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crumblinggothicarchitecture · 4 months

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Taylor Swift Can't Write- She is not a serious or important writer. She is blatantly normalizing cheating in her music.

Let’s talk about Taylor Swift’s honest attempt at coherent narrative -

Just to be clear, the songs in question: Betty (2020), August (2020), and Cardigan (2020).

In these songs, Swift, of her own insistence, makes a clear attempt at drafting together a coherent storyline. I, however, found her work lacking while considering it against the many thousands of other short stories I have read. It lacks any sincerity in giving the moment in which the characters experience self-reflection, or "Epiphany" moment, and growth.

An Epiphany is defined as a sudden spiritual manifestation- and it is this I would posit as something that Swift clearly lacks in her writing. She lacks the spiritual, or emotional, depth to accurately tell a so-called "coming-of-age" type story in which the main requirement is that the character has an "Epiphany" about the nature of life to signify them growing up.

I will explain:

A short story- which I am analogizing to the multi-song arch from Swift- is typically meant to have an epiphany moment in which the main character finally calcifies the main point or the moral of the story. Without the impact of this moment within a short narrative- there is no arc, no moral, and therefore no real story.

Afterall, what is a story, but a coherent subsistence of writing aimed at identifying some universality of human existence (eg.) a moral, a point, or the main message? If I want to get philosophical about it (and I always do), narrative is the act of creation through which the particulars become implicit to a universal experience. Thus, it is a necessity of storytelling- to include the thematic message- or moral backbone of the work.

Swift’s three song arc is intrinsically incoherent, so it becomes difficult to pinpoint exactly what each character is thinking or feeling. I would, however, suggest that through lines like “slept next to her, but / I dreamt of you all summer long” (“Betty” 2020), and lines like “I never needed anything more/ whispers of ‘Are you sure?’ / ‘Never have I ever before’” (“August” 2020). Therein builds an internal tension between the three characters, James seems to be lamenting his choices to sleep with August and ditch Betty for the summer; whereas August is honestly expressing the fact that this is her first time, so it becomes obvious this means a lot to her. First, we see James's apologizing to Betty saying that the other girl, essentially means nothing by saying he was dreaming of Betty all summer even while with August. We also get the other perspective of the other girl losing her virginity to James during the same summer in which he is thinking about Betty every night.

Already, all the characters are set up to be dislikable- which is not always to the detriment of storytelling. However, it is to the detriment of her storytelling that at no point Swift makes use of external POV, or internal POV, to show any form of personal growth or condemnation of the intuitively morally corrupt actions of James here. Thus, there is no real story- according to the theory of “short-story” telling I laid out above.

It is her lack of condemnation towards cheating- and the immature irreverence James treats August with- that solidifies this arc as being a rather poor attempt at coherent narrative. Simply, Swift is either an inept storyteller- or she is blatantly normalizing cheating while also treating “the other woman” like a placeholder. (Clearly, Anti-Feminist rhetoric, btw). It’s especially bad that this storyline reaches no “moral of the story” since it is so obviously August’s first time.

The closest we get to any kind of meta-narrative commentary on thematic point, from Swift as the external 3rd person POV, is with this line “A friend to all is a friend to none/ Chase two girls, lose the one/ When you are young, they assume you know nothing” (“Cardigan” 2020). Again, her use of POV is rather amateurish- because she returns to internal 1st person POV with use of the word “you” in the latter half of the line- which leads me to believe she really doesn’t know how to inculcate the different POV’s into her writing. She’s an amateur- and there's is nothing inherently wrong with that, however, if we could all stop lauding her as literary genius when she is so clearly not that would be “awesome.” Thanks.

She continues the rest of the song back into Betty’s 1st person POV. The poignant nature of this line about "losing one girl" doesn’t land because the rest of the song is about how James is returning to Betty. Swift writes, “I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired/ and you’d be standing in my front porch light/ And I knew you’d come back to me” (“Cardigan” 2020). Beside the fact that this line is internally incoherent held up against the setting of “Betty” which is broad daylight, so James would not actually be in the porch light if the sunlight suffices, it is also quite obviously the culmination in which Betty is taking James's back. If there is any thematic message here- and I can only loosely believe this is an actual message here- Swift is saying that cheating is Okay as long as the girl, you actually respect and want, is willing to forgive you.

And I’m supposed to enjoy this arc? People are supposed to be impressed with Swift because she came up with this garbage?

She clearly has no grasp on Narrative coherence, no grasp of utilizing POV switching to make narrative more emotionally impactful, and no grasp on how to embed a good moral of the story into her work. So, she has none of the markings of actual great writer.

The effect of all this is a subterfuge of lackluster emotional appeals- and a toxic love triangle that never resolves into personal self-reflection or growth. The story devolves into blameless banality with no personality or literary value whatsoever- just a reiteration of self-centered egoism that enables James to act without thought to the feelings of others. This is what Swift propagates as good storytelling? Is this morally sound story telling?

Let me further drive my point home by dichotomizing this pitiful attempt at narrative coherence with the work of a literary genius, James Joyce.

Has anyone here ever read “Araby” (1914) by James Joyce? (Sidenote: If you love when Hozier talks about issues of British colonialism in Ireland- you will most likely enjoy James Joyce as well- if you love critique of both organize religion and its sociohistorical ties to colonialism- you'll love Joyce).

My critique too- ties into Joyce, where he showcases the blissful ignorance, or naivety, of youth in pursuit of love, Swift showcases no such thing. She is often praised for her juvenile writing schema- yet in her most overt attempt at writing a youthful romance she fails to interject the most important aspect of youth- Naivety versus painful realizations. In adulthood, when we all reprise the past, and trace back into our memories, we often speak fondly of the naivety of youth- with a little knowing twinkle in our eyes as young people around us make the same mistakes we did. It’s so beautifully human to reflect like this- and Swift manages to add nothing of this universal human experience into her work, even though it is often said that her only saving grace is the ability to capture “teenage petulance” and the proclivities of youth. In other words, I’m saying she’s not even doing the thing she’s known for well enough. She writes this love story like they’re all a bunch of bitter adults, not kids stepping into thoughts of love for the first time. There’s no simple wonder at love- instead, she writes about cheating and feeling jaded. Ditching people for the summer only to come back to the first girl with an "I'm sorry" and "she meant nothing." Where is the personal growth in a story like that? In which James gets away with saying "she meant nothing," and August is not shown having any agency or reclamation of self after James essentially uses her. Then, to top it all off, Betty most likely gets back together with James. There is no growth to speak of in any of this- it does not qualify as a "coming of age" story- nor does it particularly qualify as a story at all.

This is like English Creative Writing 101 class- btw. It's strange that Swift does not grasp concepts I've taught to college freshmen before. If the freshmen can handle learning it- surely Swift could also be able to learn and improve the thing she does as a job? Right? No?

“Araby” is a story of a similar predicate to Swift attempt at narrative. So, I thought it most apt to include here as an example which also employs use of Epiphany in short story telling.

In quick summation, “Araby” is the story of a young boy who has a rather intense crush on a neighbor girl. He promises this girl that he will go buy her something at the market, and in doing so sets off a sequence of events which leads to his ultimate disillusionment with the ideals of youth and love.

Early on in his character development, we see a boy who has an overly romantic view on life, with lines like “All my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves and, feeling that I was about to slip from them, I pressed the palms of my hands together until they trembled, murmuring: ‘O love! O love!’ many times” (“Araby” Joyce). He is so clearly caught up in the longing for this girl- that he truly forgets reality for a moment. His senses slip from him, and he is fully immersed into the lost revery of his little crush on the neighbor girl. Then, like magic, she speaks to him for the first time the next day. She asks him if he will go to the market, and he responds eagerly- Yes. He promises to buy her something.

The conflict of the story happens at this point- the young boy meets every obstacle in life preventing him from getting to the market on time. He struggles to find money and then he struggles to find the time in the midst of his other obligations to his family. Joyce is clearly showcasing how our romantic visions of life, of everything going perfectly and romance being easy, can so easily be disrupted by the realities of poverty and the responsibility we all bear for family or others.

The end of the short story outlines the “moral of the story” in which the young man, now nearly too late for the market and without enough money to actually buy anything, with the last refrain that “Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger” (“Araby” Joyce). Thus, Joyce drives home the "epiphany" moment, or the self-reflective moment of character growth, as it pertains to the fruitless endeavors of youthful vanity in romance. Stating, essentially, that people only dream of overly romantic scenes to bolster their own perception of reality as something that should go perfect for them. Life is not perfect, nor is it ever fair, and nothing happens as fantasy suggests it should- this is the hardest, and often the first, life lesson young people ever face. Anguish and Anger. What a beautiful phrase to remark upon- as this poor young man realizes life is comprised mostly of being “a day late and a buck short.”

This intensity- this moral backbone is what brings the story to life. The way this story enumerates the youthful hope- to the burgeoning adult reality- as something full of anguish -allows readers to bridge empathy towards others as WE all grow up in a difficult world. This is the "Epiphany." This appeal universal human experience, through particular circumstances like that of a young man in early 1900’s Dublin, is what is missing in Swift’s work. She gives us nothing but her own selfish refraction of immoral behavior without any appeal to greater human impulse or discovery. Her work rings hollow in the face of actually talented writers like Joyce. She lacks the same depth, sophistication, and ability to actually make the story into a narrative arc.

She claims to write about teenage, coming of age-esque, discovery yet lacks any ability to actually showcase, with empathy, the ways in which anguish at their own naïveté presupposes teenage petulance.

She writes out the most shallow- surface level depiction of some b-plot from a bad fanfiction and wants to pretend that she is a literary genius. Yawn.

Addendum- I am aware that “Araby” is also a story predicated on ideas of Freedom vs Colonialism. To those of you who know the story well, I hope you don’t mind I choose to focus in on the “coming-of-age" part of the story in order to more clearly connect it to Swift’s work. I am not, however, ignoring the real sociohistorical implications of poverty, colonialist attitudes, and human rights thematic points in the story. I know.

“Araby” by James Joyce is free at The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dubliners, by James Joyce

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wanderh3art · 4 months

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i am too communist for syscourse bullshit.

even if the coexistence of multiple beings in one body ONLY exists as a biological reaction to chronic stress—a colonial imperialist viewpoint—it is counterproductive to gatekeep plurality on that basis

humans bodies are specialized for community and play. human bodies are NOT specialized to do labor for multiple hours every day. human bodies are NOT specialized to live under the "work or die" paradigm.

there is not a being alive on this planet not feeling some of the environmental stress of living in a world undergoing a manmade mass extinction event

and the vast majority of people i know are struggling to make ends meet. pressure is building, it's been building for awhile.

depression is rampant, and still undercounted. given how many people actively lie to therapists i think it's no joke fair to say the vast majority of people in my country, especially same age peers, are dealing with a chronic anxiety disorder and/or mood disorder

and we've all been going through it since we were young, right? how many of us had friends who were and are fully okay? chronic stress, anxiety, and/or depression since childhood are literally traumatizing.

in the united states, children have no rights. the american education system is traumatizing by design. it teaches youth how to be deprived of rights.

