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thelastofhyde · 5 months

Text

you cut your hair, and take some space (2)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 2 of 3! (part 1)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation ( please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries ), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, policeofficer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), pedro-ception aka there's a small cameo of another pedro boy, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy, reader is described to have hair and celebrates christmas ( but no mention of the reader's religious beliefs )! smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. hey... hey... how y'all doin'?🧍remember when i said part 2 would be posted a few weeks after part 1? yeah, that was a fucking lie. and, remember when i said it would be 2 parts in total? that was also a lie! the universe is praying on my downfall ( i had a fun mental health episode and fell into a black hole for a few months <3 ) unfortunately, i am very much still alive and kicking, so this is me trying to get the ball rolling again when it comes to posting fics. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it + tumblr will not allow me to post it as a whole due to it's paragaph-count limit, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of. “huh?” “this. us. it could be casual, y’know?”

Golden boy, you dropped the ball I am Annie fucking Hall

The year moves too fast.

It’s like you blink, and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving.

Leaves turn brown. Pumpkins are carved only to rot upon front porches. A gathering of friends, young adults getting their first taste at hosting a thanksgiving meal.

You’re put on dessert duty, which culminates in stressful tears and your mother’s hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, reassuring you that it’s okay, everyone burns their first pie.

No one at the party needs to know the pumpkin pie you brought was a product of your mother’s gentle care.

Then there is actual Thanksgiving, which you celebrate, as always, at your aunt's.

The highlight is, and forever has been, the road-trip out of state, your father making it his mission to deafen you and your mother with his horrific singing.

As they drop you back at your apartment, your father has no qualms leaning out the car window and calling after you.

“I expect to see you cheering me on at the Thanksgiving Touchdown event!”

Which brings you here, to said event, sweater sleeves tugged over cold fingers and a wandering pair of eyes who refuse to comply with your wants.

You want to focus on the ongoing football match- Fire Department vs Police.

Your eyes prefer to follow him, striding up the field, his hair soaked in sweat and his t-shirt long removed.

You’ve no valid reason to roll your eyes at the other women who seem to prefer spectating the sport of Javier Peña. You’re no better than them.

Yet, as one of them let’s out a joyous shriek as he takes a pass at the ball, your eyes roll.

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

At least you have company. An older gentleman, who you caught struggling to pick his wallet up from the floor. He’d smiled as you returned it, and conversation had flowed easily from there.

As the whistle blew, commencing the final match of the local community services’ football league- or, Thanksgiving Touchdown, as your father so aptly named it-, he’d patted the empty seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

He points, and you follow the direction, realising he’s speaking about Javi.

“Him,” he says it with a teasing tone to his voice. It’s like he’s mocking the agent. “Think’s he’s God’s gift, takin’ his top off like that.”

The more you sit with the older gentleman, the more you enjoy his company.

On the field, your dad bellows something at Javi. He replies with a curt salute, and shoots off down the length of it.

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

A force to be reckoned with, keeping pace with rookies half his age.

The vision of him, gun strapped to his leg and a tact vest on his chest, speeding down streets in the columbian heat conjures in your mind.

You wonder how it felt to know him then, if worry kept his companions awake.

It had certainly kept you awake in recent months, and that was with him safe, in Laredo, cooped up in some bachelor pad.

“Surprised he’s not thrown his top to the crowd of screaming ladies!” The gentleman continues his mocking, and it rouses laughter out of both of you.

A whistle is blown, your eyes return to the field and, though he’s quick to look away, you catch the tail end of Javier’s eyes on you.

Fifteen minutes pass, in which you do your best to not stare at him.

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

Eventually, the man next to you coaxes you into getting him a lemonade from the food truck.

You oblige, of course, and deny his attempts to hand you cash, insist it’s on you.

He’s kept you smiling on a rather gloomy day.

You tell him you’ll be right back, smile, and realise you don’t know his name.

“Chucho,” he tells you, and waves you off.

You join the queue, keep your head down, ignore the gossiping women three spots ahead of you, claiming to have each shared an encounter with Javi.

You don’t need to know what he’s been up to.

You don’t want to know who he’s been up to it with.

It happens when you’re finally being served.

There’s no longer a queue, just you, smiling as sweetly as possible. The service industry is rough enough, nevermind on holidays.

You order successfully, both Chucho’s lemonade and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The guy working the truck- young enough, a bit too traditionally good-looking, with coiffed hair and a shaven face- he’s talkative.

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

Even more so after a something that means nothing yet everything ends out of the blue and you’re left reeling over whether or not some part of you is to blame.

So you let him shoot you his dashing smile, and throw in unnecessary pet-names that just feel forced into every sentence he speaks to you, and write his number on the paper cup of your hot chocolate.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” he winks. The pet-name feels a little too on the nose for the season. Couldn’t he have called you sweetheart instead? “A sweet treat for that sweet smile.”

You wonder if he’s allowed to gift the free donut he slides your way.

Your stomach growls and begs for sugary release before you can fully bring yourself to care.

An awkward thanks. Hands reach up to grab the to-go cups, three fingers curling up the bagged donut.

He helps you get a grip on the beverages, placing them in your hands.

His touch lingers, more than necessary, fingertips brushing over your knuckles as if trapped in slow-motion.

“So, a pretty girl like you got a boyfriend, or are you gonna let me take you out to-”

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

Your father screams one name, loud and clear, down the pitch.

“Peña, get your head out your fucking ass and pick up the ball!”

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

Javier, frozen in place, face an unreadable maze of emotions, eyes staring right at you.

They follow you all the way back to your seat, even as the game picks up again.

Even as you congratulate your dad on another victory for the police department, now the four-time consecutive champions of the Thanksgiving Touchdown.

Even as you head off to your father’s car.

Even when you’re home, curled under a blanket and watching a televised copy of Annie Hall, you feel his eyes on you.

The look of betrayal on Javier Peña haunts you even once you fall asleep.

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

Everything has it’s place, from the books that line your bedside table to the memories inside your mind.

You compartmentalise.

Tucked deep into the right side of your brain, there’s a box.

It’s contents, memories you’ve yet to process.

Moments you know that, if you wish to move on, you’ll have to relive.

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

And, scribbled in bold red marker, April ‘99.

A late night.

You, wide awake, laying on your back and mapping out stars in his ceiling.

Javier fell asleep hours ago and now snores softly against your neck, muscled arm curled around your waist as his legs entangle your own.

The agent is a fiend for cuddling, and so often wraps himself around you like a vine.

You find yourself nestling your hand in his hair, and take note of the sharp breath he intakes.

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

Relax when you feel him snore and press himself even deeper against your naked skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

He hadn’t told you that, but he didn’t need to.

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

In the way he let you take the lead, resting back against the couch to watch how your hips wound down on him.

In the way he got even clingier than usual, dragging you into the shower with him just to have you near, holding you from behind as you washed up the plates he’d used to serve you dinner (a trade-off he’d reluctantly agreed to months ago: he cooks, you clean), laying his head on your lap as you curled up to watch some cheesy horror movie- one you’re bound to fall asleep during and he’s counting on it, glancing up till he spots you slumped over and eyes closed, granting him the perfect excuse to carry you to his bed and nestle himself in beside you.

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

It’s like you’ve forgotten something, misplaced something, and can’t even figure out what it is.

You just know its absence is wrong.

Javi mumbles something, dreaming away, and you feel the subtle press of his lips against your skin.

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your (his) shirt.

He can’t get you close enough, it seems.

Playing against his wants, you pull back, slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

There’s a pinch between his brows, furrowed in worry.

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

It’s a selfish act, born purely from your own desire, but you find yourself pressing a kiss against his forehead.

His grip loosens, though slightly.

It gives you enough time to feel a stir between your thighs, a calling coming from your bladder.

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

It’s a struggle that leaves you topless and feeling a pinch of cruelty, standing over the bed as you watch his hand grabbing at the vacant spot you once occupied, your scent and shirt the only traces you leave behind.

You don’t bother turning on a light, make your way to his bathroom with practiced ease.

Pad your way across the cold linoleum floor, sink down onto the porcelain seat- he’d stopped leaving it up when your overnight visits became more frequent. You hadn’t asked- didn’t need to ask-, he’d simply done it.

Closing the door over, yet not enough for the hinges to squeak and the handle to lock, you pray the wood muffles noise of the flushing toilet.

When it stops, you wait a few seconds, until you’re sure there’s no rustling coming from his bedroom.

Then, you open the tap.

The water is barely a trickle, yet you tell yourself its enough.

Lather your hands in soap, sit them under the constant drip of cold water till you feel the suds wash down the drain.

It’s hard to stop yourself from sneaking a glance at the mirror, just as it’s hard to recognise the version of yourself you see.

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

Yhen come the thoughts of Javier, and how he sees you.

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

He’s not said anything. Or done anything, to make you notice a change.

But, then, Maybe it’s been subtle, slow, dragged out long enough it’s not drastic enough for either of you to take note of.

You eye the spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom, and try to remember when it became yours.

You don’t remember.

One moment, his toothbrush sat alone. And, the next, you were standing side by side, laughing as you raced to see who could make a foamier mess of the toothpaste.

Corazón, you look like a rabid animal, he’d called you once, laughing through tears as he wiped away the white suds dripping off your chin. You’re lucky that you’re just so cute.

You can recall, even now, how quickly his mouth had found yours that night, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in the minty taste of one another.

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

Only, sweat lines your forehead and your face seems drained of colour.

You make it only two steps back before you’re hurtling across the bathroom floor.

Your knees crash down first, harsh and unforgiving against the tiles.

The first wretch burns, has you coughing over your own gag.

In the dark, it’s hard to see what exactly comes out of you, but you know where it came from.

Your stomach.

Another wave of nausea hits, this one harder, and you’re gripping at the sides of the bowl, spewing into the water below.

A splash meets your cheek, but you’re too out of it to care, wave after wave of nausea leaving you a coughing, gagging, crying mess.

You feel lightheaded, only managing a moment to catch your breath before another wave hits.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s in your throat, in your mouth, in your nose, in your hair.

It feels like it’s never stopping and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your days submitting to the horrors of throwing-

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” warmth, against your naked back.

It’s a nice warmth, not like the one that has you covered in a cold sweat.

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

You try to follow it, match your breathing to the tactile comfort.

“That’s it, baby,” cool air meets your neck, the hairs that stuck to your skin now pulled up and pushed back. “I’m right here, I got you.”

Eventually, all that’s left is the burning of bile at the back of your throat and the dull ache of eyes gone raw with tears.

You’re pulled into a solid mass, naked chest pressed to naked chest as you go slack upon the bathroom floor.

You’re exhausted, and covered in your own sweat, tears and vomit.

Javier doesn’t care, pulling you tighter against him and whispering sweet words you don’t quite pay attention to.

“Woke up and you weren’t there, corazón. Don’t do that again,” even in his attempts to chastise, he’s gentle, brushing the remaining strands of sweat-slicked hair off your face. You must be an awful sight, yet his expressions don’t give way. “You wake up, you wake me up too. ‘Specially if you’re gonna hurl, okay?”

You glance at him, swallow back a lump and deal with the realisation that dawned upon you ten minutes earlier, as you sat hunched over the toilet’s bowl.

“Javi,” he smiles at the way you call his name.

You feel sick all over again at the thought of that changing, everything changing, as you build the courage to speak.

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

You imagine he’ll stand up, pace the floor.

Run his hands through his hair, rant over every thought he has.

Ways to get rid of it, the dangers of your dad finding out.

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

He’ll ask why you weren’t safer, why you forgot to take that morning-after pill, why you played so fast-and-loose with your body.

None of it arrives.

He stands, yes, but only to pull you up with him, tired limbs leaning into his strong build as he drags you both under the heat of a warm shower.

You watch the remnants of your own vomit wash down the drain, and question how he can stand there, not disgusted with you.

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

He’s rougher with himself, scarcely drying properly before he’s carrying you back to his bed, a replay of hours earlier as he lays you down, crawls in behind you and tucks you both under the soft comfort of his worn-out sheets.

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

He so easily nestles himself behind you, dragging you back against him and committing himself to the role of big-spoon.

His hands have always felt large, their touch always electrifying, but nothing compares to the feeling of him splaying one across your lower stomach, a subtle press into where part of him could be growing within you.

“Javi,” you whine, fighting off the sleep your overwhelmed body so badly needs. “I’m sorry.”

You say it because you feel obligated, like it’s your place to be apologetic.

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

“No seas boba (Don’t be silly),” there’s a fresh set of tears already sliding down your cheeks by the time he replies. “Don’t need to be sorry, baby.”

“But I-”

“But, nothing,” his tone feels final, one that tells you you’ll get nowhere arguing against him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, corazón.”

You fall asleep, eventually, soothed by his gentle breathing and the repeated motion of his thumb stroking over your belly.

Yhe next time you awake, there’s a crack of sunlight creeping through his blinds.

Javi’s still in bed, only he’s propped up on his elbow and staring down at you.

His smile stretches a little wider when he spots your open eyes.

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

“I gotta go, corazón,” is met with a protest from you, rolling over to curl into his solid chest.

Expecting it, he wraps you up tighter in his arms, presses an array of chaste kisses to your head.

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

You don’t want him out, in the real world, where the hours you’ve spent cooped up together become more scandalous than the peaceful nature of them.

“I know, I know. Don’t wanna go either, baby,” you wonder if you spoke your thoughts aloud, or if Javi simply knows you so well.

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

Help him tie it, the comforter pooled around your naked waist as you sit criss-cross-apple-sauce and Javi’s at the side of the bed, legs bent at the knee.

He thanks you with a kiss, then asks you to pass him his cologne.

It’s on the other side of the bed- his side of the bed- and you lean over to grab it.

You don’t bother handing him it, spraying it directly onto your own wrist and dabbing it into the skin of his tanned neck.

He lets you, a gentle smile on his face and eyes that pull you in for a hug, burrowing himself between your naked breasts.

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day, cariño (darling),” he tells you.

“Good,” you reply.

Another hum, this time of approval, and a squeeze to your hip.

When he pulls back, he looks even more reluctant to leave.

Reality rears it’s ugly head, but he pushes it out your mind with the pressing of his hand against your stomach, the same spot he’d held onto all night.

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

Your hands instinctually curl in his hair, and you like to think you leave it a little messy, enough to ward off any of the women he works along side, hopeful eyes hoping to get a taste of the handsome, unmarried cop.

“Stay,” he mumbles against your skin, as if you’re the one who’s about to leave. “Don’t go, ok? I’ll call around lunch.”

He keeps his word.

Calls you, a few minutes past two, interrupting whatever daytime TV you were pretending to watch.

Answering leaves you feeling lightheaded, like you're trapped in a daydream.

Listening to him croon down the line while your finger anxiously tangles in the phone’s wire as you stand in his apartment, it feels domestic, like you’re waiting for him to come back home, a place you share together.

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

“How bout you, corazón?” He knows how to make you melt, picturing him smiling at his desk. “Have you ate yet?”

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

“You need to eat, baby,” you don’t like the fact he uses that pet-name, not right now. “There’s plenty in the fridge. Could make yourself a sandwich, or some toast. Might even have some of that pasta left over. You know, that one you said you liked? Oh, wait, maybe don’t eat that, don’t think uncooked salmon is good for pregn-”

You don’t want him to say the P word, so you cut him off.

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

He says ok, then you hear him take a bite of whatever his lunch is.

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

He tells you a quick story, something about one of the younger guys accidentally stapling his tie to an arrest warrant.

That rouses a laugh out of you, makes you forget all about the massive P word he almost said.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

A place he’d begged you to stay this morning, safe and tucked away.

“Was thinking we could drive out to the clinic, find out for sure if we’re pr-” he cuts himself off this time, like he knows you’re not ready to hear that word. “Then we’ll take things from there, okay? Whatever you decide you wanna do, corazón, you call the shots.”

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

He walks through the door and welcomes the way you coil yourself around him, humming in delight as he peppers a few kisses over your face.

“Still smell like me,” he says it with approval, takes a purposeful whiff at you as he pulls you tighter against him.

You still smell his cologne on him too, buried beneath a few layers of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Near clinging to one another, it’s a miracle you two make it out his apartment and down the elevator.

An arm around your waist, he guides you over to his car.

Pulls the door open for you, stops you from bumping your head on the way in.

He practically runs round the car’s hood, jumping into the driver’s seat and thrumming the engine to life with the turn of a key.

“You remember to eat?” He asks as he pulls out onto the street.

You nod, then audibly reply.

Tell him you did in fact eat toast, leave out the part where you spewed your guts again twenty minutes later.

The drive is quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just relaxed, with the radio playing gently and his window rolled down enough to let in some air.

At some point, his hand slides over the console and rests against your thigh.

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

As you watch out the window how he drives past the turning for the local hospital, he must catch your questioning gaze.

“They, uh,” he clears his throat, rings his hand over the steering wheel. A small stain of sweat marks it. “Know your dad pretty well in there. And me. Figure you’d rather he not find out about us like that.”

He’s right.

So you relax back into your seat, accept the fact you’re both driving out of town together.

At some point, the beginning notes of your favourite song play through the stereo.

You instantly perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat and tap your foot a little to the beat.

Javi says nothing, simply peels his hand off you to turn the volume dial up.

Seconds later, he turns his head and throws you a look just asking if he’s done good.

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

A soft squeeze before he pulls them up to his lips, eyes back on the road.

The clinic is bright.

And squeaky, each step you take making you a little more nervous than the last.

Javier, by all accounts, is solid as a rock, signing you both in, picking up a few pamphlets, buying you a can of soda, all while you curl up in some plastic chair and just focus on not spewing your guts out.

You only relax once he’s sat beside you, helping you get a sip of the sugary drink and wrapping a protective arm around you.

You don’t mean to but you fall victim to sleep, the past 24 hours getting the best of you.

You come-to likely not much later, but to the sound of a childish giggle.

Cracking one eye open, just slightly, you notice you’re slumped into Javier, head on his shoulder.

There’s a giggling little girl in front of you both, in purple overalls and with two pigtails to hold her curly hair.

One of her hands is on Javi’s knees, using him to keep herself standing.

“First time?” You snap your eyes shut as a stranger’s voice fills the quiet bustle of the clinic.

A confused sound leaves Javier.

“Yeah, could tell from the look on your lady’s face,” the man continues. “Same one my own wife had during our first visit.”

You want to pay attention to Javi’s response, but you’re a bit busy dealing with the fact he’s not correcting the man, telling him you’re not his lady nor his wife.

His thumb soothes over your hip, and you wonder at what rate you’ll melt away into a pile of nothing thanks to his soft touches.

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

You tell yourself to try harder, to actually pay attention.

You succeed, catch as Javi replies, “a girl.”

“Yeah?” the stranger seems genuinely invested, it almost makes you want to open your eyes, see him for yourself.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wanted a boy, myself,” that same little girl giggles again and you can’t fight the temptation to peek once more, catch as she crawls into her faceless-father’s lap. “Doc told us it was gonna be a boy, too. Then this one came along and, wouldn’t ya know, not a boy.”

“Surprise!” the little girl squeals, and you feel Javi’s shoulder shake under your head.

God, you want to look at him, see if he’s looking at her with the same adoration that’s festering in your heart.

“Yeah, baby, you’re my little Sarah-Surprise,” the man coos and, despite his rough accent, it suits him. Like he was only ever meant to speak with gentle words and a soft heart, all for his precious daughter. “It’ll get easier, on your lady, just so ya know. Less scary, more exciting. ‘Bout to welcome our second one, and I’ve never seen my wife so happy.”

