#for me it's just bc I've had 1 or 2 followers (who I didn't know) who were the first to like something I posted within seconds

[poppyflower-22]

are you taking requests? saw you're multi so i thought id send anyway but its so random,

estabished lando x reader on race day and tom blyth is on the paddock for silverstone and reader gets excited bc she loved him on tbosas and lando gets jealous?

Jealous Jealous

Side note: I've never written on tumbler before. Only Wattpad, so don't judge if this is bad.

Also, I added she is Max's sister because I like reading and writing siter brother bonds.

There’s probably spelling errors and grammar mistakes, but I wrote this in a night.

Lando 24, reader 22. (Dating 1 year but not discussed) Masterlist

When Lando met Y/n, he knew she was a fan of the Hunger Games movies. She loved them a lot. She had read all the books. Everything.

So when the new one came out Lando took her to see it even if he had never really seen one of the previous movies.

Let's just say y/n was hooked onto the main guy who played Coriolanus.

It was something Lando didn't really know about. But he thought nothing of it as it was highly unlikely that they would See this Tom Blyth fellow at a race.

Five months after the movie was released, Lando had completely forgotten about his girlfriend's crush.

It was race day at the Silverstone track. Lando and y/n walked into the paddock hand and hand, smiling at the fans that where there.

Y/n gasped and stoped suddenly. Lando frowned confused on why you girlfriend stoped.

"What's wrong?" He frowned and followed her eye sight to see a man in dark jeans and a dark shirt. Shaggy brown hair. "Who's that?" He asked slightly jealous at the way his girlfriend was looking at the man.

Y/n slapped him on the arm lightly, not looking away from Tom. "That's Tom Blyth. The guy who played Coriolanus Snow in the new hunger games movie." She explained to him. Gushing over him.

"Ahha." He made a face of recolonisation. When they watched the new movie y/n was obsessed with Coriolanus Snow and gushed about how Tom was a good actor to play him.

"I'm going to say hi." She spoke suddenly kissing his cheek and sleeping over to Tom who smiled at the girl.

Lando watch with his arms crosed. It's not that he didn't trust y/n it was that Tom guy. He watched as he placed his arm around her waist for a picture and he clenched his jaw.

He wouldn't say anything because it would only make her sad. He hated the way her face lit up as he asked her a question. Jealousy was sweeping in through his veins.

Max, who was walking down the paddock saw his sisters boyfriend frowning and followed his eye sight.

He laughed knowing Y/n liked Coriolanus Snow and extension to who played him.

"No need to be jealous." Max commented as he pattered Lando's shoulder shaking the boy from his thoughts.

"I'm not." Lando scoffed and went back to watching his girlfriend as she bid the Brit goodbye.

"Say that to your clenched jaw and your posture." Max chuckled just as y/n was standing in front of them.

"Max." She beamed and kissed him on the cheek. Y/n looked over at Lando with a happy face. "Tom said he was coming tot he McLaren garage. So I said he could stand with me." She gushed.

"How wonderful." Lando smiled at her in fake happiness.

Max chuckled watching them walk away knowing jealous Lando is a funny Lando. He had seen Lando get jealous when guys would come up to her in the clubs.

Lando clenched his jaw hard as he watch Tom make y/n laugh and throw he head back in laughter.

All day y/n had been showing Tom around. And when she was with Lando a bit, all she talked about was Tom and how he filmied Billy The Kid in the snowny mountains.

Charles had teased him about it but backed of seeing the anger in his eyes.

Lando was suited up and ready for the race and was talking to Will. He knew driving like this was a bad idea. Being frustrated beofer a race, never good.

He was normally a jealous guy but he also knew no one could match up to him. But this Tom guy could.

He was handsome. Older. The Verstappen's had a thing for older people. (🤭) Y/n only being 22.

Lando took a deep breath knowing y/n would never cheat on him. Or do anything like that to jeopardise there relationship.

Zak was about to ask Lando a question when Lando pushed his helmet into Will's hand abruptly and stored over to y/n.

"-and then he gave me all thease roses-" y/n was cut of from talking to Tom as Lando grabbed her hand and basically yanked her to his driver's room. "Hey!" She yelled.

Lando ignored her until he pushed her lightly into his driver's room.

"What was that for? I was talking to Tom." Y/n asked closing her arms watching Lando as he signed and then clenched his jaw.

"Do you like this Tom Blyth guy?" He blurted out.

Y/n frowned confused, not knowing what he was talking about. "What?"

Lando signed annoyed, "All day you have been hanging out with him. Laughing with him. Just Tom, Tom Tom." He ranted.

"That dosnt mean I like him." She told her Brit boyfriend.

Lando shook his head, "You barely spent the day with me."

"Your racing today Lan."

"So." He pondered crosing his arms.

Y/n laughed suddenly knowing what he was feeling. "Your jealous." She stated.

Lando shook his head. "I am not." He refused in a child's way.

"There's nothing to be jealous of. We were just talking. That's it." Y/n assured him.

"You looked pretty happy with him." He told her with a frown.

Y/n matched that frown and crosed her arms, now a little angry. "Jesus Lan, we were just talking. Yes I have a crush on him but that's only because we just watched hunger games." She sighed uncrosing her arms and looking away. "We actually have alot in common. As friends. He also has a girlfriend."

Lando looked away from her. Y/n sugged her shoulders with a sly smile, "Well he dose have nice hair though." She couldn’t help but teased.

Lando's head snapped to her direction. "No way. You can't love his hair. You love my hair." He refused making his way over to her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

That was true. Y/n loved Lando’s hair. She had helped him keep his curls more healthy looking. Y/n loved to play with his as well as Lando loved it when she pulled his hair during sex.

Y/n sighed and pulled him into her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and started playing with the hair on the back of his neck.

"I'm jealous." He confused. When y/n tried to pull back he refused and held onto her longer. "I'm scared that you'll leave me for someone older. You said when we first got together your type was older men and you liked British people."

Lando dl tightened his hold on her a little, "I don't want to lose you."

Lando was insured about losing the only person he loved more in the world, other then his family.

Y/n sighed and closed her eyes, she finally pulled away from Lando and put her hands on his cheeks. "I do like older men. I do like British men. But I love you." She spoke softly. She smiled at him, making him smile back. "You are the man I will always come home to. You are the one I love. No one, not even a crush I have will stop that because that's it. A crush." She told Lando.

"I love you." Lando smiled kissing her on the lips. Y/n smiled through the kiss.

"I love you." She replied breathless when they parted.

Lando signed and rested his head on her forehead. "I'm sorry for accusing you of liking that guy."

"You mean Tom." Y/n giggled.

"Hmm." He hummed, not caring of his name.

"God Lando." She checked, kissing his cheek before stepping away from him. "Now go out there and race." She giggled as he led then out of his driver's room.

When they got back to the garage Will looked over at them and Lando shot him a thumbs up to indicate it was all good.

Lando turned to his girlfriend. "But do stay with Lilly or something." He pleaded.

Y/n giggled. "Sure." She kissed Lando again beofer he was called over to his engineer. She would do it to ease his nerves and insecurities.

As y/n steped next to Lilly, Tom looked over at her and shot her a smile. She shot a small one back, before talking to Lilly.

Yes she loves Tom Blyth as a crush but her true heart belongs to Lando. He had nothing to worry about, ever.

He would be the one she spend the rest of her life with. What she didn’t known was a ring was resting in Lando’s bed side table. A ring that would sit on her left hand at the end of the year.

<><>

[kenlvry]

LISTEN TO ME RN HEAT ME TF OUT STANS GANG + CRAIG DOIGN THE LIPSTICK TREND FROM TICTOK WITH READER

the lipstick trend with stan and craigs team

an, I AM LISTENLING ANON DONT WORRY. no idea what you mean by heat out though 🤨 , 17-18 and gn reader but use of her in tolkiens

kenny

he was the one who suggested it, it came across his fyp one day and he sent it to you "lets do this come over rn." "you asked, why dont you come to my house? 🤨" "why don't i cum in your mom" "HUH 😧" "im here."

you both definitely argue on what lipstick you should wear "okay but i don't even use pink lipstick" "well you should" "its light colour its not gonna appear" "well fuck 😒"

the process of kissing his face is wild, he would suggest to do his lips as the first place "KENNY HOW ARE WE GONNA DO THIS TREND IF YOU KEEP TRYING TO MAKE OUT WITH ME" "ITS NOT MY FAULT"

after like2 hours you finally get the lipstick on his face. now the tiktok was even harder he wouldn't stop laughing. you'd give up and he apologises while laughing

thank god you guys were able to finish it under 1 hour it turned out really good, at the end of the video he kissed you and you wanted to cut that part but he said keep it for like and its true the comments were all about the kiss on the last clip

kyle

okay he too wanted to ask you first but he was kinda shy and waited for you to ask and you did!! woohoo for kyle

"kyle wanna do this" "OKAY" he insists on picking your lipstick and picks the ugliest colour like what 😐

to him there was no such thing as an ugly colour buy it didn't suit your face so no way.

the process of it was calm, he at first wanted to put on the lipstick for you but you looked like a clown has mans never put on lipstick??

he watches you as you kiss him and reapply lipstick and then kiss him again, he feels like a princess fr 🤭🤭

he hasn't seen his face yet so when you record and he saw his face he laughs out loud, "LMAO WHY DO I LIKE THAT??" "WDYM"

you would tell him to take off his hat which he refuses but you looked too cute, when it posted cartman was first to comment and you can already tell what he commented "ew gay" your followers defended you two though 🤭

stan

stan blushes internally when you ask him. "sure im down" DEEP DOWN HE WANTS KIDNAP YOY AND KEEP YOU TO HIMSELF

"what lipstick do you think matches me best, pink or red?" "id say my tip colour" "WHAT 😧"

he has to hold in the very urge to puke every time you kiss him because like you look so cute omg.

he looks in the mirror and is js like "damn, i did it". HE LOVES IT SOOOO MUCH YOU CAN TELL HE'S BLUSHING ONGG ‼️

he even directs you like "do here next, okay now here" its so cute 🤭🤭

when you record and the camera pans to him, he smiles and covers his face blushing bc he can't contain it. it was such a cute video and got iver 2 mil likes. cartman definitely commented "i bet you had to change your clothes 10 times"

cartman

"cartman lets do this" "what." "wdym? cmon its cute" "y/n no offense but that is the most gayest shit i've ever seen" " NO ITS NOT UTS CUTE" "my reputation is at stake if i do that be so for real" "okay I'm asking kyle then" "lets do it."

he actually been wanting to ask you for weeks now but doesn't know how so winwin. you take your absolute time picking your lipstick and he couldn't be more done with "hurry up this doesn't even effect anything" "shut up cartman if i use the right one people will ask what lipstick it is and i get views"

picking a lipstick was already a big deal just imagine the process "ew gay not on my lips" "cartman 😐" tbh he wish he could just make out with you rn but yk how mans is

now recording is even more a hassle "JUST SMILE IS IT SO HARD TO CRACK A SMILE" "NOT WHILE IM LOOKING LIKE THIS" the most he does is wipes your lipstick off and then he just gives a 🙄 look until the end of the video

the comments are just him getting teased at clydes commenting "NAHHH CAN'T BELIEVE HE AGREED TO THIS" kyles is "i can tell that this took a long time" and then wendys is "is that cartman or a clone of him". cartman is pissed af at the comment, he told you his reputation is at stake 😒.

he actually has it saved downloaded and also is his live wallpaper sooo.

butters

butters is the one who asked you this " um y/n can we do this? 😣" while twiddling his fingers, "OKAY"

he's all giddy and smily during the process, after every kiss his blushes intensifies and by the end of it he is just.. 🔴

even though it is the most simplest video ever he has to have a tutorial, he is asking questions for everything man, how do i wipe the lipstick, what do i do, do i smile when its on me , do i laugh??

you tell him what he thinks he should he and he starts kissing you bc rn the sexual tension between you two is intense (to him atleast, he thinks thinks hand holding is already intense)

everyone comments on how cute he is and yk how tiktok is so people comment "does he whimper" "submissive who?" and hes likw WHATTTTT 🧍

clyde

when you suggested this he nodded so hard his head probably was about to fall off. "clyde you wanna do this" "DO I???" ..... "well.. do you?" "i mean yeah it's like a way of- yes i wanna do it"

he loves any lipstick you wear so he lets you pick. after every kiss he looks in the mirror and kicks his feet giggling and you just stand there 🤨

he also tries to make it a makeout session like kenny, when you kissed on his lips he holds your neck and literally makes out with like cnon we have 9 more

when you first hit record and yk how the guy has to wipe your lipstick off, nah he grabbed you by the chin and slams his lips with yours "WHY DIS YOU DO THAT??" "its called content,you wouldn't know with your 9 likes and 70 views"

well you kept the clip and everyone in the comments were talking about it "need a boyfriend like you y/n" "why can't my boyfriend be like this" clyde is obviously gloating bc he had the idea.

tolkien

most romantic man you know, is the first to ask you. "y/n can we do this?" "OKAY BOO 😝"

"hmm which lipstick do you think babe?" "i think every lipstick makes you pretty, it doesn't matter if it doesn't suit you because in my eyes you look beautiful in anything ☺️" "what if i wore kim kardashians 2013 met gala dress" "might have to rethink what i said"

he smiles while you kiss him here and there, every once a while he kisses you back, it was such a cute moment for you two😝🤞🤞

when recording he looks at you while smiling during the whole video and it blew up fast because of that

"the way he looks at her" "wishing he was like this" "you got the bag that man is inlove", it blew in seconds fr

craig

"craig lets do-" "okay" "i didnt even ask you yet" "I'll do anything if its with you" "what if i asked you to have a threesome" ".....if its makes you happy idk.."

idk about you but i think he acts like he doesn't care but inside he is so happy you asked he's been wanting to ask you this but doesn't know how to start up the convo

he doesn't care what lipstick or where you kiss him, its just the way you press your lips on him and look at it then quickly reapply to do it again because it wasn't pigmented enough.

when recorded, he doesn't just wipe he makes you turn to face him by grabbing your chin, and he doesn't let go and just looks at you with those yk siren eyes.

people are simping over him ong "damn girlie share for us" "you mean OUR boyfriend" "tryna find someone as hot as him" and you are pissed fr he laughs at you cursing out the people, like bae dw my eyes only fo you 😝🤞

tweek

"tweek, wanna do this?" "but what if I can't remove the lipstick stain" "tweek what dw i have makeup remover" "WHAT IF THAT DOESN'T WORK 🤯🤯" "TWEEK"

okay so the lipstick may turn out ugly bc of how shaky he is but ITS OKAY BC ITS TWEEK DUH, "a-are you sure you dont want to redo this?" "tweek its fine"

he insists on redoing it the 2nd try turns our worse because he's even more twitchy because of how close you are☺️☺️☺️

his face is just red because he keeps wiping it off with his hands so you can redo it and its obvious too

recording it was so funny because you can't stop laughing at the smudge lipsticks

when posted the comments were so cute but... uh questionable some were "the way the smudges are so obvious 😭😭❤️" or "wishing my future relationship will be like this 🤭" and some were just "tip colour when?? 😜"

[mire1li]

Reader as Alastor's Mother part 2

Part 1!, Part 3!

𓋼 You would absolutely decorate his microphone with a bunch of ribbons you found!

And he would absolutely allow it in fear of upsetting you, although he began to take them off later on when he had to leave, but seeing you get sad at his actions changed his mind… It did not help that the ribbons were glittery.

“Oh look, Sparkles got sparklier!” Angel had said when Alastor was passing by.

𓋼 He wants you to be happy but don't even try having feelings for anyone in hell, they'll most likely 'disappear under mysterious circumstances' and then you'll just so happen to hear their screams on Alastor's radio broadcast <3

Lucifer tries to flirt everytime he sees you outside (or once he comes back to see the hotel which… would be 'some' time later…) But it's not long before Alastor shows up bcs he has a shadow follow you everywhere

“My mother certainly would not want someone so… ancient…”

“are you trying to make me sound like a fossil?”

“Maybe~ I can’t say for sure though!”

"Y'know, I've stolen wives before… maybe it's time to steal a mother instead!"

