#Also while I'm here i'm hijacking the tags

[randomhuman-bean]

Every Rose has its Thorn

I had a LOT of fun with this! This is my main submission for Draw the Princess, but I'm sure I'll make more art before it's over! Princess yuri my beloved

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter VIII.

GIF CREDIT

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Exploring the complexities of their relationship, revealing past traumas and personal struggles that deepen their connection.

WORD COUNT: ~10k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS:��masturbation (m), gun mention/use, substance use (weed and alcohol), mention of suicide, mention of religion, mutual pining, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: oh boy… everyone grab a snack and get cozy because we're getting into the thick of it! a lot of character exposition this chap but i promise it's fun :p also couldn't help myself from making javi and helena a thing (?) 🙈 it just felt right™ lol anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Javier leans forward, allowing his forehead to gently meet the chill of the shower tiles. Steam envelops the entire bathroom, swirling around him as the warmth of the cascading water embraces his skin.

Every fiber of his being screams against the temptation, but it’s too overwhelming to resist. His mind has been hijacked by lascivious musings since his first flicker of consciousness, and it only intensified with each passing second. The rational part of him had urged for a cold shower to extinguish the smoldering fire, but the primal instinct within demanded something more.

His cock has been throbbing with want since the moment he woke, the crimson head moistened with a droplet of precum. A deep moan escaped his lips as he reached down to ease the tension, but just as he began to feel a rush of pleasure, thoughts of her invaded his mind.

Her laughter a symphony of sensuality.

The warmth in her eyes like a glowing ember, making him feel hot with a desire he’s never experienced before.

The curve of her ass a work of art, a masterpiece that he longed to caress and gently bite down on as he worshipped her body.

And those magnificent tits of hers, god how they had looked that night at the fair, teasing and tempting him with their lusciousness in her corset.

The way she wore low-rise jeans, clinging to her hips like a second skin, had him yearning to leave bruising marks with the press of his fingertips; preferably as he took her from behind, her ass bouncing against his thighs while his dick pistoned into her.

He had halted immediately, his hand retracting swiftly from beneath the sheet as if scalded by its touch. Muttering curses under his breath, he rose with a sense of urgency, the need to cleanse both body and mind propelling him towards the shower to prepare for the day ahead.

Now he’s here, doing his worst to keep the fantasies away. Javier imagines her joining him in the shower, he can almost feel her wet body pressed against his. He envisions her sinking to her knees, wrapping those pouty pink lips around him and taking him deep into her mouth. Feeling her tight throat clenching around him as she gags and struggles to breathe, eagerly swallowing every drop of his release. The temptation is too much to bear, and he surrenders to the sensual daydream.

Fuck, in a slow and deliberate movement, Javier’s hand glides down the contours of his chiseled chest, trailing his soft abdomen until it reaches its ultimate destination. Wrapping his hand around his impressive girth, he begins to stroke himself with a gentle, yet purposeful motion. But no matter how hard he tries to push her from his mind, the thought of Paloma lingers, taunting him. He desperately tries to conjure up memories of past lovers, but none of them compare to the fiery passion that she ignites within him.

She would look so pretty pinned up against the wall, resembling a riveting piece of artwork, as he stuffed his cock deep into her. He wonders whether she could handle him all at once or if he would have to indulge in the slow pleasure of opening her up with his skilled tongue and fingers, coaxing her into a frenzy of orgasmic bliss.

She must taste heavenly, like nectar from a honeysuckle on a warm spring day. Javier’s mouth waters at the thought of exploring her so intimately, getting lost in the sensation of her warm and feeling her wetness smearing all over his lips and jaw. He could almost hear her sweet moans of pleasure as he licked and sucked on her most sensitive spots, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy.

He’d do it over and over again until she was whining that it was too much and she couldn’t take it anymore.

But she would, he’d make sure of it. He’d be determined to make her succumb to his every desire. Javier would talk her through the waves of pleasure, whispering the filthiest things in her ear and savoring the sound of her dulcet whimpers and melodic moans as she unraveled under his skilled touch.

He knows she’d make the prettiest faces, her swollen lips parting and repeating his name over and over, eyes shut close in which he’d tell her to open those pretty eyes of hers so she could watch him get her off for the umpteen time. He wouldn’t fuck her with his dick, not until he’s made it clear how generous of a lover he is.

He tenses briefly, heavy cock still in his hand as his pace moves from languish movements to quicker flicks of his wrist.

He’s so close, the familiar spark of arousal causing him to shudder as his balls clench with anticipation; images of Paloma, stripped naked and spread out before him in a myriad of sensual scenarios and positions flood his mind, driving him to groan with unbridled passion. His orgasm racks through him harshly, his release coating his fingers in a sticky sheen before vanishing down the drain.

Javier pauses to regain his composure and gather his breath. His forehead remains firmly planted against the tile, and he can’t resist lightly tapping against it as he chastises himself for giving in to the temptation of masturbating to her.

Certainly it’s not uncharted territory for him, yet following the surge of tension between them, he had ceased such indulgences altogether. He hadn’t even had the urge to pleasure himself in weeks.

Today, for some reason, was an exception; marked by the persistent stiffness of morning arousal. His thoughts were fixated on her and his willpower was unwavering.

Javier finishes his shower, emerging from the mist and he envelops his lower-half in a towel. With toothbrush in hand, he diligently tends to brushing his teeth when there’s an unexpected rap at the door. His brows furrow in mild annoyance, curious as to who was seeking him out on his only day off this week.

He lets the towel fall to the ground in his bedroom and he grabs his jeans, sliding them up his legs and foregoing any underwear. In true Javi style. He zips them up yet the button remains unfastened, a deliberate omission.

As he lazily holds his toothbrush in his mouth, he strides towards the front door. It yields to his touch, his initial annoyance gives way to a self-assured smirk, his expression a subtle blend of amusement and satisfaction.

On the weathered porch of his modest trailer, Javier is greeted by Paloma, looking gorgeous as always in a enticing sundress that’s short enough to expose her beautiful long legs. Her hair, styled in a playful half-up, half-down look, frames her face like a delicate masterpiece. 

She had hesitated, contemplating turning back when the silence lingered, a creeping doubt whispering that she might have the wrong address. Yet, just as uncertainty began to sway her resolve, Javier emerged, clad in nothing but snug denim, confirming she had indeed arrived precisely where she needed to be.

She couldn’t give a damn if he spotted her ogling him, he had opened the door flaunting his half-nakedness so shamelessly. He’s obviously just stepped out of the shower, his locks damp and tousled in all the right places, droplets of water cascading down his glistening, honeyed torso. It is the first time she’s seen him in such a bare state.

Her intuition had been spot on— he is a chiseled, sculpted hunk of a man.

Seeing him in the flesh is making her legs tremble with desire and causing a delightful dampness to form between her thighs.

Only when her gaze traces the tantalizing tuft of hair that begins at his belly and vanishes beneath the fabric of his jeans, does she feel the heat rising within her. The bulge of his cock is unmistakable, and she can’t help but gulp audibly as she takes in the impressive girth straining against his left thigh.

Her mouth waters, literally.

“Nena, ¿qué haces aquí? (Baby what are you doing here?)” His voice oozes with smugness, relishing the familiar thrill of eliciting such reactions from women. Yet to provoke such a response from her, in particular, sends his ego soaring to new heights.

“The library is having a bake sale…” She starts, eyes still fixated on his crotch before it snaps up to meet his lustful stare. “I’m goin’ door to door sellin’ my cookies to help out.” Which is true, yet when she had seen his home address on the list of places to visit— obviously she’d made sure to stop by here first.

“Is that so?” He muses, just now realizing that she’s got a small container in her hand, “Do you want to come in?”

The question hangs between them, both insatiably horny yet dead set on not crossing the sexual threshold of their friendship.

“Sure.”

With a gentlemanly gesture, he moves aside, granting her entrance. She mutters a soft thank you, gripping onto the container in her hand to keep herself together.

The aroma of his body wash, infused with hints of mint from the fresh toothpaste, envelops her senses; a potent concoction that she finds herself inexplicably drawn to.

While she’s always appreciated the fragrance of a good cologne, the impact of Javier’s scent surpasses any previous encounter, leaving her captivated in a way she’s never experienced before.

“Gonna finish gettin’ ready. Be right back.” He tells her plainly, walking off into his room and this allows her to have a second to breathe, steadying herself on the back of his couch as she gives herself a little pep talk before she hears him coming in again.

“ Santa María por favor dame the strength not to fu— sleep this man.” She whispers in a sacrilegious prayer, straightening her posture when he re-emerges.

“So… you baked?”

Javi’s sporting an old DEA t-shirt, the lettering a bit faded due to time along with those cursed tight jeans. He looks so hot, she begins to wonder if not fucking him is even worth it at all.

It is worth it. You have a date coming up with a guy your age and getting involved with Javier will just bring you more problems than peace. Plus, you like being his friend. Sleeping with him will only fuck that up. Her conscience reminds her, following after him as he leads her deeper into the small home.

“Mhm, stayed up all night putting blood, sweat and tears into these. There’s a point in between batches where I blacked out and fell asleep at the counter so I don’t claim the ones that are slightly burnt. I didn’t have the heart to toss ‘em.”

“Not only are these made out of blood, sweat and tears— but they’re burnt too. Huh...”

Now in his kitchen, the confined space amplifies their proximity. She perches on a stool beside the compact counter, her gaze fixed on him as he unlids the container.

His eyes flicker between her and the tempting contents of her baked goods. “Some bake sale you’re putting on.”

His teasing has her playfully rolling her eyes, “Not all of them. Just some of the oatmeal raisin ones.”

“Good riddance.”

“I think you purposefully hate on all the snacks I enjoy.”

“No, querida, you just have shitty taste in snacks.” Javi remarks, tempted to include a jab about her taste in men as well, yet opting to withhold that comment. For now.

“And you have shitty taste in decorations. Jeez, cowboy, are you even a real person?” She quips, critiquing the lack of character in his living space. It resembles a generic model home, seemingly plucked from a showcase and deposited in the midst of nowhere.

“Sometimes I ask myself that same question.” He shrugs, reaching for one of the more inviting looking desserts but she slaps at his hand.

“You have to pay for them first.”

“How much for the whole damn thing?” Leaning in on his elbows, he meets her halfway, their gazes locked in a silent exchange, each peering into the depths of the other’s brown eyes.

With a subtle narrowing of her own gaze, she communicates a silent message, her expression betraying a hint of playful challenge.

She gives him the price, he nods.

“Let me go get my wallet.” As he turns away and strides into the living room, her gaze remains fixed on him, engrossed by the way his shirt hugs his muscular frame and accentuates every ripple of his back. She can’t help but feel a flutter in her chest as she watches him go.

She lets out a dreamy sigh, feeling as if she’s fawning over a celebrity heartthrob.

Paloma looks around the plain space, a little disappointed that she won’t be able to decipher his character based on the decor he had.

When he returns, she can’t help but ask why it’s so empty. 

“‘Cause I don’t plan on bein’ here long enough to call this place home.” Javier responds, his words carrying a straightforward, pragmatic tone. Yet, despite their simplicity, they strike her with unexpected force, shattering the illusion she has harbored.

Why did she assume he would just… stay? Surely after helping her father out as much as he could, he’d be packing up and moving on to his next assignment.

The weight of reality tightens its grip around her heart, yet she maintains a composed facade, her outward demeanor a mask of serenity as she nods in understanding.

“Right, right. Makes sense… how long do you plan on stickin’ around?” She attempts to pose her question with an air of nonchalance, though beneath the facade, a creeping sense of dread begins to take hold as she awaits his response.

He doesn’t offer it immediately, sensing the subtle change in her demeanor, prompting him to pause and consider his words carefully. “Not sure, hermosa.” It remains simple and nebulous, as he too finds himself uncertain of the answer to that very question.

In an attempt to change the subject, he slides the money over to her, “Now can I have one?”

She exhales slowly, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, offering him a tentative smile, “Knock yourself out.”

She takes the bills from him while he casually selects one of the cookies, indulging in a bite and emitting a contented hum of approval at the flavor. “ Not bad, “ He remarks succinctly, and she can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at his underwhelming critique.

“Really? That’s all I get? ‘Not bad’? I stayed up all night making these— I think I deserve more than just ‘Not bad’.”

A chuckle escapes him at her reaction, finding her response utterly adorable. With a playful twinkle in his eye, he takes another deliberate bite of the cookie, adopting a thoughtful expression as if pondering its flavor with exaggerated seriousness. “The flavor profile is so… decadent. The richness of the chocolate is just superb—”

“Okay, well, if you’re going to be an asshole about it then never mind.” She crosses her arms against her chest with mock indignation, though a playful glint dances in her eyes; amused by their banter.

He shakes his head at her, finishing off the treat with a satisfied smirk.