"but multiplicity is an extremely rare phenomenon"

Nope, it isn't. It simply isn't. Even by official metrics (which are always undercounts when it comes to stigmatized diagnoses), DID diagnoses are more common than red hair.

Psychistry lied. Psychiatry stigmatized plurality as a part of its colonial agenda to police ideas of self, body, and spirituality that don't fit into the western imperial dogma of One Self One Reason One God But Don't Think About That Last One Too Hard.

so listen. i don't actually give a fuck about scientific research into the "etiology" of my existence as a being, i find that offensive and adjacent to eugenics in mindset.

why am i here? well you see i'm an ex-imaginary shadow siren. i came here through the television while my then 5yo host was playing the thousand year door, i used to be an imaginary friend made out of shadows, i can operate in shared reality and also hold these beliefs about my self concept, it's not impossible.

HOWEVER.

even IF i thought there was a legitimate line of inquiry to be made into the "etiology" of multiple beings existing in one body

where is the untraumatized control group?

first off, you cannot accurately control for trauma or for particular types of trauma in this world. you just can't.

even if you could somehow only survey very honest people, i have had more than one clinician literally ignore me about not having had certain kinds of trauma and tell me that i must have experienced that trauma bc i'm multiple. so how the fuck can we trust these people's data on what causes multiplicity and plurality?

second off, everyone is traumatized. psychiatry and pop psychiatry lied about there being a meaningful divide between weak victims and resilient survivors too. - Vivian 🔥

#syscourse #actually plural #actually multiple #pro endo

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flameunquenched · 22 days

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this is an 'on break at work' ramble so if it doesn't make a lot of sense, well, that's why

but we rewatched s2e1 last night and i paid close attention to the reactions of sauron/halbrand as he was being initially questioned by adar and then beaten multiple times by waldreg. i want to discuss that a little bit.

i've commented on this to @silmarillisms several times now about how i love how stoic he is in the face of this man beating him with a club. there's no reaction to the blows other than slight winces and grunts that we get more off-screen than anything else. in addition, the way that he treats with adar in the initial scene of them is fascinating to me.

he plays the king caring for his people incredibly well. i saw a post on the dash, i don't remember now from who (sorry!), about how him going back and doing the whole moses 'let my people go' bit is him trying to keep his word to galadriel and tbh i do love that. i do think that sauron does care for the peoples of middle-earth as a whole, even if at times he is not sure exactly how to show that. with adar, sauron plays it as their being equals. adar is the 'king' of the uruks, so to speak, and 'halbrand' is the king of the southlands. so there's no bowing or scraping. it is an even exchange of information: the freedom of the southlanders for information on sauron.

that 'halbrand' himself is sauron himself is just cherry on top for sauron and his manipulations.

others have said better than i that it is poetic that waldreg was beating on the very being he spent so long worshipping and i think that's funny and accurate. being quite honest, waldreg is probably my least favorite character so him dying was very satisfying for me personally, lol. but what i did love about those scenes was sauron's totally stoic nature and how wildly juxtaposed it was when compared to the sauron in forodwaith who was very obviously nervous.

we know that several hundred years pass between the forodwaith scene and sauron reforming in the halbrand guise, so he clearly must have had time to sort of 're-center' himself against the pain and humiliation that scene must have caused. i suppose after getting stabbed to death in a humiliating manner by a fuckload of orcs, having a single old dude whaling on you really isn't much to write home about.

one last thing...

there's another really small moment in s2e1 that i absolutely adore and it's the moment where sauron just stops walking in the chain-line of people. with the camera on him, you see the person in front of him get stopped by it and it is just an incredible little display of his strength. it's a fantastic reminder to the broader audience that he is not a man, not a mortal. just sauron himself stopping stops the entire line of people in front of him. i don't have a gif on hand but it's probably at least 10 people that he forces to stop simply because he stops. it's a callback to the scene in s1e8 where he catches galadriel's attempt to stab him, which is yet another reminder of his being Other to everyone around him.

my back hurts and i wrote this order the course of like an hour and a half so if there's typos i am sorry

#sauron #rop analysis #rings of power #rop s2 #rop spoilers #spoilers for rop #my meta #my analysis #pers.text

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spacelazarwolf · 2 years

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ya know what? i’m gonna be honest. someone fired a gun in a synagogue in san francisco the other day. someone else threw a molotov cocktail at a synagogue in new jersey. i regularly delete hateful anons from people saying horrific antisemitic things about me. so i really do not care if you don’t like the term “culturally christian” or don’t think it’s accurate. you’re entitled to your opinion. but the fucking audacity to come in the ask box of a jew and complain about a fucking word you don’t like then accuse them of forcing their religion on you? that’s fucking laughable. i’ve put a lot of effort into the posts i’ve made explaining what cultural christianity is and how it works, how it traumatized the people who are perpetuating it and the goal should be healing for everyone, but y’all are too focused on how you can make yourselves the victim of another minority group that you simply do not want to hear it, so i am very very close to not being tactful abt this anymore!!

#cultural christianity

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piracytheorist · 7 months

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"Sy-on boy" vs. "Second son"

As someone who a) watches the anime first and then reads the manga (and doesn't read manga chapters that haven't been animated yet), b) is quite cautious about Damian's character and c) doesn't even like Damιanya as a ship, I think I have a very different perspective on Anya's view of Damian - at least, according to the point the anime has reached - to the point that I can get VERY confused whenever I see some shippers talk about that. To the point I go like "Is there something I missed?"

And there IS something I miss. And that's manga-only (or at least manga-first) context.

In Japanese, Loid thinks about Damian being the second son of Donovan Desmond, using the word "次男" (jinan) which literally means "second son".

Damian uses the same word for himself later,

and Anya picks that up from then on (though using hiragana characters instead of kanji, as she does in general). And maybe because of that use of simpler characters, the manga translation team decided to have her call Damian "sy-on boy" - a mispronounced "scion boy" - instead of simply "second son".

The thing is, though "sy-on boy" makes Anya's speech sound simpler and more imaginative, fitting her age more, it can also sound more endearing, cute and affectionate, if you lean towards that. Meanwhile, "second son" can range from neutral at best to derogatory at worst - especially considering that Damian is not dealing very well with the fact that his older brother is already an accomplished Imperial Scholar and has raised the bar very high for Damian.

Again, my first contact with the story was from the anime, where Anya simply calls him "second son".

Which, if I'm honest, already sounds appropriately silly. Who calls someone, even the second child of a family, that? Anya's use of "haha" for mama and "chichi" for papa is already kind of incorrect when she talks to them, she's young and has still got lots to learn, in the same chapter/episode she called Becky "milady" until Becky reminded her of her name, and also Damian pissed her off so she has no reason to refer to him with his name (yes I'm fully taking her side on this, bully victim for bully victim). She heard both Loid and Damian use "second son" in their thoughts, so same way she called Becky "milady", she picked that up as a way to call Damian.

I actually wonder why the manga translation team went for "sy-on boy". There's no indication that Anya heard the word "scion" ever before, so it sounds out of place, and honestly, with what I said above, out of character for her. In a weird way, though, it actually fits with how she manages a decent score in her "Ancient Language" test many many chapters later.

(I am aware that there was a fan translation of some chapters before the manga got picked up for an official translation. I have no access to the fan translation, so maybe "scion" was used there and it passed on to the official translations in that way?)

Anyway, what I mean to say is that the use of "sy-on boy" may have encouraged a more lenient and even "encouraging" view of Anya's feelings for Damian, even though through her actions and words she keeps showing that she would rather not be around him, but she has a mission to accomplish.

And with that, though I don't know any Japanese myself, I'm leaning towards the conclusion that "sy-on boy" is not a translation that accurately communicates Anya's sentiments.

And as someone who is very passionate about defending Anya's mistrust of Damian, the use of "sy-on boy" in the manga translation sounds... misleading. Maybe it just feels that way to me because I am a bit more cautious, but it also explains why some fans are so passionate to the point of saying Damian never actually bullied Anya - or to tell me to my face that I shouldn't call Damian a bully because it upsets his fans. If the manga has her use a nickname that could show she's on equal footing with him and could betray, under a certain interpretation, some hidden affection for him, then you kind of understand why people reach that point. It doesn't mean it's right to say Damian was never a bully, or to tell me that after I've shared I still carry scars from having been bullied, but you know. Fandoms will be fandoms.

#is this anti? it probably is #anti-damianya #also another reason why I don't want to read the manga first #seeing things like that genuinely makes me distrust their translation choices #day number infinite I wish I could understand Japanese and just read the original instead #sxf #0 days passed since nette last bitched about that ship

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meiliarotten · 1 year

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Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Two: Electric Boogaloo

Day 21: Improvise, Adapt, Overcome (Frottage)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Heavy x Male!Reader

Summary: Sometimes a difference in size requires one to get creative.

Tags: Frottage, outercourse, oral, size difference, grinding, aftercare

Word Count: 3.1k

The Masterlist

“You would not be able to handle it.”

You stood perfectly still, taken aback by Heavy’s response. You had prepared yourself for a whole myriad of reactions when you finally worked up the courage to invite him back to your room. However, the blunt statement that you ‘couldn’t handle him,’ was not one of them. It was just so deadpan, so matter-of-fact, and he said it with such confidence that you almost wondered if he had said this to other potential lovers in the past. Technically, it wasn’t an outright rejection, and the implications of what he had said only intrigued you more.

“If you don’t want this you can just come out and say it. You don’t have to try to scare me off with some cryptic warning,” you said, finally regaining some composure and trying your best not to sound too wounded.

“Нет, I am being honest.” He gave a nervous chuckle, a noise that sounded entirely foreign coming from the confident and clamorous man you imagined him to be based on what you had seen on the battlefield. “I want this,” he motioned towards you. “But you would break.”

“What, do you have a bit of a sadistic side?” you asked. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you, let alone deter you. However, the large man shook his head, immediately dashing the multitude of fantasies birthed from that possibility.

Heavy laughed again, as if it was his default reaction to nervousness. “It is simpler than that.” He looked you over with a sigh. “You are very small.”

“So? Everything is small to you, you’re fucking massive-” You stopped in your tracks, eyes going wide. What he was trying to imply finally dawned on you. Whether it was embarrassment, a language barrier, or even just an attempt to be delicate that kept Heavy from outright saying that he thought his dick was too large for you, you didn’t know.

