#those old models were BAD

[starbornsoulrider]

serious shoutout to everyone who's had to put up with the complete bullshit bigotry that the community's been spewing out bc of this update, i'm sorry these assholes who are too up and arms about their old crusty victoria's secret supermodel characters are so insensitive

[mymp3]

I had a lot of the same issues with reload as I see you’re having, and I do think most of it is from the new team’s inexperience. They’re trying to recreate a game that made very purposeful decisions in its mechanics and cutscenes without understanding why those decisions were made, which really undermines the experience.

If the team had more experience under their belt, or had full creative decision on an entirely new game, I feel like they could make a really good game! Reload is not that though.

I completely agree anon. It's a shame too, because it's not an awful game, just a different one. I wish they hadn't tried to recreate FES as a test project on a shoestring budget when it was literally the benchmark for our modern Persona games. It changed so much, it's iconic, a cult classic.

I really wish they wouldn't have lied about not planning EpiAi beforehand so they could cover the fact that the game doesn't look all too good. I wish they hadn't charged $200 for an "Aigis Edition" and not include the dlc. I wish they hadn't sanitized and scrubbed the game about death and grieving of all things that were slightly upsetting. That's what ended up happening though, and as you said, they're trying to recreate a game that was very purposeful in its creation.

Reload was a cheap quick test that they knew would work because it has a wonderful story and dedicated fans. As long as they make it a fun popcorn game, they don't have to put in those purposeful additions or think about it much at all.

[wachi-delectrico]

Tbh i don't know what to think of AI art anymore. I don't find any utility, personally, in centring the discussion on law and copyright; there are far more interesting things to discuss on the topic beyond its use as a replacement for human artists/workforce by the upper class

[skippitydippity]

Omgomgomg I have enough for a CAR!!!!!!! There's a blue 2015 Mazda3 i SV literally One Thousand Miles Away From Me but I'll be in that area for a few days next week........................................ It's like 1.5k over budget so I shouldn't even be thinking about it but like. FUCK

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[drchucktingle]

this was a comment on one of my post from a recent live event. it was photos of joyful queer buckaroos celebrating together and proving love is real through creation, community, and a trot of love. most important I AM LITERALLY IN PHOTO AS A REAL FLESH AND BLOOD HUMAN

it got me thinking about how DEEP AND VICIOUS the irony poisoning of these early internet communities goes. the way buds like this cannot fathom someone just being a sincere person unrelated to their OWN old days of cynical posting. it is fascinating, and i will admit, sad too

despite a DECADE of work, countless live events, 350 tinglers written well before large language models were a thing, there are still people who cannot imagine someone like me could exist. it is a strange place to be. not just part of me, but my entire EXISTENCE is often gatekept

it is easy to say ‘well chuck your art IS strange’ but honestly i think it is more than that. magical realism is common. there are stories about dinosaurs and bigfeet and unicorns. this scoundrel reaction is about two unspoken things: my art is neurodivergent, and my art is queer

heres the thing: I WILL BE FINE. what concerns me is not an issue of MYSELF, it is a concern for the other young outsider buckaroos who see comments like this one and think ‘is that what they will say if i express MY unique way? will i be dehumanized like this at every turn?'

i will be honest, i cannot say that WONT happen, but i CAN say this: for as deep as this irony poisoning goes, it is slowly dying. the way i was treated at the start of my career is LIGHTYEARS DIFFERENT from the way i am treated now. there is a massive shift towards sincerity

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY. to young artists trotting up, the things that i am harassed over and doubted for and made fun of for are NOT tangental to what has made me successful, THEY ARE LITERALLY THE SAME THINGS THAT HAVE MADE ME SUCCESSFUL. YES I AM STRANGE, WHAT OF IT?

the things that you tuck away for fear of a review that says ‘there is a PROBLEM with this art because it has always been done another way’ THOSE ARE YOUR SUPERPOWERS. the gatekeepers want you to tuck those parts of yourself away because THEY TUCKED AWAY THOSE PART OF THEMSELVES

never forget that your unique way is PURE UNFILTERED 100 PERCENT ROCKET FUEL. it will stick out (maybe, if you are lucky, scoundrels will even say that someone like you could never actually be real), but sticking out isnt so bad when you are waving the flag of love.

in fact, when youre waving the flag of love, sticking out is pretty dang cool. what are flags for, after all? LOVE IS REAL BUCKAROOS. thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed this long post then please consider preordering BURY YOUR GAYS.

LETS TROT

[futuristictheoristcowboy]

I don't know why but I'm always so anxious to sit next to someone, especially kids

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Google’s enshittification memos

[Note, 9 October 2023: Google disputes the veracity of this claim, but has declined to provide the exhibits and testimony to support its claims. Read more about this here.]

When I think about how the old, good internet turned into the enshitternet, I imagine a series of small compromises, each seemingly reasonable at the time, each contributing to a cultural norm of making good things worse, and worse, and worse.

Think about Unity President Marc Whitten's nonpology for his company's disastrous rug-pull, in which they declared that everyone who had paid good money to use their tool to make a game would have to keep paying, every time someone downloaded that game:

The most fundamental thing that we’re trying to do is we’re building a sustainable business for Unity. And for us, that means that we do need to have a model that includes some sort of balancing change, including shared success.

https://www.wired.com/story/unity-walks-back-policies-lost-trust/

"Shared success" is code for, "If you use our tool to make money, we should make money too." This is bullshit. It's like saying, "We just want to find a way to share the success of the painters who use our brushes, so every time you sell a painting, we want to tax that sale." Or "Every time you sell a house, the company that made the hammer gets to wet its beak."

And note that they're not talking about shared risk here – no one at Unity is saying, "If you try to make a game with our tools and you lose a million bucks, we're on the hook for ten percent of your losses." This isn't partnership, it's extortion.

How did a company like Unity – which became a market leader by making a tool that understood the needs of game developers and filled them – turn into a protection racket? One bad decision at a time. One rationalization and then another. Slowly, and then all at once.

When I think about this enshittification curve, I often think of Google, a company that had its users' backs for years, which created a genuinely innovative search engine that worked so well it seemed like *magic, a company whose employees often had their pick of jobs, but chose the "don't be evil" gig because that mattered to them.

People make fun of that "don't be evil" motto, but if your key employees took the gig because they didn't want to be evil, and then you ask them to be evil, they might just quit. Hell, they might make a stink on the way out the door, too:

https://theintercept.com/2018/09/13/google-china-search-engine-employee-resigns/

Google is a company whose founders started out by publishing a scientific paper describing their search methodology, in which they said, "Oh, and by the way, ads will inevitably turn your search engine into a pile of shit, so we're gonna stay the fuck away from them":

http://infolab.stanford.edu/pub/papers/google.pdf

Those same founders retained a controlling interest in the company after it went IPO, explaining to investors that they were going to run the business without having their elbows jostled by shortsighted Wall Street assholes, so they could keep it from turning into a pile of shit:

https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/

And yet, it's turned into a pile of shit. Google search is so bad you might as well ask Jeeves. The company's big plan to fix it? Replace links to webpages with florid paragraphs of chatbot nonsense filled with a supremely confident lies:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

How did the company get this bad? In part, this is the "curse of bigness." The company can't grow by attracting new users. When you have 90%+ of the market, there are no new customers to sign up. Hypothetically, they could grow by going into new lines of business, but Google is incapable of making a successful product in-house and also kills most of the products it buys from other, more innovative companies:

https://killedbygoogle.com/

Theoretically, the company could pursue new lines of business in-house, and indeed, the current leaders of companies like Amazon, Microsoft and Apple are all execs who figured out how to get the whole company to do something new, and were elevated to the CEO's office, making each one a billionaire and sealing their place in history.

It is for this very reason that any exec at a large firm who tries to make a business-wide improvement gets immediately and repeatedly knifed by all their colleagues, who correctly reason that if someone else becomes CEO, then they won't become CEO. Machiavelli was an optimist:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

With no growth from new customers, and no growth from new businesses, "growth" has to come from squeezing workers (say, laying off 12,000 engineers after a stock buyback that would have paid their salaries for the next 27 years), or business customers (say, by colluding with Facebook to rig the ad market with the Jedi Blue conspiracy), or end-users.

Now, in theory, we might never know exactly what led to the enshittification of Google. In theory, all of compromises, debates and plots could be lost to history. But tech is not an oral culture, it's a written one, and techies write everything down and nothing is ever truly deleted.

Time and again, Big Tech tells on itself. Think of FTX's main conspirators all hanging out in a group chat called "Wirefraud." Amazon naming its program targeting weak, small publishers the "Gazelle Project" ("approach these small publishers the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle”). Amazon documenting the fact that users were unknowingly signing up for Prime and getting pissed; then figuring out how to reduce accidental signups, then deciding not to do it because it liked the money too much. Think of Zuck emailing his CFO in the middle of the night to defend his outsized offer to buy Instagram on the basis that users like Insta better and Facebook couldn't compete with them on quality.

It's like every Big Tech schemer has a folder on their desktop called "Mens Rea" filled with files like "Copy_of_Premeditated_Murder.docx":

https://doctorow.medium.com/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself-f7f0eb6d215a?sk=351f8a54ab8e02d7340620e5eec5024d

Right now, Google's on trial for its sins against antitrust law. It's a hard case to make. To secure a win, the prosecutors at the DoJ Antitrust Division are going to have to prove what was going on in Google execs' minds when the took the actions that led to the company's dominance. They're going to have to show that the company deliberately undertook to harm its users and customers.

Of course, it helps that Google put it all in writing.

Last week, there was a huge kerfuffile over the DoJ's practice of posting its exhibits from the trial to a website each night. This is a totally normal thing to do – a practice that dates back to the Microsoft antitrust trial. But Google pitched a tantrum over this and said that the docs the DoJ were posting would be turned into "clickbait." Which is another way of saying, "the public would find these documents very interesting, and they would be damning to us and our case":

https://www.bigtechontrial.com/p/secrecy-is-systemic

After initially deferring to Google, Judge Amit Mehta finally gave the Justice Department the greenlight to post the document. It's up. It's wild:

https://www.justice.gov/d9/2023-09/416692.pdf

The document is described as "notes for a course on communication" that Google VP for Finance Michael Roszak prepared. Roszak says he can't remember whether he ever gave the presentation, but insists that the remit for the course required him to tell students "things I didn't believe," and that's why the document is "full of hyperbole and exaggeration."

OK.

But here's what the document says: "search advertising is one of the world's greatest business models ever created…illicit businesses (cigarettes or drugs) could rival these economics…[W]e can mostly ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers, ad formats and sales."

It goes on to say that this might be changing, and proposes a way to balance the interests of the search and ads teams, which are at odds, with search worrying that ads are pushing them to produce "unnatural search experiences to chase revenue."

"Unnatural search experiences to chase revenue" is a thinly veiled euphemism for the prophetic warnings in that 1998 Pagerank paper: "The goals of the advertising business model do not always correspond to providing quality search to users." Or, more plainly, "ads will turn our search engine into a pile of shit."

And, as Roszak writes, Google is "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand." That is, the company has become so dominant and cemented its position so thoroughly as the default search engine across every platforms and system that even if it makes its search terrible to goose revenues, users won't leave. As Lily Tomlin put it on SNL: "We don't have to care, we're the phone company."

In the enshittification cycle, companies first lure in users with surpluses – like providing the best search results rather than the most profitable ones – with an eye to locking them in. In Google's case, that lock-in has multiple facets, but the big one is spending billions of dollars – enough to buy a whole Twitter, every single year – to be the default search everywhere.

Google doesn't buy its way to dominance because it has the very best search results and it wants to shield you from inferior competitors. The economically rational case for buying default position is that preventing competition is more profitable than succeeding by outperforming competitors. The best reason to buy the default everywhere is that it lets you lower quality without losing business. You can "ignore the demand side, and only focus on advertisers."

For a lot of people, the analysis stops here. "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product." Google locks in users and sells them to advertisers, who are their co-conspirators in a scheme to screw the rest of us.

