#i am not in the place where i have enough boundaries to be able to fight for myself if that happened

[dailycupoftrauma]

It's wedding season y'all

[ellecdc]

Hey Elle! For your winter games blurbs I would love to see what you do with the “one talking in their sleep and the other listening fondly” prompt with either James or Remus pretty please❤️

so cute haha <3

James Potter x fem!reader who is talking in her sleep [493 words]

CW: only gendered marker used is at the end when James calls her his "sweet girl", fluff

James wondered for a moment if this was perhaps not a touch unethical; like he had overstepped an unspoken boundary that should have been long understood between the two of you.

Because really, this felt worse than going through someone’s phone, but at the same time, he couldn’t exactly turn his ears off, you know?

You were mumbling in your sleep, which only seemed to happen during times of stress. He supposed the holidays were stressful; not necessarily always in a bad way, but stressful nonetheless. 

The analog clock on the table beside your bed reads 2:14 am; nothing good ever happens after two am, his mother always said, but he hardly understood what could be bad when he was snuggled up in bed with you. 

“S’ a surprise.” You mumble, and James’ lips curve up into a smile of their own volition. You make a humming sound as if someone had responded to you in your dream.

“...wait, Jamie.” You chide; you had mumbled something else before that, but he couldn’t quite catch it. It sounded something along the lines of you telling him “he needed to wait.”

“I’ll wait, angel.” He whispers earnestly, pulling you into his chest and hoping that maybe you’ll fall quiet again, lest James accidentally hear what secret you’re trying not to tell him. 

The space between your brows furrow in discontent, and James - never able to deny you of pretty much anything - tries to kiss it away. “You’re okay, sweetheart.” He murmurs into your skin where his lips were pressed. 

“Too excited.” You respond, and James actually had to pull away from you just to confirm that your eyes were still closed and you were still more or less unconscious. 

“Yeah?” James smiles, tracing lines with his thumb between your hairline and your temple. “Too excited to exchange gifts?”

A long breath left your nose, and James wondered for a moment if maybe you hadn’t fallen back into a deeper sleep; the silence of the room threatening to lull him back to sleep as well.

“Fine, I’ll tell you.” You offer then, and James’ eyes fly right back open. “I got you-”

But - as much as James would have loved to hear what you got him for Christmas, he just couldn’t let you ruin the surprise - before the words left your lips, he was placing his palm over your mouth so that your answer was muffled into his skin. 

“Angel.” He scolds, laughing to himself at the way your brows furrow and you begin shaking your head to rid yourself of this new and unusual discomfort. “That’s enough now, yeah? Go to sleep, m’love.” 

“M’kay.” You agree sleepily, nestling further into James’ embrace and bringing one hand up to curl around his bicep. “Happy Christmas, Jamie.” 

And though it was only 2:14 am exactly one month away from Christmas, he found himself falling back to sleep murmuring “Happy Christmas, my sweet girl” in reply.

[celestialtarot11]

What do people underestimate about you when they meet you? 👀💐 PAC reading ☀️

Hi friends 💐☀️ it’s been a minute since I have made a post on here, but I am back! What do people underestimate about you when they meet you? Let me know below if it resonates with you, feel free to comment like and reblog ⬇️☺️

Pile 1: Hi there pile 1’s!☀️🧘‍♀️💐 I feel like people underestimate your intelligence when they meet you. I feel you are the kind of person who observes a lot and doesn’t say much, until its necessary. A lot of people hate on the quiet kids but they’re the most dangerous because they know everything 😂 thats the vibe I’m getting. You’re quick witted, you’re quick with your comebacks and people don’t expect that. People expect you to be quiet, small minded and naive. But then they have a deep conversation with you and all of a sudden its like, “i was wrong to assume that of my pile 1, damn” and it hits them! What you say resonates because its like you get to the root of the matter and pull it out. Like weeds. You pull the truth out and say it. You guys have a powerful throat chakra and it’s something to be proud of! You don’t like illusions, lies and dishonesty. You prefer honesty, openness, and integrity! And lots of people aren’t able to match that so they end up feeling attacked, which was never your intention. Thank you pile 1’s for coming by 💗 I hope this resonated with you!

Pile 2: Hi there pile 2’s! Welcome to your reading 💐🧘‍♀️😻 People underestimate your resilience and bravery. I feel that some people see you as someone who is incapable of fighting, standing up or defending yourself. But you are the opposite! And people don’t expect that. They underestimate your ability to take on a challenge. Especially if you’ve been through a lot in your childhood, I’m feeling like family members perceived you as weak, gullible and naive. But you got up and healed and it took a lot of time, and you are still healing, but here you are setting boundaries and putting your foot down. This is something people do not expect. But then again im hearing “what did you expect? Did you expect me to really sit and take your bullshit?” On point!! You guys are quick, to the point, and do not hesitate in saying no or setting boundaries. For a long time you struggled with speaking up and it still may be a thing, which is understandable, and now you are healing enough to say no. People also may not expect you to be financially well off is something I’m getting. Your efficiency at saving money is something people don’t expect, or your savvy mindset when it comes to making 💰! People underestimate your resilience and your ability to take on a challenge. A true phenix from the ashes 💗 thank you pile 2’s for coming by! I hope this resonated. Please like comment and reblog for the support 💐☀️

Pile 3: Hi there pile 3! 💃🏻 This ones gonna be interesting 😂 in the best way possible! I feel that people underestimate your ability to leave. To say goodbye. To end situations and walk away. And move to a better place than you were before. People think you’ll stay in the mud, but you are the kind of person where if it gets uncomfortable you have no problem taking yourself out the pot. If the situation isn’t working, remove yourself from the equation is what im understanding 😂 love it! You guys don’t hesitate in moving to where you need to be and where your soul calls you, and right away you’ll know if someone is meant for you, or situation. People underestimate your ability to create abundance and move into prosperous places, but you manifest fast-and you move on to where you need to be with little to no issue. I feel like you guys know how to pack it up and make your decision, and the other person is shocked you thought about this without them. And your response is something of “I wasn’t aware I needed you in the first place to make this choice” 😂💗 I love it! You guys really know how you make an entrance and say goodbye 😻 thats the vibe im getting. People underestimate your presence in their life. The absence is felt when you’re really gone. Thank you pile 3’s! Please feel free to like comment and reblog to help this blog grow ☀️💐💃🏻

Thank ya’ll so much for reading 💐💗 it meant a lot to me! Your support is greatly appreciated. Enjoy the Aries full moon 🧘‍♀️

Paid Readings ⬇️💅🏻

[nicklloydnow]

“May I be permitted to say a few words? I am an Edinburgh graduate (MA 1975) who studied Persian, Arabic & Islamic History under William Montgomery Watt & Laurence Elwell Sutton, 2 of Britain ‘s great Middle East experts. I later went on to do a PhD at Cambridge & to teach Arabic & Islamic Studies at Newcastle University . Naturally, I am the author of several books & 100s of articles in this field.

I say all that to show that I am well informed in Middle Eastern affairs & that, for that reason, I am shocked & disheartened for a simple reason: there is not & has never been a system of apartheid in Israel. That is not my opinion, that is fact that can be tested against reality should anyone choose to visit Israel.

Let me spell this out, since I have the impression that many students are absolutely clueless in matters concerning Israel, & that they are, in all likelihood, the victims of extremely biased propaganda coming from the anti-Israel lobby.

Hating Israel

Being anti-Israel is not in itself objectionable. But I’m not talking about ordinary criticism of Israel . I’m speaking of a hatred that permits itself no boundaries in the lies & myths it pours out. Thus, Israel is repeatedly referred to as a “Nazi” state. In what sense is this true, even as a metaphor? Where are the Israeli concentration camps? The einzatsgruppen? The SS? The Nuremberg Laws?

None of these things nor anything remotely resembling them exists in Israel, precisely because the Jews, more than anyone on earth, understand what Nazism stood for. It is claimed that there has been an Israeli Holocaust in Gaza (or elsewhere). Where? When?

No honest historian would treat that claim with anything but the contempt. But calling Jews Nazis and saying they have committed a Holocaust is a way to subvert historical fact. Likewise apartheid.

No Apartheid

For apartheid to exist, there would have to be a situation that closely resembled how things were in South Africa under the apartheid regime. Unfortunately for those who believe this, a day in any part of Israel would be enough to show how ridiculous this is.

The most obvious focus for apartheid would be the country’s 20% Arab population. Under Israeli law, Arab Israelis have exactly the same rights as Jews or anyone else; Muslims have the same rights as Jews or Christians; Baha’is, severely persecuted in Iran, flourish in Israel, where they have their world center; Ahmadi Muslims, severely persecuted in Pakistan & elsewhere, are kept safe by Israel; or anyone else; the holy places of all religions are protected by Israeli law.

Free Arab Israelis

Arabs form 20% of the university population (an exact echo of their percentage in the general population). In Iran , the Bahai’s (the largest religious minority) are forbidden to study in any university or to run their own universities: why aren’t your members boycotting Iran ?

Arabs in Israel can go anywhere they want, unlike blacks in apartheid South Africa. They use public transport, they eat in restaurants, they go to swimming pools, they use libraries, they go to cinemas alongside Jews — something no blacks were able to do in South Africa.

Israeli hospitals not only treat Jews & Arabs, they also treat Palestinians from Gaza or the West Bank. On the same wards, in the same operating theatres.

Women’s Rights

In Israel, women have the same rights as men: there is no gender apartheid. Gay men & women face no restrictions, and Palestinian gays oftn escape into Israel, knowing they may be killed at home.