When you finally worked up the nerve to look him in the eyes, he simply gave a solemn nod, confirming that you had indeed connected the dots accurately. Still, a little voice in the back of your head reminded you that you still hadn’t been rejected. In fact, you were emboldened by the fact that Heavy had outright admitted that he did want you. So, with a smirk, you continued, albeit a bit more cautiously.

“I’m not a weak willed man, Heavy.” Your words earned yet another laugh, and you knew the heat in your cheeks was turning your skin a bright shade of red. “I mean it! I want to try, and I think you do too.”

Heavy took a deep breath, his face going serious. For a moment, you thought you were finally going to be dismissed, but what you got proved to be the exact opposite. “You will say if it hurts.” His tone made it clear that this wasn’t a request, but a necessity. You nodded, taking a few steps closer to him. “You will say if you need to stop.” He was guiding you to the bed now, an arm wrapped around your back. It seemed you would be staying in his quarters, his bed being larger and more comfortable. “You understand?”

You were giddy with anticipation, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t clung into every word. You were in the bed now, looking up at him from where you were seated on the mattress. “I understand, Heavy,” you said. It was only then that he joined you, climbing onto the bed next to you and pulling you into his lap with ease. Your heart raced and it took you a few moments to do the obvious, leaning forward to close the distance between the two of you. That first kiss was quick, almost chaste as you parted moments later with a sigh and a sultry whisper. “I want you.”

One hand came up to cradle the back of your head as you pressed your lips against him again, trying to trail down further along his jaw and neck. Heavy seemed to have other plans however, taking your chin and tilting you back up to his mouth, encouraging you to slow down, to savor this. Going slow would become not only a luxury, but a necessity if he really was as large as he claimed. That said, you still couldn’t resist the urge to squirm in his lap to take the edge off, which eventually turned into outright grinding against each other while still clothed. You moaned, letting Heavy deepen the kiss as he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Your confidence began to waver when Heavy suddenly bucked up against you. His cock was straining against the fabric of his pants, and even while still in its confines you could tell that you may have underestimated the challenge you had undertaken. You tried to take solace in the slow pace, in the way Heavy worked his lips against yours, letting yourself believe that your nerves were simply getting the better of you, but a nagging little voice told you that you had to be sure.

You pulled away with a gasp, not realizing how long you had gone without parting for air. You ran your hands down his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your palms before you were tugging at his belt, unfastening it with far less finesse than you were going for. Every movement felt clumsy and awkward, making your face burn as you tossed the belt aside, unbuttoned his trousers and finally freed his cock.

Oh fuck.

You had promised yourself that you wouldn’t stare, that you would maintain some semblance of dignity at the very least. Still, you couldn’t help but be captivated by the sight. “Oh, wow. That’s…” you trailed off, floundering with your words until Heavy mercifully finished your sentence for you.

“Large?” he said. You managed to tear your gaze away to look up at him, being met with a smug expression that could only be translated as ‘I told you so.’ The worst part was, he was right.

You knew Heavy would be big. Even if he hadn’t warned you, the man was essentially a giant, especially compared to you, so you could have inferred as much. Yet the reality of seeing him hard and flushed for you was beyond anything you had imagined. Shaking your head, you pushed your concerns aside, at least for now. After all, there were other ways to pleasure someone.

“I was going to say impressive!” You lied through your teeth, reaching forward to grasp Heavy’s cock. Once again your confidence wavered as you noticed that your hand could barely wrap around him. Still, you continued, stroking Heavy firmly, listening to the soft groan he tried to choke back. “Very impressive,” you whispered again, mostly to yourself.

After eliciting a few more groans your confidence began to renew itself. You let yourself go faster, and even get a bit rough at times. Then again, for Heavy, what you considered rough probably wasn’t much more bothersome than a fly. On the other hand, you got plenty of time to get up close and personal with what you would be dealing with later, and it quickly became apparent that he wasn’t yet completely hard when you first unfastened his belt.

“You are shaking,” Heavy said, distracting you from your musings. There was a hint of concern in his voice. At first you were confused, but a quick glance at your hand showed it to be true. You hadn’t even noticed until Heavy pointed it out, but your hands were trembling and a perpetual shiver had overtaken your body, leaving goosebumps over your skin and a nervous chill running up your spine.

“It’s probably just anticipation,” you said, only to find that even your voice was beginning to shake. It wasn’t entirely a lie, there was definitely some anticipation in what you were feeling, but anxiety was certainly the more dominant emotion. You stroked him faster, quickly distracting Heavy from any further concerns he may have had. The low groan and the way his length throbbed under your touch was quite rewarding, and you managed to regain some confidence. “That feels good, doesn’t it? I’m good with more than just my hands.”

You were quick to demonstrate just that, leaning down to take Heavy into your mouth as deep as you could, stopping just short of gagging. Using your hands to stroke whatever you couldn’t take in, you set to work, bobbing your head while Heavy moaned and gripped the sheets hard, relishing the feeling of your hot mouth on his cock. He was exercising a remarkable amount of self control, not daring to buck up into your throat. You were especially thankful for that. While you may have been able to eventually work Heavy past your gag reflex with enough time and patience, you knew that if he were to outright facefuck you, it would probably be a far less pleasant experience.

You probably wouldn't be able to get Heavy to treat you that roughly even if you asked though. He had been shockingly gentle with you throughout this. Considering he had tried to scare you away at first, you would have expected something a bit more intense. Perhaps you wouldn’t have minded that, as you realized that Heavy could probably manhandle you with ease if he wanted to.

The very thought made you moan around him, feeling yourself grow achingly hard at the thought of that even as you tried to focus on your current task. You licked up the shaft, teasing the larger man before plunging him into your mouth once again, not letting the taste of precum on your tongue bother you one bit. You were so focused that you may have just sucked Heavy to completion then and there if he hadn’t taken you by the hair, gently tugging until you had been pulled off of his cock with a soft whine.

“Your turn,” Heavy said, moving to undress you. His fingers tugging at the waistband of your pants. He was still so gentle, as if worried that the smallest wrong move would hurt you. When he finally managed to unfasten the buttons and zipper, you knew you had to admit defeat.

“Heavy, I…” you stammered. Heavy immediately stopped, looking up at you, waiting patiently for you to continue. You gave him an apologetic look. “I don’t know if I can take it.”

You knew your skin was flushed. You could feel the heat in your cheeks and you avoided looking him in the eye, embarrassed at how in over your head you were. You opened your mouth to apologize when you felt Heavy’s hand on your cheek, caressing softly as he turned your gaze back to him.

“There are other ways,” Heavy said. “If you still want this.”

“I do,” you said, leaning into his touch.

“Come, sit here.” You were pulled into Heavy’s lap again, one arm hooked around your back. Before you could ask what the plan was you were cut off with a gasp, feeling Heavy take hold of your cock and begin to stroke. His hands were so large, practically engulfing you. You cursed softly, instinctively trying to thrust up into his fist only to be held still. “Нет, do not move yet. Let Heavy take care of you.”

You tilted your head, a little confused. Then again, you certainly weren’t opposed to the idea of being taken care of. So you let yourself be pampered, resting your head on Heavy’s chest as he began to pump your cock faster. You moaned, grasping his shirt in your fists, bracing yourself against him. For now, he was your rock to cling to.

“Heavy! Oh god, Mikhail!” You felt him shudder slightly at the use of his real name, and for a moment you were worried you had crossed a line. However, a quick glance up at his face proved otherwise. For the first time, you had managed to make Heavy blush. Still, he met your gaze with a calm smile.

“You make pretty sounds.” It was a simple statement, one that made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t even realized how shameless you had become with your moans. Either you had stopped caring the moment Heavy started touching you or you had lost the ability to even try to stifle yourself. Whatever the reason for your lack of volume control, you could at least take pride in the fact that Heavy enjoyed your reactions. Still, you couldn’t help but feel that you were being far too passive.

“Wait, it’s not fair that you- fuck!” You stammered between moans, trying futilely to string your words together coherently. You placed your hand on Heavy’s, making him pause and allowing you to finally speak. “I want you to feel good too.”

Heavy opened his mouth as if to speak, and if he was about to protest, you didn’t give him the chance to, catching him off guard with a heated kiss. You managed to take control for a time, feeling him release your cock. You nearly melted at the feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you firmly against him, but you couldn’t let yourself lose focus yet.

You could feel him against you, the need he was denying. He was still slick with spit from earlier. With a soft sigh, you began to move your hips against him like before, feeling your own cock press against his as you bucked forward, sliding against his length.

Heavy gasped and you leaned back, clutching onto his shoulders for some sort of leverage as your hips canted, grinding against him and relishing the moments when you were able to get some soft noise of pleasure from the surprisingly reserved man. Given how he was in battle, you would have expected Heavy to be louder, but so far he had managed to truly defy all your expectations.

He let you buck against him for a while before pushing back, and for a moment you were afraid you had done something wrong. Those thoughts were quickly put to bed when he proceeded to wrap his massive hand around both your cock and his own. A harsh gasp escaped you as Heavy pumped the two of you in unison, his breaths growing ragged and uneven. It was even more evident when he spoke, his voice low and gravelly. “Feels good, да?”

After a few moments of trying and failing to respond with any coherent words, you gave up and simply nodded with a dazed moan. You barely saw the satisfied smile Heavy gave you, enjoying the sight of you shuddering in delight, resisting the urge to buck into his fist. It was clear that you had completely forgotten about the slight hiccup in your original plans. So what if you couldn’t take him? This unique sensation was even better than what you had originally hoped for, so new and deliciously pleasurable for the both of you.

You threw your head back when Heavy picked up the pace, letting out breathy, pant-like moans as precum began to bead at the tip of your cock. “Whole base will hear you,” Heavy warned, although by the way his breath hitched, you had a feeling he didn’t really care. You didn’t care either. You were far too close to give a shit about who heard you screaming in ecstasy. It felt like you could come undone at any moment, muscles spasming and trembling as you frantically chased that high until the sensation of Heavy’s thumb running over the sensitive head of your cock finally brought you over the edge.

Heavy stroked you in long, languid motions as you rode out your climax, letting your release spill over his knuckles, slickening his touch. You were bucking against him now, having fully lost the will to keep from moving, and the feeling of you thrusting against him coupled with the ministrations of his own hand was what made him come undone not long after you. He was surprisingly reserved, his climax signaled with only a low moan, his hand going still only after you began to whimper from overstimulation.

Almost immediately you collapsed, landing on the plush pillows with a thud and a groan. You were spent, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about it, the afterglow leaving you in an unwavering state of euphoria. Your eyes shut and you were immobile, boneless in a way that would usually leave you feeling vulnerable, but you knew there was nothing to fear. You weren’t sure how long the silence had stretched for when you finally spoke.

