#The last 2 counsellors I had were shit

[sadfraudfrogs]

I currently need to throw my phone into a river because if my mum looks through my phone I'm fucked

[iceandpeaches]

hopeless romantic; luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of aphrodite!reader

warnings: not proofread, lowercase intended, y/n is a bit of a bitch.. sorry..

summary: a daughter of aphrodite hating love, but with reason

a/n: aphrodite daughter with a twist because i’m lowkey sick of soft hearted aphrodite daughter. do lmk if this requires a part 2 and i might make it happen!! reblogs & reposted appreciated^^

as a daughter of aphrodite, you were born to love. you’d always known that. but somehow, it seemed harder than you thought. you dreaded leaving your cabin everyday with all the couples that roamed the camp’s grounds, with your sister and her boyfriend being one of the pairs you hated seeing around. you resented her almost. that’s what made you the most hostile aphrodite camper, the inability to find love for yourself.

you thought it was due to you being unlovable or something you did, or that your love was too much for others around to reciprocate. so all your camp crushes stayed crushes, watching from a distance as they found love for themselves. you’d be locked up in your cabin for days on end when this happened. you were sick of it.

for every interaction you witnessed, another pot in your porcelain heart shattered to pieces. why did others get something you couldn’t? why couldn’t you love like others? you should be an expert at this, right? you’re aphrodite’s daughter, after all.

some days you were sat by the river, you threw stones at the water trying to make them skip across only for the water nymphs to get mad at you for even having the idea to throw rocks into the water body. you grunted, getting up and throwing your last rock into the lake before storming off. some days you’d be in the fields hand picking strawberries. while you picked strawberries, couples littered the fields. were you a curse or something? you threw your basket to the ground, bumping into camp counsellor luke castellan.

“watch where you’re going, idiot!”

you yelled, your arms crossed as you continued to stomp away. luke watched as you stormed off, clueless as to whether to follow you or not. he did anyway. you sat by the lake again, grabbing a stone or two in your hands. you heard footsteps approach you in the gravel, your hand ready to whip out your dagger.

“woah.. easy there. i’m just here to check up on you.”

“i’d be the last person you’d want to check up on.”

“why not?”

“you don’t understand. i’m annoyed by it. and i hate being aphrodite’s daughter.”

oh. luke would’ve empathised with you, but still wanted to know why you were so bitter and angry about being the goddess of love’s daughter. he had only heard good things about it but was it really that bad?

“why do you hate it so much?”

“it’s stupid. my mother’s all about love and all that crap. my siblings are excellent match makers, pretty with nice hair or whatever they say about us. they expect us all to be the same. i’m the opposite and it pisses me off.”

luke frowned, if only you knew how he saw you. in the instances he’d seen you around, you seemed like a comfortable person to be around though you spent most of your time in solitude. the ability to be comfortable within your own skin was something he admired about you.

he admired you from a distance, while you glared and snapped at every camper who stepped in your way. something about that was, attractive. but what was he to say? he’d barely seen you around these days. but somehow, a part of him felt like he could see right through you; seeing himself in you.

“and don’t even get me started on valentine’s day. i hate that holiday. it’s so stupid about love and shit when you can’t even find love for yourself.”

luke sat by you, throwing a stone into the lake watching it skip. you sigh, throwing one after he did. you enjoyed the company, but you desperately needed and wanted to be alone.

“but, wouldn’t aphrodite b–”

“i’ve tried my all, luke. i’m hopeless. so it would be best if you left me alone.”

you had expected for him to leave you be, but he stayed and turned to you with a smile on his lips.

“be my valentine this year. it’s around the corner anyway, isn’t it?”

uh… what? you had just explained to him how much you hated the holiday.. is he crazy? you shook your head, throwing another stone into the lake. you watched it skip, skip… skip. almost being your record.

“no way in tartarus luke.”

“if i beat you at stone skipping?”

you thought long and hard, your upper lip mashed onto your bottom one. you sigh, nodding in approval.

“fine. but best of three.”

you knew the water nymphs would be furious, but you had already accepted the challenge. the stones skipped, the furthest it had gone was about 15 skips. with all the time you spent here you were good at it, but not as good as you thought with luke beating you by one skip. by the time you each threw three stones, luke had won. ugh, stupid golden boy.

“woohoo! you’re my valentine's date now.”

you sigh. yeah i guess. you weren’t the most keen about it, but at least you wouldn’t have to go through your siblings berating you with questions. you’re aphrodite’s daughter after all.

when valentine's day rolled around, you were busy helping out with decorating booths with your siblings. you usually didn’t help out with this, but something in your heart changed. you sort of disliked it, but you were certain that it was luke’s positive energy rubbing off you. from the time you both sat by the lake, you had spent ample time together.

for the first time in ages, you smiled, you laughed till your stomach hurt, you were even having fun in places you resided in solitude. your siblings were stunned to say the least, but it was good enough for them to see you shine after so much time spent in the darkness of your own wrath.

baby cupids flew around camp, clutching bows and arrows to shoot at potential love matches. your siblings dressed up as them, shooting suction cup arrows at people for fun. you were set to manage a booth alongside silena, which gave you the opportunity to slack off a little due to her talkativeness. you felt a hand pat your shoulder, turning to it and a smile creeping on your lips.

“happy valentine’s, smiley.”

luke’s lips curled into a smile seeing you smile, messing your hair up then watched as you laughed. the sound of your laughter made his heart flutter, he couldn’t comprehend how you’d be so grumpy for years with a laugh like that. a laugh that was so loveable.

“happy valentine’s, luke.”

[nightmaree-eyess]

Orange is the last of us pt 2

Tlou fic based on oitnb

Summary: after abby got released from prison your resentment builds

Tags: prison au, femme reader, y/n, angst

Word count: 1702

Pt 1:

Divider @cafekitsune

Weeks and weeks go by and the letters keep coming in from abby. You can't bring yourself to read them. Maybe you do hold grudges after all. When you look at the envelopes all you can think is she got to walk free and you're still stuck in this piece of shit with stale air that lingers and agony oozing from the walls. It's not fair but that's life. You wouldn't wish her to come back to the personification of hell though. You wouldn't wish prison on your worst enemy. A part of you wants to read the letters she sends though. Gross curiosity about how she's doing. They taunt you.

“y/n mails here” a guard hands you an envelope and it's another letter from abby. This time instead of shoving it in the endless pile in your cabinet you bring it to the cafeteria at dinner to ask Ellie about it. They have history too and maybe she'll give you some advice.

***************

“If i can guess what the letter says it probably says *speaking in deep voice* hey babe miss you now lemme eat your pussy” ellie makes a v with her fingers and brings it to her mouth to make a crude gesture

“I’m fucking serious ellie. I don't know what to do. I want to know if shes ok but i also dont give a fuck.” you groan

“Well which feeling is stronger? Your love or your resentment?”

And with that question you knew what you had to do

****************

Later that night you end up reading the letter she sent. You take a deep breath to settle your nerves. Your hands are shaking as you take the letter out from the envelope.

Dear y/n,

You probably aren't opening these or if you are, i'm sure you don't really want to hear what i have to say. I doubt if th tables were turned that i would be reading this, but on the off chance that you are still reading, i want to try and explain myself which is difficult in a letter and would be so much easier face to face (even though im terrified that theyll lock me up if i step foot in there) i know that the situation in chicago seems fucked, but i promise i was protecting you.

There was a lot going on that I wasn't able to talk to you about and if I had had even a moment alone with you before the trial, I swear I would have been completely open and honest.

The last thing I want after everything we have been through is for you to feel lied to, or used in any way y/n, i promise.

I love you,

Abby xoxo

You sit there with your mouth agape.She wants to meet in person? What else can she even say? The next morning you ask your counsellor to add Abby to your visitors list. You wanna hear what she has to say. But you also miss having her in the same room as you. You miss sneaking touches under the table and kisses at night. You even miss your mundane conversations. She has a way of making you soft.

Couple days later you call Abby to arrange a Sunday for her to come up and see you. You're nervous but also excited to see her again.

****************

That sunday you walk into the visitation room and there she is, sitting at the middle table and she catches your eye. You see a sparkle that wasn't there before and you're happy for her as much as you don't want to be. You give her a quick hug (which got you yelled at) and you sit across from her. Shes wearing that grey sweater that makes her muscles look so fucking good. It's your favorite sweater she owns.

“This is totally weird but, i'm in the wrong outfit”

“I like your sweater.” you reach out to touch her buff arms to just feel that she's real

“Its soft…like your resolve when you're offered a plea deal” you snided

“It came down at the very last minute, y/n. Abby sighed “And they promised me it would put Kubo away for good.”

“But it made me a perjurer and you a free woman.”

“I thought you were gonna tell the truth!” abby yelled

“And I thought you were gonna lie!” you yelled back

“What are we in a fucking novel or something?” Abby said this made you both chuckle.

“It's good to see your face”

You shake your head “I don't know what to say.”

“You have every right to be angry.” abby sits back in her chair and crosses her arms

“I don't know if I'm angry. I'm confused…by you.”

Abby chuckles “I'm confused by me, too. I'm pretty much the master of handling things completely wrong.”

“Well that's an understatement” you say flatly

“Im a fuck-up. And now i get to be a fuck-up in a shithole apartment in Queens. Too afraid to even open my curtains.” abby looks around the room and whispers

“I sleep with a gun.”

“You what?! Abby , what the hell? You're on probation.”

“There is a van parked outside my apartment everyday. He's trying to scare me. I wanna go out there with a baseball bat and smash the fucking windows in.” abby looks scared and defeated

“I should honestly start dealing again”

You look at her in disbelief

“Find a bigger, tougher new kingpin who can beat up my old kingpin”

“That's not funny” you say worryingly

“It's not a joke. What am I qualified to do? Huh? I have…I have no job. I'm scared shitless to leave my apartment. I got so used to sleeping with the lights on that I'm freaked out by the dark. My probation officer, Robert Hill, is a fucking joke. Bobby fucking Hill is my probation officer.” you guys both laugh

“King of the hill?”

“King of sitting on his fat fucking ass eating Little Debbies, hoping to bust me for some stupid infraction.” abby sighs and looks down at the table

“You'd think that part of his job would be to protect his probbies, you know?...Nobody gives a shit about ex-cons.” abby said defeated

“What are you gonna do?”

Abby sighs and presses her lips together “i'm skipping town”

“You can't”

“I don't have a choice. These people know where I live. That's why I wanted to see you. When I go, I can't come back. I have to disappear.”

You feel a sting hit the back of your eyes and everything sounds muffled.

“You- you can't leave me.” you say desperately

“y/n, i'm in danger i have no choice”

“But i dont have anyone left…”

We stare at each other, wishing it didn't have to be this way.

“I'm sorry y/n. I'm sorry for all of it. I know my track record id shit…but I really do love you.”

“Yeah well, I hate you.”

“No, you don't.”

You look down at the table to hide your tears ``no… no i don't.”

“Visiting hours are over!” a guard yells and when you get up to leave you look at her one last time because you might never be able to again.

***************

For the rest of the day you worry for abby. She can't be serious right? Skipping town is not the best idea but is it the only way to keep her away from Kubo and his minions? You have an idea to keep Abby from danger but it involves calling your ex fiance who slept with your best friend. He could have slept with anyone but he chose your best friend. Asshole. But he owes you at least this favor to make up for it. You would've said you were even and let it go if he didnt sleep with your best friend.

“Hey y/n” Barry picks up the phone

“Hey are you alone right now?”

“No im with holly and you're on speaker phone” holly says hi

“Ugh great, I need a favour.”

“Depends on what it is”

“I need you to call abby's parole officer and tell him shes breaking her parole”

“Why would I do that?”

“I giving you a chance to fuck over someone you hate.”

There's silence on the other end

“Fine if you won't do it holly will you?”

“Sure whats the name of her parole officer”

“Robert Hill. He works for the DOC in Queens.”

You hang up the phone cause you really dont wanna be talking to them longer than you have to. At least the plan is in motion. It might seem a little selfish and you feel a tinge of guilt but with this plan at least you know she'll be safe. You can't let her skip town, start dealing again, or have Kubo find her. So you decide to be selfish. You wish it didn't come down to this. No one deserves to be in this cease pool, especially abby. You'll be taking this to your grave.

****************

You're working outside today setting up for a mothers day event and the sunshine feels good on your face. The closest to freedom you have.

“Your little girlfriend is back” ellie says to me teasing

“Wha- what do you mean?”

“Yeah I saw her walking to her bunk from the intake. She looks beat up”

“I-I gotta go see her!” you start to walk away

“Inmate, get back here! You can't leave during work!” a guard yells and I slowly walk back with my hands up in surrender.

“You'll see her around. It's not like she's going anywhere.” ellie said

*************

After work you go back to your bunk and see that the bed is finally occupied. Could this be Abby's stuff? That has to be a coincidence right? Many girls get processed through here everyday. What are the odds this is her stuff?

“We gotta stop meeting like this” a voice behind you says.

It's Abby. Fucking. Anderson.

[storiesofsvu]

Three Words Ch 2

Warnings: Language A/N: Okay, I’m taking major timeline liberties with this because, well..I fucking can.. Lol. The squad is based on season 17, with Liv as captain. Alex has just been “killed”, Casey’s taking over ADA. Olivia’s the only one that knows Alex is actually alive and in WPP, everyone else thinks she’s dead at this point. Just…to clarify. lololol

**

You gave a warm wave to Nick and Sonny as you crossed through the bull pen, file folder in hand, Melinda had asked you to drop off reports for Captain Benson on your way home. The door was open so you only gave the briefest of knocks on the frame as you entered.

“Oh come on Counsellor!” Olivia’s voice rung through the room, clearly angry you could tell from the tone in her voice she was simply not wanting to accept a new ADA. “We’ve given you everything we have on Richards, get us a warrant!”

“I can’t do that with circumstantial evidence, you should know that.”

“Shit, sorry.” You swerved, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” You face scrunched quickly, breaking into a smile, “Hey.” You hadn’t realized Casey was the replacement for SVU. You’d been in touch, occasionally meeting up for drinks or lunch briefly, but you’d both been more than busy with work over the last few months.

“It’s fine Parker. Please tell me you’ve got good news on the Richards case.”

“Fraid I don’t.” You handed her the file, “She’s right, it’s circumstantial at best, DNA wasn’t a match.”

“Well what about the fingerprints? They were all over her office.” She was really grasping at straws here, the anger still very present in her voice, annoyed at the lawyer.

“Circumstantial, he was a client of hers, he was in that office nearly once a week.” Casey spoke calmly as to not egg her on even further. Benson began to nearly berate the younger woman, complaining about how she didn’t know what she was doing, too new and inexperienced in the world of sex crimes when you cut in.

“Liv! Take a second to chill, would you?” She froze, glancing over to you, perplexity written across her face, “You can’t chastise her for doing her job just because she’s not Alex.”