"I'm going to fucking kill you"

𓋼 Lucifer would play silly games with you and bring you gifts by leaving them at the hotel’s doorstep, although you never received any (like he thought you did) because Alastor would always take them before you saw them. Or he would make them his own to give to you if you were having a worse day than usual!

“Mother, I had noticed that you weren’t feeling all too great so I brought you a wonderful gift!”

“Oh, thank you, darling!”

Your mood always brightened when he gave you these gifts. 𓋼 One time when Lucifer visited the hotel, he went straight to you to ask you about how you liked the gifts.

"[Name]! Hello, deer, how are you? Did you like the gifts that I left you?"

"Hello Luci, I'm fine, thank you! … Gifts? what gifts?"

"The ones… that I left on the doorstep of the hotel!"

"I dont recall seeing any gifts there… but Alastor recently started leaving the hotel more often! Not for very long though…"

And then Lucifer realised. You never received his gifts because Alastor got to them first! After that, he made sure to put a note with his signature on them. Though, that still didn't deter Alastor, to Lucifer's dismay.

𓋼 One time, Angel returned to the hotel at an unreasonably late hour, so you went to make sure everything was alright.

"Are you alright, Angel?"

"Huh? No, I'm totally fucked!"

"Why? What happened?"

"You know Valentino right? My boss?"

"Of course I do, everyone hates him quite a bit here and you always talk about him"

"Right, well, fuckin' Val made me work an extra 10 hours!"

"He what?!"

"Yeah! Absolute bitch move."

Naturally, Alastor was watching and listening to you two so you turned to him, with quite the menacing look in your eyes.

"Oh Alastor, prepare your radio broadcast!~"

𓋼 You noticed that most of the residents of the hotel all came to you for advice quite often (except Niffty, she's just an entirely different entity)

"It seems they have become quite fond of you, Mother"

"They have, haven't they?"

Alastor's expression was always one of annoyance whenever someone came to you for help. He wouldn't dare admit it, but he was most certainly jealous of anyone who even stood too close to you, let alone talked to you.

𓋼 Because of that one time that Alastor stood right next to Charlie to spite Lucifer, Lucifer decided to stand just that close to you to get back at him.

"An eye for an eye, Mr Radio!"

"I recommend you watch yourself."

𓋼 One time, when you were out of the hotel and walking around Hell with Alastor, Vox just so happened to see you on one of his tv screens, Valentino sitting by him, messaging someone.

"Hey Val, who the fuck is that with that old-timey prick?"

"Hm? No clue."

"You didn't even look, fuckhead"

"How would you know? You're too busy eyefucking Alastor."

"I am not"

"She's probably just another one of those redemption hotel idiots. It doesn't matter"

But Vox still just glared at the screen.

𓋼 Vox continued to keep an eye on you, seeing just how wonderful you are and so when you were outside the hotel alone (or so he thought) he went up to you. Somehow he didn't catch onto the fact that you're Alastor's mother.

"Hello-"

"What do you think you're doing?" Alastor, of course, suddenly appeared out of thin air, standing in between you and Vox, with an even more annoyed smile than usual.

"Alastor, is this another one of your friends?"

"No-"

"Yes, absolutely, ma'am. Great friends, in fact!"

"Ha! Well, you see, this is my Mother."

"Your what?"

Yeah, Alastor simply walked away with you whilst Vox was buffering.

𓋼 Vox constantly tried to talk to you alone but Alastor was always there to stop him, so unfortunate.

"Would you stay away from my Mother, you-! Ahem, my apologies, Mother."

"Hah! Your mother? I think you meant our mother!"

𓋼 Alastor would absolutely cover your ears when swearing at, or insulting, anyone.

𓋼 When you first met Valentino, you were so mad at him on Angel's behalf that you knocked him out and brought him back to the hotel with you. Of course, Vox was there with Val but he was like a lost duckling, just slowly trailing behind you, unsure what to do.

"I'm back!"

"What the fuck did you do??" Angel was lying down on the couch when you entered, dragging the unconcious Valentino behind you.

"A favour to you and hell!"

"No, but how?!"

"That's a secret~"

"Ok… so why'd ya bring him here?"

"Redemption"

𓋼 Back to Lucifer! He would tell you random animal facts to try and impress you! He would also unironically ask around, and search up (if necessary), how to impress a woman.

𓋼 Lucifer would suddenly start playing the violin for everyone in the hotel 'for everyones' entertainment' as he called it. (It was meant for you though). Each time Lucifer did this, Alastor told you that something important happened that required your attention. You always stayed for the beginning though.

𓋼 One day, you were baking cookies and you and Alastor left the kitchen for a while whilst they were in the oven, however, you both somehow managed to forget about them… so when the smoke alarm suddenly rang, you ran into the kitchen, everyone wondering what happened.

"Fuck!"

"Language, Mother."

"Don't you 'language' me, young man!"

𓋼 You redecorated his room. He wasn't a fan of all the new colours, but he still appreciated the gesture. (There was a lot of glitter involved)

𓋼 After a while of you staying there, everyone definitely sees you as a mother figure (Alastor didn't appreciate this much either but he's willing to look past it for his friends)

𓋼 As small gifts, you made everyone items that resemble them and filled them with different colours of glitter and paper that remind you of them. Bonus: Behind the scenes! 1. Yuri's bad timing:

2. Vox and Val:

[thestarfishface]

In fun life news I have recently learned that I am involved in a war. A war that has lasted for at least a few months, that I only just learned about in the last few weeks.

So between my Patreon mail club and my online store, I mail a lot of stuff (stickers, postcards) thru letter mail. Because of this I go through roughly 200+ stamps a month on average. And since a lot of my customers and mail club members live outside the US, I also go through a lot of international stamps.

(International stamps are like forever stamps, but for international postage. You CAN technically use 3 domestic stamps to accomplish basically the same thing, but because of the pricing you end up wasting like 90% of the value of the 3rd stamp, and international stamps cost the exact amount, so the latter is the better option)

The problem is, because the general populace doesn't use international stamps very much, my small town post office doesn't keep that many in stock. They usually only have about 30 in stock at any given time, and I use about 50 per month on average.

("Star, you can buy stamps online" I know this. I keep forgetting and buying them in person is easier since I'm in there all the time dropping stuff off.)

Anyway, since I use so many international stamps, I have to go into my post office roughly 1-2 times per month, look the cashiers square in the face, and say "give me all the international stamps you have", usually followed by the 3 clerks rustling through their desks to cobble together their entire stock of stamps for me.

This had been a routine for a while. I live in a small town, the post office workers all know me. They ask about the business sometimes. I gave one of them a copy of my book bc he said his daughter likes making comics. We have a rapport. But recently, the tides shifted. Something changed.

A few weeks ago I went in for the usual, pulled out the "sell me all the international stamps you have because I will use them up in a week's time" routine, and the clerk replied "Well, I'll give you a lot, but I can't give you all of them".

Shock. Confusion. I was being denied my beloved stamps. I asked why. His exact words:

"Well, we've got a gaggle of German grannies who come in here all the time, and they get mad when we're sold out of the international stamps. And they're pretty vicious."

So, apparently, at this small town Texas post office, I am now in a war with a gaggle of German grandmothers. Over stamps.

The last few times I've gone in they've held back a few of my precious international stamps so they don't get berated by the German Grandmother's Association, and then I have to go in the following week to buy more because I didn't have enough. Or, the worse alternative, I go in and they're completely out of stock, because the German grandmas beat me to their supply. Today I got lucky and my usual clerk wasn't there, and the guy I talked to instead agreed to sell me All The International Stamps They Had, which should hopefully last me a few weeks. But then I'll have to go back and do it again.

The war rages on. Small Town Texas Stamp War, yeehaw.

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space (2)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 2 of 3! (part 1)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation ( please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries ), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, policeofficer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), pedro-ception aka there's a small cameo of another pedro boy, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy, reader is described to have hair and celebrates christmas ( but no mention of the reader's religious beliefs )! smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. hey... hey... how y'all doin'?🧍remember when i said part 2 would be posted a few weeks after part 1? yeah, that was a fucking lie. and, remember when i said it would be 2 parts in total? that was also a lie! the universe is praying on my downfall ( i had a fun mental health episode and fell into a black hole for a few months <3 ) unfortunately, i am very much still alive and kicking, so this is me trying to get the ball rolling again when it comes to posting fics. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it + tumblr will not allow me to post it as a whole due to it's paragaph-count limit, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of. “huh?” “this. us. it could be casual, y’know?”

Golden boy, you dropped the ball I am Annie fucking Hall

The year moves too fast.

It’s like you blink, and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving.

Leaves turn brown. Pumpkins are carved only to rot upon front porches. A gathering of friends, young adults getting their first taste at hosting a thanksgiving meal.

You’re put on dessert duty, which culminates in stressful tears and your mother’s hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, reassuring you that it’s okay, everyone burns their first pie.

No one at the party needs to know the pumpkin pie you brought was a product of your mother’s gentle care.

Then there is actual Thanksgiving, which you celebrate, as always, at your aunt's.

The highlight is, and forever has been, the road-trip out of state, your father making it his mission to deafen you and your mother with his horrific singing.

As they drop you back at your apartment, your father has no qualms leaning out the car window and calling after you.

“I expect to see you cheering me on at the Thanksgiving Touchdown event!”

Which brings you here, to said event, sweater sleeves tugged over cold fingers and a wandering pair of eyes who refuse to comply with your wants.

You want to focus on the ongoing football match- Fire Department vs Police.

Your eyes prefer to follow him, striding up the field, his hair soaked in sweat and his t-shirt long removed.

You’ve no valid reason to roll your eyes at the other women who seem to prefer spectating the sport of Javier Peña. You’re no better than them.

Yet, as one of them let’s out a joyous shriek as he takes a pass at the ball, your eyes roll.

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

At least you have company. An older gentleman, who you caught struggling to pick his wallet up from the floor. He’d smiled as you returned it, and conversation had flowed easily from there.

As the whistle blew, commencing the final match of the local community services’ football league- or, Thanksgiving Touchdown, as your father so aptly named it-, he’d patted the empty seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

He points, and you follow the direction, realising he’s speaking about Javi.

“Him,” he says it with a teasing tone to his voice. It’s like he’s mocking the agent. “Think’s he’s God’s gift, takin’ his top off like that.”

The more you sit with the older gentleman, the more you enjoy his company.

On the field, your dad bellows something at Javi. He replies with a curt salute, and shoots off down the length of it.

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

A force to be reckoned with, keeping pace with rookies half his age.

The vision of him, gun strapped to his leg and a tact vest on his chest, speeding down streets in the columbian heat conjures in your mind.

You wonder how it felt to know him then, if worry kept his companions awake.

It had certainly kept you awake in recent months, and that was with him safe, in Laredo, cooped up in some bachelor pad.

“Surprised he’s not thrown his top to the crowd of screaming ladies!” The gentleman continues his mocking, and it rouses laughter out of both of you.

A whistle is blown, your eyes return to the field and, though he’s quick to look away, you catch the tail end of Javier’s eyes on you.

Fifteen minutes pass, in which you do your best to not stare at him.

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

Eventually, the man next to you coaxes you into getting him a lemonade from the food truck.

You oblige, of course, and deny his attempts to hand you cash, insist it’s on you.

He’s kept you smiling on a rather gloomy day.

You tell him you’ll be right back, smile, and realise you don’t know his name.

“Chucho,” he tells you, and waves you off.

You join the queue, keep your head down, ignore the gossiping women three spots ahead of you, claiming to have each shared an encounter with Javi.

You don’t need to know what he’s been up to.

You don’t want to know who he’s been up to it with.

It happens when you’re finally being served.

There’s no longer a queue, just you, smiling as sweetly as possible. The service industry is rough enough, nevermind on holidays.

You order successfully, both Chucho’s lemonade and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The guy working the truck- young enough, a bit too traditionally good-looking, with coiffed hair and a shaven face- he’s talkative.

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

Even more so after a something that means nothing yet everything ends out of the blue and you’re left reeling over whether or not some part of you is to blame.

So you let him shoot you his dashing smile, and throw in unnecessary pet-names that just feel forced into every sentence he speaks to you, and write his number on the paper cup of your hot chocolate.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” he winks. The pet-name feels a little too on the nose for the season. Couldn’t he have called you sweetheart instead? “A sweet treat for that sweet smile.”

You wonder if he’s allowed to gift the free donut he slides your way.

Your stomach growls and begs for sugary release before you can fully bring yourself to care.

An awkward thanks. Hands reach up to grab the to-go cups, three fingers curling up the bagged donut. 

He helps you get a grip on the beverages, placing them in your hands.

His touch lingers, more than necessary, fingertips brushing over your knuckles as if trapped in slow-motion.

“So, a pretty girl like you got a boyfriend, or are you gonna let me take you out to-”

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

Your father screams one name, loud and clear, down the pitch.

“Peña, get your head out your fucking ass and pick up the ball!”

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

Javier, frozen in place, face an unreadable maze of emotions, eyes staring right at you.

They follow you all the way back to your seat, even as the game picks up again.

Even as you congratulate your dad on another victory for the police department, now the four-time consecutive champions of the Thanksgiving Touchdown.

Even as you head off to your father’s car.

Even when you’re home, curled under a blanket and watching a televised copy of Annie Hall, you feel his eyes on you.

The look of betrayal on Javier Peña haunts you even once you fall asleep.

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

Everything has it’s place, from the books that line your bedside table to the memories inside your mind.

You compartmentalise.

Tucked deep into the right side of your brain, there’s a box.

It’s contents, memories you’ve yet to process.

Moments you know that, if you wish to move on, you’ll have to relive.

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

And, scribbled in bold red marker, April ‘99.

A late night.

You, wide awake, laying on your back and mapping out stars in his ceiling.

Javier fell asleep hours ago and now snores softly against your neck, muscled arm curled around your waist as his legs entangle your own.

The agent is a fiend for cuddling, and so often wraps himself around you like a vine.

You find yourself nestling your hand in his hair, and take note of the sharp breath he intakes.

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

Relax when you feel him snore and press himself even deeper against your naked skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

He hadn’t told you that, but he didn’t need to.

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

In the way he let you take the lead, resting back against the couch to watch how your hips wound down on him.

In the way he got even clingier than usual, dragging you into the shower with him just to have you near, holding you from behind as you washed up the plates he’d used to serve you dinner (a trade-off he’d reluctantly agreed to months ago: he cooks, you clean), laying his head on your lap as you curled up to watch some cheesy horror movie- one you’re bound to fall asleep during and he’s counting on it, glancing up till he spots you slumped over and eyes closed, granting him the perfect excuse to carry you to his bed and nestle himself in beside you.

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

It’s like you’ve forgotten something, misplaced something, and can’t even figure out what it is.

You just know its absence is wrong.

Javi mumbles something, dreaming away, and you feel the subtle press of his lips against your skin.

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your (his) shirt.

He can’t get you close enough, it seems.

Playing against his wants, you pull back, slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

There’s a pinch between his brows, furrowed in worry.

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

It’s a selfish act, born purely from your own desire, but you find yourself pressing a kiss against his forehead.

His grip loosens, though slightly.

It gives you enough time to feel a stir between your thighs, a calling coming from your bladder.

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

It’s a struggle that leaves you topless and feeling a pinch of cruelty, standing over the bed as you watch his hand grabbing at the vacant spot you once occupied, your scent and shirt the only traces you leave behind.

You don’t bother turning on a light, make your way to his bathroom with practiced ease.

Pad your way across the cold linoleum floor, sink down onto the porcelain seat- he’d stopped leaving it up when your overnight visits became more frequent. You hadn’t asked- didn’t need to ask-, he’d simply done it.

Closing the door over, yet not enough for the hinges to squeak and the handle to lock, you pray the wood muffles noise of the flushing toilet.

When it stops, you wait a few seconds, until you’re sure there’s no rustling coming from his bedroom.

Then, you open the tap.

The water is barely a trickle, yet you tell yourself its enough.

Lather your hands in soap, sit them under the constant drip of cold water till you feel the suds wash down the drain.

