acting like we have E.T. (1982) on our hands. Like, I agree that there's issues and I've spoken about them and I can do it again at any point, but at the end of the day, I had fun and the good stuff was good. Literally my only true complaint is that it feels like a mission or two are missing. Pretty much every problem I have would've been solved with that. But that's an unknown amount of extra time of work so I cannot make a comment whether they could've done that or not. I will assume they couldn't so they didn't. Generally don't like assuming that they did it maliciously because then we go into dev harrassment territory.

[theresthesnitch]

20 questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for tagging me @puuvillaa!

How many works do you have on AO3?

106 total.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,313,884, but that includes a few cowritten things, and I couldn't begin to break down how many of those belong to jus tme.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just HP!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

A. Step & Repeat - Wolfstar, Celebrity Sirius fake dating AU, Rated M, 62k words

B. Three Strikes 'til you're out - Jily, Celebrity James fake dating AU, Rated E, 69k words

(I have not, until just now, put together that those two are so similar)

C. Bathed in the Moonlight - Wolfstar PWP, Rated E, 2.1k words

D. Ignite - Jily, 7th year Canon, Secret relationship smut fic, rated E, 192k words (WIP)

E. One More to Love - Wolfstarbucks, omegaverse w/ Pregnant Omega Remus, written with @krethes. 146k words, Rated E, WIP.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Omg 🫥. I do.... sometimes. I really, really love comments, and I need to be better about responding to them! It's a mixture of social anxiety and savoring them that leads me to not responding, and then I wonder if it's too late to respond, and then they stack up, and then I'm anxious over how many there are and I just.... never repsond. i try to repsond to at least some of the, but I'm very anxious about how many unresponded comments I have. (My inbox currently sits at 1136, and I've cleared it out before.)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Dusk. However, i have 2 more in the works that (assuming I ever finish them) may be worse.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics have a happy ending, so I'm not sure what the MOST happy ending was. Maybe Save the Groom? I can't imagine STG James being any happier than he is in that epilogue.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Occasionally. It's rarely hate but I do occasionally get dissatisfaction, like "i don't like the way you ended this" or "I read the side along you wrote and I'm no longer interested in the main story" which is weird to get.

9. Do you write smut. If so, what kind?

Lol, yes, and.... all kinds? Honestly, what does that mean. I've written MM, MF, and FF. Also Multi (though mostly MMM+). I've also written both vanilla and kink?

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

NOPE. Not something that really interests me, tbh.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of, but I wouldn't be surprised.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've had a couple of people ask, but no one who has delivered on it. or at least no one who tagged me the way I asked them to if they did it.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Yes, a few! I'm actually very fond of cowriting. Quietlemonhush and I have been working on cowriting more, and I adore working with him.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I've gotta go with my Wolfstar boys. 💖

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doublt you ever will?

I'm not ready to call anything that's posted now and a WIP abandoned (though I know I occasionally get comments calling things abandoned). I think it's probably unlikely that I ever write my Voldy Wins AU at this point because I've been sitting on it for 2 years at this point, but it was never posted.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Worldbuilding and tension building, I think.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Sticking to a plan. 🤣

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've done it before, and I'm not a huge fan, tbh. I probably won't do it again unless I have a cowriter who is fluent. It's a pain if you don't know the language, and there's no way to really build the dialogue as you would in a language you know.

19. First Fandom you wrote for?

HP, but make it Hinny.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

Oh, gosh. I think maybe The Way We Fall. Ask me next week and that will be different.

No pressure tags to @krethes, @charmsandtealeaves @annabtg @mppmaraudergirl @eyra @wanderingdonut

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 18)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 10,316

Summary: As Javier and Horacio make a fresh start in Madrid, they attempt to come to terms with their past, present and future with some unexpected help.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Romantic/emotional sex, edging, PTSD symptoms, grief and parental loss, brief discussions of sexuality/coming out, brief mentions of canon-typical violence, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: Ok, so I know I said I wasn't going to be posting for a while, but after some lovely comments I've had on Tumblr this past week, I thought I would show my appreciation by sharing this a bit earlier than anticipated ❤️

Chapter 19 is ready to go, so hopefully I can post that soon, as it's the second half of their Madrid adventures (I had to split it because it got too big for one chapter, oops).

Thank you once again to anyone still following this fic - old or new - I can't believe it's been over two years since I first started it. Never in a million years did I expect it to become, well, this lol. But we are very nearly there now!

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested. 

Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.

Chapter 18: One Day at a Time

It was the stillest part of the day, the city suspended somewhere between the dying embers of night and the cusp of dawn. The streets below saw parallel worlds collide as overindulgent revellers staggered alongside coffee-carrying workers who had drawn the short straw.

Neither Javier nor Horacio was a stranger to witnessing sunrise from both sides. But there was comfort in waking up to it rather than being caught unawares when sleep never came.

A raucous catfight had woken them, although the sparring partners had since gone their separate ways and restored calm to the neighbourhood.

Javier surveyed the aftermath from the French doors of the balcony, a pair of arms smoothly securing themselves around his waist, their fingers entwining over his stomach.

“Did I miss anything?” Horacio croaked, grogginess still heavy in his throat, his bare chest radiating welcomed warmth against Javier’s chilled back.

“Just the usual suspects. I know the ginger one lives opposite, but I think the black one must be a stray.”

“The same one that was out here the other day?” Horacio nodded towards their balcony, equipped with a table, two chairs, and a few hanging baskets and potted plants.

“Looked like it.”

“Maybe we should put some food out if it stops by again.” Memories of the stray he and Alejandra played their part in looking after sprung to Horacio's mind. Strangely enough, that had been a black cat too.

“Should I tell Luna she’s been replaced already?”

“Don’t you dare.” At least the teasing took Horacio’s mind off the fact he missed all two-legged and four-legged residents of the ranch tremendously, and according to reports from Chucho, the feeling was mutual.

It had only been weeks since they left Laredo, but the days stretched out longer now. It wasn’t that time dragged, but their pace of life had slowed again. The ranch was a vacation compared to Colombia, but jobs still needed to be done. Here though, they had no commitments.

The first week involved sorting out their apartment. It came fully furnished, but they needed basics like bedding, groceries and warmer clothes. Arriving in Madrid during the winter months was a shock to the system after their balmy Texan Christmas, a fact Horacio probably should have warned Javier about before they stepped off the plane in their short-sleeved shirts.

Not that Javier minded whenever the temperature dropped in the evening, and they would huddle on the couch in front of the electric fire, limbs draped over one another. There was no scent of mesquite wood this time, but that didn’t matter when shared body heat and tactility were more than enough to satisfy as they christened the furniture in their shared home.

The décor was all neutral colours but vibrant paintings of local landmarks and rural Spain hung on the bright white walls. A long corridor stretched from the entrance, with a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and separate living area branching off it. Despite the modest square footage, the high ceilings and large windows along the external wall made the space light and airy.

The apartment was still dark enough to protect them at this time of day, and semi-closed blinds covered the balcony doors from top to bottom. They could see out the hangings, especially if they were prised apart. But Javier had ensured on the first day they arrived that there was no chance of anyone from outside nosing in. He wasn’t taking any chances, even though that threat was left back in Colombia.

Now the commotion outside had died down, they basked in the peace of their embrace.

“It was the cats that woke you, wasn’t it?” Horacio asked after a contented silence. He had to check, even though there had been a marked improvement in their sleeping patterns lately.

“Yeah, it was. I slept well last night, actually.”

“Me too. Better now I’m getting used to the traffic again.”

“The ranch really makes you forget how fucking loud the city is.” Or maybe, now Javier thought about it, it was the ranch that was so fucking quiet. “I’m still waking up through the night sometimes, cats or no cats. But I guess that might just be getting used to this place.”

“You like it here, though?”

“Yeah, I do. I can see why you wanted to come back.”

“I only wanted to come back with you.” Horacio’s fingers traced idle patterns across the soft curve of Javier’s stomach.

A light shiver ran through Javier as he lolled his head back into the pillow of Horacio’s shoulder. “So you could do this, huh?”

Horacio hummed in agreement against Javier’s neck, his mouth working methodically back and forth as a hand wandered south in search of a trail of dark hair, skirting through the wiry strands.

“Well, it wasn’t for the sangria,” he scathed, his teeth scraping over Javier as though he would rather devour the man in his arms than a glass of that stuff. Maybe it was because they hadn’t drunk much alcohol since Javier returned from Colombia, but neither had taken to it. “And you don’t seem to be complaining.”

“There are worse ways to start the day.” Javier relaxed into Horacio’s hold, allowing himself to be manhandled because there was no rush. There never was anymore.

Plenty of early mornings had begun similarly. Sometimes one man would wake up to the calid pressure of a mouth around his cock, gradually allowing the slow burn of arousal to build whilst they were half-asleep. Other times they would spoon with one held inside the other, barely moving, vaguely dreaming but always on the brink of release.

Then there were times when slow and gentle weren't enough. They had mastered the art of keeping each other quiet, for their apartment walls weren’t the thickest. Not too much, though, because the rhythmic slapping of skin-on-skin or the crisp echo of a palm across the ass was part of the appeal.

But teasing strokes and languorous rolls of the hips were in order now. One hand pumped at an unhurried pace, Javier’s length fitting in Horacio’s grip as though they were made for each other. As though Horacio had every nerve ending and sweet spot memorised as he expertly massaged Javier’s frenulum, extracting a guttural moan that reverberated through their chests in tandem.

Horacio’s free hand mapped Javier’s skin, chasing goosebumps with the calloused pads of his fingers as he found friction at the cleft of Javier’s ass. Each touch and motion a tangible reminder he wasn’t here alone this time, that the solid form in his hold and the stubbled cheek grazing against his were real. That they belonged to each other, not as possessions but as mutual choices made again and again.

