#points de compression

[guybouchardqc]

Comment se faire mal (façon de parler) pour avoir de moins en moins mal.

Je viens de compléter mon guide autotraitèrent des Points Gâchettes (Trigger Points). Ce guide de 108 pages bien documentées et illustrées vous initie à la façon de démasquer les Points Gâchettes dans votre corps afin de les désactiver intelligemment. Réputés pour être la cause sournoise de beaucoup de symptômes responsables de douleurs physiques à répétition, les Points Gâchettes sont une…

[soupy-sez]

Interview With The Vampire, S01E03

[wosoamazing]

14:00

Warnings: Death, CPR, car accident, blood, head injury, stud’s causing blood, match abandoned, panic attack?, ankle injury, vomit(barely, bile), badly translated Spanish - google translated (has english though too). 

A/N: Part 2? If yes Angsty or Fluffy?? Or both??

One minute you were walking down the street with your best friend, the next minute you were on call with 112, about to start CPR on your best friend. Every minute that went by she slipped further and further away. The women who hit her. The women who didn’t even know her was breaking down. Her continuous screams of “I’m sorry” pierced your ears over and over. This women, a women who didn’t even know her was allowed to break down but you couldn't. You had to fight back the tears that brimmed your eyes. You had to stay strong. Watch how her chest caved inward with every compression. Watch as the colour faded away from her body slowly, as blood spilled out of her. Watch as her pupils dilated further. Watch as her chest caved in slightly less with every compression and feel how your arms burnt more with every compression, your breath becoming more ragged with every minute, becoming increasingly aware of your heart that pounded in your chest. A wave of relief should’ve washed over you as you heard the sirens but it didn’t, instead you steadily became increasingly aware of the severity of the situation you we’re in.

“Señorita, ¿puede dar un paso atrás? Nos haremos cargo.(Miss, can you step back, we will take over.)” You didn't even look at him, not even a glance, your mind was laser focused, nothing else could get in. You had to keep going. You couldn't stop. She couldn't die. A hand was placed on your shoulder and it pulled you back, the paramedics immediately resumed CPR, you knelt there, trembling, tears threatening to leave your eyes, but you didn’t let them win.

“¿Puedo comprobarte? (Can I check you out?)” A voice said as they placed a hand on your back, you flinched “No, no, estoy bien, estoy bien (No, no I’m fine, I’m fine)” you reassured yourself. Because you were fine, you weren’t the one dying on the pavement.

----

“Ella ha estado codificando durante una hora, llámalo (She’s been coding for an hour, call it)” “Hora de la muerte 14:00 (Time of death 14:00)” you turned around, walked away, not noticing some of your teammates standing there, they all expected you to break but you didn’t. 14:00 signalled your best friend’s time of death, it also signalled the death of your ability to feel any emotion, you walked straight out of the hospital and back home, like a robot, monotone, you continued to just go through the daily motions of life for weeks, somehow not feeling any emotion. Until Alexia decided to try and get through to you one day.

“Y/N! aquí ahora(here now),” up until this point she was letting you go, when you didn't respond when you ignored her, but she wasn’t letting you go this time.

“Why are you training?” she bluntly said “What do you mean?” you snapped knowing very well what she meant, ever since that day your ankle had been hurting, but you had managed to hide it, until today, you had a slight limp, but you hoped no one noticed.

“Your ankle is hurt.” “No, it's not, I’m fine.” “Y/N,” “I’m fucking fine Alexia, what don’t you understand about that, estoy bien, is that better, do you understand now, can't you just leave me alone, that's all anyone has been doing for weeks.” Alexia was hurt, you had insinuated she was dump, but she wasn't going to continue pushing. she knew you didn't like talking about your emotions, they all did, but your last words repeated over in her head, was leaving you alone doing more harm than good, did you feel like you couldn't show emotion. She didn't know but she had just seen some sort of emotion from you, in your words and eyes, you had been aggressive and defensive, but your last words made her feel you were one trigger, one thing away from letting it all out.

____

It was only a week later when you were forced to show real and raw emotions again, there was a corner, and instead of Hannah Hampton’s glove hitting the ball she punched Lucy straight in the temple, causing the older women to fall to the ground with a thud, laying there lifeless, before she took studs to the shoulder as one of the Chelsea players stumbled backwards. She laid there lifeless blood pouring out of her, she couldn’t die, not this way, not the same way, your vision glazed over as the image of Lucy turned into your best friend, the sudden present of emotions choked you, the cries of the women met your ears again, the sirens, the paramedics, suddenly you couldn’t breath you had to get out of there, you ran, quickly, and found yourself hiding under a bench in the corner of the locker room, your were curled up as physically small as you could get, tears flooded out your eyes as you rocked, your hands squeezing the life from your legs, in an attempt to try and stay grounded.

Alexia had followed you, but she couldn't bring herself to moved further into the room, she just stood in the doorway not knowing what to do.

Ingrid came up behind her, informed her captain the game was abandoned, before the Norwegian women moved towards you and Alexia left, only to be greeted with all of her teammates standing in the hall, she was unsure of what to do, ever thankful that Emma offered they share the Chelsea showers, as quickly as possible your teammates came in collected all their things and quickly left, leaving just you and Ingrid in the room, the women had been trying to coax you out of your head and at least slightly back with her words, trying not to startle you, but it wasn’t working, she had no option but to place a very soft hand on your arm, which caused you to jump in sheer panic, you only ever so slightly opened a gap between your leg and arm to see who it was, but it was enough for Ingrid to see how much of a state you were in, your eyes wide open, pupils dilated in fear, tears streaming down your face.

Once you realised it was Ingrid, someone safe, someone soft, you immediately launched yourself at her, before yet again curling into the smallest ball you could in her lap, clutching at her jersey, which was quickly soaked from your tears, she held onto you tight, placing her chin on top of your head, rocking you softly as you continued to sob, as your body shook, as you were falling apart in her arms, and she was just glad someone was there when you did fall apart, her biggest fear the whole time had been what if someone wasn't there when you broke, when your heart cracked open, when the temporary tape that kept your heart together broke, but here she was, the tape had broken, causing your heart to shatter, and Ingrid was there to hold you. At some stage Mapi had come in, and sat next to Ingrid, she placed a cautious hand on your back and left it there, not moving it.

---

Your mouth started to fill with saliva, and your body rolled forward before you were met with a sour fluid in your mouth, Ingrid quickly moved a sick bag up to your mouth, and you spat out the bile before taking a small sip of water and resuming your tight ball, your eyes were still streaming, although your body had stopped shaking as much as it was. The two women resumed, their positions of just sitting there, in silence, with you, both knowing you would talk about it with time, both knowing you didn't want to be pushed, and you didn't want someone telling you it was okay, or that it would be okay because no one in life actually knew whether it would be okay or not. So they sat there with you, giving you the physical comfort and reassurance you needed, having no intention of moving until you wanted to.

---

“Go,” you said so quietly the two women barely registered it, you didn't know how long it had been, but you felt okay now, you felt ready to go and talk about it.

“Sure, you’re going to stay with us though okay,” you didn't say anything, just nodded, you were thankful you didn't have to go home to your cold apartment which was once filled with warmth from your best friend, the apartment that was once filled with laughter, once filled with joy. Ingrid lifted you up with her, and as you stood your ankle was throbbing, but it had been for the past week, what was different, however it was different when you took your first step towards the exit, a simple step caused so much pain, from one simple step your knee buckled under you as a shooting pain rose up your leg. Ingrid quickly wrapped a hand around your waist, steadying you.

“I-Ing, um, c-could we, p-pos-posibly g-go t-to the, the physios f-first?” you softly stuttered, she looked at you slightly bewilder that you had opened up so quickly about your ankle that everyone knew was hurt, the one that was clearly hurt the day Alexia called you out for it and you insisted you were fine, even though it was evident you weren't, both of them were concerned that it had somehow gotten worse in the past hour both just standing there not knowing what to do, “my-my an-ankle,” she nodded, and Mapi quickly moved ahead of you both to see if the Chelsea physios were still there and whether they could look at you or not.

“Our physios aren’t here, but the Chelsea physios are going to take care of you,” they looked over you, before getting an x-ray. “It's broken, but we are worried about ligament damage since it looks to be a stress fracture, she is going to need to get scans at the hospital,” your body stiffened at his words, as your eyes widen and you started trembling “no-no-no hospital,” you pleaded, “Can’t you just put her in a boot and give her crutches, other than possible surgery what else would they do different if it was ligaments too.” Ingrid tried to reason with them, “We can but there is a possibility that if we don’t do the scan on her ankle today she could have to have a bigger surgery and longer recovery, or will be in pain every time she plays forever” “Qué más va a hacer una semana o dos? ya ha pasado un mes” (What more is a week or two going to do. It has already been a month)

[gavitaffy]

Interview

A/N: HII! This is my first story here on tumblr, I’m excited to hear what you guys think about this (please be nice :’)) I don’t got a lot of experience with writing fan fic’s, but reader? a lot of good experience there. I don’t know completely how tumblr works so smby please teach me

Warnings: None

Not proofread

Pairings: Pablo Gavi x f!reader

You were standing near the field, and 2 minutes were left of the game. The whistle finally blew, Barcelona won, again. You went over to the players with your camera crew looking for any players.

You wandered around with your gifted jersey woth number 6 on it from the club, you were a sports reporter and coming to matches wasn’t rare.

As you stood there for about 5 minutes you finally got a hold of someone, Gavi.

