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myownwholewildworld · 2 months ago

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WHEN THE GRIEF HOWLS ― a javier peña's autumnal oneshot (pt.2)

main masterlist | read part 1 | read on ao3 pairing: javier peña x f!reader (same couple as "when the moon howls"). can be read as a oneshot. summary: javi and you go back to yours after your idyllic pumpkin patch date and he stays over. you comfort him when his demons catch up with him. a/n: hiya! i OBVIOUSLY do not know what "oneshot" means??? bahhaha. this is another entry for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno's jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge because i'm just so inspired by it all and javi has me on a chokehold. i promise this is my last entry. also thanks to sweet jo because she kinda sowed the seed and here we are! any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated are most welcomed c: take care lovelies <3 x warnings/tags: 18+, mdni (no smut here, but still). very mild/veiled allusions to intimacy. post season 3 of narcos, canon-deviating as javi is not hailed a hero upon his return to laredo, but quite the opposite. fluff - they are madly in love y'all. domestic bliss. angst. a smidgen of hurt, loads of comfort. description of a panic attack and vivid nightmares. mentions of ptsd and therapy. halloween/autumnal vibes. nightmare before christmas is mentioned because duh. both javi's and reader's povs (that's more like it). no use of y/n. no description of reader (moodboard is only for aesthetic purposes). unbeta'd, soz. w/c: 4.7k divider by @saradika-graphics

Sunday, 1st November 1998.

2:53 AM.

The bodies just kept piling up in front of his eyes.

Every person whose death he had witnessed.

Every body who had been hung off bridges.

Every person who had died because of a decision he had made.

Every soul he himself had extinguished.

The innocent bystanders, other governmental agents, politicians who had tried to fight the drug lords.

The 1989 Avianca flight that was brought down by a bomb planted by the Medellín cartel. Flight 203 had reaped the lives of one hundred and seven blameless lives ―one hundred and ten, he corrected himself― just because Escobar had wanted to eliminate his political opponent, César Gaviria Trujillo, who, by a fateful twist of the universe, never ended up boarding the flight.

The pictures of such tragedy still stuck with him, burnt into his retinas like a photo negative ― every time he blinked, the colours would pour into the frame, the vision grotesque and gut-turning.

Every single one of them was a failure Javier could not elude, could no longer bury in the most godforsaken drawer of his brain. A failure that would haunt him, would become corporeal in his vivid nightmares.

With the eyes of his dreaming imagination, he could see every one of them souls in front of him ― judging him, blaming him, eyes full of hatred. Accusatory fingers pointing at him, as if it was his Day of Reckoning.

All this piteous death, all this mindless suffering ― for naught.

He had made no true, tangible difference. He had fallen short.

And he was failing all over again in his lucid dream. Unable to stop them from dying, he saw each one of them perish in front of him until a heap of foul death surrounded him.

Javier finally felt it, even welcomed it ― the Grim Reaper’s noose loosely wrapping around his neck. Then taut and firm, a tight caress ghosting his skin. There was no going back, but there was no more guilt either. A bittersweet yet soothing balance, one that could only be served by the Ghoul’s scythe.

And then Death lifted him up, the hanging rope coiling on the tree branch ― suffocating him as his averted eyes watched the scene unfurl underneath him. A snarled mess of bodies, some hands reaching up to him. He would ―should― join them, after all.

A purposeful man would have struck back ― kick his feet, unfettered from his restrain.

But he didn’t fight back. He didn’t have it in him anymore. He got exactly what he deserved.

Javier startled awake, panting and sweating from such terrible nightmare. His heart was pounding against his ribs, his breathing accelerated causing him a painful stitch. He felt his chest caving in with all the panic that had slowly but steadily built up inside him.

His reaction was so severe, he had sprung up and sat up on the mattress. All he could hear was his blood heavily flowing through his eardrums; all he could see was darkness; all he could smell was the lingering stench of death; all he could taste was his remorse; all he could touch were dead, cold bodies.

Javier bent his knees, soles against the bedsheets, and leaned forward with his head buried between his knees. Eyes closed, he had to concentrate on his breathing and slowing down his racing heart. Otherwise, the panic would only grow and grow and grow until madness took over him.

Then a soothing, grounding hand slithered under the back of his tee shirt, a warm touch against his cold, damp skin. Only at that point did he remembered he wasn’t at his dad’s place, wasn’t alone either. His strained muscles visibly relaxed without him even trying.

“Javi,” your sleepy voice prevailed over his drowning anxiety. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

He still didn’t know what he had done to deserve you, to have you by his side, strong and unyielding ― ready to fight his demons for him if necessary. You loved so fiercely, so deeply, at first he tried to fight it. To spare you.

But how could he? You were the moon that imposed the perfect cadence on his tide, calling him home at night. The moment he had landed his eyes on you and your orbits had crashed, he was a lost man ― lost to you, to your smile, to your unquivering positivity, your calmness, your ease to listen, to give advice, to help without asking for anything in return.

But how could you? Even when his grief was howling loud and clear, you loved him. Despite all his flaws and faults, his obvious defects, you saw past it all ― even past the rumours that flew around in Laredo about him. He knew you had heard all the gossip, how people talked about his fictional shenanigans with the drug lords, a willing participant in their endeavours. How he did drugs on the job and sold some of it back to the narcos. Javier had been deaf to all of it ― he didn’t care for what people were saying. Didn’t even bother to put a stop to it, because he had enough open fronts to fight as it was.

Even his childhood friends had turned their backs on him. But not you. Never you. Not even when he had shared his darkest secrets with you over a pumpkin spice latte and a slice of pumpkin cake. Instead of withdrawing from him, you held his hand as he had talked with a heavy heart and short of breath. The flashes coming back to him, you soothed by the mere caress of your fingertips.

You had touched his core ―just as you were touching him now―, kneaded it until it softened like clay on the hands of an expert ceramist. Javier didn’t think himself worthy of love, not after everything he had done and seen. Colombia had shattered him ― Javier had lost all hope in humanity.

The life he had sustained in Colombia had finally caught up with him, destroyed the person he had been prior to all of it. Once a womanizer, he had no longer found respite in laying with his informers. Had even quit smoking, only to go back to it a few weeks later ― the crushing anxiety pushing him back to the stale taste of tobacco. He had cut down on the black coffee too.

In spite of that, he was far from being a reformed man. He even doubted he could ever be a normal civilian. The trauma that haunted him had a tight grip on him, hefty shackles wrapping around his wrists. And his heavy breathing and sweating were a testament to his struggles.

“Javi?” You called again, your tone delicate and heartening.

Slowly Javier came out of his sluggish haze ― your palm rubbing his spine, beckoning him to come back to reality.

Lifting his head up, elbows on knees, he looked at you over his left shoulder.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, pequeña (little one).” His hoarse voice felt unlike him, so he cleared his throat.

You sat back up on the bed, your hand wrapping around his waist until the palm flushed against his tummy under his tee. You kissed his shoulder and then his lips.

“You should have woken me up earlier, Javi. I want to be by your side when your nightmares startle you. I wanna help you, I wanna be there for you. Always.” Your words tugged at his heart, knowing full well you truly meant them.

A weak, crooked smile took over the muscles of his mouth. How easy you uprooted a grin from him ― you were so effortless to love, to care for, it felt as natural as breathing.

“Old habits die hard.” Javi muttered, bowing forward a bit seeking your warm, welcoming lips.

He had bottled all his suffering up for months now, years. It was hard to let go ― one of the main reasons he had signed up for therapy.

You smiled into the kiss, your fingertips lightly stroking the sensitive skin around his belly button.

“Baby steps.” You pressed a few consecutive pecks on his lips.

Javier sighed, visibly relaxing now as his body released the tension under your attention. He then laid flat on his back again, dragging you with him until your cheek was pressed against the centre of his chest. After, you buried your face in the crook of his neck while your left hand wiped the pearly drops of sweat off his forehead before raking his untamed hair back. That same hand quickly burrowed under his tee shirt, rubbing his clammy skin ― you didn’t seem bothered by his perspiration.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your lips brushing his jawline.

“It’s just the same nightmare I always have. I was being hung off a tree, dead bodies piling up beneath me.” He struggled to say out loud, unconsciously reaching for his neck where the imaginary noose had tightened.

Your fingers forced his to move to one side so you could kiss his Adam’s apple ― the feeling of the rope around his neck replaced by the calming flick of your mouth.

Javier closed his eyes, his bad dream gradually fading away.

“Did you fight back?” He had told you that was what the therapist had recommended he tried if the nightmare was vivid enough ― that he attempted to regain control.

“No, I couldn’t. Not yet.” He murmured; a tad ashamed of himself.

“That’s okay, Javi.” You reassured him, feeling his vulnerability, as your hand caressed his tummy. “Baby steps”, you repeated.

Javier nodded, turning his face to you so he could press a kiss to your forehead. You snuggled a bit more into his side.

“Go back to sleep, pequeña.”

“Only if you do.” You challenged him with a smile.

Javi let go of a snort, unsurprised by your stubbornness.

“Alright, let’s go back to sleep then, both of us.”

6:14 AM.

The thumping rhythm under your fingertips alerted you to Javi’s awakening. Or perhaps he had been subtle enough this time not to wake you up. His heart pumped so hard, you could count his every heartbeat. With your hand still under his tee shirt, lazily resting on the middle of his chest, your thumb traced his sternum a few times.

“I thought you said both of us?” You muttered light-heartedly, your lips brushing his earlobe.

Javi inhaled and then steadily exhaled, his pulse slowing down.

“I just woke up a couple of minutes ago.”

You didn’t know if he was lying or not, but you believed him. Every word he said, you knew to trust. The last few weeks you had unearthed the real Javi, had dusted off so many secrets and emotions, you just knew he had no need to lie to you. There was really no point.

It was weird to think that yesterday you believed this impossible. Your friendship with Javi had developed so fast, you didn’t even have a chance at confessing your true feelings for him. You thought you concealed them well, afraid of losing him ― because you rather had him as a close friend, than not having him at all. A coward maybe, but a coward with him by your side.

You had not planned to fall in love again, not after your last breakup. However, Javier was so different, so down to earth and as broken as you were, you had fallen for him before you even gave yourself a chance at love again. Perhaps you had been putting his pieces back together and thrown yours in the puzzle too ― to the point that your stitches ended where his began.

Unbeknownst to you, Javi had been harbouring feelings for you too. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have thought he would be the one to take the risk. You had melted at the first touch of his lips, as if that was exactly where you belonged. As if all experiences up to that point had led you to his arms. You were meant to be ― two broken soul pieces that fit together perfectly.

Last night had been the best one of your life, no doubt in your mind. Hidden under the linen, you had silently played a new version of “trick or treat” together ― where there were no tricks, but many treats. With the language of your hands, you had read the braille on every groove of his skin. He had mapped you out in return too ― hungry, needy hands making you shiver.

You could still feel the warmth, the love, his scarce yet reassuring words.

‘There are no better toasts than those made by your eyelashes’, he had told you in whispered bliss.

You smiled at the memory ― a heavy, comforting sensation wrapping around your heart, blanketing your whole being.

“What’s on your mind, cariño (honey)?”

You didn’t want to press him, just wanted him to open up if he felt the need to. Javier stirred to lay down on his side ― his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses nuzzling. The intimacy of his closeness made you swoon, but his words wore you down ever so slightly.

“Judy Moncada. Los Pepes. The CIA. The newspaper. All of it, really.” You felt the pain in his voice as your own.

You knew how hard he had worked, for all of it to be taken away so quickly, so dismissively. He had been the scapegoat, and it almost ruined him. No wonder why he took a step back and returned to Laredo.

