#and/or 2) she says no initially because she's in the middle of doing something else this is not the time for frivilousness

[aparticularbandit]

Debating having a second, parallel fic to dr1 end rewrite that's just. memories.

And then sometimes posting one of those instead of a main fic update to show what memories Kyoko's recovering as time goes on, while also giving a better look (albeit out of order) of stuff that happened prior to the Killing Game.

....

The first chapter would be the first all girls sleepover that Kyoko goes to. Because I think that's apt.

[zumistew]

holding their hand

Tokyo revengers boys holding your hand for the first time Pt.2

Includes: Kakucho, Hanma, Ran, Rindou

tags: fluff, flirting, confession, protectiveness??

A/N: I didn’t expect my first story to get many likes so thank you for everyone who interacted ♡♡♡

Kakucho

Kakucho is always kind to you constantly providing you with nice gestures, so when he invited you to get some coffee you didn’t think anything of it.

Since it was nearing Valentine’s Day, the coffee shop had a discount for couples. Kakucho asked if you wanted to put on an act for some discounted food, and of course you agreed because who doesn’t like free food.

The waiter came to the table complementing you with a smile “your girlfriend is extremely beautiful.” “I know she is” he says with a sweet yet cocky smile on his face. You decide to ignore it telling the waiter thankyou and flashing Kakucho a smile because maybe it was just to keep the act up.

After paying the check Kakucho gets up from his side of the booth walking over to your side holding his hand out, you take his hand as he helps you out the booth. “Wow your really putting your all into this act” You say as yall walk out of the shop hand in hand. “It’s not an act stupid” he responds with a slight smile as he opens the shop door for you to exit. “What” you respond as you exit the shop. “I said it’s not an act Y/N” he says before he grabs you by the waist to move you to the side of the sidewalk opposite from the cars.

Hanma

Hanma was a wild card and everyone knew it. He was constantly taunting you and mocking you any chance he got. It was so much to the point that you couldn’t tell when he was being serious or joking.

Although he was crazy you could see he had a heart making himself vulnerable sometimes, you don’t even think he was aware when he was even exposing his true self sometimes.

As you two were walking you end up tripping over your shoes causing you to stumble. “Next time I’ll push you down myself” he say’s chuckling as he looks down at you. “If you push me you’ll regret it…trust me” you say jokingly knowing in the event that he actually pushed you that you would be defenseless.

He shoves you jokingly “now do something” he says smiling.

As you go to shove him back he grabs your wrist while smiling down at you. “Your weak” he says laughing as you give him a slight pout. “You’re not as funny as you think you are” you say with furrowed brows. “You know you enjoy my antics” he says moving his grip down from your wrist to your hand relaxing it in the middle of the two of y’all. “I don’t” you reply monotone but it was obvious you weren’t mad.

Ran

Ran was a lady’s man nobody could deny that. So you never took it seriously whenever he tried to flirt or compliment you.

But this time you were a little unsure. Here he was giving you a bag with a gift. “Open it” he says nonchalantly holding it out for you to grab. “Huh, what’s this?” you ask grabbing it from him taking out the crinkle paper inside. “Thought of you when I saw it” he says with a small smile as his low eyes look down at you with anticipation for your reaction.

You pull out a pearl necklace and a bracelet with the initial “R” dangling from it. “It’s very pretty” you say staring at it with admiration “but I think you left a bracelet for someone else in here stupid” you say thinking he was trying to buy gifts for multiple girls at once. “No I didn’t, it’s yours stupid* he says monotone looking at you with slight amusement. “I’m not stupid, my name doesn’t start with R, you messed up” you say smirking thinking you caught him holding the jewelry out for him to grab. “I know your name doesn’t start with R it’s because mine does” he says taking the jewelry, grabbing your wrist clipping the piece of delicate jewelry onto your wrist.

“Why did you get me this…don’t get me wrong I’m appreciative but why” you say looking up at him as he focuses on the jewelry he’s putting on your wrist. “Because you’re mine Y/N and I want everyone to know it” He smiles at you cockily after he finishes putting the jewelry on your wrist. You look at him a little surprised and suspicious. “Do you have an issue with that” he ask smirking down at you. “No…thanks for the jewelry it’s pretty, I like it” you say with a shy smile. “I know…pretty just like you” he says grabbing your hand.

Rindou

Rindou was your boy best friend. You two had the same humor and often laughed a lot with each other. And you two were now walking home from school together.

As you were walking home from school you looked down at your shoes to notice there untied. “Ugh my shoes keep coming untied” you groan starting to bend down. “Stop” he says lightly grabbing your arm lightly pulling you up. “Let me do it” he says smiling at you as he gets down on one knee. “Put your foot up Y/N” he says patting his thigh. “Oh ok” you say putting your foot on his thigh.

He starts focusing on tying your shoe for you. “You know I could tie it myself” you say looking down at him. “I know but I can’t let you tie your own shoes” he says taking your foot off his thigh as he finishes tying it.

You look at him confused as he stands up. “Why?” You ask him confused. “Because that’s not very gentlemanly” he says smirking at you. “If you say so” you shrug as you continue to walk.

He stops walking and you notice, so you turn around to see why he stopped. “You know Y/N, you’d never have to do anything for yourself if you were with me” he say hands in pockets. “Huh? What are you talking about” you say walking towards him.

“I’m saying that you would never have to lift a finger if you were with me” he says smirking grabbing your hand pulling you closer to him to get his point across. “Are you going to take me up on my offer” he say smirking looking over at you as he continues walking still holding your hand.

Part 1 down here ⇩

[useless-catalanfacts]

Idioms in Catalan with a religious origin

There's quite a lot of idioms that we say in everyday life, outside of the context of religion, but that come from religious stories or events.

Most of them come from Christianity, and many of them are shared with other Romance languages or other languages from historically Christian countries. To keep this list accessible to everyone regardless of cultural background, I will include the literal translation to English and also an explanation all of them.

Let's see how many of these you can understand before seeing the explanation. Let us know in the tags!

1. Fer Pasqua abans de Rams = "to do Easter before Palm Sunday", meaning to get pregnant, have a baby, or to have sex before getting married. Nowadays it's used in a more general sense to mean to do something before it's time (like English "put the cart before the horse"). Palm Sunday is a holiday celebrated the week before Easter.

2. Per a més inri = "for more INRI", used to add a bad thing on top of something else, making a situation even worse or more humiliating. It's a reference to the sign that said "INRI" (stands for the initials of "Jesus of Nazareth King of the Jews" in Latin) that Roman soldiers hanged on Christ's crucifix to make fun of him.

3. A la babalà = "in the babalà way", meaning to do something without having thought much about it. But what does "babalà" mean? This word doesn't exist in the Catalan language outside of this expression. It comes from the Arabic Alà bâb Allâh which means "in God's hands".

4. On Crist va perdre l'espardenya = "where Christ lost his sandal", or on Crist va perdre el barret = "where Christ lost his hat", meaning somewhere very far away and usually in the middle of nothing. I don't know of any story that has Christ lose his sandal or hat.

5. Perdut de la mà de Déu = "lost by God's hand", meaning a place in the middle of nowhere.

6. Ser un calvari ="to be a calvary", meaning that something is a cause of suffering. You can also hear quin calvari! = "what a calvary!". This is a reference to Mount Calvary, where Christ was crucified.

7. Endavant les atxes = "ahead with the candles!", meaning "keep going!", used to encourage to keep going in a negative situation with difficulties or a situation that you would have preferred to avoid. An atxa is a kind of big candle that the first people in a religious procession carry. This was the shout that would start a procession.

(Note: in recent years, Spanish media has used this idiom as supposed proof that Catalan independentists who said it are calling for violence, using a fake translation that assumed that "atxa" must mean the same as Spanish "hacha", meaning "axe" 🪓, because the pronunciation is almost identical. This is false, when people were saying "endavant les atxes" they did not intend any meaning related to "bring the axes". This was used to justify violence against Catalan activists, but has no ground in reality. "Axe"🪓 in Catalan would be "destral".)

8. Net com una patena = "as clean as a paten", meaning very clean. A paten is a kind of small dish used in Catholic mass, where the blessed sacramental bread in placed on.

9. Acabar com el rosari de l'aurora = "to end up like the dawn rosary", meaning to end very, very badly, usually in violence. The dawn rosary used to be a procession that was done in the early morning of certain holidays while praying the rosary. The idiom (which also exists in Spanish) comes from the year 1868. Around those years, there were many anticlerical riots, while the Catholic church kept doing the dawn rosary on the streets and often assigning it political meaning. In Barcelona and other cities, anticlerical protestors tried to stop the dawn rosary from happening, and it ended in violence and blood.

10. Plorar com una Magdalena = "to cry like a Magdalene", meaning to cry a lot and very desperately. This is a reference to Mary Magdalene, a character from the Bible's New Testament who cried when she met Christ.

11. Déu-n'hi-do! = "God gives!". This expression is difficult to translate because I don't think English has an equivalent (the closest I can think of are "wow!" or even "holy shit!"), but Catalan people use it a lot. It's an exclamation used to show surprise, awe or to mean a big quantity.

12. Ser més vell que Matusalem = "to be older than Methuselah", meaning that someone is very very old. Methuselah is a character from the Bible's Old Testament who is said to have lived for 969 years. This comparison is used for comedic value.

13. Rentar-se'n les mans = "to wash one's hands", meaning to say you're not responsible for what happens. This is a quote from the Bible's New Testament: when Christ is being judged by Pontius Pilate, the crowd is asking him to sentence him to crucifixion. He asks Christ to defend himself, but he doesn't. Pilate doesn't want to sentence him to death, but he sees he has no other option. Then, he sees his hands are stained with Christ's blood, and washes his hands as he decides that this situation will not be his responsibility.

14. Arribar a misses dites = "to arrive to mass [already] said", meaning to arrive late when something has already happened.

15. Ser com les palmes d’Elx, que vingueren el matí de Pasqua = "to be like the Elx palms, that arrived on Easter morning", this is used in the Valencian Country to mean to be late. Elx is a city with the biggest palm groove in Europe ever since the Middle Ages, and many of these palm tree leafs are used for making the palms used for Palm Sunday, the celebration that happens a week before Easter.

16. Va a missa = "goes to mass", meaning whatever is said is exactly what will happen, without complaining or second thoughts.

17. Endiumenjar-se = "to Sunday yourself" or "to Sunday up", meaning to dress up in your best clothes (same as "to wear your Sunday best" in English). Traditionally, people used to wear their best clothes for Sunday mass.

18. Alt com un sant Pau = "as tall as a saint Paul", someone who is very tall. Saint Paul was not tall, in his texts he describes himself as a "little man". The origin of this sentence is in Catalonia centuries ago. People used to celebrate the holiday of Saint Paul's Conversion (January 25th). In the Sant Pau del Camp church area in Barcelona, the tradition for this day had a man yield a huge sword. For this reason, the man had to be tall and strong.

19. Alegre/content com unes pasqües = "as cheerful/happy as Easters", meaning to be very happy and cheerful.

20. Discutir sobre el sexe dels àngels or parlar del sexe dels àngels = "to argue about angels' sex", meaning to endlessly argue heatedly about something insignificant where neither side will ever convince the other to change their minds. Also called una discussió bizantina="a Byzantine argument". This comes from the historical fact that Biblical scholars spent centuries arguing on whether angels can be male or female or not. Legends say that, when the Ottomans were laying siege on Constantinople in 1453 and getting ready to invade it, the Byzantine theologists were arguing about whether angels have sexes instead of doing anything useful.

21. Pagant, sant Pere canta = "if you pay, saint Peter sings". The person who hears it, might answer i sant Joan fa esclops = "and Saint John makes clogs". This means that money will get you anything, even the things that seemed impossible. It might be a reference to the Bible story where saint Peter was asked if he knew Christ after he was taken to crucify, and Peter lied three times and said he didn't know him. "To sing" in Catalan can also mean "to confess". Maybe, if they had paid him he would have confessed.

22. Perdre l'oremus = "to lose the oremus", meaning to lose control of yourself, or to get disoriented or lose memory. "Oremus" (which means "let's pray" in Latin) is the sentence that Catholic priests say during mass to lead a prayer. It's believed that this idiom comes from some incidents where a priest would start the sentence "oremus..." but then couldn't find the prayer he wanted to lead, which he might have misplaced somewhere else in his book. So he would say "oremus... uh... oremus..." while flipping the pages looking for the right one.

23. A bon sant t'encomanes! = "You entrust yourself to a good saint!", said with irony. It's said when you ask for help or rely on someone who is not competent.

24. Ser més papista que el Papa = "To be more Popeist than the Pope", meaning someone who is too dogmatic, too strict or extremist in following the rules, or who believes in or defends something in a more extreme way than the people most affected by it.

25. Qui no coneix Déu, a qualsevol sant li resa = "He who doesn't know God, prays to any saint", used to compare something very good to something worse that someone else likes, usually something worse but that is very popular.

And there's probably others that I forgot.

How many of these are shared with your language?

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder

pairing: javi p x reader

cws/tags: angst, p in v, oral, idk? drinking? canon death mention? javi pov

summary: reader, a dea agent, arrives in medellin (season 2 time) and quickly forms a bond w javi. are they just friends or is it something more?

a/n: there is a part 2 which will give the full picture (hopefully)

wc: 8.6k

taglist:

@gothcsz @onlyasimp4-2dbitches

There was Helena, and then, Gabriela, before that, Vanessa, and certainly some others here and there, but with all of them, Javi had his expectations set upfront. Or at least, he thought he did, he tried to, but he'd be lying if he said Helena only came to mind when he was lonely in the middle of the night, naked and unable to sleep. 

Elisa was a mistake, an unfair mistake that was dropped off at his doorstep before he could tell himself that this doesn't mean anything. There must've been some self-preservation instincts in him that held him back from begging her for more, from moping around after she left. He risked a lot for her, but he would've risked more if she'd let him.

Prostitutes and wanted communists are one thing, but you are something else. Javi can't quite put his finger on what that something else is yet, and it’s too late once he figures it out. 

