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vauxxy · 9 months

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SETTLE DOWN!

luke castellan x reader

★ “for crying out loud, settle down!”

ABOUT - you hate his guts. he hates yours. but you’d by lying if you said you didn’t want to make out with him until his lips start bleeding. and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like that idea.

WARNINGS - sexual references, sexual comments, enemies to lovers, steamy makeout scenes, no explicit smut. both luke and reader are very horny and very mean sooo two red flags lol

A/N - please don’t make fun of my english/australian vocabulary. i know americans don’t use the word ‘fit’ but LET ME LIVE IN PEACE!!!let me know if you’d fancy a part 2 <3

WC - 3.7k words

it’s hard to recall when exactly your distaste towards luke castellan first developed.

maybe it started off as rude comments and shoved shoulders, or simply the act of tripping over each other's shoes, paired with a few nasty glances. either way, you hated his guts.

this sentiment was obviously returned by luke, who was eager to constantly egg you on and rile you up. maybe he found it amusing- watching the ever so calm and collected eldest daughter of the hypnos cabin going absolutely ballistic whenever luke did something slightly annoying. he loved the way her mature and gentle persona shattered as soon as he provoked her.

it was rather strange how quickly they let their masks slip, letting themselves shout foul obscenities at each other as soon as a conflict arose between the two of them. it was like being near each other was the primary catalyst for their arguments and squabbles- not the actual contents of the disagreement itself, but the players involved.

curiously, luke’s terrible attitude was never extended to anyone other than you. around everyone else at camp half-blood, luke was the perfect gentleman. warm and welcoming to anyone who happened to walk past him, a great swordsman, well-kept, respectful and polite, the list goes on. he was perfect. but as soon as his eyes met yours, his entire body shifted. he became something colder, something ravenous- something hungry. he was out for blood, he just didn’t understand why.

you were slumped over a picnic table near the cabins, tiredly observing all handful of half-blood kids from various cabins making friendship bracelets.

it was dark out, the moon and the embers of the nearby fire acting as the sole providers of light for the camp that night.

truthfully, you didn’t want to be there. you would rather be in bed, coddled up between your sheets for hours before heading down to the infirmary to help out the younger kids with their sleeping troubles. maybe afterwards you could go down to the theatre and join in on a few songs with the apollo kids, or even practice sparring with clarisse.

whatever it was, you didn’t want to be there. not with luke castellan’s eyes studying your every move. you didn’t need to lift your head to know he was looking at you- you could feel it. the arrogance was radiating off him and you could smell his pride from across the picnic table. your nose easily picked up on notes of wet grass, a neutral deodorant, pure spite, and vanilla candles.

after what seemed like an eternity, you eventually shot your head up to meet luke’s unwavering gaze.

“someone’s sleepy.” he smirked, his voice calm and cold. he looked satisfied; content with watching you slowly rise in anger as he began to coddle you and patronise your every move.

you ran a hand through your hair, fixing the messy state it was in after laying down for so long. “i’m not sleepy, just bored.” you retorted, letting your hands hold up your head as you stared deeply into his eyes, not breaking eye contact.

luke played along, refusing to blink as he picked up on the competitive gesture. “bored, huh?” he mused, shooting you a cocky grin as he leaned forward over the table. “you’re never satisfied, are you, princess?”

you rolled your eyes, letting your pupils meet the back of your head as you stifled a groan. you slowly covered one side of your face in your hand, hiding your pink cheeks as a result of his use of the nickname ‘princess’.

“don’t you have a loser convention to get to?” you asked, referring to the cabin councillors meeting that he was supposed to be at.

luke shrugged, looking to his side as he watched a young demeter boy making a bracelet. “got cancelled. now i get to look at your pretty little face for an hour straight.”

“i’m going to bed.” you grumbled, standing up from the picnic table, an unfinished friendship bracelet left discarded. you walked away, hearing little to no protests from the rest of the table.

luke’s eyes met the bracelet you left behind, studying it for a moment. the colours were cute and the beads were placed strategically along the string, creating an interesting and visually pleasing combination of textures and shapes. luke’s hand wandered over to the bracelet, quickly snatching it before securely tying it and stuffing it in his pocket.

luke wasn’t sure why he stole the bracelet. maybe he thought he could taunt you with it, or maybe he could just wear it for shits and gigs. it was a pretty bracelet- why wouldn’t he want to wear it?

a week passed by, and it was time for capture the flag.

luke had consistently come out of the games a champion, securing his place as the best swordsman at camp half-blood whenever possible.

you were tired of it. you promised yourself that when the opportunity arose, you would beat him to it. you would earn the praise he revived so effortlessly.

your determination to win capture the flag was also partially encouraged by the events of the previous tuesday.

you, luke, and a few other older demi-gods were forced to monitor the younger campers on a trip to the nearby lake. simple, right? wrong.

things went south fast when luke ‘accidentally’ nudged your shoulder a bit too hard, forcing you to fall into the lake. luckily, you were a strong enough swimmer and were able to get back on land safely.

“sorry about that, y/n. maybe next time you should keep out of the way?” he leaned in close, whispering in your ear.

luke smirked lightly as his dry hand rubbed the soaking wet and now transparent fabric covering your shoulder. his lips softly grazed your neck as you released yourself from his grip, shooting him a dirty look.

“you should watch your step, castellan. things like this happen to anyone.”

luke scoffed, looking you up and down as he took in the sight of your shivering body. “do they now?” he asked, his head turning to follow your figure as you walked past him.

as you walked away, luke couldn’t help but study your body as it became revealed by the fabric of the camp t-shirt sticking to your skin. how could he not admire the way he could see the vague outline of a lacy black bra underneath your top? or the way your wet hair was framing your angry little face? how you stared him down as your friend offered you a towel.

if you weren’t so acutely aware of how your figure was on full display, you would’ve pushed him in as well- but you were way too infuriated to even get close to him at this point… as well as the fact you didn’t think you could handle the idea of him taking off your shirt in front of you, all wet as his hair let water droplets roll down his torso.

maybe you could handle hitting him with a baseball bat a few times, but the idea of his face all beaten and bloodied was strangely appetising as well.

in all fairness, luke’s actions were not unprovoked. it’s not like you didn’t also tease him and fuck around with his temper.

for example, the very day before the incident at the lake, you had used your abilities as a daughter of hypnos to put him to sleep… for 19 hours, causing him to miss out on camp activities and lose hours of valuable training time.

you felt pure bliss watching him as he stepped out of the hermes cabin, confused and disoriented as hoards of campers instantly surrounded him.

“are you okay luke?”

“i heard you were in a coma!”

“we thought you were a goner,”

luke blocked out the concerned comments of his peers as soon as he caught you gazing over at him from the deck of the hypnos cabin.

with that ‘i got you good’ smirk plastered across your face, luke knew he had to get you back. getting to see your semi-exposed and cold, shuddering body in the process of doing so was only a bonus.

he felt a high from getting to see what he caused. what he did to you. it made him hungry for more. how else could he anger you? get you to show him more? how could you return the favour? would you? he didn’t know if you realised the effect you had on him- but he was going to do anything in his power for you to feel it too.

but those incidents were nothing compared to what was about to go down.

2 hours into capture the flag, and you had managed to fool and scare off enough members of the blue team, causing many individual members to go off track. those hours practising sword fighting with clarisse were definitely worth it.

you leaned against a nearby tree, closing your eyes for a moment as you fiddled with your sword. lost in thought, you heard something coming. more specifically, someone. you didn’t even have to open your eyes to know who it was.

“oh, hey castellan. isn’t it past your bedtime?” you asked, rubbing your eyes open as you lazily swung your sword back and forth.

luke scoffed, taking a step towards you. “i think i like you better when you’re drenched in lake water.” he smirked, looking into your eyes without breaking contact. he couldn’t look away. it wasn’t even because he wanted to intimidate you; he simply couldn’t stand to have you exit his field of vision. not right now, at least.

you look a step backwards, getting into position as you use your shield to protect yourself. “are you gonna try to maim me or what?”

luke took another step forward, mirroring your stance as he took the defensive. “and hurt your pretty little body? i’d rather die.”

you turned red, your mouth agape as you processed what he had said. “excuse me?” you spat, your voice breathy as your eyes widened.

“you heard me,” he smiled innocently, deceiving you before beginning to attack. you blocked every move, pacing around the area as you swung your sword at him. “you’re such a fucking prick!” you grumbled, trying to catch your breath as you struggled to mark him with your blade.

“language, princess.” he scolded, still smiling at you as he continued his attempts at disarming you.

that was the moment when you realised something.

you can play dirty.

not with your sleep-themed party tricks or your weak little fists, but with the power of unpredictability. the element of surprise.

you let him get closer to you, pretending to settle down before him. luke chuckled at the sight of your loosened grip on your shield and increasingly tired eyes, noticing the way your footsteps shuffled backwards and forwards.

“someone’s getting tired-“ his cocky sentiment was quickly cut off by the feeling of your hands tightly gripping his arm- his shock only furthering as your teeth dug into the soft skin on his wrist.

he instantly dropped his shield, his sword still held firmly in his other hand. you quickly released him from your bite, taking a step forwards as you put your weight on his shield. “ow- what the fuck?!” he stammered, looking up at you with red cheeks and a bleeding hand.

you were stumped. you hadn’t thought further than getting rid of his shield. “i didn’t mean to break skin to be honest. sorry.” you shrugged, picking up his shield and throwing it far away while he was still frozen in shock.

luke continued looking at you, silent as he became overwhelmed by the feeling of a ruthless war finally coming to an end within his mind.

obviously, he found you attractive. you were a pretty girl. sure, a lot of girls at camp half-blood were pretty. but for some odd reason, he thought you were much prettier. the type of pretty girl that deserved to be called cute nicknames every day and covered in gentle kisses every night. he wanted to kiss you softly, hold you tightly, say you looked gorgeous, make you tacky beaded bracelets that were the same colour as your eyes. he wanted to make you feel loved.

but he also thought you were a brat. always teasing him and only him. driving him insane with targeted comments and insults. purposefully making him look stupid in front of the younger campers and even patronising him for it. luke wanted to put you in your place. he wanted nothing more than to push you onto his bed in the dead of night, marking you as his. he yearned to hear your strained voice whimpering his name as he towered over you. he wanted to exchange knowing glances and pretend nothing had changed, despite the images of your hands gripping his bedsheets as you let out stifled moans etched into his mind.

luke often wondered how the two could overlap. how the fuck could these two perceptions of this one girl coexist? but luke didn’t wonder how it was possible to think about anymore, he didn’t care about that. now, he wondered if it was possible to act on both of his separate desires for her. he wondered if she even wanted him as much as he wanted her- if she wanted him at all.

“hey, i said i was sorry for making you bleed!” you called out, snapping him out of it.

“stop sulking! what, do you want me to kiss it better or something?”

luke blinked for the first time in what felt like centuries, shrugging as he let a sly smile creepy onto his face. “oh, im not sulking.” he insisted as he stepped closer towards the shorter girl.

he extended his wrist out towards you, a deep and bleeding bite mark engraved into the skin. “you gonna kiss it better, or…?”

you turned red, shaking your head. “i was just joking, castellan.” you murmured coldly, trying to avoid his gaze.

he kept his hand extended towards you, temping you to just take it and kiss it to get him to leave. “fucking loser…” you grumbled, holding his hand in yours as you gave his wrist a soft kiss.

“there, better?” you scoffed before luke’s hands began to tightly grip your wrist, spinning you gently onto your back as he pushed you to the ground, hovering over you. luckily, you still had your sword in your hand. you quickly moved it in front of you, holding the blade close to his neck.

