#why chose a fandom when you CAN COMBINE BOTH

[murderofsomeone]

it's probably decently obvious that my main lemon demon design was created BEFORE seeing any fandom depictions (or even really that much official art past the logo) because of how violently he stands out in comparison to other designs. it's a little obvious that my inspiration was self-contained and it granted me a bit of creative freedom along with a completely different train of thought while designing him. his three eyes however is very much a relic of 2022 because I was designing a lot of demons with asymmetrical faces at the time and well, why not make another

anyway here's a comparison of him to my most recent lemon demon original design (where it's a bit more obvious I was influenced by somewhat of a fandom culture)

extra bonus rambling under the cut

my general design process has actually stayed relatively contained with a few exceptions like soft fuzzy man's color and weirdly neil himself. yeah sorry chat neil is the first guy that was highly influenced by someone else's design you can shoot me too if you'd like. but I legitimately believe he's the only real example because every other character that has a design remotely similar to someone else is likely due to us both following a similar source material (like my cabinet design being based off polybius) or there being only so many ways to interpret the design (gef the mongoose would've fallen into this category if it wasn't for the fact I made him Joker colors)

in general I tend to follow a mindset of how "weird" I can make a design or how much I can push a lyric/implement it into a design. I also like to twist around the convention and try new things. a good example of both of these apply to my doctor amnesia design.

really the main things going through my head were "well he didn't state HOW many eyes", chosing an eye color that often is overlooked in conventional beauty standards to elevate them and cause you to think, while leaning into the somewhat otherworldly nature she's depicted in by giving her blue skin, a color I associate with the song.

another fun thing I'll do is create a "design pipeline" where I'll take an attribute and run it through a list of connections before we end up in a place long past where we started or just combining a bunch of traits that could be interpreted that way, resulting in designs like this.

though wolfgang isn't my weirdest design, he definitely did not start where we ended off. I believe before the wizard of oz theming for clown circus was set in stone (a choice that has EVERYTHING to do with oz explodes and an element I'll explain later), he was some kinda mirror object head that had absolutely nothing to do with his current namesake. since I wasn't satisfied with that design, I kept a relative aspect of the personality and shapes and thus ended up creating a really interesting take on a character who is largely depicted as... well there's no really good way to say this, but Bad.

since I was working with a new fresh aspect I started by making him a wolf... and then connecting him to "there's a robot in my head". this kind of connected the dots to ultimately make him associated to the tin man, since no one was connected to that character for the wizard of oz element and it was up for grabs (this is also how he somehow got associated with toasters via connecting the previously mentioned song to "what's in the toaster", etc etc). these pipelines of connecting songs that aren't normally related, but making them Work in a believable way makes designs more interesting for me and gives them a bit more purpose and personality. I think this is what ultimately makes people get a bit lost on my interpretations considering they aren't super simple by just being about One Song, but by being about multiple that aren't originally related in the source material. just like how I connected dr amnesia to when he died, explaining a bit of her more mildly supernatural or off-putting elements by making the man in that song her father.

the final real design element that I focus on is the strange rule I follow in terms of how these characters are shaped. there's a massive sort of "alice in wonderland" theming going on in terms of how human/humanoid designs look in contrast to designs that look less and less human. their proportions become more cartoon and shaped, their sizes are affected etc etc all while the human/humanoid characters stay relatively normal next to each other with more believable design elements.

here's the horrid long strip of nearly 100 different character renders next to each other to get a general idea on what I'm talking about

the silhouettes of the human characters "pop" less because they're supposed to contrast to their nonhuman counterparts. which isn't something I normally do, but given the source idea of a sort of "wonderland", I think it works in this specific context.

in conclusion: I'm design autistic and like to use designing to try new things, which is why I fucked that lemon up. sorry about that chat

[oonajaeadira]

Nadie Espera un Milagro (No One Expects a Miracle)

Fandom: Narcos / Javier Peña

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Reader: Sassy, confident, American ex-pat female who finds her parents a little tedious and enjoys both her independence and her job as a high-level admin at the DEA. No physical descriptions, no use of y/n.

Rating: T

Warnings: era-”appropriate” behavior of men towards women in the workplace (but a lot better than it was, Steve and Javi are actually pretty respectful). Overbearing and slightly infantilizing parents. Author doesn’t know anything about politics or law enforcement.

Summary: When your parents come to visit you at your job in Bogotá, you figure it’s just easier to paint a picture that will put them at ease. The idea is simple. The plan is flawed. The execution is just fluff.

A/N: Written for my Year of Tropes (part of @yearofcreation2023​) Fake dating seemed like an easy trope for a busy month, which is why I chose it for February. (Whoops. Happy April!) With all of these tropes I like to challenge myself a little and I feel like the character choice alone for this one was challenge enough for me. Not only do I not know anything about politics and law enforcement, I haven’t written Javier much. And, of all the boys I do write, I feel like he’d be the least likely candidate to participate in and fall for fake dating, so I had to figure out how to make it believable for myself. Which is why there’s more plot than I intended and reader ended up with some backstory. This is season 2 Javi, obviously not canon, and maybe a bit too soft, so sue me for yearning. Yes, reader’s parents are cartoon versions of my own parents, why do you ask?

“Well hey there, sunshine,” a wisp of smoke accompanies Steve’s greeting as he leans back in his chair and crosses his long legs at the ankle to the side of his desk, leaning over momentarily to stub the cigarette out into a shared ashtray. “We don’t often get the pleasure of a visit–looks like you remember we exist.”

“Ha ha. I could say the same about you. Did you boys finally get your morals whipped into shape, or are you just over the thrill of making me break the law for you every other week?”

There’s a halt in the clack clack clack of Javier’s typewriter as he turns at the sound of your voice. Standing to reach across the desk, he scrubs out his own cigarette, makes a futile attempt to wave away the smoke, and watches you descend the stairs into their working arena. “Hey, Sully,” he smiles like a man not accustomed to it and rests his hands on the waistband of his ridiculously out-of-fashion jeans. “That’s a new dress.”

You flash him a grin and shake your head. “Stop. Don’t waste your flirting on me, Peña. You know I don’t need greasing.”

He only shifts his weight to one hip. There’s no response but a compliant tick of his jaw.

It’s second nature with Javier. He knows he’s good looking. Knows all he has to do is flash those puppy dogs and throw some attention, and ladies will give him anything he wants. You love it and hate it. Hate it because it’s insulting to be targeted for manipulation just because you’re a woman. But you love it because the man is Javier Peña and you’d be lying if you said those big brown eyes weren’t beautiful and you’re happy to have an excuse to have them pointed your way with warmth rather than the chill he reserves for the more bureaucratic workers. It’s a safe kind of crush, the kind you can play with as long as you never expect too much.

Javier’s been stopping by your office since before there was a Steve Murphy, buttering you up and asking for favors–access to a file here, a release stamp there–hell. You’ve expedited more requests on his behalf than all of the upper cabinet combined. And how many times have you distracted the clerk in tapes archives just so Javi could walk by and flash a request form without having it scrutinized for certification?

Every request starts the same, with his awkward little smile and an actual compliment. And every mission accomplished gains you a “Thanks, you’re a miracle worker.”

“Like Anne Sullivan?” you’d asked after the tenth or twentieth time.

“Huh?”

“Anne Sullivan. Hellen Keller’s teacher. The Miracle Worker.”

That caught him off guard. “Uh, yeah. Anne–?”

“Sullivan.”

“Right. I guess you’re an Anne Sullivan. I’d be lost in the dark without you.”

You’d allowed yourself to be charmed. “Careful there, Agent Peña, or you’re gonna make me rather fond of you.”

Nothing makes a grown man blush faster than to out-flirt the flirter. Not that it was hard with Javier. He was adorably miserable at it.

But it was always fun to watch him try…and to periodically beat him at his own game.

Once Steve landed in Colombia, you got two for the price of one. But Murphy knew you could see through his games and didn’t even try. It endeared you to him that he approached you sincerely. And you knew you could always do the same with him.

“As a matter of fact, it IS a new dress,” you chirp, twisting your shoulders one way and then the other, fluttering your lashes and fanning yourself with a hand in a mock display of coy preening. “My parents are flying in tonight and I’m taking them out to dinner.”

“I thought the trade conferences weren’t for a few days,” Steve frowns and shoots a concerned glance at his desk calendar.

“They’re not. But they’re coming through to spend some time with me and tour the city. Mixing business with pleasure. That’s…um…actually why I’m here. I need to cash in a favor.”

Javi chuckles as he settles back into his chair, throwing one heel and then the other onto the desktop. “Time to pay the piper. Name it.”

“Actually,” you cringe, turning to Steve, “I thought I’d ask Murphy here.”

Throwing a surprised but self-satisfied grin over at his partner, Steve puffs out his chest. “Well I guess I can be the hero for the day. Anything you need, sunshine.”

Thankfully Javi seems to feel the need to show he’s not offended and returns to his typewriter to peck out his report. Good. This is an embarrassing enough ask. You don’t really need witnesses to this.

“So, this is going to sound like a big deal but it’s really not. My relationship with my folks is just…complicated,” you assure him, priming the agent for the stupidest thing you’re ever going to ask for in your life. “It would make my and everyone’s life easier if I was seeing someone? Because then my mother wouldn’t bring it up and pressure me and irritate my father, and he wouldn’t worry about me here so much thinking I’m a woman all alone…it’s just…it’s…,” you sigh, irritated. “This is so dumb.”

Clackety clack clack ding whirr. You look up to see Steve gaping at you.

“Are you asking me to pose as your boyfriend?”

Silence. You’re sure if you turned to look over your shoulder, you’d see a frozen Javier, two fingers of each hand hanging above his typewriter like a little T-Rex.

Oh for a trapdoor or hand of god…. Suck it up. They owe you.

“Yup.”

“Uh….”

You expected this. “I’m not asking you to make a show or….they’re coming in tomorrow and I thought if you were here you could just meet them for a second. And if you’re not, I could just point to your desk–”

“Doll,” Steve releases a confused laugh, “I’m married, you know.”

“Yeah, but Connie’s not here. Like I said, they won’t delve. If I just point at a man, they’ll accept it and leave it alone.”

“So you’re going to lie to your parents.”

A confident nod is your first response. “Absolutely. And if you’d met them–when you meet them–you’ll understand why that’s best. Or you won’t. You really won’t get to talk to them long enough to find out. Just give a couple of handshakes, be nice and I’ll move them along. It’s that easy.”

Gritting his teeth, Steve gives a disbelieving shake of the head. “I dunno. I mean, the ruse won’t stand if they mention my name to anyone. Why me? Why not that new guy in the mail room who’s been watching you walk away?”

“Jimmy?” you scoff. “Yeah, no, not my type.”

“Really. Dark hair and pretty blue eyes and a six-pack he doesn’t mind showing off isn’t your type?”

“Wellllll, when you put it that way��sure he’s not your type?” Now it’s Javi’s turn to huff a silent laugh and you give him a conspiratorial smile before rounding back on Steve. “He’s dull, Murphy. My parents know me well enough that I’m not going to go for dull. So take that as a compliment. And he’s a bedpost-notcher. I don’t want to encourage that kind of behavior. I may be lacking in male companionship but I’m not that lonely. Yet.”

Your no-nonsense, shut-em-down tone quiets both of them and for a moment you think you’ve won. But his response makes it obvious you’re going to have to cash in all your chips.

“Still. There are enough single guys around here–”

“Because,” with one hand on the corner of his desk you lean in to conspire even though his partner is three feet away and can obviously hear you, “most of them are a bunch of lazy sit-abouts and you’re always out and busy. It not only paints a good picture, it’s the perfect excuse not to join us for dinner because my mother will do her best to insist. And,” you wheedle, lowering your voice further, “because you owe me.”

“I would counter that I owe you a lot more than he does.” Javi keeps his voice at a stage whisper in mockery of your own and shrugs as you and Steve swivel your gaze to him. “What.”

“Lying to the Assistant Trade Rep of the Western Hemisphere about intimate relations with his daughter sounds like a good time to you? You can have it.” Steve taps your shoulder before pointing at his partner. “He’s not hitched. Why not Javi?”

Rolling your eyes, you stall for time as you try to find a better answer than the truth, but when one doesn’t come, a sigh paves the way. “Because you dress more respectable than he does–”

“Hey.”

“--and my mother is judgy!,” your heartfelt insisting pushes through, doing your best to placate Javi–handsome Javi–who really does know how to keep the last decade’s fashion in fashion. “Javi, you’re lovely and you look good and I don’t want you to change. But my mother is going to take you for a ladies man, which you are, you know you are, and she’s going to pick apart your choices with wanton disapproval which is almost more unbearable for me than not being attached to anyone at all because then I’ll spend hours defending you for nothing–”

Steve and Javi finally break and their sudden laughter shuts you down. It’s all you can do not to give both of them the finger and a good ol’ fuck off.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve says through his trailing amusement, taking his turn now to placate. “Fine. We’ll make ourselves scarce and you can use the imprint of my ass in this chair as proof of warm-blooded human male. But maybe a false name, yeah? Like…Peter or…Harvey or something.”