Javier luxuriated in a delirious limbo, teetering on the verge but never quite there, the need for release visceral in the pit of his stomach. Yet as he trembled and writhed, alternating between pouting his bottom lip and biting it, a part of him was willing to beg to be kept hanging. Because this was what he had wanted when they were separated by oceans and a misplaced sense of duty, and now he had it, he didn’t want to let it go.

Each twitch or convulsion only made Horacio pull Javier closer, gaining extra purchase with the firm grasp at his hip bone, grinding harder but not faster, lost in dragging the head of his cock in agonising circles, from side to side, then up and down, pausing to let it throb in time with their panting. Knowing he could probe further and give them what they needed, but then it would be game over.

So, they resisted, turning shallow breaths into deeper ones, Horacio ceasing movement whenever they neared the point of no return, reeling them back in like a wound-up coil, forcing them to admire the view below as they fought against every instinct in their bodies.

Javier allowed the balcony door to bear some of their weight with one hand splayed across the clinking blinds, pushing back a fraction just to make Horacio groan in his ear and seize the cross dangling from his neck. His other hand clutched Horacio’s arm, neck, shoulder, whichever part of him he could reach, grounding and anchoring them together.

Whenever they almost succumbed, memories of their time apart would re-focus them in the present; where their legs shook, and their toes curled at every new sensation rippling through their joined form, the anticipation of relief battling with remaining in equilibrium, daring each other to prolong the exquisite agony for as long as possible.

But resistance was inevitably futile. With several final jerks of the wrist and hips, they surrendered control, painting Javier with their release from both sides as they gave themselves over to the white-hot bliss cascading through their synapses, each spasm igniting and stoking flame after flame, consuming and burning until they almost blacked out.

Neither moved as the pink haze of the skyline broached the gaps in the blinds and blushed their fevered skin; the dawn air a perfect tonic to the blazing heat between them. A greeting from the light rather than a reluctant acknowledgement after outstaying their welcome in the dark.

Strong arms encased Javier at his front while a rhythmic beat drummed against his back, catching and soothing him in surroundings that were still relatively new. Steady, grounding, home.

“Good morning, by the way,” Horacio said between tender kisses along Javier’s shoulder.

“Hmm, certainly is a good morning.” Javier shifted to face Horacio, sweeping him up with an open-mouthed kiss as addictive as the first one they ever shared, and oh, how far they had come since then. “Is it too early for breakfast?”

“Not when we’ve built up an appetite.” Horacio nibbled at Javier’s lip to emphasise his hunger. “Although, maybe a shower before I make us some coffee?”

Javier nipped back before instigating another searing kiss, barely breaking it to speak again. “Sounds good to me.”

Nothing was particularly extraordinary about the idyllic scene they had started the morning off with. And yet that in itself was extraordinary. Not so long ago, all of this felt out of reach, something to aspire to or hope for, but not something feasible. But here they were, in their shared apartment, embarking on a new chapter together, taking another leap of faith. Not running away from the past but trying to break free from its shackles, one day at a time. 

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Once they had got their bearings in the first few weeks, they began to venture out bit by bit. First, it was walking around the city’s vast green parks, starting with the nearest and working further away from their apartment each time. Then cooking or takeaway turned into dining in a secluded bistro. And watching TV in the apartment became a leisurely stroll around a museum.

Horacio hadn’t felt much like sightseeing when he was here by himself. But things were different now. Everything was different now, even the city itself, from how the early morning light fell on the buildings to the hustle and bustle of Gran Vía. The crowds were still there in their droves. The shoppers and tourists, who would stop in the middle of the pavement with a street map sprawling across their arms, still needed to be sidestepped at the last second. But it was easier to ignore when Javier was by his side.

It was at this point that Horacio knew there was something he was going to have to do. Something he had been putting off, despite it being something he wanted to do. But that didn’t calm the nerves bubbling in his stomach as he took the familiar walk around the corner from their apartment building and down a cobbled side street. Javier had offered to come with him for moral support, but playing it safe seemed the best option, at least this time, just in case.

As he approached the glass door with its seasonal flower arrangements hanging below the red and gold calligraphic Café Romero lettering, it hit him how much his life had changed since he last visited, how much he and Javier had been through. So how reasonable was it to expect everything to be the same here? He swallowed hard as he turned the handle, the bell above the door jangling as it opened.

The interior looked the same as always. Caramel and beige walls complemented the variety of coffees on the menu and the lush green of potted plants decorating the shelves, in between photos of past and present generations of the Romero family. A large window ran along the front, providing extra lighting and an opportunity to people-watch on busier days.

Horacio could see no staff and only customers, but it was early, so the place hadn't filled up yet. In fact, his usual window seat in the corner was still free. Waves of nostalgia layered with relief rolled over him as he sat down facing the counter.

But it didn’t take long for the face he was looking for to appear from the kitchen carrying a fresh batch of napolitanas de chocolate.

A shriek of delight quickly followed once Señora Romero put down her baking tray and raised her head. She brought her hands to her face in surprise, gathering up her apron at the same time as it caught on her fingers. “Horacio?!”

The intonation of her voice suggested it was a question. But she was already crossing the floor of the café with her arms outstretched.

Horacio rose from his table, making it easier for her to scoop him into a hug reminiscent of the ones his Abuela Margarita gave him as a child.

“It’s good to see you, Señora Romero. I hope you’re well.”

She looked well, her silver hair still tied in a messy bun and her rounded figure and freshly stained apron a sign her passion for food hadn’t waned.

“All the better for seeing you.” She lightly squeezed his cheek as she took in his appearance. “Although you might have warned me, I’d have baked more of those milhojas you liked so much last time.”

“Sorry. I’ve not been back long. I’m still sorting out the apartment and trying to remember my way around.”

“Of course, of course. Rest your feet, and I’ll bring you something over. Your usual coffee?”

Horacio smiled at the fact she had remembered his order. “That’d be lovely, thank you.”

The coffee was as delicious as ever, much like the freshly made churros and accompanying hot chocolate, which Señora Romero gave him on the house despite his protests.

She updated Horacio on her family and how Luisa and her husband, Julián, had become parents since their wedding. Their new arrival, Tomás, meant Señora Romero still ran the café, with Luisa helping out occasionally until Tomás was at school.

Señora Romero rushed to grab some photos from behind the counter, showing off her latest grandson. She was in her element and every bit the doting Abuelita.

“Congratulations, I can see the family resemblance,” Horacio said, passing the photos back.

“I said the same to Luisa! He’s definitely got the Romero nose.” She gazed at the picture before shifting her attention back to Horacio. “So, what did I do to deserve the pleasure of your company?”

Horacio scoffed into his cup, creating ripples across the surface of his coffee as he took a sip. “I don’t know where to start.”

“How about from where we left off?”

Horacio hadn't been looking for sympathy, but naturally, Señora Romero supplied plenty of it, gasping, tutting, and consoling in all the appropriate places when he gave an abridged and redacted version of events since their last meeting.

He spoke more than was ideal about his injury and retirement from the CNP because, by comparison, it was safer ground than the inverted commas silently hugging every use of "friend" a mention of Javier brought.

“Oh, Horacio, my dear. You have been through the wars. How’s your shoulder doing now?”

“Okay, mostly. I still get twinges, but I know I’m lucky.”

“Lucky to have someone like Javier around as well, by the sounds of it.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Even if he had wanted to stop it, the reflexive smile spreading across Horacio’s face was irrepressible.

Señora Romero studied his features intently, beaming in return once she had finished. “And how was life on a ranch?”

“It was…good, actually. I know it’s not the CNP, but I liked the peace and quiet. And the routine. Something always needed doing or fixing.”

“It might not be the CNP, but that sounds much safer and simpler to me.”

“It was. It was good to feel useful again. Like I was making a difference, even if it wasn’t life or death.” Especially if it wasn’t, more like.

“I know you never talked much about it, but I could see how restless you were trapped behind a desk. You’re a man of action, Horacio. I don’t see that changing no matter which path you take.”

The café was busier now, meaning Horacio was left to finish his churros whilst Señora Romero dealt with the start of the breakfast rush.

As he dipped his last churro in the remnants of hot chocolate, it occurred to him that, once upon a time, his father would have been the central focus of this conversation. And, of course, he had wondered what his Papá would have made of his son living and working on a ranch in Texas, of all places. But it was also a moot point. It was an answer he would never get, regardless of how much he wrung his hands about the hypothetical possibility of disappointing his father.

This was about what was best for him and Javier now. The ranch had been their escape from the madness that was slowly killing them. Although Horacio never knew with absolute certainty what caused his Papá’s heart to fail, it was a plausible theory he overworked himself. And that irony sat more comfortably with Horacio these days. Because as much as his Papá had been a role model since Horacio was old enough to understand the word police, he was also a cautionary tale.

When the rush died down, Horacio helped clear some tables. It was the least he could do in exchange for words of wisdom and a complimentary breakfast.

But Señora Romero didn’t stop there and scuttled off behind the counter. She filled a box with an assortment of pastries and cakes, sealed the lid and handed it to Horacio as he moved towards the door.

“Here, my dear. Some more to keep you going. Enough for two, in fact.”

Horacio fumbled for a response beyond thank you as he accepted the box, wishing he could hide inside it as he sensed her eyes still on him.

Señora Romero’s hand lingered on his for a fraction longer than was customary for a simple goodbye.

He looked up to find the same head tilt and gentle smile he was met with in the apartment upstairs almost two years ago. When he was indirectly talking about Javier.

“I meant it when I said don’t be a stranger. You and Javier will always be welcome here.”

The sincerity in her eyes grew sharper, and she gripped his hand. In sympathy? Solidarity? Horacio wasn't sure.

But it put him at ease enough to reciprocate and ask a question now lodged in his throat with no option to swallow it back down. “How did you know?”

“Because there’s a glow about you, Horacio. A glow I remember from a long, long time ago. I might’ve forgotten a lot in my old age, but never that. Not even now it’s just me rattling around upstairs. It doesn’t have to fade, you know. Not if you don’t let it.”