“be careful, princess” he cooed, his sword digging into the dirt ground, standing upright in is position as the skin of your right thigh pressed against the blade. his hands gripped your shoulder and waist, keeping you bound to the floor as you began to squirm under his grip. “ugh, are you kidding me?!” you huffed, your face red from the feeling of intimacy between the two of you arising.

luke was basking in it, relishing the moment as he became almost addicted to the feeling of your skin against his. he let out a hitched breath, his eyes trailing down her frame as he finally realised just how close they were. the vulnerable yet stubborn look in her eyes set off a switch in him. you watched him curiously as he suddenly became a flustered mess, quickly scrambling off of you and standing up.

you lifted your back off the ground, using your hands to rid yourself of the dirt that had accumulated on your shirt.

“are you gonna explain whatever the fuck just happened, luke?” you asked, calling out to him from your spot on the ground.

he rolled his eyes, turning around to face you. “shit, y/n- are you fucking stupid?” he questioned, his voice reeking of irritation and frustration. you furrowed your brows, standing up as you approached him, sword and shield in hand. “oh, alright. forgive me for wondering why the dickhead who threw me into a lake a few days ago was pinning me to the ground in the middle of capture the flag for no reason?” i explained, seething as i pushed him back by the shoulders.

“what the fuck is your problem?” you asked again, letting yourself back him up against a nearby tree.

the game didn’t matter to you anymore. what mattered was getting to the bottom of why this prick was fucking around with you. sure, you liked how it felt being pushed against the ground. you liked the feeling of his blade pressing against your thigh. but you liked the boy more than his actions. you hated yourself for it, of course. this was the dude who’s been teasing you about and pushing you around for 3 summers straight- so why the fuck did you think he was the fittest guy you had ever laid your eyes on?

why did you want him to run his hands through your hair? suck on your neck till it went purple? why on earth did you spend countless nights dreaming about him holding you close as he slept next to you?

you were the eldest hypnos daughter at camp half-blood. you could’ve changed your dream easily; came up with literally any other fantasy at the drop of a hat- but you didn’t. you let it continue. because as much as you hated to admit it, you liked him. you wanted him bad. every last inch of him.

luke let your words echo through his mind for a bit. ‘what is my problem?’ he thought, his expression blank as he stared at you. “i don’t know, y/n! maybe my problem is you?” he said, his voice strained, yet still snarky and somewhat dramatic.

you rolled your eyes again, stepping forward. you kept your hands on his shoulders, pressing him further against the tree he was pinned against. “i’m your problem?!” you asked angrily, holding your sword against his neck once more.

“yes! you make me feel fucking weak.” luke confessed, gripping your wrist tightly as he pushed your hand away in order to create some space between his neck and the sword. “i can’t control myself around you.” he exclaimed, pushing his hand against yours as you retracted the blade from his neck.

“you bring out the worst in me, and i hate you for that.” you arched your brows, leaning forward. “that sounds like a you problem.” you quipped, defeatedly pushing the top of the blade of your sword into the ground as you let your newly free hand grip his chin- forcing him to look down at you.

luke’s hand wandered over to your face, his thumb softly grazing your bottom lip as you tilted his chin downwards, letting him look you in the eyes.

“don’t act like you don’t get exactly what i mean, princess.” he cooed, his voice low as his fingers traced over your lips and cheekbones, his other hand gently caressing your jawline as his fingertips wrapped around your neck.

you grumbled, standing on your toes to reach his height. “you’re a prick.” you scoffed, your eyes fluttering closed as you eagerly kissed him on the lips, his cheeks turning red as he mirrored your movements. he let his hands run through you hair, his other hand resting on your waist as he turned you around- pushing you against the tree now.

his hands ravenously scattered across your delicate frame, trying to feel every curve and dent on your face, back and waist. you pressed your body against his as his hands travelled across your form, closing any and all distance between the two.

after a few straight minutes of violently making out, you pulled away for air, staring into his eyes as your lower lip trembled in shock. you both tried to steady your breathing, lost in each other's eyes as your heartbeats returned back to normal.

“i’ll kiss you again if you turn around and let us win.” you said quickly, the offer seemingly the first thing you could think to say.

luke stayed quiet for a moment, before bursting out into hesitant laughter. “i mean, that’s a pretty good offer…” he said softly, letting his fingers trace your facial features as he studied the colour of your eyes.

“sure.” he said, a little smile on his face as you both leaned in again, the kiss a lot more passionate this time around. you held a clump of his hair in your hand, lightly pulling on on it as luke’s fingers jumped between gripping your neck and shoulders- the other hand running up and down your waist and hips.

you felt his knee hit the bark of the tree, slightly bent as it lightly pressed against the inside of your thigh. that’s when your hands began to grip the back of his shirt, your lips gliding down to the side of his neck. quiet moans escaped luke’s lips, only encouraging you to keep going. he moved his hand downwards, tracing circles into your hips as he moved his other arm hand upwards, cupping the space on the side of your breast with his thumb, lightly rubbing your ribcage.

the moment was only increasing in intensity- before luke was cut off my the sounds of someone calling his name. he quickly pulled away, leaving a gentle kiss on your lips before stepping back.

“right, time to hold up my end of the deal.” he chirped up, leaving one more needy kiss on your forehead.

“oh, by the way-“ he paused, before quickly pulling the bracelet you made the week before out of his pocket. “did you want this back, princess? or can i have it?” he asked cheerfully, his voice low as he looked over you.

“keep it.” you said hastily, your cheeks a vibrant shade of red. luke nodded, giving you one final kiss on the lips as he put the bracelet on the same wrist you had bitten earlier. he gave you a subtle wink and a smile, before jogging away- leaving you frozen in place.

you could hear him talking to his friend from a distance, noting on how he lied to effortlessly- saving your arse over a few kisses.

needless to say, the red team won capture the flag. but luke couldn’t bring himself to care about losing. how could he care about anything other than y/n and her hands and her smile and her eyes? her witty comments and remarks? the way she tilted her head up to look up at him? the way his face fits perfectly in her palm? how could he care about anything else ever again?

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson #pjs #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo x reader #luke castellan smut #luke castellan enemies to lovers #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson tv show #pjo #luke castellan fic

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plutosunshine · 1 month

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Warning! Lilith in the houses.

Lilith represents our dark side and shows what we should be warned about. This article will warn you and help you be aware of your dark sides.

Lilith in the 1st house

Of course, the 1st house is about the person and their self-expression. Therefore, Lilith in the 1st house often intensifies how a person expresses themselves. They might possess a magnetic or enigmatic presence that draws others in, often without them realizing why. The intensity of self-expression can be played out as unwanted attention and too much focus on one's appearance. One may think others perceive them as superficial or don't take them too seriously. Also, be careful with over-focusing on your appearance since it may lead to anxiety, eating disorders, etc. Of course, this is the extreme case, but there is a tendency to unhealthily be overly conscious about the body.

This placement can signify a struggle with darker impulses or hidden desires. It can lead to inner conflicts since these impulses are often not considered good in society. Be careful with your dark thoughts and impulses, which can lead to trouble.

There is a strong desire for independence and a rejection of societal norms or expectations. This rebellious streak can manifest in various aspects of life, including appearance, behavior, and personal choices. The 1st house is a house of Aries, so we can't deny the rebellious side. Of course, it is not bad; just be sure you don't cross the line.

There may be an ongoing battle with your identity, as Lilith challenges you to constantly redefine yourself. This is a reminder to engage in self-reflection, knowing that you are on your personal journey and are fully supported.

Embracing your darker side can be a catalyst for significant personal growth. By acknowledging and integrating these hidden aspects, you can cultivate a more holistic and authentic sense of self, instilling a sense of hope and motivation.

Lilith in the 2nd house

Lilith in the 2nd house can manifest as a deep-seated fear or obsession with financial security. This placement might lead to a tumultuous relationship with money, characterized by periods of extreme wealth and sudden losses.

Power struggles related to resources may exist, either within personal relationships or through external circumstances. This can create a sense of mistrust or betrayal regarding financial matters.

This obsession with money may even lead to taboo ways of earning money. Be careful with dangerous thoughts about that since it may lead you into trouble.

Individuals with this placement might have issues of self-worth and personal values. They can tend to derive self-esteem from material possessions, leading to an unfulfilled or empty feeling despite external appearances of success.

This position can also reflect a rebellion against traditional value systems, causing internal conflict and feeling out of sync with societal norms. Be careful with this tendency.

The most important thing here is to stabilize your self-esteem. Having a healthy one, this placement won't bring any trouble.

Lilith in the 2nd house can bring out possessive tendencies, not just towards material possessions but also in relationships. A fear of losing what one owns might lead to controlling behaviors. Be careful not to turn your relationships into obsessive and controlling.

Jealousy can be a significant issue, causing tension and conflict both in personal and professional relationships.

Lilith in the 3rd house

Lilith in the 3rd house can manifest as some communication difficulties. This can include a tendency to speak harshly or bluntly, often leading to misunderstandings or conflicts. Your words may cause some trouble and gossip, so be careful.

Also, there might be a fear of expressing oneself fully, leading to repression of thoughts and feelings, which can later explode in destructive ways. Try to express your feelings more, especially through your words. Also, you need to choose your words carefully. Word is your weapon, so you can protect yourself and others. Be careful not to cause issues, gossip, and misunderstandings.

This placement can indicate intense and challenging relationships with siblings or within the immediate environment, including neighbors and classmates. There may be power struggles, jealousy, or betrayal involving brothers and sisters or others I mentioned. You need to learn how to handle these issues with grace and care, not to hurt others' feelings, and not to let others hurt you.

This may manifest as total distrust in any interactions. Don’t fall into these patterns, but try to understand the roots of the problem.

This placement often brings a restless mind, prone to anxiety and overthinking. There can be an obsession with seeking hidden truths or uncovering secrets, which can lead to mental exhaustion.

The constant need for mental stimulation can result in a lack of focus, making it difficult to complete tasks or maintain long-term commitments. These are typical third-house issues.

Lilith in the 4th house

Deep, intense, and sometimes challenging relationships with family members might exist. You may feel misunderstood or suppressed by your family at times. Your family may be your weak point. You need to be aware of the dangerous influence of your family members (if it exists).

Individuals with this placement might struggle with suppressed emotions. They may find it challenging to express their true feelings, leading to internal conflict. Of course, your emotions and feelings don't go anywhere; they can kill you from the inside. So, find ways to express your internal self.

There's also a strong drive for emotional independence and self-sufficiency. These individuals often seek to break free from familial expectations or traditions that feel restrictive, empowering them to take control of their emotional journey.

They might often feel like outsiders within their own family or home environment. This can create a lifelong quest to find a place they truly belong. Be cautious, as this quest can lead to places that are not good for you. Stay aware and cautious in your search for belonging.

These individuals often desire to create a home environment that reflects their unique identity and values, which may differ significantly from their upbringing.

A complex relationship with the mother or maternal figure could exist. This relationship can be a source of both deep connection and profound challenge. Be careful, and don't let this affect your emotional world too much.

People with Lilith in the 4th house have a unique approach to nurturing others. They are drawn to non-traditional forms of caregiving and family structures, which can be a source of empowerment and confidence in their ability to nurture.

There's a profound need to explore and understand one's inner life and emotional landscape. This journey can lead to significant personal growth and transformation. You may use any tool, whether psychology, astrology, etc.

Lilith in the 5th house

Individuals with Lilith in the 5th house often possess a powerful and sometimes unconventional creative drive. They might be drawn to art forms that are provocative, dark, or that challenge societal norms. Also, there can be a strong need to express oneself authentically, even if it goes against the grain. This placement can inspire one to create works that reflect deep personal truths and inner turmoil.

