#tropey times tag

[narwhalandchill]

its been like. nearly a year (How.) already but i cannot lie theres Still a part in the back of my brain occupied with and being thoroughly entertained by the way that childes confirmed 4.0 complete self-awareness over waking up the narwhal at 14 recontextualizes some key liyue things leading to some very funny self indulgent scenarios in my head

like yes chili is old news its basic please excuse me for predictable popular ship crimes (do NOT however associate me w the crimes of fanon against their actual range. theyre peak to Me) but i just keep replaying the imagery of zhongli and childe back on their homoerotic Professional Working Relationship bullshit where their flirting passed the jkjk unless treshold of even remotely plausible deniability like 8 exorbitantly priced business dinners ago and theyre just like. doing that whole song and dance now neither committing to a move except zhonglis presently feeling moderately conflicted (but nonetheless fairly unfazed at) by the prospects of actually developing some sort of a thing for the harbinger hes supposed to puppet master into executing the major story climax of his 67-step retirement plan bc he turned out to be quite the strangely charming ginger specimen (to His weird fucking 6000 year old tastes at least. they deserve each other) with some fascinating life ambitions he cant help but be enraptured by.

but because hes still 100% Locked In on his entire plan zhonglis also just . simultaneously dual wielding his coy-ass "i like you and am taking it slow to Savor this developing relationship (Also bc of the Geo Archon Shaped Elephant In The Room) except am old as shit so my languid sense of time inadvertedly Automatically turns my behavior into an equivalent of the dark souls boss of playing hard2get" act (cue "waddup im ajax 24 and im in fucking agony with this hot funeral consultant". Yes they live like this) AND also meticulously theorycrafting like 12 moves in advance for his 6d chess play of leaving the most subtly crafted trail of breadcrumbs behind for the tsaritsas 11th to follow into the intended & completely "Coincidental" idea of unleashing the one particular sealed sea deity that zhongli Specifically wants momentarily released for his sweet 6k retirement party and graduation test for the nation hes helicopter parented for 3.7k years .

like. this is zhongli we r talking about the guy Absolutely has it planned out down to a fucking art like he has an entire branching path dialogue tree planned and memorized like its a visual novel for every possible way he can conveniently namedrop osial in a non-suspect way and also that he just happens to be sealed right over there across the harbor (what a coincidence!) and also to slip in the intel about the latent power of the sigil of permission etc etc. like zhonglis just out there doing all this massive galaxy brain computational work simultaneously while infodumping on an academic level about whichever subject childes latest random comment of amicable small talk happened to remind him of because in his helicopter parent in remission mind its Absolutely Critical that the idea about releasing osial occurs Completely organically in childes mind it Has to he Cannot risk revealing anything . (hes in remission not in recovery guys.) so like here we are. he requested notes from the tsaritsa Personally on the character of her 11th just to ensure every move was painstakingly crafted to draw him Specifically to the intended conclusion without risking revealing his true identity .

except. the thing . neither he. nor the tsaritsa . would have been informed of . is that this simply isnt childes first fucking rodeo waking up an eldritch city sized sea creature . and he is very well aware of this fact . he woke that beautiful wonderful beloved huge fucking narwhal up by himself had his brain chemistry Immediately and Irrevocably rewired as a direct consequence do you fucking think hes somehow stopped thinking about that singular moment for even a second since then???

yeah . thought so.

so what actually ends up happening in reality is theyll be on another definitely-serious-business-not-just-a-date and zhonglis going to get down to like dialogue selection part 10 of the 86 step conversation tree at Most where hes only beginning to like Vaguely allude to the key pieces of information involved but it turns out Because Hes That Guy (TM) And Has Been There Done That Before childes basic pattern recognition and sense of irony simply proceed to kick in Way ahead of time and hes Immediately perking up like Hey wouldnt it be really fucking funny if i wake up an eldritch sea beast Again . like just in case. as a last ditch effort .

and zhonglis just sitting there seeing the gears turn in his head as they enjoy their cringe fucking picnic (bc they just stare at each other intently like that nowadays its a thing. being in a room with them by this point is essentially a human rights violation) and is just completely fucking flabbergasted and lost on how in the hell childes speedran his way to that conclusion at what amounts to barely a 13% completion rate in his whole overkill fucking plan (just 1 of 3 contingencies btw) and its like yes he has his intended outcome but also precisely 0 idea on how the fuck said outcome was reached the way it was this fast . like hes still winning its His plan thats well underway and ahead of schedule but How

(pov: ur selling the concept of waking up destructive sea creatures to the guy who woke up a celestial body eating cosmic whale at 14)

anyway its truly beautiful i absolutely detest these two and have prime liyue AQ hijinks nostalgia now thank you for the lore drop that allowed this to become canon in my head hoyo

[emily-mooon]

Jancy is going to be endgame for two reasons:

1. Steven was the first person Nancy dated and following some love triangle tropes, the first person the tip of the love triangle dates is not the person they end up with

2. They did a trope reversal and made Steven the second male lead and Jonathan the male lead when in the beginning, it seemed like the other way around

Thank you for coming to my short TED Talk

[doritofalls]

kiyo sticks around au + notes on sister

[court-artist-under-the-stars]

Ooc // pre-tumblr, I actually had multiple stories! Not listed chronologically.

Anti-government multiverse theory story about four queer teenagers with various powers and their maze headquarters

An AU (???) of above story where two of the teenagers fall in love in, like, the most fanfic-tropey way possible (Some tropes include: Meeting in a coffee shop (one working there, the other being a sleep-starved college student), fake dating (for a ball), one of them Getting Sick and the other helping, one teaching the other how to do their version of art, etc.)

A story where a guy and girl fall in love but oops girl has Deadly Flower Disease (not the hanahaki thing) and dies before he can tell her he loves her

Very happy-go-lucky girl manages to have a (female) demon fall in love with her and have said demon banished from hell for falling in love with a human

Above story having demons be dead children?? Specifically this demon being a “demon of regret”, where a miscarried (/aborted? I’m not sure past me knew what abortion WAS) child was a “child of regret” and having a different look to other demons

Two magic twins, the god of magical knowledge and the goddess of magical energy. One cannot exist without the other, and with either gone, magic will be undone completely

Said two magic twins falling in love with two different characters: the goddess falling for a necromancer/bard combo, and the god falling for a prince, that, due to a controlling mother figure (not even his real mother, son of two women but kidnapped as a baby), could not speak “the common tongue”, and could only speak in an ancient language

A story where you (aka y/n) were roommates with a persona at the time, who had magical powers similar to error sans (I was an undertale fan pre-tumblr), but was corrupted by Shadow Magic Creecher and eventually succumbs to her corruption (this one I can talk about for AGES it was so fleshed out)

Different anti-government story about a teenager with powers finding out they’re destined to die and make the afterlife better for everyone, with more like, fluff in-between their plot points (Their villainous mentor figure finding love in a past rival and their sister figure fucking killing a guy out of revenge for her sister). This one is the most recent, and I can still probably make something out of this

Vague fairy species, positivity, negativity, and Bambi, one dying quickly, one living a human lifespan, and one who’s actively poached and hunted

And more!

Honestly, I can look through the old notebooks I had in 2021 and vaguely give you a description of Every Story I Ever Thought Up

[the-maladjustedjester]

The inherent eroticism between a condemned and their executioner

[rosielav]

I loved the bright sessions, reading your thoughts has been so interesting! There's two sequel shows to it (and a crossover with ars paradoxica)

Haha it's very nice that my thoughts are reaching the right audience! I love being wrong about things, being surprised, but it's also cool getting things right time to time.

What're the sequels to it? I'd love to have more stuff in the same universe :)

[time-was-over]

not to vaguepost but those takes are actually so bad holy fuck

[gothcsz]

imagine moving into your new apartment and finding out that javier peña is your next door neighbour 🤭

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers i think, sprinkle of angst, mutual pining, alcohol consumption, throwing up/vomiting mentioned (if you're squeamish to that kind of thing), javi being javi, untranslated spanish, smut, p in v sex, overstimulation, there are feelings involved, unbeta'd, no use of y/n, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

~ 4.2k w/c - gif found on pinterest - masterlist

a/n: i just want javier peña to look at me... is that too much to ask for?! this is tropey asf and not what i was initially thinking of writing when i got this ask—but i like how this lil one shot turned out. i hope you do too, bestie! 🖤

You’re in the middle of unpacking boxes in your new apartment, surrounded by a mess of your own doing, when a sharp knock on the door startles you. You weren’t expecting anyone.

Wiping your hands on your jeans, you head to the door and swing it open to reveal a striking woman. Auburn hair, sharp eyes—she’s undeniably beautiful, but her expression is less than friendly.

Her eyes narrow as she sizes you up. “¿Y tu quien putas eres?” she demands.

Before you can get a word out, she’s already pushing past you into your apartment, not waiting for an invitation. “¿Donde esta Javier? Malparido tramposo. ¡No te escondas de mí!” she continues, storming through your space like she owns it.

You stand there, dumbfounded at the absurdity, watching her move, her fury palpable. Your Spanish is still novice, at best, so you don’t really understand what she’s saying.

“Uh, I think you have the wrong—” you start, but she cuts you off again.

“Wrong, my ass.” She replies, her Colombian accent thick. “I know he lives here. All the Americans do—”

Your brain finally catches up and puts two and two together. She’s looking for Javier Peña. Your colleague and now, apparently, neighbor.

