#i moved out from my family so im just trying to focus on getting better before i come back to doing the things i like

[so-i-did-this-thing]

im sorry this might not be the place to ask for advice/help but im doomscrolling about the news and the soon to be president and im seeing so much to be scared shitless about, invasions, removal of vaccines, cost of living increases, revoking of trans rights and how it might make it all the more impossible to get the surgeries i wanted... its just too fucking scary to breathe right now what do i do with myself

Hey, Anon. I'm here. A lot of us are here right with you.

It's scary, to be sure. And I'm not going to sugarcoat the possibilities of things going south very quickly. So, let's jump into some survival tactics.

This post on burnout is a great place to start. There is a lot of overlap with burnout and the anxiety you're feeling.

Allow yourself to slow down and unplug. You are allowed to step away from the news cycle -- events out of your control will unfold regardless.

Don't feel guilty by letting yourself relax. I find it especially helpful to do activities that don't involve the internet -- I've been decorating my house, mending broken crockery, and sketching some embroidery ideas. I try to take the time to get dressed and groomed every day, to remind myself that I matter. I spend more time outdoors.

As you find the ability to relax, you'll be able to focus better on the things you can do to be resilient. Things I have been doing to improve myself and make me a better helper:

Staying on top of my medical appointments and any preventive care I can do

Working to be physically healthier overall to mitigate future medical issues

Getting all my paperwork in order, including passports

Tweaking my financial budget

Researching what estate & family documentation needs to be done to protect my relationship in case my marriage gets dissolved

Brushing up on job skills, getting new certifications to stay competitively employable

Stocking up on my medical and general emergency supplies, especially for bad weather events

Getting in the habit of mindful purchases, curbing my habit of impulse shopping

Selling things I don't want or need anymore to have a little extra money and be able to move house easier, if need be

Building a habit of fixing/maintaining my possessions instead of trashing broken things

Canceling online subscriptions and quitting social networks that make me feel in danger

Getting my personal and any queer-related files out of the cloud and onto redundant solid state drives

Downloading / printing out queer resources and buying queer art that may be banned or monitored in the future

Enjoying physical media again and hunting for old favorites

Keeping in touch with queer friends and allies and making plans in case people (even myself) need to flee

Being visible when I can and knowing when it's best to lay low

Allowing myself the luxury to dig into things Old Me would have saved for "special" events -- aka, wearing the nice clothes and eating off the fine china as an everyday thing

Shutting the fuck up, especially online, when I think my words could be used against me

In a way, I am trying to simply become a better version of myself, one who is calm & self-sufficient, mindful about his actions, and available to help those in need. It sucks that the driving factor is fear, but I intend to use that fear as a catalyst to be stronger and survive.

There is a lot to be done, but there was always going to be work, new regime or not. But please, start with that burnout article so you can jump into your own plans with new hope and energy. ❤️

[jisungs]

hii, i know i haven’t been here in forever but i just wanted to stop by to say that im alive for everyone that messaged me with concern 😭 life has been tough lately and i didn’t have time for gifs or anything like that really but i wish to come back here once everything settles down! thank u for the messages and i hope everyone is doing well! ❣️

[vexxandra]

25 predictions for 2025 (pick-a-card reading)

happy new year sillies <3 01-01-2025 ☆

disclaimer: all of my readings are just for fun, you write your own story every day of your life, dont let me tell you how to live it

pile 1 > pile 2 pile 3 > pile 4

pile 1

biggest theme: change

reflexion and redirection are major elements of the new year

breaking free of past shackles : discarding old things

miracle year, a lot of wonderful things are coming

be selfish. you are in charge of your own happiness

you will learn to love yourself this year

fulfilling year especially in terms of career or academics. make sure to properly prepare in order to gain an edge over others

early bird gets the worm mentality

"winter arc" mindset the whole year. "lock in"

first six months will be very busy, you'll focus on yourself and not have the time for romance

learning how to collaborate with others

big lesson: learning how to work through burnout

august 2025 will be a very happy month for you

potential summer fling, will reginite flames you didn't know you had

some kind of soul fulfillment, could potentially be romantic or personal

imbalanced feminine energy, learning to reconnect with your divine feminine

a turbulent period will occur (im hearing mercury retrograde)

last half of the year might be grey

sleepy energy, taking things slower

make sure to rest, dont push yourself to move when sluggy

you're going to end the year with a nice energy. i see you surrounded by lots of family, friends and people you hold dear

if last year did not feel chrismassy, dont worry, because this year will

an extra message about children and new families. pregancy within you or another may occur

releasing all anxieties caused by this year, and a lot of reflexion

overall a pretty good year, some guidance i might give would be to not push yourself over the edge, and try not to drink too much caffiene <3

pile 2

biggest theme: self love

i get the feeling you've lost someone very important this year, most likely a break up, but you still have feelings for them

disillusionment and prioritizing yourself are big themes for this year

you're going to recognize that this person was pretty toxic and will take them off of their pedestal

learning how to fall in love again, with yourself and with life

reconnecting with your femininity

a lot of themes about toxicity and distancing yourself from people that don't have your best interests at heart

crown chakra healing by taking one day at a time (a LOT of light purple imagery in this reading)

very tumultuous first few months of the year, you'll feel like your life is flipping upside down and rightside up for a while

reconnecting with your spiritual guides and your spirituality/religion will bring you peace

if you're not religious, exploring some concepts may occupy your time

potential new romantic interest, but you must fall in love with yourself first

advice i can give would be to start something new, and to spend a lot of time by yourself. take yourself on dates and spend time with loved ones

sleep is very important this year, maybe consider starting a dream journal

i feel like most of you will get into some kind of artsy hobby this year. this can be anything from visual to musical to physical, but i can see it becoming a big passion

learning how to be more flexible in your thoughts and actions is a big lesson

springtime (particularly may) will be an amazing period

indie movie life in the spring, it'll feel like your life is straight out of a book

productivity, creativity, and happiness will be at an all-time high

you'll meet so many new people during this time, and im seeing some travelling too

child-like energy, almost like a giddy joy

make sure to not forget your responsabilities, i can see that you might be too caught up in your excitement and forget to balance work and play

overall very good year. it might not feel like it right now, but things are guarenteed to get better <3

some guidance i would give would be to reflect on your past, but never to dwell in it

pile 3

biggest theme: new beginnings and hope

amazing potential, i can see you're carrying something precious from 2024, and wanting it to grow in the new year

it will, but be sure to wait for the right time and approach it with dedication, consistency and care

strong foundations are laid, but be sure to not be reckless

good communication and problem resolving skills are going to be very important this year

flexibility and detachment are going to be vital too, dont try to control situations and dictate outcomes

forgive others for their mistakes but be sure to be assertive too

for those in a romantic relationship: this relationship will last a long time <3

messages about changing your identity, there will be a time when you dont recognize yourself, take some time to reconnect with your inner values