“Don’t you think you’re a little out of line?” She shot back.

“I’m just calling it how it is. You’re not the only one that misses her, trust me.” You understood where the emotion was coming from, but she had no reason to come after Alex’s replacement like that, whether or not it was Casey. Melinda had warned you about how Olivia had gotten after her partner was basically forced into retirement, how she’d constantly criticize Amaro over nit picky things, simply because he wasn’t Elliot. Truthfully, this was worse, having one of your closest friends shot in front of you wasn’t exactly an easy trauma to process. “You’ll have to keep digging, talk to her coworkers again, see if any of them will freely give up medical records, your perp had a vasectomy.”

“How do you know that?”

“The fluids present in the rape kit were semen, not sperm.”

“Fine.” Olivia groaned out, running a hand through her hair, turning her back to the two of you with a small wave of her hand as a signal that she was done with you.

“Thanks.” Casey shot you a warm smile as the elevator doors slid shut.

“No worries.” You smiled back, “Everyone’s a little on edge right now.”

“Understandably.” 

“How’d they manage to convince you into this after white collar?”

“I asked for straight homicide, but this was the opening they had for me.” Glancing down to her watch quickly, she took in the fact that you weren’t in your work scrubs. “You got time for a drink? Get me up to speed on the squad.” She shot you a sly grin.

“Course.”

**

Twenty minutes later you and Casey were nestled into bar stools in the lounge side of Latitude, a glass of rose in front of you, her usual scotch set in front of her as you picked over some cauliflower wings and truffle fries. You’d caught up on the walk over, effortless conversation flowing between you, full of laughter and smiles, happy to actually get to enjoy some time together for once.

“So aside from being a little high strung right now, what do I need to watch out for with these guys?” Casey’s lips spread into a smirk, she knew if there was someone to have the workplace drama/gossip it would definitely be you. Something about working around dead bodies all day made you pay a little extra attention, having to gain entertainment from something. Not to mention you were used to working with the squad as an outside force, much like she would be.

“God…where to even start?” You hummed over a sip of wine, “Liv’s honestly not that bad, Alex was one of her like, only friends, she’s not exactly taking it well. Otherwise she’s got a good head on her shoulders, does her best to keep the squad under control, really good with the vic’s, spends a lot of time advocating for them. She’ll be pretty strong willed to make sure you’re doing everything you can to get them justice on the cases.”

“Noted.” Casey’s eyes shot down to her phone as the screen lit up, eyes scanning the message quickly, “She definitely seemed passionate today.”

“I’d keep an eye on how you conduct yourself around the Sarge. Honestly great guy, heart’s in the right place but the squad’s been nothing but unwelcoming since he showed up.”

“Why?”

“Mike Dodds.”

“As in the police chief’s son?”

“Exactly.” You popped a fry into your mouth, “They’re all freaked out that he’s a fucking snitch, ready to run off to Daddy anytime he witness anything that’s even the slightest toe over the line…which is a lot…”

“Oh great.” Casey rolled her eyes, 

“Yeah. Good luck with that.” You laughed, glad that your end of the job didn’t have to worry too much about whether the detectives broke a rule or two along the way.

“Is he a snitch?” She asked in reference to Mike.

“No! He’s super chill, really sweet guy who just can’t seem to catch a break with this crowd.”

“Sounds like someone has a little work crush.” You snorted into your wine at the thought,

“Yeah…right! He’s too…proper. And then I’d have to go to all those stuffy fucking galas, no thanks. I’ll stick to my dead people.” Casey laughed at that, knowing how much you hated glitzy parties, hell you’d nearly skipped your own graduation. 

“Okay so who’re the hot messes then?” The look you gave her in response was one that she instantly knew she’d be more than bickering with the next names.

“Amaro and Rollins are honestly fucking disasters. Like, I’m talking personal life and half the time at work…and dragging personal lives into work. Wow.” You drained your wine at the thought, asking for a refill as you continued, “Rollins was great when she first got here, she was more timid, worked really well but her and Nick just constantly edge each other on. She’s the one you’ll have the most to worry about going rogue undercover without permission or even mentioning it to anyone. Nearly got herself assaulted twice, not to mention the gambling problem. She’s got some weird thing going on with Carisi, none of us are really sure what it is. I don’t even think they really know.” You let out a huff of a laugh.

“And Nick?”

“I’d go over his jacket for sure if I were you. He gets super fired up over situations, there’s bound to be a few excessive force complaints in there. His divorce was nasty, wife showed up at the precinct more than a few times, huge arguments in front of everyone until Benson could rally them into a conference room.”

“Okay so who do I have that’s going to actually help my job?” She asked with a groan,

“Carisi!” You enunciated your enthusiasm with a point of a french fry, “That kid is a fucking gem of an angel. And he’s in night school at Fordham, bonus there. And Fin is easily the most unproblematic of all of them, good guy, been at SVU nearly as long as Liv has and does good work.”

“All very good things to know.” She gave you a soft smile that you returned, “You still enjoying working at the lab?”

“Yeah. It’s perfect. Hours can get a bit intense but anything in this line of business does.”

“You still don’t find it weird you spend most of your time with dead bodies?” 

“No.” You laughed over the rim of your wine glass, “I mean when it’s late and you’ve been at it for hours your mind definitely starts playing tricks on you, you start to think you saw a hand or foot move, but I’m usually not alone in the morgue.” Casey’s eyes fluttered to her phone once again, she’d seemed kind of distracted by the blinking device, but you knew what the job was like,  “Work?” You questioned.

“No…” She shook her head, eyes glancing up right as your own phone went off. You huffed, annoyed at the interruption.

“Mine is…” You pulled out cash to cover your share while Casey flagged down the bartender.

“Perfect timing.” She replied, you noticed the bright smile on her face, eyes focussed behind you. You turned in time to see a woman greet Casey with a dazzling grin and a kiss on the cheek. “Y/N, this is Tara.”

“Oh..Hi..” You shook her hand gently, not missing the way Casey’s arm had wound around her waist. “I’ve gotta…” You gestured to your phone before answering it, giving Casey and Tara a wave as you grabbed your bag.

“Hey! Thanks for helping me kill time!” Casey called, you gave her a tight smile and a head nod before turning your full attention to what Melinda was saying to you.

[wallacejwriting]

City of Fractured Dreams | excerpts #2

Snippets from chapter 2 of City of Fractured Dreams. These are longer and have more character + plot in them to make them more fun. We've got four - one for each POV in the section.

This is the first/zero draft so you know, rough shit. Feel free to leave feedback! I love it. <3

Enjoy!

tw for addiction, violence

Aeliana

“Your proposal, once again, fails to explain why Underside is, economically, separate from the rest of Tairkyda,” said Counsellor Lan. She folded her long, olive fingers together, gold and silver rings glinting in the filtered sunlight. Aeliana ground her teeth together. “If you remember, Counsellor, my proposal included a three page explanation as to why the trade and commerce within Underside is separate from the rest of Tairkyda. We operate our own docks and shipping lanes that the rest of Tairkyda doesn’t use or maintain.” “You really should be paying taxes on those, you know,” said Counsellor Zahira. Her long dreadlocks were pulled into an elaborate twist that Aeliana traced so she didn’t sneer at the older woman. “Taxes are paid on things owned and maintained by the Tairkyda guilds. The docks are neither, so no, we really shouldn’t,” said Aeliana, smiling through her teeth. “This is the third time my proposal has been picked apart by the nine of you and frankly, I don’t see why. I have given you everything you want. Underside won’t be a problem anymore if you simply let me organize ourselves into a cohesive people.” A seat on the Council would be a fantastic start to that. Underside would have legitimacy and Aeliana would stop being the one on display whenever they had these chats. Where would they place a tenth seat? Or perhaps they’d simply toss one of the others for her.

Shahin

“Dad?” The door cracked open and Padma peered through, elbow high and medical tape over her nose, as always. Her golden eyes shown behind the half-curtain of her dark brown curls, and a few teeth peeked out with her crooked smile. “What is it, darling?” asked Shahin. “There’s a man out there in a chair,” said Padma, casting a look over her shoulder. “It looks like Baba beat him up.” She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. “What’d he do?” She rocked back and forth on her heels and wrinkled her nose. Despite the lack of sunlight, she was growing up brown as a bean, her skin freckled in darker brown like the night sky was with stars. “He has information on a shipment of casting stones coming in this week,” said Luthor. He grinned at Shahin, all teeth. “Including the call codes for the landing docks.” Shahin could have jumped the man if Padma wasn’t in the room. He settled for a bright laugh and pulling Luthor into his arms, dragging Luthor’s face down the few inches of their height difference to kiss him warmly on the mouth. Luthor hummed and smiled into the kiss, laying his hands atop Shahin’s. When they pulled back, they smiled at one another. Padma giggled.

Baqir

“You were running from something, last night,” said Baqir. “I brought you in here to save your… friend.” He leaned into the word, trying to garner a reaction from her. She kept eating, watching him through the curly, loose ends of her midnight black hair. Her expression didn’t change. “What are you running from?” asked Baqir. Imani ate another blue chip. The full curve of her lips tugged down into a slight pout. Baqir forced his gaze to her eyes. She was half his age, a third his size, and a ghost in his bar. Attraction wasn’t part of the plan. Besides, she was in a vulnerable position. A woman with a partner, of some variety, that she couldn’t easily move, and a current reliance on a very large, very strange man she didn’t know. To make any sort of move on his physical attraction wouldn’t just be impolite, it’d be creepy. “I’m trying to help.” Mists knew why. He didn’t have to. She wasn’t Underside. Not one of the many people that Baqir took upon himself to protect. Nor one of the others that fell within the reach of his companions and allies. Imani lacked the movements of someone from the Wall. Both lacked the look of someone from Topside or the Fringe. They were outsiders. Outsiders were left to die in Tairkyda. Yet, he couldn’t. To leave them to die, to be taken, wouldn’t be right. “Why?” asked Imani. “It’s what’s right,” said Baqir.

Kat

People rushed and screamed, tearing out of the arena and pushing around the stage. None of them climbed atop it, leaving Kat and Emiko at the eye of the stampede. Eike, in his own platform, stared down at whatever Kat couldn’t see with wide, horrified eyes. “Everyone please leave as fast as possible. Don’t trample anyone. Don’t stop for your shit. Go, go, go!” Eike was shouting over the din. Then, the crowd split all at once, and Kat locked eyes with the monster on the other side causing all this mayhem. He’d once been a man, maybe, if you could call such people men. But he wasn’t anymore. The red irises and pupils of Rage overdose burned bright on his face. Veins burst and blistered across his skin. White spittle flew from his mouth. His muscles were as thick as a torso, his body seven feet in the air. Disgusting. What some people would go through in an attempt to achieve even a fraction of the shit she could do. Kat shifted one foot back, lifting her fists to prepare for another fight. No way a Rage ODer was going to go down easy. And it wasn’t like anyone else in here could take him. Emiko was shot, Eike was a brat with the upper body strength of a toddler, and Jun, while great with a gun, didn’t have anything that could punch through the stone-like hide a long-term Rage addict had in place of skin. That left her. “Hey, ugly!” shouted Kat. Eh, she needed a good fight, anyway.

[barelysurvivingmentalhealth]

The past few years have been shit, but this year keeps kicking me even though I'm already down.

Started with a waterleak in my room, meaning there was mold on the wall at the head of my bed. So I slept at the foot of my bed, and it started coming through there. Great.

Then had to leave my job as I was about to collapse mentally. So with support of my counsellor I left, which comes with all the guilt of being a 25 YO who can't even fucking work. Fine, sure.

Then we had to have my dog put to sleep. The dog that stopped me killing myself last year. Sure, let's loose all 4 of our dogs each year since 2020, mentally able to deal with that.

Then our eldest rabbit passed away. Was able to spoil her rotten before hand but all the photos I took on my phone of her drinking a smoothie for the first time? Yeah, my phone decided they weren't important and just decided they didn't need to exist. Perfect, thank you.

Then, after giving our last 3 rabbits a treat I accidentally left one of the hutches open. 2 of them got out and were killed during the night. Cue breakdown with rabbit blood on my hand from picking them up. Just what I need.

So, I built an area for my last rabbit finally to get her a friend. We'll, mum decided that it's the perfect time to start feeding the foxes. Great, pretty sure they just killed 2 of our pets but yeah, let's encourage them to be in our garden.

Oh, and the roof I put up for the rabbit area, doesn't allow me to waterproof the area at all, in fact it collapses when it rains. Thankfully I got my rabbit a friend and they get on brilliantly, surely just positive from here. They make me smile everyday.

But we have to sort out the roof, so my dad asks his friend. He'll do it for us. We'll, our order of materials got lost and by the time they arrived he went into surgery and now has an infection. Don't blame him at all, you know it just sucks. But hey, we have temporary solutions that are kinda working, and my rabbits are happy. They make me smile, so now it has to be positive.

Boom, today, another waterleak in my room..... this time in my wardrobe which means I have to empty it again, though I have only just got my clothes back in there. Now we've gotta redo it, again.

I'm tired, I know shit happens but this much in one year.

[whats-not-being-said-blog]

Misplaced guilt

How the hell am I supposed to process this... all those years ago I could just think of me. reading back on this stupid blog.  How long has this feeling been eating away at me.  How long have I been just letting this fester.  The resentment, the excuses I’d make for you.  Borderline Toxic but I know what we can be.   I’m in the thick of it all right now.  My whole fucking world is just shitting on me. Your betrayal, my fathers betrayal, my mothers constant needs and badgering.  My loneliness, my anxiety, my mental health.  WTF is there left to just crumble around me.  How much longer do I have to keep hanging on.   Having to constantly revisit how i’m feeling and where the fuck i am in my recovery to my case worker, my counsellor and my doctor.  I don’t want to tarnish your image, I don’t want to fucking hurt you, I don’t want to tear you down like you did me.  I fucking messaged the girl and told her i knew what happened and that i forgave her.  I know she isn’t who she was but you were pieces of who you are today over the last 12 MF YEARS!  We moved out together, we built a home together, we had 2 children together, I had lost 2.  We fought, we made up, we grew, you forgave me for my transgressions and now all of those memories.  Just .. Asterix*.  Everything just unclear what your intentions were, were they pure? were they out of guilt? were they because you truly fucking loved me? or was it because I’d bend over backwards to try and keep you happy and do what you needed, offer everything i was and am to your service.   The pain, the cut, the fucking damage i thought was healed now has opened up, deeper, bigger, infected, I don’t know what the medicine to this will be.  Every time we are in the car I imagine her in my seat, everytime we will go to your dads, I will imagine you with her.  The anger is fucking boiling my insides, scorching every last fucking piece of me.  What is fucking left of me if I gave YOU the power to fucking destroy me.  You knew I did.  I’m completely, utterly destroyed.  Just a husk of a human filled with anger beyond my ability to comprehend and process.  