“Harvey?” Javi scoffs. “How about Dick. Dick Bob Jones.”

“That sounds like a hillbilly name.”

“Yep.” ________

According to your mother, your apartment is “charming,” the streets of Bogotá are “interesting,” and the department headquarters are “surprisingly up to date.” In the car on the way to the office, you managed to dodge most of her questions about your personal life, dropping one-word answers before pointing out the window and explaining certain buildings or neighborhoods.

As promised, Agents Murphy and Peña are out in the field when you walk your parents past their desks on your way through to your own department. “Well,” you wave with half commitment at it and move on, “looks like he’s out doing his job and catching those bad guys. Too bad. Maybe next time.”

The crisis is momentarily averted, but while your father ducks into a nearby restroom, your mother can’t seem to let the matter pass.

“So what does he do then? He’s a cop?”

“I told you. He’s a DEA agent. He’s on the team trying to stop the drug trade from reaching the States. Have you heard of Pablo Escobar?”

She scoffs and looks past you. “Everybody has heard of Pablo Escobar, dear. That naughty man. Oh. Oh! Is that him?”

“Hmm? Escobar?” Following her gaze and turning to look back into the atrium, you’re gifted the sight of tight jeans stretching over a familiar backside and tanned arms yanking open drawers on Steve’s desk, obviously looking for something. “No, Mom, that’s just–”

But before you can correct her, she’s striding over in her Prada heels, ruffled blouse bouncing and pearls clicking, reaching forward into an eager handshake as she interrupts the very visibly hurried agent. “It’s so nice to meet you!” she chirps. “You must be Harvey!”

“Mother–!”

Javi stops digging, having found the warrant he was looking for, looking up in surprise at this forward, fussy, American woman, his lower lip hanging in a soft V, before taking her hand courteously and introducing himself, “Javi.”

“Oh, I knew I was right! The minute I saw you I knew you had to be her Harvey, you’re certainly her type.” Her hospitable countenance flickers only for a second as she takes in his tight shirt. “She says you’re quite the cop.”

“Mom, Javi’s a government agent and–” As you catch up to her, the momentary confusion on Javi’s face melts into understanding spiced with just a hint of amusement. “--and, as you can see, he’s in a hurry so–”

“It’s okay,” he beams, continuing to shake your mother’s hand. “I can take a minute to meet the woman who raised mi milagra.”

What.

Something in your brain hits the panic button and your mother chatters on to him as your backup generators whir into gear. He gives her his full attention, smiling as she babbles about how proud she and your father are of you and how nice it is that you’ve found someone to spend time with and…did he just say–

“We’ve got a lead on a collaborator and I was just ducking in to grab some paperwork,” he explains, waving the warrant in one hand. But his other hand– “What a lucky coincidence” –dips behind you– “that you happened to stop by,” –slides across your back– “because my girl here has told me so much about you,” –settles on your hip– “ma’am,” –and pulls you flush to his side.

It’s a smirk. A smirk that he has the brazen balls to grace you with then, and it’s hard to tell if he’s fucking with you or if he’s just really enjoying being your hero and sharing a joke that only the two of you know about.

And it’s equally hard to tell if you’re about to laugh or swear or….melt… he’s holding you so tightly and he smells like cigarettes and his surprisingly light cologne… his shirt is damp, your blouse is damp, it’s a humid day and you’re sticking together a bit and he wears such fitted clothes and one of his few buttons is strained enough to give you a peek at his smooth chest beneath…

“Well, if you have to go, Harvey, I don’t want to distract you from your work, but my husband is using the facilities and he’ll be sorry to have missed you. Will you be working all evening? Why don’t you come join us for dinner! You know how well my daughter cooks and she’s making her carbonara for us–”

“Mom–”

“Your carbonara?” Javi questions you before turning back to your mother and squeezing you tighter against himself, causing you to stumble closer. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Her delight is evident. “Oh wonderful!”

“If you’ll excuse me though, my partner’s waiting. I’ll see you tonight, honeybunny.”

The world tingles a moment as a mustache and warm lips bush your temple and then you’re watching broad shoulders and slim hips swagger away from you and up the stairs.

Honey…bunny? Honeybun–

Fuck.

“Javi! Wait!” You hold up a hand as you pass your mother. “Stay here for a second, I have to…I forgot to tell him… uh…”

He stops at the top of the stairs, leaning in, anticipating your quiet brand of ire. “Your mom’s sweet.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“What. Seems to be going well, I mean, apparently, I am your type, so it all works out. I think that performance down there earned me a dinner. I fucking love a good carbonarra.” The glare you serve him loses its bite under his soft smile lacking in any sarcasm or hazing. This is the Javi you know, the conspirator that finds you working late at night and is grateful for your help in the file room or in the microfiche lab, the one that noticed yesterday that your dress was new. Doing you a favor. What else would you expect? “If you want, I’ll wear baggier pants.”

“No, just…” you sigh. “I should give you my address–”

There’s a thing he does with his smile, something that gets you every time, a little jaw tick that comes with a quick downward bounce of the eyes and a single shake of the head. “Don’t need it. I know.”

“Okay, but…. Wait. What?” You call after him as he trots toward the door.

“I’ll come hungry!” _____

“Sir,” Javi bobs his head in reverence as he meets your father’s handshake. It’s above and beyond your requests, as is the cleanup of the five-o-clock shadow, the change to his black button up shirt, and his showing up on time. And in true commitment to the bit, he didn’t even knock, just came in and found his way to the dining area like he spends most of his time in your apartment.

“Good to meet you, Javi.”

“Dear,” your mother chirps from her watchful eye at your shoulder by the stove, “it’s Harvey.” She doubts herself. “It is Harvey, isn’t it?”

Completely disregarding your mother’s interjection, your dad gestures to a spot across from him at your modest dining table set for four and offers him a packet. “Sit down, sit down, agent. Smoke?”

“Ah,” Javi falters, and when you turn your head to your shoulder, you catch him checking in with you out of the corner of your eye. “She…doesn’t let me light up in here.”

“No? Heh. Well. I don’t know how she does it but it’s always been her way or no way. I see she’s worked her magic on you.”

“That’s for sure.”

You can’t help but smile as you give the noodles another good swirl in the pot and set the spoon on the counter. That little display just earned him a treat. Pulling out two glasses from the cabinet, you give a generous pour of the whiskey you picked up on the way home especially for him and bring them over to the table without a word for the two men.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” hums your father.

Javi glances at the glass, then up at you and your cocked eyebrow that queries him don’t I get a ‘thank you sweetheart’ from you too?

But oh, he came to play.

Ignoring the glass and taking your hand, his thumb skips across your knuckles. “You need any help, hon?”

There’s a microsecond between you where laughter is very very possible. The game is on. So you up the stakes by pushing a little curl of black hair behind his ear before trailing your fingers down to pinch his chin. “No, baby. You just relax and enjoy yourself.”

The smallest flush of pink and flash of panic that you catch on him as you turn away (only because you’re looking for it) tells you that you’ve won this round.

Back at the stove, your mother’s taken over, having drained the noodles and now attempting to pour the sauce into the noodle pot rather than your tried-and-true method of bringing the pasta to the sauce pan.

“Mom! Could you not–”

You see it coming a second too late, the sauce hasn’t thickened properly and a good portion of it misses the pot and splashes onto her blouse.

There’s commotion, a shriek and an overreaction, and you reach for a towel to catch the sauce before it stains, but the towel is dirty with spills and bacon grease and you’re both trying to keep the sauce pot from toppling off the stove. “Just…hold still, Mom, here…let me get a clean towel–”

“I’m on it,” Javi jumps up, heading down the hallway.

Great. Here’s another thing splitting your attention from timing the sauce. “Javi??” you call, “The towels are–”

“I know! The cabinet behind the door!”

How did he….doesn’t matter. The woman who raised you is in need of someone to mother her at the moment and you’re doing your best to calm her down before she causes even more of a mess. In a matter of moments, your stand-in man is back with a hand towel and you join her at the sink to help her dab it off.

“Oh, well this is just dandy,” she whines. “Now I have to sit here in a wet blouse in nice company…”

“It’s fine, Mom. You can wear one of mine.”

“The pink one or the blue? She can change in the bedroom,” Javi gestures, offering to show the way. “Ma’am?”

“Uh…the…blue….” This time you don’t have time to veil your shocked and confused expression. If Javi truly notices it as your mom swans by him, he doesn’t let on.

The rest of the evening is uneventful and pleasant, your father and Javi carrying most of the conversation as the older man drills the agent on the particulars of the cartels and Escobar’s influence with his communities, how it’s affecting customs and trade, and what that means for the conference your father is here to attend in his duty to the Trade Rep.

After a couple of hours, he makes it known that it’s time to get back to the hotel, that he has an early morning as his boss is flying in.

“Already? Dear! You boys spent all this time talking shop and I have all kinds of questions for Haaavi.”

“Well, my bride, you’re just going to have to wait to satisfy your curiosity. I’m sure it will keep.”

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?” Javi asks just as you take a sip of water and try your best not to choke on it. “If you’d like to try some of the local specialties, I know a place not far from here. Sancocho to die for, made fresh every day.”

The fire in your eyes is shielded, soft, but directed straight at the side of his face, hot enough that he can surely see it from his periphery if not feel the flames. The corner of his mustache rises the smallest fraction of an inch.

“That sounds a real treat, son,” your father says, rising and crushing Javi’s shoulder in a squeeze. “Tomorrow night then.”

Javi joins you at the front window when they leave so you can wave them off, having the balls to wrap his arm around your shoulder as you do. Once their car pulls away into the night though, he retracts it and ambles back to the table, gathering up a few stray plates and taking them to the sink. “Well, that went well.”

When you don’t answer, he turns to find you with a level expression and your arms folded across your chest. “What was that?”

He has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“We are going to address tomorrow night in a minute, but I’d love for you to explain to me why you know the location and the layout of my apartment, Agent Peña.”

Now he catches up, nodding slowly and returning to you at the window. With one hand on a hip and the other pointing to the nearest streetcorner, he explains, “Did you see that car that pulled out of there after your parents? Security. I sat in a car in that exact spot for three weeks after you were appointed to the agency. Couple days while you were at work,” he waves a hand, gesturing to the apartment as a whole, “I spent quite a few hours in here on a deep scan for taps.”

Now it’s your turn to carry the surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Standard procedure for government employees to be shadowed for a probationary period, eliminates the suspicion of inside involvement. You got a deluxe security detail treatment on top of it because…well. Your…family’s connection to Washington.”

He’s kind enough to wait for you to process this. “Wait. You mean,” peering outside at the location he indicated, noting the straight-line view into your living room, “you watched me? For three weeks???”

He turns back in search of his glass. “You dance when you’re happy. You could stand to be happy more often.” Giving you the time it takes for him to pour another finger of whiskey to stew over this, to grind through the gears of your mind and work out if you might have done anything embarrassing under the gaze of the DEA, he finally assures you, “Don’t sweat it. You’re usually a stickler for keeping your curtains closed. It was about as uneventful as a watch is possible to be.”

“So this is what they pay their agents to do? Babysit a government employee’s daughter? That seems below your pay grade.”

He downs the drink and shrugs. “I was lower on the pole back then.”

“Not that low.” But then…. The jaw tick presents itself again. His lack of eye contact confirms a sudden suspicion. “My…father paid for it.”

His nod hangs silent and sorry between you.

Independence. That’s why you took this job. Something you thought you could do on your own without your father’s help, run away from America, go live abroad and work somewhere new, somewhere exotic. How naive to think–for three years now–that you’ve done all this on your own.

The embarrassment burns.

Javi slowly runs a finger over a plate, raising a dollop of sauce to his tongue. “This is good. You’re a hell of a cook, Sully.”

It’s meant to lift your spirits, make you feel accomplished at something in your life. It’s appreciated.

“Thanks. It’s not that complicated.” Moving past him into the kitchen, you pick up your tongs from the counter and quietly start heaping half of the leftover meal into a bowl. “What’s this place you’re taking us to tomorrow? You’ve seen what a holy terror my mom is about food.”

He comes to lean against the refrigerator. “Dos Rosas Cocina.”

“I know it. Good choice. Atmosphere’s… rustic, but the food’s amazing.” Tying the bowl up in a clean towel and placing it in his hands, you sigh, all the stupid, terrible tension you didn’t know you were holding this evening seeping its way out. “I can’t believe you’re electing to spend more time on this little act.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t remember thanking you, but thank you.”