“Fuck, that was really good,” you muttered, not even caring about how cliché it sounded. You didn’t get a response, and you opened your eyes to find that Heavy had left the bed, cleaning himself up and retrieving one of the water bottles that were distributed among the mercs. When he was back at your side he lifted you upright, pressing the cool bottle into your still shaky hands.

You barely managed to get the cap off as Heavy gently encouraged you to drink. You smiled to yourself, enjoying the feeling of being cared for. “Thank you, Misha,” you said after taking a long drink from the bottle, nearly downing half of it once you realized how thirsty you were. He made a soft sound of acknowledgement as he began to clean you up to the best of his ability, letting you relax comfortably once you placed the bottle on the nightstand and collapsed back onto the bed.

It didn’t occur to you in the moment that with you splayed out on the mattress, Heavy couldn’t exactly fit next to you. However that problem was solved with little effort when he simply maneuvered your aching body for himself, making you gasp as you were essentially placed on top of him, draped over his immense body.

“Is this comfortable for you?” you asked, raising your head as much as your energy sapped body would allow you to. “I mean, I’m literally about to fall asleep on top of you.”

“This is fine,” he said with a smirk, seeming to find the very idea that you could make him uncomfortable to be humorous. “You are like a…” he thought for a while, searching for the right term, before his eyes lit up. “Weighted blanket! Very comfortable.” He draped an arm over your back, keeping you securely pressed against him as if to emphasize his point.

You chuckled softly, finding yourself at peace with that explanation and letting yourself relax, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Heavy’s breathing under your head. If you listened closely enough you could probably make out the steady beat of the ubercharge heart, a staccato rhythm that lulled you to sleep within moments.

#tf2 x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #merc x reader #minors dni #smut #tf2 smut #team fortress 2 #cross posted on ao3 #tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #heavy x male reader #heavy x reader #tf2 heavy #heavy tf2 #heavy team fortress 2 #male reader #masc reader #kinktober

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waywardsou2 · 3 months

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Hello fellow writers and readers

(Please read the entire post before submitting)

I am currently working on the beginnings of a novel. I am in the research stage and trying to do all that I can to make sure my characters and themes are accurate and relatable to all readers.

If you feel comfortable would you please check out these surveys I have created and comment on this post of anything you wish to add.

Before I link the surveys I would just like to add a disclaimer here that two of these surveys are quite personal and have some heavy questions. Do not feel obligated to answer these. If you dont think that (for whatever reason) you can answer these truthfully then please feel free to skip it.

!TW: mental health, domestic violence, problematic households, trauma and other things along those lines!

The links to the surveys will be down below

1) What do you look for when reading fantasy?

2) What is your experience like being asexual and/or aromantic

3) Do you/Did you live in a difficult household

I would also like to advise you that these submissions will be completely anonymous and shared with no one. I will take data and themes from these surveys but not use anyone's personal experiences or traumas for my work.

Once again if you fill out these surveys please be as honest as humanly possible and if you are not comfortable with any of these questions then please feel free to skip them or simply not fill out the survey.

Thanks in advance and feel free to comment or DM me if you have any other questions

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summertrynnacope · 3 months

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CW: Nazism, TribeTwelve, swear words, (vent??)

Spoilers for EMH, Canyouseethewords blog, TribeTwelve and Sebastian's Journal.

Hi, it's me again. No shit. So. It's been like a month since the whole drama unfolded and I haven't stopped thinking about it since. I know things have quieted down lately, and like many others, I wish we could all move on and forget this ever happened. However, I can't simply recover from it, mainly because I feel the posts about me continue to spread on this platform, radiating the negativity and false info about me to this day. This drama has been devouring me for a long time now, and I've decided to make another post. I gotta admit I haven't been 100% honest in my previous post, it was more of my attempt to back off, cry over it and avoid this drama. But I'm not doing that again. I'm done pretending and I'm tired of being nice and tolerating others when they're completely misguided. I'm fucking angry. That's why I decided to make one more post about this and I have so many things to say. This is not another apology post, think of it as a vent post and recap explanation of everything where I'll be brutally honest.

Also, if anyone of you is a Nazi supporter, get the fuck out. I do not welcome you here.

First of all, I do not understand why my efforts have been ignored. I did everything that was asked of me. I acknowledged my so-called ''mistakes'', I owned up to them, deleted the posts, apologized, explained my intentions, and you decide to just fucking ignore it?? What do you want from me then, huh? I'm not the ignorant here, you are fucking ignorants. Made me realize I actually haven't done anything wrong. Made me wonder if I should've even deleted those posts, I put a lot of effort into them, and some people actually liked them. It's not my fault some of you are sensitive and brainwashed by censorship culture and you can't accept or understand a canon-accurate depiction of characters. You think I've been sweeping something under the rug? No. In fact, it's the opposite. You've been sweeping this whole shit under the rug by dismissing me as a Nazi supporter, just because I drew something that was considered canon for so many years. I've done nothing wrong, I've been honest about my art the entire time. I draw what I enjoy and what is accurate to the lore. I love history and the Slenderverse, and I draw canon-accurate content, yet you get mad over it. It's so ridiculous. If this post can't open your fucking eyes, I don't know what else will, and frankly I don't care anymore. I'm done with this shit. I've acted like the adult I am, and took responsibility. However I'm not going to to point any fingers or dismiss anyone specifically, because I am not like this.

And to everyone: If you don't like something, just ignore it. But if it really seems problematic and malicious, why not contact the person directly and talk it out, or find ways to know their true intentions instead of making hundreds of hate-posts about them like some pissy children. This is such a toxic behavior.

About the whole Nazi stuff:

Don't get me wrong. Nazism is a sensitive topic, I understand that. But I think being offended by it right now, in the 21st century, is just so ridiculous to me. I understand it can get very annoying tho. They talk about WW2 and the Austrian painter on TV non-stop. But being offended by some art? Like, are you serious. Do you realize Nazi shit has been in so many fanfiction, stories and literature for so many years, and you have no reason to get offended by it? The Nazi concept has been used in so many media, whether just for a joke or a serious plot point. South Park, Family Guy, Indiana Jones, Marvel Universe, X-Men, The Boys, and God knows what else.. Would you get offended by a fanart of cute little fat boy Eric Cartman? Of course not. But I can easily say: ''He's a Nazi! You drew a cute fanart of him! You're a Nazi supporter!'' That's you. That's how you sound. Do you see how ridiculous that is? There are thousands of people shipping him with Kyle Broflovski, oh but he's a Jew, and they hate each other in the show. Yet there are artists who make ship art of them. Does anyone complain? At the end of the day, they're just fictional characters, and I rather ignore it even if it kinda annoys me. Btw, South Park is just an example of this issue, I'm not targeting anyone or anything specifically here.

The Brandit post:

I really need to go back and add something to that post of HABIT saying ''LET'S FUCK AND PISS OFF OUR ANCESTORS.'' which creeped Firebrand out (honest reaction). That quote seemed really harsh, I know. Was it bad humor? Yeah.. But do I regret drawing this? At this point, I must say no. I did not stutter. As I said, I will be brutally honest from now on. Do you think HABIT wouldn't say that? Do you think he wouldn't say something sexual to a Jewish person, or frankly to anyone really? Yes, he would!! It's in his nature, he's fucked up. Are we trynna ignore the fucking scene of HABIT pulling the jerk off gesture at Noah?? Did we all not see the same thing?? He is like this. He makes fun of him while adding Christmas decorated borders on a letter for him. He's aware Noah is Jewish, yet he pulls a sexual gesture at him. Don't try to deny this one.

About the symbols... From what I've just said, I drew the little symbols there next to them (Star of David and Hakenkreuz) because I wanted people to see and realize the fact that these two guys are a Jew and a (former) Nazi, which people have been sweeping under the rug, not me. Also, if anyone remembers the post I made, I believe I wrote ''I should have put Christmas borders there as well/jk.'' under it or something like that. I removed it later on because people didn't seem to get it. It was obviously a reference to Severance. Everything I draw is a fucking reference. That being said, this post was made for awareness, not romanticization, and I do not ship them, neither romantically nor platonically, I just really like drawing them together, because if their iconic trope, canon interactions, mutual respect and shared spite for Slenderman, and the fact that HABIT helped Noah many times. That's it. Also, I wouldn't ship HABIT with anyone romantically. That is just wrong in so many levels.

Canyouseethewords blog and Sebastian's Journal:

If you didn't grasp the point of the Josef Mengele post either, go read Canyouseethewords blog here on Tumblr. It's part of the EMH lore. Basically, this blog belonged to Evan's girlfriend Stephanie, but HABIT takes over the blog later on and makes various posts about infamous real serial killers, such as Ed Gein, Jack the Ripper, and even the Nazi doctor, Josef Mengele. Whether HABIT wanted to imply that he's possessed those various people, that part of lore remains silent. At some point, I believed he's possessed those various people, so I wanted to to draw one of them, and I chose to draw Josef simply because I liked the idea of the connection with him and The Event from T12. That's it. And if that weren't the case that he's possessed any of those people, which would be rather a big relief, he's still possessed a different Nazi character in T12, which has been retconned. A character that no one really seems to know of, which is understandable. I get that some people don't want to analyze and support T12 anymore after what Adam did. In all honesty, I think sometimes it's best to separate the creator from the creation. I hate Adam, but I love T12. Anyway, in the story of Sebastian's Journal is a guy named Sergeant Heine who is (or was supposed to be) possessed by HABIT at some point. It implies to Severance where HABIT said he's been working with a group of Nazis on a particular project, including Sebastian. However, that connection has been retconned.

The HABIT/Nazi lore shit, people keep complaining and pissing about for no reason:

Listen, it was part of the lore for so many years that it's difficult to simply ignore it now. As someone who's been part of the Slenderverse fandom for years, going back, I just cannot think of it as a non-canon at this point. And I've already said the point of HABIT's character, and you all should know this by now. However I'll clarify it again anyways. The point is that he's an abomination of all the horrific actions humanity has committed, including atrocities of Nazism. He's done so many bad shit, as if eating a baby on screen wasn't enough, yet, of all the things he's done, people get mad over him being a former Nazi?? Like are you kidding me.. It's so ridiculous and hypocritical.

However... When I think about it, maybe HABIT was never even a Nazi, I mean- Working with them is one thing. He probably doesn't even give a single fuck about some ideology bullshit. He likely participated in the Nazi party purely for the sake of killing people. He wouldn't care less if his victims were Jews, Romani, or anyone else, he simply enjoys killing people for the sake of torture. Heck, he doesn't even remember the name of the party he was in. In Severance, he stuttered when trying to say ''Nazis'', which, in my opinion, was funny as hell. But that one is just an idea of his character.