It seems bizarre to me that LGBT groups call for a boycott of Israel & say nothing about countries like Iran, where gay men are hanged or stoned to death. That illustrates a mindset that beggars belief.

Intelligent students thinking it’s better to be silent about regimes that kill gay people, but good to condemn the only country in the Middle East that rescues and protects gay people. Is that supposed to be a sick joke?

(…)

I do not object to well-documented criticism of Israel. I do object when supposedly intelligent people single the Jewish state out above states that are horrific in their treatment of their populations.

(…)

Israeli citizens, Jews & Arabs alike, do not rebel (though they are free to protest). Yet Edinburgh students mount no demonstrations & call for no boycotts against Libya , Bahrain , Saudi Arabia , Yemen , & Iran. They prefer to make false accusations against one of the world’s freest countries, the only country in the Middle East that has taken in Darfur refugees, the only country in the ME that gives refuge to gay men & women, the only country in the ME that protects the Bahai’s…. Need I go on?

(…)

Your generation has a duty to ensure that the perennial racism of anti-Semitism never sets down roots among you. Today, however, there are clear signs that it has done so and is putting down more.”

[slut4thebroken]

Exposure Therapy pt. 9

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane × reader

Summary | Dr. Crane finally gives you a reward.

Warnings | 18+, sexual content, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, breeding, kissing, grinding, face sitting, 69, finger fucking, praise, degradation, consensual sex, cockwarming?, this is as close as he’ll get in this fic to being submissive lmao.

Words | 3k

Notes | Kinky smut will be coming up in either chapter 10 or 11😏

Ao3 link | <3

Fic Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Part 8

When you woke up, it took a moment for you to remember where you were, but the second your gaze settled on the couch you were laying on, your stomach dropped. You had cried to him— cried on him. The thought made you want to crawl into a hole from embarrassment, but you tried to ignore it. 

You could see now that he dressed you while you slept in the clothes you brought from his place and when you looked over at him, he was fully dressed in a suit, bent over the desk, completely focused on something. It didn’t seem like you moved enough to alert him that you were awake so you stayed still, trying to come up with something to say. Should you apologize? Pretend nothing happened? Make a self deprecating joke about it?

“I know you’re awake. I can practically hear you overthinking from here.” He said suddenly. 

“Sorry…” You muttered, deciding to sit up on the couch now. Picking at your cuticles, you watched him anxiously, waiting. Should you go to him? He hasn’t looked up from his work yet… Maybe he’s just waiting for you to walk over?

“Um, I- I’m sorry… for my behavior.” You forced the words out. “I don’t know what came over me.” He turned to face you, but after staring at you for a moment, decided to walk over. You stiffened as he approached you— were you going to be punished? Yelled at again? He sat down next to you, but still gave you enough space so you didn’t feel uncomfortable. 

“There is no need to apologize. I pushed you to that state so I cannot fault you for any of your actions.” He said, tone neutral. 

“I still shouldn’t have,” 

“No. You are allowed to have emotions.”

“I know, but- I made you uncomfortable.” You argued weakly.

“I am the only reason you acted like that in the first place. There is no need to apologize.”

“Okay… So things are fine?” You asked tentatively, scared of his answer. 

“Do not expect to do it again under any other circumstance.” His tone wasn’t mean, but rather he was just setting a boundary. You couldn’t help but notice that he said “under any other circumstance,” not just “any circumstance.”

“That didn’t answer my question.” You said with a small smile that he almost returned. 

“Yes.” 

“And you’re not mad that I made you change what you were going to do again?” 

“You hardly made me do anything.” He scoffed. 

“Okay… Good.” You said awkwardly, kind of feeling like you disappointed him by not being able to take the punishment. You also still felt bad for making him uncomfortable— for crying on him and laying on his chest. Your behavior made him call you a fucking pet name for christs sake. 

“Y-you… You called me-“ 

“Anything I said was to soothe you.” He said, suddenly colder than before. 

“So you weren’t really proud of me?” You asked quietly, making him sigh. 

“You took the punishment adequately.” 

“Oh.” You replied meekly, looking at your lap. You didn’t like the way he revoked his praise and affection so easily. He let out another quiet sigh, but you didn’t look up at him yet.  

“Your performance was… satisfactory.” It sounded like he had to force the words out. “Anything I said at the time was genuine, but do not expect to hear it again.” You looked up at him, but he couldn’t meet your gaze. 

“Thanks.” You muttered, giving him a small smile when he finally looked at you. “I liked when you called me that.” You said tentatively, carefully studying his reaction. 

“Do not get used to such affections.” 

“Okay… But if you ever decide you want to keep calling me that, I’m okay with it.” You shrugged and he narrowed his eyes. 

“I am not going to call you some silly name.” It felt like you were being reprimanded for requesting something childish. 

“I like the silly name. You don’t call anyone else by a silly name, do you?”

“Of course not.” He scoffed, almost offended. 

“Good. Just me then.”

“No, not you either.” He sighed, getting frustrated with your lack of acceptance with his answer. You pouted, giving him puppy dog eyes, hoping you didn’t look like a fool. “Stop that.” It seemed like the face was working though. 

“Please?”

“No.”

“Just once?” 

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“I will after you say it.” You said teasingly, giving him a small smile. 

“You are truly insufferable…” You waited eagerly, practically vibrating in anticipation. “Little one.” He muttered, looking away from you when your smile turned into a full blown grin. 

“It doesn’t count if I can’t hear you.”

“You’re pushing your luck.” He warned, but it almost seemed like he was teasing you back rather than giving you a genuine warning. 

“Please?” You pouted again, deciding to crawl onto his lap and straddle his legs, placing your arms on his shoulders as his hands settled on your hips. 

“Remind me why I brought you here?” He asked, annoyed. But not in a genuine way, in an almost playful way. 

“Because I make you come and I’m stupid enough to go to your place in broad daylight for you.”

“I suppose that’s true. I guess I do have a brave, eager pet. Wouldn’t you agree?” You nodded, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat from the new name. “Lost for words, little one?” He asked, tilting his head and rubbing his hands up and down your thighs. You let out a needy whine as you fisted his suit jacket and rolled your hips forward against his crotch. 

“Can- can I call you something too?” You asked, already breathless from the small amount of pleasure. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“Your name?”

“Go ahead— try it out.” It took you a moment to register that he didn’t deny you like you thought he would. 

“Jonathan.” You whispered. 

“It doesn’t count if I can’t hear you.” He said teasingly. 

“Jonathan.” You whined, louder this time. 

“What do you think?” You hummed in thought. Something about the name just felt a little off. Maybe it was because it’s his full name rather than a nickname. 

“Jon.” You muttered to yourself. “Does anyone call you Jon?”

“Everyone refers to me as Dr. Crane or Scarecrow.” 

“Do you like “Jon?’”

“It is tolerable.” 

“Oh…” You said, visibly deflating in his lap. “I don’t have to if you don’t like it.” 

“I do not tolerate many things— that was a positive statement.” He quickly corrected himself, still making sure to keep his tone neutral though. 

“Oh. Do you tolerate me?” You asked, perking up a little again. 

“That is a foolish question that you already know the answer to.” 

“I know… I just like hearing it.” He sighed and for a moment you thought he wasn’t going to respond. 

“Yes, I tolerate you, little one.” A blush creeped up on your cheeks as you gave him a shy smile. “Satisfied?” You nodded, biting your lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. 

“Can I come today?” His brows shot up and you swore he was about to laugh.

“Someone’s getting bold.” 

“You didn’t let me last time.” You frowned. He hummed in thought and continued dragging his hands up and down your thighs, teasing you. 

“I suppose since you did such a good job taking your punishment, as well as staying quiet when we were in my office, you’re long overdue for a treat. Don’t you think?” 

“Yes please.” You said through a breath as you nodded in agreement. Snaking his hands behind you, he grabbed your ass to roughly push your hips against him, starting a slow, steady rhythm of grinding. 

“Whatever you want. Go ahead.” He said, making you falter as you stared at him in confusion. 

“What?” 

“Take whatever you want.” He explained, still leaving you dumbstruck. 

“Anything?” 

“Within reason.” He said teasingly. Flattening your palms on his chest, you slid them down before slowly dragging them back up, thinking. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“There’s no need to ask. Take whatever you need.” He said softly, eyes fluttering down to your lips. Grabbing his tie, you gently pulled him forward into a kiss. His hands moved back to your hips, not gripping anymore, just holding you as you continued grinding against his crotch. You let out a low moan from the friction and brought your free hand up to pull his hair, making him groan in response. When you eventually grew too impatient, you whined and pulled back. 

“Please.”

“If you want something, just take it, little one.” He whispered, making you whine even louder. Suddenly getting up, he eyed you curiously as you took off your pants and underwear, then hesitantly laid him down on the couch. You moved slowly, giving him a chance to protest or change his mind. When he didn’t, you slowly kneeled over his chest, watching his eyes darken as he focused on your cunt. You waited again for him to tell you to get off, but he never did. So you shuffled forward even more, then tentatively lowered yourself onto his mouth. He dove in eagerly, lapping up your arousal and circling your clit with his tongue to tease you. 

When you suddenly lifted off of him, he let out a grunt of displeasure, making your cheeks heat up. But you wanted to do something more than just this. You took off your shirt then moved to the floor and started working on taking off his belt, asking for assistance on the upper half of his body. Once he was as bare as you— which you still weren’t used to yet— you climbed over him again, this time facing the other direction. He cursed under his breath as you laid down, your face only inches from his cock. 

