#here's the tumblr post for y'all who prefer reading here!

[capricores]

happy new years guys!! i hope you're all having a wonderful day/night so far <3

i'm not sure about everyone else, but it really doesn't feel like a typical new year! i think with the heaviness of the mars & mercury rx (especially considering the signs are inconjunct, which makes things extra tough), it kind of just feels like another day!! if you have a day chart, you might feel extra impacted by the mars retrograde as compared to night chart babies. definitely take it easy if you're feeling off/stressed/etc, and perhaps use january as a time of reflection, and focus more on putting plans into action in march! (or, in january - if it feels right for you!! but if you feel overwhelmed or lack motivation for any sort of resolutions or planning, just know you aren't alone, the sky right now is a bit "heavy")

personally i tend to celebrate the new year as per the astrological new year (aka first day of aries szn as the new year) which feels extra right because that'll be around the time mars is no longer rx nor in the shadow period!!!

anyway!! how are you all feeling?! any thoughts about 2022/2023, plans/etc?! personally the only thing on my mind rn is genshin impact girl groups, and relaxing as much as possible in january until mars and mercury chill out!!! 2022 was rough!!

[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.

[sweet-little-raven]

*Sigh* Wednesday is trending again, which means that the kiddos out there are gonna start drama again. Please just stop; this is one of the reason why the show was called cringe a year ago and people left the fandom.

1- You have the right to ship Wyler et Wavier. This is your opinion, your preference and I respect it. So why, mainly Wavier shippers, are suddenly back at attacking Wenclair shippers for no reason at all on Tumblr, Twitter and basically every single social media? What are you, 12? Is this hard to respect people's opinions???

2- Stop shipping Jenna and Emma. I'm almost certain this is the reason why we can't tag Emma on Instagram anymore. Ever since the Chappell Roan videos got out, a lot of people have made weird comments saying that they kissed or that they were on a date. Just stop. Stop shipping real people, or do it but silently. All of this is making them very uncomfortable and it's just direspectful to assume things like that. We just got them back, don't make Jenna delete Instagram again and make Emma disappear from it once again.

This just needed to be said. Just be respectful, it's not that fucking hard, goddamit. And when I mean respectful, I mean towards the fans AND the actors. Don't make Wednesday cringe again. Stop being kids and attacking other fans for absolutely no reason because you can't accept the fact that they don't ship your ship. And stop using the fucking Wenclair hashtag to say trash about them, this is getting annoying.

This is also addressed to, like me, Wenclair shippers. You should respect Wyler and Wavier shippers as well; don't give the bad example. Everyone is free to ship the characters they want, and this without any drama or violence. Just be kind to each others, it's not that hard.

Thank you for reading this. If you disagree, then just shut the fuck up because I don't have time to lose arguing with immature people on social media. I'm writing this as a reminder to respect Jenna and Emma and the fans, that's all. Y'all seriously needed a reminder.

Also, don't make Tumblr toxic. I already left Instagram and Twitter because people in here are the most toxic ever, I always loved Tumblr because people were nice, but for a week mad Wavier shippers started posting and insulting which is extremely annoying. Oh, and I also had to turn off my anonymous asks because I got very weird questions from probably bots. Don't make this app bad too, it's basically the only good one left with Pinterest.

I suppose that's all. Goodnight. And don't fucking come at me for saying this, because everything I said in here is true and I am just trying to remind people to be nice, not cause any more drama. If you say something mean here, you will be blocked immediately because, as I said, I don't have time to lose arguing with kids who can't respect an opinion.

Goodnight 🤍☮️

[sansaorgana]

It's not caused by any recent situation, I've been thinking about it for a long time now but I have some things to say about fic writing.

Being a fic writer in a fandom might be the most ungrateful "job" in the community. I have lots of gif maker friends and I make mediocre gifs myself so I will compare these two a lot but I want to make it clear I don't want to say fic writers are more important or suffer more or anything like that because I value gif makers more than you can imagine.

– First of all, the whole cringe status around fic writing – especially x reader fanfics – is awful. I often see posts that whine about the fact that these fics even exist. People don't think twice, they just hit "post" and in result they are shaming other people for having innocent and creative hobbies. We spend real time of our real lives writing fics we love for ourselves but also for other people's enjoyment. For free. I really don't want to see posts about how cringe and silly fic writers are just because someone thinks they're superior in a fandom. It's a fucking Tumblr. Also, would you say the same about a person drawing fan art? I don't think so.

– I know there are some gifsets that take literally weeks to make but in most cases fic writing takes more time to create and at the same time it takes more time to consume. It's easy to hit a like or a reblog button under a gifset that you consumed in under a minute just like it's easy to ignore a fanfic because consuming it would take you more time. It's understandable but at the same time, if you read fanfics, reblog them at least. Leave some sort of feedback. Even one word or a reaction image. It really means a lot... And, once again, the lack of reblogs bothers gif makers as well, but I think in the case of fic writing it's mostly caused because y'all ashamed of admitting that you read these fics. Like who the fuck cares? It's not Facebook, no one here knows who you really are, who the fuck cares?

– Speaking of reactions under fics. Being like "Part Two" is considered to be extremely rude. We are not AI bots and we certainly won't force ourselves to write a second part because you demanded it without even commenting on the work itself or hitting a reblog button. If "Part Two" is all you have to say, then it's better to stay quiet.

– Also, readers who comment rudely under fics written for free like ??? So what he's out of character? So what he's a sad little meow meow in the movie but a ray of sunshine in this fic? You are not being forced to read it and there's a whole community of people preferring fluff to angst. If some fic is not your type, just ignore it. I guarantee you, there are other fics that are your type and if there are not, you're welcome to start writing yourself. I've also seen people starting dramas about some details in the smut fics. Like Jesus fucking Christ... Go touch some grass.

– What hurts the most is the prejudice from other content makers. I've seen some posts hating on/mocking fic writers that are coming from gif makers themselves. We're all on the same boat, we create fan art for the media we love. Why do we have to bring each other down? I am aware of the problem of gif stealing in the fic writing community but it mostly is caused by the fact these people don't know how to properly credit gifs with the gif tool. Believe me, most of the fic writers have a huge respect for the gif makers and I wish it went the other way around as well, even if you don't read fanfics, you don't have to be rude about people who do.

– Fan fiction writers are not desperate ugly teenagers locked in their parents' basement. Some of them are mothers, some of them have PhDs, some of them are doctors, some of them are just simple people who want to relax after a stressful day. The same things y'all be thinking of fic writers can be said about any content maker on this site because they also spend hours in front of a computer making fan arts or gifs of their favorite characters.

[snjswf1782]

GOD I'M SO SCARED TO DO THIS BUT HI GUYS i'm Estelle, 18 yo, european and I decided to create a tumblr acc to talk about my interests :) i'm a huge fangirl, nerd call it what you want lmaoooo and I'm especially fond of animes (one piece, jjk, csm, aot, bsd, haikyuu, bleach, bnha, jjba, hxh, naruto and such) and i'm searching for people to be friend/mutual with and talk! unfortunately i can't draw nor write fanfics and i don't even know if there are tumblr blogs just to nerd together😭😭i hope to find them though!!!

on a more serious note, here are some byfs/dnis etc etc bcs there are some kind of people i wouldn't like to interact with; first of all, i don't have any strict and specific age range, but i would prefer to moot only 14+ and under 30 :) (but idrc if i moot 30+ people as long as they aren't weird. just keep in mind i'm 18...). i won't like to interact with right winged people and the ones who support the existence of the state of 1sr43l, even if you agree that what's happening in p4l3st.1n.3 is wrong (i censored the words bc idk if tumblr would shout down my post). even tho i won't talk about it here, i'm pretty much into politics irl and the 2 ways of thinking i mentioned earlier go against mines.

if you see this post and if you read it until here, please consider following (i'm new and i don't know anyone here @~@) and liking/ reblogging this post to reach other people!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH IN ADVANCE🙏ILY Y'ALL

[acloudofsparklingdust]

edit (13/10/2024)

Hello mutuals!

I have started a small server (around ~15 members will be the cutoff) for lesbian and bi women only. Currently at 12/15 members.

If you're interested, read the below rules and reach out to me through DM or ask. (I'm no longer reaching out to those who liked the post bc it's hard to keep up with.)