But that's not right. For one thing, paying for a product doesn't mean you won't be the product. Apple charges a thousand bucks for an iPhone and then nonconsensually spies on every iOS user in order to target ads to them (and lies about it):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

John Deere charges six figures for its tractors, then runs a grift that blocks farmers from fixing their own machines, and then uses their control over repair to silence farmers who complain about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

Fair treatment from a corporation isn't a loyalty program that you earn by through sufficient spending. Companies that can sell you out, will sell you out, and then cry victim, insisting that they were only doing their fiduciary duty for their sacred shareholders. Companies are disciplined by fear of competition, regulation or – in the case of tech platforms – customers seizing the means of computation and installing ad-blockers, alternative clients, multiprotocol readers, etc:

https://doctorow.medium.com/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse-3cc01e7e4604?sk=85b3f5f7d051804521c3411711f0b554

Which is where the next stage of enshittification comes in: when the platform withdraws the surplus it had allocated to lure in – and then lock in – business customers (like advertisers) and reallocate it to the platform's shareholders.

For Google, there are several rackets that let it screw over advertisers as well as searchers (the advertisers are paying for the product, and they're also the product). Some of those rackets are well-known, like Jedi Blue, the market-rigging conspiracy that Google and Facebook colluded on:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

But thanks to the antitrust trial, we're learning about more of these. Megan Gray – ex-FTC, ex-DuckDuckGo – was in the courtroom last week when evidence was presented on Google execs' panic over a decline in "ad generating searches" and the sleazy gimmick they came up with to address it: manipulating the "semantic matching" on user queries:

https://www.wired.com/story/google-antitrust-lawsuit-search-results/

When you send a query to Google, it expands that query with terms that are similar – for example, if you search on "Weds" it might also search for "Wednesday." In the slides shown in the Google trial, we learned about another kind of semantic matching that Google performed, this one intended to turn your search results into "a twisted shopping mall you can’t escape."

Here's how that worked: when you ran a query like "children's clothing," Google secretly appended the brand name of a kids' clothing manufacturer to the query. This, in turn, triggered a ton of ads – because rival brands will have bought ads against their competitors' name (like Pepsi buying ads that are shown over queries for Coke).

Here we see surpluses being taken away from both end-users and business customers – that is, searchers and advertisers. For searchers, it doesn't matter how much you refine your query, you're still going to get crummy search results because there's an unkillable, hidden search term stuck to your query, like a piece of shit that Google keeps sticking to the sole of your shoe.

But for advertisers, this is also a scam. They're paying to be matched to users who search on a brand name, and you didn't search on that brand name. It's especially bad for the company whose name has been appended to your search, because Google has a protection racket where the company that matches your search has to pay extra in order to show up overtop of rivals who are worse matches. Both the matching company and those rivals have given Google a credit-card that Google gets to bill every time a user searches on the company's name, and Google is just running fraudulent charges through those cards.

And, of course, Google put this in writing. I mean, of course they did. As we learned from the documentary The Incredibles, supervillains can't stop themselves from monologuing, and in big, sprawling monopolists, these monologues have to transmitted electronically – and often indelibly – to far-flung co-cabalists.

As Gray points out, this is an incredibly blunt enshittification technique: "it hadn’t even occurred to me that Google just flat out deletes queries and replaces them with ones that monetize better." We don't know how long Google did this for or how frequently this bait-and-switch was deployed.

But if this is a blunt way of Google smashing its fist down on the scales that balance search quality against ad revenues, there's plenty of subtler ways the company could sneak a thumb on there. A Google exec at the trial rhapsodized about his company's "contract with the user" to deliver an "honest results policy," but given how bad Google search is these days, we're left to either believe he's lying or that Google sucks at search.

The paper trail offers a tantalizing look at how a company went from doing something that was so good it felt like a magic trick to being "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand," able to "ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers."

What's more, this is a system where everyone loses (except for Google): this isn't a grift run by Google and advertisers on users – it's a grift Google runs on everyone.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[wcters]

𝗟𝗘𝗧’𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗖𝗧

pairing: franco colapinto x fem!reader

summary: pictures of franco and a girlfriend from high school resurface which forces them to reconnect

request: “franco colapinto x reader fc (darianka) where they were highschool lovers but broke up and then someone finds old cute pics of them and they reconnect and start dating again smau please”

warnings: pda, established relationships, rumours | faceclaim is darianka sanchez, darianka on ig, i spent like 2 hours straight on this cause i was excited, hopefully you guys like it !!!!! i’m pretty proud of it 😌

f1gossip

liked by user1, user3, and 81,084 others

f1gossip photos have come out recently that picture franco colapinto and model y/n y/l/n from high school 👀

view all 122 comments

user1 i had no idea they even knew each other

user2 why are so many rumours of franco dating random people coming out 💀

↳ user3 honestly, but this one has proof

user4 do we even know if this is real?

↳ user5 they did go to the same high school. he moved to Italy when he was 14 and she was doing school there

user6 how did no know this? like some had to have known

user7 you have to admit they look good together

user8 this is lowkey iconic

unknown

unknown

hello, is this y/n?

yes. who’s this?

unknown

it’s franco. franco colapinto

oh

how are you, franco?

franco ❤️‍🩹

i’m doing good

sorry that those photos got leaked. i don’t even know where they got them

it’s fine. people were going to find out eventually

i hope it doesn’t affect your career

franco ❤️‍🩹

no it’s fine

i hope it’s not affecting you to much

nope. just more notifications than normal but nothing bad

is there a reason you texted besides that or?

franco ���️‍🩹

my pr team wants to contact you to put out statements and stuff clarifying the rumours

for sure. i’ll give you my email

franco ❤️‍🩹

it’s nice talking to you y/n

you too franco

congrats on p8 by the way ☺️

franco ❤️‍🩹

you watch me?

never stopped

i told you, i’d always support you

yourusername added to their story! francocolapinto added to their story!

chanelofficial

liked by yourusername, francolapinto, and 291,995 others

chanelofficial angèle, newly appointed house ambassador, JENNIE, margaret qualley, ananya panday, ning chang, lupita nyong'o, franco colapinto, arrive at the grand palais in paris on the occasion of the spring-summer 2025 ready-to-wear show on October 1st, as CHANEL makes its grand return in this historic place, emblematic setting of the house's shows for two decades.

view all 201 comments

user1 they look so good ❤️

user2 why was franco invited?

↳ user3 y/n probably invited him

user4 is it a coincidence that franco is invited to a show that y/n is in??

user5 did you see the way franco was looking at y/n

↳ user6 he was startstuck

user7 y/n looked so good 😘😘

yourusername

liked by francolapinto, lilamoss, and 204,926 others

yourusername spring-summer 2025

view all 127 comments

lilamoss beaty queen!!

↳ yourusername that’s all you babe 😚

user1 you looked so good ❤️

user2 <333

francolapinto ❤️☺️

↳ yourusername ☺️

user3 pretty girl

user4 stunner 🌟

user5 unreal 🔥

franco ❤️‍🩹

franco ❤️‍🩹

you did well at the show

thank you ☺️

how was it for your first show?

franco ❤️‍🩹

it was nice

lots of famous people there

yeah, that’s usually how it goes

hope you weren’t too overwhelmed

i know you’re not a big fan of being around lots of people

or you didn’t, at least

franco ❤️‍🩹

it’s gotten better over the years, had to

anyway, thank you for inviting me

it was nice seeing you

you too

i’m going to the cota, we could get dinner after the race?

if you have nothing going on

franco ❤️‍🩹

i’d like that

i’ll let you know a time soon

you got it 🫡

f1gossip

liked by user1, user4, and 93,583 others

f1gossip ex-girlfriend of franco colapinto, y/n y/l/n, seen arriving in austin for the united states grand prix

view all 147 comments

user1 i thought they said they were just friends 🤨

user2 this is such a wattpad plot

↳ user3 tumblr trope

user4 they are totally getting back together

user5 she has such good style ❤️

user6 she’s going to see a certain someoneeee

user7 cutie patootie 😚

yourusername

liked by francolapinto, user2, and 213,973 others

yourusername austin, here i come 🇺🇸

view all 199 comments

user1 franco i see you lurking 👀

gigihadid cutie 🥰

user2 is this her first grand prix?

↳ user3 no, she went to austin last year as well for chanel

lilamoss the moment

user4 last year was for chanel, this year is for franco

user5 it’d be so cute if they got back together

user6 literal high school sweethearts

f1gossip

liked by user1, user2, and 120,973 others

f1gossip franco colapinto seen with ex-girlfriend going out for dinner after the austin grand prix

view all 132 comments

user1 WHAT DOES THIS MEANNN

user2 just kiss and tell us you’re together 🙄🙄

user3 they’re definitely together

↳ user4 no cause look how close they are

user5 i saw that they kissed outside the restaurant

↳ user6 really?

↳ user5 yeah. my friend lives in austin and got a pic of it

yourusername

liked by francolapinto, lilamoss, and 217,073 others

yourusername act casuaaaallll

view all 230 comments

gigihadid 😍😍

user1 act casual about what? 🤨

user2 is that a man’s hand?

lilamoss 😉

↳ user3 what does this mean 😭

francolapinto 😊

user4 no chance for us anymore ladies 😔😔

user5 beautiful girl

user6 caption is me everytime i see someone i don’t like

francolapinto

liked by yourusername, user2, and 818,168 others

francolapinto novios de secundaria ❤️‍🩹

comments have been limited

yourusername 😚😚

user1 i knew it

user2 they’re so cute together

user3 wattpad plot type shit

lilamoss 😉😉

yourusername

liked by francolapinto, lilamoss , and 510,013 others

yourusername high school sweethearts

comments have been limited

francolapinto te amo ❤️

user1 cuties

user2 literal destiny

lilamoss too cute ☺️

user3 my girl ❤️

gigihadid meant to be together

[thebestsetter]

Oliver Aiku can have any girl he wants. Anytime he wants.

He has always been a charmer. He's used to getting all the ladies he wants, anytime he wants. It comes naturally to him, really. His looks, charm, and charisma have all led to his fame with the "female population," as he calls it.

So, when you started dating him, everybody warned you. Your mom, dad, friends, and even your annoying sibling. He has a bad reputation, they said. And it was true. He was known to appear on the news with a new sidepiece every week. From random girls to models to athletes, he can have them all. And he breaks up with them all (and leave them heartbroken, too)

That's why you weren't really surprised. Of course, you were hurt, but you kind of already expected it to happen, even if that makes you a bad girlfriend. You have been dating for only 9 months, after all. He would get bored of you eventually. Well, it was good while it lasted. You were totally okay with it. Really.

At least that was what you tried to show everybody. But you can't fool your heart.

It was clear the break-up had taken a toll on you. You really, really liked him. You really thought you could change him. Pathetic. Stupid. You were so, so stupid. Men don't change. Especially cheaters. Once a cheater, always a cheater, they say. You should have listened.

When nobody was close, you always broke down crying. Everything reminded you of him. From the silly plushie he gave you on your arcade date to his toothbrush on your sink that you, for some reason, could not get rid of to, of course, those 100 calls he gave you everyday from unknown numbers, even if you had already blocked him everywhere you could.

This was your reality for the first 2 months after the break-up. You felt discouraged to do anything besides lying on the couch all day and surviving off of noodles and ice cream. You were terrible.

But everything ends, eventually. Be it a good thing or a bad one. In this case, you were glad it ended.

After much help from your friends and family, you were starting to feel like yourself again. The world was no longer grey and sad. Life had gotten better. You had gotten better. Everything was going perfectly.

Until it wasn't. Until your ex-boyfriend showed up at your doorstep at exactly 2:41 a.m., drunk and babbling nonsense and asking - no, pleading - to be taken back.

What you didn't know was that Aiku had a completely opposite experience after your break-up.

At first, he didn't make a big deal out of it. He was actually a little relieved - what had gotten over him to have stayed so long in the same relationship? For most people, 9 months is little time. For Oliver Aiku, it was an eternity. Most of his relationships lasted less than a month. He couldn't help it. Most girls bore him. He has to break up with them.