"lucky girl syndrome" mindset. you'll be attracting so many blessings this year

abundance really is yours this year, the cards are showing so many blessings coming your way

affirm to yourself that you have everything you desire, and it will appear

summertime will be an extremely happy period for you. i see a lot of happy memories being made, and a lot of productivity as well

the end of summer and fall might be when things slow down a little, i see a little more uncertainty and anxiety, but it will all pass

big emphasis on relationships this year, but mostly romantic

for those currently in a relationship, here is confirmation that your person is a soulmate and will be in your life long-term

for the singles out there, you'll soon meet an amazing person (timeframe: june or july)

in terms of academics and career, your year will be pretty tame

there will be important decisions to make, and that might stress you out, but the outcome will be good

bottom line: the ending of this year will be good, and there's nothing you can do to change that

important lessons you will need to learn will be to think things through before acting upon them, hanging with people you feel truly appreciate you, and walking away when you feel they don't

appearances may be deceiving, make sure the people you surround yourself with have your best interests at heart

do not compare yourself with others, this year will hammer in that lesson time and time again

overall a very good year, some guidance i would give would be to guard your heart from people with negative intentions. there are snakes and backstabbers everywhere, keep yourself safe <3

pile 4

biggest theme: self-improvement

this year you'll return to your roots, fully shedding your old life to try and reconnect with your innermost values

reassess what works for you and what doesn't, i sense a lot of toxcitity in your life

this year you'll develop many new relationships with many new people

these relationships will provide interpersonal insight: remember that you are who you surround yourself with

this year, you'll practice setting boundaries

its never aggressive to be assertive, and those who matter won't mind

despite the heavy focus on new relationships, prioritize yourself

going on walks, meditating, journalling and going on solo dates are all amazing ways to start to feel comfortable alone

this year will be full of endings, dont resist it, embrace it

change isn't inherently bad, just like how difference isn't inherently bad

very financially stable year, you'll be more open to taking career risks

if there were any financial struggles in the past year, take comfort in knowing there will be little to nothing of the sort in the future

be careful to not be boastful about your finances though, as its better to succeed in silence

you create your own happiness, you are the main character, stop relying on others to save you

this year, you'll stop seeking others validation and look inside of yourself to find what you've been searching for in others

you'll be stepping into a bad bitch energy this year, one that feels comfortable being alone or with others

strong leadership is something you'll be developping this year, as well as strong manifestation skills

you want it, you're going to get it!!

go after all of your goals this year, hesitance will do you no good

i can see that at the end of the year, you'll emerge a totally different person

you'll be more confident, self-assured and more joyful (i sense that autumn is an important time period)

overall, this year will be a fresh chapter in your life

you'll shed the old you, bad habits, and negative aspects to make way for a life and personality that's authentically you

some advice i would give would be to not be afraid to stand apart, dont worry about the opinions of others

speak of success, and it will come to you <3

[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.

[cameronspecial]

Omg omg omg im literally love Zach Maclaren ‼️‼️

Can you please do like a Zach x gf!reader maybe on like the ski trip where Zach is just obsessed with his gf and it’s just fluff and cuteness pleaseeeeee 🫶🫶

Zach's Favourite Ski Activity

Pairing: Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

Battletoads. The game that has swept the MacLaren family into its story, including the honorary member, Y/N. She is sitting on the couch in the MacLaren’s rental lodge, playing the game with the younger girl. “Oh, I am going to absolutely own you, Avery,” Y/N screams, jumping up from the couch while aggressively hitting the buttons of the game controller. Avery shakes her head, “No. No. No. You are going down, Y/L/N.” Both girls’ eyes are focused on the screen, but Zach’s are on his girlfriend. God, I should change her last name. Y/N MacLaren sounds much better, he thinks to himself. He loves how competitive she is and how she isn’t afraid to geek out about a video game with his sister. He notices that her drink is empty, so goes to get the juice to refill it. She thanks him without breaking her focus and he gives her a kiss on the forehead. 

——

Zach is a pretty athletic guy. He is on the soccer team, he goes to the gym, and he has been snowboarding since he was eight years old, but nothing compares to the skill his girlfriend has. He watches from the bottom of the hill as she masterfully zooms around people, shredding the snow as she smoothly twists her board to a stop in front of him. “Baby, that was amazing,” he praises, running to wrap his arms around her waist. She grins at him, “Thanks, but I think I could’ve done that last jump a little better.” “No, you couldn’t have. It was absolutely perfect. Just like you,” he contradicts, punctuating each word with a kiss. Her head moves from side to side, “You think everything I do is perfect.” “What can I say? My girlfriend is flawless,” he shrugs off, walking her toward the chalet to get something to eat.

——

Y/N’s fingers grip the Jenga block tightly, trying to slowly pull it out of the tower. Zach sees the tip of her tongue sticking out and he finds it so cute. She can feel his breath against her neck, realizing now just how close he is to her. He is too busy taking in the scent of her perfume to notice her raised eyebrow at his proximity. She isn’t wearing her citrus perfume and it doesn’t smell like the flowery one he bought her for her birthday, so it must be a new one. He’ll have to check her room to see what it is. He likes to buy a bottle of her perfumes in case she ever needs it at his dorm and because he likes to spray whatever perfume she is wearing that week on his pillow. “Zach, can you back up a little bit, please? I’m trying to concentrate,” she mumbles, focusing back on her task at hand. 

Once she places her block at the top of the tower, she waits for Zach to take his turn, but he doesn’t. “What perfume are you wearing? It isn’t the one I got you or your orange one. It must be new,” he ponders out loud. She gives a small laugh, “Is that really what has you with your head in the clouds? My perfume?” 

“Yeah, I like to know what scent you are wearing so I can spray the same one on my pillow.”

“Careful, Zach. Keep talking like that and I’ll think you are obsessed with me.”

He knows she is joking, but he looks her dead in the eyes. “Baby, you don’t need to think about it. I want you to know how obsessed with you I am. You are the only one for me and you need to know that.”

[stealingpotatoes]

can we get a rundown on the anakin-raises-leia au? i’m totally in love with (read: obsessed with) it but i missed most of the context and i’m so curious!

are they coparenting? was it a parent trap style agreement to split the twins? is it temporary, until the war ends? who decided who gets which twin? did mustafar just never happen?

the answers to ur questions in short are: not really, arguably, absolutely, i did, and no!

in longer, the main thing you need to know for context is it's an Anakin-doesn't-turn-to-the-darkside-but-Palps-still-succeeds AU!

Anakin chooses not to try save Palpatine from the Jedi council and instead goes to Padmé's to angst abt the fact he might be losing her -- only to feel a very solid Other loss in the Force and see the temple up in flames ): he tries to go help but gets his shit kicked enough he leaves when Bail shows up

obi-wan and yoda both return to coruscant, obi-wan shows up to Padmé's to ask her hey do you know where Anakin is??? except Padmé's not there either bc after Sidious made his Big Speech anidala realised Anakin's totally a fugitive so they decided to Leave

i'm not 100% on what happens around here (lbr we all know my focus is the kids) but i'm currently thinking they nearly get caught or smthn, fight happens (??), Obi-wan gets there just in time to help thanks to Dormé snitching -- and Padmé goes into labour w the shock/stress

whatever exactly happens, Obi-Wan is there when they get Padmé to a medical station and the normal rots ending group unite. Padmé gives birth (keeping her will to live) and a question hangs heavy in the air: what are they supposed to do with the twins?

Anidala are too caught up in the joy of being parents to think about it, but they're quickly and forcibly snapped out of that when the Survivors all have a chat like canon. Yoda's the (brave) one to say they need to be apart because their force signatures would be too strong together and in the dire case Palps finds them, he could NOT take both. He's probs initially like they shouldnt even be kept w you two, Anakin's too powerful himself and Padmé you're too visible (while I imagine Bail and Obi-wan know their respective besties and are like king they are NOT gonna take that well)

and theyre right! Padmé, fresh out of like three of the top ten most harrowing experiences of her life, is like stfu u little green bitch im not losing my kids. but after some convincing she sees the need for her to remain in the senate and anakin's need to fight/run. she knows they can't fight the empire effectively together and she knows it's too dangerous to put the twins together. both parents want more than ANYTHING to be with their kids -- but they also don't want their kids growing up in a galaxy eaten by tyranny or being stolen by palps.

so they made the hardest goddamn decision of their lives and each take a twin (probably chosen on "anakin thought the baby'd be a girl/padme thought it'd be a boy" or smthn) and after some time planning their next moves, Padmé and Anakin are forced to go their separate ways to save the galaxy for and with their kids ): knowing the better they fight, the sooner they free the galaxy from the empire's clutches, the sooner they can reunite and be a family

[pomegranateshrimp]

Greg House x Fem! Reader

Kinktober day 1: Boot worship

Summary: You had been extremely distracted, more or less hot and bothered the whole day. You couldn’t focus on any of your work. House walks into your office to check on you and notices you checking out his boots a little too long.

