#= Nov babbling for too long

[tonycries]

NNN

Synopsis. No Nút November finally came, and so did he!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, losing NNN, PÚSSYDRUNK BOYS, bréeding, creampíes, cúmming in his pants, oraI (fem receiving), cúmplay, spítting, húmping, making Geto WHIMPER, exhibítionism (Geto), jealousy (Gojo), GOJO’S POWERS, innap. use of jujutsu, true form Sukuna, dp, p slapping, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Y’all have no idea how I’ve been waiting to write this since FEBRUARY.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 8th Nov. 7:48PM

“S’stupid, so stupid-” Toji’s spitting, teeth grit so hard that he thinks he could taste the tang of metal. With a roughened grunt, his big palms smear open your sopping lips,  “Such a stupid challenge, n’ a stupid month ah-”

And oh how Toji wishes he could reel back the babbles spilling from his ravaged lips. How he wishes his rumbling baritone didn’t shake ever-so-slightly near the end. 

Because Toji Fushiguro was going crazy - and it was all your fault.

“Deprivin’ me of her-” Every single shred of his needy frustration from the past eight days bleeds into each gush of his furiously weepy cock. Fingers curling around the hilt to smack! smack! smack! his round, pinkish tip on your soppingly wet lips. “-ya know how hngh- crazy it drove me?”

One strong arm of his flexes mouth-wateringly tight around your squirming body, massaging your perfectly arched spine closer into his rock-hard abs. A full nelson. His favorite. One he’s missed for- “Over a week. Ohh- over a week n’ m’still not gonna lose.”

He already knew that was a lie. 

Because just a single, sunken inch is enough to stretch your sloppy entrance so gapingly open, enough to have you keening for air. 

To have him let his jaw fall slack with a hoarse drag of your name, drunken head falling back into the silken sheets when your gooey cunt swallows more and more of his hefty girth. So heavy and sweltering hot inside your clingy walls.

The first time in so long and it felt too good. 

Your trembly fingers clutch Toji’s sweat-dampened locks. He growls with a rough pull of your hands, fat, readied balls giving such a painful squeeze at the simple gesture. Hiccuping a feverish puff of condensation by your ear, “What, ma? T-torturin’ me for eight days isn’t enough?”

“Not that–” you’re whining, batting away big bulbous tears of stimulation in your eyes. “Jus’ need you so bad.”

Fuck, that has every drop of blood in his body pumping right to his maddeningly hard dick, staggering size growing twofold. 

You feel his velvety shaft kiss deeply into the bullseye of your g-spot, swollen length making your elastic walls constrict around him. Shit, all it’d taken was eight days to almost forget how jaw-droppingly big Toji was. How he was rutting up in mindless, squelching wet gyrations up into your dripping cunt.

“Shoulda thought of that before ya were holdin’ out on me.”

And Toji’s utterly seething, pressurizing his riotous hips with enough of his almost-inhuman strength that he’s fucking you like he hates you. Every one of his words are dripping in a scolding tone, pumping up harshly with sudden jabs into your snug pussy. Deeper and deeper and oh-

He can’t help but leer his glassy eyes over down at the heavenly view, splaying his beefy forearms underneath your quivering legs to stretch you out shamelessly. 

“Did ya kn-know this was ah- gonna happen?” he gruffs, already feeling a slight trickle of drool down the side of his scar. “That this stupid fuckin’ challenge was gonna drive me mad? M’still not- not gonna ah- cum-”

Fuck. 

But even Toji didn’t know at this point.

“Shit-” Your body bows in an even sluttier way, hips swiveling in slow, sultry grinds to guide the very end of his weepy cock into kissing your most sensitive spots. Drawing wet, translucent glides of steaming hot precum down your insides. “W-wasn’t on purpose, Toji I s-swear- s’a chall-”

“Challenge my ass.” he’s rolling his eyes, and you feel his lips graze across yours in a messy excuse of a kiss. Dark brows furrows, a low ah! ah! ah! leaving his mouth with every slurping plunge. “My only ch-challenge right ah- fuckin’ now s’to get you to cum–”

You shake your bleary head, fingers dipping to his wrist. “No– wan’ you to cum first-”

Earning you a sweet, simpering smack! right alongside the peak of your throbbing clit, he’s smoothing over the sting with methodical massages of his rude fingers. “Move that damn hand.” 

Leaving you gasping when he shotguns his painfully hard cock at such an angle to mash ruthlessly into your g-spot, your cervix. Punishing, bruising spearheads to remind you. “A challenge and m’gonna t-treat it like one. Cum.”

But oh, if Toji Fushiguro thought that he was running on merely the fumes of his sanity before then he wasn’t ready for you to finally reach your orgasm. 

Milking his cock in only a few more shuddering jams before you’re crashing headfirst into a sudden wave of your high, tightly stuffed pussy gushing out in honeyed gushes. It glistens down into his drenched tufts of black, squirting all over his rippling abs to shine an almost-creamy sheen.

His dewy eyes widen - you squirted. You squirted. 

And in response all Toji can do is bite down into the tender crook of your neck. Bite and bite until he was cumming. 

Whimpering out a broken tone into your skin, his sharp canines dig even more animalistically. Dangerously pulsing cock snapping upwards in a sudden surge that has his rummagingly fat tip bumping into your womb, a thorough thrust before dumping out thick, voluminous spurts of his cum.

“F-fuck–” he’s breathing out unsteadily, sculpted chest heaving for breath. Eyes still scrunched firmly shut no matter how much he wanted to see that prettily fucked-out expression on your face, because ever slight squeeze of your cozy walls had him twitching out another ribbon of cum. “Oh god- shit, ma- this pussy- gonna be- hngh- death-”

Easily overstimulating Toji until he could feel embarrassing tears prick behind his lids, cumming after what felt like so long and now he didn’t want to stop. Couldn’t stop.

Instead swirling a ravenous thumb down the edges of your leaking slit, pooling the creamy dredges of his seed that’d formed a little ring around his thick base. 

Without warning he’s shoving every single pearlescent bead back into your already overspilling pussy. 

“Heh, whatever-” he tuts, sliding his tongue down those syrupy splatters of your slick - glossing all the way up to his scar. “Now that I’ve already lost this stupid challenge, jus’ stop yer whinin’ and ride me proper, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 21st Nov. 5:31PM

Nanami Kento was not going to lose to your little challenge.

He was not going to let down his gorgeous wife.

He was not going to-

“Fuck.” Nanami heaves, he gasps for air. “Fuck.”

Thick fingers curl even tighter around his fat hilt, squeezing within an inch of himself. He’s hissing at the way that makes his angrily red tip blush even deeper, beading down glistening beads of precum that drip! drip! drip! right onto your pretty face. 

“Tha’s it-” he’s huffing out, darkened eyes drooping into a sultry half-lid. Muscled thighs spreading further, he sears a firm five-fingered grip onto your hair. Cool wedding ring brushing over your scalp, “K-keep that gorgeous face still f’me, my love.”

But oh, despite that sweet, sweet pet name his tone drips with such sheerly primal need. Hoarse towards the end with something dangerous. 

It was only a brief mention of this month that ended up with you two this - just a tiny joke of a special reward at the end that had Nanami clenching his teeth and his sanity to keep from cumming this entire month.

And he’d only made it so far.

All it took was a single pissed off work meeting, a single complaint from a client, one bad day at work for him to slam your shared apartment door open. Striding his way towards you darkly before spitting to you - his beautiful wife - “on your knees.”

Not even to have your pretty mouth on him- no, Nanami’s blond brows furrow deeper, sweat sheening a thin layer on his forehead when his greedy palms just drag down his drooling length. Over and over. 

“Ken-”

“Shit.” His fat, rotund head twitches at the mere sound of your honeyed voice, his favorite song. Gushing out a steady stream of glossing precum against the side of your lips, and Nanami just hunches. “Shhh, darling you’re gonna have me-”

“I want you to, Ken.” you’re batting your lashes up at him in a way that makes him gasp, admiring all the dips and curves of his sculpted body. “Please?”

He pants out such a shuddering breath that you feel fan your face, stern lips falling further and further slack with every sodden clench of his balls. Every swirl of the soft pad of his thumb around the bawling pinkish divot of his tip. 

“Take it.” Reward be damned. He was nothing against you. His metallic wristwatch flashes with every hurried pump up and down up and down up and- “T-take it all f’me, my wife.”

And oh then he’s cumming - head thrown back, toned abs rippling, face burning red when he’s moaning your name like a mantra. Over and over again into the heady living room air because Nanami hadn’t even made it as far as the bedroom before giving into that dark urge to paint your pretty features white with himself. 

Spazzing tip weeping out thick dredge after dredge of his seed that sticks to you like a sloppy second skin. Drooling down the side of your mouth, and he’s guiding his fat cock to gloss over your lips. Pretty.

“My love- get up-” he’s hissing through clenched teeth. And before those syrupy slurring words can even register in your mind, Nanami’s swiftly looping two strong arms around your waist. Dragging you upwards like some glorified ragdoll. “Need- hahhh– I need-”

Immediately, you’re being carried to splay all out on the plushy sofa nearby, Nanami hovering over you with kiss after messy kiss. Tasting himself, tasting you.

“Have no idea how much- hngh–” Shit, he can’t even speak right now, words breaking into the most whiny groans you’ve ever heard pulled from the man. “How much I missed-” And with a particularly loud squelch! he’s reeling back just enough from the filthy kiss. Drunken grin leering across his face at the dripping gleam all over the lower half of your face, delicate strings of spit and cum still connecting you to him. “-this.”

You’re blinking away the haze, pressing pecks into sight dimple at the corner of his mouth. “M-missed this, too- Hah, don’t even care about that ch-challenge.”

Gliding an open palm down your curved spine, he grins. “Exactly what I like to hear.”

And then you feel like you’re being split open apart so widely that it feels like Nanami’s reaching into your very lungs, swiping the milky tip of his still-hard cock against those hidden-away sensitive spots of yours. He’s prying open your snug cunt with steady, slow spearheads, barely even tugging away his work tie before folding you into such a thorough mating press. 

“I remember–” he’s dancing a thumb across your sodden lips, glossing it over in the most obscene opaque coating of cum you’d never even imagine. Popping it into his mouth. Sucking. “-something about a reward.”

He’s smearing his left hand down your throbbing clit - purposefully, to chuckle at the way you whine and puff about the cool sting of his golden wedding band. But more importantly, Nanami’s other hand draws down an invisible line about halfway down your stomach. 

Fuck.

Exactly where he could feel his leaky cock bludgeon solid, circular bruises into your spongy cervix. Bouncing back at the recoil, exactly where he knew that little nudge was, dragging his pulsing cock to massage your cunt, your womb-

You suck in a shuddered inhale, “Wh-what about the reward?”

“Well, since there’s no ngh- u-use in the challenge anymore…” His long fingers press down hard. And oh the way the realization dawns on your face makes you look so beautiful underneath him - his beautiful wife. But Nanami can’t help but think how much more of a beautiful momma you’d be. How perfect. Unable to tear his eyes away from the slow dribble of cum down your lips. “How about a reward for both of us, my love? Two or three rewards?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 11th Nov. 3:33AM

“S-Sugu-”

“...”

“Sugu-”

“Shhh–” Your leader’s silky smooth voice thrums at your throat, pressing an unapologetic trail of kisses down the tender skin. And you jolt at the sharp nip of his canines, “We’re trying to have a hah- meeting here, honey.”

But it was anything but that.

Fed up with your little challenge, Geto had all but demanded you sit with him through your next cult meeting. Plopping you down all prettily on his manspread lap as soon as the rest of your members filed in, acting for all the world like he wasn’t just taking filthy advantage of that short skirt he’d insisted you wear. 

Stuffed staggeringly deeply inside. 

Your saturated pussy lips bulge around his fat length, swirling his swollen cock around your walls with even the tiniest jostles. Firmly and readily cockwarming him for hours now. 

And both of you were nearing your limits - especially Geto, but, of course, he couldn’t let you know that yet. 

“Something wrong?” he’s lilting his baritone voice in volume, just enough for the surrounding members to catch interest in. Deliberate. One massive palm gripping a handful of your hips, “Seems like you’re having oh- difficulty gettin’ comfortable, gorgeous?”

Muscular thighs bouncing up and down in a relentless little cadence that had you gripping onto his decadent robes for balance. Tiny, rummaging thrusts of his sloppy length pierce your snug insides. Ridges upon ridges of his prominent veins massaging every single sweet spot he could reach - all of them.

They had him coaching those gruff grunts to the very back of his throat, fists curling on the table to prevent himself from simply slamming you down until you were stupid on his thick cock. 

Babbling out in a desperate tone, “Suguru I can’t-”

Oh? He grits his teeth at the clingy squeeze of your velvety walls around his rotund tip, the way your ass jiggles at every slight gyration. So filthy. Raising one dark brow, Geto flicks a finger at the rest of the meeting to carry on. “Can’t even handle a lil’ cockwarming, hm? What h-happened to my stubborn girl from before? And her no-nut-Nov-”

“Stop teasing!” you’re mewling out with a pretty pout that makes him twitch inside. “Jus’ want you t-to cum–”  d-don’t care that i-it’s November anymore-”

His rock-hard cock throb throb throbs inside your melty walls, bumping every oozing wave of precum into the very bottom of your pussy. And you could hear mutters spurting from every corner of the room now.

They knew. They always did.

“Oh so now, you don’t care?” Geto snickers, leaning back in his velvety chair to seep a bit more power behind his swiveling hips. “D-didn’t hngh- seem so greedy for my cock when ya made me p-promise not to cum for a month.”

As if to prove his point - and disprove yours - Geto’s hand comes slamming! down onto the vast mahogany table, grin wide. Dangerous. A primal rasp resounding at the back of his throat when he’d punishing your poor pussy with his first thorough thrust yet. 

One. Two. Three.

“P-please!”

“P-p-please, what?” he’s mocking, dramatics of your own whiny tone.

“Please, Sugu–” You’ve definitely attracted the attention of every other person in this meeting room right now. But Geto couldn’t give a fuck. Not when those words fall from your syrupy sweet lips, “-m’s-sorry jus’ fuck-”

SLAM!

He stands. One hand at your neck, the other at your clit. 

And as soon as your needy front is hitting the cool table, Geto’s merciless cockhead is diving thoroughly into your sweetened spots. The sudden change in angle letting him barrel his girthy shaft to tuck away at your very womb, all it takes for you to cum.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, nails clawing at the poor wood, he’s driving his weepy cock in to pound you through every single one of your highs.

Peak after peak that Geto can’t help but get addicted to, and he’s missed this heavenly feeling so much that he can’t help but let his mean mouth hang open. Dark, dewy eyes rolling so far into the back of his head that he’s forced to scrunch them closed.

The table rattles precariously when he’s rutting his hips into you ferally, sharp hip bones smacking aching bruises against the fat of your ass. Pressing you down with his entire body weight when-

“Oh- oh shit, all your f-fault. Fuck-” He half-collapses when he cums. Over and over in thick, stringy wads that gush into your very cervix. Sloshing around with each of his jackhammers, it paints your velvety walls with a dripping white coat. Again. And again. And again and again- “So jus- take it-”

Shit. 

Geto almost forgot how unfairly good it felt to have his achy cock milked by your cunt. Mustering up every shred of will to crack an eye open, he could spy the way your soppingly wet slit was overspilling with so much of his seed.

Licking his lips, he’s holding back a whimper.

And, truly, it was almost embarrassing the way that obscene sight was all it took for Geto’s once-softening cock to shoot up another few wispy ribbons of cum all over again. 

So much of it that he couldn’t control. 

Couldn’t even think of taming the way he was hiking up one powerful thigh onto the table to drive even more forcefully into you. Fingers curling almost painfully tightly around your throat to reel you into a filthy kiss of teeth and tongue. 

He has absolutely no shame wrapping his glossy lips around your tongue to suck. And even less at the way that honeyed taste of you is all it takes for him to shoot a well round of sputtering blanks into your pussy.

Chuckling tearily at those downturned, greedy eyes - shit, when did he even start crying? “A-aw look, you’ve interrupted the meeting, gorgeous.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 4th Nov. 10:01PM

“F-four days?” Choso’s swallowing a heavy gulp, burning face buried into the crook of your neck. And he can’t stop from heaving in deep inhales, from letting his mouth water. “-s’only been four days, baby?”