The second you lowered yourself onto his mouth, his hands wrapped around your thighs, not letting you move away again. You whimpered at the sudden intense pleasure and brought your hand up to start stroking his length, teasing him. When his hips bucked up, you placed your forearm over his upper thigh and put some of your weight on it to hold him down. He growled against your cunt and dug his nails into your thighs, making your gasp, then chuckle as you leaned down to suck the tip in your mouth. 

You liked having this power over him. Deciding how much you wanted to tease him- torture him… it was addictive. You wanted to make him beg and whine and moan, so desperate for you that he loses all control. 

Hollowing your cheeks, you moved farther down his length, only pulling back up when the tip met the back of your mouth. The movements of his mouth grew sloppy, unable to focus with the stimulation on his cock, but it didn’t matter. You were practically grinding against his face anyway. 

When he pushed a finger in your drooling hole, you let out a muffled moan, not expecting it. In retaliation, you moved your hand to cup his balls, gently playing with them until his hips bucked and he moaned against your heat. Another finger was pushing inside, stretching you open and curling against your walls to emit even more arousal. 

To reward him, you decided to take him all the way down for as long as you could force yourself to stay there. He let out a choked moan at the tightness of your throat and the hand holding your thigh squeezed again. You did your best to breathe through your nose and relax, but after another few seconds, you couldn’t control your gag reflex anymore and had to pull off of him. 

“Baby— I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that.” He muttered against your clit and your hips jerked at his words. 

“Neither am I if you keep calling me that.” You whined. When you lifted yourself off of him again, he let out a grunt of disapproval, trying to grab your hips to pull you back. “Fuck me.” You said through a breath, making him instantly release your hips to sit up. When you got a good look at his face, you almost moaned at the sight. His lips and chin were slick with your arousal and his spit, and his glasses were fogged up enough that he had to take them off and set them on the floor to continue.  

“How do you want it?” You bit your lip in thought. 

“Dealer's choice.” You finally replied and it seemed like he was about to protest, but decided against it. Grabbing a cushion from the back of the couch, he placed it down, then maneuvered you so your hips were over it as you laid on your stomach. He leaned over you, breath fanning against your neck as he lined up, then placed a soft kiss behind your ear. 

“Ready?” He whispered. 

“Please.” You didn’t have to tell him again before he was breaching your hole, making you whimper at how fucking full you felt in this position with your legs together. “Jesus-“ You choked out as he stilled inside you, buried as far as your cunt would allow. 

“Fuck me, Jon.” You said breathlessly and he cursed under his breath, but obeyed. He slid out slowly, still giving you a chance to adjust, then pushed back in just as slow. 

“God- You feel so good.” He moaned, forehead resting on your shoulder blade. “So fucking warm and wet, and a perfect fit for my cock, aren’t you?” You nodded as you scrambled for purchase when his thrusts sped up. “Like my own custom made fuck doll, huh, baby?” 

“Oh god yes.” You sobbed out, already feeling close from hearing that pet name again. He let out a low chuckle when he felt your walls fluttering desperately around his length. 

“Close already? Why’s that?” You couldn’t get a response out through your moans, let alone think of one in the first place. “Is it cause you like it when I pin you down like this? Force my cock in your tight little cunt and fuck you like a cheap whore. Is that it?” You let out another sob that turned into a vulgar moan when he suddenly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back. With his lips brushing your ear, he whispered, “Or maybe it’s when I call you baby. Is that what’s getting you so hot and bothered?” You did your best to nod with his grip in your hair, but he wasn’t satisfied. 

“C’mon, use your big girl words. I know you can.” He cooed, making your cunt pulse around him. 

“Jon,” You whined, squeezing your eyes shut as your mouth opened in a silent moan. “Please make me come- I’m so close, Jon, I need it.” You whimpered. He suddenly pulled out, making you whine loudly. He ignored your protest though and flipped you over, hooking your legs over his hips as he leaned back down and slid inside again. 

“Keep your eyes on me when you come, do you understand?” You nodded eagerly and he continued pushing in and out, getting deep enough that you knew you’d be able to see his cock bulging your stomach.  

“God- you look so pretty like this.” He whispered, eyes rapidly trailing over your face. You let out a low whine, feeling your face heat up. 

“Say my name.” The request was so quiet that you thought you misheard him. “Say it.” Not a request— a plea. 

“Jon,” You whispered, moving your hands to pull on his hair as your eyes fluttered to his lips. “Please kiss me.” He obeyed eagerly and you moaned into his mouth from the intensity of it— of everything really. A hand on your clit made you jolt with a surprised sound that he swallowed eagerly. 

“Oh god- Please can I come?” You whined, barely able to get the words out since he wouldn’t break the kiss to let you speak. “Please, Jon.” He pulled back, eyes squeezed shut as he panted, never stopping the movement of his hips or fingers. 

“Go ahead, baby,” He whispered as his eyes fluttered open to look at you. “Come for me- but remember what I said.” What you would’ve originally thought was a warning, was actually just a reminder— the closest he would ever get to saying please. 

Your orgasm crashed over you suddenly and you did your best to keep your eyes open through the pleasure. He stared down at you with furrowed brows and slightly parted lips, letting some moans escape. 

“Please come.” You gasped out, orgasm just barely starting to fade. “Please, Jon.” His lips parted even wider and then he was squeezing his eyes shut, still trying to keep them open though. His hips stilled completely inside you, staying deep to make sure you took every last drop of his come. 

When his body finally relaxed and he rested his forehead on your chest, you played with his hair. Both of you were still panting, a little sweaty, and definitely come drunk, but he didn’t seem to care at all. He swiftly turned you both over as he moved the couch cushion back, his cock never leaving you. You let yourself lay down on his body, your cheek on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and one of his hands came up to pet your hair, the other rubbing up and down your back lightly. 

There was a nagging thought, deep in the back of your brain, that you were trying to ignore, but it was growing louder the longer you laid there. This felt too good to be true. Like you’re dreaming and going to wake up back in your cell again. 

“Jon?” You asked quietly. 

“Hm?”

You didn’t want this to be a dream. You wanted him to hold you again and again, let you fall asleep in his arms, have normal conversations about everything and nothing. But most of all, you wanted him to feel the same way. To long for you so hard that his chest aches at the thought of losing you, the way yours does. You wanted him to— 

“I-“ You had to stop yourself from saying the thought that just popped into your head because you were scared of how he’d react to such a deep confession. “I just…” 

“I know.” He whispered, heart beating faster and harder in his chest. “Me too.”

Part 10

[certifiedsexed]

Hi! So, I'm asexual. I know I'm asexual. Like, I didn't realize sex was something people my age were engaging in until I was in like grade 11 because I felt such a disconnect and assumed media just blew everything about sex way out of proportion. I'm also somewhere between sex repulsed and sex neutral. The thought of having sex either seems like and absolute chore (on good days) or is something that makes me feel- no joke- pure , visceral revulsion at the mere thought (on bad ones.) However, I WANT to want sex more than anything. I think on SOME days I'd be ok with being the recieving partner, but I'd never want to reciprocate (ESPECIALLY when it comes to oral sex, thats is something I have always had a really strong negative reaction to thinking about) but being willing to take it and not reciprocate out seems unfair to whoever I'd be with (i've been told it's selfish or rude when i've expressed this to friends), even if me engaging in any sort of sexual activity in the first place would be for their sake (relationships are about compromise and thats a compromise I'd be okay with). That said, I'm not sure a partner out there like that exists and I'm tired of the well meaning bullshit I get from friends being like 'you'll find someone who's gonna love you for you' because no, I haven't and chances are I won't. I'm biromantic, but I experience more attraction to women but still wouldn't really want to have sex with any of them, and considering theres a lot of buzz about how 'lesbian sex is the best sex' because both partners typically consistently and frequently get off, it seems like a bit of a reach to think I could find a girl willing to date me who doesn't want sex. Yes, other asexual folks exist, but considering i don't tend to advertize the fact I'm ace and because I don't dress in a way that could get me clocked as queer, I don't tend to meet a lot (read, any) ace people in my daily life. ANYWAY this is kind of a really in depth plea of me basically asking if there is any resource or literature that can teach me or make me not necessarily DESIRE sex (because I know that can't happen) but mentally become okay with engaging in sex. Like could I, a generally sex repulsed asexual, somehow become a sex favourable asexual through some sort of therapy or other means?

Hi!

Here's the thing, Anon. It's not unfair, selfish or rude to prefer not to reciprocate and/or "take it" during sex. That's just a preference. In fact, in the lesbian community, that's often called being a "stone bottom".

Your friends are in fact incorrect and you should know that having sexual preferences like that are never unfair or rude: you just have to communicate with your partner(s). It's literally fine.

But also, you're talking about being sex repulsed. Sex feels like a chore to you. It's not a good idea to look at sex as a chore you're willing to do for your partner. Especially when sex does make you feel ill often enough it's worth noting.

I'm not saying you can't do it but I am saying if you don't pay attention to your own boundaries, you might just wind up resenting your partner and not being able to tell where your "Hard No's" [As in boundaries that are non-negotiable and that you are not compromising on!!!] are.

It's okay if sex is a Hard No for you, even if it doesn't always make you feel ill. That's your right.

And yes, there is a lot of buzz about lesbian sex being the best. (Which partially has a lot to do with lesbophobia and the cisheteronormative views on lesbian sex "not even being sex".) But that does not mean it's a reach that another girl would want to date you without sex.

It doesn't have to be a girl who doesn't want sex, Anon; there are so many different ways to have sex and ways people enjoy it. For example, there are people who only enjoy masturbation or simply don't mind not having sex with others, especially if it means they can date someone they like.

