#even if it's semi false I'll take it.

[blueshykitsune-blog]

Anyone on Tumblr got a good guide for long lasting scars?

Specifically for a variety of different type of skin tones.

Or even like explanations on scar colors?

Like dark colored scars versus light colored.

Preferably about those ghat last years if not for life?

(I'm trying to figure out the best way to make my character look a bit accurate in plushie form.)

[apocalypseornaw]

What If

Dean Winchester x Reader

You make assumptions after a night in Dean's bed that prove to be false

Warnings: Mention of steamy times, cursing, hurt feelings

Heat was the first sensation that hit you. The heat of a warm body curled up to your back. A strong arm laid across your stomach and warm breath hitting the back of your neck as he slept. How the hell had you ended up in this position when the two of you had simply set out to watch a movie last night after Sam had gone to bed?

You'd been in your room, laid across the bed reading a book Alex had sent you for your birthday. It was pretty good so far but you knew you wouldn't get far in it when you heard Dean singing lightly as his footsteps got closer to your open door.

You slid a bookmark in place and laid the book on your nightstand before your green eyed best friend ever Madeira to your door. You glanced up about the time he knocked “What's up Dean?” He smiled slightly “Well Sammy's gone to bed but Claire sent me a list of the top five rated horror movies. The top two we have on streaming”

A grin split your face “Go get them up, I'll grab drinks and meet you in the TV room” he winked at you “that's my girl” then turned to walk off down the hall.

You let out a sigh if only he knew what it did to you when he did shit like that. That wink, calling you his girl. The way he always invited you to watch movies, go for late night drives or how gentle he was patching you up after hunts. You shook your head to clear those thoughts out, he was your best friend. Yeah he was drop dead gorgeous but you couldn't help that you had eyes. You wouldn't ever cross a line he'd never acted as if he wanted to cross and risk that relationship.

____________________________

You were sitting next to Dean on the couch, your feet were curled up under you and Dean's favorite blanket was draped across you both. About halfway through the second movie a jumpscare actually got to you and without thinking you curled into his side, hiding your face in his chest.

He chuckled lightly as he tucked his arm around your body “Oh come on sweetheart. I've seen you take on shit a lot scarier than that and not blink!” You looked up at him and stuck your tongue out, trying to ignore just how close your faces were “Bite me Winchester. Real life doesn't bother me because if it can touch me and hurt me I can touch it and hurt it”

He shook his head “You're something else” you raised an eyebrow “What you mean by that” he raised his hand that wasn't curled around you to push your hair back that had fallen into your face “Beautiful, smart, badass. Pretty damn close to perfect” you could feel your cheeks warm slightly. It wasn't unusual for Dean to compliment you but it always made your stomach flip. “Oh shut up” you pushed against his chest hoping to turn this semi flirtatious moment into a teasing one but damn him if he didn't cup your chin gently and lift your head to meet his eyes before a smirk slipped onto his face “Make me”

You don't know what came over you at that moment. Maybe temporary insanity? Regardless you found yourself moving forward until your lips met his. It was just a simple kiss but something you'd dreamt of for far too long. It didn't take him even half a second to react. His hands went down to your hips, pulling you over into his lap and when the action caused a light gasp to leave your lips he slipped his tongue into your mouth rolling it against yours in a way that had you melting into him.

When you ground your hips down against his and a deep groan left him that was when reality set in. You were currently straddling your best friend, making out with him and damn near dry humping on the couch. You broke the kiss and damn near jumped off his lap. “I am so sorry Dean. I don't…I don't know what was going through my head”

He stood up, adjusting his jeans as he did so and your eyes flicked down to see a bulge that made your legs weak. The look in his eyes, damn how many waitresses and barmaids had you cussed over the years for having that look focused on them and now you couldn't think straight. “I wasn't exactly shoving you off” he replied taking a step closer and when you didn't back up he quickly covered the space between you pulling you into his arms “You're my best friend Y/N. Besides Sam no one on earth means as much to me as you do but that kiss was….fuck…if you want then this never happened. We'll turn on a different movie and nothing more”

“Or?” You asked, feeling your heart leap into your throat. A smirk slipped back onto his lips “Or we could go to my room and talk” “talk?” You repeated and he nodded “nothing has to happen”

________________________

A moan of Dean's name left your lips as he kissed a trail down your neck, his fingers slipping inside of you easily. “Fuck I love hear you say my name like that” he teased. It didn't take him long to find that one spot inside of you that had you clenching around his fingers and your legs shaking around his wrist.

He continued to pump his fingers lazily in and out of you as he worked you through the orgasm. When you weakly pushed at his wrist he caught your eyes before licking his fingers into his mouth, those sinful lips working as he sucked your juices off his fingers. “Taste as good as you look” you shook your head with a laugh “Take your pants off and get up here Dean” he grinned “Yes ma'am”

He stood long enough to slip his pants off then crawled up the bed, kissing his way up your body until he got to your lips. He caught them in a searing kiss that let you taste yourself on him. He pulled back enough to meet your eyes “Are you sure about this?” You nodded and felt his hardness pressed against your inner thigh “I want this”

He pressed another kiss to your lips before lining himself up with your entrance. When he slipped inside of you a moan left both of you at the feeling. He dropped his head down against your chest once he was fully inside of you to give you time to adjust. His lips left a trail across your collarbone “you feel so damn amazing sweetheart” After a moment the discomfort of the fullness of his gave way to pleasure so you turned his face to kiss him “Move Dean”

He began to roll his hips tentatively against yours and when your reaction was your eyes rolling back slightly at the feeling that was all the clearance he needed. “Eyes on me, beautiful. I want to see you come undone” it took you a minute to focus your eyes back on him and when you did he smiled almost shyly “look at you Y/N. Damn you're perfect” he pulled almost completely out of you then slammed back in. Your hands went to his shoulders, fingernails cutting into the skin as he sat a grueling pace that filled the room with the sound of skin hitting skin and both of you moaning the other's name.

When you felt yourself reaching that peak he bit down gently on your neck “Let yourself go baby. I'm not far behind. I want to feel you come around my cock, please” Dean Winchester of all men begging you to come? Christ, that pushed you over the edge with a scream of pleasure ripping from your lips.

His thrusts faltered slightly and through gritted teeth he asked “Don't you have an iud?” You nodded and he buried himself inside of you with one final thrust. The feeling of him coming worked another small orgasm out of you that had your legs shaking around him.

When he pulled out you whimpered slightly and he apologized with a light kiss “Just gonna grab my shirt to clean you up some baby ok?” You nodded weakly and felt the bed dip before Dean was knelt between your knees “Open up for me beautiful” you slowly spread your legs and he smiled “you look so fucking gorgeous like this. All fucked out” he used his shirt to clean you up as best as he could before tossing it back to the floor.

When he laid back down next to you he ran a finger down your side which caused you to squirm. “I'll go to my room once my legs work” He slipped his arm around you to pull you back against him “Take your time. No rush”

Every insecurity and what if started to flip through your head. Dean wasn't a settling down type. He didn't like attachments because he knew that put a target on them. He cared about you enough as a friend to put himself in danger. This wouldn't work. Either he'd not want this and feel some sort of obligation from your years of friendship or worse he would feel for you what you truly felt for him and it would end with him getting himself killed to keep you safe.

______________

It took some work to slip out the bed without waking him but you managed it and slipped your clothes on quickly. You needed a shower and to get the hell out of the bunker for a few minutes. You just needed to clear your head. It was supply run day. Groceries were needed and mail needed to be checked. You'd tell Sam to let you handle it. That would give you breathing room.

When you parked your car back at the bunker Sam came out to meet you and help with bags. When you glanced behind him he shrugged one shoulder “Can I ask something that may not only be none of my business but may be uncomfortable too?”

You nodded “We've known each other for a good chunk of our lives so I'd say yeah” he grimaced as he ran a hand across the back of his neck “I heard you and Dean last night so I thought…I don't know what I thought but did something happen? Because he seemed upset that you left while he was asleep”

“Sam, I didn't want to make things weird for Dean. You know my feelings” he nodded “but did you ask him his or just assume?” You didn't have to say anything Sam saw the look in your eyes. “He's in the library cleaning guns. I've got the bags”

________________

You could hear the clinking of metal when you got closer to the library. You stopped right inside the doorway and watched Dean for a moment. The way he handled the guns was a thing of beauty. He could probably break them down, clean them and put them back together in his sleep at this point.

He didn't look up from the colt before saying “You made it back in one piece” you nodded lamely “Dean can we talk?” He laid the colt down and raised his eyes to meet yours “Let me guess where this is going. You had a good night but don't want nothing to change”

You swallowed hard under the intensity of his stare “Can I talk without you putting words in my mouth?” He waved a hand to say go ahead “Dean you're my best friend and I love you, I fell in love with you. Last night was fucking amazing but I don't want to make you regrets things, you don't do love, you don't do relationships”

“because why? Dean's a man whore that just bed hops? Because Dean is incapable of love? Because despite us being best friends for over a decade there's no possibility that I fell in love with you too? There's no possibility i fucking wanted to wake up with the woman I love in my arms?” You flinched at his tone despite your heart flipping at his words “You love me?” He stood up and walked around the table “How could I not?”

You took a step back putting your back to the wall. He stood right in front of you, leaning a hand on the wall just over your head but giving you room to move “I love you Y/N. I'm in love with you. Last night was everything. Now what other demons are lurking in your head cause you know I don't mind taking on each and every one of those sons of bitches”

“What if you get hurt protecting me?” You asked and he smiled “baby I'd do that now but I know for the most part you can handle yourself and don't act like you're not self sacrificing either” you laughed despite yourself “What if you get bored of one woman?” He grinned “unlikely but we can always role play sweetheart. Believe me I mean it when I say you're fucking perfect for me”

“What if…” he cut you off by saying “What if you stop giving me excuses and let me kiss you? We could both die tomorrow and if that happens it happens but I'd rather have a day knowing you were completely my girl then live the rest of our lives just having part of you. I'm yours, you mine?” You nodded “Always. Now kiss me” He grinned “Yes ma'am”

[violinios]

Corrupted!Dream

What if he ate the golden apples? More information below! (This au is not finished yet)

Some facts about him:

I wanted to use roots with thorns to reference Nightmare's tentacles, and also to recall the roots of a tree, like the tree the two guardians used to protect. It comes out of Dream's back, and the first time they came out, right after being corrupted by positivity, they tore the back of his clothes and his cape, so he eventually changed the clothes he was wearing, but the old cape remained. Another reference to Nightmare in his design are the yellow and purple carnations in his left eye, not only because of the meaning of the flowers themselves, but because Nightmare of the goo covering one of his eyes, so I decided to do something similar, but with plants instead of slime. Dream is blind from the left eye after gotten attack from defending his brother from the villagers.

As for the meaning of the colors of the carnations that come out of his eye, I did very brief research, so don't take the meanings I'll write here for certainty. Yellow carnations represent rejection and purple ones represent loneliness. Although they are attached to Dream's body, they represent Nightmare's feelings towards the villagers who often mistreated him. The flowers grew after the corruption and after Dream discovered what they did to his brother.

What is controlling Dream's body now is not Dream himself, but rather a parasite that has taken over his body and identity, while the real Dream remains semi-conscious and unable to regain control of his body.

He feeds on positive feelings and his objective is to exterminate negativity for his own survival. He is not capable of feeling remorse, and will not be afraid to exterminate an entire universe if it has a very strong negative aura (like universes that follow the genocidal route, for example), but he cannot visit these universes alone since his magic works using positivity as "fuel", so he's dependent on allies to travel to negative universes.

He doesn't kill because of his moral compass and doesn't really care about what's right or what's wrong, who's good who's bad, he will kill them anyways if their negative aura is enough to give him a headache. This means he will kill innocent people who hold suffering on themselfs only to end with their negativity.

He calls himself a hero/savior/angel to manipulate people with false promises, when in reality, he only acts out of his own needs and survival instinct, not actual kidness.

There's only one who is full of negativity that Dream wants alive; for now, names won't be mentioned (who the person/monster is still not decided, it can be an already existing character or maybe i'll make an OC for this, but for now, feel free to imagine whoever you want to imagine) but their aura, somehow, makes the burning feeling of overwhelming positivity inside of Dream feel a bit less like it's burning. Yes, the positivity is too much even for Dream to the point it feels like it's burning from inside (remember how in original Dreamtale, a human body would barely even survive with the amount of energy the magic held inside the siblings body? Well, now imagine that now the magic way more powerful to the point that even his skeleton body hurts sometimes), and their negativity makes it feel less painful.

He is not completely incapable of feeling negative feelings, but it is VERY rare. Some examples are his fear of owls, a trait from the original Dream that remained, or the anger he feels when he is disobeyed.

He killed the citizens of the village when he saw the amount of negative feelings they caused his own brother. At first, he didn't want to kill Nightmare, but after he saw Nightmare attack him after the genocide he caused, Dream now seeks to kill him as well. He thinks of him as ungrateful for trying to hurt him after finishing off the people who caused him so much suffering, and he blames himself for leaving him alive, knowing that he is also the result of negativity.

Nightmare doesn't want to kill Dream, because he knows that the balance in the multiverse is important and it is their existence that causes it to exist, he just fights against him to not be killed and when some universe/being is being hurt by Dream. He wants to find a way to bring his brother back to consciousness, he still wonders if he could kill the parasite without killing Dream too. Dream, on the other hand, doesn't care about the balance.

His spines possess a poison that gives his prey the illusion of comfort, hiding the sensation of pain and fear within his own positive aura so that they do not escape when captured. It is rare for their prey to regain consciousness to realize the danger they are in, but not impossible, and some may be immune to the venom or his aura, like Nightmare, who'd feel a big pain if he got captured, which is a good advantage if you don't want to be trapped with Dream forever or eventually die.

[itsharleystuff]

*ೃ༄ 𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘜𝘚

Gif not mine!

— 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Javier Peña x afab!fem reader.

— 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 13.4k I’m so sorry y’all

— 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Javier can’t figure out his feelings for you and is constantly troubled by them.

— 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+ content (minors dni!), smoking, alcohol consumption, oral sex (f! and m! receiving), age gap (reader just graduated college, Javi is late thirties), inexperienced reader (not innocent, tho), jealousy (not too much), semi-public sex, fingering, pet names (cariño, corazón, hermosa, sweetheart), unprotected sex (don’t try at home), riding, cum eating, creampie. Some phrases in Spanish (no translations cause I’m lazy, sorry). Reader’s nationality isn’t specified, though she’s mentioned to have studied in the states. Javi is in love but won’t admit it, mostly written in his pov. No use of y/n.

— a/n: I don’t particularly like how this one turned out but I wrote it and got very carried away, so might as well just post it anyways.

𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐨

𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬í

𝐬é 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥, 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐞

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦í𝐚…

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The things Javier Peña liked the most weren't a secret to anyone. He enjoyed a good smoke, a strong liquor and the company of a nice lady. Especially those three at the same time. Sure, there were other things that could bring genuine joy into his life, but he was a simple man after all.

Or so you thought when you first met him.

It's been five months since you first came to Colombia. It wasn't a really an intricate matter; basically, the embassy needed a translator for the DEA and they decided that your freshly graduated self would perfectly cut the part. And well, you really needed the money at the time, so the fact that there was an ongoing drug war happening down there was not going to be an impediment. You knew what you were getting yourself into, but let's just say that you truly didn't have a choice.

That's exactly what you had told him the first night he invited you to hang out with him, Steve and Connie. Javier didn't need a translator, but god knew his partner did. And after a couple of hang-outs, it became a routine to spend some time out, specially since you all practically lived together.

"So, how many languages do you speak?" The woman asks. “Besides English and Spanish, that is."

You take a sip from your beer without looking at anyone in specific, "I'm fluent in five languages: French, Korean and Portuguese are the three others."

"Damn, so you're like... Super smart," Steve comments with a surprised expression.

"I wouldn't say that," you reply with a shy smile, "I'm simply dedicated."

Javier huffed a laugh, the cigarette smoke filtering through his nostrils. "Can't say you don't look like one of those girls that spent their whole days locked up in their college dorm and that would always get straight A's."

You narrowed your eyes when glancing over at the agent, scowling at him defiantly. "What's that supposed to mean?" He shrugs, shaking off the question. "Are you saying I am... Uptight?"

"Your words, not mine." He puts the cigarette out without even looking back at you.

"But you implied it." Connie taps your hand and gives his husband's partner a dirty look.

"Don't listen to Javi, sweetheart," she says softly. "He can be a complete asshole sometimes."

"And sometimes, mostly means all the time." Steve adds.

"How rude of you." Javi sits back and crosses both arms over his chest, falsely offended.

The blonde woman shakes her head with a small grin before quickly peeking at Murphy' as watch, her expression turning slightly annoyed.

"It's pretty late," she realizes, "and I have to go to the commune tomorrow."

"Right." Steve nods and takes his wallet out to pay for their stuff. "We should get going."

You motion a goodbye to them with a subtle head movement, "I'll stay here for a while," you say, raising your beer. "I'd like to finish my drink."

Javier cocks an eyebrow in your direction, "Yeah, I'm staying too. I'll take care of our girl."

His partner gives him a suspicious head tilt, almost like a small warning —men sign language that you weren't sure you understood entirely—, but Peña dismisses him with a hand gesture as you gulp down the alcohol.

"You know, our building is right across the street. And your apartment is quite literally next to mine." He calls the waitress, not even side eyeing you. "I don't need to be taken care of." Javier finally meets your gaze, feeling his chest swell and instantly regretting his actions at the sight of your confused, daring eyes. "Is anything bothering you? You've been acting strange lately."

There was, in fact, something bothering him.

You. Or more like, his feelings towards you.

At first it was nothing but a simple attraction, the kind that he'd get whenever he wanted to sleep with someone and that would go away once he did. The problem was that he couldn't do that with you. After all, he was nearly forty and you had just barely graduated college. He couldn't risk making you feel uncomfortable or pushing you away.

But shit got worse when he started growing closer to you.

It wasn't about attraction anymore. It was something else. Deeper, unknown... Bizarre. He wanted to be around you all the time, learn about you; your interests, opinions, what you liked or disliked. His heart thumped against his chest whenever you'd smile at him, or briefly touch his skin, laugh at his witticism.

He hated it.

He hated that feeling that crushed his lungs when he saw you doing all those things with other men.

Why couldn't that be him? What did they have that you could possibly find appealing?

He fucking hated it.

Javier tried ignoring you, fucking around with as many women as he could to try and get you out his mind.

Needless to say it was all useless. And that's why perhaps, he was acting strange.

"Javier, are you-" whatever you were going to say got cut off by the arrival of the waitress.

"¿Qué necesitas, corazón?" The woman asked, leaning towards your companion, giving him a better sight of her big, perky breasts while gazing down at him with doe eyes. And Peña, being the man he was, couldn't bat away from her. Which kind of bothered you, to be honest.

Why was he always looking at other women? Why were they special?

It made your stomach feel weird.

"Otra botella, cariño." His tone usually changed when talking to them, even his eyes seemed more joyful. You'd picked up on that.

"Enseguida, Javi. ¿Algo más para ti, nena?" Her eyes swiftly drift towards you, voice becoming softer all of the sudden. It irritated you, more so because of the condescending tone when addressing you. Nonetheless, you kept composure.

"Todo bien, gracias." The delivery came out slightly dry and bitchy, but not as bad as you thought. She doesn't seem to mind, or even note it as she winks at the man next to you before leaving. "Could you switch to a different table?" You spit out.

He grimaces, brows furrowing and lips sealed tight. "Why? I mean, I won't. But I'd like to know why you're asking."

"Not having to deal with flirty waitresses, for starters," you mutter, rolling your eyes and making him chuckle. "And I'm also trying to catch a fling, which will most certainly not work if you're around."

He looks back at you in confusion and displeasure, as if he had missed something. "You're trying to- What?" There's something in his voice similar to... Resentment.

"You know," he stares at you intently, a muscle feathering on his jaw, "I'm trying to leave this bar with company." You feel yourself get nervous under his wary gaze, like a fire burning through your skin.

"Yeah, and you will," he stated, his tone somewhat amused but vaguely strained. "My company should be more than enough."

You giggled, wondering if he was just messing with you or didn't actually think you'd be the type to hook up with strangers. Whichever it was, you only said it to get a reaction from him, not that you'd actually do it. At least not tonight.

It was stupid and you were aware of it. Having a crush on the Javier Peña was probably the dumbest thing you'd done ever since willingly coming to Medellin while the narcos were running around. But, let's be real, how could you not? He was a full-on womanizer, dashing and breathtaking. However, what seemed to make you want him more was the fact that he didn't appear interested in you for anything other than rattling your cages, always taking his flirting to a certain extent but never actually crossing any lines.