You’ve been quietly, hopelessly crushing on the agent since you started working at the embassy. And now you’re standing in the middle of your half-unpacked apartment while some furious woman is ranting about him.

You’re about to speak again when, as if summoned by the chaos, Javier himself strolls past your open door in the hallway. The woman halts, her eyes following him like a predator tracking its prey.

You see her face shift from righteous fury to utter confusion. It hits her finally—she’s in the wrong apartment, like you tried to tell her.

She mutters something you can’t understand, barely meeting your eyes before storming out, slamming the door behind her.

You stand there, blinking, still processing what just happened. If that was any indication on how things around here will go, at least you know you won’t be bored.

It’s later in the evening when there’s another knock at the door. You’re almost hesitant to answer, unsure if you’ll be met by another beautiful woman scorned, so this time you make sure to look through the peephole before blindly opening it.

It’s Javier.

You glance down at your clothes, suddenly self-conscious. You’re not exactly at your best, sweaty and disheveled from moving all day. Definitely not how you pictured running into him outside of work.

You take a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together, then open the door, “Hey.” You greet him, a little shy.

He leans casually against your doorframe, that signature smirk playing on his lips. “Sorry about earlier,” his deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. “Not the best way to be welcomed into the neighborhood.”

He glances past you, noticing the half-unpacked boxes scattered around your apartment, and you’re mortified for a second, wondering how messy everything must look through his eyes.

You laugh, though it’s a little shaky. “I, uh… didn’t know you lived next door.”

Javier grins, giving you a devastatingly handsome smile that you’ve only seen when he tries to bribe his way through some of the other girls at the office. “Yeah, been here since I moved to Bogotá,” his eyes linger on you, but you don’t notice with how you’re focused on not making a fool out of yourself. 

“Well I hope you and your… friend worked things out.”

He exhales through his nose in an amused laugh. “Somethin’ like that,” he says, sounding almost entertained by the whole thing. “I owe you for that inconvenience.”

Your heart stutters and you hope, no—pray, that your eyes haven’t morphed into hearts with the charming way he’s looking at you.

“It’s fine, really—“

“No, no. I insist. It was rude. The least I can do is make it up to you.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to back down, a stubborn man through and through, you give him a slight nod, trying to play it cool even though your nerves are buzzing. “Okay… sure, fine. You owe me.”

His smirk softens into a half-smile, a little less cocky. He pushes himself off your doorframe, straightening up. “Alright, cariño. I’ll see you around.” The word rolls off his tongue as if he’s said it a thousand times to you, but it lands right between your legs, sending warmth to your cheeks.

“Have a good night,” he adds with that enamoring gravelly voice of his.

You manage to mumble a goodbye, watching as he walks down the hall, his presence making the air feel electric. You’re left standing there, alone with the heavy realization that your harmless work crush just became a lot more dangerous.

Living next door to him is going to be torture.

Months go by, and torture would be an understatement.

You’ve developed an odd, friendly relationship with him. It’s not exactly what you imagined when you first laid eyes on him at the embassy, all brooding intensity and effortless charm, but it works.

You exchange casual greetings in the hallway, little snippets of small talk when you bump into each other at work. 

It’s... normal. Comfortable, in its own way. But every time he says your name, with that gravelly edge to his voice, something flutters in your chest.

He’s even taken it upon himself to help you with your Spanish, which is as endearing as it is embarrassing. On the days when you can steal a few moments to talk, he’ll have you practicing phrases, repeating them until he’s satisfied with your pronunciation. Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly amused, he’ll leave a sticky note on your door with a new phrase scribbled on it for you to learn.

It’s become part of your routine. Him giving you little bits of language, you trying to impress him with how quickly you can pick it up. You tell yourself it’s just a… fun thing, nothing more.

Then there are the nights when you’ve made too much dinner. You know that man doesn’t eat. Not properly, anyway. So you bring over a plate, standing awkwardly at his door until he opens it, shirt half-buttoned and hair tousled, like he just rolled out of bed.

“Brought you something,” you say, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens as his eyes flicker to yours, a mix of surprise and amusement.

“Thanks, cariño,” he takes the food from you with that half-smile that makes you feel like a damn schoolgirl.

But it’s not always like that. There are times when he’s away for days at a time. Out doing who knows what—your level of work doesn’t intersect with his at all. 

His return comes with whispers around the office or in the form of news broadcasts that seem to be reporting nothing but atrocities as of late.

In the dead of night, you’ll hear the sound of his boots echoing through the enclosed hallway, a sure sign he’s finally back. You wonder what he’s seen, what he’s done while he was gone. The thought keeps you restless sometimes, but you never ask. He doesn’t offer, either.

And then there are the women.

You hear them through the thin walls—his low voice, their laughter, the unmistakable sounds of them fucking. The rhythm of their pleasure reverberates through your apartment, impossible to ignore.

Every time it happens, you’re reminded of the rumors you’ve heard around the office. The whispers about Javier Peña, about how good he is in bed, about how women fall over themselves to spend a night with him. Now, you know firsthand that they’re true.

It stings more than you’d like to admit, considering how you feel about him but knowing that he doesn’t see you as anything but a friend. 

You’ve caught glimpses of him after his flings, too. You kind of wish you could wipe from your memory, if only to keep your sanity.

It’s during different times of the day, really, when he’s leaning casually against his doorframe like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s shirtless, skin still damp from a shower or maybe from the sweat he’s worked up, and his jeans hang sinfully low on his hips. The soft light from the hallway casts shadows over his golden chest, highlighting the faint beauty marks that map his body.

You do your best to keep your eyes averted, pretending you’re not affected, pretending you don’t notice the way his muscles flex as he stretches, or how his dark hair is tousled in that perfectly messy way. But your throat tightens every time, your stomach flipping at how effortlessly good he looks. It’s not fair how someone can make post-coital exhaustion look so damn attractive.

He’s usually saying goodbye to one of the lucky girls, tossing a wink their way, or brushing his fingers through their hair as they share a final kiss.

You tell yourself it’s just Javier being Javier, but it’s impossible to ignore the way jealousy twists in your chest when you see them, all blissed-out and satisfied, practically floating down the hallway after a night with him.

You turn your head, pretend you didn’t just catch a glimpse of him looking like some kind of god, and hurriedly unlock your door before he notices you staring. 

And sometimes, when you least expect it, he catches you.

You’re fumbling with your keys, doing your best to mind your own business, when his voice cuts through the silence. “Hey,” he calls out, casual as ever, and you freeze. Your hand stills on the doorknob, and you force yourself to look up.

Javier is standing there, half naked, leaning against his door as if he has all the time in the world.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, “Hey.”

“You alright there, cariño?” he asks, voice low and rough, like he’s barely holding back a laugh after watching you struggle with your keys.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just had a long day.”

He hums, his stare lingering on you, and your heart pounds in a way you can’t quite control. But then, as if nothing’s changed, he shifts back into that familiar, teasing grin.

“Okay, don’t work too hard. Can’t have you burnin’ out before me.”

It all comes to a head one night at the bar near your place. You’re out with a secretary from a different department, downing margaritas like they’re water. You’re tipsy—no, you’re drunk, and the world is spinning just a little too fast.

That’s when you see him. He walks in like he owns the place, scanning the crowded space until his eyes land on you. He acknowledges you with a jut of his chin and you smile drunkenly at him, waving, before you’re brought back to the conversation with your friend.

He’s here for work, meeting one of his informants—a very pretty, very obvious, working girl. You hate how seeing him with her swirls the green in your drunken heart.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, maybe it’s the months of pent-up frustration, but when Javier approaches as your coworker excuses herself to the bathroom, checking to see if you’re alright, your mouth runs faster than your brain.

“Don’t worry about me,” you slur, waving him off. “I’m sure you’d have more fun with her,” you add, nodding toward the woman with a sharp, sarcastic edge. “Probably more your type anyway.”

Javier raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting into a playful uncertainty, head tilting slightly. “What?”

You don’t know how to respond. Honestly, you’re not even sure you can form a coherent thought right now. All you know is that you’re in way over your head, and he is standing way too close.

But that liquid courage surges through your veins and the words are tumbling out of your mouth.

“It’s obvious, Javier,” your frustration is crystal clear, despite the way your words run into each other. “The kind of company you keep. They’re more fun,” You gesture vaguely toward his booth. “I’m just… here. A bore that’s drunk on a Wednesday night. It’s why you came to check on me. Why you’ve been overly nice.” Your words sting, even as they leave your lips.

The alcohol amplifies every insecurity you’ve kept buried.

The playful look on his face vanishes, replaced by hardened disbelief. His brows furrow, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to figure out how you could possibly think so little of yourself.

Instead of giving you an answer, he just reaches for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. “Come on,” he mutters, “I’m taking you home.”

You snort, shaking your head, another wave of dizziness washing over you. “See? Taking pity on me. Again.”

He rolls his eyes, unfazed by your drunken resistance. “That’s not what this is,” he pulls out a wad of cash and drops it on the bar top to settle your tab.

He makes sure your friend is taken care of, telling the bartender to call a cab for her. Then he goes to dismiss his informant—a woman he definitely had plans to sleep with. She seems surprised, but Javier brushes her off and hands her some money. 

Your drunken mind can’t quite comprehend that he’s choosing to deal with you instead. As he guides you outside, you make it difficult, stumbling and resisting as he tries to steer you toward his car.

“I can walk, Peña,” you grumble, though your legs aren’t exactly cooperating.