I genuinely can't help you on finding something that will make you "okay" with engaging in sex and I'm really sorry, Anon.

You could try a sex therapist (they're supposed to be equipped for all manners of issues related to sex) but I don't feel comfortable pointing to any specific therapy methods when a lot of them are based in the idea people are "wrong" in some way for being sex repulsed and they're often hurtful and unhealthy.

But I can say that I'd really recommend joining some online ace communities, specifically with other lesbians/sapphics and talk to some other ace people there. This isn't a you issue, Anon, these are all very common worries that ace people, specifically alloace people have and it might help to talk to other people with similar experiences.

I wish I could help more. Let me know if you have any other questions, Anon. <3

[astroyongie]

☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ Goddess Worship: An Introduction of Hekate ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾

Note: Hey guys. I am indeed very late for the calendar but. life lately has been erratic and complicated. Today we have the last introduction of deities I work with/worship. This post is to provide some information about the deities but also how I work with them personally. Everyone has their own methods with the Gods, and you should do whatever feels right with you while also respecting the bases of the religions.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Historical Background:

Hecate (or Hekate) is a goddess from the Greek pantheon associated with magic, witchcraft, the moon, night, necromancy, and crossroads. Her origins are debated, but she appears in Greek mythology as a powerful and ancient deity, sometimes associated with the Titans or as a daughter of the sky god Perses and the star goddess Asteria. She is also linked to the pre-Greek civilizations, potentially from Thrace or Asia Minor, where her worship may have originated based on the most recent archeologic studies. As the deity of crossroads with the power of navigating between worlds, we find several counterparts on other mythologies/religions: Exu, Papa Ledga, Janus, Odin, Hubal, ect

Atributes and Symbols:

Torches: Hekate is often depicted holding two torches, symbolizing her ability to illuminate the unseen or unknown. Hekate is the goddess of magic, she is believed to be able to cross both the dead and living realm Keys: Mostly linked for her to be a guardian and also to hold secrets. Dogs: Dogs are sacred to her, especially black dogs who seem to be her loyal companions Snakes: they symbolize her connection to the underworld. Crossroads: Hekate is associated with the liminal spaces where three roads meet, symbolic of her power over transitions and the boundaries between worlds. Moon: Her magic is tied to the moon phases, which is why most people who worship her will perform rituals during the moon phases.

Worship and Rituals:

Deipnon: The Hekate's Deipnon was a monthly offering made at each new moon, where supplicants left food offerings (bread, cheese, eggs, garlic, and fish sometimes wine as well and basically what they had to offer in her honor) at crossroads to appease her and ask for her protection. Crossroads Shrines: Small shrines or altars to Hekate were frequently placed at the boundaries of homes, gardens, or towns, especially near crossroads. Worshipers would leave sacrifices like incense, honey, and eggs. Witchcraft and Magic: Hekate is invoked in spells, particularly those related to protection, divination, necromancy, and curse work. Her role as a liminal goddess gave her the power to grant access to the underworld and the unseen forces. However Hekate is a very strong presence and not for begginers as your spells can turn against you if you aren't experienced enough.

-> When worshipping Hekate, it is fundamental to make offerings during every moon phase to apease her energy and allow it to flow through you during your spells. An altar/shrine is mostly necessary if you want to work with her. Offerings can be given to her at her altar for three days before you can remove them and dispose of them in a crossroad for the wandering spirts.

-> Ideas for offerings: Wine, honey, bread, garlic, fish, eggs, keys, snake symbols or dogs symbols, blood, crystals tarot cards, prayers

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

"Greek Religion" by Walter Burkert "Hekate: Liminal Rites" by Sorita d'Este and David Rankine Marquardt, P. A. (1981). A Portrait of Hecate. The American Journal of Philology, 102(3), 243–260. https://doi.org/10.2307/294128 Boedeker, D. (1983). Hecate: a transfunctional goddess in the Theogony?. Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-), 113, 79-93. Daşbacak, C. (2008). Hecate cult in Anatolia: Rituals and dedications in lagina. Anados 6-7/2006-2007 Studies of the Ancient World

[cripplecharacters]

Hi, I’m concerned about whether there is anything regarding disability that are strictly off limits for abled author to write about. For example, I know it’s meaningless for an abled author to write about what it means to be disabled, or the disabled experience. Is there anything else that would be infringing on boundaries & risk speaking over actual disabled authors? I know including non-POV disabled characters who just happen to be disabled are fine with proper research. But I feel as if I might be treading some risky ground here because I have a POV character who is disabled. Regarding that, I want to know if some things are off limits if I am abled myself (such as their personal feelings regarding their disability - it’d be odd if I didn’t mention this at all since they’re a POV character, but I don’t know to what extent/if i should explore this at all, especially since it’s a result of injury).

Hello!

Outside of the examples you gave ("what it means/how it is to be disabled") I don't anything is strictly and always off limits for abled writers in general because disabled people will have such a wide range of opinions* on this that it'd be impossible to know what you can and can't do - it's better to just do it well and thoughtfully if you do decide to go for it.

*Examples: I know disabled people who don't want people without their disability to write characters with it at all, no exceptions. I really heavily dislike abled writers putting their disabled characters through nightmarish levels of ableism because it feels like torture porn or at least as exploitative. Someone else will be fine with abled writers doing literally anything. Some people see all non-OwnVoices representation as inspiration porn. Disabled people are too big and diverse of a group to come to a specific consensus.

There are areas where I think they should be more careful, like in stories where a character suddenly becomes disabled, as that can easily turn into a plotline that focuses on how disability is bad due to the missing nuances of such an experience. Even putting aside that there's a ton of room for factual errors on how recovery or just the medical side of things in general looks like, I feel like it can be difficult to write this kind of plotline in detail if you don't have experience in it. For this kind of things, I believe that sensitivity readers are a must if you want it to be a major part of the story. If it's a minor one then it can be okay, especially if you aren't going into the emotional nitty-gritty of the whole process much.

There's also the obvious topic of tropes that I think abled writers should avoid - but as you probably seen on our blog, there will always be exceptions to them. Example: I always say to not put your character with a facial difference in a mask - but in this post I said it was fine if XYZ happened. Nuance and all. But putting tropes in just to be "subversive" usually comes off as cheap, assuming that they actually are subversive in the first place (which they usually aren't).

Tropes are tools, and they can be used well if the writers put effort in, and especially if they ask the group that the trope itself affects. They are bad if they're done mindlessly and without care for actual disabled people, and at the end of the day it depends on how the writer decides to use them. Don't just assume that your case is "special" and "totally different" from all those people who do use them wrong - these two groups often end up as a perfectly circular Venn diagram. Check with disabled readers first.

Having a POV disabled character is completely fine in my opinion. It's not like we are a completely alien, unrelatable concept to abled people. It can be done well, but it does also require more thought and effort to be put in. Again, I think that sensitivity readers can be incredibly helpful in a case like this.

And I think that it is important for the writer to just look at the page and ask: do I know enough to write about the character experiencing X? Because sometimes the answer will be no, and that's fine. Not even stories written by disabled people will touch on every single aspect of the disabled experience because it's so incredibly wide that there would be no place left for actual plot.

We also don't just sit around and think about how we feel about our disabilities. Sure, deciding how your character feels about it in the vague sense is helpful for characterization, but there's a ton of disabled people who treat their disability as a complete non-event. People like us who mod a blog about disability representation are very much a minority. Your character could just be like "oh yeah I guess I do use crutches but it's been 10 years so I keep forgetting about it" and only actively think about that when the actual situation calls for it.

Your character could be 100% neutral about their disability and just think of their cane as something they carry around the same way they do with their house keys, or could be So Positive and make sure their cane compliments their outfit just right every time they leave the house. What I'd advise against is a character who dislikes their disability. Again, it can be done well if there's a lot of effort involved, but it's really not something I look forward to when we're talking about abled writers. Even if their intentions are good, or even if they want to show the diverse spectrum of disability (which again, is true! there are people who feel purely negatively about theirs), it feels weird. Like, why? I think that in 99% cases, those kinds of characters are better left off to disabled writers.

Last thing that I want to add: unless you're writing about ableism, or time-accurate historical fiction, don't use slurs. If you want to refer to some movements that use any of them (Cripplepunk) either shorten them (CPunk), beep the slur out, or at the very least acknowledge that they are slurs.

I hope that this helps!

mod Sasza

[librarycards]

Jenny Odell: I sometimes feel that in an individualistic culture, people get freaked out by the idea of being tied down or responsible for anything. Thinking about a gift economy, they might say, “I want the gift part but not the accountability part.” Lately, I’ve been volunteering in this native plant restoration group, and one of the most surprising parts has been how enlivening it is to help keep something else alive (I’ve never had a garden before). Sometimes I truly can’t tell whether I’m giving or getting. What are some ways that you see participation in a gift economy changing the participant’s sense of herself and her place in a network? In other words, is participation itself part of the gift?

RK: Yes. Exactly. Participation is part of the gift, where giving and getting meld into one another. A garden teaches you that every day. Gifts and responsibilities are always coupled to each other.

Of course, you’re right that given our hyper-individualistic culture, many people are not eager to embrace responsibility. Its often confounded, I think with the notion of “obligation”. Obligation feels to me like an involuntary demand on our time and energy, imposed from outside without the assurance that you’ll benefit in return. I’m sometimes reluctant about that, too. But, responsibility is an invitation to respond to need, an opening to reciprocity in which the benefits flow both ways. The benefits of participation in a gift economy are not only flowing to the gift recipient but the giver as well. Working on your restoration project, or any other gift exchange strengthens your own sense of agency, doesn’t it? It awakens care and compassion, builds relationship and nurtures your own identity as a person of capacity, of having enough abundance in your life that you can share it. I think it contributes to a sense of purpose, which we know is good medicine. It reminds you that you matter, that you’re part of something. That’s a big reward.