¡Hola Gavi! Felicidades por tú victoria de hoy y 3 goles de esté partido, ¿cómo te sientes? (Hello Gavi! Congratulations with your victory today and 3 goals this match, how are you feeling?)

¡Hola y muchas gracias bonita! ¡Los 3 goles fueron absolutamente increíbles, no me lo esperaba! (Hey and thank you so much beautiful! The 3 goales was completely fantastic had mever imagined me that).

¡Tan bueno! ¿Qué crees que te trajo esta suerte hoy? So good! What do you think gave you the luck today?

You looked Gavi in the eyes as it seemed like he pondered about your question and started to blush

Por supesto mi familia, por supuesto (My family, of course)

¡Que lindo! (How cute)

You turned to the camera and said your goodbyes, right as the camera turned off Gavi said

Quise decir que hoy eras mi amuleto de buena suerte (I meant that you were my good luck charm today)

You looked at Gavi in a mix of shock and admiration

¿Qué quieres decir con eso? (What do you mean by that?)

Lo qué quiero decir con eso es que eres hermosa (What I mean by that is that you’re beautiful)

Both of you started to blush heavily, he noticed this and decided to make a move on you

¿Tienes un marcador? (Do you have a marker?)

Si, aquí (Yes, here)

Quitate eso. (Take that off.)

He pointed at my barcelona jersey. You were shocked by the bold statement, as you took your jersey off, he took his off. The compression sweater fitting his body perfectly, which displayed his abs to the point where you could stare at them for hours.

Déjame firmártelo (Let me sign it for you)

Oh, muchas gracias Gavi (Oh, thank you so much Gavi)

What you didn’t know he didn’t just sign it, but on the inside of the jersey he wrote his number, he gave you his jersey and winked at you saying

Te espero en mi próximo juego hermosa (I expect you at my next game beautiful) he said and walked off

You put his jersey on and now you were a blushing mess, you went straight home and decided to take a shower, but as you took the jersey off it went inside out as you notched the black marker stains, as you studied it closer you saw a number, shocked you sent messages to the unkown number.

Unkown number

Hola, ¿quién es? (hello, who’s this?)

Soy Gavi, ¿no me recuerdas? (it’s Gavi, don’t ou remember me?)

Calro que sí, pero no sabía que eras tú quien escribió el número en la camiseta (Of course, but I didn’t know it was you who wrote the number on my tshirts)

Fui yo😉 (It was me)

¿Para qué quieres mi número en realidad? (What do you need my number for actually?)

Para invitarte a salir en una cita… (To ask you out on a date…)

¿Así que me estás invitando a salir ahora? (So you’re asking me out on a date now?)

Sí, eso estoy haciendo. ¿Mañana a las 17:00 te parece bien? (Yes, I am. Tomorrow at 17:00?)

Me parece perfecto🫶🏼 (Works for me)

Nos vemos entonces🥰 (See you then)

*Phone number saved as Gavi🫶🏼*

A/N: It’s waaay over my bedtime now, first story out of the way! I hope you liked it, maybe a pt. 2 would be fun but we’ll see♥︎

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 47

part 1 | part 46 | ao3

cw: recreational drinking; fatal levels of fluffy idiocy

They make their way over to the kitchen, where Eddie snags them two cans of beer off the counter — warm, but unopened, which is really as much as you can hope for at a house party by this time of night.

Steve doesn't mind, anyway. Doesn't want Eddie's hands to be cold.

"You think you're good to step outside for a few minutes?" he asks, tugging at the hem of Eddie's leather jacket. The black hoodie he has layered underneath. They're not nearly thick enough for an extended stroll through the two-inch blanket of snow outside, but he's hoping it'll do for just a few minutes.

Eddie cracks his beer with a grin. "Why? You wanna have a snowball fight?"

"Something like that."

Eddie follows him out back, down the slope of the lawn toward the property's edge. Away from the rest of the party until theirs are the only footprints in the powdery sheet of fresh snow.

It's bright out tonight. Moonlight bounces so fully off the white canvas that Steve doesn't even need to use a flashlight, and Eddie's pale skin shines; dazzles in the moonglow, all shimmer and sparkle and so utterly alive, his limbs in constant motion to keep the cold out of his bones. He's taking these big exaggerated hop-steps, shaking the snow from his shoes with each lift, compressing the fluff beneath his feet with each heavy stomp down so it doesn't creep into the eyelets of his boots and wet his socks.

Steve's gonna thrift him a new jacket. A big, puffy one, he decides. New boots, too, next chance he gets; gonna wrap him up in a big knitted scarf and crocheted mittens and a hat with a silly little pompom on top. He'd look cute like that, all bundled up. Warm and safe.

"What are you smiling so big for?"

"No reason," Steve smiles wider with a shrug. He doesn't bother trying to explain himself, 'cause he never sounds half as eloquent out loud as he thinks he does in his head; shit gets all jumbled up on the way out of his mouth, but he just thinks, "You look cute."

Eddie stops short. "Excuse you!" he squawks, one foot still hovering in the air. Arms out wide to keep his balance on one leg. "I am not cute."

"Uh huh," Steve licks his lip. Your eyes are bigger than the moon and your cheeks get all pink when you're offended, but sure. You're not cute. "Whatever you say."

"That's right," Eddie insists. He sticks his nose up in the air with a little hmph! noise. "I'm mean and big and scary, and you like doing what I say."

"Also true," Steve agrees.

Eddie's face comes back down, expression softening into something sickeningly sweet; desperately so, almost unbearable to look at.

Steve's heart squeezes hard enough in his chest to bruise his lungs.

"Where are you taking us, anyway?"

"Not much further," Steve says. The party’s on a cul-de-sac that backs up to Maple, to Tommy’s old street — weird, considering how much newer and nicer this neighborhood is compared to Tommy's, but that's how all of Hawkins is. The zones stacked on top of each other, new money swooping in and taking over them like kudzu.

In between the neighborhoods there’s a stretch of untouched woods: old trees and tall grass, brambles and dark mulch and the remains of reedy stalks, and through the center of it all runs a massive, winding storm drain. Like the bones of a concrete snake, blanketed by moss and leaves and snow.

Steve and Tommy used to play here. Used to perch where the drain pipe let out to a shallow open groove; dangle their legs over the edge and pretend they were sitting on a lake dock instead of sweating their asses off in the woods beyond Tommy’s yard.

“This one year,” Steve says as he leads Eddie toward the spot, pausing to hold a branch back so it doesn't pop them in the face. “There was this, like- this crazy flood, and the water got so high that we could almost splash our feet in it from the top of the pipe.”

He points out the drain in question. It’s smaller than he remembers; comes up to maybe shoulder height, but it used to be huge. Used to be that he could stand up in the opening and spread his arms out wide and only just scrape the tips of his fingers against the gritty walls.

Now it looks like he’d tweak his back trying to hunch over to crawl in. Guess he was a lot smaller than he remembers then, too.

"Okay..." Eddie says as he takes wide steps toward it, eyeing the curve of snowy concrete. "I can't tell if this is secluded in a romantic way, or if this is just some creepy Stephen King shit."

Before Steve can so much as roll his eyes, Eddie gasps and spins on his heel; snow spraying under his feet, eyes impossibly wide. "Oh, my fucking god," he breathes.

It puts Steve on high alert. "What is it?" he asks as he steps in close; gets Eddie by the elbows, backs him up against the side of the pipe and uses himself as a shield so he can look over his shoulder and scan the undergrowth. Is there an animal out here? Something worse? Did Eddie see something? "What-?"

When he turns back around, Eddie's clamping his lips shut so tight it looks like it hurts. "I just realized..."

His nostrils flare as a snort escapes him.

Oh, goddammit. Steve thought it was something serious! He slouches in relief, letting his hands slip around Eddie's waist; underneath his jacket, to the dip at the small of his back. "Yes?" he sighs, prompting Eddie to spill whatever's got him trying so hard not to laugh.

"Your- your name is Stephen."

Uh. "Yeah?" What the hell...? "I mean, it's Steven with a V, but- yeah?"

Another giggle breaks free. "And- and you're The King."

"...Oh, my god."

He's so stupid. He is so fucking stupid. Eddie's snickering so hard it's making his nose wrinkle up, his whole face flushed a brilliant pink, and there are fireworks going off in the neighborhoods all around them; Steve can hear the countdowns starting, the muted chorus over the hills, people shouting 'ten! nine! eight!' and Eddie's so fucking tickled he can barely get his words out.

"Baby," he gasps as the crowds chant four! and three! "You're Stephen King."

Two!

Steve has to kiss him.

One!

Has to kiss him and never stop.

"You're an idiot, Eddie Munson," he smiles against laughing lips, and their tongues meet in the middle as they ring the new year in.

—

part 48

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[euphoriesx]

W/ THE BOY NEXT DOOR? GURL, YOU'RE IN 4 A TREAT !!

director romi's first movie starring choso kamo !!

CO-STARRING : fem! reader, suggestive.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ when choso moves in, you don't bat an eye - well, in actual fact, you do. his compression shirt is too tight on his torso, accentuating his lean figure, and oh, those abs are something you can't miss. and look at those boo- you stop yourself, walking right back into your house. however, rather unknown to you, there's going to be many more encounters with this lucky stranger.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ that time your car didn't work, choso drove you to your date. it was awkward, of course, but there was no way you were walking all the way to the selected meeting spot. for the first five minutes, you were both silent, till he asked something. it was the first time you realised his voice was quite ... attractive. soft and velvety.

'you're not single?'

'nah.' you gave him a straight answer, though regretted it immediately, seeing a sunken look in the raven head's face.

'funny. i'd have thought a pretty girl like you would have a guy already.'