“It was very delicious, muñeca. Is there anything you’re not good at?” Javier asks, genuine admiration coloring his words since she seems to excel at any task that’s presented to her.

With a snort, she retorts, “Yeah, how much time do you have?” Her mind swirls with a litany of frustrations—her failed attempts at nurturing a fucking vegetable garden, the relentless battle to suppress her feelings for him, her inability to stand up to her father.

The list goes on and on, but she keeps her struggles to herself. The version of herself that lives in Javier’s mind, the one that’s perfect and can do no wrong, one she’d like to preserve as long as possible. Especially since he wasn’t planning on residing in Seminary long-term.

Javier chuckles in response, letting his gaze soften, “You’re too tough on yourself, Paloma. You should give yourself more credit.” She can’t help but feel a hint of bashfulness creeping over her as he says this, twirling a tendril of her hair around her manicured fingertip absentmindedly, her gaze fixed on Javier with a mixture of amusement and affection.

Their playful conversation weaves through the air like a melody, punctuated by laughter and laced with a subtle undercurrent of flirtation, creating an atmosphere that feels as light and comforting as a summer breeze.

“Ever held a gun before?” He asks, noticing how her gaze had trailed over to where his pistol and badge sat on the opposite side of the counter. 

Paloma’s eyes had only lingered on the objects because she remembered how sexy he’d looked last Sunday while apprehending Mr. Thorton.

She has to keep herself from squeezing her thighs together to release some of the pressure of her arousal as she recalls it. Her lack of underwear having some of her wetness smear against her inner thighs.

At his question, though, a very mischievous idea suddenly pops into her head.

“Nope. Daddy has always been paranoid about all that.” It’s a lie that slips effortlessly from her lips, despite the fact that her father had been very serious about gun safety and had taught her how to shoot at a young age. In fact, she’s quite capable of disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling a weapon with precision.

But Javier doesn’t need to know this. Not yet, at least.

“Then I guess I shouldn’t offer to teach you a thing or two.”

Paloma snorts, “Oh c’mon. I’m a grown woman livin’ in an open carry state. I should learn how to use one… all things considered too…” She alludes to the homicide cases and the current missing girl.

Javier wets his lower lip, contemplating his next move. She makes a good point, it wouldn’t hurt for her to know her way around the weapon and he’s surprised that her father hasn’t at least given her a few pointers with how paranoid he is that something is going to happen to her. 

Still, he doesn’t want to overstep the elder man… but really, he’s already overstepped when he came all over his hand earlier while thinking of fucking the sherrif’s daughter.

She’s also proactively requesting for him to teach her, showing her own determination and initiative in the matter.

“Fine. I’ll meet you in the backyard.” He acquiesces, pushing himself away from the counter. He snags one more cookie from the container before disappearing down the hallway.

Her eyes sparkle with excitement as his agreement sinks in, eager to see his reaction when she unveils her little secret to him. She springs off the stool, sliding open the glass door leading to the backyard. Shielding her face from the intense sunlight, she steps outside, ready to embark on this unexpected activity with Javier.

From the back porch, Paloma observes him as he arranges an assortment of targets, using miscellaneous items he had gathered from around his home: empty beer bottles, a vase that had long irked him with its presence, and other odds and ends.

Once he finishes, they stand side by side, facing the trunk of his police cruiser, which he had pulled around to park in the backyard. The trunk is open, revealing the duffle bag of firearms issued to every officer. Javier gestures for Paloma to make her selection, his expression a mixture of anticipation and encouragement.

“Hm,” Paloma muses, tapping her chin as if in deep contemplation before pointing to the double-barrel shotgun.

Javier is slightly taken aback by her choice, but he swiftly retrieves the shotgun from the bag, along with a handful of shells. “ This one’s pretty heavy. Sure you can handle it, palomita?” he asks, a condescending tone lacing his words.

“Trust me, I can handle it.” she responds confidently, her tone carrying a subtle salacious edge. With a sweet smile directed at Javier, she turns and strides confidently towards the shooting area he had prepared.

He stills, muttering how fucked he is before following after her.

“The kickback is stronger with these. You’ll need to get used to the weight and recoil.”

His movements with the gun are graceful and assured. Her breath hitches as she watches in awe, her lips parting slightly as she bites down on the plump flesh, trying to contain the moan that threatens to escape.

Javier’s hands look massive as they wrap around the gun, and she can’t help but imagine those same hands wrapped around her body, exploring every inch with the same precision and mastery. The way he breaks the shotgun open and loads the shells, his fingers flexing and tensing with each movement has heat rising within her, aching for his touch. 

It’s not just the scorching southern temperature that has her feeling hot all over, but the raw, primal desire that he ignites within her with just a simple gesture.

He possesses an effortless confidence that Paloma finds undeniably alluring. As he adjusts his aviator sunglasses and gestures towards the items scattered across the horizon, his gravelly voice resonates with authority and charm.

“Take a deep breath in, then slowly exhale. Point at the target, squeeze the trigger and shoot. Remember, the kickback can be pretty intense so brace yourself for that.”

He looks so handsome following his own instructions, easily shooting down that hideous vase and a beer bottle, causing them to shatter in pieces. The shots echoes out into the vast area, a few birds flying by.

Javier looks over at her, reloading the shotgun before handing it to her carefully, the safety switched on. “Your turn, nena.”

Paloma, with her piercing gaze and a mischievous smile playing on her lips, feigns innocence as she takes the gun from him. Though she is well-versed in handling firearms, she willingly allows Javier to guide her, relishing the opportunity to draw closer to him under the guise of naivety.

She purposefully handles it oddly which has him pressing flush against her back as he guides her hands into the right position. It takes everything in her not to lean back against him, the breeze that passes by paired with his proximity sends a shiver down her spine, the scent of gunpowder mingling with his rugged masculinity and cologne has her damn near whimpering; but she’s able to suppress the noise before it slips up her throat.

“Remember: Aim, squeeze and shoot.” He nudges her leg apart slightly with his knee, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly at the gesture, “And keep yourself grounded. You’re not stupid, so handle this thing carefully. Don’t want you blowing off half of that pretty face.” 

He takes a few steps back, partially to watch her shoot but also because he felt his cock hardening when he pressed himself against her. Feeling the softness of her ass against his crotch was derailing, and it didn’t help that the flimsy fabric of her sundress is thin so he could feel that she wasn’t wearing any fucking panties. He digs into his back pocket to retrieve his pack of smokes, in desperate need of one.

Under Javier’s watchful eye, Paloma raises the shotgun, feeling the weight of it in her hands as she aims at the first target. She switches the safety off, following his instructions (ones she was already aware of) and she keeps the act up, studying the items before her.

After a few moments of doing nothing, Javier speaks up.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to shoot?”

His words spur her into action, a determined glint in her eyes as she readies herself to take aim at the remaining bottles.

But just as she is about to pull the trigger, a sudden flurry of birds burst into the sky, their wings slicing through the air with graceful precision. A smirk dances upon her lips as she swiftly adjusts her stance, the shotgun now pointed skyward with a fluid motion that bespoke her expertise.

In a seamless display of skill and confidence, she tracks the path of the birds with unwavering focus, her finger poised on the trigger. With a steady breath, she squeezes it, unleashing a resounding crack then another that echo across the open expanse. Two birds plummet from the sky in a graceful arc, their feathers ruffling in the wind as they spiraled towards the earth.

Javier watches in awe, unlit cigarette hanging from between his lips, his admiration for her prowess evident in the curve of his growing smile. In that moment, he can’t help but feel a newfound sense of admiration for her.

She wasn’t eager to learn; she was already a master of the fucking craft.

And as she lowers the shotgun, her eyes sparkling with triumph, Javier knows that he has found a kindred spirit in this enamoring woman named Paloma.

He realizes he’s been played a fool, yet his amusement outweighs any sense of annoyance. There is something oddly endearing about the way she had outsmarted him, a playful gleam in her eye that he can’t help but admire.

Her laughter rings out like music in the warm morning air.

“Beginner’s luck, huh?” He says as she beams back at him, pride evident in every line of her expression.

“Daddy’s been on the force since before I was born.”  She explains, her voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. “‘Course he taught me, his only child, how to shoot.” Turning to face him fully, she deftly flicks the safety on the firearm before extending it back to him with practiced ease.

“And we used to go duck huntin’ all the time,” She continues, her words carrying the weight of memories shared with her father. “S’how I got good at shootin’ moving targets. You ever been?” Her question hangs in the air, accompanied by a curious tilt of her head.

Javier feels a sense of déjà vu wash over him at her words, a fleeting flashback to that day outside La Catedral with Steve playing out in his mind vividly.

No I have not been duck hunting…. You… fucking hillbilly.

He won’t call her that, though.

“Nope, never been.”

“We should go one day. Y’know, if you stick around long enough.”

Javier senses that their earlier conversation about his impending departure from town did not sit well with her. A small, narcissistic part of him takes pleasure in the knowledge that she will miss him when he eventually leaves.

Their flirtatious banter fills the air like the crack of gunfire, each moment building upon the next as they continue to spend the rest of the morning in each other’s company— shooting at empty beer bottles to pass the time. With each shot fired and each shared smile, the connection between Javier and Paloma deepens, their playful teasing masking a burgeoning attraction that neither could deny. 

As the sun reaches its high point, harshly casting its rays across the landscape, they find themselves lost in each other, the shotgun forgotten as they head inside to escape the merciless Seminary summer heat.

“Why do you keep your gun against your lower back?” Paloma asks, sitting on top of the kitchen counter as Javier pours both of them a glass of water.

“Outta habit. Feels more comfortable and secure back there.” He hands her the glass and she thanks him softly, taking a large gulp.

He finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from her, his own glass in his hand as he observes her. She tilts her head back ever so slightly, the sun-kissed sheen of sweat adding a ravishing glow to her skin after spending all morning outside.

As Javier’s gaze falls upon Paloma’s exposed forearms, his heart sinks at the sight of the bruises marring her delicate skin. The memory of the chaotic scene at the church floods back—the ramblings of Mr. Thorton, consumed by grief and intoxicated by sorrow, as he roughly seized Paloma in his anguish. The bruises now serve as a reminder of that harrowing encounter, igniting a protectiveness within Javier.

“I didn’t know he grabbed onto you so harshly.” While Javi is sympathetic towards the drunken man considering the unfortunate circumstances— he shouldn’t have put his hands on her the way that he did.

Paloma’s fingers drift absently towards the bruised area, her movements gentle as she brushes over it, her shoulders lifting in a subtle shrug. “It’s nothin’ compared to what they’re going through,” She murmurs softly, her voice trailing off with a tinge of melancholy. The memory of the man’s shattered demeanor weighs on her, reminding her of the profound sadness that had consumed him that day.

Despite the drunken ramblings, the accusatory tone, and the way he laid blame on the entire town for failing his daughter; she didn’t harbor any resentment towards him for his outburst.

While she acknowledges that aggressively approaching her was not the wisest choice, she understands that it was a momentary lapse fueled by grief and alcohol.

Her father had sternly lectured her when she revealed her lack of animosity towards Mr. Thorton and her willingness to forgive him despite his lack of apology. Romeo had been infuriated by his daughter’s empathy, unable to comprehend her capacity for forgiveness in the face of such an incident.

“Still, he was out of line for even—”

“He was drunk out of his mind, Javier. His daughter was brutally murdered and mutilated. Do you all just expect him and his wife to snap back to normal after a few weeks?” Paloma’s words carry an edge, her tone unintentionally sharp, but Javier can see the underlying pain in her eyes.

His own demeanor relaxes slightly, reeling as he realizes she’s not aiming her frustration at him specifically. His gaze reflects understanding rather than irritation as he silently reassures her that he had no intention of pissing her off.

“A death like that breaks families. It’s happening to the Thortons right before our very eyes.” She reflects after a pause, briefly considering the idea of confiding in Javier about her own experiences with loss, particularly concerning her mother.

She recalls the turbulent times following her mother’s death, the strain it placed on her relationship with her father, and the wounds it left in their family dynamic.

Fortunately, Romeo had managed to pull himself (somewhat) together before things escalated too far between them.

However, discussing her mother remains a sensitive topic, one that Paloma avoids whenever possible. Her suicide was a painful and perplexing event, leaving Paloma grappling with unanswered questions and a sense of profound loss.

As a confused and grief-stricken teenager, she had immersed herself in psychology texts, searching for understanding and consolation on the topic of depression and suicide, but finding nothing that truly resonated with her mother’s peculiar situation. 

She blinks, dispelling her thoughts, realizing she has no intention of burdening Javier—or anyone else, for that matter—with her baggage. The memory of her last attempt to confide in someone, the priest at church, surfaces, and she suppresses a sigh of frustration. His well-meaning yet ultimately dismissive response, a canned platitude about finding solace in God, had left her feeling even more isolated in her grief.