“What’s this?”

“Leftovers. Lunch. Enjoy.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“You’d better.”

Later, after the dishes are done and the leftovers stowed, you curl up on the couch with the novel you’re battling your way through. But not a single page is turned. An hour goes by as you think through the interviews and steps you took to get this job, to land your working visa, to find this apartment in a nice part of town, how easy it had all seemed at the time, how accomplished you’d felt. And then there was that little look of realization and regret in Javi’s eye. That he knew. That he was the one that slipped and let you figure it out, that he never told you before. That nobody told you before. Had you come off as stupid in that moment? Innocent? Naive?

You need to confront your father about it. Probably not tomorrow, not in front of Javi. But soon.

Dammit.

You’re not getting any reading done so you turn off the light and head to bed.

Your pajamas are folded and the bed’s been meticulously remade.

Of course.

No wonder it took longer than it should have for your mother to change her blouse.

How is it you get to be a grown ass adult and your parents will never see you as anything but their little girl, even at this age?

________

“Soooooo, how’d you two meeeeet?”

Having arrived early at Dos Rosas Cocina, Javi already has a drink in him, so your mother’s question earns a contented smile. “Well–”

“At work, Mom. Obviously at work.”

It’s not a lie. It was at your desk. He needed something notarized and your new stamp hadn’t arrived yet so he wrote his direct extension on your desk pad, asked you to ring him when it did. You remember thinking that his eyes wandered too much but couldn’t be mad when you realized yours must have too if your first impression was that his pants were a good fit.

Later that night you’d come here, to the Cocina, charmed by its walls lined with picture frames full of the owner’s ancestors and descendants, how it seemed to be the center of time itself reaching backward in it’s colorful mountain-style decor and forward in its state of the art cashier’s computer and cd jukebox.

The owner had served your meal himself and sat down to chat with you, to practice his English, he said. It was a slow night and you had nowhere to be and he put you at ease right away.

“Dos Rosas,” he explained, “it means two roses. You see the sign? One red, one white. You know what it means?”

You shook your head and smiled, mouth full of some heavenly empanada.

“The red rose is for love. The white rose for friendship. Dos Rosas is a place my father made where he wanted guests to come with love and friendship.” And then he produced a single white rose, slipping it into the vase on the table. “For your luck. You are welcome here, friend. Someday you will bring someone who will share a red one with you, si?”

It had been a favorite place ever since.

Javier had been there that night too, now that you remember it. Sitting in the dim corner away from the basket lamps, nursing a beer and a plate of arepas, the curtain of his cigarette smoke nearly hiding him from view. Back then he was just the agent who needed some papers stamped and who just happened to be at the same restaurant that night.

Hindsight and new information reframes the nearly-forgotten memory now. Of course. He must have been tailing you then.

“I think,” Javi says as he drapes an arm across the back of your cane chair and leans in, “she understands where, milagra. But what she wants to know is that I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Your response comes with a sweet smile that hides a challenge. “I know. You watched me for three weeks straight.”

“And then some.” He doesn’t let your jab throw him off the act. “And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her.”  On the contrary, he hooks a foot around the leg of your chair and yanks it closer to his own, effectively throwing you against his chest. “She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

The clench of your stomach, the cold wave of your blood pressure dropping, every method your body has to signal and react to danger begins to take over as Javi keeps you locked from pulling away with one arm, hazy smile inches from your face, his  heavy-lidded gaze dropping to your mouth.

A warm hand folds gently over one of your own, floating it upward, his fingertips guiding your palm until he ducks his head half an inch to meet your knuckles to his lips. Big brown eyes beg at you and that cold wave rebounds now as a hot tsunami.

And all you can do is stare, stare at this display of tenderness that seems so very unlike the Javier Peña you know. Gone is the indifferent agent, the shielded ego, the preference for solitary. As his kiss lingers on your hand just a second longer than necessary, you get a glimpse behind the curtain to the man beyond. For one moment you witness a vulnerability and care, a fleeting tease of what it must be like to have his perfect attention, his devotion. It’s literally breathtaking.

And then something in him stalls, shifts, as if he notices the same in you.

Is he going to kiss you? Should you kiss him? Right here in front of your mother? Why is he so warm? What is that amazing cologne? Is his shirt unbuttoned further than usual? Is that a cymbal roll in the music coming from the jukebox or is that your blood rushing in your ears? Does he always breathe this forcibly? How have you never noticed that little crease in his bottom lip or realized just how dark his eyes were?

Just as his tongue flicks forth to wet his lips, your father returns from the phone booth in the back.

“Well, false alarm. Seems the ambassador just had some bad fish, but it’s passing. Conference is still on.”

Oblivious to your predicament and drawing your mother’s attention, he’s happy to answer her questions regarding the type of fish and how long it was prepared, and she offers her wisdom to nobody in particular as to preventing such a thing as food poisoning. Neither of them notice as you slowly twist yourself out of Javi’s loosening clutches and both of them obviously assume your hasty retreat has more to do with wanting to powder your nose than calm your racing heart.

The restroom is one small room, looking like a much older sibling to the restaurant itself as if it had been built first and the rest of the building added later. You count fifteen cracks in the wall over the solitary, rust-stained toilet before a knock falls on the door, momentarily spiking your softening anxiety. It’s an old man’s voice enquiring in Spanish if you’d fallen in.

You’re far from convinced that you’re ready to face or deny whatever’s going on in your heart. But you wash your hands–one of them still stubbornly holding the tingle of Javi’s lips and mustache against it–surrender the room, and find your way back to the table where the man who is not your boyfriend leans forward on his elbows, spinning stories for your parents.

“But we’re zeroing in on him now. He’s made more than a few mistakes and we’ve just barely caught them by turning around at the right second. It’s only a matter of time.”

A smile pulls wide over your father’s face as he leans back in his chair. “That’s what I like to hear. Damn, son. I admire your tenacity. We’re lucky we have talented young men like you down here catching the bad guys.”

“And we’re also lucky to have you here looking after our daughter,” your mother helps.

“Thanks, Mom, I can take care of myself. I mean, that is,” To one side, you feel Javi’s focus tilt your way, “as long as Dad’s willing to pay for it, I guess.”

Silence blankets the table as the waiter sets down four bowls of sancocho, a plate of flatbread, a candle, and a red rose in a vase in front of you all before hastily retreating.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Staring at the rose and trying to sort out your thoughts, you’re not sure why you chose this moment to bring up the subject. Maybe your body is just in fight or flight mode and perhaps you’re diverting your fluster to this deep-seated frustration. Something is shaking the cage of your heart and wants out, wants to cause some damage–

–but Javi’s hand comes to a gentle rest on your knee, soothing whatever savage beast had awakened, somehow turning frustration and fear into calm strength instead.

“I know about the money, Dad. I appreciate the help, I really do. But it’s okay. You don’t have to pay anyone to babysit me and pull strings just to make my life easier here. I came to Colombia to challenge myself. I can’t do that if you’re sneaking in and slapping training wheels on me all the time.”

For a split second it looks as if he’s going to deny it, play dumb. Instead, he softens.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ll have to forgive me. Your mother and I can’t help but look out for you. It’s what we’ve done all your life. It’s a hard habit to break.”

The confirmation stings, but you can’t deny that you set yourself up for it. “Did you do the same for Kennie?”

“Your sister has a husband and a family. She doesn’t need us to look after her anymore.”

A frustration wells up inside, burning, humiliating, full of futility. It doesn’t matter what you accomplish, how many times you have to prove yourself, they’re just not going to change. They’re never going to overcome what their generation has held as truth all their lives, even past the recent wave of feminism and push for equality. They’ll never ever see you as complete unless there’s a man involved. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.

And perhaps that’s the conclusion that makes Javi’s actions feel like the only heroic course as he rubs a side hand over your back and explains, “Sir, you don’t have to worry about her. She’s capable. Thriving. She’s in no danger here. If there were any threat at all, she could hold her own. And even so, I’d do my best to make sure trouble never came near her.”

“Oh, Haaavi. You’re so good to her. She’s so lucky to have you.”

With a defensive flick of a hand, he continues. “It’s not luck, ma’am. And it’s not goodness. It’s simply part of my job. Even if she was nothing to me but another clerk that’s too smart and too bold for her position, I’m an agent first. As a U.S. citizen and employee of the DEA, I’m going to put her life before my own. With all due respect–and I’m sorry to be so blunt–but to doubt that she or any American isn’t safe here is an insult to Colombia, to me, and all government agents on a professional level.”

The hard drag of conviction in his tone. The realization on your parents’ faces. The understanding sinking in. The steadying warmth of his arm around you.

“But she doesn’t need me. She doesn’t need anyone. Most self-sufficient and confident woman I’ve ever known. I’m the lucky one; lucky she’s bored enough to keep me around. Must be for entertainment.”

Wow.

And all at once, you regret that you hadn’t taken the chance to kiss Agent Javier Peña. ________

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a ride back to her apartment, son? It’ll be faster.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’d like to walk her home.”

Javi takes your hand in his, waving at your parents with the other, and quietly pulls you away from the car window down the dark street toward your place.

Half a minute later he’s still silent. And still holding your hand.

It feels awkward not to let go. And yet rude to do so. So you find a middle ground and squeeze instead, “Thank you. For that. Back there. I hate that I have no power to convince them of my autonomy on my own, but I think they just needed to hear it from…”

Who? A man? A government employee? A “cop”? A workaholic who is cranky most of the time because he disregards his own health and safety and refuses to sleep in his never-ending quest to quash every last cokeslinger within a thousand-mile area?

His nod and squeeze in return says he knows. “You know it’s love, right?”

Your heart trips over his words. “What?”

“Your parents love you. Doesn’t matter how old you get. Doesn’t matter how far you run. Doesn’t matter how long the flight is and how repulsive they find the local guaro, they’re gonna love you.”

In the shared laughter that follows, your hands naturally part and you double over, remembering the look on your mother’s face after tasting the aniseed liquor Javi ordered for her.

“It was so beautiful!” you crow. “She tried so hard to smile and be polite…and the tears! You could almost see the fumes pushing out of her tear ducts!!!”

“It broke my heart to do it to her, but she insisted I order for her–!”

It’s not often you see Javi laugh and smile–really smile–with unrestrained joy. Playful smirks, weary grins, the occasional shy blush perhaps, yes. But it’s not until this moment that you see him genuinely happy. It takes years off him, as if he’s shed responsibility like a coat and gone skinny-dipping into life for a minute. His eyes crinkle deeply when he truly smiles, they shine and sparkle. Like stars on this dim street.

The giggles and chuckles continue as you near your block and it’s in a resurgence of his that he casually just reaches out and takes your hand again, as if dropping it had been a little mistake that needed correcting.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel so awkward. It should be, but it’s not. It’s like you both decided it doesn’t have to be and yet, it doesn’t have to mean anything either. If anything, a shared happiness. A familiarity.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“Hmm?” His attention is slowly returning to the street, constantly scanning, every second a chance to gather information, find the next piece of the druglord puzzle.

“This. Being the perfect boyfriend. Having someone’s parents just think the god’s ass of you for once. Playacting chivalry.”

That last bit sobers him. “Yeah, well, at least I can put on a good show.”

There’s something in the response that rings…tired. You’ve hit on some old hurt, some buried regret. Knowing Javi, addressing it would only cause him to close off and dig it in deeper.

“Well, I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m getting good value for all of the favors I’ve done for you and prettyboy Murphy. You’re good at this. A girl could get used to it. That story you told my mother about how we met? Let nobody tell you that you don’t go above and beyond in every way, Agent Peña.”

You can’t see the little grin that pulls at the far corner of his mouth, but you know it’s there. An eyebrow cocks. “So you’re saying my tab’s clear? I can put in a new order to the miracle worker?”

“Order up,” you laugh. “After all, now that I know Dad’s pulling strings, who’s gonna fire me? Bring your worst shenanigans!”

It doesn’t have quite the reaction you expect from him and he stops just short of the steps to your apartment building, deep grooves forming between his brows. “You know, it’s not unusual; landing any job has a lot to do with who you know. Keeping it is the part that’s all you. Even if you didn’t get it on your own, you still made it your own.” When you can’t seem to meet his eyes, his tone softens. “You’ve got a lot to be proud of here. Why did you feel like you had to perfect some image of your life by toting me around?”