It was a running theme for Horacio’s elders to leave him speechless like this. And it was all he could do to bob his head in acknowledgement, hoping he might be capable of such sage insights one day.

The bell above the door chimed again, signalling the end of their reunion as Señora Romero greeted her new customers, inviting them to sit wherever they liked.

“I think that’s my cue. But thank you, Señora Romero. For everything.”

“Any time. Take care, Horacio. And remember, my door’s always open.”

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Horacio dropped the box of delights on the kitchen counter, the fresh breeze and murmur of traffic revealing that Javier had moved from the bedroom to the balcony since he left.

Javier put the book he was reading down in favour of craning his neck over his shoulder to watch Horacio potter about the kitchen before biting the bullet. “So, how did it go?”

Horacio didn’t speak whilst he concentrated on transferring a couple of ensaimadas onto plates. He then joined Javier, sitting in the empty seat next to him as he offered a plate. “Better than I thought it would. She guessed about us. I didn’t tell her. Somehow she just…knew.”

“How did she take it?”

“I think we’ve got a free supply of these for life.”

They couldn’t help but laugh in unison, more from relief than anything else.

“See, I told you it’d be fine.”

“Yeah. It’s never gonna stop, though, is it?”

“How d’you mean?”

“Every time we meet someone.”

“I say it's nobody’s fucking business unless we decide it is.”

“I spoke to Alejandra yesterday. While you were in the shower.” Horacio paused at his announcement that might have appeared unconnected to their conversation, but Javier knew better. “I let her know I’m back here for now. I couldn’t tell her the rest, though.”

He focused on his plate, poking a fork at the crumbly layers of pastry, hoping to find his courage buried somewhere between them. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no, stop that.” Javier forfeited his plate for leaning closer to Horacio, palm caressing his thigh. “Before Laredo, you said I should only tell Pops if I’m ready. So, there’s no rush, Horacio. Take all the time you need.”

Horacio entwined their fingers on his leg because if anyone understood his apprehension, it was Javier. “I know. I just hate keeping it from her after everything we’ve been through. She would always make me soup if I was sick. And she looked out for me after Papá was gone. She taught me Mamá’s sudado de pollo recipe because it was one of Papá’s favourites. I liked to think I was the man of the house, but she loved reminding me she was my older sister.”

“I bet she did. I saw that a lot with my parents and my Tías and Tíos. Never could decide if I’d have preferred brothers and sisters after they all got together.”

“That’s siblings for you. I didn’t want to shut her – or Mamá – out. But when things got crazy back home, I had no choice.”

“Same with Pops. The worse it got, the more I shut down. But he understood. And…I know I haven’t met them.” Yet, Javier wanted to add but thought better of it. “But they might too.”

“I know.”

“We’ll be okay whatever happens, you know that, right?”

“Yeah. I do.” Horacio finally let go of Javier’s hand, knowing if he held on any longer, he’d have given their neighbours something to gossip about.

Instead, he took another bite of his pastry and a swig of the half-drunk coffee from the table where Javier’s abandoned book lay. “What are you reading, anyway?”

“Oh, just this.” Javier reached for his Mamá’s poetry book, the pages fluttering in the breeze, the superstitious remnants from his upbringing wanting to believe it was a sign of something other than the weather. “Before we left, I told Pops I wished she’d met you. I don’t know if she ever suspected anything about me, but…I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“Maybe not. But for what it’s worth, I wish I’d met her too.”

It had always been a relief for Horacio that his father and Javier never crossed paths, but that was mostly a projection of his own fears. The truth was, he would never know if his Papá suspected anything about him, either.

Once they had finished their ensaimadas, Horacio washed up the plates and a few items waiting by the sink, a routine he performed countless times with Alejandra when they were just about tall enough to reach the taps; before any expectations of who or what he was supposed to be were placed on his shoulders. Memories flooded back of how they would squabble over who got to wash and dry. Although, of course, more often than not, his big sister would pull rank, and in hindsight, he smiled at the possibility that, all those years later, she, rather than their Papá, was what had made his job so appealing.

As he left the clean plates, cups, and cutlery to dry on the draining board, it dawned on him that Alejandra and his Mamá didn’t have to be the same story as his Papá. They didn’t need to be another unfinished, half-written story in which the ending would always elude him, haunt him, or hold him back. Not if Horacio didn’t leave it too late this time.

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Whilst Horacio resumed his early morning runs, they were more like gentle jogs these days. It wasn’t that he had lost his stamina after being put through his paces back on the ranch, but he didn’t feel the need to charge ahead at full pelt anymore. He was more likely to go through a routine of strengthening exercises, to keep his right shoulder from seizing up, and for whenever they decided to head back to Laredo. If that was to become his full-time job, he couldn’t afford to be out of shape.

He left Javier in bed, with plans to meet him at Café Romero for breakfast. It was to be Javier’s first time meeting Señora Romero, which they were confident they had nothing to worry about, but that didn’t quell the butterflies dancing in their stomachs the night before.

It was why Horacio had gone for a run instead of lying awake restless, counting down the hours until he could get up. His muscle memory, rather than his wristwatch, estimated that by the time he jogged one of his usual routes that took him to the outskirts of Casa de Campo park and walked a few blocks to cool down, he would be ready for breakfast.

About three-quarters of the way through his run, having just exited the park, he heard the call of his name. He willed there to be another Horacio jogging passed at the same time, but when his eyes fell upon the source of the voice, he knew he was out of luck.

“Álvaro?” He didn’t know why he asked; he’d spent enough time with Álvaro Molina to recognise his voice anywhere.

Álvaro was a chief inspector in the Spanish CNP. Not a direct parallel to Horacio’s role in Colombia, but close enough. Although Álvaro was never based at the Consulate when Horacio was, they spent plenty of time in the same cross-departmental meetings.

He was a couple of inches taller than Horacio with hazel eyes and unruly dark brown curls that were more mottled with grey than their last meeting. At one time, Álvaro carried almost as much muscle as Horacio, but he had visibly lost weight, his face now gaunt and rough with days’ old stubble.

“How the hell are you?” A hand shook Horacio’s with vigour. “Better than last time, I bet, now that motherfucker’s in the ground.”

“You could say that.”

“What brings you back? They didn’t exile you again, did they?” Álvaro winked, knowing he was on friendly enough terms with Horacio to get away with it.

A scoff and roll of the eyes was Horacio’s response. “No. Actually, it was the other way round this time.”

“Oh? You are a dark horse. Always thought they’d have to force you into retirement when you’re old and grey.”

“Yeah, me too. But I guess things change.”

“Hmm, some more than others.”

“I take it there’s been no let-up in seizures after Medellín folded?”

“Not with Cali waiting in the wings, no.” There was a brittle laugh followed by a shift in Álvaro’s facial expression, the joviality from moments ago now gone and replaced with traces of sleep deprivation.

“That’s the trouble. You cut off one serpent’s head, and two more of the fuckers grow straight back.” Horacio’s words were loaded with a sting of venom at the mention of Cali, closely followed by thoughts of Los Pepes, Stechner and the CIA’s protection of Cali. How could they possibly win when the whole system was corrupt to the core?

“Tell me about it. Listen, I don’t suppose you’ve got time to grab a quick coffee? Hell knows I need one.”

Horacio calculated he had about 15 minutes maximum spare, so, it was doable if he drank fast and didn’t get too involved in shop talk that was no longer his remit.

“Okay, there’s a place just inside Casa de Campo. But you’re buying.”

“Always the cheapskate.”

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Javier glanced up from his newspaper to the clock on the wall. Horacio was technically late; by his own standards, that was. Javier wouldn’t even have noticed if it was anyone else.

He followed Horacio’s instructions on how to get here, even down to picking the window seat in the far corner of the café. It was empty when Javier arrived – five minutes early, which must be a first – so he sat and waited.

Not long after he took a seat, a lady too young to be Señora Romero came to greet him with a friendly smile, ready to take his order.

Javier went with a café solo for each of them, saving the food order for when Horacio arrived.

Even when speaking in short sentences, Javier was self-conscious of his accent here, sometimes forgetting to adjust his pronunciation or pick a different word than he was used to. Of course, it had been the same when he arrived in Colombia and Horacio in Texas. A cultural exchange that led to many late-night conversations – and the occasional argument – about dialect differences. But that was the versatility of the Spanish language.

The same waitress brought the drinks over, although an older woman had joined her who was now clearing the adjacent table. The family resemblance between the two women was undeniable, so Javier assumed this must be Señora Romero and…Luisa, did Horacio say? He kept quiet for now, just in case he was wrong. Nor did he want to steal Horacio’s thunder with introductions.

As Javier thanked Luisa and explained the second cup was for someone meeting him shortly, Señora Romero ceased wiping a cloth across the emptied table, her ears pricking up at an accent she didn’t hear too often.

Not that Javier noticed as his eyes darted to the door, up to the clock and down to the paper with a heavy sigh.

He got through one and a half news stories when Señora Romero made her move from watching Javier curiously from behind the counter to standing by his table.

“It’s not like him to be late, is it?”

Javier was startled out of his newspaper and looked up, where rich shades of chestnut and cinnamon collided for the first time. “How—?” was about all he managed to stutter out.

Señora Romero sat opposite Javier, where Horacio should have been sitting. “Ever since his first visit, he went straight for this table. It is a nice spot, though. He always read his papers and ordered a café solo every time.” She smiled affectionately at the coffee cups on the table like they were an old friend. “Plus, he told me about Laredo. So, I wasn’t expecting another Colombian accent.”

“I’m impressed. We could’ve done with more people like you in Colombia. And I was under strict instructions to pick this table. But you’re right; it’s not like him to be late.”

There was no doubt a logical explanation for Horacio’s absence. But Javier couldn’t stop his fingers from fidgeting around the handle of his cup or his knee from bouncing under the table and causing an earthquake.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s on his way, dear. Did he go for one of his pre-breakfast runs?”