That cute, broken quiver in his tone has you tittering out a teasing giggle, something that only has his breath even more shortened. Brows knitting together when his hips just rut-

“Sorry.” your lovely boyfriend’s hiccuping, trembly fingers wrapping even tighter around your body. And he’s trying - scrambling - oh-so-desperately to stray his glassy gaze back onto the movie on-screen. He has to. He needs to or else he’s about to lose his fucking sanity. “Sorry didn’t hngh- didn’t mean to, jus’ ignore-”

But that’s when Choso’s breath hitches, when his large body wrecks with a violent shudder running down his spine. “Are you alright, Cho?”

Because oh, your taunting body was squirming up just right against the hefty girth of his swollen cock. Dragging your ass down the exact line of his sensitive slit in a way that has his hand grasping roughly onto your hips to make you stop-

“M’gonna ah- m’not gonna be able t-to do it, baby–” he’s pleading in a filthy kiss against your lips. Sucking. Begging. “Please- don’t-”

“Don’t what, Cho?”

Shit, that nickname has him hurling his hips forwards with a choked-up grunt. Seeing white-hot pleasure behind his eyes at every one of your smoothly swiveling gyrations, seeing you in all your dripping wet glory when he thumbs your drenched panties just to the side. 

“Shit.” he gasps, dewy eyes widening, breath turning feverish at your neck. “Shit shit shit- wh-why are you so-”

And Choso moans, he can’t even finish his sentence right now. Can’t do anything but tug down his too-tight gray sweatpants to glide a steamingly hot smear of precum down your slit. 

“So what- oh-” Your taunting mouth only drops further and further open when he’s dragging his achy cock down your cunt like he was addicted. Getting off to the way that your saturatedly wet pussy lips were coating him in a glossy sheen, sucking him up like you wanted-

“Just the tip.” 

It’s his little mantra.

Rasped out over and over into your open mouth, panted in every messy kiss of his reddened, fat head against your sloppy hole. Once. Twice. Pretty pecks to French kisses..

“What was that–?” you’re batting your lashes, your hips meeting his messy cadence when his own speeds up. Keening at the sculpted leg being thrown over yours to angle his driving pistons more determinedly - desperately. 

With a low whine at the back of his throat, the curved tips of Choso’s fingers find their sultry way down to your clit. And he’s giving you a harsh tug at the very peak before sobbing, “Just want to put it in, baby- jus’ the tip- p-please-”

“Just the tip?”

The movie long-forgotten.

The resounding squelch! squelch! squelch! of skin on sodden skin rings louder in your ears, as do those tiny hitches in Choso’s pants. Words gurgled though those big, bulbous tears rolling down his cheek, “Please- can’t do it anymore. Ngh- wan’ to c-cum- can I cum inside?” Drooping, half-lidded eyes boring right into your bleary ones, “Please?”

And all you can do is nod.

All Choso can do is try not to lose his fucking mind just as soon as the thick circumference of his head is bullying past your swollen folds, feeding you inch after ragingly needy inch of his cock. 

All it takes for him to lose - because with the most broken of moans, you’re being stuffed snugly full with the sheer volume of Choso’s cum. With just the tip. And there’s so much of it, it’s like he hasn’t cum for years, sloshing to hit the very back of your womb, slopping around in a way that makes you shiver. 

Wrangling to slip out his cock the tiniest inch-

“No!” Choso gasps, eyes blowing wide almost comically. “No no no- wanted- inside- hngh-” His ruddy lower lip wobbles at the slow, sultry dribble of his potent seed down your inner thighs, glossing over his own hands when he’s smearing your sodden pussy lips stretched even wider. “Inside, baby–”

“O-oh my god-” your eyes can just barely crack open when two slender fingers slip into your slick entrance, plugging you staggeringly full as soon as he’s shoving you tight with the rest of his angry cock. Rock-hard length stretching your meshing cunt taut, the very tips of his fingers being jostled to the side of every spongy g-spot in your walls. “Cho- s’too full it won’t- won’t- ah-”

The sheer stimulation was maddening.

And Choso was drunk on your pretty moans. 

“Yes it will-” he’s babbling, syrupy saliva being drooled in a streaming wad right onto your lolling tongue. And with his free hand, he’s prying your pretty mouth shut. “Don’t- hngh- don’t sound so cute, baby s’gonna make me- oh-”

But you could already guess.

Because just the slightest note of your voice, the slightest grind of your hips to fuck back into his mindlessly messy cadence had him jolting inside you. Too-sensitive tip twitching out in honeyed ribbons of precum that drip down your walls.

Choso hisses with a sudden thwack! of his hefty balls kissing up against your cunt, gliding a hand underneath your thigh to pound into you languidly. Desperately. “Four days- shit- couldn’t make four days without this c-cute cunt-”

“Baby—” you’re huffing, your half-lucid eyes drifting away to the black screen. “The movie’s over.”

He huffs out a wet bout of laughter into your lips, nipping slightly at the very bottom one. “But I g-guess that doesn’t matter when I ah- already l-lost does it, baby?” Reeling out the sticky digits of his fingers, snapping at those delicate strings of cum and your sweet, sweet juices. He grins. “Because I already have four day t-to make up for-”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 7th Nov. 8:29PM

Times like this, the king of curses found himself on his knees. Times like this, he wanted to ruin you. 

“Awww, don’ be like that, woman-” he’s digging the rough dark claws on two hands onto the small of your back. Inhuman stretch wrenching you down, down, down that never-ending girth of his twin cocks. “Not when I’ve hngh- got you like this-”

But the only answer you’re giving him is another one of your stubborn pouts, brows scrunched together in a way that makes his tips twitch. Eagerly nudging up in a wet kiss against one of those sweet spots Sukuna knew would make you mewl.

Your lower lip wobbles with a whine, “M’ s-still mad at you, Kuna.”

Ah, he’d roll his eyes at your adorable antics but he knew that wouldn’t quite help his case. You’ve been like this ever since you’d joked about that little tradition humans did in November - and he took it seriously.

Too seriously, according to you, perhaps. With the way your devilish boyfriend was still fucking you into the decadent royal mattress - simply leaving you teasingly high and dry the mere moment he felt his orgasm coming. 

And now, the very actions had him groaning. Powerfully muscled hips staggering upwards to bob you slowly on his cocks, rearing his fat tips against your cervix, your g-spot, your cervix, your g-spot, your- “What more do you ngh, want, brat?”

It’s asked with a sudden sopping swat planted on your beading cunt, and Sukuna’s taking the opportunity to let his other tongue take over. A slow, lewd drag of those massive tastebuds down your throbbing clit. 

“I-I don’t ngh-” you’re moaning, and he already knows he’s winning. By the way your melty walls are cozying up even hotter around his thick cocks, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “-don’t know-”

“Awww–” The third of Sukuna’s big, beefy arms just can’t help but thread through one of your own, bringing it right up to his lips to leave a saccharine sweet kiss on the back of your hand. “My woman- my love-” One. Then another. And Another. “My queen, tell me what you want.”

Your tone cracks into a saturated whine when he ambushes a particularly sensitive part of your g-spot, drawing a wet glisten of precum down the side of your walls. Swelteringly hot. “W-want more-” Your trembly arms snake around his broad shoulders, digging into the smooth muscle. “-wan’ more, Kuna- hah- please-”

And who was Ryomen Sukuna to ever say no to you?

In just a few split-seconds, you’re being dragged right off of his bulging cocks. Throat just barely moving to whimper in disappointment, when Sukuna manhandles you to splay out pliantly on all fours on those silken sheets. 

Face buried into the mushy pillows, his cocks buried in your dripping cunt. 

“Shit-” he’s shuddering, heavy balls clenching at the newly sodden wave of slick that drools down your slit. And Sukuna can feel himself drool ever-so-slightly, hiding his burning face away in your neck. Thank fuck for doggy. “Is tha’s all you wanted, then–”

And every one of his surging thrusts have you plummeting further and further up the bed, gripping onto the mahogany headboard. He’s swiping down your thrumming clit, kissing a wet trail down your sluttily arched spine. 

You sob when his smacking hips turn bruising, your gummy walls stretched to your limits. “Y-you were so mean-”

“Mhm– so mean, baby.”

“M-made me so hngh- mad- never liked that ah- stupid challenge-”

Sukuna’s just snickering, flashes of white-hot pleasure sparking behind his eyes. Every time he’s milking himself on your tight pussy forcing him to hold back his whimpers, his gasps. One large set of his rough digits curling around your throat to haul you off of the bed, your head airy when he’s fucking each and every single thought out of your syrupy mind. “Don’ worry, my ah- spoiled brat. M’gonna fill up this oh fuuuck- cute cunt n’ there nothin’ you n’ any stupid challenge can do about it.”

Both of his rock-hard cocks were so messy, dragging out the sloppiest of slurps when he’s rummaging around your velvety insides. Spurts of wispy white precum staining down your sodden walls, making you gasp.

“M’so close-” You’re arched into the perfect bow for Sukuna to drag his lips down yours in a filthy kiss, humming darkly. “Gonna ah-”

Your pretty cunt has Sukuna chuckling, babbling out drunkenly. “So cum then- hah- why dontcha cum. Cum all over my cocks-” And he wants it. Needs it now, and shit- he’s never participating in this puny human custom ever again. Lazing out his second tongue to squelch an unapologetic pathway to your clit. Rolling. Sucking. “-go on then, woman. Show off f’me.”

And each one of his words were trembling with sheer desperation, cracking, even when you’re finally reaching your peak. Pound after pound. Every flick of his monstrous tongue drags you through your high, letting your toes curl.

With a sudden, hefty shudder, his cum-filled balls clench - and Sukuna’s finally cumming. Harder than he has in all his thousands of years. Harder than he ever thinks he could. 

You’re simply at the mercy of both weepy ends of his cocks when they burst out thick streams of his seed, reverberating the most filthiest of sounds that make your ears buzz. Doubly. And his balls smacking against your ass grow drippingly wetter, your poor pussy overspilling each of his steamingly hot ribbons of cum. 

“Fuck-” Sukuna sucks in a sharp breath, tears crinkling at the very ends of his eyes from how heavenly it felt having his stringy seed slosh against and between his jostling lengths. His hand feels for that inflationary bump where you’d been stuffed full, purring. “Did you take your pill?”

You blink, “N-no?”

“Good. Because m’suddenly wanting for an h-heir this Christmas.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - 1st Nov. 12:17AM

Shit, he’s going to lose. Gojo’s musing with whatever’s left of his syrupy mind - or wait, was it even November, yet?

Ah, he can’t even remember. Can’t even think to do anything but piston the very cockhead of his needy length between your puffed-up pussy lips. Spreading apart your folds with an easy, glistening swipe. And he’s so half-lucid that Gojo giggles at the way your ready cunt is taking him in so well. 

“You’re mine-” Gojo’s panting out a feverish breath. Kissing your sopping wet cervix easily with each furious thrust, he’s spitting out a wet drawl of profanity into your lips. “M-mine, y’know that?”

“Toru–” Fuck, your cracking whine has Gojo’s glassy eyes veering into the back of his head. Murmuring out a vibrating groan. “S’jus’ hah- what’s gotten into you-”

And the strongest could babble about how seeing that newly appointed teacher at Jujutsu Tech churned his gears. He could tell you about how easy it is to conjure up a hollow purple when some bastard is making eyes at his wife. 

Especially in November of all days, when he’d finally said he was going to make it through the whole month. He has to.

But, no.

Instead, he’s crackling the very soft tips of his fingers with jujutsu. Pinching your clit ever-so-slightly–

“Fuck!” Your spine’s arching into such a delicious bow that has his mouth watering. His thoroughly sunken cock bursts out in a few dangerously wispy waves of precum that make him shutter a gasp. “U-using jujutsu’s not ngh- fair-”

“Fair?” he hiccups, nosing down the side of your neck. “Not fair is how hah- good this pretty pussy of yours f-feel, sweetheart.” And he’s rutting into you so sloppily, massaging down your elastic walls with each of his prominent veins. Over and over Gojo can feel himself losing his mind- “Shit- I think I-I’m the one that-”

You can’t even react.

Because in a split-second, Gojo’s splayed out all the way near the foot of the bed. Teleported.

Strong hands jostling your legs spread even further open, drool dripping down the side of his mouth when he just drinks in your essence, feverishly hot breath hovering over your quivering cunt. And that pathetic mewl barely out of your lips before-

“A-at least I can’t lose the ch-challenge way, heh-” Gojo’s lips move sultry and slow over your already thrumming clit, wrapping around so prettily to suck on the saturated beads of slick.

You can only keen, you can only thread your shaky fingers through his snow locks. Giving a harsh tug that does absolutely nothing to deter his messy make out with your cunt - if anything, your husband’s surging his face even deeper into his favorite heaven between your thighs. 

Nose meshing against the very tip top of your presoaked slit, dragging in a wet glide with every languid roll of his tongue into your sloppy entrance. Jaw grinding deeper and deeper-

He’s simpering out such a fucked-out smile on your pussy, long pinkish tongue lolling out to smear open your swollen folds. And all you can do is watch and watch as he’s slurping up syrupy stripes, slender fingers dancing their way dangerously up, up, up-

“Ah!” Your entire body wracks with a sudden surge of electricity - coming from the slender digits currently bullying their way into your slippery entrance. Gushing a thumb over your clit- “Toru what did I tell you about-”

“Ah, the jujutsu?” Gojo leans his head deliriously against part of your inner thigh, leaving a wet trail of bites. Hips mindlessly grinding down pathetically onto the plush mattress. Fuck. 

And he looked so pretty like this - gaze drooping so close-lidded that they were almost shut, blue eyes half-glowing, mouth all glossed over with a dripping wave of your sweet, sweet juices. With this, you’re gifted with another swat of his thumb over your sodden clit, slurring, “Can’t r-remember a thing–”

And then you’re cumming.

Toes curling, your hips jerking upwards into his ready hold, fisting painfully at Gojo’s hair. If it hurt then he didn’t show it. Anything but. Because he’s hiking his legs up into a seated position, your trembly thighs splayed out shamelessly on the muscles of his broad shoulders. 

Dragging and dragging you through your high with drippingly wet sucks on your clit, those drawing squelches ring in your ears and make you gasp. It was so filthy. 

But not as filthy as the way that Gojo’s head drops backwards with a wet whimper, his eyes firmly scrunched shut. “O-oh sweetheart I-” Bedroom lights flickering. 

And then nothing more is said as he just rips down the rest of his overpriced trousers until they were nothing but tatters hanging haphazardly around his slender waist. 

Jittery fingers immediately taking hold of his cock - his furiously cumming cock. From just eating out his girl. 

So reddish and weepy at the very thick tip of his, streaming out thick ribbon after ribbon of his seed that coats his fist a glossy white. You could see the way his hefty balls clenched, how his girthy shaft was twitching ferally in his fingers. 

He bares you with his drunken gaze, lightning bolting at the ends of his eyes. Kiss electric. Sucking on your tongue over and over - before shoving two of his dripping wet digits between your pretty lips. 

“There we- hngh- go don’t give a fuck about November-” You flinch when he smacks! his cock along your overworked clit. Circling the very edge of your entrance with his fat, sobbing tip. 

Coated such a creamy ring with his cum. His. 

Prattling, “Th-this is what my girl s’pposed to hah- look like. My girl.” And as soon as he sinks in just the barest of his bulbous head - the lights go out, in all of Tokyo. Soon, in all of Japan. “Heheh, doesn’t c-count that I lost no nut November if I can’t hngh- see it, right?”

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely lovely NNN *evil laughs*

Plagiarism not authorized.

[mostremote]

Happy one year anniversary to The Shivering Season🎉

It is one year ago today (4th Nov 23) that I posted chapter one of The Shivering Season and only a little longer that I completely lost my mind over eversnow.

Thank you as ever to all of you who joined me on that journey of insanity. It has meant so, so much to me and I regularly reread my comments to relive the gleeful madness.

In celebration of the anniversary here is a scene I cut where Snow consensually(?) chokes Katniss out from around chapter 14, "Family". It doesn't fit the final continuity but. it's still hot.