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

A chair squeaks as pressure is taken off it, the stranger standing.

You peak your eye open in time to see him picking his daughter up, her little legs dangling off his hip.

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

“What,” he clears his throat, and you wonder if it’s of emotion. “What are you hoping for this time?”

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

You’d pretended to wake up to Javier’s coaxing.

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

A smiley nurse handed you a cup, talked you through what you needed to do for your tests.

Took your blood pressure, complimented your earrings, and stepped out the room to give you privacy.

A short while and a reunion with Javi later, you sat in a doctor’s office, both a nervous wreck as you clasped each other’s hand.

“Mrs. peña,” again, Javier does not correct the doctor. And you realise it’s because he filled out the forms, he signed you in. He wrote you down as Peña. “You and your husband are not pregnant.”

What should have followed was a sigh of relief, from both of you.

But all you felt was led drop in your stomach and Javier’s grip tighten on your hand.

“You are, however, displaying symptoms of acute food poisoning, likely salmonella.”

The doctor continues on, detailing a prescription you’re being given.

But it falls on deaf ears, the world around you gone blank as you wrestle with conflicting emotions.

You’re not pregnant.

You should be elated. Jumping, and cheering, and dancing all over the place. Instead, you’re silent, letting yourself be guided back into the car by Javi.

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

He doesn’t explain that he’s taking you back to his place.

Getting you back in his bed, switching off the lights, he curls himself in behind you and splays his hand over your stomach.

Over your empty womb.

For some reason, you find yourself sobbing into your pillow, unaware of the tears from him that stain your neck as he tries to hush you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the irony of him repeating those very same words last night is not lost on you.

It’s hard to move on, when every month there’s a stabbing pain in your abdomen and a trickle of blood staining your underwear to remind you of April.

And so you keep it locked in it’s box, slapping another caution tape over it’s lid as you groan and roll out your own bed, trudging your way into your bathroom to check if the wetness between your thighs is your monthly visitor.

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

It’s not because he’s done anything to warrant your rejection, but, rather, it’s the forthcoming actions he’ll be guilty of.

See, you know why he’s calling.

Your mom let it slip, over brunch and a few too many glasses of wine.

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

Or, at least, that’s what you were until the last poker night he’d hosted, way back in March.

He slips away, phoned by your tipsy mother and obligated to drive three towns over to go pick her up because she misses him.

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

It was less a suggestion, more of a pleading, his hands already scraping the seat back and awaiting you to plop yourself down.

He leaves you with his hand, his winnings so-far, and a kiss to the top of your head.

“Watch out for Peña,” he whispered, as if you hadn’t been keeping an eye on the agent all evening, clouded by his own cigarette smoke and sitting looser each sip of his whiskey, no ice. “His poker face is dangerous.”

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

Rounds end and rounds start, and you father’s pile of winnings grow more and more.

It’s an ego boost, taking money from these cocky men who look at you as though surely you have no clue what cards you’re holding.

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

Flinging down cards, muttering curses, shoving his cash across the table.

All whilst glaring, at you, eyes black with ire.

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

Nearly an hour’s past since your father left, someone else leaves the table.

Says he needs the toilet, you point him in the direction of it.

You all call for a break, and then you graciously offer a refill on drinks.

It’s what your dad would’ve done, kept them all drinking and lowering their inhibitions, their focus disappearing alongside it.

“I’ll help!” One of the officers exclaims.

He’s on the younger side.

Practically a rookie, it’s only the second poker night he’s attended.

He’s sweet, with his large-framed glasses and his nervous smile.

You both make your way out of the basement- refurbished to be your dad’s man-cave- and head towards the kitchen.

You open the fridge, grab however many bottles of beer you need.

He heads to the liquor cabinet, pulls out a bottle bourbon.

You beat him at grabbing the whiskey, an unvoiced need to be the one who refills Javi’s glass.

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

Conversation flows naturally between you, in spite of him being a near stranger.

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

You both agree on the fact he’s a pain in the ass.

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

You tell him where to go to get the best club sandwich.

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

nNeither of you can tell who causes it, but one of you mispronounces a word and you both wind up in a pile of giggles, falling over yourselves and banging into counters.

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

Through wheezes, he repeats the phrase that left you both in this state.

You laugh harder, louder, warn him to stop before you lose control of your bladder.

Something thuds in the hallway, your eyes shoot up to the kitchen entry and you swear you see Javi’s retreating figure.

Blink a few times, realise there’s no one there.

You both gather some decorum.

He grabs as many of the beer bottles he can manage, and looks at your empty hands in question.

You tell him to head back without you, that you just need to go to the toilet.

Parting ways, you find the both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms occupied.

Sigh in frustration, only to remember your parents en suite.

It’s empty, because of course it is. No one would feel comfortable enough invading the privacy of your parents' bedroom.

You do your business, wash your hands, fix yourself in the mirror.

Decide your lipstick needs a little touch-up, your clothes need straightening out.

And, when you’re done and ready to head back down to the poker table, you hear a thud.

Pull open the bathroom door, expect to find your father struggling to put a tipsy, giggly, clumsy version of your mother into bed.

Instead, there is only a brooding look and disapproving grunt.

A firm grip, on your arm, dragging you right back into the bathroom.

The door slams shut, a little harsher than you’d like, the sound of it surely reaching the ears of those regrouping for the next dealing of the cards.

He doesn’t pounce, like he so usually does when he’s wearing that look of frustration.

He’s simmering in it, teetering on the edge of boiling anger as he smooths a hand over his chin, visibly clenching his jaw, swallowing back whatever it is he wants to say to you.

He takes one step forward, and you go one back.

Then two steps, which you also match.

Your hip smacks into the sink’s counter on your fifth step backwards and it’s enough to finally put his hands on you.

He tugs you right into his chest, one hand soothing over where you’d banged your hip.

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

When he speaks, you nearly melt into a puddle, the heat of him invading your space, face inching close to your own, enough to have you questioning the sanctity of your parents en suite.

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Could ask you the same thing, officer,” you make the fatal mistake of giggling, but you’ll blame it on the fruity cider you’d helped yourself to.

He clearly finds no humour, not even as you fiddle with the top button of his shirt and shoot him your best look of innocence.

“Think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” His hand, warm and imposing, grips a hold of your face.

It’s almost painful, but you like it, squirming a little at the blunt stab of his nails and the way he smooshes your cheeks, forcing a pout onto your lips.

You try shake your head, his grip won’t let you.

“Sitting in a room full of men, making yourself the centre of attention,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, and you can’t help but compare him to an angry dragon.

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

“What’s the matter, Javi? Jealous you’re not the centre of all those men’s attention?” You’re poking the dragon, teasing him, and it’s an act that may leave you burned and scarred.

Or, as you’re hoping, it’ll win you the ride of a lifetime.

He doesn’t even grace you with a verbal response.

No, he scoffs, as though he’s in physical disbelief at the words you’re saying.

Spins you around, pins you to the sink’s counter, tugs your hair till you’re forced to stare at your reflection.

He’s right behind you, seething in anger, fire in his eyes.

His head dips between you neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

“Not all of us are attention whores like you,” it’s fleeting, and he’ll deny it if you dare mention it, but he smiles.

Just a second, but you feel it, see it even though he tries so hard to turn his face into your neck.

It’s what lets you know he’s playing, teasing, egging you on to push him over the edge.

“I’ve been with real whores, corazón,” he confesses a sin you already know, eaves-dropping one too many times on your dad fishing stories of Colombia out of him. “Fucked them so often they started doing their nails in colours they knew I wanted to see wrapped around my cock.”

Involuntarily, your back arches, brushing your ass against him and providing him the perfect access to wind his hand up between your heaving breasts, all the way up till his fingers curl round the base of your throat.

In the mirror, the image is one of ownership, of Javi seizing your bodily autonomy. A whore and her gentleman caller.

It’s arousing to think about, Javi and his whores.

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

“And not one of them took half the money you’ve taken from me tonight.”

Oh.

So that’s what this is, his pretty ego, bruised at the hands of you?

Poor Mr. Javier Peña, humiliated in front of all his peers round after round, hundred bill after hundred bill.

You almost taunt him for giving into the temptations of the fragile male ego, but you’re stopped in your tracks.

By him, hands squeezing at you a little tighter as he grinds the unmistakable outline of his hardened cock against you.

That single action changes the game, entirely.

Because this isn’t about you stealing his money and his ego.

No, this is something far filthier, that has your panties growing wetter beneath the skirt of your dress.

“I’m worth every dime though, aren’t I, officer?.”

The grip tightens.

He shoves you harder into the counter, so hard a tub of your mother’s moisturiser topples off.

The hard outline of him is still there, ever-present.

“‘S that what you like, huh, taking my money? Wanna be Javi’s personal little whore?”

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

Certainly not you, reflection mimicking the way you eagerly nod, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hold back a grin.

Javi notices- of course he notices- and takes his victory, hips rocking even deeper into you.

There’s too many layers between you, a feat on which you both agree, yet neither of you do anything about.

You just savour the friction, instead, pushing and pulling one another to the axis of pleasure.

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

“What’s it gonna cost me to get you bent over and stuffed full of my cum, corazón?” One hand leaves your body. The mirror snitches on him, exposing how he’s reaching into his back pocket. “This?”

He smacks something down, into the bowl of the sink.

It’s his wallet, and you watch the worn leather of it shine with the residue of water on the linoleum.

The hand at your throat pulses a squeeze, his knee nudges you from behind.

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

His mouth, right by your ear, lips tickling you with the subtlest of brushes against it.

His hand guides your own, down into the sink, flipping the wallet open and putting it’s belongings on display.

Bills, some placed neatly, others stuffed in forcefully, edges spilling out the pockets. There’s less in there than when he arrived, courtesy of you.

There’s a few miscellaneous cards. A library card, an ID slip you’re sure he uses for something in the sheriff's station, a loyalty card to some record store.

The picture of his mother sits centre stage, radiant smile and loving eyes grabbing the attention of any who dare open it.

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

And then you notice something else, peeking out from behind his mother’s picture.

You dive into temptation, dart your nosy fingers over to tug at the object, till you realise it’s another picture.

A picture of Javi, and you.

Taken on a polaroid you found under a box of his belongings, you remember the day clear as ever.

The two of you had messed around, captured your sins on film with the promise of destroying it after. It would be too risky a thing, to allow image evidence of the intimate ways in which you knew each other’s bodies.

Javi’s fingers on your skin, your nipple in his mouth, his cock’s outline bulging within your lower abdomen.

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

Fully dressed, eyes fixed on his television, your head lays in his laps while his fingers card through your hair.

It’s captured from above, as if Javi’s own eyes had made a permanent record of his view.

The sweetness of this living on, of Javi taking something sacred for himself to keep hidden in his wallet distracts you for a moment.

He does good to bring you back into the room.

“Take how much you think you’re worth, corazón,” whispered into your ear, as he rips a few of the notes out his wallet.

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

With each bill you count, your internal price shooting up within your head, you try picture his reaction.

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

You, your face, looking at your expressions in a way that reminds you it’s his job to read people.

You decide to be bold, dig into his wallet and, even though your insides twist in anxious turmoil, hold up your hand to present him with your answer.

Resting neatly, between your fore and middle finger, a shiny credit card.

The gleam in Javi’s eyes just about match it, blackened and blown out with lust.

The card is plucked out your hand.

The hand on your neck leaves, in search of your waist.

The fabric of your dress bunches, wrinkling and creasing as his fabric-straining grip inches it’s hem higher and higher.

You feel sexy like this, face heated and breathing heavy.

It’s an effect he has on you, has had on you, forcing you to look at yourself in new lights, in new angles, admiring every out-of-line trace of you for what you are.

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

And every other word under the sun that Javi whispers into your skin with innocence as his body commits sins within you.

At the bottom of the mirror, you watch as the white cotton of your panties comes into view.

Wet, as you both expected, the thin fabric now turned almost sheer, exposing the delectable view of your cunt hugged cutely by the cotton’s tight seams.

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

There’s a strain to his voice, one that would have you worried he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way you’re watching as his face contorts with lust.

His eyes are dark and you study them like he studies his card, contemplating something.

A few seconds pass.

Tension is puffed out his chest with one exhale, through the nose.

You feel the air tickle your skin.

He nods curtly, to himself, and flickers his gaze back to meet your own in the mirror.

It’s unwavering, even as he brings the black plastic down and smacks it against your mound.

You squeal, he hushes, and you both know he doesn’t mean it at all.

He likes when you gift him noise, a private aria only he has tickets to.

Just as easily as the first time, he snaps the card against you again, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through your clit.

Just as loudly as the first time, you squeal, a jolt back into his warm, steady, hard embrace.

“What’re you running from, hmm?” His face turns, burrowing itself in the tresses of your hair.

A shallow sniff, and you wonder if he notices the smell of his shampoo on you.

There’s a pressing of lips, against your scalp, and it’s far too gentle of a juxtapose to the imagery of his fingers pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the bathroom’s cold air and the two pairs of hungry eyes in the mirror.

“You say that this is what you’re worth, and then you don’t want to take it?”

The third spank of the card against your bundle of nerves is harder, louder, echos in the confined space. A moan, minuscule and muffled, slips past tightly shut lips, a look of fear flashing through wide eyes.

Javi’s quick with his reassurance, gentle with his comfort, a hand stroking over your collarbone.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear you. You just be as loud as you need, hermosa, they’re too busy encouraging that boy-cop to ask you to dinner.”

There’s a tint of jealousy to the way he says boy, and you’re reminded of the image of him in the kitchen doorway.

Smack!

The card strikes down, once more, this time eliciting an open-mouthed gasp.

He doesn’t let up, repeating the action twice more.

It hurts, in a way that makes your core throb and your toes curl, squirming aimlessly in a grasp he knows you don’t truly want to escape.

But he mocks you, with a hushing noise in your ear and gentle it’s okay, corazón, Javi’s got yous against your neck. His thumb swipes through your folds, coating it in your wetness and dragging itself up to your clit, soaking it in soothing rubs.

His gentle nature lasts mere seconds, his wrist flicking back only to smack the credit card down again. This time, it’s a pattern of three, repeatedly crashing down on your sensitive nerves one after the other.

In the mirror, you watch him observe as he twiddles the card between deft fingers, contemplation on his mind.

The room’s quiet, apart from your shortened breaths and his deep inhales.

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

It must have been a loud cheer, for you to hear them all the way up here.

And, suddenly, the stakes feel higher than when you were sat at the poker table, counting Javi’s coins with every passing round.

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

This doesn’t seem to cross Javier’s mind, who merely twists your head away from the bathroom door and back to the mirror, to where his hungry eyes await.

All contemplation is gone, he’s decided in what he’s going to do, and so you watch as he takes the card and swipes it through your cunt.

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

In fact, it’s rather uncomfortable, the solid plastic hard on your delicate skin.

It’s the arousal of him doing it that gets you weak in the knees, to have him perform such a mundane act- the swiping of his credit card- in such a crass, dirty, wrong way.

Like he’s paying for you, committing a physical transaction in exchange for your body.

It doesn’t matter that he could have you for free, has had you for free.

He wants to pay, wants to reward you in a way that aligns with the capitalistic world.

“Javi…” You whimper, softly, head lulling back against his shoulder as he swipes the card again.

Your eyes, slowly slipping shut, shoot right back open as you feel the rounded corner of the card prod at your opening, as if trying to notch itself within you.

“Think she could take it, corazón?” Javi bites at your ear, teeth clamping down and pulling at it’s lobe. The card sinks in, not even an inch. You nudge back into, your cry circling the room around you both. “I know, baby, I know. It’d be a wide stretch, but ain’t that all pretty whores like you are good for, hmm?”

It’s automatic, the way you bend to his every whim, head nodding without direct orders from your brain, every part of you, conscious or not, ready and willing to prove you could fit his card inside of you.

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

Surprisingly, the hand between your thighs retracts and you watch as he brings the card up to your mouth, glistening with your arousal.

“Open,” the directions are unnecessary, your mouth already dropping open for him in an act of muscle memory.

He hums approvingly, yet his eyes are still fury filled as he slots the card between your lips, lathering your tongue in your own taste.

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, corazón?”

The statement rings true, both ways: as much as you’ll take anything, he’ll give anything.

You don’t tell him that, though, finding it much easier to rest your palms on the countertop, backing your sopping core into him, enticing him with the wiggle of your hips and whines from your lips to take you already.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry that pretty head. Javi’s gonna feed this greedy little cunt, ok?”

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

Something smashes, in the basement, and it’s enough to have you flinching.

Javi’s touch soothes you, a hand running over the curve of your shoulder as he presses yet another kiss into your neck.

“S’okay, probably just a beer bottle.”

He doesn’t move another inch, not till he sees you nod, melting back into him.

You hear, more than you see, the way he tugs his trousers down, just enough to free his hardened cock from its jean-clad confine. The risky business of a quickie in your parents’ en suite calls for clothing moved aside, and not removed.

Much to your annoyance, his all-encompassing warmth drifts away as he moves back, hands clamping down on your hips.

He tilts them to the angle he wants, the angle he knows gets him brushing all your sweet-spots.

He tugs the skirt of your dress up, and then readjusts your soiled underwear.

You hear him draw a deep breath and watch his eyes in the mirror, glued to that spot between your legs, entranced.

The drag of his cock over your folds is familiar, the way he smacks the head of it against your clit is welcomed.

He spears you no gentle coaxing, no stretching around his fingers first, coming undone just for him to fill you right back up, this time with his cock.

No, this is a vengeful touch, the kind that’s meant to display his irritation, his fury, for reasons you’ve yet to confirm yet you’re more than willing to accept.

A man like him, so unfairly selfless, taking something in this world for himself, how he wants to and how he likes to.

You’ll be his vice, so long as he grants you his virtues.

Javi fills you with a single thrust, grunting low into your ear as you feel the way the air is physically knocked out both for your lungs.

He’s still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he works on steadying his breathing, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch.

You whine out some version of his name, feel yourself pulse around him.

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

He’s making you wait for it, you think, torturing you with an impending paradise.

He’s savouring the feel of you, he thinks, taking advantage of the few moments alone he wins with you.

"Javi,” he barely lets you part from him to speak, chasing a trail of kisses down your jaw. “This isn’t the time to develop patience.”

The snide remark earns you a bite, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. You squeal, try remind yourself to be quiet, only to squeal louder when his hands tickle at your waist.

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

His hips roll back, slowly, but it’s better than nothing, better than when he wasn’t moving at all.

Still, he makes you squirm a little longer, moan his name a little louder.

Only then does his fake resolve snap and he’s fucking into you at a brain melting pace in the blink of an eye.

Javier does his best to keep quiet, at first, biting down on his lip and your neck just to contain all those melodies he usually makes.

You can’t say the same for yourself as, despite your efforts, broken moan after broken moan tumbles out your mouth and into the sink, filling and filling and filling it in sync with how Javi your cunt.

You wonder how long till it all spills over the edge.

“Joder (Fuck),” he groans as you unconsciously squeeze him tighter, pulling him deeper into your walls. serves him right, for the teasing and the torturing. “Tienes el coño más lindo en todo el mundo. (You have the prettiest cunt in the whole world.)”

You feel lightheaded.

Warm, sweaty, covered in the fingerprints of a lover you shouldn’t be with.

