#i honestly didn't even need to write this

[chrissv4mp]

♱ one more dance?

warnings. angst & fluff.

synopsis. after an argument with billie about your busy schedule, you don't talk for a bit. until prom comes up, and you remember that billie had invited a week prior.

au. jock!billie & leadership!reader

letters. woah okay i don't like this as much i thought i would what wtv cus this is by far one of my favorite songs on d4vd's album & i needed to write something on it 🙂‍↕️

the cloud's were covering the sun, sky gray for as long as you could see as you walked in the direction of your next class. it was a typical wednesday—teachers yelling, crowds forming in halls, and the usual buzz of lunch.

you were balancing three binders, a stack of posters for the leadership board, and a barely-touched iced coffee in your hands. until mia, your best friend, tugged on your sleeve, nearly making you drop everything.

"hey," she said, voice a pitch higher than usual. "come with me to the courtyard real quick, and give me your things."

"...why?" you ask, but she's already taking everything from your hands. and you're definitely not gonna complain.

"trust me."

you raise an eyebrow, suspicious, but follow her nonetheless. as you make your way outside into the courtyard, you catch a glimpse of ivie and kayleigh in the corner of your eye, both of them trying—and failing—to look casual. even zoe, who was even more honest and professional than you, gave you an awkward smile before scurrying off toward the field.

the second you walk onto the pavement outside, your ears are filled with the beautiful piano melody of "halley's comet," a song you were never able to get bored of.

then, you saw them.

billie's entire team lined up in an formation that created a path for you to walk through, each of them holding a single rose. mia shoves you softly toward them, and you smile nervously as you begin to walk down, taking the roses from their hands.

at the end, you're left with nearly a dozen roses. missing one.

you see her. billie, standing a few feet away from you and her team, one rose in her hand along with a poster in the other.

it read, "it'd make me happier than ever if you went to prom with me."

blush creeps onto your face the second you finish reading the poster. her cheeks are a little pink, strands of hair falling out of her ponytail from gym just 10 minutes ago. but she looked perfect, so proud of what she's done.

she stepped forward, reaching out her hand for you to take the final rose. when you take it, she grabs your wrist and pulls you close, bodies colliding gently, roses a bit smashed between you two.

"so," she says, not loud. just for you. "will you go to prom with me?"

you were silent at first—your heart was too busy doing flips, still in awe of what she'd done for you—but then you nodded with a big smile on your face. quick, short, probably too dramatic. and billie lit up like she just won the state championship.

jane was the first to scream, and then everyone else who was watching followe suit.

billie bit her lip, trying to push away the dumb smile that was already starting to grow on her lips, almost shy now, "i know it was extra," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "but i figured... if anyone deserves an over-the-top moment, it's you."

you chuckle softly, eyes flicking up to hers, "you're crazy."

"yeah, but that's why you love me." she bit back playfully.

you couldn't stop yourself from kissing her right then and there. in front of a crowd for the first time. but how could you not? this was the sweetest thing a girl has ever done for you.

the screaming only grew louder.

but it didn't matter to you.

not when she was holding you so close, kissing you so sweet.

finally. peace and quiet after a long afternoon of non-stop, back-to-back meetings—one for leadership expectations, one for the school's sports fundraiser, and one you honestly don't even remember because you were writing down times and dates that your counselor had sent you for upcoming events.

you're halfway through changing into more comfy clothes when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. great. probably more emails and complaints from your teammates.

you don't rush to answer the phone. instead, you take your time in changing, brushing your teeth, and doing your skincare before turning on your lamp and settling under the covers.

the notification wasn't from any of your teammates. wasn't even an email, actually.

billie: u coming over or did student gov drain ur energy?

you stare at it for a minute, reading over the few words over and over again. because, yeah, it's an obvious joke. but right now, with how tired and busy billie knew you were around this time of the school year, it didn't seem very funny.

clicking on her contact, you decide to call her instead of texting. you at least owed her the sound of your voice after only being able to glance at her in the hallways this past week.

"hey," you say when the line connects, voice quiet. "i'm sorry, bil, i'm just so exhausted. can we hang out tomorrow?"

there's a long pause on billie's end of the call. long enough to make your stomach twist in guilt.

"semi-finals are tomorrow, you know that, right?"

your heart skips a beat. you promised her you'd be there, said that you'd be the loudest on the sidelines cheering for her, that you'd even scream that she's the best in the hallways the next day if she won.

but then your counselor changed the date of an important meeting, and suddenly your plans were ruined.

"shit. billie, i—i have the district rep meeting. they changed the date and we've been planning for weeks—"

"you mean the one that'll 'look good on college apps'?" her voice had a sudden sharpness to it now. the edge that only ever came out when something hit her hard, "so, let me get this straight—you had time for planning meetings, hanging up posters, and writing speeches, but not even 8 minutes to watch me play at least one quarter?"

you stumble. "it's not like that, billie. i swear, i wanted to—"

"yeah, you always 'want to.' you just never actually do." she snaps.

brows furrowing, you scoff. "that's not fair, you know i make the effort. i show up to every one of your games and try to be light even when you're losing."

billie laughs. but it's not full. "what's not fair is busting my ass on the court while my girlfriend's too busy organizing dances and kissing her counselor's ass to even show up. i put myself out there for you— i planned that stupid promposal for weeks—"

"it wasn't stupid—"

"—and now it just feels like i'm dating someone who shows up for everything and everyone except for me."

it feels like the wind is knocked out of your chest, her words landing harder than a punch to the ribs. but it wasn't true.

until she said something that was. "sometimes it feels like i'm dating your schedule, not you."

then the line goes quiet again. but the silence is so much louder this time around, her words hanging heavy in your head. you didn't know what to say. couldn't find the words.

so you just decide on the truth.

"i can't drop everything just for you, billie."

her response was instant, voice rough. "then maybe i need someone who will."

and then three beeps, signaling the end of the call.

the gym doesn't even look like a gym tonight.

it's lit up in soft golds and deep blues, string lights curling like vines across the ceiling. light blue balloons float near the entrance. a disco ball turns slowly above the chaos, shining flecks of light on everything like tiny stars. the music thumps through the floor steadily.

though, nothing feels right now that you're alone.

you thought you'd be having the best night with billie a few weeks ago, dancing and laughing under the lights and maybe even sneaking off to the field to just sit and talk.

but now you don't even see her. and, honestly, part of you thinks she just won't show up entirely.

not after everything.

not after that argument. after she hung up like there wasn't more to be said, to be communicated. after three days of silence and sideways glances in the hallways that meant something and nothing all at once.

still, you walk through the doors and into the gym anyway.

because you said you would. because she asked you to prom a few weeks ago, and you couldn't let her down again. because you still remember the smile on her face when you nodded.

and because, most importantly, the worst thing you could do now—after everything—would be to not shos up.

your heart's racing as you scan the room, making your way to the snack table and smoothening out the blue satin fabric of your dress. just as you reach out to grab a cup, you feel eyes on you.

billie's cold, pretty blue eyes.

as you turn around, you're met with her. dark blue tux matching your dress, sleeves rolled up, tie barely hanging on. and her hair's down, falling over her shoulders in perfect, dark waves that make you blush.

"hi," she murmurs. her voice is steady. low. familiar.

her eyes stay trained on you, like she's afraid you'll run away.

"hey," you answer, and it's barely audible. "you came."

she almost smiles. "so did you."

the music fades quietly—slower now, something dreamy and calming: the night we met. you can't help the smile that blooms on your face as you hear the first notes.

breathing in, she offers you a hand. "dance with me?"

you hesitate, freezing momentarily and just staring at her ring-clad fingers. she steps closer, eyes softer now, "i'm sorry for the way i acted."

"it was selfish, i know," she whispers, never looking away. "but you were right. you do come to every game of mine, and i didn't know what i was talking about at all. i was just... mad."

her fingers find their spot curling around your waist, so light you hardly notice the way she's pulling you closer.

before you can say anything, she continues. "and i am so fucking stupid for saying that i would find someone different. nobody compares to you, y/n. no one else has your level of compassion or understanding, and i wouldn't trade you for the world."

she goes silent for a bit, just holding you and staring into your eyes with the most gentle, loving look on her face. your smile grows as you let the weight of her words sink in.

"do you trust me now?" she asks, offering out her hand again, "dance with me. please, at least let me give you this."

your fingers twitch, barely brushing hers, but the second you make contact, it's like you can finally breathe. you let her take your hand, fingers intertwining as she pulled you toward the middle of the gym where everyone was stuck in their own worlds.

her hand wanders back down to your waist again, unsure at first, then firmer when you don't pull away. you both settle into a rhythm that's more emotion than movement, swaying gently under the soft, dark lights.

she's holding you closer than before. both physically and emotionally. arms wrapped around you like she's scared you'll disappear if her grip loosens even in the slightest, heart praying she doesn't break things again. there's no more hesitation, hardly any space between your bodies—just heat and rapid heartbeats and the quiet hum of the music below it all.

"the only way i'm letting you go," she murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "is if i can't see my hands. if my heart stops racing."

you don't know how to reply to that. your throat is too tight, chest aching in that raw, overwhelming kind of way—the way it only ever did when you felt seen, really seen by someone. when they're holding onto you like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

"it's faster now," she whispers above the music, taking your hand and pressing it to her chest, eyes focused on you. and you can feel it, wild and rapid beneath your palm. "my heart. it's never done that before, not until this."

you tilt your head. "mine too."

her lips curl into a smile—shaky and small but genuine.

the music plays on, sweet and low like a secret meant just for you. people are watching—of course they are after her promposal—but billie never looks away. she doesn't care. her focus right now is only on you.

"they're staring," you murmur, eyes flitting all around. some eyes are filled with joy, others jealousy.

"most of 'em don't mean nothing. just... look at me," she murmurs, and you look back immediately. her eyes are softer.

she sighs in relaxation, tongue darting out to wet her lips nervously as she continues to sway with you. she doesn't know what to say, or if she should even say anything right now. but it's making her all fidgety and shy, being under your gaze after the argument.

the people around you on the gym floor are all quiet, lost in their partners as they try to keep a rhythm. billie's having no difficulty, the slow movement coming to her naturally as she shuts her eyes. like she's placing her full trust into your hands.

"close your eyes," she whispers, and you follow her words without hesitancy.

she leans closer, forehead resting against yours as she pulls you closer somehow. your hand is still on her chest, almost squished between your two bodies. but it's comfortable, intimate in a way you've never felt before.

the music fades slowly into silence, and as the final note rings out, you and billie open your eyes at the exact same time, and it almost feels like seeing each other for the first time again.

then she pulls back, just enough to fully take you in, eyes flicking down to where her fingers are curled securely around your waist still. and she grins softly, removing her hands from your waist and holding them out for you to take.

you take them, fingers locking between each other like routine. her eyes move down, focusing on the new beat and creating footwork in her head. it's a bit faster than before, but still slow, gentle.

"right foot," she murmurs, stepping forward with her right and causing you to step back with your left, then returning it to the middle as she retreats. "left foot." she repeats the movement, but this time moving her left foot back.

you let her guide you, step by careful step, eyes locked to your feet in concentration as you listen intently. the song floats around you both like a slow tide, and you dance together in a rhythm that feels like breathing. easy.

"dance," she murmurs—like that explains anything—and steps out to the right with you, then to the left as she speaks again. "dance."

her hands tighten around yours. not enough to hurt, just enough to anchor you. her grip is warm, sure, as if by holding you like this she can undo everything—every word she said, every ache you both carried alone—and it almost does.

"hold onto my hands," she says, voice shaking now, like she's actually scared she'll mess up again. "don't let go."

you look up again, and there it is again—that desperate kind of love, the kind that doesn't ask for forgiveness with words, but with touches and closeness and being brave enough to even stay and try to fix things.

so you listen, and you don't let go.

you dance, not perfectly, but just as she tells you to. your movements are much messier than hers are, but she knows you're trying your best. and she hopes you know that she's doing the exact same, holding onto your hands like they're her lifeline, trying to say so much without saying anything at all.

and for right now, that's enough.

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @vyntagess @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @karaeilishh @mybluebossanova @strwberrybils @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @natbelovasblog @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @fawninlove @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @svelish @hkkuugu @eeuni @dragoneyelashart @thinkshespretty @cnnibalize

[ruinix]

pretty pretty please write a piece abt quinny's thighs. It can be 100 words, it can be 1000 words, it can be 2 words even. idc I need some kind of content that involves this man's sexy sexy thighs

Hey there, lovely. It's broad daylight in my place. Nearly 11am (i posted at almost noon) Anyway, let's hold hands and be a whore together 😌😌😌 (taking a pause from the drabble I am writing)

Whore thoughts ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Quinn would catch you staring whenever he was wearing shorts. You would be doing whatever it was you're doing on your phone or flipping through your books then you would just put them down to stare right at him. His thighs, to be exact. Especially when he was wearing shorts. No matter what type of shorts it would be.

Your stare would burn into his skin, making him shift, his blood rushing down his cock, his temperature soaring. He would try to hide himself by leaning forward, but that didn't deter you. In fact, your stare would intensify. He could feel it trace over the length of his thighs, down his calves, even to his fucking feet, then back up.

The attention would make him clench his muscles, making you stare harder, making him swallow the lump that was forming in his throat.

When he leaned back again, taking the controller to pathetically hide his hard on, his thighs spreading wider so you could have your feast, he would be so tense while he tried to play. The game was just interference at this point. A white noise. Just another task to do with nothing else in his brain but how aroused he was getting.

His breaths came out as deep pants. His heart pounded on his chest when he braved a glance and saw how a lazy smirk formed on your face. Your beautiful eyes were half-hooded, looking so dark with the thoughts running through your head, as you stared right at his crotch then up to meet his eyes.

His pathetic attempt to play would immediately halt. His thumbs were no longer moving on the buttons. His teammates--Jack and Luke--would be screaming at him to get his shit together. Fucking how will he get it together? Not a single clue came to him as the sound of him dying in-game aired.

His throat would be so wound up, not able to reply to Luke telling him he would revive him. Honestly, Quinn didn't give a fuck, not when you would be standing up from your armchair, quickly working your hair into a ponytail. He could barely contain himself, quickly muting his controller mic.

"You should play better, Quinny," you teased, kneeling between his thighs, your hands finding his shin and up and up to his thighs, teasing the hem of his shorts, your thumbs grazing and putting fucking pressure in the insides of his thighs. "The game."

"Fuck, fuck. Fuck!" was all he could say.

He would try his best to play. You told him to. But how could he play better when you started to kiss his thighs. You would take your time. Your tongue would sometimes press and lick his thighs. Your tiny moans would reverberate into his muscles, into his bones, into his fucking soul, as you pushes up his shorts up.

Your hand softly and firmly brushed over his cock, jerking him off over the fabric, making him jump and whine. He could feel himself leaking pre-cum. He might even come just from all of this.

The sensation of you was making him spiral. Every touch, every kiss, every lick, every tug, every blow of your breath on his skin.

All he could do was try to stay still. It was so hard. His hands clenched the controller so hard, his thumbs barely pressing the correct buttons. Him being able to increase his kills in game or dodging attacks was a fucking miracle.

How could you do this? This was fucking torture.

"I need your shorts off," you demanded, gripping his waistband.

He was quick to lift his fucking hips, letting you tug his shorts and underwear down, his cock slapping up against his abs, aching when you grasp it after you threw his bottoms over your shoulder. He would totally die in-game again as you licked over his sensitive tip, your hands rubbing over his thighs, nails scratching over his skin.

"Need to go," he basically growled after he unmuted, leaving the game, grabbing your ponytail to urge you down his cock. "Oh, fuck," he cursed when your thumbs dug into his skin. It meant you wanted off. He would basically be sobbing as he let go. "Please, my Love. Please."

"Still enjoying your thighs, Quinny," you huffed.

Quinn could only grit his teeth, leaning back with an arm over his eyes while you did want ever you wanted with his thighs.

He would grumble his pleas when your teeth nipped over his tender flesh, making him clench his muscles, when you sucked on his skin to leave your hickeys, when your hand jerked him off while the other pushed against his thigh to signal him to spread them wider.