Initial ground rules:

▫️ must be 21+ ▫️ must be a woman ▫️ must be lesbian or bisexual ▫️ the preference for members is for mutuals of mine

(last rule is because I recognize some of y'all for years, not bc I'm trying to get followers. if you have a sideblog, please let me know what your main blog is. this rule might change in time but for now its a form of verification)

These rules are subject to change, my goal is for this to be a safe and chill space. In other words, I'm open to suggestions.

Vibe-setting:

The goal is for this to be a general little slice of Discord, not limited to any particular topic. Events and voice chats are encouraged and have been actively been going on. General rules of internet human contact apply.

Like I said this is small group, with a trusted few mutuals that I’ve seen around tumblr for a while, so there will be minimal verification through a short voice chat to verify that all are women, and to get a first contact for us to get to know each other a bit.

~original post under the cut~

Last edit: 13/09/2024

Hey to my mutuals...

Anyone interested in starting a small (10-15 members tops) lesbian and bi discord server?

Initial ground rules would be:

must be 21+

must be a woman (female)

must be lesbian or bisexual

must be a mutual of mine (bc I recognize some of y'all for years, not bc I'm trying to get followers. if you have a sideblog, please let me know what your main blog is. this rule might change in time but for now its a form of verification)

It would be a general little slice of Discord, not limited to any particular topic. General rules of internet human contact apply, such as be nice to each other, avoid over-sharing personal details for your own safety, etc.

I'm just looking to speak to like-minded women. Would love to use voice chat whenever possible.

If any of this sounds interesting send me a DM and I will send you an invite.

Like I said this would be a small group, hopefully with a trusted few mutuals whom I've seen around here for a while so there would be minimal verification apart from a short voice chat to verify that all are women.

[cyle]

Hi! I'm wondering if you can offer any insight into something that's been bugging me with all of the changes. This is genuinely not a hostile ask - I know first-hand how hard (necessary) change management is. I don't envy the position y'all are in.

That being said - I'm having a hard time making sense of the strategy around the roll out for the last few big changes/"experiments"). It seems like the folks doing the messaging vs the actual feature management are not on the same page.

It has been stated several times that:

"We’ll be testing [our new] ideas in an opt-in basis with people who’ve been using Tumblr for years, and more especially with people who’ve never even heard of Tumblr (a difficult group to find)."

We've also seen, repeatedly, that

"Tumblr is a place where you can tailor and customize your experience to individual preferences."

With those statements in mind, the choice to roll these new features out to folks who *didn't* volunteer - and not offer any way to "customize our experience" seems like a strange one.

An expectation (which was positive) was established only to be directly violated within a few weeks. It makes it challenging to get a read on what y'all actually mean -- and to extend good faith or trust when communications do come out.

If you say you're going to do something, then do it, it builds trust. If you don't, it erodes trust. And that just makes your already difficult jobs harder - and the userbase even more reactive and knee-jerk resistant.

Can you give us a sense of what's going on here? Or can you at least pass this feedback on to whoever is handling the messaging around this stuff? We can see that y'all are striving for transparency, but that's only effective if it's honest/consistent.

[TL;DR: Tumblr's messaging emphasizes testing changes with volunteers, and offering the ability to customize - but that doesn't seem to be what's actually happening. What's up?]

this is a really great question, thank you for asking it. you've accurately pointed out some glaring holes in our communication strategy -- some of that is even my fault, to be honest, as someone who tries to help shape our public communications.

the easiest answer is that there's a lot of work happening on the internal tumblr side, and not all of it is the same kind of work, and therefore not all of it is being communicated consistently. that's a huge problem if you're not inside of it, as you point out; the contradictions seem weird for anyone paying attention.

i'm currently a part of the @labs group and we're trying to come up with radical ideas for reshaping tumblr, prototype them quickly, show them to people, and iterate on them, and reject them quickly if they don't make sense. the Tumblr Mini thing recently is an unfortunate example of that -- something leaked way too early, before we even got a chance to really understand how the thing we prototyped would be received. that may never go beyond the thing people saw, for good reason: it doesn't make sense. we're learning from it, but it's unfinished.

in that Labs group, we do want volunteer-based feedback, and we're actually starting that very soon with targeted user research. you may see some surveys soliciting that feedback soon, or invites to be a part of the testing. i'm extremely excited by that, because some other ideas we have feel like they should've been a part of tumblr since the beginning.

but.......

there's a whole different group at tumblr that are making "core product" improvements, and a lot of their work is reflected in the recent staff post about product strategy. their aim is to alleviate a lot of common points of confusion and frustration, some of which will seem counter-intuitive to people who have been on tumblr for many years and learned (what i call) "the hard way".

a lot of that core improvement work will be rolled out, experimented with, and iterated on, the traditional way: involuntary A/B tests, rather than volunteers. that is standard industry practice, because when you're trying to understand the behavior of millions of people, just asking for volunteers introduces too much selection bias.

however, it's important to note that even today's rollout of the new desktop navigation was released to some XKit devs beforehand, so we could get early feedback. so sometimes we do roll these core things out for feedback first, before "regular users", before we A/B test it. usually those small initial experiments are hyper-targeted though... in this case, because we do actually care about XKit and third party developers. you don't see that though!

so full transparency: not everything we do is going to be volunteer-based, not everything we do can be communicated adequately before we test it, not everything during testing will be customizable, because how much we want to customize is dependent on the outcome of these tests. it's a bit of a chicken-and-egg problem.

and furthermore, this is kind of how it's always been, for better or worse, since around 2016 when tumblr started believing in A/B tests and experiments, rather than just "ship it and we'll see"... the common denominator, though, is that we want your feedback. we don't do a good enough job soliciting that feedback, but we do want it. (i kinda wish we had an easy feedback button for the new layout.) we do make decisions based on feedback, but we augment that decision-making process with hard data from experiments.

i hope that makes sense? there's too much to cover to provide you with the full context. i could write a book about it. all i can confidently say is that we're trying as best as we can to balance the ideas of keeping tumblr special and unique, while trying weird/bad/good/uncomfortable new directions to help the platform grow and thrive. status quo and complacency aren't acceptable; tumblr needs to change to survive. i am just as uncomfortable and upset by that fact as anyone, and i worry every day and night about it, whether the price of survival is worth it.

we'll see, hopefully together.

[lurkingshan]

Hi....If you don't mind, can I ask, what are your top 10 (or top 7) favorite media (can be books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series)? Why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before......Thanks....

Thank you for the ask, I don't mind a bit! Though I will say that this particular question sent me into a minor existential crisis, because how on earth could I ever pick just 10 things that I love across all media. I don't know if y'all have picked this up about me yet, but I consume vast amounts of media, like...unbelievable amounts of media, it is my great joy in life. I consulted @bengiyo about how to approach this question, and he suggested a frame to help narrow it down: what are my favorites that someone else recommended to me, that I then felt compelled to recommend to others? Hope you don't mind the tweak! As always, keeping this in the realm of Asian media for this blog, here is what I got:

What Did You Eat Yesterday?

When I met @bengiyo and @waitmyturtles I learned very quickly that this was their all-time favorite, and if I didn't like it we were gonna have a problem (jk but not really). I hadn't watched it on my own because until recently (shoutout to our savior Gagaoolala) it was quite inaccessible and I hadn't yet stumbled onto @isaksbestpillow and found her amazing subs. Luckily, I have impeccable taste and WDYEY is in fact a masterpiece, so they watched me watch it, I lost my mind over how unique and brilliant and technically flawless it was, and we are now all bonded for life over our love for this show, which just returned for a second season and will hopefully continue forever. I love it so much I have even started reading the manga, and I am not a manga girlie by nature (I prefer reading prose), so you can be assured I absolutely will not be shutting up about it anytime soon.

Go Ahead

Credit for this one goes to @ginnymoonbeam for watching it first and then sending up a flare for me as a fellow cdrama enjoyer that this one was worth prioritizing immediately. I love big sprawling family stories that unfold over time, I love digging into intergenerational family trauma, I love good dad characters, I love found family dynamics, and I love a well done romance subplot embedded in a much bigger story, so this show hit so many of my sweet spots. It's #1 on my list of modern cdramas and I would recommend it to anyone.