'why else would i be living alone?'

you got out of the car straight after that, deciding it would be better to just walk the rest of the way. no point in trying to communicate with someone you'd probably never see or talk to again.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ but the breaking moment was the presence of choso's little brother, yuji. he was seven at the time, though when you asked choso about the age difference, he merely shrugged it off. you'd become friends at this point, despite your warnings to yourself to not get so close to him, though you found yourself squished on a couch desperately, dangerously close to choso, yuji sitting on the carpeted floor, giggling as he smashed dolls against one another, making loud sound effects every so often.

'your house is nice.' you smile, feeling your heart jump as choso leans closer to hear you amidst yuji's 'kapows' and 'boom!! killed you's. it's when you realise his eyes are very pretty ... so is his hair ... well, his whole face, really.

little did you know, he thought the same thing about you.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ the funniest moment of all had to be the 'joke' date choso set up, of course with your consent, just to get back on a particularly bitchy ex ('who would leave choso kamo of all people?' you had asked yourself, as he recounted the news to you). you still keep the polaroids near your bed every night, stuck to your vanity; it brought a smile to your face even if you passed it and saw the photos through your peripheral vision, recognising every little figure and smile that made choso.

you never heard if that ex got back together with him, but deep inside, you really did hope that she didn't. if you were hideous enough to dump choso, then you didn't deserve any of his attention. it brought a huff to your lips, though probably something more akin to jealousy rather than frustration on his part.

he lied. he just wanted to be with you.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ it's when the alcohol pours out of your mouths and drips onto the floor that he confesses - and it's more than a confession, it's a declaration of love, a love that never dies in the nine months he has stayed beside your house, seeing your every movement and coy grin. his 22nd, and he's invited you over among the sneaky comments from his friends about the girl he's pulled, comments you brush off.

'you know, i really like you, y/n.'

'you're lying,' you slur, tipping a shot down your throat.

'nah' nah,' he giggles. 'i love you so much. from the very moment i saw you, from the moment we met eyes, i needed you. not just to hold, i wanna feel you de-eeep inside, wanna feel you from the inside out, ya know?'

'if ya think love's like dat, then maybe i love you too,' an equally giddy laugh from your part, as you feel a wild hand stroke itself down the small of your back, grip your ass tightly, as if you're the only possession of his in the whole world.

'feel me inside of you, if ya luv me so much.' a slutty grin, and your eyes trail down his broad shoulders, down his snatched waist, his veiny forearms, his long hands, those fingers that you'd love so much to feel up your throbbing little clit.

'oh god, i will.' is your only answer, as he throws you over his shoulder, the plastic cup now somewhere only he knows. and, oh god, what a treat.

[mudisgranapat]

FitnessInfluencer!Reader x GymBro!Ghost

so i’ve recently really gotten into going to the gym and i can’t stop thinking about Ghost working out and reader being an annoying influencer that is always recording at the gym. the last thing he needs is a camera in his face when he is trying to work out and de-compress from his deployment.

After finally finding a 24 hour gym, you get your things ready to film your content. Your youtube channel is one of the most popular nowadays, and it’s the platform where you make most of your videos. Most of them teach people workout series, ranging from stuff they can do at home, hardcore exercises and even a step to step guide on how to use each gym equipment, so newbies don’t get scared of training for the first time by themselves. However, sometimes, you do some vlogging on the side, showing your daily routine and other things, like skincare.

You figure 3 am is a good time to go to the gym and record - no one is at training by then and your schedule is already fucked anyways. Not having an office or regular work hours has its ups and downs, but at least you are in charge of own routine, since you make a surprisingly good amount of money from your videos.

You take your own time, making a protein smoothie (and obvioulsy recording it, as you had a paid partnership with the supplement’s brand) and writing down your ideas for the video you want to do today. You stick to a simple “leg day” vlog, typing on your phone what machines and reps you want to do.

Choosing a simple purple top and matching leggings, you make your way towards the gym on your Range Rover, Stanley cup filled with water on the cup holder. You roll your eyes as you make a turn and can feel the water dripping out of the cup. You make a note to yourself to bring a water bottle the actually works next time and keep it off camera, so the useless cup can just sit on frame for aesthetic purposes while your record.

If you had to point out one thing you hated about your job, it would be having to keep up with all the (in your opinion, useless) trends, so you could reach a bigger audience. At the end of the day, it was about making money, although you loved how your content got to inspire people to be more active. If it meant you had to carry a metal 40oz lead poisoned cup with you for a couple of hours, then so be it.

As soon as you park your car at the gym’s empty parking lot, you pull out your vlog camera, not noticing the single black truck parked in the far corner, under a tree.

Sometimes you wonder if you would hate your “vlog persona” if you met her in real life. Repeating the same phrases over and over again, trying to get the best take, constantly looking for better lighting. What looks good on camera, in real life, just looks painfully awkward sometimes, specially when you are talking to an audience that isn’t even there. You push those thoughts to the back of your head, as you slide your card at the gym’s card reader, opening the doors.

“Anyways, guys. I know it sounds crazy right?” You make your way into the gym, re-recording the introduction at least 3 times so you know you’ll have good material to edit later. “Training at 3 a.m. I don’t even know if it’s technically morning or night right now.” You joke to the camera. “Let me know in the comments if I should start the videos with ‘Good morning’ or ‘Goodni’-“ a hand suddenly grabs the camera from your hand, holding it right above your head. You stare at the man who seemed to materialise out of the shadows.

“How about ‘Goodbye’.” He says, and you barely have time to register his sarcasm as he slams your camera on the floor, breaking it in pieces. You stand there, frozen, while the man swings his duffel bag over his shoulders and heads out of the gym.

When you finally regain your senses, he is long gone, and you’re left wondering to yourself, not only who he is, but also who does he think he is. You barely had time to register what he looked like, simply recalling we was well over 6ft tall and build like a fucking tank. But regardless of his built, if he believes, even for a second, that he can do something like that and just walk away unscathed, he is dead wrong.

You can’t wait to see him again.

A.N: wrote this with my eyes literally closing, but i just couldn’t get it out of my head (sorry for any mistakes, def not proofread). hopefully it’s not complete shit. let me know if you want to see more of this! i could see this becoming either a short series or at least having one more part. Let me know if you want to be tagged if this has a part 2 :)

[codenamesazanka]

thoughts on the chapter

“these differences, both internal and external, allow us to run towards other people and search for a point of intersection” kid out of 8 chapters you spoke like 5 sentences to Shigaraki. What intersection. (I know, I know - the crying child. the only thing Deku can care about.)

Aizawa and Mic visiting Shirakumo's grave

Compress reading Spinner's book with a sad smile...

Did villains just magically stop appearing? because AFO is gone? Because everyone is a bit nicer to each other? Because the rankings got expanded and now everyone wants to get the Eiyuu title?

Shoji says "This award goes to those who rose up 8 years ago." GEE SHOJI. I WONDER WHO IT WAS THAT GOT THEM TO SHOW UP IN THE FIRST PLACE.

I know he's thinking of the heteromorphs that stopped that day. But i just. can't get over the fact that it was Spinner's call to action that inspired them first to even come out.

"peacefully resolving prejudice-based incidents in the rural areas" Peacefully telling a man to put down the rake they're about to hit a heteromorph child with.

I know the intention is de-escalation or something. And that's a good thing! Ideally I don't want the man holding the rake to be smashed into the ground. I don't want the dumbasses spray painting slurs on a wall to be punched around. But the word peaceful here feels like it implies that... it would be victim's fault if they use force to resist violent discrimination. Equal responsibility on all parties and it's up to Shoji, it depends on Shoji to resolve it nonviolently. The originator of the violence doesn't enter the equation.

idk. rubs me the wrong way.

Did Shoji resolve the heteromorph riot peacefully? Not really. He fought Spinner (ah, you might say - well, Spinner was using violence! Shoji has to react to that with punching as well! Yeah. That's what I mean.) Koda had birds shoved someone off a building. What actually stopped everything was one rioter feeling doubts. It's credited to Shoji's words, but Shoji also admits that it's good they showed up and in the chapter here, he calls it an "uprising".

And they showed up because of Spinner.

Well. Maybe Shoji turned to "peaceful resolves" afterwards.

Just to clarify so that no one misunderstands me. Peaceful resolutions are good. I'm glad that's how Shoji is stopping anti-heteromorph incidents. What I dislike is the shallow framing.

"Quirk Counseling Expansion Project" EXPANSION???

Toga became the way she was because she didn't go to Quirk Counseling enough. Needed Expansion. The counselor saying she'll make Toga "nice and normal" didn't go far enough. Needed Expansion.

Again, I get that probably reform is implied in that, or the intent is probably expanding the concept/ideas/tools/methods/scope to include better methods. But wow.

All Might + Crowd of Supporter Statues is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.

Story literally breaking the ending fourth wall to give a happy ending to Deku.

I expect the volume extras to have Shigaraki to come and decay the ending and rescue the league.

It's amazing how the answer to "can someone quirkless be a hero" is a NO. Because Deku's feeling sad and lonely being quirkless and just a teacher and saving a kid from tripping and encouraging a future student. It's not enough. It's not Heroism. So he gets a support item and gets to be a Hero again

And then Shigaraki's Star Wars ghost is just there, not tied into the theme happening on page because Deku failed to saved the fucking guy, but he remembers Shigaraki. for one panel.

Just to repeat this because it's hysterical: This ending is "Can a quirkless person be a hero (and be happy and feel worthy?)" We get a gentle bittersweet but resounding NO. Until All Might comes again to help him out with a 'gift'.