Anyway. Even if HABIT wasn't a former Nazi at all, would it change anything? Absolutely not. He would still be the same horrible piece of shit he is. And sorry not sorry, but he was never meant to be a likable character. As a well-written antagonist, yes. But as a person? Hell no, so far from it. There is literally no reason for people to get mad over him being a former Nazi, and if you are, it's hypocritical of you, considering everything else he's done.

I must say one more thing, and it's the only thing I'm truly sorry for is that I didn't put content warnings and explanations on those posts. I made people angry unnecessarily for my impulsive actions.

I think that's all. Perhaps I've learned something by the end of the day, and I hope that at least some of you who are reading this, have learned something as well. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this (if you have), I appreciate it so much. See you on the flipside.

#cw nazism #everymanhybrid #habit everymanhybrid #tribetwelve #summertrynnacope

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vickyvicarious · 4 months

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God preserve my sanity, for to this I am reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety are things of the past. Whilst I live on here there is but one thing to hope for, that I may not go mad, if, indeed, I be not mad already. [...] for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help to soothe me.

Jonathan feels he has nothing left but his sanity. And even that is far from assured. He doesn't have hope for his own safety anymore. He doesn't have hope for comfort (twice now, he's sought it only to be betrayed). And the importance of his diary is greatly increased, because now that his sanity is all he really feels he can hope to keep, his diary is the way to do so. Both by the contents (proof, detailed and exact proof again and again to provide evidence that backs up his memories) and simply the act of writing (being able to be honest, to express his fears and distress in the way he cannot ever do out loud, finding comfort in the act of doing so). His diary is so key to his mental state.

He still has to restrain himself when writing, of course. If he gives full vent to his panic and distress and unsubstantiated (or at least, not substantiated enough) fears it will lose its reliability as a proof of sanity. And it might lose some of it's ability to soothe and calm him as well, if he did so. Who knows how big his notebook is and much space he has left to write, or what things will happen over the course of the month(?) he has left here (if he's ever able to leave) - he should make sure not to run out of space. He won't want to linger uselessly on things that are distressing but not new in any way - both because it would be depressing, and because he wants this to be useful as well, if he ever does get some chance to escape or share it with others. But still, even with all of that, this diary is the only place he is safe in the castle. Dracula can come into his rooms whenever he wants. The vampire ladies are in the places Dracula has forbidden to him. All four of them can maybe travel through windows or walls, for all he knows - there's no location that is safe. And Dracula is the closest thing to a safe person here, the very idea of which is a horrorshow all on its own. Jonathan is going to have to play along even more than before, with higher stakes than ever (they want to bite him, to drink his blood, he's been promised to them when Dracula is finished with him whatever that means). He has no freedom to speak or act the way he wants, except in what he writes here.

His diary is so, so, incredibly important to him. I can only imagine his utter panic in the moments between when he realized Dracula had undressed him and when he found it still hidden in his pocket.

#dracula daily #jonathan harker #we've already seen all this of course #jonathan says it calms him to write #jonathan says keeping tracks of the facts are important #jonathan hasn't tried to take down all the conversations and misery he's experienced just the key ones #etc.#but today really solidifies all of that so much because he feels like he doesn't have anything else remaining #dracula documents

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nerdylilpeebee · 10 months

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it gives me hope to see someone who doesn't let themselves be swayed by the romanticism of rooting for an underdog (or more accurately, a very carefully crafted image of an underdog) and actually bothers to check facts

i see so much support for gaza among my peers and you blog makes me feel a little less alone... a little less insane

someone else sees it

Yeah, I honestly see the support for Gaza (really, Hamas, cuz really supporting Gaza would require being against what Hamas is doing and wanting Hamas to be removed from power, which is the opposite of what pro Palestine people are doing) EVERYWHERE. Making it confusing that some of them seem to think they're being censored, which I'm honestly convinced is a manipulation tactic, but anyway...

I have even seen people, some of them mutuals, who I know are good people reblog and spread the constant lies and propaganda every day. That's part of why I'm pushing so hard into it. Because the propaganda is working. It is making good people decide the terrorists are the right people to support because innocent people are dying in direct response to the terrorists' actions. It makes them ignore that Hamas openly admits that this is on purpose, that they intend for the innocent people of Gaza to suffer and die. It makes it so that Hamas, who is willing to lie about how many have suffered and even attach faces of even their own victims to propaganda pieces saying "Oh look at what Israel did," and even FORCE THEIR OWN HOSTAGES to wave and smile at them as they're released in order to paint the picture that Israel is the villain, can make people believe they are the good guys despite killing innocent people and admitting to using Gaza as a human shield.

They have MASTERED the art of propaganda. And I refuse to let it go un-called-out. I refuse to let people on the internet literally helping spread these lies by making their own up, or manipulating information (by leaving out a detail, changing a detail, straight up just lying that something like tunnels near the ocean is impossible despite it being 100% possible, etc) go un-called-out.

Tho, I will have to be honest, I may force myself to slow down a bit now. I had a bit of a stress response at work today. I doubt it was just about this stuff, but it no doubt added to it as I am very passionate about this subject. And I really don't wanna repeat this stress response. Health issues is not something I want to come about simply because I am stressed.

So I may have to back off a bit. But I am still 100% on the side of "both sides have shitty things they've done, but Hamas is literally the one who started this, killed countless innocents, and kidnapped a LOT of innocent people, including literal infants (something there is no precedent for, I might add. No one's ever really taken literal babies hostage like this before), and I will not condemn Israel for retaliating. I will, however, push for peace as regardless it is a fucking tragedy that people are dying and it NEEDS to stop. And it really can't until Hamas is removed. They keep breaking the ceasefires, all throughout the history of this region. Long-standing peace is not possible with them in power."

That got very long-winded. XD sorry.

#gaza #hamas #israel #arab israeli conflict #palestine #tvp discourse

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gothcsz · 3 months

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𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XIII.

GIF by alexturner

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Literally just Jolene by the iconic Dolly Parton.

WORD COUNT: ~7.7k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: angst :p, OFC lowkey being a brat and javi not tolerating that shit, some horniness to satiate the masses, alcohol consumption, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: for the sake of the plot we're just gonna pretend that before he cheats exist at this point of time okay? okay! anywhooo we're so close to getting to the fucking fluff of this fic... our couple deserves some semblance of PEACE and HAPPINESS am i right? but that sweet, sweet angst must come first in order for the pay off to be gr8 <3 as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰ read on ao3. ♰

♰ playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Paloma begins her parade of amends with her boss at the library, profusely apologizing for being fickle which typically isn’t like her. She’s been so caught up in August and his wistful musings that it momentarily had her acting out of character.

Fortunately, Olsen accepts her apology almost as quickly as the words tumble from her lips. He reassures her that it’s okay and that what he really needs is for her to begin logging books into the new computer system they’re implementing.

So that’s exactly what she does. She situates herself behind the circulation desk and spends her entire shift typing away at the clunky keyboard, surrounded by carts stacked with books. She’s so engrossed in her task that she doesn’t even notice when Sloane walks in, a giant smile lighting up her face.

“Hey, doll.”

Her eyes flicker up to meet her friend’s and she feels a tinge of frustration at her presence. The last time they were together, she had tried to convince her to kill someone and then got pissed when Paloma didn’t go through with it.

“Hey,” she replies simply, her voice lacking its usual warmth and quickly returning her attention to the computer, muttering under her breath at how sluggishly it’s operating.

She hears a sigh, and then Sloane is leaning forward against the desk, tilting her head to the side and pouting. “Are you still mad at me?”

A snort escapes her, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Yes and no. If I’m bein’ honest with you, I’m feelin’ real conflicted.”

Sloane’s cadence is lighter as she asks, “What can I do to smooth things over?”

“Give me the space I told August I needed.”

Their gazes lock, and Sloane’s shoulders slump, the weight of her words settling in.

“Why on god’s green earth are you wearing a scarf in the middle of the summer?” Paloma can’t help but ask, eyeing the flimsy material around her neck.

“That’s actually why I stopped by. I was hopin’ you weren’t so mad at me so I could tell you ‘bout the amazin’ fuckin’ lay I got last night.”

At this, Paloma rolls her eyes and flips open the next book, meticulously scanning it for imperfections. Leave it to her so-called best friend to reach out just to brag about getting laid.

Not to check in on her or apologize for being a giant cunt back in Louisiana.

She decides to pacify her, hoping that feigning interest in her love life will get her out of the library without the awkwardness that would come if she just outright told her to leave.

“Really?” Her tone drips with forced enthusiasm. “Tell me all about it.”

Sloane launches into her story overdramatically, obviously messing with her, but she still nods along, her mind only half-engaged. She silently prays for the conversation to end soon, eager to return to the relative peace of her book-logging task.

“Alright, quit beatin’ around the bush. Who was it?”

The scarf is slipped off, revealing her marked-up neck, and her eyes widen at the sight. “Christ almighty, Slo, who did you sleep with? Dracula?” Various purple splotches litter the other girl’s skin, and she wonders how long it’s going to take for those suckers to heal.

Sloane giggles, smirking as she shows off her neck. “No. But that woulda been one hell of a story. I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night.”

Time stops. The air stills, and her motions halt entirely. Sloane continues talking, but all Paloma can hear is the blood rushing in her ears and the rapid acceleration of her heartbeat at the news.

I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night. I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night. I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night.

She feels like she’s been punched in the gut, the wind knocked straight out of her. She tries her hardest not to let her body language reflect the heartbreak that surges through her.

Javier Peña. Of all people. Shock and something she can’t quite place thud in her chest viscously. Forcing herself to focus, she tries to catch the tail end of Sloane’s story, but her mind is a mess.

She shouldn’t care, but the problem is that she does. Despite things between her and Javi being a done deal. They’ve both made their intentions clear and it is better to pretend like the other doesn’t exist until he leaves town.

So why is she so hurt at the fact that her best friend had gotten a taste of the man she’s supposed to be over? Why does she feel that nasty green monster slithering its way through her body, into her chest, and up her throat?

“You what?” She interrupts, not even listening to what she said after.

Sloane’s voice trails off, her eyes widening slightly at Paloma’s sudden intensity. “I, uh, slept with Javi,” she repeats, feigning confusion.

The envy and betrayal coil tighter around her lungs, making it hard to breathe. She forces herself to look at her ‘best friend’ and she sees the hidden excitement in her eyes. It only deepens her ache.

“Why him?” Paloma asks, the words tinged with a vulnerability she can’t hide.

Sloane shrugs, once more pretending to be oblivious to the turmoil she’s purposefully caused. “It just happened, P. We were talkin’ after work, ‘n one thing led to another… I figured you wouldn’t mind, considerin’ you’re with August now and hate the officer’s guts. I was jus’ havin’ some fun. No harm in that.”

No harm in that. Nodding slowly, a tight smile forces its way on her lips, “Well, I hope it was worth it,” she says strained but steady. How badly does she want to verbally eviscerate her and drag her across the floor by the crown of her hair.