In the beginning, Javi was skeptical of you, mostly because you came to Medellin with Messina and crew, and he falsely assumed that being her subordinate meant you would take her side if there were ever to be conflict between her and Javi – and there was from their very first conversation.

More than skeptical, he was intrigued. Being sent to Colombia to participate in the fight against Escobar was usually reserved for higher-ups with a much longer tenure, or fresh meat for the front-lines. As a newcomer, that meant that you were either a highly-skilled agent in the field of investigation or you volunteered yourself – likely unknowingly – to be slaughtered. You might be a fast runner or a sharpshooter, but young girls aren’t known to fare well on the battlefield.

Once he’s determined that you’re not a threat, you’re a coworker. You keep to yourself. You don’t seem shy, just focused, and for that Javi is grateful. Considering the fact that he’s forced to work with the people he deems to be ‘RIP’ and a fuckton of bureaucracy, you make his life easier. 

Obviously, you’re gorgeous. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder or whatever but he sees the way others look at you. He notices because he is also looking. You walk with confidence, but not arrogance. You traverse the halls with purpose, but not urgency. You rarely stop to mingle with Colleen and only exchange cordial glances with men who would melt if you gave them any more attention than that. 

His first interaction with you aside from your initial greeting, begins with a headache. It’s the phone ringing, then the keys clicking on the typewriter, even the tick of the clock gets to him. He groans - somewhat dramatically - and puts his head in his hands. 

“Agent Peña,” you pipe up from beside him. “Are you okay?”

“Just a headache. I’ll recover.”

“Do you want Advil? I have some in my purse.”

“Yes, please.”

You dig through a sizable bag until you find a small bottle. You carefully shake two caplets out and pour the excess back inside their container, closing the cap tightly before putting it back in your purse. 

“Hold out your hand unless you want me to feed them to you,” you say jokingly. 

He opens his palm and takes the offering, greedily swallowing the pills dry. 

“You should really take those with water,” you say. 

“Does coffee work?” He presents the near-empty mug on his desk to you, swirling the contents. 

“Here,” you say, giving up your water bottle. 

“You’re a fuckin’ angel, you know that?” he says, before taking a gulp of your water, tasting the chapstick on the rim. Cherry. It leaves a pink stain that matches the color of your nails.  

When he returns the bottle to you, you seem oddly flustered. He meant angel as in miracle worker not as in divinely gorgeous woman, though both could be used to describe you. You should know that, he thinks. 

“Not really,” you say with a breathy laugh. “I’m just prepared for any surprise Aunt Flo could bring me.”

“Huh?” Javi’s a man without sisters, daughters, or a wife, he’s never heard the expression. 

“My period.” 

Honestly, he’s impressed at how plainly you say it, shameless as you should be. 

“Ah.”

“She makes me more of a demon than anything, but it means I’ve got a whole pharmacy in here.”

“Got anything fun?”

“Not unless you find enjoyment in a handful of tampons and a spare pair of underwear.”

Depends on the underwear, he thinks. They’re probably modest, but you’d look good in fuckin’ granny panties. By the end of the day, he’s imagined you in just about everything.

At the time, Javi's not interested in flirting with you. It's not a conscious effort not to get involved, he's just so caught up in everything else that there's little time to think about romancing you. 

Even the night he and Steve first invite you for drinks, it's sheerly for the sake of camaraderie. In fact, it was Steve's idea, not his. Murphy thought you looked lonely – in retrospect, Javi thinks it might've been projection. Javi agreed to invite you out of pure interest in what you'd be like outside of the office.

Nice. That's the best way he could describe it. Likable.

You all get drunk. Javi watches your professional facade slip as you’re swaying in your seat to the rhythm of the current hits on the radio. Your skin, dewy with summer sweat, makes you glow like an angel in the dim light of the bar.

It takes Steve a drink and a half to bring up his marriage problems. Javi, stupidly, has forgotten that you're not privy to any of this, so you endure 25 minutes of conversation time before asking, "Who's Connie?"

"Steve's wife," Javi says.

"Where is she?"

"Miami."

"I've never heard you talk about her before."

"Because he's in hot water," Javi, again, is the one to answer.

"I can answer for myself, thank you." Steve insists.

And so Javi lets Steve talk - he's probably heard it all before - and he lets himself have a break. Just a little break, no one will notice if he lets his mind wander for a second. Really, he's mostly listening, he thinks.

"Javi." Murphy's voice from across the table is oddly stern.

"What?" Javi mirrors his tone.

"What do you think I should do?"

"About what?"

"Connie."

"I don't know."

"Were you even listening?"

"Yeah, of course." 

It takes one long stare to get him to break. "Okay, fine. I was not listening. Tell me one more time."

You excuse yourself from the table to use the restroom, and it feels like you've fed him to the wolves – rightfully so.

"You like her." It's not a question. It's a statement, whispered as if Murphy cares about the confidentiality of Javi's love life or lack thereof.

"It's not like that." But Javi can't meet his eyes.

"I know sleeping around usually works for you, but I don't want you to fuck this up. Not right now when we're so close."

What he means is: do not fuck her. It should be simple – and to Steve's credit, he's right. But the thing is that Javi doesn't just want to fuck you. It's not like that.

"What do you think I am? An animal?" Javi asks.

Yes, he absolutely does. To him, Javi is a tiger, waiting to pounce on whatever prey he can get his hands on. Really, Javi's a mopey zoo lion if anything.

When he notices you making your way across the room, he changes the subject. "Anyway, I think you should call Connie, and tell her how you feel. Just be honest."

"That's what I said," you beam with pride, as if you've gotten the answer right.

Looking into Murphy’s bloodshot eyes, he adds, "But you've gotta sober up first."

"I agree," you say, and Javi only notices now how you slur your words.

He convinces you both to go home with the promise of a second hangout next week. It's an empty promise – he just needs to get you home safe. He assumes you won't remember in the morning. But come next Friday, you approach him, and ask if you're going to the same bar you went to the weekend prior.

It was an empty promise, but one he decides to keep.

It becomes a weekly thing. The three of you. You all get along perfectly well, but if this were any other circumstance, if you were any other beautiful woman, Javi would've pulled Steve to the side and told him to pound sand. But there is a mutual knowledge and acceptance that Steve is cock-blocking Javi. It's for everyone's benefit.

Your group hangouts typically begin and end at the same bar down the street.

The friend group arrangement works until it doesn't. Until Murphy has plans.

"How the fuck do you have plans? Your wife is in another country," Javi asks bitterly.

"Unlike you, my life isn't centered around women I want to sleep with," Steve says with less bite because he knows he's won the conversation.

Fuck Murphy. Javi was tired of hearing him bitch about Connie anyway. But you. He could never get tired of you.

"We can still go out, right, Javi?" you ask, and he's fairly sure it's the first time you've ever called him by his first name.

He doesn't have time to find an excuse to say no when he's pushing away every knee-jerk flirtation in his mind.

"Yeah," he says, "of course we can."

It takes only one word to seal his fate, but he gives you five.

That evening he sits across from you rather than next to you, so he can't put his arm around the back of your seat and you can't lean on him when you start to feel tipsy. Instead, he has to try to pay attention while you're looking him in the eyes, smiling at him and no one else.

When you decide to call it a night, and you stumble on your way out the door, Javi grabs hold of your arm, steadying you.

"I'm gonna walk you home," he says. Not an offer, a statement of fact.

"I got it," you say, patting him on the chest in thanks.

"No, you don't." He sighs as he leads you against your will, trying not to let your stupid grin get to him.

As you walk past the lit-up buildings filled with young singles dancing with their bodies pressed up against each other covered in sweat and spilled drinks – the nightlife of Medellin, a song escapes one nightclub that you recognize, and you begin to sing along. Your tune isn't bad, but your lyrics are far from correct.

Javi laughs heartily, unable to hold it in.

"What? You don't like it?"

"No, I love it – it's original. I love the way you've completely changed the lyrics."

"You're so mean, Javier!" You playfully shove him – or attempt to, but you end up falling into his arms.

He takes your hands in his, holding you upright. 

“It’s ‘hold me closer, tiny dancer’, not ‘hold me closer, Tony Danza’,” he says. 

“Okay, fine,” you say, hands still clasped in his, swaying a bit, coaxing him into dancing with you slowly. 

Halfway through the song, he’s leading you, step-by-step, twirling you like a ballerina because he loves the way you laugh when he does it. 

Though you’re the one that needs help standing, you keep him on his toes too. The words are no longer ‘Tony Danza’, nor ‘tiny dancer’ - it becomes ‘hold me closer, Javi Peña’. 

For the rest of the walk, he keeps his hands – respectfully, protectively, friendly – on you. Just an arm around your shoulder, or your hand in his at most scandalous.

It takes you a moment to unlock your door as you fiddle with the keys – their clinking metal being the only sound echoing through the halls of the apartment building. Anticipatory silence. He won't come into your apartment, he knows that. You're too drunk to consent to anything. You leave him with a kiss on the cheek, and he hopes that it means less to you than it does to him.

“It’s kinda like Cheers when you think of it,” you note off-handedly.

“In what way?” Javi asks like he’s challenging you.

“Well, we’re always at the same bar.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Where everybody knows your name’? The bartender still calls you ‘señorita’.”

“He calls me ‘gringo’,” Steve mumbles into his glass.

As it turns out, the bartender does know your name, and just as Sam Malone would, he makes out with you in a room marked ‘employee’s only’.

Watching you get whisked away by the bartender, Javi sighs a little too loudly, prompting Murphy to inquire, “you jealous?”

“No. I’m gonna go… mingle,” he says, turning towards the area that has become a dancefloor over the course of the night.

“Okay, I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk about it.”

“Fuck off. We agreed that I’m not sleeping with her – I did not take a vow of celibacy.”

Murphy doesn’t stay to watch Javi find an eligible woman to suck him off in the women’s room. Instead, he closes his tab and asks the bartender – the one not making his way from second to third base with you - to relay a message to Javi when he inevitably comes looking. 

“What do you want me to tell him?” The man – unamused, but bored enough to entertain him - asks.

“Tell him I left to fuck his wife.”

The bartender seems to think it’s funny enough, especially when he already harbors certain negative feelings towards Javi for reasons that may or may not be justifiable, depending on who you ask. 

Javi learns of this later when he closes out his own tab, but before he does so, he has a mission to see through. 

Barely concealed by a stall door that could use a new coat of paint and some WD-40 on the hinges, Javi is about to tell this woman - whose name he’s already forgotten - not to leave any marks above his collar, but then, he remembers you, and says nothing, only groans when her teeth scrape the skin on his neck.

He brushes this need to ‘conquer’ off as a typical rivalry between friends. When your friend exits the room to go hook up with someone, it’s your duty as a man to find a mate of equal social stature to theirs, and engage in at least some heavy petting by the end of the night. Or at least, that’s how it worked back in college – which, come to think of it, was about a lifetime ago for Javi. Looking back, he realizes that those nights taught him the infinitely valuable skill of bullshitting his way in and out of situations.

Though, he tells you the absolute truth of who, what, where, and how it all went down for him that night on your walk home. He only omits the why.

“Are we going back to the same place next week?”

“I thought we already established that we go there every week, just like they do in Cheers,” he says.

“Can we go somewhere else next time?”

“Why? It seemed like you were having a good time back there,” Javi teases.

“I guess…” you mumble, kicking gravel aimlessly down the sidewalk. “But he wants to see me again.”

Javi hums as if he understands.

“I just don’t wanna get caught up in anything serious, you know?”

“Oh, but I’m the asshole when I say I’m not good at commitment?”

“That was Steve, not me, and to his credit, you said you left someone at the altar. You committed and then you backed out. You broke a promise – that’s why you’re an asshole.”

“Then, she dodged a bullet by not marrying an asshole like me.”

The rest of the walk home is silent. Tense, and not the good kind. 

This is not the climax of the movie where Javi pushes you up against the wall next to your apartment door, and you engage in the steamiest makeout session allowed on cable television – the kind where you pull away panting, take one look into each other’s eyes and realize you’ve been in love all along. 

You keep your eyes pointed at your feet and he keeps his hands by his sides. It feels like you’re strangers who happen to be walking at the same pace, to the same destination. There’s nothing more to say. 

Until you reach your apartment, and when the two of you part ways, you say to him, “I’m sorry I called you an asshole.”

“It’s okay.” I’m used to it, he thinks. “People have said a lot worse about me.”

With Connie and Olivia back in Miami, Steve has a spacious apartment to himself, which is where the three of you decide to congregate after your little hook-up with the bartender the week prior.

Buying a case of beer from the convenience store is much more cost-efficient, and Steve can easily talk to his wife on the phone when he gets a little too drunk and misses her, leaving you and Javi in his living room together.

Briefly, you both listen to him murmur into the handset, cradling it like a baby. If it were someone else, you might gossip, at least speculate, but there’s nothing salacious about it, and despite the fact that Steve will one day return home to his loving wife, beating all of the odds currently stacked against them, it’s not a tale of epic romance. Not that Javi knows anything about romance anyway. 

You and Javi sit in the living room, chatting about nothing important, mostly bitching about work and how there’s never anything good on TV anymore. But then, out of nowhere, as if it’s nothing special, you mention a man – a colleague, but the DEA is a large organization, so Javi is unfamiliar with him.

“He asked me out.”

“Did you accept?”

“Yeah, I figured, why not? You know? I feel like I should get to know more people. I really only hang out with you and Murphy.”

“Oh, so we’re not good enough for you? I’m offended,” Javi says, sarcastically, but there’s a grain of truth deep down.

“You know you’ll always be my favorite, Javi.” You lean your head on him and he hadn’t realized how close you were sitting until now.

“Yeah, yeah.” Javi nudges you with his elbow, pushing you away despite himself. “Now, tell me about this guy you’re going out with.”

“He’s really sweet, and like super polite… a gentleman,” you decide.