[hideyoshineki]

.

[luvchaes]

7 reasons why it happened

genre: angst, some fluff, broken friendships, incidents of betrayal

pairing:ot8 highschool student! ateez

summary: it has been 5 months since jung wooyoung jumped to his death. while the whole school still seems to be mourning his sudden death, 7 boys each receive a mysterious letter containing written contents related to the boy’s death. as all of them read their own letters, they slowly discover their seemingly unharmful actions may result in unpredictable hostile situations.

warnings: mentions of suicide, quite a large amount of swearing, underaged drinking, smoking, substance abuse and violence.

note: the plot of this story is inspired by 13 reasons why (which y’all should totally watch) and the words in bold are texts from the letters and words in bold italic are flashbacks&lt;3

note (2): the show 13 reasons why contains very disturbing topics such as SH, SA, violence, substance abuse, rape, and quite gory in some scenes where blood is explicitly shown. please don’t watch the show if you are easily triggered by such topics!

“Remember, you’re not alone. Our counsellor, Ms Park, is always available to talk to. Always be alert of any signs of depression and make sure to tell a teacher or a responsible adult. At Sliveta High School, we will not tolerate any bullying of any form and we will always remember and mourn the loss of one of our treasured students, Jung Wooyoung.” Soft lifeless claps were emitted before the students started to make their way to their first morning class.

“Shit’s fucking messed up.” Seonghwa muttered under his breath.

“Good to know that you’ve finally got a pair of eyes to notice that. Shit had gotten messy since the beginning.” Hongjoong responded to the boy’s statement, rolling his eyes. As the two made their way down the long crowded hallway, they could not help to notice a large group of students gathered in front of the school’s trophy cabinet. Whispers were heard along with the loud clicks of the cameras.

“It’s a fucking memorial, not a tourist attraction!” Hongjoong grumbled, annoyance evident in his eyes as he witnessed students from all levels trying to snap a picture of the small memorial dedicated to Wooyoung.

“Can’t blame them, can we? The student council could’ve put it somewhere else more discreet, right Mr President?” Seonghwa replied in a snarky manner.

“Jesus, it wasn’t even my idea! Whatever, I’m leaving. See you in English.” Upon uttering that last sentence, Hongjoong stomped away, leaving Seonghwa all alone.

The bell had went off a while ago, and Seonghwa was the only one left standing in the now empty hallway. He swiftly opened his locker, grabbed his Chemistry textbook, and shoved the locker door close. As he did that, he saw a white envelope flutter to the ground. Seonghwa bent down and picked it up. Strangely enough, his name and address were neatly written on it, so why would it even be delivered to his locker instead of his own house?

Curiosity was beginning to get the best of him and he hurriedly tore the envelope open. Just as he was about to read the letter that was placed snuggly in the envelope, he heard a booming voice call his name.

“Mr Park, off to class! You’re late.” Mr Lee, the discipline master instructed Seonghwa. Seonghwa glanced at the letter one more time before shoving it into his back pocket frantically.

“Yes sir.”

——————————————————————————

Dear Park Seonghwa,

Hey, it’s Wooyoung. Jung Wooyoung. If you’re reading this, it means you are the first person to get this letter. I know this may seem out of the blue and a little strange, but I promise you that this letter will explain everything.

“What in the actual fuck.” Indeed, the senior was confused, shocked and scared. With shaky hands, he held up the letter closer to his eyes and continued to read.

You know how everyone says life is short and you should treasure it. Well, I wholeheartedly agree and I tried to treasure my existence on this planet. Keyword, tried. Life at Stilveta was…torturous, to be extremely frank. However, you made it a little bit better for me. You were so nice to me on my first day. I remember being lost and you helped me find the Chemistry Lab. You even offered to hang out with you and your friend group, which honestly, was the best thing a lonely new kid could ask for. You were the most friendly and kind person I had have ever met that day.

So thank you. But that is not what this letter is about.

As much as I loved to believe that nice people actually existed, I could not help but to have my doubts. You, Park Seonghwa, was nice to almost everyone. Campus sweetheart, basketball captain, school heartthrob etc. You were all that. The amazing, one and only, Park Seonghwa.

I get it. You had an image to keep.

But I never knew you would go to such an extent and throw someone under the bus.

At that moment, Seonghwa felt time stop. His room started spinning, cold sweat trickled down his forehead and his breath started to quicken. His heart pounded against his chest and it felt as if Seonghwa was about to pass out onto the ground.

He knew what Wooyoung was referring to, all too well.

“Seonghwa, what in the actual fuck is this?” Wooyoung was immediately shushed by the taller male’s hand that covered his mouth.

“Not here Woo. Science block. Now.” Seonghwa whispered before dragging Wooyoung by the forearm all the way to the Science building, the most secluded part of the school campus. Wooyoung could feel shock course through his veins as he still could not believe his eyes that Seonghwa, Stilveta’s “all-star student and nice guy”, had weed in his possession.

Seonghwa was bombarded with numerous questions from the latter and he could not help but to just remain silent. Achieving academic success all the time in order to uphold his reputation was extremely difficult. Nothing ever truly helped him relax except getting high. It was detrimental to his health, but Seonghwa had no choice.

“Do me a favour and keep it with you for now. Return it to me after school. We’re friends, right? Friends do things for each other!”

“But not this, Hwa! You need to tell someone! Please, Seonghwa! This is not healthy.” Wooyoung tried to reason with the desperate male who was on the verge of tears.

“Please fucking hide them Wooyoung. I can’t let anyone find out, not even Hongjoong or San. Please!” As much as it pained Wooyoung to see his friend so utterly anxious, he had to stay true to his own values. Seonghwa was a friend. Indeed, friends help each other, but it was time for Seonghwa to fix this problem on his own.

“I’m sorry Seonghwa. I won’t tell the teacher, I promise.” Wooyoung uttered out before walking away, leaving the taller male crouching on the ground, tears cascading down his cheeks.

Maybe if I had covered up the truth for you, things would have turned out to be completely different. But I did that because I cared about you, Hwa. You needed serious help. Not from me, not from Hongjoong, not from Mr Lee. A professional. A therapist.

It was obvious you did not see it that way.

Your feeling of betrayal was completely understandable. Everyone has always been at your service to help you with the everything, even the most bizarre matters.

Your feelings spiralled out of control, and you decided to let it out on me.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“Sorry to disturb your class, my dearest students. It seems that a student in this class is in possession of drugs. We will conduct a bag check right this moment.” Mr Lee announced. The constant rustling of bags, thumps of books being poured out of their containment and quick firm footsteps filled up the once quiet room.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung shared that one particular class, World History. What confused Wooyoung the most was after one of the teachers went through Seonghwa’s bag, she simply put it down and walked away calmly. Wooyoung was sure he saw the drugs. The two of them had an episode just half an hour ago.

The boy was so caught up in his thoughts that he did not detect his bag being scoured through. He was snapped out of them when Mr Lee banged his table, causing Wooyoung to jolt in response.

“Young man, may I know what is this?” Wooyoung’s eyes widened in utter shock. He glanced to the other students in the classroom. All eyes were on him, mostly confused while a few students snickered at the poor boy. It was when Wooyoung caught Seonghwa’s eyes. They were cold and emotionless, but if he were to look closer, they withheld a look of victory and smugness, subtly bringing across a message along the lines of “I told you so.”

Wooyoung’s gaze travelled back to Mr Lee’s palm. He was doubtful at first and thought Mr Lee was simply referring to the miniature pen knife that Wooyoung carried around in the front pocket of his bag for self-defense purposes.

Wooyoung was proven wrong. In Mr Lee’s palm, weed was present. A huge plastic bag of weed.

——————————————————————————

Park Seonghwa, you are indeed a smart cookie. I’m surprised the drug did not mess up your brain yet. ( sorry I thought that was hilarious ) As you hoped, Mr Lee and the headmaster did not believe me. Why would they anyway? I was the new shy kid who obtained average grades in all my classes. I had no reputation before, but after that incident, everyone called me the “Drug Dispenser”. They could have been more creative with the nickname, I have to admit, but man, it still hurt. It hurt even more when you did not even try to defend me in the principal’s office and in the hallways. I thought friends helped each other Seonghwa. I never snitched about you snorting weed, but you fucking threw me under the bus.

You were absolutely merciless, Park Seonghwa.

But I began to forgive you. You seemed to forget about the incident anyway. Even though you started to ignore me from then on, I still treasure our friendship.

So I thank you once again. Thank you for being my first friend at Stilveta High. Thank you for tolerating my clumsiness. Thank you for always tutoring me in World History that I managed to barely pass.

Thank you for being the first reason for me to wipe my existence off this world. Thank you for being the first reason for me to die.

Lots of love,

Jung Wooyoung

Seonghwa got high that night. Quietly.

[jj-babebank]

Camp Willowdale / JJ Maybank AU / PART 3

Synopsis: Camp Willowdale is buzzing with new campers. It’s Caroline Windsor’s first year as a camp counsellor after attending the camp as a camper for ten years. Little does she know that this year Willowdale Lake is going to be a little different from what she is used to it being…

Warnings: future chapters may include curse words, mentions of drugs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sexual activities, mentions of death.

Pairings: JJ Maybank x fem OC

Part 1 ; Part 2

Part 3 -

Music was blasting in the boys’ cabin and John B made sure to keep the lights dimmed to a maximum, adding to what he referred to as ‘the groovy ambiance’. Caroline and Sarah entered the cabin, leading the way for all of their fellow girl counselors. Word spread faster than a wildfire around the Wildcat Lodge and now everyone was attending what was meant to be a welcoming party for just the boys. Caroline leaned against the ladder of one of the bunk beds and crossed her arms as her and Sarah waited in anticipation for their grand scheme to play out.

“Caroline, Sarah!” John B’s voice alerted them as he snuck up between them, hooking an arm around both their shoulders, “Right on time for the big surprise!” he said, walking dramatically towards what the girls already knew to be his luggage. He turned the music down on his way there, “Alright everybody, listen up!” he said, stopping by his bed, gathering everyone’s attention, “I’m sure to most of us, if not all of us – camp Willowdale is a token of light, a beacon of faith, an ode to nostalgia, if you will,” he spoke dramatically, waving his hands around, making Caroline and Sarah chuckle, “Which is why we have all gathered here tonight, and for that reason, I have done my due diligence and prepared a special surprise for all of us. Girls and boys, allow me to introduce to you,” his hands went to unzip the bag, “Ton-” his eyes widened in horror as he unzipped the bag, revealing it to be totally empty, except for his scarce clothes and the limp body of what appeared to be a dead owl at the bottom.

Everyone around him seemed either disappointed or confused as he frantically ran around the room, looking for his alcohol stash. Caroline and Sarah, however, gasped at the sight before them.

“Shit,” muttered Sarah, “What the hell is that? When I said I was hoping there wouldn’t be animals in there I didn’t think there’d actually be animals in there…”

Caroline shook her head, “Screw what it is! The real question is – who put it there?”

The girls were so focused on their conversation they barely noticed JJ showing up, “You girls know anything about this?” he said, making both of them jump.

“JJ!” Caroline said, trying to mask all sense of worry in her voice, “How could we possibly know anything about this?”

“We did it,” said Sarah quickly, “We stole the alcohol, but we swear to God we have no idea who put that pigeon in there!”

“Sarah!” hissed Caroline, only making Sarah shrug.

“What?” the girl said, “If there’s some psycho playing tricks on us, we might as well have a guy on our side!”

JJ raised an eyebrow, a small smile spreading on his face, “You’re telling me you two are behind this?”, he said, looking at Caroline impressed, “Gee, Carrie, didn’t picture you to be the bad type,”

Caroline’s cheeks heated up immediately as Sarah rolled her eyes and turned to look at JJ, “Earth to Maybank, are you listening to me? We only stole the booze, we didn’t put that in there!”

“Relax, girls,” said JJ, “Knowing John B, that little fucker probably sat dead at the bottom of his bag for a while before you even got to the alcohol,”

Caroline and Sarah both scrunched their noses in disgust, however what JJ was saying did make sense.

“You’re probably right,” sighed Caroline, “Booze is in our storage room, me and Sarah will go fetch it now,” she said, pulling Sarah out of the cabin.

“Are you crazy?” Sarah hissed at her, “Do you really want to give them all that alcohol back? Jesus, Carrie, how the hell do you expect me to last all summer sober? It’s bad enough I have to bunk with Madison Hague…”

“Relax, Sarah, I’m sure there’s gonna be a handful of teenagers with secret stashes of alcohol just waiting to be confiscated,”

Sarah sighed in relief, “You’re totally right, C,” she said, shaking her head as they walked the few steps up to their cabin’s door, “We’re just gonna rob our teens! What could possibly go wrong?”

As she said that and pressed onto the door handle, an ear-piercing scream echoed through the forest, making the hairs on the back of her arm stand.

“What was that?!” she quickly turned to Caroline, who was just as frozen as she was. Counselors started coming out of the boys’ cabin, the music dying down again suddenly. JJ and John B quickly made their way towards the girls, both visibly concerned.

“Are you alright?” said JJ.

Caroline nodded, crossing her arms, “I am, but whoever’s in there doesn’t sound like they are,” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the thick forest from where the scream came.

By this point, Pricilla and the rest of the head staff appeared from the staff lodge, all looking slightly tipsy as they paced through the path to the counselors’ cabins.

“What in the world is going on here?” Pricilla said, trying not to slur her words.

“Sounds like we should be asking you the same thing,” John B muttered under his breath, earning a chuckle from JJ.

“Our guess is as good as yours, Miss P,” explained Topper, shrugging, “We were all hanging out in there when we heard the scream and came out,”

“Well whose was it?” enquired Pricilla, looking slightly annoyed that her night had to be cut short for these teenagers’ shenanigans. When no one could give her an answer, she rolled her eyes and waved them over, “Come on then, off to Wildcat Lodge. We’re gonna have to do a count,”

Once everyone was gathered in the lodge, Pricilla waited for Mrs. Darbyshire, who also seemed a bit too drunk to be taking any of this seriously, to bring her a list of all the counselors’ names.

“Alright,” she said once the list was in her hands, “I’m gonna do a name call. Once we figure out who’s missing, you’re gonna go into that forest and look for them.” This earned her a bunch of annoyed comments and groans, making Pricilla snap back, “Don’t give me that shit, you lost ‘em, now you gotta find ‘em.”

“This is bullshit,” Caroline crossed her arms, “We’re literally minors, what are they gonna do?”

“They’re gonna finish their party,” interjected JJ.

Caroline shook her head in annoyance as Pricilla started reading out everyone’s names one by one.

“Jenna Kinley?”

“Here!”

“Kelce Johnson?”

“Here.”

“Barry Smith?”

“S’up.”