"Come on Javi, you know that's not what I mean." He took a deep breath and leaned back on his seat.

Of course he knew what you meant. But he'd rather believe it was something different, because the mere thought of you being with another man, allowing him to do all the things that he yearned to do to you, made him physically ill. His fingertips started fidgeting with anxiety, pushing him to take out the pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket and lighting one up.

"I can't let you do that, sweetheart," he simply said.

"Huh?" You scowl, astonished with his response. "I don't recall asking for your permission."

"Don't you think it's a little dangerous to take random men back to your apartment?" He grumbles sharply, "I'm trying to look out for you, corazón."

His comment only manages to anger you, as if he believed that you'd simply ran off with whatever men offered to buy you a drink. "I'm fairly capable of taking care of myself, Peña." And before he can say anything, you add: "I'm tired of your patronizing treatment. I'm not a kid."

Javier's fingers nervously tap the wooden surface of the table, "I know that. Trust me, I know."

"Sure," you mumble in annoyance, watching him smoke stiffly. "Besides, you're the one that said I was uptight," you taunt. "Perhaps I just need a good fuck to blow off some steam."

You can clearly see every muscle on his body tense up, the cigarette dangling loosely on the corner of his mouth. He clears his throat and puts it out, crushing it in the ashtray on the middle of the table, not even half way through it.

"And you think any of these idiots will be able to give you that, preciosa?" He murmurs hastily, "A good fuck?"

You shrug your shoulders with a grin. "Can't be worse than sleeping around with college boys," you say, "those suckers never gave me a single orgasm in my life."

Javier felt cornered. Your words made his mind wander along places he'd strictly forbid himself to go to, blood rushing into all the wrong areas and pulse starting to rise. Maybe it was the few drinks you've both had, but he became bolder, unable to bite his tongue back and letting all his thoughts overrun him.

"Poor thing is looking to be fucked by a real man," he teases. "I wonder if you'll get what you want tonight."

"Oh, don't make fun of me, Peña," you complain, laying your chin on the palm of your hand. "I deserve this after three years of dating the same asshole that my parents liked."

"Jesus," he huffs, "three years and the kid never made you cum once?" You shake your head and he raises and eyebrow in disbelief. "Why did you even keep up with him anyways?"

"This might come as a surprise, but not everything in a relationship is about sex." He doesn't reply, persuading you with a smug look. You sigh heavily, avoiding his glance. "You're gonna think I'm childish."

"Try me."

You take your time to retort, still unsure. "It's stupid, I swear." But when your eyes bore into his, they appear reassuring and it makes you crumble immediately. "Fine," you give up, "have you ever been in love, Javi? And I don't mean like silly, head-over heels in love. I mean the kind of love that you feel throughout your whole body every time you see that one person. It feels safe, but exciting at the same time... Have you felt it?"

The smile on your lips and the way your face lit up when speaking sent a thrill of joy through his nerves, automatically making him smile back.

"See? You're laughing, I told you it was stupid." He shakes his head lightly, leaning towards you in interest.

"No," he says playfully, "I just think you're adorable." Before you can process his words, he talks again: "No, I don't think I've ever felt anything similar."

"Really?" you can't hide the surprise in your voice. "I thought you were going to get married before coming to Colombia."

"I was." He recalled. "But... I don't know. It was a long time ago." Thinking about his past wasn't Javier's favorite hobby, so he tried to smoothly change the subject back to you. "So, is that how you felt about the guy?"

"I thought so." You tug a strand of hair behind your ear apprehensively. "But at the end, he... Well, he convinced me that no one else was going to love me the way he did." You explain, watching as Javi's fists clenched under the table. "And I was too damn busy arranging my future and planning how to get the hell out of my hometown that I didn't have any time left to deal with him, so I just... Kept him around. Because it was familiar and I was scared to meet someone else from scratch."

He gives you a comprehensive nod. "That boy sounds like a complete dickhead."

"Totally. But that's behind me now. Currently I'm just looking for something new. No feelings, no strings attached, just fun."

The agent couldn't help but feel like someone was messing with his head.

That's practically every man's fantasy. At least Javier knows he's wanted that for a long time, being the prime reason why he usually fucked whores or preferred casual hook ups. And you liked him, at least physically. He was no idiot, he could tell when a woman was attracted to him. He liked you too. Hell, that was an understatement.

So why couldn't he bring himself to make the first move? What was stopping him?

"Aquí tienes, Javi." The waitress's voice brought him back to reality as she gave him his drink.

"Gracias, corazón." He didn't engage with her further, his attention focused on you. That bothered her but you can't tell if he noticed. "So what? Am I supposed to just watch as you get sweet-talked by one of them?"

"Basically," you respond, avoiding his glance.

"Like hell I will," his tone is sharp and determined, taking you out completely. "You're already tipsy and that'll only make it easier to take advantage of you."

"I swear I'm fine, Javi." The man shakes his head and takes a long sip from his beer.

"We're leaving. Now." At first you thought he was playing around, but his stoic expression told otherwise.

"What? No." He grits his teeth and takes his wallet out, leaving a couple bills on the table. "Seriously, Javier?"

"Yes. Now, get your pretty ass up unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder." You can't believe his actions, looking up at him dumbfounded.

"I'll scream," you threaten, half serious, half joking.

"I have a badge," he stands up, glancing down at you with his hands on his hips, patiently waiting for your next move. "Come on, hermosa. Don't make it difficult."

"I- Fine." Reluctantly, you do as told, taking your purse and denying him of eye contact. "You didn't even finish your drink and now you've spoiled my chances of having a pleasant night," you ramble while walking out of the place.

Javier's hand settles on your lower back when he helps you cross the street. Despite the growing irritation and confusion that his behavior was causing you, his touch managed to make you feel comfortable. That was his magic, when it came to him, skin to skin contact wasn't only soothing, but also enjoyable; as brief as it might be, it always succeeded in bringing a particular warmth to your whole body.

"I don't understand," you mutter, crossing the dark, silent halls of the building. "Why are you acting so strange?" You suddenly stop in front of your apartment door, turning to lock glances with him, who stood completely still. "I asked you earlier if there was something bothering you, and I didn't mean like... The usual work luggage, I mean... Me. Did I do something wrong?"

His eyes scan your face carefully, searching for any signs that he should back out, but finding none. Should he tell you? He's never been good with words and honestly, he doesn't even know what he's supposed to say. He can hardly figure out if what he felt was attraction, desire or... Something entirely different. And if he did say anything... What if that changed everything between you? Would you push him away?

Javier Peña was brave enough to take on every single sicario in Medellin all by himself, but he couldn't muster up the bravado he needed to tell the woman he liked about his feelings. Oh, the irony.

"No, sweetheart. You're perfect," he assures, anxiously running a hand through his hair. "I just have stuff to figure out and... My head is a such mess right now."

You nod and smile at him empathetically, a short silence falling upon you. After all, it was only fair that you gave him his space. The man had been through some pretty fucked up shit that most couldn't nearly begin to understand. He looked directly in the face of death every single time he decided to step out that door behind him; so no matter what was troubling him, the most you could do was simply be there if he needed you.

"Don't worry," you say, your hand shooting up to caress the side of his face in a sweet manner. His eyes briefly shut at the contact and a shiver runs down his spine. "I know it's not easy. But I'm sure it'll be fine. I just wanted you to know that... That you can talk to me." Your thumb gently sweeps over his cheekbone, adding to the emotion that your words reflected. "I'm your friend, right? You can trust me... Rely on me, if you need it."

Shit, thaaaat word.

It was heavy, determinant and so fucking hurtful.

Yeah, of course you were friends. And he hated it. Javier didn't want to be your friend. The way he thought about you was not how friends thought about each other. He wanted more... But how much more?

The only lightning in the hallway came from the warm, public streetlights outside, dimly spilling through the windows and creating shadows that highlighted your features perfectly. You couldn't comprehend why his eyes resembled a wounded puppy when you spoke, like you had just said something that conflicted him. His skin felt feverish there were you touched him, heart heavy in his chest. And you were so close to him that your perfume fogged his senses... All he could think about was the fact that he wanted his bedsheets to smell the same way.

All this tension, he wasn't sure if you felt it too, but it was absolutely crushing, suffocating him. He was going to die if he didn't do something. Anything.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." You frown, confused by his unexpected apology.

"What for?" His hand wrapped around your wrist, swiftly guiding it to his chest, palm flat over his sternum.

He said nothing, nor did he show signs of wanting to. Actions speak louder than words, wasn't that right?

Hell, he was about to find out.

Tossing aside all his fears and doubts, he leaned in towards you, his own hand going to your waist and pulling you closer to him, both your bodies crashing delightfully against the other. It startled you, but not in alarm, though in surprise. Nonetheless, he didn't give you any time to process whatever the situation was.

He gently pressed his lips on tops of yours, just enough for you to push him away if you so desired. And in your mind, all that can be processed is: Javier Peña is kissing me.

It was so sudden that you had to grab his strong arm not to crumble under his embrace. Javier's lips are soft and new, yet somehow... Familiar. His mustache mildly tickles your skin, his cologne going straight to your head. Shit, the way he held you —like you were a fragile little thing— made your legs tremble immediately.

Was this even real? Are you daydreaming again?

No. The answer's no. He is kissing you, right outside your apartment. And of course, you don't hesitate to kiss him back.

He tastes of alcohol, cigarettes and mint.

Your lips moved slowly, letting him explore, feel the area around. All thoughts and questions vanished in thin air, whatever troubles he might've had disappearing when you seemed so responsive to him. You let your purse fall to the floor with a faint thud, your hand snaking to the back of his neck to deepen the kiss, standing on your tippy toes so you could reach his height. He grips your waist tighter, his tongue sliding across your bottom lip and raising goosebumps on your skin. Javier swirls your body to pin you against the wall, mouth over yours at all times.

Your whole world spins with frenzy, overcame by all the unfamiliar sensations that shook you entirely. You had never been kissed with such passion, with a hectic need that ran all the way to your feet. No one had ever made you felt this wanted before.

Javier was over the moon, part of him still incredulous of the fact that you were kissing him back. It didn't seem real, as if this was just another one of his wild fantasies replaying more and more vividly in his head. But it was real and even better than anything he could've pictured. It was consuming.

All the sleepless nights he had spent thinking about the many different ways he could make you his, the countless times he'd imagined himself showing you all the pleasure only he could provide.

But then again, you were so good and so sweet... All the things he could easily corrupt.

Why did he allow himself to feel like this?

You make a sound of protest when he parts from your lips, laying his forehead against yours and panting from the lack of oxygen. Your finger run through his hair while trying to settle down your breathing, a cheeky smile smooshed on your face.  His hold on you softens, one of his hands traveling to your temple, his fingertips mapping every single detail on your skin with smitten eyes. Breathing heavily, you lean in to kiss him again, your lips barely brushing against each other's as he pulled back.

"Javi," you whisper, your voice coming out almost as a plea, "what-"

"I'm sorry," He says again, sounding genuinely guilty. "I'm so sorry, corazón." You swallow hard, unable to understand what he meant. He seals a soft kiss to your forehead and you can't even begin to understand what just happened. "This was a mistake."

Your heart drops with that sentence and you're abruptly stripped away from the warmth of his body as he leaves your side. You want to cry at once, all from the pent-up frustration and sudden bafflement. 

"Javi, wait-" he's already opening the door to his place when you crouch to reach for your bag. "Please." In spite of your concerned calling, he doesn't seem to care, simply closing behind him.

You're left alone in the middle of a brooding, quiet hallway, staring blankly at his door. You want to beg him for an explanation, tear all the walls down and pull an answer out of him. But you know you can't.

Space. He just needs space to sort things out.

So, with your head and feelings all messed up, you go back to your apartment, mad and overall... Hurt.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Next morning, your alarm didn't go off.

Sure, throw more wood into the fire. Whatever.

You didn't sleep much, haunted by the ghost of Javier's lips on yours. Even now, in the solitude of your  bed, you trace the corners of your mouth trying to relive the memory. Yet, that emptiness in your chest didn't seem to fade away. No matter how hard you tried, his words wouldn't stop hammering your head.

This was a mistake.

He said that kissing you was a mistake.

Why? Because he was your co-worker? No. He'd shamelessly slept with many of his co-workers before. Maybe the reason was your friendly bond. Or, perhaps- could it be your age difference? Though Peña didn't come off as someone that would care about that.

For whatever reason, his actions made your blood boil. The more you thought about it —the way he handled things and how he treated you— the angrier you got.

So, naturally, you were late to the office. The last thing you wanted to do was draw his attention to you, but it was practically impossible given the circumstances. Still, you won't give him the satisfaction of seeing how affected you were by last night's incident.

Javier's eyes glued to yours the second you walked in the building, keeping your head held high and a polite smile as you greeted everyone and made your way to your desk. You were dazzling, even more than usual, and he wondered if it was just his mind playing games with him.

Your hands were full, carrying various documents that you held close to your chest; a light, white shirt with a couple buttons undone that bared your neck and collarbones, accentuating your breasts, grazing your figure. But what really got him on edge, was that obscenely tight pencil skirt you were wearing.

"Buenos días, Steve." You nod to the blonde agent.

"Good morning to you too," he said with a wink, watching as you went ahead to your own cubicle, which was right in front of theirs. "A bit late, aren't you?"

"I overslept," was the only explanation.

You didn't even acknowledge Javier's presence. No eye contact, no salute, nothing. He merely saw as you settled all documents down and sat behind your writing desk, paying no mind to him or anyone else as you started reading all the files and folders. Either consciously or not, you left the door to your place semi-open. Murphy followed his gaze, your actions towards his partner not going unnoticed by him. He snapped his fingers in front of the other man's face, bringing his attention back.

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'?" Steve countered, signaling imaginary quotation marks with his fingers. "What's going on between you two?"

A muscle jumped on Javier's neck, his stare wandering off. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on man!" He snorts, maintaining a low tone. "Don't play dumb. I've seen the way you look at her."

Murphy sits on his colleague's desk, grabbing his own coffee mug and settling to look down at him, deeply invested in the topic.

"Seriously?" The brunette man rubs his temples, seeing how determined his friend was. "I just think she's- you know... Attractive."

"Bullshit. Dig deeper, Javs."

The agent sighs in frustration. "The fuck do you want me to tell you, then? You seem to know everything already."

"I'm just thinking what could possibly be the reason why you haven't asked her out yet." He meditates. "Because, honestly, it's only a matter of time before someone else does." Javier's brows knit together in thought. "Just the other day Connie told me she rejected two guys in one night."

"Did she say why?" Steve shakes his head.

"It's pretty obvious, if you ask me."

"How so?" He asks, to which Murphy rubs his eyes with his thumbs, slowly counting to ten in his head.

"You two are fucking blind." He hurls, exasperated. "You like her, she clearly likes you too. What's the damn problem?"

"We don't like each other. That's high school shit, Steve." The mentioned man raised both brows at his comment. "I mean... It's different."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Peña breathes in deeply before doing so. "I don't know. We're... Complete opposites. She couldn't possibly reciprocate. Not like I would like her to, anyway."

Steve's lips pursed in a crooked smile. "So you do like her, then."

"Shit, of course I do!" He hissed. "I think."

"You think?" The blonde takes a sip from his coffee, engaged with the conversation.

"Yeah. I mean-" Javier clears his throat. "It's beyond just physical. That's what's messing with me." He plays with his blue tie when speaking. "Esta mierda me está atormentando. I can't rest well, her scent is all over me the whole damn day. Her eyes, man. I'd be doing the stupidest shit only for her to look my way. She has a contagious laugh..." He recalls, "I don't know if you've noticed."

"Uh-."

"Also, she'd just randomly start spitting the weirdest facts about literally anything. It's scary how much she knows. And I enjoy listening to her." He chuckles at his memories. "I can't get tired, really. I'm never tired of her. Anyone else... I have a limit. Joder. I could listen to her talking for hours and I'd be the happiest man ever. But, whatever this is... It's overwhelming. Cause I can't act on it."

Steve frowns. He couldn't believe that his friend, who was one of the most dedicated, gritty DEA agents he knew, was unable to act on his feelings for a girl. "So, I ask again... What's the problem?"

Before Peña could reply, another woman called their names. It was one of the secretaries with whom he also had had an affair with. Not that it mattered, though.

"Hey, is our translator here already?" She asked with a kind smile, standing in front of them.

"Yeah, she just arrived." Javier responds, "Is there anything we can help you with?" He points the folder she was holding.

"Oh, no. This isn't about that." She giggles, dismissing the question. "But now that you mention it- I'm aware that she's somewhat close to you, so... Do you happen to know if she's seeing anyone at the moment?" Steve shots him a cautious look at her inquiry, but he says nothing, remaining still as a stone.

"No. Not that we know of."

Javier's face twists with a sneer, painfully conscious of what his partner was doing with his answers. But he couldn't quite focus on them anymore, his eyes diverting to your location in hopes to catch a glimpse of your face. You were laid back on your chair, a pair of reading glasses sat on the bridge of your nose while scanning some papers. However, his attention drifted back to their conversation when the woman started explaining the reason of her doubt.

"My cousin is coming for the weekend and he asked me to show him around. It's kind of a set up, really, since my boyfriend's coming too. And well, I've gone out with her a couple of times. She's really nice and friendly... I figured she might be interested."

"I'm sure she'll say yes," Steve replied with animosity, "Where exactly do you plan on going?"

"Ah, there's this place downtown. It's not exactly a club, but a place to dance. Salsa and those sort of things."

The flashing image of you in a short dress, all sweaty while dancing closely with someone else had him feeling unsettled in seconds. Hell no. Once again his train of thought got lost as the woman went into your office, shutting the door behind her and leaving him with an awful taste of bitterness on his tongue.

"Fuck," he mutters, searching for a pack of smokes.

"Clock's ticking, Javs."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Time passes by quickly.

You come and go in between schedules, only staying in your office when you needed a break. Being Friday, most people had left already, but you still had a couple hours to fill in before going home. And since your work was pretty much done, you decide to sit back and relax, taking out a book from your purse. Although you don't get to read plenty before someone knocks on your door.

"Come in!" You shout in a calm tone, eyes still glued to the pages. Somehow, you knew exactly who it was even before he came in. "Agent Peña," you grit out, not bothering to glance in his direction, "how can I help you?"

He strode his way to the front of your desk, laying both palms down and leaning forwards. "I've been meaning to talk to you." He sounds grim, more serious than he's ever been with you before.

"I don't know if you can tell, but I'm a bit busy right now." Javier calls your name lowly, demanding your attention. Yet, you don't respond.

"Will you please look at me?" He barks in disheartenment. "Please."

You know deep down that if your eyes met his, all your barriers would crumble. But the man had a heavy presence, and it was one you couldn't quite ignore despite all your efforts. You put down the book, glaring up at him in defeat. And shit, you were right. The mere sight of him was all it took for your gaze to soften as he stood before you, his beige suit a bit wrinkled, hair slightly out of place and brown eyes round and big.

"What is it?" You huff, trying not to sound disturbed.

"I wanted to talk about yesterday. I-"

"What about yesterday?" He tilts his head to the side when you cut him off.

"Come on, cariño." Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. "Can we not do this?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand," you retort harshly, "Can we not do what? Act dumb? You are the one that said-"

"I know what I said." He states clearly, "I didn't mean it."

"Which part, exactly? The kiss? Or when you said that it was all a mistake?" Javier's hands rest on his hips as you carry on, "Look, I don't know what kind of treatment you receive from other women, but I'm not one of your pay girls, Peña."

His eyes narrow skeptically, "I'm aware."

You stand up from your seat, but don't approach him yet. "Right. Then why did you do it?" Your eyes pierce his soul with a certain spite. "Am I not good enough for you, Javier?"

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down his throat. "How can you say that?"

"That's how you made me feel," you remark.

For a lingering second, none of you say a thing; a tense silence floating between you as you shared an intense, absorbing stare. It was difficult to come up with a reply that wasn't an apology from his part, cause he was past asking for forgiveness over something he didn't regret. He was burdened with the words he said, but not the fact that he kissed you.

And you can't find it in yourself to step away when he moves closer to your body.

He was being unfair, you thought. Every little action he made added to his cruelty; how he'd reach his hands to cup your face, clearly aware of his power over you and the way his eyes were devotedly looking at yours... Why would he do this after the way he treated you yesterday?

What a mean, mean man.

"You have it all wrong, amor," he speaks softly. "I'm the one that's not good enough."