You did everything you could possibly want until he came so hard at the mixed-up sensations, flinching when you smeared his cum over his thighs. Only then you mounted one thigh, riding it, making him feel your drenched panties, making him lose it at how you rub your cum onto his skin and your panties. He wouldn't think he could survive the day. Not unless he fucked into your pussy with his thighs glistening with his cum and your arousal.

Good day (or Good night). Put me in a cell. Thank you.

-> more thoughts? List.

[innorality]

reconciliation with stack after the argument (part one here)

(part two of the angsty post I made)

you felt silly, truly. you honestly could not believe yourself as you walked towards Club Juke, their club—his club, holding onto the fur coat he had formely stolen for you. when you walked out after the argument, you had sworn to yourself that you would forget about him for good. screw him and his perfect smile, his honey-coated voice and his warm, familiar embrace.

truth is,

you felt ill without him.

7 years. it's been seven years since you had last seen him, and now that he's finally back, you had this underlying feeling that you couldn't just scream at him and leave. you needed him too much.

your heels dug in the grass below your feet as you walked hesitantly, finally getting to the door where Cornbread was standing. "now, that's a face I haven't seen in a while. how you been, sugar?" his deep husky voice comforting you, you smiled. "I don't... i don't really know." your fingers tightened against the fur of your coat. "I get it. it's been a long time." he walked down the two stairs that separated the both of you, getting closer to you.

"stack told me about the argument. i told him that no amount of money could teach him how to properly talk to a woman. that man's a true pain in the behind, ain't he?" his hand landed on the top of your head, petting it while you giggled. "hell yeah, he is."

"don't work yourself up, sugar. get in there and have fun, yeah?" you nodded and he stepped back, letting you in.

the loud music that was being played by a local band hit your ears, but you paid no mind. you headed straight for the bar, and sat infront of grace who was already grabbing a glass for you. "didn't expect to see you here." she commented, "nobody did." you shot back. "beer?" she went for the bottle and opened it, "please." you nodded.

"hope you've got some real coins to pay. all we get from the people here are wooden ones." she poured you a glass and slid it towards you, but a masculine voice echoed from behind you, overcoming the loud music with ease.

"it's on the house, for her." you didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. "if stack says so," grace shrugged, walking towards another client, leaving the two fo you alone.

you couldn't even get a sip of your beer before his hands slid around your jaw, cupping your jaw. he leaned down next to your ear. "you came." he affirmed, as if to confirm it to himself. "I had to see the club for myself." "and?" "definitely not worth the seven years." he quickly pecked your cheek before letting go of you and sitting next to you.

"you're still on about that." he looked straight at you but you refused to give him the pleasure of seeing your eyes. "how could I not?" and he surrendered, "you're right. i'm sorry." that caught your attention. stack was never one to admit he was at fault, and that realization made you turn to him slowly.

"i'm sorry for everything. for disappearing. for being so superficial. for not writing. for not even saying goodbye." he scooted over next to you and grabbed your waist, closing the distance between the two of you. he pressed his forehead against yours and your gaze flickered down to his lips.

"I love you." he mumbled. "say that again." "I love you."

"again."

"I love you."

"one more time."

"I love you more than anything else in the world."

you bit your lip and chewed slightly. you were torn between smashing the glass cup that was next to you on his head, and kissing him like you needed him to breath.

"fuck." you sighed out, looking back up at his eyes. "what?" he chuckled. "I really want to kill you, as of right now. but I also really, really, want to kiss you." and he smiled wider. that damn smile. "they say the line between hatred and love is blurry like fog."

"don't ever leave me again, elias." and you saying his name like that made his stomach twist in adoration, he really fucking misses you. "never again, I promise." and finally, he leaned in to kiss you. he pressed his lips against yours and you mirrored him, your arms snaking around his neck to cage him in.

you were weak for stack.

you were weak for elias moore just as much as he was weak for you.

[theseventhdimension]

Hi!

I have a request for early seasons Spencer in a relatively new relationship Sleeping over at readers place the first time. Spencer being nervous about cuddling and affection in general.

Just straight up the fluffiest fluff imaginable.

Thank you! I’ll be waiting

The First Time— Not Like That.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn! Reader

Word count: 1.4k+

DNI: All are welcome!

Author's note: This is such a cute idea, i just knew i had to get to it straight away! Honestly I'm writing this from experience, based on how I acted when i went to my fiance's house for the first time lol. Hope you enjoy!! :))

Idiot.

That's the one way Spencer would describe himself as of this current moment.

Sure, he has the vocabulary of the entire oxford dictionary stuck in his head, but right now? He's an idiot. An awkward idiot. An awkward idiot who's standing in your bedroom doorway as you make yourself comfortable, urging him to join.

And he’d nodded, murmured a quiet “okay,” and then proceeded to do absolutely nothing that resembled any form of movement towards you.

He’s been stiff all evening.

Like, noticeably stiff.

His satchel is still sitting by your front door, half-unzipped, like even his belongings aren’t sure if they’re allowed to stay. He’d perched on the edge of your couch like it was some sort of Victorian chaise reserved for royalty. You’d offered him tea—made it exactly how he liked, with three sugar packets already stirred in and the fourth one left on the saucer in case he wanted to make it obnoxiously sweet, the way you’d teased him about once before. And he’d smiled, almost shy, like the gesture meant more to him than he could put into words.

But the cup’s still full. Barely touched. Lukewarm now. He had just been holding it, fingers wrapped too tight around the ceramic, eyes flicking around your apartment like he was trying to memorize every detail while simultaneously calculating the fastest exit route in case he accidentally makes a fool of himself.

He didn't know where to put his shoes. You had to gently nudge him into taking them off when he stepped onto the carpet like he was entering hallowed ground. He apologised when he used your hand towel. He asked if he should sit somewhere else when you curled up next to him during the movie.

You’re not offended. Not even a little. You know this is new for him—being in someone else’s space like this. Being wanted, and welcomed, and safe. You know he’s used to chaos, to hotel rooms and BAU briefings, to walls that aren’t really his and spaces that don’t feel like home.

So this? This quiet apartment. This night off. This soft bed with the creaky springs and the extra blanket you laid out just in case.

This is probably the most foreign territory he’s had to navigate in a while.

You’d kissed his cheek earlier—casual, sweet—and you felt the way he shivered. Not from discomfort. From something deeper. Reverent. Like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

Now, he’s standing in your bedroom doorway like crossing the threshold might set off some emotional tripwire, and you're here, inviting him to bed— WOAH. Not like that. At least.. he thinks so? No matter how fast he thinks, that's a little too fast for him right now.

But he wants to cuddle. Of course he does. He’s been thinking about it all evening, the way your arms would feel around him, the weight of your hand between his shoulder blades, your heartbeat steady under his ear. And now you’re right here, just a breath away, and he’s… frozen.

He can't. He just can't. What if he starts sweating really badly? Like, from his hands. Or worse, his pits. And then you’ll wrinkle your nose and shift away, and then you’ll think he’s gross and never invite him over again. And what if—God—what if he drools in his sleep?

Woah. He paused. That was a spiral. He needs to take a deep breath, like you taught him. You'd never do something like that.

..Right?

He inhales.

Then exhales.

Then does it again, slower this time—like you’d coached him through after a particularly stressful case, sitting knee-to-knee in your living room with his hands in yours, teaching him how to ground himself. You’d said it so gently. "In through the nose, Spence. Hold it. Out through the mouth. Good."

He should do that now. He really should. Because you're not even looking at him like he's weird. You're just… waiting. Lying there on your side, propped up on one elbow, watching him with the softest little smile. You even patted the space next to you, like some sort of romantic invitation he’s terrified to accept.

Spencer wrings his hands, then stops when he realizes that might just activate the dreaded palm sweat. He drops them to his sides instead and shuffles a little closer, still hovering awkwardly by the bed like a stray cat that doesn’t quite trust the food bowl isn’t a trap.

“You okay?” you ask, voice light and full of affection. Not mocking. Never mocking.

“Y-yeah,” he croaks, which is exactly what someone not okay would say. “Just—uh. Processing.”

Your brows lift, amused but patient. “Processing whether or not you’ll survive cuddling me?”

“Exactly,” he says, pointing at you like you’ve just solved a riddle. “That. Yes.”

You laugh, and god, it’s the prettiest sound. You hold your arms open toward him like a promise. “Come here, you dramatic little beanpole. I won’t bite.”

He flushes immediately. Beanpole? He’s going to think about that for the rest of his life. But he moves, slowly, carefully, like he's approaching some sacred relic. He climbs into bed next to you with all the grace of a baby giraffe learning to walk, knees knocking into yours, elbow accidentally jabbing your pillow, and—

Then your hand finds his.

Soft. Sure.

He shuts his eyes and takes a breath, like you taught him to. In for four. Out for four.

"Spence?" Your voice cuts gently through the quiet. He feels it before he hears it—low and close, humming through the mattress. "You okay?"

He turns his head slightly, cheeks already pink. “Yeah. I just… don’t really know what to do with myself.”

There’s a pause. Then: “Do you wanna lie here?” You tap your chest lightly with a crooked smile. “Just for a bit.”

He blinks. Looks at you. Then nods, tiny and quick, like a secret.

He shifts slowly, like you’re a museum piece he doesn’t want to break. When he finally settles on your chest, it's with an exhale he didn’t realise he was holding. His ear rests just over your heart, and your arm curls instinctively around his back, hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades.

You’re warm. And steady. He can feel the way your chest rises beneath him, the slow rhythm of your breathing, the soft pressure of your palm.

And Spencer?

Spencer dies.

Or at least it feels like it. His heart is racing, and his lungs might have just stopped functioning, and he has no idea what to do with his free hand because oh, God, it’s touching your waist, and you’re warm and your hair smells so good and he’s probably holding his breath again but—

You sigh against him, content and safe, like you want to be here.

And suddenly it’s not so terrifying anymore. His muscles begin to loosen. He dares to stop holding his cheek up, like he's scared that his brain a made of a million sand bags and will crush your heart if he dares to allow himself to relax. You push his head down onto you completely, and hum in approval.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

He nods against you. “It’s… really nice, actually.”

You hum, thumb brushing slow circles into his spine. “Good. 'Cause I was worried you’d combust from overthinking.”

Spencer huffs a laugh into your shirt, eyes fluttering shut. “I almost did.”

There’s a study—somewhere in his head—about how 20 seconds of hugging can significantly reduce stress levels. He remembers reading it on his computer once, the details etched into his eidetic memory. But more than that, he remembers the day vividly because you had brought him a croissant from the bakery across the street!

The study involved nearly 200 participants who were subjected to a stressful task. Those who received a 20-second hug from their partner beforehand exhibited lower cortisol levels, the hormone associated with stress.

Now, lying here with his ear pressed against your chest, he counts the seconds. Not because he wants to leave, but because, for once, the math feels kind. He recalls that oxytocin, the "love hormone," is released during physical touch, promoting feelings of trust and bonding. This hormone can reduce cortisol levels, the body's primary stress hormone.

He thinks about how this simple act of cuddling, something so foreign to him, is now providing a tangible sense of calm. The tension in his muscles eases, and he feels a sense of peace wash over him. It's as if the scientific principles he's studied for years are now manifesting in real-time.

Spencer smiles softly, his eyes closed, and thinks, "So this is what all the research was about."

[harumin24]

hehehe I got tagged

Favorite Color: all of them! (Except orange). Pastels are cute and lovely! Bold colors are so lovely and pretty! Periwinkle gets a shout-out just for the name! Color combos close to my heart: light pink, white, and light green. Puppy brown to orange to pink to gold. Royal purple and Sunshine yellow.

Last Song: caffeinated warriors by antje duvekot as recommended by a friend. Her voice is lovely and the style is just the right sort to hit me in the feels.

Currently reading: Fanfic by the amazing @kings-highway but also suffering through rereading my own work to do edits. At least it's not as bad as Ringworld.

Currently watching: rewatch of Blue exorcist. It's older but it holds up really well and honestly some of the scenes and storylines are really cool. I don't really watch much though. Would rather be writing or playing games or spending time with friends.

Currently craving: Protein and veggies. Maybe edamame. There's way too much junk food at work and even with moderate self-control, half a pouch of Cheetos still gave me a stomach ache.

Coffee or tea: coffee only rarely, but when I need caffeine it's a quad shot latte with no added sugar. I'll go for tea more often with all sorts and I think the only tea I have not enjoyed has been a masala chai tea that burned my throat. I probably just didn't make it correctly. My favorite is peach green tea.

Double tagging @permanentlyobsessed312

Also tagging @birdiebortnik and @mania-sama

GET TO KNOW YOUR MUTUALS!

Rules: answer and tag six people you want to know better

Thanks for thinking of/tagging me @thoughtslikeaminefield It’s been a pleasure interacting with you the past couple of days ❤️

1. Favourite colour: Teal

2. Last song: Save Tonight - Eagle Eye Cherry

3. Currently reading: Outlander Series (technically it’s collecting dust on my bookshelf because I mostly read fanfic…)

4. Currently watching: Single’s Inferno, Medium, and forever casually rewatching SPN

5. Currently craving: the bag of sweet chilli & sour cream chips I bought earlier (just waiting for kiddos to go to bed)

6. Coffee or tea: coffee! An iced latte any season.

@losers-clvb @middleearthislife @my-stories-vault @supernotnatural2005 @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @jollyhunter

[alexispunkkk]

not yours

♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰

god only knows — chapter 6

read the series!

last chapter | next chapter

- warnings: religious trauma + guilt, joel's perspective, mention of loss of innocence idk, age gap description, very light sexual thoughts. honestly nothing in here this is js joel's perspective regarding it all, anyway he's sexy and tortured but a great man and deserves a big ole kiss

- summary: joel's turmoil when you fall asleep in his bed

- word count: 1.5k 😓😓 this is a filler chapter i'm so sorry i totally didn't feel like writing tonight so this is the best yall are getting i fear...

on ao3

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Joel doesn’t sleep. Barely breathes. 

After the warring night you spent dealing with your hypersexuality–and Joel calming you down from it–it wore you out. Your excuse was that it started raining and you didn’t feel safe to drive home in the dark. But, in reality, you both know it’s because you wanted nothing more than to stay.

He’s the only thing down here in Texas that actually makes you feel safe. Makes you feel seen. And you need to soak up every bit of comfort in his little house that you can before you’re forced to leave.

So, that leaves you in his bed. He’d moved you there from the couch after finally giving in and formally allowing you to spend the night. You end up curled up in the middle of his mattress, tucked into one of his old t-shirts that he so generously slid over you. Your limbs fold in on themselves, as if trying to take up as little space as possible. Small and delicate in his big, warm bed.

It’s the stillest you’ve been all night after being disgustingly touchy and fidgety with Joel. The bed smells like his shampoo. Sweet and soft. Something too old and out of reach for you.

The thing that drove you to sleep was the gentle kisses on your forehead and soft stroke of your back that he offered. It felt comfortable, as tranquil as a holy sanctuary. 

But he got up, moving across the room to the old armchair in the corner. Dark red and brown, sunken in from years of use–little rips and a few cigarette burns in the worn fabric. His elbows are on his knees, hands knotted together as if praying, or waiting for the passing of a storm that already hit. 

It ripped through the house in the shape of you. Your body, thighs, the hands trying to push up his shirt and feel his soft belly. Your mouth on his lips, later gnawing animalistically at his Adam’s apple. 

Joel closes his eyes, trying to think of quite literally anything besides that–besides the feeling of you forcing yourself onto him and the way your voice broke when you begging for him so desperately:

Please, Joel. I need you.

As much as he hates to admit it, even to himself, it did turn him on a bit. He chose the less sinful route tonight, shutting you down and telling you not to throw yourself away like that. But little did you know he was achingly hard after the interaction, twitching uncomfortably in his pants as much as you were dripping wet in your little thong. He wanted to give in. But he can’t. You may have stopped believing entirely, but a small part of him is trying to hang on to God, despite having a feeling deep down that He isn’t real. 