After the initial phase of calling you and being left on voicemail lots of times, he figured you wouldn't give him another chance. And he had no reason to plead for one. He was Oliver Aiku, for God's sake! He can have any girl he wants. Anytime he wants.

He began partying again. He had stopped partying when he was in a relationship with you. And, man, did he miss it.

Kissing faceless strangers, going to bed with girls he didn't even know the name of, appearing on the news every week with a new girl.

Old Oliver Aiku was back. The one from before he met you.

This was his reality for about 2 months after your breakup. It felt like sugar rush, like being high on drugs or something (even if he never did - and would never do - any drugs). It felt good. Life without you was good.

But everything ends, eventually. Be it a good thing or a bad one. In this case, he was sad they did.

Suddenly, everything reminded him of you. Your skincare products on the sink, that he had already used to the very end for some reason and yet couldn't find anywhere that sold them (he was almost buying it off the internet), the stupid polaroid of you two on the back of his clear phone case (he swore he had thrown it away when you two broke up), a book you were reading and accidentally left it at his home (he made a mental note to give it back to you someday. Maybe even ask you if he could borrow it. He already read it twice, actually, but he just wanted reasons to see you again).

Life suddenly felt dull. He had no one waiting for him at home, no one to make him dinner, no one to cuddle with, no one to make him watch stupid rom-coms.

Those other girls were just so boring. They didn't treat him like you did. They weren't you. But he was scared to admit that he missed you more than he let on.

Life with you was supposed to be good. Until it wasn't.

Until one fateful day, he drank too much. He downed beer after beer after beer. He was more than tipsy - he was utterly intoxicated.

His feet carried him to your house almost immediately. It was as if he was on autopilot, his brain finally acknowledging what only his heart did: he missed you. And it hurt.

That's how you both find yourself in this situation.

You, on one hand, were kinda disgusted. He was drooling, clearly out of his mind, drunk as hell, and looking really sad. It almost made you feel bad fir the guy.

On the other, you were absolutely delighted. Satisfied, even. He was hurting, too, just like you did. He missed you. He was begging to be taken back. You almost couldn't stop the smirk appearing on your face.

Aiku was looking pathetic. On his knees, hugging your legs and apologizing for all he did. For everything. For cheating, for hurting you, for making you feel like shit. He wanted - no, he needed you back on his life.

He held you like you were everything, and in that moment, you really were. You have always been his everything. He just couldn't acknowledge it before. He was blinded by lust. But now he was righting his wrongs and trying to be a part of your life again. He was not going to hurt you again.

He was everything you didn't want to see anymore. He have always been what you despised in a man, you just couldn't see it before. You were blinded by love. But now, you were righting your wrongs, and you wouldn't let him back on your life again. You were not going to let him hurt you again.

You yelled at him. Called him names so bad he doesn"t even want to remember. And when he pleaded again, you closed the door.

Not even the bangs on your door would make you open it. You didn't want to see him anymore. You were officially over the man who caused you so much pain. And it felt good. Life without Oliver Aiku felt good.

Banging at your door, Aiku felt stupid. He felt sad. He felt disgusted at himself for doing what he did to you. He felt sick.

He was stupid. So, so stupid for throwing away a girl like you.

Oliver Aiku could have any girl he wants. Anytime he wants.

But he didn't want any girl at any time. He wanted you, his girl, right now.

Masterlist

[lizardho]

I think the worst day I had as a missionary is hard to pin down – for comedy bad day stories, I like to talk about my cute companion who ripped three pairs of pants in one day because his ass was so fat. Literally, two in the morning, we missed 3 appointments in the afternoon because people kept cancelling on us, and we ended up far away from home visiting “Less Actives” in the downtown area. We find a family who says we can come in once their dad get home, and we sit down to wait for the dad to get in and RIIIPPP goes the third pair of slacks this man wore that day. I hand him my suit jacket and he wraps it around his waist like a bashful adolescent who just started his period at an inconvenient time. We catch a ride home on a bus and ended up home an hour early. He cried for like 30 minutes while stitching up his pants, and I got to rest a lot more than expected that day. We ordered a 4-cheese pizza and went to bed early that night, having walked probably 5-6 miles that day knocking doors and getting turned away.

Another bad day was the day the Mexico City Temple was re-opening. It was a funny experience for me because the evening before I was contacted by the Mission President and told that an elder in our district had confessed some serious sins to him and that those sins precluded him from going to the temple. The MP told me that nobody in this elder’s ward could get time off to babysit him so he was begging one of us – I didn’t want to go to the temple, it was a crappy way to spend a P-Day in my opinion, so I told the MP I’d do it. I spent the day eating popsicles and napping with an elder who, in between Bolis and naps, would shakily and tearfully confess that no fewer than half of his companions had secret phones they used to watch porn, hire prostitutes, and buy drugs. This was bewildering to me since I had been Trying So Hard my whole mission and had always felt inadequate, and these elders who were doing better than me and more respected than me were somehow out here fucking, doing drugs, and jorkin’ it.

I was actually in a “Punishment Area” at the time because in my last area one of my life-threateningly attractive companions had gone into the homes of widows to repair their electrical wirings (he was a trained electrician prior to going on a mission.) Being alone in the home of an 80-year-old widow with failing lights was “against the rules” to the extent that me mandaron a la goma, and some handful of guys I’d been told to view as role models were out here breaking actual laws and shit. Of course, I knew in my heart of hearts that I was in this area because of the Deep Evil that Lay Within My Heart (wanting to kiss Elder Electrician on his stupid himbo lips) but my MP could not have known that, just like he didn’t know that the guys he was making Zone Leaders were getting their dicks sucked and snorting cocaine. That honestly felt outrageous to me.

I feel like the stereotypical “worst day” of a mission is the last day – they take you to the airport in a big van, all melancholy and nostalgic. We sang on our drive to the airport – elders and sisters tearfully sang or hummed hymns together. I was deadpan the whole time, it was such a relief to be going home. For me the worst part of the day was the relief – the release of pressure. The pressure to perform, to be “on,” to be at your best, is omnipresent for elders. I was the only person flying to Phoenix, so for the first time in two years I felt a release from that pressure. Nobody was scrutinizing me, I no longer felt that every thought, action, and feeling was being evaluated and judged as a sign of my true character. It was hard to realize, a the pressure let up, that I had been holding all that weight for two years without knowing when it had started. I remember getting confused in Customs and needing someone who spoke Spanish to talk to me because I kept forgetting words in English. I remember getting home and my family waiting for me and feeling like it was all finally done, finally over, I could finally breath. It didn’t feel bad, but it did feel heavy. And it definitely was not the worst day of my mission.

The actual worst day of my mission, though, was about 5 months in. At the 6-month mark I was expected to make a long trip down to an area of town near La Basilica de Guadalupe to submit my visa paperwork, and the mission office had sent me an extra $500 MX to use for transportation costs. When I withdrew the money they had sent for the month, I noticed it was higher than expected. My companion, a senior companion and district leader, had the cell phone. He was talking to another elder while he waited for me to withdraw my monthly deposit. I approached and asked if I could use the cell phone to call the mission office, as I had questions. He said “no,” and ignored me. I waited until the conversation ended and asked again, and again, angrily, he said, “No.” I said “Elder, relax, I just need to call the mission office to see why they sent me more this month than usual.” His face turned red as he realized other elders were watching the exchange occur. He handed me the phone, I called and was told the money was for transportation costs, and laughingly returned the phone to my companion. He took it, told the other elders he needed to tie his shoe but they could head on over to the District Meeting, and waited until they were out of eyesight. Once that was done, he grabbed me hard by the wrist, dragged me into a hidden corner out of earshot from others, and said, “If you ever disrespect me or my authority again I swear to God I will kill you.”

I was actually shocked. This guy had spent the last month and a half being SUPER nice to me, so I thought he was kidding and I was just confused. I laughed and said “Haha, yeah, your authority over the cell phone is sacred,” and tried to walk away but he didn’t let go of my wrist. He pulled me back and said “I will literally slit your throat if you ever talk to me like that again. As senior companion my authority over YOU is sacred, and I will not let God be mocked by you.”

I realized that he was serious. Like, actually threatening-my-life serious. I could see it in his eyes, I could feel it in the way he squeezed tighter on my wrist. In actuality, the idea seems laughable now. The guy was absolutely chickenshit. He cried if his shits were too hard, he couldn’t end a human life, but I still didn’t let myself fall asleep first for the rest of our time together. And I still hid the two knives we had in a different area while he was showering the next morning.

If I’m being honest though, even that wasn’t the worst day of my mission. That was bad, and each subsequent time he told me he was going to cut my throat for minor infractions against his God-Given Authority Over Me (like not wearing a belt for morning scripture study, or not taking the path he thought was best to get to a lesson) was a bad day. Every P-Day where he read my emails over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t telling my parents about how he was treating me, every day he told me that the ward members would never believe me over him, every day he put me down in front of other elders and they laughed in agreement, every day he was in a bad mood and took it out on me was a bad day. But the worst day was the day I told the mission president about it. I told him about the threats to my life, his temper, his physical abuse, hiss manipulation and rule-breaking, and the mission president told me “The time to tell me this was 6 months ago. The time to forgive him and focus on your own failings is now.”

I don’t think I’ve ever felt as confused or betrayed as I did then. Like, man oh man, that was a rough thing to hear, but as the day went on I kept feeling more and more confused and scared – had I misinterpreted everything? Had I miscommunicated something in telling the story? Had I not been objective enough in recounting the threats against my life? Was it true that a senior companion actually had the authority to hurt me if I went against his authority? Was I wrong the whole time? I had no idea, to be honest, but it was bewildering.

Knowing now what I wish I had known then, I would have done things differently. But in the moment, on a mission, knowing that my biggest reason for going on a mission was the hope that the Spirit of God, which hymns told me burns like fire, would burn the faggot out of my heart. I think I felt like I deserved it. Like somehow that elder knew the evil I was hiding and felt compelled by God’s power to hurt me. I think that’s what made it so hard to defend myself in the moment – I did not have that problem with other elders. The companion who told me we were gonna wrestle to settle an argument lost three consecutive matches and pouted about it for like a week. The elder who threatened to punch me for making a joke at his expense got knocked on his ass just for raising his fist. But this elder got into my head first, and that made it hard to fight against it. Instead of fighting against it, I just silently lived with actual, verifiable, diagnosed, by-the-book, DSM-5-TR Posttraumatic Stress Disorder because I thought I deserved it. It took consistent supervision of my clinical work revealing countertransference with Male LDS clients (I consistently discussed addressing shame in a client’s presentation where no shame or discomfort had been reported), an awkward conversation with @inbabylontheywept after an even more awkward dinner with a cousin who vaguely reminds me of that companion, and a bad acid trip where I had visceral flashbacks to my mission, before I was able to realize that I was living with a pain that was as abnormal as it was unnecessary.

Even once I realized it, even once I got help, it was hard. I remember telling jokes about what happened to my therapist and seeing her jaw just…drop. She said she didn’t know it had been that dangerous for me. The session ended and he sent me the PCL-5 (a good, evidence-based, highly face-valid measure for PTSD) and some other measure for dissociative symptoms and I was like “Girl, I just took this class, I know what you’re trying to measure and this ain’t it.” I reported my symptoms accurately and was fully prepped to confront her the next session. She showed me my scores and the norms used, and I was like “Oh fuck, this looks really bad on paper,” and she was like “Yeah, I can’t imagine living like this” and I just sobbed for most of that session. We ended up doing 9 months of TF-CBT and ACT (largely because I am a terrible and uncooperative patient, realistically I think I could have been done in like 5-6 months if I wasn’t so stubborn) before I was discharged from treatment successfully.