It is as though he just slapped you across the face. "Don't give me that crap," you sulk out, "if you're gonna reject me, better be honest about your reasons." His hands slowly loose their hold on you as he is taken aback with your response, angling his shoulders to square off with you. "Do you not want me? It's okay if I'm not your type, but-"

For a second time, the irrational part of Javier's brain takes over his body and lets it do the work.

He kisses you again, and as of now, he does it most ardently. Just as simple as that, the primal instinct inside you gives in to him. It was unimaginable to think of any other sort of outcome.

He's rough in comparison to the previous kiss you shared; all tongue and teeth, heated and reckless. His hands are never steady, going from your hips to your ass while the other one grips the nape of your neck. You weren't any less eager: fingers running through his hair and fisting his suit jacket. Javier says your name in between the kiss, desperate as he messily tosses aside all the documents on your desk to sit you on top, establishing between your legs.

"How dare you imply I don't want you?" his voice is raspy when he pulls back, cupping your face in his big hand, fingertips digging in your cheeks. His lips move to your ear; heavy, hot breathes hit your skin and ruffle your hair while sending shocks of arousal to your core. "When you've been the only thing I've desired for months. Months, sweetheart. You know the torture you've been putting me through when walking around in these outrageously tight skirts?" You gulp, feeling heat spread on your lower stomach. "Answer, corazón."

"No-" you merely whisper, "I didn't know you... Looked at me like that." He laughs dryly, lips pressed alongside your jaw. "I hoped you did, though."

"Ah, so you did wish to torture me." He pulls your hair to throw your head back and further expose the skin of your neck, ripping a whine from your mouth. "What a merciless woman you are, sweetheart."

You smile unconsciously as your thighs cage his hips. "Me? I'm the one that's had to bear with your constant flirting, watching as you seduced every single woman that you crossed paths with. Oh, and let's not forget all the gossip and rumors I heard about you in the office..."

You feel his smirk graze your skin when his wet kisses slide to your collarbones. "What do they say?"

"That you're..." it becomes hard to talk when your mind can't think straight, "Amazing." His hand sets on your lower back in order to bring your body closer to his. "And so big..."

He comes back to your lips and you welcome him with an open mouth. Javier grunts when you mildly scratch his scalp and the sound makes your legs shake. Your lips only separate when oxygen suddenly becomes a necessity, and the way he looks down at you —hungrily, eyes darkened with lust—, makes your insides burn. His hand takes your wrist and carefully slides it across his shoulder and above his abdomen, letting your palm rest over the front of his pants, allowing you to feel how hard he's gotten just from the make out.

"See for yourself," he grumbles hoarsely. With a vicious grin, you apply pressure to his bulge, relishing in the throaty groan he lets out. "Still think I don't want you?"

"M’not sure." In response, Javier hums in your ear. "I might need a little more convincing."

"Oh, you will have it, corazón," he coos. "Yesterday you said that no man has ever given you an orgasm. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Can I change that?" The heat in your core expands to every cell in your body at the proposal.

"Please," something shifts in his gaze when you verbally express your desire for him. He is finally getting what he has longed for during all this time.

At this point, none you could care any less about the place. The building was nearly empty anyways. Only now, with his head buried between your breasts and fingers caressing the flesh of your thighs, do all the thoughts and fears in Javier's mind dissipate.

He's got you were he wanted you all along.

He unbuttons your blouse, but doesn't remove your bra, his hands too busy while pulling your skirt all the way up to your hips, exposing your plain black underwear. A cocky smile spreads across his face at the sight of how soaked you are already. You start panting, growing embarrassed when he lowers himself to his knees in front on you, avoiding all eye contact.

"What are you doing?" You blurt out, suddenly a bit shy.

"What?" He holds your knees to keep your legs apart, staring solely at your face. "Don't tell me that..." his expression becomes incredulous, "Three years and that boy never tasted this pussy?"

The heat on your face grows exponentially, "No one has."

"Shit, I'm one lucky bastard," he mumbles, mouth roaming your inner thighs. Javier senses how tense you are, probably feeling self-conscious. "Don't think too much about it, sweetheart. Just allow yourself to feel good, okay? I'll make sure to give you a good time."

"But-" air catches in your lungs when he nibbles the sensitive skin, "what about you?"

"Me?" He chuckles shortly, "Trust me, corazón. I do this mainly for myself."

You babble something that he doesn't quite hear, his fingers hooking on your panties to tug them down, dazed with excitement. He discards the clothing carelessly and throws your legs over his broad shoulders. The agent's eyes bore into yours, enjoying your flustered behavior as he calls your name soothingly.

"Look at me, hermosa," it sounds like an order, despite the soft tone. "Look at me."

You oblige, breath catching in your throat when he licks his lips and finally gets the view of your slick, exposed pussy. He dives in without wasting any time, flattening his tongue against your clit, circling a couple of times before easing a finger into you, moving it in and out at a steady pace.

"Fuck, Javi-" you cry, trying to muffle your moans in case anyone's around. And you practically feel him laugh at your vain attempts of keeping them on the low.

You briefly shut your eyes when he adds a second finger, curling them to hit all the right spots, making you throw your head back. You're positively dripping down your work desk, knuckles going white while holding it to keep yourself grounded.

"Come on, preciosa," his voice forces you to glance back at him, "told you to look." He takes his fingers out and you can't help but whine at the emptiness he left behind. "None of that, corazón." He reaches for your arm, taking your hand and placing it on his soft, fluffy hair. "Use me."

You can possibly cum just from that. The single image of him kneeled before you, head between your legs, eyes dark and greedy while asking to be used by you. It seemed like an image pulled from one of your darkest fantasies.

And fucking hell, did he look like one dark fantasy himself.

Your fingers run through his curls at the time as his mouth starts working you open, his tongue parting your folds and lapping up your slick avidly, tasting from every angle. The sudden action makes you squeal in surprise and pleasure, your legs tightening around his head instinctively. Consequently, he groans involuntarily and you mumble an apology, his hands coming to keep your thighs spread.

"Don't apologize," he says breathlessly, "that was fucking hot."

As he eats you out, his tongue finds the places that made your body shake and have your hips grinding against his face. He can't help but bask in the glorious view of you, all splayed out for him, the curve of your breasts as your chest rises and falls from the ragged breathing, cheeks flushed red and plump lips parted while looking down at him, eyes now hooded beneath heavy lids. He dreamt about this before. How you'd taste like, what you'd look like, the noises you'd make. Fuck, he saw this exact moment for weeks, playing in his sleep like a loop he couldn't escape from, waking up every morning with a hard on he could rarely get rid of with a simple cold shower.

This- shit, he's mesmerized.

His right hand coasts down to palm himself through his pants, just enough to relieve some of the ache he felt. He moans and the action sends vibrations throughout your body.

"Yes- keep going, please..." you feel so close now, your whole body trembling and abdomen tightening. "Javi, that's amazing."

You're euphoric, experiencing something unlike anything you've had before, aware of sensations you didn't know you could feel. His nose nudges your clit repeatedly and everything simply explodes. You pull his hair as a warning, eliciting a deep, guttural groan from him; but Javier simply grasps your thighs harder.

It takes seconds for you to reach your high, eyes teary and vision blurry from the shocking ecstasy that this new experience brought. He licks you clean before standing up slowly, softly stroking your exposed skin and aiming to grab a tissue from your desk, helping you rearrange your skirt and underwear.

"How was that?" he asks, wiping over his mustache while looking at you mischievously.

You can't think of any way to answer that could explain what you just felt; instead, you grab his tie and drag him towards you. He laughs gleefully when you search for his lips, covering half your face with his palm, gently brushing your cheekbone with his thumb before actually kissing you.

This time it's different. Deep, but not as hungry; simply affectionate. You can't breathe and it feels like you're floating. His eyes seem out of focus when your lips set apart and you can tell just how stupidly drunk he is. Drunk on you.

"Never thought I could feel... I wouldn't even know how to describe it," you mumble, tracing the lapels of his jacket.  "I didn't even think it was possible to be so... Wet, I guess."

He cackles. "Glad to know I'm doing my job right," you give him a half smile in return. "Though I still can't believe that somewhere in this world there's a son of a bitch who was lucky enough to have you by his side for years, and never even tried to give you head." You roll your eyes, slightly embarrassed. "Seriously. If I were your man, I'd be begging for you to give me a taste. A la mierda eso, I'll beg you now."

Despite the joking note, he kind of meant it. Now that he had taken a bite from the forbidden fruit, he needed the whole damn thing.

"Gracias, Javi." You peck his lips, mind still clouded from the post-orgasm bliss. "Can I return the favor?"

He blinks a couple of times, "I- you don't have to. I didn't do it because I was expecting you to-"

"I know, Javier," you reassure. "But trust me... I want to." 

One of these days you're going to give the poor man a heart-attack. Somehow, you always manage to say the things exactly how he wants to hear them and precisely how he never expects you to say them. 

"Está bien, corazón."

You press a hand to his chest and softly push him backwards, "Take a seat." He lifts an eyebrow in surprise, but still does as told, immersed in this new dynamic. 

He sits on your chair, legs spread just enough to give you room to settle. It's now your turn to be on your knees for him, every move you made being monitored by his keen eyes. Javier's heart is beating so fast it actually hurts. He feels as if this was his first time getting blown, like he doesn't even know what to do with himself despite his experienced record. You're fairly inexperienced in this area, but he gave you enough confidence and safety to ask. Your face rests on his inner thigh as you look up at him through your lashes.

"Tell me, Javi. How do you like it?" you ask, losing coyness and slowly unbuckling his belt without breaking eye contact. "Would you like me to gag on it?" His eyes widen at the question, "Do you prefer it if I lick or spit? Tell me how to please you, Javier."

He inhales sharply, "fucking hell", you smile at him when pulling down the zipper delicately, "I want you to stop talking or else I might just lose it."

"Oh," you palm him through his briefs, feeling his hard, hot cock throbbing under your touch, "so you like my voice?"

He tangles his fingers in your hair, "I like everything about you, if that's where we're going." Not a second after speaking, the phone on your desk started ringing and he shot you a cagey glance.

"Answer it," you tell him, pressing light kisses to his clothed crotch.

"¿Ahora?" Your eyes sparkle with a certain naughtiness that he didn't think you were capable of having.

"Sí, Javier. Pick up the phone." Cautious, he reaches for it and takes the call reluctantly.

"Peña," he sulks out as you swirl your tongue over the damp spot that had formed on his underwear. His eyes shut for a split second and his entire body shivers. "No está aquí. ¿Le paso algún mensaje?"

To be fair, you were there, probably just a little too tongue-tied to answer. There was no shame in admitting how much you were enjoying pulling him out and rejoicing yourself in every single contented sigh, jolt, or twitch he made when you started stroking him. Whomever was calling clearly had an important matter with you, since he wasn't hanging up and was struggling to keep up with the other side of the line, simply grumbling affirmations such as 'sí, entiendo, ajá'. And you were painfully teasing the man, as if he wasn't worked up enough.

"The rumors were true, I see..." you ramble and watch him smirk at your comment.

You give a firm squeeze to the base, pumping a few times before twisting at the head, already leaking all over himself. He can't look at you and he's set on that, one hand white-knuckling the edge of your desk as the other holds the phone, mouth agape. But it was unfair. You wanted his attention; all of it. Even if that meant getting caught.

So, in order to get it, you slowly lick the tip and gather the precum that oozed there on your tongue, growing rather fond of its salty flavor. He snarls, eyeing you in a grave manner. But for god's sake, the sole look on your face when taking his cock fully into your mouth could send him into oblivion.

"Yo se lo haré saber." Was the last thing Javier said before abruptly ending the call, immediately letting out the lewdest moan you've heard of him so far. And that alone is making you wet all over again. "You truly are something else," he rumbles between heavy, shallow breaths. "Putting on a little show like that- Fuck."

His hips jump upwards when you take him farther, his fingers running through your hair as he mumbles an apology. Your jaw goes slack once you start bobbing your head up and down his length, your throat and mouth feeling so full of him, lips cradled around his length as if it was your life purpose.

He was panting, groaning and calling your name repeatedly, murmuring praises that encouraged you to take him deeper. His thighs tremble every time you hollow your cheeks around him or run your tongue on the underside of his dick. Your hand goes to massage his balls and he throws his head back in sheer pleasure, cursing under his breath.

Never had you given such a messy blowjob before, drool dripping all over him and your free hand going to rub your clit over your panties, cunt aching for him once more. But he throughly enjoyed it like this. How you moaned around him, the way you lapped at his slit and sucked him earnestly. And it goes without saying how much you loved it too.

"Shit, that's it-" you know he's close when his words become incoherent, his breath disjointed and muscles tightened.

You pull back shortly, your hand still jerking him off, "I want to swallow it," you purr, his hand gripping the back of your neck.

"Yes, god- yes."

Despite the lightheaded feeling, you take him in your mouth again, going as far as you could. His eyes lock with yours and that's all it takes for his load to spill all over your tongue and down your throat, his orgasm hitting hard. You do as you said, not giving much thought to it and purely admiring how fine he looked in this precise moment, absolutely lost in his pleasure. Once he finally rode it out, you release him, gently kissing the tip. He sighs loudly, his soft whimpers barely audible as the aftershocks of his high strike his body.

You can't help but smile as you stand in your feet, knees surely bruised. He looks up at you, shaking his head and mirroring your expression before rearranging his pants and straightening his suit. It's like he was seeing you for the first time, now in a completely different light.

"Want a ride home?" your response was obvious.

Javier had completely forgotten the reason why he came to your office in the first place.

And the lack of information gave you the wrong idea of why he really came looking for you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Saturdays were meant to be enjoyed. They were supposed to be rest days, used to spend time with friends or family, maybe go to a club or join someone for a roadtrip. They definitely weren't meant to be dull, and let them pass by with tons of shitty work.

Javier and Steve had been all day locked up in Murphy's apartment, going through some of the most recent information regarding the cartel. Connie was there too, not really participating but giving them moral support and, more importantly, beers. Peña constantly went in and out, going to his own apartment to gather some more papers, and even taking a second shower to clear his head. He was hugely stressed.

"I'm spent." He complained. "Nothing new is going to happen today, I'm dropping this for the night."

His friend nodded in agreement, suddenly distraught by his wife cursing out of nowhere. "Everything alright?"

"It's raining," she said, looking through the window. Javier wasn't paying that much attention until she mentioned your name. "She had a date tonight. I helped her pick up a dress and..."

His head turned at that, wincing. "A date?"

"Yeah, sort of. Mia invited her. You know, the secretary." Steve's eyes narrowed.

"You said you talked to her," he hushed. 

"I did..." Javier clears his throat, "I mean, no. Not exactly."

The blonde frowns, "so what happened, then?" his partner shrugs, a dim grin drawn on his lips. "Actually, I don't want to know."

"I dropped her off here," he explained, "after... Well, it doesn't matter. There just wasn't a particular talk about the subject."

Steve intends to say something, but the other man solely ignores him, gathering his stuff quickly in order to not dive in that distinct topic that could only spur him on in the wrong ways. And frankly, he didn't want to talk about it. All the choices he made were mistaken and it was entirely his own fault.

So what if you had a date? How did that concern him? The other night you were pretty clear about wanting to have something with 'no feelings, no strings attached, just fun'. He was merely helping you out, as a friend. Nothing else. Because, at the end of the day, he couldn't really be anything else besides that. And he wasn't able to figure out if he wanted anything more; much less deserve it.

Javier walked off to his apartment, mind wrapped around you.

The rain had gotten worse since he left, lightings striking across the sky and raindrops crashing violently against the closed windows. The weather did not seem to help dissipate his troubled thinking. He didn't even realize his feet had stopped moving right outside your door, nor when his hand knocked on it.

You were shocked to hear that you had visitors, and the feeling sank deeper when you saw him standing there with a stern face, arms crossed above his chest. He appeared to be upset, in a way you hadn't yet seen him. However, when his eyes roamed your body you were able to pick up on his tensing muscles.

"Am I walking in on something?" he questions lightheartedly.

You shake your head and farther open the door to invite him in. "I had plans today but we had to reschedule."

Javier decided to play dumb, "What sort of plans?" You dismissed the inquiry with a subtle hand gesture, locking behind him. "You look stunning, by the way."

It was nothing but true and it made it difficult for him to focus on whatever he came here to do. Your hair and makeup were done differently tonight and the red dress you were wearing wasn't exactly discrete, but neither revealing.

"Thanks. You yourself look very handsome too." He snorted sarcastically. "But I bet you already knew that."

In your eyes he always did look charming, but at the moment the vibe was outstanding. His hair was curlier than usual, —probably due to the humidity in the air— and he was wearing a black shirt with plenty of undone buttons that gave a nice view of his golden skin, paired with those pants that would just stick to him like a second skin. There was also that tension in his posture that gave a certain roughness to his exterior, in some way making him more alluring.

"So, what brings you here? As I said, I had plans but now that they're off the table..." He wasn't looking at you, playing around with his fingers, "Would you like to watch a movie? I still have the dvd we rented-"

"I need to talk to you." He blurted out, readjusting the watch on his wrist.

You blinked in confusion, "Sure, what is it?"

His mouth dried all of the sudden, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I- don't know how to say this..."

"Maybe sit back and- I'll pour you a drink." You don't wait around for his reply, walking straight to the kitchen. The place wasn't big, so everything was pretty much in the same space.

Javier sat down on the big, brown armchair, feeling the leather crack under his weight. Beside him there was a small reading table decorated with a vintage lamp and an ashtray that you had gotten specifically for whenever he came to visit, along with a pack of smokes. The lights in your apartment were warm and almost all of them were on due to the lack of light that the night and the rainclouds provided. But even now, the chill air from outside could somehow still be felt. Truth be told, it was actually quite cozy to you.

"It's about yesterday," you hear him say while poring some whiskey into two glasses. The mention of the subject makes your heart flutter.

Talk about deja vu.

"Yesterday?" Anxiety drifted your thoughts through the worst scenarios possible. "Oh, don't worry about it, Peña. You don't have to give me 'the talk'. We're still friends, alright? Nothing's changed."

You couldn't possibly tell how he physically flinched at your declaration, neither how much it stung. You cross the living room to sit on the couch across him, barely on the edge of it so your bare legs were still flushed to his knees. He takes the glass you offer, but instead of drinking, he sets it down on the table.

"So it meant nothing to you," the man asks in a low voice. "Right, cariño?"

Shit, of course it meant something. But you could not tell him. Not him.

Javier was the type of man that would sleep with you and then move on. He wasn't a jerk, but this heartless fame that he had didn't help. Telling him about your crush and how the events that went down yesterday simply encouraged it was like signing a death sentence to any bond that you two had at the time. And you sincerely didn't want to say goodbye to whatever it was that you both had built together.

"Yeah, we were just fooling around," you said, taking a sip from the alcohol before placing the glass next to his.

"Fooling around," he echoes your phrase, his mustache twitching prior to swallowing down the drink.

"Whoa- Is everything okay? I feel like you're keeping stuff to yourself." His behavior was starting to get you worried.

"I'm merely realizing how stupid I am." Javier's hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes and he sloppily takes one out.

"What do you mean?" You wonder, moving your feet nervously.

"It doesn't matter," he objects, a sardonic air in his voice and mannerisms. "You got a light?"

Puzzled, you take a lighter from your purse, glancing at him in bewilderment. "Did you want it to mean something?"

"Maybe," he shrugs, "I don't know."

The fag hangs loosely from his lips, but you don't hand him the flame just yet, your next movement catching him completely off-guard.

You stand to sit on his lap, forcing his focus on nothing else besides your presence, your body, on you. His chin tilts upwards, eyes fixed on your face with a perplexed spark.

"Talk to me, Javi," you plead softly, your left hand resting on his exposed chest as the other lights the end of the orange filter, the fire illuminating his dark, beautiful gaze. "For once, be honest me. O por lo menos sé honesto contigo mismo."

His heart pounds relentlessly and he's absolutely sure you can tell. Despite the cold ambience, his skin was burning hot under your touch, muscles finally starting to relax underneath you. Javier takes a long drag, his elbow propped up on the armrest as his other hand lays flat on your spine.

"You already know everything, corazón."

"I do not, Peña." You clutch his shirt in anger. "What's up with you? Ever since I came to Colombia you've been turning my life upside down. You never wanted me to go out with anyone, always using the same stupid excuses about it being 'too dangerous', as if I was just some silly kid that couldn't take care of herself." He feels your weight shift on top of him, and it's so distracting that he can barely keep up. "But you also didn't seem to want me. Every other single woman in this country was worthy of your time and recognition; everyone but me. I've been open with you, I've been vulnerable, and you... you just keep sending this mixed signals that are driving me insane! This push and pull game has to stop. What- What do you want from me?"

