#tumblr has gifs and is therefore better

[joycrispy]

I wanna talk about The Angel Who Would Be Crowley.

Because I had a certain set of expectations, which got thoroughly trashed in the first five minutes of S2, and my genuine response is, "Oh, fuck, yup. You're right. That's WAY better."

Looking around at GO fandom, I'm not alone in this. So let's talk about it.

Basically, a lot of people (myself included) believed that he was a high-ranking angel, and therefore as chilly and remote as every other powerful angel we'd seen at that point. We pictured Crowley-To-Be as long-haired, regal and imposing --and the fanart at the time reflected this. I'd link some if Tumblr didn't hate links.

Something like this:

We were collectively drawing on a few things --mostly, Crawly's appearance and general bearing in the Biblical scenes of S1--

--But also scattered hints of his importance, backed up by conspicuous absences in Heaven and a few profound displays of power. That's all better covered elsewhere, so I won't reiterate the arguments here. All I'm saying is: I think our headcanons were justified.

But it turns out he was this:

!!!

With his curly little--!!

And his neat white--!!

IT TURNS OUT, he was an angel who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty. Furfur, who knew him before the Fall, says:

"You used to jump on me back, little monkey in a waistcoat..."

(The use of a diminutive there, 'little'...oh, that fascinates me.)

In a pretty huge subversion of expectations, we're given these glimpses of an angel who was sweet, and joyful, and heart-meltingly silly.

In sum...an innocent.

(Perhaps innocent to a troubling degree.

We see how he troubles Aziraphale, during their first conversation. He starts looking around and behind them, checking to make sure that no one can HEAR the blithe and reckless things coming out of this angel's mouth. This angel who talks like he's never been reprimanded in his life; like it's never occurred to him that anyone would want to hurt him.

Before the Beginning, Aziraphale understood Heaven better than he did. The danger is plainly occurring to Aziraphale.)

So now, we the viewers are in on a cruel joke that Aziraphale has known all along, which is that this --THIS-- is the angel who--

*checks notes*

--did a million lightyear freestyle dive into a boiling pool of sulphur. For asking questions.

...Imagine you are Aziraphale, and everything inside you wants to believe Heaven are the Good Guys, and God is Good and Everything She does is capital-R Right...and now try to reconcile that. Keep trying. I don't think he ever totally managed it in 6000 years.

All this gets further complicated when we learn that, despite all of the above, we were still right. That sweet excitable babby up there?

He WAS a powerful and high-ranking angel.

That much is explicitly confirmed, with significant evidence that he could have been among the mightiest of archangels...

...Who apparently accosted his fellow angels for piggyback rides. And was remembered millennia later by those (now fallen) angels as something 'little.'

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

Hell, Aziraphale has known to be wary of the archangels (and the judgements of Heaven in general) since before the Fall even happened. He chooses to believe they are Good; he can't fool himself into thinking they are Safe.

Yet he's absolutely certain that Crowley won't hurt Job's children. Enough to stand in a burning building and say to them, "I can't save you, but don't be afraid. I won't need to."

And what reason does he give?

("I know you."

"You do not know me."

"I know the angel you were.")

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

("The angel you knew is not me."

But how is Aziraphale supposed to believe that, when he can see him all the time?)

tl;dr --yes, this is better. I love the tragedy of it.

'Innocence died screaming' and all that.

[jazminetoad]

Okay, I know there's like this whole debate and theorizing about what is going on with Alastor in episode 5

After rewatching the scenes, listening to the rap battle multiple times, watching analysis videos, reaction videos, theory videos, and reading people's thoughts on Tumblr, I've come to a conclusion

Alastor felt threatened by Lucifer because he thought Charlie was looking for powerful assistance from her dad, and if that was the case, it would mean Alastor would be replaced

I mean it doesn't help Lucifer gave that intention at the start of the song, quite literally dissing Alastor, blatantly saying Why do you need this guy when you have me now?

Lucifer shows off his power to Charlie, stating how much of a help he can be, and that Alastor isn't needed

This pisses off Alastor

People who theorized Alastor is pissed because he's no longer the most powerful person in the room, they're on the right track

Alastor saw Charlie's advertisement for the hotel on the news (people seem to forget that when pointing how he just shows up after Charlie calls her mom), then he came to help Charlie out, being there since day 1 of Charlie announcing it to her people.

His reasons of why he is helping are all over the place, but he is a powerful entity there to assist Charlie regardless

Lucifer showing up by Charlie's invitation irritates him because the way it looks to him, Charlie is seeking someone powerful to help her, it is an insult to Alastor because he is powerful and Charlie seems to forget that fact

So Alastor decides to remind Charlie of his presence and how he is here to help her

"Who's been here since day one? Who's been faithful as a nun? Who makes you chuckle with an old-timey bun? Your executive producer~"

"I'm your guy, your day-to-day, your chum, your steadfast hotelier. Remember when I fixed that clog today?"

These lyrics is Alastor showing he has been dedicated to helping Charlie, proving his worth, he wants to show Charlie is he a valuable asset to her team, yet he realizes that labeling himself as just an employee isn't enough since an employee is easy to throw away, therefore he pushes further. He states he's happy to have connection with her, calling her a daughter and how he cares for her like one, labelling himself as a dad

Alastor does this because if Charlie is seeking assistancest from Lucifer 'cause he is her dad (wanting familiar support), painting himself as a father figure opens the door for Charlie to acknowledge him and go to him for support, thus being irreplaceable

Alastor even brings up the rest of the hotel cast to state they have been a better family toward Charlie than her own father, coloring Lucifer as someone not only useless but worthless as well

However, Alastor dropped his beef with Lucifer when it is made known to him that Charlie is requesting her dad to set up a meeting with heaven, she is not asking for her dad to help the hotel or to work for the hotel, meaning Alastor's position is not threatened (Hence why he never interrupted the second song of the episode)

[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.

[minervamagicka]

[SSO Conversion] TS4 Dressage Saddle

At last! It is nigh! Includes 3 different saddles in 2 different polycounts (~13 swatches), with 1 saddlepad overlay (~14 swatches) that is universal to them all. Full LODs & maps.

If you post anything involving this saddle to tumblr & tag me in it, I'll be reblogging!

Important info, additional previews, TOU and download below the cut!

By myself & Schrodcat @ DA 🖤

Choosing a Version

First things first; in the download folder there are two different .rar files to choose from. One is labelled Highpoly and the other is labelled Maxispoly. YOU MUST CHOOSE ONE. THEY WILL OVERRIDE EACHOTHER IF YOU INSTALL BOTH HIGHPOLY AND MAXISPOLY TOGETHER.

The Highpoly version of the saddles is the original mesh resolution from Star Stable Online (which is surprisingly high-quality). However, taking into account the 3D pad and whether there are stirrups or not, it pushes the saddle very far out of EA's expected polycount range (the LOD0 on the Highpoly w/ stirrups clocks in at ~6,044 polys) which is why we have labelled this version as Highpoly. We offer it primarily for simmers who plan to be taking screenshots vs actually playing the game for extended periods of time, or for those with stronger PCs.

The Maxispoly version of the saddle is a decimated version of the mesh intended to be more in-line with Maxis polycounts, and therefore be more performance-friendly. It's about 50% less dense in polys than the Highpoly counterpart (LOD0 on the Maxis w/ stirrups clocks in at ~3,021 polys), however it is still higher-poly than the EA saddles, but again this is because it includes additional mesh details like a 3D saddlepad and/or stirrups, just bear that in mind. This version is for simmers who might have weaker PCs or intend to primarily play the game with the saddles.

Once you've chosen between Highpoly and Maxispoly for your saddle, you'll want to grab the saddlepad overlay .package. This saddlepad (it is found in blankets in CAS) acts like an accessory overlay you'd see for Human content, where it will replace the saddlepad texture on your saddle. You can use the saddlepad overlay without the saddle, but it's not exactly designed for that, as it's designed to match the UVs of the 3D saddlepad. It's unlikely it would fit the EA saddle or any other saddles as just as a flat 2D texture.

All the parts included have custom thumbnails, with the EA fit version having a special identifier.

That concludes all the required reading. Please note that the Realistic Fit of the saddles is not going to line up with EA riding animations and may stretch horribly on them, too. This is because it was rigged and weighted specifically for pose makers. It should look fine when posing. If you want a saddle to fit the EA animations, then the EA Fit version is precisely that, and is meant for gameplay exclusively. The saddlepad overlays are cross-compatible between the Realistic Fit and EA Fit saddles, & any custom saddlepads made by other creators, provided they're intended to fit the UVs, will also be cross-compatible!

Custom Saddlepad Resources (CC Creators Only)

Disclaimer: If you're not a CC Creator you can skip this section and move on to the TOU & download!

If you're interested in making your own saddlepad overlays, I highly recommend cloning the saddlepad overlay included in this download as a starting point. This saddlepad/blanket actually has a "mesh" attached to it (it's just the part of the horse GEOM where the saddlepad texture is) to allow for full normal maps, allowing for better-detail in your saddlepads. Otherwise, you can clone the EA saddlepads and just replace the diffuses with ones you make to fit this saddle, it just won't have that extra jazz.

Anyways, included the folder is a .psd file which is meant to help streamline making saddlepads to fit this mesh (and any future Dressage Saddle meshes/swatches) - There's a guide in the .psd but in general, just keep your textures within the mask/provided guide UVs in the .psd and you'll be golden!

Terms of Use

Credit/link to me AND Schrodcat AND note it is a conversion from SSO if you intend to edit, replicate or otherwise use this .package, meshes & textures as a base for your own derivative work. Additionally, at this time, we both ask you do not backport this model or its' textures to TS3.

Do not sell or post behind a paywall, even a timed one. This tumblr is anti-paywall to the extreme. This includes any content that might be created under Rule One. Do not do this. I will think you are an asshole. I have had issues with this in the past and my tolerance for it is absolutely zero. Additionally this asset is exported from a copyrighted game with the intention of it being used transformatively for derivative fanworks; it may be actually illegal to profit from it!

Do not reupload. If you let me know if there's an issue with SFS, I'll reupload it myself. Please link to this post or to the .package on SFS when sharing.

Credits: SSO for the base mesh & textures; Schrodcat with fitting the meshes & testing/screenshots, me for putting it all together into one diabolical package.

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[arisuworld]

HOW TO PERSIST?

So, now we all know how self concept is one of the most important key to manifestation. How you view yourself in relation to the world around you is extremely important and can greatly affect how you manifest. However, persistence is another key to manifestation that often gets overlooked. It is as important as self concept.

Now, I know why it can be hard. At some point of my life, i couldn't persist no matter what. It was hard for me. 3D and circumstances made it hard for me to persist. However, Manifesting in general is very easy but it does require a certain amount of discipline and mental work. It truly gets difficult for most people, when an unfavorable circumstance happens in 3D. Everything seems to be going well but then all of a sudden everything starts falling and you start seeing the opposite of your desires. Then circumstances and everything going on around you, makes you question, doubt yourself and even start spiraling, not knowing what to do. 

Everyone has been in this kind of situation and they don't know what to do. So, now I'm gonna tell you what you should do when you're in this situation, no matter what the circumstances are.

• WHAT DOES PERSISTING MEANS?

per·sist  /pərˈsist/ verb

continue firmly or obstinately in an opinion or a course of action in spite of difficulty, opposition, or failure.