Mo Dao Zu Shi/The Untamed

Speaking of cdramas, I must give a shoutout to @dangermousie who wrote this post summarizing their favorite danmei novels, which I found when I went looking for recommendations and was trying to figure out a way into this segment of Asian media. I admit I am a bit bougie about my reading material and modality, so I really can't deal with machine translations or reading on html pages, and thus I still have not read some of these as I am patiently waiting for official English translations to become available (me and 2HA are gonna have a party in 2024 I tell you what). I had already heard of The Untamed, of course, because I am a human person who lurks in online spaces, but reading the novel got me significantly more interested, and I quickly fell down a months long rabbit hole that included consuming the novel, the show, and copious amounts of fanfiction. This story is so complex and layered and full of fun mysteries and meaty moral quandaries and interesting family relationships and has an A+ second chance romance and one of my all time favorite characters to boot; it really took over my brain for a minute. And while it hardly needs me to recommend it given how popular it already is, I'm still gonna do it whenever I get the chance.

Mo Du/Silent Reading

And while we're on the subject of danmei, let me give a shoutout to my favorite modern danmei novel, which was recommended to me by an IRL friend who is not on tumblr. Mo Du is a sprawling mystery novel that spans five major interconnected cases, and it centers on an exceedingly competent police captain, Luo Wenzhou, and a young business heir/super genius, Fei Du, who start out with an adversarial relationship (but I bet you can guess what happens next!). The crime stories in this are almost shockingly intricate and every detail comes together in the end without a single loose end, which is impressive enough on its own, but somehow the author (Priest, who some of you will know as the writer of Faraway Wanderers aka Word of Honor) manages to also write a perfectly paced, incredibly compelling love story between the two leads that is layered with complex trauma and psychological hot buttons and secrets and lies that unfold organically alongside the mystery. I am in the middle of re-reading it right now and my love for it only grows stronger. The gif above is from a recent attempt to adapt this into a live-action drama that got quickly canceled, but honestly, the less said about that, the better (though Zhang Xin Cheng will absolutely remain the Fei Du of my heart). With China's censorship laws, there will be no faithful live action version of this story, so I highly recommend reading the novel.

Pachinko

While we're on the subject of novels, I must mention another IRL friend recommendation: Pachinko. This one is a sprawling multi-generational family historical fiction epic that tracks the lives of a Korean family that is forced to migrate to Japan during Japanese occupation in the early 20th Century. Y'all, this book is amazing, and it has now been turned into a television show airing on Hulu that is also quite good (though structured quite differently, but that's another post). I learned a ton of real history in the course of reading this, and I found the journey of Sunja and her family so compelling. The book has a real intersectional lens and digs deep into themes of oppression, racism, class disparity, and sexism, and is rooted in Korean values around filial piety, respect for hard work, religion, moral condemnation, and of course, the importance of food to communicate.

The Great Indian Kitchen

Switching gears, let me give a shoutout to this Indian film that my bestie @neuroticbookworm recently recommended to me and @waitmyturtles. This film is about a modern young woman who enters an arranged marriage with a family of high status (though maybe not of the kind you think) and explores her experience of oppression as a woman in a very patriarchal religious setting. The story is really compelling, I learned about a common experience for women in India, the narrative ended in an unexpected place (in a good way), and I really enjoyed the watch. And this film is on YouTube with good subs which I linked above, so it's quite accessible.

Be Melodramatic

Let's get back to dramas, shall we? I credit this one to @kdramaxoxo, who recommends Be Melodramatic constantly, and thank goodness because otherwise this under appreciated gem would have never landed on my radar. This is a beautiful story about a group of friends who move in together in the wake of personal tragedy and tracks their progress as they heal and move on from their hardships. The themes of grief and growth and change are quite poignant, the relationships, both platonic and romantic, are all very compelling, and the music is beautiful. If you haven't seen it yet, what are you waiting for (@nieves-de-sugui this is definitely a good one to add to your list).

Make it Right

Time for @bengiyo to get another shoutout. This is a Thai bl classic that doesn't get the love it deserves, and he is its number one promoter. I don't know when I would have gotten around to watching this if he hadn't recommended it so highly, and I'm so glad I did. I wrote about this one, why I loved it, and why I think it's under appreciated, and I highly encourage others to give it a try.

Coffee Prince

We will end on an OG kdrama classic, which I watched early on in my kdrama journey thanks to a recommendation from an IRL friend who said it was the best version of the well worn Asian drama genderbend trope that they had ever seen, and my god were they right. Not only was this my first Gong Yoo drama (a life changing experience in and of itself) but this one really took me by surprise for how sharp and progressive it was about gender fluidity, sexual identity, and the struggle toward self-acceptance way back when it aired in 2007. I recommend this one to everyone, and its a great entry point for people who prefer queer media and have (justified) suspicion of mainstream kdrama's treatment of queer narratives.

[ofstormsandfire]

Do you have any good BotW/TotK fic recs? Yours or other people’s!

Boy howdy DO I.

Going to preface this by saying that I have preferences, and those preferences tend to veer towards gay shit and people who don't initially get along ending up ride or die, and as such a high proportion of these are going to be Revalink.

Anyway. The fic that got me into that ship, changed my brain chemistry, and is a large part of why I go !!!! about ghosts (literal and nonliteral) haunting the narrative, characters with amnesia who are supposed to be dead, and the Rito as a whole, is Pinesong by aperplexingpuzzle and that is the fic that makes me go "if you read NOTHING else in this fandom read THIS holy fuck."

(But also you should be reading other things too, because there is so much good shit and I adore it greatly I go back to reread my favorites regularly. Also check out the authors I mention apart from just the fics I link there is so much good fic I'm forcing myself to just pick one per author or else I will be here literally all day.)

Next up: Moonlight (every single night) by Heleentje. Do you like time loops? Do you like characters slowly, painstakingly figuring out how to get it right? Did you get very attached to Revalink from the last fic? how about some ~queerplatonic Zelink~ in this trying time?

Frankly, it is very hard to pick just one fic by Ginneke, they've got so many good ones but I'm going to have to settle on Flowers from your Beloathed, which is another Revalink fic set before the Calamity where, y'know, Revali is getting flowers from a secret admirer. Except he's Revali. Hilarity ensues and I enjoyed the hell out of this one ^-^

Also also. Come Morning Light by misscoconi. Post-Calamity, they are both idiots (affectionate) and I am starting to realize that I have a bit of a pattern in my taste in Revalink fics. Huh. I'll unpack that later actually.

Skybound Wishes by Baddrummer is unfinished (unlike most of the fics I've recommended here) but y'all. Y'all it makes me lose my shit in so many ways because I am a SLUT for creative fix-it fics and gratuitous weaving-in of references to other games in ways that still respect the established canon but respect all of it, y'know, not just doing the TOTK thing of "actually nothing pre-BOTW matters anymore and neither does BOTW lol."

...I am starting to realize there may be a reason why I don't have a lot of TOTK recs. Also if this post is starting to sound unhinged and disconnected that's probably because I'm bouncing between Tumblr and studying for one of my finals like a ping pong ball.

But I do have one really, really big fic rec for TOTK. Y'all should check out Show Me the World Outside by IllusionOfDeath. The Sages get to do things, the Divine Beasts don't just vanish without a word, the Champions get actual recognition, and you can tell that the author is the Linguistics Georg (affectionate) of the fanfic world.

Anyway I think I will shill myself a bit too since you gave me permission to anon! If you read no other Zelda fics by me, may I recommend no one ever mentions fear, a fic that... it really was, in a lot of ways, a love letter to the fics in the fandom that I'd read and loved before. You've got the Champions getting to live and have nice things, you've got Revali being a dumbass (affectionate), you've got gay shit, you've got Problems Being Caused by the Yiga Clan in the background.

...Oh god this post is getting. A little longer than I meant for it to I've realized. Um. I love fanfic and tbh if you end up reading everything I've recced and still want more, my bookmarks on AO3 are public and I tend to bookmark just about everything I've read and liked enough to want to find again.

......I should probably get back to studying now but thank you for the ask! I like rambling lol

[vixendoesstuff]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

ALRIGHT, SO-

World Tour, where (please excuse my language) shit hits the fan, for real. My notes on this saga is hectic and convoluted, so I'll try to make some sense of it for this post. If you have any questions, feel free to ask in the askbox or my DM's, whichever you prefer.

I wanted to do bullet points for this, but maybe most Tumblr users prefer to read long paragraphs than bullet points, since my posts not having bullet points do better? IDK, I've only been on Tumblr for like, a year at best so forgive this soul for her cluelessness lol.