There was something comforting about Señora Romero’s familiarity with Horacio’s routines, even though Javier had never met her before. It gave them a mutual talking point and a connection beyond the usual dry small talk. “Bingo.”

“Of course! He was one of my most loyal regulars. I did miss seeing him in here after he left.”

“He’s talked about you and this place a lot. So, I’d say the feeling’s mutual.”

“Bless you, my dear. I’m glad our paths crossed. But I’ve no doubt he ended up where he belonged.”

Heat bloomed in Javier’s face and chest as Señora Romero gave him a pointed look followed by a flash of a wink. And he couldn’t help but feel sheepish that he and Horacio had ever worried about her reaction in the first place.

It took his mind off things until his gaze fell back on the clock, and he saw another five minutes had passed. Where the fuck was he? No, Javier couldn’t think like that. It was stupid and unnecessary at this stage. He just needed to focus on the pleasant conversation he was having now. So, he tried again.

This time, he asked questions about Señora Romero’s family and, during a lull in the breakfast rush, was introduced to Luisa as a friend of Horacio’s. If Luisa suspected anything, she took it in the same stride as her mother.

Next came the family photos, including plenty of Tomás, naturally. An album's worth of photos was scattered across the table, allowing Señora Romero to guide Javier through each one as though she was delivering a presentation. But as someone with a large extended family, Javier didn’t mind and even interjected with anecdotes about his own relatives.

After a tilt of his head and a sip of his coffee, Javier brought the cup down to the photo-covered table with a sense of déjà vu. It took him out of the moment and forced him to close his eyes, trying to blink away his sudden change in mood. But then, a wave of cheap perfume filled his senses. And Señora Romero’s finger pointing at the pictures was younger and manicured. The photo she placed in his hand wasn’t the many generations of the Romero family posing in front of the café; it was one of the long-lens photos of Javier and Horacio.

He blinked hard enough to see spots, allowing his vision to gradually re-focus on the safety of the photo in his hand rather than the violating one burnt into his memory. He tried not to think about those images, and for the most part, he succeeded these days. But occasionally, his brain would taunt him, reminding him how paralysed he was by the possible consequences. By the fact he put Horacio in so much danger and couldn’t even tell him about it or be with him. By the fact he and Steve were glorified puppets to the likes of Stechner whilst the CIA was up to its neck in corruption.

“These, er, these are all beautiful,” he managed to get out, hoping that the last few seconds had gone unnoticed, as unlikely as that was.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else while you wait, dear?”

That was the next question Javier heard, but he couldn’t be sure if he had zoned out and missed a whole chunk of conversation.

"Er, no, thanks, I'm good."

Without meaning to, his eyes scanned between the clock and the door again, an irrational hope taking hold that if he stared at either long enough, he could make Horacio appear by sheer willpower alone. However, as the second hand on the clock ticked and ticked, he was back in that damn hospital bed. Waiting, waiting, waiting. That was all he could do, unable to get comfortable as each movement was a red-hot poker jabbing in his ribs. But he would take that any day over the crushing, suffocating, nauseating dread that weighed on his chest like a foreshadowing of death. Not his death, although it would have been in all but name if the pendulum of fate had swung the other way.

“Javier? Are you alright, my dear?”

Javier was back in the café, a light sheen of sweat gathering on his skin as he tried to shove whatever the fuck that was back in its box. “Er, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Why don’t I pour us some lemonade upstairs once you’ve finished your coffee? I’ll ask Luisa to send Horacio up when he gets here.”

Javier expected his instincts to push him towards the door and back to the apartment, but they didn’t. Instead, they saw the genuine concern on Señora Romero’s face and the kindness in her gesture. They saw the glimmer of faded memories of his Mamá taking care of him, knowing this wasn’t the same, but also that it didn’t need to be. And so he did the only thing he could.

“That’d be good, thanks.”

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Álvaro brought over two coffees from the kiosk by the park entrance to a nearby seating area of tables and chairs. The previous day’s rain still clung to the stainless steel furniture and explained why there weren’t as many people around them as on a scorching hot day. But that worked in their favour.

They sat opposite each other across a table suffering from a wobbly leg, Horacio in his jogging pants and a somewhat sweaty t-shirt, and Álvaro apparently in yesterday's suit, shirt and skewwhiff tie, if their crumpled appearance and less than fresh aroma were anything to go by. A far cry from the pristine CNP-issued uniforms and tailored suits picked out by Álvaro’s wife their last meeting saw them wearing.

As Horacio took a sip of coffee, he noticed Álvaro reach into the inside pocket of his jacket and pull out a hip flask.

Álvaro lifted the plastic lid from his cup, poured a generous measure from the flask and offered the same to Horacio.

Horacio raised his hand and shook his head. “Bit early for me.”

They made small talk, Horacio managing to be as vague as possible regarding his reasons for living here again. “Taking a break in a beautiful city” and “Catching up with old friends” were about the gist of it. But he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information the first time, so his stunted replies weren’t out of character.

Álvaro was equally brief about the details of his life, which was out of character now Horacio thought about it. Álvaro used to talk about his family as much as his work. His wife was his rock, his kids were his pride and joy, and his brother was progressing at pace through the military ranks. But this time, he confirmed they were doing well and left it at that before getting down to business.

“An anonymous tip-off recently fell into the DEA’s lap. Lots of juicy details about Cali. The gringos are working their way through the intel, and it flagged up more links to our old friends in Galicia. There were sightings of Pacho Herrera up there, plus some of his associates are based in Madrid. So that’s opened a huge fucking can of worms.”

Horacio had a terrible time trying to stifle a reaction to the mention of a tip-off. There was nothing 'anonymous' about it from the DEA’s point of view, not even when it came to the intel's delivery.

The last time he was here, the Galician traffickers were working with Escobar. And whilst Horacio’s redeployment was conducted from behind a desk for the majority, his colleagues had chewed his ear off about various Colombian names that came up in reports or wiretaps. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that the Spanish clans had moved on to Cali.

Álvaro lit a cigarette as he talked, offering up a second one from his almost-empty carton.

But Horacio declined, instead taking another sip of his drink. “Sounds promising. But Álvaro, Cali is a different beast to Medellín. They’re more discreet, professional, and they have powerful friends in high places.”

“I know. But we have to try, right? Look at Operación Nécora. Sooner or later, someone gets sloppy, drops the ball, turns on one of their own, or kills the wrong person. And then we win.”

Watching Álvaro chug back his Irish coffee in one hand with a smouldering cigarette perched in his other was like looking in a mirror to the past. And it wasn’t a pretty sight.

When Horacio was in the fray, it had been too easy to focus solely on the case in front of him, convincing himself it would all be over soon if he just shut down one more lab and seized one more kilo or wad of cash. Or tortured one more suspect. But it was never enough and never would be. He had been fighting a losing battle that had no likely ending in sight, even if the individuals and locations were a perpetual revolving door.

“I’m not sure there are winners in any of this,” he said, the resignation heavy in his tone.

“Shit, you really have changed.”

“Maybe.”

“Last time I saw you, you were raining fire and brimstone upon the narcos. What the fuck happened?”

“Do you know how many funerals I’ve been to, Álvaro? Or how many people I’ve killed? Because I don’t. I stopped counting. Then Escobar tried to have me killed – and nearly succeeded.”

“Woah, woah, what?”

“I took a bullet here,” Horacio gestured to his right shoulder, “and nearly bled out. The doctors said I was lucky I was brought in so fast.” Although Horacio knew a lot more than luck was involved.

“Shit, Horacio.”

“Yeah. So, it’s easy for you to keep fighting when you haven’t lost as many times as I have.”

“Because no one else could possibly have lost anything as well, right?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sounded like it to me. And you’ve got no fucking idea.” Álvaro slammed his cup down on the table, the force of its impact splashing coffee droplets in all directions.

Horacio opted not to make a fuss but he could have sworn he saw the reflection of tears in Álvaro’s eyes as they focused on their drinks in silence. “Did something happen?”

“What gave it away?” Álvaro gestured towards himself, acknowledging his worse-for-wear state. He leaned his elbow on the table, head held in his hands, and ran his fingers through his hair. “There was another bombing. Last June. An army transporter was targeted by 40 kilos of explosives left in a parked car. My brother, Jaime, was...he was there…and didn’t make it.”

“Fuck, Álvaro. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Except, in a roundabout way, he did have some idea. Because back in Colombia, it was Horacio who delivered such news to countless families like the Molinas.

“No, well, you wouldn’t.” He took out the hip flask again, draining whatever was left into his coffee cup and knocking it back. “Not least of all because I lied about him earlier. Sorry about that, by the way. Still not very good at this sort of thing.”

“No, of course. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Your dad was a cop too, right? Before he…passed away.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“I remember you telling me. It was about the only thing I got out of you, come to think of it.”

Half a rebellious smile broke through Horacio’s tightly pursed lips. “Yeah, well, I guess I wasn’t very good at this sort of thing either.”

“But you are now?”

“Better than I was. Better now I’m not trying to be him. Now I realise he was as flawed as the rest of us.”

“Yeah, trying to follow in the footsteps of a high-achiever in the family will fuck you up for life. Or so I’ve heard.”

Horacio didn’t know a lot about Jaime but was aware he was 10 years older than Álvaro. From the way Álvaro talked, it was clear how much he hero-worshipped his big brother. And if anyone knew the pitfalls of such high pedestals, it was Horacio.

“Sounds familiar. As much as I’ve always missed him, I was glad he never saw me at my worst.”

“All I wanted was for Jaime to be proud of me, and I think he was.” Álvaro’s eyes lit up, and for the first time during their conversation, the wrinkles of his smile reached them. “But I’m not sure he’d even recognise me if he saw me now.”

“The paradox of grief.”

“What?”

Another smile crept over Horacio’s face. “Just something someone once said to me. Whatever you do, it’ll never feel enough now he’s gone.”