Basically, persisting means to continue to dwell in the new assumptions despite the difficulties or obstacles that may come in the way.  

• WHY IS IT SO IMPORTANT?

"An assumption, though false, if persisted in will harden into fact" — Neville Goddard

No matter how crazy your assumption sounds, no matter how delusional you sound, if you PERSIST into it, it will harden into fact. The 3D will always conform it in front of your eyes.

• IS BEING PERSISTENT AND CONSISTENT SAME?

People often confuse persistence with consistently. Affirming 24/7 till they pass out or their head hurts which is so wrong. Persisting isn’t affirming, it's knowing that your desire is inevitable. You feel safe and secure knowing THAT CREATION IS FINISHED. The moment you’ve finished your visualisation, affirmations, SATs or have just simply stated that your desire is yours, then your desire has already been completed. Your “job” is to just continue KNOWING that it’s yours, which is basically PERSISTING.

• HOW TO PERSIST?

Persisting means to live in the end, to completely live in your imagination (4D) and to ignore any unfavorable circumstances that the 3D may throw at you. Live in your imagination as it is the ONLY true reality that matters to you. When you see something you don't like in the 3D, turn inwards to your imagination and live within.

1. TAKE A BREAK: The main cause of a spiral is usually a result of seeing something unfavorable in the 3D and becoming overwhelmed. You feel like doing something to change the situation, to make it better somehow. Therefore you panic and try different techniques, methods at a time to fix the circumstances. However doing this will not help you fix anything. It will only manifest the opposite. No, let me ask you something. If you had your desire, would any difficult circumstance trouble you? Would it affect you negatively? No right?. All you're doing is interfering with your manifestations. Instead of trying to make it happen, you just have to let it happen. So, i would recommend you to take a break from ALL manifesting-related things for a few days for a week. Like delete tumblr, instagram, unsubscribe from LOA youtube channels. In this time period, i suggest you to do meditation, yoga nidra and journal out your feelings. Let yourself feel any emotions and vent out whatever’s bothering you. Don’t keep it all bottled up. Let it out for once and all.

2. DON'T SEEK VALIDATION FROM 3D: When you’re truly in the state of KNOWING (you already have your desires), you will be much less likely to spiral. Why? well, as i stated in the first point, we spiral primarily because we experience something unfavorable in the 3D. But when we’re in the state of knowing, we KNOW that the 3D is temporary and that our desires ARE COMING, no matter what, it’s inevitable. No matter what happens, your desires are already yours, is all you need to understand.

3. IMPROVE YOUR SELF CONCEPT: Self concept is the only thing you need to manifest. If your self concept is good then nothing can stop you from getting your desires. Now, after you feel like you’ve taken enough time “off” from manifesting consciously, now you can start easing back in. I recommend you to do a mental diet. It's easy, simple and so effective. All you have to do is be conscious of your thoughts, and flip your negative thoughts to positive. Whenever you get a negative thought related to your manifestation, just flip it around and be like "no, i already have my desire". That's it's, it's that easy.

• CONCLUSION

Persistence can be very hard sometimes but it is extremely important in order to manifest your desires! The best thing to do is to remember that you're the god and remind yourself that circumstances do not matter. Always, remain faithful to your new assumptions and don't let outer circumstances rattle you. Circumstances are temporary, they change in seconds. And, You are the god of your reality and everything has to go your way, no matter what! Never give up. Always persist, persist and persist. The 3D will always conform in front of your eyes.

[eebibly]

Why was it so hard to include Loke as one of the main side characters (for lack of a better term)? And by that I mean like not the main Lucy/Natsu/Gray/Erza/Happy gang, but as important as Wendy/Carla, the Strauss siblings, Gajeel, Laxus/Thunder Legion, Levy/Panther, Cana, etc. Obviously I’m coming from a fav character bias, but I also think it would’ve made sense narratively and for his character development.

One of the running themes in Fairy Tail is “Found Family”. And out of place or not, while he is pretending to be a wizard, it’s evident that he’s made himself at home in Fairy Tail. It was a place to call home while he was suffering. Not only that, he did make genuine friendships there. Close enough that when he quit out of the blue, the whole guild went looking for him. So close, in fact, that Gray asked him to be his partner for the S-Class trials (which, by the way, was a super fun time having him back). Actually, Tenrou was probably the last time he was properly accepted as a member of Fairy Tail.

So, what? He gets saved by Lucy and because of that he just doesn’t care anymore? “All right, character growth chyeck ✔️. Hehe, glad I don’t have to worry about that character anymore. It’s not like he has any residual trauma left from previous abusive masters, and he doesn’t miss his Fairy Tail fam in anyway way shape or form!” Like, it’s almost absurd how little of his character is explored. What does it mean for him to be the leader of the Zodiac? Has he ever met a good celestial wizard before Lucy? How much power does he actually have when not limited by Lucy’s limited magical power? (Which is also annoying, btw, cuz supposedly he should be getting more powerful whenever Lucy gains power, and yet it feels like he keeps getting weaker while Lucy unlocks more abilities. How is that fair???) Even Kagura got more character development than Loke and she’s not even part of Fairy Tail (I love Kagura btw, just trying to make a point).

Also, just exploring what he himself represents could be so interesting. Between being Leo the Lion and wielding Regulus (AKA the light of the king), he should be a symbol of leadership and power. I’m not saying that means he shouldn’t be his goofy, flirty self. If anything, that’s a duality that he could learn to live with. It could be either a struggle or something fun about this phase in his eternal life where he’s sort of half spirit, half human. Why aren’t we allowed to experience that with him?

I have many more qualms about Fairy Tail and how it’s written, it’s just that Loke and the celestial spirits are my favs and therefore it’s easier for me to talk about them. But if anyone is curious about my other thoughts about other events or characters, I’d love to answer those lol. I love this anime for some reason and its characters and I have such a weird obsession with how flawed it is. But until Fairy Tail magically becomes the perfect story I imagine it to be, I need to vent my irrational frustrations somewhere and coming back to Tumblr’s been fun so far so imma be here from time to time lol.

[nvuy]

HII i'm the anon from before who asked for writing advice !! thank you so much for answering omg (≧▽≦)

i'm not gonna start the tumblr blog idea 'til i actually feel confident in my writing (and already have a few things i can post), which i don't at the moment!

i really wanna write self-indulgent fics and if someone happens to relate then that's great!! thing is, my writing feels bland at the moment and rarely do i have any ideas to actually make into a fic (unlike right now. my brain's flooded with ideas all of a sudden..)

point is! i wanna give my writing a sort of descriptive/poetic feel and i know for sure a wide vocabulary isn't enough, even though it *is* a huge part of the style,, if that makes sense. how should i go about this? so sorry if i'm bothering u with all these writing questions!!!

enjoy the rest of your week nd stay cool <33

ur not bothering me at all, lovely. dont worry about it. i think i am the queen of self indulgent fics so there’s nothing to stress abt and i enjoy explaining how my stupid brain works.

description ;

a wide range of vocabulary isn’t necessary. it helps to know some special words and you’re welcome to incorporate them, but some of the best poetry ive read comes from its simplicity. a lot of people dont really want to read constant droning description; as much as i enjoy writing it myself, i hate authors like charles dickens with a passion. you can tell when a writer was being paid per word rather than how many times the book sells. and fuck his stupid ass christmas book.

a tip i can give you is to do what i do, which is to hand pick words depending on the scene.

i’ll use an example because i know that made zero sense: picture a very basic fairycore forest with pink plants and fireflies. this setting, from the description alone, should explain that this forest is a nice and small tucked away and pretty place. we add a stream that runs along the treeline. let’s describe the stream specifically. which sentence sounds better to you?

The white waters that part the soil flow down the centre of the earth, and divide the trees in two.

The clear waters that part the dirt splash down the middle of the path, and section the forest in two.

now, im hoping to the gods that you think the first one is better. the sentences are exactly the same in terms of definition, and the description depicts the same thing, but its the words used that make the first sentence softer, and therefore the setting seems a lot more peaceful by default.

if you use words with harder and rougher consonants throughout—i’m not telling you to avoid them—will make the sentence sound rougher, at least to me. harder sounds like ‘t’ and ‘k,’ as an example. words like ‘white’ i think, despite the hard ending, are still particularly softer, because the ‘wh’ sound at the beginning serves almost as a counterbalance. it’s why the word ‘clear’ sounds rougher; because it starts with a harder sound despite its softer ending.

it has nothing to do with magical sixteen letter words that nobody understands. learning new big words is cool and you’re welcome to use them, but if i see you writing: And the river is so beautiful, so stupendous, so marvelous, so loquacious… i will kill you with my bare hands.

something i also avoid is repeating the same words over and over again. using the stream as an example still, if you’re going to refer to it again and again, dont just use the word ‘stream.’ you sound like a parrot. change it up. look up synonyms if you’re not sure, or simply describe it also as ‘the water.’ the thesaurus is your best friend.

sometimes you can repeat words to emphasise them, or the passing of times. you can do this, but make sure it appears deliberate.

example:

even in confiteor when i was forced to write the word ‘cock’ 5600 times, i broke it up. frankly because i dont really know what other word to use that doesn’t sound awkward or cringe, so in between verses, i tossed in exposition, internal musings, thoughts and feelings, etc, to change up the repeated use of the word.

i Hope… that made sense . .

dropping cliches ;

cliches are inherently bad things, but there’s a lot of things you can do to differentiate stereotypical phrases and such from the norm.

for example: a confession “i love you.”

BORINGGGGG. put it in the bin (im kidding but you can make it more interesting or heartfelt).

observe the typical: “im in love with you.”

now, in my opinion, it’s better than the former. it sounds more sincere. ‘i love you’ on its own could refer to many different types of love, but “im in love with you” is romance.

scrap the obvious and toss out the word ‘love:’ “i’ll never grow tired of your voice.”

now obviously poetic prose wont always work depending on the character doing the confessing. i could imagine someone like argenti prattling and waxing poetry for nine hours.

someone like boothill, however, in all of his inelegance, you can have more fun with.

observe again: “i trust you.”

“but wait nvuy that’s not a love confession.” it’s called subtly. and, if you’ve written it correctly, i shouldnt have to hear a ‘i love you’ to understand that the two people you’re writing about are in love. i should be able to understand that through interactions and exchanges beyond that. i based old habits around that; you didnt have to see the mc and scaramouche smooch to know that they were in love.

there’s so many ways to explain the feelings of romance without saying “[X] was in love with [Y].” UNLESS you use it for a comedic and abrupt effect that the character themselves is feeling, and not so much you as the narrator telling your audience that the character is in love.

the romance you write can be slow and gentle or quick or hostile or muddied or confusing. make it so through words and actions. it’s all in the ‘show don’t tell.’

so if you want to combine my tips you can write your own gooey gross romantic self indulgent fics just like me and then force feed them to your friends YIPPEEEEEE

[fa-by]

I LUV IT

Hi babies and dear Anons 👋🏼, me again 🙃. I posted a new Q&A yesterday, and @camrensrealbish (btw hi, bud 👋🏼😄) asked me in the comments if I could create a post just for I LUV IT's two analyses.