The keyboard keys feel foreign beneath her fingers as she attempts to return to the task at hand. She knows she’ll have to confront her feelings eventually, but for now, all she can do is focus on her work to try and keep the pieces of her shattered heart from showing.

“Look, Slo, I’m happy to hear you’ve been keepin’ busy,” wince, “but I’ve got a lot to go through here ‘n I would like to be left alone to get it done. If you don’t mind.”

There’s a beat of silence as Sloane studies her, and Paloma pretends not to feel the weight of her stare. If she keeps looking at her like this, she will burst into angry, frustrated tears.

“Right… right. I’ll leave ya to it, doll face.” She taps her fingers against the counter, then adds softly, “And… just so you know, I am sorry ‘bout losin’ my shit that night in Louisiana. Wasn’t very fair to you.”

What isn’t fair to me is for you to sleep with the guy I cried on your shoulder about for weeks.

“Thanks. I’ll see you,” she replies curtly, trying not to let her hands shake as she reaches for another book.

Slo finally leaves, and she waits for her to be fully out of the building before letting out a heavy sigh. The ache intensifies, weighing down on her poor heart. She stares at the screen, the words blurring as tears threaten to spill over but she forces herself to keep typing.

The quiet of the library is almost oppressive, amplifying the commotion inside her. She can still see the image of Sloane’s marked neck, a painful reminder of what transpired between them. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the pain just doesn’t subside.

She can’t afford to break down here. Not now. Not yet. She’ll deal with the aftermath later, when she’s alone.

After thirty agonizing minutes, she realizes that she simply can’t. All she can visualize is Javier and Sloane together in the most intimate way possible. His lips all over her, her hands on him. Was she a better kisser than her? Had Javier enjoyed being inside Sloane more than being inside her?

Standing abruptly, she smooths out her sundress and goes to track down Olsen, finding him tucked away in the science fiction section of the library.

“I’m sorry to do this,” she begins, already cringing at the request she’s about to make, “but I’m just not feelin’ good. I feel nauseous. Like I’m about to vomit.” It’s not technically a lie; with every blink, there’s an image of Sloane bent over for Javier, and it makes her emotionally sick.

Olsen sighs, giving her a look. “How far into the logging did you get?”

She answers, and he agrees to let her leave, telling her he hopes she feels better and to let him know whether she’d be able to come in for her next shift.

Grateful for his kindness but also feeling guilty about how unreliable she’s been, Paloma thanks him before gathering her things and leaving the building.

The warm summer weather contrasts sharply with the coldness that’s crept over her entirely. She walks slowly, each step feeling heavy, her mind racing with thoughts she wishes she could escape.

Finding a quiet spot in a nearby park, Paloma sits on a bench and takes a deep breath. She watches the leaves rustle in the gentle breeze, the world moving on obliviously around her.

She just needs a moment of goddamn peace.

It’s serene here. Children laugh and play in the distance, couples stroll hand in hand, and birds chirp merrily in the trees. But all Paloma can think about is the betrayal she feels, the jealousy that gnaws at her, and the deep hurt of knowing that the man she still harbors feelings for has slept with her best friend.

She really shouldn’t be so worked up over this. While she and August have never explicitly put a label on their relationship, they’re together. Hell, she’s fucked him more times than anyone else she’s been with.

Then why is it that she’s so pressed about Javier, a single man, hooking up with Sloane, a single woman?

It’s because of the tangled mess that is her connections to both of them. How she had been vulnerable with Sloane about her conflicting feelings towards him, and how Sloane had always been there to reassure her that he was nothing more than a piece of shit manwhore and that she deserved better.

So why go and sleep with him?! Paloma groans, her fingernails digging into the skin of her palm as she balls her fists out of anger.

She contemplates whether she wants to cry it out at home or by the abandoned railroad tracks. The answer is neither, because before she knows it, she’s at The Whiskey Fox ordering a shot of tequila.

“Stranger danger,” Tammy, eldest of the three sisters who own the bar, approaches her with a sardonic simper on her face.

Paloma just waves her off, her heartbreak evident as she takes the shot and immediately orders another, earning a surprised look from the older woman.

“Woah there, sugar. What’s goin’ on? You hardly ever drink, let alone do back-to-back shots.”

She just shrugs, staying silent as she proceeds to shoot the drink, not even grimacing as it burns down her throat, then reaching for a lime wedge to bite into. Tammy watches her with a mix of concern and curiosity, leaning against the bar, her maternal instincts kicking in. “Why don’t ya tell me what happened? Might help to get it off your chest.”

For a moment, Paloma considers it. Considers unloading it all onto this poor woman but she remains silent, twirling the empty shot glass between her fingers.

“Oh, c’mon now, Paloma. S’bad enough that you’ve ghosted us for the past month. Don’t give us the silent treatment too. What’d we do to you, darlin’?”

Rolling her shoulders, she keeps her gaze fixed on the empty shot glass in front of her. “Y’all didn’t do anythin’,” her voice is a little hoarse due to how dry her mouth feels, and there’s a pang of guilt in her stomach at hearing how her absence has affected the people she cares about. “I’ve just been dealin’ with a lot.”

She let her friends lead her down a fantastical path, and while it was exciting and thrilling at first, she’s realizing that it shifted her into a defiant headspace she wasn’t used to and didn’t like being in. When did everything get so complicated? What happened to just basking in the attention of two handsome men and enjoying a summer romance?

Now she’s caught in the middle of something so convoluted. Her mother’s mysterious past, the uncertainty of her own future, the heartbreak she continues to suffer at the hands of Javier Peña, and the gut-wrenching betrayal of her so-called best friend. She feels overwhelmed by the severity of it all, like she’s sinking in a never-ending pit.

Fuck, she needs another drink. She goes to order it, but Tammy blocks her. “Okay, so spill. The tequila is not goin’ t’ make it any better, baby, trust me. I’m speakin’ from experience.”

Paloma snorts, shaking her head, exasperation bubbling inside her. She just wants to numb herself with alcohol, to drown out the images of Javier and Sloane together. “Just guy problems, Tam. Now will you please let me drink my sorrows away? I’ll deal with the consequences and the hangover later.”

Tammy contemplates whether it’s a good idea to let her keep drinking, but ultimately she allows it. Everyone goes through this at least once. Everyone learns from experiences like this in their own way.

The older woman then nods understandingly and pours her the shot, this time setting the bottle down next to her. “Alright, but don’t overdo it. We don’t need you passin’ out on us.”

Paloma gives a weak smile and continues to drink, the tequila burning a path down her throat, momentarily granting her relief from the uncomfortableness she’s been wallowing in.

As the night wears on, the bar fills with the usual crowd, but she remains in her own bubble of despair, getting drunker by the minute. The lively chatter and clinking glasses become a distant hum.

She wants to be able to confide in someone about the root of her conflictions, but she knows that if she were to spill all the details, including the outrageous backstory of her mother, it would be met with jarring skepticism and criticism. Tammy would probably look at her like she was crazy and her father would probably have her secretly lobotomized for speaking such blasphemous ‘lies’ about his wife and her mother.

He wouldn’t actually, but she’s drunk and her mind is going to the extremes.

Tammy keeps an eye on her, occasionally checking in and she appreciates it, even if she can’t bring herself to say it out loud. She’s not sure how she’ll face tomorrow, but right now, she’s content to let the alcohol do its thing and forget, if only for a little while.

There’s a reason why people say not to drink on an empty stomach, and Paloma is feeling the effects smack her square in the jaw. Her vision is hazy, her movements sluggish. At least she’s not hurting as much as she had been when she came in.

It’s well into the night now; the dim lights of the bar cast shadows on the faces of the crowd around her. The bottle Tammy had set in front of her is almost gone, so she drinks the remaining tequila straight from it, not caring about appearances or what the town gossips might say if they were to see her now.

With her veins coursing with liquid courage, Paloma hops off the barstool, wobbling a bit due to her inebriated state, and makes her way to the stage. No matter how tough things get, she can always count on music to lift her spirits.

That’s another thing she’s been neglecting— her music, her passion. So much for complaining that she didn’t have any inspiration to write new songs. Now she’s drowning in it, struggling to stay afloat.

Tammy’s eyes follow her the entire way, concern etched on her face as she bites her lip, contemplating whether or not she should let her go up there and potentially make a fool of herself in her drunken state.

She reaches the stage, her heart pounding against her chest. Shuffling through the available songs on the karaoke machine, she stops when she finds the one that she’s looking for. She grabs the microphone with a shaky hand, the spotlight harsh on her face.

The bar quiets down, curious eyes watching her every move.

“Hey everyone,” she slurs slightly, giggling drunkenly. “S’been a while since I’ve been up here ‘n I apologize for my absence,” she hiccups, “but tonight, m’gonna sing a song to make myself feel better.”

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly to steady herself. The familiar chords start playing through the speakers then she begins to sing; her voice fueled by emotion and tequila.

♫

Tammy decides it’s wise for her to phone the sheriff’s department, specifically asking for Javier to come by.

He only has ten minutes left on his shift and doesn’t want to get caught up dealing with another drunken idiot, so he almost sends one of the deputies but then she mentions Paloma and how shitfaced she is.

Immediately, he’s reaching for his keys.

“I don’t want Romeo seein’ her like this. Kinda my fault, to be honest, but who am I to stop a young girl from drowning her man problems in tequila? Anyhow, any chance ya can take her home?”

Man problems? Had August done something to her? His nostrils flair at the thought of him hurting her.

As if he hadn’t hurt her tenth fold.

Javier arrives in record time, urgency evident as he busts through the doors of the bar. Despite his entrance, no one seems to pay him any attention; all eyes are fixed on her as she stands on stage, clearly intoxicated yet still captivating the room.

His jaw tenses as he beelines over to the bar where Tammy is already looking at him expectantly.

“How long has she been here?”

“‘Bout four hours now. At least she took it slow. S’probably why she’s like this,” Tammy nods her head towards the stage, handing him Paloma’s car keys, and Javier can’t help but glance over too.

Her voice echoes through the bar and the words flow from her lips as a cathartic release of all the pent-up feelings she’s been carrying. There’s a plethora of mixed reactions coming from the audience, but she isn’t really performing for them.

To her, she’s in her bedroom with her curling wand in hand, belting out to her favorite song.

Despite her initial nerves and the alcohol clouding her senses, she finds solace in the music. It’s her therapy, her way of expressing what words alone can’t capture.

By the time she finishes, there’s a mix of applause and quiet murmurs in the bar. She sways again, catching herself on the microphone stand with a tipsy grin. Javier’s heart clenches at the sight.