The bathroom fills with an array of sounds. The slapping of skin against skin, the broken cries of an agent’s name, the mindless rambling of a man drunk on pleasure.

“So good to me, baby. Always so fucking good to me.”

“Gonna stay here forever, fuck. That sound good to you, corazón, hmm? Full of my cock always?”

“Look at yourself… Pura belleza (Pure beauty).”

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

There’s no worrying about the happenings around the poker table, no listening out for your father’s car pulling in the driveway, no worrying about your tousled hair or sweating skin.

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

“Please, please, Javi-“ The words all melt together, pleads becoming his name, his name becoming pleads.

You’re not sure what you’re begging for.

It’s okay though, Javi always knows what you need.

“I know, amor (love), I know,” he murmurs into your skin, butterfly kisses so gentle you wonder how they come from the same man that’s pistoning his hips into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. “Let go, c’mon. Show me how much you love this cock, how much you love-”

He’s cut off by his own groan, you cunt fluttering around him as you inch closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs.

It brings a welcomed cushioning, shielding you from repeatedly bumping against the marble of the countertop.

Your legs part further, eagerly, an easy pathway for his yearning fingers to seek out the wonders of the female body as they brush over your clit.

The gentle tactile that he strokes over your bundle of nerves, partnered with the repeated brushing of his cock against that spot that makes you weak in the knees, drool out your mouth, it’s becoming too much.

Eyes glancing in the mirror, you wonder if yours is the same image of the whores who’d warmed his Colombian nights: sweat soaked skin, hooded eyes, messed up hair, wrinkled clothing.

He tilts your hips, a deeper angle to fuck into you that has you perching up onto the tips of your toes, fighting with the chance of losing balance.

He’d catch you, if you fell.

Wrap you up in an embrace that’s more familiar than your own.

“I’m gonna- Fuck! Corazón, need you to cum. Now, please. Please. Need to feel you-”

He’s babbling, losing composure and revealing the side of him you pray he never showed those other women: the side that needs, the side that longs, the side that begs to see you cum before he allows himself to, before he’s able to.

“Javi,” it’s a struggle to speak, but you endure, fighting off your orgasm and holding back tears. There’s something you need from him too. “Cum with me. Wanna be full of you, all of you-”

“¿Sí? (Yeah?)” He pleads back, thrusts already getting a little sloppier, hands a little shakier in the way they touch you. Much like his poker face, you know how to read the face he wears moments before he falls apart. “¿Eso es lo que quiere mi corazón? (Is that what my sweetheart wants?) Want me to cum in you, hm?”

“Yes, oh god yes! So bad, Javi, I want it so bad!”

“Ay, bebesita, no llores. (Aw, baby girl, don't cry.)” He coos, a condescending lilt to his words that has you falling into a bigger mess. “Shh, don’t worry, baby. Gonna fill you right up, so my cum’s dripping down your thighs when that poor kid asks you for your number. Thinks he’s got a shot with you cause he made you laugh, poor boy wouldn’t know how to deal with all the noises I get out of you.”

Javi divulges into a spine-tingling rant of burning hot jealousy, the kind that leaves your cheeks burning and your heart scorching, lit under a flame of your desire for more of him. To have him, equal parts physical and emotional.

You try warn him of the bubble that’s about to burst, the feeling in your loins building and building till it’s seconds way from toppling over.

“That’s it, baby, squeeze my cock. Lemme feel it,” He urges, heart pounding out his chest against your back, hands tightening their grip on your hips. “Need to feel you cum, ‘s all I want.”

You both crash and burn, together.

You fall first, a chaos of unfinished words, crying out for Javi.

He follows close behind, body pressed against your own like he’s willing you to fuse together, to become to entangled in one another that all possibilities of separation become void.

“Take it, cora-” He’s in your ears, in your head, in your heart. Inside of you, consuming you, as eagerly as he’s willing to be consumed by you, fingerprints on hips and teeth-marks in necks. “Take it, take it, take it.”

Arms envelop you from behind, crossing over your chest to pin you back against him.

He’s nearly stagnant, nothing but the twitch of his cock and the shallow thrusts he fucks you deeper with, filling you with another, another, another pump of his cum.

“So good,” Javi’s voice persists, teeth gritting as he bites back the need to be loud, to be heard, to lay a claim on you so blatant no one could deny hearing it. Your relationship with your father is the only thing that holds him back. “Good to me, baby. Always… Good… Díos. (God.)”

Craning your neck to the side, you manage to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s something he accepts easily, lips parting and melting into a dance against your own.

One of his hands falls over your jaw, twisting your face even closer to him.

The kiss dies slowly, with each of you refusing to truly part, pecks being splattered messily against the other’s mouth.

“Was I,” Javi interrupts you with another kiss, his free hand smoothing up and down your side, his hips still slowly rocking into yours, a delicious sting of overstimulation biting at your core. “Am I worth it?”

He pulls back, tired gaze warm as it takes in your messed features.

With the smile that stretches over his lips, however, one would think you were the prettiest creature in all the world.

He calls your name, calmly, slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of it on his tongue. “You’re worth everything I could give, and more.”

There’s something behind the ways he says it that makes you believe him.

With little will to do so, you peel apart from each other, his hands moving quick to adjust your underwear as his cum starts to leak out onto your folds.

He exits the bathroom first, a final kiss placed on your cheek before your left alone, forced to confront the wrecked version of you that will never see your parent’s en suite in the same light.

Your dad arrives back just in time to see you slipping back down to sit at the poker table, no seat left for him to take but the one between his sweet daughter and his loyal best friend.

If only he knew he was placing you both where you most wanted to be when he suggested Javi give you a ride home, waving you both off through the car window with no idea Javi's cum sat dripping out your cunt, staining the car seat.

Your phone buzzes to life in your hand, slipping you out of your memories.

Your father’s contact name reads clearly on the screen.

Hitting decline one more time, you roll over and try ignore the gathering slick between your thighs.

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

Mr, I don’t want a label You made me a little miss unstable (And it)

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

Pick out a tree, synthetic, and lump the box up the countless stairs to your apartment.

Try not to think of how he would’ve insisted on helping, refused to let you carry it.

Even if it culminated in him doubled over in pain, clutching his lower back.

Lights, baubles, action.

The tree’s smaller than you expect, barely reaching your hip, but it’s green, tree-shaped and festive. It’s enough.

Your decorations are minimal, a few inconsequential things you picked out your parents’ stash. There’s a Santa hat, frayed with time. A few cracked baubles, with string so thin you suspect they’ll snap off. A gingerbread man ornament, a glass snow-flake. A crooked star, missing one of its points, tops the tree.

A homemade snowman, one you’d gifted your parents after a busy day in nursery. Neither of them had the heart to tell you you’d made its nose a rather phallic shape.

And then there's the red phone-box, nestled somewhere in the middle, an etching of LONDON brandishing it as a reminder of your trip.

You’d picked it up in a tiny bookstore, right next door to The Distillery Club.

The winter season has never felt so lonesome, tucked away in your grown-up apartment.

There’s no fireplace to warm your hands, no hot cocoa boiling on the stove. No cheesy hallmark movies to laugh at with your mother, no racing past your father to grab the last slice of dessert.

It’s just you, alone, with only your wandering mind as company.

Sometimes, more often than not, it wanders to him. To if he’s alone.

To if he’s filling his heart as easily as he fills his bed.

To if he’s finally bought a second seat for his dingy balcony.

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

He hums, brows furrowing, lips pouting, smoke dragging into his lungs.

The cigarette sits perched between two fingers of the hand resting on your knee, his other curled around your waist.

“Some what?”

“Tactic,” you repeat. Watch him blow a puff a smoke, taste his ash at the back of your throat. “Only having one chair, so pretty girls have no choice but to sit in your lap.”

He lets his gaze wander away from the streets below and up to you, sitting pretty in his lap. Like a cat, draped over his thighs.

Nothing but his own rumpled, inside-out shirt to cover your skin.

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

Fingerprint bruises littering your hips, bitemarks etched into your collarbone.

“I gave you a choice,” he speaks with a reservation he didn’t have before, when he’d offered you a ride home from the bar. There’s an etching of something that’s diluting his expressions, sinking him deeper and deeper into his own pensive mind. “You were the one who insisted on sitting on me.”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Nails pinch at your thigh, causing a squeal out of you.

A few birds fly off a nearby wire, a head or two turn in the street below.

They don’t see you, or Javi, or the lack of clothing that sits between you.

“Neither were you. In fact, you were a little busy fucking my fac-”

“Stop!” Your sudden modesty feels unearned, yet that does nothing to stop you from placing your hand over his mouth.

He licks at it, you grimace, he licks again.

Then takes another breath of nicotine, as you wipe the remnants of his spit onto his naked thigh.

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

The whiff of Javi’s post-sex smell- muted cologne, matted sweat, burnt ash- steals your senses, reminds you you’ve already done enough to disappoint your father, a cigarette can’t do much damage.

So you let him hold it up to your mouth and inhale it’s poison.

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

But that was supposed to stay in Vermont, tucked between snowy slopes and wooden cabins. Existing in a timeline separate from your reality, where you are your father’s precious daughter and Javi is his trustworthy colleague and friend, that is where it should have stayed.

And it had, for two weeks. Sixteen days, specifically.

You’d returned to classes, to sharing lunch breaks with your father in his office, to slowly moving more of your things out the family home and into your new apartment.

And Javi, from what you heard, had returned to keeping civilians safe, to sharing a drink or two with your father at the end of the work week, to flirting with every secretary within a mile radius.

Neither of your crossed paths and, when you nearly did, the other made the effort to turn a corner, shut a door, hide behind a wall.

Until tonight.

Until you ditched your mediocre date, some lame excuse of having a last-minute paper due.

Until you’d gone to console yourself over your failing love life, unknowingly sliding into a bar stool right next to the most desired cop in town.

Until he’d turned to you, tilted his head, and asked “d’you wanna get out of here?”

He’d offered to take you home.

The drive was quiet, tense, until his hand drifted over the gearstick and you dragged it down onto your thigh.

He squeezed.

You inched it further up, till the tips of his fingers brushed at the edge of your dress.

He took the invitation, took a turning towards his own place.

Brought you into his apartment, drowned you in his fountain of kisses, begged you to sit upon his face. He’d made you see stars beneath a roofed sky, eyes rolling so far back they threatened to get stuck there.

With barely a moments recovery from a third blinding orgasm, he dragged you down the expanse of his body, sat you down on his cock and refused to help your overstimulated, puddle-brained self ride him, grinning cunningly with his back pressed against the mattress as you struggled through shaky legs.

Eventually, he tired and launched himself, arms tangling behind your back, feet planted flat behind you, hips fucking up into your battered cunt until you both came to a haltering crescendo.

He’d layed you down to rest, cleaned you of any mess, and then wandered out to his balcony, inviting you to join him when the feeling returned to your legs.

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of.

“Huh?”

“This. Us. It could be casual, y’know?” Another puff of smoke slips right through his lips. “If that’s what you’re worrying about… your dad, and all that other stuff. I don’t need a label, not if it means I get to have… We could keep it casual, if that’s what you want.”

It takes a few moments for you to fully register his words, and then a few more to formulate a response.

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

Because what else could Javier Peña, notorious womaniser, want with you if not a casual, no-strings-attached permit to sleep with you, as many times as he sees fit, without the risk of losing his job or, worse, his best friend?

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

Within a half’s hour, he’s got your hands white knuckling as they grip the metal bannister of his balcony, his own hands busy pulling your hips back to meet each of his desperate thrusts, not even the cool air of the night enough to soothe the flaming desire that burns between you.

Your stomach twists, your mouth dries, your eyes water at the thought of him out on that balcony now.

Somebody else, some new body sat in your spot, upon his lap as they exchange smoke rings and warm mouths.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think i’m alright

The Laredo sheriff’s department is known best for three things: its lack of parking, its swoon-worthy ex-DEA agent, and its office holiday parties.

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

A Christmas wreath, mistletoe hanging from every doorway, egg-nog and mulled wine.

It’s not just Christmas.

It’s menorahs, and ficus trees, and a statues of different gods.

Each piece of culture, tradition, holiday that makes up the people that inhabit the station, day in and day out, behind desks and in cop cars, filing paperwork and fetching coffees, represented in some way, celebrated.

Each member of staff is encouraged to bring their friends, their family.

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

Then there’s the gift exchange, a Secret Santa system, optional for each member of staff.

It’s the part you look forward to most.

Crowding your dad the minute he gets home on the first of December, poking and prodding till he lets it spill who he’s got.

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

Drawing up a list, made of details and anecdotes your father remembers of his target.

Dragging your shop-avoidant father down to the mall, for a day of gift hunting and sweet-tooth indulging.

Getting to watch your father’s coworker open their gift, eyes lighting up as you once again knock the ball out the park and gift them something perfectly tailored to them, winning your dad the spot of top gift-giver year after year.

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

No trying to crack just what exactly your dad should gift his person.

No waiting with baited breath to watch them open it, heart racing with that little fear of them not liking it, of you failing.

No, the moment that name fell from your father’s mouth, you knew what he needed to get.

Hinted at it, slightly.

Claimed you’d smelt it on a friend, thought it would be a good idea.

Sipping on some wine and picking at the buffet, you watch him pick up his gift.

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

Look down at the box, confused, then tear into the wrapping paper.

The whole room stops.

Not really, but it feels like it does, as somewhere across the room Javier Peña holds up a bottle of that damn cologne.

And, when his eyes instinctively find yours, it feels like everything else fades away.

Fades to grey.

It’s just him, and you. The only two within the room, holding a secret too heavy on the tongue to ever speak it aloud.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Knows you’d watched him spray it on his skin, day in, and day out.

Knows you’d worn it on your own, sunk it deep into your pores after intertwining your souls upon wrinkled sheets.

Knows you’d watch its contents decrease over time, time you’d spent with him.

That bottle of cologne reminiscent of a timer on you both, that morning before the hospital trip becoming the last few sprays he got out of it.

Colour returns to the world that surrounds you as your dad steps into view.

He’s hugging Javi, pathetically tipsy and ignorant to the lipstick stain on his cheek, no doubt ingrained to his skin with how hell-bent he is on having your mother kiss him beneath each mistletoe.

They’re exchanging words you don’t hear, slapping one another on the back.

You turn on your heel, insides twisting as nausea overcomes you at the scene.

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

You’re trying to leave, tempted to take the good old Irish exit and just slip out a back door.

But your parents- ne, your father- are so busy show-ponying you around the room, that you fail to take a single step that goes unnoticed.

“There she is!” Your father calls out, somewhere behind you, as you slip your hand into the arm of your coat. This act sparks outrage, a frown birthing onto his face. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving too.”

You say you’re tired.

He boos, loudly, like he’s not the chief of police and a whole grown adult.

Grabs at you, lovingly, trying to pry the coat out of your hands.

The effort is minimum, and you know he’s only messing around.

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too.

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

221 notes · View notes

luminetti · 11 months

Text

Dressed to Kill

༘⋆ Summary: In which, you, a professional cosplayer, mistake Bakugou’s hero outfit for a really good Halloween costume. ༘⋆ Pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ༘⋆Warnings: n/a, reader is just the biggest dumbass (lovingly) also, i cannot stress this enough. they are NOT CHILDREN in this. they’re both at least the age of college seniors ༘⋆Notes: huge thanks to one of my biggest inspirations for writing in general: @andypantsx3 ! this fic is lightly inspired by—and lowkey a lovechild of—her pieces, baby are you playing tricks and unconventional, so if you somehow haven’t read those yet, i strongly recommend doing so! also now that i actually have more than one piece of writing, id love for some writer/fandom moots! im very new to tumblr and would love friends :’) ao3 release

Halloween was by far your favorite holiday.

As a child, you were always drawn to Halloween, not just for the candy, but for the extravagant costumes and house decorations. Nearly every year, you stayed up late with your father, hand-sewing various details onto your costume. Finally, for your eighteenth birthday, you were gifted your very own sewing machine which officially kickstarted your interest in cosplay.

Throughout your first couple years of college, you worked on your Twitter account, posting quick mirror selfies of your various cosplay projects. Only during senior year did you finally feel comfortable enough to go out in public for your first official photoshoot.

‘Comfortable’ was a bit of a stretch. Very seldom does one feel truly comfortable when posing in front of a grandiose fountain in the middle of a public garden, fully clad in foam armor. What made it significantly worse was when the aforementioned armor looked more like a metal bikini than an actual chest plate worn into battle.

Poor character design choices aside, you loved Halloween for that very reason. With everyone dressed up–or down, for some–there was no reason to feel self-conscious during your monthly photoshoots. Sure, there was the occasional snide remark, but the number of supportive comments from passersby was enough to quiet your uncertainty.

This year you had stayed up late for the past month putting the final touches on your purple staff, even attempting an LED system that allowed parts of it to glow. It had taken two weeks to get the prototype of the dress situated since you weren’t used to sewing such a large amount of detail into your fabrics. Unfortunately, this also meant it took significantly longer to finish the outfit than expected, leaving almost no time to do your wig. But, in true cosplayer fashion, you managed to whip something together with an older purple wig, just in time for tonight.

You did, however, only realize the character also had a sword occasionally, but there was no way you were going to make that in time so the staff would have to suffice.

The night had already been proving to be one of the best so far. Starting around eight in the evening, you and some of your closest friends had gotten together for a costume party, a series of shitty horror movies, and a plethora of even shittier cheap cocktails. Despite not being much of a drinker yourself, you always participated in the annual spooky-themed cocktail charcuterie. This year you weren’t holding back. Your pride and joy charcuterie consisted of nine drinks including, but not limited to ghost-themed Aperol Spiritz–nicknamed Spirit Spiritz, Bloody Marys, and your personal favorite, Bonejitos. They even had little skeleton dudes sitting on the rim of the glass.

Unfortunately, your friends weren’t very amused by your festive drinks, even going as far to say your ingenious Bonejitos were a stretch. So, clearly they didn’t see the vision. Eventually, the party events died down as the guests began to go home, allowing the night to evolve into just drinking.

“Did you get a photo of your costume yet?” Himari, your friend from freshman year, questioned.

You shook your head, absently watching as the rest of your friends downed your masterly made Bonejitos. Liars, all of them. “‘A stretch’ my ass,” you scoffed.

Himari dug around in her bag, retrieving her camera. “Halloween photoshoot? Your fit is cute and I’m getting bored here.”

You did like the idea of photography-major level photos with none of the price involved. “I love you, Mari.”

She stuffed your spear under her arm and with that, the two of you stepped out into the cold and crisp autumn air, the breeze running over your bare shoulders and thighs. You shivered lightly, pulling up your thigh-highs and hugging the excess fabric close to your body.

Himari glanced at you in concern. “Does the Raiden Shogun not wear a jacket?”

“Unfortunately, she doesn’t.” You chuckled, rubbing your arms. “You can’t be sexy and wear a jacket,” you joked.

She hummed in sympathy, looking around for a good place to set up. The park was a particularly popular spot during Halloween, specifically known for its comforting lighting and ambience.

“What about there?” Himari pointed to a small gazebo surrounded by violets, lit up by a string of fairy lights. There were a couple groups nearby, but otherwise it was pretty much empty.

You nodded, excited. “Good eye as always, Mari.”

She handed over your spear and offered an arm,helping you step up onto the platform and underneath the gazebo. While she adjusted the lights to her liking, you took a moment to adjust your skirt and sleeves.