@camrensrealbish: “Hi Faby, I love the interpretation of I LUV IT. I luv it, I luv it, I luv it 👌😅. I think it explains so well that this era is not surface-level at all. That thought through lyricism and symbolism is definitely still here. And how we’re so eager to dismiss hyperpop as stupid and without substance, be it for our convictions about femininity or sexuality, or even caution because of how other people use women’s sexuality. But when done purposefully it just shows how showing someone’s sexuality in this way *can* be empowering and authentic. And I think this is the case here. Can you please post your song commentary in a separate post, please? I would like to share it properly 😘”.

I originally wanted to post the two analyses as I did here now, but I couldn't because Tumblr has limited the possibility of posting more than 30 pics and I don't know why the fuck 😤. So thank you, dear 🤗. You gave me the excuse to be able to do it 😉.

Enjoy 😊.

Hiii to you too, dear Anon 👋🏼😄. I hope you're good too and about your ask, sure 😉.

So. I LUV IT ft. Playboi Carti released on March 27, 2024, is the first single for her fourth LP: C, XOXO. It's a hyperpop/experimental pop song and it samples Lemonade by Gucci Mane and interpolates Cockiness (Love It) by my queen RiRi (Rihanna). The studio recording with Carti was completed on Dec 17, 2023: (Carti's instastory)

Let me tell you something, this song was meant to shock. She pulled a Yes, and? and it worked 😎. For those of you who don't know what I'm referring to by that, I meant that Yes, and? was Ariana Grande's single for her album Eternal Sunshine and it's a diva house/dance-pop song, which was a different and unexpected genre especially then comparing it to the rest of the songs in the album when it was later released. It's a great song, but if it weren't for the concept that connects to two other songs, it would have nothing to do with the rest of the album musically and sonically speaking. It was a calculated idea to make it different from the rest. It's very smart and it's a good strategy for both a comeback and an album. I feel like I LUV IT is exactly the same thing. An impactful comeback was needed and this, together with the platinum blonde and the new era in general, served the purpose. The song was meant to be talked about for better or for worse. And guess what? Mission accomplished 😜.

This song is not for everyone. There are those who loved it right away, those who hated it and still do, and there are those who hated it and then slowly loved it. In reality, most people hated it and then loved it 🤣. I personally didn't hate it but I didn't love it right from the start either, not gonna lie. I just liked it 🤷🏻‍♀️. But after the third listen? Bouncing ass, tongue out, aaaand I luv it, I luv it, I luv it, I luv it, I luv it, I luv it, I luv it 🤣!! This song is definitely a grower! The more you listen to it, the more you become addicted to it 😍.

But anyway. Unlike the video, the lyrics talk about sex. So let's get started. Oh and, of course, I won't include Carti's mumbled Atlanta rap or as his fans say, the Cartinese, simply because he wrote his part.

***Btw, I can no longer listen to Carti’s “Oh, you on the road now? - Oh, you grown now? - Oh, you too grown now” without bursting out laughing 🤦🏻‍♀️🤣. I can't help but hear Nas' imitation of Carti's voice in the HE KNOWS music video🤣🤣🤣. For me, those three sentences have now become just one repeated X3: “Oh, you on the floor now” 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣***

Oh oh oh, last thing before starting. If you're a prude, LEAVE NOW. Skip the whole lyric analysis and go straight to the music video analysis. The song is about sex like I just said and I therefore won't hold back from explaining certain things, okay? I warned you 🙋🏻‍♀️. I don't wanna see complaints in the comments as happened years ago. Thank you.

Song

Verse 1:

“Supersonic, in your orbit”

So, supersonic. One word from which two derive: super and sonic. Super: above the rest, better than the rest. Sonic: derived from the Latin ‘sonus’ which means sound. Super-sound. Basically a loud noise, a sound/sonic boom that (the actual meaning of supersonic:) breaks the acoustic barrier by traveling at a speed faster than the one of sound. A flight can be supersonic. As well as a missile and even a gun bullet.

An orbit is an ever-changing path one object in space takes around another. An unscientific example? A dog with its favorite toy often orbits their owner insistently because they want to play with them. Speaking from personal experience here 🤣.

***Oh and, lil fun fact. In prostitution specifically, orbit was, and perhaps still is, a code word for oral sex***

Ultimately, “Supersonic, in your orbit” means that Mila is this supersonic boom, this let's even say supersonic shock that orbits around her prey. As I've said many other times in my analysis, Mila likes to use wordplay in her songs and this is basically her artistic way of explaining sexual provocation. She's provoking her target.

“And I’m bad, diabolic”

It's giving intense energy and mischief out of the ordinary 😜. She knows she's good at it (provocation). She has a goal (to sleep with her) and succeeds because we have the aftermath of her intent in the next sentence.

“Bottle rocket, on the carpet”

Her favorite lyrics because many people didn't grasp the meaning ��. Definition of bottle rocket: a firework typically consisting of a cylindrical case that is partly filled with combustible material and fastened to a guiding stick which may be placed in a bottle to control the direction of the rocket's launch.

In this case, in sex, bottle rocket is the representation of cuming hard in an explosive way.

Rockets have a phallic shape, so the first thing that's assumed here is that it's the sperm that's on the carpet, also because the song acts as straight 🙄, but where's the deception? Even girls can give someone a bottle rocket. How? By being an explosion and not a normal female cum orgasm, with female ejaculation also known as squirting.

Ergo, she's talking about herself. This song is not about sex with a guy and I can even prove that with the next sentence.

“Threw it back and he caught it”

Round two, doggy-style position. Movements: “Threw it back” her ass “and she caught it” with the hands by placing it directly back on the face aka mouth-tongue (clue about the lil fun fact I mentioned earlier) or by directing the entrance of the cave of wonders on the dildo (since Camren loves toys so much 😜🤣🤭). But, given the “he” because, again, the song acts as straight 🙄, the meaning should make you think of the guiding on the dick. But no. As I said before, I can prove it.

When guys cum, it literally takes them a while before they can go again. Some need 10/15 minutes, others hours or directly the next day because they literally physically can't. It's rare anyway that they manage to go beyond the second round (unless they're in the midst of adolescence and are like 14/15 years old 🤣), and those who miraculously can make it, also last very little and their cum is also very little. And mind you, I'm not saying these things to belittle men. I'm not making anything up. It's the pure truth. Not only have I experienced it myself (cause yes, hi 👋🏼, I've been with my gf for 3 years but I'm bisexual and I've had relationships before her), but these are facts that you can even look up if you don't believe me.

It's obviously not the same for all guys and they're all different, but us girls literally need 5 seconds or nothing at all to recover, and we don't have limits like they do. Unlike males, we females can have multiple orgasms. Sexual arousal and orgasm are possible again right away. So no. It's impossible she was talking about a guy.

If she was really talking about a guy, it's impossible that immediately after his Bottle rocket, on the carpet (yet another proof that Mila was talking about her cuming, her squirting) he didn't need some enough available time for round two (Threw it back and he caught it). Let’s move on 💪🏼.

“I go soprano, baby, go down low”

Soprano in music is the highest note, so in this case, going soprano means she's screaming with pleasure. And in her euphoric state, she guides her partner back down there into her buried treasure.

“And when he leads, I gotta follow”

The movements. Like in dance. In partner dancing, there are those who lead and those who follow. They're designed roles to facilitate the movements. The one who leads manages the body of the one who follows and decides the dance steps and direction of travel from time to time.

The thing that makes me laugh about this part is the “when he leads”. “When” 🤣🤣🤣. Because she's the top and she's the one who leads most of the time because Laur's the bottom (even though they're both also switch) so when Lo leads, when, sometimes, occasionally, I gotta follow 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣. Oh Mila 🤦🏻‍♀️🙈🤣.

“I’m blackin’ out, I’m on a spiral”

She feels out of control (spiral) because the ending is so beautiful that it almost makes her lose consciousness (blackin’ out).

“I need you now and tomorrow”

And forever.

I’d also like to add a deeper meaning of sex to I’m blackin’ out, I’m on a spiral – I need you now and tomorrow. Although she said the song is about sex, she also said:

“Part of that cocktail is also the emotional drama between you and that person, and the chaos and butterflies and nerves and passion. It’s unsustainable and not peaceful and exhausting, but also, I LUV IT.” – “Now I feel kind of lonely and small and weird, but at the same time, I’m an adult and I feel so strong in other areas of my life, but not this one. There’s just the wrestling of those feelings without it being kind of neat or in a box. You can’t really say that it’s a sad song, you can’t really pin it down. It’s just kind of me wrestling with these feelings and me kind of being really present on a particular feeling and exploring it. I feel like a lot of songs on the album are that”.

So going deeper, “I’m blackin’ out, I’m on a spiral” indicate her anxiety. Being on a spiral or simply spiraling, is an emotional state that rapidly worsens in a way that becomes increasingly difficult to control and often leads to short-term periods of anxiety or depression. Aka her OCD gets triggered. Which by the way, I remind you that for her leads to obsessions and repetitive thoughts. And in a certain way, we can also see it in the repetition of the same phrase in the chorus.

So here she's saying: 1) I’m blackin’ out, aka I'm going crazy, I'm freaking out (connection/thing that reminds me a lot of “Am I out of my head? Am I out of my mind?” Bad Things [analysis here (eleventh ask)]) 2) I’m on a spiral, aka I'm anxious, distressed, worried, fearful. Why? Because I don't wanna lose you aka 3): I need you now and tomorrow. This alludes to the desire for connection and intimacy that goes beyond sex.

Both meanings (sexual and deeper) however indicate the intensity of her uncontrollable and erratic emotions towards as she said “that person” Lauren. But she doesn't care. “It’s unsustainable and not peaceful and exhausting, but also, I…?” She…? She what? Sing it all together🎤🎵🎶👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼:

Chorus:

“I luv it, I luv it, I luv it, I luv it

I luv it, I luv it, I luv it

I luv it, I luv it, I luv it, I luv it

I luv it, I luv it, I luv it

I luv it, I luv it, I luv it, I luv it

I luv it, I luv it, ooh

I luv it, I luv it, I luv it, I luv it

I luv it, I luv it, I luv it”

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…...

27.   27……

27 times, huh? 😜 What a wonderful coincidence! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 of all the numbers, precisely the 27. Would you look at that 🤣🤣.

No seriously tho. The words have to fit and respect the tempo of the song, but coincidence or not it's still funny for me 🤭.

Post-Chorus 1:

“Lemons on the chain with the V-cuts (X2)

Lemons in their face, watch ’em freeze up (x2)”

This part was sampled from the song Lemonade by Gucci Mane. Lemons are basically yellow diamonds (known as Canary Diamonds) cut/engraved in the shape of the letter V (an expensive method of cutting diamonds).

The meaning behind that would be that people would “freeze up” in shock at seeing this display of wealth and success, these lemons/diamonds, “in their face”s. They're oh so surprised and intimidated that they even freeze up for this luxury lifestyle thrown in their faces.

Umm………. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 Do we really care? Of that? Okay 🤣. About something she didn't even write? Something that she literally took copied and pasted into the song? Pfft, okay. Can we move on? Thank you 🤣.

Verse 2:

“Super twisted, sick addicted”

Twisted: someone who's mentally or emotionally unhealthy or disturbed: sick. --> Sick addicted: someone who's unable to stop doing something as a habit. Ergo, she's saying that she likes/enjoys it a lot and wants to spend as much time as possible doing what they're doing: sex.