"Remember that day when I used support items to inject acid into an immortal child demon on global TV? The day that you killed a man? Well, data from that day made you this support item. Use it to be a Hero."

Also being a quirkless Hero after all depends on knowing people and having lots of money.

All Might is now about 64 years old.

Shigaraki ghost...........

Something about shigaraki in his original outfit has me all choked up.

That's the appearance he chose to present as in the vestige realm before he disappeared.

The appearance he had in that flashback of him and Spinner bonding over games.

I like how Deku looks back, sees the ghost, but then turns forward and smile. Not even a smile as he's looking at shigaraki. I know this is nitpicky. jfc tho.

"You already destroyed it"/"That depends on what you guys do from now on." I see that there's barely any credit to Shigaraki forcing this amount of change in this chapter. As far as I can see, Deku barely thinks about Shigaraki or even Tenko this chapter. Shigaraki's just a ghost hidden vaguely in all this.

"I'll never forget" lol. The ghost is just like an afterthought from the story to make sure Deku keeps his 'promise'

I don't think a single villain's name is mentioned here. Not a single League member's. Uravity's work towards quirk counseling is not publicly or explicitly credited to her experience with Toga (the vaguest of implication). We don't know Dabi's fate and Shouto is only known as "Endeavor's son" - which might be good? because it's Endeavor's who was the main perpetrator, but still. Spinner lead the uprising but Shoji doesn't mention that. Spinner wrote his book but there's no impact, except for making Compress smile sadly and that's it. Twice has been long forgotten. Deku thinks of Shigaraki's words at the beginning of the chapter, then sees his ghost at the end, but otherwise, nothing.

Truly they've been swept under the rug. A lid put over everything.

Whatever!!!! Shigaraki and the League - the absolute best part of bnha.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Chrysler 340 Six Pack!

This engine design was guided by none other than Tom Hoover, later known as ‘the father of the Hemi’. For 1970, as delivered in AAR Cuda and Dodge Challenger T/A for use in the SCCA Trans-Am Racing Series, the factory stock Six Pack 340 engine was a well-optioned animal straight out of the box. It meant business, leaving plenty of scope for modifications allowed within the racing regulations that would help it thrive in a Trans Am racing environment. There was no stone unturned, starting with a high nickel stress-relieved engine block, utilising thicker webbing in the pan rails and other areas to allow the option of installing four bolt main caps on 2,3 and 4. High-performance ‘J’ casting cylinder heads were utilised along with large diameter valves, working in tandem with a unique rocker arm/shaft/pushrod assembly. Within this cylinder head design, the pushrod holes were offset to allow more material for oversized porting on the intake runners. Forged crankshaft, heavy-duty conrods and high-performance pistons. A windage tray was also featured. A healthy 10.5 to 1 compression ratio complemented an aggressive 276/284 duration camshaft driven by a dual-row timing chain and the fire in the combustion chamber was ignited by dual points ignition with the spent gasses exiting through a free-flowing exhaust system.

One highlight of this engine combination was the Six Pack (or 6 barrel) carb set-up, running a trio of two-barrel Holleys sitting on top of a factory-fitted Edelbrock intake manifold. A 375 cfm centre carb acted as a primary, then at a given throttle percentage, the two 500 cfm outer carbs would open up and join the party to provide a whopping total of 1375 cfm in total air flow, along with an induction howl you’d never forget.

The factory officially rated the engine at 290hp and 345ft/lbs of torque. The consensus is that it produced at least 330hp, particularly when you consider its claimed 14.4 second quarter-mile capability and 5.8 sec 0-to-60 mph times in a 3500 pound car. In race spec, the engine was de-stroked to just under the Trans-Am regulations 305cu limit and during the development phase across its racing lifespan, was rumoured to have produced between 460 and 500hp.

[saeran-exe]

20/08/24

I forgot to post this yesterday 'cause I got home so late from uni 😭

Yesterday was a pretty tiring, but worth it, day of studying since I missed an entire week of class and had to study all of the content from last week's welding technology class + study from a texbook on science and engineering of materials.

Content studied yesterday:

> Stress-Strain of metals under tension, compression, sheer and torsion tests ;

> Stress-Strain graph (elastic and plastic strain, recognization of ductile and brittle materials, points of elastic limit, yielding, ultimate strength and rupture) ;

> General types of welding ;

> Concepts of welding technology .

My welding technology class went great and I was relieved when I found myself following the explanations with ease and being able to participate because of successful studying and absorption of the last class' content through photos of the board that my classmate sent me. I was really scared I would fall behind but I feel pretty confident and intrigued by the subject and engineering in general... I think like I'm finally falling in love with it!

[werewolfnightwalker]

De-aged Keigo

Part two!

.

The whole League stared as Dabi stepped through the villa's front door, his arms protectively wrapped around his cargo.

"What have you got there, Dabi?" Compress asked.

"The hell does it look like?" Dabi snapped back, tightening his arm around the bedraggled, winged boy in his arms as he stomped the snow off his boots, "It's Hawks."

"Uh… Hawks is a grown man, bro!" Twice pointed out.

"Thanks, Sherlock, I didn't realize." Dabi stopped just inside the living room, keeping his distance from the others, "He got hit by a de-aging Quirk while we were out. It's not going to last forever, but for the moment our little birdie is three years old." He looked down at the boy in his arms, his heart twinging.

Hawks was clinging to him like he was terrified of being put down, his face buried in Dabi's collar and clawed hands fisted in the back of his jacket. Even now that they were inside, the pitiful thing was shivering violently. Although his eyes were closed, his whole body was tense, alert; he was pretending to sleep, and Dabi assumed it was to avoid having to meet the others.

He couldn't say he blamed him; it had been difficult to get him to trust him when the Quirk first hit him, an hour or so ago. Hawks had panicked and ran away from him, only to faint once he got outside, from- as far as Dabi could figure out- a mix of hunger and the cold. Dabi had picked him up from there, and spent the whole walk back reassuring him that he was a friend. When he mentioned getting Hawks some food, the kid had finally seemed to give up struggling.

Good to know his younger self was as much of a glutton as his adult self, Dabi had mused. Now, he strode past everyone and made for the kitchen, shouldering the door open.

"Wait, where are you going? I wanna see him!" Toga cried, and Dabi felt Hawks flinch.

"Keep your voice down and your hands to yourself." He snapped over his shoulder, "I'm getting him some food. If you want to be useful, go get me some warm clothes he can wear."

He ignored Toga's grumbling as he slipped into the kitchen, kicking the door shut behind him. "Hey, little bird." He spoke softly as he looked down at his armload, "We're alone now, you can stop faking. I'm going to put you down, okay?" That said, he stepped up to the counter and gently lowered Hawks onto it, until his rump hit the granite countertop. He tried to move away, but Hawks held fast, letting out a shaky whimper.

"Cold-" He gasped, gilded eyes flying open in panic.

For some reason, Dabi couldn't stop himself from immediately pulling him back into his arms. "Alright, alright." He sighed as Hawks melted against him again. He… supposed he could make something to eat like this. He adjusted Hawks onto his hip and went to the pantry to see what they had. "How does ramen sound?" He asked.

Hawks didn't answer, but Dabi pulled two of the instant cups out and put them on the counter. He had to tear the top off with his teeth, but it was easy to turn the sink on and stick the cup under it to fill it. He stuck the cup in the microwave and stepped back, leaning on the counter to wait.

"You okay, birdie?" He asked, glancing down into the fluffy head of hair on his shoulder.

Hawks made a sad warbling sound, his wings fluffing and settling. "I'm okay." He mumbled, just as his stomach growled loudly.

"Uh-huh. Just hang on, food's cooking." Dabi promised, glancing up as he heard the door open. Twice, Spinner, and Toga were peering at them through a crack in the door. Dabi bared his teeth at them, but the numbskulls didn't seem to get the clear "fuck off" message.

"Hiii, Hawksie!" Toga cooed. Hawks turned his head to peer at her, his hand fisting on Dabi's shoulder. He didn't answer her, but Dabi didn't step in, waiting to see what he'd do.

"Oh… he's precious! I wanna eat him!" Twice gasped.

Hawks whimpered at that, his wings bushing and curling around him. "No one is eating you, birdie." Dabi assured him, just as the microwave went off. He stood up and pulled the cup out before grabbing a fork and stirring it. He tore the flavor packet open, once again with his teeth, and added it before giving it another stir. "Okay, here, bug. Eat." He pushed the cup into his hand before adjusting his grip on him.

"How come you get to hold him?" Twice complained.

"Because I'm not creeping on him while he's trying to eat." Dabi huffed.

"Dabi's warm." Hawks mumbled into his noodles, surprising Dabi and the others.

"Exactly." Dabi said smugly, "You lot scram, let the kid eat in peace." He walked over to the door and forced it shut with his boot, ignoring their complaints as he looked down at Hawks. "Enjoying your noodles, birdie?"

"Mhm." Hawks gulped up a mouthful, before twirling another portion onto his fork and holding it up, offering it to Dabi.

Dabi dutifully leaned in and took the bite, slurping the noodles into his mouth loudly.

To Dabi's amazement, Hawks giggled, before seeming startled by his own action. He fluffed his wings and looked away, like he was embarrassed, but Dabi watched him as he took another bite of noodles and 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘶𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘥 them up, too.

After a few more bites, he glanced at Dabi again. "Who are they?" He asked.

"Who?"

"The girl, and the man in the mask, and the turtle?"

"He's a lizard." Dabi corrected.

"Are they your friends?"