The thing that was so weird about starting therapy for PTSD was that it made things feel worse for a while. I started taking edibles a lot more. I started behaving differently around family members and Mormons. I started being outright hostile to elders I could see. It took about 3 months before I could see the missionaries and not have an actual fight-or-flight response to their presence. I think the way I had made it a far as I did without getting treatment was by repressing the thoughts, feelings, and memories that made it all hurt, and a soon as I let them just be there it was like all the confusing aching hurt came back. The first few months of therapy were just spent expanding the amount of time I could feel that hurt before turning to other means (like dissociation, cannabis, repression, etc.) so I could actually address the experiences without crashing the rest of the day. It was hard. I know I ended several sessions sweating a LOT from the exertion it took to just let the feelings happen. By 6 months, however, I could go into a church building without blacking out from panic. By 9 months I could sit in the same room as elders without sweating and shaking like a chihuahua on Adderall. 3 months after therapy and me and my supervisors noticed that my work with Mormon men had improved substantially. 6 months after therapy and I was able to begin writing anonymous stories online. Now, about two years after completing therapy, I feel like I can talk about it without needing the cloak of anonymity, and that is empowering.

Again, I am not sure why I’m typing these stories out – they’re not fun to write, I don’t love that my family can find these posts, but I guess I just like to remind myself and others that it can always get better. That mind numbing platitude, the old thought-terminating cliché that “it gets better, just power through it” doesn’t give enough credit to how much it hurts to get through it, but it does get better. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. The triggers can go away with time, great effort, significant expense, and a lot of discomfort. The world can feel safe again, the hurt can feel bearable, that nagging worry that I might have deserved this, or that I did something wrong, can eventually go away too. It’s not easy to do it, and I have an incredible respect for the patients of mine who can pull it off, but it is undeniably as doable a it is difficult. If this story resonates with anyone, if it feels close-to-home, if these experiences feel shared, just know that the relief I talked about can feel shared too. Know that it’s worth it to get the help, that you deserve the help, that you deserve to live a life that doesn’t hurt you, that you deserve to be a full person and not a living prison for the pain and memories. Know that healing yourself does not involve extending forgiveness to Them, whoever They are. That the pain you felt will not be made less important by making the pain less potent. Know that taking care of yourself now is, in a way, taking care of yourself then. And Please, with a capital P, take care of yourselves.

Thank you to my family, especially my immediate family (special shout outs to @flowerologists and @inbabylontheywept) for the support and patience with me as I dealt with this.

Thank you to my therapist, Jordin Borques, who I recommend highly to anyone seeking trauma therapy in Arizona.

Thank you to my wife, @cintailed, for being the push that got me into therapy, and for taking care of me at my worst and still being here with me.

Thanks to my mission president for being such a colossal disappointment to Christianity that my departure from the church was inevitable.

And a general thanks to the queers for being so cute and making life worth living, even on bad days.

[lewisvinga]

the designer vs. the model | charles leclerc x fem! reader

summary; fans begged and begged fashion icon and designer y/n to help charles out, luckily for him, she gave him the girlfriend effect

fc; jennie kim

warnings; ?

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs

note; requested !

masterlist !

liked by yourbestfriend, and others

yourusername: cannes film festival; the design, before & after 🎀

username: AN ICON

username: i knew she’d eat this gala up😩

yourbestfriend: my beautiful talented best friendddd😻

yourusername: hehe love u xx

username: her talent needs to be studied

username: pls style charles_leclerc he needs help

username: studying fashion to be just like y/n!

username: y/n we need your talent on the f1 grid specifically in the ferrari garage specifically charles_leclerc

username: heyyy girl, u gonna need to share your styling talents w a certain monegasque 😁

username: oh i just know she’d give charles the girlfriend effect

username: STYLE CHARLES_LECLERC

yourusername: whaaaa ö

liked by pierregasly, yourusername, and others !

charles_leclerc: new profession: photographer

username: omg y/n liked!

username: we bullied him into only wearing sweatshirts and jeans omg 😭😭

username: thats what he gets for his horrendous style…

pierregasly: imagine you as a photographer 😂

charles_leclerc: hey! i’m not too bad!

username: yourusername pls help this poor man , he has very poor fashion taste🙏

username: ok this fit isn’t too bad, plain! but not that bad!

username: yourusername mother pls help father out

yourusername: i think the people want me to style you , haha !

charles_leclerc: my style can’t be that bad, no?

yourusername: it could use some improvement…

charles_leclerc: well, i’m open for suggestions!

yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; don’t worry ladies and gentlemen, we’re gonna make sure he has a good wardrobe 😇!] [caption 2; designing n making some new pieces for his closet 😵‍💫]

charles_leclerc uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; the forced smile after i showed her some outfit ideas…] [caption 2; her real smile after i got her a latte for being patient w my poor fashion skills😁

liked by yourusername, carlossainz5, and others !

charles_leclerc: photo dump , but do you notice any new fashion improvements ? 😁

yourusername: much better than those horrendous blue and white pants …

charles_leclerc: they weren’t that bad

yourusername: cha…… they were horrid

username: wait…. he fr looks good

yourusername: he’s got a pretty face but thats just enhanced by the better fashion sense!😁

charles_leclerc: u think i’m pretty?😊

yourusername: ur my prettiest model

username: OH HELLO

username: hes 100% dating y/n bc thats an improvement from that horrid blue outfit 😭

username: muy buenos días y que vivan los hombres 😍 [very good morning and long live men]

username: his style is improving, everyone cheered!

username: the sigh of relief i just let out

carlossainz55: mate, you have everyone relieved from your new fashion improvements 🤣

charles_leclerc: and i can see why after i looked at my old outfits…

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, and others !

yourusername: the designer vs. the model 🌸

tagged; charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: where would my closet be w/o you, chérie…

yourusername: unfortunately, seen in the public

charles_leclerc: my favorite and the most prettiest designer ❤️

yourusername: you’re my favorite and the most prettiest model 💞

username: oh my goodness gracious me

username: STOPP THEYRE SO CUTE😖😖

username: she got him a good pair of glasses thank u queen y/n

username: them at the basketball game together 🥹🥹🥹🥹

username: we’re abt to get the best charles outfits thank u y/n😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏

yourbestfriend: watch your back sharl she was mine first

charles_leclerc: womp womp she’s mine now

yourusername: ladies, ladies, there’s enough of me to go around ( btw yourbestfriend come over asap i need to do another fitting on u )

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ something like sympathy

summary: winter break with a sympathetic vil schoenheit type of post: fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, good old fluff, mentions of food and eating + vil is kiiind of implied to have an ed word count: 4k

Different never meant "bad" to Vil Schoenheit.

...And besides that, he simply had no reason to care about the magicless student. You weren't like the others at Night Raven College- you didn't run in the halls or make obscene gestures behind the professor's backs, you didn't shout, you didn't interrupt, you didn't fight or scream or slouch.

You were truly nothing special at all, which is special itself at a place like that.

Vil supposes that's why he liked you.

And you were always alone. At the beginning of the semester, he'd seen you straggling along behind the other first years, looking like a lost puppy. Never quite sure of what to say or not say, what to do with your hands, but always sure that you didn't quite belong.

He recognized that look on a person.

Then, you were alone again. Vil reasoned with himself. It wouldn't have been unusual for a student of Night Raven to prefer their own company. But again, you weren't a Night Raven student. You were a stranger, and stranger you stayed.

For all the things he'd heard about you, your presence was not impressive. You were always meek. Quiet. You did not join a club, he heard. You didn't talk to your classmates. They didn't talk to you.

Vil had once quietly, very quietly, asked Epel about you. And those dreadful dark circles, he said. But Epel didn't know much, just that the other first years thought you were "weird" and thus you spent more of your time with the staff than the students.

Weird. That word left a poor taste in Vil's mouth.

Different, yes. Quiet, reserved, yes, yes. But weird?

"Why the staff?" he had asked, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing.

Epel shrugged and picked at his collar. He'd learned not to complain in front of Vil by that point. "Mostly Crowley. They do his bidding, or something,"

He shouldn't have let that bother him, but he did, anyway.

Vil watched you a little closer from then on. How you stuttered when you spoke. How you sat away from the others. How you always looked so tired and unwell and...

Stop making me feel sorry for you, he thought, as if you could hear him. Stop it.

He asked some of the other housewardens. All of them had stories, but none of them seem worried. Again, that word. Weird.

Vil corrected them each time. Different. Not weird. Different. They ignored him.

You became a mystery to him. You sat, you waited, you stood again. You ate, sometimes, but never quite enough. You looked at your paper but didn't write. It was as if you were dead to this world and reborn into your own, existing solely within yourself in the way that he could only see through the light in your eyes.

He wanted to get closer, he wanted to see that light and know what you were thinking, but he didn't know how. And he didn't want to involve Rook in this. That would only scare you away.

No. Vil Schoenheit, the most beautiful man in the world, actor, model, housewarden of Pomefiore, would have to be gentle with you.

.

"And Epel?"

He asks, serving him another helping of green beans. Epel's nose wrinkles at the smell of whatever fancy spices they'd been baked in.

"...Back to my... grandmother's," the boy says.

"Don't scowl," Vil snaps. "This is our last dinner as a dorm before break. You could at least pretend to have manners."

Epel bites back a swear, and Rook gives him an encouraging smile and a pat on the back. Vil rolls his eyes.

"And you, Rook?"

"Ah! My family is vacationing at one of our villas," he says, vague as ever. Vil doesn't bother asking for details.

"Good," he says, cutting himself another piece of fish. He doesn't eat it, though. "And the Prefect?"

The question is directed at Epel. He blinks.

"I reckon... I mean, I assume they'll be staying here,"

"Alone?"

He gives the housewarden a suspicious look. Rook's grin sharpens.

"...I guess so. No students, no staff,"

"That can hardly be safe," Vil says, finally eating. He chews, swallows, and dabs around his mouth with his napkin before speaking again. Everyone waits for him.

"How will they feed themselves? And what of the cold? Crowley does realize that they are a person, and not a cardboard cutout, yes?"

Epel shrugs. He doesn't know more than that. Rook does, but he chooses not to say anything.

"It's not like they got a lot of options," the first year says, pretending to eat his green beans while discreetly discarding of them under the table.

Vil scowls, this time. "And no one has offered to take them?"

Epel blinks. "...They don't have any friends, really,"

He shakes his head. Why is he not surprised? Would it kill the students at this school to have one shred of human decency?

"Shall I extend them an invitation on your behalf, Housewarden?" Rook says, a coy smile playing at his lips.

He's teasing, in his own infuriating way, but Vil isn't witless. Even he can be surprising.

"Yes, thank you," he says, and then returns to his meal without another word. The shocked silence and envious looks of the other students are not lost on Vil, but, this time, he doesn't scold them for staring.

.

"Leave your shoes by the door. You'll track mud," Vil says, walking inside.

You do as he says without missing a beat. It's almost adorable, how nervous you are. And it's terrifying at the same time. You act as if you haven't been shown any kindness in months.

He supposes you probably haven't.

"It's warm in here," is the first thing you say.

Not a comment about the imported marble, or the display shelf full of Vil's father's accolades, or the stained glass windows.

No. "It's warm in here", you say.

Something like sympathy twists in Vil's stomach.

"...Yes. And it's quite expensive to heat a house of this size, so, please, mind the door,"

You realize that you're standing in the doorway and promptly move inside, letting the large front door close behind you.

Your cat... thing makes a comment about how shiny everything is. Vil sighs.

"And please don't break anything. Most of the art is original and can't be replaced..." he says. "We have three meals a day, and if you're hungry between then, there's fresh fruit in the kitchen."

The little dire beast looks up at you with big, sparkly eyes, and you nod, letting him scamper in the direction of the kitchen, which he must have... smelled?

Vil watches him skid across the marble floors and crash into the wall, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"...Sorry about Grim," you say. You sound genuinely apologetic, and it makes Vil nauseous. How did anyone like you even end up at Night Raven?

"Never mind that. Are you hungry?"

You stare at him as if you hadn't heard what he said. You seem reluctant to answer.

Vil puts a hand on his hip. "We're never going to leave the foyer if you keep staring like that. Come on,"

He leads you to the kitchen, ignoring the sight of Grim digging through his pantry like a starved man.