“Never thought of it like that. But it’s not just a dead man I’m letting down. My wife tried so hard with me; she really did. But…the nightmares started. They were always about trying to save Jaime, but I couldn’t. So I drank ‘til I was comatose. Then work got crazy and things spiralled. She didn’t think it was good for me to be around the kids, and well, I can’t argue with that.”

Álvaro unloaded a jumble of words in one fell swoop, catching Horacio off guard as he tried to take it all in. But it wasn’t as though it was unfamiliar territory for him. It wasn’t as though he had no experiences of his own to share, experiences he had only ever opened up to Javier about until now.

“That was my life, for a long time, without the wife and kids, obviously. But the nightmares and the drinking got bad after I...I accidentally killed someone I was sent to rescue.”

“Shit, Horacio. You never said anything when you were – wait a minute – is that why you were here in the first place?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Horacio let out a hollow laugh at the fact the death of Diana Turbay wasn’t his superiors’ red line. “I’m sure it didn’t help my cause, but the final straw came when I led a raid on a nightclub. We took down some high-level sicarios, but a bystander got caught in the crossfire.”

“Fuck. There were so many rumours about you, no one knew what to believe. I heard you took out Escobar’s cousin, but surely they wouldn’t exile a hero.”

“I’m not a fucking hero, Álvaro.”

“Ha! So, it was true.”

Horacio said nothing, his silence giving Álvaro the answer he was looking for.

“You can’t tell me you’re sorry about that.”

“I’m not. And I don’t regret everything I did.” It was the truth. He wasn’t trying to atone for some of those fuckers getting what they deserved. They weren’t why he walked away. “But you know what they say…old sins cast long shadows. These things stay with you, whether you’re the one killing or it’s the people around you being killed.”

“So, what are you saying? That it’s too late for damaged goods like us?” There was a desperate crack in Álvaro’s voice as though he was looking to Horacio to confirm his fears and put him out of his misery once and for all.

“You probably don’t want to hear it right now, but…it doesn’t always have to be like this. It’s not easy, and it takes time, but it can get better.”

“You’re right. I didn’t want to hear that.” Álvaro kept his features neutral until he caught Horacio’s eye and they both laughed, because what else could they do?

“Neither did I, for years. Because it felt impossible. But no amount of punishing yourself will bring him back or change the past.”

“There’s quite a team set up now,” Álvaro continued after a long silence, as though he hadn’t heard a single word Horacio had said. “From your end, our end, the DEA, Interpol, the SVA. You name it, we’ve got fingers in the pie. And there’s always room for more.”

Álvaro looked at Horacio with great expectation, waiting for an answer to an unspoken question until he could wait no more. “Horacio, you know what it’s like more than most dealing with these people. And you remember how it was last time. Couldn’t so much as talk about the weather without it getting back to someone up there.”

That much was true. The situation in Galicia was eerily reminiscent of Medellín. Homegrown police taking bribes left, right and centre and passing on intel to the trafficking clans. Politicians’ and judges’ integrity in tatters because they, too, turned a blind eye. The Colombian cartels made Galicia their gateway into Europe. And their success was thanks to the layer upon layer of corruption that was allowed to exist.

“No.”

“Come on, at least think about it. There’d be none of that pen-pushing bullshit this time. You could be out in the field again, it’d be just like the old days back in—”

“Álvaro, I said no.” Horacio didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to with how his steely glare and steadfast jaw framed his face. “I’m done with it for good. End of story.”

Álvaro raised his arms in surrender, his second cigarette of their meeting now burning between his fingers. “Alright, alright, I get the message. Can’t blame me for asking now I know you’re back.” He raised the cigarette to his lips, regarding Horacio with increasing intrigue through the wisps of smoke hanging between them. “So, who is it, then?”

“What?”

“Whoever’s convinced you to quit and move here. Must be serious. And don’t lie because I know there’s someone.”

“Your interrogation skills need more work, Molina. And on that note, I better be going. You’re making me late for an appointment.”

“Nice deflection there, Carrillo. I’m just saying; they must be the love of your fucking life to give it all up.”

There was a scrape of metal against the floor as Horacio rose from his chair, not dignifying Álvaro’s prying with a response, even though it was the naked truth.

“Alright, fine, fine! I can take a hint. I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on.” Álvaro brought a hand to his lips, ‘zipping’ them closed with his thumb and forefinger.

Horacio sat back down with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Good for you, in fact. It’s hard enough to find someone like that in the first place, but to hold onto them and make it work? Nothing short of a fucking miracle. But you know where I am if you ever change your mind.”

“Thanks, but I won’t.”

“Thought you might say that.”

“If you ever change your mind, please think about what I said. You can’t run away from this. No matter how much you bury your head in your job. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I can’t make any promises, Horacio. You know how it is.”

Of course, he knew; that was precisely why he was saying it in the first place. But he also knew there was no point pushing it any further. “It was good to see you, Álvaro. And I am sorry about Jaime.”

“Me too. And er, thanks. For listening and everything. I really appreciate it. Although, I gotta ask, when did you get so fucking wise?”

Horacio laughed, assured there was no malice in Álvaro’s teasing, and because he had apparently accomplished what he was expecting to wait years, if not decades to do. “I’m afraid I can’t take all the credit.”

“Should’ve known. Good to see you, Horacio. Don’t leave it so long next time. And I hate to say it, but retirement already suits you.”

“Thanks, I think. Take care of yourself.”

They stood up from the table, deposited their empty cups in a nearby bin and walked back to the entrance that took them onto the main road.

After shaking hands, they went their separate ways, Horacio in one direction and Álvaro in the opposite.

It wasn’t long ago that Horacio lamented turning his back on the CNP. But as he broke into a run to mitigate his uncharacteristic lateness, he caught glimpses of familiar church spires towering over every other building. They had been a comforting backdrop to his guilt and shame, and whilst he would always carry them around for certain deeds, it wasn’t a place he ever wanted to revisit. And the next time his lapel pins found themselves between his fingers, or Trujillo still called him Colonel out of habit, he would be reminded it was okay to miss something but never want it back.

------------------------------------------------------

Javier sat stiffly on Señora Romero’s floral sofa, clenching and unclenching his fists to distract himself from the creeping sense of embarrassment setting in.

Señora Romero joined him in the neighbouring chair, a tray of lemonade and a selection of pastries from downstairs placed between them on the table.

“Have you eaten anything this morning, dear?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, that won’t do. Here, take some. Don’t be shy.” She practically shoved the plate at Javier, stopping short of placing one of the pastries in his mouth.

“Thanks. And sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

“From what Horacio told me, I’d say it’s understandable. For both of you.” Señora Romero gave the tall jug of lemonade a final stir, then poured it into two ice-filled tumblers, handing one to Javier and settling back in her chair.

Javier thanked her as he accepted a glass, wasting no time quenching his dry mouth.

“And it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Señora Romero continued. “My country went from the Civil War to Franco for over three decades. Not to mention the violence in the Basque region, and the bombings here, of course. People don’t like to talk about it much, but the scars are still as plain as day.”

Javier wasn’t exactly an expert in Spanish history, but he knew the basics. And hearing them listed together suddenly made his experiences seem tame by comparison. Not that he thought for a second that was Señora Romero’s intention, but it gave him a large dose of perspective.

“I never talked to anyone before Horacio, to be honest. Same for him with me, but it took me longer to get there.”

“My husband rarely told me what he’d seen and done in the war. He thought I wouldn’t understand, and maybe I didn’t. Maybe I couldn’t. But we survived the same storm in the end, even though we were sometimes in different boats.”

“It was a while ‘til we were in the same boat. Even now, sometimes we’re not,” Javier said as his mind drifted with a smile to their conflicting views and priorities over the years.

In theory, it shouldn’t have gone the way it did. They may have shared the same broad goal in Colombia, but they came at it from different angles. They weren’t supposed to trust and understand each other more than anyone else. They weren’t supposed to walk away from their all-consuming careers for each other, and they certainly weren’t supposed to fall in love. But life had a funny way of working out.

As for their current situation, they were dealing with things in their own way and in their own time. It was never going to be something they could coordinate. But even so, it frustrated Javier when he spiralled seemingly out of nowhere. Except, was it really out of nowhere? It was all a blur now.

“In my experience, sometimes you can’t be,” Señora Romero said. “And sometimes, you won’t want to be. Sometimes, you float alongside each other in your own boats. And sometimes, it’s good enough just to sail in the same direction at different paces.”

“He’s never late. And I guess it’s force of habit to assume the worst.” Javier wasn’t expecting to say that, but it was like someone had just removed their foot from his chest. It was an admission to himself as much as Señora Romero, confirmation that it hadn’t been out of nowhere at all.

Señora Romero merely nodded, giving Javier the space to continue if he wanted to.

“On the night of the ambush, Steve – my partner – and I weren’t supposed to be there. I’m not sure we were ever supposed to be in Colombia, to be honest.”

Javier stopped to let out a sceptical sneer as snippets of his encounters with Stechner replayed in his head. For all he knew, Stechner could have orchestrated his entire career, manoeuvring him around like a pawn on a chessboard.

“But we disobeyed orders and followed Horacio anyway. And then we, er…we heard gunfire and screaming over the radio. It was the longest car journey of my life.” He took another sip of his drink and a deep breath, determined to finish now he’d started. “It was the same at the hospital and after the bombing here. Always waiting, but never knowing where he was or if he was okay.”

“Oh, Javier, my dear, it makes complete sense you would think the worst. I would be the same in your shoes. But you have to remember, he’s a civilian now. He’s not a target anymore. The ETA bombings here have been directed at the Spanish authorities.”

Señora Romero leaned forwards until her hand met Javier’s. Shades of chestnut connected with cinnamon again as he squeezed as a gesture of thanks. Neither appeared fazed by this being their first meeting, perhaps finding it easier because they simultaneously didn’t know much about each other but enough to no longer be strangers.