It’s hard to stop yourself from sneaking a glance at the mirror, just as it’s hard to recognise the version of yourself you see.

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

Yhen come the thoughts of Javier, and how he sees you.

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

He’s not said anything. Or done anything, to make you notice a change.

But, then, Maybe it’s been subtle, slow, dragged out long enough it’s not drastic enough for either of you to take note of.

You eye the spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom, and try to remember when it became yours.

You don’t remember.

One moment, his toothbrush sat alone. And, the next, you were standing side by side, laughing as you raced to see who could make a foamier mess of the toothpaste.

Corazón, you look like a rabid animal, he’d called you once, laughing through tears as he wiped away the white suds dripping off your chin. You’re lucky that you’re just so cute.

You can recall, even now, how quickly his mouth had found yours that night, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in the minty taste of one another.

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

Only, sweat lines your forehead and your face seems drained of colour.

You make it only two steps back before you’re hurtling across the bathroom floor.

Your knees crash down first, harsh and unforgiving against the tiles.

The first wretch burns, has you coughing over your own gag.

In the dark, it’s hard to see what exactly comes out of you, but you know where it came from.

Your stomach.

Another wave of nausea hits, this one harder, and you’re gripping at the sides of the bowl, spewing into the water below.

A splash meets your cheek, but you’re too out of it to care, wave after wave of nausea leaving you a coughing, gagging, crying mess.

You feel lightheaded, only managing a moment to catch your breath before another wave hits.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s in your throat, in your mouth, in your nose, in your hair.

It feels like it’s never stopping and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your days submitting to the horrors of throwing-

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” warmth, against your naked back.

It’s a nice warmth, not like the one that has you covered in a cold sweat.

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

You try to follow it, match your breathing to the tactile comfort.

“That’s it, baby,” cool air meets your neck, the hairs that stuck to your skin now pulled up and pushed back. “I’m right here, I got you.”

Eventually, all that’s left is the burning of bile at the back of your throat and the dull ache of eyes gone raw with tears.

You’re pulled into a solid mass, naked chest pressed to naked chest as you go slack upon the bathroom floor.

You’re exhausted, and covered in your own sweat, tears and vomit.

Javier doesn’t care, pulling you tighter against him and whispering sweet words you don’t quite pay attention to.

“Woke up and you weren’t there, corazón. Don’t do that again,” even in his attempts to chastise, he’s gentle, brushing the remaining strands of sweat-slicked hair off your face. You must be an awful sight, yet his expressions don’t give way. “You wake up, you wake me up too. ‘Specially if you’re gonna hurl, okay?”

You glance at him, swallow back a lump and deal with the realisation that dawned upon you ten minutes earlier, as you sat hunched over the toilet’s bowl.

“Javi,” he smiles at the way you call his name.

You feel sick all over again at the thought of that changing, everything changing, as you build the courage to speak.

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

You imagine he’ll stand up, pace the floor.

Run his hands through his hair, rant over every thought he has.

Ways to get rid of it, the dangers of your dad finding out.

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

He’ll ask why you weren’t safer, why you forgot to take that morning-after pill, why you played so fast-and-loose with your body.

None of it arrives.

He stands, yes, but only to pull you up with him, tired limbs leaning into his strong build as he drags you both under the heat of a warm shower.

You watch the remnants of your own vomit wash down the drain, and question how he can stand there, not disgusted with you.

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

He’s rougher with himself, scarcely drying properly before he’s carrying you back to his bed, a replay of hours earlier as he lays you down, crawls in behind you and tucks you both under the soft comfort of his worn-out sheets.

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

He so easily nestles himself behind you, dragging you back against him and committing himself to the role of big-spoon.

His hands have always felt large, their touch always electrifying, but nothing compares to the feeling of him splaying one across your lower stomach, a subtle press into where part of him could be growing within you.

“Javi,” you whine, fighting off the sleep your overwhelmed body so badly needs. “I’m sorry.”

You say it because you feel obligated, like it’s your place to be apologetic.

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

“No seas boba (Don’t be silly),” there’s a fresh set of tears already sliding down your cheeks by the time he replies. “Don’t need to be sorry, baby.”

“But I-”

“But, nothing,” his tone feels final, one that tells you you’ll get nowhere arguing against him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, corazón.”

You fall asleep, eventually, soothed by his gentle breathing and the repeated motion of his thumb stroking over your belly.

Yhe next time you awake, there’s a crack of sunlight creeping through his blinds.

Javi’s still in bed, only he’s propped up on his elbow and staring down at you.

His smile stretches a little wider when he spots your open eyes.

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

“I gotta go, corazón,” is met with a protest from you, rolling over to curl into his solid chest.

Expecting it, he wraps you up tighter in his arms, presses an array of chaste kisses to your head.

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

You don’t want him out, in the real world, where the hours you’ve spent cooped up together become more scandalous than the peaceful nature of them.

“I know, I know. Don’t wanna go either, baby,” you wonder if you spoke your thoughts aloud, or if Javi simply knows you so well.

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

Help him tie it, the comforter pooled around your naked waist as you sit criss-cross-apple-sauce and Javi’s at the side of the bed, legs bent at the knee.

He thanks you with a kiss, then asks you to pass him his cologne.

It’s on the other side of the bed- his side of the bed- and you lean over to grab it.

You don’t bother handing him it, spraying it directly onto your own wrist and dabbing it into the skin of his tanned neck.

He lets you, a gentle smile on his face and eyes that pull you in for a hug, burrowing himself between your naked breasts.

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day, cariño (darling),” he tells you.

“Good,” you reply.

Another hum, this time of approval, and a squeeze to your hip.

When he pulls back, he looks even more reluctant to leave.

Reality rears it’s ugly head, but he pushes it out your mind with the pressing of his hand against your stomach, the same spot he’d held onto all night.

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

Your hands instinctually curl in his hair, and you like to think you leave it a little messy, enough to ward off any of the women he works along side, hopeful eyes hoping to get a taste of the handsome, unmarried cop.

“Stay,” he mumbles against your skin, as if you’re the one who’s about to leave. “Don’t go, ok? I’ll call around lunch.”

He keeps his word.

Calls you, a few minutes past two, interrupting whatever daytime TV you were pretending to watch.

Answering leaves you feeling lightheaded, like you're trapped in a daydream.

Listening to him croon down the line while your finger anxiously tangles in the phone’s wire as you stand in his apartment, it feels domestic, like you’re waiting for him to come back home, a place you share together.

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

“How bout you, corazón?” He knows how to make you melt, picturing him smiling at his desk. “Have you ate yet?”

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

“You need to eat, baby,” you don’t like the fact he uses that pet-name, not right now. “There’s plenty in the fridge. Could make yourself a sandwich, or some toast. Might even have some of that pasta left over. You know, that one you said you liked? Oh, wait, maybe don’t eat that, don’t think uncooked salmon is good for pregn-”

You don’t want him to say the P word, so you cut him off.

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

He says ok, then you hear him take a bite of whatever his lunch is.

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

He tells you a quick story, something about one of the younger guys accidentally stapling his tie to an arrest warrant.

That rouses a laugh out of you, makes you forget all about the massive P word he almost said.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

A place he’d begged you to stay this morning, safe and tucked away.

“Was thinking we could drive out to the clinic, find out for sure if we’re pr-” he cuts himself off this time, like he knows you’re not ready to hear that word. “Then we’ll take things from there, okay? Whatever you decide you wanna do, corazón, you call the shots.”

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

He walks through the door and welcomes the way you coil yourself around him, humming in delight as he peppers a few kisses over your face.

“Still smell like me,” he says it with approval, takes a purposeful whiff at you as he pulls you tighter against him.

You still smell his cologne on him too, buried beneath a few layers of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Near clinging to one another, it’s a miracle you two make it out his apartment and down the elevator.

An arm around your waist, he guides you over to his car.

Pulls the door open for you, stops you from bumping your head on the way in.

He practically runs round the car’s hood, jumping into the driver’s seat and thrumming the engine to life with the turn of a key.

“You remember to eat?” He asks as he pulls out onto the street.

You nod, then audibly reply.

Tell him you did in fact eat toast, leave out the part where you spewed your guts again twenty minutes later.

The drive is quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just relaxed, with the radio playing gently and his window rolled down enough to let in some air.

At some point, his hand slides over the console and rests against your thigh.

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

As you watch out the window how he drives past the turning for the local hospital, he must catch your questioning gaze.

“They, uh,” he clears his throat, rings his hand over the steering wheel. A small stain of sweat marks it. “Know your dad pretty well in there. And me. Figure you’d rather he not find out about us like that.”

He’s right.

So you relax back into your seat, accept the fact you’re both driving out of town together.

At some point, the beginning notes of your favourite song play through the stereo.

You instantly perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat and tap your foot a little to the beat.

Javi says nothing, simply peels his hand off you to turn the volume dial up.

Seconds later, he turns his head and throws you a look just asking if he’s done good.

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

A soft squeeze before he pulls them up to his lips, eyes back on the road.

The clinic is bright.

And squeaky, each step you take making you a little more nervous than the last.

Javier, by all accounts, is solid as a rock, signing you both in, picking up a few pamphlets, buying you a can of soda, all while you curl up in some plastic chair and just focus on not spewing your guts out.

You only relax once he’s sat beside you, helping you get a sip of the sugary drink and wrapping a protective arm around you.

You don’t mean to but you fall victim to sleep, the past 24 hours getting the best of you.

You come-to likely not much later, but to the sound of a childish giggle.

Cracking one eye open, just slightly, you notice you’re slumped into Javier, head on his shoulder.

There’s a giggling little girl in front of you both, in purple overalls and with two pigtails to hold her curly hair.

One of her hands is on Javi’s knees, using him to keep herself standing.

“First time?” You snap your eyes shut as a stranger’s voice fills the quiet bustle of the clinic.

A confused sound leaves Javier.

“Yeah, could tell from the look on your lady’s face,” the man continues. “Same one my own wife had during our first visit.”

You want to pay attention to Javi’s response, but you’re a bit busy dealing with the fact he’s not correcting the man, telling him you’re not his lady nor his wife.

His thumb soothes over your hip, and you wonder at what rate you’ll melt away into a pile of nothing thanks to his soft touches.

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

You tell yourself to try harder, to actually pay attention.

You succeed, catch as Javi replies, “a girl.”

“Yeah?” the stranger seems genuinely invested, it almost makes you want to open your eyes, see him for yourself.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wanted a boy, myself,” that same little girl giggles again and you can’t fight the temptation to peek once more, catch as she crawls into her faceless-father’s lap. “Doc told us it was gonna be a boy, too. Then this one came along and, wouldn’t ya know, not a boy.”

“Surprise!” the little girl squeals, and you feel Javi’s shoulder shake under your head.

God, you want to look at him, see if he’s looking at her with the same adoration that’s festering in your heart.

“Yeah, baby, you’re my little Sarah-Surprise,” the man coos and, despite his rough accent, it suits him. Like he was only ever meant to speak with gentle words and a soft heart, all for his precious daughter. “It’ll get easier, on your lady, just so ya know. Less scary, more exciting. ‘Bout to welcome our second one, and I’ve never seen my wife so happy.”

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

A chair squeaks as pressure is taken off it, the stranger standing.

You peak your eye open in time to see him picking his daughter up, her little legs dangling off his hip.

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

“What,” he clears his throat, and you wonder if it’s of emotion. “What are you hoping for this time?”

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

You’d pretended to wake up to Javier’s coaxing.

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

A smiley nurse handed you a cup, talked you through what you needed to do for your tests.

Took your blood pressure, complimented your earrings, and stepped out the room to give you privacy.

A short while and a reunion with Javi later, you sat in a doctor’s office, both a nervous wreck as you clasped each other’s hand.

“Mrs. peña,” again, Javier does not correct the doctor. And you realise it’s because he filled out the forms, he signed you in. He wrote you down as Peña. “You and your husband are not pregnant.”

What should have followed was a sigh of relief, from both of you.

But all you felt was led drop in your stomach and Javier’s grip tighten on your hand.

“You are, however, displaying symptoms of acute food poisoning, likely salmonella.”

The doctor continues on, detailing a prescription you’re being given.

But it falls on deaf ears, the world around you gone blank as you wrestle with conflicting emotions.

You’re not pregnant.

You should be elated. Jumping, and cheering, and dancing all over the place. Instead, you’re silent, letting yourself be guided back into the car by Javi.

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

He doesn’t explain that he’s taking you back to his place.

Getting you back in his bed, switching off the lights, he curls himself in behind you and splays his hand over your stomach.

Over your empty womb.

For some reason, you find yourself sobbing into your pillow, unaware of the tears from him that stain your neck as he tries to hush you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the irony of him repeating those very same words last night is not lost on you.

It’s hard to move on, when every month there’s a stabbing pain in your abdomen and a trickle of blood staining your underwear to remind you of April.

And so you keep it locked in it’s box, slapping another caution tape over it’s lid as you groan and roll out your own bed, trudging your way into your bathroom to check if the wetness between your thighs is your monthly visitor.

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

It’s not because he’s done anything to warrant your rejection, but, rather, it’s the forthcoming actions he’ll be guilty of.

See, you know why he’s calling.

Your mom let it slip, over brunch and a few too many glasses of wine.

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

Or, at least, that’s what you were until the last poker night he’d hosted, way back in March.

He slips away, phoned by your tipsy mother and obligated to drive three towns over to go pick her up because she misses him.

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

It was less a suggestion, more of a pleading, his hands already scraping the seat back and awaiting you to plop yourself down.

He leaves you with his hand, his winnings so-far, and a kiss to the top of your head.

“Watch out for Peña,” he whispered, as if you hadn’t been keeping an eye on the agent all evening, clouded by his own cigarette smoke and sitting looser each sip of his whiskey, no ice. “His poker face is dangerous.”

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

Rounds end and rounds start, and you father’s pile of winnings grow more and more.

It’s an ego boost, taking money from these cocky men who look at you as though surely you have no clue what cards you’re holding.

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

Flinging down cards, muttering curses, shoving his cash across the table.

All whilst glaring, at you, eyes black with ire.

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

Nearly an hour’s past since your father left, someone else leaves the table.

Says he needs the toilet, you point him in the direction of it.

You all call for a break, and then you graciously offer a refill on drinks.

It’s what your dad would’ve done, kept them all drinking and lowering their inhibitions, their focus disappearing alongside it.

“I’ll help!” One of the officers exclaims.

He’s on the younger side.

Practically a rookie, it’s only the second poker night he’s attended.

He’s sweet, with his large-framed glasses and his nervous smile.

You both make your way out of the basement- refurbished to be your dad’s man-cave- and head towards the kitchen.

You open the fridge, grab however many bottles of beer you need.

He heads to the liquor cabinet, pulls out a bottle bourbon.

You beat him at grabbing the whiskey, an unvoiced need to be the one who refills Javi’s glass.

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

Conversation flows naturally between you, in spite of him being a near stranger.

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

You both agree on the fact he’s a pain in the ass.

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

You tell him where to go to get the best club sandwich.

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

nNeither of you can tell who causes it, but one of you mispronounces a word and you both wind up in a pile of giggles, falling over yourselves and banging into counters.

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

Through wheezes, he repeats the phrase that left you both in this state.

You laugh harder, louder, warn him to stop before you lose control of your bladder.

Something thuds in the hallway, your eyes shoot up to the kitchen entry and you swear you see Javi’s retreating figure.

Blink a few times, realise there’s no one there.

You both gather some decorum.

He grabs as many of the beer bottles he can manage, and looks at your empty hands in question.

You tell him to head back without you, that you just need to go to the toilet.

Parting ways, you find the both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms occupied.

Sigh in frustration, only to remember your parents en suite.

It’s empty, because of course it is. No one would feel comfortable enough invading the privacy of your parents' bedroom.

You do your business, wash your hands, fix yourself in the mirror.

Decide your lipstick needs a little touch-up, your clothes need straightening out.

And, when you’re done and ready to head back down to the poker table, you hear a thud.

Pull open the bathroom door, expect to find your father struggling to put a tipsy, giggly, clumsy version of your mother into bed.

Instead, there is only a brooding look and disapproving grunt.

A firm grip, on your arm, dragging you right back into the bathroom.