A/n: you have an office because, why not? Idk. It worked better. Also Ik this is behind schedule I’m really sorry I’ve been busy with family problems. Also I’m making my own list for kinktober bc I didn’t like a lot of the prompts sorryyy. Also this is kinda short.

Nsfw under cut

You were trying to focus your hardest on the paperwork you were doing on your desk. You hadn’t been all too present mentally speaking. You had your mind on something else. You couldn’t pin point why but for some reason you were just so fucking horny today. Probably had something to do with you ovulating. So horny, that in fact you couldn’t even do your job. Sure, you got the work done, but you weren’t at your best, and House could tell. You worked on the diagnostics team and were, admittedly, his favorite. He payed close attention to you whenever you did, anything really. He watched your every move like a hawk, and he knew when something was up, and he wouldn’t let it go until you told him. This time, it was different. Obviously you can’t just tell your boss you were super horny and that’s why you couldn’t do your job well enough today. You just had to hope he wouldn’t talk to you about it.

The universe just had to have a personal vendetta against you. You were convinced of it. Someone had opened your door and walked into your office. Without knocking. Only one person you knew who did that. House.

“Knock knock” he imitated the sound while looking down at you as you did your paperwork.

“What do you want Greg?” You didn’t want to talk to him. Not because you didn’t like him. You liked him a lot. You just didn’t want to spill the beans about how much you wanted to fuck him, and you knew if he pestered you long enough you’d either admit it or lash out on him. Neither one being good.

“Someone’s fussy.” He raises his eyebrows, comes into the room and closes the door behind him, leaning on it as he speaks. “What’s wrong with you today? You seem a bit… gone.” He makes a weird motion with his hand above his head.

“Nothing. Drop it. Im fine.” ‘Please leave now’ you thought to yourself. You couldn’t look directly at him but didn’t want to totally dismiss his presence either. You settled by looking at his boots. They looked new. Black and sleek. Doc Martens. Your state grew unknowingly as he stared at you.

“Really? Doesn’t seem like ‘nothing’.” He didn’t move from the door but shifted his posture, standing more straight than before.

“Why does it matter to you anyways?” You retorted back. You were being rude but it came from a place of good. All you wanted was for him to leave your office and for your day to be over so you can go home and finger yourself to sleep.

“It doesn’t. Until it affects your ability to do your job. Which it seems like it has. Therefore, it’s my business, and it matters.”

You didn’t respond, your eyes just moving between the paperwork on your desk and his boots.

“What’s wrong? I get dirt on them or something?” He sarcastically asked and pretended to inspect them.

“Oh, n-no.. sorry.” You were caught so extremely off guard by him noticing your stare. You moved your gaze back to the paperwork but because he wasn’t leaving you lifted your eyes every now and them to his boots.

“Hmm, let’s see..” he started “you’ve been bright red all day, unable to focus, and now you’re staring at my boots, and it’s certainly not because they’re dirty. Hmm..” he puts a hand to his chin and pretends to be in deep thought for a few moments before speaking up again, this time with a shocking ‘omg’ sound. “I got it! You’re horny.” He was now moving from the door and walking towards you.

“That’s— that’s ridiculous please I-”

“You sure? All evidence points to me being right.” He now stood in front of your desk, chin resting on his cane, looking back at your surprised, crimson red face. “I will say though, the boot thing definitely came as a surprise. Didn’t think you were into that kinda stuff.”

“Even if I am, what are you going to do about it? Or did you just want to know?” You rolled your eyes. There was a certain annoyance in your voice because you immediately assumed once he knew he’d just leave the room, but to your surprise he stayed.

“Gee I don’t know, you seem desperate enough to fuck a shoe! By god, I wonder if there’s anyone willing to let you get off by riding their new Doc Martens. Get on your knees.”

You were shocked by the change of voice from his usual sarcastic tone to a much more demanding one now, but you liked it. You needed him so much right now and he was just letting you have him. If this was a wet dream, you didn’t want to wake up. You got out of your chair and compiled to his demand.

“You might wanna take your clothes off first.” He told you and you threw everything you were wearing to the side, not caring about anything anymore, just chasing that high you so desperately needed. Without warning, he moved his boot in between your thighs, right up against your pussy. You gasped, moaning out and grabbing onto his leg, surprised by the suddenness of the movement. “Greg…”

“You’re so needy for me.” His raspy voice sending shivers down your spine as you began to grind on his boot. The silence of the room being rid of with heavy breaths from the both of you.

You grind on his leg harder, wanting to cum so badly despite how degrading the situation was. Riding your bosses boot in broad daylight, office unlocked. If anyone saw you…

The thought made your mind race, your breath picked up speed as your hips thrusted faster, aiming for more friction. You could feel yourself getting close, the lewd noises becoming louder and louder. “Greg I’m gonna—“ before you could even finish your sentence you came onto the boot, leaving it shiny with arousal.

“Lick it off.” The way he looked down at you was enough to give you a second orgasm. You hesitantly reached down and gave the shoe a slow, long lick, from toe to heel, looking up at Greg as you did so. You were extremely grateful that he had given you the satisfaction you wanted.

“Don’t let me see you getting distracted again after this.” He gave you a sly smirk and left the room.

[lovebvni]

things to look forward to + ways to move forward!! <3

hello, lovelies!! i’m finally doing a pick-a-pile on this blog… after about half a year of being active

this pap will be answering 2 questions, but they have multiple parts. what’s coming in (from what i can see) and ways to get to it.

disclaimer: this pac isn’t legal advice or what you should do in your life. it is just based off your current energy. and that can change. purely for entertainment purposes.

now please, close your eyes and take a deep breath. wait until you see a swirl of colour to exhale. let your breath and spirit guide you to a pile.

piles 1 -> 2 -> 3

pile 1 — find it inside

hello, pile 1! here’s your reading :)

how close is your reward?

your reward is very close. 6 of pentacles coming out makes me have the vision on a banker grabbing their papers being put together before handing the recipient, you! maybe there’s like two more things you have to sign, or bring those documents to someone else, but at most im getting that there’s about 3 more steps left in the process? 4 at most. but seriously, you are close!

the papers can be to finally get your new business started… are you starting something like a business pile one? material wealth is coming through. the justice card comes to mind — perhaps in a legal argument with someone? i think this is the success about to come. or at least a satisfactory agreement.

what do you need to remove from your energy?

being too ambitious. you’re almost toooo focused and driven. are you cutting people off or isolating yourself from people and friends? honey you need a support group. it’s not always good to do things alone. you aren’t in a cage. your tunnel vision is too stuck on this goal you’re trying to reach. you need a breath of fresh air. just take a moment to relax and have a fun time. even students need a break from school, why do you think we have weekends? you’re wearing yourself out.

what do you need to accept?

finishing touches make everything look better. this is the final steps. just because i’m saying “oh you have abt 3 more steps” didn’t mean those are big steps. those are teeny steps. but material wealth(or a legal win) is coming either way, no matter what you change in the end. just trust the process.

a new focus & what to reject

stick to your plan! don’t back out of it last minute because you don’t like how it’s turning out. you need a BREAK! take a step back! but this doesn’t mean let everyone get into your business. keep it to yourself for now. it’s gonna work out, though!

thanks for reading, pile one! i hope this resonates, and i wish you the best!! now go have fun! stop working yourself overtime!

confirmation/additional signs: “don’t compare yourself to others”, don’t let others control you, have your own path and stick to it, “have some sort of tunnel vision”, the colour red, “girl trip!”, painting, “i need you to take a step back before i knock you on your fucking ass” — elita’s mentally not here, 555.

pile 2 — gift from the gods

hello, pile two! this is your reading!

first off, i’m doing this reading with my friend nile (nile says hi bc nile always says hi 💯) and they said they REALLY felt the need to touch on ur overall energy. so here’s what they said!