“Madison Hague?”

No answer.

This made Pricilla stand up straighter, looking around the pool of counselors in front of her, “Madison are you here?” when there was no reply yet again, she sighed loudly, “Has anyone seen Madison?”

“Last time I saw her, she said she was going to the girls’ cabin to pick up a jacket,” chimed in Topper.

“Oh, for the love of-” Pricilla groaned loudly, “This better not be a stupid prank, or I swear!”

“I should’ve just given her one of my jackets…” muttered Topper, “Now I feel kinda guilty,”

“Hey, it’s alright,” said Caroline, tapping him on the shoulder, “I’m sure she only saw a bug or something,”

“I trust you’ll all disperse and look for your friend now,” said Pricilla, “In the meantime, us adults will be supervising the Wildcat Lodge,”

“Supervising from what?” asked JJ confused.

“In case… Madison comes back here, of course!” Pricilla quickly lied, “Now off you go, Maybank, you ask way too many questions!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is ridiculous,” moaned Sarah after bouncing down the stairs of the girls’ cabin with a bag on her arm, “As if this summer couldn’t get any worse,”

“Pipe it, princess,” bit back JJ, “If you didn’t insist on stopping by the cabin before we went into the woods, maybe we’d have called it a night by now.”

“Don’t big yourself too much, Maybank,” she said, leading their pack into the trees and looking around to see whether the coast was clear, “You see, while you were moping around outside, I picked up some provisions,” she said, a devilish smirk spreading on her face as she pulled out a bottle of whiskey from her bag.

Caroline’s jaw nearly broke off, “Sarah, are you serious?”

Sarah only shrugged, “What? I told you I’m not gonna make it through tonight sober, besides, if I’m gonna be looking for the bitch I was hoping wouldn’t be here in the first place, I’d rather be shit-faced when I find her,”

Caroline rolled her eyes, snatching the bottle from Sarah’s hands, “Yeah, well, if I’m going to be looking for the bitch with you, I’d rather be shit-faced too,” she said, taking a rather large swig of the alcohol and hissing at the taste.

“Sweet,” said JJ, picking the bottle up from Caroline, “This is better than the party,”

John B agreed as he got hold of the bottle last.

The group walked through the forest, flashlights in hand, taking the whiskey bottle in turns and laughing as they went. John B had argued that if Sarah could pick something from her cabin, then he could pick his speaker from his, and so the four of them found themselves nearing the clearance by the lake, drunk and singing along to some cheesy song that was currently playing loud enough for only them to hear.

“It’s a good thing Pricilla wanted us here a day early,” slurred John B slightly, “Now you girls have set up the bonfire area and we can chill there,”

Sarah rolled her eyes, “Yeah, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

John B raised an eyebrow and turned to Caroline, “What’s she talking about?”

Just as Caroline was about to answer, they reached the bonfire area, which much to her dismay – had been totally wrecked, once again.

“This,” she said, anger quickly replacing the previous buzz she was feeling from the alcohol.

“Whoa, who did this?” said JJ, flashing his flashlight in the direction of the discarded logs and pillows.

“What do you mean who did this?” snapped Sarah, “Why’d you think we stole your alcohol?”

“Sarah, we didn’t do this,” John B shook his head.

Sarah stopped dead in her tracks, her face becoming slightly worried “What do you mean you didn’t do this? Then who did?”

“Guys,” Caroline chimed in from across the bonfire area, where the fire was supposed to be lit the following night, “Come check this out,”

The three teens made their way towards Caroline who was flashing her light at one of the rocks at the base of the fire pit. There was something written on it with a gooey substance the origin of which none of them wanted to question.

“I don’t know who did it, but whoever it was,” said Caroline, stepping back from the rock so that her friends could see what was written more clearly on it, “Probably did this, too.”

And there on the rock, written with what looked an awfully lot like blood, were plastered four words:

Come and find me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 4 here x

A/N: Finally something is happening haha I hope you're enjoying so far, let me know what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist, please notify me! Story is about to get juicy from now on hehehe

Link to masterlist here. xxxx

taglist: @k-k0129

[mandoalorian]

Pain Is For The Living [Javier Peña x F!Reader] - Chapter 2 (SMUT)

Summary: Sex work in the heat of 1980’s Colombia was never going to be a walk in the park. Especially not when you had a crush on your number one client, agent Javier Peña. You’d been warned about him and his reputation, but after one very specific incident that would change your life forever, you find yourself attached to him like never before and you’d do anything to make him yours. Even if it means endangering your own life.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (protected p in v), allusions to sex, reader works in a brothel, PTSD, anxiety, panic attack, mention of drugs, guns, character death, typical Narcos themes.

Word count: 4000>

Pain Is For The Living Masterlist

*reblogs appreciated! Ko-Fi in bio if you want to support me!

The office was dead, like it had been for the last three weeks. No new leads. Nothing. The days dragged and honestly, it felt like the case was growing colder and colder. Escobar had gone completely off the grid, hiding out in La Catedral, his very own self-built prison in the depths of Medellín. But the DEA didn’t know that yet. So, they made an attempt to shift focus, at least just for now. After all, any narco they captured would be a win. They’d been tracing Juan Diego Diaz, otherwise known as La Quica, believing that the sicario would eventually lead them to Escobar himself. But La Quica was just as cunning as any other narco and following him was not an easy challenge. If it wasn’t for Steve Murphy, the DEA would’ve most likely shifted focus again - but Murphy and La Qucia went way back. In 1981, just a few years ago, La Quica shot dead Kevin Brady, Steve’s old partner back from Miami, and so to say that Steve had a personal feud against La Quica was an understatement.

Javier Peña didn’t realise he was about to gain a whole vendetta against him too.

Within a second, every phone in the damn embassy began to ring. Javier and his partner, Steve Murphy exchanged a glance, and their eyes trailed up to Horacio Carrillo who answered the call. “Colonel Carrillo,” he introduced himself. Javier and Steve watched as their colleague took in the information on the other end of the line. Carillo erratically gestured for a notepad and pen, and Steve quickly threw him one his way. “Wait, wait… are you sure? Are you sure you saw him? How many eyes? With another man? Who? Who?” Carillo pressed pencil to paper and began to scribble the details down. “How many dead?... Shit, okay. We’re on our way now.”

Carrillo slammed the phone down on the hook and took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face in dismay. “We got eyes on La Quica,” he announced, and Steve immediately grabbed the handgun from his desk drawer and shoved it into his jeans. The whole office cheered, apart from Javier and Steve. This was good news considering the DEA had no lead whatsoever for the past three weeks, but if Carrillo’s demeanor over the phone was anything to go by, Javier and Steve knew they shouldn’t be celebrating just yet. “No. No,” Carrillo chanted, raising his voice in order to silence the rest of the department. “Three hookers. Dead. Shot.”

Javier froze up completely as he processed the words.

“By La Quica?” Steve beckoned, his voice dripping with venom.

“We don’t know. But we have eyes on him. He was seen.”

“Where?” Javier asked finally, his face expression stone cold.

Carrillo eyed Javier up and down, swallowing a nervous lump in his throat. He knew it was the brothel that Javier frequented...and Javier Peña was quite unpredictable. So, after taking a brief moment to prepare for Javier’s reaction, Carrillo finally gave the name of the location. “Desiderio.”

Desiderio. It was the brothel where you worked. His eyes flicked over to the wallclock before his gaze met back with Carrillo’s dark eyes. He had literally been there, with you, two hours ago. If he had just gone two hours later… he could’ve put a stop to the attack. Hell, he could’ve been the one to find an arrest La Quica. But Javier’s hero complex was short lived when all he could think about was you.

“Do we have names?” Javier asked. “Who was killed?”

What if it had been you? What would Javier do then? You were younger than the other girls, polite and bright eyed. You were brand new to Colombia, and Javier swore you were too good for the dangerous life you had managed to get yourself caught up in. Being a sex worker in 1980’s Bogotá? It was only a matter of time something happened to you. 

“No names,” Carrillo confirmed. “Peña, with all due respect, I ask that you go in and investigate the scene. You know the girls better than anyone else in the department. Maybe you could identify some of the bodies.”

It was like time was frozen, and Javier felt sick to his core. Javier was used to death and bloodshed; this was a war on drugs - however, it hit different when it was close to home. When it was a place he had been, or it was people who he knew.

Javier Peña was a complicated man. He didn’t talk about himself or his feelings. Truth be told, he didn’t even let himself feel. But right now, as anger swirled in his stomach, he decided he wasn’t going to waste anytime at all. He paced back over his desk and grabbed his handgun before bolting to the car that was already waiting outside for him. All eyes followed Javier’s movements but no one dared to make a comment. Apart from Bill Stechner, of course.

“Not everyday you see the department of drug enforcement’s noted womanizer get worked up over a whorehouse shooting,” Bill commented, a smug grin playing on his lips. “Didn’t think agent Peña had it in him.”

“Shut the fuck up Bill.” Steve rolled his eyes, not even bothering to humour the CIA agent’s out-of-pocket remark. Everyone in the district knew about Javier Peña’s reputation with the ladies. But of course, you were new.

“The Search Bloc and I will go after La Quica. Steve, you stay on the down low with agent Peña and investigate the crime scene. We’ll have guards protecting you from outside the brothel.”

“I want to go after La Quica.” Steve argued but Carrillo pointed a finger.

“No. You stay with Javi. Partners,” Carrillo reminded the blonde haired man. “Besides, you’re the DEA’s best photographer.” Carrillo smirked, thrusting a Polaroid camera into Steve’s chest. Steve let out a low grumble in response, before shaking his head and following Javier out of the office. Partners. And right now, Steve saw the primal glint in Javier’s eye. Agent Peña was seeing red.

As both Javier and Steve were being transported to Desiderio, Javier made an attempt to dial a number on the carphone multiple times. Your number. Of course it was a dead line. And that only worked up Javier more. The never ending ringing sound signified that you weren’t there, and Javier’s heart was pounding against his chest. It was the same kind of adrenaline as when he found Helena tortured by Gacha’s men in Medellín. Steve knew better than to ask his friend who he was so desperately trying to call, but it was the last of his instincts to assume it was one of the sex workers from the brothel. Because renowned womanizer Javier Peña didn’t form attachments, especially not to women, right?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

At some point or another, you had passed out. Maybe you’d cried yourself to the point of exhaustion. Maybe the reality of what you had seen had hit you like a ton of bricks and you had fainted. How could you possibly know? But when Javier and Steve stormed the lobby of your workplace, you were laying on top of Rosa’s body, as still as could be. And that’s when Javier’s heart sank.

You weren’t moving, and his mind shot to the worst possible outcome. He raced over to you and fell on his knees, dragging your body off Rosa and cradling you in his arms. You were absolutely saturated in your best friends blood, and by holding you, now Javier was too. He briefly glanced down at Rosa and placed a hand on her forehead, trying to feel for any sign of warmth -  any sign of life. Javi sighed and ran his hand through his dark locks of hair before bringing it back down to you. He cooed your name a few times, desperate to earn some sort of reaction. Thankfully, on the third calling, you stirred a little, indicating that you were in fact alive.

Your perfect eyes fluttered open and in that moment, Javi swore his heart stopped. Thank God you were breathing. “You’re safe now,” Javier whispered. “I’ve got you.”

“Javi?” you asked in disbelief. Surely not. The way he was holding you was the most affectionate he’d ever been with you, and it felt like a dream. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe you were dead and this was your journey to the afterlife. God was finally giving you a chance with the one you loved so much. You said his name again, raising a shaky hand to cup his cheek. You brushed your thumb over his jaw and along his mustache, and when you smelt his familiar musky cologne, you knew you were somehow going to be okay.

Javier picked you up and carried you back to the car. “We have a survivor!”

Steve replied but to you it was just a haze. You could hardly keep your eyes open and when you did, everything was a blur. Your clothes were stuck to your skin, due to the mixture of blood, sweat and tears. You knew the second you were outside because the orange setting son burned against your skin. You stirred and mumbled, but Javier smoothed out your hair and hushed you. He opened the back seat of the DEA car and lay you down.

“Hey, hey listen, I’m DEA,” Javier whispered. “I don’t talk about it, but I’m here to help you. I need to head back inside now and help my partner out, but I won’t be long. I promise.” As Javier turned to leave, you grabbed his hand and he looked back at you.

“Please don’t go.” you sniffed, tears free falling down your cheeks.

And normally, Javier would’ve shrugged it off. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t just stick around you because you felt unsafe. They had counsellor’s back at the embassy for that. All he had to do was use the carphone and call them out. It wouldn’t take him two minutes. The only problem was, Javier didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want anyone else to hold you and comfort you. He wanted it to be him.

So, he swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and slid into the back seat next to you. He maneuvered your body so your head was resting against his jean clad lap, and he continued to smooth out your hair. Despite your red puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, you were still so beautiful.

“Hermosa, what happened back there?” he asked quietly after a moment. Between you and Javier, there was never an uncomfortable silence. It was his job to find out, but asking you straight up when you were so clearly traumatized, felt insensitive. Nevertheless, what else was there to say? He had to do it sooner rather than later.

“I’m sorry.” Javier mused, closing his dark brown eyes as he mourned.

“They killed Rosa,” you whispered shakily, doing your absolute best to remain composed and not fall back into an abundance of tears. Javier looked out the car window and held back a sigh. Well, he knew they killed Rosa already. “And Juliet and Martzia.”

Javier didn’t know who Juliet and Martzia were, but his heart sank at the revelation. Three deaths that could’ve been stopped.

“La Quica,” you croaked, and Javier’s head snapped to face you. “Was his name. But there were two, I think.”

La Quica… that was the name Carrillo had come up with. It was who the DEA had spent so much time looking for. But two? That was the first he’d heard of it. Carrillo and the cop department only had eyes on La Quica.

“Do you know the name of the other man? Or what he looked like?”

You did. At one point, his name rang like bells in your ears. He was friends with Rosa, or so you had thought. You knew his name… you knew his face until suddenly you didn’t. You couldn’t make sense of it or understand it, but it was like everything that happened back there had just become a fuzzy blur. It still hurt so much but… you couldn’t match actions to faces, or names to bodies. All you could see was Rosa and her sacrifice. All you could see was the way her body fell to the ground, crumpled up in a pool of her own blood. And then the screams and cries.

“Are you okay?” Javier asked due to the delay in communication. Your mouth felt dry and your fingers felt numb. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, I can take you home, but the embassy is gonna want to interview you at some point in the near future. La Quica is dangerous, and I don’t know who this other guy is but I wouldn’t feel good about bringing you back to your apartment and leaving you there. I can send over additional security measures but, listen. I know you. And,” Javier took a deep breath not sure if he was about to regret the proposal. “If you’d prefer, you can come back to my place. Stay there for a few days. High security and you’ll be with me. Someone you know. I know that, if I was you, I wouldn’t wanna be alone right now.”