Flustered, you scoff and jump at the chance to dodge the question. “I’ll have you remember that I asked Steve, not you. You’re the one that jumped at a free meal.” It doesn’t work. His stance demands an honest answer, his face says it’s required more for your sake than his. “It’s… a long story. There are checkboxes in my family… my sister got married and had kids and I never did. I never really felt it was important… or that anyone would put up with my attitude. i’m not exactly the picture of perfect wife material. I mean, of course I’d like to find someone someday, but it’s never been the main goal… but my parents–”

“I couldn’t do it,” he says. Not an agreement; an admission. Simple. “I walked away from the altar. Left her standing. It just felt like there was a responsibility there to be ‘the husband’, and–like you said, same thing–check off the boxes. I didn’t know if I could check off the same ones everyone else thought were necessary.”

It takes a moment to say anything. To move past the fact that he’s just confided a piece of his past and his personal life to you. That he’s let you in. It explains a little about why he doesn’t get close to anyone, why he prefers feminine relations without hangups. Which makes this admission very weighted and precious. You see that he trusts you not to judge. And perhaps it’s his way of letting you know that you’re not alone in dodging the tried-and-true life path.

“Everyone had expectations. You thought you couldn’t be a good husband. So you ran away to join the DEA because you knew you could do that spectacularly.”

Now it’s him that can’t look at you. “I wouldn’t say that I’m doing that well–”

“Javi.” That catches his eye. “You’re a damn good agent. I know you’re going to get the job done. Why the hell do you think I’ll jump at the chance to break every rule in the goddamn department to help you do it? Like I said. Who’s gonna fire me now if I do?” Something shifts in him, like he’s been slapped or sharply woken. As if it���s something he’s been needing to hear and didn’t have the right person to tell him. You’re suddenly honored to be that for him. He needs it. And so you gift him a little more. “Obviously you don’t have to do everything by the book to be good at something. Look at the past couple of days. Thank you for being nice to my folks. And for the encouragement. That’s all it takes sometimes, you know? You’ve been a damn good stand-in boyfriend. Your little stunts included, you asshole. That’s what made it fun. I’m sure you would have been a great husband.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it with a tick of his jaw. Regrouping, he gives you a pained look to say, “I’m sorry that you feel you were lied to…with the surveillance and all. And that’s how you found out. I meant what I said back there, Sully.” He swallows. “All of it.”

It’s so serious and vulnerable, an obvious effort for him to say. He’s a good man, Javi. You’ve read the reports. You’ve heard the rumors. He may keep others from getting too close, may come off as flippant and impatient or pour his focus into his work. But his moral center is pointed in the right direction and he’s the first person to discard his own needs in favor of someone else.

It’s probably what overwhelms him–caring about others but not allowing anyone to care for him–bubbles up so far that he has to visit his girls to vent it. He says they’re his informants, everyone’s heard that, but nobody buys that’s all it is. He needs to be cared for, but the money keeps him safe, keeps the lines drawn. It’s an exchange he can allow himself to make.

Something about that suddenly twists your heart. You could ask him in. You could take care of him. It’s tempting. It’s what he needs.

But you’re not sure if the inevitable fallout and distancing is what you need right now. It would be too easy to want him to stay.

It’s fine to fall in love just a little with Javier Peña, as long as you don’t expect too much.

Instead, you squeeze his hand. Big and warm and gun-callused. “I know you did. Good night, hero. Thank you.”

He lets you go, this transaction settled. Doesn’t ask anything more. As you expected. The perfect gentleman. When he puts his mind to it.

________

You’ve lost count of your yawns.

Even though you brought leftover carbonara for lunch the following day, you need to escape. There’s twice as much work with the ambassador’s conferences, more calls coming through and the agents and policia all have their regular requests. And you didn’t sleep soundly the night before; something whining at the back of your mind, like something forgotten or missed… Every form and file feels like an effort and you’re just so out of it. If your mother were to stop by and take you out to lunch–a real possibility–that would just be too much.

Half an hour in the outdoor cafeteria should help, even if it’s another hot day. Air and sunshine are usually good revitalizers. And you can hide in the crowd.

Or so you thought. Just as you’re settling in with a bowl of rice and veggies, a long shadow falls across your bench and you look up to see broad shoulders and dark hair.

But the eyes you meet are blue.

“Hi, Jimmy.”

“Well hey there. Mind if I join you?”

Without waiting for an answer he perches on the bench next to you with his sandwich and starts talking. About nothing. About the heat. How it’s hot here, how it was hot back home in Arizona but nothing like the hot here. Humidity. Dry heat. Sweat. How he once baked a cookie on the dash of a car parked in the sun. How he never understood the calculations between fahrenheit and celsius, just that one is higher and one lower. Something about mercury in thermometers.

You stop listening after a minute and just chew and smile and nod. You’re not that lonely. Yet.

There’s a little old man who sells flowers from a bucket, sets up a little stall on the sidewalk across the other end of the courtyard. He’s out here most days. He’s out here today. Carnations, chrysanthemums, birds of paradise, roses…

You should get some flowers for your desk. Something nice. Might wake you up a little. You watch absently as the flower man speaks to someone in a tan shirt. A man with dark hair like so many others here. He looks like Javi from the back.

You’d rather not think about Javi’s back. Or front. Or deep brown eyes.

So you listen to Jimmy ramble for a while before he finally asks you a question.

“Don’t you think it’s hot?”

“Yeah, Jimmy. It’s hot.” _______

“I’ll take one red and one white, por favor.”

The little old flower man’s smile is even warmer up close.

On your way back into the office you muse that you’ll put the roses in a vase and let them decide for you, depending on which one lasts longer. Do you really feel the need to entertain the possibility of infatuation? Or can you be content with the easy friendship you have?

But upon arriving at your desk, you find that your little bouquet will be unbalanced and one of the two choices will have twice the advantage.

There’s already a red rose laying on the credenza.

Next to a bowl that held carbonara leftovers when last you saw it.

And a note. Fast scratches on a torn piece of yellow steno paper. Probably from the ripped piece on your desk. Next to your pen.

“I meant all of it, Sully.”

Suddenly the clack of keyboards and whine of printers and ring of phones fades away. You lift the little note to read it again. “All of it.” As if the words aren’t enough, as if you need more empirical evidence–or maybe because it was with the flower–for some odd reason you bring it close to your nose only to confirm what you knew you’d smell there.

Rose. And cigarettes.

All of it? That’s the last thing he said last night. I meant what I said back there, Sully. All of it.

It had been a heartening thing to hear, reinforcing how he would protect and serve, how he thought you were competent and confident, but why remind you now–

Oh.

Oh. Not just that part.

All of it.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her. She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

Suddenly you understand what was keeping you awake last night.

The look on his face as he stood by your steps. The way he rethought the words before he spoke. It wasn’t easy for him. He tried to tell you and you just…

All of it.

You just thanked him and walked away.

He’s been…this whole time…he’s…

“Darling?”

Yanked from one confusion to another, you turn to find your mother rounding your desk–even though you told her not to, that only government officials are supposed to be around your files–coming to take your hand.

“Your father and I are going on a tour of the city with the Representative. I dropped by to see if you’d like to join us.”

“Hi Mom. No… no, thanks. I’m…swamped today. I’m sorry.”

She coos, worriedly. “Are you alright? You seem tired. Those are pretty…”

Blinking down at the roses in your hand and stepping slightly to the side to shield her view of the third on your credenza, you agree, “Yeah, just tired today. It’s the heat. Here,” handing her the flowers, you smile. “The red one is for you. Please give the white one to the Representative’s wife. I hope you have a nice tour.”

“Oh. Thank you, dear…but…how did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t. There’s a nice old man who sells them. Sometimes I buy some to cheer up my desk.”

“You’re buying your own flowers? We should stop by Haavi’s desk and tell him he needs to do that for you.”

“Oh. No need. He does.”

Once she’s on her way, you swing out to the atrium, but find Steve and Javi’s desks unoccupied. There was talk of a situation on the east side of the old town, no doubt the whole department will be out most of the afternoon.

Good. Maybe you can get some work done.

Still carrying the note, you flip it over on Javi’s desk and scribble five words with the same pen–

You know where I live.

–tuck it under his typewriter with just the tiniest corner sticking out, and head for the coffee room. One cup and three more work hours should shrink that stack of paperwork on your desk.

If you can just shut it all out and concentrate.

And try not to expect too much. ________

The door to your apartment is unlocked when you get home. Well, he certainly jumped at your note.

It shouldn’t surprise you. There’s got to be department keys in some file somewhere. After all, how could he have done all that snooping around when you first got the job?

Dropping your bag and keys on the table in the hall, you head for the main room. “Javi? You here?”

Heart ramming against your ribcage, you emerge into the apartment…

…and find your parents seated at your dining table. Waiting.

“Mom. Dad. How…how did you get in?”

“Your father talked to the landlord. It wasn’t difficult, dear. We wanted a word.” Even though there’s an endearment, your mother’s tone is anything but.

“Okay. That’s kind of excessive. You could have just swung by my desk, you know where I–”

“This is a more delicate matter and we thought you might appreciate the privacy,” your father grumbles. “Sit down, sweetheart.”

There are two things on the table. Your mother’s purse, and a box of tissues. Not the brand you own. Provided for.

“I don’t think I will. What’s going on?”

They share a glance, a starting gesture as if to choose who will begin, even though it was always going to be your mom.

“We had a very nice tour of the city today. We saw the opera house and the capital. It’s a beautiful city. You must really like it here–”

“Representative wanted to go into some of the deeper parts of the city,” your father interrupts, already going off book it seems, “to see the neighborhoods that really reflect the majority economy, get a feel for the true people of Colombia.”

What’s this all about. There’s a silence. Of course there is. They’re waiting for you to prod them. “The old town. I know it. It can get rough, but mainly only if you’re already involved in something shady.”

“Well, there’s plenty that’s shady there, I’ll tell you.” Your mother’s nose lifts more than slightly. “Did you know that it’s crawling with brothels?”

“I do, actually. There are a lot of women who don’t have any other way–”

“Well, Haavi certainly knows about those brothels. We saw him coming out of one today.”

Oh. Shit.

Wait. What?

Fuck.

Your mother continues, something about being sorry to be the one to tell you, something about your heart and how it must be breaking, how it’s hard to be lied to….

The tissues sit on the table, a pretty pink box with daisies on it. They expect you to break down. Cry. How good of an actor are you?

“...and if you want to come home for a while, you know you are always welcome–”

Not good enough.

“Javi’s not my boyfriend, Mom.”

The silence that follows is thick, it mingles with the humidity, curdles it like cream in the air. You let it sit until it sours.

“He posed for me so you wouldn’t worry about me here. Like you always do. As if I could never make it on my own without someone.” Their shock sustains. The quieter they become, the easier it gets. “And Javi went along with it because he works with me. Day in and day out. If anyone ever thought I was in danger here, or couldn’t hack the agency, he’d be the first to say so. And I trust him.” Your mother opens her mouth to run her tongue, but you cut her off at the pass. “I trust that man. Yes, you saw him coming out of a brothel, but I’m not his girlfriend and he’s there for his job. Those women sleep with the people Javi’s trying to catch. It’s a brilliant tactic, actually. And they trust him too. Because he is good to them. He’s a good man; one of the best I know and deserves respect. He takes care of them and protects them as much as he would anyone else. You should have seen what he did for this girl Helena–”

It’s here that you notice something out of the corner of your eye and turn to find Javi standing silent in the hallway, still close enough to the door that your parents can’t see him around the corner into the room. But you can. Wide eyes. That tight fitting tan shirt. Slightly off balance as if he came to a stop immediately at the knowledge of walking in on something.

Why do you feel….caught?

“Anyway,” turning back to your parents with a sigh, “I appreciate your concern. But you don’t have to be. Not about him, not about me, not about anything. I’m sorry I lied. It just seemed…easier. Because you have never just believed I was fine. I’m fine. I’m more than fine. Like Javi said the other night, I’m thriving here. Even if he was posing, everything he said was true…”

But if everything he said was true…

A glance to the hallway finds it empty again. Even if the door is slightly ajar.

“Well. You can’t blame us for wanting the best for you, sweetheart. You’re never going to stop being our daughter.”

“I know, Dad. You keep saying that. It’s right there on my birth certificate.”

“There’s no shame in accepting help if it’s given freely and if it helps you achieve a goal.”

“I understand that, but I really wish you’d told me about it rather than let me think I did it all on my own. Do you understand how that feels? To be lied to?”

Your mother huffs. “I do now.”

Thank god for office coffee. Without the edge taken off of your exhaustion, you might have had more bite. But for now, you’ve said what was necessary and you’re not up for a fight or managing their feelings; you have enough of your own to sort out. If they care about you as much as they say they do, they’ll let what you’ve said sink in and not push the matter.

“Are you flying out tomorrow morning or afternoon?”

“Tomorrow morning, sweetheart.”

You nod and move into the kitchen. Seems they do care. You have to give them credit. “Okay. Do you want some dinner? I’ve got leftovers.”