Nonsexual meaning: She's using strong words to describe not only herself but also what their relationship is like. They may be twisted, and addicted, and toxic, and all the other things we've seen in their songs, but no matter what, she/they LUV IT, cause they luuuv each other.

“Kiss me hard, someday you’ll miss this”

A dig for all those times they break up or take breaks.

“Meteor shower, in your power”

What's a meteor shower?

The meteor shower is nothing other than what we commonly call shooting stars. These are obviously not stars, but meteors. Meteors are the aftermath of asteroids and comets that ORBITATED the SUN.

Asteroids (celestial bodies composed of rocky bodies) and comets (celestial bodies composed of frozen gases) become meteoroids when they fragment. In turn, meteoroids ignite and disintegrate when they enter our solar system, becoming meteors, ergo shooting stars. Those that don't disintegrate and manage to touch the earth's ground instead become meteorites.

How does a meteor shower happen?

The meteor shower happens when the earth, in its ORBIT around the SUN, crosses an area in which fragments of rock and dust (meteoroids) lost from a comet or an asteroid (celestial bodies made of rock, dust, and ice coming from the outermost areas of the solar system) are concentrated. When an asteroid and a comet heat up as they pass close to the sun, they reach such temperatures that they fragment even more (meteoroids) and when these very tiny fragments enter our atmosphere, they ignite and burn due to friction by generally developing tails, luminous trails (shooting stars) until they vaporize or leave debris (meteorites) behind.

Lil fun fact: some meteorites found on earth come from the MOON 🤭🤣. Most come from destroyed comets and asteroids, but some come from Mars or the moon.

So, after this compelling little science lesson, I can explain what Mila means by “Meteor shower, in your power”.

It's very simple actually. A meteor shower is a celestial event. She's comparing their sex to this astronomical phenomenon, the “Meteor shower”. The “in your power” is due to the fact that Lo’s the one who’s leading as we saw in “And when he leads, I gotta follow” in the first verse.

“Seein’ stars, oh my God”

The retina sends light signals to the brain by making sparks, stars, or flashes of light appear in the visual field. When does this happen? It usually has to do with the head. You've made a movement too fast, like standing up suddenly, or you've been hit on the head, or you're about to lose consciousness, etc. These are all negative aspects, but we're talking about something positive here. Sex.

This amazing sex (Meteor shower), this second round (Threw it back and she caught it), brings her to another orgasm (maybe even another Bottle rocket 🤷🏻‍♀️😏) during which she feels so bewildered, so dizzy, and she experiences this very surreal feeling that overwhelmed her by even Seein’ stars during it. Seein’ stars: to climax, to achieve orgasm.

This can very well be connected with ““I’m blackin’ out, I’m on a spiral” She feels out of control (spiral) because the ending is so beautiful that it almost makes her lose consciousness (blackin’ out)” that I explained earlier.

Oh and, the “oh my God” was her, um 🤣, comment, to express that ending if it wasn't already obvious enough 🤣.

Bridge:

“Slow down, baby”

All of Playboi Carti's “Uh, uh, uh, uh” before Mila's “Slow down, baby”, at least to me, indicate the thrust of the act. Again, he “sings” them to prove the song is straight 🙄, but we know the truth. Anyway. The “Slow down, baby” means exactly that. Either Mila's settling down from the end of round two and needs a tiny bit more time to go as fast as they were going before, or she simply wants this third round to go at a slower pace than the previous one, or better yet, Slow down, baby like in ‘stop, it's my turn now’ (to lead).

Another proof that this doesn't talk about sex with a guy. As I said before, it's rare for guys to get beyond 2 rounds, so let alone a third one 🤣. Sorry, not sorry, but it's literally the truth 🤣.

And that's it. I luv the fact that Camila's lyrics in this song talk about sex but she uses words that still perfectly capture the magnetic attraction between the two of them. I luv how she's quite unapologetic about it. And I LUUUV how she also used these cosmic references in general, but above all, how they anyway hide in a certain way the two important celestial bodies in our sky and solar system: their representation, aka the moon and the sun.

Now let's move on to the music video where everything that could go wrong happens 👍🏼🤣. What is she trying to convey here? Let's find out.

Music video

Opening scene. A Robin Hood wannabe who takes coins from his pocket.

Three empty stationary police cars in a driveway while an aspiring lumberjack cop is, for what initially appears to be, cutting down a tree to prepare for winter.

KhaleesiMila enters the scene 5 seconds before she starts singing. She looks like she just came back home from the night before given her outfit and her slightly messy hair. But not her makeup. The makeup is perfect of course because it's still a music video 😉.

She enters the kitchen with a chocolate cake in one hand while with the other she nonchalantly tosses her heels in a spot where it's very usual for us girls to leave them 🤣: at the doorway or in the bedroom on the kitchen counter.

She starts singing and eating a piece of chocolate cake at the same time.

At the same moment as the first bite of the cake, we have a really well-done perfect transition of her spitting her mouthguard out in a somewhat snobbish but challenging and provocative way because she's ready to fight against a professional female wrestler.

Soon after we have a 3-second split shot of her chewing the cake in the kitchen again and her and Carti in the gas station, before cutting to a long one where we have the reappearance of the archer from the opening scene.

From this moment on, all the small shots, the little introductions that we initially had, are explained a little bit more extensively with longer scenes and shots. Still messy 🤣, but longer.

Hospital part 1

Now that we see the surroundings, we notice how Legolas wannabe is in the corridor of a hospital and that the coins he took from his pocket in the opening scene, he needed them to get something like a chocolate bar from the vending machine. After taking it, he walks back to a white-dressed Mila who's sitting with an arrow in her heart.

A flash passed before my eyes and for a moment I was back in 2019. Why? Liar. The cover art picture of the song portrays her as an angel with wings.

Camila explained that Cupid strikes her with his bow to make her fall from heaven and unmask her, by making her not so angelic anymore because she's actually a liar who's hiding something, that is a secret [hmm, I wonder which one 😏😎🤫🤐🤣]. This whole story created for the song inspired the visual for the entire album Romance (whole album inspired by the surrealism of a museum of love stories in heaven).

So I asked myself, what is this? A connection to Romance but direct to Liar? No. I'd say more that she paid homage to it since even though the lyrics are about sex, the ideology of the video is about their toxic relationship and how she knows it's toxic but she LUVs IT anyway.

Anyhow, I guess that at the arrow in the heart scene, you all thought that the Green Arrow wannabe was Cupid. Same thing here, mostly because of the connection with Liar. I initially thought: “Oooh, it's Cupid! Cupid shot her with his arrow, ergo she's in love. But she's lovesick, and because of this the hospital: love - sick”. Then I saw the whole scene (plus the ending which I'll explain, well, at the end 🤣) and I realized: “Nope. Not Cupid. Not Cupid at all. Hi, Lauren 👋🏼”.

***Let's be clear. This is a music video. A creative and imaginative way of portraying objects, people, and scenarios in general. Yes, it's Camila's POV, but Lauren isn't that bitchy and dickish in real life. Okay? Every artist does it. It's art. Literally, as the word implies.***

So, back to the scene. Rewind. Lauren Hawkeye wannabe takes the candy bar from the vending machine and goes back to Mila. *This is the point where I got to before.* He doesn't even look at her. He just sits. Contrary to her who follows him with her gaze as he sits down and she also turns her head to look at him one more time before looking straight ahead.

That chocolate bar or whatever the fuck it is, it's not even for her. He took it for himself without even having the thought of taking it for her or taking something for her as well. I mean he's like, he's there for her. He went with her and he accompanied her also because he hit her with an arrow. Like yeah, we know that. We can see that. But even though he's there for her, he at the same time doesn't acknowledge or address her at all. He's just there. Present and not. Waiting for her turn.

While she, even smiles with her mouth closed as he's returning to her, but it's a smile I'd say forced. A kind of smile that masks how uncomfortable she feels. It's a wan smile that shows no energy or enthusiasm. It's a stoical ‘grin-and-bear-it because you're used to it after all’ kind of expression. That smile alone makes you understand how ‘normal’ this situation is for her. She's so used to it that it's a standard routine for her. It doesn't come as a surprise.

In a situation like this one, in a hospital, with an arrow in the chest/heart, anger or pain or both reactions are what you expect to be shown by her. But no. She's just there. Waiting for her turn.

Meaning behind this? The arrow in the heart represents a metaphorical way to express the idea that love can be both powerful and overwhelming, capable of causing joy and pain in equal measure. In this case however, the arrow in the heart doesn't represent a tender sweet and romantic symbol of Cupid and Valentine's Day. It represents a heart-piercing emotional pain. In this case, that arrow is nothing more than a heart-stopping arrow through the heart.

Fight & Dogs

In the next scene we have the professional female wrestler again. Like when she spat her mouthguard out in the opening brief shot, Mila continues to have this defiant attitude *she’s so hot there btw 🤤🥵*.

She shows herself as very self-confident with this superior aura and this cockiness that gives off an ‘I can kick your ass’ vibe. All of this flies out the window the moment the wrestler makes her move against her and Mila shits in her pants and starts running away 🤣.

At the same time that she starts running, we have another perfect transition of a running dog.

Then we have another very brief shot of her continuing to eat the cake in the kitchen, before alternating the fight with the wrestler and not just one dog running randomly, but her being chased by no less than three dogs 🤣.

These two scenes are connected on the part of running for your life. Literally as far as the dogs are concerned 🤣. And speaking of the dogs, the scene represents the danger and risks of being in love with someone. It represents all the feelings of chaos that go along with it. It represents feeling afraid and helpless with a constant internal battle of anxiety and fear. Being chased by dogs is stressful, scary, and unpleasant, BUT, it's even adrenaline-pumping and the depiction of it, is basically like an excited nightmare that represents not knowing where things are leading. Running into the unknown. She's scared but she does it anyway because the journey is electrifying.

Going back and talking about the scene with the wrestler, the running scared to avoid the actual physical fight is the representation of avoiding the confrontation. And that's something we know Mila does thanks to both her and Lauren. We also know this because in 2016 she herself said that she avoids conflicts with people. It's a vice/bad habit that she's always had.

BUT, no matter how much she tries to run away and avoid this confrontation, it always happens. Sooner or later, she eventually always finds herself having to face the problem unwillingly or not. The representation of this in the video is when she's captured. We actually see this section almost at the end of the video after Carti’s “🎵tursin-eh-oh-and-halloh-eh-halloh-eh-halloh-I'm out o-controool🎵” 🤣🤣🤣. We see the wrestler chasing and catching Mila, which leads to the headlock wrestling move.

Now let's talk about this section with the headlock that we see both at the end and currently in the first chorus of the part of the video where we are. Specifically this one here. We see several headlocks in sequence, but the one I want to focus on is the second one, where the wrestler is enacting the chokehold with only one arm.

Like, umm… 🤭 The way you caress her arm and look at her, and the way you sing “I luv it” with your tongue sticking out in that seductive way 🔥.

I mean... Mila, honey…😏 I see you! 🤣

No wonder in the BTS of the video she said: “I've been the most excited for this scene all day”. Hmm 🤔, I wonder why is that 🤣🤣🤣. Just as I'm not surprised by the other clue she gave in the interview with Bru On The Radio when talking about the scene: “It's like a little homoerotic. It's cool! But um- * she bursts out laughing by looking to the side* -yeah”.