It still made your blood boil how the town had received him, how they treated him like a pariah. But it was their fucking loss. If they were too blind to see Javier Peña for who he really was, then Javi had not really lost much. You were just glad you had not listened to Alejandra the first day you met him ― otherwise it would have been a great loss to you.

You kissed his forehead, his closed eyes ― his eyelashes tickling the fragile skin of your lips. Then you pressed a chaste peck on his mouth while he enveloped you in a tight embrace.

“Life’s so unfair, I wish I could make them see. See who you really are, Javi. But some people are too stubborn. It’s easier to believe lies rather than the truth. It’s their loss.” You spoke softly, understanding where his train of thought was going.

Javi didn’t reply ― he just kissed your neck in silent gratitude, the hairs of his kempt moustache making you feel ticklish.

“Since last night we were― uhm, busy,” to put it mildly, “I was thinking that today we can do what I had planned for last night.” You suddenly said to distract him.

You couldn’t see, the darkness enveloping you both, but you knew his brows were knitting in confusion.

“What had you planned?” He asked, curiosity staining his question.

You smiled.

“Well… Since you don’t know, it’ll be a surprise.”

7:46 AM.

“Is it really broken?” You pouted from the other side of the counter, walking around to meet Javi.

He had a handheld mixer and was insistently pressing on the button to turn it on to no avail. He clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, it ain’t working. Gonna have to mix all of this by hand, ain’t I?” You laughed at his frustration, as you took the device from him to inspect it.

Yes, it was broken alright. Damn.

“I’m afraid so.” You removed the whisks and handed them to him. “Unless you’re not up to the task?” You cocked a challenging brow.

Javi scoffed, rolling his eyes and snatching the tools off your fingers.

“Please. I think I can handle a pumpkin cake.”

His offence was faked, and you couldn’t help but giggle. He quickly followed as he started battering everything by hand.

“I’m already done with the cheese frosting. So once you’re finished, we’ll leave it to bake for forty minutes.” You explained, leaning against the counter to watch what he was doing.

“And after?”

“Don’t be so impatient. You finish off here while I go look for… something.”

Javi squinted his chocolate eyes and pouted, shaking his head. He was not going to get you to talk.

“Stay here, and don’t come looking for me!” You threatened, burying a finger in his chest, before running away, smirking.

Two minutes later you were deep down in your closet, searching for the boxes labelled “Halloween decorations”. You had only planned to be in Laredo for a year, but that did not stop you from bringing with you all your seasonal décor. And All Hallow’s Eve, being the peak of your favourite season, had to be celebrated properly.

So, you dragged the two boxes out and then dived back in. On your tiptoes, your fingers brushed the rectangular box you were trying to reach for on the top shelf. But as much as you tried, you were not tall enough to get to it.

“Need a hand there?”

You quickly turned around ― Javier had sneaked behind you and scared the shit out of you.

You slapped his shoulder, and he cackled.

“Don’t do that! Almost had a heart attack!” You joked, although your heart was really pounding against your ribcage.

“Let me help with that.” He offered.

Javi easily reached for the box and took it down.

His brows touched each other when he saw what the box was. Then looked back at you with question marks dancing in his pupils.

“I think I got the wrong box.”

You shook your head no, suppressing a laugh.

“No, that’s the right one.” You curled your fingers, your palm extended towards him, asking for the box.

Javier reluctantly gave it to you.

“I don’t get it. You’re like almost two months off?”

You chuckled again, pushing the tall box to your chest as if hugging it. “Can you carry those two boxes to the living room for me, please?”

He obliged, albeit the confusion was still painted on his gorgeous face. You led the way with Javi on your heels. Once you both settled everything on the floor, you spun around to glance at him with puppy eyes and hands laced in a prayer.

“Don’t judge me, okay?” You started off, fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. It’s what my family call a Hallotreen―”

“A Hallo-what?” He interrupted you, a grin fighting its way to the outside.

“Hallotreen. It’s a Halloween tree! Like a Christmas tree, but with spooky decorations! I usually put it up on Halloween night, so it’s ready for All Saint’s Day and All Soul’s Day.”

You extended your arms at your revelation, as if to say, “Isn’t it obvious?!”.

Javi first looked at you blankly, and then erupted in laughter. You couldn’t help yourself but join him as he took a step forward to drape his arms around you, his comforting hands landing on the small of your back.

“God, you’re so full of surprises. I love it, I love you.” You could tell it had slipped from his tongue by mistake, because his fun expression quickly darkened.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden confession. You leaned back a bit, studying his beautiful face, and tilted your head to one side while you considered his words.

“Do you mean it?” You cooed in a hush, feeling so vulnerable, so raw.

Javi’s eyes locked on yours for a never-ending minute. Then they slowly drifted down to your parted lips and nodded as he, unhurriedly, bowed down towards you.

“Yes, I do. I do mean it, pequeña.” He purred, no joking timbre in his words.

Your heart contracted and then expanded in an outburst, your lungs filling up with his minty breath as you tiptoed to meet his mouth before you hummed, “I love you too.”

When your lips crashed, the tenderness pouring from his mouth into yours soothed any lingering doubt. Although sudden, your love was true. You were not imagining it ― Javi felt the same way. You never believed in the tales of love at first sight, but now that you were the protagonist of such story, you definitely did.

The kiss naturally came to an end and Javi pressed his lips against your forehead, holding you still in his hug for a sweet moment. How you wished you could stay between his arms forever.

‘Maybe we do have forever.’ That thought made you slightly emotional. You could see Javi by your side until the end of days. With a family of your own. It just felt natural.

“Alright, let’s do this then. So we put the tree up first?” Javi asked, amused.

You laughed as you took a step back and knelt down to open the box the Christmas tree was in.

“Yeah, and let me tell you. It’s a big one. Seven feet of pure bliss!” You laughed while unpacking it, Javi soon on his knees helping you out, chuckling too.

Ten minutes later, the tree was up, and you both had started to sort out all the Halloween decorations that came in the plastic boxes. There was a big assortment of different bits and bobs, and you directed Javi to get all pumpkin-shaped trinkets sorted first.

Once you had a healthy pile, you both hung all the decorations on the tree with no real pattern. You peppered some pumpkins here and there; some autumnal, plastic leaves to make the tree look fuller and fluffier. You also had some Halloween-themed baubles ― one with a witch inside, other with a pumpkin patch, another one with a murder of crows floating inside. You also dotted some stringed pinecones around the tree.

You had been curating your collection for so long now, you had way too much stuff, and Javi quickly picked up on it.

“What are we going to do with the rest? There’s so much here, I’m starting to think you have a problem?” He joked, sinking a finger on your side, tickling you.

You chortled, trying to avoid his tickling attack. Javi grabbed you by the elbow and forced you to slam against his chest.

“Well… I must confess. If you think this is a lot, it’s because you have not seen my Christmas collection.”

His eyes widened in feigned horror, and then laughed.

“Can’t wait for Christmas then.”

You smiled at him before gently kissing his collarbone. Then you faced the Hallotreen, holding his hand in yours.

It was a masterpiece. The perfect balance of different hues ― oranges, browns, reds, dark greens and some black dotted around. It looked perfect with all the trinkets filling it.

It made you so happy, you clapped your hands before turning to look at an enlivened Javi.

“It’s just missing the final touch.” You announced as you rummaged through one of the boxes and took out the best piece of them all, presenting it to Javi as if it was the Holy Grail. “Ta-dah!”

It was a figurine of Jack Skellington, from one of your favourite movies ― The Nightmare before Christmas. Jack was on a sitting-down position, perfect to crown the tree.

“It’s a Jack tree-topper. I almost fainted when I first saw it a few years ago. It cost me $100, but it was worth every. single. penny”, you punctuated ― you would smack him if he said otherwise.

Luckily, Javi agreed with you with a pleasant hum and a crooked smirk.

“Let’s put it up then, the King of the Pumpkin Patch needs to have a good panoramic view of his kingdom.” He jested and you were so happy with the reference, you could only love him a bit more ― if that was even possible.

Out of nowhere, Javi knelt down in front of you, his back towards you. He looked over his shoulder at you, brows furrowed, when you didn’t move. Javi lightly patted his shoulder.

“C’mon, up.”

“What? You want to carry me on your shoulders?” You asked, confused.

“Yeah, how are you gonna reach the top if not? That’s seven feet.”

You took a step back, gripping the tree-topper tight between your hands and let go of a guffaw.

“Nope, not happening. I’m gonna crush you! I’ll get a―”

A perfect eyebrow raised into his forehead, and he scrunched his lips, his moustache moving from side to side with disapproval.

“I said up.” His tone was commanding ― Javi would not accept no for an answer. “Come on, don’t make me make you.”

With a sigh, you let go of your insecurities and ended up sitting on his shoulders. Javi’s firm hands rested on your knees as he slowly stood up, keeping a perfect balance.

You chuckled nervously as he walked to the tree. Trying to find your own balance, you planted your left hand of Javi’s forehead. Or what you thought was his forehead, because he then complained.

“Hey, I can’t see!”

You looked down ― you had covered his eyes by mistake, so you quickly lifted your hand up and placed it on his forehead.

“Sorry!”

Javi laughed in reply. Reaching up with the hand holding the figure, you were finally able to set it down without breaking it.

“Yay! Done!”

He knelt down again, releasing your knees from the prison of his hands, and your feet finally rested against the wooden floor. When Javi got up, you both took a step back to admire such work of art.

“Dare I say myself? This looks amazing, the best Hallotreen I have ever had!” You screeched with excitement, almost jumping in place.

When Javi didn’t respond, you glanced up at him. His eyes, darkened with something deep and warm, were intently studying your face. His expression was so relaxed, so at peace, you knew the nightmares were now a forgotten memory ― at least until tonight.

Knowing you could be a balm to his emotional wounds made your heart twist with longing. You wished you could take it all away, that you could take his place and suffer it all for him, so he didn’t need to. You loved him so dearly, you promised yourself that Javi would never have to go through such trauma ever again.

He lifted one hand up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear ― such a loving gesture, your heart melted for him.

“What?” You asked, timid, with a nervous laugh.

“Nothing.” He buzzed, hugging you close to his torso.

The kiss started off soft and tender, a mere graze of his lips against yours. And before it became sultry and demanding, the oven’s clock started beeping.

Javi grunted and you grinned. Grabbing his hand, you dragged him to the kitchen.

9:22 PM.

“Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones an emptiness began to grow. There's something out there far from my home. A longing that I've never known…” Jack was lamenting on the background.

Javier couldn’t help but look at you over his mug of hot chocolate. You were laying down on the couch with your back against his chest, tightly gripping your mug and buried under a fleece blanket. The living room was dark, only two sources of light: one was the TV playing Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas, and the other was the string of lights wrapping around the Hallotreen.

He could grow used to this, to you. Jack’s Lament somewhat resonated with him ― there was a longing in his heart he had never known before. And that longing now had a name ― yours.

Javi had to suppress a lopsided smirk when you kept on mumbling the lyrics of the song. You knew all the dialogue, all the songs, every single scene. And he let you talk throughout the movie, because he loved listening to all the comments you needed to let out. You were far too excited ― and so was he.

Yes, he could definitely get used to this. To you.

If you didn’t mind, he’d like to join you by your side.

Where you both could gaze into the stars and sit together, now and forever.

For it was plain, as anyone could see, you simply were meant to be…

138 notes · View notes

fire-fira · 8 months ago

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IDK if you've been keeping up with the Trujillo Blue Beetle run, but they put Jaime with some random Horizon girl named Oo'li and it really feels like some half-assed attempt to prevent him from ever falling in love with Khaji, I don't know, maybe I'm running on some insane troll logic here, but the writers really put Jaime with a girl who's connected in some way to the Reach, when Khaji Da is RIGHT THERE! Do not ignore please, I really wanna hear your opinion on this.