“With the number of face cards that are in this spread, and the general theme I thought about while pulling out the cards, it seems like pile 2 is the type to ask others for 2nd and 3rd opinions alot? I mainly thought about family members but it could easily be like, friends, classmates, school counselors/teachers, etc. Pile 2 maybe feels like they're conflicted because they're getting way different opinions on something (or maybe that's the normal dynamic) and they aren't sure which one is good advice and which one isn't”

don’t second guess urself 😡😡 ur intuition is always right!

how close is your reward?

this idea is brand new, isn’t it? some something you just decided to try, to dabble in. to dip your toes in, maybe as a distraction? i feel like this is something you decided to do on a whim, so maybe you’re not that far along with it. i mean you aren’t even in the pool yet… how can you start swimming? so, i would say about a 1-3 out of ten.

what do you need to remove from your energy?

wow, fear of some sort of older male figure. you may have an older sibling, nile got a brother or a cousin. they have divine masculine energy. they may or may not be a male, though. they may be someone who reaches out when they need something from you. you need to learn to start saying no to them. i also think that this could be where your double and triple checking could come in. are you someone who asks “should i do this for them?” and most of your friends say no, but you only need that one yes and you’ll take it? why would you do that to urself :( it’s so harmful to give away your energy without gaining.

nile also brought up inner voices, “inner voices that has that sort of vibe, but this is the energy of a young, mean-spirited, holier-than-thou, smart-ass that moreso likes to spout their own ideals than to actually consider what is pile 2's idea of a 'reward'” and you know what i say to this energy? SUCK ON MY DICK!

sorry. that was out of pocket. but tell them to get a life, and cut them off !!

what do you need to accept?

have u had a romantic offer? or do you think someone’s attracted to you? grab them 🤭 get ur man!! this person may also be an important friend. maybe friends w benefits? that was js a side thought. but focus on them, accept them into your life, and allow them to make your life better! i also get the feeling they could have darker hair (dirty blonde at the lightest)!! masculine energy btw!

i got the need to ask if yall r gay but 💀💀 ok girl u slay!! i’m gay too!! dw!! nblm here girly 🤞🫶‼️

a new focus & what to reject

an older, calm spirit. they could be a father or grandfather — but they could also be the person in the romantic offer trying to support you. they may advice you to focus on the here and now rather than the future or the past. stay grounded in your truth and your faith. spend some time in nature, too! you really just need a minute to take a break.

is there a person with extroverted, wild energy? they may be an energy vampire. they could be a friend of a friend, and they might spread rumors around a lot. but don’t waste too much time with them. they could make you physically sick.

that’s all i have for you, pile two! i hope your messages resonated!! have fun :)

confirmation/additional signs: “on those we call”, rapunzel’s healing song, past lives, ancestors guidance, black panther, a calming energy, (air or water sign?), the colour purple (movie + colour), issues being grounded (root chakra?), Oh No! by Marina, knowing what you want but not knowing how to get there, knowing why you make actions you don’t want to, beating yourself up, spiritually, 555.

pile 3 — black cat, do you belong?

hello pile 3!! this is ur reading :)

how close is your reward?

i also heard goal, by the way, so this may have been something you’ve been working to for a while. your card was knight of wands. homestretch, almost. i keep thinking of soccer/football. that may be something you’re into, but i’m gonna use sports references now.

this is the final quarter, not even. there’s 3 minute left in the game. you know you can win this! i feel like you’re almost too carefree in this moment though. i mean you have a carefree spirit, so that’s good! but you need more focus. overall, i would rate you the highest of any pile, a 9! at the least it’s a 9, at the most you’re literally on the last step.

what do you need to remove from your energy?

nile and i both thought it was weird/important that ace of wands came out. this is a card that obviously symbolizes new beginnings, and it’s probably the most creative card too. it shows swiftness and excitement in a challenge. you need to remove your carefreeness just for a moment to be able to grab the ace of wands from the hand of the universe. i feel like you’re being a bit lazy, so don’t! reignite your passion!

this is what nile said btw (it genuinely made me laugh 💀)

“pile 3 shouldn't just think about what they want - they should act on it! I really don't have much else to say, maybe pile 3's guides think that there's no other way to say it - it's a one way or the other type of thing, you do it or you don't - chop chop”

what do you need to accept?

5 of wands is usually about fights and rivalry, but in this context nile got sports, and i totally agree.

i mean, sports already came up in this pile for you guys already, so i feel like spirit is saying join a club or do something with other people!! stop isolating yourself! you need to do something competitive, primarily because you like fighting in a friendly way (maybe sometimes a violent way! anger issues).

if there isn’t a sport you can join, maybe because of finances or time issues, be competitive! race against yourself! do something that makes you feel good!

“if not sports, then something at the very least that gives pile 3 a sense of competition; something that makes them feel like they have to put their best foot forward to reap the best rewards! this isn't something that will wait for them if they do things half-a-step, every once in awhile kind of pace or attitude.”

in other words — DONT GO SLOW, GIRL! ACT LIKE ITS THE LAST THING U GET TO DO!! RUN!

a new focus & what to reject

focus on relationships. i want to say i get the feeling most of u guys are shifter and shifting for someone, but i could just be biased and projecting bc this like really resonates and resembles me in a lot of ways — and it’s scary!

anyways, there’s some romance in this pile. someone who has a calm spirit, maybe cold on the outside but warm on the inside. they may have been sending you signs that you haven’t been picking up much. or maybe you have been picking them up but you aren’t making an effort to reach out or you just forget easily. i totally get that, by the way, but try to put some time and focus into this romantic offer! even if it’s not in this reality, or in your mind (be delulu, and may it become trululu). nile also got this person may not want a romantic offer, but idk abt that one. getting a strong sense this is a romantic offer.

ok, sports coming through again! maybe you’ve been thinking about them a lot, but for some reason it’s in the context of something to reject. maybe this is a coach or a controlling person in a sporting way? maybe someone from your past? someone who thinks with his head, not his heart. they aren’t very emotional, and they could be cruel to you.

“maybe pile 3 is getting offers for more than one team/group? if that's the case, then I think pile 3's guides is saying to avoid the one(s) that have no-nonsense, frownie face leaders, the type of person to cut down any chances of fun and straight-up running things like a marine. whoever this is, they're way too tough on everyone else and they're allergic to fun, their authoritative stance prevents the teammates from develop a bond with each other, and this energy would probably damper pile 3's motivation.”

i’m gonna be so for real, pile 3, i had to hold off posting this pick-a-card because of yall — it’s not bad, by the way! it’s just that something that i need to say to you guys — its a personal message, i believe. i was talking to a friend, sigyn (love u girl, even if you don’t see this), and she made me think about my own journey with shifting and breaking out of a shell. i said these words: “but man, even tho i’m scared, i don’t care, because my happiness… no, im worth more than fear.”

i feel like this was what i was missing no matter what happens, no matter how scared you are of success or messing up, you are worth more than fear. it cannot hold you. and, as i said before, do it with fear. be like miles morales, jump off that roof fucking BACKWARDS. fear cannot control you, you control it. omg i’m about to cry, but you guys, fear is not all. i promise you this. if you need to talk about fear and how to get over it, send me an ask and i’ll dm you. this is not the end of this journey, nah man, this is the beginning of your life. i love you pile 3.

that’s all i got for you, pile three! wishing you the best, and i rlly hope your work pays off before the new year :) i know how hard it is to keep motivation, and keep moving after such a long time of hard work, but know it will all pay off in the end. nothing {bad} can last forever, as all things must come to an end.

confirmation/additional signs: football, hockey, sports in general, Doja Cat, fire truck (victim of sa), food, especially salads or greens, “almost there”, “i can’t give up now; i have to prove them wrong,” getting back what you lost, anger issues, self doubt, the colour blue (throat chakra?), 2020 music 💀💀 (my heart went oops by tiagz came on…! and so did savage by megan thee stallion), chaos, thriving in chaos, not from the us, barbie, sia, black and white, contrasting colours, i know better by noahfinnce — “and i won’t stop running until i hear the sirens coming…”, not stopping until you get to your goal, “i’m just ken” — ryan gosling, 69, miles morales, impulsive decisions, 555, 999, alien blues.

thank yall for reading my first pac on this blog !! it was really fun, and i hope to do it again soon <3

[queenpinesofdomino]

You know why the conversation between Sally and Poseidon is so good and has us losing our shit?