Homoerotic: 1) (especially of art, literature, drama, or the like) using symbolism, allusions, situations, etc., that invoke sexual attraction or activity between people of the same gender. Example: There's definitely some homoerotic subtext in that book. 2) having sexual attraction to people of one's own sex or gender, especially when that attraction is repressed. Example: To say a man has a “streak of lavender” means that he has homoerotic desires. 3) relating or involving sexual activity between people of the same sex. Specifically: marked by, revealing, or portraying sexual desire between people of the same sex.

I have nothing else to add, Your Honor. I have nothing else to add 😎🤣.

No but seriously now. She doesn't act that way during the other headlocks. In those, she tries to fight back and somehow defend herself by trying to free herself. We see her react in a rather normal way to that type of situation. But in that particular hold? Nope 🤣. We can see how much she likes it. How attracted and aroused she is. The reactions she has during the other headlocks represent her external side, what really happens and what she lets see. While in that particular one, we see the toxicity of what happens in her inner part. The “I luv it” to the choking which on a larger scale, represents her toxicity in loving the pain. Even though they're fighting and she hates the confrontation and is in pain, she LUVs IT anyway because she luvs HER.

***Mind you that this is only an additional representation and seen in a more generic way. I don't see it as fitting to the theme of the music video as much as the one I've already explained to you now.*** A broader meaning could also be the representation of how the love for Lauren is so strong that she can't fight it. We've seen this other times in the lyrics of songs like This Love [analysis here (the penultimate ask)] and Señorita [analysis here (the last ask)] where Mila was having an inner struggle because, on the one hand, she wanted to protect her feelings, and on the other, she couldn't resist her. Ergo, the scene where she tries to fight this love, the professional wrestler, but she loses and thus is ultimately defeated.

House

Next scene we have her continuing to eat the chocolate cake plus this guy who comes in and rides around her house on his motorcycle and she does nothing.

Let's dwell for a moment on her eating.

Where have we seen something like this before (besides the reality of everyday life)? In every damn movie and TV show since forever 🤣. Someone is sad for some X reason like they had a fight with someone, or they're going through a breakup, and what do they do? They eat either something chocolate or ice cream. 90% of the time it's something chocolate related. Why? Because when consumed, it releases endorphins in the brain that produce a mild feeling of euphoria by mimicking the feeling of being in love. This is why chocolate is called the love drug. It gives comfort and joy and when we're down, we emotionally crave chocolate because we're unsatisfied with something.

Her eating chocolate cake in this case is an indication of unsatisfied desires and emotional needs.

Now let's go back to the guy with the motorcycle. He's destroying everything in his path and she's simply there, munching on her cake unbothered.

He's causing a mess but she doesn't even try to stop him. She doesn't get angry, she doesn't scream, nothing. And why? Because as I said before by talking about that type of smile in the hospital, this situation is ‘normal’ for her. She doesn't react simply because she's used to it. The chaos of their relationship doesn't surprise her also because, I mean, it's been years and years.

The house depicts her head and what happens in it. Him destroying the house is a representation of how she sees his bringing chaos into her life and their relationship. On a deeper level, her not reacting to the destruction of the house represents the fact that she's so in love that she ignores bad and toxic behaviors. The whole scene represents the toxicity and destruction that a relationship can bring into your life but you keep trying because you LUV IT. Lauren brings love, happiness, passion, euphoria, but she also brings chaos which also encompasses mess, confusion, disarray, whether all good or bad. We also saw this type of example in the lyrics of Consequences [analysis here (penultimate ask)].

Successively we have a mix of scenes, among which are the cop one of the opening scene, the car one, and the bathroom one.

Palm tree

We can finally see that this aspiring lumberjack cop is chopping this palm tree because Camila is on top of it.

Now, I have two interpretations for this. The palm tree represents Lauren/their toxic love in both interpretations.

N° 1, she's stuck on the tree. Being stuck represents her way of saying that there's no way out of their toxic relationship even though someone (represented by the cop) or more than someone (since there are 3 police cars even though we only see one cop) tries to get her out of this situation.

N° 2, the one I see as the most truthful, the most right one. She's not stuck on the tree. Mila is Walzing it 🤣🤣🤣 (for those who don't know, Dinah used to call Mila ‘Walz’ and here you can find the reason why the nickname was born). Her koalaing the tree also represents her co-dependence. She's clinging to it and doesn't want to let go.

She's on the very high point of the tree; visual meaning: danger. If she were to fall, she would die or be seriously injured. But she doesn't care. She's ready to risk her life. Deeper for the representation: her love is so strong, that she's ready to risk it (“I'll risk it all”, as we've already seen in Used to This [part of the interpretation that you can find in the analysis of Only Told the Moon here]). She's ready to risk everything/risk it all even if she were to lose her heart and if it were to affect even her mental and physical health as we've already seen in the lyrics of Consequences.

Even in this case, the cop represents someone or more than someone in her life who tries to get her out of this situation. They use extreme ways to do this, representative of getting her down: cutting down the tree. Why? Why doesn't this cop who clearly knows that this person is experiencing some kind of problem call the fire truck to bring a ladder to save her since that's what's normally done in these situations? Or he doesn't go directly and find one himself? Why doesn't he talk to her and try to reason with her to get her down?

Because it's not the first time this has happened. The cop (her family, her friends) is so used to and tired of seeing their on-again, off-again/cycle/loop/circle, that he decides to help her in a more brutal way in this case. Representation: chopping down the tree. It doesn't matter tho. It doesn't matter that other people try to help her in hard ways. She doesn't wanna lose her, and therefore she depicts how even though she knows it's a toxic relationship, she's clinging (codependent) to it and continues to love her because she doesn't want to depart/separate herself no matter what. Reason why we even see her singing “I luv it” while she’s glued to the tree.

Car

Speaking of falling (and how these two scenes are connected). Instead of that tree, here we see her having fallen over a car. Part of the car is destroyed, as is she. It's a representation of being in love and how it can sometimes destroy you. But again, we even see her singing “I luv it” because she doesn't care.

She doesn't care about falling and being crushed by/for her. They've taken a lot of risks over the years. They've suffered, they've hurt each other, and they've fallen down and gotten up every single time. And those wounds, in the video are represented as real wounds with cuts, bruises, gashes, and all that jazz.

She doesn't even care when we, the public and the fans, see her destroyed like that. We've seen it many times, especially after years and years spent growing up in the public eye. By this, I'm obviously referring to the woman who's immortalizing the scene with her phone.

Although that, it's also a representation of what would actually happen in today's world: instead of helping or calling an ambulance, the woman is filming or taking pics.

Bathroom & Bedroom

Contrary to the connection that the tree and the car scenes have, this one is connected to the ones of the dogs and the professional female wrestler.

We first see her in the bathroom. She looks in the mirror and even lifts her shirt up to look at her belly. Let's say normal things that we all do, and so far, nothing strange. Then we also see her perplexed and undecided tho (when she sighs with her finger in her mouth). And we see her rehearsing. We see her change her expression to a determined one and make the gun gesture with the fingers of her hand.

***Sorry but I have to tell you guys 🤣🤣🤣. I found it extremely funny how she made the gun gesture with her fingers precisely at “someday you’ll miss this”. THIS and bam: fingers out 😏😎🤣.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry 🤣🤣 one day she'll miss, what, Mila? Your gay fingers?🤣🤣🤣 Oooooookay 😉🤣***

Back to normal. All that represents her mentally preparing herself, and for what? For what we then see in the bedroom. Before heading there, we can see her expression of determination but more importantly, we can see her pissed-off expression.

She walks into the bedroom with this imaginary automatic machine gun that she uses to shoot and destroy the bed. As she does that, the footage also shows us the rest of the room, and what do I spy with my little eye 🧐? A frame hanging on the wall. And what's in that frame? Five boys with the word ‘sorry’ written on their backs.

Wait a second, wait a second… FIVE???? 😲 Five as a reference to Fifth Harmony? 😱 Five as in 5H because it's a hidden clue to confirm that she's talking about Lauren? 🤯 WHAAAAAT??? 😵

Yes, guys, yes. For those who haven't noticed, the answer is yes. Camila doesn't do things shittily. There's always meaning in the things she does, whether it's hidden or not. And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise or something different about that clue, don't be fooled. Why 5? Explain the 5 otherwise? They could've used a thousand different things like, for example, an apology/sorry note left on the bedside table, or even just one guy with sorry on his back in that frame since all of this is supposed to be straight and about a guy 🙄. But no. They used FIVE of them specifically.

Moving on.

The rehearsals she was doing in the bathroom that we later saw lead to the destruction of the bed with the imaginary automatic machine gun, were all due to Mila being pissed off about something Laur had done. Something we know thanks to the not-so-hidden apology message in the frame. Now I don't know about you 🎤🎶but I'm feeling 22 🎶🎤 sorry but I had to 🤣 but I know that even though Camila is magical, she doesn't really have powers 🤣. So even though this is the representation of her being pissed at Lo, she didn't actually shoot the bed. It was all in her head. She was just imagining doing it. Yeah, she was angry, but we also know that she'd run away in reality to try to avoid conflicts as we saw in the scene with the dogs and in the scene with the wrestler (aka Laur herself), during which, however, we also saw that the wrestler captures her and that therefore Mila was then forced to face.

Hospital part 2

During the mix of these three scenes (Palm Tree - Car - Bathroom & Bedroom) just discussed, we have two small shots of Mila in the hospital. The first during “oh my God” and the second during “I luv it”.

We see her looking in one direction before saying “oh my God”. It's an exasperated “oh my God” because no one's assisting her yet.

She sings “I luv it” by tapping her finger to her temple in rhythm but we can see how impatient she's starting to get for the wait. Yeah, she luvs it, she luvs it, she luvs it, she luvs it, she luvs it, she luvs it, she luvs it, but she's irritated and frustrated.

Gas station

Mila and her friends pull over into this gas station. A guy with long hair immediately approaches to serve them, but instead of refueling the car as we normally expected, he does it to them. He takes the pump and fills their glasses with gasoline, even though we know very well that it was actually nothing more than “some disgusting water-down apple juice”, according to Mila herself.

All this during “Lemons on the chain with the V-cuts (X4) - Lemons in their face, watch ’em freeze up (x4)” Oh well, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade Camila Cabello drinks gasoline 🤣.

Sorry, sorry 🤣. Joking aside now.

Drinking alcohol produces euphoria. It's stimulating, exciting, and lowers inhibitions and control. It's intoxicating, and although this word usually indicates something positive, it can also represent something negative especially when associated with alcohol. Drinking alcohol is intoxicating in a good way, but if done too much, it's intoxicating in a harmful way. In this case, alcohol is the representation of another hyperbolic metaphor. It's yet another concept represented in an exaggerated way. Gasoline, fuel, or whatever the hell it was, is obviously toxic. Ingesting it is dangerous. It's yet another representation of their toxic relationship and tendencies and how she doesn't care going against all common sense because she LUVs IT.

There would also be another possible meaning behind this scene due to Playboi Carti's verse. He talks about drugs (Novocaine and Mary Jane), luxury cars (Lamborghini Aventador SVJ), and rebellious life in general.

Novocaine is a drug used as a local anesthetic normally by dentists. Mary Jane is the literal English translation of the name Marijuana. Spanish: Maria/Mari. English translation: Mary. Spanish: Juana. English translation: Jane. Ergo, Marijuana: Mary Jane. In the past when drug users talked about marijuana, they called it Mary Jane so as not to arouse police suspicion.