“Do you think it’s too short?” you asked, tugging on the cloth. Thankfully the character wore a pair of shorts underneath, but the dress was barely miniskirt length.

Himari looked over briefly before turning back to the lights. “No, not really. Why? Are you uncomfortable?”

Before you could answer, a group of college-aged girls passed by the gazebo, clearly a bit drunk. As they left, one of the girls that was hanging onto her friend’s arm looked over. “Don’t be, girlie! You look hot as fuck!” she shouted out, words slightly slurred.

You flustered, blabbering out a quick thanks in surprise. There’s nothing like a friendly drunk girl to get your confidence up.

From behind the camera, Himari gave you a thumbs up. “Give me one of these.” She mimed leaning against the wooden banister. “Yeah like that, but with your leg more out.”

The shutter clicked several times as you did your best to recreate her gestures.

Himari proceeded to guide you through a series of poses, occasionally having you incorporate your staff or the gazebo. Eventually you got used to the flashing camera and allowed yourself to melt into the character, embodying her essence as best as you could.

Time flew and before you knew it, Himari was calling you down from the gazebo to look over the photos. You hovered over her shoulder as she flipped through each one, pausing at her favorites.

“I’ll import these onto my laptop and send them back edited sometime this week,” she told you, removing her glasses and wiping them off with her sleeve.

You nodded. “Thanks for doing this, you really didn’t have to.” You rummaged through your bag, hoping to find at least a little money for her efforts. Feeling a couple bills between your fingers, you held them out to her.

Himari’s eyes squinted and you realized she was staring over your shoulder. “I think that guy in costume was looking at you,” she said, still cleaning off the lenses.

You turned to see a tall man across the park, large grenade shaped gauntlets resting on both his arms. He quickly looked away once he saw your head turn. Looking closer, you realized he was dressed in a dark black sleeveless jumpsuit with orange and green straps along his body.

He was clearly a Dynamight cosplayer. And by the looks of it, a really talented one at that.

You were almost convinced that he had real hero equipment on. His armor pieces were strikingly accurate, and you made a mental note to look for more realistic prop materials.

“He probably spent a lot of time on that,” you mused to Himari, who had already gone back to inspecting the photos.

“You should go ask him about it.” she suggested, collecting the rest of her things and zipping her bag. “I’ve gotta catch an Uber soon.”

Maybe it was the lingering confidence gifted by the girl from earlier, but you managed to muster up enough self-assurance to wave goodbye to Himari and stride right up to the cosplayer.

As you got closer, you realized just how much work must have gone into all the details. The gauntlets–a very convincing metal–had several dents and scratches, giving it a worn down look, as if it had been used frequently.

His hair looked far too real to be a wig, likely just being his natural hair with lots of product in it. The most impressive detail by far was his physique. Had he trained specifically for this? The closer you got the more you noticed. If you were lucky, maybe he’d give you the name of his supplier.

“I love your outfit!” You smiled cheerily at him.

He turned to look at you, slightly taken aback. “Thanks?” he replied, folding his arms as he looked you over, eyes lingering on your cosplay.

You felt a twinge of anxiety as he inspected your outfit. He probably just didn’t recognize the character, you convinced yourself.

“I’m a cosplayer too,” you clarified, gesturing to your dress. “But clearly not as dedicated as you.”

You watched as his chest puffed lightly at the compliment, though he titled his head, a bit puzzled.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you tried a different method. “How long did it take to make?”

He blinked at you and shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe a couple of months? I just told them what I wanted.”

Oh, you got it now. He’s just a model. It wasn’t uncommon for people to collaborate on cosplays, especially ones where one person either commissions or buys a cosplay from an artist, and then models it themself. Either way, he was still one of the best you’ve seen.

You nodded in understanding. “Do you have social media? I’d love to see what else you’ve done.” Pulling out your phone, you loaded up your Twitter, preparing to enter his tag.

“Dynamight Official. All one word,” he replied hesitantly, looking you up and down as if he was scanning for signs of sickness.

You chuckled faintly. He was really dedicated to his role. “Well, what's your name? I follow a lot of cosplayers already. Maybe I’ve seen you?” You pulled up your profile and turned the screen around to show him in case he recognized your tag.

His arms unfolded and his face slowly morphed from confused to exceptionally amused. “Bakugou Katsuki. I am Dynamight.”

Waving him off absently, you nodded as you scrolled through your followed accounts. You swear you’ve seen him online before. “Sorry, I’m not really good at roleplay. But you’re pretty convincing.”

He leaned against the cold metal lamppost, watching you sift through various Twitter accounts. You sneaked a glance to check his facial features again, but he was already staring straight back at you.

In such close capacity, his striking crimson eyes stood out to you. Even his contacts were high quality… Fighting back the warmth that threatened your cheeks and ears, you averted your gaze downwards.

Your eyes flicked to his waist. You hadn’t noticed it before, but a thick black bomber jacket was tied tightly around his torso, unlike the real hero’s costume. Well, you stand corrected. You certainly can be sexy with a jacket.

Speaking of jackets, you had been so caught up in conversation you hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten. The soft breeze from earlier had picked up into chilly wind, rustling the fabric of your dress as it blew by.

Bakufaux–haha–seemed to notice your interest in his jacket, untying it and tossing it over your shoulders. “Bit cold for you, Princess?” he drawled. “D’nno how you’ve managed in that outfit.” He gestured to your short dress and tall socks.

You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you for a half second longer than normal. Not that you would’ve said anything. Thanks to his jacket, you were enveloped with warm and musky scents of charcoal and sandalwood. Though, being honest with yourself, you’ve been distracted ever since you walked over.

You snapped out of your trance when he pushed himself off the lamppost and leaned over you. It could’ve been twenty degrees out and you’d still swear you were overheating.

“Ever considered cosplaying in my costume?” He asked, watching your darkening cheeks closely.

Maybe it was the shit eating grin he wore proudly on his face, or the sneaking suspicion in your gut, but you had an inkling of a feeling he knew something you didn’t. In a surge of confidence and curiosity, or perhaps just pure adrenaline, you took a step forward.

“And if I have?”

Something snapped behind his eyes and you could’ve sworn his gaze dropped to your lips. He might’ve actually kissed you if you weren’t interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and the screams of customers inside a late night coffee shop.

You felt your heart rate increase as he swore under his breath, whatever smug expression he previously had was replaced by something far more intense and serious.

‘“I’m not leaving you out here alone, stay close to me,” he urged, taking one last look at you before turning and running towards the sound.

It took you a second to realize you were running behind him as fast as possible.

As the two of you neared the coffee shop, you noticed numerous shards of glass laid out on the concrete. On a second glance, you noticed some of the smaller shards were beginning to melt, turning the ground slightly slick.

You halted to a stop, almost crashing into your new friend. You felt a warm hand snake around your waist, lifting your body off the ground and onto a nearby bench.

“Don’t touch the ground, and stay right here,” he told you sternly, before turning and rushing straight into the cafe.

You watched, frozen in astonishment, only able to hear the horrific sounds of glass and… explosions? Occasionally you caught a glimpse of blonde hair, dropping off a poor customer caught in the crossfire, before dashing straight back inside. In what felt like seconds, he had already retrieved nearly every patron from the cafe, all while the villain was still inside.

Quickening footsteps approached from behind your place on the bench. You barely had a chance to comprehend the noises when a flash of red zipped past you, making a beeline straight for the cafe. Only after several trips in and out of the building did you finally recognize the eccentric costume of Pro-Hero Red Riot as he gathered the remainder of the victims outside.

Through the ringing in your ears you could only vaguely make out shouting between Red Riot and someone else still inside the building. It was all intelligible until he turned to you and the victims. The last words you heard was look away, or at least you assumed.

You weren’t interested in waiting around to find out so you shut your eyes tight and turned away from the scene as best as you could.

At first nothing happened. But after a beat, you felt your eyes burn behind your eyelids as a blistering wave of heat surrounded you. You think you screamed, but you weren’t entirely sure. Every muscle in your body tensed as the bench shook underneath you, threatening to break.

But as quickly as it came, it passed. You couldn’t tell how long you had been trapped in that position, clutching your knees to your chest with your eyes sealed shut. A warm hand shook you out of position, jostling your eyes open.

When your eyes finally adjusted, blocking your vision of the cafe was none other than a tall silhouette, and familiar red eyes.

“Hey, stay with me, Princess. You hurt?”

You felt calloused hands hastily press against your body, examining you for injury. He took a hold of your ankle, easing you into extending. “Anything?”

Shaking your head, you gripped onto him as he lifted you from the bench to your feet, steadying you with strong arms.

“Happy Halloween,” you managed to mutter meekly into his chest.

You felt him shudder beneath your head as he laughed, surprisingly heartily.

“Certainly one you’ll remember.” His low voice resonated in your brain, calming whatever nerves were remaining. “Let’s get you home, m’kay?”

You let him navigate you back to your apartment surprisingly deftly given your shaky directions, until finally you found yourself thanking him at your doorstep and shutting the door behind you.

Now that you were home and given a chance to breathe, you weren’t sure what was real. Everything mixed together in a blur and you couldn’t tell if it was all a dream or not.

As you groggily slumped against your bed, you felt something soft bundle against your back. Sitting up, you reached behind your back to feel the cool fabric of the black jacket you had been holding tightly against yourself. Embroidered on the sleeve were a pair of initials you hadn’t noticed before.

B.K.

With a strange pounding in your chest, you pulled out your phone.

Sure enough, you had one new notification.

@DynamightOfficial followed you back

The device buzzed in your hand with a second notification. A direct message request alongside an image. Swiping to your messages, you opened the text from your new follower.

Front and center was a quick photo of Bakugou’s hero costume, laid out neatly on his bed. Directly underneath the image were two small text bubbles.

u take commissions?

ive got something in mind for ya

#bakugou katsuki #mha #mha bakugou #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou #dynamight #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #dynamight x reader

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kaledya · 11 days

Text

HOWDY!!🌟🌟 I haven't been active on Tumblr for a long time, to be honest I haven't been active on any platform until recently.

I think it would be right to make a small update and let my followers know what's on my mind.

(And a little note, I am writing this article from a translation. If there is a mistake in any sentence or if it sounds rude, I sincerely apologize.)

First of all, I would like to talk about why I am less active than before.

I don't want to go into too much detail about it, so I'll keep it short, and it'll be easier for you too!

I have a disease that worsens with stress, and I can say that this disease has leveled up because I have been stressed a lot lately due to some events.Now, for no reason or if I put too much pressure on that arm area my joints and arm start to ache. This means I can't draw for 2-3 days.In general, it means that I try not to use my arm too much.

But don't worry, thanks to my doctor I'm getting better quickly and I don't have as much ache anymore, much less! Almost gone now!!🌟🌟🌟🎉

And besides these, I was trying to get accepted to the university, but I learned that my drawing skills were not enough for the animation university!( I knew this actually, my anatomy is really bad but I wanted to try my luck) It's a little sad, but I'm not discouraged!🫡

(I think my only regret was that my arm started to hurt in the middle of the exam after I had come such a long way. Why on earth would anyone make two one and a half hour art exams back to back??) Show some mercy to the students!!)😭😭

༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽

I just need to focus on more art skills and I will do that!! From now on, I will focus only on improving myself and my arts! YIPPE!!

About HH SS AU or My's OC development

It saddens me to say this, but even though I've been drawing in the HazbinHotel fandom for months, I've lost my inspiration at the moment.I probably won't be able to share any content about HazbinHotel until I regain my inspiration because I can't think of an idea or get excited about series anymore.But of course this is a temporary thing, my fandom had faded before but then it blossomed again!!

This is valid for SSAU as well, I don't have any inspiration to develop AU or draw for AU right now.

And thank you very much to my followers who have liked and supported my HazbinHotel content so far!!!

Same goes for my OCs, I'm putting my OCs like Constantine and Serenity and the archangels on the shelf for now.Of course I will use them again in the future when I get inspired about them again, I love my babies!

About SSAU inspired fanfics Thank you again for loving this AU and for being inspired to write your own fanfic!!!

It makes me really happy to see you having fun And it makes me proud to see that I inspire people!!

But from now on I don't prefer to use my HH OCs to write Fanfics,There are a few reasons for this but the main one is that I can't give you much feedback anymore and I wanted you to know that and I really don't want to upset or disappoint anyone when it comes to feedback.

Of course the fics about SSAU that have been written so far can continue, I have no problems with them, have fun!! I just want you to know I won't be able to give feedback to you, or it will take a long time

This is of course temporary, I will let you know when I return to this fandom or change my mind about this!!

Some people ask about YouTube, I don't plan on posting any content on YouTube anytime soon.

Thank you in advance for respecting my opinions!

In short, yes, these are what I was going to say. It can be said that I have switched to the Gravity Falls fandom at the moment and I am sort of making my childhood dream come true by giving fanart to this fandom.And this is something that makes me very happy.

Good morning, and in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!

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lynaferns · 5 months

Text

The Forest On The Other Side

Chapter 1: I want to go home.

Ver. [ENGLISH / SPANISH]

EDIT: This fic is now on AO3

A girl gets lost in the forest and finds a misterious gate in the middle of nowhere. At the other side she meets a... very peculiar individual who seems to only want to befriend her and play. Everything seems fine. Until night falls and someone else joins to play...

Again, I appreciate feedback about the english adaptation. English is not my first lenguage and I still mess up sometimes.

This is in some way a more "joyful" story than BIOMáquina, still with its dark themes. I wrote this a year ago. By this I mean I forced myself to get it written down and ended up hating it and burning myself out. A couple of weeks ago I decided to reread it and I though it was pretty ok actually, so I edited it a bit to make it flow better. It used to be written more as a script for the comic I wanted to draw buuuut that didn't happen (cough stressed myself out cough forced myself cough don't force yourself to make content out of a hobby, a hobby is supposed to be for your own fun). I'm not completely satisfied with the final draft but I think is good enough for my first ever fic written.

I originally planned to make it a Y/N thing but that didn't last long. But I keeped the original idea of the first person POV. The Y/N stories I've read has always some narrator telling you what you do insert you in the story. I thought of making the MC the narrator, this way the reader can insert themselves like it's their story or they can read it as if someone else is telling them a story. This is also a bit limiting, since the narration is also the MCs thought process and sometimes I may skip details MC couldn't have seen.

AU, Magical forest, DCA centered, Sun fnaf, Moon fnaf, Elves Sun & Moon, OC, Selfinsert, Character & OC, platonic, friendship, slowburn (kind of), Moon is agresive at first, Moon is also a bit of a gremlin, Protective Sun (I think), OC is a potty mouth, Female Main Character, First person, Angst.

The first post where I showed this AU and my first sketches ideas.

Tumblr archive with all of the art, ideas and anwsered asks.

Youtube Playlist which I'm pretty proud of how it turned out :] It's in a specific order but you can put it on mix.

Note: even though I try to keep things light some things may be triggering for some readers.

CW: Anxiety, Suicide ideation, Implied death, Choking, Non sexual abuse.

Wordcount: 9,700 (It's not rounded, that's literally the number Word tells me it's at lol)

Welp.

Here we are again, in the old village house (yey...). Well, 'I am', my family won't arrive to settle in for another week. They brought me here beforehand a few days ago for organizational reasons. They took a quick look inside before they left to see the state of the house, if it needed any repairs and such, and they headed back to the city. While they finish preparing everything, I take care of the house and text them messages about anything that may be needed for when they return.

We haven't been here in years, the house needs some repairs, and I'm sorry for the spiders, but it could use a deep cleaning. We can't do a deep cleaning but I have been cleaning what I can these last few days, at least so that it looks decent... at first glance.

Well, it's not like anyone is coming to visit.

It's a quiet town, until the kids from the town next door come to make a racket with their bikes. They play in our field, scare away the cats and throw cans around. They are assholes.

Anyways, the people in the village are nice. The adults I mean, the kids I used to play with, I don't get along with them anymore. Some of them aren't kids anymore, we have grown up and are going down different paths. But those who are still kids... they're still interested in the only older kid in the town who listened to them and let them do whatever they wanted, to a certain extent.

I don't want them to come looking for me to go out and play. I've been avoiding them by saying that I'm busy cleaning the house and getting it ready for when my family arrives, but I feel like interacting with them less and less. That's why I'm going out to the woods behind the house to get lost for a while, as always. The kids don't go near the forest so they won't bother me there.

There is an area for tourism and hiking but not many people come, some police cars border the forest from time to time but they never go inside. The reports of missing people in this forest have been coming in for decades, only some lost children have returned but there is no trace of any of the adults who disappeared along with the rest of the children. The areas marked with signs are safe but you can't go out of bounds unless you want to disappear with those people.

And I, who right now am alone and with no one to notice my absence if I go missing, am going to head straight to the forest. Don't you think, I don't want to disappear, I just don't like people and I usually go into the forest but I don't go too far away. As long as I see my house in the distance, I know how to return.

I grab my bag with my sketchbook and pencil case, in case I feel like drawing (probably won't) and step out to the back porch. The outer sliding metal door that protects the inner one is rusty and difficult to open. It would be better to oil it but I don't know when it will be done, considering that the broken railing has had a wooden board tied to it for years. I already sent my mother a message talking about it.

I enter the forest and start walking around. It's hot, of course, it's early summer, but it's quite noticeable after being in the cool inside the brick and stone house. That's the good thing about coming here in summer, the houses are made to stay cold inside and it's great, sometimes I even need to wear a jacket. But outside I'm dying, the trees don't provide enough shade. In fact, some trees are missing. I used to have my routes memorized but time has passed and some paths have changed, some have disappeared and others have formed. I admit that it makes me a little sad... I began to walk absorbed in my thoughts not paying attention to where I was going.

I'm walking away, I should go back. I'm not going to draw anything here anyway, and it's hotter outside than inside so I'm gonna to turn around-

I hear screams and laughter in the distance, the sound of the voices produces me an immediate disgust. It's those kids from the next door village. They must have come to 'investigate' about the disappearances or maybe they don't care and they just came to be idiots-

They're getting closer.

I don't want them to see me. God. Don't let them see me. Anyone but them. They're getting closser. Don't let them see me. I can't go back home now. They're cutting me off. Of all the people who could have found me. It had to be them. No, please. Don't let them see me. I have to go further into the forest, I can't let them see me. They're getting closer. Don't let them see me. I want to leave. I want to leave. I'm getting too far. I want to leave. I don't see my house. I want to leave. I don't see the village. I want to leave. I don't see the kids.

...

Where am I?

Fuck.

Where am I?

I want to leave.

…

—

Now I'm wandering through the forest. I don't want to go back. I want to get out of here. Even though I'm walking in a straight line I feel like I'm going around in circles, and I'm not going to get out of here now. Great. I'm lost. Now what? People who get lost in this forest don't return, no one has returned except for some children.

...

I'm going to disappear.

...

For now I keep walking until something happens. Maybe there's an animal that kills people who get lost, or maybe it's a group of kidnappers, or maybe I should stop giving myself anxiety and focus on getting out of here. Maybe if I find a field or road, or even the tourist area, I'll be able to get out of here and return bordering the fores-

...

There is... colorful graffitis on the trees. Someone has painted eyes, hands, stars and more on the bark of the trees...

What's this?

I don't know where I've come to, I didn't know this was here, in the middle of nowhere in the forest. The trees have red leaves like in autumn even though summer has just started... The first thing I thought was 'climate change's fault' but there is something that stands out in the middle of this entire flat area and it is disturbing me.