I find that some of the times that I feel most fully alive are in experiences of shared physical work in community with others. Like an old-time husking bee or shared planting. We’ve lost so many of the opportunities for that and gift economies provide the opportunity to work in common, to satisfy the need for belonging. And when that work is on the land and the benefits flow into our neighborhood of many species, the benefits are multiplied beyond the boundaries of ourselves.

JO: There is a really beautiful analogy you draw between the economy of nature and the human gift economy. Asking what in the gift economy functions as the “sun”–the constantly replenishing source of energy–you speculate: “Maybe it is love.” Reading this, it occurred to me how love is in essence a surplus, the force that gets things going. Could you speak more to the emotional and practical role that things like love and gratitude play in a gift economy? And how do they change the way we see “resources”?

RK: The fundamental currency of a gift economy, is relationship, not money. I suppose it’s what some people call “social capital”, but I’m not fond of that term. Participation in a gift economy could create a whole continuum of relationships, from the warmth of being cared for or an expanded sense of justice to just plain neighborliness. This can create a sense of security because mutual reliance grows from gift exchange. There is a sense of satisfaction in being able to give, and a sense of kinship in being able to receive, when we share the mutual acknowledgment of human vulnerability. For me, that continuum of relationships includes the possibility of a currency of love and gratitude that motivates the gift exchange, which is the source of the flow, between people and between people and the earth as well.

Gift-giving is a way of saying “I see you.” I see what you need and I see what I have to share. My well-being is tied to yours and yours to mine. It develops a trust that when I am in need, there will be abundance shared with me. The giver and the recipient are honored at the same time. That seems a lot like love to me.

Robin Wall Kimmerer, interviewed by Jenny Odell, Gift Thinking. [emphasis added]

[frodo-with-glasses]

Where have you been?

Uhhh, France?

(That’s a Hamilton reference, btw. I have never been to France.)

So! Another Hobbit Day is upon us. On this day last year, I’d promised you all that we would take another trek through LotR, with all new drawings and poems and fanfics. I fully expected to be finished with Book One by now, at least halfway through FotR. What actually happened is that the blog struggled through the first five and a half chapters of the book before suddenly going radio silent.

So what happened?

Well, as you might expect, real life happened. I won't go into the details here—since it has nothing to do with LotR—but I can explain in DMs if anyone is interested.

Basically, a change in my family led to a reexamination of what I thought I knew about my family, which led to a reexamination of what I thought I knew about myself, which kicked off an intense period of self-improvement.

Over the course of this past year, I began to unpack my family's abuse; I learned about boundaries; I started to unlearn my old people-pleasing tendencies; I reconnected relationships that were broken, reevaluated ones that were in the wrong place, and cut off ones that weren't good for me. I discovered there was a little kid in my head who's been waiting years and years for an adult to love her, and to take her needs seriously, and I finally have the chance to be that adult. And I'm happy to say that I've come to a place where I feel safer in my own head than I have ever been.

Probably very little of that is going to show through on this blog. It's all inward stuff; foundational stuff. But one thing that might affect you guys is that I left my (dreadfully overstimulating and stressful) part-time job, and I'm now working full time somewhere else. As much as I love what I do for a living now, working 40 hours a week does mean that I am become Boring Adult who does not have as much time for interneting. With my current schedule, there is no way I'd be able to sustain the intense schedule of "must post one drawing a day" that I had in the early days of this blog; and I don't expect myself to.

But! I would like to—slowly—get this train rolling again.

I find it hilariously apropos that the last piece of art I posted on this blog was of Frodo suddenly disappearing. From Merry's perspective, he completely vanished without explanation or warning. From your perspective, so did I.

But I find myself here again, on another September 22nd, and once again I'm beginning to feel that pull; that pull to read, and draw, and create, and share, and laugh with all of you. Life has calmed down enough for me that I once again have the mental space to think about pursuing my hobbies. There are so many things I want to do—so much to do with the time that is given to me. And I want this blog to be on that list.

My current goal is to post some new book art every other day. If that's too much, I'll adjust it. But if I find my groove and really get into it, who knows? We might return to your regularly scheduled Daily Dose of Frodo-With-Glasses. We shall have to see.

Anyway. If you've read this far, thank you! If you've stuck with this blog since the early days, thank you. And if you are one of that lovely core Fellowship that has had my back and prayed for me all along, I cannot thank you enough.

This past year has been an absolute ride. Not as difficult as a trek to Mordor, maybe, but not easy either. But no matter where I walked, I knew I didn't have to take the journey alone.

Anyway! Enough sappiness. Happy Hobbit Day! I'm excited to see what the next year has in store for us. 💚

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for telling someone i can't be friends with them and returning a gift?

buckle up gamers, this is gonna be a long one. so i (22nb but i present fem) was out at the bars the other night just kinda hanging out, and a girl (26f) came up and started talking to me. she didnt really seem...super present i guess? and i talked to her to be nice and she had a cool outfit on. well i was a little drunk and ended up giving her my phone number and meeting her husband (39m) and they walked me home. the whole time she was talking about how she doesn't have any friends and her ex friends just wanted to get with her husband. she told me she was bi and i was like hey me too but im not interested in sex so that was cool. she ended up walking me home w her husband bc it was late which was nice, but they seemed really shocked i lived in such a nice apartment(i do, its expensive but my parents pay for it. im really privileged to be able to do that).

i saw her again today because she kept texting me about wanting to hang out, so i went for ice cream with her bc it was in a public place and i wasnt super comfortable going back to her apt with her. i paid for her ice cream bc she said her card wasnt working, nbd bc my parents have money and her and her husband aren't really well off. i said she could pay me back sometime, buy me ice cream or whatever another day, but she really fixated on it. she told me her husband thought i was cute which made me a little uncomfortable but i laughed it of, and then she kept talking about how she was bi and would date a girl and how she approached me not to date but to be a friend and then 'see where it goes.' she also told me she did porn online to make money which is fine w me, that she's on disability but that the money isnt really enough to live on, and that she'd been raped in the past and drugged which yanno a little overshare-y considering ive known her for three days but she really seemed like she needed someone to talk to and im good at listening. well her husband showed up out of nowhere bc he apparently tracks her phone and we all went back to their apartment bc i couldn't say no(im a doormat. i know) and she ended up giving me two pieces of jewelry in return for buying her ice cream which felt a little like overkill. i tried to refuse but she said she wouldn't ever wear them again so it would be fine. it was really kind of her but now i kind of feel i owe her back for them. the whole time i was there they seemed really eager to get me to move in nearby, and while its true that area is definitely cheaper my parents are really fine paying for my expensive apartment bc my tuition is a lot cheaper than my sibling's. she and her husband walked me home again, mentioning they might be going on a cruise in november if they could save up the money and that they could bring a friend. i said id almost definitely have school which they seemed to accept. they kind of seemed to want to see my place, but i told them it was really messy(it is) i have anxiety around having people in my space(i do) and that maybe they could come up another day and i could make dinner, and she told me she didn't like people cooking for her bc she'd been drugged in the past and that i could go over to their apartment again instead.

my parents think theres some really big red flags going on and i should try to break this off sooner rather than later. i pretty much agree. im not gonna ghost her and they dont think i should either, but that i should somehow return the jewelry in a kind way and tell her i cant really be super close friends. my mom had the idea to draw myself wearing the jewelry and then say i still have a memory of it but to return it bc i cant accept such a nice gift which i could try to do.

to be clear i am shit at communication and setting boundaries, im very aware of that, and most of this can be solved by telling her hey i can't accept this gift and im really busy for school a lot and im sorry i cant be as much as a friend as you need. but i still kinda feel like tah for leading her on almost and then breaking it off like everyone else in her life. ive been under a lot of stress bc of school and my stepgrandmother passing and trying to take care of my grandfather so trying to be friends with someone that seems kind of high maintenance is not really tenable for me.

so, wibta if i tried to let her down gently?

What are these acronyms?

[beefrobeefcal]

DEEZ NUTZ feat. Dieter Bravo & f!actress reader

a @happypedrohours challenge fic | Rated: 18+ | word count: 1,522 warnings: no fat men in this fic, smutty smutty smut smut, slight angst/enemies eventually leading to smashing pissers, pistachio theft, pistachios in places pistachios should be A/N: Thank you to @strang3lov3 + @sweetenerobert for their eyes and minds 💜

If you’d told your last-year self that you were going to be stuck on a film set in Oklahoma with the Dieter Bravo for nine weeks during one of the hottest summers on record, past you would be just as unimpressed as current you with the situation. Dieter was known for being out there in his methods and morals, and he did not disappoint. In fact, in every way you were warned about him, no one could have prepared you for how exhausting and annoying he was to work with. But you seemed to be the only one with an issue with him, given that everyone else on the set took his different and strange ways of approaching anything in stride and good humor.

By the third week, you thought you were going insane with how little notice everyone paid to him and his antics, and how much he got under your skin. There were times that he teased you or tried to play around, making you understand – even for a moment – what his allure was; but then he’d take it a step too far and you’d immediately be reminded that he was a thorn in your side.

You hated that you couldn’t get enough of him.

“Fuck off, Dieter!”