“Sure you can,” he says dryly, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you upright. “You’re making this real easy.” He comments sarcastically.

You’re so going to regret this tomorrow when you’re fighting a hangover at your desk, thinking of how you just fucked up this friendship.

But right now, you can’t focus on anything but how warm his large hand feels against your side as he helps you into the passenger seat.

Your head lolls against the window, and you groan softly. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. You could’ve stayed with her.”

Javier slides into the driver’s seat, glancing at you as he starts the engine. “Everything you said back there was bullshit,” he says bluntly, pulling out of the parking lot. “You think I pity you? That I only talk to you because I feel bad? You really don’t know me at all.”

His words are cutting, but not in a cruel way. He sounds… disappointed. “I like spending time with you,” he continues, quieter now, more serious. “It’s not some charity case. You make me feel normal. When I’m with you, it’s like the rest of the shit I deal with doesn’t exist.” The faint hum of the radio fills the sudden silence.

“You… you’ve got this smile that makes me feel a little better about myself.”

The sincerity in his voice sobers you up just a little, enough for your foggy brain to process what he’s saying. You turn to look at him, eyes wide, but before you can fully grasp it, your stomach lurches.

“Oh no,” you groan, clutching your middle. “I’m gonna be sick.”

He glances at you, and in an instant, he’s speeding up, making it to your complex faster than you would’ve thought possible. He parks hastily, helps you out, and practically carries you to your apartment. The second the door swings open, you make a beeline for the bathroom, barely making it in time to empty your stomach into the toilet.

You hear him lingering by the door, then the sound of running water as he fills a glass in the kitchen. You hate that he’s seeing you like this—pathetic, drunk, and embarrassed.

When you finally sit back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, Javier is there, handing you the glass of water. His expression is soft, more concerned than anything.

“Drink,” he orders gently, crouching next to you. His voice is soothing, and for a moment, the embarrassment fades under the warmth of his presence.

You sip the water, avoiding his gaze, but he’s not letting this go. “You okay?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

He sighs, settling beside you on the bathroom floor. “You’re not a bore. Don’t say that shit.” His voice is firm, but there’s an undercurrent tenderness beneath it.

Your head is swimming—not just from the alcohol, but from everything that’s happened in the last hour. 

You lean your head back against the wall, the glass of water in your hand almost empty. With a soft sigh, you begin to speak, your tone hesitant.

“Sometimes… I just feel average, you know?” you admit, glancing at Javier from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting quietly beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him,  gaze focused on some point on the floor. “Like there’s nothing more to me than this mediocre job, answering phones, filing papers. I mean, I didn’t move all the way to South America just for that.”

You pause, trying to organize your thoughts. “That’s why I transferred here. I thought maybe… maybe I’d find something more. Maybe I’d find me.” You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “But ever since I got here, it’s been nothing but monotony and homesickness. I don’t even know if this is where I’m meant to be.”

The words hang between you. You’ve never said this out loud to anyone, never let yourself be so transparent.

Javier doesn’t say anything right away, and it makes you think that maybe you’ve said too much. But then, you hear him sigh softly, his shoulders slumping as if your rambling has hit something deep within him.

He’s silent as he digests your confession, and you’re about to apologize for oversharing when he finally speaks.

“I get it,” he replies, low and rough around the edges. He shifts beside you, resting his arms on his now bent knees while he stares at the floor. “You’re not the only one feeling that way.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his agreement. You hadn’t expected him to relate—the sharp, confident DEA agent who always seems so sure of himself. He glances at you, offering a wry smile. “You’re not average,” his voice is firmer now, like he’s trying to make you believe it. “It takes time to figure out who you are, what you want. And if it feels like you haven’t found that yet, that doesn’t make you less than.”

There’s an irony in his words, and he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I should probably take my own advice,” he admits.

Your heart flutters at his reassurance, but you can see it in his eyes—there’s more. Something heavier sits in his chest, pulling him down.

“What about you? What’s weighing on you?”

Javier sighs again, leaning his head back against the wall like you. “This job,” he says simply, but you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “It’s… confusing. Difficult. Half the time, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. I thought I’d come here, do some good, but it’s just…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “I’ve lost myself in all of it. The work. The women. Because I don’t know what else to do.”

Your chest tightens as he speaks, hearing the vulnerability in his words. He’s always seemed so unshakeable, but now you can see the cracks in his armor, all that he’s been carrying. And then he turns to look at you, his expression softening.

“But you,” he says quietly, “you’re the one thing that keeps me grounded in all this shit.”

You look down, not believing that he’s actually saying this to you. You have to be dreaming. 

“Your smile, the way your eyes light up when you’re happy. Shit, even the way you butcher half your Spanish words with that accent of yours.” He chuckles, and despite the heaviness of the moment, you can’t help but laugh with him.

The tension breaks for just a second, and when you finally meet his gaze again, your breath snags. He’s already staring at you, his beautiful brown eyes gleaming.

You quickly look away out of habit, your heart hammering in your chest, but then he calls your name softly. “Mírame, cariño,” he says, all gentle and insistent.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to do so.

“I’m not just telling you this to score. I mean it.”

And you don’t doubt it for a second. However, the moment is too heavy, too intense for your tequila-soaked brain to handle. You can taste the lingering bitterness of the alcohol, your throat feels raw, and your head is already starting to pound. You’re too disoriented to fully process this moment that’s happening.

“I know,” you nod, picking at your cuticles, “I just don’t think right now is the best time to have this conversation.” Your words are punctuated by a hiccup and you bring your hand up to cover your mouth in fear of accidentally throwing up again.

Javier’s lips twitch with amusement, but he works his jaw, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. Not the best time,” he concedes, though the way he says it tells you he wanted this conversation to happen—needed it to.

“I just had to tell you. And if you genuinely feel like you don’t belong here then go home.” He tells you softly, though his cadence and the softening expression on his face say otherwise.

You glance at him, your lips curving into a weak smile. “While I do feel lost, I think half of all this is the margaritas’ doing,” you admit, your voice a little hoarse.

“Tequila’s dangerous like that,” he agrees with a small laugh, shaking his head. 

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to push through the embarrassment still swirling around inside of you. “I’m sorry about what happened at the bar,” you say quietly. “I didn’t mean to be so self deprecating.”

He waves off your apology, his expression relaxed. “It’s no problem.”

“Thank you for bringing me home, and for… opening up like that… I know it wasn’t easy.” Your voice softens as you say it.

He gives you a small smile, but his eyes linger on you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “You make it easy,” he says finally, the words leaving his mouth like a confession.

You sit there on the cool bathroom floor, your heart stumbling all over the place. Leaving isn’t an option anymore. Not when Javier Peña looks at you like this. Not after realizing that you mean so much more to him than you could have ever thought possible.

Javier hovers above you, his gaze locked with yours, filled with desire and adoration. Your legs are tightly wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, feeling every inch of him as his hips move suavely while he fucks you. 

His breath is hot against your neck, biting and licking at your skin. You can barely keep your thoughts straight, your mind clouded with the pleasure he’s stirring in you, the rhythm of his body guiding you to that edge again and again.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, his voice a low growl, “You feel so good, baby. I can feel how close you are... all for me.”

Your body clenches around him in response, a soft whimper escaping your lips as the pleasure tightens inside you, building and building. It’s the fifth time tonight he’s coaxed this out of you, and you don’t know how you’re still holding on.

His weight presses against you and your nails dig into the broad expanse of his broad shoulders, pulling him impossibly close. His chest, warm and slick with sweat, crushes against yours, and the hairs at the base of his cock graze your swollen clit with every thrust, sending shockwaves through you.

You gasp, your voice trembling with each word. “Javier... I can’t... it’s too much.”

But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t relent, instead he grins down at you, a wicked spark in his eyes, pressing his lips against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—kissing you everywhere he can reach while his other hand keeps your jaw locked in place, fingers denting into your skin.

His lips finally find yours in a messy, urgent kiss, swallowing your moans as your body tightens around him again. You’re lost in what he’s giving you, your world spinning as your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.

His hips stutter as he groans your name, his cock twitching inside you while he comes. He stays there, still buried inside, his body heavy and comforting as the world fades back into focus.

When he finally pulls away, his touch softens. He’s gentle as he plants tender kisses on your forehead, your nose, your lips. His hand caresses your naked side, soothing you as your breathing slows. He shifts then, pulling you close into the safety of his arms, his body wrapped around yours.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just relax.”

He stays with you, his hand tracing lazy circles on your back, murmuring soft reassurances until you’re completely at ease, your body melting into his.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @sunshinefive . @dinanabuu . @angiewatson .

[silusvesuius]

deux

this tree from my new drawing looking goated afffffff 👑👑

[ominous-feychild]

✦ MY WRITEBLR INTRODUCTION ✦

Hey! I've been here for a while and I've somehow amassed a shocking amount of followers and mutuals, so I figured it's finally time for me to force one of these out for you guys!

(And you know... a masterpost... when I get around to it. 😅😭)

About me:

✦ Barlowe (she/her)

✦ In my early 20s

✦ A writer of 10 years ✦ working on novels for 6 of 10!

✦ Less dedicated to—but still interested in!—drawing, animation, photography, and cinematography

✦ AuDHD and a grey lesbian (aka I'm leaning asexual) ✦ (my writing may or may not be a special interest)

✦ I have a whole bunch of other neurodivergencies besides AuDHD but I don't think y'all want me to get into all of them, haha. ✦ oh, and I say "haha" a lot. I apologize in advance.