It honestly pissed her off.

“That’s just how it is sometimes, querida. A shitty fucking side effect to the whole thing. We can’t do anything about it.”

There’s a depth to her that she keeps carefully hidden, yet Javier can discern it with ease. It manifests in the subtle shifts of her body language, the fleeting emptiness that briefly clouds her gaze, and the sudden defensiveness she displayed when discussing the situation.

Despite her attempts to conceal it, her words are laced with emotion, carrying a weight of sentiment and understanding that hints at the complexities that lurk.

There’s a story hidden behind that guarded stare, waiting to be unveiled.

He won’t grant himself the selfish desire to be the one to unveil it. He doesn’t feel worthy of being the person Paloma entrusts with her deepest vulnerabilities, believing he doesn’t deserve such intimacy from her.

Javier’s pragmatic nature is deeply ingrained, a fundamental aspect of his character that permeates every aspect of his life. It’s a quality that serves him well in his profession, enabling him to approach his duties with efficiency and precision.

Yet, this same pragmatism often proves to be a barrier when it comes to offering comfort to others. He struggles to connect on an emotional level, his rational mind grappling with the intricacy of human emotions in a way that feels foreign to him.

While he excels in navigating practicalities, he finds himself struggling when faced with the nuances of empathy and compassion.

It’s not that Javier is devoid of either emotions; rather, he has a hard time navigating them. He possesses a depth of feeling, but lacks the finesse in managing and expressing them.

A contemplative silence settles between them, each absorbed in their own internal musings.

She feels his stare but she doesn’t waver, instead changing the subject,“I’m sure you’ve heard about Jonah Abbott’s birthday party?” 

Ah, Jonah Abbott, the remarkably young Mayor of Seminary, Texas. Descending from a lineage steeped in politics and law, his ascension to office undoubtedly owes much to familial connections and the influence of nepotism.

Javier’s disdain for him is palpable, despite only encountering the man once. Jonah had stormed into the station, insisting that everyone attend his birthday celebration. His subsequent demand for case updates and entitled behavior when things didn’t align with his expectations had left a sour taste in Javier’s mouth, solidifying his opinion of him as nothing more than an insufferable individual.

Javi had intended to skip out on the party altogether, but after Romeo practically demanded his presence there, he quickly realized that dodging the event was simply not an option.

“Unfortunately I have,” He says sardonically, finishing off his water, “Though I’d rather be anywhere else. Big parties have never been my thing, especially when the night is centered on schmoozing with asshole politicians.”

“Asshole politicians….” She smirks at him, “So you’ve met him? He’s… a piece of work. I have no idea why or how daddy tolerates him.”

Paloma doesn’t mention the many advances the man has made on her and how she’s had to politely decline him each time. He wasn’t unattractive, he held some kind of Kennedy-esque handsomeness but man was he ignorant and flashy as all hell.

His opulent mansion and foreign cars speak volumes about his personal wealth, yet she can’t help but wish he would invest as much in supporting his town as he does in his own pursuits. 

“I’ve had to deal with men like that too many times over the years. Just when you think they can’t get any worse— they do. It’s like they outdo themselves. Fuckin’ annoying pricks. They only get worse with age, too.” 

Javier’s verbal outpouring inadvertently provides Paloma with an opportunity—a chance to delve deeper into his past experiences, particularly his days with the DEA. Sensing an opening, she seizes the moment to probe for insights into his former life, hoping to gain a better understanding of the man behind the badge.

“Who’s the worst one you’ve met?”

The first name that pops into his mind is Bill Stechner. “CIA asshole back in Colombia. But you could really trade in any fucker from either government and it’d all be one in the same. They’re all contenders for worst human beings on the fuckin’ planet.”

Her brows raise in interest, “It still amazes me how you’ve literally worked such an important and uppity job. How the fuck did you end up here, cowboy?” It’s a rhetorical question but it still has him sucking in a breath.

As always, Paloma’s keen observance doesn’t go unnoticed. The spark of curiosity ignites within her, kindling a desire to unravel the layers of Javier’s enigmatic persona. Yet, she exercises caution, mindful not to overstep boundaries or pry too deeply into his guarded past.

She sets down her empty glass, hopping off the counter and smoothing her dress down. “I guess I should get outta your hair and head back into town. I had a lotta fun this mornin’. Thank you for supportin’ the library… and for teachin’ me how to shoot.” She remarks playfully with a wink as he walks her to the door.

“Well, you were a very easy student. A natural.” 

Leaning casually against the door frame, Javier’s gaze remains fixed on Paloma as she retreats backward towards her car. Despite the distance between them, their eyes never waver, locked in a silent exchange of unspoken sentiments.

“I’ll see you around.”

Javier’s gaze drifts idly over the scattered papers before him, the weight of boredom evident in the blank stare he casts upon them.

With a heavy sigh, he resigns himself to the monotony of the graveyard shift, flanked by two younger deputies who share his weary disposition. The quaint confines of the department offer little respite from the tedium, with the only source of distraction being a TV cart positioned at the center of the room, broadcasting an old Astros vs. Mets baseball game.

As the flickering images dance across the screen, Javier’s mind wanders, yearning for something—anything—to break the dullness of the night.

He’d lost interest in the game fairly quickly, turning his focus to the mound of paperwork that has steadily amassed on his desk over the past few days.

However, even the prospect of tackling the administrative tasks failed to hold his interest for long, leaving him adrift in a sea of ennui.

As he rubs at his tired eyes, preparing to rise and seek respite in a smoke break outside, the shrill ring of the phone slices through the quiet of the room. His movements freeze, instinctively drawn to answer the call that interrupts his escape.

“Seminary Sheriff’s Department.”

“Those damn kids are on my property again!”

Javier has to pull the receiver from his ear slightly as the loud yet croaky voice of Arthur Reynolds reverberates through the line.

The elderly man boasts a lineage that traces back to one of the town’s founding families. As a result, he holds vast swathes of land across the area, including a picturesque field of sunflowers that has become a local attraction.

The vibrant blooms draw the attention of passersby, who often linger to admire their beauty. However, Reynolds views their presence as an intrusion, and he isn’t shy about expressing his discontent.

Constantly vigilant, he frequently calls upon the authorities to address the perceived trespassers. Due to his advanced age rendering him incapable of intimidating others into compliance, it falls upon individuals like Javier to enforce Reynolds’ will, ensuring that his domain remains undisturbed.

“Can you be a little more specific, sir.” Javi says in a monotone voice

“How specific I gotta be? S’a group of them drinkin’ and smokin’ around a campfire. Gonna light my goddamn field ablaze. You besta come shut it down and arrest these punks before I go down there myself and cause a ruckus.”

That’s the last thing Javier needs, for the town to burn down on his watch. He begrudgingly acknowledges the validity of the old man’s complaints, recognizing that there is merit to Reynolds’ concerns for once.

“No need for that, an officer will be there soon.” As the phone call concludes, Javier briefly considers dispatching the deputies to handle the situation, viewing it as an opportunity for them to gain some experience.

However, a sense of caution tugs at him, wary of the potential risks involved in sending inexperienced officers into the field late at night. Ultimately, he opts to take matters into his own hands in case anything goes awry.

Donning his department-issued bomber jacket and ensuring his utility belt is fully equipped, Javier swiftly heads for the door. With a sense of purpose, he offers a brief explanation for his departure to the two deputies engrossed in the baseball game before stepping out into the night.

Not much after does Javier find himself navigating the winding dirt path that cuts through the heart of the sunflower field. Towering stalks of golden blooms loom on either side, casting elongated shadows in the dim light of the moon. With a flick of a switch, he illuminates the headlights of the cruiser, their beams slicing through the darkness ahead. The soft glow of a distant bonfire comes into view, beckoning him forward as he makes his way towards the source of the disturbance.

As the piercing lights of the cruiser illuminate the scene, a sense of urgency grips the group of young adults, prompting them to scatter in all directions like startled deer fleeing from a predator.

Amidst the chaos, Paloma lies sprawled on the ground on her back, her gaze fixed upon the expanse of the dark sky overhead, where the full moon casts its radiant glow upon the night.

She’d successfully snuck out of her house and into old man Reynolds’s sunflower field. August assured her they were just eight feet shy of his property line—technically absolving them of any trespassing allegations.

The appeal of an impromptu bonfire, fueled by August’s persuasive phone call the night before, proved irresistible to Paloma. It didn’t take much convincing to coax her into joining the group, the thrill of rebellion emboldening her for the night that lay ahead.

Paloma found herself indulging in more alcohol than she is accustomed to, her inhibitions loosened by the camaraderie of her friends. Peer pressure led her to experiment further, as she hesitantly joined August, Sloane, and Gabriel in sharing a joint. The unfamiliar sensation of the smoke tickled her throat, triggering a fit of coughing that betrayed her novice status in the realm of smoking weed.

“Easy, little dove.” August’s voice was gentle, his hand tracing soothing circles on Paloma’s back as she recovered from her coughing fit. With patience and care, he guided her through the process, demonstrating the proper technique for smoking. His gaze lingered on her lips as she tentatively wrapped them around the filtered tip, his attention a mixture of guidance and something more difficult to discern.

The combined effects of alcohol and weed have her feeling as if she were floating outside of her own body, disconnected from the reality unfolding around her. Time blurred and details became hazy as the evening wore on. Before she knew it, August and a select few had departed, leaving her to her own devices— a directive she barely recalls amidst her altered state.

“We’ll be back later. You just stay put and enjoy yourself.” August’s voice echoed in her mind as she found herself lost in a swirl of sensations. 

The alcohol infused her with a sense of giddiness and warmth, while the weed enveloped her in a cloud of lightness and euphoria.

The mention of cops jolt Paloma out of her intoxicated stupor, sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. With a sudden burst of urgency, she propels herself into a seated position, cursing under her breath as she struggles to gain her footing. Every movement feels sluggish and disjointed, as if she were wading through molasses in her attempt to confront whatever impending threat was approaching.

Had her father discovered her absence, realizing she had slipped out into the night and now found herself high as a kite?

Amidst the flurry of activity, someone had hastily extinguished the crackling flames of the bonfire, leaving her disoriented and stumbling in the darkness. With nothing but the ethereal glow of the moonlight to guide her, she found herself left in the eerie stillness of the night as she navigates the shadowy landscape.

Javier steps out of his cruiser, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the darkness as he surveys the deserted scene. The group had scattered like leaves in the wind, leaving him with an empty field and a sinking sense of slight frustration.

With a resigned sigh, he turns to head back to his vehicle, his mind already drifting towards the paperwork awaiting him back at the station.

But then, a faint sound catches his attention— a soft shuffling emanating from the darkness nearby. Instinctively, he whirls around, directing the beam of his flashlight towards the source of the noise.

His eyes widen in surprise as he catches sight of Paloma, tentatively emerging from the sea of sunflowers with her hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice cuts through the night, tinged with concern and exasperation as he surveys her unsteady form. His gaze narrows as he takes in her swaying movements, a frown etching across his features. “Are you drunk?”

Her relief is palpable at the sight of Javier standing before her, his presence a welcome reprieve from the uncertainty that had gripped her moments earlier. She offers him a sheepish smile, grateful for his familiar face and not that of one of the jackass deputies.

“Er... just a little,”  She admits with a giggle, her hands lowering slowly as she squints against the harsh beam of his flashlight. “Could you, like, point that thing elsewhere? M’gonna go blind.” Her words are punctuated by a hiccup, her steps unsteady as she inches closer to him.

As she draws near, Javier catches a distinct scent in the air— the familiar aroma of smoke from the bonfire mixed with something altogether less innocent.

It’s a scent he knows all too well from his days as a DEA agent, the unmistakable odor of marijuana lingering on her. With a sinking feeling, he takes in the bloodshot, droopy eyes of the girl before him, irritation welling within him.

“Are you high, too?” He knows all too well the allure of drugs, having spent years chasing down those who peddled them on the streets. Yet, seeing her caught up in such activities strikes a chord within him, stirring up a complex mix of emotions that he struggles to reconcile.

“Maybe,” she drawls the word out, her voice laced with a playful edge. “Why? Are you a narc? Oh, wait... you are. A certified and official narc.” Her words are punctuated by another bout of giggles and hiccups, the sound grating on Javier’s nerves. It’s a familiar insult, one that cuts a little too close to home given August had called him the same thing not too long ago.

“Who were you out here with?” Javier demands, his frustration evident as he flicks off the flashlight, plunging them into darkness save for the soft glow of the moon overhead and the headlights of his car.

“Some friends,” Paloma replies with a careless shrug, her tone nonchalant. “Come on, officer, why does it matter? We were just having fun… and technically we’re eight feet from the property line so we weren’t trespassing.”