The door slams shut, a little harsher than you’d like, the sound of it surely reaching the ears of those regrouping for the next dealing of the cards.

He doesn’t pounce, like he so usually does when he’s wearing that look of frustration.

He’s simmering in it, teetering on the edge of boiling anger as he smooths a hand over his chin, visibly clenching his jaw, swallowing back whatever it is he wants to say to you.

He takes one step forward, and you go one back.

Then two steps, which you also match.

Your hip smacks into the sink’s counter on your fifth step backwards and it’s enough to finally put his hands on you.

He tugs you right into his chest, one hand soothing over where you’d banged your hip.

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

When he speaks, you nearly melt into a puddle, the heat of him invading your space, face inching close to your own, enough to have you questioning the sanctity of your parents en suite.

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Could ask you the same thing, officer,” you make the fatal mistake of giggling, but you’ll blame it on the fruity cider you’d helped yourself to.

He clearly finds no humour, not even as you fiddle with the top button of his shirt and shoot him your best look of innocence.

“Think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” His hand, warm and imposing, grips a hold of your face.

It’s almost painful, but you like it, squirming a little at the blunt stab of his nails and the way he smooshes your cheeks, forcing a pout onto your lips.

You try shake your head, his grip won’t let you.

“Sitting in a room full of men, making yourself the centre of attention,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, and you can’t help but compare him to an angry dragon.

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

“What’s the matter, Javi? Jealous you’re not the centre of all those men’s attention?” You’re poking the dragon, teasing him, and it’s an act that may leave you burned and scarred.

Or, as you’re hoping, it’ll win you the ride of a lifetime.

He doesn’t even grace you with a verbal response.

No, he scoffs, as though he’s in physical disbelief at the words you’re saying.

Spins you around, pins you to the sink’s counter, tugs your hair till you’re forced to stare at your reflection.

He’s right behind you, seething in anger, fire in his eyes.

His head dips between you neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

“Not all of us are attention whores like you,” it’s fleeting, and he’ll deny it if you dare mention it, but he smiles.

Just a second, but you feel it, see it even though he tries so hard to turn his face into your neck.

It’s what lets you know he’s playing, teasing, egging you on to push him over the edge.

“I’ve been with real whores, corazón,” he confesses a sin you already know, eaves-dropping one too many times on your dad fishing stories of Colombia out of him. “Fucked them so often they started doing their nails in colours they knew I wanted to see wrapped around my cock.”

Involuntarily, your back arches, brushing your ass against him and providing him the perfect access to wind his hand up between your heaving breasts, all the way up till his fingers curl round the base of your throat.

In the mirror, the image is one of ownership, of Javi seizing your bodily autonomy. A whore and her gentleman caller.

It’s arousing to think about, Javi and his whores.

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

“And not one of them took half the money you’ve taken from me tonight.”

Oh.

So that’s what this is, his pretty ego, bruised at the hands of you?

Poor Mr. Javier Peña, humiliated in front of all his peers round after round, hundred bill after hundred bill.

You almost taunt him for giving into the temptations of the fragile male ego, but you’re stopped in your tracks.

By him, hands squeezing at you a little tighter as he grinds the unmistakable outline of his hardened cock against you.

That single action changes the game, entirely.

Because this isn’t about you stealing his money and his ego.

No, this is something far filthier, that has your panties growing wetter beneath the skirt of your dress.

“I’m worth every dime though, aren’t I, officer?.”

The grip tightens.

He shoves you harder into the counter, so hard a tub of your mother’s moisturiser topples off.

The hard outline of him is still there, ever-present.

“‘S that what you like, huh, taking my money? Wanna be Javi’s personal little whore?”

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

Certainly not you, reflection mimicking the way you eagerly nod, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hold back a grin.

Javi notices- of course he notices- and takes his victory, hips rocking even deeper into you.

There’s too many layers between you, a feat on which you both agree, yet neither of you do anything about.

You just savour the friction, instead, pushing and pulling one another to the axis of pleasure.

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

“What’s it gonna cost me to get you bent over and stuffed full of my cum, corazón?” One hand leaves your body. The mirror snitches on him, exposing how he’s reaching into his back pocket. “This?”

He smacks something down, into the bowl of the sink.

It’s his wallet, and you watch the worn leather of it shine with the residue of water on the linoleum.

The hand at your throat pulses a squeeze, his knee nudges you from behind.

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

His mouth, right by your ear, lips tickling you with the subtlest of brushes against it.

His hand guides your own, down into the sink, flipping the wallet open and putting it’s belongings on display.

Bills, some placed neatly, others stuffed in forcefully, edges spilling out the pockets. There’s less in there than when he arrived, courtesy of you.

There’s a few miscellaneous cards. A library card, an ID slip you’re sure he uses for something in the sheriff's station, a loyalty card to some record store.

The picture of his mother sits centre stage, radiant smile and loving eyes grabbing the attention of any who dare open it.

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

And then you notice something else, peeking out from behind his mother’s picture.

You dive into temptation, dart your nosy fingers over to tug at the object, till you realise it’s another picture.

A picture of Javi, and you.

Taken on a polaroid you found under a box of his belongings, you remember the day clear as ever.

The two of you had messed around, captured your sins on film with the promise of destroying it after. It would be too risky a thing, to allow image evidence of the intimate ways in which you knew each other’s bodies.

Javi’s fingers on your skin, your nipple in his mouth, his cock’s outline bulging within your lower abdomen.

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

Fully dressed, eyes fixed on his television, your head lays in his laps while his fingers card through your hair.

It’s captured from above, as if Javi’s own eyes had made a permanent record of his view.

The sweetness of this living on, of Javi taking something sacred for himself to keep hidden in his wallet distracts you for a moment.

He does good to bring you back into the room.

“Take how much you think you’re worth, corazón,” whispered into your ear, as he rips a few of the notes out his wallet.

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

With each bill you count, your internal price shooting up within your head, you try picture his reaction.

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

You, your face, looking at your expressions in a way that reminds you it’s his job to read people.

You decide to be bold, dig into his wallet and, even though your insides twist in anxious turmoil, hold up your hand to present him with your answer.

Resting neatly, between your fore and middle finger, a shiny credit card.

The gleam in Javi’s eyes just about match it, blackened and blown out with lust.

The card is plucked out your hand.

The hand on your neck leaves, in search of your waist.

The fabric of your dress bunches, wrinkling and creasing as his fabric-straining grip inches it’s hem higher and higher.

You feel sexy like this, face heated and breathing heavy.

It’s an effect he has on you, has had on you, forcing you to look at yourself in new lights, in new angles, admiring every out-of-line trace of you for what you are.

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

And every other word under the sun that Javi whispers into your skin with innocence as his body commits sins within you.

At the bottom of the mirror, you watch as the white cotton of your panties comes into view.

Wet, as you both expected, the thin fabric now turned almost sheer, exposing the delectable view of your cunt hugged cutely by the cotton’s tight seams.

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

There’s a strain to his voice, one that would have you worried he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way you’re watching as his face contorts with lust.

His eyes are dark and you study them like he studies his card, contemplating something.

A few seconds pass. 

Tension is puffed out his chest with one exhale, through the nose.

You feel the air tickle your skin.

He nods curtly, to himself, and flickers his gaze back to meet your own in the mirror.

It’s unwavering, even as he brings the black plastic down and smacks it against your mound.

You squeal, he hushes, and you both know he doesn’t mean it at all.

He likes when you gift him noise, a private aria only he has tickets to.

Just as easily as the first time, he snaps the card against you again, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through your clit.

Just as loudly as the first time, you squeal, a jolt back into his warm, steady, hard embrace.

“What’re you running from, hmm?” His face turns, burrowing itself in the tresses of your hair.

A shallow sniff, and you wonder if he notices the smell of his shampoo on you.

There’s a pressing of lips, against your scalp, and it’s far too gentle of a juxtapose to the imagery of his fingers pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the bathroom’s cold air and the two pairs of hungry eyes in the mirror.

“You say that this is what you’re worth, and then you don’t want to take it?”

The third spank of the card against your bundle of nerves is harder, louder, echos in the confined space. A moan, minuscule and muffled, slips past tightly shut lips, a look of fear flashing through wide eyes.

Javi’s quick with his reassurance, gentle with his comfort, a hand stroking over your collarbone.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear you. You just be as loud as you need, hermosa, they’re too busy encouraging that boy-cop to ask you to dinner.”

There’s a tint of jealousy to the way he says boy, and you’re reminded of the image of him in the kitchen doorway.

Smack!

The card strikes down, once more, this time eliciting an open-mouthed gasp. 

He doesn’t let up, repeating the action twice more.

It hurts, in a way that makes your core throb and your toes curl, squirming aimlessly in a grasp he knows you don’t truly want to escape.

But he mocks you, with a hushing noise in your ear and gentle it’s okay, corazón, Javi’s got yous against your neck. His thumb swipes through your folds, coating it in your wetness and dragging itself up to your clit, soaking it in soothing rubs.

His gentle nature lasts mere seconds, his wrist flicking back only to smack the credit card down again. This time, it’s a pattern of three, repeatedly crashing down on your sensitive nerves one after the other.

In the mirror, you watch him observe as he twiddles the card between deft fingers, contemplation on his mind.

The room’s quiet, apart from your shortened breaths and his deep inhales.

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

It must have been a loud cheer, for you to hear them all the way up here.

And, suddenly, the stakes feel higher than when you were sat at the poker table, counting Javi’s coins with every passing round.

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

This doesn’t seem to cross Javier’s mind, who merely twists your head away from the bathroom door and back to the mirror, to where his hungry eyes await.

All contemplation is gone, he’s decided in what he’s going to do, and so you watch as he takes the card and swipes it through your cunt.

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

In fact, it’s rather uncomfortable, the solid plastic hard on your delicate skin.

It’s the arousal of him doing it that gets you weak in the knees, to have him perform such a mundane act- the swiping of his credit card- in such a crass, dirty, wrong way.

Like he’s paying for you, committing a physical transaction in exchange for your body.

It doesn’t matter that he could have you for free, has had you for free.

He wants to pay, wants to reward you in a way that aligns with the capitalistic world.

“Javi…” You whimper, softly, head lulling back against his shoulder as he swipes the card again.

Your eyes, slowly slipping shut, shoot right back open as you feel the rounded corner of the card prod at your opening, as if trying to notch itself within you.

“Think she could take it, corazón?” Javi bites at your ear, teeth clamping down and pulling at it’s lobe. The card sinks in, not even an inch. You nudge back into, your cry circling the room around you both. “I know, baby, I know. It’d be a wide stretch, but ain’t that all pretty whores like you are good for, hmm?”

It’s automatic, the way you bend to his every whim, head nodding without direct orders from your brain, every part of you, conscious or not, ready and willing to prove you could fit his card inside of you.

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

Surprisingly, the hand between your thighs retracts and you watch as he brings the card up to your mouth, glistening with your arousal.

“Open,” the directions are unnecessary, your mouth already dropping open for him in an act of muscle memory.

He hums approvingly, yet his eyes are still fury filled as he slots the card between your lips, lathering your tongue in your own taste. 

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, corazón?”

The statement rings true, both ways: as much as you’ll take anything, he’ll give anything.

You don’t tell him that, though, finding it much easier to rest your palms on the countertop, backing your sopping core into him, enticing him with the wiggle of your hips and whines from your lips to take you already.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry that pretty head. Javi’s gonna feed this greedy little cunt, ok?”

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

Something smashes, in the basement, and it’s enough to have you flinching.

Javi’s touch soothes you, a hand running over the curve of your shoulder as he presses yet another kiss into your neck.

“S’okay, probably just a beer bottle.”

He doesn’t move another inch, not till he sees you nod, melting back into him.

You hear, more than you see, the way he tugs his trousers down, just enough to free his hardened cock from its jean-clad confine. The risky business of a quickie in your parents’ en suite calls for clothing moved aside, and not removed.

Much to your annoyance, his all-encompassing warmth drifts away as he moves back, hands clamping down on your hips. 

He tilts them to the angle he wants, the angle he knows gets him brushing all your sweet-spots.

He tugs the skirt of your dress up, and then readjusts your soiled underwear.

You hear him draw a deep breath and watch his eyes in the mirror, glued to that spot between your legs, entranced.

The drag of his cock over your folds is familiar, the way he smacks the head of it against your clit is welcomed.

He spears you no gentle coaxing, no stretching around his fingers first, coming undone just for him to fill you right back up, this time with his cock.

No, this is a vengeful touch, the kind that’s meant to display his irritation, his fury, for reasons you’ve yet to confirm yet you’re more than willing to accept.

A man like him, so unfairly selfless, taking something in this world for himself, how he wants to and how he likes to.

You’ll be his vice, so long as he grants you his virtues.

Javi fills you with a single thrust, grunting low into your ear as you feel the way the air is physically knocked out both for your lungs.

He’s still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he works on steadying his breathing, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch.

You whine out some version of his name, feel yourself pulse around him.

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

He’s making you wait for it, you think, torturing you with an impending paradise.

He’s savouring the feel of you, he thinks, taking advantage of the few moments alone he wins with you.

"Javi,” he barely lets you part from him to speak, chasing a trail of kisses down your jaw. “This isn’t the time to develop patience.”

The snide remark earns you a bite, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. You squeal, try remind yourself to be quiet, only to squeal louder when his hands tickle at your waist.

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

His hips roll back, slowly, but it’s better than nothing, better than when he wasn’t moving at all.

Still, he makes you squirm a little longer, moan his name a little louder.

Only then does his fake resolve snap and he’s fucking into you at a brain melting pace in the blink of an eye.

Javier does his best to keep quiet, at first, biting down on his lip and your neck just to contain all those melodies he usually makes.

You can’t say the same for yourself as, despite your efforts, broken moan after broken moan tumbles out your mouth and into the sink, filling and filling and filling it in sync with how Javi your cunt.

You wonder how long till it all spills over the edge.

“Joder (Fuck),” he groans as you unconsciously squeeze him tighter, pulling him deeper into your walls. serves him right, for the teasing and the torturing. “Tienes el coño más lindo en todo el mundo. (You have the prettiest cunt in the whole world.)”

You feel lightheaded.

Warm, sweaty, covered in the fingerprints of a lover you shouldn’t be with.

The bathroom fills with an array of sounds. The slapping of skin against skin, the broken cries of an agent’s name, the mindless rambling of a man drunk on pleasure.

“So good to me, baby. Always so fucking good to me.”

“Gonna stay here forever, fuck. That sound good to you, corazón, hmm? Full of my cock always?”

“Look at yourself… Pura belleza (Pure beauty).”

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

There’s no worrying about the happenings around the poker table, no listening out for your father’s car pulling in the driveway, no worrying about your tousled hair or sweating skin.

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

“Please, please, Javi-“ The words all melt together, pleads becoming his name, his name becoming pleads.

You’re not sure what you’re begging for.

It’s okay though, Javi always knows what you need.

“I know, amor (love), I know,” he murmurs into your skin, butterfly kisses so gentle you wonder how they come from the same man that’s pistoning his hips into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. “Let go, c’mon. Show me how much you love this cock, how much you love-”

He’s cut off by his own groan, you cunt fluttering around him as you inch closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs. 

It brings a welcomed cushioning, shielding you from repeatedly bumping against the marble of the countertop.

Your legs part further, eagerly, an easy pathway for his yearning fingers to seek out the wonders of the female body as they brush over your clit.

The gentle tactile that he strokes over your bundle of nerves, partnered with the repeated brushing of his cock against that spot that makes you weak in the knees, drool out your mouth, it’s becoming too much.

Eyes glancing in the mirror, you wonder if yours is the same image of the whores who’d warmed his Colombian nights: sweat soaked skin, hooded eyes, messed up hair, wrinkled clothing.

He tilts your hips, a deeper angle to fuck into you that has you perching up onto the tips of your toes, fighting with the chance of losing balance.

He’d catch you, if you fell.

Wrap you up in an embrace that’s more familiar than your own.