“What?”, he snapped, trying to catch up as you stormed out of the sound stage and into the parking lot filled with trailers. “Oh, come on! You can’t be serious!”

You snarled and clenched your fists, stomping towards your trailer. For a man with so few pockets in his wardrobe, you had no idea where Dieter managed to store all the audacity he carried.

Just as you got to the steps of your trailer, he grabbed your elbow, stopping you from opening the door.

“Are you really doing this? Did you really just storm off set? It’s not even 10 am!”

You glared at him, ripping your arm from his hold. Narrowing your eyes, you spit out at him, “Fucking cute that of all the people to ask me that, it’s you.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!”, he breathed out harshly. “It was just a fuckin’ kiss!”

“Just a kiss? No. No, Dieter, I am not mad about a fucking kiss.” You turn around and step towards him, finger digging into his chest, forcing his retreat. “I am a professional and I can handle when you pull your bullshit, but you giving me directions on how to accept your kiss? That was you – once again! – overstepping your boundaries.”

“I – no! I was just giving you some point– “

“Pointers?!”

“I’m committed to the craft! I take rehearsals seriously!”

“No. No no no. Dieter, you are an entitled shi – what?”

The smile that crept across his face stopped you in your tracks and he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“What?”, you yelled, face pulled into a scowl and his smile opened up as he laughed.

“You liked it.”

You instantly saw red, feeling the dangerous buildup of animosity and need boil over inside you; your whole body felt 10 degrees hotter than before at his blatant and upsettingly correct assessment.  Dieter’s smile continued, seeing how you reacted to his declaration.  He took a step forward and leaned in, and said lowly before walking away, “Don’t worry, baby. I liked it, too.”

*****

You spent the rest of the day keeping as far away from Dieter as possible. Thankfully, he seemed to take the hint – or at least his assistant, production staff, and the entire crew did and kept him occupied between shots and during breaks.

Finally able to decompress in your trailer before your car would be there to pick you up, you put on your headphones and listened to a meditative app to try and de-Dieter your mind, body and spirit before moving into your weekend. In doing so, you missed the many messages from your driver telling you he was stuck in traffic. What you didn’t miss was the banging on your door.

You ripped your headphones off and pushed the door open, knowing exactly who knocked that obnoxiously.

“What, Dieter?”, you barked.

He flashed you a grin and pushed past you into your trailer. You rolled your eyes with a growl and turned to look at him.

Dieter held his hands up and gave you an apologetic and small smile. “Look, I know you’re mad at me, and I know today was – you got pistachios?” His eyes were trained on the small charcuterie board on the kitchenette counter, and he looked perplexed. “I didn’t get any pistachios.”

You scowled at him as he moved over to the counter and grabbed a handful of the little green, de-shelled nuts and shoveled it into his mouth.  “What do you want, Dieter?”

“Pish-tah-shos.”, he said muffled, mouth full and chewing. “Ma fuh-ken fa-reet.”

You jaw clenched and your mouth pursed so tightly, your lips turned white. You weren’t sure who was more infuriating: Dieter with his nut lust or you with your Dieter need.

He cleared his throat after he swallowed, and his big stupid brown eyes looked at you, wide and apologetic. “Like I was saying, I know you’re mad at me, and I know today was a lot, but I want to clear the air. I want us both to be in a good vibrationary stasis with each other so we can harmonize our chi’s.”

You tilted your head as you stared at him, confusion written on your face, not really sure what he just said to you.

“Fuck it.”, he threw his hands up, facade dropped. “I like working with you and you’re hot. Sorry I was an ass.”

The tension you didn’t realize your body was holding released, and your shoulders dropped to a neutral position. And Dieter wasn’t stupid -  he saw the relief wash over you and his mouth tugged on one side with a smirk, nodding at the double bed in the back of the trailer.

“You wanna have sex with me?”

***** 

Dieter had made you cum no less than four times with his mouth before he finally sunk into you, hips flush with one another. The long groan that left his mouth was accompanied by his eyes rolling back in his head and a dopey half-grin bloomed on his face.

If it weren’t for the delicious stretch and pressure he was creating in your own body, his euphoric state would have brought you there on its own. You urged him to move and he let out a content sigh before he looked down at you, eyes soft and hazy.

“Don’t rush me, baby. I worked hard to get here, I’m taking all the time I need to get the most of your sweet pussy.”

You squirmed and whimpered,  pathetically trying to coerce him into giving you something more than a cockwarming, and all you got in response was a deep, throaty chuckle, rumbling from the depths of his chest. 

Leaning forward, he captured your mouth with his and you tasted yourself and pistachios -  an odd combination that you never thought you’d have to decipher and put words to in your mind. Dieter pulled out, barely leaving the tip touching you, then slammed it back in, the force shoving you up the bed. And he did it again… and again… and again, setting the pace and speeding up.

He grunted,  “Taking Daddy so well -”

“No… no ‘daddy’ shit.”, you groaned back.

“Sorry… thought I’d take a chance… should’ve called it.”, he panted, “Don’t look like a Daddy’s Girl.”

“D-Dieter - just shut up.”

He smiled as his unruly curls moved and his huffing breath panting out of him in time with his thrusts. His brows then crossed in concentration as his hands dug into your hip and thigh, holding you in place as he pounded into you. Any further communication between you was wordless, conveyed with your eyes, sounds and hands pushing and pulling one another.

Your orgasm began to crash down on you, and Dieter suddenly pulled out, leaving your hole clenching on nothing and your climax fizzling out. Before you could ask ‘what the fuck?’ at his sudden removal, his own spend splooshed on your mound, hot and sticky.

“Fuck… I’m sorry.”, he panted, sitting back on his knees and wiping his face with his large palm. “You got a good pussy, baby. I just couldn’t help it and raw doggin’ is fun and all, but not chancing any little DB’s running around.”

You nodded slightly out of breath yourself. “It’s fine. I mean, you made me cum already and I-”

Your sentence was halted by Dieter lowering his face to the crux of your thighs and licking up his cum. Slack jawed and in awe, you watched him clean you up with his tongue.

When he dipped his tongue into your sensitive folds, he stopped and his eyes went wide. You felt him lick at something then he sat back, chewing on something.

“What-”

“Pistachio crumb. Must have left it behind when I was down there earlier.”

Your face skewed in amusement and disgust and Dieter just smiled.

“Waste not, want not.”, he smugly proclaimed before diving back in. 

no more taglists! for fic notifications, follow @beefnotes

[peanutbubba]

This one might make me a freak but "I'm cringe but I AM FREE" is like my slogan at this point so popping off I will be again.

I am half awake

Younger Law, 20-22, finally loosing his virginity after trying since he turned 17. He'd gotten close with plenty of people before, it's just that he'd either get cold feet and leave his partner confused and with a leaf in their bed or he his expectations weren't met so he pushed them away. Personally I don't label Law's sexuality, don't care much for labeling sexuality in my headcanons much, so he has tried attempted with both sexs but because I want to (I don't think I could type what I wanna so I'll let you figure out what I was gonna say) I'm thinking of a scenario where he looses his virginity to a dude, maybe just amab, I feel like virgin Law would be scared of a strap.

Guy's probably older by maybe 3 years, and it makes a difference, first person to get Law to calm down enough to not instantly ghost them once more than a shirt comes off, first person to make Law want to be heard by the neighbors, first person to fuck Law so sweet and good he almost considers offering them a place on his crew cause god all mighty the dick is that persuasive. Also, as a treat, they switch at some point or a few, still a lot of his partner talking Law through it and giving him special attention for doing so good at fucking them. I feel like Law is a default soft top/sub top, he can lay pipe when asked but bro just wanna be praised for doing a good job fr. Jesus christ if you've seen some of the other shit I say in people inboxes I love the aftercare scene like the most. Law is doing nothing after he cums!! Doesn't matter, carry him or push him off if you must but he is not participating in the movement of his body unless you're injured. Image you get done plowing Trafalgar D. Water Law and he pouts when you expect him to help clean up or he lies on you chest (BOOBY ENJOYER LAW TRUTHERS RISE) after plowing you and is pouting when you mention you guys need to get up.

This is not nearly as freaky as I had first thought it to be. Another day then I will bring you something that make Deadpool and Wolverine fans blush.

- ✨️💀✨️

Virgin Law being afraid of a strap is the funniest thing to me, like I can just imagine him making that face he usually does when he’s in complete shock, except now it’s also mixed with a touch of terrified because this colorful piece of silicone is threatening to destroy his hole. It also probably freaks him out that it isn’t real.

Anyways, as for my input, imagine marine hunter, or solo pirate reader actually being the one that helps him get over his fear. He already doesn’t have a good rep with either, but you’re able to smooth talk him enough to get him in a hotel room with you (bonus points if reader has an accent, or is just really fucking good with their words.), only to see how tense and awkward this man is.

You spend like a good 10-15 minutes just calming him down and setting up some boundaries with him, and he’s surprised as fuck because A.) you’re this super dangerous person but you’re actually super sweet?? And B.) you’re one of the first people to take the time to check in constantly with him.

Except at some point it pisses him off how nice you are, you’re balls deep in him and have already checked in with him 3 fucking times! If you don’t just make him scream your god damn name!

And now the fun part is that because you’re a marine hunter/solo pirate you’re usually just wandering from island to island with your own agenda, sometimes you just stop by wherever the fuck Law is now because you’re both in this unlabeled relationship with each other.

Sometimes you get him coins, medical books, more coins, just any gift you’d think he’d appreciate because you like seeing that stupid grin he gets when something he likes is in his hands.