Because of ✨context✨.

I feel like these days the majority of the scenarios don't show you the way the character feel but just the way that they act. Which sometimes those two things are different. Do you know where was the last time that a show showed us well written context behind actions and words? In that kiss scene in Good Omens.

The conversation between Sally and Poseidon is so amazing because it appears that it's just two parents talking about the future of their child, which it is, but it also turns into a conversation between a couple who still loves one another but for reasons can't be together.

Let me show you how I analysed this moment.

So here Poseidon is stating a fact. That Sally doesn't want to sent Percy away and she's responding truthfully that she doesn't. The context behind her multiple no's is :

No Im not ready to separate from him yet

No I don't like the idea of him being away from me

No I can't lose him yet because i feel it'll be like losing you again.

And now you'll say "where do you get the last one from pines?

From here.

"Tell me why" I believe has a double meaning as a sentence.

1 tell me why you can't lose him yet and get it out of your system

and

2 tell me you still love me and miss me

The way he said it with much longing and so strained, in my opinion, that I feel the context behind it is:

"Tell me why you can't lose him. Tell me that you see me in our son. Tell me you miss me because I can't tell you how I feel."

Thats why Sally says "you don't wanna hear why" and if you watch carefully youll see them chuckling a little.

She says "you don't wanna here because if I tell you we both know you'll drop everything and come to me and that can't happen."

I don't have the full subtitle here but Poseidon says

"but you have no one to say it to, and maybe that's the most unfair part of it"

Meaning you don't have any one else who understands what's like to raise a demigod and also you don't have any one else to lean on, to listen and comfort you when things get rough. And that's unfair because I want to be here for you.

And then he says the line that's literally my new roman empire

"YOU SAY IT AND I WILL LISTEN"

(screaming in a pillow)

Context "I will drop everything and come to you if you tell me to. You call me and I'll be here in seconds just like I did now"

I can't this is killing me..

Then we have Sally turning the subject again on Percy with the "I want him to know who he is, before your family tells him who they want him to be" only to counter it with

"he is better than that" and context wise I'm sure she says "you are also better than that. Than them."

I think that, because the camera points at Poseidon at than moment and the when Sally says " he has better things in him than that" she takes a little credit for her contribution into who Percy is, which honestly fuck yeah girly you deserve all the credit, and that's when the camera points at her.

Then Poseidon starts explaining her how the situation is going to be and how it'll be for both her and Percy and he finishes with this

Which also has me screaming and crying on the floor because so far is the closed he's got to look at her. So far he looks down or up front.

And he's so poud of her and I'm... I can't.... He loves her so much......

And because it's obviously a very sensitive sudject emotionally for Sally who's trying to move on or to focus on her child she changes the subject (kinda) again by asking Poseidon

And here we start seeing context purely for Poseidon

I can't post more pictures, but he turns and side looks at Percy and you can seeee that he's considering it very much. He almost says yes. It's so tempting and devastating for him. Only for Zeus to throw that thunder. At first i thought it was Poseidons thunder (as stormbringer) to represent his inner conflict but while I was waiting for it to be heard I noticed that it took to long and that his face didnt show resignation until after it struck. So I strongly believe that, that was Zeus warning him about interving.

And thus we reach the ending monologue where Poseidon states that when Percy is ready, as his mother sees fit he will be at his sons side supporting him as he very much wants.

I swear the context here is so good I'm gonna be thinking about it for days.

Now I'm gonna cry watching Sally/Poseidon edits on the clock up because I physically can't :')

[crows-ramble]

I have a lot of thought with this new chapter and mostly just todoriks not hawks for now, i make my life easier and go charater to character.

Spoilers 426 of Mha

Fuyumi: I dont have much to say about her more then I wish we got hear more how she feeling now and what how she wanna move forward more then getting a new job. But I be saying her new hair cut is cute.

Natsou: Im happy Horikoshi did not ruin his character by making forgive Endeavor and stick to his words and cut of Endeavor and more forward with his girlfriend. I love that he never shown as bad person for choosing that, its just how he want to move forward to be truly happy.

Enji: I'm glad he reterie from being a hero but i dont like he did not have a choice anyways. It would be more impact full if he could keep going but choice to retire to pay attention to his family and Touya specilfly. I feel sure he got physicaly disable but that not really a concicent from being abusive but more just being a pro hero.

Rei: She got sidelined so bad just so we could focus on Endeavor, she said how many things she wanna say but never got to see it. I know they said touya could only talk for a few minutes per day but god i wish we got to hear her say something. If not with touya self at least how she felt outside ahe have to feel so much seeing her son like that after all those years. Also for some reason i have bittersweet feeling how she got similar haircut now like before she got married and scar on the same side as Shouto. Also hate the fact it look she the care taker of endeavor even if she trying to be a better mother she sjould not need to take care of her abuser no matter what.

Shouto: i don't have much to say about him as his devaloment since most likey see more of again in these last chapter but it went as expacted in a good way. But i be honest i love how we again got to see how his way of showing love with others is thrue food. And he willing to ask about Touyas favorite food to try get closer to him even in the state Touya in.

Touya: Im devistaed over his end. I know he proably would not be completly fine in the end but that he was just slowly dying.It hurt both for him since he deserved to be able to move on to live for himself and sad for Shouto to be fighting so hard just for him to be slowly dying. He was able to reach Touya out of Dabi just for his effort to be for so little compard to his effort. I am happy we got a moment where Touya apoligized to Shouto showing how he got reached and proably regrat what thier realtionship endup like and finally saw his brother as his just little brother and not a masterpeace that took endeavor away from him. I like how both Touya and Shouto got the same favorite food and even in small scales they got paralles. (Loved even as he slowly dying he still got his sass against Enji.)

[angelmichelangelo]

If you had to split the four animated show turtles into equally portioned groups of four for a crossover fic/if you were writing a special, how would you go about it?