While I will agree that the relationship with Oo'li feels shoe-horned (and that detail honestly isn't helped by the breakneck narrative pacing, which may be reflective of a time crunch those involved with this most recent run might be dealing with), I think it's important to step back and take stock of some things.

The vast majority of comic writers-- and presumed comic readers-- aren't likely to even consider Jaime/Khaji Da as a ship because they're sharing a body. For better or worse, there are a looooooot of people out there (both in fandom and outside of it) who can't or haven't wrapped their minds around the concept of a ship where one character is the host body to the other; if they've put any thought into that kind of ship at all, they may have difficulty conceptualizing how a romantic/queerplatonic/committed relationship of that type can even work when the characters involved technically can't do things like hold hands, kiss, or sit across from each other while having a candlelit dinner. (Yes I realize that example may be a little cliche in this instance, but I think it's the best way to convey one of the big stumbling blocks for some writers when it comes to this kind of ship.)

It's fandom where these concepts have really been hashed out and played with, so of course as fans we're going to see the obvious potential and the ways it could work, but writers for officially published works generally should not read fanfiction-- especially of anything they're actively working on-- because doing otherwise invites the possibility that someone might feel their own work is being stolen and repurposed by a company to make money, which can lead to a lawsuit. Ergo, if they're not already familiar with the concept of how such a ship could work (or they haven't come to that concept on their own), then the chances of them even thinking to do so in their writing for DC is slim.

And for as much as Eddie Brock/Venom has put forward the idea of a host/symbiont ship more broadly in the public imagination, that reach is still limited by who would be interested in seeing those movies, and if those people were or are able/willing to recognize the host/symbiont ship as even being a possibility. And even if they did, Khaji Da is a dramatically different character than Venom in temperament and personality; we also have no guarantee that anyone looking at the movie/various-tv-series Khaji Da has been in will think to consider Khaji Da as a fully realized character instead of an AI-that-is-maybe-'sub-human'-in-personhood-but-more-advanced-than-anything-we-have-and-so-should-be-respected-as-'kind of'-an-individual (and the siri-voice in the movie probably won't have helped change that perspective). The point is, with that dramatic character difference, it might not even occur to any of them that Jaime/Khaji Da as a ship would be believable or that the characters could even have the potential motivation to share that mutual interest.

We also have no clue if Trujillo or anyone else currently working on Blue Beetle have seen any of the Venom movies to even plant the idea of a host/symbiont ship in their heads. We literally have no idea if they're even aware of the concept. And even if they are, they're in the business of trying to sell comics. I don't know the ins-and-outs of the comic industry by any means, but I think it's fair to assume that introducing a host/symbiont ship in canon might be a risky venture-- even without the breakneck narrative pacing they currently have going.

I'll be honest, with the current pacing trends I don't think they'd be able to do justice to the Jaime/Khaji Da ship in building it up into something that would make sense and have readers-- who weren't already-- get invested. Host/symbiont ships are a hard sell, so there HAS to be a believable buildup, but when the pacing's shooting by like the reader got fired out of a cannon and has to rapid-fire take notes about what they pass within seconds so they can only record the broad strokes and nothing in between, then all of that buildup crumbles into nothing. (Case in point with relationship buildup crumbling into nothing: the whole thing with Oo'li.) Physicality can kind of override some of that in a narrative, but that requires the characters to have separate bodies so they can externally interact and separate from time to time-- and Jaime and Khaji Da, by the very nature of what Khaji Da is, don't have access to that narrative override.

In terms of them trying to sell comics with the lack of decent pacing and time that DC is pushing, it's probably financially safer for them to not put the effort in to try for that kind of narrative buildup; it would take time they don't have to do it justice, and trying to force it anyway might lose them buyers due to said buyers getting put off by poorly done stories.

Yeah, as a fan to whom the possibility seems obvious and who is heavily invested in these characters, it's frustrating. I get that, and I don't blame you. But on the flip-side, DC has made plenty of wtf decisions of late (don't even get me started on the absolutely ridiculous number of Batman or Batman-adjacent books they're currently putting out right now, to the point where Bat-everything is drowning out damn near everything else), and with the lousy pacing and quick turnaround on comics they currently have going I'm honestly glad that they're not currently tackling a Jaime/Khaji Da narrative. I don't want to see what they would do to it at this time, I don't trust them to do it justice.

And speaking as someone with at least one fave DC character who has shown up in all of 94 issues total, sometimes you're honestly much better off looking to fandom and fanfiction for what you want to see. At least then you know you have a solid chance of seeing it done really well rather than getting hit with frustration or disappointment over not seeing it at all.

#Blue Beetle #Blue Beetle III #Jaime Reyes #Khaji Da #DC #DC comics #comics #ScarabLove #fandom #fanfiction #my life

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artemisrogers · 21 days ago

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Hello sorry I haven't written in a while I've been dealing with a lot of stress and gender dysphoria. So I have had the motivation to write much. I'm in the process of writing Don't look James x reader. I want to do a Poll for when I get motivated to write more again for who I should write about next

#metallica smut #james hetfield #james hetfield smut #kirk hammett smut #jason newsted smut #lars ulrich smut #jason newsted #kirk hammett #lars ulrich #metallica

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repldemiurge · 6 months ago

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Over a decade too late, I listened to Lulu, by Metallica and Lou Reed

I've long suspected that I'd get something out of the much maligned collaboration album, but gaining the motivation to listen to an hour and twenty-seven minute Goliath by two of the most mediocre artists of their times was always too much to overcome.

But I did, on a cloudy Friday afternoon, not feeling capable of much else.

First, and least foremost, to get the musicianship out of the way, Hammett still plays like he's trying to get a job at Guitar Center, Trujillo has all the bass playing acumen of a bottle of Ambien, and Ulrich remains a dunce. Unremarkable.

No what's compelling about this album (and while it is not good, it is utterly compelling) is hearing two artists who only chanced into producing worthwhile music in their careers through some excellent relationships (Reed through his relationship and marriage to the incomparable Laurie Anderson, Metallica through the tenure of Cliff Burton, the only real musician they ever had), crash into each other and make music completely unlike any they knew how to. It's a testament to the power of chance, and randomness, and (though this is speculation) the inability of the two camps to communicate with each other that this came out at all. The musical equivalent of color mixing.

It is neither punk, nor thrash metal, nor rock, yet it is not anything that I could properly call avant-garde. If I must genre it, I suppose I'd place it somewhere between post-rock and….midwest emo?

The album is effectively a lyrical delivery tool, Reed's poetry obviously at the heart of it, and it is awash in metaphor, urging me to view it in the same ways. The two really do seem to sway between their best impersonation of American Football and Godspeed You! Black Emperor. And while my disdain for emo is severe, my enjoyment of post stuff and drone is such that even a clumsy approximation is pleasant, and these moments (Mistress Dread, the back half of Junior Dad), are the high points of the album. On contrast, the points where Metallica tries to run their show more (Iced Honey, Frustration), are the sections that veer closest to being unlistenable.

The psycho-sexual and moralizing sadomasochism of the lyrics, based on Frank Wedekind's plays, are mostly juvenile, though they do make some suggestions towards Reed's potential latent transgenderism. (I am easily susceptible to such interpretations currently, though). Hearing Reed, clearly very driven, if in over his head and trying way too hard, be then shouted over by a Hetfield who seems mostly confused is absolute hilarity. I don't buy the idea that the album was a practical joke, but those moments do lend it the most credence.

In all, Reed hasn't been playing with any stakes since Metal Machine Music, and Metallica were desperately crawling for real relevance ever since Load tanked them. I think this album did come from a strange confluence of not actually having nothing to prove, just hanging out trying weird shit, while also being REALLY personally invested (Reed) and trying to make Big Important Art (Metallica). The end result, is really bad. The whole soup is unfortunately doomed. But I had really thought I would one-and-done this album, have my chuckle and confine it to the dustbin of history. But I suspect I'll spin it again, at least in part. It's just too fucking weird. And being too fucking weird is still the fundamental characteristic of my favorite music that I'm the most easily swayed by.

#never shuts up #I wish I had an editor in real life sometimes

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dcrankamateur · 1 year ago

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Dawn of DC Comics – 3rd October – Fire and Ice, Blue Beetle and Birds of Prey #2s

My focus this week is on the second issues of Fire and Ice, Birds of Prey and Blue Beetle. After strong starts for all three series, the second issues varied drastically in terms of tone and pace to somewhat mixed results.

Fire and Ice: Welcome to Smallville #2

On a two axis scale of tragedy – comedy and deliberative – frenetic on tone and pace respectively, the frenetic comedy of Fire and Ice worked best for me this week. Joanne Starer and Natacha Bustos’ sitcom-style storytelling suits the diametrically opposite personalities of Fire and Ice well. Where the last issue ended on somewhat of a downbeat, with Tora announcing to Bea that she no longer wanted to be a superhero, the mere fact that these two women with such a rich history but with wildly differing aspirations and motivations have to live under one roof lends itself brilliantly to comedy.

In her conceptions of both characters, Starer is blatantly as sticking to type to accentuate the awkwardness of the pairing. Tora is the bookish hipster with a desire to expand her interests and cooling on the superhero game whereas for Bea the need to prove herself burns brighter than ever. The plot ratchets up to pure absurdity as their Smallville Barber Shop becomes inundated with the minnows of the supervillain world before becoming a low budget reality TV show with Big Brother style diary rooms held in the toilets, much to a queuing and increasingly desperate Tam’s chagrin. Bustos’ art is quite classically cartoonish in this issue, with over the top reactions from background characters in particular emphasising the farcical nature of Bea’s plan and its effect on Tora. The jokes really landed and I found myself laughing throughout. But the fun does stop eventually as Bea’s social media experiment begins to verge on dangerous, and tensions fray between her and Tora once again. However, in classic sitcom fashion, the arrival of Jimmy Olsen at the end of the issue ensures that Bea and Tora live to fight another die.

Blue Beetle #2

That said, Bea and Tora are certainly better off in their own series than they are during their appearance in the tragic and frenetic Blue Beetle #2. After an initial moment of contemplation as Ted Kord lies injured in hospital, in which Tora comforts Jaime, the issue moves at a million miles an hour as the Blood Scarab rips through the supporting cast of the issue one by one before getting to Jaime and declaring that that’s enough for one issue, thanks. Be back soon.

The action scenes are so dynamic and fast moving without being overwhelming largely because writer Josh Trujillo trusts Adrian Gutierrez to convey the chaos during these scenes. Occasional dialogue, typically reserved for characters remarking upon how screwed they are, serves as framing for Gutierrez’s creative use of panelling, which evokes the feeling of the Blood Scarab closing in on its victim, leaving them nowhere to run.

As a new reader my biggest issue with this series so far is that I actually don’t know much about Jaime Reyes himself so I’ve found it harder to connect with him than with the characters I’ve been introduced to in other Dawn of DC stories. This is not the writer’s fault, and I’m certainly not advocating a return to Shooter’s Marvel of the 80s where the first page gives you the entire character’s history all over again. I may be getting into background reading and research time which I believe is absolutely fine to expect of a reader, although not within the scope of this project initially.

Birds of Prey #2

In stark contrast to Blue Beetle, Birds of Prey #2 was rather more introspective and dialogue focussed. The team dynamics, by design, continue to be comedically awkward with each team members’ motivations being tested by a mission they signed up to without full possession of the facts. The pop art style doesn’t quite work as well as it did in Issue 1, with the lengthy conversations between team members feeling quite stiff. Bellaire’s colours feel slightly washed out because of the darkness of the setting (a dimly lit basement room), which contributes to this lack of momentum in the scene. The tension between Harley Quinn and Black Canary drive provide the scenes with the most comedic energy, but the other team feels peripheral. This means that when characters like Zealot and Barda receive a bit of focus, they are brief and less compelling. The series in its early stage are an intentional pivot away from the warmth and friendship of Gail Simone’s conception of the team, which can make it feel unrecognisable as a Birds of Prey series at times. That said, friendships aren’t forged overnight, and there are already signs of promise between Barda and Cassandra Cain for example, so I’m not writing this off as a destination point for the series.