It’s not that you’re rubbing off on him. Joel’s been thinking of this for a while now. Hell, years, even. He used to be such a good man of God, attending church with the brightest smile, the glow of the Lord. But over the years, the love has warped into a sickening mix of doubt and confusion. 

Maybe seeing you slip away like this did the same to him. Or maybe it brought him closer to God in hopes that it wouldn’t also happen to him. He feels bad. So, maybe, it’s worsening him. He’s too focused on helping you that he doesn’t care–he’d do anything for you, essentially.

His eyes open back up. Fuck it. He reaches for his Bible on the table.

It’s old, wrapped in leather and cracked from years in waves of different habits: either sitting untouched for months or being obsessively read for a span of a few weeks, only to be disregarded again on his nightstand. The edges of the paper are yellowing.

In hopes it might speak to him, give him some guidance with what to do with the girl in his bed, he runs a thumb across the cover. It could have some answers when he’s too weak to have any of his own.

He flips to a random page, the verses once imprinted in his brain now a lost cause. Doesn’t even read it, but lets the words blur together on the page. With the way they looked, he’d think he forgot to put on his glasses. But no, they’re resting on his nose like always.

It’s the words’ fault. They don’t stick like they used to–don’t echo in his brain and whisper the answers to him in a time of need like this one. You’re in his bed, and he can feel the ghost of your wet mouth on his throat. The way your hips rolled forward in desperation into his, just trying to break him.

The Bible stays open. But it’s useless. He’s watching you instead.

Your breathing is slowed,mouth slightly parted and cheeks pink and soft with exhaustion. The red color of that sinful lipstick is still on your mouth but faded from tears and rushed kisses, hardly hanging on where it’s smudged off the corner. You look so small, the same way you did in his arms when you whispered how badly that you needed him. 

To Joel, it’s kind of sad to see your innocent body wrapped up in his sheets like that after tonight. He could ruin you–further than the church already has. Further than your father did. 

He wants to hold you so badly. Scoop you up and never let go, leave everlasting kisses to your forehead and hope that you don’t wipe them off right away. But he can’t.

You’re cracked open, raw and vulnerable.

It’d be bad to worsen that. But he still wants to. The ache sets into his chest, pressing down with the weight of the situation–your sleeping frame in his bed, the Lord, and everything in between. He’ll remember the feel of your knees pressing into his hips each time he sits on his own couch, the smell of your stupid vanilla perfume you’d put behind your ears and ankles in hopes of getting something in return. 

He’s at least a little proud you didn’t get anything tonight. He didn’t give in. Not only is it a sin, but it’s also ruining you. He can’t crack you like that, can’t steal your purity. Not when he’s known you since you were born, not when he used to lead prayer circles with your father. 

Especially not when you’re this vulnerable, your emotions heightened so terribly that you pounce at every little touch and opportunity. 

You’re not his. 

He thinks it once. Then again. As if repeating it like a mantra would make it register in his brain. She’s not yours. Never was. 

The main bit weighing on his mind that makes it all so much worse for him, besides his own religious guilt, is your innocence. He thinks of seeing you when you were a child, leading Christmas plays with your feet dangling from the pew at the front of church. He’s known you for so long–you called him ‘uncle’ a few times as a child, even. Which makes it worse that you’re grown now and so, so pretty. 

You trust him too much. You shouldn’t be with someone his age–shouldn’t even risk being with someone in the church because it stirs your emotions further. He isn’t made to be your savior.

So, the Bible sits unused and open on the table, and he can’t touch it again. Instead, looks back at you, sleeping softly and unaware under his blankets. He’s afraid.

For the first time in years, he’s afraid.

The man’s been through hell, hardened by years of tough work and baggage that he carries in his dark undereyes. He’s not afraid of much, but this gets him. Not of God or sin, but what he’s doing to you.

The rest of the night he doesn’t let himself get closer. Doesn’t take his boots off, sleeps in the chair as if punishing himself. He tries to pray but his hands seem to push away from each other like magnets of the same kind do. The second he almost admits to himself how much he wants you, he grips the arms of his chair to stop it. Grounding himself in the chair. Stays there, doesn’t take his shirt off either. Can’t go in his own bed because you’re in there. 

But on the other hand, he just can’t bear to leave you alone tonight. He’s only a man, after all. 

@joeldarling @melmel-fandom @ssssc0m @rafeovermorals @lilac-boo @funkifiedzee @mermaidbarlvr @seenthroughmia @umadirectioner @deardev0teddelicate @dingusandbats @lobotomyprincessdollangel444

[imnez-daydreams]

take my soul, need control

pairing : benjamin poindexter x matthew murdock

warnings : SMUT❗❗condescending use of “daddy” from matt to dex, finger sucking, choking, hair pulling, blowjob, rough facefucking, breathplay, shoe humping, shared cum eating, degradation. pet names used: sweetheart, good boy, good puppy, baby, daddy. aftercare and softness at the end. DON'T READ IF UNDER 18 ❗❗

summary : there’s a lot of tension between dex and matt in the interrogation room. dex just wants to see how far he can push his handsome counselor. maybe even let him have the illusion of control for a bit. (spoilers, it's not an illusion)

w/c : 2.2k

a/n : first time writing smut !! based off this @nyikura. not as crazy as my og thoughts, but i'm still taking it as my practice for the pt 2 of my pope cody fic, so feedback with comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated !! please bear with me if it's unrealistic bcs honestly i’ve never even had my first kiss LOL so i had to rely on tips online for the smut. also, i tried my best to include non-visual descriptions when it came to Matt, but there's still visual descriptions for the sake of the reader. divider credits: @uzmacchiato. gif credits: @from-jjlee. writing prompt credits: @urfriendlywriter. i pushed back my report writing for this fic so i hope yall enjoy hehe !!

Matt believes he has excellent self-control and discipline.

Years of being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen has refined his need for bloodlust. Kept his anger at bay even for the worst kinds of criminals, held back his dark urges when the night called to him.

So why, is it, that hearing Dex's heartbeat race when he yanked the dirty blonde hair, made him so fucking hard?

Matt had noticed Dex’s heartbeat picking up from when the pet name “sweetheart” dripped oh so condescendingly from his lips earlier, and damn if that knowledge didn't stir something in his chest. The same place he locks up those wrong wants, where guilt manifests for certain fantasies.

Dex steals a glance down at Matt’s lap, a cocky smirk pulling at his (pretty) lips,

“Need help with that, counselor?”

Matt lets go of the (soft) hair and holds his jaw with a bruising grip instead, keeping Dex’s eyes on him as he bends down closer to his face,

“Shut your fucking mouth. I could make you rot in here for the rest of your life and no one would care.” Matt grits out, (yet he hears his own heartbeat quickening).

Dex just grins, like this is all a big game to him.

“Why don’t you make me? C’mon counselor, I’m pretty good with my mouth.” Dex pouts, fucking pouts against Matt's grip when he drawls out the last word.

Matt thinks that's his last straw, thinking about those pretty lips, thinking about them wrapping around something else. With the same hand, his fingers tip Dex’s jaw up, gently caressing the skin there, an action that could almost be mistaken for fondness. Then, his thumb slowly parts Dex’s lips. 

Fuck.

Just the slick sounds of an eager tongue and the feeling of Dex wrapped around his finger (quite literally), has Matt needing to let the devil out.

“That pretty little mouth of yours, sweetheart …” Matt whispers, letting out a dark chuckle that goes straight to Dex’s cock.

So Matt does just that. He lets the devil out.

Matt yanks Dex forward by the collar easily and kicks the chair back, giving them more room while Dex is still chained to the table. 

“Get on your fucking knees.” 

Dex lets out a cocky laugh, oh the things Matt's gonna do to shut him up. 

“Your wish is my command, counselor.” 

The metallic clink of the chains rattles throughout the room as Dex makes his descent. Keeping his eyes locked on Matt's bulge the whole time. His tongue darting out quickly as he comes face to face with it as his knees hit the floor.

“Unzip me.”

An unsure pause lingers in the air, as if to say “How can I?”.

“Not with your hands, sweetheart. Your teeth.”

Matt hears a sharp inhale, but Dex obliges nonetheless. Gets real close, tongue peeking out to catch the zipper. His teeth makes contact with the zipper, and he tugs it down, down, down, before sitting back on his heels.

“Good boy.”

Matt lets his suit pants drop down, pulling out his aching cock. But something’s at the back of his mind. Dex had a different reaction to that piece of praise, he noted. Heartbeat speeding up, but not as fast as when he would use “sweetheart”. Hm. A different title, perhaps?

He lets a hand brush through Dex’s soft curls, the kneeling man’s eyes going hazy at the contact.

“M’ gonna fuck that attitude out of you now, baby”.

That’s the only warning Dex receives, before Matt plunges his big, aching cock past his lips.

Almost choking, as Matt drags his cock out until just the head is left, before driving it back in with full force. Ever the great multitasker, Matt still focuses on Dex’s heartbeat not quickening up enough to his liking.

Matt keeps up the unrelenting pace, beaming with an evil smile when he hears Dex struggling from the sheer size of him.

“What’s wrong, huh? Can’t handle it? Am I just too big for you? S’ that it? Too big for Daddy, yeah?”

The mocking words drip from his mouth with ease, but Matt tilts his head when he catches something.

Dex’s heart going absolutely haywire.

Hot.

Fucking.

Damn.

Matt sheathes himself completely inside the warmth of Dex’s mouth in one smooth motion, the tip of his cock buried in Dex’s throat. 

“Yeah? ‘Course you’d like that, being called Daddy while on your knees like a fucking whore. My cockhungry whore huh? Daddy’s being a good whore jus’ for me?”

Tears escape and fall down Dex’s face, his eyes totally glossed over now. 

Matt keeps Dex in place, gripping the hairs at the back of his head, muttering sinful words. Only when Matt hears his heartbeat pacing too fast, does he yank Dex off of his cock.

Oh how Matt wishes he could see the image laid out in front of him.

A string of saliva connects glossy lips to the tip of his cock, Matt feels the spit dribble land on his thigh. He smells the arousal emitting from Dex, the desire making his head spin. Chest heaving, the sound of heavy breathing filling up the room. 

But something’s not right. That’s not the only sound in the room. There’s still a faint rustle of fabric.

Matt tilts his head down at dex.

Places his fancy business shoe on top of Dex’s covered cock that's been rutting against it, stopping the movement.

“Did I give Daddy permission to pleasure himself?” Matt snarls.

He feels Dex shake his head, hand still at the back of it.

“N-no. M’sorry, couldn't help it. I’m sorry, I just need- needed more please.”

“Just couldn't resist being more of a whore, huh? If you want to act like a bitch in heat so much, then I should treat Daddy like one right?”

Matt could practically feel Dex’s puppy dog eyes looking up at him in confusion. If Dex hadn't been running his mouth earlier, maybe he would’ve considered going a little softer on him. Maybe even plant a kiss on his hair. 

But that's not what Dex wants, Matt knows. He knows Dex craves being controlled, being told what to do. He knows Dex is bigger now, could easily fight back against him even while chained up. But Dex doesn’t, he doesn't want the soft, gentle lawyer Matt Murdock. He needs the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and Matt is more than willing to give that to him.

“Gonna take your cock out, and you're gonna make yourself come by humping it against my shoe. Think Daddy can manage that? That's all I’m giving you, since you wanted to misbehave.”

Matt can hear the pitiful gulp, feels the nod in his hand.

Lowering himself, he pulls down Dex’s prison pants just enough to expose his underwear. He snaps the waistband, smirking when Dex moans from the slight pain. Then, he takes out Dex’s drenched cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Can feel how much you’re fucking dripping for me.” Matt can’t help the pet name from slipping, not when his hand gets drenched from how much precum is leaking from Dex’s cock.

Dex’s hips stutter when Matt gives his cock a few strokes, hand getting messy from all precum.

Matt pulls away and Dex whines deep in his chest, chasing after the friction.

“Hey. You misbehave, you get punished. ‘M gonna facefuck that pretty mouth of yours now Daddy, you’re gonna take what I give and fuck yourself on my shoe.”

Grips the back of his head again, with both hands this time.

“If you stop, I stop. And I know Daddy wants me to fill his throat with my cum, so make sure you keep humping like a bitch in heat, yeah?”

Dex barely finishes his nod before Matt starts thrusting in his mouth again.

Garbled moans and slick sounds fill the room. Matt pistons his hips so fast, so hard that Dex chokes on his cock everytime it hits the back of his own throat.

Dex can barely see straight with the amount of tears in his eyes, they trickle down his face, mixing with the saliva dripping down his chin. He keeps grinding down on Matt’s shoe, chasing after heat and friction that's never enough. But it's still Matt, and so it is enough.

“Fuckkk, you take my cock so good. Daddy makes such a good cocksleeve, fuck. Can feel me hitting the back of your throat, so fucking tight and warm. C’mon, keep rubbing, yeah keep humping like a good puppy.”

Swirling his tongue around, tracing the vein under Matt’s cock, swallowing around it.

“Fuck me sweetheart, do that shit again, oh please Daddy.”

What kind of Daddy would Dex be if he didn't listen to his good boy?

Flattening his tongue, Dex licks a long stripe against the vein before swallowing again.

Matt feels his body lurching forward from the force of his orgasm. The shocks of it travelling from his head all the way down to his feet making him dizzy. He cums deep into Dex’s mouth, keeping his cock in Dex’s throat so it collects every last drop.

The feeling of Matt’s cum hitting the back of Dex’s throat, the pure angelic image of Matt as he hits the peak of pleasure and the friction from the humping, it’s enough to make Dex’s eyes roll to the back of his skull. His moans and whimpers are muffled by Matt’s cock, and his cum shoots out all over Matt’s shoe. 

After what feels like forever, Matt gently pulls himself out of Dex’s mouth. Caresses Dex’s jaw, placing a thumb over his lips.

“Don’t swallow.”

Even in his hazy, fucked-out state, Dex manages to listen. Nodding dumbly.

Matt bends down, gets on his knees to match Dex. Reaches his free hand to Dex’s cock. Hears him whimper, as Matt covers his hand around it. Pulls his hand back, collecting Dex’s cum messily around his fingers.

Tilting his head, Matt brings his middle and index finger to Dex’s mouth. Grazing his fingertips on Dex’s lips.

“Open.”

Dex’s pretty glossy lips part, taking in Matt’s fingers. He’s careful to not let Matt’s cum drip out as the taste of his own cum mixes around in his mouth. 

Matt reels back his fingers, leaving Dex’s mouth with a soft “pop!”. 

Then, Matt surges forward, his lips clashing with Dex. A shocked gasp is let out, and Matt uses that to shove his tongue past Dex’s lips. The taste of his own cum mixed with Dex’s is almost enough to make him cum again.

Their tongues swirl together. Licking, sucking and conquering. Matt runs his tongue over Dex’s, scooping up some of their mixed up cum, swallowing it down and has to physically restrain himself from chasing after more. Not when Dex hasn't had a taste yet.

Matt parts from Dex, smiling to himself when he feels Dex chasing after him, peppering kisses on his lips. Matt softly holds Dex’s face in between his hands, stopping the movement. 

“Swallow.”

Dex follows the command, the gulp very audible to Matt’s ears.

“There’s my pretty, obedient sweetheart.”

Matt is gentler now. Doesn't want to take back his touch when Dex is leaning into his hands, but he knows he has to. They're running out of time.

“Shhh, shh. It’s okay. Not gonna leave yet. Just gotta clean you up abit, okay? Can you let me take care of you sweetheart?” Matt reassures Dex, he knows how he can get.

Dex calms down a little, his heartbeat slowing down. Matt takes that as a sign to wipe the cum off Dex and himself. Gentle touches. He pulls the underwear and pants back onto Dex, righting himself next as well and drags the chair back in place. Guides Dex up to it, settling him down slowly. He resumes the position he took when this whole thing started, sitting on the edge of the table close to Dex, who’s leaning back and still coming down from the high. Guard down. Peaceful.

Matt runs a clean hand through his soft hair a couple of times. Plants a soft kiss on top of his head, Dex’s eyes fluttering shut at the contact. Continues treating him with soft reverence. Matt’s voice is kinder this time, like he’s afraid of scaring Dex off.