Rules: Every group must have 1 of each turtle (one Leo, one Raph, one Donnie, and one Mikey), and they must be from different shows (one 1987, one 2003, one 2012 and one Rise).

oh! this is such a fun question! :D

ok so it terms of which turtles i'm picking, that is really tough. if we're going off of the plot i just made up in my head then i guess the following makes SOME sense so strap in because im kinda making this up as i go haha:

so for leo, i think i'm gonna have to pick rise: he's new to the whole leader thing, still finding his feet even after the krang invasion -- plus if im writing this thing, i'd like to imagine it's one of leo's portals that end them up in this situation in the first place.

for raph i'm thinking 2007: he's rough around the edges slightly older but yet very bemused by these other versions of his brothers. plus i just think 2007 raph is very cool. 2007 turts don't get enough rep so he's there!

for donnie it'd have to be 2003: he's one of my favourite donnie's and as someone who's already experienced a trans-dimensional turtle universe crossover he brings some knowledge to the table. i also would just think it would funny to see rise leo and 2003 donnie interact based on how vastly different each version of that character is.

and mikey i'm going last ronin. i have a reason for this so just sit tight lol

more under the cut because this gets REALLY long oops

in terms of plot:

so it's set after the events of the rise movie. things on earth are slowly yet surely moving forward; the city is being rebuilt, the turtles have yet another new home to make theirs. casey jr is settling in pretty well into his new family. things are looking up!

leo is still their leader and raph is more than overly proud of how far he's come since the beginning of the movie's events: he's taking things more seriously, he's working hard! to leo's brothers, things are coming back together again. it's all good!

but to leo, not so much. see leo puts on a good face and can act like he's doing better, but deeper down than just that surface level, he's not doing so hot. he's really struggling. he's going through The Works of all of his ptsd and trauma but behind closed doors, mostly because he thinks he's the only one still struggling with the effects of the previous events. casey jr like mentioned, is doing well after everything, and with everyone seemingly moving on, leo feels kind of stupid for how he feels, feeling like he's falling behind and he doesn't know why.

so that's why he's pushing himself pretty hard. trying to throw himself into training and such to 'toughen himself up'. he's maybe a little harder on his brothers as a result which brings up some tensions. im gonna focus on the leo mikey dynamic here because i love me some baja blast but also because this'll be plot relevant later. so maybe they're kicking street gang butt. and mikey is goofing around a little as he does it, mikey-ing it up like he does, and in the midst of the fight, maybe leo has a bit of a flashback, bringing on a panic attack that goes a little unnoticed, and as a result, he lashes out.

he comes down hard on mikey, shouting the odds about maybe being more careful or paying better attention all that jazz, before raph and donnie step in and are like. hey woah. theres no need for that.

leo is still having his ptsd panic attack; it's clouding his judgement and obscuring his thoughts. donnie gets defensive (because hey! they're just teens and they're not perfect at recognising their own and others emotions!) and maybe yells back and leo in his brothers defence.

leo feels like they dont get it! they dont understand what he's going through but feels too ashamed or afraid to ever voice it, so it kind of all bottles up inside and makes him angry and hurt, hence why he's kind of lashing out right now. he's just scared, above all, that he's not like his brothers and they're better at handling their issues than he is, and whether or not that makes him a worthy leader.

this all causes a big fight between him and his brothers (after their beef with the street gang is over btw) and leo goes to storm off, still subtly fighting off the panic attack and goes to portal himself home except... his swords don't take him home.

leo somehow ends up in an entirely different universe. one that feels strangely similar to the prison dimension, panic now dialled up to like a million, he's REALLY not having a good time right now, and as a result, his mystic energy kind of just, waters out and he's struggling to make a portal back home. this just makes him flail even more, and because of it, he fails to see the synjas (because we are in the last ronin verse now baby!) but is saved last second by someone pushing him out of the way.

they take cover, maybe there's a bit of a scuffle between this unknown turtle and the synjas (think SAINW moment where mikey came outta the shadows) because it is in fact 2003 donnie!

leo is completely confused because.. how?! is this donnie?? there's some brief introductions before they go to take shelter and leo is asking like a million questions because he has NO idea whats happening until donnie breaks it down to him after they find a safe place to hide it out.

see, 2003 donnie knows about alternative universes and such (SAINW + turtles through time) so i guess im kind of serving him as a bit of expositional dump here for leo, but also because i think this donnie would be a good match against leo’s panic and fear. he’s really helpful at fielding leo through his attack and gently explains that his leo back at home goes through the same stuff to which rise leo is like. oh great, we’re all pathetic. cue donnie looking sad making that :< face i love lmao. 

so after it’s established that they’re in a different universe, donnie explains that he kind of just woke up here. leo gets a feel that perhaps his mystic energy might have been at play here, so he tells a white lie and is like. oh yeah me too lol how crazy! and feels again, ashamed of himself that he might have done this to poor donnie. 

it’s shown that shredder is now ruling over the city and this is kind of… a bad timeline. donnie doesn’t give too much away but leo can tell he has… ahem. certain experiences with a similar situation but donnie assures him that as long as they stick together they’ll be fine, and if they ended up here somehow, theres probably a way back home too. 

it doesnt take long for the synjas to find them again, a hoard of them this time overpowering leo and donnie and they’re getting their asses kicked something crazy until there’s the sound of a motorbike revving and boom. in comes 2007 raph. 

he doesn’t necessarily save them but him being so badass inspires the others to push a little harder and eventually the three of them escape together. raph has the same questions as leo had, similar situation where he explains he kind of just woke up here.

donnie cant be certain what the reason is as to why they’re here, but is set on figuring it out after they deduct that donnie is, as always, their brains of the team. so whilst they find a place to hide for the night, they get talking. they come to find that with some varying differences, their lives are kind of the same in a sense. 

raph and donnie are breezing through all the shit they’ve been through, listing off The Horrors and again leo is there listening like.. well THEY seem fine! wtf is wrong with me!! and kinda closes himself off because he feels even more stupid now. UGH LEO !!

raph sees this and tries ribbing him a little like. oh classic leo move you think you’re so tough and you’re better than us yada yada just because he wants him to open up (and maybe this raph was raised on a little more tough love than the others) but it doesnt work and leo snaps at him and tensions are now rising. donnie ever the pacifist and peacemaker reminds them that if they wanna get out of this hell hole its gotta be together as a team.

that’s when it’s mentioned that technically, they don't really have a full team.

cutaway to a turtle (who could it possibly be!) standing before the city on like a hill with lightening cracking because. dramatics and whatnot.

the next day, things are still rough and leo hasn’t slept much and maybe donnie is fussing over him, but leo shrugs him off and is like. IM FINE >:( and so donnie gives him some space as the 3 of them head out to go find some info about this universe they’ve found themselves in. 

they end up finding out kind of like the base level info about the last ronin verse, wondering if maybe the turtles exist at all here since they haven’t seen any. 

leo is still brooding and stuff and still festering a bit of guilt when maybe raph is like. man i need to get home to my brothers this place sucks (he has seperation anxiety remember). and maybe donnie is having his own ptsd and leo feels even WORSE because OH. they… they are suffering just as much as he is. oops. 

and then boom they’re attacked again by synjas whom of which overpower them this time and take them to oroku hiroto (grandson of the shredder) who is like. bro what. all these turtles??

so whilst shredder jr jr tries to figure out whats happening here and whats going on, the turtles are put in captivity where leo now kind of just, has a full blown meltdown. he regretfully admits that this was all HIS fault and that he brought them here by mistake and hes just a screw up and and hes nothing like THIER leader leo and he isnt cut out for this!! 

and donnie and raph are like. WOAH!! pause. take a breath. its alright.

leo thinks theyre just being nice out of well. niceness but raph is like, you think my leo is perfect? he left us for months without a word because he was so caught up in his own head because of all the shit he went through, he aint perfect. 

and donnie is like. yeah lol same with my leo tbh.

and then does leo finally start to recognise that he’s not supposed to be perfect. he still however feels like hes miles behind from his brothers in terms with coping with his trauma and donnie is like. UM HELLO? and explains that this whole situation has been messing with his head because of HIS own trauma. raph too, with his separation anxiety, and they both explain that its not a race, and chances were, his brothers back home were probably hiding aspects of it too, like leo is because they’re all just as stupid as each other, through universes. 

leo is like. HUH. okay that makes sense lowkey so thanks but um.. aren’t we about to die :/

shredder comes and is like. yep real BUT THEN!!

enter last ronin mikey. he rocks everyones shit and donnie leo raph are just :O in awe because oh. THERES their little brother lmao

mikey manages to free the others as hiroto escapes when leo is like. where tf were YOU the entire time lmao.

mikey is like. in the shadows, duh, you guys are terrible ninjas. lmao. and now that it’s established that it was leo that brought them here, they believe its up to leo to get them home. 