As she steps down from the stage, her eyes lock onto him leaning against the counter with Tammy. Dread grips her heart like a vise, her breath catching in her throat. The tequila swirling in her stomach threatens to come back up. Without hesitation, she changes direction abruptly, veering towards the restroom at the back of the bar.

The door slams shut behind her, and she leans heavily against it, the cold metal offering a momentary reprieve.

No, no, no. I can’t see him now. Not like this.

Paloma rushes to the sink, splashing water on her face in a desperate attempt to clear her mind. Deciding that she won’t face him, she makes her escape through the small window near the ceiling.

It’s the longest fifteen minutes of his life, each second feeling like an eternity. She hasn’t come out and Javier is unable to wait any longer. He strides purposefully across the room towards the restroom, twisting the door handle open with a sense of urgency, expecting to find Paloma inside.

But the stalls are empty, the restroom devoid of any sign of her presence except for the open window with a torn piece of her sundress caught on a protruding piece of plastic.

“Goddammit,” He curses under his breath, pissed yet not surprised that she had fled. He rushes out of the restroom, sparing a quick explanation to Tammy before bolting into the parking lot. The engine of his cruiser roars to life as he pulls out onto the road.

She, despite being piss drunk, managed to move swiftly through the shadows outside, her torn dress fluttering in the night breeze. She kept to the alleys and back streets at first, away from the main roads where he might expect her to flee.

She isn’t far from the bar when he finds her. Perhaps half a mile down a dark, deserted road flanked by endless crop fields. The night offers no solace, no streetlights to illuminate her path, only the distant glow of his cruiser drawing closer.

He could really lay into her, scream at how reckless and fucking dangerous it is for her to be walking around aimlessly at night. It’s not like there’s an active killer lurking about, targeting girls like her.

The blue and red lights slice through the darkness, casting an eerie glow around her stumbling figure as she trudges along the roadside.

“Get in the car,” Javier’s voice carries through the rolled down passenger window as he slowly drives beside her.

Paloma ignores him, determined to keep moving despite the plea. She doesn’t know where she’s headed, all she knows is that she doesn’t want to be around him. All she’ll see the second she looks into his eyes are images of him balls deep in her best friend.

The reminder has her clenching her jaw against the flood of disarray threatening to overwhelm her, straightening her posture in a futile attempt to regain her composure. The alcohol in her system blurs her vision and makes her head spin, but she continues to march obstinately along the empty road.

“I said get. In. The. Car.” Javier’s voice booms through the PA system now, sharp and authoritative, having her flinch at its suddenness. She rolls her eyes, refusing to acknowledge him, her gaze fixed ahead as if the darkness holds the answers to all her turmoil.

In response, she simply raises her middle finger, a gesture dripping with contempt. Javier’s patience for her insubordination is wearing really fucking thin.

“Last warning. If not, I will get out and put you in here my damn self,” His tone crackles with restrained anger, the lines of his face drawn tight with exasperation.

“Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

There it goes, his patience. He forcefully slams the mouthpiece of the speaker back into place before speeding up along the deserted road and haphazardly blocking the path ahead, his vehicle jolting to a stop with a gravelly skid.

He jumps out of his seat, the door swinging open as he rounds the car to approach her with determined hastiness, pissed that he has to deal with her immature ass right now.

Paloma’s instinctive flight response has her sprinting into the vast open field, her heart pounding in sync with her rapid footsteps. The tall grass brushes against her legs and she squints in an attempt to see ahead on this moonless night. All she’s focused on is getting as far away from him as possible.

Javier curses loudly and immediately chases after her through the uneven terrain. He thought he left this chasing shit back in Colombia.

Despite her intoxicated state, her desperation fuels her speed, making her a bit of a challenging target. But when she stumbles over her boots ever so slightly, he seizes the opportunity.

In a swift motion, his arm snakes around her waist, yanking her towards him before deftly hoisting her over his shoulder. Paloma squeals as he straight up manhandles her, her fists hammering against his back while she squirms in his grasp. “Put. Me. Down. You. Asshole,” she seethes between blows, each strike punctuated by a grunt from him as she hits sore spots on his lower back.

“You ran off like a fucking child,” he snaps back while stalking towards his car, irritated as all hell. The urge to land a harsh spank against the back of her thighs is there but he shows some restraint.

He glances around, relieved that the deserted stretch of road spares them from prying eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid, or I will cuff you,” he warns sternly, setting her down cautiously but keeping a firm grip on her arm.

She pushes at his chest, stumbling backwards but she catches herself, sticking her hands out to keep him from steadying her. “Don’t. Leave me the hell alone, I’m tryin’ to get home.”

“And I’m trying to make that happen. Let me drive you, you’re fucked up.”

“I’m not, and if anyone is fucked up here it’s you, you fucking dickhead,” she retorts with a bite, her words laced with venom and alcohol-fueled bravado.

Javier exhales heavily, his patience wearing thin yet again as he struggles to reason with her. “Quit being ridiculous, Paloma.” He urges, frustration simmering beneath his somewhat controlled exterior.

“Ridiculous?!” She rolls her eyes dramatically, a gust of wind tousling her hair and she angrily tucks it behind her ears. “I wanna walk home. Away from you.” she slurs, her determination punctuated by a sudden hiccup and point of her finger.

A snarky reply of his own is on the tip of his tongue but she interrupts before he can spit it out.

“I am more than capable, ‘n I’ll prove it by walkin’ a straight line while sayin’ the alphabet backwards,” The challenge in her eyes is unmistakable as she takes a few steps back.

Javier can’t help but chuckle dryly, reluctant amusement coloring his expression. He leans casually against the cruiser, arms crossed as he watches her attempt the sobriety test she’s proposed.

“Z... y... x...” Paloma begins, her attempt at reciting the alphabet faltering from the start. Her footsteps are uneven, her balance wavering with each syllable. “W... v... u...”

He shakes his head in mild disbelief, his frustration momentarily overshadowed by the absurdity of the situation.

“A.” She punctuates the letter when she reaches the end of her recitation attempt. She looks up at him, now much closer, with an insolent glint in her eyes despite the undeniable signs of intoxication.

He just raises his brows in amusement.

“Told ya.” she challenges, a triumphant smirk tugging at her lips. “Sober as a nun.”

Javier reaches for the breathalyzer on his belt, holding it up between them as he turns it on.

“You’re going to blow into this,” he begins with an authoritative tone, “and if it lights up green then you’re good to do whatever you want. If it’s red, you’re goin’ to quit fucking around and get your pretty ass in the car.”

Paloma snorts, “No way. This is just some perverted trick so you can see my lips wrap around it and pretend it’s your cock––”

His hand shoots out to cup her jaw, thick fingers digging into the soft skin of her cheeks, causing her lips to purse together.

“Nena, you’ve got a fuckin’ mouth on you.” He tuts at her and her eyes widen, pussy quivering, “It’s gonna get you in trouble.”

He brings her closer by her face, smelling the alcohol on her breath, and places the plastic tip against her puckered lips, “Blow it.”

His grip loosens enough for her to do as she’s told, and her lips encircle the hard plastic. This feels charged with an intimacy that weakens her knees, and she watches as Javier’s eyes drown with lust; their usual golden glint now gone.

The second it blinks red, he smirks and lets go of her face. As the tip is pulled out from between her lips, a thin trail of saliva comes with it which has him biting his tongue to suppress a groan. His cock stirs at the sight.

“In the car. Now.”

“No!” She pushes away from him, slapping the damn breathalyzer out of his hand and watching as it breaks against the asphalt, “I’d rather walk on glass barefoot than get in the car with you. M’goin’ back to the bar and callin’ my boyfriend to come pick me up!” The emphasis on boyfriend is said with the intent to piss Javier off but she doesn’t gloat in his reaction as she turns sharply and begins to walk away in the opposite direction.

“Puta madre…” It lands exactly as she intended for it to, the spark of jealousy in his chest having him leap forward, expertly pinning both of her wrists against her lower back with one hand while the other takes a hold of her shoulder, guiding her over to his car.

“You asshole!”

“Yeah, how many times are you gonna fuckin’ remind me, querida?”

She’s bent at the waist on the hood of his cruiser, the engine that’s still running leaving the surface warm as her chest gets pressed down onto it. Her ripped dress rises up revealing the curve of her ass to him.

Javier is fully hard as he reaches for his cuffs, clasping them over her wrists and she gasps when she feels the cool metal come in contact with her blazing skin. He presses his bulge against her ass and she whimpers at the pressure of him so close to her throbbing core.

Grabbing ahold of her shoulder again, he brings her up so that her back is flush against his chest, both of them heaving in unison.

“Told you that little mouth of yours would get you in fucking trouble.” He mutters into her ear, feeling the softness of her hair against his face as he takes in a deep breath of the coconut scent of her shampoo. His entire being is pulsating for her, craving to feel any part that he can.

Paloma is dizzy with arousal, hatred, and alcohol; feeling him all over except where she needs him most. Inside her weeping cunt that’s begging to get wrecked. She despises him for making her feel this way, especially after today’s revelations.

He opens the back door of the cruiser, the metallic click of the cuffs echoing in the quiet night as he pulls her into the backseat. Despite his intention to be firm yet gentle, his frustration seeps through, and he handles her a bit roughly, slamming the door shut with a resounding thud.

Paloma jolts upright, the abrupt sound snapping her out of the horny trance his restraint had put her in.

“Always have to get your way, don’t you? By any means necessary? Looks like some things never fuckin’ change.” Her words blend together, slightly slurred, as he starts driving towards her house, relieved that Romeo is working overnight and spared from witnessing this.

She was already on thin ice with him all things considered. She’s sure her father would have a cow if he saw her this drunk.

She leans forward, pressing against the partition cage separating them, her gaze locked with his in the rearview mirror. Tension crackles between them during this silent exchange. His jaw tightens when she continues her tirade.

“Is this the same arrogance that led you to Los Pepes?” The mention hits a nerve, causing him to momentarily lose his composure. She smirks, satisfied with the reaction she’s provoked. His stare darkens with intense anger, magnified by her smugness.

How the fuck did she know about that?

As if reading his mind, she continues. “I read the article from the Miami Herald. Got curious, decided to read more on the elusive yet admired Javier Peña.” Another flash of anger courses through him, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles turn white.

“You did some fucked up stuff, agent. Gettin’ involved with killers. How are you not in prison right now?” Her words cut deep, dredging up his past in a way that feels unfair, but she’s hurt and beyond giving a fuck at the moment.

Javier struggles to find the right words, torn between defending himself and acknowledging the truth in her accusations.

“Paloma…” His voice is low with restrained frustration. “You don’t understand––”

“Don’t give me that shit, Javi,” she cuts him off bitterly, her voice cracking with emotion. “I understand enough. I trusted you.”