And for the very first time, your pretty plush lips curled into a smile. “You’d really do that for me?” You whimpered, nuzzling your face into his shirt.

“Of course.” Javier hummed, pressing a soft kiss into your forehead.

Was it unprofessional, inviting you over to live with him for the foreseeable future, the moment you had become an essential asset to the case? Yes. Fuck yes. But Javier Peña was not someone who played by the rules. He’d done this plenty of times before, when he shouldn’t have… but it was truly the right thing to do. Besides, you weren’t like any other informants. He knew you. He cared about you, more so than he’d like to admit.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were very sleepy, and you couldn’t bring yourself to talk all that much. Javier understood better than anyone. He helped you out the car, carried you through the embassy apartment complex, unlocked his door (albeit with great difficulty), threw his keys haphazardly on the kitchen counter and gently plopped you down on the brown leather couch. Pulled out a crocheted blanket, he wrapped it over you, ensuring your warmth. He padded into the kitchen and filled you a glass of tepid water before looking in the refrigerator. Empty. Javier didn’t cook. In fact, he rarely even ate. When he did eat, it was take-out or fast food. Something quick and easy that he didn’t have to bother with. But now he had company. He sighed, and closed the fridge, glancing back at your sleeping body. He figured he’d have to go grocery shopping.

He picked up the phone and dialled Steve’s number, but his wife, Connie was the one who picked up. “Hey Con, Steve there?”

“Yeah. But he’s pissed with you Javi.” Connie sighed on the other end of the line. Javier scowled. He understood. It seemed like he pissed off people quite easily.

“Could you put him on?”

Connie didn’t reply but judging from the scuffling, Javier assumed she was handing the phone to her husband.

“Javi,” (“Steve,”)

“What’s up?” (“I need to ask you a favour,”)

“After today’s stunt? Not a chance.” (“Y/N was a mess, Steve. One of her best friends died in the shoot-out. I wasn’t just going to leave her,”)

“Javier Peña. Ever the hero. What do you need?” (Groceries. She’s gonna be staying with me for a few days. I can use the time I spend with her to gain her trust. Try and work out what exactly went on,”)

“Javi, she’s vulnerable. She’ll need therapy. You really want to use her as an informant?” (We’ll get her therapy from the embassy. Steve, I don’t think we have any other choice.”)

“I just think it’s a bad idea, but, it’s your call Peña.” (“I’m going to head to the market before it closes. Can you or Connie come over to watch her? She’s asleep so she won’t be much trouble.”)

“We have Olivia.” (“So bring her. Or don’t. I don’t care. Steve, please.”)

Javier waited patiently through a silence followed by a long sigh. “Okay Jav, but you owe us. We’ll be over in five minutes.”

“Thanks Steve, I’ll see you soon.”

Javier put the phone down on the hook quietly and padded back over to the sofa where you slept, crouching down and taking your hand. You didn’t deserve this. You were so soft and full of life, and everytime Javier saw you at the brothel you were always beaming. You were too good for this life. He knew you’d get hurt, one of these days, but that didn’t mean it was right. And suddenly, Javier was filled with vengeance. He couldn’t bear to think how the shoot-out would come to affect you, but he knew, in that moment, he would seek justice. Too many deaths, too close to home. Javier whispered your name, his breath fanning over your ear. You were somewhere in between consciousness. You could feel his presence but everything felt so dream-like. “If you can hear me, I’m going to head to the store. Buy us some food, okay? I won’t be long, and I have friends who will be watching over you. You’ll be safe, I promise.” Javier said before pressing another kiss to your forehead. He just couldn’t resist it. You stirred upon feeling the bristle of his mustache graze your skin and he drew his face away, not wanting to wake you completely.

“Hi Liv,” Javi cooed, leaning down to Steve and Connie’s little girl and pulling a face.

“So that’s her?” Connie asked, putting Olivia down.

“Yeah,” Javier sighed, and began to introduce you.

“Why do I get the feeling that you know her?” Steve quirked an eyebrow and Javier felt his cheeks flush with heat. “Are you one of her regulars?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah, I suppose I am,” Javier retorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Con, if I’m gonna cook her dinner, what would you recommend?”

Connie stifled a laugh before turning to Steve. “Steve, you hungry? Javier’s offering to cook.”

“Hey that’s not what I meant--”

“He does owe us…” Steve smirked. “Paella sounds good.”

Fucking paella. 

“I could just bring her Taco Bell,” Javier considered out loud.

“I like paella.” Steve reiterated.

“Me too,” Connie agreed. “Paella is delicious.”

“Everyone likes paella.” Steve commented.

“Oh my god would you shut the fuck up about paella?” Javier groaned, causing Connie and Steve to laugh in unison. 

“Make her paella and bring us the leftovers,” Steve grinned, patting his friend on the shoulder. “And be quick about it.”

“Whatever, Murph.” Javier sighed, rolling his eyes before grabbing his wallet and car keys.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Seeing Nina working as the supermarket cashier was the last thing Javier expected.

“Javi?” she smiled that familiar gorgeous smile, her eyes sparkling as she scanned through the items of food. “It’s so good to see you. Been a while.” she commented, her gaze not leaving the agent’s once. 

And for the first time in a long while, Javier smiled. The stress of the stake-out and investigating the brothel, and taking you home had been a lot on him, but seeing his ex-girlfriend helped bring him back down to earth. If Nina could even be called ‘ex-girlfriend’. It wasn’t ever official, but he and Nina had been fucking on and off for around 6 months last summer and Javier was actually committed to Nina during that time. She came into his life unexpectedly, to say the least.

“How long have you worked here?” Javier charmed as he bagged the groceries.

“Two months, it’s been good to get out of the house,” Nina grinned. “You're still working for the DEA I assume?”

“Yeah.” Javier hummed, quickly reminding himself of you and the way you were sleeping on his sofa. He looked back up from the bag of rice and at Nina. Come to think of it, she resembled you quite a bit. Same hair colour, eye colour, skin tone… only she wasn’t as distinct. She didn’t have that flare about her, like you did. Maybe Javier had a type after all. 

“I get off work now,” Nina announced, flicking her wrist upright and checking the time on her watch. “Are you busy or? I was thinking… it would be nice to catch up, maybe, if you wanted.” Nina ducked her head down awkwardly.

Javier didn’t forget about you once. He didn’t forget about the fact he had a traumatized sex worker sleeping on his couch, or how he’d invited his partner and his partner’s family over to watch over you while he got ‘groceries’. But catching up with Nina would be nice. The right thing to do would be to reject Nina, and perhaps make plans to see her when Javier wasn’t so swamped with work commitments (if he could even call you that). But this was Javier Peña. He supposed Steve and Connie could wait just a little while longer, besides, they’d never find out. Javier was a good liar. He could make up some excuse about having to travel to a different grocery store or something. So, he agreed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nina’s apartment had barely changed since she and Javier had ended things. Still quaint, decorated with plants in every corner and full bookshelves. It was a clash of tongues and teeth as Nina navigated inside of her home, not pulling away from Javier once. She moaned against his lips and he grabbed onto her back, pinning her against the wall and knocking a few things off the coffee table.

“Missed this,” Javier confessed, nudging his nose against Nina. In the moment, he’d forgotten why he’d ended things in the first place. Nina wrapped her hands in Javi’s dark hair and tugged on the locks at the nape of his neck. Javier groaned wantonly and reattached his lips to hers as she let her hands maneuver down his body, unbuttoning his shirt and working at the zipper of his jeans. “Fuck Ni.”

She pulled off him and began to discard her clothes. “Bedroom Javi, I have condoms.” she hummed, taking Javier’s hand and guiding him through her apartment as if he didn’t already know the way. He’d never forgotten, really. 

This was wrong. On so many levels, this was wrong. He should be back home, with you. If anyone was to find out about this… well, Steve would be furious, for a start. But Javier genuinely couldn’t stop thinking about you. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, because if he wanted to be with you so bad he could easily just go back to his place and sit with you on the couch. The idea of that wasn’t the worst in the world. But also, he was about to get laid by Nina who looked so much like you… he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

He was whipped. Thinking about your lips on his… your hands caressing his muscles. She might have resembled you, but she tasted different, her voice was different, and her attitude. She just wasn’t you. 

Once Javi was all wrapped up, he pushed into Nina, and settled deep, his movements rough and fast. He grabbed onto her tits and gave them a squeeze, but they just didn’t feel like yours. They’d do though, for now. His grunts and her moans filled the room as she chanted his name, and he could feel himself nearing orgasm. He dipped his head in the crook of her neck, biting down on her skin that just wasn’t as soft as yours, and as his dick throbbed inside of Nina, and when he reached his climax, he made the biggest mistake of all.

He gasped your name like it was the sweetest prayer to leave his lips. He was fucking Nina but shit, he said your name.

Javier Peña said your name.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

just because you’re afraid it doesn’t mean you’re broken.

Titans 3.05

once more into the cold dark void of the internet with my stream-of-consciousness take on a superhero tv show...

spoilers ahead.

1. i cannot believe that among the first things i get to hear in this episode with my own two ears is the line 'eluded our overdudes'. why must you give me such pain along with so much joy, show?

1.5. scarecrow stringing jason along on this path to red-hood-dom is not something i would’ve ever expected, but does kind of make sense. 

1.55. i don’t know all the details of the original resurrection arc in the comics but i like that jason, weirdly, has a greater role to play in his own demise and rebirth? i think it makes it easier to draw a line between his past trauma, the demonstrably shitty and terrifying responsibility of being robin, the ways bruce and the titans wronged him, his responses to that, the reasons he turns to scarecrow, and his final evolution to red hood. it makes for a smoother character arc rather than a one that was interrupted for two decades before somebody went oh hey let’s resurrect that kid that the audience once voted to kill and make him an anti-hero!

1.75. what’s crane giving him? anti fear toxin? anyway, crane is a fucking creep and i’m not sure i want to see a whole lot of him on my screen.

2. oh, um, heads up: there’s a long sequence of unsteady cam + flickering lights right after the title card upto the 3:16 mark. it’s a bit headache-inducing so if you want to skip, you can go ahead and do that. 

2.45. that’s... weird... why would he dream about... donna...

ok, who am i kidding. i’m going to jump right into my theory about Why Titans Makes Sense Actually because the show itself is apparently not interested in explaining itself:

a) it makes no sense for jason to be conjuring up donna--who famously did not care much for him!--in his dreams. (he wasn’t even there when she died.) or for her to be telling him don’t go or there’s still time.

b) this leads me to think that that’s actually donna, in some sort of limbo between life and death, the kind of place where jericho used to be

c) rachel has demonstrated that she has the power to link the minds of the titans across great distances--she called jason and hank/dawn for help in 2.01, she linked up everybody later in the season, projected dick’s hallucination of his father into their brains without even realising she was doing it, and in the finale, she managed to get dick into conner’s brain. she’s in themyscira now. is this how she gets donna back to life? but reaching out to her in that non-space between life and death?

d) the next obvious question is: why isn’t donna appearing in the dreams of the other titans? she probably is, but they have better reason to be dreaming about her since they were actually close to her, unlike jason.

e) but why would she warn jason in particular? does she foresee jason entering the afterlife--however briefly? does she have an idea of what jason plans to do and what he will become?

f) anyway, more trippy mindscapes and weird psychic powers, yay!

2.5. my heart clenched when bruce comforted jason post-nightmare: clearly i’ve been reading way too much batfam fic. this is a side of bruce we haven’t really been told to expect by all the characters on the show calling him a ‘psychopath’ (*cough*unreliablenarrators*cough*) and him getting jason to speak to a professional speaks volumes about the kind of self-reflection he’s done post dick’s departure, and maybe some of the regrets he has with regards to how he dealt with dick’s traumas.

i mean, just look at him when jason dismisses his concerns! BRUCE IS TRYING JASON

anyway, i have a whole lot more i want to say about this, but i’ll save it for later. 

also: LESLIE THOMPKINS!!!!

3. i really like molly--and i love that she’s a friend from before jason got taken in by bruce, the implication that they meet up regularly and that she’s a grounding influence on him (tho clearly not grounding enough to not go along with his dumbass idea about confronting a child trafficker alone). 

3.5. aw, jason. robin was his armour against everything in the world that would throw him down and chew him to bits, but san francisco proved that even robin wasn’t enough to protect him. it’s really interesting how ‘disillusionment with the idea of robin’ is so integral to the traumas of both dick and jason but in such different ways. 

4. LESLIE!!!!!!! i even forgive her office being so goddamn blue because leslie! 

4.5. it makes so much sense for titans!verse leslie to be a therapist, because this show is so inward looking anyway, and therapist sessions are a useful tool to showcase this character work in a story. besides, at least in fanfic, leslie often seems to double up as a counsellor anyway. 

4.6. oh man. i’m not terribly convinced by walters’ red hood (tho i think that may be the point--argh. i’ll come back to this thought later. have to stop getting distracted!) but he plays the asshole kid that’s trying not to let any real emotion seep through really well.

“you’d like me to punch you, wouldn’t you”

5. not sure what to think of batman’s little trophy case other than the show winking unsubtly at us and going look look - catwoman! the riddler! two face! you excited yet?! it’s like the scene from the end of amazing spiderman 2 when they were trying to drum up excitement for a sinister six spinoff by having harry osborne walk by a bunch of display cases with stuff from iconic villains in them.

... but then again, bruce does like to display a lot of shit in his batcave, including his dead robin’s bloodstained costume, so.

5.5. bruce is so soft with jason it’s killing me. beyond just trying to learn from his mistakes with dick, it speaks to his own genuine desire to balance his dedication to gotham with doing the best by his sons, although he’s often not successful with that. 

i love that titans is really playing the long game with bruce wayne, with each season and character-perspective sliding in fresh pieces of a bigger puzzle. titans’ bruce has always been a phantom of other peoples’ making, but now we’re getting the idea that he’s a whole lot more complicated than other people make it seem.

5.75. it really recontextualises some of his actions from previous seasons: the fact that he locked dick out of his security systems in 1.06 is likely his way of respecting dick’s independence and his desire not to be associated with batman/gotham anymore. jason knowing about bruce’s tracker while dick doesn’t is probably bruce trying to be more honest and upfront with his charges. bruce sending jason packing off to sanfran to spend time with the titans is probably not him passing on a big responsibility to dick (as i first uncharitably thought) but him trying to get jason out of the toxic influence of gotham for a while and a sign of his trust in dick as a leader and a mentor,

5.8. i mean, bruce is a prick, but he’s also human.

6. i think leslie is doing some good work with jason here, though she may have overstepped the line with her line about robin as a construct being projected by a man with BPD. her speculations about bruce’s diagnosis have no place in her session with jason, and if bruce confides in her, an egregious violation of patient-therapist confidentiality. 