In District 12, Snow and Katniss spend a violent night at a hotel. 18+

Snow takes her to a hotel, The Golden Hart. She has heard of it before. It stands in the center of District 12, one of the finest buildings, walls of white concrete set in heavy, diminishing layers, so that the walls all look like horizontal steps. Katniss tilts her head to the side and wonders what it would be like to walk the side of the building, if you could defy gravity like a bird, like a spider. Snow watches her head-tilted curiosity with obvious lack of understanding and she corrects her posture.

This used to be a nice hotel. It’s not that it has degraded in reality, only in her mind. This establishment was once a fine, expensive, mysterious, exotic locale to her, one of the most beautiful and inaccessible places in District 12. It caters mainly for important visiting people, dignitaries from other Districts or Capitol politicians or even Effie Trinket. Now, however, Katniss can see how cheap and pretentious it is. Inside, the carpets are worn and stained. The wallpaper is decades old, faded and outdated. Everything is chipped or dirtied or mismatched or otherwise infected with the disease of not being rich. It’s not poverty; no, there is at least a kind of dignity in the bare ruin of the Seam. This place is desperate and grasping. It makes her skin itch.

Snow doesn’t seem to care. There is nobody there when they enter except the staff and Katniss wonders if this is because Snow had the whole place shut down to accommodate them, or if perhaps the hotel is so unused and unpopular that they are the only guests. She trails in her husband’s wake. Everything red looks like blood. Everything soft and unformed (the horrible couches, the faded fake flowers, the face of the receptionist) looks like Gale’s brains. She thinks she might not be very well.

Snow says nothing to the receptionist, who babbles on about what an honor it is to host them, how he hopes everything will be to their satisfaction, blah blah. As soon as Snow has the room key he turns away from the desk and, almost (but not quite) thoughtlessly, takes Katniss’ arm in his own. Her body ripples. Curious, despairing pleasure paws at her insides. He is her lifeline and her anchor, pulling her deeply and firmly into hot, drowning waves.

The room itself is the best in the hotel, and it is miserable. It stinks of furniture polish and there is a vase of fresh flowers, the obvious evidence of a desperate, last-minute attempt to make this place habitable for the President and his wife. There is even a gift basket and it has little cakes. Katniss wonders if Peeta made any of these.

Snow removes his scarf and gloves and surveys the room with frank displeasure. ‘Dreadful place. Still, we won’t be here for long. I thought you might like to rest.’

Katniss sits on the bed. It has too much bounce to it, or perhaps she is becoming untethered from the earth. ‘I could have rested in the hovercraft.’

Snow looks at her with that same soft, condescending concern. ‘I thought you might like to lie down.’

Katniss rubs her fingers over the sheets. Some stranger’s blonde hair curls over the white cotton. ‘Do you want to lie down?’ Do you want to lie down with me? she does not say.

Snow pretends that he doesn’t understand her question. ‘No, thank you. I just have a few final matters to put in order.’

He sits at the desk, which has coffee-cup stains, and Katniss sits on the bed and watches him. How funny for them to be alone together with a bed, just like their honeymoon, just like the night before when he washed Gale’s blood from her breasts. She had been too unwell at the time to consider the experience as it happened, but now she wonders what he thought of her body. Her breasts are small; does that bother him? Does he dislike her soft, clumsy, only-just-ripened body? Or is she like a stupid child to him? But he liked kissing her, so he must like something about her physicality. She likes his lips, too. They are the softest things about him, and when he presses their wet, tender touch to hers she feels one of the many chaotic notes of madness reverberating in her skull go still, just for a little while.

She sits on the bed and she watches him work and she thinks about kissing him, and she starts to feel aroused. She always feels a little aroused these days, seasick with the currents of her own body, but she is learning to distinguish between its different natures. As she watches him sat at the desk, typing one-handedly on his tablet, eyes absorbed, face strange and familiar and handsome, she feels her body pulse with inquisitive hunger. It’s a nice feeling, big and glimmering inside her, and as she chews her lip and watches him she thinks how pleasant it might be if he came and lay down on the bed with her and they could touch each other a little bit. Not sexually, not that; that is some terrible maw into which she is not ready to throw herself. But his shoulders look good and firm, and she would like to press her face against them. She would like to nestle inside the strong, certain, sane realness of his body and this, perhaps, might make her feel more like a person.

Snow finishes doing whatever he’s doing on his tablet and then his eyes meet hers decisively. ‘Katniss, you are staring at me.’

She drops her gaze. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking.’

‘About?’

Now she is embarrassed. A hot blush stains her cheeks and she looks away. ‘Just… I don’t know.’ She toys with her dress like a child. ‘I thought you might like to rest. We could…’ She sees the two of them encased in entirely different worlds with so little way to reach between them. Her voice comes very small. ‘Maybe we could lie down for a little while. Together.’

Snow’s strange gaze passes over the bed. He shakes his head. ‘I do not think that is a good idea, Katniss.’

‘I didn’t mean…’ she begins, but she does not know what she meant or didn’t mean. Sex, and any whisper of it, is something he desires to keep as far at bay as he possibly can. Lying down in bed in a hotel room is definitely out. But, oh, she wants to feel the sure, solid heat of him against her. Her world is dissolving like sugar and yet he remains. She doesn’t even dare to think about actual sex with him, whatever that sordid act might look like. She just wants to hold onto something real. To be held.

Snow can sense something of her intense need for him, even if he won’t give her what she wants. ‘Is there something else I can do for you?’ His eyes drop to her legs and Katniss suddenly feels the wound on her thigh burn, a call-and-response reaction. ‘How is your thigh?’

‘It’s good,’ she says in that faux, forced light tone she has started using to pretend the horrible new things in her life are actually okay. ‘It’s nice.’ Then she adds: ‘Thank you.’

He inclines his head in acknowledgement. Something ineffable crackles between them. He is thinking about her, she is thinking about him. They are not thinking the same things, of course, but Katniss thinks there must be some way to make their worlds overlap, just for a little while. His horrible lightless universe must have some way to speak to the sparkling chaos swirling inside her.

Snow is studying her with his clever intimacy. ‘Do you want me to hurt you again?’

The terrible, shameful urge to cry grips her and she pushes it back down. ‘Okay,’ she says in that too-bright voice. ‘Yes, that would be… I’d like that.’

Snow has turned all his attention away from the tablet now and is staring at her, hungry, the polite predator waiting for the gazelle to lie down so obligingly for him.

‘How shall I hurt you?’ His voice is suddenly deeper, darker, fertile and thick with his own excitement.

‘I don’t know.’ She sounds like a schoolgirl who doesn’t know which dress to wear. Her mind tries out a variety of images. More cutting? A knife? There is a tea-kettle here, perhaps he could burn her. No, the thought of intense heat spikes her anxiety too much. Being hit might be nice. Then she could feel his skin against her. He can’t bruise her face, but he could hit her elsewhere. Would he smack his heavy, strong palms against her soft and bleeding thigh?

‘If…’ She tries out the words in her mouth like some small insect feeling out an unfamiliar texture. ‘If you hit me… where would you do that?’

It is almost imperceptible, but Katniss sees Snow take a deep, big breath and release it. His gaze skitters and roams over her shaking body.

‘Well,’ he says, his voice immaculate, businesslike. ‘I have already bruised your arm, so that is a possibility.’

‘Where else?’ She loathes the timidity in her voice. She is not so naïve to be ignorant of concepts like spanking, but she doubts he will grant her something so overtly erotic. She wets her lips. ‘My thigh?’

His gaze falls like a round, weighty stone to her thighs, clad in grey wool, and he stares openly but without lasciviousness. He is simply evaluating her, as he so often likes to do.

‘No,’ he says at last. ‘I would need to touch you too much. It is not appropriate.’

Her heart sinks a little. It would have been nice to feel those fingers around her wound, around the hole in her thigh and near her horrible wet cunt. It might have cooled her sexual need, yes, but it also simply would have felt nice. Soothing. Warm. The opposite of loneliness. He lets her feel so little of his body, after all, but his hands are like old friends to her now. How pleasant it would be to feel them on her skin.

Then another horrible little idea occurs to her. She considers it, tossing it back and forth in her mind, and she is aware of how keenly Snow, too, is considering her. He wants to know what she’ll ask for. What delicious, awful treat will she select from the menu?

‘What about choking me?’ she whispers.

Snow’s eyes grow wide and excited. They glow. The black pupil seems to shrink into nothing and all she can see is blue.

‘I would love to choke you,’ he murmurs, and then he stands abruptly. She is instantly frightened.

‘Wait,’ she says, and he pauses. ‘I want… Can we do it on the bed?’

He considers briefly and then shakes his head. ‘No.’

She trembles her leg with anxiety and excitement. ‘I want to be comfortable for it.’

‘Being choked is not meant to be comfortable,’ he informs her, his teeth showing in a big, greedy smile. He speaks, she knows, from experience. Who has he choked before? Who has choked him?

‘I know, but… I want to be comfortable when it happens. I can’t explain it. I just want to feel…’ Warm, safe, good, happy, not alone, not like I’m dissolving, not like I’m dying. ‘…nice,’ she finishes lamely.

Snow looks around the room, his tongue working at something in his mouth, considering the place. There isn’t much in the way of furniture: the bed, the desk, a vanity, a wardrobe. Nowhere that she can be soft and comfortable for her choking other than the forbidden bed.

Snow suddenly brightens, the way he always does when he has found the solution to some little problem. ‘I shall lay my sable on the floor and you can put down one of the pillows.’

‘What about the duvet?’

‘No,’ he says shortly.

Katniss doesn’t quite understand his rules. No sex, no bed, nothing that might recall a bed. She watches with pathetic confusion as Snow unhooks the fur he wears about his shoulders and lays it out neatly on the dirty carpet. He takes such care to straighten the edges, making it nice for her, making it perfect. As if in a dream, Katniss rises and takes one of the pillows from the bed and joins him. He takes it from her, smiling like they are a couple laying the table, and then he adds the pillow to the fur.

‘There,’ he says, surveying his work. ‘You shall be comfortable.’

Katniss nods and smiles and wants to cry but doesn’t. She smooths back her hair and sniffs, then steps out of her shoes. She cannot help but notice the curious hunger with which Snow regards her bare feet. He would probably like to cut those. Easily hidden with boots.

She lies down tidily, smoothing her dress, placing her head on the pillow. The sable is thick and feathery beneath her, tickling her skin, and it smells of Snow. Slowly, with an old man’s care, Snow lowers himself to sit beside her on the floor. She is such a stupid sacrificial lamb, and he does not bother to hide his open excitement.

He reaches for her.

‘Wait,’ she says again, still terrified, and he pauses. ‘I want… I want you to be close to me when you do it. I want… to feel…’ I want you to hold me. ‘I will like it more if I can touch you a little.’

Snow quirks his head at this. ‘Alright,’ he says slowly. ‘You can touch my arms. Is that alright?’

‘And your shoulders?’

He nods, conceding. ‘That’s alright.’

As with the terrible incident a few hours earlier when he cut her, they arrange themselves awkwardly for this new affront. He lies down beside her, propped on one elbow, careful to maintain distance between them, so clever to ensure air and propriety keep them separate. Katniss puts her hands carefully, uncertainly on Snow’s shoulders. This will be okay. Does being choked hurt much? She will find out, she supposes. And he will be holding her the whole while, holding her neck, like an embrace but not quite. He will look after her.

‘Okay,’ she says, and she is absolutely terrified.

Snow dips his face to hers. Her fingernails grip his shoulders, then his back, holding him like he’s about to make love to her. His hand, which is so huge against her body, rests its neat heft upon her throat. She feels molten inside. She is hot and electric, feeling him touch her, wanting more, wanting his body pressed against her own. She slides her arms around him as tightly as she can in their awkward half-embrace, smiling as his fingers seek out the soft hollows of her throat, and as she looks at him smiling and hopeful she sees nothing but oceanic emptiness in his blue eyes.

The choke doesn’t feel nice. She thought it might be only like not being able to breathe, but there is another gritty, crunchy sensation that somehow hurts her eyes as he applies pressure. Then the air is gone and she feels horrible inside her throat, scared and uncomfortable, like she’s a tiny creature trapped inside her body and she is only getting smaller and smaller.

But his hand is nice. Warm, big, sure, heavy, the clutch of some huge clever owl that has her in its talons. She shuts her eyes against the slavering pleasure he takes in her pain and tries not to think about how she can’t breathe, only about his skin on her skin, and she pulls his body as close to hers as she can and she arcs her body up as he chokes her, and as she starts to feel really, truly awful in her throat and her lungs she starts to get hot inside, really hot in her cunt and her belly, and she tries to pull him against her as she thinks she might pass out…

The choking stops. Katniss gasps and sputters and has to turn her face away to let a racking coughing fit convulse her body. She loses her sense of the room for a moment as she recovers. When she can breathe again and her eyes are open, she looks back to Snow. One of her arms is still around him. He is smiling.

‘How do you feel?’

She wants to weep but does not. She wants to throw up but does not.

‘I don’t know.’ Her voice is ragged. She thinks he might have crushed something important inside her. Her fingers dig into the fabric of his jacket, feeling the heat of him beneath the material, wanting so many things she cannot have. ‘Will you hold me?’ Before he has a chance to shake his head she presses on: ‘Please? Just a little? It helps. It helps a lot if you hold me a little after you hurt me.’

She thinks he might be irritated with her. Is she too clingy? Will the issue of sex not be the thing that destroys them but instead her own pathetic, childish needs?

‘I can hold your hand,’ he allows.

Katniss nods and smiles and lets her hand drop from his shoulder. He offers her his hand, the same one that choked her throat, and she winds her own fingers, her arms, and then her whole upper body around it. Her lifeline. This is the same hand that first smacked her after that auction. It’s a small part of him he allows her to have: his hand, his sadism, his cruel affection. But she will take what she can get. She rocks herself around his hand and she breathes her hot, sticky breaths against it, never letting her lips touch the rough skin, but smelling him all the same and tasting the scent on her tongue.

After a long time, very gently, Snow disentangles himself. She struggles to release him and has to really force herself to separate their bodies. Their fun is over. His hand lingers briefly on her face, running his fingertips over her cheek, and Katniss’ eyes flutter closed. She wishes he would kiss her, that he would scoop her up in his arms. She despises this man so much. But to be held and kissed by him, this smiling monster who makes her feel so disgusting and excited inside, well, it might just stop her mind sliding away from her.

‘There,’ murmurs Snow, like they’ve both done something good and nice. ‘Was that alright for you?’

Katniss nods and suppresses tears and vomit. Her voice, when it comes, is wet. ‘I preferred being cut.’

‘Perhaps I can cut you again later,’ he says cheerfully. He stands and offers her again his hand. She takes it thoughtlessly and then, quickly and without consideration, she presses a brief kiss against the hot, familiar, whorled, lovely knuckles. Snow yanks it away like she’s a venomous insect.

‘Sorry,’ she says. Her smile is weak. ‘Thank you for…’ But she cannot finish that sentence. There is nothing to thank him for. She is shaky on her feet, her throat hurts, she is scared and confused, she is trembling with grief and an indecipherable pleasure.

‘That’s alright,’ says Snow, once again in that bright tone. ‘You should go and wash up. You look a little untidy.’ His smile grows bigger, brighter, like everything is okay and will be happy and good forever. ‘There’s some saliva on your dress. You should clean that up before we go to meet your mother.’