Each word hits him like a bullet from a gun he loaded himself and fired by yet another woman that he’s hurt. He’s rendered speechless, so much bullshit accumulating to blow up in this very moment. He hadn’t even realized that they weren’t far from her house.

“You hurt people after usin’ ‘em yet somehow the consequences never seem to reach you. And when they do, it’s nothin’ more but a slap on the wrist.”

She contributes to this so-called unfair display of punishment. She can’t bring herself to penalize him with her indefinite absence for the way he shattered her heart.

Instead, she’s acting like an idiot, handcuffed in the back of his cruiser and so pissed that it’s turned her on. Not even ten minutes ago, she was on the verge of telling him to fuck her on the side of the road, teetering on the edge of desperation.

Now she’s full on chastising him.

Javier is trying real fucking hard not to blow up on her, it’s as if she’s had a look into his mind and pulled out all the spiteful words that he repeats to himself every single day. His silence remains, the urge to defend himself faltering.

She groans in exasperation when he doesn’t reply, her shoulders tense from having her arms pinned back by the cuffs, the rough edges digging into her wrists.

She’d never understand, not even if he laid it all out to her in the most vulnerable way possible. Hell, he still can’t sort through his shit without triggering an existential crisis.

Paloma continues with her angry ramblings as they arrive at her house. He once again roughly pulls her from the backseat, fumbling for the key to unlock her handcuffs, desperate to release himself from the fraught situation and rightfully fuck off. He can’t continue to deal with this shit tonight.

Leading her up to the porch, he finally frees her from the restraints. She whirls around to confront him head-on.

“What is your deal?! I need to know. Goin’ around makin’ a girl feel special… spendin’ all your time with her then rejectin’ her just to turn around and sleep with her best friend. That’s low, Javier.”

His eyes narrow. He should have known that Sloane was the catalyst to all this. It explains her seething jealousy, her emotional outburst at the bar, her current fury.

Despite reading him to filth, he’s undeniably attracted to her and her intense antics. He shouldn’t find this possessive side of her as hot as he does.

“Last I checked, corazón, I don’t belong to you or any other woman in this town.”

Paloma’s eye twitches involuntarily at his remark, the harsh truth of it cutting through the haze of the alcohol. They don’t belong to each other; there are no ties binding them beyond their shared history and tangled feelings. Yet in this moment, with her intoxicated by both tequila and his presence–– he does belong to her. Javier is hers.

He plucks a cigarette from his pocket, needing it desperately considering the rollercoaster of emotions he’s gone through in the last however long. He lets it dangle from his lips as he digs into his back pocket for a lighter.

“That new boyfriend of yours must not be fucking you right if you’re this wound up over who I decide to stick my dick in.”

His petty remark hovers in the air like a volatile spark waiting to ignite. Her chest heaves with indignation, whole body vibrating with the raw intensity of her feelings. She doesn’t hesitate, her hand moving swiftly to deliver a resounding slap across his cheek. The unlit cigarette drops from his lips, forgotten as it lands on the ground beside them. Javier remains still as he absorbs the sting of her palm against his skin.

They lock eyes in a tense standoff, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between them. Her breaths come in rapid bursts, her heart pounding in her chest. Without warning, she lunges forward, her lips crashing against his in a desperate, fervent kiss.

His initial surprise gives way to instinct as he responds to her, his lips moving against hers with a hunger born from their shared, toxic yearning. But as her mouth opens to deepen the kiss, the taste of tequila lingers on her tongue, a reminder of her intoxicated state. He pulls back gently.

“No, please don’t do this to me again…” She whimpers out softly, her eyes filling with tears as her hands cling to the fabric of his shirt.

“We can’t… not now, cariño you’re really drunk.” The instant switch in her tone and body language is enough to trigger his tenderness, his hands coming up to rest atop of her balled up fists against his chest.

The pure vexation and trepidation from before begins to simmer out, both of them having reached the peak of their respective moods and now suffering from the declining slope that follows.

His rejection this time around doesn’t sting as much as the last. There’s a bittersweet clarity in knowing that he’s choosing restraint over indulgence, respect over desire.

“I-If I wasn’t drunk… would you have fucked me?” She blurts out, bottom lip quivering slightly as she waits for his response, her eyes searching his face for any sign of what he might say.

He hesitates, a myriad of emotions flickering across his features. He leans forward instinctively, steadying her as she wobbles on unsteady legs.

“Let’s get you inside and in the shower. You need to sober up a little before getting into bed.” Javier ignores her question all together, removing her hands from his chest as he carefully maneuvers her towards the front door.

“I got it.” She tells him with her head hung low, reaching over to a nearby flower pot and digging out the spare house key.

She, in fact, does not got it when her attempts to unlock the door fail as she struggles to get the key in. Javier takes over gently, letting them both inside.

Getting her up the stairs proves to be more of a struggle than he anticipated. She clings to him, her grip tight and insistent, bombarding him with questions about his night with Sloane.

Am I as pretty as her?

Did she do it better than me?

Do you have feelings for her?

Again, he ignores her because it’s all ridiculous and she’s too drunk for him to thoroughly explain that he doesn’t see Sloane like that at all.

She was a mistake. A lapse in his judgment. A reminder of how he’s no good for Paloma.

They reach the bathroom and he gently lowers her onto the closed toilet seat. He turns on the shower, the sound of running water filling the room with a soothing rhythm. When he turns back, she is already beginning to undress, her movements slow and unsteady.

He averts his eyes quickly, a flush creeping up his neck at the proximity and intimacy of the moment. Clearing his throat, he steps out right as the last article of clothing is shed.

“Gonna get you some water. Please be careful in there.” He’s hesitant to move from his spot at the door in case she falls over.

She grumbles out a brief ‘okay’ and after a few more seconds of hovering, he quickly goes to the kitchen to get her some water and painkillers.

He’s back in her room now, turning the bedside lamp on to get everything ready for her to get some sleep.

Javi pauses for a moment. It’s the first time he’s ever been in this space and he feels like he’s intruding on her. He gets a sense of déjà vu, recalling the day he had been in Jessica Valadez’s room and the similarities between her and Paloma.

He rummages through her dresser until he finds a t-shirt and some shorts, walking down the hallway to the bathroom where she’s just shut off the shower.

“Got some clothes for you. Here.” He sticks his hand through the cracked door and not long after does she take them from him silently, shutting the door. Javier lets out a shaky sigh, leaning against the wall and giving himself a second to breathe.

She stares at her reflection with teary eyes, feeling a little lighter after her shower. If it were up to her, she would have stayed in there all night; comforted by the warm water hitting her skin.

With him on the other side of the door, she doesn’t know what to make of everything that’s transpired. Why does she always have to do this when she’s under the influence? She’s already starting to hate herself for it now, she knows the embarrassment will only be worse when she wakes up tomorrow with a killer hangover.

After getting dressed in the clothes he brought her (a sweet gesture that makes her want to wring his neck) and brushing her teeth, she emerges from the bathroom, her hair damp. She walks past him without a word, heading straight to her bedroom.

Javier hesitates, torn between leaving now and staying a bit longer to ensure she’s okay.

His feet carry him to her bedroom door before his mind catches up. “I’m headed out,” he announces awkwardly, his gaze fixed on her as she crawls into bed. “Drink some water and take those pills.”

Paloma nods faintly, doing as he instructed, her eyes avoiding him as she curls up under the blankets.

He wants to say more, to fix things somehow, but he knows he can’t. Not tonight, not like this.

“Can you come here, please?”

Her words carry a vulnerable tone that tugs at his heartstrings, having him walk over to her.

“What is it?”

“Why don’t you want me Javi?” Her voice trembles slightly, head sinking deeper into the pillow. Her sad, twinkling brown eyes plead with him, searching for answers that have eluded her for too long “What don’t I have that all the others do?”

He feels a pang in his chest, kneeling beside the bed and bringing himself to eye level with her. He can’t bear to see her like this, questioning her worth because of his shortcomings. He knows it’s not about what she lacks—it’s about his own fears and insecurities.

“Cariño, you have so fucking much,” he murmurs sincerely. His fingers reach out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She’s so beautiful. “You have this warmth, this passion... It scares me, Paloma. How strongly I feel about you.”

He searches her eyes, hoping she’ll understand, hoping she’ll see that it’s his own tensions holding him back, not any fault of hers. But he knows words alone won’t heal the wounds he’s inflicted. He wishes he could erase the pain he’s caused, the doubts he’s planted in her heart.

Her gaze holds his, a mixture of longing and hurt swirling in his mesmerizing brown eyes. She doesn’t verbally say anything, but her stare speaks volumes—pleading for an explanation.

“But why?”

“‘Cause shit has never worked out for me.”

“So you just gave up entirely?”

“Isn’t that what you did?”

“Yeah. Until I met you and realized how lonely it is giving up.” Paloma hiccups softly, her words tinged with vulnerability, nuzzling into his touch against her cheek. “Do you like being lonely, Javi?”

There’s a long pause.

“…No.” He’s never been this honest before.

She scoots closer to him, closing the gap between them. Her hand reaches up tentatively, fingers brushing against his. “Then don’t be. I’m right here.”

Javi looks down, pulling his hand back. “You need to sleep this off baby.”

Her brow furrows slightly, frustration clear in her expression. She wants him to stay, to talk, to unravel the complexities between them. But she knows he’s holding back, keeping his distance for reasons she can’t fully grasp.

“Don’t fuckin’ dismiss me—”

“I’m not dismissing you. We’ll talk about it another time when you’re sober. Right now you need to sleep.”

“Promise me.” Her voice is insistent now, “Promise me that you’ll actually talk and be honest when we speak again.”

He knows he owes her that much—honesty, vulnerability, a chance to mend the fractures he’s caused. He nods slowly.

“Si, te lo prometo. Pero ahorita, mi palomita, tienes que descansar (Yes, I promise you, but right now, my little dove, you need to rest).”

He reaches out again, this time his hand finding hers on the bedspread. Their fingers intertwine briefly, a silent reassurance passing between them. He squeezes gently before standing.

Her lips curl up into a small yet sweet smile, feeling newfound hope at the prospect of making amends with Javier and finally getting what she actually wants.

No fantastical tales of peace and power, no outlandish adventures and sneaking around, no deceit.

All she desires is to be wanted by him.

He lingers by the door again. “We’ll talk soon.”

Paloma nods, “Goodnight, Javi.” Her eyes follow him as he leaves the room. Alone now, she curls up under the blankets, drunken thoughts swirling in her head. She wants to believe in his promise, to hope that their next conversation will bring clarity and maybe even something more.

Now outside, Javier bends down to pick up his discarded cigarette, leaning against the car and lighting it. He runs a hand through his hair as he exhales the smoke heavily. He’s committed now, committed to confronting his own fears after half-assing it for so long. It won’t be easy, but for Paloma, he’s willing to try.

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