In the center there is a kind of circular gate made of stones supported by roots.

Okay, maybe it doesn't sound aaaaas disturbing as, I don't know, a totem with a human figure being impaled or something, but it's giving me a bad vibe. What is this place? Who built a stone arch in the middle of everything and why?

A bird appears flying from behind me and goes through the gate, but nothing comes out on the other side... wait what? how? The bird has crossed the gate, and disappeared behind the stone arch? ...I had to imagine it, it's not possible that that happened. I approach the arch but not before picking up a rock from the ground and throwing it to the other side of the gate.

It's still there.

…

For some reason the thought of going through the gate makes me uncomfortable, so I go around it.

...

...And the rock? It's not there.

I go back and look from inside the portal.

The rock is there.

...

I look from outside. The rock is not there. I repeat this multiple times. Rock. No rock. Rock. No rock. Rock. No rock... What?

Alright, this is weird, this is VERY weird.

Even though it is clear that this isn't normal, I have to go back, pick up a fallen branch from the ground and pass it through the portal. This time I don't throw it, I've grabbed a branch long enough to see it peek out from the other side of the arch.

...

Welp.

I should be seeing not only the branch, but also my hand sticking out of the side, but I'M NOT SEEING IT. OKAY. OK. ALRIGHT. IT'S CONFIRMED. THIS IS WEIRD.

I'm asleep, right? Or unconscious. I must have passed out from exhaustion from endlessly wandering through the woods and I'm delirious or something. No, wait, it can't be, in my dreams I'm not this aware of what's around me. Where am I?

A breeze begins to pass through the gate. It's getting stronger but not enough to push me. The leaves rise from the ground and float towards the portal, none slipping outside, all entering through the stone arch. Suddenly the breeze that had become wind stops. The leaves fall to the ground.

...

I look back for a moment, as if there was something behind me that could help me make a decision. Grabbing with both hands my bag strap I look back at the portal again. Okay. Alright. This is possibly the death of me. I'm going to cross. I'm going to go to the other side. I'm just one step away from crossing. I wrinkle my face and narrow my eyes before taking the last step.

...

Nothing has happened. Everything seems the same. However, I know it's not the same... Or at least it doesn't feel the same!

Well, I've already crossed. I'm gonna... keep walking, I guess, even though this is scaring me and I don't know if I'll know how to go back. For now I'm moving forward. The red leaves have disappeared several meters ago. It's starting to look like a normal forest, except for the multicolored drawings and handprints that I keep seeing on the trees. In fact, it seems like the trees are taller with every step I take. So high that I can barely see the top. I almost tripped while looking up. Whether this is the same forest I come from, I no longer know.

This was a bad idea. I just hope to find something that'll help me know where I am, a sign or the road if possible.

*cling*

...?

I hit something with my foot. There is a ball attached to a small chain on the ground. Oh, no, wait. *cling diring ding* It's a rusty bell, I think. It doesn't have the typical cross-shaped hole or slot, rather it has several holes in a pattern. It looks like it can be opened.

There's nothing inside.

There's nothing? But I could have sworn it had rang. I close it again and shake it.

*...*

Nothing.

I'm going to put it in the bag, it's totally a good idea. I'll think about it later, for now I'm moving on.

—

I've been walking for a while now and throughout this time I had a constant chill on the back of my neck, as if someone had their eyes on me.

*din dirring* I hear a soft tinkling in the distance.

Okay, I'm not alone, awesome, what do I do now? Do I say hi and risk the potential danger finding me? Do I ignore the sound of bells and keep moving? It's very possible that whatever made that sound is watching me right now...

“Hello?” Still nervous, I try to say hello looking around “...” “Is someone there? H-hello?”

“-HEEEEELLO!”

“AAAAAH-!” I cover my mouth with my hands as I turn to look at what the hell has greeted me back. I take a few steps back while I look at the figure of earthy and sunny tones who responded, he seems as surprised as I am, I think (with the scream I made, normal), at least it looks like he's surprised. He wears a two toned wooden mask... it looks like a sun, with a crescent moon on its right... It gives the impression of two faces merged into one... Damn, he is tall, he's almost doubles my size. He appears to have two skin tones dividing him in half, his right side being the lighter and the left darker, especially the arm, which also has a light-colored tattoo of lines representing a sun symbol that covers from the shoulder to the pectoral and to the middle of the bicep. The right arm is covered by a long fingerless glove that reaches to the shoulder and is tied around the chest. He's wearing baggy pants with leaves coming out of the waist and legs, some... cloth boots? with a long toe bending sharply and curving in a geometric swirl with a bell at the tips, a bag hangs from the waistband of his pants and falls below his hips. His chest and neck are tied by ropes decorated with hanging stones, metals and crystals, he wears a pendant that ends in a carved symbol of a crescent moon with rays. Some of the 'sunrays' on his mask have ropes tied between them holding them in place and some metal dangling. Some red ribbons along with bells hang from his wrists.

“um... Helloooooo.” He greets again, this time he lowers his tone of voice. I manage to react, I turn around and walk away. “¡ah- eh- Wait!” Nope, I'm not going to wait and see what he does with me, I'm leaving. “He-! Hey!” Nope. I quicken my pace and try to get lost among the trees, changing direction every time he appears in my vision angle. “Human? Human-! FRIEND. Can I call you friend?!” Nope, nope, nopnop, nop, nop, nope. “Friend! Hey!” God, no, god, god, no, why are you following me? “Look, I know what you're trying to look for...! And believe me, you're not going to find it~!” How are you still following me? Where do you come from? “Hey! Listen! Why don't we do something else besides running in circles!?” Noooooooooo... “There are TONS of other activities we could do! Like... HOLY MOLY, look at this stick! Do you like sticks!?” Leave me aloneee... “You aren't looking at it! Okay, alright, you don't like sticks, erm... what might be of interest to you...” If I don't look at it it doesn't exist. “Could you help me a little here?” I want to leave... “Look, no matter how much you wander around, you won't find the portal-!”

“STOP—! STOP FOLLOWING ME! LEAVE ME ALONE!” The sudden scream startles him again, making him jump in place. He stands completely still looking at me. I'm leaving before he gets angry.

“B-but I- ...okay.” I thought I heard him say before I left him behind.

It seems that this time he's not following me, finally... Although I'm not calm, he could still be following me and simply not be in sight. Anyway, I think I'm coming back? I hope I am. I want to find that portal as soon as possible and go back to the house- what the fu-? “WHY?”

He's there. Right where I left him. Sitting on a rock. Waiting. “...! I haven't moved from the spot!”

“Yeah- but- WHY?”

“Because I knew you were going to come back here!”

“...What?”

“Is what I was trying to tell you! You can't leave! No matter how hard you try to find the portal, it won't appear before you!” The Sunman exclaimed.

“…” I'm just about to turn around. In fact, I'm already turning around.

“N-No, wait! Please don't go!” I stop in my track and look back at him. He gets off the rock he was sitting on but remains squatting, almost at my height, a little below. I move back, keeping my distance. He puts his hands up. “Look, I'm not doing anything! I won't chase you! Just- ...don't go.”

“…”

“L-look, listen, there's no way it's going to show up! Well, not to you at least. But even if you find it back, it won't work! It only works when it wants to work.”

“...” Let's imagine that I trust what he says “Ok... and when does it want to be working?”

“...” “No idea!”

“...”

I'm about to collapse on the spot. At least he doesn't seem hostile, for now. “...” “Okay... Good... Great...” “...” “FanTAS-tic.”

“...” “You don't seem like it.”

*ಠ_ಠ* I could only look to the side in frustration in response to that. I looked back at him with concern showing on my face and grabbing the strap of my bag with both hands. “And... what... do you plan to do with me?”

He took his hand to the chin of his mask and with the other he held his elbow in a comical thoughtful pose. “MmmmnnDUN know! What do you plan to do?” He asked so nonchalantly. He ended up sitting on the ground crossing his legs. “You have a good while until the portal opens again...!”

“...”

He started swaying. The silence has become uncomfortable for a while now, but I can't organize myself on what to say, and I don't know if I trust him. I don't even know if he's human, although something tells me he's not.

“You could wait here.” He suggested, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Or anywhere else, if you want. I would recommend somewhere high like the treetops (for no particular reason)! If you're going to wait... But wouldn't that be really boring?” There was something in his tone of voice... “Being there... at the top of a tree... waiting... alone... with no friends to hang out with (can I call you a friend?). Aaall on your own until the portal opens again.” He looks aside for a moment “...” And back at me again. “With no one to be with you.” He repeats the head motion “...” “alone...” Wow... I wonder what he's implying, ahem. “Wouldn't you want to have someone...? ...Someone...keeping you company?” Yeah, yeah...

“...” I guess... “I-I guess I wouldn't want to be alon-?”

He rises to his knees. “That's what I thought! Do you want me to accompany you? Only if you want! But can I?” He clasped his hands together as if asking a favor.

“um...”

“Can I?Can I?Can I?Can I?Can I?Can I?Can I?” He approaches, dragging his knees on the ground.

I'm starting to miss personal space. “Okay! Okay, alright...”

“REALLY?” He started hopping and jumping around me. “OH, ohoho hO! Great! Oh, there are TONS of things we could do! Like... Like...!” He moves faster, doing bigger and bigger flips and jumps, it almost seems that he is very light, as if the breeze of air lifted him. “We could paint and decorate trees! Or we can also paint on rocks! Or paint leaves! Or paint us! Oh! We can tell stories! I'm very good at making shadows and puppets.” He moves from place to place with each sentence he says. “We can also play something!” It's moving so fast all I can see is the wind and the leaves it stirs up as it moves. “Anything! Whatever you want!” Finally he stopped in front of me half crouched. “What do ya say?! Hmm! Friend!?”

“Don't... call me like that.” Makes me feel awkward.

“Oh...why not-? Oh true, true! How silly, I don't know your name! What do you call yourself, potential friend?”

“...”

“...” “Aren't... you gonna tell me your name?”

I twist the bag strap “Depends...” I must say I'm a little skeptical about this. “Are there any consequences for telling you my name?”

“...Consequences...?”

“Like... I don't know... Mmm-by telling you my name I become your possession and cannot regain my freedom until... certain conditions are met...”

“...”

“Why- how-? Where did you get that from!?” It did sound a bit stupid when I said it out loud.

“I dunno- that's what they say in old children's stories about elves and fairies!” I just hope the embarrassment isn't showing on my face.

“Really?” I could feel his deadpan expression behind the mask.

I shrugged.

“...” “Okay... Oh, what if I tell you my name first? Will you tell me yours? It's only fair, I'm Sun!”

“...”

“Can I know your name now?” He asked expectantly.

“...How do I know you're not trying to trick me?”

“...” I must be driving him crazy with this “The only thing I can do with your name is treasure it in my memory.” He put his hands together as if he was carefully holding something and brought them to the forehead of the mask. I gave him a distrustful look. It doesn't seem like it made him desist “Please?”

I grip at my worn out bag strap “...” “ Fern...” I ended up murmuring.

“Hmm? Fern? OH, I like it!” “Sounds like FRIEND.” He emphasized the last word by making a gesture like jazz hands, leaning to the side and moving his head closer to me.

“Yeah... I think you are missing a couple of letters.”

He straightened his posture again. “Nope, I don't think so!”

“You're still not my friend.”

“Oooowwwwwnnnnnggghhh” He lowers his head dramatically until it practically touches the ground “nnnnnnngggghh, alright!” And cartwheels to stand up again “So... what will it be?”

“Hm?”

He straightened his posture and puts his arms on his hips “We have plenty of time, ya? What do you wanna to do?”

“I don't know, what do you want to do-?” Bad mistake.

“Come with me!”

“aaAAAAA-!” Before I knew it, he had grabbed my arm and I was being dragged through the woods. We visited several places and he offered me an activity to do in each of them.

—

Sun took me to a place where the trees were full of colorful paint “We practice painting on the trees here!” He said.

“Ah.” That explains the crossed out lines and the repeated imperfect shapes. By the look of it is also where he tests the quality of the paint.

“Do you want us to paint something!?”

“Not really...”

“Oh, would you prefer it to be on a rock?”

“Nah.”

“...And in star leaves-?”

“I don't want to paint, Sun.”

“Oh... Well, I can show you more places!”

“OkayyEEEEEE-” And I'm being dragged away again.

—

He brought me to another area of the forest, the ground here seemed more leveled. Not a single tree was straight, all of them were twisted and even seemed to be hollow. “How about playing something!? Like hide and seek-! No, wait, I can’t let you out of my sight.” He mumbled at the end “And chase?! We can climb a tree and see who reaches the top first! We have a place full of vines and it's perfect for swinging- and jumping from one tree to another-!”

“I don't... really want to move a lot…” With the way he runs without getting tired and me, who doesn't exercise... he would let me dead.

“Oh... well, theeen-”

—

We arrived at a place full of vegetation and humidity. Sun seemed quite excited... “This place is full of insects! We can look for cool bugs!”

“Mmmmmnoooo... I don't want to.” I had to tell him, trying to show as little disinterest as I could.

“You don't like them?” He sounded a little disappointed hearing my reaction.

“No, I do like them, some of them, but I don't like to touch them.” And I'm terrified of them flying into my face.

“Oh, well, it's okay!” He said brushing it off and we moved on to the next stop.

—

“I know that bird!” He stopped us on the way to point at a robin high up on a branch.

“ah.” I said as I removed leaves from my hair and clothes, and checked that I still had my glasses.

“He's a little rascal!”

“...” I think the bird is making us the equivalent of 'mooning'.

—

“Look fish-! Oh, they're gone…” The noise must have scared them away “We can go find more places to look at them if you want!”

“...” “...no, pass...”

“…”

—

“Look at this stick!” Sun had suddenly sprinted past me, picked up something from the ground, and came back just as fast, showing me the stick as if it were a sword.

“oh.” It's a cool stick, must admit it.

“Do you want to look for more sticks!?”

“No...”

“oh...” He looked at the ground in disappointment.

“Why would we go looking for sticks? There are all over the ground.” Specifically, in this area the ground was all sticks. We are literally just stepping on sticks right now. I don't see the ground.

“Variety!” Sun said pointing at the ground with both hands. A branch is heard falling in the distance.

—

“That's a deer!” He pointed at the deer passing nearby. The deer stopped to look at us.

“Yeah, I see.”

“We call 'em Adoquín!”

“...Why is it called Adoquí-?”

*THUMP!*

“…”

The deer smacked itself against a tree when trying to run away. It stands still for a minute, processing the hit, looks at a side and then the other, then runs off again but this time avoiding the tree.

Another *thump!* is heard in the distance.

“...” Alright.

—

“Do you wannaaaa look for pine cones? There will be some fallen around here. Oh! We can also look for mushrooms!”

I keep saying no to everything he suggests and it doesn't look like he's going to run out of ideas to pass the time. In fact, he's very insistent that we do something. I guess at some point I'll have to say yes to something. “...” “...okay...”

“Hmm?! Okay? Okay to what?” His exaggerated surprise offends me but I don't blame him.

“To... I don't know, pine cones?”

“...You don't look very convinced.”

“…”

“OKAY! On the hunt for pine cones then!” I startle a little at the sudden shout. He makes a pose pointing in a direction, as if he were leading an expedition.

He takes me through the forest looking for pine cones. We aren't finding many, especially me who's not paying any interest. He tries encouraging me to put more effort into it but I keep looking at my boots.

We passed near a shingle river. I find a pebble at my feet and bend down to pick it up and take a better look. It's like a bluish gray, it has some reddish lines in the shape of waves, it feels good to the touch.

I hear the soft tinkling of a bell and feel a shadow fall beside me. “You like pebbles?” Sun is crouched next to me with his arms full of pine cones.

“…” I nod.

We go down to the river and spend some time collecting pebbles with curious shapes or small details of colors, lines, spots, etc. He comes over to show me one every time he finds weird shapes.

“…”

*rin* This time he's hunched over resting his hands on his knees. “You look… a little down.”

“…”

“Hey... we can do something else if you're tired of the pebbles.”

“...” I drop the pebbles I was looking at on the ground.

“...” He turns his gaze from me to the sky. It hasn't gotten late enough to be getting dark, but it's been a while between the walks we've taken (dragging me from here to there), looking for pine cones and then pebbles in the river. He looks back at me. “Oh, I know! Can I take you to one last place? A better place than the ones I've shown you!”

“…” I got up from the ground and waited for him to start leading to follow him.

We enter the increasingly thick forest. The trees are taller and bigger, in fact, I start to see platforms and bridges lying between the trees, I even see small shanties in them.

“Wait here!” He takes a run and jumps onto one of the trees with bridges. He takes three steps running up the tree, with a jump he pushes himself off and climbs with agility until he reaches the platform and climbs on it. “Just a moment!” It can't be seen from here but I can faintly hear some squeaks. I have no idea of what he's doin-

*rush*

“........eh?”

A rope.

A rope has fallen. At the level of my head.

“.......”

What?

…

He said he knew a better place.

No. It can't be this.

“Is it at a good height?! Can you reach it?!” He says...

It can't be.

A better place.

He can't be referring to this.

A better place.

A better place. A better place. A better place. A better place.

“Can you put your foot in?!”

“..........” For some reason what he said throws me off. “WAT-?”

“Can you put your foot in the loop and hold on to the rope so I can pull you up!?”

“..............”

“You can't climb trees, can you?! ...or you can?"

… “...” Oh “....It's...It's too high!”

“Okay!” Squeaks are heard and the rope descends to the ground.

I put my foot into the rope as he told me and hold on to it. “O-okay...!”

“Are you ready!?”

“Yes!”

“Okay!”

He begins to pull up the rope (which doesn't tighten around my foot as it supports my weight) and helps me up to the platform. (That's what it was for, obviously, what else would he want? I'm such an...) “Come on!” He says cheerfully, as always, and takes me over the bridges. “You seem tense... Don't tell me you're afraid of heights!”

“S-something like that... it's nothing.” He tilts his head at that but he says nothing. I have an unpleasant sensation in my throat.

We arrived at a high place with a view of waterfalls, I can't see above the trees. We sat on one of the bridges, resting our arms on the rope that serves as a railing and letting our legs hang off the bridge. I've thought about taking out the sketchbook to draw... but I don't really feel like it right now, so I just quietly observe the landscape. It is a better place, yeah.

…

I feel watched. I turn to look at him ...Of course he was looking at me. I don't even know whether to say something or keep quiet. ...I decide... not to say anything and look to the front.

“You... aren't very talkative, huh.”

“…”

“Not that it's a bad thing! Many people who have come here weren't very talkative at first either.” More people...

“...” “I have… nothing to talk about.” I don't want to talk.

“...” “Well, I do.”

“…”

“If it's okay with you, of course.” He laughed. Although something tells me that he is going to talk anyway.

“…”

“...” “What brings you to the forest?”

“...” Really? “I got lost.”

“Yeah, I already know!” He says between laughs “But what made you get lost?”

“...” “There was a group of kids I didn't want to get close to and I decided to go into the woods to lose them.” He makes a 'hum' sound and looks at me expectantly waiting for me to continue “And... I ended up getting myself lost...”

“...” “Only that?”

“...” “Well, yeah.” What do you mean 'oNlY tHaT'?

“...Mmm...” He places his hand on the chin of the mask.

“...” “What?”