“Oh, so you like a ‘nice guy’? Someone you can bring home, someone who holds the door open for you…”

“I guess. He’s pretty handsome, too. He’s got brown hair, and pretty brown eyes – kinda like yours.”

You smile, so he smiles. But, how can you say that with such levity?

Because he’s just a friend to you.

You've truly formed a bond with Javi by the time you step into the dating scene in Colombia. So much so that you ask Javi for his opinions on what you should wear for your third date – just as you did for your first and second.

"Either you're great with fashion advice or you're my good luck charm," you say. "So, I need you to tell me which looks best."

"Okay. Go put on outfit number one before I get bored and fall asleep on your couch."

"I'll be quick, I'll be quick. You can pour yourself a drink if it'll keep you awake."

He's never been one to turn down a drink, but what keeps him awake is your 'fashion show'.

"This is outfit number one," you say, smiling in your classic little black dress.

"Beautiful," he says honestly.

"And then," you say as you begin to unzip your dress.

"Whoa-"

"What?"

"Why are you getting undressed?"

For the first time, he's nervous to see a woman naked.

"Each outfit has a matching set of lingerie, so you have to see that too in order to accurately judge."

He gestures for you to continue and tries to keep his expression neutral. And his dick soft.

It's torturous to see you stress so much when he knows the guy doesn't deserve the sight of you like this. Neither does he, for that matter.

"You really like him?" He asks.

"I mean, yeah sure, he's nice, and he's good-looking"

"But you're not over the moon about him." He can hear it in your voice. You don't deserve to settle.

"No, but you can have sex with someone you're not over the moon about - you, especially would know that, Peña."

"Yeah, but I don't dress up all fancy just to have sex."

He has the tendency to get attached even in the most casual of situations, so he’d never dare make an occasion out of sex.  

You sigh. "I guess I do, or else I wasted a shit ton of money on lingerie."

"Fuck the money. Do you actually wanna fuck this guy? 'Cause you know you don't have to. It's not a written rule."

Javi surprises himself with how much of his dedication to making sure you're making the right decision is out of genuine platonic care for you and not jealousy for the man who might get the chance to sleep with you.

"I know I don't have to, but I want to, and I want to look good for him because I want to make a good impression."

He shrugs, dissatisfied. You don't get it, you'll make a good impression no matter what you wear. Any guy would be lucky to get the opportunity to sleep with you, he could say, but it would come off wrong.

His silence allows you time for thought, for worry. Seemingly, apropos of nothing, you ask him if he's ever had sex with a woman who was 'bad in bed'.

"Sort of, not really. Nothing really bad, but I've had times where we're both pretty drunk and it's just… not great. One time I hit my head on the wall." He smiles at the stupidity and you laugh.

"Sorry. I'm sure it hurt."

"It hurt like hell, but it wasn't totally her fault. Another time, a girl's phone would not stop ringing, and she eventually picked it up and it was her mom telling her that her grandma died."

"Did she kick you out or did you stay to comfort her?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'comfort'."

"You did not continue fucking her."

"I did. But, as you can imagine, the mood was kind of ruined."

"Luckily both of my grandmas are already dead, so that won't be an issue."

"See? There you go. Just don't drink too much, make sure he doesn't hit his head and maybe take your phone off the hook."

But you continue to spiral through worries, telling Javi each and every one of them while he sits at the foot of your bed.

Will you bring your date back here? Is the only worry in his own mind. 

Eventually, he asks you, "do you like him? Yes or no. And I mean really like."

"Yes."

"Do you trust him?"

"I don't not trust him."

"That's not the question I asked."

"It's hard to make a blanket statement saying that I trust someone. Trust him with what? To save my place in line, a briefcase holding a million dollars, my life?"

"Let me ask you this way then, who do you trust?"

"My mom, my sister, Murphy, you…"

"When you say you trust me, what does that mean for you?"

"I've trusted you with my life many times before and I'd do it again. But in our jobs we have to put our lives on the line."

"If he had my job would you trust him like you trust me?"

"Not as much as I trust you."

And somehow Javi is stupid enough to think that this means you'll skip the date, maybe even schedule one with him, but you go as you planned to – if he were able to look at you dressed in lingerie and keep his opinions completely detached and as objective as possible, he would say you should go with the red set because it looked the best. But he hopes, selfishly, that you saved it for his eyes only.

As most relationships do, that one ends. The man - whose name Javi rid his mind of - breaks up with you. You lament over it for about a week and then move on.

Javi lets you cry it out with your face buried in his t-shirt, staining the fabric with mascara tears. It was his favorite, but he rubs your back and holds you closer instead of telling you to stop using him as a tissue.

“It’s his loss,” he says along with all the typical phrases one expects to hear after a devastating breakup.

But what makes you feel better is when Javi suggests you watch the episode of Cheers he’d taped earlier that week.

“Can I lie down while we watch?” you ask.

“Yeah. How do you want me?” he asks because the couch is the only piece of furniture facing the TV, which means you’ll have to share it. 

“You wanna lie down behind me? You could be the big spoon.”

He nods, lying down on his side, leaving space for you to curl up beside him.

He wraps his arm around you lazily, resisting the urge to run his hands down the side of your body, to touch you everywhere.

“Can you see from back there?” you ask.

“Mm-hmm,” he lies. He’s already seen the episode, he’d much rather fall asleep with his body pressed up against yours. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you.

Javi has practiced the art of keeping himself hidden. It's a useful trait as both an agent and a reluctant hopeless romantic. He never gets too drunk, not like you and Steve. He never reveals what lies below the facade of a grouchy, sometimes disobedient but wholly dedicated agent on your Friday night hangouts. He disguises himself as a womanizer, an asshole, until he can't anymore.

You find him in desperation. Post-tragedy, a traumatic incident that he can't quite shake. It makes him vulnerable. He does the right thing the first time – he calls up Gabriela and fucks her like he hates her, tips her real well afterwards. The second time is when he makes the mistake of seeing you, not just looking at you when you cross paths, but seeing you.

He knew things were bad after seeing Murphy teary-eyed for the first time. It brought the first incident to the forefront of his mind again. A cigarette and some fresh air would help, he thought. But when he steps outside, he finds you.

"It's late," he says. 

"Why are you out here?"

"I can't sleep."

"Me neither."

You won't look at him. Why won't you look at him?

"I heard what happened today."

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"I'm not asking you to talk about it. What I'm saying is, I know what you're feeling."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do, and you know it. We were both there when-"

"I don't wanna talk about that either."

"Good. I don't either. We should go inside. It's not safe for you to be out here right now."

"I'm not a fucking baby."

"You know what I mean. I'm trying to help you, okay?"

You ask him to stay with you – that's what will help, you say. He shouldn't, but he's too weak to say 'no'. You make him weaker.

"I need to forget," you tell him, and he knows exactly what that means.

It means sex. It means throwing away the future he could've had with you. Not the romantic kind – that was already gone, that's been gone since before you came into his life. He won't have a white-picket-fence-two-and-a-half-kids-in-the-suburbs kind of future with anyone. But he could've had a friendship, he could've gotten the gift of existing near you without any tension, something light and untouched even if it meant keeping himself at a distance.

But, you need this. You're begging him to fuck you, and if he chooses not to, it'll only make things worse – you'd withdraw from him entirely in embarrassment from his rejection because there's no way he can tell you that it's not because he doesn't want to have sex with you. God, no – he wants to have sex with you. In his ideal scenario, you get drunk once – on a business trip, at Steve and Connie's house, at the celebration of Escobar's demise – and you make the "stupid mistake" of sleeping with each other, and it becomes an inside joke between the two of you.

In his dreams, you get married on the beach or at city hall or even at a church if that's what you wanted. But dreams are dreams for a reason. They're distinctly different from reality. They don't come true.

In reality, Javi says the best thing he can, which is "okay", and he lets his lips collide with yours.

When your frantic hands begin to strip him of his clothes, he wants to tell you "it's okay, we have all night" because he wants to take it slow. He knows he won't last long when he gets inside you.

He tries to balance eagerness with gentleness when he takes off your clothes. He wants to be close to you.

"Let's go to your bedroom," he mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You don't bother to pick up your clothes, which are strewn near the doorway, so Javi doesn't either. He can tell you're impressed when he undoes your bra with one hand, and it makes him laugh, a little proud too, despite the fact that it's no more than a party trick (if you consider sex a party).

But his need to be the best you've ever had has him dropping to his knees in the hallway, and it's milliseconds before his hands are gripping your thighs and his nose meets the fabric of your panties.

He looks up, and asks, "can I take these off?"

"Yeah," you say, assisting him by slipping them down your own thighs.

With how quiet you are in the office, he expected you to be the same in the bedroom but you're not. The moan you let out when his tongue meets your clit is loud and unashamed – his favorite kind. It spurs him on.

"Javi, Javi, Javi - wait - I'm - hold on-"

So, he stops. "What's wrong?" He massages your thighs while he speaks, soft and sweet.

"I'm gonna cum."

"I know. That's the goal."

"But I'm gonna fall over."

"You're not, baby. I'm gonna hold onto you. But, if you want, we can finish this in bed." He doesn't wait for an answer before lifting you over his shoulder.

It makes you gasp, just like his lips did moments ago, but this time it makes him laugh. Only you could make him smile on a night like this one.

He doesn't tease you, he dives back in, lapping at your folds, more desperate for your orgasm than you are. If Javi is one thing, it's dedicated, and the bedroom is no exception.

You're still panting when you ask him to fuck you. It might be the first time you've said 'fuck' in front of him. "Fuck me" is Javi's line.

Utterly captivated by the sight of you disheveled beneath him, he agrees.

The second time you say 'fuck' is when Javi tells you he'll go grab a condom from his wallet – which is in his jeans, which are somewhere near the front door – and you say 'fuck it'.

And, utterly captivated by the sight of you, he agrees.

"How do you want me?" he asks.

"Rough," you say. "Make me forget."

You say it with such conviction that he sighs and says, "Okay. Turn over."

He buries himself to the hilt in a single thrust and since Javi can't see your face, he can't tell if the moan you let out is pleasure or pain, so he leans in and whispers into your ear, "Tell me if I'm hurting you."

"I want you to hurt me."

I don't want to hurt you. 

Something holds him back from saying it. He's not one to disappoint, especially in this facet of life. So, he saves the kiss he wants to place on your cheek for later. Instead, he drags his teeth along your soft skin and bites the flesh.

He fucks you hard, the way you want him to – holding onto the headboard, hips slamming into yours from the back at a merciless pace, and maybe if you weren't you, he'd feel different about this. But, instead of staring into your eyes and trying to cover up the immense fondness he feels for you, he looks at the pictures that hang on your wall, held up by clothespins on a string–you're smiling with your friends, blowing out birthday candles, laying on a beach towel in a bikini. He is in none of these photos. Why would he be? You've never taken a photo together. He's not a part of your life like that.

All the while, he keeps an iron grip on your hips and keeps a steady rhythm. Your moans turn into sobs, and he doesn't know how much longer he can take. Both because hearing your cries makes him feel conflicted about everything and because your walls are so tight around him, you're soaking wet and your legs are trembling. It's not long before he feels your pussy spasms and your whole body jolts – you have the sense to scream into your pillow, but he can still hear it.

Finally, he pulls out and jerks himself off, letting his release spill onto your ass, and once he's let go of you, you promptly flop down fully onto the mattress.

With the room finally quieter, you hear banging on the front door. You're about to get up but Javi stops you. "Stay there. I'll deal with it."

He slips on his boxers and flings open the door, and it's the person he least wants to see. Steve. Not because he hates Steve, but because Steve will bring this up.

He doesn't even have to say anything.

"Sorry. We'll keep it down," Javi says.

"Good" is the only word he says, though it's clearly not 'good' because Steve looks more pissed off than he's ever seen him.

He tells you it was a neighbor, but doesn't specify which one. He cleans you up, and prepares himself to leave. That's how this goes, right?

"Stay," you say, tugging him by the hand, so he falls back into bed.

He falls asleep with his bare skin flush against yours but this time it's gentle. He gives you a kiss on the temple before you turn out the light. You're silent but you smile.

The hurt comes the next morning. For you, it's physical, but can you really complain? For him, it's deeper than that. You're deeper inside him than he ever was inside you.

He wakes up beside you, feeling hungover despite not having any alcohol the night before. It's the vague sense of guilt and confusion, the way he feels more awake than the night before but less awake than he should after a full night's rest.

He retracts his hand from your body, hoping he can slip away before you notice but you turn to him, fully-awake.

If life were different – kinder, he would smile at you and you would try to kiss him.

"Mm-mm. I have morning breath," he'd say.

"I don't care," you'd say, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him towards you.

He'd pull back, just to argue because he likes the way you pout and the way he falls for it every time. You'd settle for a kiss on the forehead with the promise for something more after Javi brushes his teeth.

The quest for better breath would all be for nothing since he'd have coffee and a cigarette for breakfast (you'd tell him to eat more, of course), but you'd kiss him anyway.

His eyes linger on you for too long while he fantasizes, long enough for you to notice – for you to begin to see him for who he is.

Murphy brings it up at work when you're out of the room. Javi can see it in his eyes before he says anything.

"Sorry for keeping you up," Javi mutters, straight-faced and honest.

"Nothin' else to say?" Murphy probes. He seems more curious than angry. 

"Nope. Is there something you think I should say?"

"You fucked her," he whispers.

"Yes," Javi whispers back.

"How? Did it just happen? Or have you guys been a thing for awhile now and I just haven't noticed?"

"We're not a thing."

"You're not not a thing."

Javi doesn't have to admit to Steve that he's right because you walk into the room.

He is forced to silently admit what you are to him when he fails to hold back a rare smile upon seeing your face.

He sees Gabriela again, and though he's slept with her more times than he's slept with you, it still feels like he's cheating.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks while he stands by the window with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Work."

"Bullshit." She exhales a breathy laugh.

"Yeah."

"It's not something, it's someone. Isn't it?"

He turns, silently.