As a thanks he always takes you to his captain quarter, the next morning you’re stumbling out completely dazed and fumbling with your ship as you mumble sweet flustered goodbyes, mean while he looks perfectly fine like you two didn’t spend the entire day exerting yourselves in his bed.

It’s always something new with him too, for a once virgin he can get down and freaky!

But one particular day you guys decided to switch roles, instead he’s on top now and good golly is this man so gentle. It can’t even be considered fucking anymore, this man is practically making genuine love to you.

Not that you’re mad about it, especially when you spew whispered praises about how he’s doing so good, or how he’s filling you up so well, and you can see his skin prickling with goosebumps in a good way.

Whimpering as he melts under your soft words, the soft sex somehow becoming even softer?! It’s great.

And when both of you are satisfied and done he’s laying his head on top of your chest and just resting, burying himself as far as he can between your tits. If you even try to protest this 6 foot almost 200 pound man just gets grumpy, plus all it gets him to do is close his arms around your waist and pull you even closer to him, burrowing himself even further in your chest like he’s trying to fuse with you.

It’s kind of cute, but also nasty because you’re both so sweaty, plus your legs are dripping with drying lube and cum and you terribly badly want to shower.

The only way you’re getting him off of you is if you physically pull him off and carry him to the bathtub. Yes you have to fill it with water, yes you have to wash him, and yes he is once more all up on your fucking boobs again.

It doesn’t matter if you’re on his lap or he’s on yours, either way you’re dealing with this until you have to clean your chest, or his face.

Best believe afterwards all he’s doing is putting some boxers on, you have to change the bedsheets and after that his cozying himself all up on you, he is the little spoon no objections.

On a side note, this idea get even 10x funnier if instead reader is already apart of a crew. He knows that you’re loyal to your captain and all but like… c’mon, he’s so much better!

It’s even WORSE if your captain is Luffy or Kidd, this man is not accepting it. What do they have that he can’t literally do 100x better 😒.

Join him instead… pretty please… with a cherry on top??

—

I love this freak, please never stop talking about him with me 🙏.

Also as a Deadpool and Wolverine fan I take this as a challenge, hit me with the freakiest shot you got.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

With regard to donating to fund-raisers and the analogy to panhandlers, what do you make of the difference in scale that the internet makes possible? I absolutely agree with the underlying approach — I keep $40 in my wallet so that I always have a $20 to give to panhandlers I see — but there's a limit to how many dishonest panhandlers a person is likely to run into. Internet spam and scams are of a staggeringly larger scale; for example, the head of trust and safety for Dreamwidth has put the scale of these scam networks in the millions of accounts. Obviously vetting practises help a great deal, and I think initiatives like Crips For ESims For Gaza are great, but I'm a little bit hung up on the analogy to in-person panhandling when the scale is so different.

Disclaimer: my tone may sound harsh here, I am having trouble softening my words one this right now, but I truly mean no frustration towards you and really appreciate this question as an opportunity continue this conversation in the Commons constructively

I mean. Make a budget for it?

Like. I've said this before, but given I've decided to hunker down in this foxhole, let's do it again.

All my life I've had a panhandling budget because I came from a family where you simply didn't say no to such requests if you didn't have to. But much like the tired old analogy at this point, you can't help someone else put on an oxygen mask if you've passed out because you don't have enough oxygen yourself.

So my mom told me this was one of those places in life you set a boundary with yourself. Identify how much you can actually safely reliably spend towards financial redistribution, and set it aside in cash each pay period to give out.

My mom's approach was very first come, first served. Whoever asked her, she handed out all her cash. I found that when I was trying to create a similar routine for myself that this led to a constant exposure to people I couldn't serve at all. So I created "allotments". It became my routine to take out a $20 bill at my bank every pay period, and then have the teller give it to me in $5 bills. The first 4 people I met who asked for it got a fiver.

Then came the digital age. Cash wasn't the main way people asked for money anymore, and my fivers were simultaneously going farther and going nowhere at all for weeks on end, especially during the pandemic when I became largely housebound.

These days, I keep $10 cash in 2 fivers, and each pay period I restock it if it's been depleted, and add $10 to a digital distribution fund (I use money transfer apps like venmo, paypal, and cash app for parking this money until expenditure). My allotment is still the same, $5/ask. During low-density ask periods, I will donate my "excess" at the end of a 3month period to a bail fund or prison penpal program, and if there IS no excess, it's because I was able to distribute the funds myself.

They're not big donations, but a lot of the time I've been able to make them recurring. Obviously, genocide upon genocide upon pandemic upon genocide has meant that I rarely have excesses, and many asks have to go unanswered by me. At least if I want to keep my own household alive and well. And I've been told in the past that some even prefer getting my repeat small petty cash funds over getting larger one time donations.

It's still hard to be constantly exposed to desperate asks you can't answer, but when you treat it like a sustainability thing (this is a thing I can continue doing indefinitely vs this is a thing I can only sometimes do without hurting myself).

Like any budget, sometimes things get tight. Mine has been bigger and smaller at times and there have even been deeply painful periods where my budget was, legitimately, $0. But once that changed, I was right back to it.

The more the world changes, the more it stays the same I guess

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

part 20: the bitter(sweet) truth

word count: 2,137 tag: @bruhidkjustwannaread | @rubyxx16 | @bellabarnes1378 | @johnmurphys-sass

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The betting shop was quiet, the usual bustle replaced by the low hum of tension that hung thick in the air. Tommy stood by the window, cigarette in hand, watching the gray Birmingham streets below.

Ever since you threatened Kennedy, Bingham's efforts had dimmed. At first, Tommy thought it was suspicious, but then he realized that your mentor played the game this way. He followed the rules, and it was only in the gray area in between where he pushed the boundaries. It would have been an admirable trait if it was anyone else.

Your mind shifted back into the place where it had been before Tommy found you. Always at work, always thinking, always strategizing. Every second you had to yourself, you were lost in thought, and Tommy found no way to pull you out of it. Only he and Polly were able to recognize what was happening beneath your firm face of efficiency—you were blocking everything out so you wouldn't feel anything. Working was your version of cocaine, the only thing that kept your mind from slipping back into that dark place that Tommy knew so well. He needed to find a way to snap you out of it, to bring you back as far as you were capable of going.

The door creaked open, and Arthur stepped in, already pulling a flask from his coat pocket.

“Are we starting early, or is this serious?” Arthur asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Tommy turned, flicking ash into a tray. “Ezra,” he said simply.

Arthur froze mid-swig, lowering the flask. He didn’t need more context. “What about him?” he asked carefully.

Tommy took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. “We need to settle something.”

Arthur frowned, swirling the liquid in his flask. “You want the truth, don't you? And you think digging into that’s gonna fix her?”

“I think she deserves to know the truth."

Arthur exhaled sharply. “And you’re sending me to London to find it.”

Tommy smirked faintly. “That’s right.”

Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Bloody hell. Fine. What am I looking for?”

“Ezra was taken to the hospital after she found him,” Tommy said, sliding a scrap of paper with an address across the desk. “Find the doctor. See what he knows.”

Arthur pocketed the paper, his flask still in hand. “And what if I find something she don’t want to hear?”

Tommy’s gaze hardened. “Then we deal with it. Like we always do.”

Arthur looked down to the floor with a soft grimace. “Does she know you’re sending me?”

“She doesn’t need to know yet. If this leads to nothing, we leave it buried. But if it doesn’t…”

Arthur sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. I’ll go. But you better hope there’s something worth finding.”

“There’s something else, Arthur.”

The eldest Shelby hesitated in anticipation as Tommy gave him a second scrap of paper, the name more unfamiliar than the last.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

London was suffocating in its own chaos, a sharp contrast to Birmingham’s rough edges. Arthur’s coat flapped against the cold wind as he approached the modest townhouse on the west side of town. The address matched, and the brass plaque on the door read Dr. James Selwyn.

Arthur knocked, his patience already wearing thin. It wasn’t long before the door creaked open to reveal a man in his late fifties, his spectacles perched precariously on his nose.

“Dr. Selwyn?” Arthur asked gruffly.

The doctor adjusted his glasses, his brow furrowing. “Yes? And you are?”

“Arthur Shelby,” he said, pushing past him into the house. “We need to talk.”

The doctor looked alarmed but closed the door behind him, following Arthur into the sitting room.

"Ezra Hargreaves. You treated him the night he died."

“I don’t know what this is about—”

Arthur grabbed him by the lapels, firmly squeezing the fabric in between his fingers before forcing a smile across his face. “Listen. I'm here on a bloody day job, so do not waste my time. Tell me about Ezra, and I'll be on my way, yeah?”

The doctor’s breath hitched, and he raised trembling hands.

Arthur released him, stepping back but keeping his glare fixed.

Dr. Selwyn adjusted his coat, his voice shaky as he began. “That was years ago... Mr. Hargreaves was brought to me. That much is correct. He was... Weak. He had just experienced a particularly bad seizure. Mr. Shelby, I don't understand—”

Arthur crossed his arms. “Continue.”

“Well, he was only coherent for a moment,” Selwyn said, his words tumbling out. “These things can happen, you know. Sometimes, they get better before they... Well.”

Arthur frowned. “And then what? He just dropped dead? Did he say anything?”

“Actually, yes. He spoke before he passed. It was a bit confusing at the time because his nurse had the same name, but he was adamant he see a woman named y/n. Said it was urgent.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “And did someone try to find her?”

“We assumed she'd be there or at least somewhere nearby as I was led to believe she was the one who sent for a doctor. Naturally, we sent some of the family friends who were there to fetch her. From what I understand, she was nowhere to be found. Like she disappeared into thin air. A ghost, maybe.”