“And for what it’s worth,” she continued, “regardless of the rights or wrongs of your government’s involvement in foreign affairs, it seems you were exactly where you were supposed to be that night.”

Touché. He couldn’t argue with that, the irony apparent of Steve previously framing Javier’s need to follow Horacio as a warning rather than a calling.

“I may have only just met you, Javier, but I know what you did for Horacio that night was a brave act of love. Wanting to help is an honourable trait, don’t ever forget that. But you might find you’re not worrying yourself sick so much once you’re focused on helping others again. And someone out there will always need it, wherever life takes you next.”

Javier scoffed before gulping down the rest of his lemonade. “I think that’s the problem.”

Señora Romero’s hosting instincts kicked in as she re-filled Javier’s glass.

“Thanks. Horacio got out a year before me and settled in working on my Pop’s ranch. Way more than I ever did.” Javier cringed at some of the memories of him in his pre-police days attempting various jobs that Horacio took to like a duck to water, whereas he had floundered.

“Is that what he wants to do?”

“I think so. Which is great; he’s a natural. It suits him.”

“But you don’t know what’s next for you?”

“Not a clue.” Not a fucking clue was more accurate, but he caught himself just in time.

“Do you need to have it figured out yet?”

“Well, no, not yet. We’re okay financially for now. But I know it can’t last forever.”

“There’s plenty of time between now and forever, Javier.” Señora Romero lowered her voice as though she was letting him in on a coveted secret. “At your age, anyway. Less so at mine, but I take each day as it comes.”

“What’s that like?”

“There are good days and bad days. And bad weeks, months and years, come to think of it. Days when my body doesn’t do what my mind tells it to do. Days when my mind is frail, and my heart is sore. But on other days, I’ll spend time with the family. Or my piononos will come out better than they did last time. Or I’ll make new friends in unusual circumstances.” She winked in Javier’s direction. “I think the bad days are just part of life’s rich tapestry. Especially where healing wounds are concerned.”

Occasional reminders of the past – or bad days – scattered amongst the simple pleasures sounded suspiciously like their time in Madrid so far. But maybe that was okay. Maybe, that was part of the process of moving on with their lives. Maybe, progress was supposed to be subtle and non-linear, almost imperceptible unless you knew what you were looking for.

No sooner had Javier got his head around that prospect than there was a knock at the door followed by a heartfelt apology, given and accepted with a look as much as words.

Of course, Señora Romero had been right, and there was no life-or-death emergency to attend to. But any embarrassment on Javier’s part was overridden by the relief his fears were unfounded, and he would gladly take an anxious mind rather than the alternative.

Pulses returned to baseline as the trio talked, albeit Horacio’s for a different reason than Javier's.

Whilst Madrid wasn’t Laredo, they couldn’t take acceptance for granted wherever they were. But as they returned downstairs, where Señora Romero removed the ‘Reserved’ sign from their corner table and offered them yet another breakfast on the house, a weight lifted from Horacio’s shoulders. Because the first real friend he made here had welcomed him and Javier into her home and business with open arms.

[blazehedgehog]

hey! regarding people who are politely declining to comment their opinions on your Frontiers video, i don't think it's anything personal – i think some people just find engaging with the greater Sonic discourse to be exhausting (myself included!) and would rather respect the opinions and personal space of others than engage in debate.

which brings me to my question: how do you handle it? you've been fielding comments and asks from rabid Sonic fans for so long, you seem to have it down to a science!

I can understand being exhausted with discourse, yeah. There are some things I'm like that with. But... I dunno, the response to the Sonic Frontiers in general is also a little weird and I'm starting to think I made a bad first impression with some of what I had to say. Some people are taking it personally in a way that it's not directed at them.

But -- and I do not say this disparagingly -- that's Sonic fans. I get it. It's not true so much these days, but ten years ago, twenty years ago, this industry loved to beat up on Sonic and especially Sonic fans, eventually. Some people don't see that I'm one of them too, which is also understandable, because not everybody knows me.

I'm weighing options on how to deal with that. I've said it before but doing follow-up "correction/comment response" videos seem to be a good idea, but I don't know if I should wait until the final DLC is out or try and get it released sometime next week.

As for how I handle it... I don't know. Maybe it just comes naturally. I remember way back when I first got on the internet, when I was on AOL, the big thing everybody was doing back then before blogs was Mailing Lists. "MLs" for short. People would send you a message like "I would like to subscribe to your ML," so you'd write down their email address, and once a week or so you'd send out this gigantic email that was practically its own whole website.

And I juggled two or three MLs, for Sonic, for Pokemon, for Sailor Moon. I'd attach files for MP3s, I'd do Q&A sections, the whole nine yards, and I was like... 15. And I'd get comments (email replies) from people telling me that they loved how natural I sounded. Apparently people running other MLs were pretty wooden and robotic with their writing style, but I was always very conversational and approachable. And the numbers bore that out; I remember having several mailing lists crest 100+ subscribers, which felt like a huge deal.

And it's weird, because if you met me in real life, I'm maybe the most quiet, reserved person on earth. I have to force myself to speak out. I live in a house with five other people and I will go days where the only thing I say to anyone is telling my nephews good night. I feel like I can't talk. Like I don't know how. Which is a whole other kettle of fish, especially when it comes to recording voice over for a video.

But you sit me down in front of a keyboard, or even maybe a phone to some degree, where I can type out my thoughts? I used to be able to type as fast as some people could speak. And literally as I write this right now, I am more or less mouthing the words, either physically or in my head, as I type them. Like I am saying them. It's all a stream of consciousness. That goes for things I write here on this blog and it goes for video scripts, too. It's always flowed as naturally as running water (maybe too naturally, for how rambly I can get).

I would love to have the confidence to speak in the same way I type, and I know I have the capacity for it. I just get too nervous in the moment.

And as for how I handle people who are rude or don't understand me or whatever, I mean I have theories, but ultimately I don't know.

Like, something I learned early on was to distinguish the difference between people who are actually angry and people who are just trying to hurt you for laughs. I remember, all the way back when I was in Kindergarten or First Grade, some kids on the school bus were trying to get a rise out of me and in my head I kept thinking "They're just trying to make me mad, so I won't give them the satisfaction." And I just went totally stonefaced. When I objectively refused to react, they left me alone.

A few years later, I had friends who turned out to be bitter enemies that may or may not have ruined my life, and again, I learned new skills to deal with baseless people who were just trying to make me angry. I learned how to cope with or avoid some of that.

(Until eventually the bomb went off, I beat a kid black and blue, and was nearly charged with assault at 13 years old.)

And then a few of my first internet friends were deeply stubborn people who reveled in their ability to be rude, frustrating assholes. And, again, I learned ways to avoid, cope with, or defuse those people.

(Until I got tired of dealing with them and cut them out of my life entirely.)

Like, compared to some of the things I've had to endure, some of the things "friends" have said or done to me, an angry internet comment feels like a stiff breeze.

And I also just love putting myself in someone else's shoes. Thinking about how they came to a different conclusion than I have. Ask people who knew me 20 years ago and they'll tell you I used to (and still sort of do) live by a mantra that all arguments start as misunderstandings. If two people come to terms with their differences in perspective then all problems can be solved.

So I learned that when someone has a problem with me or something I've said, I just need to explain it better, or explain it more. If the scope of what I said is too small, then I need to provide a bigger picture view of where I'm coming from. And 90% of the time that is a great way to solve a problem, to come to terms and say "Tell me where you're coming from and I'll tell you where I'm coming from and we can meet in the middle." You're being heard, they're being heard, everybody (usually) wins.

I always try to come at everything in good faith like that. Even anger comes from somewhere. Understanding that helps everyone.

(Now, I don't always have the energy for that. There was a twitter thread last week where I incited quite a bit of Discourse™ and I eventually became exhausted by the endless supply of people who were looking for cheap dunks, or were being weirdly rude, plus I was deep into deadline stress... I ended up getting kind of punchy in a way I'm not super proud of)

And I guess just... all of this stuff, it all just combines into my ability to mostly handle it.

Which is why it can feel so weird when people don't want to engage me.

[salarta]

I wanna say some things.

I've been a Polaris fan for almost 15 years now. Fans just tuning in, and some that may have tuned out, may be frustrated with how the X-Men comics keep failing/refusing to do right by the character.

I want to give you all a look from my view, so you can see the progress.

Back when I discovered Lorna, it wasn't because of a TV show. Or social media. It was because, by pure chance, I ran across her entry on the Marvel wikia. She wasn't promoted enough for me to know she exists except by accident.

In terms of the landscape: she was in a bad position. The Wolverine and the X-Men cartoon had just been canceled after the Disney buyout, which meant any plans for her there went out the window. In the comics, she had been reduced to Havok's supporting character girlfriend again, only this time exiled to space for his Starjammers team. It was shortly after I learned of Lorna that she was put in space limbo for over a year, no appearances anywhere at all.

No place in comics. No involvement in mutant events on Earth at all. Stuck as Havok's supporting character girlfriend when last seen. No origin story. Magneto as her dad was still a big question mark, and it wasn't clear if she was even a mutant.

Here is a list of gains since I discovered the character.

Restored as a mutant

Restored as Magneto's daughter

Not stuck in relationship as a supporting character for Havok

Back on Earth, taking part in X-Men comics

Breakout role on Gifted played by Emma Dumont

Multiple good video game appearances

Has an origin story now

Led a team of her own (despite Jordan White undermining her and killing the book)

Won the X-Men fan vote

Interacting with Jean Grey again after decades of nothing

Has a PhD now

Yes, I do complain about the X-Men comics. A lot. I have good reason to be. Within that same time frame, we still have these problems that keep coming up.