✦ I think I'm hilarious and make jokes constantly

✦ I use a lot of emojis and tone tags to help convey tone. Please forgive me if it's annoying, it's to cope with my inability to communicate. /lh /hj

Masterlists:

✦ General ✦ Worldbuilding ✦ Sun and Shadow ✦ The Arcane Rifts ✦ Rising From the Ashes

(will be added eventually)

My Obsessions:

✦ Fantasy, horror, mystery, action, and exploration of realistic characters' reactions to the things they go through.

✦ Fairy tales, mythology, and folklore

✦ "Ye Olde History" and language

✦ DIVERSITY!!!

✦ Explorations of "evil-coded" characters and abilities--aka, not just showing them as evil. Show them as people (for characters) and tools (for abilities)!

✦ Traumatizing my characters just like I've been

✦ Traumatizing my characters in ways I haven't been!

✦ Learning!!!

✦ Talking way too much about the things I like to the point that I need to make a whole separate post to share it so it doesn't clutter my intro post... oh, hey, why is this linked?

✦ THE AESTHETIC!!!!

My Aesthetics:

Those who've been following me for a bit probably know that I adore "the aesthetic" and try to make my posts look nice... even if there's no real reason to besides that it gives me a little serotonin. Here's my favorite aesthetics!

✦ Starry; night sky ✦ Dawn / dusk ✦ Sunrise / sunset

✦ Nature! ✦ Forestry ✦ Cottagecore ✦ Rustic ✦ Ocean

✦ Literally all of them, please and thank you

My Writing:

✎ Sun and Shadow

Everything goes wrong for Freya Ula when she leaves her simple life as a fisherwoman to get engaged overseas. Her ship gets wrecked, she finds out her dad's been hiding secrets from her for her whole life, and, oh, she gets framed for a terrorist attack. Wait, WHAT!? After the city's greatest detective is attacked and disappears before she could consult with him, Frey has to enlist the help of his kid and her would-be fiancée to find out who framed her and clear her name. If only Crow was half as good a detective their dad was supposed to be.

Main characters: Freya, Crow, Daleira

✦ Urban-esque high fantasy ✦ purposely very tropey in places ✦ however, as always, I love throwing in curveballs. Wonder what's played straight and what I'm going to emotionally destroy you with. Definitely won't be Crow.

✦ Slow-burn romance between Frey and Crow ✦ immediate interest between Frey / Daleira ✦ oh, look, it's a love triangle? ✦ JOKE'S ON YOU, IT'LL ACTUALLY BE POLY ✦ it's just... going to take a while.

✦ Lesbians, lesbians everywhere ✦ though Crow is actually genderfluid and uses they/them for the first book ✦ despite barely having anything written I've already plotted a bit of book 2 ✦ I desperately need help.

✦ Unsurprisingly is a detective mystery with action mixed in ✦ I'm not typically a romance writer, I excel in action fantasy ✦ please have mercy on my soul

✦ Lots of magic, it's high fantasy + victorian aesthetic ✦ (aka "gaslamp fantasy" if you've heard of it) ✦ Frey's got sun-themed magic ✦ gasp, I know ✦ Crow's got shadow magic ✦ wonder why this sounds familiar ✦ Daleira's got, hm, well it's also shadowy! ✦ spoilers 😘

✦ About to be updated en-masse for a writing contest!!!

✎ The Arcane Rifts

Ghosts of past tragedies haunt the town of Kavo after decades of neglect. Fantastical creatures desiring nothing but fear and destruction hide in invisible tears in reality. Gangs and the police are at constant war with one another, there's a shapeshifting monster running amok, and the mayor's assistant suddenly wants a disabled orphan kicked to the streets. A year ago, Gene was discovered in the forest on the outskirts of town, half dead, amnesiac, and unable to even speak the local language. As he had nowhere to go, he was brought to the orphanage of Kavo for a place to stay. Now Caspar, the assistant of the mayor and the man who funds the orphanage, wants him kicked out. When Gene's left to the cold, cruel streets of Kavo on his own, he has to navigate through a town ravaged by decades of neglect and intrigue. Has the corruption truly been purged from the government? Why are godly forces active in Kavo, a small town in a backwater country? And most importantly--will Gene survive?

Main Characters: Gene, Tazin, Mislav, Ludmila, Rada ❧ Gene and Tazin for book 1 ❧ the other 3 start being MCs books 2 and 3 ❧ I guess Nikolai is also a MC tho

❧ Industrial-era rustic high fantasy ❧ mixes fantasy, action, horror, and mystery! ❧ oh helloooooo "ominous feychild" origin? ❧ very strong folkloric and traditional fantasy inspo ❧ except I mean "traditional fantasy" as in ❧ "we don't understand this magic stuff but we're used to it" ❧ not "travel the world adventures!"

❧ VERY involved story with strong themes of discrimination, poverty, exploitation, trauma, and the recovery from trauma ❧ each main and secondary character is one flavor of discriminated against or another in-universe ❧ obviously I try to write it respectfully, but you can't really write bigots being bigots "respectfully"

❧ Has two "main plots" going on simultaneously; technically three ❧ I periodically give the reader updated "character guides" ❧ like they get more recent plot info added kinda like a red-string board to keep you, the audience, up-to-date with info you might've otherwise missed ❧ I think it's really cool and people seem to enjoy it ❧ I know it seems like a lot but please give it a chance

❧ I've literally plotted out pretty much the entirety of the first and second books, and know most of how book 3 will go, yet there's very little out for the current version of the story ❧ part of that is because I'm paused on the 3rd draft

❧ There's lots of timeskips throughout the first two books, but they're mostly to age up the protagonists! Gene, the MC, starts the series at 7. I promise it's not a kid's story though.

❧ The "secondary MC", Nikolai, is the police chief investigating magical stuff going on at the same time. They tie in with the main story involving Gene, though won't appear to for a long while.

❧ The "golden child" series I love more than SaS; however it's on hiatus because I promised people to work on SaS first and SaS is more popular as a romance-focused story. :/ ❧ I would never be salty about that.

Taglist:

For everything: @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @thecomfywriter @an-indecisive-nerd

@seastarblue

For Worldbuilding: @paeliae-occasionally @pluppsauthor @thelovelymachinery

For the Existentials: N/A

For the Avatars: @thelovelymachinery

For Sun and Shadow: @mysticstarlightduck @paeliae-occasionally

For the Arcane Rifts: @paeliae-occasionally

For Rising From the Ashes: N/A

For the Storm Avatars: N/A

For the Order Avatars: @thelovelymachinery

For the Magic Avatars: N/A

For the Fire Avatars: N/A

For the Water Avatars: N/A

To be tagged in tag games: @honeybewrites @aalinaaaaaa

Ask and ye shall be added

Divider by @cafekitsune

[theharddeck]

your love is the love i need || chapter 4/4

pairing: javy machado x femme reader (no y/n), callsign Cross

summary: Javy keeps his promise to feed and fuck Cross.

warnings: 18+, minors please DNI – y'all know who and how I am, so we have dirty talk, explicit PiV sex, f!receiving oral sex, overstimulation, truly just a smidge of body insecurity (like not even a full paragraph, just the natural ramifications of existing in the same space as Javy Machado), i don't even know the tag/tropey name for it, but he's too big/some discomfort/some coaching to fit? size kink of course follows, but that defs happens.

length: 6.7k

A/N: took me approx 900 years to finish it BUT WE DID IT thank you to everyone who cheered for, beta-ed, sent HCs, sent vibes, or anything else to make this fic happen. i'm so glad we all fell so hard for this version of Javy; I just adore him.

chapter one / chapter two / chapter three

The day seemed to last forever. 

Jake flew especially recklessly, Mav took personal offense at that, and everyone suffered the consequences. Hours of drills led to hours of debriefing, followed by exhausted locker-room showers and when you finally, finally, made it off base, you were almost too tired to remember Javy’s promise. 

Almost. 

Tonight, after I’ve fed you…

You were cooking asparagus on the stove, and you snuck a glance at Javy, melting butter in a pan beside you. He’d followed you back from the base, and looked seventy different kinds of handsome, standing in your kitchen. An apron was stretched across his chest, covering his turtleneck and slacks, and you were glad you’d changed into a pretty dress. It wasn’t how you normally dressed off base, but you liked the contrast the two of you made–dressed fancy, barefoot in the kitchen, cooking. 

Every now and then, one of you would move past the other, and the lingering touches let you know you were both excited about the night. 

Dinner came together quickly – gnocchi and asparagus in browned butter and sage, and Javy made a show out of pulling out your chair for you. You pressed your lips together, trying to quell the sappy smile that threatened to overtake your face. Who pulled out chairs anymore?? Javy did – Javy who’d brought groceries, who looked like a GQ cover model, who listened when you spoke and made you feel like there was no place he’d rather be. 

A part of you had wondered if there’d be any lingering awkwardness after this morning, but that hadn’t been the case. You’d just fallen into a rhythm of being near each other that felt so natural, and you’d be nervous it was too-perfect, if you didn’t trust Javy so much. 

After dinner, you slipped into the living room to change the vinyl in the record player, and a moment later, you heard the tap in the kitchen. 

When you came back into the kitchen, Javy was standing at the sink, doing dishes like it was natural. 

“We can use the dishwasher,” you protested, feeling bad that he’d essentially made you dinner while you boiled water for vegetables, but he just shook his head. 