And also, depending on how much I've typed, I might have to split this saga into three parts, 'cause I know y'all don't actually want to read a really long post that took up three scrolls wide lol.

Anyway--let's start this crazy train.

So, the story begins the same way as it is in the movie--opening shot with Cloud Guy giving a quick recap about the first movie, and then the next shot panning towards the Techno Trolls (ay, Branch's tribe, let's go!). Unfortunately, the amount of screentime (or appearance in this case) they got here minimal, since we're focusing on Branch and co.

But anyway, same thing happened, King Trollex hosting the rave, Barb barges in demanding his string and destroyed Techno Reef to get him to comply, same old. Poor guy, honestly, he just wanted to vibe.

Next shot pans to Pop Village, same thing there. Everyone is smiling and singing and dancing (with Techno!Branch joining in, look at that! Since he can't extend his hair like everyone else, he relies on acrobatics and just generally hang onto someone ((mostly Poppy)) whenever they swing on the trees with their hair). Branch tries to confess his love to Poppy, but got friendzoned unintentionally by her (ouch). Then Barb's bat pet thing comes in, and King Peppy's history lesson.

They're not the only ones here in this world. There are other trolls out there; Pop, Hard Rock, Classical, Country, Funk, and Techno.

This is where it gets interesting. At this point in time, Branch has all but accepted that he's possibly the only Troll in the village that looks the way he does. That he's the only one that ever existed in the world. It's why he and Cooper has a sort of closer bond with eachother in this AU : different Troll (tribe, but not that they knew this yet) solidarity. Sure, he was curious once, like how come is egg was in the Troll Tree, why does he look different, ect. But now he's more than content with his current predicament. He has friends now, something to look foward to; he was happy, after so long.

But now with the news that there are other Trolls out there, different from the rest, his past yearning came back to life. And while King Peppy hadn't said it outright, his lack of words all but confirmed Branch's suspicions. That he's not the only one out there. And from what he saw in the scrapbook, he can pinpoint which one of the tribes he supposedly belongs to; Techno.

Then we cut to when Poppy packs up to leave and got caught by Branch. The same argument happens, with the addition of Poppy saying that because there are different Trolls out there, then shouldn't Branch be curious about them? Who knows, maybe there's a tribe that looks exactly like him! Branch refuted by saying that, even if there was a tribe just for him, how would he connect to them? He's been living as a "Pop Troll" his whole life, what connection can he form with these hypothetical Trolls (identity issues go brrr)? What if they found out that he's gone Grey for almost all his life? If the Pop Trolls, who has known him since he was born, didn't react well to his whole Grey-ness; what are the chances his own kind would react badly to the news? Or worse, reject him outright.

Before he could go on, boom! Cooper appears from the shadows and said something like, "That's not how you really think, ain't it Branch?". They were surprised he's there, and then they exchange some more dialouge sort of expressing Branch's concern about not fitting in with his hypothetical tribe out there, and shed some light on Coopers concern as well about wanting to find you who you really, and even if you don't fit in atleast you know the truth now, that sort of stuff. IDK, I'm not great at writing angst, lol.

Anyway, after some convincing from Poppy, Branch relented and decides to accompany her (even if he denies it, he wants to know if his people is out there). Cooper also wants to come along, and while Branch refuses for his own safety, Poppy allows it in the condition that he sticks with them at all times. So, the three sets of to explore the entire Troll Kingdom, to "reunite" all the tribes and make one big party at Queen Barb's World Tour.

Little did they know just what kinds of trouble they'll encounter on their journey.

Woah, plot twist, Cooper actually comes along instead of going on a solo journey this time around! He replaces Biggie in this! What a shocker! Shocked emoji!

Admitedly, while it's funny the first time, Cooper's solo adventure is... I don't wanna be too rude about it, but it's sort of unnecessary in the big run? I mean, not entirely unnecessary, but like, if you remove that and just have him go along with Poppy and co., nothing major would change. He'd still be reunited with his family in Vibe City, except this time he'll have a first time reaction to the history of the Strings and see the truth of it, y'know what I mean?

But anyway, Poppy, Branch and Cooper's gonna explore the world of other genres. I don't think much will change with his inclusion, but the reactions will be far more varied, me thinks. Stay tuned for the next part, 'cause wow did not expect this part of the series to be so convoluted lol.

Also I had wanted to include some scene redraws from the movie with new implemented elements for this AU, but artblock is gripping me tight and college is starting soon, so I won't have much time to draw than I do write. So, yeah, hope y'all don't mind lol. I'll definitely do some artwork for this AU in the future though, believe it!

Until next time!

[active-mind-15]

I've had a thought for some time now... what if Akashi was a BTS fan?

At first, I was entertaining this idea simply because BTS and KNB are my biggest interests, but then I started to think harder about it, and I think it would make sense for him to be a fan of them.

Now, I know some of my KNB moots on Tumblr listen to Kpop, but I know that not everyone does, and even the ones who do are not all fans of BTS. With that being said, I'll try and explain things as best as I can for all the folks unfamiliar with BTS so this headcanon is easier to understand even for non-fans.

I predict this is going to be a very long post, so I'll have mercy on y'all and put the rest of this under the cut. Enjoy!

A summary of who BTS is for anyone reading who doesn't know them:

7-member music group from South Korea. They debuted on June 13th, 2013, and are comprised of 3 rappers and 4 vocalists. The members are RM (leader and rapper), Jin (vocalist), Suga (rapper), J-Hope (rapper), Jimin (vocalist), V (vocalist), and Jungkook (vocalist). Here's a picture for reference. I also wrote their stage names down next to each member so you know who is who.

BTS is an acronym for Bangtan Sonyeondan, roughly translating to "bulletproof boys". So, BTS aimed to be the bulletproof shield to protect people--especially those in their 10s and 20s--from harsh societal criticism that rained down on them like bullets. Their fanbase is called ARMY, an acronym that stands for "Adorable Representative MCs for Youth" (yeah I know it's wordy), and with that name, BTS hoped that listeners of their music would be inspired to find their voice and spread positivity. While they do have their fair share of cute/silly songs, a very large chunk of their work is lyrically introspective and touches on a lot of social, psychological, and even political issues. Bolstered by the fact that their music is self-written and co-produced, their authenticity is one of their biggest strong points and has allowed millions of people worldwide to relate to the messages in their music.

That being said, what does this have to do with Akashi being an ARMY? Well, I just wanted to imagine how he would become fascinated with a group like them, so I'll be splitting up this post into sections. I don't know how many sections I'll do, I'm winging this as I go, so let's just start with section 1.

HOW DID HE BECOME AN ARMY?

Mibuchi. Mibuchi strikes me as someone who would already be an ARMY and would convince Akashi to give them a shot. Maybe Akashi catches Mibuchi gushing over some photos of them online and it happens enough times that he finally cracks and asks who they are.

As someone who is an ARMY of 7+ years, when someone asks me who BTS is, I have to hold myself back from exploding where I stand because I get so excited when someone wants to know about them because they're so amazing that I always want more people to discover their music. Mibuchi, being the dedicated ARMY that he is, would instantly fill Akashi in on the details of who they are, the type of music they make, and who each of the members is, and Akashi would listen very intently, getting more curious the more he listens to Mibuchi talk about them.

Something I usually do when people ask for BTS recs is ask them for their favorite genres. The reason why I do that is because BTS has experimented with so many genres that their discography is incredibly diverse, probably more diverse than most artists I've ever listened to. So, I usually just fine-tune my recommendations to people's preferences to make the initial listening experience more palatable. And that's what Mibuchi does for Akashi. Once he gets Akashi's favorite genres, he sends him a playlist of BTS songs that fit his preferences. And so, because Akashi isn't one to turn down music recommendations, he keeps his word and listens to the playlist front to back.

After finishing the playlist, Akashi lays on his bed and stares at the ceiling, the chemistry of his brain permanently altered, wondering how on earth he went so long without knowing who BTS was.