There is often a magnetic, almost taboo allure to romantic relationships. Individuals with this placement might attract intense and passionate partners or find themselves drawn to forbidden or unconventional love affairs. However, be cautious since this can lead to some issues in your personal life.

Also, romantic relationships can be a battleground for power dynamics. There might be control, secrecy, or manipulation issues that need to be addressed. Overall, the relationship area may be the area you should be warned about. Just be careful with the mentioned tendencies.

We can't skip one of the main areas of the 5th house—children. The relationship with one's children (of course, if you have them) can be profound and intense. There may be a strong desire to instill a sense of independence and self-awareness in one's children, but there are also potential conflicts around control and freedom.

There can be a desire for intense and sometimes risky pleasures. Activities that provide a sense of liberation and push boundaries can be particularly appealing. It is alright, but be careful since it can become too much.

Your hidden or repressed desires might emerge, leading to explorations of pleasure that are unconventional or socially frowned upon.

Lilith in the 5th house encourages you to integrate and embrace the shadow aspects of your personality. This is crucial to express yourself and not suppress your creativity and uniqueness. It involves acknowledging and expressing parts of yourself that are often hidden or denied.

Lilith in the 6th house

Individuals with Lilith in the 6th house often feel confined by traditional work environments and rigid routines. There can be a strong desire to break free from monotonous tasks and seek more meaningful or unconventional work. This can become a challenging experience if you have personal planets in Virgo or the 6th house. It can create inner conflict where you want to set up a routine but rebel against yourself. This never-ending circle is overwhelming.

Despite the rebellion against routine, there can be an obsession with efficiency and perfection in certain areas. This duality can create internal tension and stress.

Conflicts with authority figures or difficulty conforming to workplace norms may arise. This placement can lead to power struggles or a refusal to submit to others' control, which can go to extremes, so be careful.

Lilith in the 6th house can indicate repressed health issues or unconventional approaches to wellness. There might be a tendency to avoid traditional medical advice or seek alternative healing methods. Be careful with your health; don't skip checkups. Also, stress influences your health more than it does with others.

Emotional and psychological issues can manifest as physical ailments. Understanding the connection between mental and physical health is crucial for individuals with this placement.

Lilith in the 6th house may lead to a desire to serve others in unconventional ways. This could involve advocating for marginalized groups, engaging in taboo subjects, or working in fields challenging societal norms.

Setting boundaries when helping others might be difficult, leading to feelings of being exploited or unappreciated. It's important to find a balance between service and self-care. Learning to put yourself first would help.

Lilith in the 7th house

Individuals with Lilith in the 7th house often attract or are drawn to intense, transformative relationships. These connections may be passionate and magnetic and usually involve a power struggle. A sense of raw, unfiltered emotion can make relationships both exhilarating and exhausting. Be aware of the tendency to have co-dependent relationships. Your connections may quickly become toxic if you are not careful.

Lilith's influence can bring to the surface deep-seated fears of betrayal, rejection, or abandonment. These fears may stem from past relationships or be unconsciously expected. This can lead to a fear of being fully vulnerable, resulting in trust issues or a tendency to keep partners at arm's length.

The relationships in a person's life are often mirrors, reflecting the unresolved issues and shadow aspects of their personality. Lilith here forces the individual to confront their own fears, insecurities, and darker desires through their interactions with others. This can be painful (especially with trust issues) but ultimately transformative.

Individuals with Lilith in the 7th house may feel a rejection or discomfort with traditional relationship dynamics. This placement can indicate a need to challenge or subvert conventional expectations around marriage, partnership, and roles within these relationships. You may find yourself drawn to unconventional partnerships or struggle with societal norms in relationships.

Power struggles can be a prominent theme in relationships. Whether one feels overpowered by a partner or seeks to dominate, there's often tension around control. The individual may need to find balance and equality in their relationships.

Lilith in the 8th house

Lilith in the 8th house is often associated with a powerful, magnetic sexuality. This placement can indicate an individual who experiences deep, primal desires that might sometimes feel overwhelming. There’s a strong connection to the raw, instinctual side of sexuality, which can be both liberating and challenging. This person may seek out intense, transformative sexual experiences that push boundaries or explore taboos. Be careful, and don’t go to extremes since this side of you may cause trouble.

The 8th house is the area of transformation, and Lilith here often indicates a need for deep shadow work. The individual is called to confront the darker aspects of their psyche, including fears, obsessions, and repressed emotions. This process, though difficult, is essential for personal growth and empowerment. Through facing these shadows, the person can undergo profound transformation and healing. If you ignore this deep desire to transform and heal, the universe will remind you, but in a challenging manner.

Power dynamics are a significant theme with Lilith in the 8th house. The individual may experience power struggles in intimate relationships, particularly around control, dominance, and submission. This can manifest in a fear of being controlled by others or an intense desire to control situations and people, especially in shared resources or deep emotional bonds. These tendencies can make a relationship toxic and co-dependent, so be careful with them.

The 8th house also rules themes of loss and betrayal. With Lilith here, there may be a deep-seated fear of betrayal, particularly in intimate relationships. This fear can lead to issues with trust, and the individual may either avoid deep connections or become overly possessive and protective of those they care about.

The 8th house rules shared resources, and Lilith’s influence can bring financial power and control issues. Challenges around inheritance shared finances, or debts may often involve intense emotions or power struggles. The individual might need to learn to navigate these situations with integrity and self-awareness.

Lilith in the 9th house

Lilith in the 9th house often leads to an innate distrust or outright rejection of traditional belief systems, whether religious, cultural, or philosophical. This can cause friction with family, community, or society, particularly if the individual was raised in a strict or dogmatic environment. Your challenge lies in navigating these conflicts without alienating yourself or others completely.

Individuals with this placement demonstrate remarkable courage in their resistance to authority figures, particularly those in educational, religious, or philosophical contexts. They bravely challenge teachers, mentors, or spiritual leaders, which can lead to isolation or conflict. Your challenge here is learning how to express dissent in a way that is constructive rather than destructive, harnessing your courage to bring about positive change.

Because Lilith in the 9th house pushes the individual towards unconventional or alternative beliefs, there can be a sense of not fitting in anywhere. However, it's important to remember that your unique perspective is valuable and can contribute to the diversity of thought. Your challenge is finding or creating a space where your unique perspective is not just accepted, but celebrated, and where you can connect with like-minded individuals who appreciate your individuality.

The constant questioning of beliefs and philosophies can lead to an ongoing identity crisis, where the individual struggles to define who they are and what they believe in. This struggle with commitment is a common experience for those with Lilith in the 9th house, and it's important to remember that it's okay to have fluid and ever-evolving beliefs. Your challenge is in accepting this and finding peace in the journey of self-discovery.

Lilith in the 9th house often leads to deep questioning of societal moral codes and ethics. The individual may struggle with the relative nature of morality, feeling conflicted about what is right or wrong, especially when traditional ethics seem hypocritical or arbitrary. Your challenge is developing a personal moral compass that feels authentic while navigating the complexities of ethical dilemmas.

Lilith in the 9th house often drives a person to search constantly for a deeper meaning in life. This can result in failing to fully arrive at a satisfactory understanding of one's purpose. Your challenge here is to embrace the journey itself as the purpose, finding meaning in the exploration rather than in a fixed destination.

Lilith in the 10th house

Since the 10th house is about public image, individuals with Lilith in the 10th house often feel a strong tension between who they truly are and what society expects them to be. They might resist conforming to traditional career paths or societal roles, feeling that these expectations suppress their true nature. The challenge lies in balancing your desire to be authentic with navigating societal norms and expectations, especially in your professional life.

Lilith’s presence in the 10th house can lead to situations where your reputation is questioned, misunderstood, or even maligned. You might be judged or criticized for not fitting into conventional molds, leading to potential conflicts with authority figures or the public. The challenge is learning to manage and protect your reputation without compromising your authenticity.

Lilith in the 10th house often strongly resists authority figures, particularly in the workplace. These individuals may need help accepting hierarchical structures or traditional career advancement paths, leading to conflicts with bosses, managers, or other authority figures. The challenge is finding a way to work within or around these structures without sacrificing your need for independence and self-expression.

Individuals with this placement may need help finding a truly fulfilling career, as they might resist conventional roles or be drawn to professions that are off the beaten path. There can be a constant tension between the desire for success and the need to do work that aligns with their values and passions. The challenge is to carve out a career path that allows them to express their unique talents and perspectives while still achieving their goals. It’s crucial to do so. Otherwise, you will feel unsatisfied and unhappy.

Lilith’s energy can sometimes attract controversy, particularly in the public sphere. People with this placement might be embroiled in scandals or situations where their integrity or character is questioned. This can be particularly challenging if they feel unfairly targeted or misrepresented. The challenge here is to remain steadfast in their truth and manage such situations with grace and resilience. I know it can be challenging, considering that most cases can be unfair. Still, it would help if you found this force in yourself that will allow you to go ahead without any hesitation.

The 10th house is often associated with achievement and success. Lilith’s presence here can amplify fears of failure or not living up to one’s potential. This fear may be one of the most significant for people with this placement. These individuals might feel intense pressure to succeed, leading to perfectionism or a fear of taking risks. The challenge is to redefine success on your own terms and to embrace the possibility of failure as a natural part of growth and learning.

Lilith in the 11th house

One of the primary challenges is a persistent sense of alienation or needing to fit in with social groups or communities. These individuals often feel different from those around them, leading to a sense of being an outsider, even in groups where they would otherwise share common interests or goals.

This placement can bring a deep fear of rejection or exclusion from social circles. The individual might be hypersensitive to being judged by others, leading to a reluctance to fully engage in group activities or to open up to new friendships. The challenge is learning to navigate these fears while still seeking meaningful connections. Be careful not to reject and push away people around you who are ready to be with you.

Lilith in the 11th house can also manifest as power struggles within friendships or social groups. The individual might find themselves in situations of competition, jealousy, or manipulation among friends. Alternatively, they may need to exert control or influence within their social circles, which can create tension. The challenge is to develop healthier dynamics where mutual respect and equality prevail.

Lilith in the 11th house often challenges collective ideals or societal norms. These individuals might feel disconnected from mainstream values or ideologies, leading them to reject or rebel against the prevailing social order. While this can be empowering, it can also create isolation if they struggle to find like-minded individuals or groups that share their alternative views. However, this rejection can also be a source of empowerment, allowing you to forge your own path and stand by your beliefs. It's a delicate balance, but one that can lead to a strong sense of self and purpose.

Individuals with Lilith in the 11th house may face challenges in pursuing their personal aspirations, particularly when those goals conflict with social expectations or the goals of the groups they belong to. They might feel torn between following their own path and meeting the expectations of others, leading to frustration or a sense of being held back. The challenge is to pursue your dreams while navigating the social dynamics that come with collective endeavors.

This placement can bring a fear of social failure, where the individual worries that their dreams or aspirations will not be accepted or supported by their social circles. However, it's important to remember that there are always people who will support and encourage you, even if they don't share your exact vision. This fear can lead to hesitation in sharing their goals with others or in seeking support for their ambitions. The challenge is to overcome this fear and to find the courage to pursue their goals, even if it means going against the grain. Remember, you're not alone in this journey.

Lilith in the 12th house

Lilith in the 12th house often indicates unresolved trauma or emotional wounds that have been buried deep within the unconscious. These wounds can stem from early childhood experiences, past lives, or inherited family karma. The challenge is that repressed emotions can manifest in subtle, insidious ways, leading to self-sabotage, irrational fears, or unexplained anxiety. However, this also presents an opportunity for growth and healing as you work to identify and address the source of your discomfort.