“Won’t take long,” Javy shrugged. “Might as well, you know?”

So of course, you grabbed a dishtowel. 

And this was the dangerous part: doing dishes. Because it didn’t feel like a date, it felt like everything you wanted. Because nights out were glamorous, but someone to clean a kitchen with? Someone who’d bump his elbow against yours, just to make sure you knew he was there, was curious how you were doing. You thought of what he’d said this morning, before everything, about how perfect waking up had been, and you shook your head at him, when he handed you the last plate. 

“I need you to ruin it,” you told him. 

Javy frowned, confused. “Ruin what?”

“Tonight,” you said. “It’s literally the perfect first date, and it’s setting impossible expectations.”

Javy grinned, a lazy smile that was just shy of proud. “Perfect, huh?”

You couldn’t even give him a hard time; it had been. You handed him the towel to dry his hands and started moving around the kitchen to put away plates. 

You didn’t hear him move, but after you’d put the glasses back in their cabinet, he was right behind you when you turned around. One of his warm hands closed around yours, and he pulled you into the middle of the room, shuffling slightly, and the music from the record player filtered into the room, now that the sink wasn’t running, and dishes weren’t clattering. As Jake Isaac sang about waking up to forever, you smiled against the front of Javy’s sweater. 

“This is the opposite of ruining it,” you said into the cashmere, and his chest shook as he chuckled. 

“That was kind of the point,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. 

Of course he was a dance-in-the-kitchen person. 

It wasn’t the most elegant, but it was sweet and gentle, and you loved that he’d made this moment for you both. After the frantic intensity of the morning, after the grueling longevity of the day, after the classic romance of dinner, this was just the perfect nightcap. 

The song faded into another, and Javy spun you slightly in his arms. You smiled to yourself when he twirled you back into him, you back to his front, his arms wrapping around you like a hug. It was the kind of dance that made you feel like you were on a film set in the 40s, all glamorous and elegant, despite what the stars of the time looked like. You swayed together, arms crossed in front of your chest, and you felt his head lower to rest his temple against the side of your face. 

The record faded, and Javy spinned you back. You went out, following his lead, and when he pulled you back to him, the kitchen was quiet as you stood facing each other. You tilted your head, looking up at him. So handsome, so perfectly beautiful, in the dim under cabinet lights. 

He stepped closer to you, moving slow because he was a tease and knew how close desire was lingering under the surface for both of you. His long fingers curled around the back of your neck, prompting you to come closer to him, and you did. He smiled just before he kissed you, something like relief in his eyes, and you understood when his lips brushed over yours.

He kissed you gently, like he was determined to enjoy it, like this was the indulgence he wanted for the night. You felt another hand settle on your jaw as he cradled your face, like you were precious, and your hand slid over the soft material of his turtleneck, resting on his chest. It felt like a fairy tale kiss, romantic and sepia-toned, and you loved it.  

When you broke apart, you were only breathing slightly harder than normal, it’d been that sweet. You looked up at him, your lips tingling and your heart beating fast, and you knew it was time–you wanted good on that promise. 

You weren’t sure what your expression looked like, but whatever Javy read on it had him pulling you back in. 

This kiss was different– charged, hungry. When Javy’s tongue swept over your bottom lip, you opened for him, and he hummed in approval. He deepened the kiss with a confidence that had your head spinning, and your hands crept up from his chest to smooth over his shoulders. His had fallen to your waist, and his big hands were holding you tight to him, and you loved that you could feel how close he wanted you. 

You didn’t break the kiss, but you did step back, pulling him with you. Javy followed you automatically, and you felt his step falter when you took another, walking backwards. 

“You sure?” he asked, his voice a whisper against your lips, and you nodded instead of speaking. You wanted this, and him checking in only confirmed that. Your fingers twined together and he followed you to your room; when you pulled him, he sat on the edge of your bed. 

You liked him here, his soft eyes and broad body taking up space that you always thought of as yours. You stepped between his spread thighs, close as you could get to him, and Javy’s hands trailed up your legs. His touch was light, almost reverent, and goosebumps prickled in his wake, as his fingers traced higher. When his hands trailed unobstructed to your waist, his breath caught, and his fingers traced back over your hips, double checking, before Javy’s hands gripped your hips loosely. 

“Are you serious?” he whispered, his voice almost gruff, and when you tipped your head to the side, shrugging lightly, and Javy groaned. 

Not wearing panties had apparently been the move. 

His hands spanned from your hips to the curve of your ass, and Javy leaned up to nudge the neckline of your dress down with his nose. Your head tipped back as he pressed wet kisses over the upper curve of your breasts, his hands gripping you tightly, almost possessive. Before long you were squirming, entranced by his soft touches, but needing more. 

You reached back to unzip your dress and Javy stilled, sitting back. You tried not to be nervous, but when the zipper reached the bottom stop, you couldn’t make yourself move to push the dress off your shoulders. You had a decent amount of self confidence, but Javy was…Javy. The kind of perfect that wouldn’t show imperfections if he were on a billboard in Chelsea, much less in the muted light of your bedroom. 

You looked into his eyes, read the desire and admiration there, and you bit your lip, suddenly shy. Javy sat up straighter, pressing his mouth to yours in a reassuring kiss. He was so sweet, his mouth felt so good, and you felt his kiss reassuring you. 

“Let me see you, gorgeous,” he murmured, and you nodded, shaking your shoulders so the dress fell. Javy kissed you as the dress pooled over his hands, still gripping your ass like he couldn’t let go of it, and you felt the last of your worries melt away. He wasn’t here because he expected you to look a certain way, but because he wanted you, period. 

He let go of you to let the dress fall, and the moment it was over his hands, he pulled you closer to him. His mouth trailed down the edge of your bra, his tongue teasing under it to lap at your skin, each caress a promise. The feeling of his tongue over, around, through, the lace was maddening, and your hands gripped his shoulders. Javy kissed between your breasts, and then he kissed you over the bra. You clamped your lips shut to trap a whimper as you felt his tongue teasing you through the lace, and you reached back to undo your bra as well. 

“Beautiful,” Javy breathed, and then his mouth was on you again. His lips moved over your breasts and his hands tightened on your ass, and you felt every touch, ever caress. His tongue flicked over one of your nipples, and you squirmed, lifting your head to look down at him. 

His eyes were closed.

As he kissed you, as he felt you, Javy’s eyes were closed like he was lost in the pleasure of pleasuring you, and your desire ratcheted higher. His teeth scraped over your nipples, and you were ready for more.

“Jay,” you gasped, and he made a sound low in his chest, like approval. 

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he asked, pulling back slightly to look up at you. Your heart flipped at the sight of him, his lips swollen from kissing you, his eyes hooded from his own desire.

You tried to think of a way to say ‘everything’ that wasn’t terribly cliche, but came up blank. Whatever was written on your face, Javy’s jaw clenched when he read it, and he smiled up at you. 

“Get on the bed then, yeah?” he said, and you scrambled to follow his ask. 

Javy stood up, pulling his sweater over his shoulders in a movement that looked like it should be in an Ambercrombie TV spot. You couldn’t believe this man was in your room, and you settled back against the comforter, 

“Jesus, baby,” Javy said, his voice lower than you’d heard it before, “What you do to me…” 

Your thighs pressed together tightly to hide your arousal, and how bad you needed him, just from some light petting and kisses. You didn’t even need to ask what he meant, you knew, and you felt the same. Javy undid his belt, holding eye contact as he pulled it from around his waist. 

You thought he’d crawl over you, but instead he closed a hand around your ankle, and pulled you. You squealed as he yanked you down the bed, and before you could register what he was doing, he’d knelt beside it, spreading your thighs around his head. 

“Been waiting all day for this,” he said quietly, more to himself than you, and you propped yourself on your elbows to look down at him. Not that he was looking at you, he was just staring at your cunt, spread before him, arousal pooling and he hadn’t even touched you. 

“Please, Javy,” you whispered, and his eyes fluttered, before flashing up to you. His lips spread in a smile, and he held your eyes as he leaned into you. His breath ghosted over you and your mouth dropped open, you were panting, near breathless in anticipation, and you still weren’t ready for when he touched you.

Your head fell back against the mattress as Javy licked you. A moment later you felt his hands on your thighs, pulling you apart and holding you in place as he practically drank from you. His tongue spread your folds, traced over you and your back arched when he found your clit. He moaned, sending vibrations through you, and you shivered. 

“Fuck, honey,” Javy said, “You taste so good.”

You moaned at his words, and a moment later he was back between your thighs. His tongue teased, stroked, pulled, and when he sucked, your body keened. His elbow pressed across your lower stomach, pining you to the bed, holding your thighs apart with his shoulders as he ate you out. He learned the caresses that you responded to, and then you were nothing but responsive. He licked and you trembled, he kissed and you whimpered, he sucked and you moaned. He had no right being this good, but he was better, and your hips grinded into his mouth, needing him. 

“Javy,” you cried, squirming when he didn’t let you move. 

“Need something, baby?” Javy teased, and your eyes rolled back at the thickness in his voice. 

“Want to come,” you whimpered. “Please, you feel so good–”

“Anytime you want, honey,” Javy soothed, his voice muffled by your pussy. God, how were you gonna get through drills with him, now that you knew how his voice sounded when he was swallowing your arousal. It was so hot, he was so hot, and you felt restless, desperate. 

“Jay,” you whimpered, and his hands shifted. They slid up your thighs, wrapping around the backs of your knees and he folded your legs back, pressing you into the mattress. 