Havok keeps getting forced into almost everything Lorna does

Her surviving the Genoshan genocide keeps getting treated like it never happened

Keeps getting forced onto teams named X-Factor, clearly due to Jordan White's nostalgia for 90s X-Factor

Different writers treating her like she either has no history before or after the 90s, never a full accounting

OOC depictions in various places, most notably in the recent X-Factor #4 and Trial of Magneto

Lorna is a work in progress. She spent decades getting treated poorly, with people at Marvel thinking that poor treatment was appropriate. Some of them, like White, even think that poor treatment was somehow actually good and want people to think like they do. Because of this, Lorna has ups and downs in her overall trajectory.

The first thing I want to emphasize is that as a work in progress, it's going to take time for her to get where she should be. You can't undo decades of damage in a single month or year. It's taken almost 15 years to get her where she is now, which is much better than where she used to be despite all the things still wrong.

The second thing is her profile.

Back in 2018, I talked to Jordan White on Twitter. He said Lorna didn't deserve anything. He claimed Lorna didn't have enough fan interest or star power to warrant getting the respect she deserved. He cited nothing for this view other than his general attitude and claiming he'd have more tweets directed to him about Lorna if she had enough fan interest.

The X-Men fan vote proved him wrong. In the past 5 years, we went from Jordan White writing her off as a nobody, to White clearly understanding that he can't ignore her anymore. He knows now that she has way more interest than he was counting on.

That's progress. And while it may not feel like it, poor treatment is also progress in this case. We went from White insisting Lorna doesn't deserve a miniseries, to White greenlighting a 4-part Infinity comic clearly meant to push his personal whims.

Of course, I would vastly prefer Lorna get an actual mini that treats her right instead of something that amounts to a drawn fanfic paid for out of company money. But at the end of the day, her profile and public awareness of who she's actually supposed to be as a character has grown enough that White decided to devote company resources on trying to make people think of Lorna the way he does.

That's a victory for Polaris fandom. It's part of the fight to get her where she should be. Or rather, should've been all along. Don't look at it as end of the road. Look at it as a stepping stone to a brighter future for the character.

P.S. - Jordan White didn't read the original run of X-Men comics until COVID. That's not a problem for the average person. Fans usually don't go that far back. I haven't read the original run, just Lorna's intro issues. But as senior editor of the X-Men comics, you would expect him to have read those issues much, much sooner than 2 years into being senior editor.

[kharmii]

Probably the most unpopular opinion on the internet but I don’t like seeing all these posts glorifying autism or mental illnesses or see them as some sort of aesthetic or use every possible way to make sure you know they have autism or a mental illness.

As someone who’s been diagnosed with depression and anxiety and has been on meds for decades I kinda feel insulted by the way these conditions have become a quirky personality trait and an aesthetic to people as well as shoving it on all fictional characters.

I do like headcanon of characters having these conditions but it makes me uncomfortable to see characters getting stripped down to their conditions without anything else.

It is relieving to have characters go through similar things and have them react to them but it shouldn’t be the sole purpose to write them that way.

I also feel that no condition should be a free pass to be an asshole to the people around them. In the long run it does more harm than good and it doesn’t make "healthy" people more sympathetic towards their conditions.

My condition is not your aesthetic!

(Youre good for real but I have seen so many people in the submas fandom act like this and that autism is a quirky personality trait and reduce the twins to this it’s just tiring…)

This is all true. When you turn something undesirable into an aesthetic, then it has the disastrous effect of becoming a social contagion that will actually kill people fr. It's not fun to be autistic and/or mentally ill, and I'm sure most people with various neurodivergent dysfunctions would choose not to suffer from them if they could.

I wouldn't glorify suicide. I wouldn't glorify recreational drug use out of fear someone would join the tens of thousands of fentanyl overdoses every year in this country. On that same vein, I certainly don't want to see my favorite male characters with scars on their chests from getting their tits cut off. That results in death by suicide for almost half the people who go through with it. (LOL, complain moar about my 'codependent twincest kink' hurting the chillens when everybody and their grandmother glorifies something that causes the sterilization and mutilation of children).

A mutual over on Live Journal calls trendy autism 'fauxtism' and accuses those people of cosplaying autistic people as an excuse to act uncouth or feel marginalized. The worst thing they did was make an autistic spectrum (similar idea to a gender spectrum) because then people with mental illness comorbidities could jump under the umbrella of being autistic (or trans) because it's trendy.

Are you socially awkward? Maybe it's autism. Overly shy? Autism. The mutual had a falling out with a friend she called 'space case' who worked for NASA but had an 'autistic' daughter who suffered brain damage at one year of age after sucking down a bottle of medication carelessly left out. This mentally retarded daughter would smear shit on the walls and swing from ceiling fans, all while the mother claimed she was 'being creative' or some shite. It's proof you can be a genius working for NASA and also be the dumbest mofo on the planet.

Anyway, I personally have autistic symptoms, but my version of the 'tism comes from profound long-term abuse, -both from my family and from bullying from peers- going way back. I'm like irl Shoto Todoroki. Just look at this guy. You can tell he got the shit beat out him since he was little:

I can't count how many times I've said to myself, "If I smile then...they'll die?!" for laughs. Guy With Canon Abusive Family doesn't bother masking because he carefully guards his emotions. He comes across overly serious and deadpan, and some people might think he has no sense of humor because of it. Being a 15-year-old, Shoto is savvy enough to know he should be pissed at his abusers, but he isn't emotionally sophisticated enough to shake the deep insecurity that he might do or say something completely innocuous and still manage to make a mess of things or offend somebody.

Side note: That character is especially interesting because he was a product of selective breeding for a specific purpose. I imagine him being toddler aged pushing around a firetruck saying "I don't want to be the #1 hero when I grow up! I want to be a firefighter! Why can't I choose what I want to do!" No free will for him though. He has to hold up to the most impossible standard of perfection imaginable. What will the future hold for him? Will "too hot to handle; too cold to hold" become the #1 someday?

Having that personality type at my age, and I'm just recently realizing that, hey, maybe it's not always me. Maybe it's you people sometimes. If the guy stalking me has to repeat a joke several times so I 'get it' while I give him a thousand-yard stare, maybe it's less that I'm a retard and more that he's an unfunny goober giving me unwanted attention. If the middle aged incel weirdo with no wife and kids tells the same stupid 10-year-old joke again, maybe he shouldn't give me that knowing look when I flatly change the subject. Maybe I'm no fun, but he's an empty loser who has done absolutely nothing with his life, and therefore has nothing meaningful to talk about.

If I bring any of that up, I'm being MEEEEAAAAANNNNN....even if I had to take so much bs to get to that point. I'm the type of person who will take and take and take and take andtakeandtakeandtake before I finally snap. It's so typical of an abuser to have that sense of entitlement where they think you owe them something. -Like they feel they have the inherent right to be treated kindly and with dignity, but they won't reciprocate. Oh no....you are supposed to be a perfect slave who exists to please them and boost their egos.

Enough about me and my dysfunction. Sorry. This anon wanted to talk about Submas I think.....

Okay, so some people have the insulting head canon that Emmet is an asshole and therefore is 'more autistic' than Ingo. Does it have to be autism? Maybe it's more to do with how they represent 'truth and ideals'. Emmet (white dragon) is Truth, and that's why in the original game, he taunts the player when they lose against him. Ingo, (black dragon) is Ideals, and he still congratulates the player for a fun battle, even if they lose.

That's great. Let the truth guy be an asshole because the truth doesn't concern itself with being kind or worrying about a person's feelings. It is what it is. It can be both kind or harsh depending on the situation. Ideals, otoh, is polite and kind because it is always striving for the best. Nobody ever thinks....my ideal world has everything on fire and a lot of dead people in it. If truth and ideals don't work in harmony, however, that's what you end up with.

The head-in-the-clouds ideals guy might be considerate and kind all while walking you over the side of a cliff. The truth guy might say....heyy fuckknuckle! Don't walk over that cliff or else you will die! Okay, so maybe his delivery needs some work. Maybe he's being an asshole about it, but at least you don't end up dead from falling off a cliff. That makes the truth guy kinder in the long run (insert trans analogy in here, LOL!).

[helsingvania]

Hi it's 4 am and the state of star wars animation has pissed me off so hard that I woke up 2 hours early.

I am SO FUCKING SICK OF THE CLONE WARS. Every single time a new spinoff is made the more I've grown to despise and apathetic towards all of its characters. This 15 year old show is continuously beaten to death and whatever was good in what frankly was a mediocre show is never used meaningfully again. Because it's all given to ahsoka.

Every single thing is given to ahsoka. I don't have any reason to like ahsoka anymore because of her over exposure just tries me now. Even at the points I do enjoy her gets overshadowed by everything that's been going on in the past 4 years with star wars. And now these characters are finally given the attention they deserved years ago...I just have to ask why do I care?

Yeah barris is interesting, but it's just so null to me since they're only NOW talking about her when that's one of the first things that should've came up in a clone wars spinoff. I don't give a shit about the final season, I have no reason to be invested in the bad batch. What does peak my interest is too little too late.

And I think the clone wars animation just needs to die. This art style - I DONT CARE HOW GOOD THE ANIMATION IS - is falling apart at the seams as we're constantly seeing the clash of old models and new models in the same room. They can't even render people of color or aliens properly with this style.

Thrawn doesn't look like an alien anymore.

And I'm going to talk about the other half of tales of the empire. Why the fuck is Morgan only getting shit NOW. AFTER SHE WAS KILLED IN THE FIRST SEASON OF AHSOKA. They literally were pulling shit out of their ass for that show regarding her and now they're back peddling to explain what the fuck was going on in that show. this isn't necessary, you had the opportunity to flesh her out but you didn't. So why should I care now? And I'm not excited to see animated thrawn again because this is in tandom with ahsoka. They didn't do him justice by showing how much of a threat he was in ahsoka, and I know they're not going to keep that up here. Thrawn is a fun villain but they amazingly missed everything that made him memorable.

I've been having thoughts about the state of this series film area and it just makes me want to ask. Is this meaningful? Does this add anything that's game changing? Or does it serve just explain things that people forgot to do in another show?