Screw it.

Screw all of it.

The nicotine in his system kicked in, your smell probably more intoxicating than the alcohol he just drank. Javier wanted answers, but he needed to be straightforward in order to get them.

"You, sweetheart. I want you."

A small frown forms on your face, "Me?" your voice comes out unsure, "Why me?"

His head jerks backwards, hitting the backrest of the seat, a cloud of smoke dancing in between you from the red, burning dart. "You're seriously asking me why I like you?"

"Clearly."

He laughs wryly. "Yo qué coño he de saber, hermosa. I genuinely don't know. 'Been trying to figure it out for a while now, but it's a dead end. You're naive and short tempered, but also sweet and smart. Too fucking much, I might say. Too smart to be seduced by me." You giggle and as he said before, it's contagious. "Which is why I never told you. I didn't want to... Lose you."

And then it clicks for you.

It wasn't that Javier didn't want to be with you. It was that he didn't want you to be part of his world. Yes, you are young and certainly unaware of many things. In contrast, he feels corrupted. He was part of a crude, violent world that would endanger your safety, sanity— your precious ignorance that kept your life so pure. He convinced himself you didn’t feel the same so he wouldn’t have to face the truth.

It must've been hard for him to admit, you know it. Cause it was for you as well.

"Javi, you know the first thing my coworkers told me when I started hanging out with you?" He smiles playfully and shakes his head briefly. "That they knew I was gullible and I shouldn't fall for your gentlemanly façade, cause I'd only end up with a broken heart." Javier stares back into your eyes fixedly, unfazed by your words. You wriggle on his lap, straddling him. "You wanna know the truth?"

"Enlighten me."

Your dress is hitched up, the naked skin of your legs taunts him, your knees spread around his thighs in a way that has his head spinning. You're electrifyingly close. And yet so far at the same time.

"I tried to listen. But failed miserably," you say lowly. "I- " the pads of his fingers rub soothing circles on your upper leg, "I kinda... Fell for you. Shit, I'd get so jealous when your 'informants' would ring the office's phone."

He smiles, full lips parting around the cigarette. "I fucking knew it." You snort, tracing his collarbones with your index. "Why didn't you do something?"

"I didn't want to be tossed aside," you admit in shame.

His eyebrows twinge slightly as he ashes the filter, "You really think that low of me?", he scoffs.

Up until now, you hadn't realize that those words could potentially hurt him. "No. But I was scared and had to look out for myself. After one disastrous long-term relationship, falling for someone as exciting and... outgoing, wasn't my most clever move."

His body goes limp below you, eyes meeting yours with a hint of yearning mixed with soreness. "I see. I'm an asshole that will break your heart. Anything else?"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Javi, that's not what I meant..." you cry, but his gaze is dark and stern, dangerous to a certain extent. It makes your stomach turn to think that you might've offended him. "You know I-"

Nothing else comes out, phrases getting stuck in your throat. His hands are no longer on you and the silence and impassivity he exudes are unbearable.

"Show me," he coaxes, and it takes you second to comprehend what he means, until he talks again. "Show me you're not scared anymore."

In other words, Javier wanted you to prove him how much you wanted him. He blows the smoke right in front of your face and other than finding it annoying, you think it's rather hot.

You duck down, both your hands on his shoulders as you shift your weight on top of him. He still doesn't move a a muscle, solely watching as your lips inch closer to his. When they barely brush against the other's, he vaguely turns his face away, doing this a couple of times as a way to provoke you.

"¿Acaso no quieres besarme?" you grumble.

"Al contrario, corazón." Peña admits, "Pero quiero que tú también lo desees. Quiero que tengas tantas ganas de besarme que no puedas contenerte. That way you'll understand what I've felt for the last five months."

So that was the catch. You give him a smug smile, snatching the cigarette from between his fingers and taking a drag under his piercing gaze, blindly putting it out before crashing your lips against his. Your hands hold his face, thumbs running along his jawline as he eagerly kisses you back. The agent groans when you exhale into his mouth, the smoke rolling off your tongue right into his own.

His hands coast up your thighs, slowly making their way to your ass beneath the fabric of your dress as you sigh against his lips when he firmly squeezes the flesh. The kiss is sloppy and abrasive, needy and sensual. He holds the back of your neck with one hand while his lips travel south, caressing and nipping your jaw and bare shoulders.

You grind your hips against his slowly, feeling the excitement between his legs and your own arousal growing. You watch as he delicately tugs down the straps of your dress, letting them fall loosely on your arms and deepening the low-cut on the front, your breasts spilling out.

"No bra? You really had everything sorted out, didn't you?" His voice is lust-strained, eyes gazing up before burying his face between your tits.

"Christ-"

Your nails dig on his shirt when you find a steady pace that creates just the right amount of friction between your clit and the hard bulge on his pants. All the while, Javier tweaks your nipple with his fingers, flicking his tongue over the other— thus, you become noisier.

"Don't worry, hermosa," he whispers, "I'll make sure to treat you how you deserve. So you won't think of running off with another man ever again."

You hum, ruffling his hair while he worked at your sensitive bud, groping your breast with a hand as the other guided the movements of your hips. You're wet in seconds, the smell of his soap making you all fuzzy, added to the constant stimulation he was providing.

"No, Javier." You huff, nuzzling your face on the crook of his neck, peppering kisses all over the exposed area.

Both his hands are now on your hips, barely holding as he lets you do as you please. The buttons of his shirt scrape your delicate nipples, increasing the ache on your cunt. He's panting, growing weak with the sound of your moans, the feeling of your lips on him, your tongue licking the hot skin, —strictly where his pulse could be felt— and Jesus- the way you moved had him throbbing painfully. You take a second to contemplate in gratification just how wild you could drive a man even without actually letting him fuck you. It made you realize exactly how much power you had over him.

"No? No, what?" He muses.

"I don't want any other man. You've ruined me for them." Wordlessly, he follows your motions as you sit back on his legs. His eyebrows jump up when he sees the mess you'd made on his pants, guessing your underwear must be drenched by now. Your fingers creep towards his belt, leisurely undoing it along with the fly. "I didn't want anyone else. And after what happened at my office... I was doomed."

The man exhales heavily, running a hand through your locks. His eyes gleam endearingly —such a rare sight on him—, something you're certain it's strictly for you.

"Kiss me again."

It doesn't sound like an order, but a plea.

And how could you say no to him?

When your lips crash together once more, it's like heaven on earth. Everything's blurry, even the storm outside disappeared. All that matters is this precise moment.

His fingers loom over your panties, gasping in your mouth at the dampness that welcomes him. He rubs his thumb over your clit, snatching a small whine from you as he impatiently pushes the fabric to the side. Instinctively, your hand slithers towards his lower abdomen, grasping the base of his already hard cock to pull it out and slowly coming to rub the wet tip. Gently, you bite his bottom lip before breaking apart from the kiss, making him groan in protest. His digits glide between your folds as he eases two fingers inside, making your knees feel weak around him.

"Fuck, Javi-" you grip his shoulder for support when he adds a third one, fascinated by how responsive your body was reacting. "Please..."

"Hm?" he kisses your temple lovingly, "What do you need, sweetheart?"

"You. Inside." How pathetic, you thought. Begging like this— well, it was certainly something a man like him would love. But you'd never experienced this sort of passion, where you desperately wanted to get dicked-down. Javier showed what it is to want, and to be wanted. "Please, I can't- wait any longer."

"Here?" a faint nod, "you want to take control?"

Timidly, you tug at his shirt and search for his eyes. "I've- I have never done this before... Been on top, I mean."

The agent snorts in disbelief. "Seriously? Can't fucking believe it." He still work at your core, ripping out silly whimpers from you. "No te preocupes por eso, corazón. I can guide you, if that's what you want."

"Yes." You reply almost immediately, "Of course, only if you'd like that too-" he takes his fingers out and guides them straight to his lips, licking them clean.

"I'll do anything you ask, hermosa. Just say the word."

For the love of god.

"You can do with me as you please, Javier." You utter, "I'm yours anyway."

His eyelashes bat twice, taking in your words. Then, his lips curl up in a smile and things happen very quick, in a way you can barely register what's going on. He holds you up with one arm, pulling his pants down just enough to give himself some mobility and manhandling you into a position were you could receive him with no trouble. This way, the head grazes your entrance and the sensation is already making your nerves buzz.

"Go on, sit on it."

You use the back of the seat for support and let the man guide you, feeling your back arch in ecstasy as you slowly adapt to his size. He stretches your walls deliciously, though it takes a lot of effort not to collapse on top of him.

"That's it, baby. You're doing so good,” Javier says, voice shaky between shallow breaths. "You look so pretty taking me like this."

"You're so big-" you manage to say, your hands digging into the leather material to keep yourself put together as you settle every last inch of him inside you. And indeed, he was fucking huge in comparison to anyone else you had before.

"Don't close your eyes," he tells you, "Look at me. Mírame a los ojos, preciosa." And so you do, his dark, ardent gaze is all you can see. "Look into my eyes when you ride."

He fills you up entirely and his words make your chest flutter, absolutely lost in everything he was giving you; his scent, his stare, his body. Simply him. Javier Peña.

You're determined to please him, to show that you can be everything he's ever wanted and more. In the midst of all, you lay a hand on his chest for stability as your hips roll to set a pace, struggling to maintain focus when his cock was hitting spots inside that continuously sent drops of liquid pleasure down your spine.

"That's my girl," he coos, pressing light-feathery kisses to your jaw. "My beautiful girl."

Oh, that was it.

His voice, filled with lust and admiration, makes your head spin and heart pound relentlessly. Even though you want to say something in return, you can't muster up the words, reckless cries being the only sound leaving your lips.

You have completely lost any sanity left in you, consumed by this new light of passion that he has managed to ignite. And Javier loves it. He loved that etching confidence in your eyes and the way your tits bounced in front of his face as you jumped up and down his cock, moaning his name. He's in fucking paradise.

His hands slither towards your ass, splaying his palms to hold you. He helps you out, thrusting his hips up deeply, harshly; filling every spot you were unable to. Your bodies move in synch, unconsciously attuned to recognize each other's desires. It amazes you just how much fulfillment you can receive from sex, when in the past it was nothing more but pain and nuisance, a simple duty to make a man happy. Now you see it: your pleasure was his pleasure too. It became crystal clear with each kiss, every touch or shared glance.

"Javi- I can't..." inevitably, you collapse on his shoulder, your legs growing weaker by the second.

You feel warm all over, the storm sounds mixed with the filthiness of his groans and sexual demeanors thickened the air. He embraces you with one arm around your waist and a hand on the back of your neck, keeping you still and taking over the situation. Your fingernails lightly scratch his scalp as he grinds his cock inside you, building an amazing heat between your thighs and making that bundle of nerves pulse each time it grazed the buttons of his shirt.

In the thick of the moment, you lick the delicate area in the underside of his ear, raising goosebumps on his skin and drawing a gruffly moan from his lips. He can tell how close you are, in fact, he can feel it; your pussy swallowing him whole and clenching tightly around his throbbing shaft, edging him further.

"I won't last," you warn, dragging your nails over his shoulders, under the shirt. "Javi, it's too much- I feel so..."

"Fuck- I know, corazón," he grumbles, his thrusts become rougher and it makes your head spin. "Say it again."

You know what he wants to hear, it's perfectly simple to figure out.

For heaven's sake, he looks divine. His lips slightly parted, head thrown back and a fire gleaming behind his brown orbs, focused merely on you. He grounds you with a grip of steel on your hip while your fingertips roam across his features, wanting to imprint this exact moment in your mind forever.

"I'm yours, Javi." It comes out as a devoted prayer as he leans forward to kiss the hollow of your throat, his teeth and mustache teasing your reddened skin.

"That's right," he grunts, the sound of his hoarse breaths and your dripping cunt suddenly being muffled by a whir in your ears and your vision going hazy. 

Javier takes great pride in your corrupted expression and the broken whines that escape your mouth when you finally reach your high. His pace quickens and he cradles you in his arms, your hands enveloping his neck as your whole body quivers from the intensity of your orgasm, still crashing into you. He can't hold back his own noises, chasing his release desperately while also fucking you through yours. This angle where his lower body is firmly pressed against your pelvis applies new pressure to your clit in a way that has you calling for god.

And the way you soak him down to his thighs, the way you squeeze around his length— has him coming with one last, deep thrust of his hips. He calls your name but you can barely hear it, too distracted by the warmth of his cum inside you.

Even after he's finished, Javier won't let go of you. Not that you want him to anyway.

He takes a second to revel in the moment, knowing he had been craving this ever since he laid eyes on you. You can feel his heart hammering under you, feel the way he —rather slowly— softens inside and both your bodies go limb.

And still, he refuses to part, swaying a palm across your bare back. You feel sore, sticky, but overall, serene. At peace. 

"Javi?" you say his name and it sounded perfectly poised despite your exhausted exterior.

"Mhm?" your hot breath hits his golden skin as you try to settle down your accelerated pulse and failing miserably at the sight of his adoring smile. "What is it, preciosa?"

"Would you stay the night?" He laughs breathlessly at your unsure tone.

"On one condition," he muses, picking your interest. "Promise you won't go out on that date."

"I don't know..." you play dumb, bucking up to get on your feet while struggling with your wobbly legs. "It's not exactly a date so, does it matter?"

You rearrange your dress and ruined underwear, settling on the couch beside him as he mirrors your action.

"Not really, no," he's very aware of your taunting and is willing to lead you on. "But you've made me greedy. Now I want you all to myself."

His words draw a smirk on your face. "Are you saying you'd be jealous?" The agent shrugs, aiming for another cigarette. "I won't go. Though, I ought to give Mia a good excuse for canceling our plans."

Javier smiles cockily, taking the unlit dart to his lips. "Just tell her you've already got a man waiting for you."

[cherrycola27]

false god

Series Warnings: Mythology!AU. Language, alcohol, drinking. Military inaccuracies. Mutual pining, unrequited love. Allusions to and full smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Individual chapter warnings will come as needed. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Mastelist Previous Part Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 14: Church

"Yes?" Bradley looks up at you to be sure. Afraid that maybe his ears are playing tricks on him.

"Yes, Bradley. I'll marry you." You assure him. He jumps up from the floor and kisses you. You lean forward and wrap your arms around him. You lose your balance, and both of you tumble to the title in a heap of giggles. Hyrda and Cerberus come to see what is going on, looking at the two of you more confused than anything.

"Wait! I haven't shown you the best part!" Bradley shoots up and darts back to your bedroom. He comes back moments later and reveals that he has already bought a matching band for your ring, and one for himself.

"You already bought bands? What if I had said no?" You ask him.

"I guess we'll never know." He replies with a smirk. "I know we can't have a real wedding, but I thought maybe we could go to Lookout Point, say some vows and exchange rings. If you wanted." He looks at you shyly.

"That would be nice, but, actually—I might have a better idea." You say to him. "What, Angel? I'm all ears." He tells you.

"I never thought I would get married, but even so, I always wanted a traditional wedding. In ancient Greece, weddings were a three day event, and technically, according to ancient customs, we are already married because we live together, but I'd like to have a semi-tradional ceremony. Could we do that?" You look at him sheepishly.

"Absolutely, just tell me what I need to do." Bradley smiles at you.

"Go put on something nice, and get the keys to my Cobra, and leave the rest to me." You tell Bradley. He nods his head and takes off to the bedroom.

Once he's dressed, you grab a scarf and blindfold him. His confused at first, but you assure him that it's in the name of tradition. He can't see you in your wedding attire beforehand. You sit him on the couch before returning to your closet. You go to the back and find the dark garment bag tucked away.

You unzip it and pull out a beautiful black lace dress with long, off the shoulder sleeves. You put it on along with sandals and simple makeup. You don't have a veil, so you find one of your driving scarves that match it the best. You tie it around your hair before going to the kitchen and grabbing a ceramic plate.

Once you have everything you need, you carefully lead Bradley, who is in a black suit with a crisp white shirt to your car.

He spends the entire drive, giddy, and talking to you about how happy he is and how excited he is that you're going to be his wife.

We you turn into Lookout Point, you're thankful that no one else is there. You quickly cast a cloaking charm so that it stays that way. Once you're parked, you help Bradley out of the car and walk with him towards the cliffs.

"Alright. We are here." You say to him. He unties the blind fold and his eyes light up when he sees you. A few tears spring forward, and his breath catches in his throat as he takes sight of you, his bride, his Angel.

"You look—wow." He tells you, unable to find the right words. "Thank you." You tell him with a teary smile.

"I know I told you that I wanted this to be as traditional as possible, and for that to happen, a high priest or priestess has to marry us, so I called in a favor." You tell him.

Moments later, Hecate and Minthe materialize before the two of you.

"Your Grace." Both of them curtsy to you. "Ladies." You acknowledge them warmly.

"My Lady, what a joyous day that it is. And I am honored that you called on me, but—but we are not at an alter of the Gods. Your marriage—it will—it will not be valid in their eyes." Hecate says with concern.

"I've spent too long caring what they think. I do not need them to tell me how to live my life. I love this man, and I intend to take him as a husband. Alter be damned." You tell Hecate. She smiles at you and nods her head.

She and Minthe both look to Bradley, who is beaming at you. "He is a fine man of pure heart." Minthe says. "Yes, yes he is." You affirm.

"Well, then, let us begin. Please join hands." Hecate says as you and Bradley turn to face each other.

Hecate recites marriage verses that have been used since ancient times. Bradley removes your makeshift veil from your hair. Symbolically saying that he takes you to be his forever. The two of you smash the plate you brought to ward off evil spirits and symbolize a new beginning.

Finally, Hecate turns to Minthe. She comes forward, holding a red box with gold stitching. Minthe carefully opens the box, revealing a small obsidian blade with a pearl handle neatly nestled in gold silk.

You could feel Bradley's hands tense in yours as Hecate took the object in her hand.

"Do you trust me?" You asked Bradley. He swallowed and nodded. "Good, give me your palm, and do what I do." You instructed him. Bradley nodded again and stretched out his left palm to face you.

You took the obsidian and made a small cut on his left wrist, not too deep, but enough that there would be a small scar. Drops of his scarlet blood rushed to the surface, and he winced slightly but didn't pull away from you.

You then dipped your fingers in the fresh blood and marked a crimson line from his forehead to the tip of his nose. "Your turn." You told him as you stretched your arm out to him.

Bradley took the blade from you and repeated the action.

Once he was done, you placed the cut he made on your wrist, directly over the one you made on him. "Now say what I say." You told him. He shook his head and before you spoke.

You looked him in the eye and held tightly to his arm before saying, "Eísai aíma apó to aíma mou, kókalo apó to kókkaló mou. Sou díno to sóma mou, na eímaste éna. Sou díno to pnévma mou méchri na teleiósei i zoí mas." Bradley, unsure of exactly what you said, still happily repeated the words after you.

Once you were finished, Hecate blessed your wedding bands before you and Bradley slipped them on. You had experienced many amazing things as a Goddess, but kissing Bradley—your husband, for the first time —was the most amazing of all.

"We are so happy for you, My Lady, and well, My Lord, now." Minthe said as you and Bradley broke apart.

"My Lord?" Bradley asked, highly confused.

"Yes!" You told him. "Minthe, did you bring the other thing I asked for?" You turned to her. "Of course." Minthe replied, producing an object covered with a black silk cloth.

"Perfect." You smiled. "Bradley, kneel." You told him. Still unsure what was happening, Bradley did as you asked and kneeled on the sand. You uncovered the object in Minthe's hands and smiled.

It was just as you imagined it, a crown, fit for a king, your king, your Bradley. It was forged from dark silver, moulded in a perfect circle with seven points around the diameter. Obsidian, rubies, and pearls adorned it, and sculpted into the silver were several beautiful poppies. You picked it up and turned toward Bradley.

"Bradley Alexander Bradshaw. Since I, Hades, Queen of the Underworld, and all its realms have taken you as a husband, and sealed our marriage with a blood oath, I can now bestow upon you a most prestigious honor. By the power of my hand, on this day, I crown you King of the Underworld and all its realms forevermore." You say to him before gingerly placing the crown atop his golden curls.

Bradley looks up at you and smiles. "You may rise, my King." You tell him as you help him to his feet. "Thank you, my Queen." He replies as he leans down to kiss you.