Some friends. The implication hangs heavy in the air, a not-so-subtle reminder of her recent association with August and his clique. A storm of conflicting emotions that threatens to cloud his judgment as he struggles to maintain his composure in the face of her nonchalant demeanor.

“Why does it matter?” He scoffs, “Public intoxication. Illicit drug use. Disturbance of the public peace or the peace of others. I can keep going.” His jaw clenches tightly, his words laden with the weight of authority as he lists off a litany of potential charges. Many of them are familiar to him, recurring offenses he’s seen in the files of the company she’s recently decided to keep.

She rolls her eyes dismissively, her confidence undeterred by his stern demeanor. “Oh please. We both know you’re not really going to bring me in for any of that.” she retorts, her voice dripping with of sarcasm and self-assurance.

The idea of Javier restraining her sends a thrill coursing through her veins. The image of his body pressed against hers, the sensation of the cold metal restraints encircling her wrists— it’s all too tantalizing to resist. Yet, even in her intoxicated state, a small voice of reason whispers in the back of her mind, urging her to exercise caution.

A fleeting impulse tugs at her to reach out and touch him, to feel the solid warmth of his chest beneath her fingertips. But a sobering sense of restraint holds her back, the knowledge that such a gesture would only complicate an already precarious situation.

“I’m not entertaining this. Get in the car, I’m taking you home,” He asserts, his tone firm as he turns away from Paloma, intent on ending the conversation then and there. But before he can take a single step, her hand shoots out to grasp at his elbow, her acrylic nails digging into the fabric of his bomber jacket.

“Wait, not I can’t go home yet. Not like this,” Paloma pleads, her voice tinged with desperation as she realizes the gravity of her situation. Though she’s sobered up somewhat since Javier’s arrival, the thought of sneaking back into her house in her current inebriated state fills her with dread.

His gaze flickers down to where she’s holding onto him, his expression unreadable as he weighs his options. “Shoulda thought about that before you came out here and fucked yourself up.”

Feeling a surge of annoyance bubbling up within her, she retracts her grasp, her fists clenching at her sides as she meets Javier’s gaze with steely determination. “Okay, fine. Whatever— I’ll just wait for August to come back and he’ll take me home,” she declares with defiance.

The mention of his name sparks an unexpected surge of possessiveness and jealousy within Javier, if he tightens his jaw any further; he might dislocate it. Though he tries to mask his emotions, the tension in his stance betrays his inner turmoil, leaving her to wonder what thoughts are swirling behind his unreadable facade.

“That’ll be worse for you in the off chance that you get caught. Now get in the car so we can get you some food and sober you up. I’m taking you home.” Javier asserts, his tone brooking no argument as he gestures towards the passenger seat of the still-running police cruiser.

He watches intently as she hesitates for a moment before reluctantly stomping her way around the car and sliding into the seat.

The ride into town is filled with an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of static emanating from the police radio as Javier relays updates to the officers back at the station. She sits with her arms crossed defiantly, her body angled away from him as she stares out of the window, lost in her own high thoughts.

Pulling into the diner parking lot, Javier instructs her to stay put as he exits the vehicle and disappears inside the restaurant. He quickly places an order for a simple meal, then returns with a takeaway bag in hand, his expression unreadable as he hands it to her through the open window.

Now parked at the further end of the driveway, the silhouette of the Leighton family home looms in the distance.

“Thanks for the food..” she murmurs gratefully as they lean against the closed trunk of the police cruiser, the aroma of the meal enticing her high senses as she quite literally begins to devour its contents.

Javier remains silent, allowing the tension from earlier to gradually dissipate as they stand together in the quiet stillness of the night. The only sounds that fill the air are the soft chirping of crickets and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Feeling more like herself now, she greedily slurps the remaining contents of her root beer through the straw before setting it aside. She waits for a moment, studying Javier’s side profile before offering an apology.

“I shouldn’t have gotten such an attitude with you back there. You were just doing your job... and if it makes you feel any better, this is the first time I’ve done anything like this.” She confesses, her tone tinged with sincerity.

He runs his knuckles along his jaw, briefly glancing over at her and meeting her gaze. He can’t help but soften at her words, releasing some of the tension that had been coiled within him.

“Just looking out for you. You never know what kind of mess you’ll get into with a crowd like that,” he admits, his tone gentle yet firm. 

“A crowd like that?” She repeats, brows furrowing slightly and feeling a twinge of offense on behalf of August and the others.

“Let’s not be daft, querida. Your friends like trouble— what lost twenty-something-year old doesn’t? I’m not trying to piss you off, I’m just being realistic.”

She just hums in acknowledgement, choosing to focus on the remaining fry in her container to avoid further confrontation.

“You ever been in love, cowboy?” Paloma’s sudden question feels like a punch in the gut, catching him off guard.

He stumbles over his words, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in conversation. “I— sorry, how did we go from that,” he gestures vaguely to their previous discussion, “to this?”

“By changing the subject. I’m just curious. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” she replies nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders as she crumples up her napkin and tosses all her trash into the takeaway bag.

Javier pokes his tongue against his cheek, contemplating her question for a moment before reaching for the cigarettes in the inside pocket of his jacket. What the hell, he’ll indulge her. “Yes... no... I don’t know,” he finally answers, lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag.

“All of the above?” She tilts her head, adjusting her denim mini skirt and straightening her cropped camisole.

Javier inhales deeply before continuing. “Before I left for Colombia, I was set to get married.”

Her eyes widen in surprise, and she leans in closer, eager for more details. “What happened?” she asks, her curiosity palpable as she watches him intently.

The Javier Peña, known for his charismatic ways and romantic escapades, suddenly bound to one woman in the most profound display of commitment. Oh, she’s intrigued beyond measure.

“Couldn’t go through with it. I thought I loved her, Lorraine, but then I realized that I just loved the idea of her. Couldn’t see myself spending the rest of my life at her side so I spared her all the bullshit and drama and just left…” He cringes slightly, flicking off some ash. “Left her at the altar the day of the wedding. Drove straight past the chapel and to the airport. Flew to Quantico for training and a few months later I was in Colombia.”

She listens intently, her heart aching with empathy for the man who stands before her, baring his soul in a rare moment of vulnerability.

His story hangs heavy in the air. The ember of his cigarette glows in the darkness, casting shadows across his face as he speaks.

She recalls her own brush with heartbreak, the sting of abandonment still fresh in her memory. The parallels between their experiences are both eerie and comforting.

“So you were her George,” She murmurs, her voice soft with understanding.

Javier nods, his expression a mix of regret and resignation. “Yeah. I guess. When you told me what you had gone through that night, I felt so bad. I still do. Me and Lorraine have talked things out since. She’s actually married now. Has two kids and a loving husband. He was able to give her all the things I knew I couldn’t.”

“It’s funny how life works out,” she muses, her voice carrying a hint of empathy. “You both found what you needed in the end, I suppose.”

He nods, exhaling a cloud of smoke that dissipates into the night air. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, the weight of the shared revelations hanging between them. It’s moments like these that reveal the depth of their connection, beyond the surface banter and flirtation.

“And after Lorraine? Was there anyone else you fell for? A lover in Colombia?”

Her name echoes in his mind like a haunting melody, each syllable laced with memories of their tangled past. Helena. Their relationship had begun as nothing more than a transaction, a simple exchange of information for physical intimacy. But as time passed, their bond deepened, evolving into something he never expected.

Helena had been different from the others, a beacon of light in the darkness of his days in Colombia. She listened to him, truly listened, offering comfort and understanding when the weight of his job threatened to crush him. In her arms, he found refuge from the storm raging within him, a sanctuary where he could lay bare his soul without fear of judgment.

But their idyllic bubble was shattered by the harsh realities of their world. The fallout from the Gacha debacle had left Helena broken and vulnerable, a stark reminder of the dangers they faced every day. Javier wrestled with his feelings for her, torn between his duty and his desire to protect her. Yet, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t shield her from the horrors that awaited her.

As he recalls their tumultuous journey together, Javier is plagued by a sense of guilt and regret. He had failed her, failed to keep her safe from the darkness that had consumed the country. And now, her name serves as a painful reminder of his shortcomings, haunting him like a ghost from his past.

“No. Just a long string of meaningless sex. Didn’t have the time or energy to date anyone. The job was too demanding for it.”

She reaches out tentatively, resting a hand on his arm. “Well… Thanks for sharing with me. I know how difficult it can be to open up like that,” She says softly, flashing him a small smile.

He meets her gaze, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “Of course, hermosa.”

As she straightens up from leaning against his cruiser, a soft sigh escapes her lips, carrying with it a hint of resignation. “I think I’m ready to sneak back in now.”

He nods in acknowledgment as he takes a final drag of his cigarette. Exhaling a plume of smoke, he crushes the butt under the sole of his boot. “Right. We’ll keep this night between the two of us, yeah?”

She responds with a nod, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. She gets back in the car, ready to get into her bed.

He starts the engine, the soft purr of the car’s motor blending with the nocturnal symphony of crickets and cicadas. As they roll down the driveway, he keeps the lights off, wary of getting caught.

It’s not the first time he’s had to sneak a girl back home.

Just as they near the end of the driveway, she curses softly, a sudden realization dawning upon her. Slapping her palm against her forehead, she lets out an exasperated sigh, prompting Javier to glance at her quizzically.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need the ladder to get back upstairs. The lattice fence broke when I snuck out earlier.” She completely forgot about the mishap, it had almost woken her father up.

“Do you need help getting it?”

“…Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

So they sneak around to the backyard, the metallic finish of the elongated ladder gleaming beneath the growing grass that surrounds it. It reminds Paloma that she needs to mow the lawn soon.

As she bends down to grab it, she feels a sudden, unexpected sensation slithering against her leg. Panic rises within her, her muscles tensing in preparation to let out a guttural scream, but before any sound can escape her lips— a strong hand clamps over her mouth, muffling any noise.

She freezes, heart pounding in her chest, as she glances wide-eyed at Javier.

“It’s just a garter snake, nena, it’s not going to hurt you.”

A warm glow then spills from inside the house, casting long shadows across the backyard.

Paloma’s heart leaps into her throat, her pulse quickening as she envisions her father stepping out onto the porch, his stern gaze piercing through the darkness.

With a sense of urgency, Javier gently pulls her back into the comforting embrace of the shadows, his touch a reassuring anchor amidst the chaos of their clandestine escapade.

Their bodies press close together as they hold their breath, hoping to remain unseen.

Her lips are still against his palm while his other hand has a firm hold on her hip. His thumb instinctively traces slow, soothing circles against her skin. It fires up every nerve of her body.

After what seems like an eternity, a soft, distant sound of a flush is heard, followed by a click as the light flickers off.

In unison, they both release the tension they had been holding, his hand gently sliding away from her face as she exhales deeply.

Neither of them attempt to move for a split second, and it’s not until she pulls away that he’s brought back down to Earth.

“Fuck— that was close.”

An electric tension crackles between them, infusing every movement with a heady rush of anticipation. Wordlessly, they resume their task, the air thick with both desire and apprehension.

Each touch, each shared glance teeters on the precipice of control.

It’s a delicate dance, teeming with an unspoken longing that threatens to overflow, begging to be unleashed in the quiet intimacy of the night.

Once Javier is sure that the ladder is steady enough for her to climb, he takes a step back to make room for her.

“Alright, princesa, up the tower you go.”

She doesn’t say anything, her gaze remains fixed on him, a silent exchange of emotions passing between them before she begins her ascent up the ladder.

She makes it up a few steps before she stops and turns to face him fully.

In a bold move, Paloma reaches out, her fingertips delicately curling around the collar of his jacket. With a gentle tug, she draws him closer, her lips meeting his in a fervent kiss.

Caught off guard, he momentarily freezes, but the warmth of her touch and the intensity of her kiss quickly erases any hesitation. In an instant, they’re lost in each other, their lips moving with a fiery urgency, igniting the flame that has been smoldering between them.

Everything else fades away, leaving only the two of them lost in a sea of passion and desire. With each kiss, they explore each other’s mouths. Licking, sucking, biting; it’s better than anything either of them could have ever imagined.

She can’t help but moan softly into his mouth at the way his hands move over her body. Every caress feels like a promise of pleasure to come, and she surrenders completely to Javier.

His muscles tense as he pulls her closer, his touch becoming more urgent. His fingers trace her curves, lingering on the places that make her gasp with pleasure. She can’t help but arch her back, pressing herself even closer to him, desperate for more.

As their bodies meld together, there is sense of completion that they’ve never experienced before. It’s as if they were always meant to be together, two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.

Reluctantly, she pulls back first leaving him yearning for more as he reaches out, chasing after her lips.

Their fervent kisses have left his mouth slightly swollen and lips glistening, adorned with remnants of her saliva, evidence of the passion with which they had indulged in each other.

Her eyes are swimming with lust as she brushes some of his hair to the side, “I had to,” she whispers softly, her voice barely above a murmur; filled with affection and sincerity,  “just once.”