Andor is meaningful. It takes character's mentioned back stories and shows what they mean in the most horrifying implications possible. Cassian has been in this battle since he was 6 years old....not against the empire, but against imperialism. To him there was no difference between the Republic or the empire. A new view of this universe, a one showcasing the horrors of the wars.

Rebels is meaningful. It not only explained more of the horrors of the empire so younger fans can understand, but it also expanded upon the lore of the force which makes it more interesting and fascinates me endlessly. It's original characters all have unique traits and stories to them but they've all been wronged by war and the empire in more ways than one. They get focus and we're expanded upon naturally in one show.

What makes these shows meaningful? What does knowing how Morgan met thrawn adds to the extended narrative? How does this effect the universe and how we see it?

We don't know yet. But I don't have faith it will.

[authoralexharvey]

INTERVIEW WITH A WRITEBLR — @goldenempress

Who You Are:

The Empress || She/her

After 12 years and thousands of ideas, I have successfully curated a list of 10 WIPs to last me the rest of my life. I will not be taking criticism at this time.

What You Write:

What genres do you write in? What age ranges do you write for?

Action, adventure, comedy, fantasy, mystery, and paranormal. Young and New Adult.

What genre would you write in for the rest of your life, if you could? What about that genre appeals to you?

Slice of Life. Anything can happen in slice of life, because you can even follow the daily lives of superheroes or prophesied saviors. Everything is slice of life if you want it badly enough. And that's beautiful.

What genre/s will you not write unless you HAVE to? What about that genre turns you off?

Tragedy. Tried it once, but I hate being sad. Also romance. Because while I do love a good rom-com or rom-fan, I prefer to focus on platonic relationships in my writing.

Who is your target audience? Do you think anyone outside of that would get anything out of your works?

Me. I am my target audience. I would love it if literally anybody found something good about my work, but there are no guarantees, so pleasing other people is not on my priority list when it comes to writing. I know better than to engage in pyrrhic battles.

What kind of themes do you tend to focus on? What kinds of tropes? What about them appeals to you?

I like stories about people who are relentlessly devoted to each other to the point that other people are confused by it, because that's so soft and so beautiful and it means everything to me. I like stories about OP characters because I hate seeing my characters lose, which is very personal. And I like to combine those two ideas into one because it is the ultimate incarnation of chaos to watch over-powered people do whatever it takes to secure their loved ones' happiness. That's just my niche.

What themes or tropes can you not stand? What about them turn you off?

Anything sad, really. Yeah. That's it. That's bad vibes.

What are you currently working on? How long have you been working on it?

I'm currently working on 4x5 (title pending), which is a project that consists of 20 separate stories following the same 4 characters. I've been working on it for either 8 years or 15 months.

Why do you write? What keeps you writing?

I write because stories are all I think about. And because I love the characters in my stories and if I don't write them their happy endings, who will? And I keep writing because I can't not.

How long have you been writing? What do you think first drew you to it?

I've been writing for about 13 years, and honestly? No clue. Or, maybe reading. Yeah, no, that's it. I spend my entire childhood at the library, so was there ever any other option for me?

Where do you get your inspiration from? Is that how you got your inspiration for your current project? If not, where did the inspiration come from?

I get my inspiration from other stories. It can be a moment, a line of dialogue, a theme, an idea, a character's power or personality trait, a scenario, anything. If I loved to watch it or read it, then I want to see if I can apply it to my stories. My current project was indeed inspired by other stories. I can't get any more specific than that. Because I have no idea what the specifics are.

What works of yours are you most proud of? Why?

An 80,000 word unfinished story that has been permanently lost to time due to a corrupted hard drive and thumb drive. Those 80,000 words were the first act of the first installment of a trilogy and I wrote them when I was 11, but they're still the best thing I've ever done because I've never had as much fun as when I was writing that. That sort of pure joy is something I've been chasing ever since.

Have you published anything? Do you want to?

I did. Once. Briefly. And then I unpublished it because I was afflicted by crippling regret. I do eventually want to start self-publishing my own work, but I have to build up to it.

What part of the publishing process most appeals to you? What part least appeals to you? Why?

Umm… I can't say I know how to answer this question. Hmm. I like the idea of publishing because maybe someone, somewhere, someday will find my work beautiful and feel better because of it, even for a moment - the way the best stories make me feel. I don't like the idea of publishing because my stories never make me feel that way personally, and putting out something that I'm not truly happy with is maybe a little nauseating. See, the aforementioned crippling regret.

What part of the writing process most appeals to you? What part is least appealing?

I like planning the most and revising the least. Revising because I don't actually know how to revise and the very act of reading my own work can be demoralizing, which is very personal. Planning because when I'm conceptualizing and imagining, I get to soak myself in my ideas at their most pure.

Do you have a writing process? Do you have an ideal setup? Do you write in pure chaos? Talk about your process a bit.

I have a 10 to 11 step detailed process for planning my story. This ensures that I know everything that will happen in my story from start to finish before I ever sit down to write. There are occasional deviations, but most of the time, my plan is as inflexible as I am. And that's how I like it.

Your Thoughts on Writeblr:

How long have you been a writeblr? What inspired you to join the community?

I've been here for maybe 5 months and I joined the community because I wanted to get to know people who loved stories as much as I do.

Shout out some of your favorite writeblrs. How did you find them and what made you want to follow them?

I don't think I'm engaged enough in the community to comment on this properly. In spite of my best efforts, I've yet to actually find my footing here. Or maybe my efforts are just poor. Who knows?

What is your favorite part about writeblr?

I like when I get to see the project updates people post. Some people put together moodboards or character profiles or story summaries or quote - and I like the writing games.

What do you think writeblr could improve on? How do you think we can go about doing so?

I don't know enough about how it actually works to give any solid advice. I feel very lost on these things.

How do you contribute to the writeblr community? Do you think you could be doing more?

I don't contribute at all and I don't think I could be doing more because I don't really have much to offer. Which might be why I've yet to find my place in the community.

What kinds of posts do you most like to interact with?

I like to interact with posts that give me a real glimpse into the bet parts of a writer's world and characters. The posts that show what the writer thinks are the best parts. The posts that are really mostly inside jokes between the writer and their story. They're my favorite.

What kind of posts do you most like to make?

See the above.

Finally, anywhere else online we may be able to find you?

I've got a blog where I craft and post about writing and a youtube channel where I draw and talk about stories - my own and others'. Oh. And an Instagram.

Questions For Fun:

What is your favorite book you've read? Why?

I could never choose a favorite book in a million years and I'll cry if you make me.

If you could go back to yourself as a beginning writer, what would you tell yourself?

I would tell myself not to take other people's writing advice so seriously. I would read craft books and take them to heart and make myself miserable trying to follow their rules. It was a dark time in my writing life.

If you could have a conversation with any writer out there, alive or dead, who would it be and why? What would you say?

Agatha Christie probably. She was so prolific and so clever and so talented and I love mysteries and crime books, so she's something of a literary hero to me. I would just ask her… everything. What her process for developing mysteries was like, what her actual writing process was like, how long it took her to write, what she liked best about her stories - everything.

[blondiest]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @ashleyfanfic !

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

21 on neallo, 5 on blondiest

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

212k: 121k on neallo + 91k on blondiest

3. What fandoms do you write for?

death note and (allegedly) stranger things

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

i'm going to exclude my stranger things ones or i will only have one death note fic listed lol.

there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have

hot soup on a cold day

i want to hold you (hostage)

engaged

there's nothing i want but you

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

on neallo, yes. every single one. i reply bc it's a nice way to connect with the readers :-) i am really really behind on blondiest comments but there are also fewer since it's been so long since i updated anything 😭

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

probably nothing hurts like you do, though idk if that counts bc it's a prequel to holdyouhostage. shot in the dark has a not-happy ending, but it's meant to be very open-ended.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

hmmm!!! most of my fics have happy endings, to be honest. i think i would perhaps say it's you and me, that's my whole world bc that's my most indulgently hurtcomfort story 🥰

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i have! but only on one occasion (though it was a decent number of comments). i was told that i was an example of why modern fans can't write mello and near lmfao (<- was into death note in 2008. if i suck at writing them, i come by it honestly 😇)

9. Do you write smut. If so, what kind?

hehe. yes. i have written a pretty good variety of types of smut. i tried listing out the various acts here and then was like... let me not do this to myself. “what kind” ? hopefully the kind that is at least kinda hot 💋

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

no not really! i wouldn't rule it out but i've never had an idea for one. i did once write a fic loosely based on ‘this is just to say’ by william carlos williams, but it is not on neallo or blondiest and isn't for a fandom i have posted about on here.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

lmfao yeah, very recently

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! i had a very short fic translated into french on the aforementioned mystery account lol

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

yes!!! voted most likely is a collaboration with my darling friend dee, and i have several fics with the beloved @empressofthewind

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

meronia. it hit me so violently and has not let go for a full year. it's so over for me forever

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

hmmmm. honestly, i have my doubts about finishing voted most likely, sadly. i feel like the major, real conflicts were already solved, and the plans i had for the rest of the plot feel very drawn out now. i just want to let them be happy immediately lol. maybe i need to brainstorm a new ending 😔

16. What are your writing strengths?

i think my dialogue skills are pretty strong :-)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i am not, i don't think, particularly strong at descriptions of locations or of physical appearances lol

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i prefer to have it in english and italics rather than including actual full phrases from the other language, bc i don't want to fuck up the grammar in another language and i also don't want to confuse readers. occasionally i will use individual words from another language (ingerasul meu lol), but i try to always provide in-text cues for what it is being said.

19. First Fandom you wrote for?

lmfao...................... time princess

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

oh god. i want to hold you (hostage), hands down. it's not close. i spent so much time on that story, and i became very fond of it.

i am soooooooo sleepy so i'm doing the lazy bitch thing and saying that if you see this you should consider yourself tagged 💋