AKASHI'S BIAS AND BIAS-WRECKER

If you don't know what these terms mean, having a 'bias' just means you have a favorite member. It's someone you feel your attention is naturally drawn to more than others in the group. You can be drawn to them for multiple reasons such as liking their voice, thinking their fashion is cool, or having a similar personality to theirs. There really are no rules for this kind of thing. A 'bias-wrecker' is a member who steals (said endearingly) your attention away from your bias, on occasion. Think of it as two members constantly replacing each other as your favorite. However, this is not always the case and not every ARMY has a bias/bias-wrecker. Some spread their attention pretty evenly across all the members and don't really have a particular favorite. But it's a fun question ARMYs like to ask other ARMYs every now and again, so for the sake of this post, I will include who I think Akashi's bias and bias-wrecker would be if he had them.

So, right off the bat, I know deep in my heart that Akashi's bias would without a doubt be Suga.

Reasons why I think Suga would be his bias:

All of the BTS members are authentic, but Suga is most notably known for his raw unfiltered lyrics and his candidness about his past experiences. He suffered a lot in his teens and 20s to be able to make music the way he is today. Despite all that, he's unafraid to speak about his mental health journey and often encourages ARMYs to be open about our own journies as well so we can normalize conversations around it and get the support we need. Through listening to Suga's story, Akashi would probably relate a lot to his struggles and gain strength from his words.

Suga's stage name is actually short for "shooting guard" because that was the basketball position he used to play back when he was in high school. So, he would get extra points in Akashi's book simply for that. I know he'd be excited to find out that piece of information and relay it back to Mibuchi, who would then show Akashi videos of Suga playing basketball and get him more excited about Suga. I can just imagine him going into captain mode and making little comments here and there like "he has a nice release" or "his shots go in very cleanly" or "I would have scouted him for Rakuzan if he were a high-schooler".

I also think there are a few similarities in their personalities Akashi would pick up on. Aside from their shared love of basketball and personal struggles with mental health as teens, I would say they're both pretty introverted, are extremely hard workers, both play piano, both show affection to their loved ones through acts of service, and both of them are incredibly strong, despite all that they've been through.

But who is Akashi's bias-wrecker? I'd have to say it'd be RM.

Reasons why I think RM would be his bias:

As I've mentioned before, RM is the official leader of BTS. I think for that reason, he would garner a lot of respect from Akashi, who would be impressed as to how he could be the leader of a globally recognized group starting from such a young age, especially when he hears about all of the hardships BTS had to face as they climbed up the ladder. As someone who has also had to step up and be a leader from a very young age, Akashi would look to RM and take notes of his leadership style to see if there's anything he could implement in his own life.

RM is also one of the main lyricists of BTS and the way he can speak and carry himself with such poise and maturity would also be another thing that Akashi respects. He loves to analyze RM's lyrics for every use of double entendres, wordplay, and literary/psychology references. (I have a separate headcanon that Akashi is at least conversational in Korean, if not fluent, so I'm sure that would make RM's lyrics all the more interesting to dissect.)

Akashi would also find similarities between himself and RM, too, outside of being leaders of their respective teams such as a love for the fine arts and nature, high intelligence (RM has an IQ of 148), and his down-to-earth demeanor.

FAVORITE BTS GROUP SONGS:

So I'm just gonna go album by album and list the songs that I think Akashi would pick as his favorite from each one, mostly due to the message in the lyrics, but some will also be because I think the instrumentals would be up his alley. I'll also provide some links to lyric videos so you guys can listen and read along to further understand my song choices. Any songs with an asterisk(*) next to them will link to a music video, so just turn on the closed captions. Fair warning, the older music videos have translated captions that are a little bit clunkier, but they're still readable. Anyway, let's go!

2 Cool 4 Skool (2013):

No More Dream*

O!RUL8,2? (2013):

Intro: O!RUL8,2?

N.O*

Skool Luv Affair (2014):

Just One Day*

Dark & Wild (2014):

Rain

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life, Part 1 (2015):

Intro: The Most Beautiful Moment in Life

Moving On

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life, Part 2 (2015):

RUN*

Butterfly

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Young Forever (2016):

Butterfly (Prologue Mix)

House of Cards (Full Length Edition)

Epilogue: Young Forever*

Wings (2016):

Lie

First Love

Reflection

2! 3!

You Never Walk Alone (2017):

Spring Day*

A Supplementary Story: You Never Walk Alone

Love Yourself: Her (2017):

Serendipity*

Outro: Her

Sea

Love Yourself: Tear (2018):

Singularity*

The Truth Untold

Paradise

Magic Shop

Love Yourself: Answer (2018):

Euphoria

Answer: Love Myself

Map of the Soul: Persona (2019):

Mikrokosmos

Jamais Vu

Map of the Soul: 7 (2020)

Black Swan* (also the classical version*)

Louder Than Bombs

We are Bulletproof: The Eternal*

BE (2020)

Life Goes On*

Blue & Grey

Proof (2022)

Yet To Come*

For Youth

BTS has released some Japanese original songs, too, so I'll include which ones I think would be his favorite among those!

Crystal Snow (2017)

Lights* (2019)

Your Eyes Tell (2020)

FAVORITE BTS SOLO SONGS:

Each of the BTS members has dropped their own solo projects whether it be singles or full albums, so I'll go member by member and talk about which of each member's solo songs I think would be his favorite.

RM:

Life (RM, 2015)

uhgood (mono, 2018)

forever rain* (mono, 2018)

No. 2 (Indigo, 2022)

Jin:

Tonight (2019)

Abyss (2020)

Yours (2021)

Suga/Agust D:

So Far Away (Agust D, 2016)

People (D-2, 2020)

Set me free (D-2, 2020)

AMYGDALA* (D-DAY, 2023)

Snooze (D-DAY, 2023)

J-Hope:

Piece of Peace (Hope World, 2018)

Blue Side (Hope World, 2018)

Equal Sign (Jack in the Box, 2022)

Safety Zone (Jack in the Box, 2022)

Jimin:

Promise (2018)

Like Crazy* (FACE, 2023)

Alone (FACE, 2023)

V:

Scenery (2019)

Snow Flower (2020)

Rainy Days* (Layover, 2023)

Love Me Again* (Layover, 2023)

Jungkook:

Still With You (2020)

Stay Alive (2022)

Shot Glass of Tears (Golden, 2023)

HOW AKASHI FEELS BEING AN ARMY

I think finding out such a prominent music act is singing about topics he directly relates to is such a shock to him. It's like he feels seen at long last and he isn't going through these issues alone. Even if BTS doesn't know who he is, the fact that their music speaks to him is enough to comfort him through tough times.

I'd like to think that when he's had an exceptionally rough day, he likes to just lie in bed and listen to them. He seems like the type of person to reserve time out of his day to just listen to their music in silence.

Because he became such a fan, he and Mibuchi would now have so much more to talk about with each other, and Akashi would also come to understand why Mibuchi would be such a big fan of a group like them. Together, they'd stream new releases right when they come out, watch BTS's livestreams together, and, if they're able, go to concerts together. Concerts are more of a new thing for Akashi since I feel like he has never been to a proper concert before, so the first concert he'd ever go to would probably be super overwhelming, but he'd feel reassured with Mibuchi by his side. And the concert ends up being amazing and Akashi feels like he just...belongs. Something would finally click for him that day, and he would realize that this level of connection, not just with the artists, but with the fans as well, was something he really enjoyed.

BTS would kinda stay as mainly Akashi and Mibuchi's thing, but Hayama and Nebuya do give BTS a shot, too, and find they do like a lot of their music as well. Their favorite songs are probably the more upbeat ones, though, as opposed to most of the ones I chose to be Akashi's favorites.

But the bottom line is that being able to come together with his friends over a common interest outside of basketball makes Akashi happy and he hopes he can continue to share memories with his friends through music.

Okay, I've gotta cut it off here, I have to get ready for a family dinner outing. If you managed to make it to the end of my post, I hope you enjoyed my ramblings and also the music I linked. Bye for now!

[thatonebirdwrites]

Answering Questions for Fun

20 Questions More

This is a deeper and more detailed version of the 20 questions for AO3 fanfic writers.

I yanked the questions from someone in the supercorp fandom. I forget who. I never get tagged since I'm not really well known writer yet (I'm still a tumblr newbie!), so I'm doing this just for funsies and because I like answering questions.

I will be answering this for the supercorp and korrasami fandoms. My works are here (though I do one-shots on tumblr sometimes).

1) How do you keep getting ideas for your ship / fandom?