[bitchkay]

Lynt and MC definitely fucked on the couch in that hidden corner of the library when people were still in the library and just had to try and stay quiet

MC’s face in the pillows and Lynt’s face on the crook of her neck being careful not to go too fast so no one can hear them

[Ask received: nov 17th 2023]

That part

And it ain't the first time either

One of Lynts birthday stories I think they banged on that lil ass couch and I think spend the night there like they woke up in each others arms naked on this cramped little chair covered by a blanket but they happier than happy can be and then they hear Tino calling out looking for them cus they been missing for god knows how long cus let's be honest Lynt be sleeping all the time to save up his stamina cus bro CAN FUCK yall have no idea🤭🤭

Lynt can put it tf down don't play w/ him😌

Lynt has this pretty long dick he will literally have you seeing stars

It's a little bit on the thinner side but so damn long

Its nearly impossible to keep quiet and as much as Lynt wants to hear your pretty moans you're in the library, tucked away in a nook no one can see you very much in the middle of the day

And he's not innocent either, bro is whimpering babbling into your neck about how good you feel around his cock trying his best to keep quiet

He just couldn't help wanting to touch you and who are you to deny him

Lynt is a slow deep stroke master too

Like it dosen't even feel like lazy tired strokes nah he does this shit with purpose‼

He going in with such power but slow and deep, not only in an emotional sense but also a literal sense like bros in your fucking stomach

He wants you to really feel the sweet drag of his cock in your walls pushing in towards your deepest spots you would think hes trying to penetrate your cervix

All while you can hear the chatter and scurrying outside the door among the library walls

Imagine this☆:

"Oh~ just like that~" Lynt couldn't help himself, you're not allowed to be that cute, it's not fair. You can't say you're complaining though. Lynt got you a cute little dress, a casual dress, nothing fancy. Not for any particular reason he just thought you would look nice in it, and nice you did look. After receiving the package you tried it on right away and went on a manhunt for the sender. When you couldn't find him in any of his usual spots you knew exactly where he was hiding, which led to this little situation. "Mmm! Lynt, you're so good!" "Shh, not too loud." You were atop Lynts lap, dress bunched up around your waist as you bounced on his cock. A blanket was draped over your lower halves but at this point was near useless as it threated to fall and neither of you made any effort to pick it back up, too lost in pleasure. "You're so cute~" Lynts hands found home on your exposed ass cheeks as he bounced you on his cock, fucking up into you, your panties tossed somewhere in the room, you don't remember. "Always so sweet to me~" he buried his face in your neck kissing your jaw as his groaned against your skin. "Lyntt~!" You moaned his name, your hands on his shoulders grounding you some what. It was hard to contain your voice when Lynt slid do nicely into your pussy stretching you so good hitting all your deepest spots. "Look at me~ I want to see your face~" he wrapped his arms around you as he buried himself deep in your intoxicating heat. He fixed the strap of the dress you wore as one of them fell down. "Pretty♡" "Lyntt!" You whined as he praised you. "This dress is so pretty on you~" he bunched it up more around your waist as he fucked up into you, his tip kissing your cervix. "Ah-!" you covered your mouth with your hands as a loud moan escaped. You can hear soft footsteps and idle chatter beyond the walls of your secret library nook; you almost forgot you were suposed to be quiet. "Not so... not so deep... were being quiet remember?"

"Can't. Feel too good."

[spacecadetspe]

Nov. 8, 2023

Eitri barged into my quarters yesterday, with Vassilios trailing after him. Vassilios quickly babbled an apology on behalf of the dwarf.

"I'm so sorry, Hope," he said. "He's terribly impatient. I tried to stop him."

I waved at him a bit to calm him down. "It's all right. What's going on?"

"I found them!" Eitri cried. "The Sons of Ivaldi and who they're working for!" I gestured for him to go on, and he drew out a unique looking feather. "It belongs to a Valkyrie."

I cursed under my breath.

"And not just any Valkyrie," he went on. He tossed the feather into the air to demonstrate. A crackle of electricity shot from one end of the plume to the other. "Thrúd."

"Thor's daughter."

Just then, a raven landed on the windowsill. I growled at the bird, but Eitri stopped me.

"It may be our way of reaching out to her."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Let the raven guide us to her."

I honestly wasn't too keen into walking into Thrúd's lair, not after she kidnapped three of my colleagues. But I listened to Eitri... and the damned bird. I followed it to the roof, where it opened a portal into the hinterlands of Valhalla. A great feast hall had been erected there, and the whole place was swarming with nested ravens. Fucking Odin. I've begun to hate ravens.

The guards at Thrúdheim let us in without a fuss, but when we entered, all the revelers went quiet. I hate that ominous bullshit.

But Thrúd came out, arms open in welcome, and began sizing me up. "The great Wisdom of the Ages has finally arrived at my humble abode!" she cried. Her blonde hair was braided back with silver ornaments, and she was dressed in furs and leather from neck to toe.

"What a welcome it is," I said diplomatically.

The shades watched the two of us as Thrúd circled me, gauging the threat I posed.

"Looks like you've found a use for the dwarves as well," she noticed.

I felt myself sneer a bit. "A use?" I asked.

"Crafty little bastards," she said flippantly. " Finest blacksmiths in all nine realms."

I hummed thoughtfully. "Most innovative, certainly." She picked up a stein of mead and made to hand it to me, but I waved her off. "Thank you, but it's a bit early in the day for me to indulge."

She shrugged. "Perhaps." She set the stein down and led Eitri and me to a more private room. The walls were carved with ancient runes and prayers to Odin... altogether a stifling sort of place. It was there that she tossed me a weapon; the Star Killer, Ingrid's divine weapon. "That other Virtue... Justice, I think; she's a hell of a fighter. Gave me this even!" She showed me a long scar on her arm.

"I believe that." I wondered for a moment how Ingrid got her sword back from Betelgeuse, but then handed the weapon off to Eitri for safekeeping.

"We fought for half the day, I think," she went on. She put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight. "You know, when I heard that you got that black sword from Surtr, I didn't believe the rumors at first."

I made a noise of understanding, but waited for her to say more.

"Then my father and Viđarr confirmed my suspicions. You truly have a power and weapon without equal. I applaud you for that."

I narrowed my eyes at her slightly. This girl applauds me for outranking her? For having a weapon that can kill anything? I honestly felt a bit insulted. I worked, fought, and bled for my position. Her paltry acknowledgments were the very last thing I wanted.

"Of course," she went on, "it's a hell of a standard to reach." She grinned at me. "But I was up to the challenge."

"Challenge?" I asked. "I never saw it as a race."

Eitri spoke up, the anger in his voice thinly concealed. "You call using the Sons of Ivaldi to craft your family another superweapon 'up to the challenge'?"

"They swore a blood oath, dwarf," she said plainly. "The line of Ivaldi would pledge its allegiance to the line of the All-Father."

I hummed softly, and then got out my phone. I excused myself politely while I wrote out a text to her father, who I haven't seen in over a year.

"Your daughter is causing mischief," I wrote. "May need you to make a house call."

His reply was quick. "Youthful impudence? Or more along the lines of Loki?"

He probably knew the answer, so I left him on read.

I put the phone back into my pocket and harrumphed at Thrúd. "Odin's bloodline," I mused. "That's an awfully broad promise to make."

She twisted her mouth at me, as if trying to hide her annoyance. "The Sons are nearly done with their work. And then I'll finally have my chance to test my steel against yours, Hope."

I nodded briefly. "Perhaps I'll see another of my father figures. Not holding my breath, though."

"Who?"

"Regin. I heard he was an ass though. No dreams to be crushed over that." I stood near the door and puffed on my pipe as thunder rumbled in the distance.

Regin was once one of the Sons of Ivaldi, who took in the refugee princess Hiordis and her son Sigurd.

Thrúd had the good sense to look confused, both at my comment and at the sound of her father's footsteps. And when he arrived in a column of lightning, she fell down before him.

"Father!"

I turned and greeted Thor, and he gave me a hearty embrace, picked me up and swung me back and forth affectionately. "Has it been an age already?" he asked. Once he had set me down, he turned to Thrúd. "Rise, daughter."

She reluctantly got to her feet.

"What's this mischief I've heard about?"

I gave him a play-by-play, and heard him hum under his breath.

"Looking to wield a godly weapon of your own? Does Mjolnir not suffice?"

Thrúd was quick to defend herself. "Father, the breed of souls are not what they were in ages past. We, choosers of the slain, must now reap far more powerful beings than before; beings that rival and surpass our own strength."

I stared at her, perplexed. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I took initiative to augment a power to preempt such a threat!" she insisted.

"Which is why you should have come to me first, instead of kidnapping my colleagues."

Thor's head snapped around to look at me. "Kidnapping?" he asked, incredulous. "Thrúd, what have you done?"

I told him about the missing psychopomps, but Thrúd didn't wait for him to admonish her.

"I am a chooser of the slain. As such, I'm allowed by the UFU to select which souls are fit to grace the halls of Valhalla, and which are fit to fight."

Fight what, exactly? I wasn't ready to initiate the war to end all wars. So I cut to the chase. "That does not include depriving your coworkers of their free will."

"They are conductors of souls, Father, serving their same function in the same capacity."

"They are not your personal servants!" I said harshly.

Thor turned to his daughter, and thunder rumbled at the sound of his voice. "You'll release them now."

Thrúd stepped back and called the finished weapon to her hand. She set it on the ground before me.

I sighed. "You're ignorant. Much too proud. My weapon seldom leaves its sheath, and for good reason." I stepped forward. "Release my friends."

"I can't," she admitted. "I'm not crafty enough to undo Dwarven magic."

I looked at Eitri, and he nodded at me. The Balancer.

"You felt threatened," I assumed of Thrúd.

She rolled her eyes at me. "The understatement of the age."

"Then earn the mentality of one who can't be threatened. If you want to get stronger, follow me; don't fight me."

The two gods stood aside for me to summon the Balancer.

"Spoken like someone from a position of strength," she mumbled. "Which validates my point."

But it doesn't, really. Any idiot can be dangerous. Only the truly powerful are the ones who cease to feel threatened. I crushed the weapon with a single blow, sending shades cascading in every direction.

Thrúd sighed sharply.

"I know, I know. The short, easy road is tempting." I dismissed the Balancer. "Do you know why soul magic is so powerful? Dwarven magic is frequently based on contradictions, riddles, and paradoxes. And a soul is the greatest set of these in existence; a universe in a grain of sand." I looked up at her. "So what can your soul do?"

"It fights," she said.

"Oh, and so much more than that. So?"

Thor continued for mee. "Fight for the righteous cause."

I opened a portal to the astral realm and guided them in. They'll be all right. They just need to find their way. The right way.

[flashbang-througthe-door]

This maybe long so I will break it up with Jodie Dallas gifs

Of course this is just my opinion also spoilers

Okay, okay, I liked Vanguard. In my opinion it was a good game, not better then WW2 or BOCW but it was a humdinger of a game. I liked changing characters and learning their story(I still don't like Wade) it was very cool and I was happy I didn't have to collect 33 MEMENTOS AND BREACH A SEAWALL IN UNDER TWO MINUTES LIKE SOME GAME!! Yes I'm still salty but this is Vanguard's time under my microscope. My favorite character is Richard fucking Webb, and I know your looking at me in my bitch ass stupid face saying “But Nov you said no more favorites because Lazar dies especially because Park has an operator and he doesn't„ and to that I say...point taken, I didn't want a favorite but Webb looked me in my stupid face and said “Funny time to take a kip. I was just waiting for some mad bastard to come and save the day„ actually I was sold on his character the first second I saw his assssssists. Side note there is a trophy in this game for getting hit by a tank AND I DONT HAVE IT. Anyway back to what I was saying, I love my Webby with all my heart but I was kinda sad we didn't play as him, and I'm kinda pissed KINDA PISSED THAT THEY KILLED HIM IS SUCH A FAST, RIP THE BAND-AID OFF KINDA WAY...kinda made less inclined to cry because it's a blink and you miss moment. I was still sad that he died...but it was less emotional, when Hudson died it was 3 am and I screamed louder than I should have...mom came out and thought I was the one getting murder, or like when Turner die I cried my eyes out, or when GAZ DIED(I need a second, it still gets me). Back to Vanguard, in my opinion Webb should have either died when Novak did or died trying to escape. Hear me out, If he had died instead of Novak at the beginning, one Arthur would have more anger and that would maybe make him reckless, two Novak I don't know about you but I WISH we got to know more about Novak love that blonde bitch (he's blonde in the comic and Lucas has a five head) thirdly I feel like it wouldn't have MADE ME WORRY SO MUCH WHEN HE GET HURT REALLY BAD IN THE ARTHUR FLASHBACK. Now if Webb died while they were escaping I feel like it would have a bigger impact, one they couldn't spend a lot of time so I'm thinking slowly bleeding out or something, two as Webb is dying and their going after Friesinger Arthur is telling Webb he'll be fine, thirdly Webb is being helped to the plane by Wade he dies due to blood loss, forth and final Kingsley walks in and says “We did„ he looks at Webb and realizes that Webb is gone enter crying and then Lucas find Operation Phoenix or whatever the hell we were looking for. Game over I turn into the crying on the floor meme.

This is probably the face your making right now and I don't blame you, but let's wattle into zombies for now. I HAVEN'T THE FAINTEST IDEA OF WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING IN ZOMBIES. Of what I understand, there is Gods or Demons(don't remember what their called but I think it's demons), Von List a German....who exists and is the bad guy(has one memorable line and doesn't say it that much anymore) and finally a scientist named Kraft(an old man but pretty nice). Now I think leveling up your operators is a cool thing(I got Francis to level twenty and that's the highest level, guns go up seventy) you get skins, emblems, calling cards and other things. I like harvest and blitz I believe it's called. Harvest is were you collect five stone tables drop them off at an obelisk looking thing you do this three times. Blitz takes you to a place and you just have to live for a certain amount of time. The perks are okay, you have to level them up everytime you play unlike Cold war, there is only one map which is a little annoying but I hope that changes. The one thing that really bothers me....the big zombie asshole with a FUCKING MINI GUN....that's the only thing that made me mad. Call of duty's zombies shouldn't have zombies with guns, but that's just my OPINION.

It's 2:10 am, anyway back to Vanguard, Webb perfect, Kingsley amazing, Petrova break my neck, Novak let me protect you, Lucas love you too, Dez sexy bitch, Bluely let me love you, Wade....leave go away. In this part I will talk about my hate for Wade Jackson, now believe me I tried to like that cocky asshole but I just couldn't. I don't know if its his personality, his stupidity or his need to be the best. I'm assuming it's a mixture of all of those things because I just can't stand him, he eats at my fucking soul. Like I got an ego, boy I do have one but Wade is something else. I fucking hate Wade, almost to my point of hating a certain singer, I don't know know why but I have this burning hate for Stevie Nicks. Holy shit Wade is my Stevie Nicks of call of duty. I just don't like him.

Now your probably thinking “What else is he going to complain about?„ well my dudes, dears and weirds, my last complaint is...why didn't we get a character like Bell again? Granted Bell was a special case, but what I mean is being able to make are own character, shit I'd just be happy to have my own character take Novak's spot but hey shit happens.

New modern warfare game November this year, get ready for that shit.

[theheroichydrangea]

Is it worth getting into Supernatural now? Like I've never seen the show but obviously know way too much about it after spending years on tumblr but should I watch it and get emotionally invested? How frustrated am I bound to get?

first of all anon thank you for serving up the opportunity for me to babble about supernatural.

you are one way or another going to get very frustrated because this is a fifteen season show on the cw with four different showrunners so like....they left any hope of continuity in the rearview mirror a long time ago. personally though, i like watching things where i'm having a little conversation about the show with the powers that be in my head while i'm watching it. so like 75% of the time that i am frustrated on another level i am still having fun bc i like arguing (that being said i am procrastinating finishing season 15 because i know i will feel differently about the last three episodes now that i have FEELINGS about the characters)! and one of the benefits of spn being long as fuck and having an insanely productive fandom is that probably someone else has already been frustrated by the same thing and written a fic or a meta working on that particular thing. idk the best description of supernatural in my opinion was in a post that compared it to like an ikea bookshelf- there's definitely a functional story in there but you gotta put it together yourself, the instructions are confusing, and you're not sure if you lost a piece or if it was never in the box in the first place.

also i think part of what makes supernatural so interesting ARE the parts of it that are extremely frustrating. I don't think I would find Chuck is a writer and also God plot(s) so compelling without the obvious comparison to the showrunner/writers and the fandom. Destiel is an incredibly frustrating 12 year/season long queerbait but without all of that build-up, nov 5th would not have been what it was. if you're going to get into it, i think now is a good time because you've probably been spoiled for all the Big Disappointments so they wont be a rage quit inducing shock (maybe!) and there are several episodes that are genuinely good! I really hadn't watched the show at all (other than a handful of early season episodes) until this past november and i am really enjoying it! i also watched all of the 100 this past year and rewatched pretty little liars fairly recently so my idea of an "enjoyable watching experience" might just be garbage

[a-flickering-soul]

2020 summary in my writing!! I wanted to join in the party visual artists do at the end of the year where they look back at the progress they made and since 2020 was the first year I actually started writing a Lot (wonder why) I wanted to make a template! Transcript below cut!