Where the issue does excel is in the fight scenes, where Romero’s style becomes much more kinetic, with the setting lending itself far more to pops of pastel colours. This issue serves as a bridge between the opening salvo of the team come together for the first time and their mission in Themyscira. With the team leaving the darkened basement and taking to the sea, King Shark in tow, the comedic tone to the series should come into its own.

#dc comics #fire and ice #blue beetle #birds of prey #jaime reyes #black canary #harley quinn #cassandra cain #big barda

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drabbles-mc · 1 year ago

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Down-Time

Trujillo & OC Diego Ramírez

For @narcosfandomdiscord's People of Color Day: create a fanwork about a canon character of color

Warnings: 18+, language, light angst

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I know in most of my Diegoverses, Trujillo treats Diego like Public Enemy Number One, in second place only to Escobar 😂 But, that being said, in my head at one point they were very much friends. Before Diego got blamed for the downfall of Trujillo's boss's longterm relationship but i digress sksksk. This was just such a fun little somethin' to write about the two of them!

Diegoverse Taglist: @garbinge @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos @narcolini @cositapreciosa @nessamc

It wasn’t often that they had the luxury to relax and be friends rather than just fellow officers, soldiers in the same war. It’d been so long that they had stopped thinking about it altogether until the opportunity presented itself once more. A brief moment of respite from what had felt like endless chaos as everyone was getting their things out of their tiny, government-issued lockers.

There was a split second after someone had suggested it when everyone hesitated, even the man who had made the suggestion. There was nothing wrong with the idea, nothing wrong with following through on it either, but it felt like there was. After the weeks of intermittent carnage and bloodshed, no one wanted to be the first to jump at the opportunity to take a seemingly quiet afternoon and just enjoy it. But they also knew that there was no guarantee of when they would get another moment to breathe and try to enjoy something.

Diego had been the first one to break the silence, to voice what everyone else wanted to say. With a shrug and a smile he said, “Fuck it, let’s do it.”

There was a collective sigh of relief over the room once someone agreed first. For the first time in a long time, there was actually laughter among the group of them as they all nodded and gave their own verbalizations of agreement. Within seconds they were all swapping out their boots for sneakers. Everyone was looking forward to using the training field at Carlos Holguín for something they’d enjoy for once.

Before they all felt like they were soldiers muddling their way through an active war zone every day, soccer was the preferred pastime of most the officers that ended up becoming a majority of Carrillo’s Search Bloc team. Maybe it was team building, maybe sometimes they all just needed an excuse to take a run at each other that didn’t have any consequences. Maybe they were only a step or two away from still being boys themselves despite the fact that they were doing men’s work now and this was how they dealt with it. Regardless of the reasoning behind it all, the second that Diego took the soccer ball from the empty locker below his, a wave of ease washed over their entire group.

More often than not, Trujillo and Diego played on opposite teams. At first it wasn’t even intentional, but once each of them figured out how strong of a player the other was, then it just became a competition. Friendly, of course, a little extra layer of motivation—after all, all anyone ever won in these games was bragging rights.

This time, though, as everyone was divvying themselves up, Diego let out a short, low whistle to grab Trujillo’s attention. He waved him over. “Conmigo.”

Trujillo laughed at first, thinking that Diego was being sarcastic. However, when Diego simply just motioned once more for him to come closer, Trujillo obliged. As he stepped over and landed himself beside Diego, he chuckled and said, “Me quieres porque no quieres perder?”

Diego laughed, pitching the soccer ball at Trujillo with both hands, sending it right into his friend’s chest. He was already stepping backwards farther onto the field as he grinned and told Trujillo, “Cállate y ayúdame, hm?”

It was what everyone had needed, even if none of them ever would’ve been so bold as to wish for it. It was just a couple hours on a random afternoon, but despite all of the running and yelling and laughing, it was the first time in a long time that they all felt like they could actually breathe with a little bit of ease. They were all dripping sweat from the tips of their noses, the ends of their hair; they had grass stains running all the way up to their knees on both legs, but not a single person was complaining of being tired or wanting to go home. They were all perfectly content. It was a rare feeling.

Diego and Trujillo were the last ones to leave the field. Even after the game was over they hadn’t quite been ready to pack it in. Being on the same team for once was fun and all, but their respective competitive streaks were still alive and well and they weren’t ready to call it quits quite yet. It was only after they spent a little while longer attempting to run circles around each other, neither of them really coming out on top over the other, that they finally headed back in so they could head off for the day.

Just as they were reaching the edge of the field, Diego used the toe of his sneaker to flick the soccer ball up into the air. He bounced it off the top of his knee with the intent of catching it in his hands, but before he could Trujillo reached over and snatched it out of the air.

“Who are you showing off for?” Trujillo asked with a laugh. He had the soccer ball in the palm of one hand as he gestured around them with the other. “They’re all gone.”

Without missing a beat Diego reached over and slapped the ball out of Trujillo’s hand, sending them both into quiet fits of laughter. The second the ball hit the ground he trapped it with the side of his foot and pulled it back to him. Leaning down, he swiped it off the ground before promptly tucking it between his arm and his side.

They were the only ones in the room as Diego casually pitched the soccer ball back into the locker he’d taken it out of a few hours before. He pushed the locker door shut with the toe of his sneaker, the metallic clanging sounding louder than usual when there was no buffer of background noise.

“Now what?” Trujillo asked as he opened his own locker.

“Hm?” Diego replied as he crouched down to start undoing the laces of his sneakers.

“Plans?”

He laughed, shrugging one he was upright again. “Sort of. Got dinner plans.”

Trujillo gave a baiting grin. “Right.”

Diego laughed and rolled his eyes. “Family dinner.”

Trujillo laughed, giving a slow, dramatic nod. “Por supuesto.”

“Come find out for yourself,” Diego joked. “My abuela doesn’t turn away strays.”

He swapped out and gathered up his things, his sarcasm undercut but the small smile on his face as he said, “Professional jugador de fútbol and a comedian.” He shook his head as he finally broke and chuckled. “Pendejo.”

Diego laughed. “You’d like my brother.” He peeled his shirt off over the top of his head, using it to wipe away the last of the sweat on his face before grabbing a clean one to put on. “Gives me about as much shit as you do about everything.”

Trujillo chuckled at that. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Diego snagged his bag and his keys from his locker before swinging the door shut. “It’s how I stay so humble.”

Trujillo shook his head. If there had been something small within arm’s reach he would’ve taken it and lofted it over at Diego just off the pure principal of it. Diego knew it too, which only served to amuse him all that much more.

“I mean it,” Diego nettled him a little more, all in good fun. “You can come hang out with my nieces.” He walked over so that he was standing right beside him. As he adjusted his bag on his shoulder he said, “Remember what it’s like to be taller than someone for once.”

Trujillo fully laughed at that, but it didn’t stop him from shoving Diego hard enough to make him stumble a step. Diego was mostly joking, of course. Trujillo knew that. Although something told him that one thing Diego wasn’t joking about was the fact that his abuela wasn’t the type to turn anyone away if they showed up on her doorstep in need of a meal.

He wasn’t considering it, per se, but the entire somewhat ridiculous prospect of crashing in on Diego’s family dinner reminded Trujillo of just how long it’d been since he’d had one with his own family. Or, rather, with what was currently left of his own family. That all felt so much more complicated now even when it should’ve. All that loss should’ve brought everyone closer together and yet…

Diego looked at Trujillo, who he could tell was miles away from where they were currently standing. “Trujillo?” He paused, waited a beat, and when he didn’t get any response, he spoke up again. “Alejandro?”

It got Trujillo to look at him, snap him out of his thoughts. He still didn’t say anything.

Diego raised his eyebrows just slightly. “You good?”

Trujillo cleared his throat as he nodded. “I’m good.”

He swiped his bag off the floor and started to leave, letting Diego match his pace. Even though Trujillo could only see him in his peripheral, he knew that Diego was still looking at him as they walked. He also knew he still had that look on his face.

To save himself a conversation that he didn’t want to get into, not at the end of what was a good day, Trujillo shifted tracks of conversation. “Next time you don’t get to put me on your team just to keep me from beating you,” he joked.

Diego took the bait, an act of mercy. He chuckled as he fidgeted with his car keys. “Was just saving you the embarrassment of losing to me again.”

The response got Trujillo to relax a little bit. Some of the balance had been restored, put the day back to its former glory. “Real nice of you.”

They each tossed their bags into their cars before saying brief goodbyes. They’d be rolling right back onto base before too long—the formality of saying “goodbye” and “see you tomorrow” always felt a bit redundant but they did it anyway. Creatures of habit. They both got into their cars, happy to be done and able to leave even if the day was a good one, a quiet one. When they reached the intersection of the base and the road, they each turned and went off in their own separate directions. They’d be back in the same spot again soon enough, waiting for another quiet day.

#narcoctober #narcos #narcos netflix #narcos fanfiction #narcos netflix fanfiction #trujillo #officer trujillo #oc diego #oc diego ramirez #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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beardedmrbean · 2 years ago

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A failed candidate for the New Mexico state House described by police as an "election denier" was arrested Monday in a string of shootings at the homes of state and local Democratic leaders.

Republican Solomon Peña is accused of conspiring with and paying four men to carry out shootings at the Albuquerque-area homes of two Bernalillo County commissioners and two state legislators, Albuquerque police said. No one was hurt in the shootings.

Peña might have been motivated by anger over his loss in November, police said. Police spokesperson Gilbert Gallegos said at a news conference early Monday evening that Peña alleged his defeat was the result of election fraud.

Pena lost his state House challenge to incumbent Democrat Miguel P. Garcia by 5,679 to 2,033, or 74% to 26%.

He took his case to three county commissioners and a state senator — some whose homes were targeted in the shootings — to no avail, Gallegos said.

"He had complaints about his election he felt being rigged," Gallegos said. "As the mayor said, he was an election denier — he doesn’t want to accept the results of his election."

One of the meetings with local and state leaders became heated, he said.

"One actually led to quite an argument, I believe," Gallegos said. "It was shortly after that the shootings occurred."

Peña was a vocal supporter of former President Donald Trump, who claimed voter fraud in his 2020 election loss, an allegation that is unfounded. He was photographed during his campaign last year wearing a red "Make America Great Again" sweatshirt with a stitched, gold-colored signature of the former president.

Albuquerque Mayor Tim Keller described the attacks as a product of political extremism.

"This radicalism is a threat to our city, our state, and our nation," he tweeted Monday. "We will continue to push back against hate in all forms and stop political violence."

Detectives allege Peña paid four men cash and texted them the addresses he wanted targeted, Albuquerque police said.

A key to the investigation, police said, was a traffic stop early Jan. 3 of Peña's Nissan Maxima, driven by a man named Jose Trujillo, who was arrested based on a felony warrant, police said in a statement Monday.

The arrest triggered an "inventory search" of the vehicle, a sweep allowed under law in order to impound it safely, and authorities discovered more than 800 fentanyl pills in the center console, police said.

More crucial to the case were the two handguns found in the Nissan, one of which appeared to have fired shots outside the home of state Sen. Linda Lopez roughly 40 minutes before the traffic stop and 4 miles away, according to the latest police statement.

One of the guns matches the description of one police allege Peña took to one of the four shootings, according to the statement. The gun malfunctioned, and he left the shooting to one of the men he hired, police alleged. "Another shooter fired more than a dozen rounds from a separate handgun,” police said in their statement Monday night.