"Uh… in a sense." He wasn't about to tell a kid they were a bunch of villains, now was he? "What about you? You got any friends?"

Hawks didn't answer right away, raising the cup and gulping down the broth. Dabi just waited, moving to open and prep the other instant cup. He had filled it with water and jammed it in the microwave by the time Hawks finished.

"I have one." He said at last.

His doll, Dabi guessed; he'd seen the ragged, old thing one of the times they'd spent the night at his apartment. He'd made his distaste for the thing a little too obvious, so Hawks had shoved into his closet and apologized, explaining that it was just sentimental.

"Yeah? What's their name?" He asked, anyways.

Hawks cooed, before the noise morphed into a yawn. His wings arched and quivered as his mouth stretched wide. He slumped back onto Dabi's shoulder, scrubbing at suddenly sleepy eyes. Dabi was taking the empty cup away when he spoke. "His name is Touya. He's warm, like you." He mumbled.

Dabi froze, the cup incinerating in his hand in seconds as the fork fell to the floor with a ringing clatter. "Touya, huh?" He repeated weakly, before he swallowed. He didn't think that Hawks- that Keigo- had remembered him at all. "Is he a good friend?"

"Mhm." Keigo hummed as the microwave went off, "I think I love him."

Touya thought he forgot how to breathe, his mind flashing through unwanted memories, both ancient and recent. "Well… I'm sure he loves you, too."

End.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I love childhood friends AUs. ^w^ There's a part 2 to this that I'll upload tomorrow, but until then, consider leaving me a tip so I can get my name changed!

[yellow-yarrow]

Music, mathematics and the Pale

This turned out to be a long post, but it started with thinking about the sound of sleigh bells that appear at different parts in the book.

We know they come from Ulv playing music and reading the pale, but what if they are part of one of Émile de Pérouse-Mittrecie's dodecaphonic works, that was remixed by Theo van Kok (or maybe by some other musician)? because it's hard to imagine electronic dance music having that instrument, and while the comte's concert scene only mentions a string section, there is classical music that uses bells.

I think it would tie in well with Rodionov saying "your music will reach us from the true end, even further beyond there, where all matter is but memory. So sounds the white light that shines into every darkroom, turning all revelations into nothingness.”

But that could also refer to Zigi listening to the track titled "Grave" when he is in the airship, or how even during the end of the world the radios play his music. And at one point the Lund girl's voices are compared to the bells, plus we could say that the Ignus Nilsen Waltz (a track from the game's OST) also has some kind of bells.

to my understanding, dodecaphonic works are composed according to some mathematical logic (I'm not smart enough to understand any of this, but for further reading for those who are interested [this artilce] plus the wikipedia pages) and the person who likes the comte's music the most is Rodionov, a mathematician

I'll get back to the bells but speaking of mathematics and the pale

Joyce -"The further into pale you travel, the steeper the degree of suspension. Right down to the mathematical -- *numbers* stop working. No one has yet passed the number barrier. It may be impossible." Abandoned Lorry - It looks like an article ripped out from a radio-enthusiast magazine. Complex mathematical equations explain the basics of something called 'the ULAN frequency system'.

"A pale latitude compressor is used to sort of... make the pale more manageable. With a lot of these, you can force a radio signal grid on the pale -- literally crunch the distance across it." (..) It's meant for forcing dimensions on something that doesn't *have* them. Needless to say, the frequencies used are... out of this world. "At the upper limit is the large prime number generator station. It's used specifically for pale latitude compression. That's why you may be hearing some numbers.

“It’s maths, right?” Jesper is sitting with his hands under his head. “Some mathematical rule explains this [the killer wave]?” “ (..) but the same non-linear effect also explains the pale. They use it in entroponetics. This is how the pale behaves when it sweeps over the world.”

Recording and playing the swallow in the church causes the building to shake, it's described as a tidal wave approaching that gives Egghead "the worst high he has ever been on". (waves and water often symbolize the pale) Soona says: "It was mathematical information -- from the anomaly -- presented as a waveform. That's what it was *technically*"

My point is, I think the comte's music doesn't just simply play as some kind of background music to the end times, he accidentally composed something that can be used to do something to the pale.

Jesper says "That’s right, [Ulv] talks with the dead. They’ll come if he plays them some Van Eyck and old Rietveld. That’s why he’s alone like that. No, dear, apparently he doesn’t tolerate Fakkengaf.” He doesn't mention Theo van Kok so maybe it's not the Theo van Kok / comte remix that has the bells, but maybe those were just a few examples that he plays? Theo van Kok was very influential for him after all.

When Harry looks at Arno van Eyck flyers, there are these checks:

Shivers - A GLIMPSE INTO THE PAST Inland Empire - And so all our lives become but a faded memory, an ephemeral vision of a Van Eyck concert flyer... blink or you'll miss it.

This could be a reference to the fact that his songs can be used to access memories in the pale?

Back to the comte remix, it's actually the remix of "one of the old overtures" and Ulv says: “Please… do not ruin… my intro,” "This is the most important… part.” as Tereesz and Khan step into his room, Maybe the intro is a remix of the comte's overture? or it's just literally the intro of Ulv's remix.

Which is the same thing Kras Mazov and the revolutionary lovers hear as the black and white memory of their deaths turn colorful. These scenes are similar to when it's mentioned that Ann-Margret Lund's hair turned grey overnight, and that "She hears music in her sleep; light from the kitchen window floods her hair and, for a moment, it looks golden again."

These remind me of the "your music will reach us from the true end, even further beyond there, where all matter is but memory. So sounds the white light that shines into every darkroom" quote.

As Nadia jumps into the water there is a mention of sleigh bells, and then above the water:

"Everything is yet to come—piccolo flutes, her favourite instruments, and brisk fanfare, what a splendid sound! The rolling thunder of the timpani, the sound of water in Nadia’s ears is like a furor, life, ovations, and warm, warm tributes"

which is very similar to

"The sun rises from the pale. The comte thrusts his hands towards the sky and the incomparable noise of time engulfs him. It’s louder still than the wind, louder than the masses of ice rubbing against each other. The man’s mouth sputters with drool, howling his favourite cadence. It’s written by him. And the voice in the pale in front of him sounds like applause, standing ovations, the stamping of tens of thousands of feet, and whistles, deafening whistles like those of fireworks, an atom that will someday be split in Revachol. The only thing in this world more beautiful than his own music is applause."

Another comparison to the pale:

"The waves of Perouse-Mittrecie are beautiful to listen to, like the ocean, mm…grave."

In conclusion: sound and mathematics definitely have some effect on the pale. The bells could be a part of the comte's music but there isn't solid proof, it's just a theory. I think Rodionov loves Perouse-Mittreice's music so much for pale related reasons.

[ninadove]

If the woman next to Nathalie is indeed Amelie and Emilie is still dead, how do you imagine Amelie and Felix will redecorate The Agreste Mansion? (Assuming that they move there since Amelie is now Adrien’s only adult relative left.)

Oh my gosh Anon. That is SUCH a cute ask, but let me tell you, you have opened Pandora’s box and unleashed 50 levels of overanalysis upon the world. Time for me to turn into an architecture and interior design major for the sake of this post.

In order to get a good sense of Amelie’s taste and of the massive work that needs to be done, let’s compare the shared spaces in the Agreste mansion to those in the Graham de Vanily penthouse.

The first thing that strikes me is that the palettes are exactly the same: white and black are the dominant hues, with a pop of colour coming from earthy tones. And yet, the two atmospheres could not be more different! In my opinion, this boils down to a few key elements: lighting, shapes, space, and purpose.

1. Lighting

The most obvious one. Just look how miserable the Agrestes’ living (?) room looks in comparison to the Graham de Vanily’s. There’s an interesting subversion here when it comes to lighting sources.

The Agrestes’ mansion relies mostly on natural lighting, which gives it a greyish, depressing look. Windows are everywhere, and they’re big, but they aren’t meant to let the sun filter through; instead, they ressemble a cage keeping Adrien in.

Sunlight represents the outside world, which Gabriel "No one matters except us" hates. In his mind, whatever looms outside of the mansion is dangerous. Hawkmoth’s attacks always start with letting the light in, the same way he welcomes his victims’ negative emotions; while he keeps Emilie safe in the crypt, as far away from the sun as possible (even when we do see it fully illuminated, it has to come from an artificial source).

Emilie’s cosy little basement, Gabriel’s office and Nathalie’s room — the adults’ world — are the only spaces that get the courtesy of significant artificial lightning. In other words, there is not enough light and joy coming in from the outside, and definitely not enough coming from the inside to compensate. Which is super sad if you ask me.

Now onto the Graham de Vanily penthouse. We do not get many shots of it, and most of them are taken at night time, which I (want to) believe is a very conscious choice on the writing team’s part.

While Gabriel refuses to let sunlight, and everything good it symbolises, into his son’s life, Amelie welcomes the night and the potential dangers it carries with it. The windows make up two entire walls, offering a full view of the outside world.

Notice how the moon and stars are nowhere to be seen in this shot, yet the penthouse remains significantly brighter than the mansion on the sunniest day. The abundance of artificial light in the Graham de Vanily home, light that comes from within, is a symbol of the love they share as a family.

So obviously, we need to get Adrien some lamps, urgently.

2. Shapes

The thing about the Agreste mansion is, it has potential.

No really. Hear me out.

The use of straight lines (vertical in the overall architecture, expanding like sun rays in the minimalistic decor) is reminiscent of Art Déco, which is a very fun style. For instance, it gave us the Chrysler building:

But here, it’s just… Not working. In fact, these same lines are what makes the entire building look like a cage — not just the windows I mentioned above, but the entire structure of the place, trapped between vertical lines like behind prison bars.