Slide 1: 2020 Summary of Writing – a-flickering-soul / Kirjavi

Slide 2: Total Words: 136, 432 words. Longest Work: 108, 492 words (WIP)

Slide 3: Word Count Trend. Image description: a picture of a Microsoft Excel graph where the Y-axis runs from 0 to 160000 (word count) and the X-axis runs from 0 to 14 (months). From months 0-5, the increase is slow, and from 5-10 it’s much faster, then it slows from 10-12.

Slide 4: Top Fandoms. Image description: a picture of a Microsoft Excel pie chart where 77% of it is EverymanHYBRID, 18% of it is Mob Psycho 100, 4% is Miscellaneous (later clarified as TribeTwelve, Adventure Zone: Commitment, and Original Content), and 1% of it is Star Wars).

Slide 5: Top Lines of the Month

Jan: “They breathe together as the sun stretches gold fingers through the window.”

Feb: “He leans back against her, soul-hurt.  “Her hands rub soothing circles over his skin. ‘She’s right, what she says. It’s in your nature. You see someone hurting and you want to fix it. And that is brave, and strong, to do that over and over again.”

Mar: “’Trust me,’ Ren says quietly. Hux doesn’t. He doesn’t. But he holds still anyways and lets him place his fingers at his temples.”

Apr: “’Does it get easier?’ he asks quietly. “Firebrand is silent for another long moment. Easier? he says. No. No, it never gets easier. “Noah sags against him, boneless, hopeless, exhausted. “Firebrand brushes the hair off of his forehead and reaches to grab a tissue for him. It gets better, though, he says. That I can promise. It gets better.”

May: “Steph looks around, up at the bountiful sun, then back down to her feet. She sits down in the grass, buries her head in her hands, and tries not to think about the smell of her baby’s head and how she had just begun to babble.”

Jun: “MARYANN: I love you too. It’s okay. (A pause.) It’s not, really. But I’m too old to be mad at you.  “They sit in silence—the comfortable, heavy silence of two people who have grown as familiar to each other over the years as a hand is familiar to a glove. Ambient sound rushes and grows like the susurrus of trees.”

Jul:  “’Fair,’ Steph says, ‘but it’s fast, remember? Even walking all weird on four legs. What if it catches up to me?’ “He grins at her. ‘You forgot you’re not alone anymore,’ he says. ‘You call me. And I’ll come running.’”

Aug: “She pulls him down back to her level again, and by the time they are finally in his car, speeding down the road with the autumn wind weaving through the windows, the streetlights have come on one by one, flooding the night with light.”

Sep: “A simple in-and-out job, and they would take the kids out for some food and Teru would pretend not to want the last takoyaki and Mob would give it to him anyways and Reigen would ramble on about how they are eating him out of house and home even though Serizawa knows only two days ago he came home with a 6000-yen Majesty Palm nearly as tall as him and they had more than enough money to treat two high school boys and two adult men to some fucking takoyaki–”

Oct: “’I only eat when it’s funny,’ he says loftily. ‘Come home with me tonight.’  “‘Okay,’ says Serizawa. He tastes like ramen, rich and savory, when Reigen leans in to steal a kiss instead. It should be weird, but it’s not. This whole thing should be weird, but it’s not. Reigen’s learned to take weird but good things in stride over the past few years.”

Nov: “Habit takes a few steps closer to Corenthal, moving casually, controlled. He presses his forehead against the muzzle of the gun, a rictus grin on his face. Corenthal’s hands are still steady, but his breathing turns jagged and uneven.  “HABIT (Conversationally) You can’t kill me in a way that sticks, Doc. You know that, don’t you? “

Dec: “Steph stays awake. She does not sleep. She watches the slow shift of moonlight as the night grows old, how it stretches over the faces of the people she has grown to realize she not only cares about but depends on in order to gentle herself like a wild animal. The rise and fall of their chests, the quiet gentle shifting as they sleep. “She keeps watch, throughout the long night.“

[bazwillendinflames]

Norkus Nov, Day 13 - Carl and North 

 AO3

North doesn’t need her uncle’s help to find a boyfriend, but when he pushes his new assistant at her, she can’t bring herself to be so cold hearted.

Carl Manfred was many things - a great painter, a terrible cheat at cards and most distressingly to his nieces: a matchmaker. 

Having only one estranged child of his own (Leo… where did he go wrong?), Carl put most of his attention on his three young nieces. Kara was the oldest, the sweetest and the most optimistic of them. She had known Carl before his car accident and been the first to help her uncle when he was recovering. Kara’s constant positivity had stopped him becoming the kind of bitter old man he feared (even if she locked up his drinks cabinet). 

She never put herself first, so it had been up to Carl to help Kara realise that her perfect match had been right in front of her the whole time. It only took a little subtle nudging before his oldest niece was shyly asking if he would like to meet her new boyfriend, who just so happened to be the same Luther that made his paint deliveries. Kara had taken it well, although admitting about his inferring left his second oldest niece eyeing him suspiciously. 

The youngest of Carl’s nieces, Alice, was painfully shy. She shared the same vivid imagination and artistic flare as his famous uncle and they spent most of the summer painting together. Being too young for traditional matchmaking, Carl had settled for introducing her to some of the neighbourhood kids, hoping some new friends would help Alice get out of her shell a little. It was even more rewarding to hear her babble about her plans with her new playmates. 

Carl’s middle niece was proving to be the biggest challenge. North proved to be just as stubborn as he was, ducking out of ‘chance’ meetings with any potential dates. (“Maybe I’ll set you up one day,” she threatened once.) Still, Carl caught moments when she looked wistfully at how Luther held open doors for Kara or when the couple snuggled together during movies. Carl was determined to find a match so perfect for her that it overcame the infamous Manfred stubbornness. 

And he already knew who. 

   Markus had been Carl’s caretaker for the last three months. His job, by the most basic description, was to make sure he took his morning and night medicine. However, Carl had grown rather fond of him as they shared chess matches and card games (Markus wasn’t afraid to call out his blatant cheating, although Carl always denied it). 

Carl, using only the most subtle methods, had talked his young assassiant into coming to a gallery opening. 

“Are you sure I’m the right person for tonight?” Markus smoothed out his suit self-consciously. “I’m not an artist or…” 

“Who else is going to sneak me a whiskey?”

“Now, now, you know what your doctor said.” A voice drawled. 

“He was just kidding.” Markus pushed the glass behind him. 

North grinned. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” She held up a bottle of her own. 

“North, hi.” Markus smoothed out his jacket again. “You look pretty. I mean your dress is pretty, I wasn’t like objectifying you or anything. I mean…”

“Thanks,” she interrupted. 

Markus had a slight flush on his cheeks and even North’s usual eye roll seemed less sarcastic than usual. Most of their interaction seemed to end with Markus flustered, his crush on Carl’s niece painfully obvious. 

She fixed Carl with a suspicious look. “You didn’t tell me Markus was coming.”

“Old age,” he replied with a shrug. “You do look lovely dear.”

“Kara picked it. Not really my style.” North looked down at her long red dress self-consciously, stealing the tiniest of glances in Markus’ direction. “Too flashy.” 

“I like it,” Markus said. 

Carl smiled to himself, glad his plan was starting to take place. 

   “Markus, come help me carry these drinks.” 

He nodded, eagerly following her to the bar. Carl watched as they walked off, already feeling a little smug. (“Stay out of my love life,” North had told him, “I see you scheming.” But he knew best.) 

“Listen to me,” North whispered, grabbing his arm, “my uncle thinks he knows what’s best for me. This is a set up.”

“Like a prank?” 

“Like a date,” North corrected. “He always does this to us.” 

“Oh.” Markus looked at where her hand still gripped his wrist. “Is that why he told me to wear a nice suit?” 

“You call that a nice suit?” 

“What’s wrong with-” 

The grip on his wrist tightened a little, but Markus couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “If I asked you to-”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t finish.”

“Right, sorry.” Markus felt the usual flush to his cheeks in her presence. “Go on.” 

“We should turn this around. Pretend to be super into each other and just when Carl thinks his meddling worked we-”

“Kiss?”

“Did you just say…”

Now Markus was blushing for another reason. “No.” 

“Just when he thinks it’s another success story, bam!” North hit her other hand on the bar. “I throw my drink over you.” 

“But this suit is new.”

“Trust me,” North said, “I’m doing you a favour. Unless it’s too much. I’ve been told I can be intense.” 

“You are… but I kind of like it.” 

North laughed. “We’re off to a good start. Look, if you help me, I’ll owe you a favour.” 

“Okay. I’m in.” 

North grinned, clinking her glass against his. “It’s a deal then.” 

   Markus peaked over North’s shoulder, catching Carl with a smirk on his face. (He and North made a similar expression when they were up to mischief. But her smirk was cuter.) 

“Does he do this a lot?”

“The matchmaking?” North asked. “Yeah. Kara’s fault really. She’s engaged because of his poking around in her business. And she thanked him! She might as well have signed my life away.” 

“Maybe it’s a sign he has good taste.” 

North hummed in response, but still seemed unconvinced. “Kara’s got a big heart. It’s easier to get her to open it up to someone.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with having a big heart.” 

“Oh no, an optimist.” North laughed at her own joke. “Fine, I’ll admit I’m happy for my sister.” 

“I’ve only met her once. Kara, I mean. But she’s kind.” 

“She was like a Mother to me. I mean I had an actual Mom too, but she was off doing rich people stuff a lot. Kara’s eight years older, so she picked up the slack. She’s good with Alice too.” 

“Sounds like it was hard.” 

She shrugged. “It was what it was. I’m tough now.” She finished her drink off. “No more sad rich girl stuff now. I’m sick of it.” 

“Are you really?”

“Really what?”

“Sad.” Despite the fact it was just an act, Markus let Carl’s eyes on them justify resting his hand on top of her own. “I’ll listen.” 

“I”m not…” She glanced at him and sighed. “Sometimes. Mostly it makes me furious. I guess Carl told you I went a little off the rails when Alice was born, cause my Mom went and did it again.” Carl hadn’t, but Markus didn’t correct her. “And then she died and I was really Motherless. But so was my baby sister, so I had to grow out of smashing windows and getting arrested. You wouldn’t get it.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Because,” North began, “you’re so calm and you listen. I just scream.” 

“Sounds like a good match.” 

She laughed, but it was laced with a hint of bitterness. “You sound like Carl. I’ll stop talking about myself now.” 

“I’d listen to you all night.” The words escaped before Markus could really think about them. “I mean…” 

The hand in Markus’ own curled to hold back. “That’s such a line.” 

“I’ll tell you about the time I got arrested, if you tell me yours.” 

North grinned. “Markus, you are full of surprises.” 

   Out of breath, Markus checked around the corner, glad to see they weren’t followed anymore. 

“I- I can’t believe you did that.” 

North scoffed. “You’ve never played the ‘don’t touch the art’ game before? Amatour.” 

“I’ve never been to one of these before.”

“Oh,” she said, “and I’ve totally hijacked your first one and made it all about me.”

“No, no. I’m having fun.”

“But you want to be an artist. You are an artist,” she corrected. “Shit, sorry.” 

“You haven’t ruined anything. I’m not too nice to say no to you.”

“Could have fooled me.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with being nice.” 

North rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t know; I’ve never tried being nice.” 

“I don’t quite believe that.” 

“You are a raging optimist.” 

Markus couldn’t help but smile. “Guilty. But I still think you’re kind, deep down. That’s what matters.” 

“Stop.” North glanced at the main entrance. “All clear.”

“We can’t go back in.”

North pulled her hair into a long ponytail. “There. Power of disguise.”

“It can’t be that simple.”

She spun around. “The best part about a dress like this, is no one is looking at your face.” 

Markus followed her in, not quite brave enough to protest against her. 

   “If your doctor asked, I brought you water.” 

Carl held up his glass. “Cheers to that.” 

Markus nodded. “How’s your night Carl?” 

“Whilst you’ve been running around with my niece, I’ve been admiring something different.” 

“Oh. You noticed that?”

“Don’t look so nervous Markus. I know North can hold her own. I should be more worried about you.” 

“North is stunning. I could listen to her talk forever and never get bored.” Markus seemed a self-conscious. “There’s a room full of beautiful art and I can’t seem to look away from her.” 

Carl was a little stunned himself. He had seen Markus’ crush on his niece from the moment they first met (he dropped a glass as she ruffled her hair; it was like a movie) but he hadn’t expected Markus to fall so hard. 

“You seem smitten.”

The signature blush was back.

“I am. I know she’s hate me asking but do you think I should ask North to dance?” 

   “It was a nice touch,” North said, swaying along with him. “The speech.” 

“You heard?” 

“Yeah. So, I’m stunning and a great conversationalist?” 

He groaned. “Don’t start.” 

“Hey, it’s affectionate teasing. I know it��s just part of the act.” 

“Right, the act.” 

“Besides,” North said, “no one ever talks about girls like that. It’s all ‘she’s hot’ and fist bumping.” 

“Is that really how you think I talk to people?”

“Maybe not you.” North giggled as he spun her around. “I can see my uncle thought you’d be a good boyfriend.” 

Markus felt a hint of hope. “Really?” 

“You’re sweet.” “Does this mean I don’t get a drink on my head?” 

“I was going to throw it on your suit actually.” 

“I’ll never dress myself again.” 

North shook her head. “Maybe that can be my favour. I don’t think you’re the suit-wearing-type. You should go fully artsy and buy a flowing coat.” 

“I have a flowing coat.” 

“You’re kidding!” North said. “I knew I liked you for a reason.” 

“So maybe I can dress myself.” 

“Maybe,” she echoed. “Thank you, for going along with my stupid idea. Truthfully, I get kinda bored at these things. Just not tonight.” 

“I’ll be your partner is crime any time.”

“Deal.”

Markus dipped her back as the song ended. 

“Markus,” North said, delighted, “you really are full of surprises.” 

   “I’ll see you tomorrow Carl,” Markus called, waving with his hand full of keys. “Bye North.” 

“Bye.” 

Carl waited until he had disappeared into the building before turning on her. “Nice boy.” 

“Yeah, he’s a real sweetheart.” 

“You didn’t even drop your drink on him. I owe your sister twenty.” 

“What!” North turned to him. “You knew!” 

“I practically raised you, dear. Of course I knew you’d be scheming. It was the best way to get you to spend the night with Markus.” 

“You’re evil.” 

Carl only smirked the signature Manfred smirk. “You liked him.” 

North dropped her head in her hands. “I know.” 

“Don’t feel bad about it my dear. I’m great at many things: painting, cards and matchmaking.”

“He was just playing along.” 

“That boy,” Carl said softly, “is the best assistant I ever had. But he wears his heart on his sleeve. Be careful with it.” 

Even with her face half-hidden, Carl could make out the smile on her face. 

Another success story. 

[not-a-fever-dream]

siennarossi’s fic recs: Jan-Feb 2019

Totally got this idea from @hufflepuffshawn but work got busy so I just kept listing stuff. Here’s the complete list for the past two months though. Remember to reblog and share the fics you like!

HARRY STYLES

Imagines/Blurbs

Magic Cuddles - @meetmeinthehallwayhs

Just some cute, clingy, and sick dad Harry that has my soft heart beating very loudly.

Twenty-five - @lovemepleaase

I feel like this summed up all of my loved up feelings for Harry on his 25th birthday.

Vena Amoris - @stylishmuser

Sneaking in a little Harry blurb in here from one of my absolute favorite writers here. Because it was a nice use of the image and well, I’m very, very soft for this. Kinda teared up at the ring part.

OTHERS

excerpt from a book I’ll never write.(67) - @phi-lophobic

I’ve always had a special spot for this series. And that hasn’t changed.

SHAWN MENDES

Imagines/Blurbs

33, 52, 103 - he catches her - @mendeshoney

Just… yes, please.

An Exuberant Burst, A Silent Beauty - @holdinbackmendes

S always has this way with words that I love. This was painful for the big chunk of it. But it was also beautiful, a reminder of learning to love through pain, because sometimes it’s worth it.

And he calls me moonlight too - @ffsshawn

M’s way with words have always left me in awe. They still do every time I re-read. And I come back to them a lot because I find so much beauty and comfort in them.