“I’m gonna- Fuck! Corazón, need you to cum. Now, please. Please. Need to feel you-”

He’s babbling, losing composure and revealing the side of him you pray he never showed those other women: the side that needs, the side that longs, the side that begs to see you cum before he allows himself to, before he’s able to.

“Javi,” it’s a struggle to speak, but you endure, fighting off your orgasm and holding back tears. There’s something you need from him too. “Cum with me. Wanna be full of you, all of you-”

“¿Sí? (Yeah?)” He pleads back, thrusts already getting a little sloppier, hands a little shakier in the way they touch you. Much like his poker face, you know how to read the face he wears moments before he falls apart. “¿Eso es lo que quiere mi corazón? (Is that what my sweetheart wants?) Want me to cum in you, hm?”

“Yes, oh god yes! So bad, Javi, I want it so bad!”

“Ay, bebesita, no llores. (Aw, baby girl, don't cry.)” He coos, a condescending lilt to his words that has you falling into a bigger mess. “Shh, don’t worry, baby. Gonna fill you right up, so my cum’s dripping down your thighs when that poor kid asks you for your number. Thinks he’s got a shot with you cause he made you laugh, poor boy wouldn’t know how to deal with all the noises I get out of you.”

Javi divulges into a spine-tingling rant of burning hot jealousy, the kind that leaves your cheeks burning and your heart scorching, lit under a flame of your desire for more of him. To have him, equal parts physical and emotional.

You try warn him of the bubble that’s about to burst, the feeling in your loins building and building till it’s seconds way from toppling over. 

“That’s it, baby, squeeze my cock. Lemme feel it,” He urges, heart pounding out his chest against your back, hands tightening their grip on your hips. “Need to feel you cum, ‘s all I want.”

You both crash and burn, together.

You fall first, a chaos of unfinished words, crying out for Javi.

He follows close behind, body pressed against your own like he’s willing you to fuse together, to become to entangled in one another that all possibilities of separation become void.

“Take it, cora-” He’s in your ears, in your head, in your heart. Inside of you, consuming you, as eagerly as he’s willing to be consumed by you, fingerprints on hips and teeth-marks in necks. “Take it, take it, take it.”

Arms envelop you from behind, crossing over your chest to pin you back against him.

He’s nearly stagnant, nothing but the twitch of his cock and the shallow thrusts he fucks you deeper with, filling you with another, another, another pump of his cum.

“So good,” Javi’s voice persists, teeth gritting as he bites back the need to be loud, to be heard, to lay a claim on you so blatant no one could deny hearing it. Your relationship with your father is the only thing that holds him back. “Good to me, baby. Always… Good… Díos. (God.)”

Craning your neck to the side, you manage to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s something he accepts easily, lips parting and melting into a dance against your own.

One of his hands falls over your jaw, twisting your face even closer to him.

The kiss dies slowly, with each of you refusing to truly part, pecks being splattered messily against the other’s mouth.

“Was I,” Javi interrupts you with another kiss, his free hand smoothing up and down your side, his hips still slowly rocking into yours, a delicious sting of overstimulation biting at your core. “Am I worth it?”

He pulls back, tired gaze warm as it takes in your messed features.

With the smile that stretches over his lips, however, one would think you were the prettiest creature in all the world.

He calls your name, calmly, slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of it on his tongue. “You’re worth everything I could give, and more.”

There’s something behind the ways he says it that makes you believe him.

With little will to do so, you peel apart from each other, his hands moving quick to adjust your underwear as his cum starts to leak out onto your folds.

He exits the bathroom first, a final kiss placed on your cheek before your left alone, forced to confront the wrecked version of you that will never see your parent’s en suite in the same light.

Your dad arrives back just in time to see you slipping back down to sit at the poker table, no seat left for him to take but the one between his sweet daughter and his loyal best friend.

If only he knew he was placing you both where you most wanted to be when he suggested Javi give you a ride home, waving you both off through the car window with no idea Javi's cum sat dripping out your cunt, staining the car seat.

Your phone buzzes to life in your hand, slipping you out of your memories.

Your father’s contact name reads clearly on the screen.

Hitting decline one more time, you roll over and try ignore the gathering slick between your thighs.

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

Mr, I don’t want a label You made me a little miss unstable (And it)

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

Pick out a tree, synthetic, and lump the box up the countless stairs to your apartment.

Try not to think of how he would’ve insisted on helping, refused to let you carry it.

Even if it culminated in him doubled over in pain, clutching his lower back.

Lights, baubles, action.

The tree’s smaller than you expect, barely reaching your hip, but it’s green, tree-shaped and festive. It’s enough.

Your decorations are minimal, a few inconsequential things you picked out your parents’ stash. There’s a Santa hat, frayed with time. A few cracked baubles, with string so thin you suspect they’ll snap off. A gingerbread man ornament, a glass snow-flake. A crooked star, missing one of its points, tops the tree.

A homemade snowman, one you’d gifted your parents after a busy day in nursery. Neither of them had the heart to tell you you’d made its nose a rather phallic shape.

And then there's the red phone-box, nestled somewhere in the middle, an etching of LONDON brandishing it as a reminder of your trip.

You’d picked it up in a tiny bookstore, right next door to The Distillery Club.

The winter season has never felt so lonesome, tucked away in your grown-up apartment. 

There’s no fireplace to warm your hands, no hot cocoa boiling on the stove. No cheesy hallmark movies to laugh at with your mother, no racing past your father to grab the last slice of dessert.

It’s just you, alone, with only your wandering mind as company.

Sometimes, more often than not, it wanders to him. To if he’s alone.

To if he’s filling his heart as easily as he fills his bed.

To if he’s finally bought a second seat for his dingy balcony.

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

He hums, brows furrowing, lips pouting, smoke dragging into his lungs.

The cigarette sits perched between two fingers of the hand resting on your knee, his other curled around your waist.

“Some what?”

“Tactic,” you repeat. Watch him blow a puff a smoke, taste his ash at the back of your throat. “Only having one chair, so pretty girls have no choice but to sit in your lap.”

He lets his gaze wander away from the streets below and up to you, sitting pretty in his lap. Like a cat, draped over his thighs.

Nothing but his own rumpled, inside-out shirt to cover your skin.

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

Fingerprint bruises littering your hips, bitemarks etched into your collarbone.

“I gave you a choice,” he speaks with a reservation he didn’t have before, when he’d offered you a ride home from the bar. There’s an etching of something that’s diluting his expressions, sinking him deeper and deeper into his own pensive mind. “You were the one who insisted on sitting on me.”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Nails pinch at your thigh, causing a squeal out of you.

A few birds fly off a nearby wire, a head or two turn in the street below.

They don’t see you, or Javi, or the lack of clothing that sits between you.

“Neither were you. In fact, you were a little busy fucking my fac-”

“Stop!” Your sudden modesty feels unearned, yet that does nothing to stop you from placing your hand over his mouth.

He licks at it, you grimace, he licks again.

Then takes another breath of nicotine, as you wipe the remnants of his spit onto his naked thigh.

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

The whiff of Javi’s post-sex smell- muted cologne, matted sweat, burnt ash- steals your senses, reminds you you’ve already done enough to disappoint your father, a cigarette can’t do much damage.

So you let him hold it up to your mouth and inhale it’s poison.

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

But that was supposed to stay in Vermont, tucked between snowy slopes and wooden cabins. Existing in a timeline separate from your reality, where you are your father’s precious daughter and Javi is his trustworthy colleague and friend, that is where it should have stayed.

And it had, for two weeks. Sixteen days, specifically. 

You’d returned to classes, to sharing lunch breaks with your father in his office, to slowly moving more of your things out the family home and into your new apartment.

And Javi, from what you heard, had returned to keeping civilians safe, to sharing a drink or two with your father at the end of the work week, to flirting with every secretary within a mile radius.

Neither of your crossed paths and, when you nearly did, the other made the effort to turn a corner, shut a door, hide behind a wall.

Until tonight.

Until you ditched your mediocre date, some lame excuse of having a last-minute paper due.

Until you’d gone to console yourself over your failing love life, unknowingly sliding into a bar stool right next to the most desired cop in town.

Until he’d turned to you, tilted his head, and asked “d’you wanna get out of here?”

He’d offered to take you home.

The drive was quiet, tense, until his hand drifted over the gearstick and you dragged it down onto your thigh.

He squeezed.

You inched it further up, till the tips of his fingers brushed at the edge of your dress.

He took the invitation, took a turning towards his own place.

Brought you into his apartment, drowned you in his fountain of kisses, begged you to sit upon his face. He’d made you see stars beneath a roofed sky, eyes rolling so far back they threatened to get stuck there.

With barely a moments recovery from a third blinding orgasm, he dragged you down the expanse of his body, sat you down on his cock and refused to help your overstimulated, puddle-brained self ride him, grinning cunningly with his back pressed against the mattress as you struggled through shaky legs.

Eventually, he tired and launched himself, arms tangling behind your back, feet planted flat behind you, hips fucking up into your battered cunt until you both came to a haltering crescendo.

He’d layed you down to rest, cleaned you of any mess, and then wandered out to his balcony, inviting you to join him when the feeling returned to your legs.

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of.

“Huh?”

“This. Us. It could be casual, y’know?” Another puff of smoke slips right through his lips. “If that’s what you’re worrying about… your dad, and all that other stuff. I don’t need a label, not if it means I get to have… We could keep it casual, if that’s what you want.”

It takes a few moments for you to fully register his words, and then a few more to formulate a response.

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

Because what else could Javier Peña, notorious womaniser, want with you if not a casual, no-strings-attached permit to sleep with you, as many times as he sees fit, without the risk of losing his job or, worse, his best friend?

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

Within a half’s hour, he’s got your hands white knuckling as they grip the metal bannister of his balcony, his own hands busy pulling your hips back to meet each of his desperate thrusts, not even the cool air of the night enough to soothe the flaming desire that burns between you.

Your stomach twists, your mouth dries, your eyes water at the thought of him out on that balcony now.

Somebody else, some new body sat in your spot, upon his lap as they exchange smoke rings and warm mouths.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think i’m alright

The Laredo sheriff’s department is known best for three things: its lack of parking, its swoon-worthy ex-DEA agent, and its office holiday parties.

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

A Christmas wreath, mistletoe hanging from every doorway, egg-nog and mulled wine.

It’s not just Christmas.

It’s menorahs, and ficus trees, and a statues of different gods.

Each piece of culture, tradition, holiday that makes up the people that inhabit the station, day in and day out, behind desks and in cop cars, filing paperwork and fetching coffees, represented in some way, celebrated.

Each member of staff is encouraged to bring their friends, their family.

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

Then there’s the gift exchange, a Secret Santa system, optional for each member of staff.

It’s the part you look forward to most.

Crowding your dad the minute he gets home on the first of December, poking and prodding till he lets it spill who he’s got.

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

Drawing up a list, made of details and anecdotes your father remembers of his target.

Dragging your shop-avoidant father down to the mall, for a day of gift hunting and sweet-tooth indulging.

Getting to watch your father’s coworker open their gift, eyes lighting up as you once again knock the ball out the park and gift them something perfectly tailored to them, winning your dad the spot of top gift-giver year after year.

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

No trying to crack just what exactly your dad should gift his person.

No waiting with baited breath to watch them open it, heart racing with that little fear of them not liking it, of you failing.

No, the moment that name fell from your father’s mouth, you knew what he needed to get.

Hinted at it, slightly.

Claimed you’d smelt it on a friend, thought it would be a good idea.

Sipping on some wine and picking at the buffet, you watch him pick up his gift.

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

Look down at the box, confused, then tear into the wrapping paper.

The whole room stops.

Not really, but it feels like it does, as somewhere across the room Javier Peña holds up a bottle of that damn cologne.

And, when his eyes instinctively find yours, it feels like everything else fades away.

Fades to grey.

It’s just him, and you. The only two within the room, holding a secret too heavy on the tongue to ever speak it aloud.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Knows you’d watched him spray it on his skin, day in, and day out.

Knows you’d worn it on your own, sunk it deep into your pores after intertwining your souls upon wrinkled sheets.

Knows you’d watch its contents decrease over time, time you’d spent with him.

That bottle of cologne reminiscent of a timer on you both, that morning before the hospital trip becoming the last few sprays he got out of it.

Colour returns to the world that surrounds you as your dad steps into view.

He’s hugging Javi, pathetically tipsy and ignorant to the lipstick stain on his cheek, no doubt ingrained to his skin with how hell-bent he is on having your mother kiss him beneath each mistletoe.

They’re exchanging words you don’t hear, slapping one another on the back.

You turn on your heel, insides twisting as nausea overcomes you at the scene.

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

You’re trying to leave, tempted to take the good old Irish exit and just slip out a back door.

But your parents- ne, your father- are so busy show-ponying you around the room, that you fail to take a single step that goes unnoticed.

“There she is!” Your father calls out, somewhere behind you, as you slip your hand into the arm of your coat. This act sparks outrage, a frown birthing onto his face. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving too.”

You say you’re tired.

He boos, loudly, like he’s not the chief of police and a whole grown adult.

Grabs at you, lovingly, trying to pry the coat out of your hands.

The effort is minimum, and you know he’s only messing around.

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too. 

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

[wifeofsnowbaird]

can you do a Tom Blyth x reader where they are filming like a romcom or something and they fall in love over the course of filming? i was thinking fluff but i would not be upset if it somehow ended up with some smut in their trailer ;) , just follow your heart!! lots of love ❤️

ofc! I’m absolutely shitty at smut tho i might try with this one but idk so fluff it is❤️ it’s gonna have 3 parts bc it’s definitely gonna need more than a short post!

this first part isnt really when they're filming i just wanted Tom to have a slight crush after seeing ur story and wanted a small scene with Rachel and Josh!

So long I've been out in the rain and snow.

But the winter's come and gone, and a little bird told me so.

Part 1/Part 2/

(Tom Blyth x actress!reader)

summary: you and Tom meet for the first time while Josh is in the middle of the livestream. It's become the new famous ship of the internet.

You were one of the newest actresses in Hollywood and luckily you managed to grab a role with one of the most famous actors right now, Tom Blyth.

Ever since he starred in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, people have been thirsting for him like he was water.

You wouldn't lie, you were one of them, but you two were supposed to meet in a coffee shop, reciting your lines and you were late.

" Oh you're [Name] [Last name], nice to meet you! Sorry, my friends decided to follow me here. "

Tom grinned, blue eyes twinkling in the sunlight, an apology gleaming in his pupils.

"No worries, it's fine! I'm so sorry I'm late, it was just traffic!"

" Don't worry, I'm just glad you made it!"

You took in a deep breath and extended your arm for a handshake. Surprisingly, he hugged you instead. You met the two 'friends' who are actually fucking Josh Rivera and Rachel Zegler who were seemingly livestreaming on Instagram.

" And here is the new couple! Say hi, you two love birds!"

Tom rolled his eyes before letting you go to tell Josh off.

" We aren't dating, we actually just met."

Josh turned, confused for a second before gazing at Tom's phone that was left on his chair.

"Wait, seriously? Didn't you see a post of her being your new co-star in that rom-com you're doing and started bragging a lot to Rachel and me? What's it?"

He thought for a minute before his eyes lit up and he smiled brightly.

"Oh, yeah! Sweet truth, where a girl had a bunch of exes tell lies and cheat but then finds a man who tells her nothing but the truth?"

Tom hissed and shut Josh up by covering his mouth, before he noticed Rachel leaning toward confused you, beginning to tell you the whole story.

His panicked face turned red.

" So it was a couple weeks ago, we were just calmly hanging out after reshooting some Ballad scenes when Tom showed us your Insta where you were like, I don't know, talking about the movie you're gonna be in! He was literally obsessed, I am not kidding."

She shrugged as Tom glared at her for spilling his secret.

"I'm sorry, I mean you're beautiful and I-"

He cleared his throat, unable to continue because of his embarrassment.

You giggled, shrugging.

" It's cool, I mean I think you're hot-I mean handsome too."

Inside you were literally screaming at yourself for exposing the fact that he's your celebrity crush.

" Uh, guys, I hope this isn't method acting because I'd be really disappointed in you, Tom" Josh snickered, sharing a mischievous glance with Rachel.

Tom rolled his eyes, smiling at you before beckoning to the chair beside him.