“Nothing!” “...” “You know? You're the first human to visit the forest in a loooong time. For several cycles now…”

“Cycles?”

“Mhm” He nods.

“...What are cycles?”

Sun points to the sky “The turns that the Moon makes in the sky!” He emphasizes by rotating his arm in the air. It's pointing right at the Moon that's visible in the sky.

“Oh...” He uses the lunar cycles to know what day he's in, makes sense. “...” “So no one has been here in a while.”

“That's what I said! Well no, but yes!”

“A-and so the humans who came are still here? Have they been here all this time?”

“Yeah...! Well, no!” He paused. “They're gone!”

“What do you mean they're-?” He didn't let me finish the question.

“They are gone! They 'left'!” It sounded like he had given this answer many times already.

“What do you mean they left-?”

“They 'left'!”

“...” “...You mean...they disappear-?”

“Nope!” “...” “Something like that!” “…” “Mmmore or less…” He hesitated between one answer and another.

It seemed worthless to ask about the missing people. “...okay.” “Can I ask you-?”

“You can ask me anything!” A hint of nervousness escaped his tone.

“...okay. What is this forest?”

“My home! And the home of many other animals.”

“...” “Alright, and... how many are you...? How many of you live here? I mean. You have taken me everywhere and we haven't seen anyone of your…” I make a pointing gesture, spinning my hand around in the air. He can't be human, it doesn't look like he is. “...” “Honestly, I don't know what you are.”

“...” “There's only me... And someone else!” He looks away, as if trying to hide something.

“Oh... and who's that someone?”

“Oh! N-no, don't worry! He’s… just a friend… But it’s not important that you meet him or anything!” He brushes it off making a gesture with his hand. “Uh-um- How about we talk about you!? huh? What things do you like? Earlier, since you said no to everything, I thought you didn't like ANYTHING!” He continued talking without letting me respond. “I didn't know what to do if I ran out of ideas. I started to worry! But at least you're not one of those who spend all day shouting and threatening with a weapon in hand, ahaha...” He let out a nervous laugh.

“Um-”

“Well, you ran away screaming, yes.” He began to gesticulate widely as he complained “Like everyone-! No, not like everyone, some don't run, but those who, apart from running and screaming, attack you...! I mean...!” Something tells me he wasn't going to shut up and I was already half listening. “First they throw rocks at my head, then they insult me and run away. And I have to run after them because I can't just leave a human running around alone! No! I can't! Not in this forest! Anything could happen to them! But they never let me warn them!” He sounded tired. “And when I get them to stop running away from me, they throw things at me again and yell before demanding me to tell them where are they and how to get out of here, and when I explain it, they yell at me even more and accuse me of lying!” He turns to look at me with his hands pointing to his chest. “What reason would I have to lie?!” I don't know if he hasn't noticed or if he's ignoring the deapan I responded with. “UGH! I don't know what to do with those! But anyhow... I'm so glad we found something to do in the end!

“eh?” I snap out of my thoughts. It seems that now he is directing the conversation to me.

“The pebbles!” He sits turning his body towards me, leaving one single leg hanging from the bridge and the other resting on it. He takes out of his pocket some of the pebbles that he had been collecting with me. “I don't know why I assumed you wouldn't want to look for rocks. Maybe because you didn't want to paint them before... You left them back in the river in the end tho, I thought you would keep some.”

“Ah... I don't know. I didn't think I could take them with me.”

“You can keep some of mine!”

“No, it's okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“You suuuuure??” He insist.

“Yeees.”

He puts a pebble very close to my face “Suuuuuuuure?” Each 'u' sounding higher than the last.

“...” I push the pebble away from my face “Yeeeees.”

“mmmh... Okay! But I hope you don't regret it later when you don't have a cool rock like these and think 'Oh man, I could have a cool rock right now!'.” After a bad impression of me, he keeps the rocks in his pants. “So... Besides pebbles, what else do you like? Mm? I haven't been able to deduce much from today.”

“Don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know!? Oh! Is it a secret?” He approaches and starts to whisper, putting his hands to the mask's mouth “I won't tell anyone, promise.”

“No. I don't know.” I looked to the side. “I can't think of anything... so suddenly.”

“ooow...” He slumps a little over the railing, looking sad.

“…” I hesitate whether to say something or not “...Drawing...”

“Mmm?!” He no longer seems sad.

“And listening to music, I guess.” “It's... all I do... most of the time.”

“Really!? Oh! I also like drawing! And music! But is that really all you do all day? Don't you do other kinds of things? Like reading! Or writting. Don't you go out for a walk or play with your friends?” I wrinkle my face at that last bit and he tilts his head in confusion.

“I don't go out.” “I have comics, but I rarely read.”

“Comics?”

“Um... They are stories but instead of narrating what happens there are drawings and only what the characters say is written.”

“...It's a book with drawings?”

“Yeah, but with a lot of drawings on each page, from start to finish.”

“WOAH.” He sounded perplexed. “That's drawing A LOT.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Ahh, I'd love to see what they look like.” He rested his arm on the railing to hold his head in his hand “Too bad I can't…”

“I didn't bring them anyway.”

“Do you normally carry them around?”

“No, it's just that I didn't bring them to the village with me, I left them at home.”

“...” “Oh!” It seems that something has clicked on him. “You are not from the village.”

“No, I'm from a more urban area. My family used to come to the village every year in the summer, but we stopped coming. Now it seems that we are trying to get back into the habit.” I sighed.

“Why did you stop coming?”

“...That's personal.”

“Oh... okay.” He let a minute of awkward silence pass. “Hey, I can bring some books that I have at home! I think you might be interes-!” He looks away from me to the sunset behind us, the sun is almost gone. “-ted...” I look at the sunset too and then at him with confusion. “...” “...oh...oh-OH, Oh-no!” He stands up abruptly causing the bridge to shake slightly. What could have he seen? “We have to move!” He extends a hand to help me up. “We have to start moving!”

I get up in a hurry on my own, ignoring his hand. “O-okay, to where?”

“Come, run!” Once again he grabs me by the arm and leads me over the bridges between the trees until we reach a tree hut. It's small and dark, it looks like a small shelter. He opens the door and enters “You'll spend the night here, stay inside, do not go out, try to hide well and don't open the windows or doors, okay? Here, there are some blankets. I'll come back later.”

“Wait wait wait! What? What do you mean you'll come back later? What's happening? Why do I have to hide-!?”

“Sssh-ssh-sh” He grabs me and covers my hand with his, his left hand resting on the back of my right hand. He begins to speak in a calmer tone, with a voice that I had not heard him use until now. “It's okay, nothing happens. I have to go, I'll come back, but I can't stay now. You hide, try to rest, I'll be back, I promise.”

“...” I take my hand away from his. “Okay.” “I'll stay, but don't take too long.” Please, I don't want to be here alone.

“Yes. I'll be back.” He affirmed one last time. I watch him run away and disappear among the trees and undergrowth. I enter the small shelter to inspect it.

*TAP TAP TAP* *PLOK* *TAP TAP FOOSSSH! *

…? A noise comes from behind me. I turn around and there's a pebble on the floor.

…

Okay.

I take out my phones flashlight to see better inside the house. There are what appear to be some trunks, small cabinets, and a trapdoor in the floor, It seems that there are corners and blind spots for the windows where the little moonlight that enters through the cracks cannot reach. It's freezing cold and I haven't brought my jacket. I leave the bag on the floor against the wall, I cover myself with the blanket and curl up in a ball in the most hidden corner I can find. I'm tired, I want to sleep, but I can't close my eyes.

…

—

It's been a few hours now.

…

I can't sleep, I simply can't.

…

It doesn't look like he's coming back.

*creek*

…?

*rin*

*tap tap, creek*

Sun?

“S-...” I pause before saying a word, I have the feeling I shouldn't speak. I remain silent and wait.

*tap, tap, tap, creeeeeek, tap*

*rin dirrin*

If it were Sun he would have already let me know it is him. That or he's playing a prank on me which isn't funny, but I'd better stay silent. From the shadow I look at the windows. I notice movement through the cracks, something has just passed through the wall next to me.

*dirriring dirring*

I cover myself more with the blanket, back against the wall, I stay as still as I can, I leave a gap between the blankets and the floor to see. A red glow sneaks through the cracks in the window and scans the room.

…

The glow is gone.

*tap, tap, rin, tap, dirring, tap, tap*

It's on the roof.

…

*tap, tap, tap...*

It moves again.

*rin *

…

It sounded on the other side of the wall.

…

“nghehe...”

It laughed. Why did it laugh? Whatever is on the other side of the wall just let out a laugh that made the hairs on the back of my neck and all over my back rise.

…

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no no no no.

I have to move. I have to get out of here. I can't stay here.

*creeek*

It came from the door. It's trying to get in.

*rin*

The trapdoor.

*rin dirring*

Where was the trapdoor?

*creek creeeek*

I crawl across the floor making the minimum noise, carefully feeling the floor, looking for the edge of the door.

*tap tap ring dirring*

…!

I found it. I open it carefully. It's too high. I'm at a very high altitude, I don't know if I'll be able to go down.

*rin, creeek...*

…

Fuck it. I slip through the gap quietly, closing it slowly, but that doesn't stop the door from creaking. I cling to the bark of the tree-

…

I left my bag. If it comes in and see it it'll know for sure that I have been there-

…

It doesn't matter now. I have to focus on getting down from the tree without killing myself. My fingers hurt and I can't put my foot down properly because of the soles of my boots. I feel like I'm going to slip at any moment. Somehow I make it to the ground. Still attached to the tree, I look up at the house. I don't see it-

…

A shadow appears from behind the tree. I press myself against the tree and hold my breath. It's looking for something. When he doesn't seem to look I move to a nearby tree, he moves to another tree, I move to the next, and the next, and the next. We continue like this until I start to get further and further away from him. When I think I've lost him I start running. I hide behind a tree to catch my breath.

…

I slowly peek out from behind the tree.

*rin*

…

It sounded above me.

…

I don't look up, I run.

“nnghehee...” He laughs.

He gives me a few seconds advantage before coming after me. The chase begins.

I run forward as much as I can, I hear his footsteps behind me but I don't look back, there's no time for that. I hear him laughing like a madman as he moves from left to right, from one tree to another, crawling on the ground, trying to confuse me, waiting for me to make the slightest mistake to catch me.

“Ah-” I trip. As soon as I fall to the ground I get up, ripping my stockings and scraping my knees, falling again, my nerves not letting me stand up.

“Nnhehehhehe...” Asshole. He has stopped running, he approaches by walking. I try to keep as much distance as my hands and legs allow me to move. I search desperately with my hand for something on the ground to throw. Finally my hand finds something.

I throw a rock at him “AGH!”

The rock passes by him, flying one or two meters away from him. He hasn't even moved, he didn't move a single muscle to avoid it, he just watches me still from where he is. I hear the nearby *pof* of the rock falling to the ground.

“...”

…

I get up and run. He grabs my leg and I fall to the ground again. He won't let me get up, every time I try he throws me to the ground. I struggle, I kick, but I don't break free from his grip. He never stops laughing, he is enjoying this. He drags me closer to him, no matter how much I twists, he doesn't let go. “ACKH-!...Hhhh-hh...-hh-h...” He grabs me by the neck, red pupils stared at me, I'm looking straight into his crescent moon mask (or waning, I don't know. Do you think I care right now?). He raises his free hand and his veins begin to glow a platinum color that extends to his fingertips. The hand approaches my face, I don't know what it's going to do to me, I'm scared, I don't want to look. I close my eyes, cover my face with my hands. I wait.

…

…?

Nothing's happening. It stopped. Why?

“Mun, nïe.” I hear Sun's voice. I open my hands a little to see what's going on. Indeed, it is Sun, several meters away from us... He looks exhausted. The one with the moon mask stares at him for a moment, until he decides to look at me again while bringing his glowing veiny hand closer. “¡Mun!” The Moonman looks at Sun again “Fehreh.” He seems to speak another language, I don't understand what he says.

“...” “Nïe” For the first time I hear him say something else besides laughing. Even though I can't understand him.

“Fïer pehgïer.” Sun responds.

“...” Moonman remains silent again.

“Bïelïe óubseh góuh...” Sun continues.

“Móu txehb móunsuvïe.” The Moon responds.

“Lïe bóu ¿Sóundïe mïesugïeb fehreh nïe txehtehrlïe?”

…

The air feels tense. Probably because of the hand grabbing my neck.

“¿Zkaóu fuóunbehb txehtóur tkaehnvïe nïe bóueh mehb zkaóu ïesreh rehuh óunsóurrehveh óun leh suóurreh?” Longest sentence I've heard him say so far.

“...” “Fïer óubseh góuh.” “...” “Vóuyehmóu óuntehrdehrmóu vóu óulleh” Sun takes a step forward “Nïe suóunóu fïer zkaóu ehtehkehr ehbu” Another step forward “Nïe sóunóumïeb fïer zkaóu txehtóurlóub... óubsïe” Another step “Óullïeb bïelïe óubsehn... fóurvuvïeb.”

“...” There's no response from the moon man.

“Behkehb tïemïe óub óubïe.”

“...”

…

The hand that grabbed my neck now grabs my shirt and yanks it. I grab his wrist as he pulls me to my feet and drags me to Sun, making me stumble. He throws me against him. Sun catches me before I fall over.

“Ska óubpkaóurhïe óub óun gehnïe.” The moon says something as he walks past. Sun puts a hand on his shoulder before letting him go, there's a pause between the two. The Moonman disappears into the trees. Wind and leaves are heard passing by.

…

He's gone. I feel dizzy. I fall down.

—

…

A faint light begins to seep through the cracks, illuminating enough to wake me up and make me open my eyes, I look around. I see my bag propped against the wall. I'm at the shelter where Sun left me.

…

My body aches, I have a hard time keeping my eyes open, it feels like I've been sleeping on the hard floor. No, wait, there are some blankets underneath me... It's still too hard to sleep well, either that or as I said, it shouldn't help me at all that everything hurts. After a while of staring at the ceiling I try to sit up. I emphasize trying. With every slight effort a pained moan escapes me.

“Oof...” Hurts.

*creek, tap tap tap tap*

Those wood creaks bring back bad memories from last night (which by the way, I'm alive, wow, I just realized), I can't help but cringe at every noise, I hear footsteps approaching, I try to move but the stinging pain prevents me from it.

*creek... *

The door opens.

Triangular shapes appear through the door followed by orange earth tones. “…Oh…!” “Early bird!” Thank god it's Sun and not the other one, or something worse “I didn't expect you up this early!” He says laughingly.

“ah?”

“How are you feeling?” He walks in. When he sets foot inside I lean back, towards the wall. “...” I don't really know why I did that. Sun stands at the door showing confusion with his usual head tilt. “...Arrr...re you okay, Fern?”

“...” I became tense suddenly. I really don't know still if I can trust him? He hasn't done anything to me yet but that doesn't mean that I can trust him. I don't know if he plans to do something with me like whatever that other one, the moon one, was going to do last night. “...ehh...hhh...h...” I can't get a word out, I'm afraid to ask.

“Mm?”

“...” I don't know what to say to him. My eyes go somewhere else.

…

He enters further into the house, ignoring that I keep my distance from him, leaves a bag he was carrying on the floor and begins to open the windows, letting in the little light of the dawn that is just beginning. He kneels on the floor in front of me with the bag. “Are you hungry?” He opens the bag and takes out an apple “Do you like apples?”

“...”

“No?”

“...”

“Um... I also brought berries... (It's what I had on hand coming here) There are... different types, you can choose” He brings the bag closer to me. I move further away. “uhhh...”

“...” I want to leave.

“You don't like them either...?”

“...” I don't want to eat. I want to leave.

“...”

“*snif... *”

“u-um...!”

“...*snif* *sob*...” I started crying out of nowhere.

“Ahhh...! D-do- don't cry! Ah-I-Um- Ca-can go find other things you might like-!”

I felt ashamed for crying and I put my hands to my face trying to wipe away the tears, but they wouldn't stop coming. “*hic, sniff, snif *” I looked away in an attempt to cover my face. I ended up looking at the floor, letting my hair act as a curtain.

“I can go in a moment!” Sun was already getting up.

“...w-want to leave...” I managed to get a murmur out.

“...W-what? Um...”

“...” *hic, hic *

“O-okay, um... If you aren't hungry... -we can do something else- uh- we can go look for rocks like yesterday in the river!”

“...” I don't want to do anything “...want to leave...”

“O-or we can do something else! Ah-bah-b-b-b- W-won't you like to go draw??! Somewhere, some landscape?! Wherever you want! We can draw together! If you prefer we can look for animals instead of landscapes!”

“...leave...want to...go... *hic, snif *”

“¡D-don't n- uh! ¡L-let's... um- let's not- uh!” He no longer knew how to order his words “H-hey, ¿Why don't we go to-?” He extends his hand towards my arm.

“I want to go home...”

He stops before touching me and removes his hand. “...” “...home?” There is a pause. He remains silent and unmoving. He finally speaks “Do you want…?” His tone became more serious.

“...”

“...to... go see the portal?” I look up slightly, I can't see through the tears and the fogged lenses of my glasses.

“...” I nod my head.

—

…

We didn't walk far until the red began to become visible. He brought me back to the portal. The same plain of red leaves and stone arch in the center of it all, as yesterday.

…

Sun has been quiet the entire time.

He advances towards the portal and stands facing it. He turns. “Come.” He extends his hand towards me. “You can pass through.”

“...”

I advance towards the portal. I stop before crossing. If it doesn't take me back home, what do I do? I don't want to stay.

A breeze begins to come out of the portal. The breeze turns to wind, the leaves rise, they pass through us. It's the same thing that happened yesterday when I went to cross. I turn to face Sun. Motionless, he looks back at me, the leaves pause in the air for a second as if time has stopped, the wind changes. From where the wind and leaves came now they come in, they push me towards the portal. I finally cross it.

…

Am I in the forest I know? I turn to look at Sun who stayed behind in the portal. “...Sun?” He's not there. I look around. He's not here. I've already crossed the portal, he must have left.

I notice a sudden draft pass by me. It's soft, like someone walking past you. I turn towards the forest, I have to start moving, I don't want to be here another minute.

...The air current that I noticed has lifted some leaves, they reach the trees, between them the wind does something strange, it forms a transparent silhouette. It looks like Sun, I can barely see him but I could swear it's him. The wind figure raises its hand and makes a gesture, it wants me to follow it. When I approach it turns around and walks into the forest, leaving a trail of leaves behind it. I follow the trail of the air current. Sometimes it stops to look at me, making sure I'm still following it. The red-leafed trees and the paintings disappear from view the farther we go. We crossed the forest until we arrived at the entrance of the town, near my house. There is no one on the street. If I walked into the house and pretended nothing had happened, officially no one would have noticed my absence.

I'm not one hundred percent sure if the wind figure that guided me is Sun or not, but I should at least thank him for bringing me back.

…

The air current has dissipated before I turn around. I look around, there's no one.

…

I enter the house, go up to my room and throw the bag on the floor. I go to the bathroom to wash. …I feel something strange in my hands but I couldn't say what. Doesn't matter. I change my clothes and get into bed, the tiredness of the previous night makes my body succumb immediately and I fall asleep instantly.

—

…

“ah...!” I wake up with my lungs begging for air. I need a moment to calm my breathing. I look at the clock without lifting my head from the pillow.