He had you practically bent in half, a position more a testament to his strength than your flexibility, and you felt your core tightening at the absolute power he had over you. You moaned as his mouth closed over you again, slurping obscenely, like you were a feast spread out for him and he was starving. 

And he was drinking from you like this was for him. Like burying his face in your pussy was all he wanted, all he needed, and he was just as desperate for it as you were.

“Come for me, baby,” he mumbled into your cunt. “Let me taste it, been desperate for it since this morning, but now it’s mine, let me have it–”

His tongue and his words pushed you higher and when his mouth closed over your clit, sucking, you shattered. Your orgasm swept over you, thighs shaking, mewling sounds falling from your mouth and Javy fucking groaned into your cunt. 

“Fuck, honey, you taste so good,” he moaned. “So beautiful, such a pretty pussy, and you did so good for me...”

You were obsessed with how he sounded, how he felt and your orgasm ebbed into a tide of needing him, more of him. You reached for him as your head cleared, pushing him away from your still throbbing pussy, and pulling him up. 

God, you loved how his shoulders felt under your fingers. He was so warm, supple, and you knew how good his hugs were, but you were ready for another kind of embrace. You reached for his pants with shaking hands, and Javy chuckled at your enthusiasm before helping you. As his pants slid down his thighs, he reached for the pocket, but you stayed his hand. 

“I’m clean,” you said, your voice hoarser than you thought it’d be. Maybe you’d been making more noise than you thought. If the way Javy’s eyes darkened as he heard it were any indication, he liked how you sounded like this. 

“Me too,” he said, after a moment. 

“Then I don’t need that,” you said, lifting your chin at the slacks, and the condom presumably in a pocket somewhere, “if you don’t.”

You hadn’t realized much Javy was a creature of motion until the moment, when he went completely still. 

“You want me,” he said, his voice so fucking low, so hot, “bare inside your pussy?”

The temperature of the room shot up 15 degrees, you were absolutely sure of it. 

“Please,” was all you could manage, and then Javy tackled you. 

You would’ve laughed, but you were too distracted by how much of his warm body was covering yours. Strong arms, broad thighs, tight stomach, all pressed up against you, as his mouth found yours for an eager kiss. 

You tasted yourself on his tongue and you moaned into his mouth, your hands covering as much of his skin as you could reach. You felt his muscles ripple under your touch–shoulders, back, abs–as you smoothed over his body, trailing down to his boxers. 

After the amount of time he’d spent with your ass earlier, you figured it was only fair to return the favor. Your fingers snuck under the edge of his boxers, slid around to push them over his butt, squeezing experimentally as you did. Javy’s hips slammed forward at your caress and you both gasped. 

He felt huge. 

Maybe it was the angle, him over you, maybe it was the fact that he was between your thighs, but you were breathless at how he felt. You rolled your hips and you groaned as you felt the hard, hot, length of him press against your core, even through the thin cotton of his boxers. 

Javy shucked them off the rest of the way and when he resettled between your hips, you glanced down. You could feel yourself salivating at the sight of his hard dick against your stomach. Everything about Javy was beautiful, you knew that already, but it was one thing to watch him take himself into his hand across a kitchen, and another to see his fat cock against your body. You felt hyper aware, needy, like your whole body was begging to feel the stretch of him, and when Javy pushed off of you to line himself up, it took everything in you to not try to work yourself onto him early. 

When you looked back up at Javy, you were breathless for another reason. He looked fond and smug and amused all at once, and you were just so infatuated with his handsome self. You were trying to come up with something snarky when he moved, his cock sliding between your folds, teasing both of you. Your eyes fell shut at the perfect motion. He was so thick, so hot, it was going to be a hell of a stretch, but you were desperate for it. 

He pulled back, and then pushed against you again, and you actually whined. He laughed, amused, and lined himself up, and then neither of you were laughing. 

When his cock breached you, you couldn’t lay still. 

Your hands scrambled over the bed, scratching sheets and needing to be grounded, anchored, something to help you take the gorgeous pressure of his hot dick. He felt so good, so big and so steady, and your mouth fell open as he pressed in. 

“Fucking Christ,” Javy swore, his voice sounding gone. “You’re so tight, honey, shit.”

You whined, trying to cant your hips to take him, willing your body to give. Your skin felt hot, feverish and you worked your hips for a moment, desperate. He was bigger than anyone you’d been with before, but you’d also already come, and surely it’d be fine–Javy moved again and you winced at the pressure.

This couldn’t be happening. 

You pressed your lips together, knowing you were wet, knowing it was going to be a stretch…but the discomfort only grew.  God, how was this happening? You wanted him so badly, you knew he’d feel good, but Javy pulled back to press into you again and your stomach dropped. 

“Wait,” you gasped, your hands curling into fists against his shoulders. Javy froze, immediately, and it only made you feel worse. You hated this, you wanted to be good enough, you wanted to feel him, why couldn’t you just take it. 

“Cross?” Javy asked, worry clouding his voice and you felt awful. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, embarrassed, covering your eyes with your hands. You knew it wasn’t your fault, or even his, but you still felt like you’d done something wrong, like you should be able to just take him. 

“Hey, hey,” Javy said softly, and he pulled out gently, but you couldn’t stop the wince when the pressure eased. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

You felt the bed shift as Javy moved, settling to sit against the headboard, and immediately pulling you into his arms. You went easily, preferring hiding in his chest to hiding behind your hand, and Javy’s arms were reassuring around you. He was so warm, and you appreciated that he didn’t seem at all frustrated, only concerned that you were okay.  

“Cut that apology shit out right now,” he murmured against your hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You knew he was right, but you hated that you felt this way. Your body was throbbing, desperate to take him, wanting to feel him, but you just…couldn’t. You felt yourself calming down as he continued to hold you, and you could tell Javy felt you settling too. 

“Do you want to stop?” he asked, and your heart thumped, knowing he would. God, he was such a good guy, to jump straight to suggesting you guys stop, rather than trying to find alternatives. 

“I don’t,” you said, truthfully. “I want to be able to take you, I want to keep trying, but I also don’t want it to hurt.”

“Baby…” Javy pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you hated that you could hear in his voice that he felt bad. 

“Can we try another position?” you asked, before he could start apologizing for something that was no more his fault than yours. 

“Whatever you want,” Javy agreed, and you pulled back to look at him. He meant that, he really did. You leaned up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, smiling sheepishly as you pulled back. 

“Why don’t I try being on top?” you suggested.

Javy’s eyes closed and he drew in a slow breath through his nose. 

“Have I told you lately you’re my dream girl?” he asked, and you smiled. 

“I don’t think you’ve told me ever,” you pointed out, not at all bothered by the fact, flattered by it, more than anything. You pushed yourself off his chest, swinging one leg to settle over Javy’s lap, and you were stilled by his hand on your chin. When you met his eyes, his expression was one of utmost sincerity. 

“You are my dream girl,” he said, and despite everything – the fact that you were naked, the fact his head had been between your thighs, the fact his cock was leaking precum between you – that was what made your skin heat. 

You reached between you, your finger running over the length of his dick. 

“Even if I can’t take this right now?” you asked, hating the uncertainty in your voice. 

“No matter if,” he corrected, “you can’t take this right now.” 

His breath caught as your finger traced a vein, but he didn’t look away. He meant it, you realized, and it only made you more determined to take him. You could do it. 

Javy leaned back against the headboard and you positioned yourself over him, guiding his cock to your entrance. You licked your lips and pressed down until it hurt–only a short distance, but it wasn’t as overwhelming this time, because you were entirely in control. 

Javy’s hands smoothed down your side, settling on your ass again, and your lips quirked into a smile, amused that Javy Machado was an ass man. You worked your hips slightly, trying to stretch yourself out, and reached between your thighs to play with your clit. 

Javy groaned.

You looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking at your face; his eyes were glued to where your hand was rubbing over your clit. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” Javy mumbled, almost entranced, and you smiled at his sweet admiration. You spread your fingers into a v, feeling around where he was pressing into you, smoothing back up to your clit. 

“Can’t believe–” he broke off, shaking his head. “I got to see you come this morning, and then on my face, and now I get to watch you work yourself onto my dick.”

He said it like it was an honor, like you weren’t working yourself onto the biggest cock in Uncle Sam’s navy, like it was his privilege. His admiration warmed you, worked through you as your fingers brushed over your clit. You felt your knees slide further apart as you were able to take more of him. The extra inch felt like yards, but it felt so good, so right, to take him into you. 

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he promised, and you realized his hands on your ass were lifting, helping. He was taking some of the weight off your thighs, literally holding you in his hands, so you wouldn’t be pressured to take him too fast. 

“So big, Javy,” you panted. “God, you’re stretching me so good.”

Javy’s hips pushed up slightly at your words, and it stung, but with your hand working your clit and the way he was holding you steady, it was more pressure than pain. 

“You can’t talk to me like that, honey,” he warned. “I’m trying real hard to be gentle here, you can’t talk dirty to me and not make me mess up.”

A part of you wanted him to mess up, wanted him to just ram into you, and you could deal with it later. Another part of you relished the stretch, accepted the slow burn of sinking onto him torturously slow. You felt hyper aware of him, of you, and every millimeter of him that you took, only made you want him more. 

“You talk to me then,” you muttered, and Javy huffed out a laugh.

“What do you want to hear, huh?” he asked. “How fucking good you feel? How hard I am for you, how I feel like I’m throbbing for you, how bad I can’t wait to be inside you?”