"We don't have dinner until six, and it's past lunch, so I'll make you something light," he says, looking through the fridge. You stand behind him like you have nothing better to do.

"You can have a seat wherever you'd like. I won't charge you for it," he smiles.

You stare back. Sevens, now he's making jokes with you. What is WRONG with him?

He does get you to sit somewhere, though, which he counts as a win. Your little creature eventually joins you, sitting in your lap and probably covering you in cat hair. Vil tries not to think about it.

You wait until he's begun taking out plates and pans to speak. "You're cooking?"

"Surprised?" He smirks.

There's always something rather satisfying about subverting expectations. Of course, you didn't know him yet, and you probably assumed that he was just another spoiled-

"No, I mean, you're cooking for me?"

Vil almost drops the pan. Damn it. Must everything you say be so insufferably pitiful? With the kicked puppy look, too? Are you doing this on purpose?

He quickly turns his back to you, facing the stovetop.

"...I am. Is that alright?"

He hears some shuffling that he takes as a nod.

"Better than alright!" Grim says. He can hear you chuckling at that. The sound is warmer than the open flame.

"...Well... good," Vil says, trying to sound stern again. "I don't cut corners when it comes to healthy eating, and while you're under my roof, I expect the same. So... it'll be three home-cooked meals a day. Understood?"

Grim whispers to you, asking about dessert, and you shush him. Vil rolls his eyes.

"...And dessert. We're in agreement, then?"

You nod again, and he hums. Good. Now he won't feel ill every time you look at him.

He finishes your "snack" (which is more of a light lunch), and serves both of you. Grim immediately digs in, practically tearing apart the plate, but you don't even touch yours.

Vil doesn't care for that look. It's all... sad. "Is something wrong?"

And you hesitate to answer. For a moment, he worries he made something you can't eat. Finally:

"Aren't you going to have something?"

What are you trying to do, kill him? Vil huffs.

"I didn't think of it,"

Your hands remain on your lap. Grim is starting to pick veggies off your plate already, and Vil has to fight the urge to swat him away from your food.

He sighs. "Will you eat if I have something?"

You hesitate to answer again, and then you nod. Barely. Like you're nervous just being in the same room as him. Damn you.

Vil sits next to you and takes a modest portion from your plate. He hates himself for doing it, but he doesn't ask why, either. He just assumes you feel awkward eating in front of him.

Or maybe you think he's poisoned you. It wouldn't be unbelievable, considering what you've already been through at school.

Either way, you do finally eat, even though the food is cold now. You even give Grim something else from your plate when he begs.

Vil watches you. The way you eat, the way you smile at that terrible greedy cat of yours, the way you politely stack your plates when you finish. You should be under someone's Christmas tree, not sitting in his kitchen.

"...Can I ask you something?"

He'd been cleaning off your plates in the sink when you spoke again. Vil hates those sorts of questions- haunting memories of interviews and tabloid reporters flash across his mind.

"You may," he says, subtly correcting you.

"Where's the guy in all your pictures?"

Vil quiets. His pictures? His Magicam pictures? Why would you-

When he turns over his shoulder, you're looking at the wall. Oh. Of course.

"My... father is filming a movie. He won't be home until the end of break. You won't have to meet him... but he would like you,"

"So you're here all by yourself?"

Vil hates that question. He hates the way you say it. Why would you care? Why would you worry about him? You barely know him.

"...Well, there are the staff. The housekeepers. But I don't need them here every day, so I usually let them have paid time-off when my father isn't around,"

That sounds silly when he says it aloud, he thinks.

"You do...?" you ask. "...That's sweet."

Vil doesn't answer that. He doesn't have an answer for that.

.

He doesn't know how to approach you.

It's funny. Vil can handle paparazzi, prying interviewers, tabloid gossipers, demanding directors, egotistical designers, even Neige Leblanche... but he can't bring himself to knock on your door.

Five times, five times since you've arrived at his home, he's gone to you, up the stairs or down the hall, stood in front of your room, and did nothing.

Sometimes he can hear you inside, others not. Once, he came as soon as he got up, not even bothering to fix his hair, and threw open your door... and you were asleep.

He isn't even sure what he wants to say. Something. Anything.

"Do you want to watch something with me?"

Vil jolts. He's not easy to startle, but he'd been so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even notice you standing behind him. You're quiet.

"...Yes... I suppose I have the time," he says, as if he's done anything this week but imagine this exact moment. "Do you have something in mind?"

You bring him to the viewing room, to the cabinet of all of his and his father's movies. Apparently, you'd been exploring the house while Vil sulked in his bedroom.

"This one?" he asks, not bothering to hide the sour expression on his face as you held up your pick.

"Is it bad?"

"No," he says. Nothing he makes is bad. "It's just... well, I..." It's a Neige movie, and Vil is not in it for more than a scene. "...Never mind. We can watch it."

He sits beside you and the furball, who seems more entertained with rubbing himself all over the couch to get his scent on it (ugh), and the film's opening credits roll.

How he's going to sit through two hours of Neige Leblanche with you is beyond him.

A small, quiet, but biting thought that you might like Neige more than him makes Vil uncomfortable in his seat. He doesn't know why he would care about such a thing, but he does.

Vil watches you more than he watches the film. You don't react much, he notes. The jokes don't land with you, the songs don't make you smile, not even the scary scenes really get more than a yawn out of you. He so desperately wants to ask-

"Who is this, again?"

He blinks as you finally speak, as if he'd forgotten you could do that.

"...The actor? That's Neige. Neige Leblanche," Vil has to remind himself that you're not from this world, and you don't know these things.

You make a face. "...I don't really like him,"

And there it is. If Vil were not already sitting down, his legs would've given out. He stares at you as if you were speaking another language to him.

"...Hm... You don't, do you?" he asks, trying to withhold the excitement in his voice. My, my, how he'd love a look into your mind...

"He's a little too much," you say. "Just... too much."

Vil nods. "I understand completely,"

A pause. He swallows thickly. "Would you like to watch something else?"

"Um... yeah. Maybe you should pick,"

Maybe he should pick. He smiles, takes out the disc, and comes back with a different one.

"This, you should like," he says, putting it in. "...And no Neige."

You nod. "No Neige,"

.

Winter break goes on, and the truth becomes impossible to ignore.

Vil won't think the words. He refuses to let them come together in his mind, because once he's thought them, they'll feel real.

Fortunately for him, he has other things to occupy his thoughts.

He cradles his chin in his palm, sitting beside you in a way that's certainly not good for his posture, but he can forgive himself for being comfortable just this once.

You'd built him a fire. What a strange thought that is. You'd gone outside, found the wood, split it, and built a fire in the lounge. He walked in on you as it was kindling, and you explained you had been doing this for months at Ramshackle. As if you were living in another century, he thought.

And now, here you were. You and him. Sitting in front of a marvelous fire you'd made, warm drinks he'd made you in hand, Grim snoozing on a cushion behind you. You'd been telling him about your home, your family, your schooling, your country and culture... and he'd been listening. Of course.

He'd never seen you smile so much.

"Do you miss it?" he asks, his voice quiet so as not to disturb Grim.

You're quiet for a moment. You take a sip of your drink, and then put it on the rug. Normally, he'd chastise someone for being so careless, but he doesn't even think of that now.

"...It wasn't perfect. But it was home," and that's all you say.

Vil smiles softly. "I imagine NRC hasn't been the most inviting,"

You almost chuckle at his joke. He knows that's a bit of an understatement.

"...Not until recently," you say, quietly, as if sharing a secret. "You... um... this is the closest to home I've felt."

Vil's heart skips a beat. Again, you somehow manage to leave him speechless and flustered, and he doesn't hate it. Not really. And, for a moment, he could've sworn you'd almost told him that he was the closest thing to home.

It's a scary thought. In a good way, though.

"Oh, it's snowing," you say, standing to go to the window. He lets you go, taking the moment to think about what you said.

And he thinks. And he thinks. And eventually, he thinks that he does want to be your home.

And the words he'd been avoiding for days come to him.

Because he's falling in love with you.

.

Things are easy. He cooks. You do dishes. You build him fires, and he thanks you with dark chocolate and tea. The snow gets heavier, but you have plenty of movies to watch and much to talk about, so it never bothers you.

He does your makeup for you, once or twice. You never go to sleep before a cleansing face mask. Even Grim gets his nails trimmed and fur brushed.

Vil lets you braid his hair one evening. He teaches you how to tighten the braids, how to pin them back so they stay in place. He does your own hair to show you.

He promises that when the snow melts, he'll take you shopping.

"It's a date", you smiled, and his heart skipped a beat.

You stay up late one night, scrolling through Neige's Magicam and judging his posts together. Your head is on his shoulder. His arm is around you. You fall asleep like that, and the next night, you do the same.

The door to the room he'd been so scared of knocking on is always open now, because you're never inside. You stay in his room, with his jewels and awards, where you belong.

He even lets Grim sleep on the bed, when he's behaved.

You laugh more. Even at his stupid jokes, the ones he never makes in front of anyone else, you laugh. You're beautiful, he thinks.

You talk more, too. About yourself. About your home. About NRC. The dark circles under your eyes begin to make sense. Vil's hatred of the incompetent headmaster is justified. He hates him even more.

He promises you that you can stay in Pomefiore whenever you want. There's always a door open for you.

.

One night, he gets carried away. You were in bed. He'd been attending to you again, soothing your cuticles and fussing over your hair. He peels one of his nice face masks off of you and smiles.

"Much better. Softer. Feel," he commands, guiding your hand up to feel one of your cheeks. His hand is on the other.

You touch the plush softness of your skin, greatly improved by his weeks of care, and you nod. "Better,"

"Better," he echoes. Suddenly, he has this terrible, nagging urge to touch you more, and he kisses your cheek.

It's fleeting, so fast that you might have missed it if you weren't paying attention. You are, though, and your eyes are wide.

Vil feels dread. More than before any audition or award ceremony. He stares back, desperate to find his voice.

"...Is that... okay?"

He can barely breathe until you nod.

"It's okay," you say.

He sighs, letting the dread out of him in a single breath. He curses at himself for letting his thoughts carry him away like that, and he makes a mental note to work on it. And then you drop a bombshell on him.

"...You can... do it again, if you want."

Vil says nothing. He stares, his expression unchanging, as if he hadn't heard you right.

And then he moves without thinking, without caring, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you everywhere. Your forehead, both cheeks, your nose and jaw, all of the affection he'd been withholding comes pouring out of him all at once, and it takes a strenuous amount of effort not to touch your lips.

He's almost upset that he isn't wearing lipstick. He would have liked to see you covered in kisses. The thought of you being so visibly his is intoxicating.

He pulls away after you start giggling. You're both dizzy, flustered by the attention he was giving you as if he would never get to give it again.

And he smiles back.

"Enjoying yourself?"

You take a breath to compose yourself, and you nod. It's cute. You're cute.

.

"You know, when I heard that my son was bringing someone home for the holidays, I wasn't expecting..."

Vil shoots his father a very pointed glare, both for embarrassing him and for bothering you.

You don't seem to mind, though. "I wasn't expecting to be brought home, so I guess I can't blame you,"

Erik laughs. You laugh. Vil sighs.

When he asked you if you wanted to meet his father, he wasn't really expecting you to say yes. Honestly, he was sort of hoping you wouldn't. Not because of his father, but because he was beginning to enjoy being alone with you. In your own little world together.

It's already been harder sleeping in the same room without being noticed. Their home is big, but not that big. And that's not even mentioning the cuddling and kissing Vil had grown rather dependent on in the past few weeks.

"Well, I'm pleased. If Vil is happy, I'm happy," Erik says. Vil hates the way he said that, as if he already knows...

...And there's that look again. The raised eyebrows, the cheesy grin. Pointed right at him. Vil sighs.

"Really, it was nothing. If anything, I was just appalled that none of the other housewardens had extended an invite," Vil says.

Erik nods. "You'd think with all the princes and what have you, someone would've had a spare room. I guess it all worked out for the better, though. Right?"