The 12th house is associated with the unknown. Lilith's presence here can amplify fears about life's mysterious and unseen aspects. This could manifest as a fear of losing control, fear of the spiritual or mystical realms, or even fear of one's own hidden desires and impulses. The key to overcoming these fears is self-awareness, as it allows you to confront these fears rather than allow them to fester in the background of the psyche, influencing thoughts and behaviors in unconscious ways.

The 12th house is associated with solitude and confinement, and Lilith in this position can lead to a tendency toward isolation, either self-imposed or circumstantial. The individual may withdraw from the world, feeling misunderstood, or overwhelmed by their inner turmoil. This isolation can be both a source of suffering and a necessary step for deep introspection and healing. However, the challenge lies in finding a balance between necessary solitude and unhealthy isolation that leads to feelings of loneliness and disconnect. By maintaining a balance, you can avoid unnecessary isolation that only makes you feel worse.

People with Lilith in the 12th house may struggle to form deep, meaningful connections with others. Their inner world can be so intense and private that they find it hard to open up or trust. You need to look at the whole chart, but with this placement, trust issues may exist.

Lilith in the 12th house can indicate a tendency to repress specific desires, needs, or aspects of the personality that the individual finds difficult to accept. These could be sexual desires, ambitions, or any part of the self that feels too threatening to acknowledge consciously. The 12th house is always about hidden deep traumas, so you can feel overwhelmed trying to process them. This repression can lead to inner conflict, guilt, or internal fragmentation. Your challenge is to bring these shadow aspects into the light, integrating them healthily and consciously.

The 12th house is often associated with self-undoing, and Lilith's influence here can manifest as self-sabotage or the presence of hidden enemies, both internal and external. These enemies might be negative thought patterns, addictions, or destructive behaviors undermining the individual's success or happiness. Your challenge here is to become aware of these sabotaging influences, whether they originate within or are projected onto others, and to develop strategies for overcoming them.

Lilith in the 12th house can heighten psychic sensitivity, making the individual more attuned to subtle energies and more susceptible to being overwhelmed. They may experience vivid dreams, premonitions, or strong intuition, but they might struggle to make sense of these experiences or feel overwhelmed by the intensity of their perceptions. This returns us to the fear of the spiritual world mentioned above. The challenge is to ground yourself and develop practices that help you manage and harness your psychic abilities in a healthy way.

The 12th house is connected to the process of release and forgiveness. Still, Lilith's influence here can make it challenging for the individual to let go of past hurts, grudges, or unresolved emotions. They may hold onto pain, either consciously or unconsciously, which can prevent them from moving forward in life. The challenge is to work through these feelings, whether through therapy, spiritual practices, or self-reflection, to achieve a sense of peace.

#astrology #astro #natal chart #astro observations #birth chart #Lilith #Lilith in the houses #shadow work #astro article

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luna-azzurra · 4 months

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Tips for Fight scenes #1

Consider how each character's personality, background, and motivations would influence their fighting style and tactics. A character who is impulsive might rush into a fight without thinking, while a more strategic character might carefully plan their moves. Use the fight scene as an opportunity to reveal hidden depths or conflicts within the characters.

Take advantage of the surroundings to add dynamism to the fight. Characters can use objects in the environment as weapons or shields, or they might use the terrain to gain tactical advantages. Think about how the setting could influence the flow of the fight and make it more engaging for the reader.

Describe the sights, sounds, smells, and sensations of the fight to immerse the reader in the action. Instead of just focusing on the physical movements of the characters, bring the scene to life by painting a vivid picture of the entire sensory experience. For example, describe the metallic tang of blood in the air or the adrenaline-fueled pounding of the characters' hearts.

Ensure that the fight scene serves a purpose beyond just showcasing action. It should advance the characters' emotional journeys or the overall plot of the story. Consider how the outcome of the fight will impact the characters and their relationships, and use it as a catalyst for further developments in the narrative.

Don't limit yourself to traditional weapons or fighting styles. Research different martial arts, historical combat techniques, and improvised weapons to add variety and authenticity to your fight scenes. Think about how each character's unique skills and resources would shape their approach to combat.

Use pacing, suspense, and foreshadowing to build tension leading up to the fight. Hint at the conflict to come, then gradually escalate the stakes as the scene unfolds. Consider incorporating moments of uncertainty or doubt to keep the reader guessing about the outcome.

Every character should have strengths and weaknesses that come into play during the fight. These vulnerabilities could be physical, emotional, or psychological, and they should add depth and complexity to the conflict. Think about how each character's flaws or insecurities might be exposed under pressure.

Show the aftermath of the fight and the impact it has on the characters and the world around them. This could include physical injuries, emotional trauma, or changes in the balance of power between characters or factions. Use the fallout from the fight to drive further conflicts and developments in the story.

#writing #writer on tumblr #writerscommunity #writing tips #character development #oc character #writing advice #writing help #creative writing #writing scenes #fight scene

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the-littlest-goblin · 7 days

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Something that's stuck with me from the Arch Heart's appearance, which highlights a major underpinning of my frustration with C3, is the "Big Doors don't work" comment.

In what way exactly is the Big Door not working?

The purpose of the Divine Gate was to mitigate the gods exerting undo influence on mortal affairs, and according to everything we've seen in all 3 campaigns up to this point, this was a demonstrable success: the Calamity ended, and despite multiple potentially world-ending catastrophes cropping up since then, it has been up to mortals to deal with these threats. They've often done so with divine aid, but I fail to see how that's overreaching on the gods' part when accepting said aid is still dependent on mortal choice.*

Part of the Arch Heart's reasoning for wanting to "let go" is, as I understand it, because mortals continue to rebel against and resent the gods even from behind the Divine Gate. Which, yes they do, but like... the customer is not always right. Not every complaint needs to be catered to, especially the ones based on faulty postulates.

I get that this is not how the Arch Heart is thinking about it; my issue is not with the roleplay of individual characters, but with the narrative whole and the sheer amount of time it has spent, both in the text and extra-textual framing, sincerely entertaining the base axioms of an argument that is so poorly constructed Ludinus wouldn't make it past round one of a middle school debate club. None of the anti-god arguments have given any tangible evidence for the claim that the gods are an oppressive force or that Exandria would be better off without them that is not either:

A. Aeor, which was pre-Divine Gate and in fact the catalyst for the gods to pull back on interfering with mortal affairs, and therefore not all that pertinent to the current status quo;

or B. an event or action that, while it may be done in the name of the gods (e.g. Hearthdell) or directly encouraged by a god (e.g. Opal and the Crown) is nonetheless still contingent on mortals making choices, and therefore not a convincing argument that the gods are infringing on free will,** nor that removing them would prevent these types of situations.

An ongoing motif of C3 has been showing perspectives which challenge the prevailing narrative about the gods as established within Exandria's lore to this point. As a story enjoyer, I normally would eat up this sort of reversal—I love a metatextual play with in-universe narratives. But to do so convincingly requires more substance than a handful of characters going 'Trust me bro.' I'm going to need to see some peer-reviewed studies on Exandrian metaphysics before I take Ludinus "17 ulterior motives stacked in a wizard robe" Da'leth's word over what I've seen with my own brain over thousands of hours worth of game play.

If the message of the narrative is telling me to question the diegetic information it presents, then I am going to do just that. So far every argument that the gods do more harm than good for Exandria has been rampant citationless behavior. I find it baffling and borderline infuriating that we're approaching the denouement of this campaign and I still have yet to see evidence that the core conflict of the story, the central debate which has plagued every in-game and fandom discussion for a year now, is based on an actual problem. Like, at all.

*If you think Vax did not exercise his own agency and free will in every step of becoming Champion of the Matron, you are simply wrong.

**For real, we know there are magical means of straight-up mind control in Exandria. Like, you don't have to approve of it, but the gods engaging in standard issue verbal manipulation does not constitute a violation of free will, and it certainly doesn't make the argument that they are so immeasurably more powerful than mortals that they should not be allowed to exist.

#anyway earlier today I reblogged a shitpost that says better in 2 images what I took 3 days and ~8 paragraphs to articulate #so you should reblog that instead of this #critrole #c3 #cr spoilers

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jolapeno · 8 months

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in my room

javier peña x f!reader | masterlist

summary: Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.

wordcount: 6.2k (im so sorry, this was meant to be short)

warnings: explicit. smut + angst. colleagues who fuck for stress relief. grumpy-ish javi. file room shenanigans. unprotected p in v. oral!f receiving, mention of m!receiving. javi’s hand being a necklace. cum eating (by Javi), mild rough sex? mentions of grief (due to canon-compliant death), season two compliant/spoilers for season two. javi has a filthy mouth. joetics (jo and her poetic nature, credit to @/goodwithcheese for the name), no use of y/n but javi calls you princesa/baby.

an: dedicated to javi-edit-anon, hope you're doing okay.

It begins swarmed in grief.

A chest full of conflicting emotions, fingers itching for another smoke. It is all put into motion by the same person who became the catalyst—the match to the flame, the cause of the inferno.

He doesn’t usually wander around the building. But, today was a lot of firsts. Jaw clenched. Fingers digging into his palm at the memory, the realisation—the fucking play-by-play—of how he’d been played, fucked over, used.

Now, he’s left riddled with the knowledge that he’d lost a friend a few hours ago because of something he did. The understanding of it rusting in his stomach, right next door to the place disgrace is building a home where his gut had been.

He’s not thinking, not seeking—a desperation to run and hide, yet has nowhere to go.

And then he comes across you.

Finds you in the hallway like you were sent to save him. To pull him out of the water, pump the liquid from his lungs and smother the flames from burning his skin.

The two of you having stopped, paused in your travels.

Just two isolated shadows in the middle of the corridor—an invisible line being drawn, a noticeable white mark—backlit by sorrow and emptiness.

You don’t tear your eyes from him. Stubborn, even on your loss. Purposefully, intentionally, holding his gaze across the empty corridor.

Usually, you're so put together he feels contempt at how you seem unfazed at being surrounded by the shit they all have to do daily. But now, you look every bit as undone as him—shirt untucked, sadness stitched into your usually tight, rigid frame.

The only thing similar is the way you look at him, just like you did when the hours ticked on during those late nights you were forced to work together.

Files opened, documents scoured. Two eyes fairing better than one in their search. The toe of your shoe tapping against his desk, your fingers circling the rim of your mug full of coffee (never liquor, only coffee), pen clicking and clicking—

It had been Carrillo who had paired the two of you. Handing him a task, a surname—one Javi hadn’t heard—and the option of an extra pair of hands: you’ll see she’s good, and we don’t want her poached.

Then, he’d laid eyes on you.

You who’d he’d seen around, but never the chance to talk to. Had no reason to. You forever moved in any direction but the one he was heading in whenever he came into sight. That had been well over a month ago, weeks now.

In that time, he learnt your snark, your laugh—the way you take your coffee and your petulance for sugar after 8 pm—all proper in how you handle yourself, like royalty.

It’s then he learned that you hated being called princesa. Lips curling when it dripped from his lips, back straightening—all close to fracturing, snapping. So naturally, he called it you more.

It became—like the rest of it—a habit. He dropped the name as easily as he began pushing some of his shit to the side for you, so you had a space, a small corner of his desk you could commandeer when you joined him.

It didn’t mean anything. A thing be recited, thought to himself as he buried himself inside Gabriela—who looked nothing like you.

Then, a week ago, you were already there before he got back. The soles of his shoes had come to a standstill at the top of the steps, staring at the back of you—taking you in.