Your fingers worked faster, and you moaned, bearing down. “Yeah, that’ll do.”

“We’ll get you there, honey,” he soothed, his cock easing into you, slow and thick and fucking perfect. “With how good you feel around my dick? Honey, we’re not gonna stop. We’re gonna train this pussy, soon enough, she’ll be able to take me.”

You whimpered at the thought, at the mere concept of being so stuffed with Javy’s cock that eventually your body would just adapt to it. You shifted your hips on principle, determined to take more of him, and Javy chuckled. 

“And then can you imagine the hell we’ll get into? Quickies in the shower after a long day of drills, in the back seat of a car–fuck, baby, to think I could slide into this pussy whenever I want, ready for me, to take me–”

He pressed deeper, a motion that bordered on painful, but soothed by the sweetness of his words. You wanted that, so badly, for your body to always be ready for his. Javy pulled back, just slightly, rocking into you, and you whimpered. 

“Feels so good, Javy,” you whispered, feeling yourself sink lower. 

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he said, leaning forward to brush loose kisses over your skin. “You’re so beautiful, so good, and working so hard to take my dick.”

His words sent goosebumps over your skin, and you wondered if you should be embarrassed by how much you wanted to be good for him. 

It took a while. 

You didn’t know how long, but eventually you realized that though you were still shaking, you were no longer hovering. You were in Javy’s lap, your arms curled between your bodies and your hips pressed flush against his, his cock entirely inside of you. 

He felt…unreal. Enormous, like you could only breathe when he did, but so fucking good. 

“I did it,” you breathed, and when you looked up at Javy, he was grinning down at you. He looked proud, he looked pleased, he looked so damn pretty you wanted to never leave his lap.

“How’s it feel?” he asked, and you took a moment to bask in his pride. 

“Pretty good,” you teased lightly, and Javy had the expected reaction of affronted indignation. 

“Pretty good,” he sputtered, like it was sacrilege. “Wanna try again?”

You shook your head, smiling, and it was knocked right off your face when he lifted his hips. It wasn’t a thrust, it wasn’t like he’d pulled out, but Javy pushed up into you like he was doing a hip press at the gym. Your jaw dropped open as his thighs flexed under your ass, pushing impossibly deeper into your cunt. 

“So full,” you gasped, and Javy grunted like that was an acceptable answer. “Fuck, Javy, you feel so big. I can’t– feels like you’re everywhere; I love it.”

“That’s better,” he muttered, his voice dark. “Because you feel like fucking everything to me, honey. So tight, and warm, fitting me like a glove after you worked so hard to stretch this pussy over me.”

You did feel stretched and his words sent pulses of heat through you. The burning stretch of him eased as your body tingled with arousal, wanting to feel him, needing to feel him. 

“Need you to move, Jay,” you whispered, and Javy’s hips punched up in response. 

“You need me,” he repeated almost to himself, and you both moaned when his dick slid out of you partway, before he fed it back to you slowly. “That’s right, sweetheart, first you were embarrassed because you couldn’t take it, but now that you have this cock, you just want more?”

“Please,” you whimpered, astonished to find you were actually close to tears. You wanted that, wanted him, wanted the stretch and the pressure and the motion of his hips. You tried to lift yourself off of him, but your legs were shaking so bad, so overstimulated by the fullness of him in you, but you were desperate for it. 

“S’okay, baby,” Javy practically purred, his voice sweet and dark and deep. “I’ll help you.” 

His hands closed around your waist, gripping you tightly. He lifted you off his cock, pulling his hips back and then bringing you back down into him. You moaned at the sensation, perfect and overwhelming and so strong, feeling every gorgeous inch of his cock. 

“Feels so good,” you mumbled, and Javy groaned. 

“Honey, you have no idea,” he grunted, and he lifted you again. 

It was slow, it was impossibly deep, but it was everything. You felt drunk on the deep stretch of him, the way you could feel his eyes on you, the way every breath he took you felt against your skin. You felt so connected to him, so overwhelmed by him, and the slow press of his cock. He pulled you forward, rocking your hips down into him and when your clit brushed against him, you jolted. 

“That’s it,” Javy encouraged, pushing his cock deeper, and you felt your body trembling. “Honey, you’re doing so good. You feel so fucking good around me, I can’t–”

He settled into a rhythm, pulling you up and bringing you down, bruising your clit and fucking you against gravity. He moved you over him like a fleshlight and you had no control over your body, the sounds spilling out of you. He felt so good, so slow and steady and deep; it was perfect and you were overwhelmed. 

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, amazed to find it was true. Just from the steady press of him, the deep pressure, the teasing brush of your clit, you were somehow there again. 

“Ah, please, honey, let me see it,” Javy groaned, and he buried his face in your neck. You wrapped your arms around him, clinging to him as he moved you over him, your body climbing higher. 

You felt him everywhere, like a heartbeat, like your pulse, and you crested before you could realize it was there. Your body felt liquid, like it would never stop shaking, like this was what you were made for, to take his cock like this. Your head swam as you slumped into him, your hips throwing your pussy at Javy as your orgasm worked through you, your body pulsing and sated.  

The room was a dreamlike haze as you came back to yourself. 

You were on your back on the bed, and Javy was hovering over you, and your breath caught in your throat as you realized his arms were shaking with the effort to hold himself still. 

God, he was so beautiful. 

His perfect body, his incredible strength, had nothing to the beauty of his heart, the way he had worked you through that and was now carefully watched you, smiling hesitantly when he realized you were back. Your throat felt hoarse and you swallowed slightly before lifting your hips weakly. 

Javy’s breath punched out of him and his eyes clenched shut as he dropped to his elbows over you. 

“Sweetheart…” he groaned, and his voice sent tingles over your skin. You loved how strung out he sounded, how he was holding on just by a thread, and you wanted him to come undone. 

“Fuck me, Jay,” you whispered, and his eyes opened, looking between yours. 

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice hoarse, and you needed it, suddenly. You nodded, pressing your lips together, wanting it more than anything. You knew you were adjusted to his size, for the immediate future at least, and you wanted to know how he’d feel finding his pleasure in you, driving into you when his release was the goal, wanted to be the reason for it. 

“I can take it,” you whispered, and Javy surged up to kiss you. 

It was messy, mostly gasping breath and clashing teeth, and then his arms wound under your back, and his hands wrapped around your shoulders as he settled into you. You were just about to think that it was a sweet embrace, when he started moving. 

Javy pulled out of you and slammed back in, and you cried out. 

Gone was the gentleness with which he’d coaxed you, gone was the steady control, the gentle pace. In its place was a gnawing, gaping desire, and you could feel how badly Javy needed this. You moaned with the thrust and it seemed to spur Javy on. He pulled back and pushed back in again, just as deep, just as strong, just as perfect. 

Fuck, he was so big, filled you so damn well like this, and how he was moving made you dizzy. He settled into a punishing pace that left you breathless, but who needed air, when you had dick this good? 

He was everywhere. 

Pressing you into the mattress, shoving his cock into your cunt, clutching you to him, overwhelming and everywhere and everywhere. You couldn’t tell where he stopped and you began, felt like an extension of his pleasure and the thought nearly sent you out of your mind. 

“How is it still so tight?” Javy grunted, and you moaned at the tremble in his voice, like he was just as awed and exhausted as you were. “Fuck, honey, you’re so perfect. Taking me so damn well, pulling me into this hot cunt, it’s so good–” 

His hips slammed into you, each stroke brushing your walls and making you feel so full. His body weight over you felt like the only thing grounding you, and you moved with him, for him, all for him. The room was thick with the smell of your shared sweat and your cum, and Javy’s panting breath in your ears was the perfect chorus. 

You could feel Javy getting close, could feel his thrusts go from determined to desperate and you were lost in it. For how well he’d fucked you, how carefully he’d held you, you needed him to come. Heat spiraled through you, your mind blanking as you realized you were whining with each sure stroke he made. 

“Need you to come,” you whimpered, breaking off when Javy’s hips stuttered. “Please, Javy, feels so good, need to feel you–”

Javy arched his back to kiss your neck. His teeth closed over your skin, his tongue laving over you, and you moaned. 

“You know how to make that happen, sweetheart,” he whispered against your neck, and you shook your head as his meaning sunk in. 

“I can’t,” you managed, even as your thighs started shaking. He’d pulled so much pleasure from your body, and you didn’t know if you could survive another wave…oh, but how he sounded. His soft grunts, the growl in his voice, the heavy sound his balls made as he pushed into you. 

“I think you can,” Javy said, closing his lips and sucking. You keened, your body overwrought and unmoored, just orbiting around him. His strong hands, the taste of his sweat, the rhythm of his hips, the only things that were real. 

His hands on your shoulders tightened, crushing you to him and something in the angle changed. He brushed a different part of you, deeper, softer, and your breath caught.

“Just there?” Javy asked, proud and breathless. “That’s the spot that’ll get this pussy to come again?”

“Javy–” you moaned, as he hit it again, and again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Javy soothed, his dick driving into you. “You’ve done so good for me, this pussy has been so fucking good, and I know you can do it again. Let me feel it, honey, let me feel this tight pussy come for me one more time, fucking take it, come on.”

He was fucking you into the bed, his thighs and his words reorienting your world. You felt so full of him, so precious and receptive and you knew that you might never recover from it, but if he asked you to come again, your body would do it. 