I explained all this because specifically his talk about drugs made me think of a different possible meaning behind this scene. You see in the US, many drug dealers operate out of gas stations. Mila and her friends are getting gas at the gas station. In slang, ‘gas’ is a noun made popular by rappers to refer to weed/marijuana.

It might be that the scene has both meanings. Alcohol for her and drugs for him. Who knows 🤷🏻‍♀️. Maybe we would've seen it for real if Carti hadn't arrived late for the video shoot. But anyway.

Right after that, we have the dance scene. I have two interpretations for that even here. Both true.

The first one: Don't expect me to say sweet and predictable things like that she's dancing hypnotized because she's drunk on love 🤣. Nope. The blindfold is supposed to represent how blinded she is by love and shit, right? The typical phrase ‘love is blind’ that makes someone unable to see the flaws of the person they love. True, but at the same time in her case, bullshit tho. Buuuullshit! Because we saw throughout the video how she's aware of everything.

She chose to put the blindfold on and dance freely whether it's just for fun or distraction or to literally dance the pain away. She chose to put it on to ‘not see’ the flaws, the toxicity, and all the negative things. She knows. She knows they're there. It's just her choice to ignore them because, once again, she doesn't care because she luvs it and her.

The second one: Based on the getting gas in the previous shot, whether it's just alcohol or whether it's also marijuana, that's why right after that scene we see Carti with his hoodie backwards (it's literally backwards, look closely) before he starts singing and Mila and the girls dancing together blindfolded with X’s over their eyes.

It represents the beginning of the effect. 😵: literally the dizziness of drunkenness and/or stonedness. In a deeper way, it represents love being a drug/addiction to live to the fullest (dancing).

Again whether it's just alcohol or weed, that's also the reason why at the end of the video they're both comfortable and relaxed in eating calmly as if they don't have a care in the world (despite the video being completely the opposite). Both alcohol and weed increase hunger and appetite, sometimes leading to strange and uncontrollable cravings. That represents half to almost the end of the effect.

Hospital part 3

She's still waiting. She's still waiting for someone to help her remove that fucking arrow from her chest. The whole reason she's been there waiting for probably hours. Nurses even walk past in front of her but still no one assists her. As before, she's still annoyed, but now she's also discouraged and sad. Not only that, but the male version of a Katniss Everdeen wannabe is also gone. Representation of a breakup or one of their breaks. Mila's alone, and suddenly, the wound begins to bleed.

In this case, the arrow through her heart symbolizes feeling emotionally hurt. Since loving someone is not always a walk in dreamland, but it also consists of twists and turns and can really fucking hurt you, here we see how her heart starts dripping blood. The bleeding can also represent how toxic relationships leave you in the end. Again, love is pain but she LUVs IT.

Thing more important, the wound begins to bleed because she's no longer with her. It didn't do it the entire time Laur was with her, but her heart started to bleed in pain only after she left. Representation of how her heart, although already wounded (arrow) by her/for her, cannot bear to be without her (bleeding). As I also explained in my This Love’s interpretation, the choice over the years has often been between having her and suffering, or not having her at all, and as we know, she always chose her.

The end

So, that was the music video. It gave me Miami and Florida. It gave me GTA and crack house feelings 🤣. It gave me wildness and adrenaline. It gave me roller coaster. It gave me college students traveling for the holidays/Spring Breakers movie. *For those who don't know what I'm talking about 👇🏼*

Especially here with this promo.

*Last minute edit: she just said Spring Breakers is one of the inspired aesthetics for the new era*

She in specific, gave me addicted to pain. She gave me impulsiveness. She gave me a fast-paced lifestyle, full of passion, desire, and disregard for consequences. She gave me vibe. She gave me boujee. She gave me dance. She gave me actress and humor as has also happened in other videos in the past (although less than those ones) such as for example Havana, Liar, My Oh My, Bam Bam, Don’t Go Yet, etc. (it's not the first time Camila's been in ridiculous situations in her videos). She gave me chaos begets chaos, and in order to maintain sanity, one must embrace the insanity. Or in her case, a palm tree 🤣🤣🤣.

I mean, all in all and in its complexity, I really enjoyed it. She said the theme of the video is chaos and danger, and we saw that. In the interview with Bru On The Radio, still talking about the video, she said: “This complex feeling of loving the pain of something, or loving the messiness of something, or loving the chaos of something, really kind of like finding the beauty in that part of our humanity”. And we saw that too.

And as if it wasn't clear enough already, the video is an artistic representation of the toxic tendencies and behaviors of their toxic relationship in general throughout all these years. And yes, their as in both of them, not just her as in Lauren's. I told you guys in the beginning that it's Camila's POV and I explained that Lauren isn't that bitchy and dickish in real life, but we don't just see Laur's toxic tendencies and behaviors from Mila's POV in the video. We actually see Mila's a lot more. Let me explain.

We saw how Laur brings chaos into Mila's life and their relationship (house scene). She's hurt her (shot her with an arrow through the heart), she doesn't acknowledge her in the hospital, and she also leaves at the end. The leaving her there (breakup or break) in those conditions as well as not taking something for her too from the vending machine is a neglect; another trait of a toxic relationship. That's all. That's what we see as far as Lauren is concerned. Mila on the other hand…

She's the one who's unbothered, especially in the beginning, in having an arrow in her heart, aka being hurt. She's the one who doesn't react when Lo destroys the house, aka when Laur has toxic behavior towards her. Still her the one who runs away from her problems so as not to face them and avoids conflicts (dogs and wrestler). In fact, if that's why, I wanna put in a good word for Laur in this case since she fights her by forcing her to confront her, aka talk about their problems. Still Mila the one who uses an imaginary automatic machine gun to shoot and destroy the bed symbolically in her head just because she’s angry with her. She's the one who crashes herself on top of a car and risks her life on other occasions with the dogs, the palm tree, and by drinking gasoline. I mean, see what I mean?

Who's the most toxic one we see here? And again, this is just a video. Not the reality. I feel like I always have to specify these things with you guys because one never knows you misinterpreted it 🤣. But anyway. I'm happy Mila did it. I'm happy that Mila represented even her toxicity since for many years due to her songs people only and always blamed Lauren. It's something I've been saying for years 💁🏻‍♀️. They both have their faults. There are two people in the couple and there are always two sides to a story. Not just one.

In any case, that's it, dear Anon. I hope you enjoyed both analysis 🙃.

🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍

Aaand I'm done 👅. Thank you all for your asks and I hope I've been helpful this time too 🙃. As usual, I'm always available for those who have questions, so ask away 😄.

Remember to be nice. Always. Both with others and with yourselves. Be a good example. Be patient. Be safe and take care of yourselves. Don't let our ship sink. Keep shipping them, but please respectfully 🙏🏼. Sending you virtual love and hugs 🤗🤗🤗. I love you, babies. Always with love, F ❤️.

[the-offside-rule]

Pedri Gonzalez (FCBarcelona) - Ladrona

Requested: anon on tumblr

Prompts: 9) "Is that my jumper?"

11) "I think my colours suits you better."

Warnings: none

Pedri had been in the worst mindset as of recently. Barcelona weren't playing the best, he had been in a few arguments with his teammates and to top it all off, his girlfriend was having mood swings with up and coming assignments due. It wasnt exactly how he would want his life to be going. He was focusing on football, taking up most of his time, but this made him feel terrible about his girlfriend getting close to no attention. He wanted to spend every waking moment with her, yet here he was struggling to do even that.

After a hard day training, he decided he would try and turn it around after having many conversations with Sergi on how to try make things better, for both him and his girlfriend. Sergi suggested a home made meal, followed by a rom-com, and so, Pedri set out to consum to buy some ingredients for his home cooked meal before heading home to Y/n.

He parked the car in his driveway as per usual, opened the door with a smile on his face, and bellowed; "Amor! I'm home!" He listened out for her sweet voice to reply. "In the living room!" He quickly carried the shopping bags into the kitchen and dropping them, then making his way to greet his wonderful girlfriend. He crept up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, pecking her cheek as he did so. "Hello, mi vida. I've missed you." He smiled. "What are you doing?" He asked. "I thought I'd iron your suit since you're going to an away game tomorrow. Have to look sharp." He chuckled and looked down at the oversized hoodie she had on,his eyebrows knitting in confusion. His head lifted off her shoulder, prompting Y/n to look back. "What is it?" She asked.

"Is that my jumper?" She looked down at the grey hoodie and smiled. "Yeah, it was freezing so I thought I would wear it. I can go take it off if you want-"

"No, no, keep it on. I think my colours suit you best." She chuckled. "Your colour? Have you claimed the colour grey?" Her hands curled up around his neck, her eyes focusing on his lips. "No, but it has a barca stripe on the arm, so the blaugrana is my colour and therefore, you're wearing my colours." He pecked her lips again. "And what if I look better without the colours on?"

"That can wait, I'm gonna go cook dinner." She looked at him surprised. "You cooking? Since when?" Y/n turned and began ironing again. "I can cook, have you not seen that one video of me?"

"I don't need to watch videos of you, I have you in the house most of the time." She replied. Pedri's gaze softened, watching as she ironed. He loved her, there was no doubting that. No one could. The simplest thing was amazing to him. "Mi vida?" She turned, a content smile still on her lips. "Te amo, ladrona." Y/n's smile widened. "Te amo tambien, Pedrito." She smiled back. "Now, please don't burn the house down."

[xjulixred45x]

If it's okay can I please ask for a romantic yandere choso

With sister Rosa

And the rest is up to you

Also you can find more information about her on my page here on Tumblr

Okay, thanks for the Request

Yandere Choso x Rosa! Reader

Genre: Headcanons

Reader: female

Warnings: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, OVERPROTECTION UNHEALTY MINDSET, STALKING, SPOILERS FROM THE MANGA, Reader has the past and caracteristics of Sister Rosa of @nunezs-stuff .

Let's say that Choso and reader know each other (and he becomes obsessed) when reader is with Demaryius.

The reader has a great loyalty towards Demarius that many cannot understand, even Choso himself at the beginning when they had to work together for the common good of defeating Sukuna.

Why would I have respect for someone so SOFT?

What they don't know is how Demaryius practically saved the reader's life, literally and figuratively.

Choso and reader interact relatively often because they are 1- the most responsible for their groups and 2- they are the only ones who can handle Demarius' young children/apprentices, which makes Choso interact more with her.

At first, Choso had only seen a very standard side of the reader, the way she treated everyone (the overcoat) with harshness and rigidity and even became strict and disciplined.

It reminded him a little of not very pleasant aspects of someone (Kenjaku).

However, when they had to take care of the youngest children (especially children with trauma), something changed in the reader.

All her intimidating aura disappeared and she became someone much more maternal, calm and friendly.

It was almost like seeing another person.

and in a way Choso rejected that type of treatment.

Not only because of his own lack of a mother figure, but because he genuinely wanted to get closer to the reader, but had no idea how.

(I may have even asked Yuki, Yuji and company about what to do, but they all give him answers that contradict each other and he is even more confused).

Even so, Choso begins to make a strategy (not at all creepy or worrying) on how to approach the reader.

First, know what things you both like or have in common, how? easy, FOLLOWING HER everywhere so I could make sure she was okay:D

He can't help it! Reader is not even a user of cursed energy, how are you supposed to defend yourself from the horrible beings that plague this world if you can't even see them?