"I could tell you were thinking about her when you were fucking me - I thought it was just a sexual fantasy, but you're still fantasizing… and we're not fucking anymore."

"You'd be a great shrink, you know? In case this doesn't work out for you."

"It's working out fine." She flashes him the wad of cash he handed her before they got in bed together.

"Right."

"Maybe I'm supposed to be offended, but you were sweet this time - gentle. If you keep fucking me like that, I don't give a fuck who're you're thinking about."

"You liked it?" He asks with a flirtatious glint in his eye, opting for indulgence as distraction.

"I did. In fact, I think you could get a second round. On the house."

His cock springs to life and he slips out of his jeans. He fucks her slow, pressing kisses down her spine. She cums twice and he feels like a god.

But not like a lover, not like her lover.

You sleep together again, but you don't have sex. You're tipsy off whiskey in his apartment one night, trying to shake off the past week.

The DEA, being of the USA, only knows violence as conflict resolution, so you and Javi aren't trained to solve any problem that comes after the fighting is over. Distraction is the best you can do and alcohol is often one of the greatest methods.

"I wish we had something stronger than whiskey," Javi remarks.

"When in Medellin…" you say, swiping a finger under your nose.

"I think the amount of coffee I've had today is probably equal to a gram."

Doubtful, considering Javi is dozing off in his chair.

"Javi," you say, snapping your fingers to get his attention.

Startled, his body jolts awake. "What?" he asks, frantically.

"Nothing. You're just falling asleep."

"Sorry. I didn't sleep well last night."

"I figured. Everyday for the past week, you've looked like you're going to keel over. Are you okay?"

He takes a deep breath. Shakes the magic eight ball in his mind. Try again later. "I've just been having a lot of nightmares recently. It hasn't been like this since I was a kid."

"Well, how'd you get them to stop back then?"

"My mom used to sleep in my room with me."

He smiles at the thought of his mother. He doesn't often think of her because the funeral comes to mind. But sometimes, when he's lucky, she'll come back to him in memory - now, he sees her through a childlike lens, her face bright despite the bags under her eyes. The love he felt for her was so simple and pure.

His love for you is the most complicated kind.

"I'm not your mom, but if you want, I can sleep over."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course. I'd do anything for you."

You say it so flippantly that Javi barely has time to process it. It's better that way.

Finally, he gets a good night's sleep. But that only makes him need you more.

You both go on pretending things are the same until Carrillo dies. He was always the catalyst.

"I don't do funerals," Javi tells you.

You nod, pursed lips, accepting his decision. Giving in easily, which is unlike you.

"I'm thinking about leaving," you announce abruptly.

"You should go home, get some rest, especially if you're going tomorrow." To the funeral. Javi can't stand the word either.

"No, I'm thinking about leaving."

"Leaving where?" He already knows.

"Colombia."

"Are they reassigning you?"

"No, I'm quitting."

"Have you told Messina?"

"No. You're the first person I've told."

He nods and takes a deep breath. "Is that what you want to do? Quit?"

"I don't know. I wanted your advice."

"It's your choice, not mine." I'll miss you.

"I just can't do it anymore." You reveal yourself. You shatter.

"Hey." He places a hand on your shoulder, but you fall into his arms. "That's not true. You're strong. You know that you're strong."

I need you, he means.

So, you stay.

There is something about the grief that fuels you both to fight harder. You're no longer just fighting for justice, you're fighting for vengeance. It makes you both colder, more numb to the cruelty.

But physically, neither of you are much stronger. You overestimate yourselves, run through the streets with handguns after blood-hungry sicarios.

In his pursuit of one of the men, Javi fails to see a shooter on the roof with a gun aimed right at him. You see it, and shove Javi out of the way.

The bullet only grazes you, and Javi leaves with a few scrapes and dirty clothes. And guilt.

A shopkeeper who seems all too used to crisis situations grabs a first aid kit while Javi sits with you.

"You're not gonna call for backup?" you ask.

"No use. They got away. Let's just focus on this right now, okay?"

"This" means the wound on your side.

"It's not a big deal," you say, though you're clearly on the verge of tears.

"You got shot. The number one priority is making sure you're safe."

"Didn't you say that we can't focus on the casualties? That Escobar wins if we waste time mourning our dead?"

"Neither of us are dead."

You'll need more than the basic first aid that Javi can give you, nevertheless, he uses an antiseptic to clean the wound.

You break down in tears at the burning sensation.

"You're doing so well," he tells you, "I'll be done in just a moment."

When the ambulance arrives, he insists on accompanying you to the hospital.

They ask him who he is and he flashes his DEA badge, knowing that "friend" doesn't mean anything in this case.

Friend isn't enough.

You don't need surgery, just stitches – and some pretty decent pain pills. The kind that makes you sleepy.

Once the two of you are alone, after the doctors have finished with you, Javi tells you - finally, "Thank you, by the way, for saving my life."

"Who's to say it would've been a fatal shot?"

"Still." He leans down and kisses you on the cheek in lieu of saying anything else, knowing how badly he could fuck this up if he lets himself say everything he's really thinking – if there are even words for his feelings.

Luckily, there might not be.

"Javi," you whisper.

"Yes, hermosa?"

He rarely calls you nicknames, so it seems to fluster you a bit.

"Can you kiss me for real?"

"How much of those drugs did they give you?"

You look like you're holding back a batch of giggles and Javi can't help his stupid grin.

Before his cheeks hurt from smiling the most he has in a while, he leans in and kisses you – for real.

Breathless, you pull back and ask him, "do you think we could get away with doing it here?"

"Are you serious?" There's no way you are, he thinks, and yet he considers the option. "No, cariño, we shouldn't risk it."

He does take you home with him, but again, you don't have sex.

In the morning, you tell him confidently, "I'm leaving."

And he knows you don't just mean his apartment.

"I just can't do this anymore – the constant fear of dying was bad enough, but now…" you point to the bandages covering your stitches.

"I know." It doesn't matter what he says. You're going to leave anyway.

And, he feels guilty for convincing you to stay anyway. You should've left before this, but he was selfish and wanted to keep you a little longer.

He doesn't say goodbye in the way he wants to. He lets you go with a kiss on the forehead after waiting with you until you're called to board.

"Goodbye, Javier," you say.

He can't say anything back or he'll cry. The kiss is all he can give.

You call periodically at first, but the calls get more sporadic until they disappear entirely.

Javier is used to falling in love. So much so that he expects to feel the same way about the next woman he sleeps with. He gets attached to one woman, and then moves onto the next, loving her the same way as the last. The process of forgetting involves ending up in the same mess, feeling the same thing for someone who is blonde instead of brunette, or brown-eyed instead of blue, maybe a cup size larger in the bust. Something old, something new. There is more to the phrase, but the idea of commitment began and ended with Lorraine back in Texas.

Texas. After all is said and done in Colombia, he goes home. Like you, he can't do it anymore. His mind is already rattled with nightmares and his body is worn out.

There's an airport in Laredo, but he can't get a flight there until Monday, so he decides San Antonio is close enough.

The airport bars tend to be filled with people waiting to depart, not passengers who have already arrived. But, Javi decides to have a drink before calling a cab. There isn't any rhyme or reason to it. His feet lead him there, not his brain.

There are two open barstools, one on each side of a woman he can only see from the back. He chooses the one to her right. She looks like you, he thinks, just a slightly different haircut.

He barely glances at you before trying to wave down the bartender.

"Javier?" It's your voice from next to him.

He turns his head so quickly he swears he might've given himself whiplash. He's speechless, but smiling.

"What are you doing here?"

"On my way home. To Laredo."

"You left Colombia?"

"Yeah, I quit."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't know you wanted me to."

It's been years since we talked, he thinks. The last conversation was about you leaving.

"Are you on your way home or…?"

"Yeah, I will be, once my boyfriend gets our bags."

Boyfriend. Boyfriend who gets her bags. Boyfriend who sits next to her on the plane. Boyfriend whose spot is beside her.

"Oh."

"I feel like I've been sitting here forever."

"It's hectic down at baggage claim."

"Yeah, there's a million suitcases and none of them are mine. I really hope it's not lost. My favorite necklace was in there."

"The gold one… with the pearl?"

"Yeah, that one." You grin, excited yet surprised. "You remember that?"

I remember seeing it on your bedside table. I remember you taking it off with everything else. The one thing you didn't tear off, the one moment you slowed down.

"Yeah, you wore it all the time."

"And you stared at my tits a lot, so…" You wink, sipping your drink.

"I did not… not all the time."

A man walks up behind you, lugging two suitcases.

"Hey, babe," he says, kissing your cheek.

"Oh!" You beam at him. "This is Javier. My coworker from back when I worked at the DEA."

Coworker. Not even friend.

'Eric' – as he introduces himself, extends his hand to shake Javi's, and it feels like he's making a deal with the devil. Promising your love – something he doesn't even have – to this man for nothing in exchange.

"I'll see you around," you say.

And he thinks it's just politeness, an everyday lie, but you call.

You invite him to your housewarming party.

“Eric and I just got our own place,” you tell him.

Javi congratulates you, and it’s an empty platitude. He says it because he has to – why else would he be here if not to celebrate you and your new home? He knows why. 

He shouldn’t have come at all, but he had no excuse that he could give you. The reason why wants to see you and the reason why he shouldn’t see you coincide, but after years of knowing you, and years being apart, he still can’t admit that reason. 

You were right to call him a coworker – it’s an undeniable truth. You might have been friends too at some point back in Colombia. To make the best out of the situation, Javi brings a bottle of wine – that’s what a friend would do. It’s a nice red blend, something too expensive for Javi to buy for himself. He managed to save money by not buying you a bouquet of roses. It’d be too romantic a gesture coming from a friend, let alone a coworker. 

The party is an intimate affair. Everyone he speaks to is friendly, even your boyfriend, and while he wants to be happy for you, he can’t help the fact that it irritates him more than anything else. He is no better than this man – in fact, he’s worse. 

Over the course of the evening, he meets coworkers and friends of yours. “I love you all,” you tell them, “but Javi’s my favorite.”

Everyone tells him he’s a hero for taking down Escobar, including you. He feels like a fraud, but accepts their thanks humbly because it’s easier not to talk about it.

He’s happy when the attention is taken off of him. Eric makes a toast. It’s to you, to your future.

A wave of nausea hits Javi as he watches your boyfriend become your fiance.

He shouldn’t drink anymore, so he goes outside for a cigarette. You appear by his side and the sweetness of your voice pains him.

“I thought I lost you,” you say.

“You could never lose me,” he lies.

When you show him the ring, he takes your hand in his, gently, pretending to care deeply about the shiny new diamond, but it’s just a rock, an obstruction, something hard covering your soft skin. 

It’s beautiful, it suits you.

You linger on the balcony with him. You show him the ring, you let him touch it.

You must know that the goodbye hug you give him will be the last time you’ll touch him.

Despite the ring on your finger, you kiss Javi on the cheek one final time. Your fiance won’t mind. Because it doesn’t mean anything.

Javi doesn’t kiss you on the cheek. Because kissing you would mean something. It always has.

[salbei-141]

A second chance (Emmett x reader)

Masterlist

Part 2 (Good girl, stay quiet for me)

word count: 2.7k 

warnings: 18+ age gap (reader is early 20s and Emmett is late 30s), eventual smut in part 2, angst, cult like stuff, allusion/mentioning of sexual assault, death, etc. 

a/n: I watched ‘A Quiet Place II’ recently and I’m feral for Emmett y’all, they knew what they were doing when they casted Cillian Murphy. John Krasinski doing God’s work.

Seeing as I feel like I have an issue of rambling to fit description in, I’m making this 2 parts instead of like a 6k one-shot - don’t hate me lol

Enjoy my loves

:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’d come across Emmett a few weeks ago now - you think. There was no real way to tell time anymore; the clock on your watch still ticked, but you’d lost count of the days long ago now.

You were on the run when you had come across Emmett’s safe place - you had been with a group - only for about 2 weeks - before you realised you needed an out, and you needed one quick; it was a shame because they’d managed to find a fairly soundproof bunker - you thought you were safe. With that, you spent the next few nights sneaking about different storage rooms and searching duffle bags, until you had enough gear to survive and run someplace else. It had been a week in this new group when you started to hear quiet whispers between its people - you couldn’t quite make out what they had been saying, but the looks you’d receive from people were enough to tell you whatever was being whispered was about you. One night, you had needed to go to their makeshift bathroom - it was risky, but you couldn’t wait. On your way you could hear quiet murmurings amongst 2 people - it was the guy who had found you - Alec you think his name was and their leader if you’d call him that - James.

“We need to initiate her soon James, it's almost been a week - you told me to go find a girl, bring her back, and we’d initiate her.” your heart paused, and there was a dull ringing in your ears - what the fuck were they talking about?

“You better keep that mouth shut of yours, who the fuck do you think you’re talking to like that”, James’ voice had venom seeping through each word he enunciated - he had spoken so gently to you on your arrival, something was off, and you felt your gut twisting with anxiety.

“Sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to disrespect you.” you could hear the tremble in Alec’s voice - he was scared, and it didn’t comfort you one bit.

“Look, we need another week, and then we will proceed with the initiation...we must follow the guidelines of the holy one Alec - she’s young and will be ready to take you when we are given guidance for you to do so. This cannot be rushed Alec boy, do you understand?” You had no clue what James was talking about, but it wasn’t hard to piece things together you were in the middle of some sort of religious cult, and you were chosen for some sick ‘initiation’ that you weren’t going to allow yourself to be apart of even if it meant you had to die.

“Yes Sir.” Alec had replied meekly.

Scuttling back to your bed, careful to make no sound as you heard the two men shuffling about, you ignored the need to empty your bladder and squeezed your eyes shut hoping no one had seen you.

Since that night you had noticed people were becoming more handsy with you, acting like they had a familial connection with you. Over the next week, you’d listen into conversations when you could, trying to figure out when the ‘initiation’ was. When you heard it was going to be at the end of the week, you had to make a guess as they had a single calendar in James’ office that you couldn’t enter. From the night you heard this, you had decided upon leaving the next coming night just to be safe - you had collected enough belongings and hid them outside in a bush one night when everyone was sleeping.  