“I’m gonna get you out. Soon, I promise. If I can’t do it as a lawyer, then I’ll do it as Daredevil.”

Dex’s eyes slowly open back up. 

“Why?”

His voice cracks. Like a small child, wondering why he’s been abandoned time, and time again.

Matt breathes deep. Lets the air settle in his lungs. Lets the sound of the inmates outside travel to his ears. Lets the memories of Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter fill his mind. Not Bullseye, not the deranged criminal who killed his best friend. Just Dex.

“Because that's what good men do. They defend their worst enemies.” 

no pressure tags for beloved mooties : @callsign-fangirl @thevillainswhore @kyamiia @htchnr @monicfever @millennialtrashjigglypuff @simshay

[promise-of-soup]

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆Favourite's Privilege｡･:*:･ﾟ

𓆩♡𓆪 Part two of Picking Favourites 𓆩♡𓆪

✧.*Synopsis: Since finding out he's your favourite Ghoul, Jiro has been acting... the exact same. Things take a turn when it becomes time for him to sleep over in your dorm again, does he not get special favourite's privilege?

✧.*Tags? Jiro Kirisaki x Reader, Fem MC, no spesific physical descriptor for MC beyond being shorter than Jiro and being refered to as "small" for the same reason, extra pining, Jiro is annoying, some fluff, SMUT: Dom!Jiro, Sub!Reader, 0.2 seconds of masturbation, unprotected sex (stay safe kiddos), posessive!Jiro, Jiro loses his composure, fingering, kind of aggressive sex?, dirty talk -- degradation and praise, size kink (oops), stomach buldge, the writer is way too into Jiro Kirisaki :(

✧.*Notes? not sure if anyone saw my 'upcoming' post, but this was meant to be 1/2 seperate Jiro smuts. I am also writing a non-smut Jiro thing now lolol. still unsure if said thing is part 3 to this or not. but yeah, thank you to everyone who requested a part 2 to this, I will continue to write Jiro the most out of all the characters lolololol, also we all agree that Jiro has a really high libido, right?

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

The questioning has not stopped.

Yet another exhausting week at Darkwick. It didn't even feel like a week, quick as if only two days had passed but dragged out for longer than a year. A mission you barely got out of alive, a pile of homework you barely got around to thinking of, and a constant buzz of questioning from your friends and allies alike... At this point you had contemplated adding everyone to a group chat, sending the message "Jiro is my favourite, stop asking." and exiting out of it in an instant so you wouldn't need to deal with it further. You love them all, of course you do, and you want them all to feel that love, but it has been getting tiresome repeating the same answers again ang again on top of dealing with everything else you've got going on.

Honestly, it's not been that bad, but you're so tired and overwhelmed that even a single mention of the topic is enough to annoy you... You need to catch your breath for a second.

It's getting late, your day only ended an hour ago or so, so stress clings to you still. You've freshly showered, freshly free from responsibility, and finally able to catch your breath, just as you had asked for.

Sighing, you fall to your bed, lights still on... You just want a second before you make plans for the rest of the evening; you could sleep, catch up on some reading, watch a movie, listen to some music... the possibilities are as endless as your room itself... so not that endless, but still vast. Right now, staring at the ceiling is the most appealing thing for you, allowing your thoughts to catch up with you after they were forced to chase you down all week.

It doesn't take long for these thoughts to drift...

Jiro has been acting so strange all week, or at least you'd call it strange, you're unsure what would be the best way to describe it.

After he acknowledged his status as your favourite once, he never brought it up again. He remained unchanged against it all, still constantly behind you, still constantly hard to read.

But then your thoughts drift further...

When he was in your bed that morning his hands felt so warm around you. You wiggle yourself under the covers, bunching up the blanket and bringing it up to your face. You had no time to change your bedsheets this week, which is not a good habit, but you can still faintly make out his scent.

You didn't see him much during the week, but at one point you were both waiting for class to start with your backs to the wall and he suddenly turned around to tower over you, protecting you from an accidental avalanche of books hurled from the hands of a passerby. He leaned his elbow against the wall and looked down at you from so far high, his expression blank. Your probably looked so pathetic looking up at him with a heated face, but he just readjusted his glasses and commented that "Your heart rate is abnormally high."

When you woke up beside him, he bent your torso so easily, as if you were a piece of paper. He's so strong, isn't he? He could have probably spread your legs apart with a single finger and--

Your face is so warm as you nuzzle against the covers, your body has moved to the same position he put you in then, and you have unknowingly slid your hand through your panties, slowly circling your clit through the thin fabric.

--Fuck you whichever way he wanted.

Pleasure shoots through your body as your imagination finally roams free, allowing you to imagine such perverted things about your friend is so gross of you, it wasn't his fault he got hard in his sleep - oh, how good he felt against you for that one moment.

A knock on the door causes your whole body to jump back into reality, your hand immediately being over your chest and your eyes opening wide.

"Fuck, what now?" you mutter under your breath as you open the door, sighing.

"Hey." It's Jiro.

You look away, avoiding his gaze, you were just about to touch yourself to the thought of him, and now he's here, how are you meant to look him in the eyes?

"Can I come in?" he asks.

Oh yeah, it's been a week. Tomorrow you have another anomolous combat class. You completely forgot to pay attention to what day it was. It's a good thing you insisted he knocked. A few months ago he would have walked right in with dead-silence and found you where you were.

You move to let him in, still in silence and still unable to look at him.

"You smell good." Is what you manage to say, good for you.

"Oh, I showered before I came here." at least he didn't find it a weird thing to say... You hope.

You try again, "How a-are you?"

"I feel good, Yuri just gave me medication," he walks through your dorm room, towering over everything, "And you?"

"That's good," your voice is a shriek, you have to control yourself better, so you take a deep breath, "I-I'm a bit tired."

Jiro sits on the edge of your bed, manspreading. He takes off his glasses and cleans them with the edge of his casual pajama shirt. You look him up and down and lick your lips involuntarily, he looks so-

He puts his glasses back on and turns to look at you, blinking, "You're staring at me again."

You jolt nervously, throwing your hands up and shaking them as if to reject what he is saying, "Again?" you ask.

"Yeah," he chuckles, "You've been doing it a lot lately."

Honesty is not the best course of action here, "You're handsome."

...fuck.

"Me?" he asks, snickering at you with his eyebrows quirking down slightly, as if he does not believe it. Maybe he doesn't.

You blink blankly, dumbass, why did you say it out loud.

"Come here." Jiro says with a friendy tone, but when you look at him to confirm where 'here' is, you see that he is pointing to his legs, gesturing for you to sit on him.

You walk stiff with your hands glued to the side of your body, and pause when you're standing right beside his thigh.

"You're being so weird," he chuckles, and his tone is still friendly as he asks you to "Sit." yet he grabs you by the arm and pulls you down as a suggestion of sorts, unforcefully. You take the lead and sit over his thighs with your legs to the side, looking straight ahead at the nice looking wall.

Jiro's face shuts in on itself as he lets out a deep chuckle, "Aren't I your favourite?" he asks, "Don't I get any special privileges?"

You can feel your walls tighten around nothing, your whole body stiff, but you do your best to turn to face him, just a bit, "L-like, hm," you cough, "Like what?"

He doesn't answer, and his expression doesn't shift. Instead, he grabs one of your legs and brings it across his thighs so that you are straddling him, forced to look him in the eyes, as he pulls you by the lower back so that your pelvises touch. Your eyes widen and dart down as you feel his hard length against your core, he makes sure you know he's hard, by grabbing your hand and putting it between your bodies as he asks, "Do you want me?" he is serious.

"I- I- hm, wh-" speaking proves difficult for you, as your walls tighten around nothing again.

"I gave you a lot of hints," he confesses, "You've been quite bad with picking up on them."

He is so, so hard. But his length feels massive against you, strained by layers of fabric, you're unsure if you could even take him, but your core beckons for him by growing wetter and wetter by the second, trying to pull him in without you having to do anything. You look down at the place where your bodies meet, and then at him, and then again, unable to form a coherent sentence that shows him just how much you want him.

When you don't answer, he makes sure you're alright, or more so, asserts that you are, "You don't seem uncomfortable, but if you are I apologize and we can pretend I-"

"I do." You manage, finally, "I do want you. Really really badly." the last part comes out more like a moan than a sentence, but it's enough to make him laugh at you again, and to kiss you.

The kiss is intense. You pull him closer by the neck and the hair, grinding down on him very slightly while his hands roughly explore your body. He breaks the kiss to instead kiss your jawline, making you moan and grind on him faster. He moves back to your lips, this time with more intent, pushing you down along the bed with ease.

Jiro looks down at you, leaning over his hands, he looks so different than he usually does; almost animalistic. His dark hair hangs over his eyes, making a faint light shining a white streak over his glasses, and darkening his gaze. You realize how big he is compared to you, caging you just by being above you, but you're never scared of him, even now, when he looks so dangerous; you look up at him with excitment, helping him slide your shirt over your head and throw it aside. You're not wearing a bra, you didn't remember he'd come over, and yet he smiles at that as if you had intent hidden behind the decision.

He lowers himself with a smooth motion to grind against your core, "Mine." he claims next to your ear, pushing his torso into yours again and kissing your neck so roughly.

"Y-Yours?" it sounds like a question, but you meant it as a statement.

Jiro's laughter shoots directly to your core as his eyes darken even more than they already did, "Of course you are," he continues kissing lines from your neck to your jaw, staying in some spots to ensure a mark is left, "Everyone knows, right?" he whispers, "Everyone knows I'm your favourite, that you're mine."

"I- yours." you nod, whimpering as he sucks a spot on your neck. You are reminded of your worries from before as he grinds into you again, Jiro can see it in your eyes, and rises to his knees to pull your pajama pants down.

"I'll prep you," he reassures, "Don't worry."

You nod again, cold from his sudden absence over the top half of your body.

Jiro scoffs at you, and you look down to see what he's reacting to. Your bare thighs are covered in slick wetness, having spread from your soaked through panties. This is the most wet you've ever been, and you're not sure if it's embarrassing or hot, but the way Jiro looks at it makes it feel hot.

He undoes his pants and boxers and discards them altogether, and oh, how your worries have been confirmed... He is huge. You don't think you can fit it in. Noticing your panic, Jiro leans down, rubbing his tip against your folds in a teasing manner, "You can take it right?"

The moan that leaves you is more akin to a scream, it feels so good and yet your walls clench and your panic grows, "You- You said you'd-"

He coos at you for a change, like you do to him when he's feeling weak, "I will, just wanted to see your reaction." which apparently makes him chuckle again.

Jiro uses his fingers to collect the wetness from your thighs, smoothing it across your clit, you shiver.

"You're so reactive," he comments, sliding his finger down from your clit and into your hole, "I wanna make you scream."

Your eyes widen at that, but you have no time to process as he sets an intense pace with his finger. He only put in a single finger, but you feel your walls clench around him, sucking him in, and he makes sure to tell you that "You're so tight," Jiro uses another finger to abuse your clit. He's so fast and rough, and you writh under his merciless pace, his finger feels so good as he fucks it in and out of you, circling your clit to make sure you are more susceptible and willing to his sudden insertion of another finger.

"N-ah! Jiro-" The sudden fullness causes you to arch your back. His finger alone was long and wide enough to fill you nearly all the way, and now with a second finger, you feel like you're burning.

"You can take it," he tells you, "It feels good, right?"

He scissors his fingers open, as far as they'd go within your tight walls, going back to fucking you on them but with this new motion added in. "Feels so good, so- ah! ah- Jiro, please please-"

He opens and closes his fingers, stretching you out so good as he continues circling your clit.

The coil in your stomach snaps at once, and you cum violently over his fingers, coating them with a thick layer of slick -- but he doesn't stop. He continues fucking his fingers into you with just as much vigour as before, if not faster, and continues circling your clit. He places his other arm along your torso, holding you down so that you stop wiggling around in your ecstasy.

"Ji-Jiro-" you moan out his name, begging, "S-stop, stop, stop."

But you can't tell if you want him to, and he doesn't. Overstimulation washes over you, your words are nonesense, your moans are desperate, and your body shakes under his hold, your first orgasm has yet to end and yet another falls over you.

Then he stops at once. Removing his fingers with a last flutter, and wipes them over your thigh.

"You're okay?" he checks, and when you nod, he flips the two of you around so that he is laying down and you are sitting on the edge of his thighs, right before his length, "If you do it like this it'll make it easier for it to fit." he says, tapping your shoulders for reassurance.

"I want to do it," You tell him, "I want you."

So you move your shaken knees to be on either side of him, and take his length in your hand, sliding it against your folds again to coat his tip with slick, he does not move, instead, he lets you take your time.

You raise your hips as high as they go, and position his tip against your enterance, sliding it in.

"You-You're so big, Jiro." you say.

"You're trying to suck me in," he says, "Your body wants this so bad."

Truly, your walls clench around his tip, trying to help you as you do your best to maneuver your hips around to take him all the way in. You moan when he bottoms out.

"S-so full," you mewl, rotating your hips. You feel so full, as if there's not enough space for him to even move, there's a slight buldge in your stomach, which you nearly faint at the sight of.

Jiro's reaction to everything is a simple, "Oh." , his eyes go wide with lust, but he gives you a second.

"Forgive me." he says when that second becomes too long.

And before you know it he has grabbed both sides of your torso and began drilling into you as if you were a fleshlight.

He moves you up and down his length, fast, faster, and even faster.

You moan out his name, scream it almost, his cock pulls all the way out and then slams into your soft-spot, again and again and again, but he doesn't seem to be thinking of your pleasure right now, no matter how great it is and how good it feels to have him fuck into you so damn fast, he is blind to everything beyond his cock and the way your walls clench around it. You're so warm, so tight, and he can't help but use you like this.

He's quiet, completely, groaning faintly, but not letting out a single sound. His eyes are trained on the part where your bodies meet, and his hands dig into your sides roughly. He looks so hot like this, unbothered, chasing his own pleasure and using you exactly as you wanted him to. Picking you up and putting you down, over and over again until you cum around him, and again not stopping even when you do.

You're so overstimulated, and yet it feels so good. All parts of your brain that know how to formulate thoughts into sentences have long left you, and all you can do is moan pathetically and beg him for something you can't even name. "Please, please, fuck- Jiro, please."

He begins swearing, quietly, under his breath, and your head falls to the side, deflated; you cry. It feels so good, too much. You're too full. He's too big. And then he bucks his hips into you, bottoming out again and releasing deep into you, he finally moans -- it's a quiet, deep rumble of a whimper, and you bend forward as you cum again, everything is leaking out of you as you cry out a "'s full, so full-"

Your thighs shake, your breath hitches, your face is wet with tears, and he detaches you from him and allows you to fall over his chest - held so gently all of a sudden that the whiplash makes you sigh peacefully.

You lay like that for a bit, still unable to speak fully, and he smooths his hands over your back. He quietly mutters that he wishes he had more stamina, but you don't think you could have taken any more. You play with his hair quietly as he holds you close against his bare chest. He's comfortable.

"Sex feels way better than I imagined." Jiro says suddenly, "I really liked it, I'd wanna do it with you again."

You blink when you realize what he is implying with his words, "imagined?" you ask anyways, raising your head slightly to judge his reaction.

Jiro pushes his glasses up his nose, "I've never done this before."

"Huh?" no way, you think, he has to be joking.

But when he doesn't shift at all, you realize he is being serious. So you press a soft, gentle kiss to the top of his head, falling back down into him. "I'd do it again, I liked it too," you say.

"Is it part of my special favourite privileges?" he jokes.

"If that's how you wanna think of it," you joke back, "then yeah."

"Good," he concludes, but then adds "can I make a medical suggestion?"

You quirk your eyebrow, rubbing circles on his chest, "Yeah?"

"You shouldn't attend tomorrow's class, I don't think you'll be able to walk all that well."

You smack his chest with an angry giggle, "Fuck you."

"Again?" he teases.

You both laugh, and then you answer his medical suggestion seriously, "If you stay in with me, I won't go."

"Hm" Jiro hums.

"Alright," you chuckle, stretching out your arm to the bedside table, "I'll turn off the alarm clock."