Her words carry a weight of longing and vulnerability, a confession of the depth of her emotions for him.

“Buenas noches, Javi.”

He’s so bossy, He makes me dance. Tryna sit in the back of his whip And just cancel my plans. Sweet like candy, But he’s such a man. He knows just what it does When he’s holding me tight And he calls me “Moonlight” too. 

[beevean]

I remembered a post I stumbled upon a while ago. It was a gifset of that moment in NFCV where Carmilla strokes Hector's hair and says "You are mine now, Forgemaster. You have nothing else but me."

But what really made my neurons go into overdrive was the way the person tagged the post.

"I am not yours. I am not anyone's. - Hector & Carmilla"

Would you believe that this one singular line made my brain fire up like fireworks? This is a brilliant way to convey the parallels between the two characters! Well. The potential parallels, since Carmilla is hardly relevant after S2 :^)

It made me think of how the story would have gone if they kept Carmilla as Hector's antagonist and Lenore and the other two were never introduced. (when you think about it, Lenore's main purpose in S3 was effectively hijacking Carmilla's place: while I prefer her concept, narratively speaking she shouldn't exist. I'm not even being mean when I say it. In a hypothetical rewrite, I'd fuse the two characters)

I found some Hectilla fics, mostly written pre-S3 when fans still believed she'd have a bigger role. Needless to say, they're mostly BDSM porn built on a generic dommy mommy/subby puppy dynamic: while Hector's attraction to Carmilla can be explained with anything from "she's hot and charming" to "she's the only one who makes sense in the court and the only one who cares about my work", no such depth is given to Carmilla. She likes Hector because... he's pathetic and breedable.

So, I propose another angle.

If the ideal Lenector that only exists in my head is built on lies, treachery, and shared misery with a hint of growing mutual empathy that nevertheless never allows them to overcome their resentment... the ideal Hectilla is built on fear. They are both afraid of each other, but need each other for their needs. They are also both afraid of the world, it's just that they react to that fear in different ways: Carmilla by attacking first, Hector by hiding and fawning.

And making Carmilla a creature of fear would make her so, so much more interesting, and allow her to be a real visceral victim of trauma and not just a flat radfem stereotype. A lot of what I say here is inspired by this brilliant post by @chumpovodir!

Carmilla sees every man as a potential threat. An old man turned her and kept her as a pet, showed her that "vampiric love" that she has internalized but despises when it comes from men, and other men attacked her kingdom to destroy everything she built, and other men wanted her to die because, well, the nerve of that woman, thinking she could be in charge. She finds Dracula disgusting for being, in her eyes, like that old man who ruined her life, an insane destructive leech good for nothing. She loathes power-hungry men, violent men, men who think they're in charge and can toy her as they please.

Hector is the opposite of that. He doesn't crave any power: he wants to be left in peace. He craves, as it becomes immediately clear to her, acceptance. He's easily swayed with a few nice words, and even when Dracula dies, he holds no malice in his heart.

He's young. He's cute. He's a useful idiot.

The broken little girl in her still sees him a threat, because one day, he might grow up and become a real man, with their fangs and claws and thirst for power.

But - and this is the important part - the threat is now curbable. Hector placed himself in her hands, and she has the power to do with him as she pleases.

Carmilla has put herself in the position of that old man enslaving a cute girl for his sick desires. However, she thinks she's justified. It's not cruelty: it's preemptive self-defense. She can make this dirty almost-man into a docile puppy who will never hurt her, and work for her, and give her pleasure, never pain.

He can be a prized possession, because he is smart and knowledgeable and has blasphemous powers and shares the same goal of turning humans into livestock. This man deserves to live, for now. As long as he never thinks of harming her. As long as he remains a puppy forever. As long as he's hers, because only she deserves to have stuff and other people.

Carmilla takes pride in not belonging to anyone, let alone a man, but she doesn't see the irony in forcing Hector to the same fate that traumatized her. She doesn't see herself in him, because she did nothing to deserve pain, but he does, for the sin of being born the same gender as all the people who hurt her.

Perhaps she refuses to see herself in him, because the thought disgusts her too much.

But what about Hector?

Well, at first he'd cling onto Carmilla, because what else is he supposed to do? Sure, she tricked him and beat him to a pulp to assert dominance, but she still needs him, and her plans still make sense to him, and part of him still wants to hope that when she praised his skills, she meant it, even if in a selfish way. For a while, she becomes his world - a cruel world, but a stable one.

But then... it will become his turn to claim that he's not hers, he's not anyone's.

Perhaps he'll use his parents as reference. He used to be afraid of them, and resentful for making him believe he should have never been born, and eventually he killed them in retailation. Carmilla, too, terrifies him, but because she swings from saccharine praise to violent rage. So there's hope to get the former, if he plays nice. And if he gets the latters, that means he deserved it, right? And besides, she finds him useful, right? Isn't that, too, appreciation? That is why, at first, he accepts his position.

When she put that collar on him, wasn't that her way of showing love? He understands that. He is still, at his core, that abused kid who looks up to authority figures who see him as dirt.

But she also hates him for something he had no control over, just like his parents. She fears him for no rational reason, and that fear clouds all judgment. She could turn on him at any moment. She's no better than Dracula in this regard. Carmilla is far less rational than she pretends to be, and eventually, as he's forced to be with her, he'll see that behind the mask of a confident predator, hides the heart of a frightful bird with a broken wing.

He'd see himself in her, and he wouldn't like it. He doesn't want to be feared at all, let alone for something he can't do anything about, and he doesn't want to belong to such a volatile person. That could set him to the thought path that'll lead him to desire freedom: most importantly, freedom from his traumatic past.

Perhaps, at some point, Hector would even hate Carmilla for what she does to him, fantasize about killing her and all. Then he'll realize that hatred, too, poisoned Carmilla to the point that she almost became pitiable. And hatred also poisoned Dracula to the point of making him irrational. He must avoid falling into the same trap.

Ideally, if Carmilla is doomed to become prey of her fear and hatred, Hector should find the strength to break free of his own, and learn to face the world.

i hate doing the showrunners' work for free :(

[aceinacloset]

Already making another post about SL REDUX?, yeah I want to talk about it again, this time about things I changed from Canon SL.

This stuff is important so make sure to read, mostly so I don't have to explain this too many times.

Anyway Let's begin.

1. Elizabeth and Circus Baby are two separate individuals, who are just sharing a body.

This isn't really a change as it seemed pretty apparent that they were two individuals, but FNAF 6 exists…so for the sake of my sanity I'm making this clear now.

Elizabeth in this Au is more of a poltergeist than a ghost haunting a suit. While Baby is just a self aware AI, whose self awareness was heightened by Elizabeth's death.

The other funtimes can see Liz (it's a whole saw it out of the corner of your eye situation) and Elizabeth was an active player in the events In SL by hijacking handunit and manipulating certain events to transpire a certain way. I hope this info is handy.

2. Sister locations map and FNAF 4’s map are no longer connected

I like fnaf 4 and sister locations in their own ways, specifically as separate locations not connected in Any way. Sadly, it seemed canon SL thought they should be connected and seemingly on TOP OF EACH OTHER!, so now I'm here…

I hate this whole thing because it was established on NIGHT 1 that this was an establishment opened after FNAF 1 closed, meaning it most likely has another establishment above for the actual entertainment part. So either Scott fucked up his own continuity on Night 2 of the same game, or the location isn't necessarily underneath the FNAF 4 house but in association with it or near by, but has the map looking like its directly under it-….*sigh* my head already hurts.

Anyway I hate it either way so no more FNAF 4 map.

Love FNAF 4, I just prefer it and SL being as separate as separate can be from one another. I think many FNAF 4 and/or FNAF SL fans can agree.

3. Elizabeth wants William dead

Ok ok it's not that simple, Elizabeth's view of William changes throughout, going from admiration, to a need to please, to fear (in the sense of looking at someone and just not knowing them anymore), to hatred, to just not caring anymore. Yeah a whole flow of feelings but yes Liz does want Afton dead.

4. Williams motivation

Ok I know technically we don't really know Aftons motivation whatsoever, or even if he has one. But it is touched upon here, it's shallow and selfish but there.

Honestly my favorite types of villain motivations to write are the Reprehensible but understandable (to a degree) and the selfish with surface level good intentions, which the second one is Williams in this Au.

His reasoning is dry and more a way to justify it for himself, and he constantly wants to feel above it all but in reality, he is sinking into the mud along with the rest of the suffering souls.

Also his care and love for his kids are also surface level and the bare minimum. This version of William is a dick.

5. I changed Night 4…

I hate that night, as simple as that. I know quite the tragedy, but it had to be done.

Ok, this is all with changes that aren't just add ons to canon.

Also any post about this Au will be tagged with the tag !fnaf sl redux!

-Jester 🤡

[officialauthorofanotherworld]

responding to multiple tags like i said i would (finally)

i've been busy (read: depressed and lazy) for a while now and decided that, before i start writing today i'd reply to the tags i got a while back :P

might be a bit of a long post due to that but uh...

alright, here we go (srry for stealing your formatting @jev-urisk)

✨️Headcanon Rating Tag✨️

Rules: use this headcanon generator to generate some headcanons for your OCs! How accurate are they?

Using the two main parties from Party of Three

Taka

Taka has an intense fear of people. 3/10: While Taka is a very nervous/anxious person, I wouldn't say he has a fear of people. He has a fear of social situations maybe, lol.

Taka is an extrovert. 0/10: Taka is a introvert. This ties into him not liking social situations where he's near a ton of random people, why he's so nervous wandering around Leln for the first time, and why he has a hard time sleeping on the carriage ride there. He's obviously far calmer/extroverted around his friends, but i'd say around strangers he's 100% a introvert, although if you approach him he might find it easier to open up and talk to you after a little bit.

Taka gets bullied on roblox. 4/10: Taka would be the one doing the bullying on ROBLOX. This is such an incredibly funny one to me, if Taka and Beriyl and Arthur had been born into this world instead, I 100% guarantee a few things. Taka is the kind of kid to play Fortnite and do the dances irl to piss off people. Beriyl would hate it and Taka would find that so funny. Secretly, Beriyl would actually like Fortnite and if Taka found out, he'd make him duo with him. Taka is also the kinda kid to go on TikTok and start repeating all the brainrot terms out of a weird ironic comedy, not actually having brainrot but thinking that pretending to would be funny. (Also because it would piss off Beriyl) Arthur would stop them from fighting like he already does.

Beriyl:

Beriyl gets into Twitter discourse. 10/10: 100% 100% ONE-HUNDRED-PERCENT, he is the exact type of person to be easily anger-able by pretty much anything, ESPECIALLY if he's already in a bad mood, he would one HUNDRED percent have fruitless, long arguments with random internet strangers on youtube or something lol

Beriyl voted sans in the tumblr sexyman poll. 0/10: Beriyl probably would play Undertale but I don't think he'd find sans attractive. He'd probably draw some connections from sans to Taka's sense of humor (i bet Taka would vote sans cuz he'd think it'd be funny) but idk if he'd vote sans. maybe if Taka hijacked his account and voted for sans (which i could see happening, and then them fighting about it)

Beriyl is tumblr famous. 5/10: Either Beriyl would be very popular or very unpopular, but believe he deserves to be popular. He's a very vain person for a good part of the story, so his reaction to either way sorta depends on how much growth he's undergone personality-wise. Let's say that early Beriyl would believe he deserves popularity and not have it, and if he DID have it it would massively go to his head and result in a big ego trip, and if he didn't, he'd be really mad about it. Late-stage (i hesitate to say lategame but not sure how else to describe the end of book 1 chargrowth wise... latebook? XD) Beriyl probably wouldn't care either way.

Arthur:

Arthur can't spell resturaunt. 0/10: The headcanon website misspelled restaurant. Arthur's parents were merchants and educated him as best they could. I kinda doubt he wouldn't be able to spell restaurant. Beriyl can spell it. Taka maybe. Sometimes he has trouble writing long/"big" words. Qlul and Ecirr probably could write it. Eirairr would probably scribble all over the page and start laughing when you tell him that he didn't even write anything.

Arthur has fallen asleep at their desk while working in the middle of the night. 0/10: For the most part, i'm assuming this is an AU where they were born on Earth and not in Tamalnh, but Arthur has such a crazy work ethic I imagine he'd stay up all night to the point where this would happen. I mean, for the most part, if he has something he needs to do, he will just not sleep, to the detriment of his overall health. So for that reason, I was going to say 10/10, but Arthur is the kind of person to just refuse to sleep if he feels like he has something he needs to do (i.e protect someone) so, 0/10. Maybe 1/10, but... ok, moving on

Arthur has been canceled on Twitter. 0/10 Arthur would either not use Twitter, not understand Twitter, or have an account cuz Taka told him to sign up and barely use it. I can see him maybe having a cooking twitter or looking at Gordon Ramsay or smth, but he wouldn't be cancelled.