so since being captured their weapons have been taken away so together they devise a plan to get them back as they run around the shredders lair. chaos and action ensue, imagine them all being very badass and helping one another as they kind of.. like face their fears and stuff that show leo that recovery isn’t perfect and linear and all that:))

there’s also a moment where mikey maybe is with leo and as they catch their breath hes like. oh yeah i overhead what you were worrying about and dude just know that you can only heal when you heal together like dont do it alone. leo then notes that if this is last ronin’s universe then why is he alone and then the penny drops and hes like… oh:(( right

last ronin mikey gives him some real wisdom about how trying to move past your traumas alone sucks, and that he personally doesnt have much of a choice, but rise leo does, much like how 2003 donnie and 2007 raph and all the other versions of the turtles DO. 

he tells him that it started with just them four and in every other universe, it ends with them too. 

cue the emotional swell of music idk lol

they get leos swords as mikey holds back the shredder and now with the power of friendship lmao leo gets his mystic energy working and with some heartfelt goodbyes, sends both donnie and raph back to their homes. leo cant hold the portal open forever and as mikey remains struggling to keep shredder away leo begs him to maybe come with him, where he can find him a better home with a better outcome. 

mikey says something like. ‘nah, kid, this is my destiny. go get your own,’ and then leo either leaves or mikey pushes him through. 

leo ends up back in the lair, stumbling through the portal to his unbothered brothers. to them, he’s maybe only been gone a couple hours. maybe they say something tongue in cheek like. “man, you took your time. what you took a detour to south america/japan to get here?” and then leo just bursts into tears.

all previous tension is GONE and they’re rushing to him like. omg what:(( whats wrong?

he breaks it down to them now that a LOT is wrong and that he was sorry but he’s not coping all that well after the invasion still and thought he could handle it on his own. 

maybe them mikey comes forward and is like. hey. we handle it together or we dont handle it at all. kind of a callback to what ronin mikey told him. cue lots of hugs and warm fuzzy feelings. and thats the end.

SO YEAH. i made this up as i went along. i dunno!! im not big into writing multiverse turtle fics but this was fun to imagine as an episode or like a mini tv movie or something:)) lmk what you thought because i just have a lot of feelings about traumatised turtles going through their shit lmao

THANKS FOR THE ASK sorry this turned into the longest thing ever lmao

[5-htagonist]

psychiatry pisses me off so fucking much because WHYYYYY is medicine prescribed like that.

schizophrenia: youre crazy so i dont believe ur experiences. Heres a higher than necessary dose of an antipsychotic to get you under control ensure yours and others safety <3 whats that? youre less fulfilled on the medicine? welll at least you arent an evil scary killer. Also this is definitely your only and worse problem and no one cares about your diet or habits.

autism: youre a child so i dont believe ur experiences. Lets reprogram you and give you stimulants typically for adhd so youll control yourself and stop being so angry and impulsive and emotional and focus on what i want you to. This is your only and worse problem so im not going to consider that you might have adhd or that youre overstimulated and your environment should change.

depression: everyones depressed so heres the pills you know what to do. This will fix it and if it doesnt well just switch over and over and if no medicine works well call you treatment resistant. ill recommend therapy but keep medicating even if i know it wont help without therapy. Whats that? you need your material circumstances helped? Well nothing medicine and therapy can do about that ha ha ha.

like. OBVIOUSLY. a lot of the time mental health medications are NECESSARY!!!!! NECESSARY for intervention. ideally, you should focus on your diet first. then focus on your sleep and circadian rhythm. then focus on movement (NOT exercise. you dont need to exercise you just need to MOVE!). THENNNN if those things are in check TO THE BEST OF YOUR ABILITY then medication should be approached. and therapy and support can be present at every step.

of course that cant happen for everyone. if youre in the midst of a majorly life disrupting psychotic, depressive, manic, or other intense mental health crisis... yes you might want medication to be your first line. it is HARDER to take care of diet, rhythm, and movement if you are having mental health issues. but systematically speaking, the amount of focus on medicine and therapies OVER diet rhythm and movement is not helpful, actually. its this weird conception that the Physical Doctors are for all that, and the Mental Doctors fix your brain. have you ever cut sodas and other high-sugar concentration foods from your regular diet? that alone can improve symptoms of depression and brain fog. i dont know. i get frustrated.

i just. i love medicine, i really do... starting adhd medicine from a younger age improves outcomes regarding early death, addiction, life satisfaction, educational attainment, job stability, and more. the earlier you start, if you need it, the better your outcomes. its been miraculous for me. even something as basic and unhealthy as me being a stupid piece of shit stoner is affected positively. i have less stimulus seeking behaviors, so i dont run out nearly as often. the impulse to buy doesnt come up as often, because i dont burn through everything just trying to meet my psychological need for stimulation. likewise, multiple family members are on the same antidepressant as me. i was on the track to totally shutting down when i started them at 12. being stable enough to manage my anxiety and pay attention to my sensory needs was life saving. with my adhd being untreated and undiagnosed at the time, i still wasnt on top of everything. even medicated i struggle with hygiene. but with my antidepressant i stopped ignoring so many of my sensory needs. so at the very least, i had indicators like hair and smell that i could no longer ignore. i love medicine.

but RAAAAAAAAUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I HATE PHARMA I HATE PSYCHIATRY

[agirlwithglam]

Hey, Vanilla!💕

I'm having a problem at school. I'm already in the final stretch of this school year and I have a bit of an idea what's going on. There was this guy in my class I was with for almost a month, and it was really intense, my feelings for him. Everything seemed perfect between us, but after a few weeks, he just seemed to want to run away from me. He'd say he liked me, but then say the problem was him, and it was clear he had emotional baggage. I tried talking to him about it, but it seemed like he didn't want to fix things; he always dodged me.

I could tell you many other things that happened, but I don't want to drag it out. Okay, so we drifted apart, but I always held onto the hope he'd come back and we'd work things out (I feel silly now for thinking that back then). Then, one day, he just showed up, dating another girl (found out through a friend). I felt uneasy when I heard, like I'd been used, just another conquest for him. But, even upset, I moved on.

But then on Monday, he started attending classes again (he rarely went due to work). I can't stand his presence; being around him makes me anxious, to the point my hands shake like I'm freezing all day. Honestly, all I feel when he's near is disgust. My friend gets mad at him because she knows what he did and how he still checks me out when I'm distracted (she keeps me posted). I try to ignore it, but can't focus on my tasks.

I've only shared this with one friend because I feel like she understands me best. I'm telling you this because I want to know how to deal with this situation. Transferring schools isn't an option since I'm almost done with the year, as I mentioned earlier, and switching classrooms isn't possible either (I spend the whole afternoon in the same classroom 😭 because, in Latin America, we don't have different classrooms and materials for each subject).

I don't want to talk to him because being near him makes me nauseous, and I've already tried that when we were closer. The worst part is how calm he seems, like he's unaffected; it makes me angry, and I feel like crying – I can't explain it. Please, help me out Vanilla 😓

(Sorry for my bad English 🥹)

hi princess 💓

ok first of all, i need you to realise and understand that you deserve better. you understand? this boy obviously has some problems which are HIS. its not your job to help or save him okay? especially if he's treating you like this.

also honey, cry. just let it out. let yourself get super upset and tear up papers. embrace this part of being a girl.

and also, distract yourself. i know he's in your class and it feels like he's just in your face, as if trying to flaunt the fact that "he doesn't care", but guess what? it's none of your business! whether he cares or not, ITS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.

what you need to do is put your head down and focus on your own life. your friends, family, health, mindset, grades, career, future, YOURSELF. okay?

also one more thing, heal. maybe theres a part of you that relates or something which makes you feel so angry and emotionally intense around him. idk, im not a therapist or psychiatrist or anything but it might help to speak to a professional or search something up on a trustworthy website.

also off topic but your english? its so good i felt like i was reading a literal story/ book.

i apologise it isnt a lot to go on but i figured that it would be better for me to at least give you something bc if i left it in my drafts im afraid i may not get to it in a whiiiiiiiile.

xoxo, vanilla <3 keep shining!