It was the night, and you were trying your best to not appear jittery, but the reality was you were scared - you knew the moment these aliens or whatever the fuck they were invaded that the most primitive sides of people were going to be revealed - it was the sad reality of human nature. Going through the day with no issue, you were eventually sat eating some soup like everyone else in silence as usual - you had tried making conversation the day you got here and was immediately reprimanded - that should’ve been your first warning sign.

With the sun set and everyone in their makeshift beds, you lay upon your own, waiting to hear the quiet snores and breaths of everyone around you. You were probably waiting for around 2 hours before you decided you were safe. Since surviving for as long as you had, you’d become an expert at sneaking around, making no noise. Walking out of the room as you had done on several nights, you came to a set of stairs in the bunker and made your way up them, making no noise. Then came the door - it had been recently sprayed to loosen the hinges for when the men would go on runs, so it was an easy process too. Pushing it open, you were met with a harsh breeze of fresh air. Closing the door behind you, you crept to a bush in the far corner by a densely populated area of trees. Leaning down, you were careful putting the backpack on your shoulders. With a success, you took a hunting rifle you had stolen from the floor, hooked it on your right shoulder and made it through the trees.

Your heart dropped instantly - you were barely 5 minutes in and you found yourself on all fours, having tripped on a wire. The bastards, they’d set them up around the bunker - you felt stupid to have not thought about this, but you needed to pick yourself up and run as a shrill sound started to ring all around you. Suddenly you heard the door of the bunker crash open and there was shouting - they knew it was you, but you didn’t care - you could only think about running, your ears were concentrating on the beating of your heart as adrenaline pumped through your body - you couldn’t hear anything around you. That was until you heard it screech - was this it for you? Pushing your legs faster you heard as guns were shot - maybe or maybe not successfully killing those things, you didn’t care to turn around and look. Continuing to run as footsteps were gaining on you, you came across a train track and followed it up, noticing several large decrepit buildings - this could be your chance to escape them, and you were taking it.

Noticing a hole in a wire fence, you pushed your way through, not caring enough about the rattling of the metal as you went through. Unknown to you, there was a trap set up, similar to the one outside the bunker, and you yet again found yourself tripping over some wire, causing a clashing of metal bottles to go off. There it was again. The fucking screeches of those creatures. Picking your tired body back up, you made a beeline to the first building you could see. Halfway there though, you heard the metal rattle of the fence, turning you made eye contact with Alec.

“y/n get back here right now damn it! You ungrateful bitch, we were going to give you a good life you know!” he was screaming over the sound of the creatures and gunshots that were much further away - you were convinced they were going to attract every single one of them things in the country to your location.

Another screech sounded to your left, causing both you and Alec to turn. Without wasting any more time, you continued to the building with Alec hot on your heels.

“y/n I’m not -” Before the man could continue with his pathetic sentence, you heard a scream come from his mouth. You couldn’t find it in you to feel guilt, you were almost happy the thing had gotten him - you felt disgusted at the fact you believed he deserved it, but that was just the way of this new world. 

Getting into the building, still hearing Alec’s screams, you were praying it’d be enough for the creature to not follow you. Just as you were about to press your back against the wall, you felt a hand cover your mouth, and an arm trap you against someone’s chest. Fear shot through you again - they’d got you, they’d won in the end, of course they’d have. However, a new unfamiliar voice hit your ears as you squirmed in the foreign pair of arms, “Shush, follow me”.

Calming your movements, but still on guard, you turned to meet the eyes of this man - they looked tired, and kind almost, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to let your guard down. Watching as he quietly jogged through the building, you decided to follow him as he said to - you didn’t feel like you had much choice - it was either you follow him or you had a worse fate with the other surviving men of the cult, or the creatures.

Darting between metal barrels and concrete slabs, you came up to a drop - watching as the man jumped into the large pipe, you made no hesitation to follow suit. Landing on some broken sandbags, you weren’t given the chance to admire the room as you heard another screech emitted within the building. The man opened what looked like a vault of sorts and waited for you to jump in - it looked cramp, but again what choice did you have right now? Jumping in, the man followed and shut the door. The both of you were sat panting, heart rates accelerated at an unhealthy speed. As you watched the man open his mouth, your eyes immediately went wide - there was no way he was about to compromise the both of you after all of that.

“Don’t worry they can’t hear us down here.” his voice was muffled behind the mask he wore, but you heard.

Instead of replying, you looked straight in front of you at the wall, thinking about the last few events - still trying to catch your breath.

Hearing a beep, your head snapped up - you looked like a deer caught in headlights - every minor sound had you on edge. Watching the man stop it, he went to open the container, but not before you reached for his arm, “What the fuck are you doing?”, you shot him an incredulous look at his actions.

“We’ll be fine now, and if I keep it shut any longer we’re dead - it’s shut airtight in here.”, he continued to open the vault again as your arm came back to your side.

Your heartbeat still hadn’t calmed down, and you could feel the palpitations of it as the man exited the container. But nothing happened - he was walking about his room with ease - he looked relaxed. Taking a deep breath, you walked out too, standing still when you made contact with the concrete floor - you were safe.

“We can talk down here too, but only in whispers” You nodded in his direction, almost not catching quite what he had said.

Watching as he sat at a desk covered in drawings, you took the liberty to take the other seat further from him, but still close enough. You couldn’t bring yourself to take your eyes off him, and he must’ve known because he turned around looking you dead in the eye. Taking the mask that covered his features off, you felt yourself stop breathing - he was attractive, as attractive as a man could be considering the conditions everyone was currently in.

“So what was that out there?” he asked nonchalantly, leaning back against the desk, and spreading his legs.

“I was running.” your voice was much quieter than was necessary, almost impossible to hear, and your eyes glossed over - now that you really had the time to think things through, you realised just how dire of a situation you had been in, and how different things could’ve been.

“I see. They ain’t gonna come back here are they?” you couldn’t blame him for putting his own safety first - you were an intruder to him, and he had every right to worry.

“I don’t think so.” you inhaled deeply, musting up the courage you explain the situation, so he’d understand - you were worried he’d make you leave soon. “I think they were some sort of cult...they uh wanted me to uh go through with this initiation thing. I think they were going to do something to me...mentioned about how I was ‘young’ and uh ‘ready to take’ one of the guys.” you were playing with the slightly calloused skin on your hands, fearing his response.

“I’m Emmett.” is all he said...was that a good sign?

“Oh, uh I’m y/n.” you gave him one of those awkward smiles you’d offer to people you’d pass on the street.

You were just sat staring at each other - neither knowing quite how to interact with the other - you were 2 introverts in a room, and you weren’t going to be the first to speak up again.

After a few minutes of intensely holding each other’s gaze, you looked back down at your hands just as he spoke up again, “You been by yourself this whole time then?”, he was trying to understand how you’d gone for as long as you had out there - you didn’t look too old, so you must’ve had people before this group surely.

“uh I was with that group for about 2 weeks I think, then before them I...” your head started buzzing at the memories - what was going on? All you were envisioning was the death of your dad - neither your mum nor brother had even made it out of the house with a fighting chance. You remembered how your dad had stupidly dropped a bullet on the floor, you’d thought you were both okay - it was a silly mistake, and it wasn’t too loud. But you were wrong, so so wrong. You watched as a creature had jumped your dad and ripped him limb from limb as you stood in shock - hearing him scream out in pain between attempting to tell you to run, but all you could do was watch as the thing killed the last remaining person you knew.

Emmett furrowed his brows at your sudden silence, you look dazed. As he placed a cautious hand on your shoulder, he watched as you flinched at his touch - he felt a sudden surge of guilt, giving you a sorry look.

“uh sorry, was just thinking. I was with my dad before the group...he’s gone now.” you looked into his eyes, seeing the empathy he shared with you - he’d lost people too, you could tell. You wondered if that’s who the drawings were of.

“I...” He didn’t really have anything to say - a sorry wouldn’t fix things, wouldn’t make you feel better, so he chose to stay silent instead. He could tell you weren’t a threat to him, and against his better judgement he felt a sense of protectiveness over you now - he wasn’t going to let you out of his sight.

You think you had been sat there for about 30 minutes before either one of you spoke up again. “You can take my bed by the way, I think you could do with it.” he was right - your whole body had ached, and he somehow had a fairly okay bed down here considering the conditions you were all in. As much as you wanted to be polite and refuse, you found your legs taking control, and before you knew it, you were situated on his bed as he put some materials on the floor, so it was comfortable enough to sleep on.

With you curled up, Emmett started blowing the candles out one by one before laying himself down on the floor. With silence filling the room, you whispered a quiet goodnight to him.

“Goodnight y/n.” he quietly responded back with - it felt strange speaking to someone like this - he’d been alone for a while now. The both of you rapidly fell into the open arms of sleep, feeling secure with each other’s presence - you felt like you were safe here, and you hoped you were right this time.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for forgetting to notify my roommate about my online dnd session?

I have anxiety that tends to overanalyze people's actions and I have trouble telling reality from my own dramatization. I typically talk to my mom about it but she's unavailable and I don't know where else to go.

context: My roommate (26F) and I (22F) have been having communication and roommate issues since we moved in together 2 months ago. We moved in the middle of my school semester so I wasn't able to get all my things over 2 months ago and now with 2 weeks off school am starting to fully move in. Since the initial move we've been having communication issues from different schedules and my habit to hermitage during school.

At first we are/were? friends that decided to move together but they require more attention in a friendship than my work and school schedule give me head-space for. Now that I have more time for my own things we've had 1 talk about the whole situation but it's still testy.

Last night I had an online dnd session around the time they get off work. I had set up in the living room, with my camera facing the hallway by coincidence because my bedroom is still a mess from moving in. I had forgot to tell them about the session and had my camera on, so when they walked in they asked to not be on camera saying they'd hide in their room. I felt bad because they just got off work so I wasn't sure if they wanted the kitchen for dinner and adjusted my camera. I also head my headphones in so there wouldn't be a concern about noise.

About an hour later they came out of their room grabbing their things and leaving by slamming our front door. I could tell something was off but didn't want it to distract from my dnd session. Then 30 minutes later they texted and said she was at our mutual friends place while I was doing my session. I know our mutual friends know about the whole situation from her point of view and now my anxiety won't shut up about them all hating me behind my back.

so am I the asshole for not communicating plans I had with online friends??

What are these acronyms?

[goldsrc-hl1]

And I think the fact that sienna, the white fang civil rights leader who actually cared about the cause but was willing to use violence to achieve it gets killed off and her worldview barely gets acknowledge

Also I think crwby straight up compared the white fang to the black panther movement/organization?

Wether we want it to or not the show did initially frame the white fang subplot as violence vs non-violence

Plus ghira getting mad tgat adam killed a member of a lynch mob because “this is why they think they can” tells me ghira is on sone level focused in what humans think of Faunus,

Not helping that ghira gets put in charge again without having changed whatsoever

I hate to say it but intentionally or not, the idea that an oppressed minority need to “prove themselves” in any way to their oppressors is kinda racist, it’s at least problematic

Heck it’s a double standard “that we see in the real world as well” that Faunus can be branded like Adam or killed in mines like ilia’s parents to by humans like Jacques, yet humans as a whole don’t need to “prove” they aren’t him,

Because, quite frankly, most humans are entirely permissive of what Jacques and the SDC do

Yeah, Sienna's worldview is barely acknowledged. That's part of the failure to discuss racism and if responding to it with violence is justified or not.

Barbara Dunkleman, who is not a writer, said this

Barbara Dunkelman: So if anybody needs, like, a comparison for what the Faunus are in this world, it’s kind of like if you’re in the 1930s, or 1940s, whatever, and it’s like, the way African-American people were viewed.

Someone else (I can’t identify the voice): You mean like 50s and 60s, like Civil Rights Movement and stuff?

Barbara Dunkelman: Yeah.

Faunus are related to the American civil rights movement. They're certainly not viewed as poorly as African American people were viewed in the 50s and 60s, but they are still viewed and treated poorly and it is still based off of the American Civil Rights movement.

It's not 1:1 Black Panthers though. Sienna KINDA reminds me of them but not too much, Adam definitely doesn't.

The only time it was framed as violence vs nonviolence was in Blake's talk with Sun about why she left. As mentioned, that talk is about why she left, not what the White Fang is doing now. Even as early as Volume 1 and 2 it was clear that the White Fang wasn't fighting for equality.

Blake: The White Fang is hardly a bunch of psychopaths. They're a collection of misguided Faunus.

Weiss: Misguided? They want to wipe Humanity off the face of the planet!

Blake: So then they're very misguided. Either way, it doesn't explain why they would rob a Dust shop in the middle of downtown Vale!

Roman: I'm glad you asked, "Deery"! Now, I'll be the first to admit, humans... are the worst. Case in point. So, I understand why you would like to see us all locked away, or, better yet, killed!

So yeah, the White Fang was always an organization dedicated to just killing and hurting humans. In the past, it fought for equality, which is shown in Volume 1 through Blake's backstory, but it's never states that the White Fang currently fights for equality. The reason Blake left is that she didn't want to take part in the violence anymore (she never says they were wrong to resort to violence though, she just personally didn't want to be the one pulling the trigger), but the goal of the White Fang is no longer equality, as evidenced by Weiss and Roman.

You may say Weiss isn't well informed, which is true, but if she was wrong, why didn't Blake correct her? Roman is literally speaking at a White Fang rally when he says the line cited above, so he clearly knows what he's talking about.

Onto the next point...

Ghira wasn't upset that Adam fought back, he was upset when it got lethal. Ghira has a point, by killing humans, you're giving the humans an excuse to hate you more, regardless of how justified it was. It's something you wanna avoid at all costs. It's unfortunate, but it's the truth.

Ghira is put in charge of the White Fang again, only after he assembles an entire army to stop a terrorist attack in the making. I think it's pretty clear that he's past all the solely peaceful stuff.