(about the diagnosis itself... i don’t know. i can’t really confirm or refute this without a whole lot more information, and i’m not sure if the writer of this episode means BPD in the same way an actual professional might.)

6.5. i think a huge thing that gets missed out in a lot of recent comics as well as movies/shows is that bruce didn’t create the robin persona out of whole cloth. dick did. he’s the starting point of that legacy and to call it entirely bruce’s creation is blatant erasure of that. in fact, i’m surprised that dick doesn’t feature more in the conversations they’re having about the pressures of being robin. after all, the guy had been robin--bruce’s partner--for such a long time before jason. 

6.8. (and here’s the primal part of me that resonates the deepest with dick grayson--the Eldest Daughter part--that’s sort of resentful: that jason gets the therapy and softness and the learning from mistakes when it took years and years for bruce to reach out in any meaningful way to dick.)

7. oooh that was a great scene!

it’s fun to do these stream-of-consciousness live reactions, because the moment you step down from your soapbox, the episode goes right into tackling what you were just complaining about. bruce means well, he’s learning, but he goes about exactly the wrong way to help jason: taking away robin now can’t be read by jason as anything but a devastating judgment call from bruce. and iain glen really sells the moment that bruce realises this--too late--and his helplessness in trying to get jason to see that it isn’t jason’s fault that he’s trying to do this. he loves jason enough that jason is enough. 

7.5. aaaah so jason brings up the elephant in the room at last. dick got everything makes sense from his perspective, where getting to put on a costume and fight crime means approval, means being something stronger and better than you are. dick got to be robin, then nightwing, and a leader of a whole team of other costume-clad heroes. 

8. ... how did jason just walk into arkham????? this is ridiculous.

8.3. i mean, clearly jason’s not thinking straight, but betraying batman like this puts his possibilities of being robin again even further away. 

8.5. watching that chemistry experiment montage was strangely funny. this guy is looking for an antidote to fear? well, constantly mixing up and inhaling gases concocted by a mad-scientist supervillain is something only the very fearless--reckless to the point of foolishness!--would do. what’s to say crane’s not given you a formula for a drug that will keep you tethered to his every will and whim? hmmmm?

8.7. so he sought out the joker to... test the formula??? 

9. wow the “loud and clear... boss” hits different after a whole episode of them referring to each other as father and son.

9.3. waitwaitwait HOLD UP. wait a DANG MINUTE. you’re telling me that scarecrow had enough resources that he could not only have folks on the outside steal jason away and dunk him in a lazarus pit (i TOLD you that this show would bring up and dismiss ra’s al ghul in a ten second aside! I TOLD YOU) but also have his own little chemistry lab in the basement, AND have enough resources for jason to build his red hood persona???????? all of this in barely twenty four hours?

well there goes my ‘jason orchestrated his death’ theory. it was nice while it lasted. *cups hands to the sky* fly away, my baby.

9.6. a part of me is gleeful at the rushed nature of such an iconic transformation though, especially when compared to all the character work that went before it. we’re so used to getting the opposite that it’s fucking delightful to have a show that’s more interested in exploring its characters’ minds rather than battle scenes or recreating transformations from the comics. that’s taken such bold and exciting steps to fully convey all the nuances of its most recognisable character, bruce wayne, from casting an older actor to play him to unflinchingly showing just how damaging the vigilante lifestyle has been to him and the people he loves. BRILLIANT

*sporfle*

10. again, heads up: a whole lot of flashing lights between 40:28 and 42:00. 

10.3. i guess it’s the super-compressed timeline that’s really throwing me off. where did he have the time to get/develop the mind control thing from? or is it something that he got from the cabal of villains that he intimidated at the beginning of 3.02? very messy.

10.5. i love molly, i hope she shows up again this season.

11. aaaand that’s it! that was a solid episode as flashback episodes go, but now i can’t wait to return to the present.

[objection-argumentative]

Hated Love Part 1

This is a new series between Rafael Barba x Reader 

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

"Y/L/N, head over to Barba and drop this file off for the Paisley case before you go home for the weekend", Benson barked out to you. She has been pushing you to work with barba for a while. You and barba hated each other; every time you are near him, the pair of you constantly arguing, Shouting in each other's faces. It usually ended with you storming out of the office after Barba told you that you didn't deserve to be a cop, never mind the detective. You packed up your stuff in your bag, put your coat on and left the station. Heading down the street, you dropped into the coffee shop next to the ADA's office and picked up a black coffee for barba and a vanilla latte for yourself.

You knocked on his office door and entered. "Hey Barba, Liv sent me over with the Paisley file that you needed." Barba groaned, hearing your voice, "ah, Y/L/N taken a job as a secretary, finally taking my career advice." he snatched the file out of your hand as you put the coffee cups on his desk. "For fuck sake, Y/L/N cant you do anything right? this file is for a case that was closed twelve years ago." You felt your blood boil with anger. "You know what, Barba, you are an asshole. Liv handed me the file on the way out of the door. I have done you a favour. Yes, it's the wrong file, but the intention was there. Maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass and stopped wearing it as a hat, you might be able to see that."

Rafael's eyes went all dark, and suddenly you were all wet. God, you hated the man with every fibre of your being, but he was sexy as hell, and you always admired him from afar. He got right into your face, "wanna do me a favour, Y/N? Let me fuck you over my desk. Let me show you how much I hate that your wrong for the job, much I hate that you will always get the last word in our arguments, but most of all, let me show you how much I hate that I want you." You go weak at the knees at his declaration, and you kiss him as if your life depended on it.

Rafael pulled away from you. "You sure you want to do this? Use your words, detective." Rafael searched your face for any signs of wavering. "I'm very sure, counsellor" he connects his lips with you again and lifts you onto his desk by your ass cheeks. You strip each other's clothes off, throwing them away from each other, not caring where they landed. Before long, you were bent over his desk as he plunged into roughly. "Such a slut for daddy, aren't you, detective? you come in here prancing around my office every day teasing me" he spanked your ass and continued to pound into relentlessly. "I'm going to cum, barba." you barely whispered out "me too, cum with me" his thrusts started getting sloppy "Y/N cum now", you cummed all over Rafael's dick as he shot his load deep inside of you."

Once you had both controlled your breathing, Rafael walked around the room and gathered your clothes. " I trust that this will stay between us. No running off telling Rollins or your partner Y/L/N." You look at him with hurt and hate. "Of course, barba goes without saying," he threw your clothes to you. " Good, no one needs to know about this little mistake. No one needs to know I fucked the shit detective to relieve my stress." You stare at him, tears threatening to spill." you are an asshole. I thought it was an act but guess I got that wrong." your anger returning "screw you, Barba." finished tieing his tie. "get dressed, sweetheart and see yourself out, I have work to do." the son of a bitch was even cocky when doing his let down. You scrambled to get dressed and ran out of his office onto the street and hailed a cab home.

*7 weeks later*

It was your annual check-up at your doctor's. You had done the examination, provided a blood and urine test. The doctor called you back into his office. You sat waiting for your doctor to grab your file. You weren't waiting too long. When he did come back into the room, he had a massive smile on his face. "Well, congratulations are in order, miss Y/L/N. You are about 6-7 weeks pregnant." You are stunned. "What?" the doctor handed you some papers " I have made you an appointment with OBGYN for next Thursday at 11 am. You can discuss your options with the doctor then." Your brain kicked into gear. "No, I'm keeping my baby. They are half me." You curled your arms around your stomach as a defence. "I will email your health check to your bosses Miss Y/L/N. If you have any questions, feel free to get in touch."

You walk back to the station you pick up lunch for you and your partner Carisi. As you step off the lift, Benson was waiting for you. "I'm sorry, Y/L/N, the entire squad know. Tucker came into my office furiously shouting the odds about your pregnancy and that you are on desk duty." she gave you a sympathetic smile and walked you to your desk.

"Congrats, Doll. I'm happy for you. If you need anything, call me." Carisi cuddled you "Who's the father Y/N," Finn asked cautiously. "Carisi, Lunch is on my desk. I'm going to the break room," you storm out of the room.

*2 Hours later* Barba walked in off the lift, all smug and happy. "Y/L/N, what did you do to get yourself desked. At least I will have decent detectives in the field," Barba singsonged. "Leave her alone, Barba. She is pregnant" Carisi weighed in.

He was stunned. Here was a young woman who was like a breath of fresh air for him. He built many barriers and walls around his heart, and you broke every single one of them. He hated the way you made him feel. You gave him hope. You brought colour back into his life; he hated that. But most of all, Rafael detested the fact he had fallen hard for you. "Your pregnant? It's mine, isn't it Y/N?" Rafael asked. The whole room went silent in shock. "Yeah, it is. Don't try and tell me to get rid of it. I can't do that." He nodded at the girl. "I know you can't. I need some air." He walked out of the station and headed towards his mother's apartment.

*The next day* You are sat at your desk running checks on suspects. Everyone else was out on the field. You heard footsteps coming towards you, you looked up, and there stood Barba. "Hey, can we talk Y/N?" he asked. "What do you want, Barba?" You fumed "I'm sorry Y/N, Your right; I am an asshole. The way I've treated you, I was very wrong. Baby, I'm sorry." Barba pleaded "You called me baby?" you quizzed, confused. "I love you Y/N Y/L/N.  I know I'm a moron, but I promise that I will be the best father to our child no matter what". You nod your head while tears were flowing down your face. "I know it probably too late, but can we see how things go between us. Take it slow, baby?" you grin up at him and pull him in for a crushing kiss. "I promise, baby. I will do right by you and our child."

[nightshade-anura]

@thesundownsystem Y'all were asking about why I thought Will had repressed trauma?

1) We don't know much about Will's backstory (hopefully that'll change when the Nico solo book comes out), but Naomi is mentioned to be a country singer in tho. Obviously, he's already got one absent parent, but if his Mum's a singer, she probably spends a lot of time on tour and generally away from home. This alone isn't a lot, but it means there's a high chance he hasn't had a consistent parental figure in his life.

2) It's safe to assume that Will joins chb at some time between som and botl, although I like to think som, so we know he would've seen a lot of the build up to Battle of Manhattan, and, as the camp's best medic, he would've had to deal with a lot of that first hand.

3) Building off of the last point, we know that at least two of his siblings died during the battle of Manhattan, and at least one of whom he was directly taken away from when he had a chance to heal them. This is obviously going to bring some guilt, but he's also bottling up some rage at Percy (hence the Percy/Will rivalry) . After, he is suddenly the oldest member of cabin 7 at the age of 13, so is now the head counsellor at what is too young an age for such a large cabin.

4) He's the camp medic. He's going to have seen some real shit.

5) He's been one of the main players in aiding Apollo, his own father, through his trials. That's gonna be really weird to wrap your head around your dad being a year older than you and being a whiny bitch, as well you initially nursing him back to health (although no one talks about that).

6) In the case of second-hand trauma, he will know more about Nico's past than most people, which wasn't exactly all lovey-dovey. Additionally, he was the main person in trying to persuade Nico to eat properly again (he presumably succeeded at this, as Nico seems to have no problems eating a kitkat in ton).

[vampiresuns]

Look After Your Dead, Part 2 | Prologue, Part 4

✴︎ LOOK AFTER YOUR DEAD, PART 2 ✴︎

4.9k words. In which Anatole’s past catches up to him. CWs: Discussions of memory loss and amnesia, feelings of depression and inadequacy. There’s also a lot of talks of displacement, land and family. The writer gets a little too close to existentialism.

This piece introduces some of my ocs for the first time in an official rewrite: say hello to Leonore Kaur, the dastardly counsellor with a penchant for drama, Octavia Rei, the coffee wench by day and playwright by night, roommate of Milenko, and Sabine Rei, her younger sibling, all friends of Anatole.

Featured Radošević-Cassano: Valerius, Milenko, Vlad and Louisa (mentioned).

Other Lore: The ‘Antiqullan’ range is the furthest west end of the Bulan Mountains, were the country of Altazor, featured in Secrets of An Ancient Moon, is located. Louisa is Altazoreña, making Anatole a first generation Altazoreño.

With this piece we reach the last instalment of Anatole’s prologue, however, there’s one more step before the Routes begin: All characters featured here will come back in an interlude.

What to catch up with this series? You can do that here.

Some people couldn’t help being anything but themselves. It did not mean they were rigid, immutable or incapable of change or growth. No person was that way, and those who refused the inherent mutability of life were bound to break. Instead, these people had who they are, whatever they are, as their guiding horizon — a certainty, a principle they could not betray, a truth they couldn’t deny. When their true self called, they had no choice but to answer. Who they are meant to become is bound to unravel, and once it begins manifesting, these people cannot run from it. 

The self can only be repressed for so long. It’s latency is temporary, and these kinds of people understand that. They cannot wear masks, they cannot be anyone other than themselves, whether it was for better or for worse, and their past was bound to catch up to them sooner or later. Anatole was such a person.

It didn’t matter he didn’t remember who he was, because it all existed within him and no matter how much he ran from it, no matter how much circumstance prevented it, his potential would meet him sooner or later. Unknown to him yet, that time was drawing to a close.

Julian had broken into his shop again, which Anatole did not find as surprising as he could’ve. Portia treating him too comfortably, with Nevivic names, was. The way they both pronounced things lingered behind them as Portia dragged him to a nearby alley. Alone in front of his front door, Anatole realised they both pronounced his name ‘Anatoliy’.

Like his father had done the day Anatole had told him that was his name now. 

A father. Had he had a father? Where was he now? In a faraway land or dead by Plague like so many in the City? He felt a ripple of his own magic bubbling inside him, he could feel the warmth of it lace with his fingers. Faint and weak, like a newborn opening their eyes, something told him he had a father. If he concentrated enough he could feel a magical tether pulling him to somewhere. With a frightened heart, he realised this wasn’t the first time in the last three years when he had felt such a tether, but this was the first time the headache wasn’t stronger than the magic. 

Noon chimed over the City and Anatole, realising he had forgotten the Masquerade announcement, had to let it go. 

In the Heart District, a man called Vladislav Elyseo Radošević would grab the arm of his wife, a woman called Louisa Aureliana De Silva, and with tears in his eyes he’d tell her he could swear he had just seen their son standing right in front of him. Somehow. 

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The announcement was a lot. Nothing bad happened during it, but Anatole couldn’t shake the feeling he had been there before, in a past he couldn’t remember. This time, he did flirt with a headache when he tried. Whatever magical thread that pulled to him before had seemed to grow into a tree, and the many languages and words of the people in the square hit him all at once.

As soon as he could, he retreated into an emptier corner by the cooler shadows of the marble pillars around the square. A tall person covered with a cloak, their scent myrrh-heavy was also around the corner. They seemed to want to avoid people at all costs, so Anatole gave them berth: sometimes you just wanted to be left alone to your own devices.

Away from the flock of people he began realising how much he had pushed away on the last days, because he had not had a moment to himself. 