On the other hand, the Graham de Vanily penthouse is ruled primarily by horizontal lines, which expand the space instead of compressing it. It’s smaller, but it feels bigger and more breathable.

This difference in structure directly contributes to my third point:

3. Space

More precisely, how it is organised to make the mansion look threatening, and the penthouse cosy.

And by that I specifically mean this AWFUL NO GOOD TERRIBLE STAIRCASE.

It’s the first thing we think about when picturing the mansion; how it towers over the characters and crushes them. There’s a reason Marinette’s act of defiance in Pretension was to rush up those despicable horrifying very very bad stairs to find Adrien; they are a symbol of Gabriel’s power over his world, his fans, his son, his victims.

Interestingly enough, the penthouse is also built on several levels — which we can infer by the presence of a very discreet mezzanine. This implies the existence of stairs, right??? Where are they???

It’s very blink-and-you-miss it — the exact opposite of the Agreste staircase. To the Graham de Vanilys, stairs are just stairs: a necessity for their comings-and-goings, a useful infrastructure in their day-to-day life as a family. Not a display of power and control.

Oh? Is that a transition I sense? Absolutely, for it is time to move on to the last part of our analysis:

4. Purpose

Just like the staircase, every single piece of furniture in the Agreste household serves a purpose. Adrien’s room is the best example of this phenomenon.

On top of the essentials (bed + desk & computer combo), we immediately notice:

- A plethora of trophies, reinforcing the message that Adrien has to be the best at everything he does, always;

- An impressive bookshelf, illustrating the top-notch (and somewhat elitist) education Adrien has been receiving at home.

"But Nina!" you might ask, "What about the fun stuff? What about the arcade games and the basketball hoop and the climbing wall?"

I hear you. Those things look pretty cool, don’t they? Until you remember that Adrien has spent his entire life in isolation. These are all appliances that would normally be found outside of the house, giving him an opportunity to socialise. In other words, they are meant to deter him from seeking enjoyment in the “real” world. If, like me, you were obsessed with N Harmonia as a pre-teen, you might notice some striking similarities to his cage room:

Still not convinced? Say hi to our friend the foosball table!

Meanwhile, on the actually loving side of the family, you get an entire piano and AN ACTUAL ABSTRACT PAINTING:

It’s not even figurative — unlike the portraits of the Agreste family members or the statue in the garden, constantly reminding us of Emilie’s absence. It’s art for the sake of art, which makes a massive difference. Things are allowed to be there for no reason other than Amelie and Felix like them.

So now that we’ve established that

How would they redecorate the mansion if given the chance?

1. Lean into the Art Déco aesthetic for a much needed dose of actual (yet elegant) fun. There are so many lines and curves to play with to get rid of this feeling of imprisonment we get from the pillars!

2. BLOW UP THOSE FUCKING STAIRS. No, really. We can find a much cuter, less pretentious alternative to whatever kind of power trip that was.

3. Get rid of the stupid bars on all those windows. Replace them with literally any other option that doesn’t make you want to choke on a pancake.

4. Also, get some lamps. Lamps EVERYWHERE, on the walls, on the ceiling, on the furniture. The resident vampire is GONE, we can have some goddamn light in this goddamn place.

5. Indulge in the pleasure of buying things just because they’re pretty. Trash the paintings and put up some actual art (abstract or not) instead. Exorcise Emilie’s ghost and Gabriel’s tacky tastes out of this place. This process has already begun, given that the statue in the garden is now gone!

6. Let Adrien decorate his own room, and have fun with it. This part may be tricky because our boy doesn’t know what he wants, but you know what, it’s part of the process! Giving him total creative control over his own space is a first step towards his making bigger decisions for himself, like choosing what he wants to be when he grows up. As requested by my ✨ awesome girlfriend ✨ @paracosmicfawn, he can also redecorate the entryway, which carries sooo much trauma for him. Maybe he can put up some cute cat statuettes along the new staircase, or something equally cheesy.

7. Build a pool, apparently

8. Last but not least, block all accesses to the basement and the attic. Hide them behind these new Kandinsky paintings they just bought. Pray to Gimmi Adrien never finds out (he will).

And that, my friend, is how you take a prison and turn it into a home full of secrets!

[no1frogfan]

Picking Bokuto up from the airport

Bokuto Koutarou x gn reader

Tags & warnings: very mildly sexually suggestive

Word count: ~1.2k

Notes: Oops this started as a 500 word drabble and then I blinked. Attempt FOUR to post this, thank u tags

Your eyes drift from the sea of red tail lights ahead of you to the clock on the dash.

Ugh.

It was risky to take a nap right before you had to leave for the airport. You knew that. You knew you’d probably sleep through your alarm (like always), but who could blame you? You were so tired, and in your stupor, you convinced yourself that it would be fine. But of course it wasn’t.

When your eyes shot open long after your alarm sounded, you’d rocketed out of bed, scrambled to pull some clothes on, and sprinted out of the house 20 minutes later than planned. And in your rush, you’d left your fucking phone on the bedside table.

The cars inch forward a foot or two before coming to a stop.

You tap the steering wheel with an anxious frown, craning your neck to see around the car in front, as if that would help you figure out why traffic is moving at such a glacial pace.

Bokuto’s flight landed half an hour ago. He probably didn’t check any bags, so provided nothing weird happened, he should’ve deplaned and made it to your usual pickup spot by now, which means, as long as traffic thins, he’ll only have to wait an extra — your eyes flit to the clock — 15 minutes.

You can only hope he knows to stay there and wait, even though he’s probably worried about why you’re not answering your phone.

And what’s with all the airport traffic right now? Wednesday morning is hardly prime time for flights, or so you thought. What’s worse, with heavy traffic comes impatient drivers. You’d been almost side-swiped no less than three times already because god forfuckinbid anyone actually check their blind spot before merging instead of just gunning it and hoping for the best.

“-abe!”

The cars crawl forward again and you follow closely. Another couple hundred feet and you’ll be at your usual pickup spot.

“Babe!”

Thankfully, it seems like the congestion is finally clearing up. You keep up with the flow of traffic, one eye on the car in front, and the other scanning the sidewalk for your boyfriend’s distinctive silver-and-black spiked hair. Coupled with his height, he’s usually very conspicuous.

“BABE!!!!!”

Your head snaps toward the familiar voice.

Two lanes away on the sidewalk, jogging apace with your car, is your boyfriend. He waves at you energetically and you point forward, indicating you’ll pull over up ahead as soon as you’re able.

You observe him in the rear view mirror as you unbuckle your seatbelt, watching him dodge suitcases, luggage carts, and other passengers as he makes his way to you.

You’re already bursting out of the car as he runs up. He has just enough time to toss his duffel into the back seat before whirling around to catch you launching yourself at him.

“KOU!! I’m-” Before you can get an apology out, Bokuto’s arms wrapping around you squeezes the air right out of your lungs.

“Babe! I’m so happy to see you! Kariya and Osaka were amazing!” He blurts out, bursting to tell you about his trip, “We got to play a bunch of practice matches against the Stings and the Sunbirds! The Stings have this incredible setter Kawahigashi, his sets remind me a lot of Akaashi’s actually, but his personality is completely different, and the Sunbirds have some super strong outside hitters, Fujinaka especially — Do you remember meeting him when we were on the national team together? — and they also have this super young outside now, De Armas, and wow he’s…”

Cheek pressed into his chest, huffing a lungful of his body wash mixed with the slight tang of sweat, enveloped in the warmth that creeps through the thin, long-sleeve compression shirt he likes to wear for flights (if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was purposefully making himself look extra delectable), a dopey smile crosses your face while you listen to his excited rambling.

Taking one more deep breath, you cut him off with a kiss. “Missed you Kou.”

He flashes you a brilliant smile. “I missed you too, baby!”

“We should probably go. We’re holding up the line.”

“Ok but,” Bokuto proudly whips out a black gift bag from who knows where, “open this first!”

“How about I open it when we get home?”

Evidently, that’s not good enough because he reaches inside the bag himself, pushing aside glittery silver tissue paper to pull out some folded black material. You stare at it perplexed as he delicately unfurls the fabric, absolutely vibrating while he reveals the most exquisite piece of lingerie you have ever seen.

Bokuto holds it up for display. Only in the light can you truly appreciate the stunning combination of blacks — textured matte leather, smooth shiny silk, fine mesh panels.

He’s all giddy excitement when he urges, “Try it on when we get home?”

Before you can respond or even nod, your attention is attracted by some yelling nearby.

Instinctively, you turn, only to see an audience of people staring back at you, some laughing, some holding up their phones, some hooping and hollering. Slowly, slowly, your brain is spurred into motion, looking around, deciphering the shouts, the staring, the growing crowd, but it all seems like a normal day at the airport, so—

Oh god — you’re at the airport.

You snatch the lingerie out of Bokuto’s hands, “Oh my- KOUTAROU!” and hastily stuff it back in the bag.

“You don’t like it?” He shrinks, crestfallen.

“No! Yes! Oh my god, KOU it’s not- you can’t just- you can’t just pull lingerie out at the airport!”

“Why not?”

“Because!” You sputter, trying your best now to push him into the car.

About halfway in, his movements come to an abrupt halt and you see his eyes widen in sudden understanding. “Ohhhh.”

“Yes, oh.” You grumble. At least he finally gets it.

“I’m sorry babe. But don’t worry, I understand. Akaashi explained this to me before.”