Qlul:

Qlul is oblivous to any and all romantic interest someone may show them. 4/10: The site misspelled oblivious. Anyway... I mean, he's dating Ecirr. But I can see this going two ways, him being oblivious or him knowing more than he lets on. so due to my indecisiveness, 4/10

If Qlul was presented with an intergalactic portal, they would enter it without question. 1/10: Most likely not, it depends how it "feels" to him. Is Ecirr there? What does Ecirr say about it? What are the stakes-- what does he stand to gain/lose? He's not the impulsive type-- I can't say I can see him jumping into a portal, especially not in a world where, yaknow, orbs of destruction exist. Eirairr probably would, if he "sensed" that it wouldn't kill him. Maybe. It depends lol (i doubt i'll end up calling them that, but i imagine that in dungeons things like that do exist. yes im talking about the destruction orbs from 5e)

Qlul is very willing to eat inedible things. 0/10 No. Kaardan cuisine is sorta weird, they probably use a lot of bugs, monsters and make lots of soup/stew, but... no, Qlul isn't gonna eat rocks.

Ecirr:

Ecirr has a stuffed animal under their bed. 3/10 If he did, it'd be of the messenger ravens he and Qlul communicated with back in school, or of Qlul himself. But he'd never let anyone know-- so i'd say this is a fifty-fifty :p

Ecirr is a sleepwalker. 0/10 He's not.

Ecirr set a public school on fire and got away with it. 0/10 Ecirr would not do something like that lol, none of them would. I'm not sure "public school" even exists in my world... but anywaaayyy, on to Eirairr!

Eirairr:

Eirairr does not know what sleep is. 10/10: This is absolutely hilarious. Eirairr has never slept before in his life. Eirairr is a full-blooded elf, and does not need to sleep. While i'm sure he knows what the concept of "sleep" is, he has never personally experienced it. With that logic, you could say he does not know sleep.

Eirairr is a cry baby. (I got the sleepwalker one again and i was like....i dont wanna do duplicates, that's boring. also he can't sleep, so no. although i can see him pretending to sleepwalk to be funny, definitely in his personality to do something like that.) 0/10: No, but Taka certainly cries a lot. Just like me.... that means i'm a crybaby D:

Eirairr is great with kids. 8/10: Honestly, if Eirairr maintained his calm personality for a extended period of time, I could see him being a great babysitter. He definitely has that childish energy. So maybe he'd destroy the house with the kid. But on the off hand he controls himself, then yeah, he'd be great for both the kid and the parent. But if he doesn't... well, let's say the parent won't be very happy when they get home and both of them are climbing all over the place.

Bonus: Villain Round!!! Vitsmunir!!!

Vitsmunir:

Vitsmunir likes to eat straight coffee beans. 7/10: maybe. I could see Vitsmunir being a dark chocolate, licorice, and black coffee sort of guy... if he let himself relax and wasn't on the verge of a psychotic, murderous-rage-filled mental breakdown + panic attack every second of his life.

Vitsmunir bullies kids on roblox. 10/10: I know I said I wouldn't do duplicates but this is very funny. Yes, yes, he would. He 100% would bully people and try and feel better about himself through this. And then he'd wonder why he doesn't have any friends. :(

Vitsmunir is a simp. 0/10: I kind of feel like if he were in our world, he'd be asexual/a-romantic. And probably in prison for murder.

Okay... that was a really long one, i'm tempted to just do two posts but eh, whatever, here's the second tag thingy (again, ty jev, im stealing ur formatting XD)

✨️OC Questionnaire Tag✨️

My questions:

So you're one of those people?

Is this really where you wanted to end up?

Why can't you just.. stop?

Your questions:

Where do you see yourself in ten years?

If you could change just one thing about your current life, what would it be?

What is your favorite thing in the whole world?

I'll be answering as Beriyl Edmund Ciphre von Aschwaz from Party of Three.

For the purposes of this one, Beriyl will be his early book self. Cocky, self-indulged, and worst of all, bri'ish.

Imagine him speaking as a posh British noble, with a hint of uh... flamboyance? He's a very dramatic person. Anyway, on with the questions...

1. So you're one of those people?

What the hells do you mean by that? One of those people? If you mean, beautiful, wonderful, and much better than you, then yes! I am Beriyl Edmund Ciphre von Aschwaz, after all! So glad you noticed. Of course I'm better than a worthless commoner like yourself! Hmph.

2. Is this really where you wanted to end up?

Wh- I must say, what is it with you and all these rude questions?! What does that even mean?! I- *he pauses* ... Crossing his arms, he peers outwardly at you. Are you speaking of Taka? No, I must say... I did not wish to end up stuck in a party with a commoner like him, nor a brute like Arthur. Gods, they're so unrefined. They're so imbecilic! Hmph... yes, that is quite the apt descriptor for them. Well, I suppose, put any of lowly birth next to one of such high status like myself and they'd appear a fool next to a saint, or some such... Saint Beriyl, I do like the ring of that! Are you-?! Why are you scoffing at me?! How dare you!! I am Beriyl Edmund Ciphre von Aschwaz, and I-

3. Why can't you just.. stop?

Stop, stop what?! This entire conversation has been one of the most unpleasant I've had since I met that damnable fool, Taka! Are you as stupid as he is, or are you just trying to get on my nerves?! Hah! If anything, you should stop! Stop breathing, that is! Yes, hmm! Stop breathing near me, commoner! I, Beriyl Edmund Ciphre von Aschwaz, refuse to breathe in your disgusting commoner air! Away, away from me! Thank you!

welp, there ya go jev. told you you'd piss off Beriyl with questions like that :sob: Hope you had fun reading all that :D I certainly had fun writing it. Feel free to tag me in more of your stuff, I love answering them. It's a lot of fun, and a nice writing exercise/warm up.

Have a good day everyone :)

(For those who enjoy reading the weekly posts, i will try and have the third... or was it the fourth, out soonish.... soonTM, okay? :p)

[saraminia]

Hereunder I express some bitchy opinions about our beloved Schitt's Creek so take that as your "dead dove do not open" if negativity is not something you wish to see.

@njwoman (I dare to tag you cause I'm sure you can handle opinions even if they don't align with yours.) You brought up the concept of SC supposedly being "sexually progressive" and I didn't want to hijack your post. So these are my thoughts on SC being "sexually progressive".

Yeah pfft it was never sexually progressive. We never once even saw David and Patrick shirtless together or doing anything sexually suggestive either. It was progressive in a way that Dan made it very sex positive in a sense that David was very open to having sex with anybody basically. In fact, and I have said this before, and it is basically my only beef with sc, the three times we see David shirtless and/or having or just having had sex is with someone other than Patrick. Also the fact that he fucks his pos ex and thus basically gives him exactly what he wanted, is somehow supposed to be a win for David. Yeah I don't know. Sure, if that's sexually progressive, then yeah, but we were left wondering if David and Patrick even ever had any sex at all. The one sex joke between them is also David jokingly declining sex. But sure, they were ready and eager to fuck Jake. Wish we'd seen that kind of enthusiasm from them for having sex with each other. I mean their love is very soft and supportive and accepting and all the fluffy things, but would it have hurt to give it some passion as well. Surely they could have fit in a few scenes or jokes about their sex life. Hell, they didn't even cuddle while sleeping smh. And I don't mean they should have had a full on sex scene. That's not the expectation here. But they clearly could and did make sex references and jokes and suggestive scenes so are we supposed to believe there was no opportunity to bring that into David and Patrick's relationship. Sure, in the beginning of season four which was right at the beginning of their relationship, there was that one suggested make out at the store, but after that nothing. Idk maybe their first night together was such a disaster that they just decided to never have sex again with each other. Maybe that's why they were so excited about the prospect of bringing Jake into their bed. Cause they needed a third to be able to stand each other in bed. Okay, obviously I'm not serious about this, but it does make you wonder. Also none of this is that deep anyway. It's just a tv show that I do love with all my heart.... well mostly....

[ziodyne-amax]

Alright, I'm taking a nap. Naoya, you watch the account while I'm out.

Isn't this Narukami's account and we're just freeloading?

My name shows up more often when we tag the posts with who's talking, it's my account now. Also he's busy so he can't do it.

And you think I'm not?

Your job requires there to be an Amritacorp in the Pokemon world. You're not busy.

Well maybe I'm trying to experience childlike whimsy I haven't had since I was in high school, ever think about that?

Are you?

... No, but I'm still busy right now. Besides, it's a Tumblr blog. We can leave it for a bit and it'll be fine.

I mean. Both of us just hijacked the blog when we got here, so I doubt that, but. I guess it's okay. See all of you guys following later!

[blubushie]

I saw that low empathy post you reblogged and when I was digging through the notes one of the tags kinda popped out at me, "my morality is a list of self-constructed rules" but like is... is that not how it normally works?? Isn't most people's way of determining these things "are the consequences of this action worth it" tempered by their own personal standard of what "ain't right"?

~ questioning a lotta things right now (self-directed)

Forgive me if this isn't put together well—I woke up at 4:30am, it's currently 5am, and I am not a morning person. Which is to say I am still half awake.

From my understanding most people don't constantly have to weigh if things are worth it in terms of morality. "Is it worth it" is something like "Is it worth driving to 7/11 just for a cold drink" and not "moral dilemmas" so to speak—someone's empathy or conscience ("what ain't right") usually handles that. And you can lack empathy while having a conscience, and you can have empathy with no conscience.

I think the person was arguing that their morality was SELF constructed, rather than the result of society's understanding of what's good and what's bad, but that also has... nothing to do with empathy (and I imagine is one of the tags the OP was referring to when he called out people kinda hijacking the post and taking attention away from the fact it's about low empathy).

Yes, from what I understand of how empathy/consciences in other people works, I'd argue that MOST people's morality comes down to a list of self-constructed rules rather than society's rules. Especially here on the "love addicts/sex workers/people society hates" website. What those morality rules are varies from person to person. Some people hold themselves to a very high standard with strict terms of morality. Other people are more relaxed and simply have guidelines more than actual rules. I'm in the latter category. Almost every rule can be bent within reason, I just try to be a good person where I can. Not because I care, but just because it's good to do good.

Basically, yes that's normal. The person leaving those tags is probably just doing a "waaah I'm so edgy-speshal" thing or just outright doesn't understand how morality/empathy works in a normal person lmao

[missmewachu]

i saw your URL tags- while i’d love to hijack the compliment i think i got mixed up with someone else xD i’ve never posted any fics only art! But now i want to see the really good ones you were talking about hahaha 👀

Oh goodness, I'm so sorry and thanks for letting me know! Ahahaha ^^; Digging through ao3, here's the author I was referring to! They write a bit of smut if that's up your alley, and there's so many of their fics that are so great I couldn't possibly pick just one, ahaha! Hope you enjoy~ https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayRedMage/pseuds/GayRedMage Also- I think this worked out, embarrassed as I may be, I never knew you did art!! I'll have to take a gander going through your blog later on, I can never get enough Genesis art~ So it looks like this worked out for the both of us, ahaha~! Thanks again ^.^

[rjalker]

@frenchtoastfive said in the tags, August 23rd 2023:

#i agree with this post though the aggressiveness could be turned down#also harry potter fan hate in the comments?#harry potter fans don't support jk rowling#at least i dont#i like the world of harry potter#not the world of jk rowling is really transphobic#:D

Pro tip. The original poster can see your tags. Don't put bigotry in your tags.

A) I will stop being "aggressive" when people stop hijacking what was a simple post about not erasing disabled people to continuously defend eugenics and call me all sorts of names because they're mad I'm telling them they're ableist.

I've literally had multiple people call me the R slur because of this post.

If you think disabled people who are facing ableism are being "too aggressive" by getting angry at being continuously subjected to bigotry and people literally defending genocide against us, you're ableist!

If you think a post by a minority is too aggressive, either don't reblog it, or keep your tone-policing comment to yourself! That is literally bigotry!

By calling me aggressive for reacting appropriately to constant ableism, you have now joined the ranks of the ableists!

Don't tell minorities who are angry about the abuse they face that they're being too aggressive unless you're trying to be a jackass on purpose!

B) Yes. If you are still a fan of Harry Potter in 2023 you are ableist and racist and transmisic. JK Rowling is literally funding trans genocide with the money she made and Is currently making from the Harry Potter series and advocating for autistic trans people to lose all of our rights and instead be treated like inanimate property.

It doesn't matter that you try to say you only enjoy Harry Potter but don't support JK Rowling -- You are giving her free advertising every single time you talk about and share fan creations and enjoyment for her book series, which is filled to the brim with racism, antisemitism, classism, and so much fucking more.

If you actually support all the people that JK Rowling is literally fucking trying to wipe out, you would not be a Harry Potter fan in 2023.