“We have a dinner scheduled with the ambassador.”

“Well good. I’ve had a long day and I’m really tired. I probably wouldn’t be good company anyway. You’re coming back in for the trade agreements in January?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good. I’ll get to see you for a whole week then.” The sad smiles you exchange with them signal that everything’s going to be okay. For now.

There are hugs and kisses, a wish for safe travels and a promise to call in the coming days. Your mother apologizes loudly for cleaning your bathroom mirror. Your father apologizes softly for your mother’s volume. This time, you walk them all the way out to the street.

Your mother’s halfway to the car when your father doubles back, digging in his pocket, just barely remembering to give you the key he got from the landlord.

Or maybe he didn’t really forget.

“Your mother and I are proud of you, sweetheart. I’m sorry if we gave the impression that we weren’t.”

“Thanks, Dad. It’s good to hear.”

“I should have said it sooner.” He hovers as your mother gets into the car. “You tell Javi that it was nice to meet him. And that we’re proud of the work he’s doing here too.”

There’s something in the way he tells you this. Another apology. Or a knowing. You’ve never been sure with Dad.

“I will.”

As they pull away, waving, your plan is to go collapse on your couch and just be alone for a minute.

As you come back into your apartment, you have to amend that plan to collapsing on your couch next to Javier Peña.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You heard all of that?”

He doesn’t answer the question. You sink in, lean back, let your eyes close. He sighs.

“You mind if I smoke?”

“I do, actually. You know I do. And I don’t have an ashtray. There’s still some whiskey if you want though. Knock yourself out.”

The couch shifts a bit as he gets up. The pop of cabinet doors. The clink of ice against glass. After a few seconds, the couch shifts again and a cool tumbler slides gently against your hand.

You open your eyes to ice water.

“Thanks.” You take a long drink, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I never do. Bed’s too big. Sleep better when I’m not alone.” When you look him in the eye, he knows enough not to turn away. “One of the girls was called into one of Escobar’s regular haunts. Didn’t see him, but got a good look at some clients he’s courting. It was info worth delivering a retainer. And a final thanks.”

You do your best to keep your hope from shining through your cracks. “Final thanks?”

“Yeah. For all the…help in the past couple of years. Told them there’s a woman I’d like to spend some time with. Get to know better.”

The sly smile spreading across your face will not be contained. “Really. You told your informants that you were shoving off to the boring world of dating.”

“No. But I did let them know that if there’s a next time I darken their door, I won’t be in a very good mood. I don’t have a Jimmy to turn to if this doesn’t work.”

“Oh. So that was you today in the courtyard. That’s what inspired this? You jealous of Jimmy?”

“Nothing to be jealous of. He’s not your type. But. It might have sped up the process.” When you don’t laugh at that, he sighs. “Listen. I’m not good at this.”

“Yes, you are, I told you that you arrrre,” you yawn and go after another sip. “But I’m the one who’s going to be cranky and crap at it unless I take a nap. I’m sorry. It’s been a day.”

“Can I join you?” His dark eyes search yours as you empty the tumbler.

There’s something like a hope there. And something else, not quite an apology, not quite yearning, a worry that he’s going to do this right or die trying and he waited far too long to start.

Like he’s fighting the urge to expect too much.

“I said a nap, Peña.”

“Good. We were called in early. I could use it.”

It comes naturally. A smile. A matching smile. A whispered okay. He leans forward and slowly, softly, presses his lips to yours. Lingers a moment. Traces your nose–one side then the other–with his own.

“And what happens when we wake up?” you ask quietly in the space between you, in the space before the next slow, lingering kiss.

Javi stands, wraps three fingers around your glass and lifts it gracefully out of your grasp. Setting it on the end table, he reaches for your hand to help you up. “This is technically the third date, isn’t it? We could just…check off the usual boxes.”

“I think we established that I don’t especially love to do everything by somebody else’s rulebook.” Using the inertia of you coming off the couch to pull you straight into his arms and into a deeper kiss--one full of holding breath and clutching fingers--he chases it with a nip to your lip, which coaxes a chuckle. “But I’m open to actually following some rules for once. Especially the good ones.”

“Good. I think it’s time I worked you a miracle or two.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you. Well, lead the way. You obviously know where the bedroom is…”

He smirks, guiding you by the hand. “I’ll give you the tour.”

________

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[bluetorchsky]

"There you are."

Henry Stickmin gasped, looking up from where he had been trying to hide. He turned around, ready to throw a punch at whoever spoke to him but he froze in his spot.

The younger man stepped forward, tilting his head at the thief. "Is something wrong?" He asked, a smile hidden beneath the cloth around his mouth. His eyes were covered with a black mask, a black cloak around his body and a black hat with a wide rim and a red stripe around the top part.

Even in dark alleyway, where the boy casted no shadow unlike himself, Henry was face to face with Anino, Patron to the Devil, ruler of the Underworld. Anino, the right hand man of the Devil and the one to take dead souls back with him underground.

Henry was confused why he was here, pulling the stolen diamond closer to him. Anino saw this and shook his head with a chuckle.

“Henry, I am not here for your diamond. I am here for something else.” The boy’s youthful voice startled Henry, but so did the fact that he knew his name. Seeing his expression, the patron clarified. “All the deities are aware of who you are, Henry. Your deity has made them aware of you and your special powers. The other Patrons were told to keep a look out for you, so that we may not interfere with your choices.”

Henry looked down with a frown, his eyes catching the symbol on the back of his right hand. A four-pointed star that always reminded him of a destiny he never chose. And yet, he was given the powers to alter the timelines, see the possibilities, and finalize the choices he made. How ironic.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard the soul seeker shuffle and sit down next to him. He took off his right glove and pulled down the cloth covering his mouth. “I’m guessing your last choice sealed your fate, huh?”

Henry nodded, not making eye contact with the other. Anino let out a thoughtful hum before he waved his right hand over his eyes, his mask dissolving into shadow flames. Now Henry could see the bright, calm brown eyes of the boy.

“You…are so young…” Henry whispered, bringing his knees closer together.

“Eh, I don’t feel that young actually.” He said with a dry chuckle. “Still, doing this since I was ten was a big change for me. It’s been…interesting to say the least.”

The boy waved his hand over the floor and a small shadowy portal appeared. He reached in, sticking his tongue out in concentration as he reached further in before smiling. The soul seeker sat back up and pulled his right hand out to reveal-

“Cake?” Henry asked, his dull grey eyes widening. “But, why?”

“My birthday is tomorrow, but my mom made too much cake.” The teen said with a chuckle. “I’ve been trying to get rid of a decent amount, so that there is still enough left for me. And, it is your birthday today, isn’t it?”

The thief let go of one knee and reached into his work out jacket, feeling the birthday coupon he had been given at the grocery store.

“Yeah…my birthday…” He murmured, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. He stopped when he saw the small flame of a candle, burning brightly in dark alleyway.

“Then Happy Birthday, Henry Stickmin.” Anino said with a smile. “I think you could use one of these moments once in a while, no?”

The thief stayed silent but after a moment, he looked back up and smiled at the other boy.

“Yeah…thank you…um…”

“Daniel. You can call me Daniel.”

“Daniel…Thank you.”

—————

Happy 4th Anniversary CTM! I know this scene takes place after Stealing the Diamond technically (Anino is going to find Johnny’s soul after), but I also wanted to showcase that Daniel’s birthday is tomorrow, the same date as mine. I just figured to combine both events together, hehe.

There is not a lot I can say that I hadn’t said last year, but I just want to say thank you again to everyone in the community and fandom, for making this series as great as it is! Y’all are wonderful people!

Sorry if it’s kind of hasty, but just getting this posted before work so you know how it is. Lore stuff in the story will be expanded upon some time in the future.

[necrotic-nephilim]

What are your opinions on Casstim?

i LOVE CassTim. i've actually written a CassTim fic that's mostly just fluff and smut, but i have a lot of ideas/thoughts about them that play with the more complicated aspects of them.

i'm of the opinion that Tim and Cass were a potential romance that DC left the door open for before Tim got adopted by Bruce. (and tbh, even after he got adopted there were certain interactions in Red Robin (2009) that felt romantically implied) a lot of their interactions have implied feelings on both sides so of all Batcest ships, i think this one has a *lot* of genuine canon backing despite it being one of the most underrated ships of the fandom.

the dynamic between Cass and Tim is really interesting to me because Tim doesn't want to be Batman in any capacity and thinks that goal is actually incredibly unhealthy and unachievable, whereas to Cass it's the thing she strives for the most and if anything she wants to be even more than that. (Batgirl (2000) #59 actually has a really interesting discussion about that and that whole post-War Games arc is fun for understanding how Tim and Cass feel about each other) so a lot of their interactions clash because of that and they can't always see eye to eye on what vigilante justice and Batman's vision should look like. their relationship with each other is always going to be dependant on their relationship with Bruce first, as well as the Batman mantle as a whole. so for them to love each other (which, they do without a doubt, romantic or not) they have to accept where they don't agree with each other.

there's such a gentleness to CassTim, i think? not because i think Cass (or Tim tbh) is gentle, but i think for the exact opposite reason. there is this fullness and drivenness in the way she loves and her undying devotion to them. she would do anything to protect her loved ones. and when you combine that with Tim, who's pretty self-sacrificial at his worst, you have some interesting conflict because they're both too-willing to die for the other. their lives are defined by violence, *especially* Cass', so for her to finally let herself be loved and protected by someone else as much as she loves others is something that simply makes me feral.

they've both been trained by Shiva, which i don't think gets explored enough because it's fun for exploring the way they fight and think in a fight being potentially similar. Cass is *far* smarter than anyone gives her credit for being, and has detective skills on par with Tim, in my opinion. they balance each other out in a lot of ways. they're two people who have *chosen* this fight more than a lot of the rest of the Batfamily. being Batgirl is so important to Cass and it's something she chose because of her desperate want to be good. and Tim chose to be Robin because he knew Gotham and Bruce needed that. while they don't always agree on it, i would argue Cass and Tim understand the nuances of the Batman mantle and what it represents deeper than almost anyone else. because of that i'm particularly interested in a future CassTim, where Cass becomes Batman and Tim is in a weird limbo where he wants to stop being a vigilante but can't seem to quite let go of the life and how they end up meeting in the middle of that. i think it could be really fun with a lot of complicated arguments between them that end in a slow burn romance.

idk man this is baseless rambling, but tldr i love them so dearly and there's so much that can be explored between them. also, i think TimKonCass should be a thing. i like KonCass more than most people do (why do y'all hate this ship it's so good pls hear me out-) and i think as a complicated weird throuple they'd be fun.

[isadollie]

hello, how are you doing? i hope you're doing well.

may I request a long matchup within the tokyo revengers fandom (any timeline works)?

name: ryuu/key

gender: male

pronouns: he/they

sexuality: queer

i'd prefer being matched with a guy.

likes: anime, writing, reading, cats, the dark, music.

dislikes: loud noises (minus music), crowds, dogs.

i mostly write and/or listen to music in my free time, though it's usually a combination of both.

i really like darker/muted aesthetics, i'm not exactly sure what it'd be called. in regards to clothes, i prefer grunge, if that helps.

appearance: kinda scruffy/messy shoulder length dark brown hair, green eyes, pale skin, 5'8

personality: i don't really like interacting with people in person outside of immediate family. i'm more than a bit reclusive and tend to get overwhelmed in chaotic or even just crowded or loud social settings. in groups, i usually try avoiding attention and just listen to the conversation since having all eyes on me makes me uncomfortable. some people have called me rude since i tend to be a bit blunt or overly honest when stating my opinion. i don't really have a lot of friends, so i'm not always sure how to act in social interactions. none of this is to say that i intentionally try to be a jerk, i do try to be friendly and polite to people, i just sometimes miss social cues which leads to awkward situations.

mbti: intp-t

dream birthday present: i'm actually not sure. uh. another cat?

love language: words of affirmation + quality time. there was another that i remember reading online but i can't remember the name of it; it's basically where you and someone you're close to (ex. a partner) can be sitting in the same room, not actually interacting, you're both okay just being in the same room as them while doing separate activities.

a side note: i do tend to revolve around quieter/calmer people since loud people stress me out.

sorry if i missed anything and that it's pretty long.

— matchup —

i match you with...

Mitsuya Takashi!