…

It is 12 midday. I rub my eyes and from my eyes I move to my face. I'm still tired. My body still aches. I stare at the ceiling.

…

My bag. I reach out to pick it up from the floor, making strange positions so as not to get out of bed.

I open it and search in the pockets. The bell. I put the bell to my ear. “...” I shake it.

*rin, diring diring*

“...”

I open it.

…

It's empty.

#my writing #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fanfic #forest elves au #the forest on the other side #oc #selfinsert #platonic #sun & selfinsert #moon & selfinsert #dca au

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ggyweek2024 · 8 months

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GGY Fanweek 2024

Hello Gregory/GGY fans!! March 7th is coming up next month, aka the original release date of the TFTP book GGY, and it will be its FIRST anniversary!!

to celebrate, I (@puhpandas) am hosting a GGY Fanweek! Heres some more info below:

The week will take place from March 1st to March 7th

This prompt list above has two word prompts, and an AU prompt for each day in the week. there are not three prompts each day unless you want there to be, theres just multiple options!

for each prompt, you can use your art medium to create something centered around that prompt. the usual is art/fanfiction, but other mediums are welcome!

each prompt is very widespread and can be anything you want it to be. its up to you to come up with something cool! All characters other than GGY are welcome. The only must have for each prompt is that it includes GGY somehow. whether it be past, present or future.

dont be a freak. no NSFW allowed along with the usual weird stuff. it will not be reblogged on this account and shared if so. if your work includes anything extreme like gore or certain phobias, please tag accordingly!

This prompt list was released as early as it was to give every participant enough time to preemptively create for each day.

All 7 days are NOT required to participate. you could only create for 1 day and it'd be just fine. this is for fun!

when each day arrives, post your work on tumblr and tag this account and tag #ggy fanweek 2024. its totally allowed to share your work elsewhere as well!

You are not to post your work until the week arrives, and you only post your work on its respective day. (example: day 5's prompt only when it is day 5 of the week)

Each work will be reblogged on this account so it will all be in one place! like an archive

when the week arrives and you post your work, PLEASE tag this account! i need to be tagged so i can reblog your work here!

For any fic writers, if you post your work on ao3 (not required), it would be awesome if you added your fic to the GGY Fanweek ao3 collection

Have fun!! this entire event is all just to have a good time, so please no stress! create whatever you want to in your own time, no matter how much or little. this is to celebrate GGY/Gregory, so let all your passion loose here!!

edit since ive seen some people confused about the AU prompts: the AU prompts are not for an already existing/established AU by me or someone else. its a 3rd option if the word prompts dont interest you, but im also just giving you a scenario to place the characters of your liking into. even if youve never seen an example of the AUs before, theyre pretty self explanatory in their names!

another edit: for archive reasons, I'll be tagging every reblog of every week contribution with tags that apply. for example, I'll be tagging which day the post is for and which prompt they chose. I'll also be tagging every character involved in the work.

so if you ever want to navigate the blog and find works for a specific day or prompt, this is how! in the search bar type a characters name and it should show you everything applying to them! this also works for specific days and prompts!

#gregory fnaf #fnaf gregory #tales from the pizzaplex #tftp #ggy #fnaf ggy #ggy fnaf #dr rabbit #dr. rabbit #patient 46 #fnaf security breach #ggy fanweek 2024

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olderthannetfic · 2 months

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I'm a big mpreg and A/B/O fan who is wondering if anyone else has noticed the weird anti-abortion attitudes in a lot of mpreg and a/b/o? Like where you're "2000s Hollywood movies" levels of characters not even CONSIDERING abortion as an option for unwanted pregnancies (in a universe where this is possible and safe, and where it doesn't make sense with the character's characterization). I get why for plot reasons, abortion isn't as satisfying an end to a certain kind of pregnancy story as having the baby, same as it is in movies that do it. But you can write a character considering abortion and deciding not to get one in a way that doesn't make the option seem horrible and unthinkable or otherwise stigmatize it.

Or the number of people who seem to think abortion is such an inherently "traumatizing" topic that they need to content-warn for even a vague, offhand mention of it. It's one thing if it's graphic surgery or something - I'd probably want a head's up for that no matter what it was, at least in a story where I didn't see it coming - but just mentioning it at all? Abortion is a routine, safe medical procedure in places where it's legal. If you're doing warnings with abortion and no other medical procedures, you're reinforcing the anti-choice idea that abortion is inherently upsetting and sad. It's reinforcing abortion stigma. I've met many, many more people who've had abortions who felt happy about it and wish they could say that without having people treat them like a murderer, than I have people who had the "post-abortion regret" that anti-choice organizations talk about, and my experiences are supported by basically all the statistics about this that aren't from anti-choice political lobbying groups. It's especially egregious when people do this over an early, fully-elective (and legal and safe) abortion - a thing where patients having triggering kind of trauma is so low as to be statistically insignificant - but don't do it over related topics that genuinely contribute to a lot of PTSD, like miscarriage, infertility, adoption, and even fucking child death!!!!! I saw a fic that mentioned ALL of those things in someone's inner monologue considering what he should do about an unexpected pregnancy, but only the abortion part got warned for! Maybe some of that sounds nitpicky, but I personally know people who read fanfiction who like warnings for discussion of infertility/miscarriage because they have a lot of stress and trauma over unsuccessfully trying to have a child, and don't want to be reminded of that in their happy place.

It feels like a thing that's oddly underdiscussed when people talk about things in mpreg and a/b/o that would be kind of questionable to these same authors if they were to encounter it in stories about pregnancy where the character is a woman (like the stories where simply having a working uterus means you are inherently more nurturing or less ambitious or sweeter, or where getting pregnant suddenly makes you like that no matter how you were before). But if anything it's more common. I have to assume a lot of it's because a lot of people writing these were raised with more conservative ideas about abortion and then changed their minds, but didn't really question everything their upbringing taught them about abortions being always tragic or something that you should only do in extreme circumstances or whatever. Something you often see on Tumblr discourse about abortion, too, where people who claim to be "pro-choice" will come u with a list of reasons (disability, gender, just not feeling it, etc.) why it's "not okay" to get an abortion - not getting the point that forcing someone to carry a pregnancy they don't want is a violation of their body autonomy regardless of their "reasoning." The ableist woman who doesn't want a disabled baby still doesn't deserve have to a pregnancy forced upon her by the state!

I have to wonder if it's more noticeable to me because i wasn't raised that way at all, I had pro-choice leftist feminist parents.

Anyway long story short, I've never agreed with the anti take that mpreg or a/b/o are inherently sexist or anything like that. A lot of it is nothing like this! But it's common and I have to wonder if something working within a medium that's considered to be queerer and more progressive sometimes leads people to expose more of these attitudes than they might otherwise. Kind of like how you see a lot of weird sex-negativity in queer and fandom communities because people think merely being queer and in fandom means they can't be conservative, but they haven't actually questioned underlying sex-negative attitudes they have.... and so you get them being susceptible to anti and "kinks don't belong at pride" and such.

It's not inherently sexist, but I'm not sure it's inherently progressive, either? Not that it has to be. But I think my patience for anti-abortion stigma is, given recent big world events, at its absolute nadir lol

(sorry this is so long! guess i had more to say about this than i thought)

Too much American culture, maybe? IDK.

My mother considered abortions to be about like having the doctor remove a tick. I too find a lot of people's pearl clutching bemusing.

I always find it embarrassing in that bad writing OOC way when people don't include abortion where it makes sense or treat it as a Big Deal where it wouldn't be to that character.

However, I do usually expect mpreg fic to be kinking on "Ohhh nooo, now we have to stay together for the baby!" nonsense fantasies. It's one reason I dislike most of it. Given that, I wouldn't read too much into the plague of conservative anti-abortion vibes.

The fandoms that do more with A/B/O world building (giving the betas an actual role, etc.) tend to have more fic where they consider or even get abortions though.

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ds9anonkinkmeme · 2 months

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Interest check

Hi, just doing an interest check for an idea we have about making a DS9 anon kink meme! A kink meme is an ongoing prompt event where people can anonymously request fics and others can choose to anonymously fill any prompts they feel inspired by.

See below the poll for our initial thoughts on pros and cons and considerations.

On ao3 we could very easily set up a prompt collection open for anyone to add prompts or fill prompts anonymously. But we don’t know how easy it is to maintain momentum on an ao3 prompt collection. Maybe that doesn’t matter and it can be an ephemeral thing until people forget about it and it becomes inactive, and then the next generation of folks in the fandom can start up their own new one in a few years haha. If we do it on ao3, should we make subcollections for individual “seasons” or “rounds” (there would likely be no actual deadlines, it would just be whatever length of time it takes for the list of prompts to get too long and unwieldy to be usable), or should we have people put all the prompts into a single collection that just grows and grows and grows?

On dreamwidth there would be comment threads so there would be a way to anonymously register enthusiasm for a prompt even before it gets written, which seems really good for encouragement and feeding off of each other’s hype. (Dreamwidth might also tell you when new comments are added to the community, unlike prompt collections on ao3?) But we are less familiar with dreamwidth so we aren’t sure there’s enough ds9 fandom hanging out there (or willing to make an account there) to sustain it over there.

Tumblr doesn't seem like an option for a number of reasons (can't post fully anonymously to tumblr except via asks, and having everything be done via asks would make it difficult to organize and connect prompts with fills because to keep them both anon they'd have to be separated, and tumblr is a website with a famously terrible search function).

If a DS9-focused kink meme already exists, we’d love to hear about it! We’ve found a few seemingly inactive ones in our research. But if there’s an active one out there, we could absolutely just pivot to supporting/participating in that, instead of making our own thing and dividing up the fandom’s energies. (Another question we don’t know the answer to: Is it possible/desirable to work on reviving one of those inactive ones, just by encouraging a collective effort to start participating in one again? Or do we think the mods of these inactive ones have abandoned them and might be stressed out to suddenly see new activity?)

If you have something to say but don’t want to say it publicly, we also have an anonymous, slightly expanded google form version (that can be found in our pinned post) with space to leave freeform feedback. You can vote in one or both forms of this poll, depending on what you feel like.

We’d very much appreciate reblogs to spread this poll around since we just made this account, but no pressure to do so. We still want your vote in the poll if you’re interested in this idea, even if you don’t want to reblog a post about it. <3

Anyway, if you have any thoughts on this DS9 kink meme idea (or messages of encouragement!!!), please feel free to send them in! <3

#ds9 #deep space nine #star trek deep space nine

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etoilesombre · 2 months

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You know what? People shouldn't feel bad about liking things in fandom, or creating things that make them happy. I'm absolutely vagueposting, but this really isn't about one post, it's about a tone I've noticed popping up again lately from multiple people (including people I follow and generally respect!)

-"They absolutely cannot fuck! So crazy people would think about that and be into it, it would break canon! "

-"Mod AU doesn't work, they're Serious Characters they aren't gonna run a coffee shop its OOC! "

-"Actually, fun fluffy fic about them at all during a certain era doesn't work!"

I get it. I agree with a fair part of it. People post all kinds of asinine shit that I hate actually. But you know where I bitch about it? Privately in group chat.

Let people fucking have fun. I get the sense that many people come to this fandom specifically because it's Serious and Challenging and you want to Do Serious Analysis. I think a lot of folks around these parts either are in school and not having a good time about it, or wish that they had gone into better academia that doesn't really exist, and they're getting that need met here. And that's great! For real!

But you know what else is fine? People who either don't have that need, or are getting it met in other parts of their lives, and come here for stress relief and a fun free hobby.

Of course they can't fuck for real! It's not in the text, they simply don't. But the tension is obviously written in, and playing with possibilities can be fun! Also if you can't see how it could happen and still not fix shit, that's a skill issue. Fic authors aren't stupid, we don't fail to understand canon, but not everything has to be everything all the time. Sometimes you want to do all the work and try to match the level of writing in the show, and sometimes you want to have something nice and easy. The show is REALLY well written and what it needs to be, the point of transformative works is playing with what it's NOT. Some people cope with fluff, or good ending everybody lives AUs, and it might be so totally valid to look down on that, but maybe being publicly correct might be less important than being kind?

Actually, the main thing I want to say is that if YOU reading this are a person who wants to write a cute coffeeshop AU, or be horny on main about your boys kissing, it's actually fine!! At least, it historically has been fine. This is a really small fandom now and not that many people are actively creating, please don't be discouraged by this stuff, because the people who criticize on tumblr are actually not the majority. The REASON they criticize is that, if you go to AO3 and sort by kudos, much of it is this super sweet OOC stuff! It looks like that's most of what there is, because a lot of readers in the wild who watch the show and look up fic like it!

Anyway. Let people have fun, it doesn't cost you anything, and not every thought needs to be public. It actually does discourage people.

#not ME lol i cannot be discouraged I am unstoppable #i'm not really even defending myself here at all believe it or not #like i do a specific thing and its not everybody's cup of tea but its generally not what's being complained about #anyway i know you're just stating your own opinion and what works and doesn't work for you and that's your right #i just think there are other ways to make the same points that don't make people feel bad about their fun relaxation thing #part of this is a cultural/generational difference about fandom I'm sure #i'm being a defensive den mom because I remember when fandom was supposed to be weird and silly and it was nice #(thank you kinkmeme that is the antidote to this mindset in some ways)#(i'm about to reveal/post my other thing later and its gonna be a hilarious followup to this in context)#again its not that anybody is wrong just there is room for all of the things maybe?#black sails #silverflint #i'm also gonna reblog this in a few minutes with some of my favorite just AWFUL did not fix ANYTHING fics #that i think would meet anybody's criteria of matching canon #just for funsies

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msperfectsheep-posts · 20 days

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IDOLiSH7 Gift Swap - Introduction

(Credit to @yukimomodivorce for the header)

Hello everyone! If you've been a part of the Tumblr i7 fandom, you may remember me from IDOLiSH7 Prompt Week 2024! If not, hello! My name is Anna!

Prompt Week went wonderfully, and I love everything that everyone contributed for it. Genuinely, it brings a smile to my face every time I look at the tag or the Ao3 collection. Well, that isn't the end of my adventure with the fandom! This time, I'm bringing you all a Gift Swap! Participating members of the gift exchange will make something for the giftee, and gifts will be exchanged on New Year's Eve. This is not a Secret Santa for two reasons:

I'm not having it be linked to Christmas, partially because I don't want it to be denominational, and partially because that's a very busy day for some people and trying to give a gift could feel stressful. New Year's Eve is still a holiday to an extent, but most people have their festivities in the evening, and thus the day is open for gift giving! Plus, gifters have more time to work on their gift.

I'm still unsure if I want the gift giving to be anonymous or not! This is something I'll decide before I give participants their assignments, but at the time I'm making this post, assume it could be known or unknown. Hence, not a Secret Santa.

If you participate, please post your gifts on December 31st with the tag #i7giftswap2024! People writing fics, I'll make a collection for it under the name "IDOLiSH7 Gift Swap 2024".

Below will be an sign up sheet/wishlist for those that wish to participate. If you are unsure if you want to participate or not, please know that you can drop out easily as long as its before I give assignments! Just DM me either here or on Discord (@ brambleberries) so that I can notify you how long you have before assignments are dropped <3

Have any questions? Please let me know! This gift swap includes all types of gifts, from fanfiction to fanart to jewelry or songs, so people with all types of creativity are welcome to join in :)

#アイドリッシュセブン #i7giftswap2024 #idolish7 #ainana #i7 #アイナナ

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somethinginworl · 1 year

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He would not fucking say that - Kirby franchise edition (Results)

Well! Seems like a lot of people had a lot to say about mischaracterized Kirby characters, as a matter of fact, there were a whooping 57 entries! Well, let’s get going with them, shall we? Just,,, beware that this is a LOOONG post.

Haltmann

The dude 100% did fucked up shit and needs to be held accountable but people seem to so easily forget the degree he was influenced/corrupted by Star Dream. I don't understand why people hate Haltmann and love Star Dream who is arguably the actual reason HWC started colonizing and draining planets. Also the fact that Haltmann isn't conventionally attractive to the majority of the fandom makes him less sympathetic ig?? But the dude is a grieving father who made mistakes that sent him down a spiral into being corrupted and then deleted by a heartless machine. I can't help but pity him

Prince Fluff

Go on ao3. Look in his tag on tumblr. He exists only to be Kirby or Shadow Kirby's love interest most of the time, with no personality of his own.

He barely gets recognized anymore, and if he does, it's usually as a ship Prince Fluff was a big part of my childhood, with Epic Yarn being my first game. To me, he was Kirby's fellow main character, and they had a cool sibling/best friend relationship. But now, a lot of what I see of him is just . . . Kirfluff. Which is cool and all, but man's a prince! He can do more than be a boyfriend! Heck, he runs an entire kingdom by himself! One thing that I want to see more of is Fluff as a stressed but caring ruler, not just a sidekick/boyfriend to the pink puff. Give yarn boy his deserved appreciation!.

Dark Meta Knight

Hello! I am here to spread the good word of a character with no personality. It's the mirror thing. Of course. Dark Meta Knight has No Personality. Zero. Nada. Zilch. He's Meta Knight but Dark. What does that mean? Your guess. He fights Meta Knight. And wins lmao skill issue blueboy. And fights Kirby. And loses a few times, which isn't surprising. He was dumb enough to split Kirby in four, though. Four times the Kirby is four times the amount your ass is grass. You're practically a forest at that point because you're so grass. So he's violent and has no personality outside of being violent. Woo! Triple Deluxe has him attack Dedede in Dededetour inside the Mirror. This has led people to think he fucked over Sectonia. This makes my heart bleed as much as Taranza probably did when he was punted off of Royal Road via Fuck You Lightning Ball. My man just has no sense of timing,,,, They just wanted to include a Meta Knight battle because Knight Battles are a Kirby standard at this point,,, You think a man that stupid can figure out how to take advantage of a woman's insecurity? I don't even know if he knows women exist. How many female Amazing Mirror characters are there??? Boxy??? Moley mentions having a wife once and Dameta doesn't know what he means. But other than being driven to immense violence and being scapegoated for the stuff his boss probably did, Dameta has other hobbies! Like whatever his motivation in Star Allies is. Something dastardly, I'm sure. People really like to pretend he's not part of the Star Ally club when my man is doodling with toddlers and posing with his less cool less edgy self. Would a villain have a silly little we heart kirby statue? No, didn't think so. Also I cannot imagine him as a dad to Shadkirby either. Do they even interact? I've seen both "Amazing dad" and "Outright abusive" as interpretations and I can't go with either. But I think that's because I don't enjoy Metadad that much. They're like awkward coworkers. He thinks they're student and mentor. They're not even that. Dameta barely knows Shadow exists.

Dark Meta Knight is very popularly characterized as like an abusive parent, usually physically abusive. Mainly to Shadow Kirby, of course. He's an asshole, yeah, but not THAT bad, christ. I've seen multiple fics where Shadow Kirby is some poor little hey what t the fuck hes fighting himself. um. Back to being a hater.

Shadow Kirby

Some folks still think he's shy/cowardly like from the Amazing Mirror Days. Not really true anymore. From what fans have seen from the ending of the game, he does protect the Mirror World. As for the spin off games that include him, he's pretty tough and even creates mischief sometimes.

Shadow Kirby is constantly treated as an "evil" Kirby. Especially bad after Fighters and fighters two. Not to mention "Parallel Kirby". There's also a strangely common trend of making them more sapient than pink Kirby, who tends to be infantilised to hell and back. Shadow Kirby also is often treated as a complete coward who can't do anything right, when they aren't called evil.