He may as well be planning your wedding right here. You watch as Vil sets down his fork, takes his napkin off his lap, and pushes in his chair.

"Excuse me for a moment,"

He excuses himself, stepping out of the dining room and into the hall. Pull yourself together. You have nothing to feel embarrassed about.

"Vil?"

Vil's meditative thoughts shatter at the sound of your voice, and his heart picks up again. He turns to face you.

"I... apologize for my father. He's only joking," he says.

You shake your head. "I was just making sure you're okay,"

There it is again. Always putting everyone before yourself. Always making sure he's well. Always bothering him, asking if he's eaten enough, when he should be the one worried about you. Everyone should.

The other housewardens were right. You are weird. You don't fit in at NRC. Perhaps you didn't fit in before that, too.

And perhaps that doesn't matter. Perhaps that's not such a bad thing, to be weird. You don't need to belong anywhere but with him.

Slowly, he smiles.

"I'm alright. Just... collecting my thoughts," he says.

He holds out a hand for you to take, and you take it. He gives you a gentle squeeze. You squeeze back.

"...Shall we?"

[loojii]

♥️ Prim and Proper ♥️ part 2

part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Riddle x King of Hearts oc You bet your ass I'm throwing every cliché I can think off in this shit fight me ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Story under the line~

Prim’s POV

Prim sat at a corner table in the Lady Mystic College cafeteria, quietly picking at her lunch. The chatter of the other students buzzed around her, but she kept her head down, focusing on her sandwich.

She had been avoiding Hazel, Trinity, and Opal for the past few days, though it wasn’t as if they’d noticed. She hadn’t gathered the courage to confront them outright, but she also couldn’t bring herself to sit with them anymore. It’s not like they were missing her.

Prim sighed softly, taking a small bite of her food. It was better this way. She could focus on herself, and besides, eating alone wasn’t so bad. Riddle thought so too. Without noticing a small smile reached her lips.

“OMG, hiiii!”

Prim nearly choked on her sandwich, startled by the sudden, enthusiastic voice. She looked up and found herself staring at Yina.

Yina was impossible to miss. She was tall, practically towering over everyone in their class, and had a striking presence, with her muscular build and big bouncy hair. Her hyena ears twitched slightly, and her Magicam-perfect smile seemed to light up the entire cafeteria.

Prim had always been a little intimidated by her. Yina was one of those girls who seemed effortlessly confident, the kind of person who could command attention without even trying. And on top of that, she was a Magicam model with thousands of followers.

“Uh, hi,” Prim managed, her voice a little shaky.

Yina beamed. “Why are you, like, eating alone? Is this seat taking?! Can I sit here?”

Prim blinked, completely caught off guard. “Oh, um... yeah, of course!”

Yina plopped down across from her without hesitation, setting her tray down with a flourish. “Thanks, girl! I was, like, totally not in the mood to sit with the usual crowd. They’re so boring today, you know?”

Prim nodded awkwardly, unsure how to respond.

Yina leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand as she studied Prim with an amused expression. “You’re in my class, right? You’re, like, so cute! I love your hair.”

Prim’s cheeks turned pink. “Oh, uh, thanks,” she said softly.

“I’m Yina, by the way,” Yina said, though it wasn’t necessary, everyone in their class knew who she was. “You’re, like, Prim, right? Omg, I love that name. So adorable!”

Prim couldn’t help but smile. Yina’s energy was infectious, and she seemed so genuinely nice despite her intimidating presence. Unlike her old friends, she actually believed Yina’s compliments, she seemed so genuinous.

“So, like, what’s up?” Yina asked, casually poking at her salad with a fork. “You usually sit with those girls, right? Hazel and, like, the others?”

“Oh, um...” Prim hesitated. “I guess I’ve been sitting alone lately.”

Yina pouted dramatically. “Aw, no way. That’s, like, so sad! Eating alone is, like, totally boring. Unless you, like, want to be alone. Then I’ll leave, no problem-”

Prim quickly shook her head. “No, it’s okay! I don’t mind you sitting here.”

Yina clapped her hands together. “Yay! I hate eating alone. It’s, like, the worst.”

Prim found herself relaxing a little. Yina’s bubbly personality made it easy to talk, and before long, they were chatting about their classes and classmates.

At one point, Yina leaned forward conspiratorially. “So, like, tell me something fun! Got any tea?”

Prim tilted her head. “Tea?”

Yina waved a hand. “You know, like, gossip? Anything exciting? Omg, wait! You said you’ve been eating alone, so you ditched your friends? Don’t tell me you got no friends right now, right?”

Prim nodded, a small smile creeping onto her face. “O-oh! No, I do have a friend. But he attends Night Raven college so we can’t eat lunch together- ”

Yina gasped, her eyes widening. “Night Raven? OMG so like, a boy? Yeah you said he of course- hihi! So what’s his name? What is he like? Is he cute?”

Prim blinked, momentarily thrown off by the rapid-fire questions. “Oh, um, his name’s Riddle. He’s really smart and nice. He’s been helping me study lately.”

Yina squealed, practically bouncing in her seat. “Omg, that’s, like, so cute! Let me tell you, finding a guy that wants to help you out with boring stuff like school is, like, so rare. You’re very lucky to have a friend like that!”

Prim blinked again, not quite catching the implication. “Yeah, I’m really glad he’s my friend!”

Yina smirked knowingly. “Mmhmm, sure, just your friend. Sounds to me like you’ve got, like, a little study buddy romance brewing.”

Prim laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. He’s just helping me with potions. He’s really good at explaining things.”

“Whatever you say, girl,” Yina said with a wink, taking another bite of her salad. “But, like, you’ve got to introduce me to him someday. He sounds adorbs.”

Prim giggled, finding Yina’s enthusiasm oddly comforting. She had never expected someone like Yina to approach her, let alone be so friendly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riddle’s POV

Riddle sat at his desk, carefully organizing his notes as Prim closed her notebook with a satisfied smile. Their study session had gone smoothly, as always, and she was clearly pleased with how much progress they’d made.

“Thanks again, Riddle,” Prim said, her voice cheerful. “I always feel so much better about potions after studying with you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Riddle replied, his tone measured. “You’re an attentive student, which makes it easier.”

Prim giggled, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “I try! Oh, I almost forgot- I wanted to tell you something!”

Riddle raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I made a new friend!” she said brightly, her eyes sparkling. “Her name’s Yina, and she’s in my class. She’s super nice and really fun to talk to.”

Riddle felt an unexpected sense of relief at her words. He’d been quietly worried about Prim spending too much time alone, especially since she’d started avoiding her old group of friends. Hearing that she’d found someone who valued her lifted a weight from his chest.

“That’s good to hear,” he said with a small nod. “You deserve friends who treat you well.”

Prim smiled, leaning forward slightly. “Thanks, Riddle. I’m really glad I have you as a friend, too.”

He cleared his throat, feeling a faint warmth creep up his neck. “Of course.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, but it wasn’t long before Prim’s curiosity got the better of her.

“So, what’s next for you?” she asked, resting her chin in her hand. “Any big things coming up?”

Riddle hesitated for a moment, then replied, “There’s a dance coming up at the school. As housewarden, I have to oversee the preparations for Heartslabyul’s contributions.”

Prim’s eyes lit up. “A dance? That’s so exciting! I’ve heard about the dances at Night Raven College. Some of the girls at my school were talking about it, hoping a guy from here would ask them to go.”

Riddle adjusted his bow tie, feeling slightly uncomfortable under her enthusiastic gaze. “Yes, the dances are... a significant event,” he admitted.

Prim clasped her hands together, her voice brimming with excitement. “I bet it’s amazing. NRC is already so beautiful- add a dance, and it must look like something out of a fairytale!”

Riddle hesitated, his thoughts swirling. The way she spoke about the dance made it clear how much she’d love to see it for herself. It wouldn’t be unusual for a student to bring an outside guest, plenty of his dormmates had done so in the past. And Prim was his friend, wasn’t she?

He frowned slightly, his thoughts spiraling. Surely someone else might ask her. She was... well, adorable, wasn’t she? Though he hadn’t realized it at first, he’d come to see just how lively, kind, and pretty she truly was. Surely, another guy would notice that too?

“Has anyone asked you to go?” he asked carefully, trying to keep his tone casual.

Prim blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. Then she laughed, shaking her head. “Me? No, of course not!”

Riddle’s chest tightened as he echoed her words. “Of course not?”

Prim shrugged, her expression light. “But that’s fine! I bet Yina was asked, she will probably tell me all about it! Oh, I should ask her to take photo’s too!”

Riddle pressed his lips together, her words lingering in his mind. It didn’t sit right with him how easily she rejected the idea that someone could ask her. That she couldn’t experience it by herself, something she clearly deserved, to see how beautiful the Great Hall would look, and to feel included.

Taking a deep breath, he gathered his courage. “Prim,” he began, his voice quieter than usual, “would you like to attend the dance? As my plus one?”

Prim’s eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise, her braces on full display.

“Just as friends, of course,” Riddle added quickly, his face growing warmer. “I thought you might enjoy seeing it for yourself.”

Her surprise melted into the brightest smile he’d ever seen. “Yes! I’d love to! Thank you so much, Riddle!”

The sheer joy in her voice made his heart flutter in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He quickly turned his attention back to his notes, hoping to compose himself. “Good. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

Prim clasped her hands together, practically glowing. “This is going to be so much fun! I can’t wait!”

As she continued to talk about her excitement, Riddle allowed himself a small smile. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prim’s POV

Prim twirled around in her room, grinning as she looked at the dress spread across her bed. Her mom’s old dress was everything she could’ve hoped for: the pink glitter shimmered in the soft light, the voluminous sleeves added a whimsical touch, and the exaggerated eighties silhouette made it feel like something out of a movie.

When her mother had brought it down from the attic, Prim had squealed with joy, hugging her mom tightly. “Thank you, thank you! It’s perfect!” she had exclaimed.

Her parents were always so sweet, letting her express herself however she liked. Her mom had joked, “It’s a miracle this dress survived all these years! Just make sure you don’t let it blind anyone at the dance.”

Her dad had chimed in with a chuckle, “I think it’s going to turn every head there. No one’s going to forget this look!”

Now, as she gazed at the dress, Prim felt a warm glow of happiness. This dress wasn’t just an outfit- it was a part of her mom’s history, and now it would be part of hers, too. She couldn’t wait to show Riddle.

A knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. With a puzzled look she opened the door to see- Hazel, Opal, and Trinity.

“Hi, Prim!” Hazel said, her voice overly sweet.

“Uh, hi,” Prim replied, blinking in surprise.

“We need your help,” Opal said, her gaze flicking over Prim’s room. “You’re good with hair, right? Your curls are always so... wild. You must know how to tame them.”

Prim hesitated, clutching the edge of her door. She wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, but she couldn’t say no. “Oh, um, sure. What do you need?”

The three girls stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, chattering among themselves. It wasn’t long before their eyes landed on the dress lying on Prim’s bed.

“Oh my gosh,” Trinity said, covering her mouth as she stifled a laugh. “Is that what you’re wearing tonight? Who hates you that much?”

Prim flushed, her hands fidgeting nervously. “Huh? My mom gave it to me-”

The girls exchanged glances, their amused expressions making Prim’s chest tighten.

Hazel giggled. “Oh, honey. Never let your mom choose your dress.”

“It’s so... pink,” Opal said, her lips curling into a smirk.

“And those sleeves!” Trinity added. “Are you going to fly away?”

The three of them burst into laughter, and Prim felt her heart sink.

“We can’t let you wear that,” Hazel said, shaking her head. “Come on, we’ll fix you up.”

Before Prim could protest, they were pulling her into her chair, smoothing her curls with a hot straightener until they hung limply down her back. They dabbed shimmering makeup across her face, accentuating her features with sharp lines and bold colors. Finally, Hazel let Opal run to her room to grab a tight black dress Prim could borrow.

“Here,” Hazel said, holding it up. “You’ll look amazing in this. Trust me.”