★ we all know our cat lovers Chifuyu, Baji, etc. but i think Mitsuya would be amazing with them as well. his gentle nature makes all the animals stick to him

★ one of the reasons why i chose him for you is because you said you prefer to be around calmer people, so there you have him! he isn't really one to be loud all the time, would shush anyone if that meant making you comfortable

★ ngl, he's the type to make you clothes as a present, without needing an occasion tbh. you mentioned to him once what kind of clothes you like to wear, and the next thing you know is that Mitsuya hasn't been sleeping all night, busy sewing you a new shirt

★ his favourite activity after a long day: a calm, late night walk outside

★ quality time is his thing imo. he would love to just sit around, doing separate things while listening to some music in the background. no need for talking all the time; just each others presence is enough

★ always offers you comfort and words of encouragment whenever you feel bad. just loves to take care of you in general

★ Mitsuya is that type of person who you can always turn to for advice, and he'll make sure you know it well

★ would love to introduce you to his friends!

sorry that it took so long:/ your second match was chifuyu!

[ca-suffit]

Do you believe lestat would've saved claudia if he had the strength to save both cause i saw alot of people say that Jacob too

I'm combining this with this other ask too

Did you see Jacob saying that in the trial (where they are gonna die where Claudia is gonna die) Louis hates Lestat but also falls in love with him again? Like what is that... :/

a) re: Claudia. It was not my initial reaction to agree with hearing that when Jacob said that, but having read the books and based on some other things I'll explain in a sec......yes, it's prbly true.

I don't remember if this was a fandom post here or not, but wherever I saw it, there was a post once getting into how someone can care about u but still harm u. This is usually the biggest disconnect between the fandom (and sometimes Sam Reid himself) and the character of Lestat. In his book, he talks about how he cares about Claudia. U do see examples of it in the show as well. But overall how much did *she* rly feel that from him? How much did he explain the motivation of his actions that hurt her? How many times did he chose the cruelest way to do anything? The fandom is ready to always excuse everything away bcuz of whatever reason in his backstory explains it. Does Claudia ever know this tho? What does his trauma matter to her when he's only passing it on to her in different ways?

There's been a lot of good comments I've seen regarding how he defends her in the trial rehearsals too. How he's allowed to abuse her but nobody else is. How he can compliment her there finally bcuz she's under the scrutiny of others and *now* that's his daughter, *now* that's his blood. I mean, he was always seen bragging when she'd "take after him" before too, but u know what I mean. There are multiple ways to look at all of this and I think they all should be considered. That is the point of the show. Book ppl who are only looking to excuse their fav character are missing a lot of commentary regarding patriarchy, race, father / daughter relationships and whatever else.

The trial, to a degree, does follow the books and Lestat *is* shown being distraught at Claudia's death there too. It's not an act but we haven't gotten more of the pieces yet from the show canon. It also doesn't mean he's going to suddenly change to become another character. A majority of what Louis is haunted by regarding Claudia is based in all the ways he feels like he failed her. That will most likely be Lestat's perspective too. A lot of their shared grief is how much they fucked up someone else's life bcuz of their relationship and how she ultimately suffered the most bcuz of it. This is a common struggle for parents to examine as their kids grow up and give feedback on the experiences of being raised by ppl who maybe didn't have their shit together v well.

b) re: Loustat at the trial. This again ties back to their history as a couple and as parents, as well as both coming from abusive pasts. On the surface, it makes no fucking sense why Louis would be sitting there having *any* positive thoughts about Lestat in that moment. But he's been hallucinating him for so long and waiting for him to be real again that some part of it is still a relief. Circumstances being what they were, when they first made eye contact, u can see and feel the shift. It's even timed in Armand's notes.

Louis has always struggled to "hate" Lestat. He wouldn't have been able to kill Lestat if Claudia hadn't been there, u see him struggle in the 70s interview, u see him struggle in the Dubai interview. Lestat is the first real relationship he ever had. Louis comes from trauma and is drawn to trauma and he passes on trauma to Claudia too. This is Lestat too. This is a large part of why their relationship and all of these relationships are so compelling. It's real, it's tragic, it's fucked up. Louis continuously wants to be with Lestat but also kill Lestat and it's for so many different reasons. Some are all about Lestat and some are about Louis and his own self-loathing.

Being raised in trauma makes u easily susceptible to codependency. Abuse can deepen this bcuz it can make a relationship feel more "real," especially if that's what ur brain has associated with "this is what being loved feels like" (which is what happens if ur abused as a kid by ppl u rely on to survive). It's been established that Louis doesn't like "boring," but stuff like this is not sustainable either, even for vampires. We're still in the "idk wtf I'm doing" stage of anything for all of them and we'll have to see where the show is taking us for what direction this goes in over time.

I mean, this scene sums it all up p well.

[gleefullypolin]

Stacy's Tipsy Musings: Battle of the Stans Round 2 Colin

We are back for round 2 of Stacy's Tipsy Musings: Battle of the Stans Version

Yes you heard me, it's when one side of the ship screams louder than the other about a certain opinion. Well I wanted to tear those opinions up one by one and see what a Polin Stan thought about it.

Disclaimer: This is all in good fun, I'm not trying to start a real fight here! These are just personal opinions that I feel come from one side and should really be looked at from the middle more. Peace love and shipping!

Round 1: Penelope| Colin

Round 2: Penelope

On to Round 2

Colin Stans Round 2:

Friends or Acquaintances?

Penelope took Colin’s friendship for granted because she wrote bad things about him and didn’t respect him and cut him off.

Alright here we go…this one is interesting as it takes us to the heart of Lady Whistledown. Pen is a bad, bad girl. She did something that I’ve seen many girls do. Revenge tweet.

But let’s rewind. To the one line that every Polin fan wants to hunt down CVD and burn his house down for.

“I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington. Not in your wildest fantasies, Fife.”

It’s that line that sends a fandom into an anger frenzy right. It stopped our world at the end of Season 2 where everyone went WHEN I FIND YOU COLIN BRIDGERTON!!!

Well Pen felt the same way, didn’t she? And she said, omg I hate you, Colin. Now, I have written fic about this, as I am sure many of you have. And I have seen it taken many ways. We hate him, we loath him, we fault him, we kick him. Well Pen chose to ignore him. She was so hurt and confused by the way he was acting earlier to then hear his words, combined with Eloise finding out about LW and yelling at her that it rocked her damn world.

So, she ignored him all during his travels. Was that harsh, hell yes. Was she allowed to be in her feels about it, yes. She was going through a lot. He did pretty much make it seem like she was not worth courting to a bunch of eligible men of the ton. She had enough issues trying to attract suitors. Come on Colin! Help a girl out here!

So, then he comes home and he’s different, he’s acting different, he looks different, he’s an even bigger flirt than when he left, and Pen, who knows him very well knows that he’s acting a fool. So, when he tracks her down with his, “I miss you boo!” line, she’s had enough of him.

Now I was thankful she told him immediately why she was mad at dear Mister Bridgerton. I didn’t want that hanging over his head the whole damn season as to why. But it clocked him quickly. And then she did what I said, she went home and did the Regency revenge tweet. She Lady Whistledown’d him.

Now…does that mean at any time that she didn’t respect him. I would argue with you that she respected the hell out of Colin and was angry at him for not respecting HER for saying what he did and not respecting himself for acting a fool for talking about her like that and for coming home acting a fool.

Did she have a right to judge the way he came home. No, she did not. Colin had every right to come home acting however he wanted. Was that the real Colin...Oh that’s for a different round, ladies, and gents. However, I do not think the issue was respect.

Pen respected their friendship, but she respected herself also. She had every right not to write to him after he spoke about her. She was wrong to write about him in Whistledown after being angry at him but that does not mean she immediately cancelled her membership to her Colin monthly friendship foundation.

Polin Fan Knockout Punch: Friendship is built on a foundation and as long as it’s a solid one it can withstand a few mistakes. And mistakes were made by both parties.

Pen made mistakes by tarnishing his name in her column. Whether there was truth to what she wrote, writing about him while she was angry at him, might not have been a shining Penelope moment. Colin’s words were made while drunk and full of male ego and stupidity. He harmed his friend while making himself feel good. Neither meant to hurt the other, but they both did.

However, they both had a solid friendship built out of love that was able to survive those mistakes.

[yall-hate-kids-tourney]

Shinji Ikari

Y'all Hate Teens Propaganda

(cw parental abandonment, possession (?), strangulation, suicidal thoughts)

Eva is all about just how shitty it is for children to have the pressure of saving the world forced upon them. He is a traumatized boy who acts in a realistic way for someone of his age and in that situation but people hate him for being a coward when he is. Fourteen.

-

His mother died, his father abandoned him, he was guilted into being a child soldier by his dad wheeling out a severely injured girl. He's had to watch people he cares about get hurt, he's gone through intense physical and emotional suffering himself, but people keep going "Shinji's so whiny, why is he crying, just get in the robot Shinji"

-

Bro was abandoned by his dad after his mom died, and is only reunited with him so he can risk his life fighting bizarre alien monsters and getting repeatedly traumatized. He’s super depressed, awkward around the girls he likes, is forced to fight and harm one of his best friends, and when he finds a boy he likes is forced to kill him. Lots of people criticize his personality and his actions and his lack of desire to fight, but his responses are a product of everything that’s happened to him. He’s a flawed and complex character who gets a lot of shit from people who don’t understand the show.

-

So, you're Shinji Ikari.  You're 14, your mother is dead, you haven't seen your father in years, and you live alone, so you're understandably struggling with your mental health.  One day, your town is being attacked by an alien behemoth/nuked by government forces attacking said alien, and so your father sends a car to evacuate you to an underground shelter.  Of course, there's a catch.  After being taken to a chamber with a giant robot, your father then appears and tells you to pilot it and go fight the alien you were just running from.  Naturally, you refuse, and suddenly everyone is mad at you.

Alas, it wasn't just the control room that thought Shinji didn't measure up, but nearly the entirety of the real-world fandom.  Nearly everywhere you go, you can find someone deriding him for being selfish and cowardly, and having a poor response to having the fate of the world placed on his shoulders, in addition to his pre-existing depression, anxiety, and parental trauma.  The series was released in 1995, which was exactly the right time for Shinji suffering memes to become the foundation of anime internet culture.  Seriously, it goes deep.  Even his creators seem to think he's a bad character, as in pretty much every iteration of the series after the original, either his personality is changed to be more assertive, or he faces even more consequences for his perceived faults.

The real kicker is that there are plenty of moments in the original series that directly contradict the idea that Shinji is either selfish or cowardly!  For starters, although the reason he keeps piloting the EVA is a desire for purpose and approval, the reason he chose to start was because if he didn't, then Rei Ayanami, who had just suffered major injuries in a testing accident, would.  The first time he ran away due to panic, it was his self-loathing that brought him back, but the second time was because when his classmate was trapped in a rampaging EVA, his father remotely took control of his suit (which is connected to his nervous system, so it was more like puppeting his body) and forced him to nearly strangle his classmate to death.  However, the next time an Angel attacked, Shinji came back because he couldn't let everyone die if he could do something about it.  Although he is shy and submissive around his commanders and fellow pilots, Shinji's self-sacrificing nature drives him to incredible feats of reckless bravery in battle, putting himself in harm's way and attacking with alarming ferocity.  Shinji's guilt complex combined with his passive suicidality causes a lot of problems for both himself and the people around him, but to reduce him to a selfish coward misses the nuance of his character.

I provide the above paragraph not because Shinji needs any redeeming qualities to justify his trauma, but because the fact that he has multiple on-screen breakdowns and is vocal about his needs causes almost everyone to ignore his genuine strengths.  Even in sympathetic fix-it fics, Shinji is often treated as a flat protagonist with generic ""issues"", when in reality he is a whole cocktail of compelling character traits!  Yeah, he regularly breaks down under his stress!  He also refuses to give up, and not always for the right reasons!  His need to be a good pilot often causes a lot of problems!  Without him and his unique personality everyone would have died before the end of the series!  He puts almost everyone and everything before himself, except when he can't!  He loves his walkman!  He looks completely unassuming!  He's an absolute maniac!  He's the folding-chair guy!  He's Shinji Ikari!

Anyway, if you also love Shinji, this is your cue to go off in the notes.  The internet may be full of decades of misinformation, but we can stay strong!  There's no running away!

[ryanthedemiboy]

20 Questions for fic writers

(I was tagged by @annachibi )

Note: i'm combining answers for all three of my pseuds/both accts

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 56 :)

Ana's response: "18, I'm not very prolific haha"

That's so much! iirc the average person has like 2 fics under 3k total!

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 231,440 :D

3. What fandoms do you write for? Right now it's Fullmetal Alchemist. I may or may not go back to Marvel at some point. And I may move on to another fandom at some point :)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Four of the five are from my Ed is Dying series c: #1, 6, 7, 3. The fifth is an HP fic I wrote in 2016.

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes! It's extremely rare that I don't; only if I have nothing to say.

Ana's answer: "Yes, just about every one! Sometimes I don't if it's been multiple years since I wrote the thing and I don't have much to say back, since I figure some people don't necessarily want the author to respond anyway."