In addition, a shell casing found in the Maxima matched those found at the scene of another shooting, outside the home of new state House Speaker Javier Martinez on Dec. 8, police said.

One more casing was found in another vehicle, reported stolen, that police say was used by one of the shooters allegedly hired by Peña. That casing matched to a Dec. 4 report of shots fired outside the home of Bernalillo County Commissioner Adriann Barboa in Southeast Albuquerque, police said.

Another shooting, in which more than a dozen shots were fired at the home of then-Bernalillo County Commissioner Debbie O’Malley, took place Dec. 11 and completes the incidents police say are tied to Peña.

Two other shootings previously believed to have been linked to the case — Dec. 10 gunfire at the former campaign office of Raúl Torrez, who was elected New Mexico's attorney general, and Jan. 5 gunfire outside the downtown law offices of newly appointed state Sen. Moe Maestas — haven't been connected to Peña, police said at the news conference.

On Jan. 9 police announced the arrest of another suspect in the case and said they took possession of a firearm possibly used in one of the shootings. On Monday, police said four people aside from Peña were involved, with more charges and arrests coming. The status of the Jan. 9 suspect wasn't clear, and police didn't respond to a request for clarity.

On Monday, Police Chief Harold Medina described Peña as the initiator of the shootings.

"It is believed that he is the mastermind behind this," he said at Monday's news conference.

A SWAT team arrested Peña at his apartment in the Albuquerque area Monday, police said.

It wasn't clear whether Peña has retained counsel for the case. There was no response to an inquiry sent via his campaign site. A company associated with Peña didn't immediately respond to a request for comment.

The Albuquerque Journal describes Peña as an unsuccessful candidate for New Mexico House District 14, which represents the Albuquerque area's South Valley.

The newspaper reported during his campaign last year that Peña had served nearly seven years in prison for burglary.

Police noted Monday night that election winner Garcia unsuccessfully sued last year to have Peña deemed ineligible to serve in the Legislature because of his felony conviction.

Peña is described in a campaign email as a California native who completed high school in New Mexico, became a Navy hospital corpsman assigned to Okinawa, Japan, owns a business and earned a political science degree from the University of New Mexico in 2021.

On his campaign website, Peña vowed a safer future for the state. “I will fight to provide opportunity for the next generation, keep the local economy open, and stop those who wish New Mexicans harm — in any way,” he said.

CORRECTION (Jan. 17, 2023, 11:22 a.m. ET): A previous version of this article misstated a police finding on a Dec. 8 shooting at the home of House Speaker Javier Martinez. Police say the incident is connected to Peña; they did not say that the shooting was not connected to his arrest.

#nunyas news #that was exceptionally stupid #enjoy jail

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thatstormygeek · 4 months ago

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Looking “strong” might feel good to him and to them in the moment, but takes away a big part of the motive force of sympathy—to protect someone vulnerable. Trump isn’t vulnerable. He couldn’t even pretend to look hurt. He was THRILLED. He jumped right up with an active shooter on site to get his photo op, a very normal response from a normal human person. And he’s tossed the tried-and-true response to this sort of thing into a volcano because he doesn’t have any idea what human people with human feelings are like, so it never occurs to him to appeal to that. Come on, none of us had to read that Trump didn’t call the widow of his own supporter who actually died, or the injured (but Biden did). Did anyone, even the most devout and worshipful cultist, ever think he would? Why would he start now? I had to go looking on purpose to even find out the name of the professional first responder who died. (It’s Corey Comperatore, by the way.) That is such a massive PR blunder I can hardly believe the party that couldn’t stop braying SAY HER NAME when Laken Riley was killed could possibly make it. That guy’s name and face should be everywhere. His wife should be speaking at the RNC right now. That guy is the martyr. That’s the one who lost something for their wretched “cause,” the person we can all sympathize with at least a little because he’s fucking dead. They should be howling SAY HIS NAME and Trump should be praying with the family and bringing them to his house, paying off their debt or mortgage or setting up a fund for his kids or something. But our Tangerine Trujillo, and his folk, are physiologically incapable of doing that, even if it benefits them. Because that would take a tiny part of the terrible light of collective attention away from the guy who thinks he’s Captain America now, and make someone else the face of it all. They’re so hard for their revenge they can’t even play the PR right. No press conference, golfing immediately, no talk with the widow, no pretending to abhor violence. They can’t play the victim because they can’t stand to be seen as vulnerable even if it would help them. They simply have to smirk behind their hands so their base knows they’re super amazing and strong and cool and awesome and alpha. Then there’s the fact that I have a hard time believing anyone who wasn’t voting for Trump is thinking oh no the guy who keeps saying he's gonna start blasting as soon as he's in office got minimally grazed by a bullet and is totally okay and golfing right now. Better change my vote and embrace fascism!

Four months is far more than enough time for the right to completely pile-driver themselves into the mat, eat their own teeth on this topic, and alienate everyone who hasn’t lovingly worn the “Q” off the Q buttons on their keyboards yet. They’re already doing it. They literally can’t help themselves. They were immediately crowing victory, they’re crowing now, sneering and smirking and laughing at everyone who isn’t in their club of Demographics Who Are Semi-Safe Until We Run Out of Others to Brutalize. Trump announced J.D. Vance, a white authoritarian fuckbeard with the world’s most kickable face, who does nothing to bring in undecided voters, but really must believe you gotta stick it out in violent marriages because he’s prancing down the aisle toward the same one the GOP can’t quit. The RNC is in full scream-sweating fangs-out fall-in-line-maggots swing and no one seems to be upset or shaken, they’re all celebrating like it’s Mardi Gras on Cocaine Planet—so why should anyone feel bad for them? They look super-stoked! No one likes Now I’m REALLY Gonna Get Ya as a campaign slogan. It’s incredibly off-putting, and they couldn’t WAIT to rub everyone’s noses in the reeking shit they’ll make of our future. ... But the thing is, we, who are busy not shooting people over here on the center-to-left, seemingly can’t even hold it together for 48 hours to give these mule-headed Pleasure Island cast-offs a chance to fuck it up for themselves, as they have every single easy lay-up political opportunity that’s ever landed in their laps, because their pure need to be toxic hate-barfing sadistic regular plain old shitty-uncle assholes right now always, well, trumps their plans to be toxic hate-barfing sadistic uncontested rulers of all mankind. They get ahead of themselves. They blow their wad too early. They post their plans online and storm the capitol before they have the numbers and assume they’ve got it in the bag when the bag hasn’t even been opened yet.

#us politics #catherynne m. valente

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seewetter · 2 months ago

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That might be the result of how internet virality works. "Woke" is like a recognizable brand name. If people take this concept and introduce it into French or another language, it's recognizable and that increases how many people share the concept.

A lot of the internet these days watches English internet content. There are Portuguese kids in Portugal that now only (!) speak Brazilian Portuguese because they watch Brazilian YouTubers.

The French people who complain about anglicisms (and social progress) all probably still exist -- but they don't have an equally catchy or memorable "brand". So their idea doesn't get widely adopted, because the "wokisme" users don't have to put effort into being understood.

It's worth noting that in Nazi Germany, anglicisms were fully permitted and frequently used, because the Nazis were mainly interested in power, not in principles. This is also the reasoning behind declaring Japanese people "yellow Aryans" and declaring French people subhuman (even French people in the French parts of Alsace-Lorraine, where the border kept changing over centuries and Germans and French on both sides of the border were usually 1st degree cousins and stuff like that). The face of reactionaries in power is often the face of reactionaries who make compromises, of reactionaries who combine monstrous ideas with defenses against other monstrous ideas -- be international, but also literally a nazi. Use American influences in your language, but also reject "wokisme" as American influence on French culture -- out of principle, of course.

They are clowns trying to garner fame and power for clown politics.

Another example: When general Trujillo ruled the Dominican Republic, he ordered his troops to kill all Haitian immigrants. But Haiti and the Dominican Republic occupy the same island, Haitians and Dominicans are often related to each other all that jazz. The result was the infamous "Parsley massacre" where soldiers forced people to say the English word "parsley" and then killed people who said the word wrong. Soldiers would spare one person who said the word correctly and then kill that person's sibling as a "Haitian" for saying the word "wrong". Also you may have heard of an obscure event where people's skin colour was used to justify slavery.

The point is: reactionaries don't care. You will never find what they do "new and unpredictable" once you realize that they fundamentally don't care. They are driven by motives like

(1) selfishness (and cynical use of reactionary politics)

(2) pride that leads to reverse psychology

(3) pride in their own views which means pride in not learning how to question their own views productively

(4) pride in their group of peers who groomed them into not questioning the ideas of the group

(5) being propagandized and thus not knowing what's going on

(6) being surrounded by indications that anyone who disagrees with them is trying to trick them.

That's not a recipe for learning. Except learning how to constantly re-invent the lynch-pins (pun intended) that their group revolves around, which tend to be affirmations of human rights violations and attacks on basic freedoms.

Because they re-invent these lynch-pins all the time, you'll get something like "wokisme" all of a sudden. Reactionaries aren't like the polar opposite of progressives: many of them are quite supportive, even sincerely supportive, of various progressive causes -- that common ground is where they will draw their ideas from and literally re-invent some horrible new way of interacting with the world around them. It's not particularly French and it certainly isn't unpredictable, because predicting the specifics of this doesn't really matter. It doesn't matter what the next reactionary buzzword is, it only matters that it could be *anything* aside from a deeply thorough self-reflective and scientifically principled support for universal human rights and freedoms. That's like the only thing reactionaries will never surprise us with. Everything else is something they will try... sometimes leading to hilarity when their clowning becomes to obvious and sometimes leading to horror when they implement some new method of attaining power to kill and/or suppress others.

The motives I listed above can give you a good idea of how flexible reactionaries are.

(1) selfishness > you don't believe the things you say, so you say just about anything

(2) pride that leads to reverse psychology > hurt your opponents by any means, including by saying just about anything in pursuit of your goals

(3) pride in their own views which means pride in not learning how to question their own views productively > shift around the things you say in pursuit of your goals, say just about anything as long as you don't have to change your views

(4) pride in their group of peers who groomed them into not questioning the ideas of the group > your group can't be wrong, so say just about anything to defend them

(5) being propagandized and thus not knowing what's going on > you are receptive to other people saying just about anything and then repeating it yourself, spewing the same just about anything from your own mouth, thoughtlessly

(6) being surrounded by indications that anyone who disagrees with them is trying to trick them. > just about anything they say is probably a trick, but just about anything you do or say is justified

There's no type of reactionary that isn't capable of saying almost anything. Like I haven't seen Trump praise Satanism or condemn the Supreme Court for their overturn of Roe vs Wade, but that's because he's a panderer. But that aside, that guy will say just about anything.

It's not uniquely French for people to be like this. What do modern reactionaries even share in common, in terms of their views? Do Matt Walsh and JKR agree on feminism? Do Shapiro and Rubin agree on gay rights? I've seen right-wing YouTubers be cyberbullied by other right-wingers for their green hair. I've seen reactionaries try to push for every reactionary thing imaginable like Trump is right now and I've seen the super-subdued Poilievre approach, where the reactionary politics are sanded down so fine quite a few sincere centrist liberals can't even spot them. All these people share in common is that they treat the human rights and basic freedoms of other people as expendable. That's their only shared trait. They don't even agree whose human rights are expendable, they just agree that human rights aren't universal. And I'm not even sure JKR is fully self-aware enough, for example, to realize that this is her current position and activism. Like she knows she hates trans people, she knows she is trying to stop them by any means, but does she fully realize that she is violating the basic human decency towards other human beings? She probably thinks that is justified. She probably doesn't fully realize the importance of that form of universality, maybe she thinks its a patriarchal trick or something.