There was no need to see your face, Javi knew that you knew he was there. Not saying a thing when he seated himself down, the same way he didn’t with each tap of your shoes’ toe against the metal frame and you bit the end of your pen. He’d decided weeks ago, when you wore a shirt you felt the need to undo two buttons off, that if you weren’t paired with him to torture him, he wasn’t sure what else you were sitting next to him to test him for. But he’d find out, work it out.

Then you cracked it—found it, the anomaly, the name, a connection. A semblance of something in a sea of shit. A straw to grasp, to pull—your lips, likely stained from coffee and ink, twisting into a grin, one he couldn’t help but admire.

“¿Cómo?”

Pulling a face, he had only shrugged, feeling you watch him, answering with a, “You’re good.”

“You just realised? You just notice I got tits, too?”

Leaning back in his chair, he shifts his jaw to the side. Watching you stack papers before holding his stare, letting you see him flick his eyes from yours to your lips. Suddenly all unsure how to even begin telling you that he’d noticed you—had done so since they were all forced into this fucking building.

But you’d caught him, snapped him in plain sight with those beautiful eyes of yours. “Resorting to kissing colleagues now. Fucking whores not doing it for you, Peña?”

He had smirked, wider, but it had been tough. Leaning forward, he traced his bottom lip with his thumb. “You heard about that.”

Nodding, you’d smiled—cockily, full of something other than kindness. “Half the women will be lining up if they think you have free time.”

“But not you?”

Then, you’d stood, head tilted, files in the neatest pile compared to the rest of his desk, as you rolled your lips. “No. Not me. Goodnight, Peña.”

That exchange had been before things had gone to shit.

Before his cock had undone it all, left several people dead and the person who’d paired you together, gone. Taken—leaving a widow and children without a father.

Snorting, he focuses on clearing his throat as he replays it all. How much of a fever dream it all feels, his other hand pinching his thigh as he stares at you studying him, not scurrying off like he half expects.

And the fact you don’t makes his fingers itch at his side.

A part of him, suddenly stronger than all other parts, battles to move closer to you—like he needs to see what your mouth feels like on his. Like he’s been without his fill. It’s why even as much as he wants you to close the gap, he doesn’t move. Wants you to have an out—an escape.

A chance to choose whether you want to wake up with regret. Because even he knows sleeping with him ends in two ways, and shame is usually one of them.

“You should go inside your room.”

But of course you don’t. Instead, it’s the soles of your shoes on the floor that get louder, closer.

“Do you want me to, Peña?”

It’s building, rising. His eyes trailing up and down you, mouth chewing his tongue as he gets another taste of liquor, as he finally lets his gaze land back on yours.

“You want me to walk away from you?”

No. It’s final. Gruff. More spat out than said—laced with failure and remorse—but you hear him. Loud and fucking clear.

So much so, your lips twist up, smirking more devilish than he knows what to do with. “Good.”

It’s quick—you’re quick. Yanking him close as he forces you flush against him. His mouth crashes, steals and takes as his lips sear themselves to yours. And he learns, quickly, you’re not soft, but biting.

You are all jagged sweetness that throws a curve ball in how he knows how to handle this. You. Your lips taste of sadness, tears and liquor, all cheap—so very unlike what he imagines for you—and you make a knot tighten in his core as your palm flattens over his hardening cock in his jeans.

“You tested?” he asks, hand cupping your jaw, tilting your eyes up, pulse racing against his wrist—skin warm, scorching.

“Are you!?” you spit, and he almost snorts until your fingers knot in the base of his hair, pulling, likely hoping it hurts.

And it does.

Makes him groan—but he’s quick to smother it in the back of his throat. Flatten it, hide and conceal. Getting his answer for an exchange of your own.

“We should go inside my room,” you say in response to him, pulling down on him, Javi finding he bends with far too much ease as his ear finds itself close to your lips, “I’m not quiet when I’m enjoying myself.”

Twisting you, he flattens your back to his chest, rough, hearing you breathlessly laugh. “You know what you’re doing, baby, huh?”

And you’re silent, brain whirring as he begins walking you, till your chest is almost against your door.

Open it, he whispers, watching your hand dig for the key, his mouth latching to your neck, swirling a circle on your skin, tasting lingering perfume and sweat as he grips your waist.

“Last chance.”

He hears you laugh, low, buried somewhere in your throat just as the door unlocks, all loud, cutting through the silence other than both of your racing breaths. It’s why, he supposes, his words echo in his stare as you turn your head. Rolling your lips. It's all so reminiscent of the stare you gave him at the foot of his desk—but this time, you collide your mouth with his.

Not leaving—not doing anything except turning in the space between your door and him. Those nails, the ones that tapped now scrape across his hair, burying, carding, as you lightly pull on strands—forcing a groan to bury itself in your throat, find a new home, live there.

It's quick, practically animalistic the way he sheds your layers—baring you, finding (unsurprising) that even in misery you still match. His fingers run over it on your hip, rolling his lips, the tip of his tongue swiping across as he admires, as he steals a second to commit you to his mind.

Because he’s not sure if he’ll ever get to again.

“Last chance,” you echo.

Repeating his words, using them against him. Flicking the fabric against your skin, he snorts and he flips you. Sharply telling you to get on your bed, all-fours—bend over, hermosa.

“This how you pictured it at your desk?”

He barely registers your words until he’s behind you, bare, hand sliding between your thighs as he smirks at the noise you make. How you take him, all the way up to his knuckles—his free hand stroking himself to the in and out his other hand sets, desperation mixing with a need to forget—for a moment peace from thinking, existing, being.

And you’re drenched. Practically desperate. Hips moving with his movements and strokes, the air tinged with the littlest whimpers before replacing his fingers with the head of his cock, dragging it, skating it spitefully over your slick folds.

That’s when it meets his ears, those distinct words—ones he doesn’t know will haunt him just yet—I want to feel you inside me, Peña.

It unlocks something—floods him. Taking in a breath before he glides in, burying himself in you, right to the hilt, going deep.

He revels in your tightness. The way you gasp at the feel of him—fingers digging, scrunching them into your sheets, before he wrenches you up off your hands, needing your back flush with his—a move he realises, painstakingly, he’s done before.

Softening his palm anchored on your hip, lips pressing to your jaw—the other hand busy feeling, enjoying, basking in how you swallow against his palm on your neck.

“You like that, princesa?”

You moan as his hips snap, taking him so well, so perfectly—a thing he tells you, a rush of good girl, good princesa taking me like this. And he expects a bite, a flurry of insults—an exchange that would mean this would shift from stress relief to hate fucking.

But it never arrives. Instead, it’s a barrage of chants, all yes, please, yes, painting the shitty room—giving the crumbling paint something to be disgusted at, other than its own despair. The metal legs of the bed squeal against the floor, the headboard hammering, and cluttering, leaving a mess of years of repainting along the cheap flooring.

“Take me so well. Y’know that?”

Fingers just above your collarbone, pressing, feeling your head resting on his shoulder, eyes seeking his, determined to locate them and take something from him for it. He lets you. Briefly, just enough.

“Harder, Peña,” you hiss, shoving it out through clenched teeth, blinking, breaking the eye line.

“Javi,” he hisses deep into your ear, hand sliding down between your thighs—above where the two of you are joined.

Thumb expertly swirling, tracing the letters of his name against your throbbing clit—the sound of his cock fucking into you growing louder, sloppier. Arm thrown around your waist, feeling the way your skin is sheened in sweat, practically a mess from head to fucking toe, all because of him. Crown slid, shattered in a thousand parts across the floor, because of him.

A realisation that almost nears him to the edge, to bursting, to emptying inside your perfect fucking pussy and stuffing you full of him.

Teeth gritted together, jaw tight as he peers at the place your bodies join—watching, in admiration, as you take him, suck him in, barely let him able to leave your tight pussy as your heart hammers against his forearm.

“When I’m doing this to you,” he grunts, teeth pinching at your ear, your hand gripping his wrist—thumb still swirling, the A and V being a favourite from the way you clench around him tighter, and tighter, “You call me Javi.”

It undoes you. It ripples and then bursts through you—clenching all around him, tightening, squeezing him until his vision blurs and your name curls somewhere on his tongue, all set to be spat, spoken, even fucking whispered. Somehow able to swallow it when it unfurls through him, when it shoots up his spine and surges through every nerve and muscle.

The two of you collapsing against the shitty mattress, the squealing bed, as you turn in his grasp—lips finding his, burying words against him, only soft murmurs finding his ears.

He’s hard to avoid.

More so, when a part of you wishes to be a puzzle—a thing he cannot crack. Something that would take time to understand and figure out. Because then you’d be interesting, layered, something that could matter.

All of which, you suspect he knows when he kisses you after having his face buried before your thighs, tongue saturated in you, now licking into your mouth.

There’s something truthful in it, in the way his palm cups your entire jaw and chin, holding you, keeping you rooted for a few moments before you taste yourself on his tongue and can take note of what he’s done to you. For you.

Except, you don’t meet his eyes. Somehow fearful the space between your thighs has spilled all your secrets to him. Because he’s a connoisseur, likely gifted in being able to decipher the text on your inner walls. Hooked nose dragging along your slick core before coming up for air and seeing how ordinary you were, how boring, how average. He’s likely traced the pads of his fingers over the etchings of all the things that haunt your mind, the things that thrum and go bump in the fucking night.

But he comes back. Again, and again.

And you can't understand why.

You don’t ask either. Instead, you bury any of that against his tongue, and when it’s desperate to come out, a wish to ask him, you instead choose with fluttering lashes and parted lips if you can suck his cock. If he can fuck your throat, if he can stuff you full in one end before the other—

Words can’t escape if your tongue is occupied.

A thing harder to do in the day-to-day. As things around the place return to normal—other priorities sweep over and make people forget their sadness.

It’s why you’re not avoiding him, but you haven’t sought him out.

Too afraid of what you’ll confess when you’re not on your knees. A simple softening of his brown eyes almost forces words to rip up your throat and colour the air.

It won’t do any good. No words will. Not after waking again entangled in an empty sheet. All evidence of his presence gone except the littering of bruises on your hips and thighs and the mess between your legs.

It’s easier, less complicated to keep it like this—a thing you tell yourself as you brush your teeth and wash the leftover tang of him from your mouth.

Stress release, an undoing, an antidote to sadness and a bandage that allows you a moment to heal. You don’t judge him, because he doesn’t judge you either—not the first time, the second or the tenth. Because like recognises like—eyes deciphering how you’re not that different from him.

On the surface, you may pretend to be. Layer secrets and annoyances on top of the other, until it slips into something perfect—a mask, one that any of them can’t peer through and see that you see them all. Because working here is more than hard, it’s more than difficult and often rough.

It’s mornings with your forehead resting on your door wondering if you have it in you and moments alone in dark corners silently wiping away tears.

Most people don’t see your brain, your skills all too quickly forgotten, discarded on the same bit of paper the rest of your history lived when you approached for the role.

You reckon he sees you.

Not because you hoped for it—or because of some teenage fantasy. But, because of the way he looked that night at his desk. Not surprised, but confused as to why you were mainly pushing paper, why you weren’t based where he was, doing what he does. All questions you’ve asked yourself late at night, when your mind doesn’t stop ticking, stop whirring.

You suspect he ticks too. Another thing in common.

While he may have begun his dalliances to gain words, secrets, and stories, you have come to recognise it’s more than that. You know he knows all the names of them—likely lingers in their room. Offering them more than a good time and some money, but something he seeks from them too—companionship, a moment where he’s not DEA and rather something akin to a lover.

From the way he holds himself, Javi doesn’t think he shares that information. But it rolls from him in constant waves when he lights another smoke and drowns his throat in whatever is in his mug. He likes to think he’s effortless and austere, all too weighed down, while being complex, brilliant and wonderful.