Add to that that by now most of Choso's brothers are dead. Therefore, he clings very closely to the relationship with the reader and wants to have her approval.

Second step, have a better relationship with her, this one is not as worrying as the previous one, but it is definitely still a bit creepy because of the previous one.

Choso tries to talk as best he can with the reader and thus be closer, which works half-heartedly, since the reader does not enjoy when Choso is not clear with what he says (he stutters) or, in his words, says nonsense.

but at least he and the reader manage to understand each other better, since Choso manages to resolve one of his doubts, his relationship with Demaryius.

reader, seeing that Choso seems(heh) to be harmless, decides to tell him how she met Father Demaryius.

It turns out that reader (like Choso) was let down by humanity on many occasions, whether with her parents, the people of her town or "religion"... her fiancé.

Everything came to a point where the reader decided to flee without thinking about whether she would live or not, she simply wanted to escape from that nightmare.

and that was when he met Father Demaryius.

He was the one who saved her, who gave her a name, a purpose, a home...

and I would always be grateful for that.

but he wouldn't tolerate any nonsense when it came to him.

Choso opens up to the reader and realizes that they both really have a lot in common, more than he thought...perfect.

Thanks to this, the reader trusts Choso more and ends up unaware of several of his worst yandere tendencies.

precisely because after knowing everything the reader went through, Choso doesn't want to end up being like the people who hurt her before.

so there is no kidnapping, but there is a lot of manipulation.

what type? the kind that makes you feel guilty for not giving him attention, for leaving him alone.

Choso is also not above using the reader's trauma to keep her close, whether by mentioning her own trauma with an abusive father or after Yuki's death.

Possessive as shit, when they are already in a relationship, rest assured that he becomes a shadow reader. He even continues to stalk her! He just feels less guilty about it now that they're official.

I think the only person he wouldn't be jealous of is Yuji for OBVIOUS reasons, and maybe Father Demaryius, but even so he is "cautious" with him (mostly because of the level of power between the two).

He still respects and even loves Demaryius, but Choso will not let him take something so precious from him.

VERY LOVING, whether physical contact, words of affirmation, gifts, etc. Choso loves to pamper the reader and have her around in general, which is sometimes a disadvantage for the reader 😅 but don't worry, eventually you get used to it.

definitely overprotective to unimaginable levels. I already said it with his stalker tendencies, but he believes that if he takes his eyes off the reader for ONE SECOND something horrible could happen to him, and it terrifies him.

A large part of their yandere tendencies are related to fear, fear of being alone, fear of the reader dying, fear of abandonment, disappointment, etc.

so the reader can also easily manipulate it if she wants, so she can make it improve or FLEE.

because he's still a yandere.

He has killed, will kill and will continue to kill as a reader.

It doesn't matter who, if they get in the way of THEIR happiness, they will encounter death.

He deserves to be happy. No matter what.

He will be selfish. For ONCE

just...leave him and Reader ALONE....

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

This is a little shorter than usual bc im not quite used to Sister Rosa😅 and honestly am not in the mood for JJK stuff but i wanted to make this for You! Hope this is of your liking and i didn't mischaracter Your oc😭

[kitkatopinions]

Guess who saw another rwby Stan in the rwde tag again complaining about how rwde are using the block evasion just to freely "complain everything about the show" and how tumblr needs to fo better.

You mean like how the recent "complaint" about rwby was stans harassing a queer black woman because she criticized bumblee and many rwby stans here on tumblr were celebrating their victory of removing her video and even blocking her channel because if that criticism?

Bro, "Tumblr needs to do better?"

This is why people say that anti-rwde posters feel like a cult. What is Tumblr going to do? Posting criticism of RWBY is not hate speech or bullying lol, and that's what these guys don't understand. Yes, some rwde posters occasionally get into bullying and hate speech when they do things like say people should die or use slurs or make homophobic comments, all of which I've seen and condemned from RWDE posters AND RWBY fans (so if all rwde posters are condemned over the actions a few, so should all RWBY fans.) But the act of criticizing RWBY in any form (which is what "rwde" is) is not that, it's not the same thing no matter how many times these obsessive overly sensitive people say it is. To them, saying "I don't like RWBY" is the same as saying "I hate women" and saying "I think the romance writing for Bumbleby is forced" is the same as saying "I hate queer people," and saying "I think this show has bad and sometimes bigoted writing" is basically saying "nobody should be allowed to like this show and I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure it burns in the fiery ashes of Hell." I know this, because you can do things as simple as say "the merch in the stores isn't good" or "I'm interested in a creative re-write" or "I think Bumbleby I'd over-hyped" and you'll be sent death threats and harassed and told to stop watching and stop posting and that you've laid down with the dogs and 'fallen' and are now 'rwde' and therefore an enemy that must be purged.

Every fandom has groups of critics, every fandom gets roasted, much better pieces of media than RWBY have been dragged to Hell and back. People have to learn that no one is obligated to like or go easy on their favorite show, and disliking it or something in it is not automatically a sign of some darker bigotry lol, especially considering what company made it and that Miles Luna has a history of bigotry. Like

Tumblr isn't going to make 'don't post rwde' part of the community guidelines or stop rwde posters from blocking people so that we can be harassed. Once again, I used to be VERY choosy over who I blocked until I realized that the majority of the people who debated any of my posts weren't even sort of using logic or reality.

They're just mad that it's harder to bully us. The thing is that I would debate any anti-rwde poster that came at me but wasn't irrational and would actually address my points, but I'm not here to debate. I'm perfectly happy letting the people that enjoy RWBY and want good vibes and just like talking about how good they think the show is CONTINUE to do that. We disagree, but I'm happy they can find enjoyment in it. But they're NOT happy just enjoying the show and letting us be over here in our little corner talking about how we don't like this or that in RWBY, the fact that people are ALLOWED to criticize something they like is angering to them and something they're just and right to bully people over, because they think their show is above criticism and that they're the poor martyred heroes out here doing the Lord's work lol.

[diariodeunrincondemi]

Why, in my opinion, Arnheid is the true heroine of Vinland Saga season 2

I think I never talked about Vinland Saga here in tumblr, although I've been mulling over the events of this last season (season 2). I've read complaints, from the beginning, that it's a very slow season and that it doesn't contribute anything, but I suppose that comes from people who only likes teenage Thorfinn.

From the beginning there's this idea that in war there is no honor or glory; because there can be neither honor nor glory in something that consists of shedding blood and taking the lives of other people.

Thorfinn is a boy, a male kid, and as a boy, he grows up with very defined expectations and a role in a warrior society; therefore, when it happens what happens, it is he and not his sister (even though she is older), who has to carry out revenge, even if he is only a child.

And that leads him to have to grow on the battlefield. His pride and position, as a Norseman, depend and fall on war and violence; and he is not aware of all this until he loses his only reason for living.

And that's when the second season begins and we find a different Thorfinn, depressed and without any ties to life, an empty shell. And that's when Einar and also Arnheid come in.

Until that moment we have seen war from the point of view of male warriors. And through Einar we have seen the war from a farmer's point of view. But it is with Arnheid that the story changes: because she is a woman.

We don't know what Thorfinn's evolution or life was like in those 2 years of slavery until Einar arrives; and we don't know because that doesn't matter. And it doesn't matter because this arc is about the consequences of war (and not just in the form of Thorfinn's PTSD).

There is also gender bias in war. We see it in Thorfinn, he grows up in the war, and in his sister, who stays at home with his mother. We see it, implicitly and more subtly, in Einar and his sister. And we see it in Thorfinn, Einar and Arnnheid.

The three of them are war victims: a child soldier and two people who lost their homes and families. The three of them ended up as slaves. The line between war and slavery is very thin.

But even as slaves, Thorfinn and Einar's life is much simpler than that of Arnheid: physically hard work, yes, but they are given the opportunity, when the time comes, to buy their own freedom. Arnheid has no such freedom: she is not only a servant, she is also a sex slave. Because she is a woman. And as a woman she is only good for doing domestic work and serving as a sexual object.

It is she, along with her story, the true protagonist of this season. The heroine. Who shows us what awaits women in contexts of war and slavery. And this is not just a thing of the 11th century: currently women in war conflicts are also victims of trafficking and sexual exploitation.

That is why Thorfinn's evolution in those 2 years in which he was alone doesn't matter. That's why his reunion with Leif doesn't matter. That's why, even though he hasn't interacted with Arnheid that much, he is willing to help and protect her, to get her out of there.

Thorfinn knows the tactics of war better than anyone, he spent most of his life on the battlefield. But that also implied that the context in which he grew up was especially male-dominant.

Arnheid, from my point of view, gave Thorfinn a new perspective (a perspective he may not have considered before) on the consequences of the war.

[pseudowho]

hi haitch!! how was your day? did you do anything fun this weekend? anyways, i just wanted to drop by and ask for some advice.

there's this guy in a few of my lectures who has expressed interest in me multiple times, despite me firmly telling him that I have a boyfriend and therefore am not interested. But he won't stop and it's making me really uncomfortable. We're lab partners, and he's always finding some way to touch me, not inappropriately, but not in like a friendly platonic way either.

He also keeps making flirty/suggestive comments and inviting me over to his place to "study" but the way he says it makes it very clear that he doesn't want to study. On top of that, the part that bothers me the most is he clearly doesn't take me seriously, which is not something I'm unused to as a relatively small, unintimidating woman in a male dominated field of study, it just pisses me off more because it's him, you know?

Anyways, I was wondering if you have any advice. My boyfriend wants to beat the guys ass, and as much as I would like to see it, 1) it's not exactly professional, and 2) despite being very fit and athletic, my boyfriend can't fight for shit. Like seriously. I would stand a better chance in a fight than he would and I'm ten inches shorter than him.

Sorry if this bothers you. I'm just at a loss and you give trusted adult vibes and I want to fully take advantage of being one of your adopted tumblr users. However I do understand if constantly being bombarded with people asking for advice is too much and you'd like me to stop.

Have a nice night (I believe it's nighttime in the UK right now)!

Hey! You're being sexually harassed. You have expressed your wish to be left alone a number of times now. He's committing gender-based violence against you.

Feeling brave?

Okay. Be vicious.

When he next touches you, I need you to say, loud enough for everyone to hear, "I've told you to stop touching me, get your hands off me!" Make sure it's loud and clear.

Find any other members of the class, or your teachers, who will notice. Tell them in no uncertain terms, "He's sexually harassing me. He's told me he's interested in me, and I've told him I'm not, and he keeps making suggestive comments and touching me."

Let's see how he acts when the scrutiny is on him.

Don't smile. Don't demur. Hiss and spit like a fucking alley cat.

He will act like you're overreacting. He will act like his touches are accidental. He will get nasty. He will try to embarrass you, or suggest it's your fault, or that he's just being 'friendly'. He'll then gaslight you; as if you're attractive enough to attract him-- you should be embarrassed for thinking he's into you.

All violent manipulator tactics. Stand tall. None of them are correct; he is in the wrong and he will try to blame the victim.

These men rely on you not shouting. They rely on other people turning a blind eye. So you shout, and you make it impossible for others to turn a blind eye.

Now is not the time for being shy, or a wallflower.

Come on, kid. I wish you didn't have to do this, but you do, and I'm proud of you and I believe in you.