The message is that the Faunus need to dispel racist ideas by proving them incorrect. I don't see how that's racist or problematic. Minorities should play a part in proving racist ideologies wrong.

Bear in mind that the Faunus aren't "proving themselves" as in repenting for past mistakes and whatnot, they're "proving themselves" as in "your racist idea that the Faunus are all murderers and terrorists is wrong." No Faunus apologizes for how the White Fang treats humanity. The whole thing is basically a big "you're blatantly wrong" to racist generalization that is extremely hard to ignore.

I don't see how it's racist to promote minorities proving racist ideologies wrong.

Humans in the show already prove that they aren't like Jacques by literally arresting him. They don't condone his exploitation. Hell, his own daughter doesn't condone it.

Most humans are, but by proving racist ideas wrong, the hope is that they will become less racist and ultimately oppose Jacques.

[bella-rose29]

Arranged Marriages Chapter 2 - The Banquet Nikolai Lantsov x f!reader

Still working on the titles and will probably get something imaginative in 5 years, but this one is exactly what it says on the tin! I might have made up some of the stuff to do with the Tidemaker abilities. 

Warnings: Slight mention of past trauma (it’s literally one line but please be aware of it :) ) If anyone notices any others that I haven’t picked up on please let me know!

This one is from Y/N’s perspective. 

Translations (might be slightly wrong so sorry if they are):

Zdorov’ya nam - To us

Za novobrachnykh - For the newlyweds

Davayte vyp’yem za to - Let’s drink to that

Word count: 3.2k

Tag list: @kentucky-criedfricken​, @polli05927​, @kateswone, @historianthesecond​

Y/N couldn’t breathe. 

Her dress was far too tight and restrictive and not at all like the keftas she was used to wearing, and it itched and scratched and she wanted to burn it. Or rip it to shreds. 

She’d been terrified before the service; nobody had told her anything about the new king of Ravka (she’d been in hiding while the civil war went on, protecting her family and a few neighbours with her gifts, so she’d never actually met him), and the rumours she had heard about him being the King of Scars were less than favourable. She had been pacing back and forth around the room she was in, Zoya Nazyalensky draped over a sofa in the middle of the floor watching her with amusement, when an urgent knock on the door sounded. The two women had looked at each other, confusion passing over both of their faces, before Zoya had stood up and answered it. Whoever was outside the door was clearly anxious, but Zoya had stood in just the right place so that Y/N couldn’t actually see who it was, and could barely make out the whispers. She did catch a few words, most notably “The King... disappeared.” 

Well. That didn’t help her nerves. 

She’d spent the next twenty minutes worried that he knew who she was and what she looked like and found her repulsive because of her features or her status as Grisha or her low birth, or was with another woman (or man), getting his last taste of freedom before this forced marriage. She’d also been concerned that he would be horrible, especially since nobody would tell her anything about his personality. 

But then she’d walked into the hall and had seen him standing there and had decided that maybe they would be alright together after all. At least he didn’t look like a monster. No, he looked more like a saint to her. 

He had seemed nice enough, offering her a hand to help her up onto the platform and giving her a smile, and she’d smiled back (not that he would see through the veil). When he’d been asked to remove her veil, his hands had been shaking, and she was nervous all over again, worried that he would run away like he had earlier. But he stayed where he was, and they got through the rest of the service, repeating vows and placing rings on each others’ fingers (although why he had to keep the gloves on she wasn’t sure), and then they were walking arm in arm back down the aisle and through the double doors. 

She’d felt quite light then, able to breathe and happy with the knowledge that he wasn’t initially coming across as someone to be afraid of marrying, and hopeful that the two of them could make this arranged marriage work. 

But then she’d sat down to eat, on the left of her new husband and at the head of the table, and she couldn’t breathe. 

Everyone was watching her - everyone - and this time instead of having her back to them she could see each one of their faces. It was putting her off of her food, and the tightness of her dress wasn’t helping. She was hungry: she hadn’t eaten a thing all day apart from a few slices of bread that morning, having been far too nauseous to eat anything else. 

Saints, she thought. It’s far too warm in here. 

She’d had a few lessons from a noble woman before coming here once the engagement was decided, as she hadn’t been raised noble or for this kind of lifestyle. Y/N had grown up in a small village, not too far from Os Alta, with her small family in her small house. They were farmers, and she often used her abilities to help the village’s crops grow in the height of summer and protect them from frost in the winter. When she had been tested, she’d asked if she could commute from her home to the Little Palace, given it was only a forty minute ride, and she had impressed the Darkling so much within her first week of training that he had allowed it. She looked after her village, using her training to help grow her power and make her stronger, protecting the crops and the people that lived there. Y/N wasn’t sure why she’d been picked to marry the new king, only that once the war was over and she and her family and friends had come out of hiding, she was approached by her old friend. Zoya had told her that Y/N was to marry the king, and her mother was so happy it seemed too mean to refuse in front of her after all the horrors they had experienced. 

So she said yes. 

After that, her life was a whirlwind. Dresses were measured and made, jewellery bought, and she had temporarily lived on a fancy estate not far from where she had grown up. When she asked why she was the one that had to marry the king, Zoya had simply said “Because you were chosen.” Y/N had assumed that that meant the king had chosen her to be his queen, but him running away and hiding the morning of their wedding wasn’t backing up that thought. The estate she had lived on for the months before the marriage belonged to a widowed noblewoman, Lady Lebedev. She had been tutoring Y/N on how to be a noblewoman herself, since she had grown up on a farm, and that wasn’t acceptable for the soon-to-be Queen of Ravka. 

One of the lessons she’d been given was in prejudices against Grisha (although she hardly thought she needed a three hour lecture on the topic, she had a whole life of experiencing prejudice against her people), and Lady Lebedev had said “Whatever you do, do not use your power. Most of the people at court will be like me, otkazat’sya, but they will be far more unhappy about having a Grisha on the throne than I am. Do not give them reason to get rid of you.”

Now Y/N glanced around the room at the people gathered and noted that roughly half were Grisha, and promptly decided that the noblewoman was wrong. She tucked her hands under the table and drew some water out of a jug behind her, forming a mist that settled on her skin and cooled her within seconds. 

There, now I can breathe a bit better. Looking left and right she hoped that nobody had noticed, but when she locked eyes with her new husband, she knew that he had seen. He was blinking in slight shock, and when he leaned closer she worried he would tell her off, but instead he just whispered “I don’t suppose you could share some of that with me, could you? I feel like I’m roasting alive in these clothes.” Y/N was surprised at the twinkle of amusement in his eyes, but repeated her earlier actions, drawing a cool mist over his skin. He seemed to relax instantly, but the flush on his cheeks stayed. 

Perhaps he’s still too warm, she thought. His clothes look far more stifling than mine.

“How are you doing? With the whole...” he paused as he waved his hands around the room, “being forced to marry a stranger thing?”

He was the first person to ask her how she was feeling since she had found out that she was to be Queen, and it took her a moment to stop being surprised and collect her thoughts. He was still speaking in a quiet voice, and the conversation felt like a secret that was kept between the two of them. Y/N decided that she liked that. 

“It’s... alright, I suppose. I’m not... I wasn’t...” She gave up on trying to get full sentences out and slumped slightly in her chair, before catching the eye of an unimpressed noble and sitting up so straight it was as though she had a broom for a spine. Nikolai laughed, clearly finding this all hilarious, and she couldn’t help but frown a little. How was he taking it all so well? She knew that he’d been born into this life, but still, he could make being forced into a marriage look a bit less easy to go along with. “I wasn’t born for this, and I didn’t think I would ever find someone to marry, let alone be Queen. It’s difficult, trying to be something I’m not, but I’m doing my best and I’ll try to be a good wife.”

Then he was the one frowning, confusion crossing his face and his brows drawing together. His tone was gentle when he spoke. “I’m not asking you to be a good wife. I know that all of this is difficult, and definitely not what I wanted and probably not what you wanted either, and I’m aware that it won’t be easy for you to step into this role, both as Queen or as my wife, and if it helps then it’s not going to be easy for me either, the role of King or the role of husband. I didn’t think I would have to be either of those, not like this, anyway. But I’m asking how you are feeling, not what you think I want to hear about how you’re feeling.”

She slumped again, not looking up to see if the noble was watching her. “I guess...” she sighed and lowered her voice. “My dress is too tight and it itches and I’m so hungry I could eat a horse but I can’t eat because I don’t think there’s room for me to fit anything but myself in this dress, and I’m hot and I’m tired and all I really want is to find a large body of water and lie in it.” 

He blinked in shock again, then let out a loud laugh. A few people turned their heads to look at the couple, smiling when they realised that she was the reason for his happiness. 

“I’m sure nobody would mind if we snuck off early to go find a large body of water for you to lie down in,” he said with a smile and a wink. Y/N found herself returning it, then realised what he’d said. 

“We can’t leave early, people will talk! And I absolutely refuse to miss dessert. I don’t care if I have to cut this dress open to fit it in.”

So they stayed, Y/N managing to get a few mouthfuls of the meal down (she did try and stretch the dress out a bit though, it was far too like a second skin), and the two of them finding out simple things about each other, the things they would have known had they met under normal circumstances. Then when the main meals were taken away and the dessert came out, her eyes lit up, taking in every inch of the sweet treat with her eyes in seconds, then taking it all in with her cutlery in just as much time. Nikolai’s eyes widened, before a huge grin broke out over his face and he tucked in to his own dessert. When most people had finished, he picked up his fork and tapped it against his glass, a soft clink clink clink echoing around the room. The chatter died down as he stood up, glass in hand, and said “A toast. To Ravka, and all of her people, and to a better, united future. To us,” - he gestured around the room, then looked down at Y/N - “and to my wife. Zdorov’ya nam!”

She didn’t miss the way that he had emphasised the “all” when he was speaking about Ravka’s people, knowing that he was including Grisha in his sentiment. A chorus of responses filled the room, from “Za novobrachnykh!” to “Davatye vyp’yem za to!”, and the clinking of glasses all over came after. Nikolai sat back down, holding his glass out for her to clink, and she did so with a smile on her face. 

“Nobody would notice if we went to find that large body of water now,” he whispered. 

She pretended to think for a moment, tapping a finger on her chin, then replied “We can always just say they were drunk if they did.” It wouldn’t be difficult, most people had been drinking for hours, many empty bottles of kvas taken out already. He offered his hand out to her for the second time that day, and she took it for the second time that day, both getting up and sneaking out behind the people stood cheering and drinking. 

They were laughing, half running through corridors, and she decided that perhaps her life with him wouldn’t be so bad after all. Then they were outside, by a lake, and she took her shoes off and struggled with the laces on her dress for a while until she gave up and just jumped in. She could hear him laughing through the water; he must be close to the bank. Down here, she was free. Down here she didn’t have to be anyone but herself. 

Down here, she could breathe. 

She surfaced after a minute or so when she thought he’d start to worry, only to see that he wasn’t there. The moon gave enough light for her to see by, and the stars were bright enough that she could navigate by the constellations, but her new husband was nowhere to be found. She reached out with her power, trying to sense the water in his body, but he wasn’t within the closest 50 metres to her. She panicked, thinking he’d either gone to get help because he thought she was drowning (but he knew she was a Tidemaker, so unless he was monumentally stupid he wouldn’t have done that), or he’d run away again like he had before the ceremony, deciding he couldn’t stay married to her and had gone to get an annulment. She had been left in the dark by a man she thought she could trust before, back when she couldn’t defend herself, but Saints be damned if she was going to let that happen again. 

She hauled herself out of the water, taking the damp out of her clothes and drying her hair, then headed back to the palace. At some point, the water must have loosened the fabric of her dress, because it didn’t feel quite so close to her body anymore. 

“If he didn’t want to be near me, he could have just said so,” she huffed. She found her way back to her rooms that she had been shown to earlier, letting herself in and closing the door behind her. Y/N redressed into her bedclothes, and then she sat in her bed under the covers and waited. She knew she was expected to wait until he came to her on their wedding night, that she shouldn’t go to him, but as the time passed and it got later, it was soon nearing midnight, and she was still alone. 

Not long after, she fell asleep, tired from the stress of the day and the amount of food she had somehow eaten in her tight dress at the banquet. She was woken in the morning by the sound of her door opening, instincts from when she was in training kicking in and making her alert, and she hoped for a moment that it was Nikolai. 

When she saw that it was only servants, she deflated, then refused to let them help her when she got washed and dressed. It was still too strange to have people wait on her hand and foot. She did allow them to sort out her hair, which she hadn’t brushed after her time in the lake and was now incredibly knotty after her restless sleep. 

Y/N was escorted to the same hall they had had the banquet in last night, and stopped at the door when she saw Nikolai sat in his seat at the head of the table, smiling and talking to his Triumvirate as if nothing had happened. 

I suppose nothing did happen, she thought, a frown finding its way onto her face. He still hadn’t said anything about why he hadn’t kissed her during the ceremony, and that combined with him leaving her and then not visiting her chambers left her wondering what it was about her that he didn’t want to be around. She stopped lingering on the threshold and walked into the room, head held high but avoiding eye contact with the king. When she was sat down next to him, she instead spoke to Zoya on her left, saying what a lovely morning it was. She could feel him watching her, and when he cleared his throat and touched a hand to her shoulder to get her attention she turned to face him, keeping her expression as blank as she could. 

He was wary, his expression clearly showing it. “Good morning... did you sleep alright?” Even his tone was wary, cautious, and she tried to keep her eyes from rolling. 

“I slept just fine, thank you. Although perhaps I would have slept better if my husband hadn’t disappeared,” she replied, her smile sweet and her voice even sweeter. Nikolai looked taken aback, then embarrassed, but he offered no reason as to why he had left or not turned up. His mouth opened and closed like a fish a few times, and she raised a brow when he still couldn’t come up with anything. “It’s alright, you know, I didn’t want this marriage either, but an explanation would be nice. I told you I wanted to lie in a large body of water, and I’m a Tidemaker, so it’s not like I was going to drown. All I want to know is why you left me in the lake. I don’t want some big declaration of love, that’s not what our relationship is, and it probably never will be. I just want to know what was so important you had to leave me in the lake on my own, at night. Think on it for a while if you must, but I want an answer. I suppose I’ll see you during meetings, events and the like, to keep up the ruse that we’re happily married, but if you would rather just keep to yourself then that’s fine. Just tell me what needs to be done as Queen, and I’ll do it. But do not come to me as a husband until you have a reason for leaving.”