There are literally endless other books you could be reading and writing about.

If you are still a Harry Potter fan in 2023 you are not fucking welcome on my blog, especially not if you're going to tone police me on a post where I respond with all due anger to constant ableism. Why do you think the post had to be edited four separate times? For fun?

And here's the "Harry Potter hate in the comments, which I added on April 29th 2023:

Harry Potter fans are banned from this post. So are James Cameron's Avatar fans. You people will not even be dignified with response you will just be blocked on sight.

So you, @frenchtoastfive saw that Harry Potter fans were not allowed to reblog this post. And you, a self-proclaimed Harry Potter fan, decided that not only didn't apply to you, but you also decided to make it clear you're a Harry Potter fan and are reblogging anyway.

If you don't understand why being a fan of Harry Potter in 2023 is unconcionable for people who actually support minorities, which does not just include trans people, then you are not listening to any of the people targeted by JK Rowling's actions. She is literally a billionaire funding laws with the goal of literal genocide in mind.

Let's put it this way: If Donald Trump wrote a kids series of books, would you call yourself a fan of his books while claiming you don't support him?

No?

Then why do you think it's okay to do the same with Harry Potter and JK Rowling when she is literally, not exaggerating, funding genocide?

How about you either stop being a fan of a bigoted series, or at least have the common courtesy to not reblog posts by people who explicitly told you to stay away, while you tone-police our anger from being subjected to bigotry -.-

What makes you think you're a good person for telling minorities we're being too aggressive in telling people to stop defending eugenics?

What makes you think you're a good person when you explicitly see that Harry Potter fans are not allowed to reblog this post, and you decide to do it anyways and announce you're a Harry Potter fan???

You cannot support the Harry Potter series without supporting JK Rowling. You cannot separate the author from her creations when she is still alive and using the profits from those characters to fund genocide. You literally can't.

Either actually listen to minorities when we tell you something is hurting us, or actually have common courtesy and don't fucking reblog posts that explicitly say for Harry Potter fans not to interact. Especially not if you're literally going to tone police us. Come on.

Dear people who aren't physically disabled who plan to write fantasy settings:

[ID: Several images taken from the Geordi La Forge yes and no meme format, with Geordi holding out a hand disapprovingly for the no section, then pointing in approval for the yes section.

The first image is the meme:

No: "Saying the existance of magic in your setting means there are no disabled people (this literally just means disabled people are killed. AKA eugenics)"

Yes: "Having disabled people who use magical mobility aids and other assistive devices. Realizing that someone is still disabled even if their prosthetic arm is made of magic instead of plastic."

This is followed by four more panels of yes section:

"Geordi la Forge is still literally disabled. His visor helping him does not erase his disability and make him magically abled."

"Toph from Avatar: The Last Airbender is still literally disabled even though her Earthbending helps her. It does not make her disability ~magically~ go away."

"Having your disability be accomodated does not mean the disability goes away. Having a prosthetic hand, even one that's made of magic, does not mean you're not disabled."

"Magical mobility aids do not mean disabled people don't exist. It just means they use magical mobility aids instead of plastic or metal ones. A limb made of magic is still a prosthetic even if it's made of the soul of the universe instead of plastic and metal."

Then another no panel: "'There's no disabled people beacuse magic'".

Then one last yes panel: "'Magic helps disabled people in a variety of ways'".

End ID.]

This also applies to science fiction; just because Luke Skywalker's prosthetic hand is super advanced doesn't mean it's no longer a prosthetic, or that he's not disabled. Same with Darth Vader - just because he has a suit that lets him breathe and walk around doesn't mean he's not disabled. (And Star Wars' propensity for making the villains visibly disabled while the heroes disabilities get covered up by super advanced prosthetics is a topic that deserves its own post, especially with how ableist some of the authors of the books are. Troy Denning is especially ableist)

Edit:

Because people keep being fucking obnoxious and ableist in the tags, yes,,, motherfuckers, if you refuse to have disabled people in your setting, that does make you fucking ableist. If you say that the magic is used to cure all disabled people and that's why they don't exist, that's fucking eugenics.

You cannot ""cure"", more like remove all disabilities without fucking eugenics. Magically automatically destroying disabled fetuses (a very fucking popular trope!) is eugenics.

The only way to fucking "cure" autism is to fucking kill all autistic people, also known as eugenics!

What about people with PTSD? Do you just fucking brainwash them so they aren't traumatized anymore?

Do you force all Deaf people to be able to hear? Do you force all blind people to be able to see? Do you force all anosmics to be able to smell?

Do you magically force everyone with a speech impediment to speak to your standards?

Do you force everyone born with bodily or facial differences to live up to your fucking standard of beauty?

You cannot fucking say "disablities don't exist in this universe because magic cures everything" without inherently saying that eugenics exists in your fucking universe.

Not all fucking disabilities need a cure. If you ""cured"" my autism I'd just be fucking dead. You'd literally just be changing me into what you think is fucking acceptable.

Stop fucking arguing in defence of ableists on my fucking post so you can pretend that eugenics has never been written about in magical settings when it is extremely fucking prevalent.

And while we're fucking at it, let your gods damned characters become disabled over the course of their story, and call them disabled within the fucking story. I don't care if they're a robot. I don't care if they have magic. Not all fucking damage can be fixed. Curses exist. Hardware can go out of fucking date and no longer be manufactured anywhere.

Let your characters become disabled and do not magically fucking cure them back to brand new every single time they get hurt. The only thing you accomplish by doing that is destroying any chance of ever having stakes.

No, "magical healing leaves scars on the mind from the memory of the injuries though!!!!" is not fucking good enough. Let your characters have scars. Let them become disabled. Stop being fucking ableist cowards.

Edit number fucking 2:

No, motherfuckers, you do not get to comment "if the disability was caused by magic it's not ableist to cure it with magic". You are the ableist this post is about. Shut the absolute fuck up, stop treating being disabled as the worst possible outcome, and just admit you're a fucking ableist. If you don't want your characters to become disabled, then don't fucking make them disabled.

[ID: The Garfield "you are not immune to propaganda" meme, now edited to read:

"If your first thought upon reading this post is, 'Oh, but it's okay to magically cure disabilities caused by magic!' Congrats…you are the exact sort of ableist jackass this post is about."

End ID.]

Edit number fucking 3:

Autistic people exist! People who are born with disabilities exist! You cannot create a setting where disabled people do not exist because we're all "cured" or "fixed" and not inherently say that you are killing disabled people as soon as they're born, or fucking aborting us as soon as you figure out we'd be born disabled! That's fucking eugenics!

There is no way to "cure" autism without eugenics! There is no way to "cure" people with body differences without eugenics! There is no way to make disabled people nonexistant in your setting without eugenics! Thinking you can and should "cure" and "fix" all disabilities IS EUGENICS!

Also:

[ID: A character shouting at the camera, now edited to read: "Shut up about Dungeons and Dragons! Shut up about Dungeons and Dragons! If the rules of Dungeons and Dragons are ableist, then fucking change them! It is your fucking personal responsability to be a better person than your bigoted society wants you to be!". End ID.]

[ID: White text on a dark brown background with white and black borders around the edges, that reads:

"I don't fucking know or care about Dungeons and Dragons.

This post is not about Dungeons and Dragons.

Do not fucking throw the rulebook of Dungeons and Dragons at me like it's some sort of 'Gotcha!'.

You will literally just be blocked like the rest of the ableist assholes who've already tried it.

If you play dungeons and dragons, it's your responsability to make your games not be ableist, even if it means breaking the rules.".

End ID.]

I do not fucking care what the ableist rules are in Dungeons of Dragons. Do not fucking throw ableist rules for a game I have never and will never play at me on a post I made so that people could learn how to make their settings less ableist. If the rules in Dungeons and Dragons are ableist, then fucking change them. If you don't want to change them, then stop fucking playing an ableist game.

Disabled people deserve to see ourselves represented in fiction just like everyone else, without any fucking requirements that we be "cured" or "fixed" before the story ends.

How the fuck would you feel if a trans and gay character's whole story revolved around going on a quest to become straight and cis, did so, and only then was allowed to live happily ever after?

Why do you fucking think suggesting people write stories about disabled people going on a quest to be cured because it's the only way they'll ever be happy is any less fucking offensive?

Also:

This post is NOT a place for you to talk about how disabled people in fiction should have the option of curing their disabilities. It's just not. That's the fucking default for this society. That is not a revolutionary concept. It's not novel. We fucking know this society wants us gone. A post about how disabled people deserve representation is not the place to talk about how "Well, actually, in fiction disabled people should be cured!" Like that's not the fucking universal default???????????

Edit #4:

Everyone needs to stop tagging this singing praise for Fullmetal Alchemist. A story that uses disability as a punishment and the characters are on a quest to cure their disabilities is not the amazing representation you're all claiming it is just because the character who is only disabled because of DIVINE PUNISHMENT uses prosthetics.

Read this post, and this one. Fullmetal Alchemist is a hell of a lot more ableist than you people are letting on.

guess what you can now find a PDF version of this post on the web archive.

[firespirited]

Here's how I use shinigami eyes (not saying you have to do it this way)

I see a post that’s got a red name and click which leads straight to posts that have been heavily through the terfosphere, usually marked 'terfs do touch' 'rf gc do interact' and some of my muted tags. I open all the non red urls who reblogged from red urls, scroll to their main, ignore any intro and read one page of their blog. If they're cruel to a trans person within 10 posts they get marked. That's the low bar to pass. Ten posts without obsessing. Read more for length and word blergh.

The point of shinigami eyes is to mark transphobes not just radfems, it's just that radfems are bigoted 95% of the time, and a bunch that say they're not radfems/terfs have a post explaining that they don't align with the feminism part (anti choicers, women libertarians...). It's also important to keep going when there are no terfy indicators as there are a bunch of right wingers who also enjoy blogging about trans people as 'cringe content'.

It feels like doing something useful by not making trans folk have to see that vileness and I feel a strange responsibility as a brit and a feminist who started with the radical texts and knows them well.

I don't care who created the extension, it's useful and I can't exactly be picky from my slave and blood mineral computer chips on billionaire monopoly software.

There are things I'd very much like to discuss without it getting co-opted by bigots or turned into pile on fodder. It happens so fast and with such ferocious accusations that you have to be in a good head space and towards the start of the day so you can disable reblogs or delete a post if it gets into the wrong hands. Right now I'm marking about a dozen or more a week, it doesn't make you feel safe writing anything when you feel you have to check all reblogs on a post because a bunch won't be marked as haters before it's too late.

Word blergh ahead :

I want to be able to talk about what it means if scotland and wales leave the UK for someone who has family in all, about our femicide epidemic, about the teachers having to learn to deprogram boys from manosphere ideology, about women in stem, prison abolition, how alienated I feel from gender performance, how I think Dylan Mulaney is the most annoying toxic positivity theatre kid turning transition into hashtag content I can't stand her she's not even mean just so confident in her ignorance, and can I rant about women enforcement of patriarchy while also running support networks within churches but always being on edge for what they will or won't refuse support about, girl bullying and teen girl pressure hurting deeper, trans folk helping me rediscover gender euphoria and also how I find rupauls drag race reductive and catty. How I'm still furious the covid vaccine wasn't tested on pregnant women and we don't have data about covid and womb damage/period disruption when given the kind of cells involved we really should be seriously looking into it. I want to talk about male violence or female labour exploitation with the understanding that we're talking about the social constructs that we're all tangled up in. I want to talk about ugliness, medical misogyny, all the adhd things my dad could get away with

and I can't without having to stick asterisks everywhere saying I don't believe in gender essentialism, i do believe in patriarchy and if this doesn't apply to you congrats on being one of the good ones there are good people and my experiences as a woman are not universal

and I hate transphobes so much for hijacking what should be basic human rights for their culture war of distraction when we have so so many problems to deal with and yet this issue is so important because it's breaking the sex binary and comphet down and they're so scared they're recycling the anti-gay talking points without even filling the serial numbers off! The disruption to ideas about patriarchy is worth the fight even if there weren't flesh and blood humans getting hurt (it's a strong motivator though ilu all my gnc and trans friends).

I get so tangled: I think sending death threats is wrong, i regularly call for the death of the pope and posted about stoning king charles yesterday. I have catholic friends. I'm problematic and enjoy problematic media. I'm conflicted when I see quotes from books that helped me understand why I was so miserable back then and why the world was so unfair so much remains true. Those books also left huge fragments that didn't fit and by all that is dear to me: working class and black womanists provided the missing pieces then trans and non binary folk added more and then the disability activists who'd read all that and had more nuances to add, my heart.

I have so much I've held inside because of people who can't even be bothered with Dworkin's evolving philosophy of gender or that maybe we might have learned a few things since the Sixties because they take individuals like me and throw them to mobs and I really don't want to retraumatize my trans friends either. Aaaaargh.