With reactionaries, nothing should be truly surprising, because "reactionary" is not a political ideology, its a wastebasket taxon. They are people defined only by the fact that they've crossed the line into an acceptance of human rights violations (if it's the right humans). That's why they could be anyone and say anything. That's why it's reasonable to assume that anybody could become them.

If we assume that reactionaries all have to fall for specific ideas or commitments first, then we locate the danger in the wrong place. Reactionaries aren't all working together, their global rise has led to cooperation, but they are ultimately just people who don't have sufficiently humane solutions to important political problems. What they share in common is their incompetency at achieving a solution that would make everyone (except a hater) happy. Genocidal reactionaries (for example) have settled for genocide because the alternative seems expensive and because they haven't learned the skill to stop their brain from succumbing to an urge to kill. Diplomacy seems (is) more complicated than bullets and they don't have the spine to put down the gun. They are hacks. They are skillful only at making everything worse...at making the world hate their country and their people or them personally. And because they are so one-sided, they end up taking pride in that.

Wokisme is just another product of circumstance, just as reactionaries are a product of circumstance. There's no secret formula that would predict the invention of this new silly word, but it's not unpredictable because something like wokisme is the only thing reactionaries are capable of. French reactionaries copied an English word because they didn't have anything intelligent of their own to say. They are launder an anglicism into the French language because all they do all day is launder ideas of other people to make them work for them. They are a waste of time and they are very predictable. We can beat them.

The French term "wokisme" is fascinating bc one might expect the French people who complain about woke to be the type of French people who also complain about Anglicisms, such as "wokisme." A testament to the French compulsion to be reactionary in new and unpredictable ways.

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ramon-balaguer · 1 year ago

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The Sin Sick Idiot Inept Imbecile Lying Leftist Liberal Democrat Donkey Circus Corrupt Creepy Clown in Chief #BloodyBiden has to be earnestly investigated with Truth and Indisputable Factual Evidence to properly Impeached (Not acrimoniously, vengeful and recklessly with Hate-filled Politically Motivated Fake Accusations and Dossiers and junk or unilateral as Democrats did President Trump Twice) or otherwise Removed from Office and the White House to a Jailhouse for his leadership as the #BigMan of the #BidenCrimeFamily under our #25A of our Constitution and Criminal Laws‼️ 🧐🙏🇺🇸#REBTD😇

Look at this... 👀

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mystlnewsonline · 1 year ago

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Solomon Peña - Charged for Shooting Spree

Former New Mexico House of Representatives Candidate Solomon Peña Charged for Shooting Spree (STL.News) An indictment was unsealed Wednesday in the District of New Mexico charging a former candidate for the New Mexico House of Representatives for a shooting spree targeting the homes of four elected officials. According to court documents, Solomon Peña, 40, ran for District 14 of the New Mexico House of Representatives during the November 2022 mid-term elections. After his November 2022 electoral defeat, Peña allegedly organized the shootings on the homes of two Bernalillo County commissioners and two New Mexico state legislators. The shootings, one of which involved a machine gun, were carried out between December 4, 2022, and January 3, with assistance from co-conspirators Demetrio Trujillo, 41; Jose Trujillo, 22; and others. Before the shootings, Peña visited the homes of at least three Bernalillo County commissioners and allegedly urged them not to certify the election results, claiming that the election had been “rigged” against him. Following the Bernalillo County Board of Commissioners’ certification of the vote, Peña allegedly hired others to conduct the shootings and carried out at least one of the shootings himself. At least three of the shootings occurred while children and other relatives of the victims were at home. “There is no room in our democracy for politically motivated violence, especially when it is used to undermine election results,” said Assistant Attorney General Kenneth A. Polite, Jr. of the Justice Department’s Criminal Division. “As alleged, Solomon Peña orchestrated four shootings at the homes of elected officials, in part because of their refusal to overturn his election defeat. Such violent actions target not only the homes and families of elected officials but also our election system as a whole. The department will not hesitate to hold individuals accountable for acts of politically motivated violence.” “In America, the integrity of our voting system is sacrosanct,” said U.S. Attorney Alexander M.M. Uballez for the District of New Mexico. “These charges strike at the heart of our democracy. Voters, candidates, and election officials must be free to exercise their rights and do their jobs safely and free from fear, intimidation, or influence, and with confidence that law enforcement and prosecuting offices will lead the charge when someone tries to silence the will of the people. To those who try to sow division, chaos, and fear into our democratic process, these charges should send a message that we are unified, organized, and undaunted.” “The FBI and our partners are committed to ensuring violent crime investigations remain a priority,” said Assistant Director Luis Quesada of the FBI’s Criminal Investigative Division. “We will continue to pursue justice in cases like these in the name of safety for the American people.” Peña, Demetrio Trujillo, and Jose Trujillo are charged with conspiracy, interference with federally protected activities, and several firearms offenses, including the use of a machine gun. If convicted, Peña faces a mandatory minimum of 60 years in prison. Jose Trujillo was also charged with possession with intent to distribute fentanyl and firearms offenses, including possession of a machine gun. The FBI and the Albuquerque Police Department investigated the case. Senior Litigation Counsel Victor R. Salgado of the Criminal Division’s Public Integrity Section and Assistant U.S. Attorneys Jeremy Peña and Patrick E. Cordova for the District of New Mexico are prosecuting the case. SOURCE: U.S. Department of Justice Read the full article

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menschpeter · 2 years ago

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«El mundo es asunto de todos nosotros.» -Fernando Trujillo Sanz, "La Biblia de los Caídos" 🦉 . . . . . . . . . . #art #artist #draw #sketch #life #street #linesketch #stayhome #underground #ideas #graffiti #artwork #illustration #drawing #arte #desenho #artedigital #ilustração #painting #cartoon #motivate #amazing ##future #sketchup #fineart #surrealism #oilpainting #acrylic #canvas https://www.instagram.com/p/Cm-tjpetdIH/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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astrid-goes-for-a-spin · 4 months ago

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God this would be so interesting, this run keeps trying to dangle stuff about Khaji’s past and secrets and stuff and it is all very hollow. Even though it seems like Trujillo is trying to make Khaji Da a character, it’s not… going anywhere. Khaji doesn’t have motivations or interests or relationships and honestly barely has a relationship with Jaime 😭

This would be an amazing setup for the sheer character drama… praying you one day decide to write a fanfic about it lol

Just if actual Ted was Jaime's mentor... you don't understand Ted has *beef* with Khaji Da. It resurrected his mentor from the dead and tried to make Ted and Dan fight to the death over the title of Blue Beetle. Khaji Da tried to take over Ted's mind.

Ted would have *beef* with Khaji Da. Jaime would be stuck in the middle of that. Cause I have to imagine that Khaji Da would be quite miffed about Ted rejecting it.

If Jaime came to Ted for help getting the Scarab out of him, real Ted would do his damndest to try and get the thing out due to past history. Like yes, Jaime is a lot better at keeping murder mode Khaji Da in like than Ted was. But he would be very concerned.

Jaime is also just a really good noodle, Ted is aware of the flaws in his own personality in comparison and very much would feel like if Jaime really wanted it he'd actually be a better successor to Dan than Ted could have ever been.

I think Brenda, Nadia, and Hector really could thrive with a Ted mentorship too. Especially just with the access to better tech and a proper Beetle Nest.

#blue beetle

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lavendertales · 2 years ago

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Salted wound—Javier Peña x f!reader**

Chapter 16 of the Unholy series

summary: a letter lies on your nightstand. Reading it not only offers you comfort and clearance, but motivation to settle things with Javier once and for all.

word count: 6k

WARNINGS: emotional talk, mentions of illness & death; fingering, cunnilingus, piv, cowgirl, praise kink.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @azertyrobaz

series masterlist | AO3

You are awakened by a throbbing headache that makes it increasingly difficult to open your eyes. The brightness blinds you briefly as you open one eye, then you open the other while forcing yourself to stand up in the middle.

You realize that your left leg and right arm both hurt, making you wonder what in the world you could have done last night to cause such excruciating pain. You attempt to recall any regrettable events from last night, but all that comes to mind is—

Oh.

Javier.

He politely declined you last night, offering to drive you home to safety. And by the looks of it, he has.

You then notice that you are wearing your pajamas as opposed to last night’s outfit, indicating that Javier likely took it off while helping you get into bed. Your heart quickens in your chest at the unexpected softness as you scan the room and see your clothes from last night neatly folded on the armchair in the corner. You grin as you recall yesterday night, how it felt to kiss him once more after what seemed like an eternity, and how his hands pulled you in and held you while you shivered with excitement.

“Good to see you’re alive.”

Your head hurts more as you quickly walk about the bed in terror over the feminine voice that isn't somewhere to be heard. When Sofia’s head finally appears from the floor, her lips are tightly pursed.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask, somewhat concerned.

“You gave me and Connie spare keys, like six months ago.”

You frown. “Yeah, for emergencies, not… whatever this is.”

Intrusive thoughts protrude your brain.

“We didn’t… do anything, right?” you check.

It’s Sofia’s turn to frown at you, slowly standing up from the floor.

“No,” she puts your mind at ease. “Why was that your first guess?”

“Let’s just say I had a crazy spring break in Mexico once. Anyway, this doesn’t clarify anything.”

Sofia joins you in the bed, huffing. “I came in roughly one hour after you. Wanted to make sure I give you and Javier enough space and time to… have your fun.”

“Don’t—no.”

“Besides, I’m—kind of in hiding.”

“Why?”

A gasp escapes past your lips. “Did you do something with Steve?”

“No! But I did… fool around with Trujillo.”

Realization hits you in the head like a brick, having you trying to envision the situation, and still having difficulties wrapping your mind around it.

“Really?” you ask.

Sofia nods, looking suspiciously proud of her shenanigans.

“A surprisingly good kisser, that one. And not bad with his hands, either.”

“Okay, that’s—we’ll circle back to that.”

As you make an effort to get out of bed, you see a pill on your nightstand next to a large glass of water. You struggle to suppress your smile as you picture Javier carefully undressing you, checking that your clothes are comfortable, and leaving you with water to drink and a remedy for your upcoming headache. When you consider the dynamic you and Javier have always had, this is a level of domesticity that you never would have imagined.

It’s then that you notice another thing on the nightstand. It’s a sheet of paper, folded nicely with your name on it. You instantly know its despatcher, and your heart’s in your throat again.

“So? How was your night?”

Sofia’s cheerful tone distracts you, at least for a little while.

“It wasn’t like that,” you explain. “He just… drove me home and got me into bed.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious, stop saying it like that!”

“Sorry.”

You shake your head a little, eager to grab a bite from the kitchen so you can take your hangover cure. However, a new headache follows. Only this one is filled with shock and regret alike.

“Oh no,” you coo, gaining Sofia’s attention.

“What?”

“Oh no, no, no, this is horrible.”

“What, what is?”

You pause, staring in utter shock at Sofia’s investigative face. “I told Javier last night… I told him that I love him.”

Sofia’s face lights up, mouth ajar as she stares at you in disbelief.

“Oh my God,” she says, trying to process the situation too. “And you haven’t done anything, really? Not even after that?”

“I was drunk, I—oh God.”

“Hey, I’m only teasing you,” she says, wrapping her arms around you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“So… do you love him?”

You raise your shoulder, your face guilty, and Sofia refrains herself from making additional comments or faces that wouldn’t aid you right now. That look on your face is more than enough to go on.

“Can I get you some breakfast?” you offer instead.

“No, I should get going. Thank you though. Sorry if I scared or upset you.”

“You did break in, kind of, but alright. Are you sure you wanna go out there, potentially face Trujillo?”

Both of you chuckle, and you walk her towards the door, desperately trying not to think about the damn letter taunting you with its mere presence on your nightstand.

“Well not now, in this state. Maybe tonight,” Sofia ponders.

“God, you’re insatiable.”