By existing, reading, listening, writing, watching things, staring at the sky and watching the clouds drift by. Seriously, my ADHD's superpower is generating ideas. So I have way too many of them, and I have a note in my Scrivener projects with all the ideas. If anyone needs more ideas, I'll spin out so many. lol

2) Which authors inspire you in your fandom, and why are they so freakishly good?

So for the Korrasami fandom, that would be @korrasamibottles for their fantastic oneshots, Progman for one of the best post-series fics I've ever read (seriously, the Asami Sato of RRU is awesome), Shigan for some amazing korrasami oneshots, FuzziFox for an adorable and action-y AU where Asami goes south with Korra, lovedeathcats for the best Indiana Jones AU ever, RainbowRosie for a great AU where bending has vanished, paxbanana's Place in the World is an interesting AU take on Korrasami. @asamiontop's Modern world AU is a must read (she also has some great supercorp one-shots). For supercorp? @jazzfordshire has exquisitely written fics, everything @fazedlight writes is gold, @snowydragonscave's oneshots are adorable, @mycatismyeditor has some great AU's that really dig into the characters, @ekingston has some of the best written AU's I've ever read, @karalovesallthegirls has the most hilarious fics ever (Mime fic), robie's AUs are some of the best slow burn I've read, TheUnforgivingMinute wrote a fantastic spookysupercorp, @coffeeshib floored me with their gorgeous prose, @rustingcat not only does amazing art but the fics are such a great slow burn, @chaotic-super's back to Krypton was absolutely goldmine of fun and digging into the lore of Krypton. I could go on. Let's just say I LOVE Y'all's fics. The above are the people who had the most impact on me personally. Where I learned the art of fanfic writing. Since I'm a science fiction writer, I tend toward creative writing techniques that don't always jive well in the fandom realm, so learning from others helps me refine my writing to use the least amount of words for the biggest impact possible. It's also great practice for my original fiction honestly.

3) Aside from the characters of your main ship, who are the characters you love to write?

I really love writing Sam Arias. Nia is also super fun to write, and writing Brainy and Lena arguing about science is always fun too. Alex is a littler harder for me to write (her snark is hard for me to capture), but she's a blast once I get in the right headspace for it. For Korrasami, I really love writing Jinora and Bolin. Asami considers both of them basically siblings at this point, and Korra does too actually. heh.

4) Are there pairings or tropes you know for sure you'd never write about? Which ones?

I will NEVER EVER writing Makorra - that is a clusterfuck I will never touch. Hell, it's why I didn't rewrite book 1 of TLOK for my Shared Moments series because I really didn't want to touch it at all. lol I just skipped to the six months after and started there. I'll NEVER write Lames or any relationship that features Mon-el. Nope. Not touching it. I prefer to write sapphic pairings for the main protagonists. Sure, side characters can have het pairings (like Brainy and Nia), but I won't write a fic with them as the focus. Other folks can do that.

5) What is your writing process and why is it cursed?

Step 1: Wake up, wash up, and get tea. Step 2. Cuddle the cat to prepare myself. Step 3: Put on my compression gloves and stretch my arms. Step 4: Put on the correct playlist (absolutely essential step otherwise it'll throw off the entire scene and then I have to start over.) Step 5: Try to avoid Tumblr. (Doesn't always work, this place is cursed I swear. lol) Step 6. Open Scrivener project (who am I kidding, these primary projects are always open on m computer). Write while my brain is cooperating. (30 to 40 minutes before I got to rest for 45 minutes then I can start writing again. Chronic illness sucks like that.) Step 7: realize I need to research something and lose two hours to that. Step 8: AO3 emailed me! Who commented this time! Oh noes, now I've fallen down the looking at the Internets.

The other thing I do is carry my journal everywhere to document everything and end up with some weird random poetry, drawings, and dialogue from people I overhear. Oh, and on bad brain days, I'll draw cursed images.

I also use Scrivener and go all haywire on all its features to a ridiculous extent. Like, I try to stuff ALL my outlines, research, scenes, into that Scrivener so it's all in one place, that way I don't forget anything. It makes for large projects. ha.

6) What is your favorite part of your writing process?

Incorporating my research into the story in subtle ways to fill out the world and immerse the reader more fully. It's fun to put some of this research in the end-notes for my fics on AO3. (The power AO3 gave us writers with those end-notes!!)

7) What’s the weirdest thing you’ve had to research for a fic?

Maturation of bird species and the DNA overlap with human beings to see if I can craft an alien species that is at least 90% DNA similar to humans but is more birdlike.

I looked up the absorption of chemicals through skin. (This is why I use duckduck go for anonymity for this sort of stuff. LOL)

8) Is there a particular writing rule you struggle with (grammar, spelling, tense, reality in general)?

Reality in general - ha. Seriously though, the chronic illness makes it really hard to concentrate and have energy for writing or really anything. The second thing I struggle with is I have an annoying habit of adapting my tenses to what I'd last read. So if the story I read was past-tense, I'll jump into my writing using past tense (which most of my stories is that tense, but there's two that aren't so that's when it gets annoying).

9) What was your hardest scene to write so far and why?

The hardest scene was the end of Book 3 for Shared Moments for the Korrasami series. Both Asami and Korra (due to the bond they forged by accident at Harmonic Convergence) are captured by Zaheer, so that was a brutally painful set of scenes. Full of pain, fighting, poisoning, and a struggle to survive. I wept through it honestly. Whew. Yikes. For Supercorp, the hardest scene was when Nia assists Lena with her dreams and memories of her birth mother. Those were so sad and I totally teared up writing them. It was also hard to sort out the best way to reveal details without giving too much away either. Since Nia's powers are a little all over the place too.

10) Have your characters ever done something you didn’t expect, changing your plot completely?

All the time! For the TLOK: Shared Moments series, Asami keeps surprising me, so I often have to sit down and remap her timeline, and it always enriches the entire series. For Supercorp, Nia keeps doing things that surprise me. She's like this chaotic good agent that adds in humor and twists that enrich the tale in subtle ways I think. There's many other surprising moments the characters do. That's half the fun! Seeing where the characters end up and if I need to adjust my plans. :D

11) If you could converse with any of the characters, who would it be and why?

That's a tie between Asami Sato and Lena Luthor honestly. But then I sort of think of them as basically the same person (Lena may be more neutral in temperament while Asami is chaotic good. Also, Asami isn't afraid to fly planes and crash them for Korra. Lena would prefer no flying. lol). I just wanna talk science with them. Oh and ask them about how in-love they are with Korra and Kara respectively. (Lena will try to deny it, but Asami will gush and admit it because she's a little more in touch with her feelings). I just love these two so much. :D

12) What are some of the tropes or themes that you find yourself returning to in your writing?

Healing journeys. I really enjoy writing healing from trauma, because I feel like it's so relevant for our times, and the characters never really get that in their series (well, Supergirl characters don't, and they really need it!).

The theme of chosen family is another theme I come to again and again. Partly due to how my life is -- my bio family is not healthy for me (outright abusive), so my chosen family is my real family. So I like to dig into those dynamics a lot.

I also tend to write the survivor narrative a lot. It's a more interesting narrative structure, but it's also less used so that can startle readers. Sometimes in good ways? A good example of a survivor narrative structure is TLOK actually.

Another good example of the survivor narrative is Sam Arias' journey in Season 3 of Supergirl. Maybe I'll write an essay someday on it.

13) What's your most important resource as a writer?

There's isn't any one most important resource. I'd say fellow writers and artists is a great resource, lore books is another, random research books (yes, I have a guide to weapons for writers, guide for poisons for writers, guide to x or y for writers, because I'm a nerd like that), the Internet, and lots of listening to others.

14) Can you share some of your strategies for editing and revising your work?

For editing/revising, I start with SPAG: spelling, punctuation, and grammar. Once I do a few run-throughs of that, then I look at the dialogue -- Is the dialogue true to the character's personality and quirks? Can I make the dialogue more succinct?

After that, I look at descriptions: Is the description immersive? Do I utilize the five senses in a concise way? Can I pare down the description while still keeping the immersive quality? Is there any description that doesn't add to the scene or character's growth and can that be moved to a different scene or saved for later?

Finally, I do a fresh read-through and check how it impacts my emotions. Do I laugh at the funny parts? Do I tear up at the sad/angst parts? Does it feel too dry or not emotive enough? What words could be used instead to better invoke emotions?

15) Which is worse: making the summary, picking the tags, or the anxiety when you post your fic?