It's complicated. I'd rather have to censor 'kill' and have hate speech enforcement to be able to speak openly about feminism or gender in general without the bullies swarming. I know for many that's just talking about any politics and it's silly to complain when I'm not even trans just a 'traitor' to these women but Tumblr had been safer, it's certainly a place where I haven't been attacked as much for being socialist. The mobs on twitter were frightening in scope, the ones on tumblr accused me of things that felt horribly personal. I feel like a big coward for not wanting to deal with fallout so I haven't shared some of the amazing feminist reading and learning I've been doing the past few years.

[hypothesiscosmos]

orchid mahonia palm tree >:3

Orchid: my full answer is here (along with a few others in the tag), but I'm down for answering more of this so!! One more song I think is perfect is Lost in Paradise (Ali feat. Aklo)- It feels so smooth and funky, it actually makes want to dance around for a bit, haha!

Mahonia: Anything...whether I'm seeing people going about in their daily lives while I'm out, listening to music, or even just unwinding for a bit, it tends to inspire something within me, and I do my best to try and express whatever ideas and what I felt at the time whenever I do art!

Palm Tree: I...I have no idea if I should tag this as spoilers since I think my mutuals and followers probs already know, but just in case, heads up for JJK spoilers:

Fucking Kenjaku.

Fuck this dude. This shady asshole. This slimy motherfucker. And I can't believe I'm saying it with affection BUT I AM because he actually is one the funniest fuckers in this canon, despite all the unfortunate and horrid shit he's done, LMFAO...

Like, I think what helps is that usually big masterminds are usually played up to be more serious, but he kind of breaks the mold from it? Of course it's also canonically explained that his attitude has kind of relaxed after having hijacked Geto's body and having it influence him in a way, but lmfao. Good golly god. Good fucking swiss cheese on a knife. This absolute fucking douche has been entertaining to see throughout JJK and I honestly hope that he stays that way!!

As for runner-up on fictional villains that I should hate, but love anyway? It is of course...

My trash son, Hanamiya "It's just a lil kneecap breaky :))))" Makoto

[doodledex-project]

Doodledex - #898 Calyrex

If I remember correctly, I had a hard time fitting the lore for the other two Legendary Pokemon who changed forms by fusing with other Pokemon in their posts without making it absurdly long, so let’s see if I can get the cliffnotes version in here for Calyrex, whose whole existence in the DLC is just dripping with lore. *ahem*

A long time ago, Calyrex was regarded by the people of Galar as the King of Bountiful Harvests who ruled over the region and helped crops grow in an instant, traveling the land with its mighty steed. (Which is either Glastrier or Spectrier depending on what you do in the story... or, if one theory is to be believed, both were the same horse who had since froze to death. Morbid!) In recent years, its power has diminished due to it being separated from its steed and the people of the region forgetting it existed at all, thinking of Calyrex as just a legend. You’re able to change this in the Crown Tundra DLC by proving it exists outside the local folklore of Freezington! (There’s of course more to this, but like I said, we’d be here all day if I tried to go into more detail about the King and its MASSIVE NOGGIN.)

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Block exists for a reason. I just used it on a couple people screaming about characterizations in the DCXDP fandom.

I know I complain about how people write certain characters and promote others I don’t like (see all my grumpy posts about Iida being made into a horrible person while Bakugou is lifted onto a pedestal) but I dont go around to other people’s posts to hijack them and then make comments about ‘how to write characterication’ and ‘this isn't how it goes’. I make things as vague as I can when complaining and usually I do those posts after frustrating days when I need to complain about petty shit because complaining about my life is just sad and repetitive.

When you directly interact with a post and say things like ‘The characterization is horrible’ or ‘this is trash’ or ‘i don’t like this’of one that happened to me ‘how could you ruin this Plot by doing that’ (and it's not because the takes are 1000% wtf aka they're a terf/Nazi/racist/all of the above) you're ruining the fandom experience for people. Especially in a niche crossover fandom where half the time we are making crack fics.

So: have a life. Block liberally. You dont need a reason why. I block anyone I think I should and others I block because AO3Feed tumblers are annoying. I block tags I dont like and ignore additions to my posts where they try to include things I dont like but dont find horrific. I block commentators on AO3 because they're rude and I'm not dealing with it. I've posted them here when it upsets me but most people do. (also I think shaming these comments hopefully decreases them. They're not edgy or useful or even good, they're assholes)

You're not being rude when you ignore people or block them. You're taking care of your mental health. You're cultivating your fandom experience into the best possible time you can have.

Anyone who feels they have a right to attack others or that they alone know how to write a character can fuck off.

this couldn’t be said any better

[shade-of-sun]

From the depths of my mind came forth a ship I hadn't thought about in years. Curiosity overtook me and I was suddenly gripped in the throes of Ao3, desperately reading through fanfic and switching back and forth to Tumblr for fanart to reblog – all while I crafted a playlist with every fic I read.

Now I will say, the few nods to the ship is in the title, referencing a very good fanfic series and very loosely referencing the very popular seasons!au in the fandom, really couldn't help myself with that both of these.

(For the four souls that liked my playlist when I first put it out, I hope you like Hijack.)

Let's get started! :D

• Ends of the Earth - Lord Huron

"Headin' out into the unknown,

Wayfairin' strangers and all kinds of danger,

Please don't say I'm going alone,

To the ends of the earth would you follow me?"

This an adventuring song and just hits different. I feel like these two would just go off on a whim on a crazy adventure while the other tags along cause what's life without a bit of fun? It's also find it sweet that maybe just maybe one of them would ask if they could come along. Though it would probably come off like "You're stuck with me now."

Either one of them would most definitely use that phrase.

Of course, when I listen to this song now, I think about Of the Northmost Winds and Skies by xxiiyu. Go read this fanfic if you haven't, it's a wonderful slow burn with a bunch of adventure, magic and pinning for our pairing. I'm going through my second reread of the fanfic due to my enjoyment of it, definitely one of my favorites.

Fic Recs: Forget-Me-Not by UmbrellaMartialGod, Of Tender Years by zoom, Wooed by toopliss_chewtoy

The Fold – Wickerbird

Now, not every song needs to spawn a mini character study so I picked this song mostly for the vibe. The nature imagery is giving "running through a dark forest and feeling nature all around, the co-existence of people, nature and something more magical. I think of a more magical Berk, leaning further into their superstitions and folklore. I'm thinking of a BBC Merlin-esq take on magic, with it being ingrained in the world and some being born with it.

Fics Recs : breath by AnguishofMyLove, Son of a Witch by twiafom, Between Blurred Lines by ThatAwkwardFaeNerd

Black Moss – Johanna Warren

I think about this song constantly. It's the vibe of the song!!! (The lyrics are kinda morbid, but it is they vibe they give off.) It's hard to find the words to type, but I just think these lyrics apply to both Jack and Hiccup. And this song always has me putting the pairing with Jackson Overland who then turns into Jack Frost, for maximum angst.

"And you've been watching me,

You say I emanate some strange magnetic power,

But don't be drawn to me, I maybe be here today

But soon black moss will cover over my dead body."

To potential to write so many dynamics that fit with this! To explore how Hiccup and Jack interact with each other with either Jack knowing Hiccup after becoming Jack Frost or with Hiccup seeing so much of his old friend Jackson Overland with in Jack Frost and trying to figure him out.

"You've been a lot of places,

left me forgotten by your side.

Maybe the feeling's baseless,

But something in me still stirs when I look in your eyes,

'Cause you've been kind to me,

I never quite believed you when you said its over,"

Jack wondering why Hiccup looks at him differently, with something in his eyes that Jack can't put a name to. It makes his heart ache cause Hiccup looks like he needs an answer for something Jack doesn't know how to answer. Something is there, just below the surface of what's between them, if only he could figure it out.

This song, for me, has a lot of potential to have so much good angst. Unfortunately I can not bring myself to write said angst, so I only have my thoughts.

I must mention the series Heart of a Dragon's Soul by SilverlySilence. The fic is also a slowburn that builds on Jack's appearance in Berk, stripped of his magic but still very in-tune with the mystical side of things and he eventually becomes Berk's Druid all while becoming friends with the gang and falling in love with Hiccup along the way on this very wild and tense adventure. Slow, warm and sweet like a cup of hot coco is reading Soul of a Druid.

I would love to read it again, if my heart can take it.

Bigger Than The Whole Sky - Taylor Swift

The lyrics, oh my god, the lyrics for this song. This song ruins me every time. Every time. Alright so this is kinda cheating cause this song also makes me think of Heart of a Dragon when I listen, but hear me out. I don't really know what more to say than read the fanfic and then listen to this song and try not to cry about it, cause that's what's happening to me right now.

"Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye,

You were bigger than the whole sky

You were more than just a short time

And I've got a lot to pine about,

I've got lot to live without,

I'm never gonna meet

What could've been, would've been,

What should've been you."

I'm never getting over this. This is for every fic that has Jack going back in time with bond with Hiccup and the gang, getting friends, getting to see dragons and having people see him only to then get tossed back in his own time left with the sinking feeling of never seeing Hiccup or his new friends again. (Then he finds a way back or Hiccup finds him in the future and they live happily ever after!!)

((Bonus if Jack was sent back while he and Hiccup were find out about the thing between them or had just confessed their feelings for each other.))

Okay little blurb aside - I decided to put it at the end of this playlist cause it starts the journey all over again when Hello My Old Heart starts to play, and I think its fitting and it pulls at my heartstrings.

On a happier note, I'd like to think, they'll meet again. That's the wonders of fanfiction, you get to make up new beginnings and endings for your favorite blorbos.

And I think about these two a bit too much to be healthy, but I love them.

Anyways, thanks for the read and if you happen to listen to this playlist, I hope you enjoy it. Keep on creating and happy writing!!

[punkcalf]

TDC Facebook Update

This post is to educate and warn people only, not to cause or start or renew any drama.

I was upset when I made my other post yesterday, and still am. Thank you for everyone who signal boosted and gave me some insight on 'why' this may be happening. This franchise has meant a lot for me, kickstarting my art and having so many fun, positive experiences in a fandom. So, this is a really bitter pill to swallow.

The Facebook page I've mentioned is called 'The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance' [and there are some emojis next to it.]

[Image ID: A banner image of The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance Show showing Rian wearing his helmet and Deet in an image of The Dark Crystal against a purple fading to black background. Below the image is text reading; The Dark Crystal age of Resistance. End image ID]

They have gone private, so that's at least a relief but if you were in the group like me before it turned the way it did, here is a warning;

Trigger warnings for; war, racism, anti-semitism and fascism beyond this point.

This page has become a very far right, anti-Semitic, racist, and fascist and the admins don't care. I've send some reports and after a send like three there was a sudden new update to the page that 'no one was allowed to report posts.'

They post racist and other horrible rhetoric plastered over TDC characters. Make comparisons to real life wars and invasions to the ones in the show and laugh about it in the comments. One person commented that they 'couldn't wait for the liberal snowflakes to find this post and get upset about it'

There are endless distasteful comments about real life wars. Making posts that 'skeksis are quicker than xxx-army' or comparing people from invaded countries to podlings but then backtracking because 'at least podlings had an enough spine to fight back and resist.'

There have been made pictures of people photoshopping garthim over tanks. Tanks that were invading countries and caused real life deaths.

And a few of their members compared BIPOC to animals so... yeah. Disgusting shit all around.

There are also a lot of anti-vaxx posts, with the whole brainwashing, money grabbing schtick. Adding vaccine logo's or text over the draining scenes and comparing skeksis to the government.

Like @shitposts-by-thuban said in response to my other post;

"I remember seeing some posts a while ago talking about how conspiracy theorists were saying the show was literally showing what’s going on behind the scenes and the reason it got cancelled was the gov’t was trying to hide it"

This is literally how a lot of active members in that group think. Also I hope you don't mind I added your tags;

[Image ID: Grey text against a white back ground saying: tbh nazis try to hijack literally anything to recruit people and create dog whistles and coded language. End Image ID].

I feel this is becoming more and more true, sadly. And I know a lot of fans of this show are younger, and I hate to see them fall for these tricks. These 'memes' aren't jokes. They are cruel and disgusting.

Also @skekheck thank you as always for spreading the information! And to reply to your tags:

[Image ID: Grey text against a white background saying: I thought nazis fell off after the first few months of the show coming out. End image ID]

It sadly has seem to be gotten worse. At least on Facebook. I also know some were active on Twitter but I've got those blocked before I saw anything.

I know a lot of people have their art / cosplays posted in that group. So my advice is to remove those. It has become private so that may become harder now. Just be careful out there, don't go into this weird fucked up rabbit hole people in that group are trying to dig.

Thank you for reading so far, I'm a bit more clearer minded now, thank you both for your reblogs and responses.