Arthur’s eyes darkened, the pieces clicking into place. “Tell me, doc. Did he say anything else?”

Dr. Selwyn hesitated. “He said he needed to say goodbye. It was heartbreaking to be honest with you. He was lucid, but he wasn't really looking at anyone or speaking to any of us directly. He sounded so desperate to see her." His voice softened as he recalled the memory. He placed his hand on his chest, pressing down gently like his heart ached. "I'm afraid the sound of his voice haunts me every now and then. It's always quite somber here when we're unable to bring in loved ones before a patient passes. I do hope, wherever she is, she was able to grieve properly.”

Arthur took a step closer, his voice low and menacing. “Who was the man you sent to find y/n?”

The doctor looked up at Arthur, wincing. “I didn't know him personally, Mr. Shelby. He only said he was a friend of the family, an Alfred Bingham. That’s all I know.”

Arthur turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him as he left.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

Arthur stood on the front steps of the stately house on the edge of London, his hand hovering over the brass knocker. The house was grand, but it felt hollow, the kind of place where grief had left its fingerprints on the walls. He straightened his coat, knocked firmly, and waited.

The door creaked open, revealing a stooped older man with silver hair and weary eyes. There was something about Ezra’s father—his impeccable grooming, the perfectly pressed suit that seemed out of place in his own home, as though he still needed to present himself as a figure of authority. Arthur saw beyond the polished exterior. Frank’s face bore the weight of years spent grieving, the sharpness of his features dulled by regret and time. He regarded Arthur with a mixture of caution and resignation, his gaze lingering on the scar across Arthur’s cheek as if assessing the danger he might bring.

Arthur noticed the slight tremor in Frank’s hand as he gestured him inside, the hesitation in his voice when he asked, “What do you want?”

They sat in the drawing room, a cavernous space filled with dusty heirlooms and fading portraits. The elder man poured himself a drink but didn’t offer one to Arthur, who didn’t mind—his flask was already half-empty.

“I haven’t spoken of Ezra in years,” Frank began, his voice tight. He sat down across from Arthur, but his posture betrayed him—his back straight, hands gripping the armrests as if bracing himself for an impact. “Why now? Why send someone like you to dredge it all up again?”

Arthur didn’t miss the thinly veiled disdain in the words. “I’m here because of y/n,” he said, watching closely for a reaction.

Frank’s face hardened instantly, his grip on the chair tightening. “y/n,” he repeated, the name heavy with bitterness. “That woman has no right to stir up the past. To speak of my son to strangers—it is a most ardent betrayal to his memory.”

Arthur leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “That woman,” he said, his voice deliberately slow, “has spent years believing she’s to blame for your son’s death. And I want to know why.”

Frank’s mouth opened, then closed again, his jaw working as if chewing on the words he didn’t want to say. His eyes darted to the glass in his hand, and Arthur caught the faintest flicker of shame in his expression.

"I will tell you why, Mr. Shelby, but first, I must know why this is a concern to the Peaky Blinders. Your reputation circles even here in London."

"Call it a personal interest of ours."

"How personal?"

"Best to explain that once I get what I'm here for."

“When Ezra died, y/n was dismissed,” Frank said finally, his tone colder now, as though rehearsing an old script. “She had no place here anymore.”

“And why’s that?” Arthur pressed, narrowing his eyes.

Frank looked up sharply, but his defiance was brittle. “Word travels fast here, Mr. Shelby,” he admitted. “It was brought to my attention by a trusted advisor that y/n had been pushing my son too hard to leave the family business, that she’d driven him to exhaustion with her endless demands. She was to blame for the severity of his last seizure.”

Arthur snorted, a harsh, humorless sound. “Let me guess. Your advisor was Alfred Bingham.”

“Alfred was a friend,” Frank said defensively, though his voice cracked under the weight of his own words. “Gave me financial and business advice for years, and without him, I would have not built my this empire that was supposed to go to Ezra after my death. He wouldn’t have lied about something like that. I trusted him.”

“Business matters are not personal matters, Mr. Hargreaves,” Arthur shot back, his tone sharper. “y/n has no taste for anyone that would make her do something like that.”

Frank’s face flushed, his eyes narrowing. “You think you understand? You think you know what it’s like to bury a child? To have to see the woman who caused him so much pain until the very end?”

Arthur’s voice softened, but his words cut deeper. “No, I don’t. But I know what it’s like to live with regret.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “What Bingham told you—it wasn’t the truth, and the consequences of that lie lives on.”

For the first time, Frank’s composure cracked. His hands trembled as he set the glass down, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes never leaving Frank’s face. “Your son didn’t die because of y/n,” he said. “And even if he didn't agree with her choices, he never held it against her. The doctor told me himself. In his last moments, your son asked for her and no one else. Not out of anger, but out of love.”

Frank flinched as if struck, his breath hitching. “He… he called for her?”

Arthur nodded. “Because he loved her. Even at the end, she was the one on his mind. Not the business. Not you. Her.”

Frank’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Arthur’s words finally breaking him. He looked older now, as if the years of grief had suddenly caught up with him. “I told her to leave,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I knew that if she'd stayed, I would never get passed losing him. She didn't even fight back. She just... left. I took that as her admission of guilt.”

Arthur stood, his presence towering over the frail man before him. “She left because she thought you were right. y/n isn't someone who would argue against the truth.” He paused, his voice dropping lower. “And now, I have it.”

Frank looked up at Arthur, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Tell me earnestly, Mr. Shelby. Is she alright?”

Arthur considered the question for a moment. “That’s not for me to say. But she is alive. And she's under the protection of the Peaky Blinders.”

With that, Arthur turned and left, the sound of his boots echoing in the silent house. As he stepped outside, he lit a cigarette, taking a long drag as he processed the encounter. Frank Hargreaves might never find redemption in your eyes, but Arthur had done what he came to do. He’d uncovered the truth. Now, it was up to you to decide what to do with it.

[vroomvroomcircuit]

The World did not end

(A/N): 'ello and welcome to my first F1 fic. I'm quite new here (not to fanfic or tumblr, I mean F1), but I want to give back to the F1 community, since you all helped me out tons during a really rough period these last couple of months.

Pairing: Lando Norris x platonic!reader

Warnings: mentions eating food, death of a loved family member, grief, it sounds sad, but it's actually pretty sweet and hopeful (it's based on a tiktok trend), English is not my first language btw

Wordcount: .7k (she is a shorty)

Masterlist ______________

Finding Mclaren’s reserve driver crying in the cafeteria wasn’t what Lando expected to stumble upon, when I went to check out where the repeating music came from. It sounded like a sad song that could land a high spot on his next Spotify wrapped.

“Uhm, (Y/N), what’s wrong?” he asks gently as he approaches the table. After a startle she turns off her phone, which has been playing the music. Frantically, she wipes her tears. It still does nothing against the fact that she has been crying and that her blood shot eyes are very visible.

Lando shakes his head. When people think Oscar is an introverted person, she is the masterclass of introvertedness. Like, the last stage of a pokémon evolution. That’s why seeing (Y/N) cry in a semi public place like the cafeteria calls for concern.

“There has to be something. The food here is not that bad. I mean, I have the same reaction when I see fish being served, too. But today I felt like the meals were rather good. So do tell. What’s bothering you?”

First she shrugs, the twenty year old not being able to find her voice immediately. “The- the world didn’t end when I was 13.” The tears are coming back again, restricting her voice once again.

Lando gathers her into his arms. even though he doesn’t understand what is happening at all. Does that matter right now, though?

The girl needs another minute or two until she is composed enough to explain the reason behind her crying. “There is this Tiktok trend going viral right now. It’s about people saying what mundane things they are able to do, or-or which things they have achieved, and all that because the world did not end when they were a certain age. They mean they got through some heavy event in their life. And because they got through this, they are able to do said things or achieve this.”

He nods, understanding the bittersweet and hopeful outlook this kind of videos can bring. “And something heavy happened to you at 13?” He probes while trying to keep a cautious tone, not wanting to overstep any boundary he doesn’t see.

“My, you see, when I was 13, my grandmother died. This was the first time I felt real grief. I wished for the world to end, because nothingness would have felt better than this immense amount of grief. And this led me to thinking of how many times I wished for the world to end. Because there were important and life changing events approaching me so quickly. When the world ends, I wouldn’t have to go through them, right?

And suddenly I’m 18, writing my final exams in school and it felt like the biggest task in my life. it felt like make or break. But the world did not end. I was able to graduate.

Then I got into the drivers academy, I am training, studying, and meeting people. I’m doing everything and anything. Because the world did not end when I was 13.

And it didn’t end when I was 16, overwhelmed with studying for school. It also did not happen when I was 19 and put under contract to be a reserve driver for Mclaren.

The world never ended. I begged and cried for all of this to stop. To have peace. Because I thought that I would only feel at peace, when nothing happens anymore. And the world didn’t end and now I sit here with you, talking about a tiktok trend.”

Lando understands her train of thought and sentiment immediately. “You know, I’m happy it didn’t end. These past couple of months with you here were pretty fun. Even Oscar admits it! With that true little smile, not in that monotone tone of his. These interviews and the media stuff is much more fun with these silly remarks of yours. And you are an amazing human being. I’m really glad that your world did not end, because meeting you made mine better.”

(Y/N) laughs, the tears being gone and cheeks heating up at that confession. “I’m glad too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to ravish my way through the mountain of pasta minutes before you came in.” They giggle, knowing they share similar food preferences and have the culinary plate of a four year old toddler.

And all that, because the world did not end.