Prim stared at the dress, feeling a lump form in her throat. “But—”

“No buts,” Hazel interrupted. “We’re doing you a favor, Prim. You’ll thank us later.”

And just like that, the pink glittery dress was forgotten, left lying crumpled on her bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prim followed Hazel, Trinity, and Opal into the grand hall of Night Raven College, her hands clutching the unfamiliar fabric of the borrowed dress. The room was breathtaking, filled with twinkling lights and elegant decorations.

But as beautiful as everything was, Prim couldn’t shake the discomfort settling in her chest. Every time she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored surfaces, she saw someone completely different—a polished, glammed-up version of herself that didn’t feel like her at all.

And then she spotted Riddle.

He stood near the entrance, waiting for her with his usual composed expression. But when his eyes landed on her, they widened slightly, and he straightened his posture.

“You look... very nice,” he eventually got out.

Prim hesitated, her fingers brushing against her skirt. “Do you mean that?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

Riddle nodded, though his expression seemed thoughtful. “Of course.”

Prim gave him a small smile. “Thank you. Hazel let me borrow this dress.”

At the mention of Hazel’s name, Riddle’s expression darkened slightly, though he quickly masked it. “Borrowed?” he asked. “Didn’t you already have something to wear?”

Prim’s cheeks flushed. “I did, but they saw it and... well, they thought it wasn’t a good choice. It’s fine, though.”

Prim looked at everyone going in to attend the dance. Hazel and the others were quick to ditch her, surely having a great time with their dates right about now. She looked at Riddle, who was still looking at her with furrowed brows. She didn’t want to delay the night by something as silly as a dress.

Riddle frowned, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Where is the dress you planned to wear?”

Prim hesitated. “It’s back in my room. But it’s okay, really. This dress is fine, and I don’t want to ruin the night.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” Riddle said firmly. He glanced at the dance already in full swing, then back at Prim. “Wait here.”

Before she could respond, Riddle disappeared for a moment and returned with a broom in hand.

“Come with me,” he said, holding it out to her.

Prim blinked in surprise. “What? But the dance- don’t you have to be here?”

“It can wait,” Riddle said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Let’s get your dress.”

Though still uncertain, Prim couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement as she climbed onto the broom behind him. “O-okay!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riddle’s POV

Riddle stood outside Prim’s room, his hands clasped neatly in front of him as he waited. The faint sounds of rustling fabric and soft humming drifted through the door. He took a calming breath, willing himself to be patient.

When the door finally opened, Riddle turned to face her- and felt his breath catch.

Prim stepped out, beaming with pride. Her sandals, adorned with little fabric flowers, peeked out beneath a bright pink glittery dress that seemed to shimmer with every movement. The sleeves were big and puffy, almost comically so, and the skirt flared out in exaggerated layers. Her hair, no longer straightened, had returned to its lively curls, half pulled back with a crown-like clip. Her makeup was gone, leaving her face fresh and glowing with natural cheer.

The dress was, by all conventional standards, hideous.

But Prim? She was beautiful.

Riddle’s eyes traced her from head to toe, taking in every detail- the bold color, the whimsical design, the unrestrained joy in her expression. She didn’t seem to care that her outfit clashed with the elegance of the Night Raven College dance or that others might scoff at her choice. She stood there, utterly unapologetic, her smile radiating confidence.

The way she embraced herself so fully was... admirable.

Riddle felt a pang of something unfamiliar in his chest. Was it jealousy? He’d spent his life meticulously crafting his image, conforming to rules and expectations. And yet, here was Prim, completely unbound by such concerns. She didn’t dress to please anyone but herself, and she was better for it.

Her fashion sense was undeniably eccentric- a strange blend of grandmotherly charm and childlike whimsy. And yet, as he watched her, Riddle found himself... liking it.

“Well?” Prim asked, tilting her head slightly. “What do you think?”

Riddle cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “It suits you,” he said sincerely. “I prefer this dress over the other one.”

Prim’s smile widened, and she clasped her hands in front of her. “Really? That means so much to me. Thank you, Riddle.”

Her words were simple, but the gratitude in her voice made his chest feel oddly warm.

“Shall we?” he asked, stepping aside to let her through.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they mounted the broom to fly back to the dance, Prim climbed on behind Riddle, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. The warmth of her touch made him momentarily stiffen, but he quickly relaxed, focusing on the path ahead.

The night air was cool, and the lights of the campus glittered in the distance as they soared through the sky.

“I really do love this dress,” Riddle said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Prim leaned her head against his back slightly, her voice soft and full of emotion. “Thank you, Riddle. And thank you for taking me back to my dorm...”

Riddle didn’t respond immediately, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Of course.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Great Hall was alive with music and laughter, its opulent decorations shimmering under the soft glow of enchanted lights. Riddle stood at the edge of the dance floor, watching as Prim twirled happily in her bright pink dress. Her curls bounced with every step, and her joy was palpable, radiating through the room like sunlight.

But the whispers reached him.

“Who let her in wearing that?”

“Did she raid a costume shop?”

“And those curls... Honestly, she looks ridiculous.”

“I feel so bad for her, omg-”

Riddle’s grip on his gloves tightened, his jaw clenching as the words filtered through the noise. He turned his head sharply, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on a group of students huddled near the refreshments table, smirking and murmuring among themselves.

Anger flared in his chest, his short temper on full display. He wanted to march over, to demand they hold their tongues, but he stopped himself. A small glance at Prim, still twirling to the music, was all it took to calm him. She was so happy, so blissfully unaware of the cruel words. He couldn’t take that away from her.

But he was also... confused.

How could they not see it? How could they fail to notice how lovely she was? Her bright happy eyes, the lively way she smiled, her curls framing her face like a golden halo. Even the dress, as unconventional as it was, suited her perfectly.

“She’s pretty,” Riddle thought, his brows furrowing. “Anyone can see that. Can’t they?”

The question lingered in his mind, unsettling him.

When Prim finally noticed him standing at the edge of the floor, she bounded over, her face glowing with excitement. “Riddle!” she said, holding out her hand. “Dance with me!”

He hesitated for a moment but relented, letting her pull him onto the floor. The music was slower now, a waltz, and he took her hand, guiding her into the proper steps.

Prim giggled when she stumbled slightly, but Riddle steadied her. “You’re doing fine,” he said, his grip tightening. 

“Thanks,” she replied, her smile never faltering.

As they danced, Riddle’s thoughts drifted to his mother. He could already hear her voice in his mind, sharp and disapproving. She would never have approved of someone like Prim- her bold, mismatched fashion, her carefree nature, her unpolished joy.

His mother valued order, refinement, and perfection. She would think Prim ridiculous.

The thought brought an ache to his chest. Just like the whispers in the hall, his mother would scold her for her dress choice. For how she styled her hair or how her shoes were not appropriate for the occasion. 

Before, he would’ve agreed with his mother, aided every word that left her lips. But now… He couldn’t disagree more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the dance slowed further, Riddle glanced at the open balcony. The night sky stretched beyond the doors, stars twinkling brightly against the darkness. He turned back to Prim.

“Would you like to step outside for a moment?” he asked.

Prim’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to!”

He guided her through the crowd and onto the balcony, where the cool night air greeted them. The music faded into the background, replaced by the soft chirping of crickets.

Prim leaned against the railing, gazing up at the stars. “It’s so beautiful out here,” she said.

Riddle stood beside her, his hands resting lightly on the railing. “It is,” he agreed. After a moment, he added, “That dress- does it mean something to you?”

Prim turned to him, her smile soft. “Yeah. It was my mom’s. She wore it to a dance when she was young, and she kept it all these years. She thought it’d be fun if I wore it, too.”

Riddle nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “It suits you,” he said quietly.

“Thanks,” Prim replied, her voice warm. “She and my dad were so excited when I told them I’d be wearing it tonight. I think they’re just happy I have a friend to go with.”

Riddle hesitated. “You told them about me?”

Prim giggled. “Of course! They wanted to know who I was going with. I told them all about you.”

He shifted slightly, his brow furrowing. “Do you think... they’d like me?”

Prim blinked, surprised by the question. “Of course they would! If I like you, then they’d like you, too!”

Riddle fell silent, her words lingering in the air.

She said it like it was a thing all parents do. He couldn’t imagine his mother ever being so accepting, so kind. No matter how hard he tried, nothing he did was ever enough for her.

“Riddle?” Prim’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

He looked at her, her expression tinged with concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He managed a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes. I’m fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prim’s POV

Prim leaned against the cool railing, gazing up at the stars with a soft smile. The night was peaceful, the faint music from the Great Hall carrying in the breeze. She glanced at Riddle, who stood beside her, his posture straight and composed as always.

“This is nice,” she said, her voice filling the quiet night. “Thanks for suggesting we come out here.”

Riddle nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s... refreshing. The dance can be overwhelming at times.”

Prim giggled. “I didn’t think you’d ever get overwhelmed.”

He turned to her, his lips twitching upward in the faintest hint of a smile. “I’m not immune to it.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You’re always so calm and collected, though. It’s impressive.”

“Not always.” Riddle said simply, though his expression softened slightly. “But you... you seem to have a way of balancing everything without trying so hard.”

Prim blinked, surprised by the compliment. “Me? I don’t think I’m very balanced at all,” she said with a laugh. “I just... do whatever feels right.”

“That’s precisely what I mean,” Riddle said, his voice quieter now. “You act so freely, without worrying about others’ opinions. It’s... admirable.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she glanced down, her fingers fiddling with the glittery fabric of her dress. “Well, I guess I’ve always just thought... life’s too short to worry about stuff like that. If you like something, why not go for it?”

Riddle’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, the starlight reflecting in his gaze. “That’s a... unique perspective,” he said.

Prim giggled again, her nerves bubbling to the surface. “You make it sound like it’s a bad thing!”

“Not at all,” Riddle said quickly. “It’s... refreshing.”

Prim’s smile grew, and she turned to him, leaning slightly closer. “You know, for someone who’s so proper all the time, you’re actually really sweet.”

Riddle stiffened slightly, his cheeks tinging pink. “I- sweet isn’t the word I would use.”

“Oh, come on,” she teased, nudging him lightly. “You’re sweet. Admit it.”

Riddle’s gaze faltered for a moment, his posture straightening even further. “If you insist,” he said finally, a hint of awkwardness in his tone.

Prim giggled again, her curls bouncing. “Don’t worry. It’s a good thing.”

Riddle hesitated, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “You... have a way of making people feel at ease,” he said quietly. “Even me.”

Prim’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt her cheeks grow even warmer. “Really?”

“Yes,” Riddle replied, his voice firm but sincere.

They stood in silence for a moment, the air between them growing heavier, though neither seemed to know why.

“Riddle,” Prim said, breaking the tension, “You’re a good person.”

Riddle’s lips parted as if to respond, but he hesitated, his gaze searching hers.

Prim tilted her head. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s just... I’m not accustomed to this.”

“To what?”

“To... whatever this is,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them.

Prim laughed softly, leaning closer. “I think it’s called being friends.”

“Perhaps,” Riddle said, his tone laced with something Prim couldn’t quite place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riddle’s POV

As Riddle walked Prim back to the Great Hall, her laughter still ringing softly in his ears, he found his thoughts drifting back to earlier in the week. The teasing from his dormmates, particularly Ace’s bold question, lingered in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

“Is she your girlfriend or something?”

The word had made him bristle with indignation at the time. A girlfriend? It was preposterous! She was his friend, nothing more.

…Right?

But now, as they re-entered the Great Hall and Prim immediately brightened at the sight of the glittering decorations, Riddle found himself wondering. What did it mean to have a girlfriend? What would it entail?

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was talking about how pretty the hall looked, completely unaware of his inner turmoil. Her curls bounced with every movement, the glittery pink dress catching the light in a way that made her look almost ethereal.

If she were his girlfriend, would that mean spending more time with her? More moments like this—walking under the stars, sharing quiet conversations? Would it mean holding her hand?