[liesineyes]

Been having a rough time lately, but honestly Pit Babe is a saving grace amidst all of the tension. My mind is such a mush right now I can barely think. Here's me trying to articulate my thoughts because I have nothing else to do, forgive me if I offend anyone with my opinion.

Pit Babe Episode 2 (Season 2)

I am genuinely a very big fan of miscommunication tropes because they always work from whatever angle you put them from. I like how it seems to be the most common trope for almost all of our couples in season two.

That being said, I am not a fan of how Babe talks to Charlie this season. I blame the writing to be honest, or maybe this is just the novel lover in me speaking but I tried to ignore it in the first episode, in the second though, Babe saying he might find someone new if Charlie keeps losing (I am assuming that's what he meant in literal sense since they were talking about the racing) against Willy. The teasing/joke didn't land, but since everyone is against Babe for it, I have grown protective of him. Giving him lots of grace here, because I understand their dynamic had never been healthy from the start.

The angry fucking was kinky, but Charlie being angry and Babe not knowing his boyfriend is angry fucking - I am not sure if I like that. At this point, I feel Babe is somewhat bitter that Charlie spends most of his time in the lab and that makes him act like this. (Also why did he hide about Willy from Charlie? I mean Charlie only asked once if Babe thinks Willy is better than him, did he think Charlie would fight with him over it? Also, why did Charlie not talk about the picture he saw?)

I genuinely think both of them, at one point are going to crash. Babe is going to do something stupid and we know Charlie's fate and I don't like the picture of Charlie getting hurt after a fight with Babe. 😭 They need to stop giving that kind of trauma to Babe.

I feel like some of the scenes are dragged out, because they need to fill the time but that's just me, I guess.

Alan and Jeff are cute, and again, Jeff hiding such a big thing from Alan just feels weird. What is the point of hiding at this point? Does he think Alan will worry? I mean yeah? That's it right? Maybe it is because Jeff is not used to sharing his problems but I would have liked if they shed some light over his thoughts here.

I liked Kenta turning down Tony's offer the most in this episode. That "I don't have a dad" was bang on. Kim was missed dearly but I have a feeling we are getting the roommates arc next week.

North and Sonic - I have a feeling Sonic is going to be blackmailed by whoever he is talking too but I am not sure how that would work out. I feel so bad for North though, like did you see his face?

Willy being the Alpha Tony planted to put X Hunter down makes the most sense. Because Willy has powers that helped him win the race, which resulted in Babe being like this and then issues between Babe and Charlie. Means, Babe is even more off balance, and if he is off balance, X hunter is off balance.

I never thought I would say this, but Dean is a pookie, really, that's it.

[whatever1728]

"Love, I'm not loving you any less because of it"

a/n: had this random thought about Pau and was like "YES, finally write some fluff"

summary: in which Pau tells his girlfriend who is 3 years older that he is a virgin and she was his first ever kiss and feels shy about it, but reader is extremely loving and reassures him that it doesn't matter to her, it only matters to her so she can make his first time special when he is ready

warnings: mentions of sex, making out

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Pau thought this would be like any other day. He woke up in his dormroom in La Masia, took a shower, got dressed and went to have breakfast with some of his dormmates. After eating, he went back to his room and studied for a while, training with the first team start at 10 o'clock today. So he had approximately an hour to study since it was now 8:30. He sent a 'goodmorning amor' to his girlfriend of 6 months, just like every other morning. Neither of you were huge on texting, always prefering to call one another.

You had a pretty dull morning. You woke up with a bit more energy buzzing beneath your skin because you slept well but that's about it. You had classes early today. So you got your gear and rode your motorcycle. By the time Pau's text arrived you already were on your way to the University campus. You replied to his text quickly before entering the amphitheatre.

Fortunately, since his training was early and your classes ended around 2, you both had the evening free to enjoy each other. Most likely, Pau would come over, you would cook something together -meaning you would cook while he hugged you and kissed your shoulder blades- and then you would watch a movie while you cuddled, possibly make out a bit and that's about it. Honestly, those quiet evenings were you didn't have to care about uni work and Pau didn't have to think about the pressure of the football world were always the best.

Amor 😍😍

Love I am going to be home a bit after 2,

when is training over?

I will be done before you get home guapa

I'll head back to my dorm to study for a bit,

will be at yours around 3 propably 🤗🤗

That's fine amor 💕

See u then 😘

With your date later settled, you went to the cafeteria with some of your friends before the next lecture started.

"So what plans do you all have for the evening?" Carla asked

"I'm hanging out with my boyfriend..." you replied

"Ohhh, we want details tomorrow girl, you never tell us anything spicy" Aria said

"That's 'cause nothing spicy happens, apart from make out sessions that is" you told her

"Why though? How come you haven't crossed that line?" Isa questioned

"Honestly, I don't know, whenever it gets heated he turns me down" you asked, getting concerned

Now that you actually talked aloud about it, it made you realize that you've been a bit careless, you just thought Pau was tired or just not in the mood. Now you understood something else was going on.

"Do you think I should talk to him about it?" you asked the girls

"If I were you, I would. He is younger, maybe he is just shy or something" Lia expressed, and in the end she wasn't far from the truth.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

When midday rolled around, Pau took a cab from his dorm to your place. He knew he was a bit earlier than he said, but when he saw your motorcycle parked outside he realized you were already home. He knocked on the door and waited.

You didn't take long to open it.

"Hola amorcito" you said and kissed him gently on the lips

"Hola" he replied, a bit breathless, you always took his breath away with the way you kissed him.

"I'm making carbonara" you informed him lightly

"You always nail that and I love your cooking, whatever you make"

He followed you in the kitchen like usual. You chatted for a while before the cooked ingredients needed your attention again. Then he -as expected- hugged you from behind and rested his head on your shoulder, his arms circling your waist, his palms resting on opposite hips.

You ate while talking about the latest news each of you had. Pau told you how Pique came to see them during training and how he complimented him. Pau was more than thrilled that one of his idols, a person he looked up to and who many compared him with was so awestruck by his performance.

When you finished eating, the two of you decided to watch the first episode of a new series that seemed promising. However, not long after the beginning of the episode, you started making out. He teased you about something and you decided that you had to shut him up after such a comment. It grew heated quickly. He picked you up easily, his strong arms grabbing your hips, and got you seated on his lap. With one hand, you grabbed his hair, tilting his head up to have better access to his lips and later his neck and jawline. Your other hand was teasing the line of his t-shirt, barely grazing his skin.

You started caressing his skin and went to raise his shirt up. At that moment he stopped you, again. You were left confused. You could feel his erection through his jeans and your shorts, so why did he stop you yet again. He pushed you off his lap gently.

"Pau, talk to me, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?" he replied a bit nervously, his hands twiching.

"Your hiding something from me..."

"No..."

"Yes..." you teased him with a smile, hoping to ease his nerves so he would open up

"I just... ahhh how do I even tell you?" he seemed concerned and a bit panicked.

"Love, just talk whatever it is, I won't judge you for anything, you know that" you spoke calmly

"I..I... look, I didn't tell you 'cause I'm really shy and embarrassed about it" he said, mumbling a bit.

"Guapo, tell me there is no need to feel embarrassed, it's just me your talking to"

"Okay, well yo-you were my first ever kiss..."

"Ohh love..." you said, a smile tugging at you lips, then came the realization and you grew serious

"Wait, but that means..."

"I'm still a virgin? Yes..." at that Pau covered his face with his hands, feeling exposed

"Baby, look at me..."

However, he didn't move. You gently got a hold of his chin, lifting it up so he would look at you, his eyes teared up.

"Oh my god amor shhh... come here" you hugged him tightly, sensing how streesful this was for him, even though it shouldn't have been.

"Why didn't you tell me love? It's okay, god above it's more than okay, it doesn't change the love I hold for you or how important you are to me"

"I-I don't know, I just-I thought you would leave me...I-I thought you would realize that I-I'm still just a-a kid and leave me-e because of it" he said between sobs

"No, baby look at me. If I knew I would have stopped, I didn't know it made you uncomfortable"

"Bu-but it didn't-t, I felt comfortable every time, it felt natural, I just-t never had the guts to admit it-t because I couldn't face the fear of you leaving me..."

"Amor, that will never happen... I love you, you're easily the best thing that has happened to me, it doesn't matter to me that you don't have experience, the only thing that changes is that I will try as hard as I can to make your first time special, okay?"

He nodded, unable to form words with everything he was feeling. He just buried his face in the crook of your neck for a couple of minutes, while you stroked his hair. A couple of minutes after he managed to calm down. He looked up at you, sea green eyes wide, blue and green always dancing in those irises of his.

"I am ready though..." he said quietly.

"Not today love, today you had a lot to deal with and your mind was a turbulent sea. I'm going to do this the right way, come pick you up from your dorm with my car and we will go to a nice restaurant by the sea, then go for a walk and watch the sunset and if it feels right we will end up back here, okay??"

"I-okay..."he said with blush painting his cheeks.

"Te adoro, carino" you replied and kissed his nose. You got a blanket for the two of you and cuddled up to him, while you rewound the episode. 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

a/n: I’ll post part 2 after I reread it

[karmacharmeleon18]

I think it's good to call out the gratuitous amount of SA in this series. Obviously I love these books, I wouldn't be here if I didn't, but there really is far too much SA in them for it to not be criticised. Obviously SA is something that can happen in a story and it's not inherently bad for a writer to include it especially if it is portrayed as a traumatic and evil thing, which for the most part it is. But there's just.... Too much of it. I always had issue with the "I was seven" thing bc it's one random scene that tells us that Drake was in fact NOT the only person to rape Andrew, and it was so unnecessary?? Being raped by one person is traumatic enough, him being raped before at an even younger age added NOTHING to the story other than shock value, especially seeing as it's NEVER mentioned again and Drake is portrayed as the biggest villain of Andrew's past, we don't even know who that other person was. And quite honestly Jean being an SA survivor is unnecessary too, because all the stuff he endured at the nest was already traumatic enough and even without rape he suffered more than any other raven (eg waterboarding). That being said I think the way Nora has handled Jean's SA so far has been okay, not perfect but I don't have major issues personally, but you're absolutely right that the gratuitous amount of SA in these books certainly attracts a certain type of fan. I've seen so many people theorising that characters who haven't canonically been raped actually have and we just don't know about it. Obviously that Thea anon, I've seen people theorising about Neil, and about Jeremy (obviously Jeremy has his own issues with sex, but it's a bit more nuanced than full on rape, I saw people theorising Bryson raped him 🥴). Like, it's enough guys, we don't need every character in this series to be a rape survivor, it's more than enough that BOTH main romances include a rape survivor

Couldn't have said it better 🙌🏾

Jeremy having a history of CSA is actually my biggest FEAR - not a theory or hc tho, just a straight up fear - because I know how much Nora is obsessed with it... and I hate that a fear like this is actually a concrete possibility in this series 😭😭 sometimes I wonder why, why did I have to like a series that inflicts so much emotional damage on me? 🥲

Shock value is honestly the best way to explain how Nora generally handles rape (in the extra content as well). She just sees it as a character trait that makes a character more interesting and it's disturbing at this point

(Especially her obsession with CSA, specifically repeated CSA... what Andrew went through because of the Spears is BAD ENOUGH NORA GODDAMMIT)

One of my biggest thrills for this new series was to see how Nora had matured as a writer and I have to say... not much? Not only writing-style wise (which I actually appreciate, she's consistent and that's good considering the new books are a direct continuation of the old ones) but also in the way she sees these very important, terrible real life issues as just something to use to make her characters interesting...

Rape is not simply something her characters go through.

It's something they need to endure, otherwise she doesn't think they're worth writing about.

(And maybe that's why Thea is such a non-character... she was just in an abusive cult, after all)

That's my biggest issue with her as a writer.

She uses rape not because she wants to portray a character's healing journey, but because rape is needed for them to be her main characters at all. Without it, they wouldn't be interesting enough for her to write about (which she has admitted to in the past)

I hoped we would see a different, more self-aware and respectful side of Nora

But "shock value" and "torture porn" are still the best way to describe her books. Which is why I never recommend them to anyone

I too think the way she handled Jean's history is overall ok. But I have some major issues, namely Grayson and Zane showing up again (Grayson in particular). That was absolutely unnecessary imo and goes back to the gratuitous amounts of sa/mentions of sa 😕

Nora uses rape/the threat of it/mentions of it to continuously torture her characters on page and after a certain point it becomes just exhausting to read

(Drake, Proust, Grayson...)

We get it, Nora. I promise we get it. No need to keep tormenting your characters and us with it.

At this point it's less about a character's healing journey and more about a character's continuous suffering. It does feel like she has a fetish for it :/

[moriitis]

I've been reading your Toby headcanons lately and I absolutely LOVE them! I really enjoy the way you write and portray the characters, especially Toby. I was wondering, though—

How do you imagine Toby interacting with a witch reader? I'm thinking of the kind of witches from the 15th to 17th centuries—the ones associated with devil's marks, sabbats or covens, and those darker legends like smearing the blood of unbaptized babies on their backs or broomsticks to fly, and so on.

(Sorry for my English, it's not my first language and I'm kind of bad at it)

Toby Rogers x Witch!Reader. HCs.

I love this ask so much because one of my oc's is a witch from the 18th century and Toby's just fucking hilarious.

At first he would scoff at the idea.

Doesn't believe in that kinda shit.

Though he is 100% a believer in ghosts and all shit superstitious. Why wouldn't he be? He sees Lyra all the fucking time, that's gotta mean something right?

Though if you were to tell him, expect him to scoff in your face, making comments like -

"So, what, you got a stick shoved up your ass or something?"

When you mention 'witch', he just assumes you mean moon water or some shit. Those weird tiktok witches he sees all the time.

Though he does secretly own a deck of tarot cards.

Just, he didn't expect rituals. Or maybe he did, honestly, he doesn't even know what the fuck is going on anymore. His life has been a mess since the accident and he's seen some fucked up shit, some fucked up people, he wasn't going to question your 'abilities.'

Though, sadly, a small part of him somewhat hopes you could.. I don't know, bring back the dead, reverse damage, make him forget things.

And as much as he loves you, he can't help but use and abuse these powers you possess.

Because it makes him feel something he can't pin point. Not pride or a sense of belonging, just something that actually makes him feel alive.

Like everything almost makes sense for a second?

Admittedly, he's pretty bitter toward you for a moment. Bitter because of what you can do, jealously because he wants to be able to do something like this.

What is this? He actually doesn't know because half of him expects you to just conjure some shit up in thin air.

And expect him to ask for some dumb ass shit, like you have the power to do it or something.

He's all on it though when you mention needing blood.

Shit, you want blood? He'll get you fucking vials of the shit.

Though, he'll hesitate to ask why.

Maybe because deep down he has a fear you'll do something to him.

That you would hurt him.

And frankly, a part of him wants to kill you before you can do it to him first.

The mentions of broomsticks piques his curiosity though.

Broomsticks?

Really? Now you were just messing.

And now he just doesn't believe anything you're saying.

That is until you literally show him your broomstick.

And even then, he'll cautious glance between you and the broomstick.

As much as he wants to trust you, to trust this, he can't.

What do you mean this kind of shit is actually possible?

It doesn't make sense.

And he spirals.

He spirals into a fit of rage, an anger.

This was all your fault. Fucking witch, stupid hag.

God, why are witches so beautiful?

"It was y-yy.. you- you killed her, you killed Lyra."

He'd throw fingers, trying to push his grief and guilt onto someone else.

You could do this all along?

How were you supposed to know? You had met him after the accident?

It wasn't good enough and Toby's pissed.

He can't put it into words but he knows that he just can't look at you.

Because now nothing is making sense and he feels like everything is against him.

This shit just isn't real.

This kinda of shit just doesn't happen.

[gudfornuthin]

The Baker and the Ballerina

Chapter eight

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader (au)

Summary: it’s time for Frank and Y/N’s first official “non-date”.