Bath - @softboyshawn

A has a knack of making me feel very soft and vulnerable when I read her fics. This little soon-to-be dad Shawn is definitely one of those.

Be My Girl - @captainharoldsstyles

I remember Crystal showing this to me a few months back. I was excited for it then, and I’m still excited for it now. It’s a small, soft thing that I adore.

Better With You - @mendesho

Lighthearted, silly, cute, and sweet all in one. I like bumbly Shawn as much as smooth Shawn. Still laughing over ““Bold of you to assume this is the only night this happened.”

Drunk Babbles (Are Sober Thoughts) - @getwaytooinvolved

I love the title. And I’ve always liked cute drunk Shawn fics, I’ve even taken to writing quite a few of those. But that little twist in the end is my favorite.

Family Affair - @planstonightbaby

Always have a soft spot for Shawn at family reunions. The whole arts and crafts thing, super cute.

Firefly - @lostinshawnslight

The part that comes after happily ever after doesn’t always end happily. But I can get into angst sometimes and this is a good one.

Grounding - @softboyshawn

This was very comforting to read.

Heart eyed - @sourshawn

It felt real and something I’d do, and yes, it’s absolutely endearing. That entire mental breakdown was written so, so well.

“I’m the baby” - @nervousroses

I’m here for giant baby Shawn who just wants to be held. This was adorable.

Just right - @babyshawwn

I just really love the idea of lovestruck Shawn. This just brought a smile to my face.

Little Sunset - @bluerroses

Seems like a fitting read with tour starting. Just some real emotions slipped through quiet, beautiful moments.

More Than Anything - @softboyshawn

I’m such a sucker for those quiet, little fics that are about quiet, little moments of love.

Swimming Pool - @lostinshawnslight

It feels like longing. And a lot like pent-up-frustration.

That was something I felt throughout this fic and I loved that.

New Year - @accuratemendes

Something small, simple, but very cute. I just really liked reading this.

Serendipity - @softboyshawn

“I don’t fit in the to go bags.” (I SCREAMED.)

I haven’t really read werewolf!Shawn in a while but this was really soft and cute and fluffy.

Soft Love - @softboyshawn

Something about a possessive, flirty Shawn that gets to me.

Tokyo Narita - @sourshawn

She’s an IV of sunshine attached permanently to my arm. A book of poetry, found in a small bookstore in Amsterdam. A packet of tobacco, warning signs ignored and a photo frame – glossed golden, ingrained silver and sprayed ruby.

It’s a fic based on one of my favorite songs ever, written by one of the most talented souls I know. I revisited it on New Year’s Day and what a way to kick off the year. Sometimes you just feel writing and this just had emotions coming off of it in spades.

Unexpected - @lostinshawnslight

I’m just all for surprising a soft boyfriend Shawn on tour.

Mini-series/Series

Eleanor: Nine years - @smallerinfinities

I’ll always love a little bit of dad Shawn. This just hit the heart just right.

Like The Back Of My Hand - @harryandmolly

This seems like the closest I’ve come to imagining Shawn in love. Molly writes him so well, but she also writes Lilly in such a beautiful, real way. This is one of those fics I’ll keep coming back to forever.

Meet The Teacher: Chapter 5 - @smallerinfinities

This just keeps getting better and better the more I read it. Jules still manages to be adorable. And Shawn keeps on being a mischievous hot teacher. The chemistry between him and our main girl is amazing. The smut is top notch (as expected) but I mentioned it in my reblog how I liked the push and pull between her dealing with her issues and their obvious attraction for each other.

Off The Record - @lostinshawnslight

As someone who works in a similar industry, this has me pretty excited. I already know this one is going to be a great one. 

Well (3 Makes A Family) - @shawnm521

I just always get a good feeling whenever I read anything from this series. I just feel light and the world feels so right. If you haven’t read it yet, you should. Borrowed T-Shirts and Announcements are favorites of mine.

SIENNAROSSI’S FIC RECS 

Mar ‘19 | Apr-May ‘19 | Jun ‘19 | Jul ‘19 | Aug ‘19 | Sept ‘19 | Oct. ‘19 | Nov. ‘19 | Dec ‘19

[heyomag]

‘Girly Mags’ Takes Us on Stroll Down 90s and 00s Memory Lane

Instagram feed curates the best from teen magazines from the 1990s and early 2000s featuring Paris Hilton, LeeLee Sobieski and more.

Though I was probably too young to really grasp what it meant, when I was younger, and when the house was empty, I would sneak into my older sister’s room, lie in her bed and stare at the poster of Luke Perry she had ripped from the pages of Teen Beat (or something similar) and pinned to her ceiling. Never one for Sports Illustrated, I was always more intrigued by what salacious news was circulating the teen atmosphere.

After studying the pages of Tiger Beat, I would have hour-long internal debates as to whether I agreed with their conclusion that J.T.T. was indeed dreamier than Devon Sawa.

The life of a pre-pubescent boy (deep in the closet) in the 90s is something worth romanticizing.

But Girly Mags IG feed provides that trip down memory lane so many of us have been longing for in these shitty times. Girly Mag gives us that warm and fuzzy feeling that only ‘90s and Early 00’s Nostalgia’ can provide. It brings us back to a simpler time, albeit less convenient time, of ordering clothes from a glossy magazine page through the US mail and sharing an actual page with friends, rather than sharing a meme through DMs. 

I’m thrilled that the girls behind Girly Mags have grown up to create their own media company complete with a podcast, awesome music playlists and Patreon. The podcast is basically a group of friends sitting around discussing the mags through the lense of grown-ass women (and men). Read the latest episode description below to get hooked and check out their latest episode here.

COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE NOVEMBER 1994 This bittersweet episode marks the end of an era. Lauren Prussky, AKA editor extraordinaire and Girly Mags loudmouth is on to greener pastures. But don’t fret – this episode is full of bangers, sing-a-longs, tears and tons of laughs, with a few freaky surprises along the way. We’re heading back to the time of holey jeans, 1-900 numbers and catty celebrity feuds of the ‘90s. Jump in the Girly Mags whip for another ride around the nostalgia block – this episode is one for the books!

IN THIS ISSUE

This Month in History – November 1994

Agony – Hotline Bling + Old Wrinkly Balls

Hollywood Babble On – Celebrity Deathmatch

The Surprising Things Men Find Sexy

When Straight Women Marry Gay Men

Quiz: Are You Ready for Romance?

OK, BACK TO INSTAGRAM:

Admittedly, not all posts resonate with this Queer 30-somethings Cis Male but we do think a few posts needed to be highlighted in order to properly pay tribute to the feed and mags of yesteryear.

LeeLee Sobieski did no wrong

 View this post on Instagram

 Me vs me after watching Thirteen in 2003 @evanrachelwood @nikkireed YES I KNOW IT’S LEELEE SOBIESKI

A post shared by Girly Mags Podcast (@girly.mags) on Nov 12, 2019 at 3:38pm PST

Body Glitter < SPF

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 Don’t forget the roll-on body glitter ❄💎✨ (Via @doyoulovethe2000s)

A post shared by Girly Mags Podcast (@girly.mags) on Nov 10, 2019 at 1:57pm PST

Sassy  Magazine

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 ❄⛸🧤 (Sassy, November 1994) #tbt #throwbackthursday 📷 by @georgeholzofficial

A post shared by Girly Mags Podcast (@girly.mags) on Nov 7, 2019 at 10:46am PST

Oh God

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 BREAKING NEWS: EMO SCENE KIDS (2007) rawr XD 🦖

A post shared by Girly Mags Podcast (@girly.mags) on Nov 6, 2019 at 12:30pm PST

Was a thing for a minute

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 HIT CLIPS (1999)

A post shared by Girly Mags Podcast (@girly.mags) on Nov 5, 2019 at 5:14pm PST

Forever roaming

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 Everyone in 2001 when the clock hit 9:00pm 🕘

A post shared by Girly Mags Podcast (@girly.mags) on Nov 4, 2019 at 5:18pm PST

Wuz ^?

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 ☆ weLcOme 2 My HoMePaGe ☆

A post shared by Girly Mags Podcast (@girly.mags) on Nov 4, 2019 at 12:08pm PST

Prom Makeovers

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 Prom makeovers 💅👑 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ (Seventeen, March 1995) Follow @girly.mags for all your ’90s needs!

A post shared by Girly Mags Podcast (@girly.mags) on Nov 3, 2019 at 9:59am PST

Scratch and sniff clothing

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 Scratch ‘n sniff pajamas and glow-in-the-dark undies 💀⚰️ (Girlfriends LA, 1996-1999)

A post shared by Girly Mags Podcast (@girly.mags) on Oct 16, 2019 at 6:57pm PDT

Still <3 Paris Hilton

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 Wow same tbh

A post shared by Girly Mags Podcast (@girly.mags) on Oct 5, 2019 at 1:42pm PDT

Roller Skates or Roller blades?

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 Would you date someone who rollerblades, 👍 or 👎 (Seventeen, August 1991)

A post shared by Girly Mags Podcast (@girly.mags) on Oct 3, 2019 at 12:49pm PDT

Skeet Ulrich – enough said.

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 Enjoy this recap of the season 6 90210 Thanksgiving episode featuring Cameron Bancroft AKA Joe Bradley AKA Donna’s post-Ray Pruitt hunky meathead 🏈 Joe is a California University football team quarterback who dates Donna Martin. On the night of their first date on Halloween, Donna was confronted at her beach house by Ray Pruit, her former abusive boyfriend with whom she had recently ended her relationship. Joe came to her defense, tossing Ray around like a football in self-defense. During Thanksgiving, which happens to be Joe’s birthday, Donna arranges for 49ers QB Steve Young to surprise Joe. Because Young apparently could skip practice that day and also had no family or friends he wanted to spend the holiday with, he actually showed up to Casa Walsh and played an impromptu game with the gang on the front lawn using the football he autographed for Joe. In the same episode, Donna tells Kelly that she loves Joe so much, she wants to sleep with him. Joe later revealed to Donna that he was also a virgin and, like her, was waiting for marriage to have sex. He had also been engaged to his high school girlfriend, who had gotten too wild for him after they graduated. He was a devout Christian who lived a life of faith. He asks Donna to move to Beaver Falls with him after being diagnosed with a heart defect (by Donna’s dad) and the two part ways. (Seventeen, November 1996)

A post shared by Girly Mags Podcast (@girly.mags) on Sep 30, 2019 at 3:10pm PDT

For those of you not as interested in pursuing teen year through digitized Girly Mags feed, check out the On Foot Archives featuring some Eastbay Catalog clippings and much more!

The post ‘Girly Mags’ Takes Us on Stroll Down 90s and 00s Memory Lane appeared first on HEYO Mag.

from HEYO Mag https://heyomag.com/girly-mags-takes-us-on-stroll-down-90s-and-00s-memory-lane/

[builder051]

Nov(emeto)ber day 30: sick caretaker

Warnings: Emeto

Fandom: My OCs (Bostonians)

@xxx-cat-xxx This one’s for you.  Based on a prompt you sent a long time ago. 

______________

Hildur is asleep when Pierce leaves for work.  If she was awake, she might’ve asked him to stay.  She tells herself she would’ve, but really she’s not sure.  The throb in her head and the feverish ache in her bones are of the sort that makes her more stubbornly wishy-washy than usual.  The idea of getting up, picking out clothes, even choosing a mug for her tea seems overwhelming.  She’d rather stay in bed.  

So she does, until the baby monitor on the bedside table rouses her with an echo of Lars’s vocalizations.  He’s not crying, and he’s still too little to really be babbling, but Hildur understands.  I’m awake, Mom.  Are you?

Hildur sits up against the pillows, and a slew of questions hits her along with an uncomfortable hitch in her gut.  She hasn’t considered how an illness, mild as it may be, could topple their fragile routine.  How strong is the immune system of an 8-week-old infant?  Can she pick him up without passing on her germs?  Can she breastfeed?  There’s no formula in the cupboards, and Hildur has yet to figure out the pump apparatus still in its box in her closet.  She feels woefully unprepared again.  Of course she’s destined to be a terrible mother.

Hildur reaches for her phone, wondering if she can find some answers with Google.  But how will she know if the results are accurate?  Most of the time she gets by with her limited computer skills, but today it’s just another failure.  

She should call Pierce.  If her own aching head and gurgling stomach were the only problems, Hildur wouldn’t bother.  But with their son’s health possibly at risk, she can’t stay quiet.  

“Ok…”  Hildur breathes.  Her throat burns, and she has to couch to burst a bubble of mucous somewhere between her lungs and her mouth.  She selects Pierce’s contact and holds the phone to her ear, the screen cold against her flushed cheek.  Hildur’s hair flickers to white-blonde around her shoulders, and the resulting swirl of anxiety leaves her head throbbing anew.  She presses the heel of her hand to her temple as she listens to the line ring out.

Hildur glances at the clock as the call goes to voicemail.  Pierce is in class, probably walking between the desks, giving kindly-phrased feedback as the students work on their final projects.  Hildur remembers the days when she was one of those students, simultaneously relishing and dreading the moments when he stopped beside her easel.  It had been a phone message that started their romance nearly two years ago.  Funny how things come full circle.  

“Um, hi, Pierce,” Hildur says quickly at the sound of the beep, “I’m ok, I, um, I think I have a cold or, uh, something…”  She draws in a slow inhale, willing herself to speak less frantically.  “I just don’t want Lars to get sick, and I don’t know if it’s ok to hold him, or, uh, feed him, or anything…  Or what meds I can take.  So, uh, don’t come home or anything.  Just, call me?  If you can?”  Now to sign off, the part she’s worst at.  “Sorry.  I don’t want to worry you.  Just, um.  Ok.  Love you.  Bye.”

Hildur’s out of breath by the time she hangs up and drops the phone into her lap.  Another ripple of nausea comes up from her stomach.  It’s impossible to tell whether illness or anxiety is the nexus; they combine in a vicious cycle that leaves her hair shimmering silver and her hands the color of paper.  

The sound coming from the baby monitor changes.  Lars is wailing now, and insistent.  Where are you, Mom?  A breathy hiccup punctuates the cries, and Hildur knows he’s hungry.  

“I’m sorry, my love,” she murmurs, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.  Maybe if she just holds him while she looks on the computer, she can figure out a plan.  

As soon as she’s on her feet, though, Hildur’s thoughts scatter.  The bedroom walls blur and spin around her as hot bitterness tears through her chest and bursts over her tongue.  She clutches her phone tightly in one hand and instinctively claps the other over her mouth as she bolts for the bathroom.  

It’s mostly acid that comes up, with a few dregs of last night’s dinner and strings of mucous that threaten to choke her.  Hildur wraps her arms around her stomach and sinks to her knees in front of the toilet.  She heaves again, and her head throbs so hard in response that her vision bursts into stars.  

Lars shrieks from his crib.  The sound echoes off the bathroom tile and makes Hildur feel as though she’s being assaulted from all sides, like the clapper in a church bell.  Guilt follows the pain.  It seems wrong to wish her son to be quiet.

“I’m so sorry,” she groans into the toilet bowl.  “I’m coming.  I’m coming…”  Hildur spits and wipes her mouth.  Every inch of her body trembles.  She squeezes her eyes shut, and when she opens them, her fingertips are sea-glass blue and only marginally opaque.  “No,” she complains.  “Oh, no, I can’t.  Not now.”

Hildur feels as if she’s stuck in quicksand.  If she stands up, she’ll fall.  If she goes to Lars, she’ll pass on this flu.  If she stays still, she’ll disappear.  She could call Pierce again, but it’s too soon.  He’ll still be in class.  She remembers the advice Kris gave her in the early stages of her pregnancy, about the importance of having relationships with family and friends.  A card sent to her brother had seemed good enough at the time, but when it comes down to it, Hildur’s failed.  Of course.  She always does.  

Her phone begins to slip out of her sweaty grip.  Hildur’s ready to drop it on the bathroom carpet, but on a whim she looks down at the smudged screen.  She has a number for Kris.  Or for the prenatal clinic, at least.  She’s not technically a patient anymore, and she doesn’t know if phone consults are part of their offerings, but she’s desperate.  She’ll try anything.

Hildur scrolls through her contacts and drops the pad of her thumb down on Kris’s name.  Vertigo flares, and she drops her forehead to the toilet seat, her heart pounding with anticipation.