“Like you wouldn’t even know.”

You give her a brief kiss on the cheek, ensuring she’s okay going down the stairs and calling a cab for herself. The moment the door closes behind her and you return to your apartment’s solitude, you quiver in anticipation.

Of what, you’re really not sure. Maybe it’s nothing serious, that letter. The only way of knowing is by opening it and reading it, but nervousness seems to control your moves, even as you walk into the kitchen and make yourself some buttered toast. The trouble is that, even looking around, you see stains of Javier’s presence lingering there. The couch, where he’d fucked you from the back till you were red, swollen and overly sensitive; the kitchen table, where you’d sloppily made out with him and palmed him through his tight jeans, feeling him stiffen right under your touch. Your own bed, where you came in his mouth and on his hand several times in row, then swiftly returned the favor to him. He is everywhere you look, even on your skin.

You eat your breakfast diligently, then rush to take the much-needed Advil, and take a deep breath before having the letter in your hands. You’re giving it too much power already, but you can’t help assign meaning to it.

The only way to put your mind to rest is to simply read it. So you just do it. You open it, and beg your heart to not spasm out of control.

Cariño,

You’ve always been the smartest, most passionate and amazing woman I’ve ever met. That’s why I always did everything I could to keep you at arm’s length. You’re too much like me, stubborn and feisty.

But I’m also a coward, which you aren’t. I guess I’m taking the easy road by doing this, but I do hope you understand.

You’ve always pushed me to do better. Just knowing you has made me a better student, a better agent. Unfortunately, not a better man. I tried to be, I really did. I thought I was good, but everywhere I go, pain follows. It’s been the same with my ex fiancé, and it’s the same with you. I’m sorry I let it go this far. My hands are too tainted with blood and guilt to ever touch you.

I truly am so very sorry for what I’ve done to you. I know my following orders has turned you into an orphan, but your father turned children into orphans too. Sometimes left other people childless. I guess I’m saying this because I know that deep down, you understand this. I know you know it was only duty. But I also understand you are hurt. So if you choose not to join in on the Cali mission, I understand. I wouldn’t blame you. I just want you to be okay, no matter where you are or who you’re with.

When I told you that you won everything, I did mean everything. You won our bet, and every little petty competition we’ve ever had. And you won me, too. Somewhere along the line, from the first time we bickered over the seating chart in freshman year, to us bickering about work strategies and schemes, you won me. I guess it’s because you always get the best out of me, also the worst. You make me look at the worst parts of myself and want to better myself. You are so stubborn, so driven and feisty, it’s not really a surprise things turned out the way they did.

I meant what I said that night, by the way. I do love you. More than I could ever show you.

Javier

You don’t even realize you have teary eyes, not until one teardrop falls down the paper, watering some of Javier’s neat writing. You’ve never felt this raw, this sensitive over someone’s words and it is mind-blowing in ways you couldn’t have anticipated. It’s like you finally get the chance to feel every single thing that has happened to you over the past two decades, the gut-wrenching and bittersweet way of it washing over your whole being. All of the pain, the heartache, the yearning, the seemingly impossible choices that led you to this very moment, it all feels encompassed in this letter, in your hands.

You can’t contain your emotions anymore. You tear up silently, smiling at the same time thinking of Javier taking the time to take care of you, make sure you’re safely tucked into bed, with something to help you the next day, and writing this in mid-darkness, trying his best to lay down his feelings on the piece of paper. You’ve always known he’s no Shakespeare, much so with spoken words, but you did know he could be sensitive.

Your fingers are ice cold on the phone as you call him, heart in your throat, the size of a peanut. His voice is shaky through the other end, clearly not having expecting you to call, but there is also relief in it, which in turn makes you feel relieved too. You both realize this is about to be a big moment in your lives, finally sitting down to talk about everything, and it makes you both nervous, although not in the worst way.

So you wait. You get a head start on preparing lunch, hoping you might as well have a warm meal at the ready before jumping head first into a big conversation.

Time moves both too fast and too slow as you wait for a knock on the door, the doorbell, anything that might inform you of Javier’s arrival. You nearly burn yourself several times on the stove, anticipation getting the best of you.

Finally, a knock on the door takes you away from the kitchen, just in time with your finished lunch. You brace yourself, last night’s events creeping up on you unexpectedly. Hand on the knob, you freeze, a little too aware of how sensitive you’ve been feeling since last night.

“Hi,” you open the door with a nervous smile.

“Hi.”

Javier’s flustered too, you can see it on his face, shaping him into a more comely human being and it’s such an endearing sight that you nearly forget everything else.

“Are you hungry?” you ask. “I made some tomato soup and grilled cheese.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“I know your diet consists of whiskey and cigarettes, so you should have something warm for a change. Come on.”

As you welcome him in, Javier takes a look around, the scent of a home cooked meal invading his nostrils. He instantly feels cozy and warm, like he’s been away from home for too long and now he’s finally returned. It is not a sentiment he takes lightly, particularly when it’s the first time he’s ever felt this way.

“Smells really good,” he says, cautiously sitting at the kitchen table.

You smile. “Thank you. It’s not much, but—“

“It’s more than enough.”

The glare you exchange feels disarming, weakening through its simple state, yet you both embrace it.

There’s a comfortable silence in between you two, filled with an uncharacteristic eagerness. In a way, you both feel like teenagers on their third date when you both know tonight’s the night. Except for you, the big night consists of a sincere and open conversation.

“This is really good,” Javier compliments. “Can’t remember when the last time I ate a home cooked meal was.”

“I wanna say… Texas? You know, pre Colombia?”

Javier chuckles, realizing how utterly famished he is.

“Probably, yeah,” he admits. “So… thank you for this. Doesn’t look like you wanna shoot me, so I guess it’s a good sign.”

This time you chuckle, hiding your giggle in the grilled cheese’s warmth flushing your cheeks.

“You’re safe,” you tell him. “Thank you, by the way.”

Javier only looks at you, not daring say a word, despite his curiosity is nearly skinning him alive.

“For taking care of me last night,” you seem to answer the unasked question. “It was definitely the right call.”

“Sure it was.”

Again you chuckle, more so at the thought of how easy it is for him to make you laugh like nothing bad had ever happened between the two of you.

“I read the letter,” you say out of the blue, making him thankful that he already finished the meal and not have it turn into a choking hazard. “You’re not too shabby with words.”

“Not in writing, maybe.”

You put the dishes aside, inhaling once before locking eyes with Javier, exhaling what seems to be the longest breath drawn in.

“How come you didn’t stay last night?” you ask, preoccupied. “After everything you did… I mean, driving me home, changing my clothes and tucking me in…”

“I didn’t think it was appropriate.”

You make a funny face at him, and he feels silly recognizing the meaning behind it.

“We’ve done less than appropriate things for months,” you remind him.

“True, but neither of us ever spent the night. Besides, I was afraid you might start rubbing up against me or something. And I wasn’t prepared to turn that down a second time. We both would’ve felt guilty in the morning—it would’ve been a whole thing.”

“Or not.”

You both chuckle simultaneously. Cracking up jokes to cope with the situation, maintaining that familiar sting between the two of you is nothing if not a good sign.

“I really liked the letter,” you start. “I appreciate you writing it. I know it wasn’t easy for you. And you were right. I do know why you did what you did. I know it, and I understand it, and… I would’ve done the same.”

Javier does want to interrupt, contradict you in some way, but you shake your head.

“I would,” you continue. “The reason why I was so angry… it’s not even about that horrible thing I told you, leaving me an orphan. I guess I was just trying to preserve this image of a loving, hardworking father that in reality was never there. The image of the father that I wanted, not the one that I had. The one that I had… was a monster. And if it were me out there, that day… I would’ve pulled the trigger, too. You didn’t know, and you were following orders.”

Javier feels like he can finally breathe in the longest time. Hearing you say all of that makes his heart feel lighter and his muscles less tense.

“I am still sorry about it,” he mutters apologetically.

“I know,” you smile. “It would’ve been concerning if you wouldn’t have been.”

Your words steal a smile from his lips, the image more blissful than you would’ve imagined.

“And I guess… the way that I’ve acted was also to push you away,” you continue. “It was easier to be angry at you for a seemingly solid reason than to admit—the last thing I would’ve expected to happen, happened.”

Javier’s brows crease, allowing a frown to crinkle his forehead that was already drowning in thoughts. He coos your name softly, gently, like he’s terrified of scaring you away.

“I don’t know how much you remember from last night—“

“I remember, Javier. I know what I said.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t say it just because I was drunk. The timing wasn’t ideal, maybe, but the idea still stands.”

Javier gulps. Nothing could’ve prepared him for such an acknowledgement, let alone to the sight of you so dreamy and cozy in front of him, a sight which makes his knees weak and his heart swell up.

“And in the interest of honesty…” you breathe in, unexpectedly hesitant, “there’s something else I wanted to tell you.”

Javier braces himself. What could it be? Was there something you were also hiding from him? Something else more devastating and incredible than you admitting that you love him? Him?

“You once asked me why I hate you. And I said it’s because you’re obnoxious and stubborn and whatnot. But it’s not—what I meant. There was a time back in college when I really… did hate you.”

Okay, so he was definitely unprepared for that. He looks at you curiously, waiting for you to go on.

“Second semester of our freshman year, you started calling me Bambi. You started calling me that shortly after my mom died. And I couldn’t help but—“

Javier’s mouth is ajar at the revelation, shook. Memories from early college invade his memory, shame taking over most of them. Of course he decided to mock you over the most sensitive thing because that’s how he is—an insensitive asshole.

“I didn’t—I’m so sorry,” he instantly says. “I didn’t know, I swear—“

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t. You didn’t know her, and… hell, I didn’t know her. She was sick for a long time, and when I got the news… it still kinda shook me. The timing was just bad. But I kept thinking, ‘God, how does he find new ways to be annoying?’”

Javier is barely listening to you. He can’t help but replay every moment when he’s mocked you that way, not taking into consideration your feelings and how that might make you feel because—why would he?

He gets up from the table and paces the living room, his nerves frazzled. He probably wouldn’t have been affected in this way if this were any other person. But even during the years when you haven’t spoken or seen each other, you have been a part of his life for more years than he chooses to count, and as a result, he can no longer recall a time when you weren’t. You’re a dependable, strong presence in his life who he keeps hurting.

How could you possibly love him? How could you even look at him after the things he’s done? He wasn’t your rival or your nemesis – he was your worst nightmare.

“Javier,” you murmur, pacing towards him.

“I should go,” he says, hands on his hips and eyes into the ground.

“Javier, stop.”

“Stop what? Everything I’ve ever done proves that I am a shitty person! I killed your dad, I mocked the death of your mom—the fuck is wrong with me, it’s like all I can do is hurt you, over and over—“

He’s losing control, and that’s not the kind of thing you typically see. You doubt anyone has ever been this close to Javier to witness the deepest, darkest parts of his persona. You feel lucky, in a way, knowing you get to.

You grab his hands, forcing him to look at you. “Listen to me,” you say in a definitive tone. “If there’s anything I know for a fact about you, is that you are a good guy. You were a good student, damn good competition, and a good man.”

Lips pursed, Javier can barely muster the courage to look at you, still reeling into his guilt.

“You didn’t know either of them,” you continue. “And… I was never close with any of them. You couldn’t have possibly known. I hated you at the time because, again… it was the logical thing for me to do instead of admitting the obvious.”

“Don’t spare me,” he begs. “You can hate me. It might even be better in this case. I can take it.”

“I know what you can and can’t handle.”

The underlying flirtatious tone has him fuming. Truthfully, he’s not even certain how the two of you seemed to skip rope with the line between love and hate on a regular basis, but it was simply part of your relationship’s allure.

“Fine, if you don’t wanna let this go,” you call a truce, “tell me why you hate me.”