Word count: 2.2k

Series warnings: slow burn, cliché tropes, mentions of PTSD, mentions of abusive relationships, (eventual) smut, violence

A/N: I watched Thunderbolts* the other day and I haven't felt this way about a Marvel project in a long time. It truly was incredible. And now I feel like writing for Bob, alongside still writing this story too. If you're maybe interested in that, please let me know. Thank you for reading and feedback is appreciated :)

"It's nice that you're putting yourself out there and getting back on the dating scene."

"It's not a date."

"So you keep saying."

Y/N and Farah are in the former woman's bedroom, going through the countless outfits in her closet. She's stressing about the plans she made with Frank, even though the man has told her time and time again that it's just a casual thing and they don't need to put too much pressure on it. And yet here she is feeling crushed by the weight of it all.

Farah lounges on the bed, watching her friend panicking. "I thought you said you didn't care about him in that way."

"I don't," Y/N replies, not certain by her own words.

"Oh okay," Farah waves her hand in the air. "So the way you're acting right now is totally normal for someone who has no feelings for the guy they're not going on a date with."

Y/N turns around to face her friend, holding a long skirt and oddly shaped sweater in front of her body.

Farah grimaces. "No."

The items of clothing are thrown on the bed as she turns back around and continues looking. Farah rolls her eyes and gets up, moving around Y/N to find an outfit for her.

"Where are you guys going anyways?" she asks, as Y/N sits down on the edge of the bed.

"Nowhere, he's just coming by the studio and then we'll probably order some takeout."

Farah's eyes widen. "Wow, surrounded by all that mould and greasy food, I don't know how you'll keep your hands off each other."

"We agreed on keeping it casual," Y/N argues. "And if he's gonna start doing work on the studio then we may as well start as soon as possible."

"Fine. Kill two birds with one stone or whatever," Farah mumbles.

The two fall into a comfortable silence, the only sound coming from the rattling of hangers as clothes are moved from one side of the closet to the other.

"So, I bumped into a couple of our old college friends," Farah says, still sifting through outfits. "They told me Jonah's moved into a new place. Not too far away from here."

Y/N picks at a loose string on the bedding. "So?"

Farah huffs, glancing back at her. "So? You feel comfortable knowing your ex is that close by? After everything he did?"

Y/N stands up and moves over to the closet, grabbing a simple button up shirt and flare jeans. No point overthinking it. She walks into the bathroom and starts getting changed.

"I honestly couldn't care less. There's no point worrying about where he is or what he's doing. I've moved on," she comes out of the bathroom, now in her new outfit, "So should he."

Farah nods in approval, at her words and clothing. "Let's hope he has."

- - -

It's evening, and Frank is making his way over to the studio with Chinese food. He'd messaged Y/N beforehand asking what she'd like, and after several minutes of back and forth arguing over who was going to pay for it, he won. Now standing by the front door, hands full, he knocks with his elbow as best as he can.

Shuffling can be heard inside and what seems to be the woman muttering along to herself. Frank can't help but smile, already excited to spend some time with her in a much more personal setting.

The door opens and he's met by a slightly flustered looking Y/N.

"Hi, sorry about that," she says, moving out the way so Frank can enter the hallway. "wanted the place to look somewhat presentable for you."

"I'm sure it looks fine," he replies. "And I promise it'll look amazing once I'm finished with it."

She smiles at him, and he does so back. Standing toe to toe, their eyes are locked as if impossible to look away. Y/N isn't sure if it's okay to go in for a hug. Maybe a handshake? But that's so formal, and they're not quite there yet on such close proximity with a hug. She's already overthinking something that isn't supposed to be a big deal. It was different when she had brief conversations with Frank or going over to his place of work. Now it's spending time with him. In the evening time. Just the two of them.

The silence carries on for slightly too long, so she finally decides to break it, pointing to the takeout bags. "Uh, you bought-"

Frank looks down at them, nodding. "Yeah, just what you asked for. Where do you want to-"

"We can just have it in the studio," she says. "And then you can look at the work that needs doing. Hope you don't mind eating on the floor."

Frank shrugs, following her up the stairs. "S'how I spent most of my twenties."

- - -

After a less than formal banquet of Chinese takeout boxes spread across the floor shared between the pair, Frank spends a good half an hour scouring the studio area, making sure the work that had been done was up to standard and anything else that needed finishing he could accomplish himself.

"They may be a bunch of assholes, but they know how to do a good job," Frank says, checking the floorboards and skirting.

Y/N nods throwing all the empty containers in the bin. "You think you'll be able to finish the rest?"

"Easy as pie," Frank replies. He looks over at her. "Though it's gonna cost you at least ten to twelve 'non-dates'."

She smiles. "I think I can handle that."

Y/N can feel the evening coming to an end, as the food has been well eaten and they can't do any work until they've bought the right stuff for it. Yet she doesn't want it to. She wants that excuse to spend more time with Frank. Maybe get to know him as more than just the attractive baker across the street, who moonlights as a handyman.

"Champagne!" she yells out, startling Frank.

He looks at her confused. "Champagne?"

Y/N quickly rushes downstairs, leaving Frank dumbfounded in the middle of the room. Only a few seconds later she rushes back in, a bottle in hand and some plastic cups.

"My aunt got me this as a studio warming gift," she says, handing the bottle to Frank. "Haven't had the chance to open it, but maybe now's the perfect time."

They settle back down on the floor across from each other. Frank pops the cork with ease, pouring the liquid into the cups and taking one from Y/N. They clink them together and take a sip.

"So," she says. "I don't wanna sound like I'm stereotyping, but you don't look like the type to own a bakery."

Frank huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, you're not the first to say that."

"You always wanted to be a baker?"

"Not exactly," there's a brief pause. "I was in the marines for a while."

Frank is unsure if he wants to get into this part of his past. Reliving it through dreams is one thing, but voluntarily opening up about it all with someone is completely different. He's not used to being so vulnerable, but with her, as she stares into his eyes without judgement and only pure wonder. It feels almost impossible not to be.

"I didn't hate it," Frank continues. "kept me in shape, taught how to defend myself, met some amazing people along the way."

Y/N stays silent, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought. She scoots closer to him on the floor, knees almost touching.

"But you can't make friends in a place like that without the possibility of losing some of them," he looks down at his cup, swirling the bubbling liquid inside. "Sleeping is damn near impossible when all you can think about is how you're alive. And they're not."

He feels a soft touch rest atop his hand, as he looks up at her. She's smiling at him, but not in a patronising, 'I feel sorry for you', kind of way. She's smiling in a way that lets him know that this isn't something to hide from her in shame. She wants to listen, as long as he's willing to share.

Her fingers curl around his hand as she squeezes. "And baking?"

Frank shrugs. "I went to therapy. They told me to pick up a hobby to distract my mind from all those years fighting. I remember making pizza with my Ma growing up," he smiles thinking about those memories. "She'd always let me mix the dough. I'd make a mess every time."

Frank squeezes her hand back, the heaviness in his chest feeling lighter. "She was never mad about it though. She said the more mess you make, the more effort you've put into making it perfect. That was my happy place." He finishes off the rest of his drink. "Having my own bakery means I can relive those moments over and over again."

Their hands are fully intertwined now, knees touching and faces far too close for two people who are currently not on a date. Yet neither of them seem to notice, or mind.

"I bet she's real proud of Bakehouse 31 then?" Y/N asks.

Frank clears his throat. "I'd like to think so. But she, uh, passed away before I opened it."

Y/N moves her hand to rest on his arm. "Shit, l'm so sorry-"

He waves her words off before she can say anything else. "S'fine. It doesn't bother me too much now. Her memory lives on through the bakery."

Y/N wants to ask more about the topic but knows not to press him about it. "And your dad?"

Frank scoffs. "Yeah, my old man isn't afraid to tell me what he thinks of the job."

"How so?" her hand runs up and down his arm, hoping to provide some comfort.

"Ashamed, angry, confused. Just some of the feelings he isn't shy of sharing with me," Frank says in his usual gruff tone. "You go from being a soldier covered in dirt and blood, to a baker covered in flour. Any dad would be ashamed of that happening to their son."

Y/N frowns, saddened at how Frank puts himself down. "He thinks it makes you less of a man?"

"He knows it does."

"Bullshit," she says, eyes wide and furious. "being a marine, going through all that hell, to leave it behind and build a new life for yourself? After years of pain and trauma, you were able to make something that you take pride in, and others love it. That makes you more of a man than most guys out there. Especially your dad."

Frank is stunned, the fire in her eyes burning through his skull. He can tell she means every word. And he couldn't ask for more. He also finally notices how close they sit from each other, feeling her deep breaths on his lips. She notices as well, clearing her throat and moving back slightly.

"That, uh, means a lot. Thank you," he says, trying to ignore the fast beating in his chest. "But what about you? Ballet always been in the cards?"

"Well, I wanted to be a pet psychologist," Frank can't help but laugh in confusion at her words. "But once I realised that doesn't mean you can telepathically talk to animals, I picked up ballet."

"And you wanna share that gift with others?"

She shrugs, crossing her legs and hugging them to her chest. "Like you said, you find that happy place, sometimes you don't want to leave it."

- - -

After a couple more hours and the champagne bottle nearly empty, the pair decide to call it a night. While Y/N is sad their time together is up for now, she's glad to have agreed to it. Now knowing more about the mysterious baker, and happy that he's opened up to her.

They make their way down the stairs and towards the front door. She goes to open it but Frank stops her, hand resting on the door, slightly above her head.

"I'm serious about those ten to twelve 'non-dates'," he says in jest.

Y/N smiles up at him. "I don't doubt that."

They stand in front of each other for a beat, unsure of how to end the interaction. A sudden burst of boldness overtakes Y/N, as she moves forward and wraps her arms around Frank's shoulders. He's shocked for a moment, but quickly recovers, hugging her back and holding her tight around her waist.

"See you tomorrow?"

"I'm counting on it, sweetheart."

They bid a final goodnight and Frank leaves. Y/N watches him leave, the grin never leaving her face. She closes the door and leans against it. She is truly, fucked.

- - -

Taglist: @nialhero-blog @luvrgirlsworld @britt217 @solstararis @legit9thlunaticwarrior

[nazskoll-xxx]

i didn't expect this post to spiral so much honestly, ill try to answer to everything ive missed while i was baked and hammered lmfao.

As i said earlier, Mike is definitely my second favorite character, he's just so much, he's kind, understanding and such a good kid and what has happened to him is just another level of cruelty.

Butch using his own child as some sort of fighting dog is beyond evil, and using his yearning for love against him was even worse.

Henry IS jealous of Mike, to an insane degree, he's jealous of all the losers, he has (canonically) cried at the realization that Bill was doing so much better than him, before hurting him.

He's hurt and confused and so young, he has been taught that violence is what could make him feel better.

It's deeply saddening on both ends because clearly this child doesn't know how to handle emotions and since he's only rewarded for violence that's how he approaches difficulties.

Mike got the worst of it, especially because he's everything Henry has always dreamed of being.

But still, he's understanding, he doesn't blame him for his behavior, he doesn't believe he should be punished for it, and William knows that too.

Not being punished doesn't mean you can ignore it, it means you need a different approach, you need to tell the kid he doesn't have just option A, but option B too.

His racism is something I've never ignored, even while writing, because it's not only a big part of his character and a big part of how he works, but important to the story.

His violence is something that isn't excused or thought of as right, especially by me, but i put the fault on Butch, rather than him, in this particular case.

He's the one to be blamed because he molded and shaped him to be his little racist soldier that would do anything for him.

A nice example for this scenario is fighting dogs, taught to be cruel, violent and aggressive, but I can't blame the dog for such behavior, as it was molded into them. He doesn't know any better and it was the adults responsibility to teach him, he can't teach himself things he doesn't know.

In the end, Henry is guilty of violence, that is undeniable, but in my opinion, he's not responsible for it, he should've been helped and corrected, which means he should've faced the consequences his actions, it's a natural part of learning.

It was a nice discussion, hope you had a good time talking!

EXTREMELY unpopular opinion:

I do not hold Henry Bowers accountable for his actions and I don't understand people that do, or that blame him for his behavior and say he deserved a punishment for it.

He was 12 years old, a literal child.

Henry was reactive and with severe mental health issues, pennywise genuinely made him schizophrenic at twelve, he was in 5th grade for fucks sake.

He was trained to act a certain way, talk a certain way, feel a certain way, and the only way he knew how to express himself was with violence, he didn't use violence with the intent of 'hurting' but with the intent of communicating, whether angry, sad, scared, frustrated, it's pretty clear he was fueled by fear half the times.

He doesn't understand his actions and doesn't comprehend they're wrong because he's never been taught they are wrong.

Beating him, humiliating him or punishing him would not help, period. Henry did not have an ego problem, he does not need to get his image damaged further, because he already thinks lowly of himself, you just can't help an abused child by hurting him further.

He shouldn't be punished anyways because it just wasn't his fault, how can you hold that kind of child accountable for what he did, the same way you'd hold accountable an adult?

How can you look at me and tell me that a fifth grader than was sent back TWICE because he sucked so bad at school, doesn't know how affection feels like and is still scared of the dark, is somewhat mentally intelligent enough to understand that what he was doing was wrong?

I don't particularly know why I'm so strong about this, but I've been there, I've been the troubled child in that sense, a lot of rage and sadness because you simply don't know what's going on and don't realize what people around you are doing to you.

[engagedtobefree]

I haven’t done a life update in a while, even though there’s been many times over the course of these past several months where I’ve wanted to take to my keyboard and type away. I just haven’t had the time. Things have been a bit all over the place; sometimes in bad ways, sometimes in good ways, mostly in neutral. I have been weaving in and out of stress, hope, anxiety, peace, despondency, and vivacity like a constant thread stitching through life. It’s been a bit nerve-wracking, but I’m doing the best I can.

I’ve been having a lot of financial struggles as this year has progressed, and I’ve finally resigned myself to getting a work-from-home part-time job. I hope to update my resume this week and start sending it out. I’ve been using apps on my phone to make some side cash here and there, but with all the hours I put in and little payoff, my time is better suited elsewhere. I also want to work on some passive income stuff, but that will have to come after I have another job with steady income. I also have some things I’ve been meaning to sell for forever, and I should put those up since it’s the holiday season now. I don’t really ever buy myself anything, and I didn’t even want to purchase the few items I needed for my Halloween costume (luckily I already owned a few things), but I figured life is too short to just put everything towards bills. I also couldn’t afford the vacation I just went on. I can barely afford my groceries. I’ve been using Amazon gift cards from surveys to buy things I need on there. My only monthly allowances are my two book subscriptions and a yoga subscription, which only come out to about $54 a month. I’ve cut back so much on groceries that cutting back even more means either eating more unhealthily, skipping meals, or eating much smaller portions. I’ve resigned myself to start going to food pantries to get a few things. It won’t be a huge help, but if I can knock even $10 off my grocery list every week, that will be something. I was supposed to go to one today, but mistakenly thought they were open until 11:30 when they were only open until 11. I woke up around 9 and got out of bed around 9:25, so I had plenty of time, but I completely forgot about it until 10:30, so I will just go next week. I would be fine financially if I didn’t have my car payment, but I needed a new car last year and I went with the cheapest I could find that was brand new. I’m pretty sure one of my tires might need replacing because the light keeps coming on despite me filling them, which is frustrating. If I taught more yoga classes, that would help too, but I’m not ready to go back to that just yet since my own personal practice has suffered a lot this past year. 