EDIT: The baby has had a fever all weekend, so we only did little trips to the park, and to the bike track. We're all alive; everyone fed, nobody dead! Me and @mrhaitch are starting to think about Halloween games, so while we're looking at the Silent Hill remake, it's currently £60 here, and so we're waiting for some honest human reviews before we take the plunge. Instead, we're going to try to finish a play through of my favourite game, Darkest Dungeon. Thanks for asking 💕

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[pinkheartstaroffriendship]

Rekindling the Flame: I'm Back and Ready to Share!

Hey, everyone! ✨

It has been another week of taking a break from posting stuff on Tumblr.

I’m excited to share that I’m back and ready to reconnect with all of you and I'm ready to post anything I can put my heart into.

However, before I could start posting stuff again,

I want to address and express my feelings about what happened in the past couple of weeks regarding my AI Art to everyone on Tumblr, especially to every Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends fan blog on Tumblr. Recently, nobody liked the content of my AI Art, I felt like I couldn't be accepted and respected as a fellow Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends Fan; I ended up being rejected somewhat and feeling like a loser and an outcast to everyone, even to Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends Fan Tumblr Blogs because of my AI-generated art, Therefore, which caused me to stop posting my AI Art on Tumblr and even deleted my posts of my AI Art as well. I was told twice that obviously, nobody liked my posts of my AI Art because it's not creative which felt very heartbreaking and discouraging, very discouraging. So then, I decided to take a break from posting stuff on Tumblr for a while in hopes of healing my wounds fully and maybe things would get better. When I returned to Tumblr after a whole week of healing, I thought things would be better but I didn't know what to post that everybody would like to see since nobody loved my AI Art. But I didn't expect the same incident to happen again when somebody suggested that I shouldn't post AI art, which once again hurt me deeply and caused my wounds to start reopening. I fully understand and get the fact that no one likes my AI Art posts, but there’s no good in rubbing salt in my wounds because it will make them raw even more, and I’ve found it hard to post my art anymore. I wish I hadn't been judged and rebuked harshly for my AI-generated art in the first place, just to be accepted as a Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends fan and to be accepted by everyone else in general. I shouldn’t have to change my style to fit in. I don’t know why, but I wish it didn't have to be like that. Because of those negative experiences, I won't post any of my AI-generated art on Tumblr for good. I would appreciate it if everyone didn't mention that my AI-generated art isn’t enjoyable because it hurts my feelings. I feel like I'm a nobody to everyone else or maybe even a joke to other Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends fans. But it seems my feelings don't matter to everyone else not even Foster's Home Imaginary Friends fans.

Well, I hope that everyone on Tumblr will understand especially other Foster's Imaginary Friends fans that I don't appreciate being rejected and being greatly treated like a nobody all because I posted my AI Art. After all, it's not okay at all. Unfortunately, I still can't stop thinking about what happened last Tuesday and on October 14th, and because of those two incidents, I feel like I have a big, massive scar on my heart that would be impossible to heal even with stitches and bandages.💔

@gr3gori4h,

I really don't appreciate the fact you brought up how nobody doesn't like my AI Art and my feelings were deeply hurt and felt like a nobody once again because of you. Furthermore, I understand nobody likes the old content of my AI Art but you shouldn't have to rub it in even more. Overall, I'm expressing how I felt on that day. I really hope you understand that your suggestion of not posting AI Art has stung me like a wasp's sting because it's already bad enough that I was told that nobody likes my AI Art, had to change my tastes in my art to fit in with the other Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends fans or whatever and that I don't want to post any of my AI Art on Tumblr anymore.

So with that being said,

Here's the following I will post:

Cooking Videos

Pictures of Food

Assorted Backgrounds

Aesthetic Moodboards

Aesthetics (in general)

Everything I ate Videos

Dessert Decorating Videos

Just Dance Videos

Pictures of Gemstones

Pictures of Animals

Pictures of Kirby

I don't know if it'll resonate with everyone's interests but at least it's something, I hope my brand-new content will spark your interests and satisfy you @blo0st4r, and everyone else on Tumblr.

Hopefully, I actually can be accepted and respected for who I am and my content as a true Foster's Home For Imaginary Fans and a Fellow Tumblr Blogger without being judged or rebuked harshly.

Overall, I was just expressing my feelings about what happened the past couple of weeks to everyone, to my followers, and especially other Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends Fans also I do hope you all understand.

Thank you for your patience and support during my hiatus to all of my followers especially, you @beelzemon03 😊

Let’s light this fire again!

Sincerely yours,

@pinkphotographyphoenix

Reblog and Like

[profoundbondfanfic]

Fourth list with our favorite aro/ace/demi fics 💜

Part 4

Ace=/=Aro by Unforth [Mature, <1K, Aro!Dean]

Ficlet written to the Tumblr Prompt: Aro Dean calls Cas "buddy" and "pal" and "devastatingly handsome friend" because he really believes that and the guy's really, really hot and always licks his lips because they're so chapped and dry. Dean obviously has to kiss him to get him to stop. Only problem is, Cas thought Dean was ace, not aro (thank you very much, small town gossip, for mixing everything up), and he is very confused by this.

Halflings by Unforth [Explicit, 103K, Demi!Cas]

Ever since his wife Lisa died, Dean Winchester has been willing to do anything for his son Ben. When Ben decided he wanted to adopt a halfling, Dean said yes without hesitation - provided they did so the right way, by giving whichever half-human they decided to bring home the respect and dignity it deserved. Half-octopi Castiel isn't exactly what they were looking for in a pet, but, then, they aren't exactly what Castiel was expecting for owners, either.

honeysuckle by sharkfish [Teen, 3,9K, Demi!Dean, Ace!Cas]

“Your omega’s here, ok? Everything’s ok.” Cas closes his eyes and leans a little into Dean’s solid warmth. His omega is here. He can smell them all over each other already. “You made me such a nice nest, too.” Dean’s voice is low, honeyed and soft. He smells sweeter, it hangs thick and heavy in the air. “Show me.”

Never Trust a Skinny Baker by mnwood [General, 11K, Aro!Dean]

Dean owns a bakery. Cas is a patron who can't hear, and Dean happens to know sign language. This fic has all the tropes you know and love so get reading, fuckos.

Smells Like Love by shiphitsthefan [Teen, 1,5K, Aro!Dean, Aro!Cas]

Five times Sam tried to tell Dean he was aromantic, and one time Dean told someone else.

Dear Virgo by K_K_TiBal [General, 9,9K, Ace!Cas]

Dean Winchester is a journalism major planning to coast his last year by mostly just sticking to writing the campus newspaper's daily horoscopes, and he almost succeeds. Enter Castiel Novak, captain of the soccer team, and his next interview appointment. It's obvious from the start that there's something between them, but things don't quite go as Dean first hopes, and he ends up learning a lot more about Castiel than he ever planned on - luckily for him.

Sparks by vipjuly [Explicit, 21K, Demi!Dean, Demi!Cas]

The creepy house on the corner has been abandoned for years, everyone says. It's ramshackle and decrepit, the yard overgrown, the wrought iron fence bent and broken in some places. The adults in the neighborhood have asked the city to do something about that eyesore for so long, but the city insists that someone is paying property taxes on the house, therefore they cannot do anything about it. So, everyone ignores it and pretends it doesn't exist. They definitely don't go anywhere near it, either. Dean, though. Dean is drawn to it as if by gravity. Little by little, Dean repairs what he can. The monster inside the house ain't so bad, either. Y'know. For a monster.

Decompression Therapy by TheAuthorGod [Explicit, 6K, Aro!Dean]

For AroDeanWeek 2015 Dean is a sex therapist. He's good at it; he helps people. He doesn't get attached to people romantically, so he's a better fit for the job than most. Complications don't arise until he starts to feel something totally new for his best friend Castiel Novak. I mean, it's not like he hasn't been around Cas his entire life or like he's not living with him and helping him raise his niece turned daughter. Dean just needs to deal.

[theamateurartistblog]

The Sad Tale of an Artist's Burnout

I have been burnout over a lot of things but being burnout because of art hits differently. Art burnouts are the worst. Imagine just losing your passion for something or having to force yourself to do so. If this sounds like something you’re going through have no fear, I’m here. Imma tell you how to prevent a burnout and some tips that will help you get back into shape in no time.

Stop Drawing

Mcutie are you serious? Yes, I’m not joking. Stop drawing. Your brain is tired of doing the same thing over and over again, give it a break. Find another hobby, play a game, watch a movie, catch up on a comic or manga (if you want some recommendations I got you;) maybe then you will find inspiration to draw.

Ease your mind a little. What always helps me is ASMRs, find a channel you like and relax to them or put on some Lofi tunes, whatever it takes for you to get your mind out of the sketchbook. Don’t think that when you stop drawing you’re gonna lose your talent, you can’t lose talent but you can lose passion.

Stop looking for likes and views

They'll come eventually, I'm still in the baby stages myself and sometimes it's disappointing not to see any likes or views but that just takes the fun out of art. Social Media is tiring especially with the algorithm doing whatever it likes. If you run an art page why not give it a break a little, maybe the stress of putting out too much content is getting to you.

Also, the self-declared “art critics” don't help either (baby artists please ignore these people, pay attention to the ones who really give you solid advice) so drop social media for a while and post your art unless you want to.

“But Mcutie I need to advertise to get commissions!” (in a future post, I'll give you tips on how to make money with your art). I hear you, but the posts you have in your feed are already enough to tell your audience about what you do and which commissions you’ll take. My advice is to shake it up a bit, instead of Instagram try Twitter maybe art station or deviant art, they have some nice communities on there.

Or better yet create your little website and build a community around it (I'm currently trying this one on Tumblr so follow me on my journey if you want) who knows maybe you’ll find people who respect and admire what you do. ^^

Don’t Compare Yourself!

HA! I need to take my advice. It’s easy to compare yourself with others and let’s be frank there is always gonna be a better artist or athlete or dancer but there is never gonna be another you. The way how YOU draw is different from other artists, no two people are the same and no two artists have the same style unless one artist copies from another. However, it's good to try out new styles and see how you can implement them into your drawings. You may find something that can add an extra spice to your art.

Find Inspiration - Outside!!!

AHA! You thought I was gonna tell you to take up Pinterest and browse huh? Nope! I need YOU to TOUCH SOME GRASS! Look at the clouds find shapes in them, take a walk in the park or something. “But what if it is snowing?” Who cares?! Sit at your window and watch the snowflakes fall you may just find something that inspires you. Doing this motivates you to take up that pen and paper or tablet or whatever kids use these days and draw.

Sleep!! - Please Sleep...

Once again…….I need to take my advice. But let’s face it have you ever gone to bed and suddenly at exactly 3:00 am you get the urge to get creative? That’s what you want! Therefore, get some rest, take a nice bath, rub on your favorite lotion, put on your favorite PJs, and sleep it out. “I suffer from insomnia….” So do I but if it is chronic go and see the doctor maybe you need medical assistance, if not try playing rain sounds or as I said earlier find your favorite ASMRist and just close you’re eyes and fall asleep.

In Conclusion....

At the end of the day, something is gonna burn us out whether it is work, hobbies, or just life in general but the thing is we do not want to stay in a burnout. Besides if you stay in a burnout you’ll just shrivel up and die. So try my tips and if you have anything to add say it in the comments so others can benefit from them. Until next time stay healthy and stay cute.

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