With every breath the scent of Myrrh reached his nose. Recognition hit him all at once. He turned his head to the stranger. 

“You were guarding my shop the other morning.”

“I tried to warn you.”

When Anatole spoke again, the stranger turned. He followed them all the way into the market, but when he lost them, he began looking around him, not sure how he ended up in the market at all. Distracted, he collided into a cart as he turned around himself. Someone offered him a hand to stand up — a man with thick black hair that reached his shoulders, pulled away from his face in a half-bun, sparkling dark brown eyes and an easiness to his voice when he spoke, as if the entire world was his friend. 

“Whoa, my guy, you took a pretty nasty fall, are you—” 

The man went completely silent, his mouth hanging half open as Anatole stood before him awkwardly. He cleared his throat.

“I know you just helped me stand up, but are you alright?”

“I’m, I’m, sorry I must be seeing things because you look just like—”

Somewhere behind him, a willowy person with fair skin and purple eyes, short hair accompanied by someone who looked a lot like them but with long, curly hair walked towards the man.

“Hey, Leonore, what happened?” The one with curly hair asked, while the willowy one looked at Anatole and dropped everything they were holding. 

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Anatole?”

The man who helped him stand, Leonore, shook himself. “It’s okay, Sabine, my guy here just fell, and I’m sure this is a very whacky coincidence since Anatole is d—”

“But my name is Anatole,” he said. Everyone looked at each other in silence. Anatole didn’t know what was happening, all he knew is that these people knew him, he knew nothing of them. He felt one of Asra’s cards tug at him in his pocket. 

“Excuse me, I’m afraid I don’t know who you are and I, I— I have to go.” Before anyone could stop him, Anatole sprinted back to the Main Square.

The first time he felt that pull of recognition, that thread to be followed had been with his own name after he woke up from his ‘accident’. He had tried to ask Asra about it, but he couldn’t remember a time where the magician even tried to address the question. Anatole had asked him about that too, and satisfied with the truth in Asra’s words that it wasn’t about Anatole himself why he couldn’t tell him, he stopped asking. Whatever answer would either never come to him, or he would have to get it himself.

The second time was with Asra himself:  he knew nothing of why or how Asra had become someone important to him, but he knew his was a well-loved face. 

Then it was his aunt, Antupillán, until it was one little thing on top of each other forming a figure which stood in the fog, slipping through Anatole’s fingers every time. His headaches always made him recede, go back to the safety of a cool room with little light coming in. Now, he felt himself in the middle of the fog as Leonore’s face materialised in the same way the magical imprint that he had felt before the announcement, unknowingly connecting him to his parents, almost did earlier that day. 

Anatole was a single boat in the fog, the sound of water around him as the oars moved him towards the direction of that figure standing in it. Like the people of a forgotten town in the Antiqullan forests who themselves had forgotten the name of everything around them, until they became completely still. Anatole rowed forward as names fell back in place and life compelled him to begin again. 

“So you’re Aelius? I’m Leonore Kaur! Medea is also Vesuvian so I could show you two around if you wanna. You don’t mind if I call you my guy, do you, my guy?”

“No, not at all, Leonore Kaur. Though ‘Anatole’ also works, you needn’t just call me by my first name.”

“Leo is fine.”

“No, no, I will use your full name, always, at all times.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

During one of Asra’s travels, Anatole had seen a doctor behind the magician’s back about his memory. The visit was mostly unsatisfactory, except by some referrals and some exercises for when he felt he could almost remember things, but then couldn’t, and the other many moods of the standard amnesiac. Not that the Doctor had called it that, but Anatole had to make a little light-hearted fun at his own condition. It was like his attention and hyperactivity issues. He was going to coexist with it either way, so he better barter with them like old friends. At least on the days they weren’t awfully frustrating.

Hearing Portia describe the Court for him was nothing like that. He shuffled Asra’s deck as he listened, pulling the same cards in rotation: The Lovers, The Hermit, The Tower upright, The Fool, the Queen of Wands, and then Death reversed, Justice reversed, The Tower but reversed this time, Temperance reversed, the Hierophant and the Six of Cups reversed. Over and over again, no matter how many times he shuffled them. 

He couldn’t have explained anything that Portia was telling him now —all the different Court departments and how they were interconnected, who did what and all the gossip she could fit during their ride back to the Palace— but the moment he said it, he knew it, somehow. He shuffled again. The Lovers, The Hermit, The Tower, The Fool, the Queen of Wands, Death, Justice The Tower and Temperance all reversed. The Hierophant seemed undecided in his position, sometimes becoming horizontal without Anatole touching it. 

A card without meaning. A card undecided as Portia mentioned how the Consul’s real name was Valeriy, but everyone called him Valerius like it should be pronounced in the Vesuvian common tongue.

“I had no idea until I saw it on a record! ‘Valeriy of the Cassano of Vesuvia’. With how he acts you’d barely know he is a Cassano, right?”

Portia continued to talk as Anatole shuffled again, determined to do a reading for himself. To what end? He couldn’t say. He just hoped he didn’t pull the same cards as he had been pulling for most of the ride. Portia went on, saying how Consul Valerius was the most important, which didn’t mean he could not pay attention to the others. Anatole did not need Portia to tell him the Consul was the second most important political figure in Vesuvia. 

He shuffled the deck the last time, then cut it. “If the Countess is incapacitated, the Consul rules in absentia, right?”

“That is correct! Wow, I didn’t think I was such a good teacher,” Portia said with a delighted laugh. Anatole smiled softly, as he pulled three cards.

The Hermit, reversed. He had lost his way. But why? When? The Ace of Swords. Maybe he’ll find his answers, maybe he is finding them. Anatole frowned at the cards, he hasn’t found shit. Or perhaps he wasn’t seeing clearly yet. As the carriage came to a halt, he pulled Strength, upright. Only it wasn’t from Asra’s deck, but from his own deck, the one which had belonged to his aunt. In it, a figure cradled a City against their chest, like a nurturing sort of Atlas, as light came from behind them mimicking a golden halo. Strength was focused, unwavering, wise, compassionate. 

How the hell had this card gotten mixed with Asra’s? That was a question for later. 

Had Anatole pulled one more card, he would’ve pulled the Hierophant again. 

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

The Countess looked at ease, wonderful in the afternoon light as she played the pipe organ. This would be fine, he thought, as Portia introduced him to the weirdest goddamn people he’s ever seen. If you could call them people — Volta, Vlastomill, Vulgora and Valdemar all looked and felt too off. Somehow the too open eyes, the moist skin, the despairing pulls or the sharp teeth weren’t the worst part: it was how their words made Anatole feel.

They triggered his magic, making his stomach drop. Not only were they lying, there was a threat in their words too. Magic that felt like a sharp note reverberating on every wall, on every new word they uttered. 

The only one who still felt human enough was Consul Valerius. 

Anatole had never seen a ghost, but he had read some accounts of necromancers and animancers about the sensory experience of encountering certain presences. It depended on the inclination of the magician, the story with the presence and why some of them may or may not feel like something meant to be encountered. Fate as something one could take or leave, as events which happened regardless of whether one wanted them to happen or not — ghosts where like the truth, Anatole remembered reading from one of them, not up to accommodate one’s expectations. 

Seeing someone who made the same facial expression you did out of shock had to be like seeing a ghost. There was always something terrifyingly vulnerable about recognising oneself in others. Unlike the other moments of recognition Anatole had had through the day, this time, something screamed inside of him, making his head throb. From between the Consul’s feet, Antu scurried towards Anatole.

Antupillán, who followed Anatole like a guide and a support animal. Antupillán, who did not let people who did not know him be near him at all. Yes, he was a friendly and curious Raccoon who engaged with the world around him, not always heeling by Anatole but always close enough. But there was a difference with engagement and sitting by someone who made Anatole’s head throb when he spoke.

He better have an explanation. 

It only got worse. Portia introduced them, but the room had fallen still, the tension palpable as the rest of the Courtiers watched the scene with morbid interest, except for Volta who just looked anguished as she muttered this was all very wrong. Quaestor Valdemar was staring unblinkingly at Consul Valerius, asking him ever so casually if there was anything that was the matter. The Countess looked between them in confusion, and tried to pry anything out of the Consul but he was not speaking. He just stared at Anatole in abject horror.

And was that panic in his voice when he spoke? Very faint, under the viciousness of his words as he demanded an explanation for the presence of such an offensive display? He was motioning at Anatole, rage and fear intertwined as he asked the Countess what sort of sick joke was this. 

The Countess could not explain with anything else than how she had encountered Anatole, as she looked and sounded at loss. 

Once again, his new found automatic pilot habit kicked into place. What he meant to do, was ask the Consul what was so offensive about him, letting him know he did not appreciate the tone or the sentiment from someone he did not know, so if he could please speak clearly. 

What he did instead, though Antu tried to stop him, sounding apologetic and concerned —Why on earth? Anatole half thought in the background of his mind— was walking forward, with a lost and open expression to him, as he screamed at himself to stop. He couldn’t stop. 

Like he was staring at himself from a distance, as if his own ghost was possessing his body. “Valeriy—” 

But the Consul threw him the contents of his glass of wine. “Don’t you dare call me that, you witch.”

The Countess made everyone leave. She dismissed the entire Court without a second thought. The moment they were alone again, Anatole broke down into tears he couldn’t explain. Although the Countess was surprised at first, standing there awkwardly for a moment, she approached Anatole with gentleness, rubbing his back. 

He wasn’t crying about the Consul, not really. He was crying about his fucking headache, and the powerlessness he felt. He knew he oughtn’t push himself into remembering, but he felt it would be all much easier if he did. Recovery was not a smoothly paved road, Anatole knew this, but right then, it was hard to accept. 

“What the hell were you doing with him?” He asked Antupillán, angry and confused. 

The Raccoon didn’t answer. 

“I’m sorry, are you acquainted with Valerius?”

Anatole couldn’t answer that beyond an: “I don’t know.” He didn’t have any explanations, not even to himself. All he had was these unshakable certainties which were starting to materialise, without any mercy for his growing migraine. But he could not speak them yet, he could barely understand them. 

He apologised again. The Countess told him it was no trouble. Her words did not have judgement, just honest, tender concern. 

He felt Antu’s paws slide into his hands.

I must protect my Anatole, like my Anatole has protected me, he said.

Anatole sighed, wiping his tears away with the corner of his sleeve. A corner that wasn’t wine-drenched. “You better have a good reason not to tell me, Antupillán.” 

He grabbed his familiar, plopping him onto his lap. Antu continued to hold his hand. 

“I really am sorry, Countess.”

The Countess looked at him with fondness. “From what I’ve known of you, I think there is little which could make me change my regard for you, Anatole.”

She paused, looking like there was something else she wanted to say. “Why don’t we start by fixing your clothes? Such pettiness in a single Court. Whichever was your connection to the Consul, I am sorry it went sour, but I’m not surprised… he is an acquired taste. I have already taken the liberty with your wardrobe, so please, tell me what would you like and spare no expense.”

“You don’t need to. I really can spell the stains away… though I’d still need a shower.”

“Let me, as your host.”

“How about a compromise?”

“Do tell.”

“Using my own wardrobe as a canvas, we take items from it to replace them. They might not be courtly, but I have always been fussy about clothes. I think it matters what one wears.”

The Countess laughed. “I knew I was right in making you my friend.”

“On one condition.”

“Estate it.”

“You’ll let me pay you back.”

“Humble as ever. Very well, our side project will have to wait, as Portia will escort you to your chambers. Your own garments will be returned, but I think you must allow me to choose an outfit for you. I have the perfect one in mind… I do hope you change your mind about paying me back, you are my guest of honour. You could be more selfish, if you like.”

He smiled at her but did not say anything. Antu jumped out from Anatole’s arms as he stood up to spell-clean his clothes. The Palace staff who did the laundry did not deserve to work extra because of some Courtier’s tantrum. Placing his hands over his chest, he took a deep breath, moving his hands away from him slowly as he did.  In front of his and the Countess’ eyes, the wine left his clothes, floating in the air like blobs Anatole gently deposited in the glass. 

When he took all the stains out, he took a drink from it.

“Can I ask you something else? Do you know what wine this is, beyond well, red?”

“I could have it checked. It’s not from the Palace’s own cellar, I’m afraid the Consul brings his own from his own private cellar in the Palazzo Cassano. That is his family’s seat. From what I understand, the Cassano have been in hold of the Consulship for almost 500 years.” 

Now that he heard the name again, Cassano, he felt like someone had hammered a silver plate which set a mechanism in motion. The words had the same feeling around them as the word ‘Balkovia’ did — home, holding hands with ‘unattainable’. Could it be that he was wrong? That home wasn’t unattainable because the gaping void of missing memories inside him meant he couldn’t reach it, but rather, than he hadn’t remembered yet?

There was only one way to know. He’d face the Consul again. He would as soon as he could.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

There had been a jewel with his change of clothes. An emerald necklace that had traces of Asra’s magic. Traces so strong Anatole could almost pull his friend back to him. He wanted to follow its guiding pull, but it wasn’t a good idea to do it when everyone was roaming around in the Palace still. He waited, and when the halls went quiet he stole out of his room, following Asra’s magic imbued in the necklace until a fountain in the gardens.

He let it drop into the water, watching it fall as the light caught on the faces of the gem, amplified as if the water itself was glimmering. He ran his palm over the water. The magic felt like his own until it stopped: the liquid now a mirror, showing Asra at the other end. 

When Asra noticed him he looked surprised, full of pride and relieved to see him. His laughter was like music, like the sitars of street musicians from other corners of the world. His praise felt warm to Anatole, Asra’s eagerness always did, even when the magician felt like he had said too much —like right now, by calling Anatole a man of light, and a man of words. 

His eagerness to see his friend won over his apprehension. Or perhaps, seeing his friend like he once remembered him, with his Prussian blue shirt with cream white bishop sleeves and ochre yellow pants. “Was it Rumi who said silence is the language of God and everything else is poor translation? Well, you might be the one exception to the rule.”

“If I did this, I did it in silence.”

“Light speaks through you, Nana Banana—”

“Do not call me that.”

“—It always has.”

Anatole wouldn’t have been able to anticipate the turns their conversation would have. It was heavy, filled with the request of honesty, and talk of the things Anatole had gone through. They talked about Nadia, once she had been Asra’s friends, even if he know claimed they were strangers. Anatole asked about justice, and if he could trust her that way. 

“I want to but—”

“But you have a duty to Vesuvians?” Asra said, less heavy than when he was talking about Nadia. Instead, he sounded resigned, like he was starting to let go of a fight he fought out of habit, not because he should or because he’d win it. 

“Asra the City needs justice, but not that justice.”

“I somehow knew you’d say that. You can take the boy out of politics, but not politics out of the boy.”

Anatole blinked. “Was I like this before? You promised to be honest.”