"Well, Your Graces, as much as we would love to say, we must return to the Underworld." Hecate says after a few moments. "I understand. Take these with you. We don't need them right now." You say to her as you had her the crown from your head and Bradley's. "Of course, we will keep them safe until the two of you can join us and wear them on your thrones." Hecate says as she accepts them. Then, just as quickly as Hecate and Minthe appeared, they vanished.

"So I'm King of the Underworld now?" Bradley chuckles. "Yes, but only a consort. I'm the regent. I make the laws. You just sit there and look pretty." You tell him with a smile. Bradley lets out a deep bellied laugh as he takes your hand, and both of you start walking to your car.

"So, I know I told you that I've been working on my Greek, but I didn't understand everything in our vows. Can you tell me what they were?" Bradley asks you.

"Of course." You smile at him. "They said, 'You are blood of my blood and bone of my bone. I give you my body so that we two might be one. I give you my spirit until our lives are done."

"That's beautiful." Bradley breaths out. "And the wrist thing, and this?" Bradley asks as he traces his finger over the blood stain on your face. "In the ancient world, we sealed important promises with a blood oath. What promise is more important than marriage?" You say.

"You're so right, Baby. I can't believe you're mine forever now." Bradley blushes as he pulls you back to him and sweeps you off of your feet. "I was always yours forever, Bradley. I never believed in soulmates until now. But, I believe that we were supposed to find this—us. Even in a different life, you still would have been mine, and I would have been yours." You smile at him as he carries you to your car.

Bradley drives both of you home that evening. And that night, you make love to your husband until you're both too tired and breathless to move.

................

Sunday was a day to be lazy. You and Bradley had nowhere to go, and the only thing on your respective to-do lists was each other.

You wake up before Bradley does. Normally, you're an early riser, never one to be able to fall asleep and stay asleep. But with Bradley, you find more and more how easy it is for you to relax around him and let sleep come to you. More often than not, since you've been together, he's the one who is up before you, very true to his call sign. Though you have a sneaking suspension, his sleeping habits weren't what earned him the name.

You stretch your arms above you, wiggle your fingers and toes, and then turn onto your side. The soft sheets of your bed are loose around your bare skin from last night's activities.

The sun is just peaking through your curtains, casting a golden halo around Bradley. You look over at him. He's sound asleep on his back. Covers low on his hips. He has one hand tucked under the pillow behind him. He left hand is splayed out on his bare chest.

You trace the delicate gold band that live there now, grinning to yourself. You sigh as you admire your husband.

Husband. You husband.

What a beautiful thought. Just as beautiful as Bradley himself. He looks so calm as he sleeps, eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. He lets out a small sore every now and then, which he would vehemently deny if you ever brought it up.

You prop yourself up on your elbow and place your hand over his. You smile again as you trace lazy shapes over his tanned skin. Your fingertips grazed over the toned planes of his abdominal muscles through the dusting of hair that covered his chest, permanently bleached from the sun, up to his pectorals and then to his collarbone.

You chuckle as you notice what is nestled right between his clavicles. "Oh, Bradley." You sigh as you trace your hands over the small golden cross that dangled from the chain he always wore. His father had one just like it, and Bradley wore it as a tribute to him.

You laugh to yourself as you push yourself up to place a good morning kiss on his lips. "Good morning, my husband." You breathe out as you kiss his lips, his nose, his forehead, and his cheeks.

"G'morning, my wife," Bradley rasps out, his voice still thick with sleep. He encircles you with his large arms and pulls you flush against him. Be pulls himself to a sitting position and props you up alongside him. "How did you sleep?" He asks you as you lay your head on his shoulder.

"Very well." You reply as you slip your arms around his torso.

You rest your head on his chest as Bradley just holds you there, enjoying the calm, the quiet—the peace that only he can bring. Your eyes are closed as you take a deep breath and inhale the scent of him. You're not sure how he does it, but your husband always smells like sunshine.

When you open your eyes, you are met once again with the sight of that golden cross resting on his tanned skin. You can't help it, but a laugh bubbles out of you. "What's so funny?" Bradley asks you as he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes

"Nothing." You snicker. "It's something. I can tell by that mischievous look in your eye." Bradley presses.

"Fine." You sigh. "I just think it's funny, you knowing what you know about me, that you still wear your cross necklace. Like I get, it's a tribute to your dad and all, but it's just funny." You try to explain to him. Bradley furrows his brows and looks down at you.

"Listen, I know you were probably raised to be a good Christian boy, and you were taught that if you prayed hard enough to God or Jesus or whomever, that you would go to Heaven, well, newsflash, that's not how it works." You say to him.

"What do you mean that's not how it works. Are we all damned to burn in the Underworld?" Bradley asks you.

"No, ugh, the Underworld isn't all flames and screams. It has two parts. Paradise and Purgatory. When you die, your good acts and bad acts are placed on a scale and weighed against each other. From there, I get to decide where you end up." You huff out.

"And all those prayers that people pray about where they want their soul to end up, they come to me. I hear them all—well—I did until I left the Underworld." You sigh.

"So you're telling me that you are the God I prayed to growing up? The one my mom asked to save my soul when I was a wild teenager?" Bradley asks you with a chuckle.

"I know you were expecting someone else, sorry to disappoint." You laugh at him as you sit up and swing your legs over him, the sheets falling loosely to your hips. You grab the thin chain of the gold cross around Bradley's neck, the object that had started the whole conversation, and wrap it around your fingertips.

"Oh, I'm not disappointed by any means." Bradley breathes out as he closes the distance and kisses you. "I just wish I could go back to Saint Greg's and tell my teachers they were wrong." You throw your head back in a breathy laugh. The irony of your husband attending Catholic School as a youth isn't lost on you. You move to kiss him again, but without warning. He flips you off of his lap and drops to the floor. He grabs your ankle and tugs you to the edge of the bed and parts your naked thighs.

"Bradley, what are you doing?" You ask him. You lean up on your elbows to see that your husband is kneeling before you.

"Growing up, I was taught that the best place to worship was on your knees. And, well, I haven't been on my best behavior lately, and it's been years since my last confession, so I came to the alter to repent." Bradley tells you as he leans closer, lips just centimeters from your core.

"Though, I'm not pretty sure this isn't what Father MacKenzie meant when he told me to recite my Hail Marys." Bradley smirks at you before flattening his tongue along your seam.

You throw your head back and gasp as he makes contact with your clit, the feeling sending shockwaves through your system.

Bradley pulls both of your legs over hus shoulders as he feasts on you. That may be a crude way of describing what he is doing, but you can't think of another word to describe it.

His hands find the swells of your ass and grips tightly. pulling you closer to his face as he drinks you in. His nose bumps over your clit with each stroke of his tongue deep into your core.

You grip his curls for dear life and tug at them sharply as suckles on your clit, earning a high pitched whine from you. "Oh Gods!" You cry out as he dines on your cunt like it's a five star meal.

It hurts you to think about the other lovers Bradley had before you, but you sincerely want to thank whichever of them taught him how to do this, because Bradley is particularly attentive when he goes down on you.

You cry out his name again as you feel the band winding tightly in your lower stomach. You're a sopping mess as Bradley licks long, purposeful strokes.

He loves the way you taste, sweet and tangy, like ambrosia on his tongue. From the first moment he tasted you, he knew he would never tire of it. Gluttony may be a sin, but Bradley would glady spend hours on his knees between your thighs if you would let him.

He knows that you're close. He can feel the way your thighs quiver around his head, desperate to close around him and keep his head in place, but he's holding you open.

Bradley takes his thumbs and parts your fold even further, granting him better access to your sensitive bundle of nerves. He takes it between his teeth and rolls it, and that's the final straw.

You cum hard on his face, and he laps up your arousal, drinking in everything you give him. He continues to assault your center, drawing out your high until you're grabbing him by his curls and pulling him away.

You sit up and meet his eyes, one hand still gripping his hair.

You look at him, cheeks flushed, ears tipped pink. His mustache is glistening in the sun, coated with a mixture of your release and his saliva. It's downright erotic the way he looks sitting there in his knees.

Without warning, you surge forward and kiss him, knocking him down to the hardwood floor of your bedroom. Your kiss with him is all teeth and tongue as the two of you grab at each other's flesh, aching to be as close as possible.

You hook your thighs over his, and you can feel just how hard Bradley is. His cock is press right against your ass, dying to be inside you.

"Angel—Angel—" Bradley murmurs against your lips as he pulls back slightly. He takes in the sight of you. Your lips are swollen and slick with spit. Your chest is heaving as you take in air. Your hair is wild, and there is absolutely desperate look of desire in your eyes.

"Bradley—I need you." You state. "Will you have me?" You plead with him. "Yes—yes I'll have you." Bradley assures you.

You waste no time rising up to your knees and gasping his firm length. You guide the head of him until it's perfectly lined up with your dripping center. You sink down on him with ease. You hiss at the stretch once you are full seated around him.

Bradley's hands quickly find your hips to help guide your movements. You start out slowly, barely rising up before dropping back down.

Once you're comfortable with your rhythm, you speed up, lifting almost all the way off of him each time and circling your hips as you do so. Your clit catches against Bradley's pubic bone with each connection, heightening your pleasure.

Bradley groans as he leans up, causing him to shift deeper inside of you.

"Fucking floor is killing my back." He says as he tightens his grip on your waist. "Oh, can you not keep up with me, old man?" You tease him. There is no malice behind your words. "Who are you calling old?" He teases right back. And he isn't wrong, but you still enjoy picking on him, even in moments like this.

You roll your eyes as he hits a particularly deep spot inside you, causing your his to stutter and your breathing to falter. "That's what I thought." Bradley smirks at you as he does the same movement again before leaving forward and taking a nipple in his mouth with a cocky grin.

You rolled your hips faster and pushed your chest against Bradley's warm, welcoming mouth. You sighed. Everything felt amazing, but you still needed more.

One of your hands anchored itself at the back of Bradley's neck. You could feel the cool metal of his golden chain between your fingers. You weren't sure why you were so fascinated by it, but you couldn't help yourself.

Your fingers twisted around it and and you pulled it taught against his throat. Bradley let out a gasp of surprise and pulled off your chest. You both froze. You quickly let go of the chain as you searched Bradley's eyes, afraid you'd gone too far. Neither of you had really discussed your thoughts about choking during sex. You worried that you'd crossed a boundary.

"I'm sorry—I—I don't know what came over me." You apologized as you waited for your husband to say something.

"Do it again." Bradley replied. "What?" You looked at him confused. "Do. It. Again." He punctuated each word with a snap of his hips as he grabbed your hand and returned it to its previous position.

You rolled against him before wrapping the golden metal around your fingers and pulling it again. Bradley growled as you tightened your grip.

"Oh, fuck baby, that's it." Bradley gasped out as the chain dug into his skin.

"You like it when I choke you? Yeah, you do. I can feel your cock trembling inside of me when I do." You moaned out. You let go of his necklace before bringing your hand to wrap around Bradley's throat.

Your thumb and forefinger settled over his airway before pushing him back to the floor with a thud.

You them swatted his hands away from your sides before stilling completely. A needy whine escaped his lips. You leaned down and placed your mouth close to his ear. "Tap my thighs twice if you want me to stop." You breathed out before sitting back up. Bradley nodded in understanding.

You smiled at him before tightening your hand and riding him.

You rode Bradley in earnest, keeping just the right amount of pressure on his throat to make it pleasurable, but also to let him know that you were in charge. He planted his feet on the ground and used that leverage to thrust up into you.

The sound of skin slapping skin echoed through your bedroom and mixed with the scent of sex that hung thick in the air.

You looked down at Bradley and admired just how fucking pretty he looked under you. "Oh, Love, you have no idea how good you look under me like this." You praised him before letting go and bracing both of your hands on his thighs as you continued to ride him.

While you were telling Bradley how good he looked, he was mesmerized by how ethereal you looked on top of him. He wishes he had a camera to capture how you look right now. Head thrown back, neck arched, and body flushed. You were every bit a Goddess in this moment, and Bradley felt so lucky to see you like this.

He loved watching you use his body, taking from him just as much as you were giving. You were close, and he could tell. One of your hands snaked its way to were the two of you were joined.

You drew tight circles around your neglected nub as Bradley continued to meet your thrusts. He couldn't help it, but his eyes were glued to the sight of you touching yourself.

He felt the beginnings of your second orgasm. Your walls fluttered around him before gripping onto him like a vice as the waves of pleasure cascaded over you with a cry of his name. Bradley only lasted a few more moments before his cum painted your walls white.

You collapsed on his chest. Hot, sweaty, and satisfied. Bradley would have loved to have stayed there with you all day, but he wasn't kidding about the floor killing his back.

After much protest, he got the two of you up and into the shower.

Both of you spent the rest of the day curled up on your couch with Hyrda and Cerberus.

"Angel, what are we going to do about work tomorrow?" Bradley asked you later that evening.

"What do you mean?" You asked him. "I mean, we can't show up with wedding bands. People will ask questions." Bradley explained. There was a beat of silence before you answered him.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it. I've been forging paperwork for centuries. If anyone asked. We eloped over the weekend." You smile at him as you hold up your wedding rings to admire them. Bradley looks at them with you, but he notices something new, just peaking out from under yours.

"What's this?" He asks you as he takes your hand and slides the rings up to reveal a neatly tattooed "B" on your finger.

"Oh." You breathe out. "So, I only tattoo things that are important to me on my body. You're the most important thing to me, Bradley, so I wanted to have one for you." You say shyly.

Bradley sits there speechless with a few tears in his eyes. "When—when did you even have time to get this done?" He asks.

"I can't go to a tattoo shop and get them done. Mortal objects can pierce the skin of Gods. The blade we used at our wedding was a specially forged one. I give myself the tattoos. I just think about what I want and where I want it, and then touch that place and it appears." You tell him.

"Does it hurt?" He asks you. "No, it doesn't. See for yourself." You say as you touch his ribs. Bradley lifts up his shirt, and a neat spray of poppies is now etched on his ribcage.

"Wow." He gasps. "It is pretty cool. Don't worry, I'll take them off." You assure him as you reach forward to touch the area again. But Bradley grabs your hand and stops you.

"No, don't. I want to keep them. And can you—can you put an "H" on my ring finger too?" He asks you. You nod your head, and soon the black ink appears.

..............

On Monday, both you and Bradley head to Maverick's office first thing in the morning. You have your neatly forged wedding documents tucked away in a folder under your arm. Both of you are waiting when Maverick's comes down the hallway with a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Oh no." Maverick groans when he sees the two of you.

"Whatever fuckery you have brought to me this morning, can it wait until after I've had my coffee?" Maverick asks the two of you. You and Bradley both shake your heads. "I was afraid not. Come in." Maverick sighs as he opens his door.

He takes a seat behind his desk. You and Bradley sit across from him. You open your mouth to speak, but he puts a hand up to silence you as he takes a long sip from his mug.

"Alright, Bradley, what did you do?" Maverick asks him. "Why do you assume that I did something?" Bradley defends himself. "Because I know you, Kid. I've known you your whole life. You've given me almost every single one of my grey hairs." Maverick says with a matter of fact tone.

"Actually, Captain Mitchell, we did something." You say.

Mav looks from you to Bradley several times before swallowing thickly. He inhales deeply before letting out a sharp breath and standing up.

"Bradley, I made your mother two promises before she died. Two! I failed at the first one, and now, if I have failed at the second one—I— Bradley Alexander Bradshaw, so help me, God! If you have gotten Commander Kolasi pregnant out of wedlock, your mother is going to come back and haunt me. I don't care if you are almost thirty-six. It was the only other thing she asked me!" Maverick rants before flopping back down into his chair and covering his face with his hands.

"Mav, I'm not pregnant." You tell him. "And even if I was, Carole Bradshaw wouldn't come back to haunt you." You tell him. "What do you mean?" Maverick asks as he slowly slides his hands down.

You and Bradley both hold your left hands up as the look on Maverick's face goes from one of horror to surprise.

"You two—you got married? When? Where?" He asks as he leans over his desk.

"Over the weekend. I had a couple of friends who were coming into town, and one of them is ordained. Bradley set everything up. He proposed to me over breakfast Saturday, and we got married at sunset. Here is all the paperwork you will need, as well as an official submission to change my name from Kolasi to Bradshaw." You slide the folder over to Maverick.

"It's that your mom's ring?" Maverick asks Bradley as he takes a look at your hand. "Yes, sir." Bradley nods his head.

Maverick smiles, obviously trying to fight back some tears.

"You did good, Kid. They'd be proud of you." Maverick says as he gets up to hug both of you.

The rest of the squad takes your news very well, and you and Bradley spend the first week of your new lives together as husband and wife in wedded bliss.

All was well in the house of Bradshaw. The two of you didn't seem to have a care in the world when you laid your heads down Friday night after celebrating at the Hard Deck.

What a shame that the two of you didn't realize that the stroke of midnight brought with it the first day of spring.

Taglist: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @withahappyrefrain @lt-spork @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @roosterisdaddy36 @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @asshlyyyy @inkandarsenic @tomanybandstolove @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @sunlightmurdock @princess76179 @supernaturalvikingwhore @schoollover @cheyrenee @briseisgone @angelbabyange

[yandere-wishes]

Hiiii! I'm the one who sent the behaviour revan ask (wonderfully written by the way)

Can I ask another?

You can ignore this if not

But, how do you think Revan would react to a completely willing darling? And a darling who isn't willing at all?

You can ask as many as you like darling!! I love answering them🥰🥰I'll try to make this one a bit more ethereal/aesthetic. 

𓇼Willing Darling 

You blame the Jedi counsel for your master's fall to the dark side. You blame the Force, fate, the moon, the stars. You blame the galaxy and all its dichotomies. You blame anyone except the man himself

 In your naive eyes, Revan can do no wrong. 

You see him again tonight. In a backstreet away from the temples prying eyes. The immortal lights of Coruscant are your only witness as you break every rule engraved within your bones. 

His looming figure is harrowing, terror and power draped in armor. You try to remind yourself to breathe, that he won't hurt you. You pray under your breath for this to be true. 

Revan's presence is a weight reminding everyone of his place above them. He's a Sith now, he's free to flaunt the power he's always tamed. 

His thumb pats your bottom lip. You taste lighting from his fingertips. Surges of rouge power, minuscule in their dosage, still overpower your feeble senses. As he pries down your bottom lip and tucks his thumb between your teeth demanding you suck. You comply, you've always complied. 

"my apprentice" he whispers like an ineffable secret.

You feel the tendrils of his darkness beckoning you. Feel the way he pulls you into his world. His umbra. You go willing, promising to follow your master to the ends of the galaxy. 

Overall Revan would be more gentle, more docile with a willing darling. Even patronizing at times. He'd see himself in the position to train you, to feed you his knowledge until you grow stronger. He likes to push your limits, to watch you squirm under him as he kisses down your neck. He'd take you everywhere with him and Malak. Show you everything. His darkness shields you from anything that could potentially hurt you until you morph into his perfect warrior. 

𓇼Unwilling Darling

There's a ghost that haunts you. Powerful and all-consuming. You blame the Darksiders he's been in contact with. From the planet-eating shadow to the traitorous companion. The Revan you once knew is dead, only a baleful husk remains. One who stalks the planets in search of false idolizes and empty ambitions.

Revan is dead. 

Only the monster remains. 

You feel his presence lingering inside you. A sharp diamond cut on frail cartilage. Somehow he follows you in every realm, every reality. He's built from barren crepuscules and fuliginous aspirations. All morphed to appear as a semi-human creature. His mask is trained on you. It takes every willpower to stand your ground. 

Your fingers itch for your lightsaber, a feeble attempt at resistance. "You wish for a duel little one?" his voice is forbidding, taunting. You both know how this will end. 

Leave me alone...

"I am not you. I am no traitor, no monster, no abomination." Embers from your heart drift into your mouth. You spit them at him hoping he'll burn. 

Your words hold rage undefiting a Jedi. Your eyes mere slates of hatred. 

Neither fazes Revan.

As you've learned so very little tends to do.

"I never asked you to be." He's calm. Miserably so. You feel the force dragging you to his side. You scream as fingers wrap around your delicate throat. His frigid mask lowers to a puls point, mimicking a mock kiss. 

"Force, save me." 

Revan doesn't reward insubordination. Yet he tolerates your little rebellion for mere amusement. It gives him an excuse to play rough. To break you in the name of love and rebirth. He loves how sweet your screams sound when he drags the tip of his red lightsaber across the valley of your chest all the way to your squishy stomach. Love the scent of your flesh burning as you beg him to stop. Throwing promises of behaving so he'd just make the pain stop. 

Oh, how you make his cold heart beat. 

How he loves your sensation within his arms

Still, it's important to know that Revan is many things, many important things. Warrior, general, sith...You should be beyond grateful he's even permitted you into his life. Even graced you with his attention. 