" Let's, uh, practice...?"

[antariies]

how to build a chair........... director's cut ∠( ᐛ 」∠)__ this is about to be a very long very self-indulgent post where i just talk about my own writing. i also doodled on all the pages i think it makes the whole thing more fun to go thru. welcome to my ted talk

SIKE before i begin. credit where credit is due, this post was the start of it all. it changed my brain chemistry my jaw was dropped i was in awe i was obsessed and before i even finished it i knew that i would eventually have to make something similar for the commander or else i would be cursed to think about it for the rest of my life. and i Was cursed for like two years every day i would just be like........ is today the day i sit down and draft the commander chair fic of my dreams....... maybe tomorrow......

and then i got accepted as a writer for the gw2 zine ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ the chair idea was actually my backup option in case my first idea didn't pan out, and thank god it didn't, bc this one worked so much better. (still working on my initial idea, just turning it into a full fic! it was wayyy too long to be a zine submission.)

this is the chair i used. i downloaded the assembly instructions and tried out a bunch of different free pdf editors until i found one i liked, which ended up being sedja. if anyone's interested in doing something like this, i recommend printing out the pdf and writing directly on it! it was a lot easier for me to just figure out everything on paper first and then digitalize it after :P here's a picture of my physical copy

okay actually getting into it for real this time !!!!!

1. yeah i could've just erased the ikea logo and left a blank space but then i realized i could turn it into an in-universe joke. and then i ran with it.

2. i ripped this straight from the product description on the website. thanks ikea

3. i'm not sure if anyone went and looked it up, but it's a real item code!

hehe :3c

4. if your commander willingly goes to therapy i'm happy for them but TO ME? you'd have to drag the commander kicking and screaming. it's not that they don't know that something is wrong with them, they know, and they know YOU know. you're just never supposed to talk about it. they don't look at their own psych eval results bc that's none of their business.

5. i normally avoid specifying the commander's race when i write them bc i enjoy the challenge, but for the zine i was assigned to write about a norn commander! as a human main i was uhhhh very ill-equipped. but that just meant i had to study up on my norn lore (•̀ᴗ•́)و i spent hours on the wiki, then went around interviewing norn mains for their opinions, which was great fun :D it all helped me narrow the focus of my piece: joining the war on commander objectification on the side of commander objectification (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡ and no one self-aggrandizes quite like the norn commander!

and to balance that i knew my narrator had to be patronizing as shitttt. they've clearly been following the commander since the beginning and seem to know a lot of intimate details about their life, despite not thinking very highly of them. wonder who that could be :3c

6. i can't stop making references. so the original part number is actually #122620 in the manual but i've changed it here (and on the previous page!) to #082812, as in 08/28/12, the date gw2 was released! no real reason for it, @dalennaugw suggested it for funsies and i liked it. if you're my pal and i show you a wip and you have a cool idea for it, chances are i Will put that shit in. hi dale if you're reading this

7. another thing about me. i loveeee repetition. here the word "over" is repeated four times to match the picture. honestly a lot of the creative process for this piece was just staring at the pages and figuring out how to tie the pictures to the commander in ways that weren't extremely corny or trite. idk why i enjoy writing like this when i could be frolicking in the beautiful prosaic meadows of a word doc instead but. it's like i see a tiny little restrictive box and i'm like OH BOY can't wait to think inside of that thing!!! i like when the format matters just as much as the content and in some cases informs the content. am i making any sense here. well all you need to know is that i'm a virgo and my favorite book is house of leaves

7. aw fuck just realized i wrote 7 twice. whatever i'm not changing it this is 7 part two now. the theme of my piece is glory, what it means to the norn commander, and how far they're willing to go for it.

8. does norn culture place emphasis on seeking individual glory Yes are norn also very community-oriented Also Yes. i think it's common to see norn kids napping together in a big pile, usually after they've worn themselves out playing games outside. it makes sense practically (apes together warm) and socially (pack bonding good) but that's just my hc. growing up i used to share a bed with my cousins all the time so it's normal to me.

a young, naive not-yet-commander, with no real combat experience, has no point of reference to compare a "blaze of glory" to. but the way everyone talks about it, it must be a good thing. a wonderful thing. a reward fit for a life well-fought and a legend hard-earned. so they imagine it must feel like falling asleep surrounded by the people they love, who love them in turn.

9. .........i was playing a lot of ace attorney when i wrote this page. i wish i was joking 👍🏼

10. ohhh shit the truth come OUT this whole chair thing was all a ploy just so i could write about the departing. again.

will i ever stop thinking about her. reply hazy, try again later.

11. out of all the pages, this one has the most emphasis on text placement, like comparing the enlarged picture of the screw to a sword, the numbers counting the screws, and "up up up" being arranged to mimic a wisp of smoke.

i also wanted to lean into the viking/norse mythology influences with my word choice.

12. more nods to norn culture. i didn't know they referred to the six human gods as "spirits of action" until i was doing the research for this piece :O

and the domain of the lost is called a hall of ghosts....... cause valhalla.....

13.

i'm sorry this so funnyyy. SAYS the guy who literally clawed their way back to life for a rematch.

me when i'm in a sore loser competition and my opponent is the COMMANDER!!!

14. arms as in "limbs" and also arms as in "armaments" :•]

15. haha get it because the picture makes it look like there are two mirrored speech bubbles while the text paints two opposing interpretations of the norn commander. one that's selfless and humble versus one that's selfish and vainglorious.

16. and the best part is IT DOESN'T MATTER which one is true bc at the end of the day no matter what their motivation, balthazar is dead by their hand. ofc i'm of the opinion that the most compelling interpretation of the commander is both, simultaneously. contradictions are good for the soul.

17. i could've name-dropped kas, the only person present that would do something like that, but i felt it was better to leave it ambiguous.

18. low-hanging fruit. the metaphor was so obvious here but i had to do it. for the culture

19. the alternate title for this piece was "THIS COULD BE GLORY". "how to build a chair" was only supposed to be a placeholder title til i figured out a better one, but the innocuousness of it grew on me. also i came up with the other one too late and had already advertised under the chair title lol

20. my first instinct was to end it with something more reassuring, like "what you have built so far is enough" but that would've been an ooc switch-up for a narrator who has been nothing but snide and detached this whole time. gotta stick to my guns

21.

obligatory chair joke as the last line. for realsies though it’s meant to be an earnest appeal to the commander to take a break, to have a seat, but it’s also a challenge. are they willing to lean on their friends? are the bonds they’ve forged strong enough to hold their weight? are they willing to put their faith in someone else’s hands? are they brave enough to try? well. only one way to find out.

also guess what that wasn’t even the real last page of the manual. it's THIS

but no way i was letting this be the image we ended on. IT LOOKS LIKE A DICK AND BALLS!!!

and on that note, THANK YOU if you made it this far!! a very special shout-out to @hawkepockets, my lovely boyfriend and beta reader, without whom this piece would not be nearly as polished. i would bring him pages to look over and he would say Scrap half of those lines you can do better than that. kill your darlings. i would complain and argue for a few minutes then we would revise. rinse and repeat until we had honed this thing to perfection. i can't stress enough the importance of having a second pair of eyes on your work throughout your creative process, even better if it's someone who challenges you. i don't even pay him 🫶🏼

and if there was anything i didn't cover that you still have questions about, please feel free to shoot me an ask! (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡ thanks for reading! see u later dudes ;P

[justanotherflemethstan]

I have finally finished Veilguard. I have already voiced my critiques (critique 1, critique 2, critique 3 & critique 4) and I largely stand by them. so instead, here are 5 things I absolutely loved about Dragon Age The Veilguard.

1. Mourn Watch

Mourn Watch, Mourn Watch, Mourn Watch. Wow. wwowowowow. Everything, from Rook's background, their interactions with Emmrich and unique Mourn Watch dialogue options throughout the game, to the location and the lore and Myrna & Vorgoth, was Perfect. I wouldn't change a single thing and the only difficulty I have with the Mourn Watch faction is not making all of my future Rooks Mourn Watchers too. If bioware makes Mourn Watch themed merch I will buy ALL of it. if any of you are making Mourn Watch themed merch please hmu.

(also, can I just say, I bet that at least one of people responsible for Mourn Watch has read The Locked Tomb. you just can tell, and I say that as a compliment)

2. Grand Necropolis

Is it a cheat to have the first two points be kind of about the same thing? Who cares. The Grand Necropolis was AMAZING. I could spend an entire game within its walls and never leave. In fact, I WANT to spend an entire game within its walls. We need a Grand Necropolis DLC. I want to know EVERYTHING there is to know about its lore and its customs. I am truly obsessed. Special thanks to all the level artists and level designers involved in making Grand Necropolis happen.

3. Davrin and his romance

Davrin's romance was just breathtaking. Him and my Rook felt like soulmates and I loved loved loved every interaction they had. Everything from Davrin's character and his story arc to the voice acting and the way his romance with Rook was written is just fantastic. I probably won't be able to romance him again bc I ship him with my canon Rook so hard. Davrin easily goes into my Top 5 favourite Dragon Age characters of all time.

4. Combat

I've played a sword and board warrior and I had a blast. I was playing on Normal/Adventurer difficulty and admittedly by the end of the game my Rook became a bit OP and was insta killing almost everything that moved and bosses took about 8-10 hits. But I'm really really looking forward to experiencing the other classes and experimenting with different builds/party comps/difficulty settings. The combat was truly a highlight of this game for me and I'd say that it's probably my favourite Dragon Age combat system of all the 4 games now. Which is really not something I expected to say going into the game.

5. Companions and their personal quests

The devs promised us a diverse and lovable set of companions and imo they truly delivered. I liked doing companions' personal questlines the most, and I loved how they were all very different and didn't follow the same structure or story beats. Companions also all had different personalities and quirks and their interactions with each other were memorable and kept me engaged with the game even when I was struggling through some of the slower parts. The Veilguard did indeed deliver on The Veilguard.

___

I know all these are pretty subjective and I appreciate that everyone might have a different experience with any or all of the above points. I just felt it'd be only fair to be as vocal about the parts of the game I enjoyed as I was about the things I didn't like.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

She's Alive?!? (Alive may be a stretch LMAO)

HEY FRIENDS, IT'S ME 🥹 (Madeline fills y'all in below the cut)

Safe to say from the absolute radio silence on here for the past month and a half, life has been absolutely kicking me right in the tits. As of today (after telling my principal), I am officially done with teaching at the end of this school year. It's been the strangest feeling ever- while it is such a huge relief to know the tremendous amount of physical and mental stress that teaching has been for me is only 15 days away from coming to an end, it also hurts to think that the thing I once had so much passion and love for has burned out so quickly. I've been having such a hard time coming to terms with the fact that teaching isn't where I want to be anymore, and the teacher guilt in me about it is still eating me alive.

This school year has been so draining for me that the past month I have done the same routine every single day as followed: Wake up, cry going into work, try to make it through the day without having a mental breakdown from kids screaming/ridiculous parent emails/insane requests from the district/one of my kids threatening to bring a gun to school (yes, this did happen, and yes, it's the 3rd grade!!! 🙂), cry on my way home from school, look for jobs and change my resume for the thousandth time and cry again bc no one will hire me, and then go to sleep and do it the next day!! On top of that, I've just been dealing with a lot of other big life things that have taken up so much time/mental energy, I am legit crawling to the finish line that is the last day before summer break.

I will be completely honest with you when I say that I legit have not opened a Google Doc for NTL in a month and a half, and truth be told, I don't know the next time that I will. I truly do miss being on here and all of the wonderful people, and I feel terrible that I have been no where to be found. Thank you to everyone who's sent me a DM or an ask to ask if ya girl is okay, I really appreciate you more than you know 🥺💛

I'm really hoping the summer brings some new peace/inspiration to start writing again, but please know if you don't hear anything from me in the near future, either know 1. I didn't make it out of the school year alive or 2. I am sitting in the sun like a lizard on a hot rock letting all of the stress dissolve from my body until I start to feel like a normal human again 🥴

I love all of you so much, I hope that everything in all of your lives are going well and that I am giving each one of you a big kiss on the forehead and sending you all of my love 🥺💕

ALSO Y'ALL BEST BELIEVE I AM CELEBRATING MY LAST DAY OF SCHOOL WITH A CORONA BC PEDRO WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKK 😩

[acourtofthought]

Okay so scrolling the Lucien tag and not even 5 posts in I see an e/riel!

Now I’m at the point where I don’t bother to engage with them bc I do not see any point, but I am still curious. This person was saying Eluciens & Gwynriels have to twist cannon and the characters (sure Jan), but what really stuck out to me was that one of those “twists” is Azriel feeling nothing more than lust for Elain…

… where is a single shred of proof that Azriel feels more than lust? Which book, which page number? Because it’s literally explicitly stated that he’s planned nothing beyond the fantasies he’d pleasured himself to. So where is the more? I know you used to favor E/riel. Is there anything more you’d point to?

💖🧼

NTSSM my love!!!!! ❤️ I hope you've been well!

People can headcanon all they want that Az has real feelings for Elain but there is no irrefutable evidence and that's a big part of why I grew to really dislike the E/riel ship.

Az was point blank asked about his known feelings for Mor and he refused to answer. I've seen all sorts of debates about this, "he was just caught off guard!" "He doesn't like to talk about his feelings!" but again, those are all fanon theories right now. He in canon and in his POV did not admit to no longer being in love with her and was not willing to reassure one of his best friends that he wasn't about to just use his sister in-law for sex. Cassian noted his longing glances for Mor were fewer in between but that's not completely gone and we know she was traveling for much of SF. There can't be as many looks if the person isn't around.

Az was asked point blank what his plans were when it came to Elain and once again Az said nothing, followed with him thinking how he hadn't thought beyond the sexual fantasies he pleasured himself to.

Az witnessed Elain's major fight with Nesta, he knew there had been another fight prior to it and he couldn't even be bothered to ask her how she was doing once they were finally alone.

Amren reprimanded Az for not believing Elain capable and we didn't see a single shred of remorse at his doubting her.

Az in canon showed admiration for Gwyn. Az in canon has never shown admiration for Elain. Az in canon credited Nesta for her part in the war. Az in canon has never acknowledged anything Elain did in the war. Az in canon felt a spark in his chest at the thought of Gwyn's happiness. Az in canon never noted feeling a spark for Elain. Az in canon thought of Gwyn's charming irreverence and how different she is now compared to when he first met her. Az has never thought a single thing about Elain's personality or her growth. Az in canon did want to taste Elain but Az in canon also has taken many lovers over the years. Az in canon spent 1 year staring at Elain's headache powder but Az in canon spent over 500 years staring at Mor with longing. We were also told that Az is upset that he didn't get what his brothers had which does provide readers doubt to Az having real feelings for Elain. The author specifically wrote the lines she did in a way that caused many to say "he doesn't want Elain for who she is but what she is in terms of the 3 sisters / 3 brother setup". Compare that to his love for Mor which has been a plot point since book 2 (something that was even discussed in the Cassian and Nesta bonus) and there is no doubt that Az had actual feelings for her.

If a romance author can't convince the majority of her readers that the MMC actually wants the FMC beyond sex and entitlement then I have to say she's not writing a very good romance. Especially when she's not a dark romance / bully romance author (those genre's are a bit different).

Az in canon did lend Elain TT but he turned around and looked at Mor with heat and yearning while Elain sat in the room with them (so clearly the TT scene was not really meant to be romantic). Az did head to Hyberns camp to save Elain but he also told Feyre he'd save Briar while they were there. He then disobeyed Feyre's orders to get Elain to safety so he could instead stay behind for Feyre. Az would have never gotten hurt had he left when Feyre told him to, he got hurt because he didn't want to leave Feyre. He was then ready to fly back into battle while injured but only sat out after Mor begged him to.

And when we flip that, where is the proof that Elain has feelings for Az? I'm not talking about a little crush or flirtation, a willingness to hook up, I'm talking "I will sneak behind the backs of my friends and family to have a forbidden romance with Az and don't care what that means for the peace of our lands because he's worth everything to me."