I don’t even know where to start with everything else. I guess I’ll start with Scott. He’s come over to hang out a few times, which is fine. I like being friends. The only problem is, I can tell he still wants more. He always replies to my Snapchat stories (usually with compliments), reaches out maybe every other Friday or so asking if I’m free, then makes sure to compliment me some more once he’s in my presence. He hasn’t tried anything and he’s been respectful, but I think he has hope that he’s going to wear down my resolve and that something will happen between us. It won’t. I made it very clear last year about only wanting a friendship, and that hasn’t changed. Once I make up my mind, that’s it. That’s all there is. It takes me a very long time to make big decisions like the one I made with Scott, so by the time I make it, I am very sure of my answer. I left no room for guessing or doubt. There was one night though that I am kicking myself for. Back maybe 2 or 3 months ago, Scott came over with a 4 pack he thought I’d like. He did good with the drink, I will give him credit for that, but the alcohol percentage per can was almost 12%, which I don’t think he did on purpose. I had 2 cans of those along with another drink or 2, and long story short, I blacked out, which hasn’t happened in like 8 years. I don’t drink that much now that I’m older, so I can’t hold my alcohol well. I resurfaced only once, and I was holding Scott’s arm and chatting away. I am a very affectionate and bubbly drunk. Sober me is not much of a people person, but drunk me just adores everyone. Back in my early 20’s, I would kiss my friends, usually my female ones, all the time. It was always platonically. When I got a boyfriend during that time period, he was still okay with me kissing my girl friends, which was fine with me, as just having a boyfriend would have been enough. Even if I have just one person to give affection to, I’m good. And I am still completely loyal, no matter how far gone I get. That is something that is simply integral in who I am as a person. Obviously now that I’m 33 I’m not acting exactly how I was when I was in my early 20s, but I will still be chatty and affectionate, even if it’s just a light arm touch or something. I am so mad at myself for grabbing Scott’s arm like that though, because I don’t want to send mixed signals. I am not a mixed signals kind of person. I have no desire to lead someone on or to continue dealing with something I don’t want to deal with. I would hope that something like that wouldn’t spark any hope in him, but Scott has persisted despite me giving absolutely nothing else. Hell, he’s persisted despite me setting a very clear boundary for our relationship. I do not know how to handle this from here, because I already previously told him what I wanted. He hasn’t tried anything or asked for anything, so it makes me feel weird to just bring it up out of the blue without a catalyst. But because I don’t want to deal with it, I’m probably going to have to do that. I don’t know. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s frustrating, but I just don’t want to have to deal with it.

Anyway, apparently the night I blacked out, I decided to lay down on my sofa and go to sleep while Scott was still there. I woke up around 8 a.m. the next day, instantly panicked. I didn’t remember falling asleep or Scott leaving. A quick body scan told me nothing happened, and when I went downstairs, I could see Scott turned the bottom lock when he left. I don’t think Scott would do anything to me, but there’s just certain scenarios where I’ve woken up and I’m 21 again and there’s a man’s fingers going in and out of me. I don’t think about it very often, but a part of me still fears that happening again.

Scott hasn’t come over that often, only a few times since maybe the beginning of the summer. There were two nights when he came over where towards the end of him being there, I started to wish he was Chris. I know that sounds kind of weird, and I don’t have an explanation for that, but I felt a really strong desire to be in Chris’s presence and to be talking to him instead. I felt bad because that isn’t fair to Scott, but I don’t think that I would have felt that way had Scott not been hitting on me throughout the night. I don’t want anyone to hit on me except for Chris. Both times, immediately after Scott left, my brain went, “Let’s reach out to Chris!!!” and of course cuz I’m all buzzed I think it’s a great idea. Both times, I told him to have a wonderful weekend. He responded to both some time in the morning, just repeating what I said back to me but with the words changed to fit me instead. However, the second time, he prefaced it with “Ur so beautiful”. That took me by surprise, and I had to stop to process that before reading the rest of his message. He’s called me beautiful several times before, but I guess I wasn’t expecting it, especially since when I went back to look at the pic I sent him (thankfully, I saved it lol), I definitely looked a bit inebriated😑. For whatever reason, when he responds to a selfie of mine, I imagine being in his shoes, opening the picture, seeing what he sees. Even when it’s not selfies and even when it’s my Snap story and not anything I sent directly to him, I wonder what thoughts run through his mind, how he processes everything, what he’d have to say. I’ve never done any of that before, and I don’t know why I’m doing it now. I was a bit frustrated with myself both times for reaching out though. I had decided not to reach out to Chris until I figure out exactly what has been going on, but drunk me had to go and ruin that. It’s not really a big deal, but I thought creating some space would be helpful or beneficial in a way.

My next appointment with Chris is on November 18th, just over 1 week away. I’ve heard from him a few times recently. He reached out to wish me a happy birthday last month, and he responded to my Halloween pics by telling me I look awesome. For well over a month now, I’ve been feeling a certain shift in the air regarding Chris. I don’t know what it is yet; I only know that it’s happening. I also feel that Chris and I will be showing up to my appointment with very different intentions. I don’t know what his are, but I know that mine will be the intention of getting answers. I am not a confrontational or accusatory type of person, so it won’t be anything dramatic, but I do plan to ask questions. It will be more inquisitive than anything else. I have been going over in my mind for some time now how I want to phrase my questions, but I’m still unsure of what I plan to go with. At this point, I am thinking it depends on what sort of opening I have at my appointment, like the context of the conversation. Obviously, I won’t know what that is until I’m actually there. I am hoping to ask him about what’s going on, if he’s leading me on or not, what his intentions are. I also hope to get some answers about the girlfriend scenario, more specifically about when they broke up and if it was before or after he gave me his number and started flirting with me. The second question I anticipate to be a bit more difficult to get in. I said before that Chris doesn’t owe me anything, and he doesn’t, but if he’s been deceitful or at the very least purposely misleading at any point in time, then I do think I deserve honesty about that. He doesn’t have to give it to me, but that does not change the fact that I am deserving of it. I do not know what comes after this appointment. The only thing I can foresee is that this needs to be done, whether I like it or not. 

That brings me around to his girlfriend, or well, ex-girlfriend. I was, for many months, leaving the situation alone. I was hurt, yes, but I saw no immediate way for me to get any answers, so I carried on with my life and put my focus on other things. Of course, my mind still wandered around to Chris all the time, but then I’d reel my attention back in, telling myself there’s no reason to think about someone who is possibly not even single and that there’s also no reason to worry because I can’t change anything and I can’t get any answers yet. That has changed as my appointment has started to loom in the not-too-far-off-distance. So at the beginning of last month, I decided to check her Pinterest account since it’s the only regularly active social media account I could find on her, and to my surprise, she was posting quite often. None of it really gave me any clues though. A majority of it has been crafting and sewing stuff. There was a little craft piano thing she had pinned, but after mulling it over a bit, I decided that wasn’t enough to go off of. For maybe two weeks straight, I was checking a few times a week. About three weeks ago, I started to teeter back, reeling my anxiety back in, resigning myself to simply waiting until my appointment to get any sort of answer. About another week or so passed before I decided to check one last time. My stomach dropped when I saw a day prior, she posted to her “Love” board. That feeling immediately subsided as I clicked because something in me just knew it wasn’t going to be what it seemed. She pinned a quote about grieving the end of a relationship, about always remembering them and remembering what they gave you, but then moving forward by giving yourself love. This was all the confirmation I needed, the confirmation I was looking for, the one that was to turn the tides in a more favorable direction. I paused, processed what I had just read, then waited for the relief to wash over me. It never came.

Instead, what formed was a large knot in my chest. I felt so sorry for her. Immediately, I began to think of my 23 year old self, heartbroken because she believed she just lost the love of her life, that she’d think of him forever, that she was permanently ruined, that she’d mourn his loss until her dying day, that there was nothing and no one better than him and what they had. We were looking at apartments and planning to move in together. I thought we were going to get married one day. The break-up gutted me. I stopped counting how many nights in a row I cried myself to sleep after 2 months passed without a single night of reprieve. I didn’t even really feel remotely better whatsoever until after 6 months had passed since the break-up. When he saw me doing good, he came back around saying he missed me and wanted to try again. I saw him twice before he did a complete 180 and dropped me again. It put me right back where I started. I didn’t get over that relationship ending until about a year and half to two years later, and it took me about three for me to really see the truth of what that relationship was. I realized that he did us both a favor by ending it, that while I cared about him deeply it wasn’t truly love, that he wasn’t a person I really wanted a future with and it wouldn’t have worked between us, and that the right person wouldn’t leave me during a period of my life when I needed them the most. I felt so sorry for her because I know what it feels like and what she’s going through, and even if it isn’t exactly the same scenario and even if she doesn’t come out of it in the same way I did, I do understand in some capacity and I know how much it hurts. I also know it gets better. I went through a similar heartbreak with Scott, even though we were never in a relationship, and coming out the other end of that was also a really good thing. I am so glad things ended. That doesn’t change how difficult those times were though. It sucks when you’re going through it and you don’t see any light at the end of the deep, dark tunnel someone else has forced you down. I couldn’t feel relief at seeing that photo because there was no room for anything else except empathy. I thought it was what I wanted to see, but turns out it wasn’t.

It took me about two days after seeing that picture to realize that Chris was most likely the one who ended the relationship. That made me wonder if maybe I haven’t actually been a second choice. I’ve never faulted Chris for being in a relationship because that would be stupid and unfair, and my mind never even traveled in that direction anyway; my issue has always been if he initiated things with me before he was single and if he was still in a relationship now. Out of the many devastations that came from that knowledge, one has been that I was a second choice, a back-up plan, a safety net to fall back on when the first, preferable option didn’t work out. But what if none of that were true? I mean, obviously, I entered the scene later. What if the original choice couldn’t easily be undone and it needed time to be let go of? It never even occurred to me that Chris would think his original choice wasn’t the right choice. I have only been viewing myself as a possible outlier here, something to be eyed but never bought, a thing to be messed with and not a person to be considerate of. Another thing that crossed my mind is: what if Chris made the right choice in starting this off too early? I started thinking about which was the preferable option: Chris giving me his number while he was still taken or Chris letting me walk out that day without flirting or giving me his number. My reflexive response was to say the latter, but then I stopped to really think about it. What if it had gotten to the point of me asking for his number and he rejected me? Would I have left there mortified? Would I have started going to a different dental office after that? Or what if neither one of us attempted anything? Would I have resolved to go for it the next time or have decided he simply wasn’t interested? Of course, there is that 3rd option, where he could have ended his relationship before my appointment even rolled around. I also started to think about what has been going on on Chris’s end. What drew him to me? How did he know I was interested in the first place? Has anything I’ve experienced happened on his end too? Previously, I immediately assumed there’s no way, that all those weird things I can’t explain were only happening on my end. But what if they weren’t? What if I haven’t actually been alone in this? What if this has all been reciprocal? My thoughts are suddenly shifting in all of these new directions, and I can feel this sort of opening in my chest that wasn’t there before. I guess I never really thought about any of this previously. There had to be something that stood out to Chris beyond him simply thinking I’m pretty. These are all questions for a future day though, assuming all goes well at my next appointment.

I’m not sure when, but for at least over a month now, I’ve been mulling over my past appointments: things that happened, conversations we had, stuff I felt, Chris himself. The result of that has been creating a positive shift within me. It’s like there’s always this tug of war within me between fear and trust, and now the trust side is winning. I do still have things I need to work through and fears about relationships, but for the most part, I have shifted out of that anxiety and into the mindset of staying present with only what is here now. I still have my moments, and I plan to write about all of that soon hopefully, probably on my side blog, which I’ve been neglecting the past several months. There’s a few topics I want to write about on there because they’re so deeply personal and vulnerable, so I’d rather they not be public for anyone to comment on. Not that my long, rambling personal posts are creating any discourse up on the interwebs, but I’d like to completely erase the possibility of that happening, cuz ya know, people 🙄. Anyway, back to the trust thing. The shift started happening many weeks ago, but I do think seeing the picture his ex posted bumped that process up a bit more too. It didn’t have an immediate effect, but I can definitely feel it helped shift me along a bit further than I was. I still want to ask Chris those questions because I want to hear things from him. That’s only fair. Plus, I don’t think I can put any of that stuff behind me until I do confirm things from him and get some more clarity. I think possibly that I simply wasn’t ready before, but now I am. I am tired of always avoiding truths and my intuition just because of stupid messages from other people and society. People are always so caught up in their own ego, needing other people to believe what they believe, live how they live, decide how they decide, think how they think. I’ve gotten to a place where I’m so sick and tired of it and don’t care anymore. I don’t want to live like those people who are only ever in their heads, who don’t believe in the spiritual side of life, who have limited beliefs and mindsets about what is real and possible. I don’t care if anything I say comes off as crazy, delusional, or impossible. I really, truly, do not care anymore. They can stay mad about it. No one has to believe me or believe in me, because I already do. If they’re that upset about my truths, beliefs, or decisions that literally have nothing to do with them, then they’re not focusing enough on themselves and their own life. I don’t want to be like those people and I’m under no obligation to please them, and I’m tired of trying to. 

I am ready for change and I am going to pursue it. I’ve been starting to jump back into astrology, and am just learning about how Pluto leaving Capricorn is ending a difficult 15 years for all of those with their sun or ascendant in cardinal signs (both apply to me). There’s been a lot of hard lessons and upheavals, which have demanded resilience and transformation, but now it’s time to enter a new chapter of expansion, innovation, and liberation. I can feel all of that. My ADHD meds are working great, so I think that’s also helping. I have so much to tackle still, but I’ve slowly been chipping away at getting my apartment clean and organized, meditating daily (sometimes several times a day), getting back into exercising and yoga and moving more, making more time for hobbies, and slowly improving my sleep (the Digital Detox app has been helping me stay off my phone at night). My meds aren’t foolproof, so I still have days that are more difficult than others, but overall, I’d say I’m in a pretty decent place. I’m also stepping out of perfectionism a bit more, shifting my mindset into following the belief that it’s better to do something imperfectly than not at all. I’m very excited to continue down this road I’m on.

I’ve been shifting my thoughts in other ways too lately. Recently, I’ve been starting to change the way I view my physical appearance. It’s more so at the beginning stages, but it’s something at least. I know I’m not conventionally attractive. While when I was younger, there was a period of time where I thought I was ugly, I no longer think that. I know I’m pretty, but I know I’m pretty in an average sort of way. There’s been a handful of times throughout my life where people had something mean to say about my appearance, but those have been greatly outnumbered by the really nice things people have said to me in regards to how I look. At times, especially when I was much younger, I considered all the different surgeries I might get: breast implants, nose job, lip lift. As time went on, I decided against them, and while I still struggle sometimes with accepting myself, I no longer want to pursue going under the knife. I might be open to it once I’m an old lady, but by then I might not even care at all lol. I don’t get hit on that often, though I also don’t really go anywhere to get hit on, and if I do notice someone interested in me, I act like I don’t notice. When I was at my friend’s Halloween party, a younger guy came up to me and started flirting with me while I was standing off to the side by myself (I was mingling too, just had some moments where I wasn’t lol). He jokingly told me he knew I was standing there with my axe to look threatening to keep all the fellas away. I thought, “Hell yeah, this dude gets it”. I wasn’t purposely doing that, but I enjoyed the idea that I could look threatening, even though I know I don’t look that way at all lol. We shared a few laughs and after I didn’t reciprocate any of his flirting, he wandered off. It made me realize I probably would get hit on more often if I went out more, but I don’t want to get hit on so I will not start going out more often any time soon lol.

Recently, Youtube randomly recommended a video to me about the downside of veneers. I never really knew what exactly veneers were since I never cared to look into it. I was horrified to learn that this is a common thing people are doing, where they’re getting their perfectly healthy, normal teeth filed down to put fake, porcelain teeth over top. People thinking their teeth were so unattractive that they needed to get rid of them altogether blew my mind. As someone who always gets told they have “perfect” teeth, I myself am not attracted to the same. I mean, not that I want someone with a bad mouth, but some crooked teeth will get me looking, in a good way. I do tend to sometimes look at people’s mouths when they’re talking, because I just think teeth are cute. I like seeing all the different teeth out there. I do this with everyone, so it’s not me doing it because I find them attractive or am checking them out in some capacity; I simply like the way teeth look. I’m happy my mom got me braces and I don’t mind how my teeth look, but even if she hadn’t done that for me, I can't picture myself ever doing something like getting veneers. Another thing I found out is that people get their irises dyed or get fake lens implants to change their eye color. I thought that was even more insane than the veneer thing. Looking through images, I saw a lot of people getting it done were people of color, and they were usually opting for light blue or green eyes. The green, if not too light, looked okay sometimes, but the blue looked really weird. The rest of their features are darker, so the blue didn’t look right at all. On any of them. My mind immediately went to, “What is wrong with brown eyes??? Or hazel????” I have always been complimented on my eyes and tbh, I do think they’re my best feature. In the light, they are incredibly blue. I’ll never forget when I was working at Wendys as a teen, an older gentleman walked up to order and when he looked at me he said, “You have the bluest damn eyes I’ve ever seen”. The eye color I think is the nicest though? Brown. Yet, there are people getting rid of their brown eyes, giving themselves all sorts of issues like glaucoma just so they can feel more attractive. Any eye color can be attractive to someone. There’s no one-size-fits-all.