It’s why you had wanted to fuck him. Why you had fucked him.

Because, objectively, he is beautiful. All soft in places and firm in others; he has scorching eyes and can offer searing touches. But, under all of that is what made heat blossom up your spine and commanded your thighs to press together for relief.

The way he thinks. The way he shifts his jaw from side to side and traces his finger down the length of his nose. It’s the way he holds himself when he doesn’t have to hold himself at all that makes you want him.

As it makes you feel less alone.

Less like an oddity in how you need to carve your nails into something. Your palm, other people’s flesh; wood, your sheets. All of it just so you become grounded, so there was pain, so there were feelings, so you didn’t float off or drown in a sea of mistakes, regrets and guilt.

It was a combination of both that floating and drowning as to why it happened that first time.

It had been a simultaneous tangling of limbs, a battle, a war both of you attempted to claim—a fight with your mouths, thighs, hands, tongues and bodies. Only stopped when you were both slick with sweat, the tops of your thighs coated with him and your breaths laboured. Your ear to his chest, hearing it—the way he beats, the way he lives. How blood rushes through him, all alive, real, not a fabrication.

Now, though, it’s different.

The grief is lessoned, yet you still find yourself pretending it's as rife as that first night.

A compromise, an opportunity to pretend that’s the reason the two of you do this. When in truth, the reason you don’t judge him, is because you too use sex to feel something. Needed it to claim something, prove something to yourself—that you’re desirable, attractive and fucking wanted. That you’re more than a sharp tongue and a brilliant mind, more than compliments through your way that never land—

That you’re worthy of being fucked to the point you cannot walk straight.

And, he does that so well, twists you, bends you—makes your ears ring with how attractive you are, how good you are, how perfect. A sin that rages a storm in his dreams and a thought he can’t silence.

So you avoid him. Fearful that you no longer wish to feel worthy of being fucked, but be worthy of being fucked by him.

And then he finds you instead.

Palm shoving open the file room door, all loud, like an announcement, before he lets it click into place. Allowing the air to tighten, to squeeze—all so thickening—before he’s charging, so much so the breath is knocked from your lungs with far too much ease when he flattens your back to the wall. The dust blowing from the shelves next to you from the sudden movement, the room quaking, shaking and fucking trembling as his brown eyes flick from one eye to the next.

As though he’s seeking something out.

Some truth, perhaps? A reason, a rhyme.

He splays his fingers across your hip, a hiss trying to escape from your pursed lips as your body threatens to betray you—wishing to curl into him, feel him flush, all warm and easy to escape to. Then, the other finds a home on the wall beside your head, no place to move to, to go—not that you fucking want to.

“I don’t fuck in file rooms, Peña.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. All well-versed, practically a library of quick retorts. “Where do you fuck then? Just your room?”

Surrounded by him, in all the ways that could torture. Nose smothered in the scent that is unabashedly him; eyes unable to look anywhere but him. Slowly, bothersomely, he begins to easily unpick the carefully placed resolve, practically cracking through like it was made of paper and not woven each night as you attempt to stop thinking about him.

Sometimes, it’s easier to think about him.

To snake your hand inside your underwear and ride your fingers with how much you loathe how good he feels. His name is both a curse and a fucking blessing on the tip of your tongue when you come—heat licking up your spine, washing you in something you suspect should be a shame.

But it never is.

Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.

Instead, you leave that, fold it up, and make it as small as it can be, before you undress for him. Then you fixate on his eyes, on the darkness, the way his pupils swallow the colour you know all the flecks off. You stare, because you hope to see yourself in them—an outline, a shadow, evidence of living, remaining, not chipped away until you’re just stiff work attire and coffee. Something, anything—

Especially when you’re bare. When he stares at you like you’ve been carved for him, by him. When he makes you feel weightless and also like you are never allowed to be anywhere but right here.

It’s an illusion though. A trick of your mind—a delusion where want, need and hope all blend into a concoction that is sold in pink bottles and smells like fruit.

Lifting your chin, you want to chill your eyes and harden your expression. Neither happens.

You’re thrown from your axis, deep brown managing to shroud you, make your mind empty, clear.

“We don’t have to fuck,” he continues, letting it slide from his tongue—slither out, practically hissing. “There’s plenty of ways I can make you moan.”

“I’m sure there is. You’ve paid for the practice, after all.”

His chuckle does nothing to stem the fire—the one out of control somewhere in the pit of your stomach. Clothes suddenly uncomfortable on your skin, your earlier standpoint waning, thinning to the point of transparency.

“Yeah, but I bet you’ve been getting off to thoughts of me—us. How fucking good we are,” he retorts.

Your face blanks, and you hope it’s unreadable.

Because you already have witnessed how skilful he is. Had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing him hold his desk phone since, how he grips his gun, marvelling at the memory of how his fingers feel inside of you, both long and thick. How they engulf yours, practically able to grasp both your wrists in his one hand if he wishes.

But, from the glint in his eye, he’s seen you. Already solved you—cracked you.

“You only had to ask, princesa. Would never leave you wanting.”

You snarl. And it’s that which forces your lips to crash against his, steal more lines from his tongue and tease his mind. Ridding him for once, shaking him empty as your hands clutch the sides of his cheeks. Thankful, more than you care to fucking admit, that his tongue slides past your lips, moves past the back of your teeth—accompanied, and wrapped with it, a groan that vibrates down to your oesophagus.

Bodies pressed together, his mouth slanting over yours as though he’s been wishing to do this for as long as you have. Dizzying, heart-stopping—that’s what kissing him feels like. That’s what indulging feels like.

“I don’t like you.”

Smirking, he runs it over your swollen lips, traces his confidence over your mouth. “Your pussy does though.”

His hand moves, snakes between the two of you—fingers proficient, unwavering from their mission—undoing your trousers, zip sliding down, cutting between the silence as your mouths part, lips ghosting, breaths twisting together in the small gap.

The space is filled with a moan when his hand slides inside your underwear, fingers brushing the delicate nerves that make his name illuminate in your head like it’s been spelt out in light—in candles.

“See? Soaked. Drenched, aren’t you, princesa?”

Your head spins, legs weaken. Body betraying you as it rocks against his movements, curling, craving—desperate and hungry. Because you knew it would be good, that he’d be good. There’s no smoke without fire, and there’d be no discussion over shitty baked cake and decent coffee about his skills if he weren’t best-in-class.

“So fuckin’ needy for me, aren’t you?”

It’s there, ebbing on your tongue, yes, yes yes.

And fuck, you didn’t have him down to be like this. To have you at his mercy, practically dumbfounded, his name and a yes the only things you know, think or say. It falls, rolling from your tongue before his lips busy yours. Kissing you as if he’s starved, as if he wishes to coat his tongue in the way you moan against him—his hand getting slicker, coated in your faux hatred and practised indifference that holds no weight now.

Because you want him. Would gladly let him spin you around and, press your face against a case file box and kick your legs apart. You’d beg for it, want him to hold your hands behind your back as he spears his cock in and out of you, not giving a single fuck that someone could come in—

“Stop thinkin’ about what I could do to you, and more what I am doing to you.”

His eyes on you, blown, full of lust and shimmering with a desire that embeds into your skin until it reaches a whole new temperature. Your tongue is heavy and thick, as your throat struggles to swallow.

If anything, it proves he can listen—just to what he wants. And apparently, that is you. Making it flicker, it suddenly impending, slamming itself onto the track with a focus on its station.

“Think y'like being naughty and letting me do this here.”

Your nerves ablaze, legs quaking as your trousers slide a little further past your knee, pooling at your ankles—his breath dancing across your neck and little hairs.

In vengeance, you nip at his lips, charming kisses that leave him chasing—breaths tangling, teeth biting your bottom lip as you tilt your head. But, he’s resilient, unwavering, hand all but burning inside your underwear, fingers rough, middle and trigger finger calloused and pressed against your swollen nerves as you dig your toes into your shoes so you don’t unravel.

So he doesn’t get to have this so easily.

He knows.

You know he does. Likely knows your brain is firing, tension building, muscles all but quaking in faux-determination. Just barely present to hear what he whispers, but you know it pushes you over.

Gently guides you over the edge as your hips still, throat hoarse as it whispers moans, falling, descending from you as you quickly lose control. He makes you feel alive, full of electricity—blood pumping in your ears as he tastes the way you moan his name. Waves hammering against you, suddenly needing to crash, and they do, they do—

“Fuck, I love making you come.”

His chest rising and falling, pebbled sweat on his brow as he retracts his hand, offers a finger to you—finding you wrap your mouth around it, basking in how he says you’re his good girl.

You suppose that’s why he ends up at your base door past midnight—a silent exchange, a non-verbal promise.

Him and you. You and him.

A brown bag in hand; corruption and a need to not sleep present in his eyes. Drinking you in, lingering his eyes up and down your frame—a sheet clutched against your chest.

You suspect he knows that under this thin fabric, its lace, all ready to be snapped, thrown into some corner, the places they sat covering replaced by the wet expanse of his mouth.

It’s why you let him in, mouth conjoining to his, hearing the door slam behind him as you ruck the leather from his shoulders, down his arms, floor.

“He estado pensando en ti toda la noche.”

A part of you knew he’d come—sensing it. Dressing for the occasion, sliding the lace into place.

Because you know him as much as he understands you.

It’s why you smile, if only to yourself, when he spreads your thighs, coats his cock in your want, and sinks deep into you, rectifying all that is wrong, groaning into your neck as you feel thankful for being full again.

He shouldn’t think you’re a vision, but he does.

Javi learned it quickly, but ignored it at a speed faster than that. Not wanting to be in awe, not wanting to allow himself the chance to think of himself worthy of it.

Except, he’s forever salivating for more of you—desperate for another chance to taste, to hear how your whimpers sound, feel the way your fingers card through his hair, gripping, twisting, pulling.

If someone asked him, he’d confess it on his knees that it’s all he’s thought about. The way your nails feel, how your skin feels. The noises—fuck, the noises you make—and the way your eyes glisten, shimmer, bloom and explode with fucking desire.

“Javier…”

I know, he soothes. The sheet ripped from between the of you, discarded, removed from play as your fingers work his buttons open—more and more skin appearing until he can feel the warmth of your body, your tits against him, nipples peaked as the back of your legs meets the bed.

He’s surprised at the ease you fold for him. Dragging him down, and then you’re under him. Obedient, waiting, needy. He knows it. You know it.

Just like it’s probably obvious that you make him want. That he’s ticking, watching you, unable to tear his eyes away, more so since the other night. Your face close, eyes on the file, cogs turning, brain firing on all cylinders—and when you’d slid your eyes over, he hadn’t been able to not drop his sight to your lips.

The same way he suspects you hadn’t been able to fight doing the same yourself.

It’s why he fucks you with an increased pace, skin slapping, moans more deranged than usual. The drenched fabric between your legs pushed to the side as he drags moan from your lips, wringing them out, stuffing them into some cabinet in his mind that he only opens when he can’t have this, you, writhing, squirming as he fills you to the brim, stuffs you.

“Gotta taste you.” His tongue slides a line down your breastbone, eyes on you, fixated, waiting. “Can I?”

He’s fucking grateful that you nod. Moving, sinking to his knees on the hard floor of your base room—cock hard, dripping, all but throbbing and practically fucking angry. Fingers teasing the fabric, his mouth latching, lace and the taste of him and your desire singeing on his tongue.

And you’re heavenly—a rolling thought which appears as he licks, hearing you react, capturing it all, pocketing it.

Waiting, and waiting, until he feels it—you carding your nails through his hair, tracing lines you likely already suspect others have walked themselves. He wonders if you’re thinking it must be nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary for him, except it was, is.