Now you’re the one confused about how Akaashi could possibly know your boyfriend would do something like this. That is, until he continues solemnly, “He said that lots of people are self-conscious about their bodies, so I have to make sure to compliment you and let you know that I think you’re attractive.”

And with that, he takes a deep breath and cries out, “I THINK YOU’RE SEXY!”

The thing with airports is that they’re built with a lot of glass and steel and cement. A lot of hard surfaces. Hard surfaces that reflect sound very well, you discover, when his declaration continues to echo an almost comically long time after he’s finished shouting, after he squeezes your hand reassuringly, after he puffs out his chest, clearly proud of himself.

“Oh my god Kou, that’s not why- just- get in the car!”

You beat a hasty retreat to the driver’s side as cheers and applause break out.

When you eventually get on the highway, and your face stops feeling so flush, and your heart stops beating so erratically, you finally answer him.

“I’d love to try it on when we get home.”

Electricity courses through you when he reaches over, eagerly kneading the fat of your inner thigh in anticipation.

[elbiotipo]

What if the vatican had its own space colonies tho. Los Espacios Pontificos

The Papal Space...

Well, let's remember that the Vatican has an astronomical observatory and an official "Vatican Astronomer" position, in fact, they have talked in one way or the another about the possibility of alien life in several occassions:

I'm sure that there will be Catholic churches and dioceses and more in space eventually as people start actually living there. In my writing I often mention space saints (Nuestra Señora de Ganímedes, San Carlos de los Cosmonautas, etc.), after all, there's a patron saint for everything (the current patron saint of astronauts is Joseph of Cupertino, the guy who jumped out a window and could fly thanks to God)

Oh, and also, there's the fun fact that the Big Bang Theory was discovered by a Catholic priest (Georges Lemaître), and based on that, another one (Pierre Teilhard de Chardin) also had this esoteric idea of the Omega Point Theory, that eventually the universe will compress again into its original point, i.e. God. Of course, most scientists have discarded this theory that the universe will stop expanding and compress again, but some have said that the rate of the expansion of the universe might be slowing down, so watch out.

All I'm saying is that if you want to write about Catholicism and space you got plenty of material to work with

[theclairvoyage]

Chapter 1: Boomer Sooner

Part of Bloody Knuckles series

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x AUSA!f!reader

Javier's first day in OKC is nothing short of stressful-though that changes when he meets you.

Chapter warnings: alcohol consumption, smoking, adult language, mentions of violence, mentions of human trafficking, reader is able-bodied, has long hair and is roughly the same height as Javi (no other descriptors), Spanish usage (translations at the end)

WC: 3.2k

Fall 1992

Corpus Christi, Texas

Sweat drips from Javier’s forehead and temples as he pulls stubborn weeds from the dry dirt at his mother’s house in Corpus Christi.  The air is heavy and humid, compressing his chest like a thick heated blanket.  Mamá insisted she could do it herself, stubborn as the weeds.  Mijo, puedo hacerlo.  No necesito ayuda.  He’d waved her off and stepped out the front door, Tecovas boots clomping the wooden steps.

The screen door flies open with a screech, and out comes his mother, pitcher of vibrant red agua fresca in tow, garnished with fresh spearmint and strawberries.  In the fall, she loves to make Agua de Jamaica with the beautiful hibiscus flowers that bloom in late summer.  Her backyard garden is a utopia compared to the disaster of a front yard, filled with a smorgasbord of gorgeous flowers, vegetables, fruits, and bird feeders.

“Tómate un descanso, Javier.  Por favor,” she urges him.  He nods, tearing the sweaty gardening gloves from his hands, and tossing them on the porch.  He wipes his brow with the back of his dirt-covered forearm, no longer caring about how he looks or smells.  Only a cold shower would resurrect this mess.

“Gracias, Mamá.  Se parece muy bien,” he compliments her, relishing the sweet smile that stretches her freckled, weathered cheeks.  Her long, silvery mane is curled into a tight bun, wispy baby hairs fallen prey to the humidity in Corpus Christi.  She is a true Mexican mother—hardworking, resourceful, strong-willed, and unequivocally dedicated to her family.  It’s nice to see the softer side of her once in a blue moon—a refreshing break from the wooden spoon or chancla.

She pours him a hefty glass of the hibiscus drink before returning to the house, ice cubes crashing into glass with little clinks.  Javi plops himself on the old porch, sipping and observing the scene in front of him.  Fuck, that’s good, he thinks, licking his lips to savor the taste and the liquid that has seeped up into his mustache.  She knows this drink was his favorite, and boy, did she make it perfectly.

The yard, on the other hand, was not even close to perfection.  Javier’s dad passed away a couple years ago, and with Javi posted in Colombia, she had limited assistance.  Sure, family came around to help, and he knew she dabbled in some landscaping herself, but the weeds grew too quickly.

She was too proud to let any landscaping service come help her—he remembered the day a landscaping company tucked a pamphlet between her screen and front doors, and she called him enraged, smirking to himself at the memory.  “¡Pendejos estúpidos, déjame sola!”

At least he had made decent progress.  The weeds were plucked, but the grass was patchy and scarce.  He’d need to find some grass seed and plant it or convince her to buy sod—fat chance.  Chugging the last few gulps of his agua fresca, he stands and enters the house.  His mother takes the glass from him, patting his shoulder affectionately.

“Mijo, algún hombre te llamó.  No dio un nombre, solamente un número.  Está aquí,” she says, pointing a wrinkled finger at an old utility bill envelope with a phone number scribbled in blue pen.  The fuck, he thinks.  Who the fuck has my mom’s home number? Better not be some girl.

“Gracias, Mamá.  Perdóname, por favor,” he says, grabbing the envelope and returning to the front porch to punch in the number on his giant mobile phone.  It rings twice before a male voice responds.

“About time, Peña.  Ready to get back to work?” The voice echoes—cocky, smug.

“If this is DEA, you can go fuck yourself.  Already gave y’all my letter of resignation,” Javi spits.  The voice returns a few whoa, whoa, whoas, like he’s trying to rein in a wild horse.

“Got a great opportunity for you here in Oklahoma City.  Need you here by next week.  Already got an apartment and a desk saved for you.”  Javi scratches his head in confusion.

“Opportunity for what?” Javi bites back, fucking irritated at this no-namer.

“FBI.”

“Goddammit.”

The next week, Javier finds himself squinting and cursing on the sidewalk of the FBI Building on West Memorial Road in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, wondering how the fuck he got here.  He can’t remember the last time he craved a cigarette so badly.  It felt sacrilege, living in Sooner country—he was an Aggie through and through.  He pulls the rumpled utility bill envelope from his mother’s house out of his already-sweaty tan blazer pocket and re-reads the instructions for the 300th time.

-Enter parking lot via security gate and use code 584323, give them name

-Enter building on west side and go through security

-Someone will be waiting for me?

Shaking his head, he wipes sweat from his mustache and trudges toward the west entrance, straining to pull one of the doors open.  The heavy metal doors threaten to shove him back into the outside world—something he would welcome, at this point.

Walking through a maze to get to the metal detectors, he gazes up at the highly vaulted atrium, observing the boring taupe-colored walls, and stopping at a black and white photo of J. Edgar Hoover.  Two armored guards with solemn, stony faces wipe their gaze up and down Javier’s figure as he stops just before the metal detector.

“Come through,” one of them barks, beckoning to him to step through.  He obliges, before the other stone soldier puts a palm up in Javier’s face.  “Need ID.”  Javi fishes his wallet out, instinctively reaching for his phantom DEA badge.  The guard scans his Texas Driver’s License before handing it to the other guard.

“Any weapons?” One asks, as the other walks behind Javier.

“Nope,” Javi replies, assuming the familiar position of a search, hands posted up high and legs spread.  The gruff men pat him down and excavate his pockets, finding nothing but his phone, keys, wallet, and the rumpled envelope with instructions.

“Come this way, Peña.” He follows one to the round front desk to a tall, blue suit, leaning against the counter with a smirk on his face.  Javi doesn’t recognize him.  Blue Suit stands and holds out a manicured hand to Javier.

“Nice to meet you, Peña,” Blue Suit croons.  Javi recognizes the voice as the one that called his mother’s house in Corpus Christi.  Javi clasps his hand and shakes it a few times, grunting in approval.

“I’m Eddie Penn, supervisory special agent.  You’ll be with me for today—likely for a while,” he says with a grin.  Javi raises one eyebrow at him, suspicious.  Eddie trots toward some elevator doors, flashing ID at two more armored guards posted up next to them.  Javi follows him into the elevator and watches him press a yellow-stained 3.

“How’s the apartment?” Eddie asks as the elevator ascends noisily.  Javi shrugs.

“Honestly, I threw all my shit in there last night and haven’t had much of a chance to get any furniture,” he replies, studying the elevator inspection form above the floor number buttons.  Eddie chuckles.

“Sorry about that—I was pretty limited on the timeframe and places we could put you.  We’ll get you a car and help with furniture,” he apologizes, hands twitching in his pockets.  Javi shakes his head, long hair swishing back and forth.

“No worries.  I’m assuming this is important,” he says, turning to look at Eddie, eyes narrowing for a millisecond.

“Yes.  We’ll discuss everything in my office—the Assistant Director is waiting on the phone for us,” he says as the elevator screeches to a halt, doors opening slowly.  The two step out and Eddie leads Javi through a floor of gray cubicles, sounds of telephones ringing and keyboards clacking filling the air.

It’s not too different from DEA offices, Javi thinks.  There are more people, more suits and skirts, but the blueprint is the same.  Eddie nods his head at several people staring at the pair as they traverse the floor.  Javi tries to keep his eyes from meeting anyone’s—he needs to know why he’s here before he starts familiarizing himself with these people.