“Prenatal care, Kristina Tyler speaking,” Kris answers in a rush.

Hildur’s so relieved she can barely speak.  “Hildur Gorisdottir,” she breathes.  “This is, I mean…”  

“Ok,” Kris says a bit more calmly. “What’s going on?”

“I...he…”  Hildur swallows the urge to gag.  “He’s crying, and I’m sick, and I don’t know if I’m allowed--”  A dry heave bursts from her chest.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Ok, Hildur,” Kris intones.  “I hear you.  I hear Lars.  I need you to breathe.  Is Pierce at home?”

“He’s at school.”  Hildur pulls in a shallow inhale.  “I mean, work.”

“Alright, we’re gonna figure this out.”  The sounds of shuffling papers and a chair scraping across the floor come over the line.  “Are you in a safe place?  You’re sitting down?”

“I...yes.”

“Good.  Thank god I have a lunch break today.  I’m gonna come get you sorted out, ok?  Is that ok with you?”

“Yes, but…”  Hildur fumbles with the words.  “Don’t leave work for me.”

“Un-uh.  My choice,” Kris says.  “I could be going through the drive-thru, but I’m choosing to do this.  Your address is still the same as what’s on your patient forms?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok.  Stay put,” Kris issues the gentle command.  “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.  We’ll see if we can get Mr. Pierce the rest of the day off.”

“Ok…”  sour saliva floods over Hildur’s back teeth.  “I’m just...sorry.”

“Hildur,” Kris says.  “You’re gonna be fine, ok?  I know it’s scary when this kind of stuff happens, but you gotta believe it.”

Hildur hesitates.  Swallows.  Then murmurs, “Ok.”

[perfectirishgifts]

Why Today’s Jobs Report Shouldn’t Have Surprised Anyone

New Post has been published on https://perfectirishgifts.com/why-todays-jobs-report-shouldnt-have-surprised-anyone-2/

Why Today’s Jobs Report Shouldn’t Have Surprised Anyone

WASHINGTON, DC – DECEMBER 01: Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) talks with reporters … [] following the weekly Republican Senate conference meeting in the Mansfield Room at the U.S. Capitol December 01, 2020 in Washington, DC. The Senate GOP leaders were asked about the chances of Congress passing another coronavirus relief bill along with must-pass government funding legislation. (Photo by Tom Williams-Pool/Getty Images)

Pretense is the foundation of acting. In An Actor Prepares, director and actor Konstantin Stanislavski noted that the big question for someone creating a role to ask is “What if?”

That is the technical theater term for playing pretend. What if you actually were a ruling monarch? A cat burglar? An accountant? What if everyone in a country had to pretend that the Emperor strode about in his birthday suit? Only to ask another variation of the same question: What if a young child pointed out the obvious, that the ruler of the land was stark naked.

Today’s jobs report has made the economic version of that question unnecessary. The current state of the union’s drafty circumstances is now more obvious.

Employment rose by 245,000 in November, which was “short of expectations,” according to a statement from Allianz Investment Management senior investment strategist Charlie Ripley. As the Wall Street Journal reported, economists were looking for 440,000 jobs. Former Obama administration economist Charlie Anderson observed that the country has 9.8 million fewer jobs than it did before the start of the pandemic. That is still a bigger job loss then during the entire Great Recession.

The U-3 unemployment rate—which ignores the status of millions and so understates the jobs situation—did drop to 6.7%. The reason for the latter was a drop in labor force participation, as Oxford Economics explained

The U-6 unemployment rate, which includes people marginally attached to the labor force and those who work part-time because they can’t find full-time employment, is 12%. Even by U-3 standards, unemployment for Hispanics is half again higher than for Whites, while for Blacks it is almost double.

Things are also worse than they appear on the surface, as that Journal story stated:

If anything, the current state of affairs is worse than what was depicted in the job report. The surveys that the jobs and unemployment figures are based upon measured the state of things in the pay periods included in the week ended Nov. 14. Since then, Covid cases, hospitalizations and deaths have risen, spurring renewed caution on the part of many Americans, while colder weather is hurting businesses that have been relying on outdoor arrangements, such as restaurants. This chill is showing up in higher-frequency data: Restaurant reservation figures from OpenTable show a marked decline since early November, for example, while figures from scheduling-software company Homebase show that the number of hourly employees working at restaurants, retailers and other small businesses is slipping.

Better than what it had been less than a year ago, and yet still an enormous problem. Or, in the words of Oxford Economics, “While the continued downtrend is encouraging, the labor force context and gradual slowing in the decline reflect a cooling pace of rehiring coupled with a still large number of newly unemployed.”

Otherwise known as no widespread availability of a vaccine, too many officials and individuals exhibiting irresponsible behavior and indulging childish desire to do as they want, and infection and death rates topping earlier heights.

As a reminder, those heights were what ultimately forced lock-downs of large parts of the country. Remember the original rational that hospitals would be overwhelmed, and Covid-19 cases would crowd out the need for other services? That is already happening.

“In Connecticut, Tennessee, Missouri and Mississippi, physicians have issued unusually public pleas for stronger responses to the pandemic as hospitals and their staffs near a breaking point,” noted Washington Post health and medicine reporter Lenny Bernstein.

“As California hospitals rapidly approach capacity because of the unprecedented spike in coronavirus cases, there are growing concerns about shortages of workers as the healthcare system strains to handle the growing demand,” noted Jaclyn Cosgrove and Soumya Karlamangla for the Los Angeles Times.

Pennsylvania hospitals are “on the brink of a staffing crisis,” said a story from The Philadelphia Inquirer.

In St. Louis, “local hospitals [are] turning away patients,” wrote KMOV-TV.

For tens of millions fortunately not in dire need of immediate medical intervention, there are other worries. Pandemic help is about to run out.

All this was obvious unless someone buried their head, stuck their fingers in their ears, and babbled nonsense to drown out the news. That brings us to Congress.

The collective body hasn’t agreed on a solution. Nancy Pelosi, Chuck Schumer, and a bipartisan and bicameral group of legislators have came up with a $908 billion compromise. (Which alone might make one wonder why such a step took eight months to occur.)

Even now, Mitch McConnell is reportedly trying to beat the Democrats and take control. The $908 billion is less than half of what Democrats initially insisted on, but reports are that McConnell wants something closer to $500 billion—in other words, what he wanted in the first place.

Pigheadedness, cruelty, and idiocy make a grotesque triumvirate. The list of things about to happen is terrible:

Emergency unemployment insurance (UI) compensation that added 13 weeks of coverage to those who needed it

Pandemic Unemployment Assistance that gig workers and independent contractors used

Eviction moratorium

State and local funding

2020 rebate checks not yet received

Small business debt relief

Exclusion of employer payments toward student loans

Tax credits for self-employed family and sick leave

Payment delay for payroll taxes

People will be evicted with nothing to help them. Not only is unemployment money nearly finished, but so is eligibility for it. Allocation of more money without addressing how state regulations limit how long people can collect could mean the dollars only support those who recently lost jobs. The ones in deepest trouble, through no fault of their own, would continue to face disaster

Next, add in the mounting local and state debt with shrunken tax bases, more demands for services, and the inability to do as the federal government can: borrow money in their own currency, drive down interest rates, and pay over time without sweat.

If there isn’t enough help from the feds, the result could be the beginning of a vortex that would suck all parts of the economy in. But until people manage to make elected officials feel their own pain, expecting better actions may be naïve.

More from Personal Finance in Perfectirishgifts

[baileyvan]

Day 582 Without Answers

Imagine going to sleep every night knowing you have no idea how you are going to feel or act the next day. How much pain am I going to be in? Will I get another migraine due to the tension in my body? Will my emotional state be in disarray just by being alive? 

Imagine waking up every morning and the first conscious recognition is the searing nerve pain pulsing through your hands, feet, arms and legs. You peel yourself out of bed, which is getting harder every time, and you stumble to find your medication in hopes that today will be one of the good days where it dulls the pain but not you entirely. 

This has become my typical evening and morning routines yet still nothing about it seems normal or controllable. But I don’t want to start this journey on todays problems, but take you back to the beginning. The beginning of the 582 days when things started to fall apart. 

It was November 2017, I was extremely busy at work which caused me stress and long work days but I didn’t mind, I was so young and in the beginnings of my newly found career I was willing to push through these long days to get my research done. I noticed that while working I would get these small, almost electrical, pulses through my hands and feet. Didn’t think much of it and pushed on thinking, “maybe it was my posture at work and my normally poor posture in my body.” In about one months time this progressed into my pinky and ring fingers now going numb. And in my profession there is nothing that can be accomplished without the use of your hands. I began getting worried but I just chalked it up to stress and overuse so I spoke with my boss and he tried thinking of things we could do to over come these problems. We had our ergonomics HR person come to evaluate my working posture and make adjustments, didn’t help and the numbness was now spreading further through my hands and the tingling sensations were becoming more intense. This set me off into an almost months long panic attack where all I could focus on were these failings of my body. My mind and body were both out of whack. 

So I finally bit the bullet and went to my general practitioner about these issues. It’s not that I didn’t want to see the doctor but I was hoping we could resolve these issues with simple hacks. My GP prescribed me Gabapentin (neurotin) for what he described as a case of peripheral neuropathy, basically nerve death or damage in your peripheral nervous system, but didn’t really give me much else information on what could be going on. But hey I got some meds and maybe it would help! I started taking the medication the next morning, 100mg 3 times per day and let me tell you if you ever need to start this medication, do it on a Friday. Drowsiness is a side effect but the first two days on this medication feels like you have fucking narcolepsy. After the first two days I got my energy back and it was even better than before! The nerve pain was going down but still a dull presence in the background of everything I did and the numbness was less often. 

And then the rain hit in January of 2018 and everything fell apart again. It was like the medication couldn’t keep up with the amount of pain I felt. I don’t know what caused what, or what were side effects of other sources of pain but I was now in about a level 8 on the pain scale pain with my neuropathy. It was ranging now from my fingertips to my elbows. My toes to my ankles. The base of my neck through my shoulders. It’s not like any other pain I’ve every experienced, its not like pulling a muscle or getting a cut. The best analogy I could come up with is that it’s like the burning feeling you get when someone gives you an indian burn. You know that thing we did as kids where you place your hands on someones arm and twist the skin in opposite directions? It’s like that but a constant burn throughout those areas I just described. The gabapentin wasn’t sufficient enough so my doctor bumped me up to 300mg 3 times a day. The pain was less but it was a toss up every single day of how bad the pain and numbness would be and it was driving me into a deep (what I now know) depression and anxiety filled state of mind. In January and February of 2018 I called out sick more days than I worked. I laid in bed in pain wondering if it would ever go away and berating myself for all the things I had done that could have caused this. Did I workout too hard for those years? Was my drug use in college what caused this? Am I making everything up and is all of this just in my head? I couldn’t escape these thoughts and I withdrew from a lot of things. From my personal life and friendships, from my work, from my family. Nothing made sense and if I started to talk about it I would just end up in a full blown psychosis of crying and babbling because I had no answers, only frustration with my body and my state of mind. 

During this time I also started to notice small differences. I was getting small twitches, in my face usually my left eye and left upper lip. I would get these electrical shocks in my legs when I would lay down at night. I was having an uptick of my migraines (which I will discuss in a separate post cause holy shit I could write a horror novel on my migraines) and now daily constant ocular migraines. The pain in my neck and shoulders (which I now know is spasticity) caused me to purchase new pillows and a new bed to find relief. I had zero motivation to eat or cook and I dropped down to 122lbs, a weight I hadn't seen since my freshman year of high school and I hope to never see again. I was getting word salad (aphasia), placing words in the wrong order as they came out of my mouth or getting stuck on a word and not being able to get my body to say what I was trying to get out. My vision began blurring and I had to get glasses to read or be on the computer. There were so many things happening to my body that I had zero control over and my depression and anxiety had become too much to deal with on my own so they gave me a xanax prescription on top of gabapentin. But I hate the way xanax makes me feel and with my nature of loving drugs I felt like I needed to tread very lightly when taking benzo’s. 

This was about the time I realized something was really wrong and I needed to find answers because my outlook on life had become very bleak and my will to make things better was lessening. We were coming up now on Spring and I needed to get my shit together. This is when my GP finally referred me to a neurologist. I do believe I should have been sent sooner, I didn’t actually even get in to see them until August 2018 because of our damn medical system, but I know my GP hasn’t dealt with something like this and so many people would look at me and think “Oh she’s a young healthy presenting adult I’m sure it’s just an emotional thing.” That’s when I learned what a silent disease is and how frustrating it can be. Everything I was experiencing was only viewable by me and I have never felt more scared or alone. 

I finally got in to see a neurologist and their first tests were an EMG which studies your nerve conductivity in your body. They stuck needles in my arms and measured the nerves by pulsing them with electrode pads, wasn’t necessarily painful just uncomfortable. They diagnosed me with ulnar neuropathy and ulnar entrapment. Basically the major ulnar nerve that runs from my shoulder to my ring and pinky fingers was being damaged somewhere and that is why I was having so much nerve pain in my arms. They then sent me for my first MRI of my brain and C-spine (the neck portion of your spine) and that was the end of November 2018. Took a few weeks to get the results back and I was eager to see them. They were looking for tumors or lesions in these areas and I knew when my neurologist emailed me telling me she was referring me now to a neurologist who specialized in Multiple Sclerosis that there was something found. I met with the new doctor and she explained to me that they had found an old lesion in my brain that was of decent size. There's a difference between active and non active lesions, from my understanding an old lesions is a site of already de-myelination and an active lesion is a site where your body is actively attacking your myelin sheath and degrading it. So because mine was inactive we had no idea how long it’s been there. She told me it’s a good chance that I am developing MS but that it could also potentially be a lesion caused by something else. What else? Didn’t really elaborate on that. 

So I finally started researching MS and I finally felt like I started getting some answers. All of my symptoms are indicative of MS but many other auto-immune diseases can mimic MS so we are currently in the process of ruling out those (things like lupus and types of arthritis) and getting MRI’s completed every six months to see if any new lesions begin forming. I still have very little help in managing the nerve pain, still taking gabapentin and began acupuncture and cupping treatments in Nov 2018 which helps a little. 

All of my symptoms are still there and still progressing but until I have a diagnosis I cannot begin any other treatment options. My mental health has gotten somewhat better, I’m in therapy once a week with a psychologist who specializes in chronic illness which has helped me tremendously and I am on a slew of anxiety medications. But every day is still the same, I go to sleep every night wondering if I will make it out of bed the next morning, if I will be able to make it through the work day, and by the middle of every day I am most excited to go home and go back to bed. There are new symptoms and I will talk about those at another time (like jesus I thought fatigue was just about being tired but some days mine is like feeling every cell in your body running at 30% just enough to keep me breathing) but for now I just wanted to share what I have been going through for the last few years. If you are one of my friends or family members, I understand I have been distant and withdrawn from my relationships and for that I am sorry. I appreciate your love and support but it’s hard opening up about this when I have very little answers and a poor frame of mind most days, but thank you for continuing to love and support me through this. 