Because it’s you, they were your fingers—your nails. The ones that type up his reports these days because he can’t type for shit, now typing a story into his scalp, leaving a tale for him to decipher when he tried to sleep later.

He doesn’t look up, too fearful of the sight that he’ll find and never be able to rid of. He keeps his head buried between your thighs, focused, panties still hooked on one thigh, hanging there, pointless and occasionally catching on his palm as he grasps and squeezes your leg. All focused, moving his tongue, working it on you, in you, as though attempting to sort out a kink in the chain—attempting to unravel you in the same way he has done others.

Except, Javi learns, you’re not like them. You’re not something linear, you’re not easy to understand, and there’s no transaction at the end. You’re more than a concept, more than a thing he can undo and figure out just with his tongue, but fuck, he’s sure you would let him try—or at least, he hoped you would.

Right now, he’s enamoured with a task that he finds more rewarding than asking: making you come.

Tongue sinking in, tasting you, coating all of his mouth that he can with you as your hips buck into his face. Nails all perfectly manicured and in a lighter shade than when it was wrapped around his cock last week, drag through his hair. The air punctured with his name—all Javi and Javier’s, not Peña’s and Putas.

He wonders as he spells it on your bundle of nerves, whether you feel it too. This thing—this pulsating, breathing, existing thing that is there all on its own.

A click of his jaw when you laugh at someone else; a flex of his fingers when he finds you in the heart of danger.

Javi reflects—thinks.

But then it goes, fades from mind like dust when you tug on him to move closer, so close your thighs are trembling—likely dangling on the edge of release.

“Need your cock, Javi.”

He doesn’t think about feelings, emotions or the flame he carries for you again—not until you’ve left, leaving him alone, sated, the memory and scent of you being all he has.

The base of his palm presses against his forehead, kneading, cigarette billowing in his other hand because it’s all a fucking mess. From the fact that the fantasy has turned into a reality; the dream has coloured itself until it has become true.

He knew this was real, not concocted by some blackened part of his imagination looking for an escape because you say his name more sweetly than you do in his reverie.

It’s a secret—not known, a thing kept unseen. His walls and sheets know, but not a living soul. And he suddenly wants to change that. Says so much as he moans that you’re mine.

Eyes widening as they stare down at him, hands poised on his chest, hips steadying as you remain seated—filled with him, tits slowly not bouncing.

So he repeats it, “You’re mine.”

No question, no ask.

Watching you swallow, painted in yellow-light which makes the sweat shimmer like glitter.

Rolling your hips, you hold his gaze, consider it, likely question your own goddamn sanity. But then you say it:

“Yours, Peña. I’m yours.”

And he knows he liked it. More than he’ll ever admit. Coming so hard and so quick inside of you once your mouth has twisted into an O and your nails have branded lines into his chest. Hearing it, over and over as he spills into you, relishes in it.

It’s only after, when Javi runs his knuckles along the underside of his jaw, thoughts populating, appearing and popping like balloons, he realises he doesn’t just like it.

It’s more than that.

And that’s why, more than he likely should, he wished he’d asked you to stay. To remain beside him. Let him hold you and make your morning a little better.

Javi could ask. Could half-dress and hammer his fist on your door.

But he doesn’t.

There’s always next time, though.

an: grins wickedly, thought i'd try something new.

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javi peña x reader #javier peña x reader smut #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

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hamable · 1 year

Text

I’m about to write an essay on the specific situation Miles is in as we set up for a third movie.

With great power comes great responsibility.

Not a single spiderman asked to be bit. No one planned to be spiderman. But, given the power to do so, they chose to become spiderman. Miles is bitten by a spider from a different dimension that was never meant for him. In that moment, two dimensions were doomed. One to lose it’s intended spiderman, and one to never have one at all.

But Miles’s New York isnt in a state of anarchy like Universe-42, where his spider came from. It’s relatively normal. It’s what we expect of Spider-Man’s New York. It’s not doomed.

Spiderman doesn’t choose to get powers. In any universe. But every spiderman looks at what he has and the world around him and does what he can do.

Miles is just as much a Spiderman as every other Peter out there. It could be anyone under the mask, should they chose to wear it.

He may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time but so was every other bite victim. This is not his fault. And it may take another watch or two for me to confirm, but I don’t think Miguel ever directly says something to blame miles as an actor in all this. Yes, miles is the linchpin. To keep to the canon web, miles should not have been bitten. The fault falls on happenstance, though it’s all too easy to pin on miles. But I don’t think Miguel ever says that. Miles shouldn’t exist. Miles is not spiderman, in Miguel’s eyes. But goddamnit he’s not at fault here.

I’m hoping Miles can take control of his own narrative. His entire character revolves around balancing the expectations of those around him while he tries to discover his own. His family, his school, living up to what spiderman is supposed to be. Even The Hole confronts him and demands he acknowledge they are nemeses, and upon being turned down, seeks vengeance and validation which is the catalyst for the movies major conflict. Ppl keep telling miles who to be. And in a universe where a kid got bit when he shouldn’t have, I hope he finds the strength to rewrite more shouldn’ts. Spiderman can do both. The captain doesn’t have to die. His relationship with Gwen Stacy does not end in tragedy.

EDIT: FUCKIN. IF THE CANON RULES ARE SO IMPORTANT. WHY’D JEFF DIE IN A UNIVERSE WITH NO SPIDERMAN? UNCLE AARON DIDNT HAVE TO DIE IN THAT ONE SO WHY DID THE CAPTAIN??? ANSWER ME THAT M I G U E L?????

#across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse spoilers #sats spoilers #spiderman across the spiderverse spoilers #spiderman

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waitingtobreatheagain · 2 months

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One of my favorite parts of the argument outside the Modiste scene is one although it starts harsh/angry…it becomes vulnerable and communicative very quickly. This is due to the core of their relationship. They are each other’s favorite person. No one understands the other more or in the way they do. Even through the hurt, the love is so so apparent.

It is a great example of how anger is a secondary emotion and in this case the primary emotion are emotions related to feeling emotionally hurt.

People say all they had was miscommunication and that is absolutely not true. You wanted them to be all good in five seconds and that was never going to be the case. Two weeks to process what felt like a betrayal, work through it, and work through your own insecurities that could impact your relationship in the future is NO SMALL THING. Not to mention, Colin repeatedly shows his love even in his anger hurt and confusion.

My absolute favorite thing about the scene (and proof of them still having good conversation even while being on the outs) is Colin doing something that Eloise never did. He actually asks Penelope WHY she wrote what she wrote. Even in feeling his most hurt, he seeks understanding. He knows Pen better than anyone (as she does him) and he really needs to identify how and why his most favorite person in the world, the love of his life, could do this. After discussing it, he is still upset which again is fair but he does understand and knows that she is still who he has always know her to be.

To be vulnerable when you’re hurt instead of hurtful also so emotional maturity. Yes, we know their first time seeing each other after the reveal he says something hurtful but he immediately regrets it which is made evident by Luke Newton’s skill in facial expression. He even asks Pen’s questions which she agrees with and identifies why she couldn’t do those things back when she wrote about specific things (I.E. “why didn’t you just tell me to my face” “I know I should have I didn’t have the confidence to then”).

And the part where we see his insecurity about his writing skill and the biggest insecurity being deserving of her on full display. Colin has grown up feeling as if he has to be so many things for so many people to be able to feel worthy. Just being himself has never felt like enough so it makes complete sense that he cannot honestly fathom that his favorite person…the love of his life…loves him simply for being him. That’s beyond belief for him. That is why the “what good am I to you, then (if I can’t protect you) and Pen’s response of I love you is so important. We see Pen’s face go from on guard, defensive, and some indignation to soft and empathetic. She is truly seeing the insecurity and similarly to how Colin couldn’t believe that Pen had no chance of romance when she asked him to kiss her…Pen can’t believe that Colin thinks he can only be loved by her if he is in service of her or has utility. His reaction to her I love you also support Colin is demisexual theories. The affirmation that she does not need him to protect her or do all these things for her and instead just has to be the man she loves is the catalyst for the passion and desire we see him kiss her with afterwards As to say, that’s right. This is the only relationship in my life where I am able to fully be myself, where I am loved for who I am, where I am uplifted, understood, seen, and valued based on my true self not based on who society says I should be, where my vulnerability and emotional intelligence is seen as a strength and not a deficit, etc.

That is so beautiful to me.

This goes back to why for me Polin will always be the pinnacle. The depth of their relationship following years of friends especially as they got closer sets up how they work through conflicts. There are so many parallels when looking at Colin helping Pen work through her insecurity with her confidence and appearance and Pen helping Colin work through his insecurity with self doubt and feeling deserving/worthy of his love.

Truly, a love that is a beautiful as it is rare.

#bridgerton #my babies #polin #bridgerton season 3 #my faves #real lovers are back #lady whistledown #lord whistledown #penelope bridgerton #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope #penelope featherington #modiste #modiste scene

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novlr · 5 months

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What is a good way to start a novel? (sentence frames)

Are you a creative writer struggling to get started on your next project? Do you find yourself staring at a blank page, unsure of where to begin? Fear not! Here are some sentence frames designed to inspire your creativity and help you generate story ideas.

Get to know your main character

[Character name] was not your typical [profession/role]; in fact, they…

Despite being [adjective], [character name] had always felt…

[Character name] had a secret, one that they had kept hidden for [time period]…

As [character name] looked out the window, they couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like if…

[Character name] had always been drawn to [hobby/interest], but had never had the courage to pursue it until…

The day [character name] met [another character], everything changed…

Setting the scene

The town of [name] was known for its [unique characteristic], but beneath the surface…

In a world where [fantastical element] was commonplace, [character name] stood out because…

The [building/location] had stood abandoned for [time period], but on this particular night there was [an event]…

The [place/location] was famed for its [unique characteristic], but [character] found themselves drawn to [thing]…

Introduce conflict

[Character name] had always believed that [belief], until [event] forced them to question everything.

When [character name] discovered [secret/revelation], they knew they had to…

The arrival of [character/object] in [setting] threw [character name]’s life into chaos, as they…

[Character name] had always been content with their [status quo], but when [event] occurred, they realised that they could no longer ignore their true calling.

The arrival of [character name] in [place/location] set off a chain of events that would uncover long-buried secrets and force the [people of location] to confront their darkest demons.

Show character growth

[Character name] had spent their entire life [doing/believing something], but now they began to wonder if…

As [event] unfolded, [character name] realised that they were capable of…

[Character name] had always been afraid of [fear], but in the face of [challenge], they discovered…

[Character name] used to [old behaviour], but now they [new behaviour]…

As [character name] faced [challenge], they discovered a [new strength/quality] within themselves…

[Character name] never thought they could [achievement], but with [catalyst], they learned to [lesson]…

Create suspense and mystery

[Character name] knew that [mystery/secret] held the key to [goal], but the closer they got to the truth…

As [character name] delved deeper into [investigation/quest], they began to suspect that…

The [object/clue] seemed insignificant at first, but as [character name] examined it more closely, they saw [detail].

[Character name] had a nagging feeling that something was off about [person/place/thing], but couldn’t quite put their finger on it until [event].

The [sound/smell/sight] was hauntingly familiar to [character name], but they couldn’t remember why until [event].

Explore character relationships

[Character name] had always looked up to [other character], but now they began to see them in a different light because [event/change].

Despite their differences, [character name] and [other character] found themselves drawn to each other because of [detail].

[Character name] knew that [other character] was hiding something, but they never expected [revelation].

[Character name] and [other character] were once inseparable, but [change] meant they grew apart.

[Character name] never expected to find a friend in [other character], but [character detail/event/location] brought them together.