Finally the last thing - that I saw most recently - was regarding lips. I’ve always liked my bottom lip, but have always been incredibly more scrutinizing of my top one. I have a pretty pronounced cupid’s bow, so the top points of my lip are more pointed, like mountain peaks. I’ve never liked it. I don’t like how they look when I talk, especially. I’ve never been a huge fan of wearing red lipstick because more than any other color, even darker shades like black, I feel like it becomes more pronounced. I think my lip shape looks fine on other people, like Taylor Swift for example, but I’ve never liked it on me. I’ve always wished for softer, more rounded lips, like the ones all the makeup trends are trying (and failing, imo) to recreate, and the ones that get touted as beautiful in the media (see Julia Roberts and Angelina Jolie - in regards to shape, not size). So then I’m on Reddit, scrolling through some random sub (I don’t even remember what it was, I somehow got from the Wicked movie to Ariana Grande posts, so I think it was some sort of celebrity sub, which is super random cuz I don’t usually care about celebrities), and imagine my surprise when I see a comment with someone saying how they find strong cupids bows attractive. I was even more surprised by all the upvotes and people commenting back in agreement. It has never occurred to me in my entire life that someone would find my lip shape attractive. Never. Then I go to Google, and apparently my lip shape is found attractive by so many people, viewed as “classic” and “romantic”. There’s even a surgery people get to make their cupid's bow more pronounced, and it’s pretty popular. I was completely dumbstruck. A feature I have disliked my entire life people are going to plastic surgeons to recreate. All these features I have that people are paying money to get, ruining their bodies and changing themselves when there’s literally nothing wrong with them. It blows my mind. I had to wear lipstick for my Lisa Frankenstein costume, and it was the first time I put red lipstick on and actually felt excited about it. That was probably also partially due to my excitement about dressing up as Lisa, but I know part of it was because of this too.

It’s also very strange to me how people judge others, like using that on-a-scale-from-one-to-ten thing. Ever since I was a teen, I can remember not liking how people do that, mostly because I heard men utilizing it more than women, but also for other reasons too. First off, when is anyone ever a “10”? I feel like it just sets people up for failure. Also, judging people based solely on appearances is such a shitty thing to do and is so incredibly harmful. Truly. On the same day as I was on that other Reddit post, I ended up in that one group where women rate famous women’s appearances (I forget the name of the group, but there’s also a men’s equivalent where they also rate famous women - it also might be where I saw the Ariana pic), and someone rated Princess Diana a 10 based on more than just her looks, and a few people kept coming at them for it. I don’t get it. Apparently - and I’ve heard this many times - when people are rating themselves, they tend to rate themselves higher than how others perceive them. On my best days, I’d say I’m like a 6 at most, so not really sure where that places me in the reality of things. I just think it’s overall such a terrible thing we do to each other, to judge and point out what flaws aren’t making us look our “best”. Like, what are other people supposed to do about it?? They can’t help what features they were born with. This is why people turn to plastic surgery so often now. Humanity can be so very disappointing.

Anyway, moving on. Another exciting thing that I found out in September is that I qualify for Italian dual citizenship as a person of Italian descent! It’s called jure sanguinis (sometimes also spelled as jus, or even iure, probably because there’s no j in Italian - though the word comes from Latin). There’s a ton of criteria that has to be met and Italy just made a major new ruling that unfortunately disqualifies a ton of people. I know I qualify through my great-grandmother (GGM), but I am waiting to find out if I qualify through my great-grandfather (GGF). It’s easier and less expensive to go through a male ancestor than a female one, unfortunately. This is because prior to 1948, Italy only recognized Italian descent as being passed down through males, so the Italian courts can still reject applications based on the fact that a female ancestor gave birth to your next-of-kin if it was prior to that date. I mean, is a law really abolished if you’re still upholding it in some way, shape, or form? I’d think not, but what do I know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  I’d also need to hire an Italian lawyer to handle my case if I went through my GGM, which is why it’s more expensive. So even after acquiring the extra paperwork, taking the extra steps needed, hiring a lawyer, and paying extra money, you can still be rejected. Gotta love sexism. This is going to be a long, grueling road ahead either way. I’m most likely going to need to get documents amended since they were just putting any old thing on documents back in the day, and this is regardless of whoever I go through. 

Prior to August of 1992, Italy did not allow dual citizenship, so if Italians wanted to become US citizens, they had to give up their Italian citizenship. Italy allows descendants of those Italian immigrants to reclaim their citizenship, but there’s a lot of criteria to meet. So the main criteria is that your Italian-born ancestor didn’t naturalize (become a US citizen) before your next-of-kin was born, or that they didn’t naturalize at all. If your Italian-born ancestor came over as a minor (under 21 according to Italy prior to March 1975) and their parent naturalized, that naturalization automatically passed down to your Italian-born ancestor. This is what’s known as “the minor issue”. It can be a means for being rejected, but not necessarily. However, the new addition Italy just made on the minor issue is that if your next-of-kin was a minor when your Italian-born ancestor naturalized, it is automatically a disqualification. For example, my GGM came over here as a minor with her father (my GGGF). If he naturalized while she was still a minor, then she automatically naturalized too. However, my application for citizenship can still be accepted despite this because the Italian government usually views it as involuntary naturalization and is therefore not disqualifying. My grandfather (GF) is my next-of-kin, so if both of my great-grandparents (GGP) naturalized while he was a minor, then I would automatically be disqualified to gain citizenship through jure sanguinis. However, if only one naturalized while he was a minor, I can still go through my other GGP. So if your Italian-born ancestry had to involuntarily naturalize as a minor, you might still be good, but if your Italian-born ancestor voluntarily naturalized while your next-of-kin was a minor, you’re not good. Idk why they made that addition to the minor issue, but it’s fucked a lot of people over. It was really sad to see people posting about how they spent so much money and put in so much work over the course of many long years just for them to now be disqualified. I feel so sorry for them. 

My Italian ancestry is on my dad’s side, so my line of descent is: my great-grandparents  -> my grandfather -> my father -> me. (I know I have some Italian through my grandmother on my dad’s side as well based off of my DNA tests, but it would be through her father and  we don’t know who he was, so I can’t go that route.) I do not know yet if my GGF naturalized or not. I submitted a request to the US records branch to do a record search and also reached out to local branches in the places he lived. The US branch hasn’t responded back yet, and it usually takes on average about 3 months to a year to get a response from them. I submitted my request at the end of September. The Philadelphia branch had no record of him naturalizing there, but I have to check with them again in December. The local branch in NYC just closed and all of their records are being sent to the Philly branch, but they aren’t expected to be ready until some time in December. Sometimes it’s possible to find naturalization records online for free, but I couldn’t find any for my GGF. That doesn’t mean they don’t exist though, cuz not every single record has been uploaded. I did find my GGM’s naturalization card online, showing that my GGM naturalized in 1944. My GF was born in 1915, so he was an adult when she naturalized, meaning that I can qualify through her, though it’s not a definite approval because of the 1948 thing. Another issue I have is that my GGM went back to NYC to naturalize and used her old address from 20-something years prior. I’m guessing she didn’t know she could have gone through Philly, like maybe she thought she had to do it through NYC since that’s where she first immigrated to. That’s why I’m also thinking my GGF probably did the same thing, hence why there was no record of him naturalizing in Philly. I don’t blame them for that because there was most definitely a language barrier and also our government is not the best with making things very clear even for their native English-speaking citizens, but I do foresee that as being a pain in the ass to work around. Also, if my GGF never naturalized, I would have to get his death certificate amended because it says on there he was a US citizen. There’s a ton of other info I could write about this, a bunch of other hurdles to navigate, and a few more potential disqualifiers (they don’t apply to me), but it would take me the rest of the day to write about all of it, so I’ll end that bit there.

One thing I saw a few times in a group I’m in is people feeling bad about going through this process, like they’re destroying what their ancestors worked hard for. I was completely baffled and shocked to see that sentiment, and when I read the responses, I wasn’t the only one. Firstly, our ancestors didn’t have a choice. They had to choose one or the other: either they became a citizen of the country they moved to or they stayed a citizen of their birth country. It was one or the other. Secondly, how do we know they wouldn’t have kept both if they had the option? Seeing as it took my GGM almost 40 years after she came here to naturalize, I think it’s safe to speculate that it wasn’t the easiest decision to make. In modern times, we now have the privilege of having both citizenships. It’s really confusing to me to see how people think sometimes. Like, the place where my mind went was how cool it is that decisions my GGP made for themselves over a century ago to chart their own path forward is also affecting my own path in the present. That is so fucking cool to think about. My GGP both came over in 1905, and the requirement back then was that they had to live here for 5 years before they qualified for naturalization. Them deciding to wait much longer has the potential to greatly benefit me in the present. This would literally be life-changing. It has been a lifelong dream of mine to live in Europe, but I never wanted to just give up and leave my life here to do so. This is a wonderful alternative route. Being of Italian descent (doesn’t matter if you qualify for jure sanguinis or not), if I did move there, the wait time to become an Italian citizen is a lot less than those who are not of Italian descent: only 3 years vs 10. If I went through jure sanguinis and moved there, I could improve upon the 3 year wait time too, since the application process would be much quicker. I believe it would only take around 3 months to get approved compared to the insane wait times for US residents, though it could still be delayed over there too for whatever reason. It is generally much quicker though. For US residents, I’ve seen people say they waited anywhere from like 1-4 years for approval after submitting their docs, depending on the Italian-American consulate they had to apply to. The Philly branch, which is the one I’d apply through, from what I’ve read, is one of the faster ones. The lengthy wait times are fucking a lot of people over right now with the new ruling for the minor issue. People who submitted their applications years ago and were waiting on approval are now being denied based on the new ruling, which is really messed up. I think it should only apply to people who submitted after the new ruling took effect.

It’s already been worthwhile to simply trace my GGP history. They both came over here two months apart and were from the same region, but they never met until they were in NYC. One day, I decided to see where exactly their towns were located. They were both from the Foggia region, and when I looked up their towns, I noticed they seemed very close to one another. Turns out, they were only a 2 hour walk away from one another, which today is about an 11-12 minute car ride. How crazy is that??? I also found their names on the Ellis Island website. My GGF came over here alone at the age of 20 to stay with a cousin, and my GGM came over here with her father when she was 14 (still have to confirm my GGGF didn’t naturalize while she was still a minor, though I’m guessing she didn’t since I found her naturalization card). I also found a picture of them that someone uploaded on Ancestry. I can tell who my GGF is in the photo, but he’s standing next to two women, so I’m unsure who is my GGM. Oh, and also, their names are Leonardo and Angelina 🙂

My original plan for doing this was to some day, maybe 10 years or so into the future, have a second home. Obviously, I am incapable of affording that now, but this will take many years to complete, so it’s not something I need to figure out right away. I could live, work, and study anywhere in the EU, which is made up of 27 out of the 44 European countries, but if I lived in Italy I’d get many perks, including housing benefits, free healthcare, and tax breaks. There’s a ridiculous amount of benefits just from being a citizen of the EU, plus holding dual-citizenship with the US along with it as well. There’s virtually no downsides. My only thing now is that I wish I had known about this sooner so that I could pursue it sooner. America is not a great country. I know it is a “privilege” to live here, but that privilege only equates to convenience. With all of the businesses here and shipping hubs and attractions and close proximity to cities or places with a lot to offer and whatever else along those lines, we have nothing else aside from convenience. And yet, we have somehow made ourselves the center of the world, forcing our self-importance on everyone else, even though we remain way behind so many other first-world countries in areas like education, work, housing, human rights, benefits, healthcare, the economy. All of that is now about to get even worse with Mr. Fascist about to take office. People who already have their dual-citizenship can choose to go and leave this hellhole for the next 4+ years, and I envy them. I do find it a bit ironic that in order to leave my fascist-leaning government behind, I’d like to go live in the country where fascism originated. It’s almost humorous. Then at the same time I’m like, would it be cowardly to run, to leave everyone else who can’t escape to fend for themselves? Maybe, at least for the time being, I’m meant to stay here. If all goes well and smoothly, on the short end of things, I can be approved for my Italian citizenship within 2 years.

Ever since I was a kid, I have never liked it here. That was before I even knew and understood issues we have here and statistics about where we stand compared to other, more progressive countries. Something inside of me has always rejected the country I was born into. My mom used to get mad cuz she would always say it’s a “privilege” to live here, and as a teen, when I gained more knowledge, I had comebacks for telling her how it wasn’t. When I signed up to vote at 18, I registered as unaffiliated because I never wanted to be restricted with my vote. While I’ve never voted Republican and most likely never will, I at least am not limited to only voting Democrat. I did not vote for Biden because just as I am with Trump, I could not stomach him, but I would have brought myself to vote for him if I wasn’t confident he was going to win. I live in a blue state, so not that it matters much anyway. I had to vote for Kamala despite knowing she too was not the best (though I think she would’ve done even better than Biden), and I am so sick of it now seemingly always coming down to Bad Candidate and Worse Candidate. While Kamala didn’t have much of a plan, she could at least be influenced to do good, just like how it was with Biden. She could have at least been worked with. Trump can and will actively do more harm. It’s highly possible that this term is going to be even worse than his first. And at least the past 4 years with Biden there wasn’t any fucking nuclear bomb threats from North Korea or having to brace myself as I get another ping on my phone in regards to whatever asinine thing Trump said or did the day before or overnight while half of America was sleeping. And every time I have to hear about that man saying whatever is a witch hunt against him, my blood boils. It’s estimated that between 70-90% of victims of witchcraft were (and still are) women, and many of them were either poor, healers of some kind, unmarried or didn’t have children, rejected religious norms, or in some way were non-conforming to societal standards. Women were also more likely to be accused because they were viewed as “weaker” in different ways. This rich, privileged man making accusations of witch hunts against him is so aggravating, especially because he always does it whenever he’s being called out for something he literally said or did. And when Putin and Netanyahu, two politicians currently bombing the shit out of innocent civilians, are celebrating the election of someone, how does that not raise any red flags in some people??? I truly do not get it. “B-b-but the economy!” The economy started going under while Trump was still President, it just continued to worsen under Biden. Yes, someone needs to do something about it, but it’s wishful thinking Trump will get it done. Trump doesn’t care about the people; he cares about himself. He doesn’t even give a shit about his own family. This is a man who while on national tv said he’d date his own daughter if she wasn’t his daughter, all while she was sitting right next to him. He even implied he’d have sex with her. Link 1 and link 2 to clips of those. He has zero morals. While I want to believe he has the capacity for good, odds are he will do more harm than anything positive. The only good thing I can think of from his first presidency is when he got rid of the penalty for people who didn’t have health insurance. When I try to come up with something else, my mind literally draws a blank. I have never liked Trump. I remember being around 9 or 10 and my mom started watching the Apprentice, and I was shocked by how incredibly mean he was. I remember specifically asking my mom why he was so mean. I cannot recall her response, but that memory has stuck out to me because I was horrified by how anyone could be so cruel to other people. The speech Jimmy Kimmel gave about Trump winning was great. He says things more eloquently than I can.

Anyway, I had a few more things I was going to write about, but I think I’m going to put them on the back burner for now. This is already a really long post, and I anticipate another one coming up after my appointment with Chris.

[epickiya722]

Seeing someone say they hope Gege gets hit by a car and others going "good" because he's sick was just... look, hate or love the story but it's extreme to wish harm on some guy over FICTION.

You know, one reason why some people stop creating is because people do shit like that.

Imagine being someone who writes a fic and someone comments how they wish harm on you. OVER WORDS. THAT THEY DIDN'T HAVE TO READ.

Ridiculous, isn't it?