He stared at her, cheeks flushed, still gaping. Y/N smiled again, making it seem as though the newlyweds were just having a deep discussion about something interesting, then turned back to Zoya, already asking questions about the position of Grisha in the court and how people in the more rural areas were coping after the war. 

If he wasn’t going to do his duty as her husband, that was fine. But she wouldn’t let it stop her from doing her duty as the Queen. 

Chapter 3

[sonicphobia0601]

Am I the Asshole For Having A Meltdown and Screaming at Everyone?

So yesterday I was at school, Big Sister and Mom were at work, and my brother and little sister were at home. I left the house saying to my brother he is on deck. He said okay and I went about my day. I get home and find my Barnaplush EATEN on my bed. Naturally I was upset and angry not just because the plush was destroyed (it was a knock off but I got it TWO MONTHS AGO) but because it's proof that my brother ignored me and cleaned the basement without bothering to secure the puppy on top of the fact that this plushie contained cotton, which can kill a dog if ingested due to the cotton wrapping itself around the dogs intestines. Which lead to my little sister (fully autistic) to open my bedroom door and give the puppy enough time to systematically tear the Barnaby plushie apart (for those who don't know, Barnaby is an autistic ghost owl who is from a video game. Look up "A Million Gruesome Ways to Die" and the intro cutscene. Then you will get just enough background information that can currently be brought up). The puppy could have died because of the fibers. Yes, it was secure in my room.

I'm livid. So I approach my mom and said that I knew why it happened. She got angry despite the fact that I was calm when I told her my reasons why I believed my shit got broken (negligent brother). She claimed I attacked her despite the fact that I wasn't using harsh language and I was trying to keep my voice calm. I only asked for some form of accountability and compensation.

She said no because she said it was my fault despite:

A. My door was closed.

B. My brother broke house rule.

C. Because brother broke house rule, my fully autistic sister had opened the door and given ample time to destroy my shit.

D. The puppy could have DIED.

And initially, I had showed my little sister what she did and was about to scold her sternly. My brother walked in and screamed at me... Despite the fact that I was trying to deal with what my little sister did. I have tried to be gentle with her while still being angry (grabbed her hair and tried to lead her to my now mangled plush). Call me an asshole for that, but that was how I was disciplined. My brother walked in and screamed at me despite the fact that he was In The Wrong.

These people who I thought are family then turn around and scream at me for wanting some form of justice... Triggering one of my worst meltdowns to date. I was in pain throughout the meltdown and I was told to "stop throwing a tantrum. You're 24 years old and upset for no reason." I was having a meltdown because my shit got destroyed by the puppy... Again. And worse, I got called psychotic when I was screaming at everyone for being in the wrong. Excuse me? I am not psychotic. I'm in the middle of a meltdown.

I have plenty of reason to be upset. My shit got destroyed because of someone else's negligence and my puppy could have DIED from eating it. Then Mom had the AUDACITY to haul out the "You have a roof over your head, a bed to sleep on, three square meals a day" sphiel. I shut her down and said that was the bare minimum. Then she said something that felt really tone deaf: "What more can you want!?" Uh, the ability to trust my family when I ask them to do something?

Then my mom told me that she can kick me out and make me homeless. I finally lash out and screamed, "IF YOU HATE ME THAT MUCH THEN WHY DON'T YOU PUT ME IN A GROUP HOME!?" Yeah. I said that mid meltdown. And yes, I don't believe I'm a pleasant person when I'm in a meltdown. I spoke to a Psychologist on Character.ai just to see if I was overreacting. I wasn't.

The only things I learned from the Barnaplush incident?

1. TRUST NOBODY. NOT EVEN YOUR MOTHER AND BROTHER.

2. No matter what you do, you're always going to be blamed even if you close your door and told someone else they are on deck.

3. People won't give a shit about your stuff if it broke.

4. People don't listen to autistic people at all.

So, Tumblr. Am I the asshole?

[jennawynn]

Chronotrek TNG Part 2

Season 1 Ep 8- Season 2 Ep 1

I didn't do a very good job of keeping notes for most of this (and I might not until I'm Actually Watching again vs having it on while I work).

"There can be no justice so long as laws are absolute." More "woke garbage" that conservatives (and shatner) missed the first time around, I guess lmao.

16- Why not just cast actual old people-- oh, it's another de-aging plot. Carry on.

17- Knowing that Frakes had a back injury makes it really easy to spot. Poor guy.

23- ok ffs, if the captain calls down to Engineering, it's because he needs to know something, probably quickly. you don't delay that by giving him your full first, middle initial, last name and title when you answer the phone, you just say "Engineering".

Skipping things and doing them by hand because the _computer_ is too slow?? Are you INSANE?? It's amazing these ships don't blow up more.

RIP Yar. Does everyone just... record themselves saying goodbye to everyone just in case? brb gonna go write a letter then make sure never to update it so the things i say will be weirdly out of context.

25- Data trying to understand jokes and faking laughter is A+, no notes, I totally see why he is the autistic posterchild.

"no logs" except those needed for the narrative I guess.

Still cutting from close-ups to wide angle, from the back, stunt fight shots, huh? Even more jarring in this one with how frequently it cuts back and forth so the old admiral can kick riker in the chin.

And Season 2's opener... I have a few feelings about this one.

1- the captain outing troi's pregnancy to everyone... nice tact, cap. but the hilarious part is that he's like Picard- Counselor Troi is pregnant Riker- no reaction Picard- She's going to have a baby. Riker- :shocked_pikachu: A BABY?! yes, Riker, that's what pregnant means.

I hate pregnancy storylines (and apparently Troi's actress did too, or at least this was listed on IMDB as her least favorite ep)

I do not like the new doctor. Maybe it's bias bc I saw something about how Beverly was removed bc the actress fought against the sexist storyline last season, but she makes a mockery of Data's 'bruised feelings' when he corrects her pronunciation of his name (One is my name, the other is not.) and when he leaves, she has the parting blow of 'Day-ta. Whatever.' like his feelings, his NAME, don't matter to her. There was something else too, but I didn't write it down and now I've forgotten. She's just... grating on me for some reason.

However, the highlight of this episode is Worf volunteering to 'tuck Wesley in at night.' It was a cute scene about making sure that Wesley doesn't feel isolated if he stays onboard without his mom, that he still has people to act as his family aboard, looking out for him and acknowledging that even if he is an acting ensign, he's still a child.

[miredinmiddleearth]

Rings of Power, Ep. 6 Review - All Sense of Sanity Has Departed

I swear I wasn’t going to watch another episode. I even planned a hangout with friends so I’d have a reason not to. What I hadn’t accounted for was the fact they knew about my reviews, and they wanted to watch the next episode with me, specifically to laugh at my misery. My friends are so cruel. 

So here are my thoughts on episode six:

1. There are so many speeches to crowds in this series meant to get people riled up. One, they’re kind of boring and forgettable. Two, even the orcs get one? Goody.

2. The group of humans magically transport far from the watchtower to safety without being attacked by orcs. And they don’t keep running away?! Oh no. They want to defend their village. Fine. 

But then Arondir says, “Our position gives us an advantage,” meaning the village is the advantage. I’m sorry, what? Tiny village in the middle of an open valley? Amazing tactical advantage. These villagers are idiots.

3. I’m so tired of the writers taking pieces of lines from Tolkien and twisting them into something that just doesn’t hit the same. That’s not paying homage. They’re stealing and mutilating. 

4. Oh yes. I care so much about a romance between two people who combined have as much personality and character motivation as a carrot. 

5. Dang! This episode went full-on gore.

6. They did the Galadriel beating the guards thing all over again. Start a battle with impossible odds, cut away to something else (in this case, Arondir and giant orc), cut back when it’s all over, because showing the actual fighting would be too unbelievable. And yeah, I STILL don’t buy their initial victory. 

7. Man I was so disappointed Bronwyn didn’t die. On another note, their method of saving her is to remove the arrow, shove some seeds into the wound, then cauterize it? I have absolutely no clue why the seeds are necessary. What am I missing?

8. So the Numenorean cavalry has arrived in the Southlands and is rushing at full speed toward tiny village. Let me ask one more time, HOW DO THEY KNOW THE VILLAGE NEEDS HELP?!

Seriously, I want to know! Let’s recap. Galadriel gets sent away when all is calm and the elves are literally about to leave the south because it is so peaceful. She gets taken to Numenor and convinces them evil is returning without proof. Without sending a single scout or having ANY communication with the mainland (that I remember), they just take their whole cavalry to save the people who must surely be dying. All 30 of them in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere. 

9. Galadriel looks less and less like an elf every episode.

10. Adar IS something of an orc! Sweet!

11. So they’re making Galadriel out to be pretty much evil (straight up murderous and maybe genocidal?!). I understand the want for character arcs and growth, but this feels a bit extreme. You can start a character from a dark place without turning them into a full-on villain.

12. Celeborn, come save your love from whatever is happening between Galadriel and Halbrand!! Like, I get it. I could fall for Halbrand’s face. But if this is Sauron, the implications are AWFUL. Galadriel goes from being a strong, heroic woman who chooses to fight for good for its own sake to a spurned girlfriend who has a beef with her ex.

13. More impressive than Bronwyn’s recovery is the fact that Arondir leads her around by holding her injured arm. Excellent nursing, dude.

14. Ohhhhhhhhh nooooooooooo. THE ENDING. The moment of ultimate idiocy. Are you ready?

MOUNT DOOM HAS AN ON SWITCH.

Oh but wait. It doesn’t just have an on switch. Mount Doom gets activated by WATER.

Insanity of all of that aside, at no point is the moment foreshadowed, which is such a shame! No lingering shots of a mountain in the distance or panning away to the mountain with a sense of foreboding. Nothing. Mountain just explodes because some water fell in the lava.

Sorry, I can’t believe Mount Doom has an on switch. 

15. If the end isn’t a vision, I have so many problems with what’s happening. If the ending is a vision, I have so many problems with what’s happening. A sign of truly great writing.

Final thought: Something finally happened! Stupid something, but something! It took, what, six hours?

[rontra]

@lizarr7 replied to your post “yknow it’s occurring to me that I just sorta...”:

the helenas confuse me far more than the karas

NOOO the helenas are so straightforward bc i made Sleepwalker up so she's not real and doesn't count. thats just OC Helena

CTDE Helenas is really easy bc it's just Helena Wayne and then her Evil Sicko Counterpart i made up, whom she would shoot with a gun on sight if we let her. and we should probably let her

the canon helenas are easy to juggle IMO bc they're pretty distinct. but oh if you don't actually care about the intricacies of dc comics: dont open this post. dead inside

like ok yes dc comics might have 3 helenas waynes and at least one or two other helenas (wink) but they're like on a linear timeline so it's pretty easy i think.

helena wayne 1 - the daughter of batman and catwoman - was introduced in 1977. she uses the Huntress name until 1986, when a building collapses on her and she dies, and then the multiverse collapses on everyone else. this is dc resetting their continuity and starting over from scratch, so it all stops existing

helena wayne does NOT come back post-scratch, but is instead reimagined into a new character with a different backstory, called helena bertinelli. helena B sits on the Huntress Throne un-contested for over 20 years. on this blog we mostly ignore her because she's not helena wayne (sorry)

(you ask helena wayne to explain the 25 year gap on her resume and she's like "i was straight up a different guy")

(the comedy of my comics blorbo dying in 1986 is not lost on me)

in ~2011 dc scraps everything and starts over Again, with the new 52 publishing initiative. in this new continuity a lot of characters are given completely new backstories (which are noooot created equal). but on the upside, Helena Wayne 2 somehow crawled onto the Huntress Throne

(now, helena B had been the huntress for over 20 years, so she very much had her own fanbase at this point, who i can't imagine were uh Stoked about helena wayne walking back in and going "oh helena bertinelli can't come to the new 52. why? because she Died Off-Screen". the vibe probably was not friendly there) (but i think it turns out that helena B faked her death or something anyway??? idk that might be completely wrong i'm not really sure i dont really pay attention to her it just FEELS likely to me)

although she's still BatCat's daughter, Helena Wayne 2 is characterized differently from 1, and (per the n52 convention) has a totally new backstory and setup. so she's overall definitely a different guy from helena wayne 1. she smells different. the vibe here makes me think she's doing some conceptual spit-swapping with helena B (thinks about two helenas making out) oh my

anyway, the new 52 publishing initiative ended and everyone generally breathed a sigh of relief. the last time we saw Helena Wayne 2 was in ~2016 or so i think and i doubt we'll see her again. another helena wayne locked up in the vault. helenas waynes just get put ON ICE which i think helps keep things from getting tangled in my mind? they get tidied away 😔

helena B gets to keep the Huntress Throne to herself (and a swaggy new design if i might say so myself) for another ~5ish years or so, before the appearance of Helena Wayne 3 (Current Helena Wayne) who is AGAIN written differently with a different character setup, making her--in my opinion--a Third Distinct Helena Wayne

this one's BatCat's daughter from the future. but because she time traveled back and changed things, her future has ceased to exist and she's stuck here with the rest of us losers. this means YES currently helena B and W are coexisting in harmony, PEACE AND LOVE ON HUNTRESS EARTH!!!

and that's where we're at right now.

for me it's easy to keep the helena Ws straight because they're all different guys and occupy different time periods and never overlap each other. they also have different designs from each other. maybe it's more confusing if you get distracted by helena B in the middle, since she does occasionally overlap with them, but she's a separate guy and i'm very good at going "oh thats helena B so i don't rly care" (SORRY!!!! IM SURE SHES LOVELY!!! I REALLY DO LIKE HER WHEN I READ SOMETHING SHE'S IN I JUST DONT SEEK HER OUT)

most of the time, if you see helena in the wild, it's probably helena bertinelli. that's another thing that makes it kinda easy. when in doubt: probably bertinelli to be honest MDSHBFJSD

the lack of overlap and the very linear out-of-universe timeline make the Ws pretty easy to tell apart for me. i like all 3 of them, but i like them quite separately--they register as different guys to me. generally speaking CTDE characters are rarely 1:1 with a specific comic but as an exception, ctde helena is very easy to identify as being based on specifically Helena Wayne 2 because the main comic shes in is like my comfort comic <3 <3

and sleepwalker is 100% made up but helena would shoot her with a gun as mentioned.

the only thing i know about helena B is i think she might be catholic.