At best, he sees you as a defective acolyte at worst a pet. Somehow they mean the same thing. They mean you are his to use at his leisure. Not a person, not a sentient being, just a trophy fallen Jedi like to flaunt.

Your body is a crime scene. One where the murderer leaves bleeding love bites and open wounds. Revan writes love letters upon your skin and you wholly long to burn them. To burn yourself, an escape from the miserable reality he's forced you into. 

[roboyomo]

I'm enabling you now go go go

UOU. SIGNAL UNDERSTOOD. Time for the big kenix and azrael rant under the cut!!!

So to start off, I'll briefly explain Azrael as a character since Kenix technically already had a brief character explanation

Azrael is also one of the "7 Deadly Sins" crew, just like Kenix, with his assigned sin being Envy.

For Azrael's case, Envy would be represented by his failures. Specifically failing his original protecting duties as a soldier in his past life, now envious of 'he' from his fantasies who has succeeded to protect others. The fact that he failed many times to live up to the version of him who has it all, driving him absolutely crazy. And as he does not have any idea how to deal with these feelings of anger and guilt, he only starts to blame everyone else around who had it better than him. Anyone who has managed to live up to their goals, being incredibly envious of them, to the point of purposefully ruining their lives. Ruining what they had so they could experience the same misery he felt this entire time, until it backfired and got him killed instead. (he is in misery but he doesn't want to be drowned in it alone, so he brings others down with him). He has failed himself by not meeting his own expectations, so the thought that there is a version of him out there that has succeeded to meet those same expectations and is now living better than before... makes him want to curse the entire world. Being extremely jealous of anyone who had the great success he wanted originally, now pouring out his misery as revenge on others, just to see them fall down the same way his entire world shattered in his eyes. The same misery now being turned into the poison inside his body, using it as a weapon against his enemy in the Afterlife. Now living as a cursed being that is forever bound to this insufferable nature, he tries to keep mostly to himself after becoming the 4th in line to join the sins crew. No roaming around the land with no end in sight, no contact, no relationships — only him and himself.

That is until Kenix himself has taken interest in Azrael. The interest was ever so the same as it was for the previous members of the crew. Attempting to get on semi-friendly terms with the others that are now just as miserable as him deep inside, since aggravating them would nothing good to both parties and he is aware of how fucked everything is for all of them combined, having the "false" feeling of empathy for them. But Azrael intrigued him the most because of how much he felt that their anguish was similar in a way. Both of their worlds were shattered and took it out on others because they didn't know how to deal with their problems in a healthy way, Azrael's case just got more extreme than Kenix's, who has only took it out on his surronding enviroment, which was very limited ever since he was young (and additionally taking it out on some of the Original timeline crew members/"The Warriors" after he was in the Afterlife). It was then when the suppressed desperation to feel something resurfaced. The wish to know what a connection between people is, the wish to have even someone by his side that would accept him as the awful person he is now. That desperation slipping through the the cracks of his facade of carelessness for others, having no feelings of remorse for his actions — he knows he can't go on for long without any sort of human interaction, that would only drive him more insane and worsen his state which would lead to his end sooner than expected. Not only is it because he knows that there is a higher risk chance if he will forever cut off everyone from his life, it is own wish to have someone finally accept him that has been born from the years of loneliness and isolation. He wants to, he 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 find some sort of companion for his own sake, something he never thought could happen because he truly believed that he would be better off without anyone. He doesn't think that he could ever become better, but the thought that someone, whose just as awful as he is, would accept him as this very same awful being, made him feel something that he has never experienced (Is it hope?? Is it the desperation for affection?? Not even Kenix knows that)

And that's when Azrael comes in. Nothing about Azrael said that the interest was mutual, but Kenix didn't stop attempting to engage in a first conversation with him. Azrael, due to his nature and the decision to distance himself from others, didn't feel like it. In fact, he also felt like Kenix shouldn't be trusted so there was this constant need to be cautious around him. Something about that attitude, that smile, the manner of speaking Kenix has,,, threw him off a few times to be honest. But when Azrael tried to confront Kenix head on about why the one kept trying to get closer to him, Kenix would only make up a shallow lie that Azrael's gradient hair looked interesting. He could 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 ever admit out loud that he desperately longed for someone who understood him, admitting to that would be a sign of showing weakness — and that is prohibited when Kenix's first desire was about being powerful and seem powerful. Additionally, it is not like he would ever take "my carefully built facade is slowly breaking day by day and my true feelings and desperate wishes for human companionship and physical affection have been shown to someone that I thought would finally be the one to help me get through this agony" well. he would probably spiral and worsen everything about his mental state and sanity even more and that means that he would meet his demise sooner. which is unwanted as he still wants to have a chance at life — not the best one, but a life at the very least.

It is where their relationships starts to build off from that point. Azrael slowly starts to show more trust towards Kenix and that made Kenix have this sense of hope, the hope that Azrael will become the one person Kenix wished to have by his side until the end of time. Kenix undeniably always has been fascinated by Azrael and with each interaction, the fascination for him grew only bigger. From Azrael acting annoyed at Kenix for being too bothersome to sincerely enjoying each other's company. Starting all those nice conversations between them about anything they share as interests until Azrael one day decided to hold Kenix's hand without realizing it himself. He pretty much realized it only by seeing Kenix's puzzled face. That is when he found out that Kenix has... almost no concept of what physical affection is shown through. No grasp on the idea of what hand holding is, or no idea about any other displays of affection. Finding out about just how isolated Kenix was that he has no idea about how it feels to be hugged or hug someone else was just shocking to him. Which made him start being curious about what various displays of affection Kenix has no idea about. and is it not surprising that he doesn't know about most of it. this man's past is probably the definition of loneliness and he never knew what it was like to be loved or show love to others so pretty obvious that this stuff will puzzle him as it is just this new thing for him even if he wished for it for a long time.

Azrael just holding his hand actually made Kenix crave that feeling more (because of incredibly touch starved this man is). It is "I never knew of this sensation but please stay with me like this for just a few more minutes I'll provide us with all the time in the world to allow us to just stay closer together for a longer while" kind of craving (at this point he is not able to hide just how badly he needed someone next to him at all times)

Now Azrael is just showing this guy with some serious unaddressed issues™ what it is like to be loved and Kenix tries to show love back with what is left of his heart. Usually successful but sometimes it is just gifting something made out of someone else. it is not fun to hear the screaming of thousands because you wear this ring he gifted you. They have still committed atrocities but now they are able to accidentally "fix" each other without realizing it

[charms-cat]

Is it a good idea to remove the more bloody parts when adapting from book-to-movie?

I know it's a problem when movies show unnecessarily violent scenes; too many of that and I think an audience would get kinda numb to the cruelty displayed

but in cases of book-to-movie adaptations, would the standard be the same? the book(s) already exists; there's already a (semi) graphic description literally written out. so do you think the movie should keep the violence?

imo movies tend to sanitise/lessen the bad parts which kinda presents a false image to the movie-only audience since they're unaware of just how bad this character/group/organisation is

it doesn't help when the violence is completely removed. not even an equally damning (but less bloody) scene to take its place. so movie-only fans don't have a "full" understanding of the character since they don't know how mean/cruel/atrocious they actually are (or were meant to be)

Non-spoiler example would be something like if Organisation B, in the book, was a group that murdered kids and desecrated their corpses; but in the movie, B is alluded to committing atrocities, but nothing actually happens onscreen (at least not explicitly)

TLDR: do you think adaptations should keep the original violence from the books? should there be a balance? or should adaptations sanitise (or straight up remove) any atrocities from the books?

SPOILER examples forThe Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials, The Hunger Games, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes below (I'll be doing the examples in order so just scroll fast if you wanna read one spoiler but not the other):

The Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials

admittedly, the movies kinda went off the rails starting from TST but imo it wasn't in a good way. my main gripe is that WICKED seems... nicer

(it's been a while since I fully read the books so I might mix up some events)

in the books, the Gladers were left alone for a few/several days before Janson showed up and explained the Trials to them. then on the first day of the Trial(?), the Gladers were shocked by multiple bodies hanging from the ceiling. then they had to travel through a dark tunnel where they got attacked by metal balls that literally swallowed your head. this is all before they actually step onto the Scorch! WICKED prepared that for them! all this to obtain the Killzone data

but in the movies, WICKED was keeping them in the facility before harvesting them. it's cruel to treat these kids like that, yes, but it's still nowhere near the level of fucked up of book!WICKED planning lethal traps just to see how their test subjects react and adapt.

PLUS, book!WICKED forced the Gladers to enter the Scorch by promising that there would be a safe haven(?) after they travelled 100 miles; they do this without ever preparing the Gladers for the harsh desert environment, the Cranks, etc.

yet in the movies, the Gladers escape to the Scorch of their own volition. WICKED had no part in their harsh environment or any traumatic event the Gladers experience

the final Trial in the book was orchestrated by WICKED; the Gladers and Icers had to fend off violent lightbulb monsters while lightning struck all around them; WICKED only picked them up at the designated time (I think they were supposed to reach the 100-mile mark at a certain time?)

there's no real Scorch Trials in the movie literally called "The Scorch Trials". WICKED never gave them a trial, never forced them to the Scorch; they disappeared until the very final scene. compare this to the fact that book!WICKED was a looming threat (the constant reminder that they had to reach a certain location in limited time, the mysterious messages painted on the walls of city buildings, the Gladers literally being labelled on their collarbones, etc.)

The Hunger Games

THG has probably one of the better, if not one of the best, adaptations. I'll admit that this gripe is ultimately something minor

but I'm still a lil disappointed that the movie changed a psychological tactic from the Gamemakers - the dog mutts

the dog mutts are still scary in the movie, but, in the books, the mutts were also said to resemble the dead tributes. the Gamemakers had even made Rue's mutt wear a grass necklace, similar to how Rue wore a grass necklace as her tribute token.

as I said before, this is an admittedly minor issue but it's still one of the instances where we see that the Gamemakers are definitely aiming to attack the tributes psychologically as well as physically. the psychological attacks happen in the next books too - the voices of tortured loved ones from the jabberjays (Catching Fire), the lizard mutts hissing Katniss's name (Mockingjay)

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (this movie should've been a two-parter)

I understand that they only had two hours to cram everything in, but it doesn't change the fact that, in the process, they also had to cut out all of the Capitol's atrocities

it's been a while since I fully read the book, but there is one horrifying cruelty that I can remember: Arachne's funeral

specifically, the way that the Capitol paraded the surviving tributes down the road. the tributes were chained up and crammed together on one truckbed(?) while the corpse of another tribute (Brandy) swung above them. not only did the Capitol chain up the kids like animals, but they also disrespected Brandy's corpse. yes, Brandy had murdered Arachne, but Brandy was already brutally shot by the Peacekeepers after being starved by them for days, she was already suffering and she doesn't get any respect even in death

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"[Once in solitary confinement] you start thinking about what to do now. A false sense of energy and hope seizes hold of you. Wasn't it my friend Laurie who devised about fifty different things you can do in a cell to keep your mind occupied? I can only remember two of them. [I could do] exercises. ... but it doesn't keep you going for long. Oh then, there's the Bible. Why not make up your mind to start reading it from beginning to end? Or make a study of one book? The book of Job? The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. But Job wasn't in solitary confinement. Good God, he wasn't even in prison, the lucky soandso.

You start reading, but you find you can't concentrate. Your mind wanders away to the people outside. I suppose the V.J. [Visiting Judge, who ordered punishments like solitary confinement] is looking forward to sitting down to a nice lunch. Meat and white bread and pastry, I'll bet. I hope it ties knots in his guts. Jesus Maria. How did you ever let yourself get in this position? And you make a resolution then. Never again. If it ever looks that you might get arrested, rather shoot your way out. They took you away, the police did, and locked you up. And now the screws have done it again. Take him away and lock him up. Theme song of all authority for 1,900 years. And getting worse now. Take the derelict away and lock him up.

Outside, in the world which you left behind you ages ago, there are people actually walking about the streets wondering what they'll have for lunch, worrying about some silly business problem, thinking what a time they're going to have that night with some girl. Girls, my God. While you squat here, like some bloody animal in the half-dark.

Or in the country. Actually in the country near birds and trees. Grumbling about having to milk cows. It's almost unbelievable. They ought to throw their arms round the cows' necks and hug them for the privilege of being free to milk them. Of being free to touch them. Of being free.

I'm so tied to my farm, writes one cow-cocky in the paper, that the only difference between it and a concentration camp is the height of the boundary fence.

You damn fool, you crazy bastard, you lying hound. You can go out and eat grass, can't you? You can drink the milk, you can get down on your knees and suck the cow's teats? You can do anything, you fool, you're FREE.

Try sitting in a cell in semi-darkness reading the Book of Job on an empty stomach. Try praying to God for the minutes to go, just a little quicker. Try having the smell of your own pisspot in your nostrils night and day. Try waiting through interminable hours for night to come so as you can steal a little enjoyment from a smoke as thin as the lead in a lead pencil; hoping to God a screw won't pass by and smell you out. Try being a derelict in solitary confinement. Try getting into such a degraded state that a bit of cheese, shoved under the door by a friendly cleaner, seems like one of the miracles of Christ. Try those things just once. Then get down on your knees again, but instead of sucking teats, thank God you're alive and on the right side of the walls."

- Ian Hamilton, Till Human Voices Wake Us. Auckland: Auckland University Press, 1983 (first published by private subscription, 1953). p. 65-66.

[I've read a lot of prison memoirs this year, with many more to come. This may be one of the best. Hamilton was a conscientious objector in New Zealand-Aotearoa during World War 2, a pessimistic socialist humanist, a playwright, and sheep farmer. This may be one of the best, just raw but well-directed anger, utter contempt for polite New Zealand settler society and for what he viewed as a growing bureaucratization and dehumanization of society. I thought this bitter anger directed at people who use metaphors of imprisonment lightly to describe minor incovencies.]

[pochapal]

I know you don't know the characters a lot yet but. please assign classpects to umineko characters? any you'd like!

not quite fully sure of everyone's relation to how they shape their subjective realities (aka the most important part of classpecting for me) but i'll try!

(longpost because of course it is lmao - 3500 words long you have been warned)

first one i feel semi-confident on doing is saying maria could be a mage of light. this is going by the definition of mage as "one who receives a boon of knowledge they don't quite grasp the full implications of but still use it to their benefit anyway" and the definition of light as "fortune, the mystical, and narratively Significant symbols and imagery". i think a good example of this is the way that maria becomes a harbinger of "beatrice", utilising her unique "knowledge" of the golden witch to self-serve her belief that this mystical figure exists and is on the move. this also fulfils that other quirk with light players sometimes shadowing the void aspect (ie light players falling into false beliefs, into obscurity, into literal and metaphorical darkness) but the twist of course is that maria, while not understanding, is hitting way closer to a truth with her insistence on "beatrice gave me the letter". (also sad to report maria is not in fact a witch by classpect standards).

a little shakier on this one but i think battler can be read as an heir. he's very much a passive force who is a vehicle to a lot of the narrative happening To Him and these various factors shape and influence his thinking and approach (a good example here would be kyrie's chessboard logic deeply influencing his own way of thinking). also he's kind of a goof which is perhaps the most important feature of the heir class. as for aspect maybe something like time? in that battler's passively shoved into this situation while being very temporally displaced (his remarks that 6 years feel paradoxically like so much time and yet no time at all) and aware of this disadvantage this puts him at but still pushing through it anyway. that said heirs have a habit of being imprinted on by their influences (think john's vriskafication in homestuck act 5) so i think battler's kind of been channelling some mind aspect stuff after being influenced by kyrie.

george i think is a page. pages have their whole Deal being that they are quite often ineffective Losers who never take the steps to actually reach their potential of being a good and tolerable person, an individual who refuses the call all of the time no matter what. if there's one thing about george it's that he is consistently denying himself the chance to become the person he wants to be instead falling back into a self-destructive fantasy self that only succeeds at being offputting. his class i think might be space in that the few glimpses of The Real George indicate someone who is both knowledgeable with a desire for human relationships - he is very much struggling against the space aspect's whole "destiny of the lonely" thing. and just like another certain space player he's throwing himself into a failmarriage just to feel appreciated. sad!

to round off the cousins i'll go with jessica next. i think a good aspect fit for her could be breath. breath's whole thing is agency, freedom, and the ability to make choices that defy conformity. jessica is very much about asserting a nonconformist self and a desire for personal liberation (also she expresses herself through her mode of speech aka with her voice aka with her Breath. i see the pattern) particularly and especially when it grants her the chance to escape a stagnant tradition. a class i think might work for her is maid - a lot of her self is in service to this desire for nonconformity even as she risks subservience to the opposite thing she truly desires (as the direct successor to the ushiromiya line there's a whole bunch of tension right there).

for the siblings i have a much less certain grasp on who they are and what they do as people but i'll keep trying. one i think i am mostly comfortable with is reading natsuhi as a maid of blood. like i outlined previously maid is all about dedicating yourself to the desires of your aspect, and natsuhi is very dedicated to serving her desire to be truly worthy of being an ushiromiya and upholding the ushiromiya household's values (family, bonds, obligation, all of which are hardcore blood traits). this classpecting also creates an interesting explanation for the strained dynamic between herself and jessica - both of them are equally strong in their desires and commitment to their goals, but their goals are in such polar opposite directions that there will always be this tension.

i'll say kyrie's aspect is mind. she's all about modes of logic and thought patterns and her whole Thing is questioning whether it's better to be a Detective or a Romantic when approaching mysteries. she's a very passive presence who mostly keeps to herself but she has remarkable insight in understanding how to get people to act how she wants them to in order to ascertain key facts and information for herself. unfortunately she died before we could get a sense of what she would do once she obtained this information so i can't drill much further than saying her class is either rogue or thief. rogue arguments would be her bestowing battler with the ability to chessboard think. thief arguments would be that a lot of what she says and does is a subtle manipulation of others to secure information. ultimately it depends on how selfish kyrie as an individual is and i don't think i can say for sure on that score. leaning towards rogue though because she is very much a behind the scenes kind of actor.

next sibling i feel confident in assigning a classpect to is rosa, who i think could be a mage of space. i decided while writing this that it makes sense for there to be a kind of classpect overlap between parents and kids so rosa is a mage just like maria except a Worst version. where maria is surrounded by Omens and absorbs them to her personal benefit rosa is tormented by the worst excesses of space (control issues, isolation, abandonment) - she's a deeply isolated individual who, through the conditions thrown upon her psyche at all times, has little to show for herself and no means of exerting her will. maria's father isn't in the picture. she has no sway over her siblings. her business is in ruin. she can't even maintain a relationship with her daughter. wettest most pathetic failure of a classpect wielder in existence.

for krauss this one's a little tenuous but given what we've seen of him and how he operates i feel like thief of void is a good fit for him. thief in that he Literally Embezzles Kinzo's Fortune, and also thief in that he is the successor to the ushiromiya line and thus (excluding kinzo) the most important problematic figure in the room at any time. void in that he's very vested in secrets and conspiracies - he is able to sus out the plot his other siblings are trying to use against him while also very succinctly keeping the secret of the gold ingot to himself, only divesting when and to whom he sees fit. so thief of void as in "one who steals secrecy/obscurity for their own gain" works quite appropriately i think.

eva's the last one i have a vague inkling towards. i think you could make the case that you could read her as a prince of breath. prince in that she is very destructive and hostile, and wields that destruction both unto others and unto herself. breath in that a lot of her choices have to do with agency and will and the ability to decide for yourself. eva, in her desire to continue to be freely part of the ushiromiya register, forces hideyoshi to abandon his family name and take hers. eva also tears down natsuhi for thinking she has the right to exert any kind of will as a member of the ushiromiya household, or the right to make any decision as regards kinzo's will. so here we have "one who destroys free will/agency and destroys through free will/agency" making a decent fit.

final two siblings are super shaky and done more as a Pattern Fitting exercise (the siblings would in theory form a complementary sburb group with no classpect overlaps, and at least one parent must share a class/aspect with their child) but i think i can argue that it works. first up is rudolf who i'm calling as an heir of heart. heir in that he very passively has things go his way without much trying (he got a second wife and battler reconciled with him without seemingly much effort) and that he has the potential to be highly powerful in various situations (eva on multiple occasions remarks how kinzo-like rudolf is) - also battler is an heir, so the parent/child classpect link works here too. heart as an aspect because a lot of what happens to rudolf involves others acting based upon his heart - kyrie who puzzles over detectives and romantics knows rudolf's heart well enough to predict with several degrees of accuracy what he wants and why he acts the way he acts. the identity he wields is often used against him by people who know his true self in order to get him to bend to their will - seen often with eva who cuts through the bullshit front he puts up around battler/the family to humiliate him. so again, kind of like rosa, rudolf fails very hard at making his classpect work for him.