Was it when she was kidnapped by the Cauldron because she thought it was Graysen? Was it when Az was about ready to pass out from his injuries and she never bothered to ask after him? Was it when she knew he was bothered by her mating bond but had zero interest in actually talking to him about it in his POV? You know, actually sharing in a real conversation with depth after a year where they both pretty much avoided one another rather than thinking hooking up was the better option? (It's giving Tamlin and Feyre who chose not to talk about everything they were dealing with UTM and instead thought banging one out was the smart choice. Sarah doesn't have her endgame couples hooking up before dealing with the hard stuff). Was it when she returned his necklace and was written to be completely indifferent to him the rest of the book? Where she showed zero evidence of sadness or mourning after Solstice?

That E/riels accuse us of twisting canon when they've got Elain as a bloodthirsty, dagger wielding, black leather wearing liar who doesn't care whose feeling she hurts is something else.

I realize that Elucien's saying Elain might have secret feelings for Lucien and is overwhelmed by her physical attraction to him which is one of the reasons she draws back is also a fanon theory right now but the difference is we have empirical evidence to back that up because it's what was revealed about every single Archeron sister to date. Where she ignored, berated, etc. her mate because she was so overwhelmed at being drawn to them (even if she didn't fully understand why that was). Sarah is a Fated Mates author along with many other Fated Mates authors. We have actual data to support that Elain and Lucien as mates will end up together and that Elain has possibly been struggling with her feelings for Lucien all this time.

And yes, there are many yet to be proven Gwynriel headcanons but how could a male feeling something spark in his chest at the simple thought of a female's happiness, a female he really only just met, be considered anything but the first hints at a future romantic pairing?

Az felt happy thinking of Gwyn feeling happy. What is the definition of love if not that?

[romana-after-dark]

Roman's 1000 follower fundraiser game!

Hello friends!!!

I am so happy to see I have 1200 followers! Thank you so much everyone who got me here, old followers from when I first wrote The Wrong Way, to new followers with my Logan Howlett era, to everyone that know me from my main and followed me to dark fics! Words cannot express how much yall mean to me and how much the support I've gotten through the hard things means.

I want to do a celebration, but something that won't overwhelm me. I'm switching work stuff around, however, so I should have more time and be less exhausted and sad.

So I’m doing a fundraiser game!

The charity: I will be donating to my favorite charity, Smile Train. when I was 6, I saw an add for Smile Train and asked my mom if I could donate. My mom said we didn't have enough money to both donate, and do the yearly church fair, so I had to choose. Of course, I was 6 so I chose going to the fair. And I felt bad about that every since. So, my go to has always been Smile Train for charities ever since. When I was in middle school I saved every allowance for a year and did some extra chores to save enough for a whole surgery! Now, I'm not that ambitious this time bc I am in fact, poor. But I can set aside some for the needy. I considered doing Palestinian Children's Relief Fund, but I found out Smile Train actually partners with them so it works!

How it works: So, As y'all've probably noticed, I love music so much, that almost every title of a fic is either a song title or a song lyric. Sometimes I say it, sometimes I don't.

THROUGHOUT THE END OF NOVEMBER!

Look though my masterlist here or on my main, @romanarose. Find at least one fic titled after a song.

Send an ask with UP TO 5 Song title/fic title connections. No More. This is to allow everyone a chance, and to no overwhelm me.

One title = 100 words. You find 3 song titles? you get a 300 word blurb. find 5? 500! 500 is the limit.

If you send a fic title that has already been pointed out in an ask from another person, sorry, it'd not counted! (Unless I'm really feeling the writing). Send 4 titles but 2 have been used already? You get 200 words!

Send me what you want. it doesn't have to be dark! I'll make an exception. Characters I'll write for bellow!

For every fic title/ song reference, I will donate $1 to Smile Train! The more songs we can find, the more money they get (without overdoing my bank account. However Nov has extra friday which means more pay for me.) Questions you may have: "What if someone else said the fic title, but it was published and I didn't see it, or it's still sitting in your asks because you are always super fucking slow at doing these ROMAN" Yeah you're right I'm always slow at these. I guess you're SOL, buddy. If it's already sitting in my asks, I won't commit to adding it to your word count. BUT if my creative juices are flowing, I may have mercy

"What if all of my song titles I found have been used already?"

Well, frankly, I'll probably write you something still! I'm not mean.

"What if you didn't use a song title, but we find a song with it anyway?"

Well, that's up to my discretion. If it's a song I know that may have influenced the title subliminally I might count it! But if it wasn't in intentional thing, no guarantees. But Again, I'll be flexible.

"How are we supposed to know what goes on in your weird little old man head."

Uhhhhhhhhh bestie I dont even know what's happening in there!!!! Just have fun with it. See if you recognize songs or lines. It's okay

"What about chapters?"

Great Q, voice in my head! Since most fics I don't have chapter titles, I'll allow it! If I have a bonus chapter, or a chapter i just wanted to title and its a song, go ahead! Only exception is Rooms on Fire. Sorry, but i'm pretty clear those are intentionally all songs. It's too easy.

"$1 is per fic title is awful cheap."

Bestie my checkings over drafted today!!! I got it covered and figured out, this is just a little something I wanna do with LITTLE extra money but I still have debt I gotta work on it's tough out here!!!

Any more questions send them in! YOU HAVE UNTIL DECEMBER 1ST WHICH IS WHEN DEAD DOVE DECEMBER STARTS AGAIN!

Logan Howlett

any Triple Frontier boys sans Tom

Moon Boys

Wade Wilson

Kylo Ren

Scott Summers

Remy Lebeau (but not dark for him I can't see it. Will allow dark reader though!)

Tommy Miller

Javier Pena

Han Solo (no non con, maybe dub con)

Steve Murphy

And yes, I've said I'm done with Joel but I will allow for Joel this time because it's for charity and he pulls people in.

and although I've never written them, I'll write for the Bikeriders Cal, Benny, or Johnny but no non con. I'll play wit dub con, and dark reader

I will also write canon character x canon character, so if you want some Scogan or Johnny x Benny or FishBen, Im in! If a pairing is something I feel just doesn't lend itself to the scenario you give me, I might tweek it. Everything is up to my discretion!

I will also write crossovers!

And I will write any of my oc's and anything in universe. So fen, if you wanna read you and Lorenzo go crazy! If you want a blurb shipping Scott and Dolly in OGS, just ask!

Open to it all

This is my little celebration my rules and discretion, but I want this to be overall fun!!! Just a good ole time! Don't take it too seriously, and we'll raise money in the mean time!

[bugsbenefit]

attraction in ST

or. oh god stop stripping the show of it's themes no please no it needs those, stopppp

actually making this post now bc i'm sick of people claiming anything remotely sexual or even kissing happening to the party (an opinion that often pops up in the context of byler) in s5 would be horrible, sexualising, or out of character for the show

ST has always had a realistic approach to kids growing into their sexualities. the show's never shied away from directly addressing sex and sexual feelings so i'm honestly amazed by the extremely puritan interpretation of the show. i'm assuming, in good faith, that a big part of it is coming from people not having seen the actual show in ages and are just forgetting how explicitly the show handles sexuality. instead of just assuming it's from culturally raised christian people, who feel uncomfortable seeing any portrayal of sexuality, no matter how tasteful or realistic

i'm also saying all this as an ace person myself, i get not being into sex and not wanting to see it. however, refusing to acknowledge entire themes of a fictional show just because i don't experience them is bizarre to me. sexuality is vitally important to a lot of the characters and isn't just there to be fun(gross). essentially, ST is the opposite of porn without plot

so just as a little reminder what's actually IN Stranger Things. canonically.

sorry i had this sc for ages and wanted to include it Somewhere, so here you go. at a little starter... dorry

also this is an old draft seeing the light of day now, if anything's worded weird it's bc i didn't read all of it over again so oops, grammar hard?

TLDR: the show has never shied away from explicitly addressing sexuality. buying into the puritan fanon version of the show is going to make your s5 viewing experience worse because that show doesn't exist

season 1

we're starting the show off with Stancy, which is very sexually charged in general. (even in s4 Nancy still experiences physical attraction to Steve despite them having unchanged compatibility) the plot surrounding them in s1 explicitly focuses on Nancy having sex with Steve and later regretting that choice. the scene that everyone remembers, is of course, the "explicit" (not really, because ST is really tasteful with how it shows these teens explore themselves) sex scene

they're in sophomore and junior year of highschool here. around 15 and 16 years old - yet the show doesn't shy away from letting them figure things out. and it's not like this sexual theme is contained in only that scene. it keeps coming back the whole season as Nancy tries to sort her feelings out and deals with the aftermath of that night

also sidenote here while still at Steve and his party: even Steve's friends are very casual with their sexualities. and yes, they can even explicitly mention sex and specific sexual acts, no holding back here

Nancy's character conflict in s1 very much hinges on her sexuality and sexual themes. and it's not like there is a magic you need to be at least this old rule to know what sex is on the show like so many people seem to believe, because even 12 year old Mike seems to very much know what his sister and Steve are up to. he even goes out of his way to use it against her

iconic line! but i've seen insane takes trying to spin this into something not alluding to something sexual. i'm sorry to say if he doesn't think they're full on having sex he at least thinks they're getting very intimate with each other regardless

so not even the youngest characters on the show are "innocent and pure" the way fandom likes to claim when it comes to sexuality. and of course they aren't. real 12 year olds know what sex is, they're young not oblivious

and the following seasons make that even more obvious

season 2

as of s2 the kids are getting more involved with the sexual jokes, not just making them about other people but even being directly involved with those themes themselves. which is also realistic. with 13 sexuality starts to get thrown your way by every possible form of media. lots of them start developing crushes, have no idea how relationships work, etc. it's messy, typical teens thrown into the dating game. (i say all of this from a developmental media psychology perspective thanks uni and not personal experience sorry lmao, i'm a bit too ace to have my own input here)

s2 features comedic and awkward mentions of sex(ual activity) towards Lucas and Max,

older peers giving their 13 year old friends well meant advice on how relationships work,

and has even younger characters play around with attraction/kissing/love as well, which is incredibly normal for kids to do at that age

they're all young and the show treats growing up realistically. while the theme of attraction or sexuality gets more relevant for them (in scenes that are often received with awkwardness by the characters themselves) the show offers them safe territory to stand on. none of them are directly confronted with sexuality and are instead offered people to seek advice from for example

meanwhile the sexuality theme for the older kids is still very much explicit. just as Nancy's arc is still heavily tied to her romance and sexuality (which ties into her non conformity themes - she's an ambition driven person trying to escape the culdesac life first and foremost)

not only do we get another sex scene (this time with a cut away), there's also explicit jokes about it after

sexuality on the show is continuously awkward and messy. Jonathan and Nancy are only 16-17 here - no one really knows what they're doing or what the right way to go ahead is and Jonathan rightfully almost does a spittake here. out of pocket Murray

sexuality. is. awkward. (we get is s2 thanks)

season 3

s3 gets even more explicit with it's awkward puberty sexuality themes

from Dustin talking about how much he likes kissing Suzie (and her liking him not having teeth for it?) which weirds Steve out to the repeating, awkwardly received, "happy screams joke" (which gets a callback in later scene)

sexuality is still awkward for them. it's a realistic approach to what 14 year olds act like and know. they're actively dating by now, they're kissing people And have messy relationship situations. all while still acknowledging knowing what sex and attraction is, duh, of course they know that. but i'm explicitly pointing it out because i see obscene amounts of people claiming the characters are completely sheltered and even implying that they know what sex is would be gross. to that i say, do you not remember being 14???

and while i'm at s3, also let it be mentioned that even the adults are suffering at the hands of the sexuality theme here. Hopper's hookups with random women are focused on in s1, but now that he's getting closer with Joyce they get very explicitly told to just have sex. literally

not putting the whole dialogue in here, i already have too many images because there's so many sex mentions in this show and he really just tells them their mating ritual is painful and they should tear their clothes off and fuck right now

thanks Murray, always insightful

season 4

and s4 has stopped just confronting the kids with the existence of sexuality, but is tentatively starting to explore mature themes more directly - which allows them to tentatively start exploring their own sexualities instead of just having to acknowledge the general concept of sexuality

Max gets to ogle shirtless Steve

Lucas has something under his bed that's never confirmed as anything except "100/10 gross" but had 90% of the audience i saw immediately assume something sexual (magazines or the like)

and has a bunch more direct nudges, from the kids "experimenting sexually" as Murray says

to Argyle explicitly telling Jonathan he needs to have sex with Nancy again

to Hopper and Joyce's escalating make out in a church while shirtless

to visual innuendos (i'm looking at you hose scene. this one wouldn't be such a big deal if there wasn't a genuine moral panic about it last year. which was crazy. people literally had to pretend the scene didn't exist to escape the witchhunting mobs, except instead of being killed for magic it'd be for looking at a canon scene and acknowledging it. crazy times - aside from that there's also more visuals you can take as innuendos in s4e1 which there's already posts about out there so i'm not getting into them here, i'm more focused on the overt textual references)

to Yuir extensively talking about pleasing women and making them cum (I'm sparing you from that, the sc in at the top was already enough)

to explicit graffities all over the place, like here as an example "give me head until i'm dead" which is in frame for the whole phone call and Steve talking about his bitchlesness. and is also some of the only easily legible text (i hope this is readable, most of my screenshots kind of died a bit so maybe you need to look at an actual clip to see the text)

that is aside from the "DRUGS" poster which touches on another point s4 makes. the show doesn't just explore sexuality, it also puts the kids into more mature situations in general (not talking about the deaths, this is a horror show), specifically drugs

Jonathan uses weed as a coping mechanism the whole season and Eddie even sells the stuff in full bags (insane weed selling practices btw, even i know that). Chrissy (17-18) wants to do weed and ketamine. and we also see Lucas (14) hungover after drinking at a party for the first time

the show does not shy away from portraying realistic teen experiences

Murray called s4 very well, the kids pound some bears, smoke some ganja, play nintendo, and experiment sexually

literally. you have drinking, weed, and confusing queer sexualities. they took this list step by step

and all of those pretty normal things teens tend to explore. and i say that as someone who was decidedly not into those things. the ace experience is a bit different, but i can still acknowledge how that period was like for my allo friends and people in general

there is an extreme push in this fandom to reject any form of sexual jokes or references in the show, made mostly by people being uncomfortable with portrayals of sexuality. however, the themes not only still exist, they're also very prominent throughout all 4 seasons and are important to a lot of the characters directly

and it's also noteworthy here to see how ST approaches it's sexuality theme. it grows with the characters. starting out as jokes and being received with awkwardness to slowly letting them figure things out on their own time and turns. an extremely realistic progression and very common for coming of age narratives such as ST. it's a far cry from shows exploring sexuality or sexual themes for the sake of the viewers enjoyment like Euph0ria (don't want it to show up in tags)

based on what we currently know s5 could very well be taking place in 1988 or later which would place the party at around 16-17 years old. going into the season with the fanon version of the show that is completely clean and non sexual will 100% set you up for disaster

ST is very realistic and non exploitative with it's exploration of teen sexuality so there is obviously nothing to worry about in the sexualization department, that's just puritan fear mongering. however, it's very likely that we're going to get more than holding hands or pecks on the lips from the characters that are now older than characters we've explicitly seen hook up before. there could be more intimate scenes or making out, yes. but there's also at least one basically guaranteed vulgar joke in there, all seasons have them

there's no real theorizing or speculation about s5 here, anything could happen and i'm not placing bets, i want the characters narratives to be wrapped up well first and foremost and trust the writers to do it well. however, going into s5 with some of the mindsets i've seen circulating on here and expecting the show to be "clean" and cater to a version of it that's never existed outside of purified fandom could genuinely make you feel blindsided by the shows canon themes

not targeted at anyone or anything specifically, just using this as a bit of a reality check of what the show is actually like after recently rewatching all of it in one go

[emilykaldwen]

thinking about that talk with @murmel-malt about how george's ages for these kids in F&B is just... a mess. Like we know George keeps his characters young (Look at... 90% of the cast of ASOIAF being like, 20 and under or what have you) and now I'm on a distraction rabbit hole of how do differently?

Which basically boils down to extending Viserys' reign, and then putting larger age gaps between Rhaenyra's children specifically.