[chewbokachoi]

8. any (i'm assuming the word is 'recurring') dreams?

14. something you've always wanted to do but maybe been too scared to do?

37. share a secret?

8. Recurring Dreams:

OH BOY. They come and go. My favorite part is how they almost always resume where they left off. Or like...the dreams "know" I left and have returned. Uhh some notable or just outright weird ones:

My Xenomorph dreams. I don't know why, but for years I would have an "annual" Xeno dream. Initially it was something like having to try and escape wherever they got released to or survive X amount of time before getting rescued. After my a super close friend of mine and I had a Massive Falling Out, she started to show up in those dreams as somebody I was forced to work with in order to survive. I think the first time that happened, we almost died because of how much I didn't rust her lol. Anyway, I think I had 2 or 3 more dreams involving her and the Xenos and got slightly better at not dying in each of them

There's a town or county that I kind of just hang around in in my dreams if I'm having some dream that's relevant to being in a town or place. I think the most recent dream I had involving that area was visiting some Chinese restaurant that's always been closed whenever I visit that part of town. ... the food was okay.

I used to visit my grandfather's old house/the one I grew up with him having until around middle school. I think shortly after graduating high school the house was sold in dream-land, and I haven't been to it since

14. Something I've always wanted to do but maybe been too scared

Getting a tattoo! I mean, I have to save for it too, but the permanency of it has always freaked me out a bit. And the pain and having TO SIT STILL FOR IT. ... I do have the tattoo figured out at least. Just gotta get over the scared part. The tattoo, by the way, would be of the Starfleet emblem, and it'd be over my chest as if it was a comm badge.

Admittedly, my friend saying he'd slap my chest while yelling HAILING MR. SCOTT or whoever else while the tattoo is in its saran-wrap phase is also a small fear factor lol

37. Share a secret

>.>

<.<

I cheated on my 1st grade spelling test by pretending my pencil case spilled open because I was so horrible at spelling I couldn't spell the word "yellow"

[romancomicsnews]

My Adventures with Superman delivers a solid reintroduction to Last Son of Krypton - SEASON REVIEW

*Spoilers for all of Season 1 of My Adventures with Superman*

Adult Swim and Max's My Adventures with Superman's first season has just wrapped up, and I have quite a few thoughts on the fun ten episode journey.

When watching the initial episodes of My Adventures with Superman, I was immediately smitten with our lead three protagonists. Clumsy adorable Clark, Conspiracy theorist and loyal friend Jimmy, and leader of the crew, the overly ambitious and intense Lois all had fantastic chemistry, I knew they would be the force carrying the show if it had nothing else to offer.

Luckily, it does. But let's talk about our core crew first.

One thing I love about this show is they quickly throw away the secret identity shtick for the core crew. Having Lois figure it out so soon and Jimmy knowing already speaks to their characters and their skills as reporters. Plus, now that that drama is over, they can go on this journey together, as they should.

The character I was hoping for more of which I was most happy with was Jimmy. Ishmel Sahid continues to bring multiple layers to Jimmy thoughout the show, and quickly made him my favorite character.

I felt he was the most sidelined of the three in the first couple of episodes, but he really gets two episodes focused on his friendship to the others in the middle of the season that I loved, and has a fun plot developing Flamebird throughout the season.

It pays off with the final joke of him becoming a multi millionaire, but I hope they use this money plot for Jimmy to go on ridiculous adventures and team up with other heroes and monsters like in the comics.

Also just love that Jimmy continued to be a good wingman to both Clark and Lois and give them space when needed. What an absolute pal.

While I'm here, I do love the cute love story between Clark and Lois, but it felt a bit rushed. Throwing the L word around a bit quick in my opinion, but I understand this is basically an anime, and needs to be a bit dramatic. I wish they would've saved that for Season 2, but I love the chemistry and that they are already together.

Alice Lee continues to shine as Lois, often having to voice some incredibly dramatic points in the show. I love the revelation that she is "the worst Lois" because all other Lanes are exceptional. That episode in general is a highlight for me, although it is a little bit Everything Everywhere All at Once.

Of the three characters, Lois felt the most fleshed out, dealing with insecurities from her father, trying to live up to her own expectations and his, and trying to make a real difference. Those little things make moments like the crew getting desks so satisfying and heartwarming.

I feel like people have talked to death how great Jack Quaid is as Superman, so I'll try to be brief. He's incredible. It's clear they casted for Clark instead of Superman, which was a smart move.

As Clark he is humble, kind, brave, and genuine. You cry when he does, you feel for his pain when he stumbles and you cheer when he succeeds. This should be the blueprint for Superman media moving forward.

While I had to adjust to the Superman voice, by the end of the show I was good with it, and it was perfect. I would love to see him lead an anime style Justice League.

I think tying General Lane to this Kryptonian invasion plot was a really good through line throughout the season. Making him directly connected to the destruction caused by Kryptonians felt very Batman v Superman (but in a good way), and made their interactions feel real weight.

One aspect of the show I criticized and hoped would improve were the villains. While I like the overarching villain being Sam Lane, I think this show doesn't quite have the iconic villains say a Spectacular Spider-Man or a Young Justice does. I was hoping for someone with something special or unique to grasp on to, but there really wasn't.

I think having the Suicide Squad be one of the final battles, and doing the match up from the "What if Superman ripped off the roof of the white house?" line from Suicide Squad movie is kind of fun, but the Squad members didn't feel fleshed out enough for me to care.

I think with the exception of Banshee and Mxyzptlk , most of the designs for the villains felt a little boring. This includes the final two teased at the end of the show. I wish more thought and color was put behind the characters, like Superman or even Jor-El.

Parasite was the most fun inclusion, but I felt he was too different from his usual version for me to fully grasp on to. Of the Superman villains shown, I think he could come back and win me over.

I hope characters like Brainiac, Zod, Luthor, Lobo and Doomsday bring life to this show through villainy. With great antagonists, this show would be absolutely perfect, but it's just not there yet.

I think this show is on to something really special, and I hope to see it continue for multiple seasons. It could be a fantastic introduction to the character of Superman, if it could bring more life to Metropolis through its recurring characters.

Overall, I think it's a great show. One that surprised me with emotion, the laughs, the triumphs and the falls. I recommend you watch the season, now streaming on Max.

Thank you for reading!

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[oc-aita]

AITA for not wanting to reconnect with family members?

I (24NB - they/them) grew up in a cult. Yeah, shocking, but not the point. I escaped the cult when I was 17 and haven't looked back. I won't go into all the details of how I got on my feet but some important details are I've medically and legally transitioned (I changed my first, middle, and last names and legal gender) and I'm in a band with three of my friends (all 20s, they're only mentioned so initials and genders aren't important). I assumed that even if I did see any family members again, they wouldn't recognize me, which was fine by me.

However, I know now that at least two of my family members have also escaped the cult, and one is actively looking to reconnect with me. I'll get into the second one later, but let's call the one who's trying to reconnect L (22F).

L and I were never particularly close. Our family was huge (I have 5 uncles and 4 aunts excluding those who married into the family, at least 2 dozen cousins from those blood relatives, again excluding distant relations) and while we got along well when we did interact, we never got enough one-on-one time to develop a close friendship. Almost all our interactions were in crowds of family members. In short, I have nothing against her, I just don't really care about her the same way no one really cares about any other stranger they pass on the street, y'know?

But L doesn't seem to feel the same way, since she found out my new name and my band somehow, and has come to some of our shows trying to talk to me. I always got out of it, but when she couldn't talk to me in person she decided to DM me on social media. That's when she told me about our other family member who escaped, T (24FtM).

T is an even more distant relation than L. Like really distant. He's my aunt's husband's brother's wife's sister's child (I think). That sort of distant. I've definitely met him a few times, but if I don't care about L, a direct cousin I hung out with semi-frequently as a child, then I definitely don't care about T, who I only ever saw during holidays, weddings, family gatherings, etc.

T has not reached out to me online or tried to find me in person, but according to L he's also interested in reconnecting with me. I haven't responded to L's DM since I really don't know what to say, and don't want to give her false hope if I decide not to reconnect.

On one hand, I feel bad for leaving them hanging. I can imagine how they'd want to hold on to any family they could, and I feel like a dick for just not replying to L. However, I don't think it's wrong to want to leave that whole chapter of my life in the past, especially because these are more distant relatives who I don't feel any strong connection to. Additionally, none of my friends know much about my childhood or my pre-transition self other than I'm no-contact with my family because of issues in my childhood and what my AGAB was since they helped me transition, and I don't want L and T to come into my life bringing up information I don't want to share.

Also, as a note, L is not harassing me or anything. It's not like I get to blacklist people from my band's shows, and she hasn't pressured me to DM her back. If you think she's an asshole for something else, fine, but she's not an asshole for trying to talk to me.

So, what do you think tumblr?

[variousqueerthings]

Margaret and Hawkeye really just Happened on this show!

it’s interesting that in an episode in which Hawkeye is bouncing off the walls, because he feels lonely/underappreciated/left out

and Margaret is finding out that yet another man she thought actually liked her for her is expecting her to fundamentally change for him 

the two of them meet right in the middle (after some initial, very interesting miscommunication that sort of isn’t miscommunication):

Hawkeye: Scully and I are completely different kinds of guys, but you and I didn’t get along so hot either.

Margaret: That’s exactly my point! You different men are all alike! Frank Burns. Donald, my former unwedded husband! You! And now this ninny.

Hawkeye: We-ell, excuuuse us all for not being perfect.

Margaret: Perfect? Huh, none of you even tried.

Hawkeye: Margaret it’s not that easy to become something else that somebody wants you to be, believe me I spent a lifetime not doing it! I couldn’t do it in med school for the woman I loved and I won’t do it now for an army I hate. You can’t order people according to your own specifications, you have to take them as-is.

-

Margaret (to Scully): I’m me. Sometimes a nurse, sometimes a Major, sometimes a woman in love. Sometimes all three at once.

Scully: Sounds like it’s crowded in there.

Margaret: And sometimes it’s lonely in there.

Hawkeye says these things as if he didn’t fundamentally change his understanding and respect of Margaret in exactly the complex ways she expects (and deserves to expect) other men to do so! 

In the beginning he wasn’t respectful of any of her, diminishing her self as a woman, as a nurse, as a Major, because he didn’t respect the army and saw her as a representative of everything wrong with it, but he chose to convey this disrespect through not perceiving her personhood (this tracks with how he engages with people generally of course -- see Charles in the beginning -- but it’s especially obvious with Margaret, because of the ways it’s grounded in misogyny).

And! He! Changed! And they’re both feeling quite rough in this scene for their own reasons, so neither of them is acknowledging this fact in that moment, but then!

Margaret: The latest Mr Right just left. I’ve got the only heart in Korea with a revolving door. Well, no more Buddy-oh, from now on I check them first to make sure they meet the Minimum Standard Requirements.

Hawkeye: And what are they?

Margaret: 20% my father. 10% Scully… about 10% of you.

Hawkeye: Oooh, thank you.

Margaret: 3% of Frank Burns and 2% of my ex-husband.

Hawkeye: Hmm.

Margaret: … 1% of my ex-husband

Hawkeye: Uh-huh. Mm. Maybe you and I are just too choosy. We’re both waiting for a custom fit in an off-the-rack world.

Margaret: Sounds like a loooong wait.

Hawkeye: Well I have just the thing to pass the time away. You ever play double-solitaire scrabble?

Margaret: Double-solitaire?

Hawkeye: Yeah. You make whatever you can outta what you got, and I make whatever I can outta what I got. And we don’t score off each other. And if you need any extra letters, like a Y for sympathy, you can borrow one of mine.

There they are! Those kindred spirits! “I’ve got the only heart in Korea with a revolving door,” she says to Hawkeye who knows exactly how that feels (and I choose to read it as if she kind of knows this, but he’s letting her get this off her chest).

10% of Hawkeye is such a big compliment, I love that, because it also shows how she changed in terms of what she considers it right for a man to be -- and of course, a lot of her perception of the army and war and Right and Wrong has changed because of Hawkeye.

And when Hawkeye mentioned Carlye (another episode with some ghosts - Carlye, Frank, Donald...) as someone he didn’t change for earlier -- it’s so fascinating that he did do that for Margaret.

They’re so easy with each other. There’s no doubt there, no need to posture/perform, no need to fear how vulnerability will be taken. 

Hawkeye sat with her after Kyung Soon left and Margaret had discovered the first of Donald’s affairs. Hawkeye was the only person to notice she was upset about the dog. Margaret shared that she’s afraid of loud noises to help him feel better about his claustrophobia, and then he distracted her as they were doing surgery during a shelling. (Also in hindsight, the two of them having sex, because they’re having a panic attack during another shelling where they’re afraid the house they’re hiding in might cave in... makes the claustrophobia/fear of loud noises wonderful Texture in hindsight). 

(Hawkeye knew she was thinking about Joan of Arc, because He Knows Her)

They may be talking about finding love in the future, but whatever they are to each other is an example of one of the deepest relationships I’ve ever seen on TV, and it fills me with endless delight!

(I wonder as well how much of that delight is watching two people who care deeply about one another in real life getting to let that shine through onscreen)