“I did,” the magician sighed. “You were. You were a beacon of hope in a hopeless situation.”

“Well, I most certainly have not been feeling like a beacon lately— I feel, misplaced. Like I know and I don’t know at the same time, like—” Anatole told him everything he had omitted before. Him speaking like he was on automatic pilot, like he could see himself from afar only both the speaker and the spectator were him. He was honest about pulls of magic he had felt through the years but never followed, afraid he’d get lost. He told Asra about the Consul, about so many things he had spoken to the Countess like he knew things he had no way of knowing. Not to that level of depth.

He told him he felt like he had been dead before and now he was being born again, only he didn’t know what kind of living he was supposed to be, while somehow walking with more hope and purpose than he’d suspect himself having. 

He only noticed his eyes welling up with tears when Asra got blurry. “I want to find out myself, but I need to ask: I was not born here was I?”

Asra’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “No. No, you were not… is there something else on your mind? I didn’t think this was the turn the conversation would have.”

“Neither did I…” Anatole dried his tears again. “I’m so fucking tired of crying in front of people.”

“Yeah, you’ve always hated that.”

“Did I know the Consul.”

“Oh, Nana I really can’t answer that. I know I promised—”

Antole took in a sharp breath. “Then answer me this: I was never your apprentice before, was I?”

“Nana, I can’t—”

“Answer the damn question. You promised.”

“No, no you were not. You approached magic differently than I did, but you sometimes made mine look like a joke.”

“Don’t depreciate yourself to compliment me, that’s not how it works. If I can’t do it, then neither can you.”

Asra raised is hands in surrender. “It was, and is still very impressive.”

“Alright, I have one more question. You told me I had an aunt right? Paris, Paris De Silva… Asra did I have parents? Asra I need to know this.”

Asra was quiet for so long, Anatole thought he wasn’t going to reply at all, but before he could get angry Asra steeled himself and spoke again, looking directly into Anatole’s eyes. “You’ll tell me to stop the moment you get a headache, alright?” Anatole agreed. “You did, Nana. You do—”

Anatole heard footsteps and ruffling leaves behind him and turned away from Asra. “There’s someone. I’ll find you again. I love you.”

Without thinking, Anatole drew his hand over the water, making a closing motion and Asra dissipated before he could say anything else. He stood from his spot at the same time a voice he didn’t recognise asked him if he had, perchance, found a self-refilling quill around the fountain. 

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, it is that I finally broke from a very long writer’s block and funnily enough I lost my quill— Anatole?”

As the stranger said his name, Anatole felt one of the heaviest waves of sadness and grief he had ever felt from someone. The man standing before him was dressed head to toe in black, his chesnut curls moving very lightly with the breeze. He snapped out of his shock with a panicked look in his eyes, walking past Anatole fast enough that he could break into a jog as he muttered to himself, frenzied and confused, that this couldn’t be happening again. Anatole tried to help him, but the stranger jumped back as his eyes swelled with tears. 

The man broke into a run, leaving Anatole alone and confused with no other option than going back to his room. 

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Once he was alone in his room once again, he cried. He cried until he couldn’t breathe. There was a gaping hollowness inside of him. Something locked away for reasons beyond his comprehension. He stared at his shaking hands, flexing his fingers, trying to anchor himself with the moment. What had happened to him? What had happened to him that he saw people he couldn’t know in his dreams, and friends in the faces of stranges? What had happened to him that one day he had nothing but a mismatched language, latching on his tongue as he asked Asra —who was unable to understand him— a thousand and one questions the magician could not answer. So many questions he could choke on them.

To speak, to exist in language is to exist, and what was he if he could not be spoken? If the faces his hearts conjured for him turned him in horror? If strangers like the man in the fountain walked away from him like he was some unspeakable thing walking on this earth? 

If he laid on the floor and closed his eyes, he could feel the earth calling him, but not how it called the dead. If he focused enough on desintegrating into the earth, he could feel his veins open up and flourish until it carried him back to a city he has never been in before and even further than. It carried it to forests where lakes within lakes lied, and it carried him through the desert into flowers which bloomed despite its dryness. Like a stream turning into a river running to the sea, he was born in the high of the mountains, and the city of the wells surrounded by forests and marshes. 

One thing he knew: Something had happened in Vesuvia. Something had happened to him, in Vesuvia. Something that made part of the flourishing blood of his open veins pull in the middle of the City, layers and layers down into the Earth like a beating heart underneath the floorboards, foreshadowing an encounter which was meant to happen. Anatole could only rise up to meet it.

Even if right now he felt lost and broken he would. His name was the name of the sun, and the sun always rises. He would be spoken, and he would find what happened to him and this City which had cradled him into existing. His blood flowed here for a reason, and he would find out that reason.

Some people can’t help to be anything but themselves. They will do anything in their power to speak that self into existence, even if they spent the rest of their lives on it. When he stood up from the floor to wash his face and go to sleep, he knew he’d find the truth about what happened that night in the Masquerade. He knew because he knew the secret of his own self was intertwined with it, in the same way he did not need Asra’s confirmation to know he had to have known the Consul.

Perhaps he was the figure in the fog, and it was time to reach it to light long forgotten lanterns.

[johnkrrasinski]

𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐥𝐞

Chapter 1: You Were My Town

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: Dark!Steve Rogers (in future chapters) x Reader 

Word Count: 2,061

Summary: Steve Rogers; a Hollywood A-lister and your clandestine occasional hookup. Best friends since childhood, but people change and friendships fall out. Now you were merely strangers with benefits. What happens when one day you stopped being his doormat to be a better man’s queen? The selfish Steve Rogers would not like it. How far is he willing to go to get his favorite possession back?

Warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, dark Steve (in later chapter), angst, Steve Rogers is an asshole in this one, no redeeming qualities. (MUST BE 18+) 

A/N: first chapter is finally here!! this series is dedicated to the lovely @belovedcherry​ who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for being a friend when i truly needed it. i’m really glad that you trusted me to write this story for you. with all my heart, i sincerely hope you like it. this series will be updated everyday, there will be 4 more chapters ahead. 

PICTURE EXCLUSIVE: New Couple Alert! Steve Rogers and a blondie bombshell can’t keep their hands off each other! The headline verbalized.

The notorious heartthrob was spotted leaving The Ritz-Calton Hotel in Los Angeles around 2 AM with Spanish model, Alondra Ondiviela, 28, who looked stunning in a salmon sports bra and black overall, as she walked hand-in-hand with Dusk and Dawn star, Steve Rogers.

Steve Rogers was last linked to Blade in Deep actress, Anne Amorós back in early spring this year but had reportedly split after only two months dating.

Steve Rogers has been previously linked to many gorgeous models in the past, earning him the infamous title of ‘Hollywood’s favourite ladykiller.’ Will Alondra Ondiviela be the one to finally make Steve Rogers settle down and give up his womanizer ways? Placing our bets on how long this couple is going to last!

You closed the tab on your browser as you sighed defeatedly on your couch. You laid your head back on the headrest as you shut your eyes and folded your arms against your chest. Just how many more gossip articles can you endure?

Steve Rogers was your childhood best friend and… Perhaps the only man you had ever truly loved. You knew it was nothing but sheer naivety for you to concede that. You knew it was cruel and inequitable to your heart, but, you still held on to that tiny glimpse of hope that someday, things will change. He will change. Despite all the shit he had put you through, you couldn’t abnegate yourself from him. He always lured you back in with his sweet words and sinful lips whenever you try to expel him from your door.

It wasn’t always like this. Back in kindergarten, Steve used to be this good, shy, scrawny kid who had a blistering passion for art. He was always very twitterpated by watching live shows on stage. When you were kids, Steve would try to sneak both of you into the theatre when the lights were out. Steve didn’t grow up in a very lucky family. His abusive father abandoned his mother when he was only four years old, and since then, his mom had been working tirelessly to keep a roof over their heads and fill in their fridge with food.

You, on the other hand, were a little luckier than him. Your parents had decent jobs that paid the bills well enough to survive. Whenever Steve was short in cash, you would always offer him a little bit of your pocket money or your meal. You would even offer to buy tickets for both of you so you didn’t have to sneak in and could actually get good seats. But he would always say, “well, where’s the fun in that?”

So you’d drop the topic and go along with whatever deceitful ways he had in mind. After all, he was your best friend and you trusted him. You’d rather choose the thrill of bootleg games than waiting ten minutes early before the show starts anyway. But you remember it vividly under the aura of those stage lightings and when the actors were personifying in their larger-than-life costumes, he would be so mesmerized by the show before him that sometimes he wouldn’t even say a word to you at all until it was over.

Before you went home, he and you would walk to the nearest burger place, where you would eat under the polychromatic neon sign and he would tell you, “someday, I’m going to my face on the big screen or one of those giant stages and I would make my mom proud!” he cheered. And you’d always encourage him, “…and I’ll be there to watch and clap for you in the audience.”

Rest in peace, to your naïve bravado… Little did you know, his dream was going to be your doom.

You remained closed friends as you grew up; going to the same school, sharing a few classes together, until, in high school, things began to change. He began to join auditions and taking art classes and extracurriculars. He became busier and busier every day to the point where he could only hang out with you on the weekends. That is when he absolutely had no rehearsals or he wasn’t too worn out from a week full of activities.

You also noticed the different manner and shift of inflexion when you two hung out. All he would talk about is the ‘clique’ of popular boys in school had asked him to sit with them at lunch and how the popular girls would start preening at him when he walked down the hallway. It was as if by partaking in these arts clubs, it gave him a VIP member card to get access into sitting with at exclusive spots and it upgraded his status.

He changed his looks as well, by going to the gym more often and eating more so that he would gain some muscles. He began dressing like one of those jocks and he would begin throwing in some flirtatious comments to those popular girls when they were around.

Eventually, he and you began to grow apart. It got worse when he started dating one of the popular girls, Janet, and he would ditch you even on weekends despite all the plans you had made weeks prior.

“I can’t hang out today, y/n. Janet’s parents are out of town and I think we are going to hook up in her giant pool!”

“But what about the movie that we planned to see together today? I thought you had been anticipating for it since a year ago?”

“I know, but can we just postpone it? It’s not like they are going to take it out tomorrow! We could still see it next weekend.”

“Well, we’ve bought the tickets, Steve.”

“Ah, shit, alright, I’ll just pay back the money, okay? How much are those tickets?”

“No, it’s fine, Steve. Don’t worry about it.”

“Really? You sure, y/n?”

“Yeah, I’ll just ask my mom or maybe Wanda to go see it with me. Don’t want those spoilers on the internet ruining it for me.” You chuckled hollowly. Disappointment filled up your heart but you pretended like it was alright, anyway. If Steve wanted to spend time with his girlfriend then, you had no right to stop him and force him to hang out with you.

“Ah, got it. Thanks, y/n. You’re the best!” and then the frozen seconds on the screen showed that he had ended the call.

The phone calls and text messages began to dwindle. You would often try to text or call him first but it would go to voicemail and or you would be left on read. When you were at school, Steve completely stopped hanging around you. He would rather be with his new ‘friends’ now. And he was too occupied with making out with Janet to notice you as you both walk past each other in the hall.

Wanda was your most trusted confidant and she knew about all the feelings you caged inside you for Steve. She would always be there for you when you cry over him and she would always encourage you to move on and stop trying to reach him. “You deserve so much better than this, y/n. Why would you ruin yourself for an asshole like him?”

Curse your adamant heart for refusing to listen to Wanda and take her advice. In the bottom of your heart, you knew that Wanda was right. You deserved so much better than what Steve had turned you into. You used to be this bright-eyed, rose-coloured heart person who saw your future in a radiant lustre. You were always drawn to helping people out. You used to think that maybe you’d end up being a nurse or a school counsellor, but as you grew older, gradually, you realized that there is far way more pernicious malady than physical ones.

Like the wound in your heart that Steve keeps tapping on every time he acts like he didn’t know you or he left another call or text unanswered. Every time he posted pictures of him and Janet, or him and ‘the boys’ who would walk around the school as they owned it. You had always dreaded those boys. You knew they were bad news and you didn’t want to be associated with them under any circumstances. You and Steve used to make fun of them, how much of a loser they are and how negligent they are toward their grades. But who would’ve known that Steve would turn into his own worst abomination?

Eventually, like all good (and bad) things, they must come to an end. You graduated with a 3.8 GPA and you were proud of yourself for all those times you spent being at home to do your homework and study until around 2 AM.

You were happy; you were satisfied with your grades, your parents were there, cheering for you in the audience and taking countless pictures of you when you walked on stage, and you could finally move forward to the next stage of your life. But something was missing.

“Gosh, I can’t wait to finally graduate.” He scanned the paper with a mark that mocked him in big bold red as he sat at the edge of your twin-sized bed. You had just returned from school and you had received the result of your Math tests. You luckily got a B+ but clearly, Steve didn’t acquire the same latter.

“C’mon, it’s just one bad test. It doesn’t mean that your life is over.”

“I know but, I don’t like seeing a C+ on my test, y/n. It makes me feel inadequate. Besides, I need a solid 3.7 GPA in order to get into NYU. Otherwise, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Stop being so dramatic, you still have what it takes. You just need to do a lot better in the next one.”

“Yeah, I’m really gonna have to work my ass off though. Math has never been my strongest suit.”

“Neither it’s mine, but you know what? Someday we’ll wear our graduation hat and this wouldn’t even matter. You’d probably forget that you’ve ever had a C in your high school year.”

You recalled those times where Steve would endlessly talk about graduating and what would happen when both of you go on separate ways. He would tell you “don’t be silly. We’ll always be best friends even if we go to different universities. It’s not like we don’t have a phone, y/n.”

You always imagined that on your graduation day, you both would celebrate it together but of course, those dreams have long perished. Steve didn’t even have a smile on his face when your name was being announced.

He was supposed to be there, standing right next to you and engulf you in a warm, giant hug. The one that he used to give on your birthdays. But no, now, you could only watch him from several feet away farther than you both used to be. You could only hear his echoing laugh as he high-fived the boys and twirl Janet around up in the air like the happy ending in your favourite Rom-Com movies.

That should be me. Your heart cry mourned for the memories and the fractured promises. It was like there was this colossal fortress between the two of you and while you were fighting to climb it to reach him, he, on the other hand, didn’t even have the patience to wait for you.

It’s okay though. At least you had your parents and Wanda and her parents and twin brother, Pietro who adorned this special day distracting you away from the anguish of missing Steve. You were going to spend this entire day with the people who truly loved you and you loved just as equal before you had to leave for the new phases of your own lives.

You will finally move to your college dorm, have yourself a roommate, and invest your time and energy in something that you knew you were always meant to do and it excites you that your journey of helping people will start soon.

And Steve Rogers will be nothing but a consigned to oblivion memory that will sink like a battleship beneath the waves.

At least for now.