[Character name] couldn’t shake the feeling that [other character] was hiding [secret] from them.

Remember, these sentence frames are just a starting point to help you generate ideas and get your creative juices flowing. Feel free to adapt, combine, or expand upon them to suit your unique story and writing style. The most important thing is to let your imagination run wild and enjoy the process of writing your novel!

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unabashegirl · 2 months

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my best friend's dad | part 2

/N and Scarlett Styles are best friends in college. They share everything even their plans for Spring Break. They have a trip to Bahamas planned. Everything takes a turn when Scarlett is unable to fly, and Y/N is forced to coexist and interact with Scarlett's dad.

Author's note: I initially decided not to post this part on Tumblr, but people began having issues with me because of that decision. I received rude messages in my inbox, but I'm going to posting it—not because of the rude messages, but because my Patreon subscribers asked nicely for another part. I want to be very clear: I WILL NOT BE POSTING THAT PART ON TUMBLR. No matter how many insults I receive in my inbox, this will not change. i hope you enjoy.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all the one shots and much more :) thank you beforehand!

word count: 2.4K

warnings: smut

part 1

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Harry, determined to keep a respectful distance from Y/N after that morning’s perverted thoughts. He dressed in a freshly washed swimsuit and headed straight for his studio, a serene space filled with natural light and a calming view of the beach and pool below. The sound of waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing background as he settled in at his drawing table.

He immersed himself in his work, focusing intently on finalizing the layouts for the new building project. The creative process helped clear his mind, and he found solace in the familiar rhythm of sketching and planning. Occasionally, he glanced out onto the balcony, where he could see Y/N below, absorbed in her book.

She looked peaceful, the morning sun casting a soft glow around her. He noticed her occasionally reaching for a piece of fruit from a bowl beside her, her expression content as she turned the pages. Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight.

By midday, Harry had completed the layouts he set out to finish. He stretched his arms and stood up, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Glancing out at the balcony once more, he caught Y/N turning herself onto her chest and untying the top of her blue bikini. She slipped on the top and threw it beside the sunbed. She was topless and Harry tried to hold his composure.

“How is Bahamas?” Jeff, Harry closest friend asked as soon as he picked up the phone.

“It’s fine” Harry responded as he sat down and took off his reading glasses.

“It doesn’t sound like it. How is Scar?”

Harry sighed, knowing Jeff could read him like a book. "Scar's doing well," he admitted, leaning back in his chair and glancing out at the tranquil ocean view from his study. "But... there's something else."

"What's going on, mate?" Jeff's voice held concern.

Harry hesitated, unsure how to articulate the conflicting emotions he'd been grappling with since Y/N arrived. "It's Y/N," he finally confessed. "She's Scarlett's friend, and she's... she's a guest here."

Jeff remained silent, sensing there was more to Harry's unease.

"I find myself thinking about her more than I should," Harry admitted quietly. "She's smart , funny, and..." he trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe the attraction he felt.

"You've got it bad, haven't you?" Jeff said knowingly.

Harry chuckled ruefully. "It's complicated. She's much younger, and I shouldn't be thinking about her like this."

"Maybe it's just a crush," Jeff suggested gently. "It'll pass."

"I hope so," Harry murmured, running a hand through his hair. "I just need to focus on work and keep my distance."

"Or you could test the waters. What if she's also interested?" Jeff suggested, knowing that his friend always played it safe and never ventured into morally gray areas. He believed Harry needed to embrace life more, and perhaps Y/N was the catalyst he needed.

Harry sighed again, torn between Jeff's suggestion and his own reservations. The idea of pursuing something with Y/N was both exhilarating and unsettling. He valued Scarlett’s feelings and didn't want to jeopardize them or make things awkward between them.

"I don't know, Jeff," Harry finally replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "She's Scarlett's best friend, and there's an age difference..."

Jeff interrupted gently, "You can't control who you're attracted to."

Harry nodded slowly, considering Jeff's words. He knew his friend meant well and understood his perspective, but the thought of complicating things weighed heavily on his mind. He had always been cautious, preferring to maintain boundaries and avoid unnecessary risks.

"I just don't want to mess things up," Harry admitted quietly, his gaze drifting back to the view outside. The ocean shimmered under the afternoon sun, a peaceful contrast to the turmoil in his thoughts.

Jeff nodded understandingly. "I get it. Just see how things unfold. You'll figure it out."

As they ended the call, Harry leaned back in his chair once more, reflecting on their conversation. He knew he needed to tread carefully, balancing his growing feelings with his respect for Scarlett and Y/N’s feelings too. He just wasn’t sure if he just wanted to sleep with her or something else.

Harry hadn't been in a relationship for years. He had devoted his time to work, ensuring his daughter had a comfortable life. If he thought about it that way, he felt he deserved to have some fun. However, he still didn't know if Y/N felt the same way toward him.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Harry?" It was Y/N, holding a bowl of fruit. Her hair was wet but pulled back by her sunglasses. Harry noticed she was already getting a bit sunburned and looked tanner than she had just three days ago. "I just thought you might like a snack," she said sheepishly.

Harry smiled, touched by her thoughtfulness. "Thanks, Y/N. That's very kind of you," he said, standing up and walking over to her. He took the bowl of fruit from her and placed it on his desk.

"So, this is where the magic happens," she said with a grin, walking over to the drawing table.

"Yep, this is it," Harry replied, his heart racing slightly at her presence. "Come, take a look.”

He led her to the table, where his latest project was spread out. Y/N leaned in, her shoulder brushing against his as she examined the intricate designs. Harry could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, and he fought to keep his focus on the work in front of them.

“Oh! Look at that” she said, her voice full of genuine admiration. “The detail is breathtaking”.

"Thanks," Harry said, his eyes flicking to her face.

As Harry explained his vision for the project, he couldn't help but notice how close they were standing. The small studio felt even smaller with her beside him, and the tension between them was palpable. He tried to keep his voice steady, but the proximity was making it difficult.

At one point, Y/N reached out to touch a section of the blueprint, her fingers lightly grazing his hand. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through him, and he glanced up to find her watching him intently. The air seemed to thicken around them, and for a moment, the world outside the studio ceased to exist.

Harry cleared his throat, trying to dispel the growing tension. "So, um, that's the main living area," he said, pointing to the layout on the paper.

They stood there, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. Harry's mind raced, torn between the desire to close the gap between them and the need to maintain the boundaries he'd set for himself. He could see the same conflict in Y/N's eyes, and it only intensified the pull he felt toward her.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence. "I should let you get back to work," she said, stepping back slightly, though her eyes lingered on his.

Harry nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. “I was thinking of taking a break and going for a swim. Do you want to come?”

She gave him a small, smile. “Yeah”.

They both made their way out of the studio and down the path towards the private beach. The sun was burning hot as it neared lunch hours, and the air was filled with the sounds of seagulls and the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. The crew was starting to prepare the table for lunch, setting out plates and utensils under the shade of a large umbrella.

As they walked, the soft sand crunching beneath their feet, Harry stole glances at Y/N. She looked radiant in her bikini, her skin glowing under the sunlight. He felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

They waded into the water together, the cool waves lapping at their legs. Harry couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration as they moved deeper into the ocean, the water enveloping them in its refreshing embrace. The sun glinted off the surface, creating a dazzling display of light and color.

As they swam, Harry found himself drawn to Y/N, their laughter and playful splashes creating a sense of intimacy and connection. They floated on their backs, gazing up at the clear blue sky, the worries and tensions of the world seeming to melt away.

"I think my face is getting burned," Y/N said as she stood up near the shore, the water lapping at her waist. Harry swam over to her, concern in his eyes. He stood up beside her, leaning in to check on her more closely.

"Let me see," he said softly, his voice full of genuine concern. As he leaned closer, his eyes scanned her face and cheeks, which were definitely flushed from the sun. The close proximity made Y/N's heart race, but she couldn't help staring at his lips, her breath hitching slightly.

Harry noticed her gaze, and his heart pounded in response. He could see the nervous anticipation in her eyes, and it was all the confirmation he needed. Slowly, deliberately, he closed the gap between them, his eyes locking onto hers.

She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. "Harry," she replied, her voice trembling slightly.

Taking a deep breath, Harry gently cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing lightly against her sun-kissed skin. The world seemed to stand still as he leaned in, his lips finally meeting hers in a tender, lingering kiss.

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as she responded, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss was soft and tentative at first, but quickly grew more passionate as they both gave in to the emotions they'd been holding back. The warm ocean water swirled around them, adding to the sense of intimacy and connection.

Harry's hands wrapped around her waist as the waves nudged them deeper into the water. With the sea current interrupting their kiss, Harry lifted her off the ground. Y/N instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, holding on tightly.

Their lips met again with renewed passion, the sensation heightened by the cool water surrounding them. Harry's grip on her tightened, anchoring her against him as the waves swayed them gently. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

Harry kisses her again but the softness if gone and now there is a sense of urgency. Y/N lips moved to his jaw and then to the side of his neck. Harry hand coming to grip her jaw to stop her.

“Are you sure?” He asked, not wanting to take advantage of her. She was younger and with less experience than him. The last thing he wanted to do was to pressure her into having sex. “I don’t want you to do something you don’t want”

“I want to” Harry didn’t question her any further. Perhaps because of his own selfish reasons. He untied her top and released her breasts, he tend to them, putting one of them in his mouth as his other hand massaged the other. He bit her softly, earning a whine from her.

“Harry” she moaned as she watched him devour her breasts. His hot mouth against her cold skin was a different sensation. Y/N was surprised that she had deliberately agreed to have sex at the beach, in the ocean. However, the desire was too intense to make it back to the house.

Y/N’s feet started pushing his swimming trunks off his body wanting to feel and see him.

“This is wrong” Harry said as he started to make his way out of the water and towards the shore with her still wrapped around him.

“So wrong” Y/N said as he laid her down on damp sand. Harry’s hand went to her sides and untied the sides of her bikini. Something had taken over him. He was ravenous for her.

“Spread your legs baby. Wider” His face was quickly buried between her legs.

“What if someone see us?” She asked though it quickly converted into a moan as Harry pressed his tongue on her, his nose brushing her clit. Harry hummed at the taste of her, she still tasted salty from the ocean water.

“Just like I imagined it” His finger drawing circles over her clit as he continued licking her and sucking her sensitive folds. “Don’t cum yet. I want to be in you when you do” he warned, his English accent raspier that usual.

“Then fuck me” Y/N begged, to which almost made Harry cum in his swimming trunks. It was such a stark contrast from who had arrived a few days ago. His hands frantically pulled down his swimming trunks. Harry’s head teased her entrance for a second before he sunk into her. He filled her up completely and for a second Y/N was worried that she wouldn’t be able to take it.

“God” She whined, throwing her head back, her hair getting covered with sand. Harry stayed still as he allowed her to adjust. He also needed a second at the newfound sensation.

“Fuck” he groaned as he pulled out of her and back into her. Her wet walls around him clenched up, as she looked at him drunken eyes. “You are so tight”.

She was overheated. The sun, the hot sand, and the way he looked at her as he pounded into her was too much. They were starting to get sticky. Harry hands gripped her hips, helping him to keep the constant pace.

“Cum f’me” he exhaled between thrusts as he felt her clench around him. Harry watched her come undone as she whimpered his name over and over again. Harry followed right after her before dropping right beside her.

Y/N looked over at him as they both tried to recuperate after their orgasms. She could see his skin covered with sweat and salt from the ocean and he still managed to look incredibly attractive.

“Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy” He said with a smirk with his eyes still closed.

She didn't feel an ounce of regret...yet.

part 3 | sneak peek

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