His thoughts spiraled further, and he felt his face grow warm. What if it meant things like… like kissing?

Riddle quickly cleared his throat, straightening his posture as though he could will the thought away. It was ridiculous. He barely understood what it meant to be a friend, let alone anything beyond that. And yet...

He found himself glancing at her again, his gaze lingering on the way she smiled, so bright and genuine. The way she didn’t hold back, the way she made him feel at ease, the way she seemed to light up the room simply by being in it.

If being her friend was this fulfilling, what would it be like to be something more?

Riddle shook his head slightly, his cheeks burning. It was absurd to even think about. She probably hadn’t given the idea a single thought, and here he was, getting flustered over something so hypothetical.

And yet, the question lingered.

Would she even want someone like him? Someone so rigid, so tied to rules and propriety? She deserved someone who could match her energy, her openness, someone who could make her laugh without overthinking every word.

“Riddle?”

Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see her watching him with a curious tilt of her head.

“You okay?” she asked, her blue eyes searching his.

“Yes,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. “I was just... thinking.”

Prim smiled, seemingly satisfied with his answer, and turned back to admire the hall.

Riddle exhaled softly, his thoughts still a tangle of confusion and warmth. The teasing from his dormmates had felt irritating at first, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Was it really such an absurd idea? Or was it something he was too afraid to consider?

As Prim giggled at something a passing student said, Riddle realized one thing for certain: the thought of anyone else calling her their girlfriend filled him with an uncomfortable knot of jealousy.

And that was a realization he wasn’t quite ready to face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dance was winding down, the enchanted lights dimming as the final song played softly in the background. Students milled about, some still dancing while others gathered in small groups, their laughter and chatter echoing through the hall.

Riddle stood with Prim near the entrance, her hand lightly brushing the glittery skirt of her dress as she spoke animatedly about her favorite moments from the evening. Her excitement was infectious, her blue eyes sparkling as she recounted their dance, the food, and the decorations.

“And the stars outside,” she said, grinning. “That was my favorite part. Thanks for taking me out there.”

“You seemed to enjoy it,” Riddle replied, fiddling with his own gloves.

“I did,” she said, grinning as she nodded. “It was perfect. The whole night was, really. Thank you for inviting me, Riddle.”

He looked at her, her sincerity evident in every word. For a moment, he found himself unable to respond, his mind replaying the evening, the way she had lit up when he complimented her dress, the warmth of her arms around him on the broom, and the way she had smiled at him under the stars.

“You’re welcome,” he said finally, his voice steadier than he expected.

Prim adjusted a strand of hair, her movement reluctant. “I guess it’s time for me to head back.”

Riddle nodded, though a part of him wished the night didn’t have to end. “I’ll walk you to the gate,” he offered.

Together, they made their way out of the Great Hall, the cool night air wrapping around them as they started their walk to the gate. The grounds were quieter now, the distant hum of voices fading as the other guests began to disperse.

When they reached their destination, Prim turned to him, her smile soft but bright. “I had so much fun tonight, Riddle. It was one of the best nights ever.”

“I’m glad,” he said, meeting her gaze. “You deserved to enjoy yourself.”

She looked at him for a moment, her expression thoughtful. Then, to his surprise, she stepped closer, her cheeks slightly pink.

“Goodnight, Riddle,” she said softly.

Before he could respond, she leaned up and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

Riddle froze, his breath catching as warmth spread across his face. Her lips barely lingered, but it was enough to leave his mind reeling.

When she pulled back, she was smiling, her own cheeks glowing faintly. “Thanks again for everything,” she said, her voice light and cheerful.

He managed a small nod, his voice failing him as she turned and began walking away.

“Goodnight, Prim,” he finally murmured, though she was already out of earshot.

[ihfmseatsoch]

okay so here it goes, imagine this. reader is a hard-working member at pony express and one of the most well liked, looked upon employees there. here it goes, self glazing time, reader is also unfathomably attractive and charismatic and everyone was starting to suspect why they of all people would join freaking Pong express when they could easily get scouted as a high end supermodel.

Now here's the thing, during one of their hauls with the crew, the crew members are just casually going on and about and somehow stumble on to the reader's room, ( think maybe to call them for something ) but the reader isn't there, and the crewmates get a lil nosy and decide to snoop around. and what they find rocks them hard ( quite literally if all goes well )

they find one of those Playboy magazines with the reader literally on the front page and whole sections dedicated to them, and as it turns out the reader used to be a Playboy Bunny/ Gravure Idol. And decided to quit their modelling career to aim for bigger and better things over at space.

What would the crew members reactions be? Would they confront the reader? Would they use the magazine as jork material? Would they use the information to their advantage? ( Iykyk ;)

Tyy! <3

Apologies for the long wait on this !! 💖

warnings/content: nsfw, blackmail, coercion, everyone is a PERVERT!!!!

(gn!reader)

—

Curly –

• I don't think he would confront you because, for one, he's ashamed that he snooped around in the first place. He wouldn't want you to know he was in your personal space.

• And two, it's obvious you've turned over a new leaf, so why would he reprimand you for something you did in the past? He doesn't feel the need to bring up your old job, when that's not who you are anymore.

• Nonetheless, he's a bit more awkward around you now, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words because he just can't get that image of you out of his mind. Curly thought you were beautiful before, but god, now he physically can't restrain his thoughts from running wild.

• Tries so hard to maintain his professionalism. He's your Captain, for christs sake! He can't be fantasizing about his subordinate like this, it's plain wrong. It's perverted, and he's not a pervert.

• Okay, maybe he is. But he's in denial about it.

• He only jerked off to the thought of you ONE time and that was because he was stressed and not in a proper headspace. Nothing more. Mhm. Nothing at all.

• Jk he wants that cookie so fucking bad it's pathetic

Jimmy –

• Literally the worst guy ever about it -_-

• Slutshames you when he first discovers it, but he still pocketed the magazine and beat his dick to it harder than he ever has.

• Confronts you in like. A very creepy and invasive way.

• "So... what was it like in the modeling industry? They really make you eat tissue paper for dinner, or what?"

• "What, you thought we'd never find out? Everyone knows. Why d'ya think Daisuke can't even look at you anymore?"

• "Don't be embarrassed. The crew's fine with it. But... I wonder what the big guys at Pony Express would think. Y'know, that kinda background ain't what you'd call... professional."

• Literally holds it over your head constantly to get you to do what he wants, or else he threatens to report you. It goes from making you do simple tasks he can't be bothered to do himself, to asking you for sexual favors.

• Makes you suck him off and films the whole thing, just so he can have even more against you.

• "Wouldn't want anyone to see you chokin' on your co-pilots dick, would you? Didn't think so."

• Forces you to let him take nude photos of you, even recreating some of your old photoshoots, except you look much more unhappy in these ones.

• He makes your life a living hell, basically. Unless you're into this. Then it's fantastic for the both of you! Yay!

Daisuke –

• Oh lord, his hormones have gone haywire. His downstairs longnose is having a field day.

• Definitely uses the magazine as masturbation material. In fact, it's all he has to get off, given there's no wifi on the Tulpar. He's eternally indebted to you for blessing him with this.

• His rambling is even more nonsensical in conversations with you now. Lots of run-on sentences that just sound like word salad.

• "What would you do if like, um... y'know, like, if you were like, um–" BOY SPIT IT OUT !!!!!!

• His eyes drift down to your chest a lot. It's a subconscious reaction. You can't blame him for being unable to get the thought of your half-naked body out of his head, since it's practically all he thinks about anymore.

• Doesn't know if he should bring it up, even if he reeeaaalllyyy wants to. Not so much in a horny way, he just has a lot of questions he's itching to ask you. Maybe it's best if he doesn't say anything at all, because he'll talk your ear off for hours.

Anya –

• SOMEONE HELP HER

• She gets sooo flustered every time she looks at you now. Actively avoids you for this reason. Tried so hard to push down the memory of the way you looked on the cover of that magazine, which ended up being a futile effort.

• It's not like she wants to push you away!! She wants to remain close with you, but she doesn't know how to bring it up without feeling terribly awkward. She already feels guilty enough for snooping, now she feels even worse for acting weird :(

• It's not that she dislikes you now, it's just that she can't stop thinking about you in ways that are. Y'know. Inappropriate. She can't be thinking about her coworker that way! Mentally smacks herself and goes BAD ANYA BAD!! if she finds herself falling too deep into her fantasies.

• Eventually, she'll get over it. The embarrassment and awkwardness fades over time, and she'll go to her grave without telling you that she knows about your previous occupation.

Swansea –

• Sighs. Shakes his head. Puts his hands on his hips. He's got a less favourable opinion of you now.

• He's not gonna confront you, but he does silently glare at you with more judgement than before.

• He's judging you because he believes you have a lack of self respect, to have done something like that willingly, and allowed yourself to be pornography for random men.

• He's just got an old fashioned mindset. Don't take it to heart.

• Secretly finds you incredibly hot. But he'd rather keel over and die than admit it outright.

—

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi bisexual sex ed person batman

Do you think teenagers masturbating to porn is bad or neutral

And also i have another question. We know young kids and sex is not a good match. Not questioning that. But do you know why, exactly? Like why is it traumatizing for a small kid to watch porn but not for a teenager. Like how does that work

Thank you in advance. And uh. Happy saturday

hi anon,

okay, so. I need you to understand that you're first question is basically this.

like, you want me to classify EVERY teenager who's ever jacked it to ANY kind of porn as either bad or neutral? good's not even an option? jesus christ.

let's say that I think any body jacking off to anything is for the most part a pretty morally neutral act so long as they're not cranking it on public transit or while spying on someone who is unaware of their presence and therefore unable to consent.

as for your second question, this is going to be unpopular but it's actually not inherently traumatizing for a prepubescent child to see porn. don't get me wrong, I'm in no way advocating for showing your baby porn instead of cocomelon or whatever, but there's no trauma button that automatically gets switched if it happens.

which I can say with a decent amount of firsthand experience because, you know, I work with kids, and I also work with their parents to talk about the experiences that they had as children. every time I teach my class I get parents telling me about how they found porn mags for the first time when they were young, in their parents' bedroom or in a gutter or, once, hidden in some farm equipment. and a lot of their kids have seen porn online by the time they're in the age range I teach (about 11 years old), whether accidentally or shown it a a crude prank by another child.

and for the most part they're like... completely fine. the adults who saw porn as kids grew up to be the kind of thoughtful, conscientious parents who want their kids to receive quality, inclusive sex education. most of their kids find it silly, because they can't imagine why adults might want to do something that looks so weird and awkward, or they get a little kick out of seeing something adult that they know is supposed to be off limits, or they don't get it and don't think much about it at all. hell, some of those kids will experience one of their first encounters with sexual arousal; that's a thing that's perfectly healthy for kids to experience and some are early bloomers!

some kids might find it confusing or upsetting, sure, but those kids also tend to put the magazine away or close the video very quickly. kids are, you know, people, and they're pretty good at just moving away from things that bother them. and discomfort is, ultimately, not the same thing as trauma.

to be sure, some kids have a long-term bad reaction, but there are often extenuating circumstances in that case. there are obvious cases in which porn is shown to a child specifically by an abuser, but I've also found that for a lot of people what causes their long-term psychological distress wasn't them seeing porn but the way their caregivers reacted to it, making the child feel ashamed and dirty without ever giving them an explanation for why the adults in their life reacted so negatively. that can create a huge burden that leaves people feeling shaky and insecure in their sexuality for decades after the fact.

once again, I just want to be super clear on this before anyone starts trying to make it seem like I think Coolsville sucks: I don't think little kids should be seeing a lot of porn! if a kid in your life is doing that, they should be directed gently away with a thoughtful explanation of what they've been looking at and why it's not a good fit for them at their age nor a good model of what real sexuality is like. it can be difficult to suppress the urge to panic and react harshly, even if you feel it's in the kid's best interest, but they deserve an explanation that will make clear that they're not the one in the wrong.

but, again, there's not a switch in a child's brain that automatically traumatizes them if they see a titty.