hideyoshi i'm assigning page of light. he's page to match with george but i think there's something to it. pages are weak-willed individuals who often fail to act on their own and who are trampled over by people better at playing the game than him. hideyoshi is nice but he's essentially useless in all ushiromiya conflicts - he acts as eva's yes man with no agenda or will of his own. light in that one facet of light is truth/honesty and here that burns hideyoshi a lot. hideyoshi, who is very bad at asserting his will, is also comically prone to almost accidentally blurting out the truth time and time again (he almost spills the beans on his and eva's scheme right there in the airport, and again after the first twilight eva has to do a hell of a lot of deft maneuvering to keep him from making them look sus as hell) - he cannot wield the truth/light for his own gain because he never reached his potential and is thus always forced to play second fiddle to someone else.

next set of people to consider are the servants. because a bunch of them are hard to read i am again treating them like a collected set of sburb players with no classpect overlap in order to make this a touch easier for me.

that said let's start with one who i think is easy to pin down and whose classpect is kind of funny to me: shannon. she's a witch of heart i think. witch in that she is always shat on by the universe, held back, and forced to suffer needlessly in the sake of a greater scheme. also witch in that she has the crucial witch aspects of Desperate To Be Loved And Belong and also Simmering All The Time With Barely Controlled Murderous Fury and more important than all that the trait of Deserves So Much Better. heart in that of all the umineko characters with Identity Problems shannon's is the most identity problems of them all. at this point you could basically argue sayo is a splinter self that she wields with the innate expertise of a homestuck witch - witches are very good at using/manipulating their aspects, perhaps even moreso than any other class, and the way that shannon uses both shannon and sayo in order to regulate her Ultimate Self is super witch of heart-like. this also means that in a sburb au there is every chance she could have a jade harley-esque grimdark break in which sayo finally snaps and takes out all her vengeance and frustration on the people who've wronged her instead of just dying right at the start (i would like to see it.jpg).

kanon, or the version of kanon i have interpreted into existence, is a knight of blood. knight of blood in that he is a Grumpy Short Dude and therefore peak karkat-like. also in the sense that knights are fiercely selfless and devoted to acts of protection when at their best. knights are also known for putting on fronts/personas in order to guard their true selves/feelings and in order to further their own aims (dave as coolkid, karkat as unapproachable grump, kanon as furniture/"beatrice"). blood as in bonds/connections/family - everything kanon does he does in the service of shannon, his family. one reading of knight of blood is "one who manipulates/exploits family/bonds for their own protective goals" and i think that that succinctly describes the idea of kanon using "beatrice"/kinzo's headship ring to tear at the seams of the ushiromiya family in order to save shannon. btw none of this works if my read of kanon is wrong but this is my 2000+ word long classpect post and i get to pick the interpretations.

other servants are much less solid because they've not done as much in the story yet but i'll start with gohda who i have the least to say about. i think he works as a thief of breath in that he steals the agency of other servants (ie his petty ordering around of shannon, his total snubbing of kanon) in order to make himself look better as the centre of attention. also pretty sure someone described his cooking as "breathtaking" at some point and what is a thief of breath if not "one who takes breath".

next is genji who i'm putting down as the maid of doom. maid in that he is total in his subservience to his aspect's ideal, doom in that he is honour-bound by arbitrary rules and restrictions which spell out misfortune for a lot of people. genji is contractually obligated to serve the head of the ushiromiya household unconditionally. first this is kinzo and all the atrocities genji likely oversaw over the years, then comes "beatrice" simply because "beatrice" happens to now be in possession of the ring (genji accomplice theory is real for the sake of this post i am deciding). maids also can at times use their abilities to engage in the creation of their aspect, and you could say that genji creates "doom" by upholding and enforcing the vile rule of law on rokkenjima even when nobody seems to care about it (he reinforces kanon's notion of furniture to him despite there being no material point to such a horrible form of identity degradation). who knows what genji really thinks about this because he is so bound to service i don't think he is capable of acting outside of that directive.

kumasawa works as a seer of rage. seer in that she passively demonstrates her in-depth knowledge of things (her tendency to narrate from the shadows people's turmoil). rage in that she is very bound up with gossip, discord, and the absurd. the tales she spouts could very easily tear people apart if the right person heard them. what she says often forecasts a disruptive chaotic future for those she is discussion. she is also frustrating on a metatextual level by holding a lot of answers but then always going "but alas i can do nothing but watch from a distance". also you can make the argument that if a lot of what kumasawa says is Complete Bullshit she also carries on with the rage-player trend of clouding people's judgements with falsehoods and misinformation that fits their biases (gamzee making terezi think everything was vriska's fault because terezi was already biased against vriska, kumasawa making the reader think there's a certain depth and complexity to the cast because we're already biased to seek these out these kinds of character depths). or maybe kumasawa's just a silly little clown. who can say!

last servant of the set is nanjo. he's another super shaky one but i think maybe based on what we've seen of him heir of life works. heir in that he is very passively guided by what everyone else says and does and is almost entirely reactive as a presence in the story. life in that he is a medical professional, but also life in that he is one of the ones who has a modicum of control over the narrative of How Long Kinzo Has To Live. the few things he does have authority over he has pretty absolute authority over. not even kinzo outright challenges/denies nanjo's assertion that his death is long-overdue, so in this one domain nanjo is at the peak and is something he could in theory manipulate massively to his benefit were he not spineless and out of his depth.

final two are the two masters of rokkenjima. thinking like that you would assume master classes but i have to say that kinzo is actually a bard of life and not a lord. he's a bard because his unique brand of destruction/self-immolation is done through passive abstraction - he spins the "demon's roulette" and lets fate/fortune dictate whose lives get destroyed, rather than actively going around and killing people. he gets into people's heads and forces the most life-ruining versions of themselves to the forefront - all of the ushiromiya siblings have a tiny kinzo in their brains that reminds of them of their trauma and reinforces their desire to be horrible people. he's also a bard in that despite it all, there's an element of a farce to his operation - silly old man who drinks absinthe lusts after a witch and refuses to die is funny right up until you remember the Atrocities. life aspect in that he's very obsessed with life/death/resurrection - everything is about ruining lives, about killing people, about bringing beatrice back from the dead. life also in the more obscure reading of "life = riches" - the fate of the gold/fortune rests in the hands of his schemes as much as anyone's direct mortality. so to use the threefold "one who self-destroys/passively enables the destruction of/inspires [aspect]" reading of bard, you get kinzo's whole deal as "one who self-destroys his wealth in order to passively enable the destruction of his family's lives in order to inspire the resurrection of beatrice".

finally we come to the bonus round: beatrice the golden witch. who is not a witch as per classpect rules unfortunately (she has not suffered enough and she is not serving enough of an active narrative presence to earn that title). however, unlike rokkenjima's other ruler beatrice does in fact get to claim a master class for herself. to me i think a solid read of beatrice is a muse of light. muse in that she is an extremely passive off-hand presence in the story - so off-hands in fact that her existence is wholly disputed - but her influence is so crucial as to compose every square inch of the narrative. beatrice is the witch myth. beatrice is the persona used to set the first domino of murder. beatrice is the metaphor for ill-gotten gold. beatrice exists as metaphor. a muse "exists". the light aspect is also one of the more narratologically aligned aspects dealing with truth relevance essentiality and fortune. beatrice being multiple foundational narratives affixes herself tightly to the pillars of umineko's canon, while her own manifestation/resurrection is being brought about through an epitaph and the demon's roulette - the truth behind a linguistic obscurity, and a random chance happening. canon light players also have a severe vicious streak to them and as a murderwitch waiting to start killing people the moment she is able to, beatrice also fits that criteria. basically she's the Big Bitch who is in a position to deftly pull a number of puppetstrings via her narrative abstractions and nested metaphors. to go even further she actually also fits with the one textual weakness of a super-powered muse - their powers fall apart when the validity of their constructive narrative is denied/destroyed. calliope in the epilogues risks losing everything when dirk declares her story bullshit. beatrice likely depends on others believing in her in order to perpetuate her own "existence" - if the narrative of the golden witch is not believed, there is no golden witch. the muse of light is all-powerful, yet all-fragile.

to sum up:

maria - mage of light battler - heir of time george - page of space jessica - maid of breath natsuhi - maid of blood kyrie - rogue of mind rosa - mage of space krauss - thief of void eva - prince of breath rudolf - heir of heart hideyoshi - page of light shannon - witch of heart kanon - knight of blood gohda - thief of breath genji - maid of doom kumasawa - seer of rage nanjo - heir of life kinzo - bard of life beatrice - muse of light

there you go. a semi-comprehensive classpecting of all 18 people (plus beatrice) on rokkenjima. have fun looking at these and laughing at how Off The Mark i am. i will also look back on this and laugh at myself once i gain a proper understanding of the cast.

[saunne]

Writing - Reflection and Personal Analysis (Pt 2)

(or the actual plan of what the rest of my NaNo will look like)

I have two main problems at the moment : Lack of STRUCTURE and lack of STYLE. And a less important BRAIN problem.

STRUCTURE

The biggest blockage comes from my lack of planning and the fact that until then I was writing in semi-improvisation. I had an overall plot line to follow, but nothing very detailed.

Which is the heart of the problem.

Because since this isn't a fanfic, I need a lot more careful planning. Chapter by chapter, I need to know what the chapter should be about, who we meet there, who we follow, what information we learn, what scenes take place there, what their purpose is, what clues I should slip in, what false routes pose... I need a step by step manual, a complete checklist, with scene fragments and possibly color coding.

So from now on, this is what I'm going to do for NaNo, officially switching to the Rebel side. No novel writing for me this month, we will focus on the detailed planning of said novel, scene by scene, chapter by chapter.

Well, I say "novel", but it would be more correct to say story. In order not to get stuck by a rigid structure that I'm bad with, I'm just going to put aside the volume by volume structure and simply plan according to my narrative arcs, since I already have some of the planning written during last Camp.

I am more than capable of catching up if I switch to this method. I already have a good backup of information, and putting everything in order and detailing what I want to achieve will help me move forward faster than the blind writing I was doing until now.

STYLE

It’s obvious that I need to develop my novelistic style.

My fanfic style has developed over 4 years but I will not and cannot wait 4 years for my novelistic style to mature. Having a clear plan will already help me avoid going off track when writing, but I need to figure out how I'm going to manage.

Am I more comfortable with a more compact or airier style ? Do I favor very long sentences or short sentences? What is the rhythm of my writing ? Do I have writing tics, words that come back too often, turns of phrase reused in all sorts of ways? How do I deal with dialogue ? Descriptions of decor ? The emotional and reflective side of internal monologue ? How do I integrate the information in a fluid way, the flashbacks, the questions ?

I think the easiest thing would be to practice writing short scenes, or even short stories. This probably won't be something I do during this NaNo, barring sudden bursts of inspiration for Erasde that override my obsessive hyperfocus on my fandoms, but I won't rule out the possibility.

Another possibility could be to restart written role-playing with @gabrielwritessometimes . I have OCs in his world and he has some in mine, so this might be something interesting to do together, depending on everyone's available time and energy.

BRAIN

I can't really change my brain, so we're going to have to learn to overcompensate for the ongoing mess.

I already know that I need to be in a certain mood to write and that if I'm not, there's no point in forcing it. The frustration of not being able to write my fics also plays a big part, so alternating between NaNo and my WIPs according to my mood, energy level and inspiration rather than forcing myself to follow NaNo seems to be a good solution.

Certain places (my bed, the library, cafes, parks) work better for inspiration and concentration. So setting aside a little money to go and spend a few hours in a café at least once a week with one or two drinks and a pastry could be a good idea.

And my brain being a 5 year old with a sugar addiction, it seems that returning to a reward system based on candy and other sweets could alleviate the fluttering in my brain. Watch out for Mom and don't forget dental hygiene I guess.

POST NANO AND CAMP

I'll probably be busy in December, covering shifts at the library, but I plan to continue writing. After NaNo, I'm going to set a daily writing goal : no word limit, but write at least once a day, on any project or WIP.

I plan to submit my thesis and take my oral exam at the beginning of next year, at the earliest for the February holidays and at the latest at the beginning of April. Once my thesis is out of the way, I should be much more relaxed in terms of writing, which will undoubtedly help.

I plan to attend next year's Camp NaNo, both April and July.

If I haven't finished planning by April, this is what I will continue. If I finished it, I will slowly start writing the novel and continue writing during July Camp.

In order to reduce my anxiety, I will work chapter by chapter. That is to say, write a chapter, send it to my friends who wish to give me feedback, whether as readers or official beta-readers. Allow some time to pass, during which I work on other projects or another chapter, before rewriting the revised chapter.

I write primarily for myself, with no publication goals at present.

I don't yet know what I will do with my story once it is sufficiently advanced, if I will try to translate it myself into English to share it, if I will publish it on a platform like ao3 or Wattpad or Webnovel, if I'm going to send it to publishers hoping to get published, if I'm just going to keep it for myself and my group of friends... We'll see.

[deathbyobiwan]

on my knees i think clearer

obikin ficlet written for day one of the haunted hoedown challenge! taboo au + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into."

tags smut, semi-public oral sex, a bit of dirty talk

word count 2.1k

Senatorial balls are always very boring. Thankfully, Senator Skywalker has Master Kenobi there to make things a bit more interesting…

ao3

The buzzer to Anakin’s door goes off, and his heart immediately jumps in his chest. There’s always a specific little rhythm that Obi-Wan uses when he wants some alone time with Anakin, and the sound of it alone makes him more excited than he should be when he’s at work like this.

He forgoes pressing the button at his desk to open the door, preferring to use the one right next to the doorway instead — there’s just something he likes about the door panning open, leaving him and Obi-Wan standing face to face. There is, also, the added bonus of it allowing Anakin to check the corridors around his office. It’s soundproof, thankfully, but… he likes to be aware of who’s in the general vicinity when Obi-Wan is in his office. 

On his way over to the door, Anakin gives himself a quick once-over in the mirror and runs a hand through his hair, before finally opening it. The Senate building’s doors open quickly, especially by Tatooinian standards, but Anakin finds himself wishing they opened more so, if only he could see Obi-Wan’s face more quickly. 

There’s a smile on Obi-Wan’s beautiful face when he speaks. “Good afternoon, Senator Skywalker.” It’s a knowing one; Obi-Wan enjoys their little false interactions and sneaking around even more than Anakin does.

“Good afternoon, Master Kenobi. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Anakin tears his gaze away from Obi-Wan, looking over his shoulder at the rest of the corridor — a few people milling around, but it’s rather empty overall.

“I wanted to go over the security protocols for the ball this evening, Senator. I understand that my services are no longer mandated by the Senate, however the Council agreed that my presence at the ball tonight would be helpful.”

Anakin has to stop himself from beaming. He’s coming tonight? “Of course, Master — please, come in.”

He steps aside, and Obi-Wan smoothly enters his office. The doors don’t close quickly enough, either, as the second they take to do so is one second that Anakin could have instead spent pressing Obi-Wan against the wall. 

He kisses Obi-Wan fiercely — it’s been several days since they’ve seen one another, and he’s missed him — but pulls back after a few seconds. “Are you actually coming tonight?”

Obi-Wan grins. “I am, if you’d like me there.”

“Of course I’d like you there. Oh — are you going to dress up?”

A laugh. “No, I doubt that. I might put on a pair of nicer robes, though. And I might shave.” There’s another knowing smile as he says that, aware exactly of what Anakin’s reaction will be.

“Don’t you dare,” he says, before pushing forward for another slower, deeper kiss. He brings one of his hands up to cup Obi-Wan’s jaw, to feel the beard there beneath his fingers, before moving them to the back of his neck to slide into his hair. It’s shorter than it was when he first met Obi-Wan, and there isn’t as much to hold on to, but he still enjoys running his fingers through it. 

Obi-Wan’s hands, which had been resting on Anakin’s upper back, begin to slide down, before settling at his hips and squeezing the flesh there, letting him reacquaint himself with Anakin’s body. “I’ve missed you,” he says, voice low.

“I’ve missed you too.”

“As glad as I am that you no longer need a guard, I rather shamefully find myself almost wishing that you did again.”

“So do I,” Anakin says. “Not seeing you every day sucks.”

They move away from the wall — it isn’t the most comfortable place to spend their time — to Anakin’s desk. Obi-Wan sits in one of the chairs in front of the desk, while Anakin perches on the desk’s surface, kicking off his shoes so he can rest his feet in Obi-Wan’s lap.

“Should I escort you to the ball tonight?” Obi-Wan asks. “Or should I just meet you here?”

Anakin thinks it over. As much as more time spent with Obi-Wan is a good thing, if they have to endure the ride from Anakin’s apartment to the Senate Building while they’re both looking their best, it might prove too much of a temptation. Obi-Wan has a strong will, yes, but Anakin knows just how to overcome it. He can be very persuasive when he wants to be, and he’s seen Obi-Wan’s reaction to him in fancy garb before. 

“Maybe just meet me at the landing pad?” he suggests, and Obi-Wan agrees.

So there they meet: the sun is setting, illuminating the landing platform in a golden glow, and Anakin immediately notices the way it catches on the auburn of Obi-Wan’s hair. He can’t help but smile when he sees him, but forces himself not to rush out of the speeder and into his arms — there are other people about, after all. 

Thankfully, Obi-Wan hasn’t shaved, though he has tidied up his beard a little. He’s in a nice-looking pair of robes, too, and Anakin just wants to sink into his arms. Instead of doing that, though, he stands a just-shy-of-too-friendly distance away and gives his usual formal greeting.

“Good evening, Master Kenobi.”

“Good evening, Senator Skywalker.” Obi-Wan says with a slight bow. “You look very lovely tonight.”

Anakin tries not to seem too pleased. “Thank you, Master Kenobi. Shall we head inside?”

“Of course, Senator.”

The two of them enter the Senate building and go towards the ballroom. The event is being held to celebrate two years since the end of the Clone Wars, and it’s a nice idea, but the galaxy is by no means in a state where they should be celebrating. The actual bloodshed has ended, yes, but the process of rebuilding is a long one, and nowhere near finished. So Anakin’s mood isn’t the greatest as he spends his evening at the ball. Obi-Wan backs off after a few minutes, preferring to spend the beginning of the night watching from afar, while Anakin is forced to interact with other senators.

The ‘mingling’ portion of the night always lasts an unpleasantly long time, so after the twelfth infuriating discussion with a senator from a mid-rim planet who really is passionate about ending slavery, but trading with the Hutts is just too vital to their economy right now when Anakin tries to bring up his upcoming bill about moving to really tackle just that, he sends a pointed look in Obi-Wan’s direction and leaves the ballroom. Along the corridor are a series of alcoves, and he ducks behind one and waits. He waits for the sound of Obi-Wan’s footsteps as they come down the hall, and as soon as the man peeks around the corner he grabs hold of his robes and pulls him deeper into the darkness.

“Anakin, what are you doing?”

“Nobody will notice. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, I don’t want to spend the whole evening only looking at you from across the room.”

The light is dim, but Anakin can see the way Obi-Wan’s gaze softens. “Oh, Anakin…”

“Besides…” Anakin attempts a flirty expression. “Wouldn’t it be fun for me to suck you off while everyone else is only one room away, completely unaware of how deep I can take you?”

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan says, voice turning rough. His hands come up to cup Anakin’s face, one thumb stroking at his cheek.

“A Senator, taking his Jedi bodyguard’s cock down his throat? At the Victory Day ball? Imagine if they found out…” Anakin’s attempts at dirty talk have always been ridiculously corny, but they thankfully seem to work on Obi-Wan. 

“Darling, you’ll have to be quiet if you want to keep our secret.”

“Our secret? I’ll be your dirty little secret, if that’s what you’re into.”

Anakin knows full well that it’s what Obi-Wan’s into, but the grip Obi-Wan suddenly takes on Anakin’s shoulders as he pushes him to his knees is worth it. “You are dirty, aren’t you? All the senators who see you in your fancy robes, none of them know that underneath all that, you’re just my little slut?”

Anakin’s brain halts for a second at that, and lets out a helpless moan. As much as he enjoys being the one to do the dirty talk every once in a while, he loves the things Obi-Wan says to him — he knows exactly what gets Anakin going, and it works every time. 

“You’ll have to be quieter than that too, sweetheart,” he says, fumbling with his robes for a second until he frees his cock. “At least this should shut you up.”