Ugh, summaries are the worst. Sometimes it's easier to just pick an excerpt of a scene and slap that as the summary. Tags are even worse. I never know what to use for tags, especially since people seem to be kind of random with AO3 tags. I mean, I feel like some writers just will write a statement as a tag and it's amusing but also confusing.

16) How do you define success for your fanfic - hits? Kudos? Comments? Bookmarks? Or just if you like it?

I don't really measure success.

If I get comments from folks that say they're enjoying it? That's a source of joy for me but it's not about success. Because I'm writing mostly for my enjoyment, but to hear that others enjoy it too? Damn, that's like the best news ever. It really helps me feel better about myself and my writing. Like I'm valued and not forgotten. That I actually have an impact. So yeah, go leave comments if you like stuff, please. Us writers love it.

17) Do you have a playlist for your favorite character / ship?

YES. I Always make a playlist for each project I do. I craft it based on their personality, their character arcs, the mood of the piece, and I focus on a variety of genres. I think about the lyrics of songs and try to match it all together. I might spend way more time on playlists than I need, but since I have them playing as I write, I need them to fit the mood and atmosphere to increase inspiration.

18) If fan art was going to be made from your work, which fic would you pick and which fan artist would you like to create it?

Um. Huh. This is a hard question. I try to draw my own, but I can't do color (y'all that do color, are freaking WIZARDS). I think Confession fic and the scene where Lena resurrects Kara, and if and when I have money again, I'd ask @rustingcat if commissions are open for them.

For Korrasami, I'd choose Book 3 or 3.5 but I'm not sure on the artist.

19) How many WIPs do you currently have?

UM. If I count just fanfics, probably fifteen. I'm actively working on six. (Three in each fandom. Two are usually shorter, and one is the longer fic) If we include original fiction and fanfiction? Uhhhhh. Hahahah, that's like twenty-five or so. I'm only working on one original fiction piece set on my SF world of Elivera.

20) What's your advice to new fanfic writers?

Pace yourself and take some time to edit and revise before posting. Also, take some time to review the transcripts and how the characters talk. That can give some fun insight into the characters and ways to expand on them in interesting ways.

Ask questions a lot! There's so many nice folks in the fandom, and folks are so kind about answering questions. I know because I still ask questions and talk to folks about this, and more seasoned writers have been so lovely.

Write what you want. Don't write for your readers (unless someone requests and pays you for a fic, then I guess write for them. lol) but otherwise, write what you want. This is supposed to be fun. If you're getting stressed out, take a break otherwise you will get burned out. To avoid burn out, take time to rest. Read a bit, do fun hobbies, do some practice writing, and then dive back into your fic.

Yes, it's important to try to finish things, but don't feel pressured. Remember, having fun is crucial! It's okay to take your time. Readers will stick with you if they like your tale.

Happy Writing!

P.S. I'm going to quote Brenda Ueland who wrote one of the best books on writing (If You Want to Write):

“Don't always be appraising yourself, wondering if you are better or worse than other writers. "I will not Reason and Compare," said Blake; "my business is to Create." Besides, since you are like no other being ever created since the beginning of Time, you are incomparable. ” - Brenda Ueland

And:

“I want to assure you with all earnestness, that no writing is a waste of time, – no creative work where the feelings, the imagination, the intelligence must work. With every sentence you write, you have learned something. It has done you good. It has stretched your understanding.” - Brenda Ueland

[groovygrub]

heyyy folks!!! as promised, a brief(...ish) explanation of what's been going down:

so we had ourselves a bit of a ~tornadic thunderstorm~ almost a week ago; apparently FOUR lil twisters touched down in our area and several were visible from our driveway?!! – tragically, i didn't get to actually see the tornados because i was tripping too hard (here's some common sense disguised as a fun fact! if you consume 16x a "microdose" of shrooms, especially combined with other edibles, the dose isn't so micro anymore!! that shit had me macro-ed, dude 😩 learn from my mistakes!) and also didn't expect any visible touchdown from our house :((( i cried when i found out i missed out on the nados, ngl.

anyway, the majority of the city lost all power and my house just got it back last night! we still got some live wires ⚡ hanging in our yard so it's cordoned off but hopefully they'll fix that soon because i really gotta go foraging soon & would prefer not to get yelled at and/or zippity zapped. i'm already getting zippity zapped enough by my own brain, you know??

while on the topic of brain zaps!! the extreme heat & humidity and stress (and without any AC, air purifier, very little water, etc) has been... less-than-compatible with my chronic health shit (especially my seizures, POTS, EDS, mast cell disease, and migraines) 😅 i've had 5+ (?) episodes over the past week and they're still periodically making little cameos 🥲

definitely one of the worst clusters i've had yet tbh. after the initial seizure, i couldn't really move & was just chilling there and my broke-ass brain very helpfully kept supplying me with nothing but the thought "damn, bro got prone" (i would make a great doctor, i know). and then i started sobbing because my CNS was too afk to go grab a drink and seizures always make me sooo goddamn thirsty for some reason & i was already so dehydrated 💀

and i didn't even get to see any nados!!!! like!!! that's so twisted, dude (pun really not even intended, just slipped out, whoops). "fucked up" doesn't even begin to describe it. absolutely gargantuan L for me :((( an elephantine L, a BROBDINGNAGIAN L, if you will. feels like i just got hoodwinked by the cosmos.

anyhowsies. i set forth with the intention of just letting y'all know why i've been playing tumblr hooky (oh!! and in the days immediately leading up to the power outage, i was just busy being helplessly in love. still am, don't have any plans of stopping ❤️✨ but i'm also trying to be more present again for my beloved little army of weirdos!) and to say sorry for the delay in memes 😕 so idk how it turned into this mess, my b!

i'm slowly working through my notifications too!! just takes some extra time to process things when Brain is rebooting (and Brain has to fully reboot every time i have an episode 🙄 dramatic ass lil bitch). thank you so much for all your patience, birds & bees (new inclusive alternative to "ladies & gentlemen" just dropped!) 💛

ps to my wonderful moot who said they were queueing one of my memes for last monday: if you're reading this, please know i didn't forget about you or your post!! i WILL get to it, promise! 🙏

[swiss-cheez]

Hey !that's your sign I urge you to take action against wordsworthathousandpictures, jaquemes, and jaquesmes, who have been posting clear threats and blackmailing girls, especially through the account wrong-one-on-the-right-day , his actions have already caused immense distress, leading one girl to leave due to panic. Let us come together to create a safe space for everyoneto prevent further harm.Allah Almighty sees all of us, and it’s our responsibility to protect each other.Report and block and spread out this message if you can

Imma say this once and once only. I don't do he say she say type behavior. Those people who can't be up front off anon about serious things can't be taken seriously.

I am unbiased, I don't know the full picture from both sides. I have spoken to my brother in Islam, but i also dont kniw him like that. Also, i have no idea who you are.

Your approach might not be the best suitable way to go about this. I take defamation, abuse, and these things very seriously.

As far as it goes for creating a safe space, sorry to say but people need to not be dumb. It takes two to tango, and I'm not validating what you accused of anyone because again idk you and idc about tumblr drama. That's my safe space. Y'all need to get hip with not responding to anyone and everyone. You guys don't really have to share stuff about you with others. I love my mutuals on here, but I keep my personal life private for the most. I just simply don't trust others to be quite frank.

I advise yall to be kind, but don't be stupid. I'm going to try to follow my own advice.

Spreading this message for that intent without an ounce of clarity is like a donkey carrying books saying that it's well read. I don't have an ounce of clarity.

Normally I don't even post these type of messages from anon, I don't want others fooled by anons. But seriously, don't bother giving me advice on anon. I HATE that shit, take responsibility for your words. Bitter or sweet doesn't bother me. I prefer direct, but also don't tell me about other's business. It's not my business and I don't have the youth to chase meaningless interactions on a blog.

May Allah grant you the best of the dunya and especially of the Aakhira.

[harleycao]

Intro

So, i meant to post about this before now but I'm opening playlist commissions. Also, I'm new with this, so please be patient with me.

Okay, so, i find that I've got an affinity for making playlists for pretty much anything. Characters, stories, relationships, situations, feelings, etc... And i love making them so i want to make some for other people.

(Press "read more" if interested!)