[genderqueerdykes]

hi im a nonbinary person (they/them pronouns) and im wondering if you or your followers have any advice on staying closeted for extended periods of time! im a young adult who has only come out to a few friends but i have to stay closeted from my parents for the forseeable future (i want at least to make sure i have a good support network first in case things really don’t go well). i luckily now have a job and live in a different city than them, so i’m able to present how i want, but im finding it very stressful to be navigating this half-closeted situation. im hoping that my parents might come around eventually & i won’t have to cut them out of my life entirely, but i know that coming out to them will be a very emotionally distressing process for me so i dont want to do that either. do you have any advice on my situation?

hello there!

i totally understand that feeling, a lot of us end up living double lives while we are staying somewhere where it's not safe to be out. it was not safe for me to be fully out when i lived with my family because whenever i tried to come out i was just mocked and made fun of so i didnt mention it at home or ask to be referred differently.

if you're able to, try to focus on building up your support network, and the amount of irl activities you can attend that will make you feel more like yourself. allow yourself to interact with the queer community when and where possible, when it's safe, and try to at least get some sense of identity enrichment in the mean time while you worry about how to address things with your parents

i've noticed a lot of the time confidently going ahead and doing something helps more than trying to have a conversation, because people can corner you in conversation and try to make you defensive, or to back down, but if you've already gone ahead and made that change without them, they can't do much to stop you, they just kinda have to accept who you are. sometimes people hear terms like trans or nonbinary and think it's just a "kid thing" or a phase or whatever and don't realize that means a lot of the time you're going to actually change and that's what you need in order to be happy

pursue what you can where you can that will bring you joy and if you do find the words to bring it up to them, power to you. it's something that you don't deserve to hold off interacting with until you're compeletely independent. the conversation with them may go better after you've moved out, dependig, but you should be able to live your life at least quietly in the mean time. you're not alone, a lot of us have dealt with this, and it's hard, but you deserve to be yourself while being safe

if we think of anything else or get any anons for you, we'll let you know! take care in the mean time, stay safe, good luck in your journey!

[booasaur]

As someone at 27 y/o bi leaning towards women.. who’s born in a country that doesn’t support lgbt rights and also in the closet because of homophobic dad/relatives, im honestly so upset by this. The only way I can live my truth is to live vicariously through the wlw media that I consume and it fuckin hurts. It’s heartbreaking that even just being who I am is impossible and the only way I can is being ripped away from me. I don’t know how much more I can take, especially during pride month

Oof, I get you, anon. When it's your only outlet to something that for others can manifest in so many life-changing ways, crushes, first kisses, dating, sex, marriage, children, it can be so stifling when even the one avenue you have is closed off. And however far away it's happening, it's a reminder of the same homophobia and restrictions you see right around you, so it feels even more hopeless, knowing that in places that are supposedly better off, there are still these major battles to be fought.

I don't know your exact situation, but here are some of the things that helped me come to terms with these same frustrations:

First, focus on individual people more than trends. That's tough to do, for sure, especially when, again, you see so much homophobia directly around you so it seems ubiquitous, but if you're particularly taking WN's case to heart, remember that as much as Netflix tried to shut it down, the cast and crew fought for it! For all these cancellations, there are people who made the original media in the first place and tried to keep it going. It's not hopeless, there's so much support and so many allies.

This next part might be hard to accept, and you know, maybe it's not what'll work for you, but for me, I really did have to learn to not get really deep into any one show or ship. When things are good, they're so good, it all sucks you in, you check the updates all the time, and maybe most importantly, there's this whole community you become a part of. But when you lose it, not if, because in f/f you will, even if things end well, there aren't enough people to keep it going, the more you've made it a part of your life, the more you feel that loss.

All fans should exercise moderation and keep things in perspective, but I'm speaking more to people like us, who don't have anything in real life to balance out what we experience through media.

I answered this ask a little late because I did get sucked up into other shows airing right now that have f/f and that doesn't negate the core issue, this will be the final season for most of them, if not all, but there's still something to get into, even just in f/f media. Perhaps you may prefer lesfic, or the f/f Youtube/Tiktok scene, or webseries.

It's also worth getting into non-media hobbies. Or, you know, at least consuming non-f/f media. I remember being angry at seeing the m/f couples in pretty much everything else while we couldn't have anything, so I just didn't watch anything at all and instead just did those elaborate adult paint by numbers and listened to comedy podcasts. And once I did feel more in the mood to watch stuff again, it was goofy sitcoms and old school murder mysteries, where it wasn't really like, oh, I wish this had more of us. :P

Lastly, it really does sting at you if you feel isolated and alone even from your own family, so try to see if there are other ways you can connect with them. Otherwise it just adds to your negative feelings to resent and fear them.

None of this may work for you, there are so many other possibilities, moving away, coming out, getting involved with LGBT organizations near you or just meeting other queer people, but I'm sure you've already considered those options and they're not currently doing enough for you. But I would at least give some of this a shot, try some distance at first, and hopefully it'll start to feel better. It really doesn't help that we're globally going through a pretty rough time, but just focus on feeling better yourself.

[mymindstv]

Steddie - Corroded Coffin or Hellfire stuff ideas

I get the usual shit of “You’re dating who?!” when the guys hear about Eddie with Steve, but I think there’s more ideas that can be explored

- instead of trying to stop Eddie from dating the former king of jocks or test him to see if he’s worthy, the three stooges take it upon themselves to get them together (que some half-baked brainstorming to create romantic openings which shows none of them a have romantic bone in their bodies combined, which either Eddie or Steve won’t notice, or just cause a chaotic mess)

listen, they’re weirdos, they’ve accepted that since they knew, but man does Eddie take the cake in being an oddity, they gotta give this man the best chance possible to look good, but after spying a date or two, it looks like they don’t need to help, Steve’s pretty into Eddie’s weird and is also off-putting himself

- rockstar drama, in some stories Eddie’s in a new band (even read a cute one shot with Erica & Argyle playing in the band), kicked out of his old band, or no longer in music because the guys fuck off after the whole “wanted for murder” witchunt (whether because they’re forced to stop interacting by family or they choose to stop hanging out with him(self-preservation, questioning how well they know their friend, seeing him on friendly terms with a former jock, etc))

maybe Corroded Coffins ends in an ugly argument, Eddie pissed at the people he used to be there for all the time leaving him in the dust (already lost the old trailer, maybe the guitar gets wrecked, his body and mind forever scarred, just so much has already been lost or taken), maybe the guys feel like they don’t know their friend anymore for a multitude of reasons (like Eddie refusing to talk about anything but unable to act like nothing’s happened), or silent stalemate where no one knows what to say, they just feel something’s changed and it’s not for the better so they drift apart

maybe sometime goes by people move to bigger cities, the guys are still in the music scene trying a name for themselves, something something find a cool place to play live advertising on diy flyers outside and surprise Eddies playing tonight (something something see him play, see who he’s playing with, and why is Steve Harrington here? maybe he’s on stage too), time to reconnect?

- also I get it, Steve plays nice with the hellfire guys because he’s turning a new a leaf, but he will remind motherfuckers how he earned the title of king among a bunch of knuckledragging jocks if they want to issues, Eddie’s not gotta stop it that’s what makes him hot under the collar (idk who needs to hear this but nice doesn’t equal doormat, that’s trend’s boring)

I guess this is more on the friendship side compared to romance, but in all my worlds, steddie still happens, it’s just not the main focus bc Im bad at that anyway