Eddie opens the door to an office, contents invisible to the floor, save for a narrow window above the handle.  There are two chairs facing a small wooden desk, with a giant computer monitor in one corner and a telephone in the other.  There’s a small window behind the desk overlooking the city.  Eddie gestures to one of the chairs as he steps behind the desk.

Javi sits into one of the stiff, unforgiving cushions as Eddie presses a few buttons and puts the phone on speaker.  Javi drums his fingers on the arm of the chair as he stares out the window, somewhat covered by stray hairs of Eddie’s combover.  Eddie clears his throat.

“Assistant Director, I’ve got Javier Peña here with me.  Glad to have you on the phone.” Great, so Eddie’s a kiss-ass.  A muffled, adenoidal voice replies on the other end.

“Thanks, Agent Penn.  Javier—it’s great to have you.  I read up on your work in Colombia—you’re somewhat of a hero here in the States.  What made you leave the DEA?” The Assistant Director asks.  Javi leans forward, elbows on his thighs and fingers smoothing his mustache hairs as he recounts his experience in South America.

“Well, sir—to be frank, it’s a shit ton of work trying to catch a drug lord.  The time I put in was enough,” Javi says honestly.  Eddie snaps his head up to glare at Javier—presumably for the cursing.  The Assistant Director laughs, voice even more nasally than before.

“Well, I do appreciate the honesty.  When I heard you’d quit DEA I jumped on the opportunity to have you join here,” the AD spouts.  Javi raises an eyebrow as he listens.

“Might I ask why?” Javi tests, glancing at the carpeted ground as he waits for a response.

“There’s a large-scale intelligence task force here dedicated to stopping arms and human trafficking in Oklahoma—funny enough, we know Escobar has done some dealings here, but that won’t be your focus.”  Javi raises the other eyebrow in surprise.

“In Oklahoma?  Interesting—figured he was only invested in Miami and other coastal cities,” Javi ponders.  The AD chuckles.

“He was—but he’s learned to be more discreet in his business operations.  No thanks to the great work of the DEA.”  Javi snorts.

“Anyway, Javier,” the AD continues, “Human trafficking in this part of the country has worsened in recent years.  The DEA doesn’t have enough manpower to tackle a problem of this magnitude.  So, the FBI has made it a priority.”  Javi listens, eyes scanning the room.  He leans back in the chair, crossing an ankle over his knee and pursing his lips.

“So, we are going to fast-track you to supervisory special agent, like Agent Penn here—we think your experience with the DEA has more than warranted that role, and your supervisor recommended you for this task force.  Sounds like you’ve got some great leadership abilities, Peña.  This job will pay well, a bit better than what you were making with the DEA,” the Assistant Director rambles, sounding impressed.  Javi widens his eyes.

“Penn here will train you once you pass the field tests—marksmanship, physical, drug tests—you know the drill.  Then you’ll hit the ground running with the task force.  Any questions?”  Javi furrows his brow, thinking.

“Don’t think so,” Javi replies.  He knows he can’t back out of this one—it’s a great opportunity, a pay raise—even if it’s in shitty Oklahoma.

“Great.  I’ll be in the Oklahoma Office in the next few weeks for a status report.  Looking forward to monitoring your progress.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Javi replies.  Eddie hangs up the phone and rummages through some manila case files on his desk, handing a thick one to Javi.

“This is what we’ve been working on as of late,” Eddie says.  Javi flips open the case file and pulls out some large pictures from the front.  Javi glances through photos of suspects, victims, crime scenes, and camera footage.  Some are brutal—young girls with brandings and tattoos, bruises and scrapes—some deceased, some barely alive.  Javi swallows loudly.

“Some fucking pieces of work that do this shit,” he seethes quietly, jaw ticking.  Penn nods.

“It’s tough,” Eddie says, “But we’ve made some great strides here.  Sadly, we can’t do everything.”

Javier continues flipping through the case files, now reading field reports.  Some are from the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs in Oklahoma, some from OKCPD and other neighboring police departments.

“I’m assuming we work mostly with local LEO departments?” Javi questions, snapping the case file shut.  Eddie nods.

“Yep.  We try to work cases in conjunction, whenever possible.  We also work closely with an AUSA who has taken a liking to this task force.”

“Oh yeah?  He tough on crime?” Javi questions, plopping the case file back on Penn’s desk.

“She is,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows.  “Real spitfire, that one.  Smart as hell.  And between you and me, she’s a sight for sore eyes.”  Javi nods, rolling his eyes.  He pictures a petite blonde in a pencil skirt.  He’s had plenty of those.

“Interesting,” he says.

“You’ll meet her sometime this week, she’s here at least two to three times a week working on cases.  Sometimes she’ll go out in the field with us, though she’s not supposed to,” Eddie says.  Javi tilts his head at Eddie.

“Why’s that?  Likes to keep tabs on the team?” Eddie shakes his head.

“Likes to talk to the victims, meet them, see everything firsthand.  Wait ‘til you see her in the courtroom—it’s something else,” Eddie says, reminiscing your powerful opening and closing arguments and connection with members of the jury.  Javi is unimpressed.

“Seen enough lawyers to know it’s all a show,” he scoffs.  Eddie shrugs.  Javi would be in for a real surprise when he finally gets the chance to meet you.

Later that evening, after filling out dozens of forms and answering questions, Javier finds himself at a local tavern, The Dark Horseman, a few minutes from his apartment.  The inside lives up to the name—dark and hazy, filled with lots of dark-stained wooden walls, tables, and chairs, with random horse paraphernalia lining the walls.

He’s the only one sitting at the bar, slowly sipping a glass of some cheap whiskey the bartender poured.  There’s an old, old jukebox adjacent to the bar blaring some sad Hank Williams ballad.  Some people are playing pool at the other end, filling the space with the smacks of billiard balls and random cheers.

The bartender steps in front of Javier, nodding at his soon-to-be empty glass.  Javi shakes his head.

“I’m good after this.”  The bartender nods again and steps away to wipe down some tables.  Javi sets the glass down and pinches the bridge of his nose, craving a cigarette.  He’d been trying to quit—but the move and the stress of a new job he knew nothing about had forced him to capitulate in the last few days.  He stands, letting the bartender know he’s going for a smoke.  As he goes to push the bar door open, someone pulls it from the other side.

There you stand, frozen in place as Javier almost slams into you.  Still holding the door, you step back a bit so he can leave.  He stares at you for a moment, entranced.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” you apologize, small smile on your face.  Javi’s eyes drop to your lips momentarily before hovering at your eyes.

“Not a problem, s’my bad.  Excuse me,” he says, mirroring your smile.  You’re taken aback at how handsome this stranger is—but you really need a drink after today.  He steps out, pulling the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and smacking them against his hand as he watches you walk inside.

You’re tall, probably as tall as him, confident, and elegant, though you’re wearing ratty jeans and a tee shirt.  Your eyes are what captivated him the most—beautiful, emotive, weary, yet still glowing.  And your scent was unlike any he’d smelled before—earthy, musky, and slightly spicy.  He shakes his head as he lights a cigarette, taking a long draw and leaning up against the wall of the tavern.

He doesn’t need to fuck a random stranger his first big day here.  What he needs is some food, a shower, perhaps another cigarette, and a long night of tossing and turning.  He finishes the cigarette and returns to the brooding bar, noticing you sitting a few chairs down from his glass of whiskey and his tab that the bartender slapped on the wood while he was smoking.

“Come here often?” he asks, almost involuntarily.  He winces at how corny he sounds, and you probably think he’s hitting on you.  He’s not trying to pick you up, but he is curious.  You turn to him as you finish a sip of some amber liquid—whiskey, maybe?

“I try not to, unless I’ve had a bad day,” you say, smiling at him as you set your glass down.  Fuck, you’re beautiful.  His breath stalls in his lungs for a moment.

“So, if I see you in here again, it won’t be for a good reason,” he says, fighting the urge to wink at you as he signs his tab.  He settles for a half smile, one side of his mustache twitching up.

You laugh and half-shrug.  He likes the sound of it—breathy, melodious, somewhat subdued.  You must be tired.

“There’s a good chance of that, though you look like you’re here for the same reason,” you say, studying him as he turns to you, stuffing his wallet in the pocket of his tan slacks.  He snorts.

“Something like that,” he says, eyeing you.  You turn to take another sip, and he takes the opportunity to study your features again.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Stranger That Also Had a Bad Day,” you tell him, pulling a chortle from him.  You’re witty—he likes that.  He better leave before he sits in the chair next to you.

“Same to you.  See you around?” he says, raising a brow at you.

“Good chance of that, too,” you say, giving him a close-lipped smile.  He nods at you and exits the bar.  He sure hopes so.

Spanish glossary:

Mijo, puedo hacerlo.  No necesito ayuda. = My son, I can do it.  I don’t need help.

Tómate un descanso, Javier.  Por favor. = Take a break, Javier.  Please.

Gracias, Mamá.  Se parece muy bien. = Thank you, Mom.  It looks great.

¡Pendejos estúpidos, déjame sola! = Stupid assholes, leave me alone!

Mijo, algún hombre te llamó.  No dio un nombre, solamente un número.  Está aquí. = My son, some man called for you.  He didn’t give a name, just a number.  It’s here.

Gracias, Mamá.  Perdóname, por favor. = Thanks, Mom.  Excuse me a minute, please.

Chapter 2 (coming soon-ETA 05/23/24)

Taglist: @burntheedges