“Baby,” you whimpered, and Javy groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. 

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled into the bed. “Ah, shit, honey, you feel so good. Like you were made for me, to take this cock–oh my god, yes, that’s it, just like that…”

“Take me,” you begged, “Please, Javy, I need–”

“Yes, fuck,” Javy groaned, his thrusts turning frantic. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t know where he found the strength but he surged up to kiss you, pressing your lips together as your bodies writhed together. You pushed and pulled together, breathing from each other and for each other, and the heat burned impossibly hotter between you. You felt light-headed, you felt close and Javy moaned as you tightened around him. You whined against his lips as you came, your orgasm cresting over you, and just moments later, Javy shouted as he came. He was so wonderful, his body thrusting into yours, his hips working you both through it, his groans growing louder as he emptied into you. 

It felt right, it felt final, as his warm cum thrust into you, and you turned your head to find him again. 

This was a lazy kiss. Indulgent and sloppy, exhausted and messy, and you smiled when you felt Javy come back to you, returning the kiss slowly. You liked that his arms were still around you, that his dick was still inside you. You felt held, treasured, at peace. 

You kissed Javy gently, another realization brewing in your mind. 

Here, with this man, you felt at home. 

//the end

taglist: @laracrofted @mxgyver @callsign-fangirl @cheekymcgrath @blowmymbackout @daggerspare-standingby @javihoney @sebsxphia @princessphilly @roosterforme @rae-gar-targaryen @hangmanssunnies @blckgrl-sunflower @beyondthesefourwalls @callsignspark @sushiwriterhere @taytaylala12 @katiedid-3 @stoptaking-the-good-names @passion-persistence-patienc-blog @hangmanbrainrot

[mrghostrat]

hi bilvy!

I wanna start getting into writing fics, and i know the general idea of all my stories, but I'm not sure how to plan them beforehand while keeping my motivation for the actual writing at the same time. do you have any tips for a fellow Aussie?

you gotta let yourself be self indulgent about it!! plan your favourite scenes first so you can day dream about em and look forward to writing them (like me replaying “you’re gay?” “yes..?!?” in my head for weeks, and how much i’m looking forward to the final scene of editor hehe)

get tropey, collect silly tumblr posts into a tag for inspiration, make pinterest boards, make playlists!! anything that gives you a rush of giddiness or dopamine that you can uncork whenever you need some extra inspiration

and sharing snippets with a friend or two can be really motivating as well. i live for @niltia’s live reacts to my WIPs and getting to listen to @eviebane recording themself reading the completed chapters is such a huge motivator for me to get them finished 🤌

[tlonista]

I wish the conversation over Problematic Relationships In Fiction weren't so heavily framed around individual stories. Because I don't care about some random fucked-up novel, but I do feel like current romance media trends toward a recommendation-fueled monoculture with some frustratingly rigid gender norms, and a lot of "does fiction affect reality" discourse offers no way of talking about it.

Every time I dip my toe outside AO3 (Wattpad, Kindle Unlimited, Reddit, my BookTok experience is limited but that's the vibe I get there) I'm dismayed by how hard it is to find M/F romance that's not implicitly or explicitly about eroticized male-dominated power imbalance. Not just "he's a serial unaliver" dark romance, but the huge focus on hypermasculine heroes taking care of heroines and possessive alpha-male fated mates and nigh-inescapable trends like "good girl" praise-kink stuff.

Obviously this was always common in romance publishing, but a) the internet was supposed to support niches and b) I find significantly more diversity on AO3, so I think it can. It's just that no other platform or online community seems structured to do it. Instead a combination of recommendation feeds, word-of-mouth virality, and fast-fashion self-publishing surfaces infinite variations on a handful of the most broadly appealing industry blockbusters and buries everything else.

So instead of offering an alternative to old monolithic print publishing, online platforms seem even better at elevating male-domination kinks from "a fairly popular dynamic" to an inescapable default of What Romance Is. Even if you're fully aware it's a sexual fantasy, it gets downright hard to articulate desire in any other way, especially if you don't have a fully-formed picture of what you like. Unless you think sexuality simply isn't a "real" component of people's lives, I think this is a reasonable example of fiction in aggregate affecting reality in a negative way.

(It's also obviously not unique to romance lit. I just can't speak to stuff like video porn firsthand, and I don't see a ton of pushback on people criticizing the gender dynamics of Pornhub.)

But if the only available question is "is X book corrupting impressionable young women," then... no, that's silly. If anything, the aggregate system makes individual books feel bad in ways the authors probably didn't intend. Like, in Popular Kink Land, "your feminism says no but your body says yes" tropes are appealing for some women working through a particular kind of purity culture. In Inescapable Dynamic Land they take on this Gorean overtone where all women secretly want a man to take charge of them. The former is not my thing but fine; the latter feels like some kind of weird accidental gaslighting.

To the extent AO3 escapes this, I think it's for four reasons.

A focus on tags and chronological sorting, which helps surface non-popular stuff and gives readers more control

It's strictly non-commercial so there's less incentive to write for the broadest audience or fill the site with boilerplate sludge

It doesn't segregate categories like "romance for men", so there's less gerrymandering of cross-gender niches like femdom

The fourth reason, which is most interesting to me, is that fanfic ships (specifically not X-reader ships) create easily discoverable literary microgenres drawn from a huge range of media outside the tropey echo chamber of Romancelandia Proper.

In my experience it takes hours of scouring Reddit and Goodreads to find non-normative original romance, but one AO3 search and a few clicks to get from "I played Resident Evil and liked Ada and Leon's vibe" to a substantial microgenre about a badass woman making a cute guy stutter, or "I loved Kaz and Inej in Six of Crows" to a bunch of takes on a not-conventionally-masculine hero and a powerful but vulnerable heroine pining for each other. Since a decent number of fanfic authors also write non-fanfic, there's even a chance you'll find somebody who does original characters with a sensibility you like. I have no idea how you'd bring this system outside shipfic, but I'd love to see someone try.

[thrilling-oneway]

i thought about this for a bit longer because i was like "surely surely there's gotta be a slash or femslash where people do that" and while there are some instances, from observation flanderisation and mischaracterisation of both the character and the ship generally seems to happen more with m/f

M/f ships especially for whatever fucking reason

[carlyraejepsans]

i lowkey disagree w u on ur position on fictional ships and certain portrayals of topics such as incest and pedophilia, but oh my fucking god to have the fucking. AUDACITY to accuse someone of real life pedophila and incest because they MENTIONED being NEUTRAL on a certain topic?? like you didnt even say you think fictional incest is cool and rad or wtvr u afaik (which. even if u did that ask would Still be abhorrent) but ur explicitly Neutral and are VERY carful to tag shit and i just. 1/2

cut for length and also sensitive topics

i cannot fucking imagine accusing someone of such a horrid act with such conviction bc u SLightly DIsagree on a topic. jfc. i block tags and if ur conversations ever drive me over the edge id Unfollow. im so so sorry people are such fucking assholes man. i hope people gain some sense abt these topics im so sorry

yeah no i completely respect your opinion. and i do know where it's coming from. to tell you the truth (basic decency of tagging triggers aside), i DO find most of those fanon portrayals to be cheap and uncalled for a good majority of the time, at least from a literary standpoint. things like dating a minor or your own sibling have serious implications on a character's moral code and interpersonal dynamics where most characters would... not fucking do that! and the moment you don't engage with those implications, it becomes either incredibly ooc or altogether shallow. some people act like a topic being problematic makes it inherently complex and rich, when it can be as tropey and flat as any other "safe" topic. being problematic doesn't make you interesting etc. my point isn't arguing over literary value, it's more like... there's people behaving horribly and cruelly towards the AUTHORS, and making disgusting assumptions like the one that was made against me, all because of fiction you can always filter out at the end of the day (assuming basic tagging etiquette is respected ofc) and like. that's too far. nobody deserves to be treated like this.

not to mention, the "incest fiction recs"/"pro incest posts" those freaks mentioned were literally 1) me gushing about revolutionary girl utena, a deeply feminist and self-aware series that unpacks the misogyny behind anime incest tropes by treating that abuse REALISTICALLY as patriarchal manipulation from a male relative and showing how the female victim suffers and emancipates herself from it and 2) me being annoyed that hs showed one of its characters suffering from csa without acknowledging it AS abuse, even when it would've been not just the morally decent thing to do, but also a genuinely good addition to his character arc (apparently it does do that in the endstory, but i didn't know it at the time). those are both posts about realistic, condemning, and well-thought depictions of incestuous abuse in fiction—which is the only way i ever enjoy the topic btw—but that didn't stop these people from deciding i had an incest fetish and harassing me for weeks on end to the point of accusing me of sexually abusing my teenage brother. like you said, it would be a ghoulish way to treat someone even if their assumption had been right (and it wasn't), but it's like they saw the topic being mentioned and that fact alone was unforgivable, regardless of context. and this crap happens to people all the time! if that's not fucking stupid i don't know what is

[lola-theshowgrl]

Hi!

Felt it was about time I made a little profile introduction for this account. My name is Lola, and I'm a writer of low-brow, tropey, romantasy stories! If you're looking for something sweet and silly, then you've come to the right place! 💛

I'm currently working on an older novel of mine that I'm re-writing, and I'll be posting updates here of my progress. I'll be using the tag lola-palooza for all these posts!

You can also find me in any of these places:

Instagram

BlueSky

StoryGraph

Spotify

Pinterest

Thanks for visiting!