Javier chuckles, breaking free from your touch. “What?”

“I’m serious. I answered the question. It’s only fair you answer it too.”

“It’s—it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. Spit it out, Peña.”

“It doesn’t matter, okay? It’s nothing, it’s—stupid.”

“Oh come on, it’s only fair! What’s the big deal? Just say what you have to say, I can—“

“Because you broke my fucking heart! Okay?”

The silence in between you two now weighs heavily, carrying along with it shock and tension that begs to be relieved one way or the other.

“What?” you murmur. “When?”

Javier huffs, visibly distressed having to go on with the story now that he angrily spewed out the reason for his former rage. He knows he has to get it out in the open now.

“End of our senior year, we were done with exams and there was this party. Some… prom of some kind, I don’t know.”

“Oh yeah. I remember that.”

“They said they wanted to have it high school style, traditional prom or some shit, so everyone was encouraged to bring a date. I wasn’t gonna go, but I figured why not ask my academic rival? Worst came to worst, you were gonna say no and I’d just not go. But I also thought maybe you’d wanna spite me and say you’ll go with me. So when I did ask you—you proceeded to shame me in front of your friend group, laughing in my face. I thought it didn’t bother me, but when I didn’t get over it for years, I kinda realized it might’ve affected me more than I thought.”

You hold your breath. “Oh.”

You remember now the moment, oh so perfectly it cuts you open and pours salt in the open flesh. You remember viciously laughing in his face, thinking his question was nothing more but a cruel joke meant to make you look bad, so you took it one step further.

Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought you hurt him so deeply that day.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize. “I didn’t realize it meant so much to you.”

“Neither did I back then. But as it turns out, you are one vice I could never quit.”

You gulp, feeling your nether region suddenly afire. You ache for the man before you, you ache to let him know just how sorry you are and how much you’ve missed him. You simply ache all over for him, and it’s getting to a point where a singular touch of his could tip you over the edge of sanity.

“Like you said… you didn’t know,” Javier seems to apologize.

“Still, it—it was shitty of me to just laugh in your face, especially in front of other people. I thought you were making a joke on my expense.”

“You were the first person that popped into my head. I don’t know. Seemed stupid at the time, it didn’t make any sense. Why would I think of the one person that annoys me the most? But I could only think of you.”

“Wait a minute. You didn’t come to that party at all.”

Javier makes a face that you can’t quite discern, and it makes you feel even worse.

“All the other girls were so clingy and shallow compared to you and I just—I don’t know. You were the only one who popped into my head.”

Moved, you reach to cup his stubbly cheek, and Javier closes his eyes, feeling the weight of the world through that featherlight touch.

“I’m not good at relationship stuff,” he mutters, looking down on you with that all-too-familiar furrow in between his brows that expresses concern. “Being a boyfriend, a fiancé or husband—not my strongest suit.”

You smile, oddly delighted at the idea of a flustered Javier. “Are you saying you want to be my boyfriend?”

He rolls his eyes, trying to act unimpressed, but smiling as well.

“Aren’t we past the boyfriend-girlfriend dynamic?” he asks.

“I don’t know. What do you want?”

“To be good enough, first of all.”

Your thumb grazes his cheek, the three day old stubble tickling your skin, prickling your senses alive, it seemed.

“You’re more than enough,” you coo.

You take one glance at him, then your lips find his with a devoted tenderness that knows no limits. As opposed to last night, this kiss is sweet and needy, but not rushed. Neither of you rushes to feel it, even though you’re both basically trembling with eagerness. You both desperately need to feel each other, to taste and to have each other in the most intimate way known to mankind, and it’s all right there in that kiss.

Javier’s hands hold your waist, as if trying to keep you from slipping out of his life, and they mold your heated flesh through your PJ’s, kneading it between his calloused fingers like you’re clay, and he’s about to form a masterpiece. You fail to remember the last time you were held like this, or even the last time you and Javier had been intimate. Probably the night when he flat-out told you he was jealous of that guy at the bar. It feels like years since that happened.

But right now, there’s no jealousy, no anger, none of the sort. It’s desperation in its finest form, a beautiful mess; hands gripping and wandering nervously, lips reddening, unable to stop pressing onto one another.

“Is this okay?”

Javier’s tongue-tied and coarse question leaves you dumbfounded. He’s done plenty without asking for verbal permission—only because you were always at the ready somehow and reciprocated enthusiastically—and now he’s insecure? Maybe he’s checking to make sure you’re okay after the hangover—or maybe this is how he acts when he truly cares and makes an effort to show it.

“Yes,” you breathe out, cupping his cheeks again to pull him in for another kiss turned sloppy.

You’ve done this dance before, so your limbs guide you naturally to the bedroom. In a fleeting moment, you feel his lips curl into a smile right into the kiss, and your heart twists itself into something akin to a child-like joy.

“Javi?” you mutter between peppered kisses, feeling the mattress beneath your body as you fall atop the bed.

“Hm?”

He pulls back to look at you, utterly mesmerized by your whole being; he tries not to think too much about the fact that this is the first time you’ve called him that, and in such a sweet, begging manner, no less.

“Please,” you coo, legs opening teasingly, to make room for him to do whatever he wants. “Please, I want you.”

He seems genuinely surprised, and it’s taking you aback to see that on his face.

“You do?”

He also sounds genuinely pained, like his and your pleasure also bring him an unmeasurable amount of pain and guilt. But you tug at the hem of his shirt, needy and gently alike, in hopes of washing away all of his concerns.

“Yes,” you reply, working against his jeans. “Always.”

It’s so easy for him to succumb to you, so pathetically easy, but he doesn’t care. Oh, he doesn’t care; he just wants to remain locked in this moment, to have your face and your heated body imprinted on his mind like a tattoo.

You stop trying to unzip his jeans, stumbled by his own hands reaching for your pajama bottoms, sliding them down. Javier makes a sound, half disapproving and half impressed, and he swallows around nothing but dryness at the sight of your glistening pussy on display just for him.

“Commando, huh?” he teases.

You lick your lips, biting on your lower one as you watch him in a trance. “It’s more comfortable.”

“Sure is.”

He seems to reach for your clit, and you’re reeking of desperation at this point, but he pulls back and you huff with disappointment, making it known to him as well. Javier leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, and he murmurs, “Anything you want, you can have it. Tell me what you want.”

You thought that sitting there with your legs spread open and your pussy nearly soaked just from kissing him was good enough explanation, but it seems he needs something more, a verbal or physical confirmation of some sort.

So you take one of his hands and guide it to your warm spot, sucking in a sharp breath when you feel his thumb pressed flat against your clit, starting to rub it gently. You see him smile, and your heart flutters in your chest.

“This what you want?” he checks, his index now teasing through your folds, hearing how your breaths get more uneven.

“Yes. Yes, yes, please—“

Then, two thick fingers push slowly through your heated flesh, careful not to hurt, and you throw your head back, almost shocked at the contact. Your hips buckle upwards in an attempt to meet with more of his hand as he starts to pump his digits in and out, circling and scissoring inside you, and when they hit a particular spot, you know you won’t last that long. You don’t want to cum this fast, not without feeling him properly, but you also desperately need to let go of all that frustration, so it’s a tough call.

One that Javier intuits pretty damn well.

Next thing you know, Javier’s tongue is lapping at your folds, adding to the preexisting torture of his fingers, and the pressure is rapidly building inside of you. You moan his name on a loop, the sound spurring him on like nothing else ever could, hardening his cock with each passing second.

“Fuck,” you manage to get out, hands tightly gripping his broad shoulders. “Fuck, Javi—“

“So pretty,” he groans from in between your legs. “So sweet and—filthy—“

The sound of his voice, so thick with pleasure and frustration alike, sends vibrations through your whole body, triggering pleasure centers that were dormant up until now. He’s eating you out and fingering you diligently, like this is the most important mission he’ll ever be on, and the pressure of it all builds rapidly in your lower region. Your whole body’s afire, but you feel like your belly’s going to explode soon.

“Javi, I’m gonna come—fuck—“

“You’re gonna come just from this? Hm?”

“Yes—“

“You’re gonna come with my fingers inside you and my mouth on you?”

“Yes, fuck—“

“So give it to me, cariño. Give me a good one, c’mon—“

You can’t help but, especially when you hear the Texan accent slip in his words; your walls flutter around his fingers, tension boiling over at last, and you hold onto him tighter as he helps ride out your orgasm. He’s painfully hard at this point, but he soldiers through, focusing solely on you.

As the waves of pleasure simmer down, you notice the bulge in his jeans, and you reach again to unzip him. Javier groans, the little contact sending a rush of adrenaline through him already, and he could be ashamed of how hard he is, how painful it is even to touch his happy trail, not to mention the tip of his cock, beads of precum oozing out of it already. You swipe your thumb over the tip, earning another grunt from his side, and Javier barely breathes at this point.

“Say it,” he encourages, and you know what he’s saying.

“I want you inside me.”

You begin to stroke him, but Javier catches your wrist in a tight grip, lips pursed together as he’s looking down on you. “Don’t,” he warns. “I’m gonna cum in five seconds if you do this.”

“So?”

“I wanna come when I’m inside you.”

It shouldn’t sound this alluring, like it’s some forbidden ecstasy when it’s not, not anymore.

He pushes your legs further apart, guiding his cock to your swollen entrance. You both gasp at the rush, the unmatched feeling of his thick cock pushing past your sensitive walls. Javier stares in awe as he pushes in, the sight of you engulfing your cock altogether absolutely maddening.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he says. “So tight.”

“Javi—shit—“

“So good… so pretty like this, with my cock inside you.”

He’s buried inside you to the hilt, every inch of him thick and throbbing in you, not even moving yet and you’re both over the edge. He’s still half dressed, so you reach to unbutton his shirt, exposing his golden-kissed skin to you as you begin to press light kisses on his neck and chest, causing him to grunt.

And then he start to move.

He’s snapping his hips against yours, the pace not too slow, yet not too fast; it’s more than enough for you to feel him, to take him in inch by inch. This is desperate, needy, and you both relish into it. You’re clearly both deprived, and neither of you can last long. Javier’s grunts and moans are a dead giveaway that he’s close.

“You’re taking me so g-good—“Javier groans. “S’tight—and warm. You’re so good, cariño.”

Thrust after thrust, the squelching sound emerging from in between your legs joined by the slap of his balls against the curve of your ass downright obscene, building to the tension even more.

You’re not sure how you get in this position, but suddenly you’re atop of him, snug and full, riding him till you both reach that sweet moment of release that you so eagerly desire. Javier buries his head in between your breasts, kissing your sternum as you rock yourself up and down on his cock.

“That’s it, cariño—keep going—take what you want—“

“Javi—Javiii—“

His name becomes a prayer on your lips, the only word you know how to say in this moment. His hands reach around to grab handfuls of your ass as you bounce on him, and then something clicks. It burns and aches, and he moans louder, unable to send another warning to you.

“You’re doing so good—s’perfect—perfect, beautiful… fuck, fuck, yes—“

His thrusts meet you halfway and he finally comes with a loud grunt, holding you up on his cock, the sensation triggering your own orgasm again. Sweat clings to your bodies, and you hug each other tightly, your breasts pressed flat against his chest as your mouths meet. The kiss is slow, just as your bodies move now in sated bliss. You smile into it, and you only pull back to look at Javier. He’s smiling too, and you brush through the sweaty curls at the back of his head. You feel him everywhere, in between your legs, in your bones, and on your skin.

“I love you,” you tell him, kissing his nose and forehead.

Javier melts in your embrace, his cock softening inside you as he pulls out. He keeps you close, as if still afraid of losing you somehow.

“I love you too,” he replies, and for the first time in his life, he feels it to be the truest thing he’s ever said.

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