I promise you, almost everyone wants the author to respond! And the ones who don't just aren't going to check them xD

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Oh this is an excellent question. I have to be careful here, because spoilers. The end of the first fic in my spn series ended in a suicide that was unclear that he survived (he did). And then I have the death fic for my Ed is Dying series written, that's angsty af. There's also a fic I wrote recently on my semi-secret AO3 acct that doesn't seem angsty but it really fucking is.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Uhhh... I need to go look.

I forget if Out of the Box (MCU non-sexual age regression) had a happy ending, but basically the whole fic was gentle happiness. Same with Cas and the Bee Bag (spn. This is 9 years old)

I do not appear to have any other fics that are happy. Interesting, neutral, enjoyable, positive, sure. Not happy 😂

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not thus far

9. Do you write smut? Sometimes

10. Do you write crossovers? Not usually. It's very rare that I will. The main one I can think of is unpublished, idk if I even have it tbh — I had to write a crossover fic with A Scarlet Letter for my English class in 11th grade. I chose Doctor Who xD I believe that remains the only fic i've written for doctor who.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that i'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes! It was a blast. I forget why, but I asked my friend not to list me as a co-author.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship? Riza/Al, I think.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? My spn series. I am so many levels of uninterested, and even if I did, i'd have to rewrite it from scratch bc it's not up to par, anymore, and is extremely insensitive in parts (in particular, I have Cas using bible pages as the rolling paper for his weed. He is not xian. That's just what I remember off-hand). All that said, i would love to finish it.

16. What are your writing strengths? Emotion. Hitting the reader where it hurts.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Anything with happiness 😂

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I have done it both ways. And both are kind of cringey for me, when i've written them in the past.

Generally, the best way is to use italics to signify another language, and specify that language, as long as the POV person understands it.

19. First fandom you wrote for? HP

20. Favorite fic you've written? Talk about a good question. Probably one of the kink fics i've written. I love how i've had the characters be with each other, and shown their love for each other. I also love some of the drabbles i've made — it's hard to get a fic to exactly a word count, and getting an entire fic in so few words is a massive challenge, and very rewarding.

I'm not going to tag anyone, but if you want to do this, go for it!

Blank questions to easily copy/paste (incl on the app) below.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 2. What's your total AO3 word count? 3. What fandoms do you write for? 4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 5. Do you respond to comments? 6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? 7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? 8. Do you get hate on fics? 9. Do you write smut? 10. Do you write crossovers? 11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? 12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? 14. What's your all-time favorite ship? 15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? 16. What are your writing strengths? 17. What are your writing weaknesses? 18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? 19. First fandom you wrote for? 20. Favorite fic you've written?

[finnpoefanevents]

FAQ 🧡

Why hold an event?

Why not? In all seriousness though this event was started so that creatives in the FinnPoe fandom are able to come together for a week to celebrate the ship and create works for them. 

What does it involve?

During August 14-20 you guys will be given 2 prompts each day from which you are able to either chose one, or both, or even combine them in order to create content for FinnPoe

Do I have to write or make new content for the event?

While we would encourage new content, it's okay to repurpose old work as long as it hasn't been posted before (unless you are rewriting, redrawing re-editing etc and creating a separate post for it.)

How involved do I have to be?

We encourage everyone to be involved in every single day of FinnPoe Week however we understand that everyone has lives outside of FinnPoe (unfortunately) so it's completely okay to participate on some days and not on others. If you don’t want to participate but would still like to observe, we would encourage you guys to share the works of people who do submit, in order to support them. 

How can I participate?

Easy! Create a piece of media centring FinnPoe and post it using the tags or under the Ao3 collection.

What tags should I use?

For this event please use either #FinnPoeWeek2023 or #fpw2023 for your entries to be eligible. In addition to this you can also use #finnpoe, #stormpilot and any other tags relevant to the post. If your entry is NSFW please tag it as such. 

Will there be an AO3 collection?

Yes the collection is called ‘FinnPoe Week 2023’

Where do I submit my pieces?

You can submit your works on tumblr, twitter, instagram and Ao3. If you want to submit to other sites as well please let us know. 

Can I submit early?

While you guys are more than welcome to prepare early, please do not post your submissions before their respective days or it might get messy for all involved.

Can I submit late?

Absolutely! We are taking submissions for this event up until our next one.

When is the deadline? Is there a specific timezone?

There is no hard deadline and we’re not going off a specific time zone either for the days so you are free to post according to your timezone. 

Do I need to make full on masterpieces?

You absolutely can but it is not necessary. A simple sketch, a first draft of a fic, a snippet of an edit or their equivalent is also completely fine. 

Why have themes or prompts?

Themes provide coherence and inspiration. Without them people will either create whatever they want and there’s no order or purpose to the event OR people get stuck on what they want to do and end up doing nothing. They are meant to help with content creation but we will have free days and additional prompts to allow for more freedom and flexibility. 

What if I have more questions?

That's fine! We are always happy to help, you can contact us via DMs on Tumblr, Instagram or Twitter. You can also email us at 💌finnpoe2023@gmail.com or ask BB8

💙 twitter🧡 instagram 🖤 tumblr

[collidingxworlds]

4 and 9!

Asks for multimuse blogs || Accepting !

4. Is there a muse that not a lot of people roleplay with?

Yep, I dare to say that there's more than one xD Mostly Sam and Moriarty.

In Sam's case, it's my fault, because I made them before my hiatus and never given them proper time in the spotlight. I'm planning to change that very soon, once I've recovered some brain power.

As for Jim, I suppose that it's because he isn't an easy muse to interact with, also because of how specific his canon is. I need to work on giving him some verses, both general ones and maybe other fandom AUs, to make him more approachable!

9. why were you drawn to each one of your characters?

Oh boy xD Let's see how I can answer this one without writing a novel xD

Abigail: What got me interested in her first and foremost was the duality of the character. For a good part of her arc we don't know whether or not she had truly helped her Dad killing those girls and, if yes, to what extent. The series unfortunately doesn't analyse it too closely, but she tends to swing between two kinds of behaviours and identities: the traumatised victim who is trying to get her life back together after it has been shuttered and the manipulative accomplice who exploits the circumstances to get away with a clean slate. Useless to say, I like to portray her as the latter wearing the former's mask as an act. Another reason why I chose to pick her as a muse is because she has a lot of potential that however was never used. Gotta make up for that xD

Five: For him there's no big, complicated reason tbh xD He's just the type of character I enjoy, both when consuming medias and while writing. Practical, sarcastic, smart, witty, with poor manners because he couldn't care less about being polite (unless it benefits him). But also characterised by a tragic past, a lot of trauma, flaws that caused his downfall and a fierce attachment to something (in Five's case, his family). It's a lot of fun to explore the different sides of his person and find out where the lines blur!

Sam: They are my OC, so...I basically built them fitting the fictional family you, Chloé and I came up with. In a way, they have Abigail's same duality (victim vs perpetrator), but in this case the second side gets openly cultivated by their new family and I found interesting to explore the effects that such an environment can have on someone who has never truly been taught the difference between right and wrong. Sam grew up as an outcast, unwanted and unrecognised, and the very first time they find acceptance is under a woman who believes that killing men for their own advantage is her family's right. That's a fascinating combination xD Also, as a non-binary mun, I've been wanting to write a non-binary character for a while now!

Crowley: He is one of my oldest muses, one of the firsts I picked up when I started to RP on Tumblr. He used to have his own sideblog and all, before I decided to make this multimuse. I had a lot of fun writing him, also because he embodies the only kind of good guy I can and like to properly write. Someone with good intentions but also questionable methods and even more questionable morals. Also, even if in the book/series isn't shown much, I like to dig into the trauma of his Fall and all the consequences of it, how it has left him torn between what he wants to be and his demonic nature. So yeah, another traumatised gremlin xD

Will Graham: Speaking of trauma, here is another embodiment of it xD What got me fascinated with Will first and foremost is the way the series portrays his "pure empathy": how he can put himself into the killers' shoes, actually live through their fantasies, and how all this constant exposure to this twisted minds end up changing him. That's definitely another thing that drew me to Will. His character arc, evolution and how the potential darkness inside him emerges and takes shape. Obviously, all this happens through a lot of struggles and contrasts. Also, gotta love the sass xD

Will Byers: Together with Sam, he is my traumatised kid x'D He has been my fave character since season 1 (and he stayed vanished for most of the season, so that should tell you how much I liked him since the very start). What pushed me to pick him as a muse have been basically two things: the huge potential for the exploration of trauma / PTSD / sexual identity crisis and his connection with the Mind Flayer. There's just so much that could be done in both directions!

Moriarty: Ngl, I picked up Jim as a muse mostly as a challenge. I want to try my hand at a villain and he has always been one of my faves. Love me a psychopath who also has a ton of charisma and a sense of humour (I find him beyond funny xD). Moreover, ages ago I had come up with a whole backstory for him and this was my chance to do something with it!

Gabriel: Last but not least, he is literally one of the first two muses I had back when I started to RP on this hellsite. He is one of my fave characters from the show, has been even before we found out that he was Gabriel (and I refused to acknowledge the shit they did with him in season 13). He is a bit like Five, character wise, but with the twist of being an insanely powerful being. Plus, I loved adding bits and pieces from the Norse myths to his backstory / portrayal, and that was an additional reason because Norse mythology is my jam!

[halfax-a]

Lin and tumblr

The past year has changed how i use this website quite a lot, and i have feelings about it.  Here, i’m writing a mini essay to help me make my mind up what to do about it all.

The first big painful truth i have to face is: i don’t like my dashboard anymore. I find it increasingly hard to sit and just scroll through and pay attention. I know that a few years ago it used to be better balanced - divided into fandom content, meme content and music content. 

This year, more than ever, saw the absolutely bonkers avalanche of fandom content, which cannibalised both music and meme side of things. I experienced genuine mass hysteria with the flood of people, and i don’t regret that or hate that, but all of it ended up feeling more like witnessing a group of friends having an absolutely insane party - through the front window of their hourse, having your nose pressed to the glass. 

Why it felt so much like that, can be anointed to how i chose to interact with tumblr - 2022 was the year i fully turned to blog-crawling. It ended up impacting me a lot - in ways you can see (7 fandom posts in a row reblogged from one blog), and in ways you can’t (all those hours reading and internalising and the r word). Waking up every day, obsessively searching up 5 to 12 different blogs and spending up to 3 hours just reading updates (combined with my brief stint on twitter in the summer) fucked me up quite well, i think. 

Well. Actually. This is not new behaviour for me. Obsessive checking of tumblr blogs, forum threads and twitter accounts dates back well into 2016. But this is the first time it has fucked with my enjoyment of this site, and i am at a loss what to do.

I feel trapped. My brain does not think it can go without tumblr, because twitter, instagram, even the mighty youtube have surrendered to this blue hellsite, and let it reign the supreme doom scroll hole of my life. 

At the same time, i recognise that i am not really truly having a good time on here(or at least as much as i used to). The more time i spend on specific blogs, the less i am on my dash, which means the less opportunities i have to make connections with my remaining mutuals, and to make new ones.

I feel trapped and i feel isolated. A few years ago i used to know at least 5 blogs that were guaranteed to appear in my notes at any given time. There were more tag games, more casual @/ing and more interaction. Nowadays i feel quite alone. Yes, i did bring this onto myself with 1. aforementioned blog crawling and 2. jumping into excessive fandom posting. I’m just afraid that getting out of there is not as easy as it used to be. 

I’ve seen a lot of people move on, or drift out of my circles over the years, which makes reconnecting with old acquintances/old topics of interest difficult or downright impossible. And as i get on in age (in my old age of 22), i get increasingly nervous seeing 16,15, 14-year-old on here, and interacting with their blogs.

I am also a bit at a loss for how to curate my dash to regain that optimal meme/fandom/music equilibrium. Meme culture has changed a dizzying amount since 2018, and i know i have been left behind. With music and fandom cannibalising and engulfing each other (in that shiver-inducing mass of conciousness known as “mcr fandom”), i am left to try and find some “general” content. But from where??????

All of these things combined has made me feel like i might have to ditch tumblr soon. Either i put in massive amounts of energy, overhaul my dash and find out what i enjoy (while being concious of how to keep the parts of fandom that are truly enriching for me, when the mass hysteria inevitably starts again), or i log off, block, and try to keep my doomscrolling urges fed on fanfiction and youtube shorts.

With my unfortunate mental state, i sure know which seems easier

Now. Why am i still here at this very moment then?

It’s because of drafts! 