[reomanet]

Thirteen-year-old activist with autism wants to close seclusion rooms at schools

Thirteen-year-old activist with autism wants to close seclusion rooms at schools

Education Thirteen-year-old activist with autism wants to close seclusion rooms at schools “When I asked for help or asked if anyone was still there, nobody would answer,” said Alex. “I felt alone. I felt scared.” Alex Campbell, 13, in his backyard the morning before his trip to Washington, D.C. to tell legislators about his experience being restrained and secluded at school. Campbell, who has autism, is an advocate for other children with disabilities. “I really think about the non-verbal people who can’t go home and tell their parents,” he said. Hannah Rappleye / NBC News Breaking News Emails Get breaking news alerts and special reports. The news and stories that matter, delivered weekday mornings. SUBSCRIBE Nov. 23, 2018 / 11:00 AM GMT By Hannah Rappleye and Liz Brown POWHATAN, Virginia — Alex Campbell was just 7 years old when, he says, his principal dragged him down the hall to the school’s “crisis room.” Administrators reserved the room, a converted storage closet, for children who acted out. He still remembers the black-painted walls. The small window he was too short to reach. The sound of a desk scraping across the floor, as it was pushed in front of the door to make sure he couldn’t get out. Alex, who has autism spectrum disorder, says he was taken there more than a half-dozen times in first grade, for behavior such as ripping up paper or refusing to follow instructions in class . The room was supposed to calm him down. Instead, it terrified him. “When I asked for help or asked if anyone was still there, nobody would answer,” Alex said. “I felt alone. I felt scared.” According to the latest data collected by the U.S. Department of Education, public school districts reported restraining or secluding over 120,000 students during the 2015-2016 school year, most of them children with disabilities. Families and advocates have documented cases of students being pinned down, strapped to their wheelchairs , handcuffed or restrained in other ways. Both practices, experts say, can traumatize children, and may lead to severe injuries, even death . Alex is determined to close the seclusion rooms for good. Last week, the 13-year-old told his story to legislators, congressional staff and advocates to mark the introduction of the Keeping All Students Safe Act , a bill that would bar the use of seclusion and significantly curtail the use of restraints in schools that receive federal funds. No federal law currently regulates the use of such practices on students. Video shows injured 10-year-old in seclusion room at Maryland school Nov. 13, 2018 01:55 “We believe schools should have a safe environment for students to learn and grow,” said Rep. Bobby Scott of Virginia’s 3rd Congressional District. Scott sponsored the legislation with fellow Democrat Rep. Don Beyer of Virginia’s 8th District. “It’s a civil rights issue,” added Scott, who serves as the ranking member of the House Committee on Education and the Workforce. “Children should not be subjected to practices that are counterproductive, endangering their safety or health.” ‘He told me not to tell my parents’ Alex tried to keep the “crisis room” a secret. No laws required school administrators to tell his parents what was happening. Alex says the principal warned him that if he said anything, he would spend the rest of the year locked in the room. But Alex’s parents said they could tell something was wrong. They noticed unexplained bruises on his knees. He became increasingly anxious. His father Sean Campbell, who works as a data specialist in a public school system, thought it was especially strange when Alex visited the school where he worked and asked where the children got “locked up.” He stopped wanting to go to sleep. “That’s when it hit me,” Campbell, Alex’s father, said. “He doesn’t want to wake up because he doesn’t want to go to school.” Eventually, Alex broke. “He started babbling like crazy,” Campbell said. “‘I can’t go back to that room. I can’t go back.'” The idea of the school not notifying them appalled Alex’s mother, Kelly Campbell, who has taught in public schools for 11 years. “If a child falls on the playground and bumps their head, I’m obligated to call the parents,” she said. “I’ve been told that in every school I’ve worked with. Something like that could happen to Alex, and nobody has to know about it? Like it’s some dark secret?” While a landmark piece of federal legislation called the Individuals With Disabilities Education Act, or IDEA, mandates that all students with disabilities are provided with a free public education tailored to meet their needs, regulations governing the use of restraint and seclusion in schools vary from state to state. Many states don’t require school administrators to notify parents when their child is restrained or secluded. According to a recent analysis published by the Autism National Committee , only 28 states provide “meaningful protections against restraint and seclusion” for children, including those with disabilities. Curt Decker, executive director of the National Disability Rights Network, said that teachers and administrators are more likely to isolate or restrain difficult children when they aren’t provided with training and resources. “When it gets to a seclusion or restraint issue it’s obviously a failure of the special education department to meet the needs of this kid,” Decker said. “Why does it happen? It happens because of a failure to give support to those teachers. Especially those teachers who are very stressed….They’re not getting the training they need.” “It has a traumatic effect on these kids,” Decker added. “And I think it has a horrible impact on the rest of the kids who witness it.” ‘They can’t just stop when they want to’ Down a short gravel road, just past a small horse farm, the Campbell house is cradled by a copse of oak and pine trees. The morning before he went to Washington, D.C., Alex perched on the edge of a couch, surrounded by his family, including his 10-year-old brother Jack, who sat cross-legged on the floor of the living room. A team of specialists diagnosed Alex with autism when he was only three years old. Now in eighth grade, Alex — a quick-witted, polite kid with a bright smile — is thriving in his current school. But, he said, it was much harder to control himself when he was younger. He became quickly overwhelmed and frustrated in the classroom. Sometimes he found it difficult to follow instructions. “If you think about the normal kid, like Jack, if he were to act up in class their typical solution is to send them to in-school suspension, or the principal’s office,” Alex said. “Which typically, for a normal kid, will stop them from acting up. But I guess for a kid with a disability, they can’t always control it. They can’t just stop when they want to, if that makes sense.” Although children with disabilities represent only 12 percent of students enrolled in public schools, they made up 71 percent of all students restrained, and 66 percent of all those secluded, according to Education Dept. data for the 2015-2016 school year. Black students are also disproportionately restrained and secluded. Sometimes, such practices can severely injure — or even kill — the children subjected to them. Leslie Margolis, managing attorney for Disability Rights Maryland, represented a 10-year-old boy with developmental disabilities, who was injured during a 2015 seclusion incident. NBC News agreed not to disclose the boy’s identity. The Long family pictured in 2014 before their son Brennan Long, then just 16 years old, was severely injured during a physical restraint in his classroom. Courtesy of The Long Family Surveillance video captured school staff carrying the boy into an isolation room and closing the door. Ten minutes later, video showed the boy slumped over, in a pool of his own blood. Although a nurse practitioner had issued a written report that seclusion would be “unacceptable and traumatizing” for the child, school staff had secluded him 57 times in three months. When the state Department of Education investigated the incident, it found that staff had noted on prior occasions that the boy had hit his head on the door and tried to give himself a nosebleed. The Department concluded that the staff violated regulations. “The problem is that teachers see seclusion itself as a behavioral intervention, a tool to help kids behave when in fact it’s a method of last resort when intervention has failed,” Margolis said. “Teachers need more training.” In 2014, Brian Long said he received an urgent call from the principal at his son’s Kentucky school. Brennan, who has autism, was lying on the floor of his special education classroom, unable to get up. Long said the principal explained that a teacher’s aide had physically restrained Brennan, then 16, for acting out in class. Brennan was rushed to the hospital, where doctors diagnosed him with two fractured femurs. Over the next few weeks, Brennan endured blood transfusions and multiple surgeries. He had to go through intensive rehab to be able to walk again. To this day, Long said, his son still suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder. “Restraints are being used as a disciplinary tool,” Long said. “Not as way to keep children safe.” Kentucky’s Child Fatality and Near Fatality External Review Panel, a state oversight committee, concluded that Brennan’s injuries were the result of “abuse” at the school. Child Protective Services said it could not substantiate abuse allegations against the aide, but did conclude that he had been neglectful in the way he had used restraints. The aide denies he did anything wrong. Brennan’s father said he still feels guilty about what happened to his son. He had no idea, he said, that Brennan’s school used restraints. That’s something he believes needs to change. “There has to be transparency,” he said. “Every school in America that uses restraints — those restraints should be reported every month and there should be accounting, tracking and we should ask, ‘Why?'” In Alex’s case, a state investigation found that the school didn’t violate protocol or his rights by restraining or secluding him. A representative of the school said that the ‘crisis room’ was removed five years ago. Overall Alex would be subjected to seclusion and restraint, including to the point of injury, over a dozen times in at least four different schools, his parents say, before they found a program that met his needs. ‘We should ask, ‘Why?’ Despite the traumatizing experiences he endured, Alex, propelled by some kind of internal pilot light, began speaking out on behalf of other children with disabilities. With his family by his side, Alex lobbied local lawmakers to change laws governing restraint and seclusion in his home state. “Advocacy,” his mother Kelly said. “That’s his hobby.” In between juggling “too much homework,” Alex runs his own Twitter feed and dreams of one day becoming a civil rights attorney. For now, though, the middle schooler is focused on starting a local chapter of a national disability rights organization . His most pressing concern, Alex said, are the children who are most at risk, including those who are non-verbal and can’t necessarily speak for themselves. While Alex doesn’t think the Keeping All Students Safe Act goes far enough, his father Sean Campbell believes the legislation will create a “minimum standard and consistency” across the states. “It should have been done a while ago,” Campbell said. In fact, legislators have been attempting to pass variations of the Keeping All Students Safe Act for years. Its current iteration would prohibit seclusion and certain forms of restraint, allowing only for the use of physical restraint in emergencies. It would also require schools to collect data on restraint, and inform parents when restraint is used on their child. Rep. Beyer said he deeply empathizes with the challenges faced by teachers in the classroom. That’s one reason why he and other lawmakers felt it was important that the bill include funding to train teachers in de-escalation and positive behavior intervention techniques. “We need to give them much better ways of dealing with the child who is crying or hitting, or is out of control,” he said. “Those do exist.” Those opposed to the legislation in the past included the American Association of School Administrators, a national professional organization for school superintendents. In a 2012 policy paper, the organization wrote that policy decisions regarding restraint and seclusion are a local issue, not a federal one, and that “AASA believes seclusion and restraint are necessary tools in the toolbox of school personnel to defend themselves and their students from incidents that could be dangerous for everyone who attends or works in a school.” A spokesperson for the AASA declined to comment on the latest legislation. “When they say it ought to be local this and local that, they are ignoring the policy,” Rep. Scott said. “Why does anybody need the authority to inflict this kind of harm on children?” Decker of the National Disability Rights Network said that while federal legislation is never a magic wand, if passed the bill will be a vital tool for parents and advocates. “We don’t have any illusions that a federal law by itself is going to cure the problem,” he said. “But that kind of federal consistency across the country gives my people and other advocates something to hold on to, to go to the schools, and demand compliance. It’s a start.” ‘It can be changed and it needs to be changed’ Early last Wednesday morning, Alex and his family boarded a train bound for Washington, D.C. He wasn’t nervous. Maybe it was the music of Cardi B — one of his favorite rappers — blasting in his headphones as the train hurtled toward the capital. Most likely though, it was just Alex. He doesn’t get nervous. When he stepped up to the podium and looked out at the 40-odd people who gathered to hear him speak, he introduced himself as a “self-advocate,” and began to tell his story in a clear and steady voice. “There was a time when I did not want to go to sleep at night,” he said. “I did not want to sleep because I knew I had to wake up in the morning. I remember praying and hoping that I would not wake up. But my prayers were not answered and the cycle continued.” “I believe that it is important that we put a stop to restraint, seclusion and abuse in schools,” he said. “It can be changed and it needs to be changed.” The room was so quiet, his father said, you could hear a pin drop. “Rather than focusing on being a victim, it was shifting that focus to being a champion, to make sure that this doesn’t occur to other kids,” Campbell said. “That’s what he’s championed and taken on to say, ‘Hey. We’ve got to stop this.'” Hannah Rappleye Rappleye is a reporter with the Investigative Unit at NBC News. Previously, her reporting has been supported by several foundations, including the Investigative Fund, and has appeared in various outlets, including The Nation, the Wall Street Journal and Salon.com. She received her MA from the City University of New York Graduate School of Journalism. She writes extensively on immigration, criminal justice and human rights issues. Liz Brown

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[obrientheknot]

9.16(technically)

I had to regroup yesterday because I was thrown into an emotional black hole by the venue visit on Sunday.

BE WARNED THIS POST IS LONG

So you guys don’t know this but like, here’s some fun insight into my life. My Dad has about everything wrong with his lungs: pulmonary fibrosis, emphysema, etc. Right now he’s on the path to undergo a double lung transplant. My dude is 66, healthy (aside from ..), is still working AS WE SPEAK, and is generally a beast. He’s on oxygen now, which he’s embarrassed of but would never say it, and can’t be running around.

How does this factor in to this whole thing? Glad you asked. Say my dad, by some miracle, gets on the list and is called in 2 months to get the lungs. Issue 1, he’s got 4 hours to get to the hospital, so if on the off chance he’s in Lancaster, he needs to get to Temple University in Philadelphia to get the transplant. That’s a solid ride that could hit traffic, so I’m only looking at venues in a certain area. Issue 2, if the transplant is successful, he’s got a 2 month in hospital recovery time at minimum. Meaning, big eddy won’t be walking me down the aisle any time soon. Issue 3, lets say no transplant by then, he is losing lung capacity everyday, and even a walk down the aisle might not be possible for him, so I can’t be getting married in the back woods or somewhere where electric isn’t readily available for him or where he needs to be on his feet for a while. Final issue, numero 4, my mom basically has him in the grave already because she’s “cinical and realistic”, so anything in fall of 2020 is out. We can’t go past Spring because she swears he won’t be here. Got it? So fun I know. Thanks for reading that.

So!!! Yesterday we visited THE SITE!! The place where I’ve wanted to get married since before my fiancé and I were even a thing! It’s beautiful it’s rustic it’s romantic, but I was worried about the owner.

So the troop pulls up, me, yoncé, future M.I.L, mom, and dad, and the fun begins. The guy greets us, and much to my surprise, he’s not a Dick he just has a dry sense of humor, which for us is good because so do we.

Things go on, he walks us around, every time he tries to tell me about someone cute or romantic my mom interrupts with “how much is that?” or something totally off topic to what we’re talking about, which was like...annoying.

We get to the ceremony site, and I’m in awe, it’s in a meadow surrounded by lush greenery, a babbling brook is rushing behind the site and birds are chirping over head, I feel like Snow White and all I hear is, “well it couldn’t be outside in fall it’ll be too cold so why are we even looking here” thanks mom. I stomp over this adorable bridge to yoncé(who is not paying attention to anything but setting his line up for the game) and my dad who is just standing around. I stupidly ask them to come see it, like hey guys! please come be excited with me, please come see where you’re going to marry your wife and see if you feel the magic there too or please come see where you’re going to give your baby girl away to her future husband and I get “nah I’m good”.

We continue discussions about the outside venue and Dads arguing about how he’s always cold and he doesn’t want it outside, mom says it can’t be outside because I’ll get mud in the dress. Basically they want me to say I do in a sterile room in a latex cat suite with Jesus Christ as the officiant. Word.

So we go inside for an hour long conversation about booze and food and SURPRISE pricing. I get to ask my questions but it’s essentially my mom asking about worst case scenarios.

Afterwards the guys tells us to go look around and let him know when we’d be interested. Again, it’s pessimism and annoyance that it’s almost 1 and we’re not in front of a tv. At that point I was tired, I just wanted to go home. I felt let down from everyone. The day before I was coming off the high of finding this beautiful place and today even though I was in the place I knew I wanted, no one else seemed to care.

Guy tells us it’s available in Nov. 2019 or Spring 2020. I tell him I like November but have to sleep on it. We go home, I cry in the car because I’m just sad it wasn’t magical like I expected, but meh I should know by now that my parents don’t get excited about much and fiancé isn’t jazzed about anything.

I go grocery shopping alone and the man calls me, tells me another couple is interested in the November date so it’s now or never. Like, thanks, just what I needed after today. Call my parents, they say fuck it because “you really can’t get married outside in either season because it’s gonna be cold or wet” very helpful. Call my dude 15 times without him picking up. Call his mom and she gives me good advice, that it’s what’s in my heart, is the fall important or is being outside important to me. She was a quiet cheerleader all day but that doesn’t help the decision. My sister sits on the phone with me for 30 mins weighing pros and cons and ultimately comes to “let it go because it’s probably his sale tactic to get it booked today”. Future hubby finally calls, doesn’t understand why the guy called, and then why we’d have to have a wedding inside in November, because he didn’t pay attention to the WHOLE DAY OF ARGUING BETWEEN MY MOTHER AND MYSELF. so I hang up on him, go to the gym, text back the owner that I’ll give it to them, and that’s that.

Get home, he knows I’m upset so he tries to talk to me and I explain that I’m indecisive and this is OUR wedding and I want him to care. He gets it and gives the ol’ don’t care where or when as long as it’s with you answer which will get old quick but is ultimately the truth.

TLDR; people I took with me to the venue were poop and didn’t make it feel like the right spot, then the owner basically told me pick today or lose the only fall spot they have, so we gave it up.

I know this all sounds dramatic but it’s gonna be a big day, and I want it to be right. I know I have to pick my battles and concede where I can so if I have to say I Do in May with allergies instead of in November over a cup of warm cider then so be it. It matters who I’m saying it to and not when or where.

Hopefully I know by the end of this week, I’m taking the team to see the farm from Saturday because fuck it. Maybe that’s the spot, I did cry happy tears there.