He's shown as completely different in several different occasions, not only in personality but in design I like shadow kirby he's purple and then he's not

Dark Taranza

Dark Taranza, gonna be honest what little characterization people give him are actually okay compared to the rest. But I'm still a hater and hang on im watching jerma clips. okay. He's like Sectonia if Sectonia was Taranza if that makes sense.

Shadow Dedede

Shadow Dedede barely gets shit but I'm going to be a little hater anyways. I don't like most characterizations. I see people make him like a dictator like bro he's literally just some guy.

Sectonia

have you seen how often people say that sectonia and taranza were boyfriend and girlfriend in canon?????? they were never!!! shes the gosh dang final boss but shes only ever used to give taranza angst. she is her own person with a personality!!!! yes their backstories are interconnected but gosh!!!!

This not too prominent but I can't stand it when people portray her as an uwu shy girl pre-corruption. While she gave in her worst aspects, she was probably always a kind of vain, girlboss! I mean she knows how to fight with rapiers c'mon!!!

idk it just feels like lots of people just see her as Taranza's tragic dead wife and like nothing else you know? like she is more than that and I feel like what little content we have of her proves that (like the soul boss descriptions (especially the original japanese text of the 2nd phase!!) and the eternal dream song) - or maybe im reading too much into those because im hyperfixating on my blorbo whoops

Kine

I'm not sure how true this opinion is considering how little people talk about Kine, I feel this is partially the anime's fault, or maybe its because of how he just looks, but Kine is cool and is not some stupid loser fish. Before the days of Crystal Shards, Him, Kirby, Rick & Coo were the dream team at the time, always hanging out going, with various activities long before the days of Meta Knight or even Dedede. Kine is an awesome aquatic rep for the Kirby series not to mention drinking and being a pirate and Kine even has a Wife! Kine has got it! I guess this is a partial compliant of Ship of Theseus which can be applied with Rick & Coo too, but I feel Kine gets the most hate if any because of people who are unfamiliar just see a dopey fish and are unaware of his origins and his past with Kirby. I'm not upset with the current representation of the Kirby cast (I love the RTDL team being the main crew) but I do hope the animal buddies get some more love, Especially Kine.

Dedede

reduced to his significantly less in-depth and compelling characterization from the anime

Anime Dedede.

Magolor

one time i read a series of fanfictions where he called every female character in the story a bitch and was portrayed as the good guy in the story

Is it possible to both be flanderized and woobified at the same time? There is a lot of "removing his responsibility for his actions" but can we get better jokes than "hehe Microtransgolor hehe scammer egg”

Always an uwu soft boy. Like no that is a criminal not a catboy.

Bro would never be intimidated by Magolor

Marx

People either portray him as a edgy sociopath or constantly bored and annoyed. Portraying him as an adult or a teen kinda annoys me as well. I'm very picky about portrayals of Marx so don't get upset if you portray him as one of these I've listed.

Sometimes I see people only joking about the "hungry so he came along" thing with Marx and it's pretty overdone

They took one look at him and said “to the insane asylum bitch”. I don’t think he’s some crazy murder hobo rather a dude with questionable morals and puts his own mischief and fun before others it seems. Though Marx is indeed one of the least “character” characters when I mean he doesn’t have much depth in comparison to other characters. But you could do anything else than have him follow the Jevil path of him being crazy. Make him evil? Sure. Make him a cringefail idiot? Sure. Make him a crybaby bitch? Go ahead. But making him the definition of what a 14 year old white girl in New Jersey that probably is addicted to Instagram and thinks Webtoon comics are the highest level of art and storytelling’s definition of insane doesn’t cut it cuz. Slapping the spaz label without a thought of what’s being done on a character who fits the mark makes the Schizoid peeved who coulda known. As this is all coming from the one person who has likely ruined Marx’s character the most for Kirblur by making him a somewhat empathetic manchild who clings to both pipe dreams of normality and being a monster btw. (Also this doesn’t mean jokes, you can joke about him being a psycho like Jerma it’s when it’s taken 100% seriously is when it’s bad). Also to add on, Woobification of Marx or any Kirby character period CAN be annoying if taken too far. I take full responsibility in the fact my variant is also woobifed to an extent but that train full of ticking bombs doesn’t bother me as much. Make him sadcry and be gay he deserves both those things. Send him to sad hell with the rest of them.

To the anon above... What?

Making him stupid or reducing him to just Silly Clown. Or just having him act in purely impulsive or spontaneous ways (which sometimes happens when juxtaposed with a more "collected" character like Magolor).

Daroach

this is something i’ve noticed specifically in chatfics, but when daroach is in the ensemble some of them tend to designate him as the Goofy Meme Dumbass for… idk, fandom quota? i really don’t know why it happens because he has a bunch of canon dialogue (and alternate continuity stuff like the novels) that show him to be cool and clever. i’m not saying he can’t have a sense of humor or anything (he’s definitely the type to have a bunch of quips), but it sucks when he’s mischaracterized because the fandom doesn’t give him that much attention as is. if you NEED a silly haha guy, marx is right there!”

Morpho Knight

"Morpho Knight is a creature of mercy. It's a benevolent entity putting tired souls to rest." NO?! I'm going to copy-paste some stuff I put in a post of my own. A while back, SYZekrom on Reddit translated Morpho Knight's entry, and it contains some... interesting information. Allow me to provide some excerpts. "He’s a red knight with butterfly wings, continuing from a pair of white wings like an angel’s, and a pair of azure wings with a bit of an evil feel." This is the first of two instances where Morpho Knight is outright stated to be evil. There's also stuff in the art book that supports my theory that Galacta and Morpho are permanently fused and the former is not dead, but I don't want to get carried away. These are its gacha figure descriptions in Forgotten Land: "The fluttering fiend that casts judgment upon final battles is drawn toward the isolated isles of Forgo Dreams. There, it feasts on the most powerful soul it finds and takes the fearsome form of a scarlet-clad knight… Let the most challenging battle of this new world begin!" –English "One of the dreaming birds, which are said to pass judgement upon decisive battles, drifts towards a forgotten, isolated isle as if summoned. There, it sips upon the strongest Soul and descends as a red knight. Finally, welcome the dusk… of the deadliest battle in this New World!" –Japanese While at first glance there doesn't seem to be any information of note, the "fluttering fiend" bit in the English version is outright stating Morpho Knight is evil, and the phrase "he deadliest battle in this New World" doesn't sound particularly heroic. But I digress... Morpho is NOT a good person! This is clearly leading up to a villain vs hero confrontation! Which, may I add, implies that reaping Galacta Knight wasn't necessarily a good thing for it to do?!

Elfilis

elfilis is NOT entirely malicious. they would gladly accept hugs and kisses. being in a fucking capsule ALONE and AWARE for likely CENTURIES will DO SOMETHING TO YOU YOU KNOW?? god fucking DAMN dude... and after the ending of the true arena in the game, WILLINGLY GAVE THEMSELF UP TO ELFILIN. also they're not fucking DEAD you PSYCHOPAYHS elfilis is STILL VERY MUCH ALIVE!!!!!!! RUUAAAGGGH!!!!!!!!!!

Susie

Being Evil or being a Sad uwu girl who has had bad things happen to her seems to be the only way most people can portray this character.

Susie isn't a friend. She's selfish and wanted to take over the company. Her "redemption" is pointing Kirby at the world-ending machine, gives him armor, and then stands around. She doesn't even know his name. The closest she does for good is tell Kirby to do something he would've done on his own.

My girl really became the subject of hate thanks to a mistranslation. I mean yeah she likes robots and shit but the fact that people think she is a terrible person and that she's still colonizing planets makes me upset. i blame the translation team for everything.

When people say she has fully redeemed herself and is reduced to cishet, pretty girl??? Like no, star allies mistranslation my ass you fell for her corporate propaganda. The female characters in this franchise, while lovable, is not nearly as popular as a lot of the male ones. HAL literally gave us a morally grey girlboss who we can still sympathise with. She actually feels like a very real character in this fictional world.

You Know How People Are About Her

she's not even my blorbo!!!!!! everyone thinks she's a huge evil bitch who has done terrible genuinely unspeakable things. i read a fic that went on and on abt the horrible things she "did" to meta knight when he was mechanized (things so bad i cant even say) and i was pulling my hair out she did not fucking do any of that!!!! yes the universe can have pretty dark moments but good lord people only use her to woobify meta knight and give fuel to ship him with others and it pisses me off lol. or people go too far the other way and woobify HER to ship with him and aughhhh no one has a shred of media literacy. she's not purely good or purely evil she's such a complex character who did bad things because she was in a bad situation and the best example of a morally grey character who's on no one's side but herself and that will always be more interesting that 100% good or 100% evil. once again she's not even my blorbo but i've never seen a character butchered this badly by a fandom

Because of mistranslation (from what I've heard) Susie's whole mechanizing planets has been the number one thing when it came to susie hate and the only reason as to why people hate this girl so much. Honestly Susie's character has been fucked up immensely and no one has such a divided spread of opinions like she does. Some people brush away her backstory and make her a soulless being with no love whatsoever.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Susie Haltmann. I cannot with the fandom interpretations anymore. It's ridiculous how bad they've gotten. Susie is a two dimensional character. I absolutely despise seeing people portray her as some sort of greedy capitalist bastard and "the one with the braincell". In canon, she's consistently been portrayed as a sweet person (with a knack for violence, but EVERYONE in this series is like that). Everything bad she did in Planet Robobot was FOR WORK and the will of HER FATHER, and even if she did want to do the things she did, she's clearly not doing them any more. The "mechanizing planets and peoples" line in Star Allies is a mistranslation. And the "punishing savages" doesn't have to mean anything bad. It could mean she's punishing evildoers with her money and resources. In fact, I've seen some translations put it like that And Meta Knight... is just the straw that broke the camel's back. Oh lord. Why does everyone insist that he hates her? There's the little scene in Star Allies... but god, that isn't canon, it's clearly a joke. If anything, Susie might have been trying to talk to him and he was just trying to avoid her in a misinterpretation of the situation. It's supposed to be funny. Why are you imposing this onto people like this automatically makes Susie a devil incarnate and anything involving those two characters in problematic? Just shut up.

Meta Knight

Everyone thinks he’s just the ‘edgy character’ or ‘the uncaring mentor figure’ while in actuality he really does care for Kirby (and Bandana Dee) more than anyone gives him credit for!

Everyone either makes him all broody and lonesome, like shadow the hedgehog or batman; or they make him a goofy dad, like Dedede or Hugh Neutron. In reality, he's a weird uncle with unknown motivations, simultaneously selfish and practical. Also, he doesn't hide the fact that he likes sweets, he eats them away from everyone so no one steals them (Dedede and Squeak Squad).

He's not Kirby's fucking dad! He's an irresponsible uncle that hands out swords! And he is definitely in love with dedede, he is the only other dramatic bitch willing to build a skyscraper to beat up kirby (I am using intense anger for comedic effect)

HES A FUCKING TWINK ASS FRUITY ASS MOTHERFUCKING CRINGEFAIL MAN. HE NEEDS TO HAVE HIS PERSONALITY INTERPRETED AS BOTH THE MANGA AND THE GAMES. YES HE IS MYSTERIOUS BUT HE ALSO WOULD TRIP AND FALL OVER HIMSELF. I NEED STAR ALLIES KICKING SWORD PISSED. I NEED MANGA ROSES BITCHASS META. I NEED THAT PARTICULAR VERSION OF MY BOY meat knight RIGHT NOW. meta knight is cringefail. half of the fandom agrees the other half does not. im explode.

He wants to look cool so bad but he is actually a huge fucking goofy goober. Any representation of Meta Knight being a badass is propaganda made by Meta Knight himself to convince you he’s cool. I mean have you seen his RTDL Deluxe pause screen description? King Dedede’s and Bandana Dee’s are in first person, but his is in third person? He’s literally talking about himself in the third person like hello????? Meta Knight is such a fucking lame goofy little man who thinks he’s the most badass motherfucker on the planet.

To fair this has been less common lately but back during 2014-2016 MK was usually portrayed in fanart/fanfic as either this wise veteran or cold edgelord. He is just an unhindged!!! Silly!!! Guy!!! He can be cool and cringefail!!! But he is also compassionate in his own aloof, awkward way!!!

i am not a big fan of the metadede ship. i think people are shipping for the sake of having a ship and nothing else. As someone with a severely underrepresented orientation (aromantic and asexual), when I see a character I like, I will project onto said character. This is the case with my interpretation of Meta Knight. I saw a cool character that I liked who a) doesn’t have any canon love interests and b) didn’t really need a whole ton of friends/significant others to be happy with life. Meta Knight always seemed to be perfectly content with the friends he has on Popstar and his crew and everyone in the anime, so I looked to him for hope that I could live the same way. I was open to the metadede ship at first, but as time passed, I felt less and less comfortable with it. It seemed to me that people were so hungry for gay ships that they just pulled this one out of thin air courtesy of Kirby Fighters 2, which is to my knowledge the only piece of media that somewhat supports this. Why can’t people just be happy with MK and Dedede being friends or frenemies? I’m probably starting drama with this bc I know how popular metadede is on Tumblr so I apologize for upsetting you if that is the case. But I also feel that I shouldn’t apologize just because I have a different opinion.

I dislike how "pathetic" the fandom has made him out to be. I don't like it when he's portrayed as overpowered but... "pathetic, whiny manlet" could not be further from the truth. How did we get to that?

Kirby

Often people make Kirby more dependent on others than he actually is. He's an extremely independent person that literally cannot be stopped by anyone who tries to get in his way

ik its been covered to death but matpat made that video about how kirby is evil and completely ignored the themes of friendship and kindness that are present throughout the entire series

dude hes not a baby. he drinks in the manga adukt kirbies are a fine interp god. and hes not a godkiller or some shit he just fights for his friends hes not some terrifying monster kirby is literally just some friendly guy. strong yeah but just some guy. he fights strong entities incidentally lol

The anime portrays them as a literal infant, and due to its overprevalence (despite not being in the same stream of canon as the games), this is often their characterization in the fandom. Canonically, they indeed are a child (at most, they'd probably be a teen in the modern games), but they are old enough to talk, and they demonstrate a high amount of emotional and even technical intelligence.

Admittedly, this is one that usually only happens to people outside the fandom, but it bugs me when people portray Kirby as a sort of immoral monster who only does good things on accident. When it’s quite the opposite! He may not be incredibly bright, but he does his best to help people. Oddly enough, there’s not many cases of “he would not say that” in the fandom for me because of how loose Kirby’s story is. It is lore heavy but the actual characters aren’t super concrete save for a few and I think that’s perfectly fine

People forget that their air bullet!! is an attack!! its literally one of their only ways of dealing damage in DL1!!! I’m looking at you Smash Bros!!! Why isn’t it their nair?????????

making them a toddler who cant speak for themself

I swear everyone outside of the fandom sees Kirby as either a braincell infant or a merciless force of mass destruction

Taranza

WHAT DIDN'T THEY DO!?!?!? Taranza, as we see him in Triple Deluxe, is such a fun villain. He's dramatic, arrogant, a total suck-up to Sectonia, and it's so. Fucking. Good. He's a devious bastard, he monologues!!! His animations in the Clash games are so fucking campy and dramatic it's chefs kiss!!!! Fanon Taranza is as plain as white bread. Sometimes as pale as it, looking at some of the gijinkas. No shade though! As little shade as there is melanin in him lmAO- He is flanderised to hell and back. There are so. Many. Fucking. Taranzas who happen to be nothing but sad and weepy about his evil dead wife. Where's the bite!!! The pizzazz!!! Even in canon, when he is a bit of a wet sack later on, he still hunts for an altar he can bring her back on. My boy's a wannabe necromancer!!! Write that shit in your lost lenore Sectonia fic you fucking cowards Queen's Phantom ain't just for show. The above is also evidence for woobification! The fucker is obviously sad his crush is dead! But can we pleeease focus on anything else. This is definitely not targeted at Hal Labs. Imagine being woobied so hard your creators backtrack your personality I would just die. "Ehehe he's the responsible mage!!" No the fuck he isn't he can't be trusted with anything he tries take control it WILL blow up in his face. He knows magic he's good at magic but is he responsible??? Fuck no my man's strongest attack is "Blow myself the fuck up via a giant burst of magic" and it shreds. Even worse is the "Taranza got mind-controlled by Sectonia" theory in tandem with this. That wasn't confirmed right. Right. God I hope not that would be embarrassing. He can't even have a moment to realise his devotion has gone too far and she doesn't love him or even care for him, and he has to finally make that decision to free himself from her like ain't that cool!!! And then making him all sad over her afterwards it's just a Little Fucked if you're tryna put it all together eh. Eh. And he's not suuuper objectified (That usually goes to Seccy rest in piss girlie) but the way he's treated in some ships is. Eugh. Fucking Magoranza amirite he's basically there to look responsible and cute (I've already explained my issue with this) and to fix the tortured soul who is Magolor (I do not like Magolor. Nor Magoranza.) Tbh Sectaranza does the same he's there to be tragic because his girlie's dead. When you give him less personality than the dead cardboard cutout you know you fucked up. Anyways these ramblings are here to remind you what Hal Labs stole from us: Taranza but not a TOTAL saddo. Theatre kid Taranza. Arrogant prick. He's even British.

For the anon above me, I just wanted to say that this entry is probably my favorite and lives rent free in my mind.

I'm definitely guilty of it and it's all we have to go off of but PLEASE he needs more than to be Sad. Give him hobbies and interests that aren't just gardening, at least. Make stuff up about him, please!

So, SO many people make him an absolute crybaby over Sectonia. Even though, yes, he has grief problems, it's not his whole freaking personality. Pretty sure they're forgetting the fact that he LITERALLY HELPED KILL HER.

Taranza is not just a little pathetic guy!! He’s a bitch— a little schemer if you will !!! He’s smug—he’s formal—he’s a little fucker!!! Taranza needs a new partner and that partner is me

Oddly enough I do think people make him out to be a bit too much of a goody two shoes. Like he has done some mean things in the past and it wasn’t all Sectonia’s fault, he literally *stole* the Dimensional Mirror after all. Don’t get me wrong I think he’s a good person in the end, but cmon. He has committed crimes

Taranza in some corners of the fandom has kinda been turned into this forever crying baby who can never recover from losing Joronia and like, I never see people who do that write about the recovery and being able to move on to the final stage of grief.

HE IS NOT A SIMP, MY GOD

Everyone needs to stop reducing him to pathetic simp. He is allowed to grieve but he's probably one of the more mature characters within the series???

People disregard everything else about his character to make his tragic relationship with sectonia his only character trait. Not sure if this quite counts as woobifying since he does canonically still mourn her (and obviously seeing a close friend/crush go down the path of self destruction and ultimately die from it WOULD NOT be something you'd get over quickly). But I'm so tired of taranza in fanart and the like being an uwu softboy with Crying as his main character trait. Like he's canonically more than that! He goes full cocky villain mode when you confront him near the end of triple deluxe and he can pack a punch in star allies with his magic! If you're going to write about him prove that you don't just know about the guy from twitter artwork!

And here’s a graph!

Anyways, thanks everyone for your submissions! What I’ve learned here is important: We’re all fucking delusional.

#I'm going to fist fight the Tumblr editor #Kine anon Ily #Kirby #Rambles #Long post

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