Rules

1. Please be as detailed as possible, so i have enough to go off of.

2. Please don't claim the playlist as your own. If you post it anywhere, please just credit @harleycao on tumblr.

3. Please let me know if you prefer i make the playlist on Spotify or just type up the songs and artists. I can also do both.

4. I'll at least try to make a playlist for anything, but some examples are a character, a relationship, a story/story arc, a situation, or a story trope.

5. I'll also do pov playlists for relationships with certain characters (the tricky thing is that i have to know about the character already. I'll try to figure something out to make a seperate post that further explains/specifies for. this bit). Same thing for povs taking place im fictional worlds.

6. Please be patient while i get your playlist created

7. I have the right to decline to make your playlist if i don't have time or don't think i could do it adequately

8. You can request as many times as you want, but not all at once. One request at a time per person. If you want more, you have to send a seperate request once the previous one has been finished.

9. I want you to like your playlist which means i want feedback! You don't quite like a song i picked/don't think it fits? Let me know! I'll be happy to go back and change the playlist to make it better! Just be polite about it, please!

Form

10. You don't have to fill out this form, but here's one for those who want it. Please know that this is the information i need in your request. (I'm going to copy & paste the form in the comments for easier access).

Type of playlist (what you want the playlist for. Relationship, character, story, etc):

Spotify, list, or both?: (Do you want me to make the playlist on Spotify,just type the songs & artists, or both)

Any specifications?: (no explanation needed, I'd think)

Other:

(I'll probably edit/tweak this form later but don't worry about changing your request if/when i do)

Tags

(Just people i think might be interested)

@reilly34

Examples (will be updated as i make more playlists):

These are just some playlists I've already made to give y'all an idea. (They're all playlists on Spotify, so that's where the links lead to).

Some of these playlista are for specific portrayals of a character (they'll specify when they are) but if it doesn't specify what version, either it's meant for a generalized version of the character/no specific version or it's already obvious by the thumbnail/ playlist cover.

in love with clark kent

(Note: I'm reworking this one ↑ so it's going to change fairly often until I'm satisfied with it).

in love with smallville!clark kent

(I'm only on season 3 of smallville so this one will probably change as i get further into the show)

in love with matt murdock

in love with tasm!peter parker

in love with bruce wayne

in love with dick grayson

in love with frank castle

in love with sirius black

(I'm planning to make one for remus lupin and eventually others from hp but haven't yet)

in love with dean winchester

in love with jason todd

in love with pattinson!bruce wayne

in love with loki

(I absolutely hate the formatting/layout of this post because it's so messy & unorganized but I'm lazy to do anything about it rn. Might remake the post at some point).

[u2fangirlie-blog]

Book Club Introduction

Recently, I was invited into a book club on Facebook. A friend asked me to join with other friends she knows. I know two out of 30 members. How are people supposed to introduce themselves and get to know each other in FB groups, particularly book clubs? I have no clue! The book club creator and moderators all follow BookTok and have To Be Read lists. I don't do that. It's all new to me.

To start, I read through posts, liked, commented, and replied to interesting and relevant posts. I thought this would be a good way to get to know new people. Then I took a risk and wrote an introduction. The post was viewed by half the crowd. My friend H. replied, but there were no other comments. Just silence. Not even a clock ticking in the background.

The first book selected is Murder at the Book Club by Betsey Reavley. I want to stay, make new friends, and be introduced to new authors, but I feel like an asshole. My introduction to the book club was dead on arrival, so I'm going to delete it from the group.

Here's the introduction. I put a lot of thought and planning into it and don't want to see words go to waste. Someone might read it in the vast expanse of words on Tumblr.

Hi! H. invited me to join the group. She said you are awesome fun people. H., C., and I have been friends since elementary and junior high school. In the past, I've been part of reading circles where we read and discussed metaphysical books. This is my first online book club. Please guide me in what is appropriate behavior and social conventions for online reading groups. I hope to read books in genres I've never read before. I look forward to getting to know everyone here.

I just want to introduce myself a little bit to the group. I'll start with my reading habits and preferences.

I don't have a TikTok account, so I don't follow any Booktok creators.

On YouTube, I don't follow many Booktube creators. However, I do watch channels that focus on one author or genre. I like Quinn's Ideas. He's the go-to guy for Dune and A Song of Ice and Fire. He also discusses classic hard scifi and new scifi. I enjoy T.L. is Reading, who is doing a Discworld read-along. If I'm interested in a new book or TV series based on a book, I'll look on YouTube. I learned a lot about the Wheel of Time that way.

I prefer print books. My house is stacked to the rafters. Remind me sometime to tell you about the time a tree branch went through the roof, and instead of going to the basement for safety, I ran upstairs to rescue boxes of books from the rain.

I do read some ebooks, usually if it's a long series or older books that are hard to find in print. Discworld has 41 book, so most of my Pratchett collection is in ebooks.

Kindle Unlimited - I don't have it because of the cost of subscriptions. If I get a book, I buy it. One reason I prefer print books over ebooks is that having physical media is forever (exceptions of fire or flood). What's going to happen if Amazon loses rights to books or if there's a major technology failure? We the consumers will lose access to digital media we "own" and paid for and will never get it back. It's already happening with streaming videos. If the Big One happens and if we lose electricity and satellites and the internet and if electronic devices stop working, y'all can come to my house. I own all the books and DVDs. LOL!

Audible - See above. Cost of subs. Potential loss of access to digital media. I listen to bootleg audiobooks on YouTube. I have a few audiobooks on CD. I haven't got any new audiobooks in ages because they're so freaking expensive.

Genres - Sci-fi. Fantasy. Classic literature. Mythology. Metaphysical. Paranormal. Occult. Tarot. Non-fiction essays and articles. Encyclopedias and dictionaries. You read that right. I'm a sucker for an encyclopedia with pretty pictures. I have lots of specialized encyclopedias in mythology, symbolism, gemstones, animals, and plants. I love etymology and enjoy looking up word origins. Classic authors: As an English major, I read a lot of the classics. Jane Austen is okay, not my favorite. I have issues with the Bronte Sisters and other authors who introduced the bad boy lover and gave really unhealthy expectations to young people about relationships.

Authors - Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, Frank Herbert, Diane Duane, George R.R. Martin, J.R.R. Tolkien, Diana Gabaldon, Jim Butcher, Charlaine Harris, Laurel Hamilton, and Anne Rice (because smut is better with paranormal characters, and their vampires are infinitely better than Stephanie Meyers) J.K. Rowling (before she turned evil), and Neil Gaiman (Yes, I know about the allegations and am still processing how to respond publicly. His alleged behavior is horrible. The Good Omens and Sandman fandoms are fighting and ripping each other apart.)

First, full disclosure: I have a BA and MA in English, with a minor in creative writing and special studies in archetypal myth criticism. I don't write fiction. The creative writing workshops were difficult for me. My professors didn't inspire creativity, but instead they instilled critical analysis of writing, self-criticism, and self-doubt. My teachers critically wounded my desire to write stories, and later it just died. I gave up writing fiction a long time ago. No, I do not secretly want to write fiction.

My strong suit is non-fiction, including articles and essays. Mostly I write short humorous stuff for my social media and a captive audience of about 70 friends and family. Also I write in-depth analyses and criticism of books, movies, and TV series. And sometimes my friends get sick of my BS and think I'm too critical. That's just how my brain works. Analyzing something to the extreme doesn't mean I don't still enjoy it or love it. (Unless it's objectively crap. LOL!) I have a Tumblr blog for publishing what I don't want family to read.

That being said - When I put a lot of time and effort into writing a longer piece (for example an essay with photos) and people either don't read it or they only respond with a like, I feel frustrated and very hurt. I get it. People don't have time and are selective about what they read. I wrote a Tumblr post about it and will share it if anyone is interested.

For the past 7 years, I taught English comp and how to write research papers at a community college. I also ran the writing center with a staff of one (me) and helped students with their papers. If you need help with MLA and APA citations, I'm your girl! I departed for financial reasons. My past work experiences were in office/clerical. Recently, I started a new job in an office. It's good.

Finally, this is my binder full of maps. As an avid fan of fantasy and sci-fi series. maps are important to know where characters are located and the various cities and realms they are in. I'm obsessive. I'm a nerd and a dang weirdo (in the Muppet Gonzo sense of being a weirdo).

Here's a link to the binder of maps from fantasy, sci-fi, and history in literature.