The first time Anakin sank to his knees in front of Obi-Wan, it was two months into Obi-Wan’s time as his bodyguard. They’d only just about successfully evaded an assassination attempt, and the intense, almost possessive look that Obi-Wan fixed Anakin with got to him. He’d dropped to his knees, right there in his apartment’s living room, and requested that he show Obi-Wan adequate thanks for saving his life. Obi-Wan had somewhat awkwardly rebuffed him, citing that it was inappropriate, that he didn’t want to take advantage of Anakin’s tense mental state, and Anakin had sadly assumed that Obi-Wan must not be interested in him. 

That wasn’t the case, thankfully, and the second time Anakin sank to his knees in front of Obi-Wan they actually got somewhere. And now, he’s very much used to it, and he knows just what Obi-Wan likes. So he takes it in his hands first — it’s already mostly hard, but Anakin wants to wind him up a little too before actually taking it into his mouth — before pressing his lips to the head. Just that sensation alone has Obi-Wan giving a light moan, and Anakin feels pleased at his reaction when he gets out his tongue, and dips it into the slit. 

Obi-Wan rests his hands in Anakin’s head. “Come on, sweetheart. You know what I want you to do.”

Anakin does as he’s told, and, mindful of his teeth, finally takes Obi-Wan into his mouth. Obi-Wan’s hands tighten against his scalp, and he knows that his carefully styled hair is probably going to be ruined after this, but he doesn’t care — he loves the feeling of Obi-Wan pulling at his hair. 

Obi-Wan pulls him further down his length, and soon, Anakin’s nose is pressing into the hairs at the base of his cock. At first, he gags at the feeling, but Obi-Wan lets him take his time then, and Anakin is soon settled between his bodyguard’s legs. 

He loves being like this, and his lids become heavier, and he hums around Obi-Wan’s cock. This draws a moan from the man, and he holds Anakin tight to him. “Good boy,” Obi-Wan says, and if Anakin’s cock wasn’t hard before, it certainly is now. Knowing just what he needs, Obi-Wan moves his boot between Anakin’s legs, so he can rut against it as he helps Obi-Wan get off. 

In pursuit of just that, Obi-Wan begins to thrust his hips lightly into Anakin’s mouth. Anakin knows he isn’t going to last much longer, and though he wants Obi-Wan’s cock in his mouth for as long as possible, he likes how quickly Obi-Wan can reach orgasm because of him. He brings a hand up to play with Obi-Wan’s balls, and elicits another noise from the man above him. 

“Nearly there, my good boy,” Obi-Wan gets out. “Going to finish in your beautiful mouth, you’re so good, so—”

Anakin moans at Obi-Wan’s words, and moans again when he feels his come spurting down his throat. He continues to rut against Obi-Wan’s boot, but doesn’t do it too quickly, not wanting to come himself just yet. 

Obi-Wan takes Anakin’s head from his cock, looking down at him with a loving expression as he fixes his robes. Anakin’s heart feels warm despite the nature of what they’ve just done. “Can’t believe you got me to do that, kriff. In the Senate building, of all places.”

Anakin grins. “Nor can I. I wasn’t sure you’d go for it.”

“Oh, yes you were.” Obi-Wan takes Anakin’s hand, and helps him stand. “You know you can get me to do anything you want.”

“That’s true,” Anakin laughs, and Obi-Wan pulls him in for a deep kiss. “Now can we go back to my apartment? I need to get off too, you know, and I’m not sure an alcove is an adequate location for me.”

Obi-Wan scoffs. “Senators. Alright then. Come on.”

thank you for reading! this is a bit rough around the edges — only found out about the challenge yesterday but was very excited so wrote this in one day lmao — but i hope you enjoyed it anyway <3

[infiniteglitterfall]

asdfkjaflkjasflkjasfkjafkjafljkasflkjasflkjasflkjgjkgjllkjgffff

Let's take a look at the original source.

If it seems solid, we can just fact-check it by seeing if any other reliable news outlets are also reporting this.

I've transcribed all of that and my notes in the alt tag for the screenshot if it's hard to read.

I'll also summarize the problems here:

this article is from what Wikipedia calls "a semi-official news agency" owned by the government of Iran.

state-owned media is propaganda, period. When you see that you're reading state-owned media, it's a good practice to stop and look for a story from an independent source.

We're continuing just for practice.

The headline is neutral-sounding which is good; the date is current, which is good.

The article's source for this info is, "According to Qatar's Al-Jazeera." This is another state-owned media outlet. That's bad.

Plus, they don't link to whatever article, tweet, video, etc. they're citing from Al-Jazeera. So you can't get more info, see if there is more info, see what they said....

And you don't need to know this in order to fact-check, but: one thing I've learned from fact-checking everything I see from any "side" in the past 11 months is that Al-Jazeera often tweets false statements that it never follows up on. I don't know if it just shoots out a tweet as soon as it hears a rumor, to get the scoop and follow up if it happens to be true, or what. But it really sucks if you want to know what's going on.

I forgot to put a note about "the target of the strike" there: this is mind-reading. They need to give any kind of source from someone who was there and/or has a reason to know what the target was. For instance, a military analyst looking at satellite or drone footage would work.

Most of the article is devoted to saying that Israel is currently on trial for genocide and saying that human rights groups have "blamed Israel's far-right cabinet and military for ignoring the order." This should link to or quote at least one human rights group doing that.

Seriously, NONE of the rest of the article says anything about the strike?! This isn't an article; it's not even a source. At a bare minimum, a source tells you what happened and how they know.

There's one more problem with this piece. I'm giving it separately, as an example of how people can fact-check things:

The article cites "more than 144,000 Palestinians dead, maimed, or missing." Numbers are great for fact-checking. Let's walk through it, using this as an example.

In this case, I threw "number of people missing in gaza" into google.

The numbers in search result previews were all over the place and I didn't feel like trying to figure out when all of them were from, so I hit the "news" tab. Time Magazine had a recent-ish piece and is reasonably reliable. A little over two months ago, it quoted a new report by Save the Children International as saying 17,000 children were missing, and 4,000 were missing presumed dead. I didn't see anyone talking about adults. A search for "'missing adults' 'gaza'" turned up nothing in either web or news results. A dead end there is also fine in terms of fact-checking, IMHO. But in this case, I remembered seeing a bunch of articles about how the Gaza Ministry of Health calculates the numbers killed. Some of them described how Gazans can fill out an online form to report those who are missing presumed dead, known to be dead under the rubble, etc. This article has a VERY biased headline, but the research is solid: it explains exactly what the Ministry of Health has said and done at different points, and links to different analyses of its data. Basically, its numbers for fatalities include people missing and presumed dead. So we're still at around 17,000 missing, 41,000 dead: 58,000 total.

That leaves about 86,000 Palestinians that Iran is saying Qatar is saying have been maimed. I threw 'number of palestinians "maimed"' into Google. Putting maimed in quotes forced Google to give me results that included that word. Still couldn't find anything that gave a number of people who were maimed. Then I tried "gaza casualties," because people sometimes include injuries in casualties.

That got me to Wikipedia's page on "casualties of the israel-hamas war," which did have an infographic from OCHR that gave numbers of people injured.

But it was a couple months old and didn't specify anything about injuries. The infographic was headed with "OCHA Gaza Reported Incident Snapshot" and the date." So I took one more swing at it, just in case this info really is out there, and searched for "ocha gaza reported incident snapshot." I did find a current one. It still only gave the total injured, which it said was 94,224. Higher than 86,000, but not a lot higher.

86,000 divided by 94,224 is 91%.

So the only way to get to 144,000 is if 91% of everyone injured in Gaza over the past 11 months was maimed. As in, had a body part amputated or lost the use of it. And while there are horrific stories about that happening, none of them imply that it was the majority of injuries. Much less that it includes almost everyone who's been injured. So I'm calling big-time shenanigans on the total of "dead, maimed, or missing" in this article. (On a personal note, I also think it's disrespectful and risky to the people of Gaza to play these games with data. Is the number of dead not enough? Are people not going to get frustrated and distrustful when they find out that the number of dead, maimed, and missing is far lower? Aren't the real experiences and voices of Gazans worth platforming?)

Now let's see if we can find a better source confirming this thing.

I'm actually going to START with the IDF. Because it does share a lot of detail about its actions, and if it says it did this, then I'm ready to just call it done.

Ok: this is the only tweet from the IDF today, or since the 1st:

Al-Jazeera did tweet about it, and doesn't mention anything else about it, even on its liveblog, which the tweet links to while saying "follow our LIVE coverage."

(It does have in-person reporting there on a strike in Gaza City that killed nine, which is just similar enough to confuse me for a minute. But it wasn't 8, or a bread line, or Jabalia.

It seems to be the same thing that the IDF is tweeting about, above? Al Jazeera says an IDF strike in this location killed at least 9, including 2 children. But it's entirely possible that more people died in this strike than Al Jazeera is initially reporting.)

The Jerusalem Post has a liveblog too, which also doesn't mention anything at all around Jabalia Refugee Camp.

A lot of accounts on Twitter have just repeated what Al Jazeera said, often without any credit. But the only actual news article about it is the one above, and an even shorter one, also citing Al Jazeera, from "TASS," which is...?

Oh yeah, this checks out.

It's a Russian state-owned news agency, and one of the largest news agencies worldwide.

Just yesterday an Israeli strike killed 8 Palestinians who were waiting outside the UNRWA agency for bread. These were people who were already displaced—who lost their homes, who were grieving the death of loved ones, who have been starving for months on end since Israel completely cut aid in February—and their last moments were waiting in line for bread before an Israeli strike killed them then and there

[discordofsound]

Done. If you are one of the people who followed me to keep up to date with my mods, I'm sorry to let you know that I'll no longer be making updates on Tumblr. I am a mod author who's worked on all sorts of mods, primarily helping others fix their own mods, but I have a few that I can call my own, just not publically released. Yet. These past several weeks have been tough for me. If you're unaware, there's a nationwide shortage of Adderal in the United States, so it's one of the necessary medications I need to function on a semi-normal level. I take a LOT of medications due to being a victim of CSA/CA/SA/R, and other diagnosed illnesses I've been fighting. And, if you're genetically female and have inattentive ADHD that went undiagnosed because it used to be a boy's only syndrome, which we now know is not the case, then you can relate when your brain and eyes aren't on the same playing field. Sometimes missing sentences, or chapters in books, always forgetting names, dates, and times even if you were told it one minute ago, having low/no motivation for work and fun, easily getting overwhelmed, and the constant fear of rejection and being far too hard on yourself. None of that is fun, and I will never understand the romanticization of ADHD by others. I have a few things that really bring me joy, modding being one. Another is the study of entomology. Bugs. It really brightens up my day seeing bug posts, especially people handling safe insects with care and respect. Well, one such post came across my feed the other day and I was just all excited because I, being in the US, found two of those insects quite randomly. It was a real treat and I did a lot of reading on them and kept them for a short time before returning them to the wild. Except... this was an insect that looked nearly identical to the one I had found. Mind you, it was late at night, I am losing my eyesight (which scares me), and my unmedicated brain did not see any tags at the time. Well, it's very, VERY common to misidentify insects when they tend to mimic each other, and I'm always ok with correcting any information with accurate updates. Except... the comment and tags from the poster before me, Endivinity, were less than... kind... in their response to my post. In fact, the tone came across as demeaning, which is a bit of a gut punch since I've been a fan of their Deathclaw artwork for a few years now. Sadly, that's no longer the case. I try to be courteous to others in the way that I interact with them, and we all make silly mistakes, but their admonishment for me not "reading their tags" really can't be taken as any other context but "you didn't read MY tags, are you stupid?" Well, no, I have a developmental disability that impacts my daily life, and without meds, it's 5x worse. Sorry for not seeing your tags? I guess I was under the false pretense that Tumblr was more understanding and inclusive to people with disabilities, and the way we spoke to each other reflected the fact that many of us here have been abused/discriminated against outside of the online world. Who wants to perpetuate that? Easy mistake since people still find the mask of anonymity emboldening. But, it's not really what I'm interested in seeing or engaging with. I'm almost 40 and still trying to heal from trauma, so I'm going to take this interaction as a lesson. I'm still going to work on my mods, but I probably won't post updates here any longer. I'll figure out where eventually lol. Thanks to everyone who was following me to keep abreast of my projects, you guys rock.

[selfoe]

five's portrayal of the mc from the interactive fiction series f.allen h.ero, pulled from that universe and thrown into a bunch of others. heavily crime and sci-fi based. general warnings from the books include violence, abuse, suicidal ideation / past attempt, strong language, themes of a sexual nature, self-harm, and depictions of mental illness (including ptsd, depression, and anxiety). guide.

first book. second book. / info under cut. verses. pins. sideblog. affiliated with: FOOLTHE, DOGSROT, UNHOLIES, CHAVOTI / DRAAHL

NOTE: I WILL BE WRITING MOSTLY IN SECOND PERSON, WITH SOME SWITCHES TO FIRST PERSON. i plan on trying to write as if it's part of the interactive fiction novel(s), so the first person will be "choices."

tunes 1. tunes 2. mixtape.

SHEPHERD ICHON, BETTER KNOWN AS SIDESTEP. HERO (VIGILANTE) OF THE PAST, VILLAIN OF THE NOW. ("TRUTH AND JUSTICE COULD ONLY BE FOUND ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE LAW.") SHEP, BY FEW. a trans man in his early thirties, specific age unknown. ONE OF THE STRONGEST TELEPATHS CREATED. (not nearly as strong as you could be. you're losing your grip, aren't you?)

(A RE-GENE; NOT HUMAN.) (not born; manufactured.)

(THE CUCKOO, INFILTRATOR, TRAITOR.) (traitor...?)

when it comes to shepherd's abilities, i will never do anything without consent from the other writer (aka i'll talk with you first, but i usually plot before i write, anyhow). he is a wickedly strong telepath, which doesn't just mean reading minds; he can read and feel other people's emotions, can force them to forget things (including his face), implement false memories, and even "possess" them. (it's also not limited to humans; it's anything that's a living thing, which includes plants and animals.) + he can “push” living beings to do things (think andy from firestarter, except shep doesn’t [have to] speak to them; it’s a mental push). (note: he has, or had [depends on the timeline], a puppet he named ZEKE, who he used to conduct meetings and get close to certain people.) and these are just simplified terms. he's stronger than he makes himself out to be, though everything does take a huge toll on him, physically and mentally. there are also certain things that can prevent him from using his abilities, namely telepathic dampeners (depending on their strength, he can still push through to some extent) and neurological disorders such as epilepsy.

it's also important to note that shepherd is always completely covered up, aside from his face and his hands. his body is covered in these thick, orange "tattoos," connected by the barcode at the center of his chest (from his shoulders, to his lower arms, his torso, and his legs). he has many, many scars, some from the fights he's been in, and many from trying to rid his body of the tattoos to no avail.

HIS STYLE IS EDGY SEMI-FORMAL, always wearing a long-sleeve, turtle-neck undershirt. HE'S AVERAGE HEIGHT (5'10"), DARK SHOULDER LENGTH HAIR (that he cuts in the third book, which isn't out yet), AND DARK EYES. BOTH EARS AND HIS TONGUE ARE PIERCED. it's also likely you'll see him munching on something sweet at any given moment (his abilities drain him whether he's actively using them or not, and he's found sweets to be the best and most delicious way to get the energy he needs).

a basic timeline of some of the most important events of the past:

shepherd is created by THE FARM. he is, simply put, a tool for the special directive, manufactored to infiltrate humans and gather information and/or take them out, as needed.

shepherd escapes from the farm and eventually becomes SIDESTEP, a vigilante deemed hero. he's taken in (for lack of a better phrase; he fights alongside them, often) of registered heroes, though never registers himself (he doesn't want to). one of the heroes, charge (ricardo ortega) becomes his best friend and crush, which turns into some sor of fling after tons of flirting from both sides.

the heartbreak incident. (TW FOR DEATH / IMPLIED SUICIDE) his other best friend on the team, anathema, who he's closer to than even ortega, dies in this incident, melted and torn by his own acidic abilities thanks to the strong telepath they're trying to find and fight. shep is frozen, unable to do anything but watch. he ends up breaking the glass and jumping out of a window, and while everyone else is told he's dead (and given doctored photos), he's actually taken back to the farm.

he escapes again, finds his 'puppet' zeke in a hospital, braindead, and makes his plan to become THE VILLAIN. at this point, he doesn't know what he's going to name himself, but ends up deciding on SIDESTEP. his past self is his rival, and taking the name back from himself is part of his revenge.

revenge. that's what started it, but as he's found by ortega and becomes too close again, to not only him, but the new heroes (herald and lady argent) and the man he fought with all the time (wei chen), he realizes what he's wanted all along: REAL justice, and for the truth to come out about the system the heroes work for (and maybe revenge is still there, bubbling with his never-evaporating anger-- revenge against everyone, and his past self.)

of course, some things change, depending on the verse i throw shep into, including character relationships (i have him romancing herald / daniel, mainly). the characters WILL be pulled into whatever verse i throw shep into, so it's likely they'll be mentioned, but their relationship will differ, depending on the verse.

[stellevatum]

Force Vampirism, Thralls, & Necromancy

Worldbuilding ahoy! We're going to go over some worldbuilding on Kar's more dark-sided/celestial abilities and what happens when becoming a Force Thrall-- and Necromancy as both are linked.

Vampirism:

Kar technically falls under the definition of a psychic/energy vampire. She can sustain herself with food but she’s the Force made flesh– it is what sustains her best. One could argue it is also the Dark Side perversion of Force Empathy and Psychometry blended with the Mind Trick– instead of randomly sensing Force Echoes by chance, she can literally make you feel things, plant false memories, rip the memories from your mind whether you like it or not– and fighting it could leave you dead or a vegetable.

Main timeline she only “feeds” on the willing, or passively through like people watching at a park or hitting the club, taking miniscule bits from many beings vs just the one. Rare cases she might break the rule if it’s a particularly egregious being or someone she wants dead…but otherwise a consenting person works well.

In more Sith aligned AUs she’s likely more actively preying on underlings and prisoners, though. I suspect as it became more prevalent Palps would definitely take advantage of that.

Necromancy:

As Celestials have domain over the Universal Force, they can effectively have control over life and death. So technically they can perform what we would call Necromancy. Somewhere down the line one Celestial or two might've passed the information along down the line and via telephone it has been watered down to what I'll call "Diet" Necromancy-- known by the Witches of Dathomir and of Sith Lords of old.

Kar can bring someone back, but it is very elaborate process in the Force. Just as Force Healing takes from the healer to heal the injured, performing Necromancy is like Force Healing on steroids healing EVERY part of the body at once-- and will significantly drain her. Meaning if it is performed, she will have go dormant and recover after the fact-- thus leaving her weakened because she need to rely on Mal and her guards to oversee her body. As such it would only have to be a very significant case, like if the Force compelled her to, and was sure would not cause any significant cosmic unbalance.

However, the body has to be freshly dead or as close to as possible. So like outside of her being too young and uninitiated in her abilities, she couldn't just resurrect her partner because he was vaporized. No body of to speak of.

Through the ritual, a person can be returned to live a regular normal life, or could have a sort of semi-immortality conferred upon them by means of becoming what I've coined as a Force Thrall.

Force Thralls:

A Force Thrall is a being bound to a Celestial through their command of the Universal Force. Think like a thrall of vampire lore. A Force Thrall is immortal, but is permanently bound to their creator and compelled to act upon the will of their creator if ordered to do so. They can, however, act independently outside of that one thing. They are also more intimately linked, and even if the Thrall was formerly Forceblind, they can "sense" their creator's emotions/pain and speak telepathically through their bond. Thralls can regenerate to an extent as well and survive nearly anything outside of vaporization. (Again like Kar is "immortal", it's more a mix of rapid regen and having a lifespan that only literal planets and galaxies can match.)

A Thrall can die through the use of the rare few weapons designed for killing a Celestial proper (the Mortis dagger for example). They can also die if their creator is killed by the above means as well. The final means of "dying" is if the creator revokes their Thralldom and reinstates their mortality, or decides to permanently kill them.

Like normal necromancy, the initial ritual to create a Thrall is very draining on the creator's end, and slightly traumatizing to the Thrall-- having being their first thing they sense of their creator is their pain/fatigue of their creation. And given the long reaching effects of making a person immortal-- very few beings are made Thralls.

In Kar's case, Mal is likely her only one, though unless one of her agents proves themselves invaluable and trustworthy enough she may gift it to have more eyes and ears. As such-- this is up to discussion with partners, particularly intimate ones.