But I thought: Okay, let's break this down side by side for everyone else who is staring at these ages in show vs book canon and trying to make sense of it. I want you to know that you're not alone in this, and I hope this could be a helpful resource for making your own narrative decisions.

TL;DR - the show time jumps do not track and make no sense and has weirdly aged people down and also up and so you make your own decisions. I've put my age recommendations at the bottom of the post.

We know Vizzy doesn't care about the health of his wife, since good lord we know what happened to Aemma and the text specifically states it was not only how young she was when she first started getting pregnant, but also the frequency she was getting pregnant/stillbirths. Like that took a toll. Luckily for Book!Alicent, she was 19/20 when she started having children, and could handle that better

We have two years between Aegon and Helaena, and then 1-2 years between Helaena and Aemond depending on when Aemond was born, and then four years between Aemond and Daeron

With Rhaenyra, we have:

Jace was born at the end of 114 (Rhaenyra is 17, and Jace is the same age as Daeron), Luke is specified as late 115, which... doesn't make sense? Like TECHNICALLY, you could get pregnant as early as three weeks after giving birth (I googled a... lot for this) but like really?

(ETA: I'm not saying this doesn't happen, we have it seeming to happen with Aemond and Helaena, it's the same with Bran and Arya, but as I address below, It doesn't seem to fit with Rhaenyra's character)

Westeros has a 12 month calendar. Jace is a december Baby, which means late 115 means... Oct/Nov/December, which means Rhaenyra was pregnant by February with her second kid.

then Joffrey is born in 117, however it doesn't specify what time of year. We just know that when Aemond loses his eye, Joffrey is 3.

Aegon III is born towards the end of 120 (again, Oct/Nov/Dec). We know that Daemon and Rhaenyra married in 120, not even six months after the death of Laena and Laenor, who died early 120 and Laenor not long after. so with this, like, is Aegon a wedding night baby? Had Daemon and Rhaenyra started boning before they married? (I mean, likely). Then Viserys II is born in 122, then we have a seven year gap before Rhaenyra's birth of Visenya.

Like, I'm sorry, but you want me to believe that Rhaenyra Targaryen who watched her mother have miscarriage after stillbirth for the first 10 years of her life wasn't gonna be more careful about this? Like George, just because we didn't have condoms and birth control pills doesn't mean that there wasn't some kind of bc was used (and there's evidence of that in our real world).

(and like I was saying to Mo: I mean at the end of the day, these ages don't matter, since 78% of these kids died and yes I calculated that percentage, and he wasn't thinking about people digging into the age things because at the end of the day, that doesn't matter for the story he's telling)

Which then brings us to the fuzzy show logic:

The Time Jumps As Follows:

Episodes 1-2: over the course of 6 months.

Episode 3: Two Year Time Jump from previous

Episode 4: No time jump specified but Alicent's given birth. Did Rhaenyra only go to Storm's End? In the book she traveled all the way to Casterly Rock.

No time jump is specified from what I could find for Rhaenyra's wedding but to get everyone there for Rhaenyra's wedding, to put together a royal wedding, you need 6 months at least. Given how big baby!Helaena is, we're looking at a 6-10 month time jump. And I'm sorry but by ship, it's taking like, two-three days to sail from KL to Driftmark, and then you have negotiations that last more than a single conversation. So I feel safe in assuming the 6-10 month time jump between Rhaenyra's return/daemon thing to the wedding. (HOWEVER, everything I found claims there's no time jump, but that's literally impossible because people need time to travel to King's Landing as it takes at least two months from Casterly Rock/Oldtown to get to KL)

Aegon is the child we have confirmation for on his age. He is 3 years old when Rhaenyra is married. We know that Helaena, on the show, is exactly two years younger since Alicent is clearly popping any day on Aegon's 2nd birthday.

The Ten Year Time Jump

Aegon - 13

Helaena - 11

Aemond - 10

Jace - ??? Book canon states he's 4 years younger than Aemond, but there's no way Jace is 6 years old.

Luke - 4 years old. AGAIN, there's no way. I cannot confirm an age for the actor (who did a fantastic job) but he's definitely closer to 5 or 6.

Joffrey - NEWBORN vs being 3 years old at the time.

The Six Year Time Jump

Aegon - 19

Helaena - 17

Aemond - 16?????

Jace - ?????

Luke - 14 years old which makes him 8 years old during Driftmark (Luke's age was confirmed as 14 at the end, he was 13 in the book)

Joffrey - 6 years old

In the book: Aemond is 19 years old when Viserys dies, which should make him 19 years old for the final time jump. But instead Aegon is 19/20 years old.

SO HERE IS MY ADJUSTED SUGGESTION

It's just my suggestion, just my opinion, because again, none of this makes sense.

THIRTEEN YEAR TIME JUMP FOR DRIFTMARK

Aegon - 16

Helaena - 14

Aemond - 13

Jace - 10

Luke - 6

Joffrey - I mean you can keep him as a newborn to track but I don't think there's anything wrong with making him 3-4 years old IMO

ETA: adding in, Rhaenyra and Laenor talk about them trying to have a child, which means this actually builds in time for Laenor and Rhaenyra to try make their arrangement work instead of Rhaenyra just fucking off and hooking up with Harwin immediately.

SIX YEAR TIME JUMP FOR FINALE

Aegon - 22

Helaena - 20

Aemond - 18/19

Jace - 16

Luke - 14

Joffrey - 6 years (if newborn) or 10 years old.

Little Aegon - 6

Viserys - 4/5

I myself write a blend of show and book canon, but have tried to stick to show ages/timelines because frankly, more people have watched the show and I wanted to make barrier to entry easier for people. But the show timeline didn't make sense after Episode 5 so... here you go.

ETA: I FORGOT THE DRAGON TWINS but I suggest Baela and Rhaena to be the same age as Jace or Luke. Book!Canon, the dragon twins are the same age as Luke. Take that how you will.

THIS MAKES ALICENT AND RHAENYRA BOTH 17/18 DURING RHAENYRA'S WEDDING, AND 37 AT THE START OF THE DANCE.

[xaiblood]

I really likes your fic are you thinking of writing a part 4?

Here we goooo! But, sadly... this is the last part:") bcs I've test I hope this isn't cringe one bcs this is my first time write N$FW thing

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

His Name [4]

Warning: Slightly N/SFW theme

You stared at him, and Jonggun sat beside you.

"Why are you ... why are you wanna married with me?" you asked, crossed your arms. Jonggun just silent as you asked at him, he got up from his seat, you huffed and followed him.

He took his sunglasses, his unique irises focused at you. "Because I want you, [Name]. So, don't ask that kind question to me or your father." his stoic face still there.

He took your hand and walked toward the onsen. Yeah, your father told you to had some times with him before your wedding with him, even that was in the bedroom with him ...

Jonggun was walking toward the pool filled with warm water, the fragrant smell typical of your privete onsen that you often smelled when you were still in Japan, entered your sense of smell. You were sure that Jonggun was the only one who prepared all this.

You shuddered a little, how did he know this? Well, that was your question for now.

You dipped your both feet, the warmth you felt made you relax. But, a strong hand warped around your waist, that was Jonggun. His warm breath hit the top of your head, he smelled your hair. You were unexpecting this, but you enjoyed this moment.

"I want to soak with you," you spoke, "but I'm in your lap, is that okay?"

Jonggun raised a brow, " Why ask?" he replied you. "If your guts are big, sit on my lap and soak with me." he led you to sat down. The water soaked his white kimono, his white irises stared up at you with that smirk.

"Why? Nervous? Are you don't like it, little miss?" he called you by your past nickname. His hands were roaming your waist and pulled you slowly toward him, "Don't worry, I won't bite."

You bit your lower lip in hesitation, but the hesitation went away as your Jonggun took your hand and placed it on his cheek. His eyes looked at your eyes deeply, you gulped.

"Go on, sit on my lap, [Name]. I know you want this," his tone slightly demanded you. You hadn't any choices, you sat on his lap without turn around first; you were face to face with your future husband. Jonggun smirked at your action.

"Good girl, and let your man do the rest," Jonggun kissed your forehead, your cheeks, and the last your forehead again.

You blushed, your mind was confused you didn't know what to do because of Jonggun's treatment of you.

His lips met yours, you closed your eyes and let him be the one dominating you here. His hands grabbed your waist, and caressed it slowly. His touches were making you shivered and wanted more, more, and more.

Jonggun broke the kiss, "Shall we?" he reached your cheek and kissed it. You gave him a nod, he smirked.

"I'll make this always remember my name, everywhere and everytime."

[silverskye13]

just binged all of redstone and skulk in one go. HOLY SHIT!!! i left some comments on ao3 but that wasn't enough. i needed to come to your tumblr too bc this fic has Changed Me A Little. it makes sense- i've been subscribed to you on ao3 for a while (remember hound's tooth? i think that was when i started following your writing. and monsters splitting hairs, although i'm not quite caught up on that one), and that was for a good reason- but tanguish and helsknight are something else! part of why i like fanfiction is because i get to see more of characters i already like- it takes a special fic to get me so invested in characters i've basically just met! and you do it so well! like. the subtle character things! the way i can pick out the hermits' (and martyn's, but i'm calling him a hermit for the sake of convenience) traits in the helsmits, but warped and twisted around like a funhouse mirror? fantastic. i love it. im eating that shit up. the ilttle differences and similarities between tango and tanguish, helsknight and wels (bc he isn't acting very knightly right now), impulse and the demon- it's so cool to see! i also saw the other ask you got where you talked about your process, and how you give your characters a list of traits as a guide to writing them- i'm definitely going to have to borrow that trick. it works! so well! it shows in your writing in the consistency of how the characters behave!

some other thoughts i had while reading:

helsknight being religious probably has a lot more to do with him being a knight than wels being a lutheran irl (which is where his name comes from and i find that hilarious), but still. if it's unintentional it's hilarious and if it's on purpose then it's a fun easter egg!

i relate to and understand tanguish, because i too would want to befriend helsknight, and also because if a bunch of big scary people basically adopted me and tried to teach me how to use a knife i would be so pathetic about it.

i relate to and understand helsknight and tango, because tanguish is the weirdest little cat ever and i too am captivated by his pathetic little freak charms, and i want to be his friend.

i neither relate to nor understand wels, because 1) if i saw my friend's presumably-evil counterpart skulking around the shopping district i would likely call them first (just seems like the polite thing to do, and also bc if helsknight showed up and the ppl who found him didn't call wels about it i feel like he'd probably be more than a little pissed), and 2) look at tanguish. he's just a little guy. he's a little guy and it's his birthday. how could you be mean to him.

tl;dr: redstone and skulk has compelled me to the point that leaving comments on ao3 wasn't enough, i needed to ramble straight into your inbox because it's just so good.

Oh my gosh! Firstly: thank you for all the kind words! I'm glad you're liking my writing so far, and thank you both for the comments and the scurry into the inbox. I love hearing people's thoughts, even if I don't have the spoons to respond to everyone all the time :'D

For your bullet points:

-- I didn't know Wels was Lutheran! I knew he was ex-military, and at least in my family's trends, military and religiosity go hand in hand, so it makes sense. But still! Learning new fun facts! I know nothing about the Lutheran Church [I was raised Baptist.] Probably gonna do some reading later.

-- I feel like Tanguish is going through that phase of "all the biker/military uncles have decided I'm one of them for some reason" and as someone who has gone through that before, for the same baffling non-reasons [used power tools in their presence once, a la Tanguish barely participating in a fight once] I sympathize. Very interesting somewhat scary people. Why did you invite me to sit at your table. Why do you keep slipping me tequila and buying me knives like I'm in on the joke.

-- Tanguish is such a specimen we all just want to look at him under a microscope. He is so scared yet so brave. He thinks knives are scary but he leaps off buildings. He's scared of getting hurt and seeing blood but he has no regard for his personal safety. How do you fit so many oxymorons in such a tiny body---

-- Wels please, he's a little guy and it's his birthday! Stop bullying him!!

Addendum: I agree Jackrabbit is very Tanguish coded. It is now on the playlist.

Want to live like an animal?

By the skin of your teeth?

Put your good face on, you're foolin' no one

You're a jackrabbit underneath

One step forward, step right back

Run for the hills, honey, run for the hills, honey

Run for the hills, don't look back

[jariten]

Roundup-catch up: October 2024!!

Sooooo close to catching up now. October I was just trying to get through it but as always gotta make the time to read.

Z-chan by Shingo Iguchi I first learned about in the book Dream Land Japan by Frederick L Schodt. A lot of the works he highlighted in that book actually remain untranslated or only got one recently (I had actually forgotten he did a spotlight on Murasaki Yamada!) Z-Chan was one of the works that got a spotlight, having initially run in Garo as part of a larger multimedia arts project by Iguchi. The surreal story of Z-Chan and the mouse Richard Sex operates on multiple levels and parallel worlds with with a serialized novella about the little gnome people with colored hats who live in parallel to Z-Chan inserted between or on top of the manga itself. A really beautiful and innovative use of the comic form, with an ending that will stick with me for a long time going forward. The Lotus edition which I read is to my knowledge the "complete" version including the appearance of the bear named Baron.

Otaku Vampire's Love Bite by Julietta Suzuki just strted its english language run. And while it isn't a high school romance but made me remember how I don't really have any fantasy romcoms in my life right now so its a beyond welcome presence. I feel like I'm in good hands with Julietta Suzuki, Kamisama Kiss was very formative for me but I didn't keep up with any of her follow up work. I really like the art style she's adopted now and the humor and clashing personalities is just what I'm hoping for. Cynically though this opening volume is a rather interesting illustration on how participation in otaku culture is increasingly consumer oriented. So in volume 1 I'm like mister male lead not very taken by the titular otaku vampire's fannish behavior as must confide in all honesty, find it to be kinda sucker behavior to do what she does which is filling her home with the low effort plastic merch the animanga industry is pumping out in dizzying amounts but I'm hoping the later volumes will get more into the creative, social, or community building aspect of being a fan that I do find to be a more interesting angle to the culture. But its funny and I'm interested in seeing how her world of vampires will intersect with our world in the upcoming volumes.

Natsuko Taniguchi has been extremely productive these past few years and there's even more stuff from her back catalogue waiting for me. And she got 2 ongoing serials! The one I want to highlight (as I havent read the second yet lol) is Jaa Anta ga Tsukutte Miro yo (Well, Why Don't You Try Making It) is one young man with an outdated chauvinistic mindset getting knocked to the present day when his cute, diligent, master of his beloved high effort japanese style dishes, girlfriend of many years suddenly dumps him. Autopsying the corpse of his shattered relationship quickly reveals that he's nitpicky and thankless behavior did him no favors. Forced with the reality of the situation he realized he must change, bc no Reiwa era woman wants a man stuck in the chauvinist Shouwa era.

What I like is how its not just His story, but Hers as well. His ex girlfriend is herself unpacking the culture of the good and perfect woman that she had completely immersed herself in. Her hair and clothes never strayed off trend, she strictly monitored how she behaved in front of men so they wouldn't be put off by her, never got along with other women especially ones who were bad at performing like she did. But it all changes once a young woman with a flashy style and "alien" like hair color crashes into her world and makes it just a bit bigger. I didn't stress it in the last roundup but social commentary is on the trend alert for manga in the 2020s and I'm really looking forward to see where it will go.

Like I've talked about before about veterans who just really know what they're doing... Tennen Kokekko by Fusako Kuramochi was made when she was 20 years in the industry. By this point she's a very early adopter of digital tools for art and the way she draws is near unrecognizable from her work in the 70's-80's. I wish the bunko covers were less plain because ohhh my god. To see someone play with layouts, techniques, and form while telling a beautiful but complicated coming of age story that isn't just the young protagonists' story but the adults' as well. My mistake is not talking about this series as I was reading it bc now I'm just way too overwhelmed about what I want to say that I can't get anything out aside from gushing but this work truly is by someone who really polished their storytelling abilities and never stopped challenging themselves artistically. Might make a spotlight post because the live action movie being the only thing that made it over to the english language truly does make me feel like we've deprived of something. Ooooooor it will appear in the queue 🙂‍↕️