See, in my mind, it is possible to Finish Tumblr. During my years here, i have amassed a significant amount of drafts - gifsets, link masterlists, audio, video and photos, and each of them serves a purpose - to remind me to Consume that thing. The day i listen to the final album, final song, the day i watch the final tv show, movie, the day i let that final draft go; that’s when i can say i have Completed Tumblr, and can log off with a light heart. 

So, i haven’t acknowledged it, but i actually have a concrete goal in mind here, and as long as i work on that, i’ll be shackled to this blue hellsite

[dhampiravidi]

How do you create an OC? What are your steps for developing an OC?

Almost all of my OCs start out as a combination of self-insert & "what hasn't this fandom done yet"? For example, Skadi was created because I wanted to RP as an Asgardian-Jotnar hybrid & because I hadn't made an Asgardian OC/was too scared to RP as Sif. So I:

Took the OC's species into account

Marvel's Asgardians are all somewhat based off of Norse myth. So, I read about a bunch of myths & the Norse pantheon until I came across Skaði. I love her because she reminds me of Artemis (1 of my favorite Hellenic goddesses), she likes wolves, she deals with ice & she's a vengeful badass. But unlike the myths' Skaði, my Skadi (spelling slightly changed for an English reader's sake) is biracial. I went on the MCU wiki & compared the powers of Asgardians & Jotnar, giving her some of both.

Made corrections to prevent Mary Sue-ness

I also paid attention to the weaknesses of both races & also gave Skadi a power decrease. In her case, she's not as strong as Thor (1 of the strongest Asgardians), but she is a little faster & cleverer. Also, though all Jotnar can create & manipulate ice, Skadi hardly ever uses this power, so if she ever did, it would be on an elementary level. Instead, I chose to focus on making Skadi a huntress like her Norse counterpart, who relies primarily on her own body & weapons.

Created the OC's bio

Again, I didn't want a Mary Sue, but I wanted someone who had gone through some reasonable shit. Also, I had to explain how Skadi had grown up as a kid with parents from races who canonically hate each other. I decided to make her about the same age as Thor & Loki, so she was born right after the Asgardian-Jotnar treaty. Still, I doubt an intermarriage of that kind would be smiled upon (or else we'd have more canon hybrids), so Skadi was abandoned by her Asgardian mother. Taking Jotunheim's climate into account, Skadi became a huntress as part of her people's culture. She went to Asgard because she was forced to after her dad died & she hoped to find her mom. But Odin's canonically & dick (& her mom had her own family), so Skadi still ended up mostly on her own. However, she got the Goddess title (an honorific in the MCU) because she's the best hunter & Frigga's canonically kind.

Wrote the OC's personality & hobbies

I often use Western Zodiac signs (in addition to the OC's bio) to model my OC's personalities. It helps me easily group character traits, positive & negative. Skadi was going to be a bit colder (no pun intended) than my other OCs, both because of what she went through & because of who she's based off of. Still, she's not a mean person. Initially, her only hobbies were befriending wild animals & reading, but eventually I added making her own clothes, baking & singing in the style of the Jotnar (which I decided sounds like German hymns).

Then of course, I adjusted a lot of things as I RP'd her with other people. That's partially why not getting to use all of my OCs can be sad over time; I want to develop them & the best way to do so is by writing them in different situations.

*Skaði is called a "goddess", but the Jotnar from Jotunheim aren't the same species as the Vanir or the Aesir, who are typically the gods we talk about when we discuss Norse mythology.

[biosblades]

@ everyone in the notes saying “why is this m/m fans’ problem, if you want more f/f you write it”

I’m a fic writer that writes both, and I genuinely cannot even begin to express how ignored my f/f work is. Readers literally don’t even open a fic if there’s not a m/m ship in the tags. I actually personally prefer f/f but I don’t write it as much because literally nobody reads it if I do. It’s discouraging and feels like I’m doing it for no reason. I literally wrote an f/f fic from what I thought was a pretty popular pairing from a not unpopular show that literally had like 50 views, 0 kudos, 0 comments. I’m being so serious, why would I publish another work of that pairing when nobody’s reading or enjoying it?? If I’m the only one engaging I can just make scenarios in my head, no need to actually write them out

Now, let’s say there is another person who actually does like that pairing. If they were to search for works with it, they’d get like <10 results. If they took the L and decided to search for a m/m pairing in that same fandom, they’d get thousands of fics to choose from. By virtue of there being thousands, some of those are (statistically) probably a lot better than the three works that have to represent the f/f ship all on their own. So they pick the m/m ship, they find a community of a bunch of other people who are at least interested in their same fandom, they read some profound works that get them personally invested in that ship. Here’s this person who wanted to read f/f but due to the environment created on ao3 now reads mostly m/m

THAT’S what we’re upset about. Individual m/m readers make sense, that’s all there is to read on there. But we’re pointing out that it was misogyny combined with fetishization of gay men by straight women that CREATED that reality. Female characters are swept to the side, even in works where they could serve the same narrative purpose as their male counterparts because writers either personally think girls are boring or think their readers feel that way. And when huge fandoms obsess over male side characters instead of the female mains (even if those female mains are objectively the way more interesting character), it perpetuates that issue. People write what’s being well received (and that’s also all they get prompts/requests for)

This isn’t like a slight disparity either this is barely one million f/f works to over FIVE MILLION m/m (last I heard). F/f works are literally being drowned out by the mass numbers of m/m. Every writer helps, but who’s really gonna make a dent in an over four million (and the gap is only widening) fic difference?? All while your work is passed up in favor of yet another way more popular m/m pairing??

Y’all need to stfu about this not being a wider issue. This is a whole community issue. Genuinely, when reading fics centering men, think to yourself, could this same exact storyline have been just as good (if not better) with women?? Then think to yourself why the author chose a male character. Is it actually the best choice or even a choice they can somehow justify, or did they do it just because that’s what everyone else is doing? Are readers and authors even questioning their automatic lean toward male characters or is it so ingrained that it’s just the total default with absolutely no thought required??

And I don’t wanna hear “iTs CaUsE wE wAnT pEnIs PoRn” No, it’s not actually. Because y’all made up fantasy genre’s in which men can take the sexual role that women fill IN REAL LIFE. You literally created fantasy species so men could experience sexism and pregnancy for the plot rather than just putting women in your story. And be so for real, how many m/m fics are there where the genitals do not match anything seen in any human sex?? You could just as easily put either real, silicone, or fantasy-based dicks on your female characters if that’s really the issue. Your fantasy female characters could use fantasy science to impregnate other female characters if that’s what people really wanted. But it’s not, because there’s a hell of a lot of content on ao3 that isn’t sexual at all, and those works still lean m/m

It’s misogyny.

It’s fetishization.

It’s men being positioned as the default over women in every possible situation.

And we need to talk about it.

And honestly if you’re feeling personally attacked, it’s probably because you read m/m for the above reasons rather than for lack of other options. Because the people who just read m/m because it’s there can acknowledge and talk about the problem. They want to change the culture. It’s the misogynists and fetishizers who are all up in the notes defending their right to be misogynistic fetishizers 👀

Hey guys remind me how many properties there are on ao3 where m/m outnumbers f/f for no good reason

[ganyuowo]

"Hey I saw your post a can I please request cleo de nile from monster high in hazbin hotel.

I love cleo so much from monster high her acting like a diva her fashion being Egyptian inspired I love it so why not put the Egyptian princess in o show that lives rent free in my head hazbin hotel.

I guess that would make her the oldest singer in hell and her being a model and going with the fashion trends but keeping her Egyptian style because she is a princess and whoud not step outside looking drop dead gorgeous.

I'm sorry l'm rambling I was so happy seeing both fandoms on your post 😭"

You do not need to apologize! I'm sorry if this ends up turning out the way you imagined, but I promise I'll try my best!

Characters: Velvette and Cleo De Nile (I think they would be best friends)

Synopsis: Cleo de Nile is a model and stylist who works alongside the youngest Overlord, Velvette and is one of the oldest singers in the Pentagram.

— Hey pretty girl, where do you think you're going before the dresses are finished? Do you really think I will accept something like that!? — Velvette complained while cursing one of the models and the outfit she chose to wear in the fashion show.

Cleo de Nile looked at that scene with a certain mocking smile, getting close to the model and placing her hands on her shoulders — The dress is ugly, what color combination is that? And by the way, it doesn't fit with your hair! — She soon drops her mocking smile and turns to Velvette. — My wonderful friend! What do you think about me choosing her clothes? I could easily pick out a divine one for her to wear!

Velvette smiled and hugged Cleo de Nile — Could you really do that for me? —

— Well... If you allow her to wear beautiful clothes like mine! — Velvette let out a loud laugh, nodding her head — Oh wait, can you get it for all the models, please? — Velvette begged with puppy dog ​​eyes.

— As long as I still have time, you know I also need to sing, right? I have an event this weekend, and I have to say, hell is going to get hotter when I get back on stage! — Cleo placed both of her hands on Velvette's face, squeezing her cheeks.

— And you, Velve, will sing with me after so long! Maybe Vox will even come out of his cave, right? — She let out a laugh, soon letting go of Velvette's face and approaching the window that overlooked the entire city — Sinners, overlords and hell-borns will see me shine again! And I might even meet some colleagues again, like Zestial, Carmilla and Rosie! — Velvette had a look of disgust on her face. — They don't deserve to hear your voice again... The Vee's could be the only ones to hear you again, are you sure you want to come back? — Velvet pouted her lips, her eyes pleading.

— Hell needs to see me shine again, besides my beautiful Egyptian clothes, and Vee's will have more of my fans than ever! — Cleo laughed loudly, and Velvette soon joined her.

Vox and Valentino watch the two girls interact from afar, both smiling with amusement.

— I missed the most famous singer in hell. — Vox said.

— Maybe I'll release new clothes in her style for the actors and actresses at the porn studio, what do you think? — Said Valentino, as he smoked and caressed one of the women at his side.

— As long as it's not too indecent, you know Cleo and Velve wouldn't like it. — Vox moved a little away from Valentino, getting up from the sofa where they were.

Vox approached the girls, leaving Valentino with an actress and one of the models.

— Who said they need to know, right, girls? — Valentino smiled at the two beside him, starting to laugh softly.

Well, I think this turned out good, anything you don't I can add in a possible part 2, and I'm sorry for being short!

I hope you liked it, maybe I deviated a little from what you asked (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ)

[figgiforever]

For the ask game:

nutmeg ⇢ how’s your room/home decorated? do you have a specific theme or style going on?

palm tree ⇢ do you have a fictional villain you shouldn’t like but love regardless?

aloe vera ⇢ what’s something (mundane) you really want to experience in life?

chamomile ⇢ what kind of things do you like receiving as gifts?

sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?

cactus ⇢ something you’re currently learning (about)?

nutmeg ⇢ how’s your room/home decorated? do you have a specific theme or style going on?

Messy. I don't like to tidy up my room. There's no food or dirty dishes there but... there is just lots of stuff everywhere: on the floor, on the desk, in the drawers, on the top of the wardrobe. Sketchbooks, loose sheets of paper and other artistic materials, clothes, boxes, bags with stuff I bought while living in dormitory that I don't know where to put, canvases with my paintings from high school, a guitar, pile of folders with my old drawings, star wars merchandise, books... Just everything!

Besides, few years ago my parents decided to renovate our house and I wanted to have brownish olive walls in my room and bright green accessories. The paint we chose ended being sand yellow and I have exactly two green accesories: a small carpet and a window blind. I don't remember my first reaction but my mom says I was very mad. Though I like it now. But I don't even spend much time there and I've never been interested in arranging my space too much.

palm tree ⇢ do you have a fictional villain you shouldn’t like but love regardless?

Megatron from More Than Meets The Eye comic series. I guess he fits this question.

I'm not sure how much you know about Tranformers but there is not just ONE canon. Almost each series is a different continuity. And the same characters vary more or less in each of them. So I don't love all versions of Megatron but that specific one and his redemption arc. He's both hated and loved in the fandom. And I love him <3 He's my beloved warlord and war criminal :)

Aloe vera ⇢ what’s something (mundane) you really want to experience in life?

Sleeping with a cat on my bed.

chamomile ⇢ what kind of things do you like receiving as gifts?

Something hand-made, nothing expensive but made with heart. Like that notebook with photos, quotes and little drawings I got for 17th birthday from my best friend from that time. She titled it "Seventeen things I want to thank you for". We are not friends anymore but I like to come back and look at it again.

sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?

Films/videos. The combination of the beauty of the image and music can make my soul move to another dimension. It can make me feel strong emotions or as if I'm in a different world. My favourite mediums are music and images (paintings, drawings, graphic, photography, etc.) but when they are put together - it just hits me even stronger.

cactus ⇢ something you’re currently learning (about)?

I'm learning Italian with Duolingo for over a year now. In the meantime I lost motivation to do notes anymore but I have too high streak to give up entirely.