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meat--grindr · 3 years

Note

another trans man fixated on Martin here!! 💕

could i request some NSFW of an ftm S/O teasing Martin while hes on the phone trying to do another interview as The Count? not a lot of talking from the S/O while hes on the phone, mostly physical stuff & feeling him up thru his clothes. the rest is up to you >:)))

(def going to use as a drawing prompt im just so so embarrassed to request off anon 😔😔😔)

Alright, so, this prompt has been living in my head rent-free ever since I first read it and I am so freaking excited to finally get to it. I’m sorry it took so long. I will admit this was a bit of a challenge for me because I am notoriously bad at writing dialogue. But I feel like it was good practice. Sorry if it sounds a little stilted in spots, I’m still learning.

Please, please, please link me to that art if you ever get around to it! You knocked it out of the park with this prompt and I’d love to give the art some love if you’re comfortable with sharing!

The Count Didn’t Count on This – Martin Mathias (Trans-Masculine Reader) – NSFW.

· It’s late, and for once, you’re exactly where you feel you should be at this late hour—not sprawled across a chair reading, or gazing out of the window, watching the cars pass and counting the neighbours’ lights as they flick on and off in lieu of stargazing. And for the first time in at least a week, you’re not trapped at your desk, frantically typing the final draft of a paper, hindered by the slow keys of a typewriter that does not care a whit about the deadline steadily hurtling toward you. No, thankfully, this night has brought with it far more comfortable circumstances—you find yourself in bed, tired bones sinking into the plush mattress, consciousness caught in the bleary space between sleep and not.

· Even better, you aren’t alone.

· Tonight, your bed is warmed by another body, long and thin, curled tightly against your own, as though it were some sort of crime to leave even an inch of space between you. A bony hip digs into your thigh and you’re sure the press of your head and shoulder against his chest must make breathing difficult for him. But he’s made no attempt to shrug you off or shift your weight to a more comfortable spot, so you likewise let it be. In all honesty, you’re simply too comfortable to bother and you feel it’s safe to assume the same is true for Martin too.

· The slow, even beat of his heart pulses against your cheek, and his long fingers stroke absently over your bare shoulder. The rough texture of burgeoning callouses catches against your skin—the sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, makes you shudder. Sometimes, you forget Martin works with his hands. When you hold them, they seem so delicate—his long fingers better suited to playing the piano than tightening screws or hammering nails. But he’s good at repairs and more importantly, he seems to find enjoyment the work. It certainly keeps him busy enough on the few afternoons that Cuda isn’t running him ragged in the shop, much to your personal dismay. But his nights—the nights like this—belong to you and you alone.

· Your eyelids flutter closed, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe even longer, you feel like you can rest. Really rest. Dimly, you find yourself wondering if it had more to do with finished papers and diminished responsibilities, or the reintroduction of the physical intimacy you’ve been missing so dearly. Though you can’t say for certain, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.

· The longer you know Martin, the more you’re convinced that there is a preternatural bubble of calm that hangs around him. You can feel it in the way even the grouchiest old women in the store seem to soften toward him—hiding small smiles behind their sleeves, sometimes even calling him ‘dear,’ or in the way Cuda’s volatile temper deflates when his cruel words slide off Martin’s back as though he’s heard it all before from people who frightened him far greater. You’ve seen it at work on the feral cats that roam the neighbourhood—while they hiss and swipe at the children who chase them through the dusty streets, they sit willingly at Martin’s feet, rubbing against his legs with a familiarity that borders on friendly. And it’s in the way he looks at you—looks into you with those dark eyes that seem far too old for that handsome, youthful face—intense and all-seeing, but never judgemental. He is a point of unflappable calm in a world which never seems to slow for even a second. That calm has settled into you now, seeping into your bones as you lay there, listening to his heart thumping in the darkness.

· The low crackle of the radio hovers at the edge of your hearing, a burst of static cutting through the droning voices. You’d stopped listening properly ages ago—the third time the DJ had made an attempt to dismiss his latest caller. It was an old man who was seven shades of pissed about the ‘teen-age hooligans’ who were ‘tipping over his bins every night and eating his trash.’ Of course, everyone with half a brain, including the host himself, knows it’s an animal—probably a raccoon, or a family of raccoons, but this old geezer has somehow convinced himself it’s a gaggle of ‘Satan-worshipping teenagers who have been brainwashed by heavy metal music and Pepsi Cola.’

· Okay. Sure.

· It’s utterly ridiculous, and just the sort of thing you’ve come to expect from the people who live in Braddock. Or the ones who call in to a show like this anyhow.

· In a way, you feel bad for the poor DJ. Sure, he welcomes strange callers of all kinds, from alien abductees and bigfoot hunters to bereaved parents who teenagers are ‘just growing up too fast,’ or ‘a little too interested in the works of William Shakespeare.’ He even encourages them at times, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and in your mind, this, funny as it may be, is probably it. You’re sure whatever the station is paying the guy, it isn’t enough to suffer through being called a ‘brainless sack of human garbage’ by a crazy old man.

· “And that’s about all the time we have,” Despite his cheery tone, the poor guy sounds exhausted. “Thank you for calling!”

· Another burst of static drowns out the old man’s reply, but you’re sure that whatever he’d said, it was not ‘radio-friendly.’

· “…our next caller. You are on the air, Sir!”

· “Yeah, uh…hi, Barry.” The man sounds young—probably not much older than yourself—and very nervous. He must be a first-time caller. As he and the DJ share opening pleasantries—what’s your name, how old are you, where are you calling in from tonight, is that a cat I hear in the background? —your attention begins to drift again. You teeter for a moment on the edge of sleep, the clean scent of your linen sheets and Martin’s shampoo filling your nose.

· “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from the Count again since last time?”

· And just like that, you’re awake again, attention fully focused on your radio and the funny little show that whispers through it.

· The caller is asking about Martin. A cold shiver rumbles through your body. People ask about Martin on the show all the time—of course, they don’t know that’s who they’re asking about, but you do. It’s so strange, to hear a stranger talk about someone you know so well—even worse when they speak about him like they know him too. Sometimes, they make you laugh with their outlandish theories, but sometimes they make you sick—sick with worry: when he’s threatened with violence or exposure, sick with fear: when they make guesses that hit a little too close to home, and sick with jealousy: when they claim to have had an ‘encounter’ with him, or worse, try to set one up on air.

· You know about Martin, of course—that he is a vampire, or at least he thinks he’s a vampire. Whether or not you believe him is another question entirely. He certainly does not abide by the ‘vampire rules’ as you know them from stories and television—he doesn’t sleep in a coffin, filled with dirt from his homeland or otherwise, rather he sleeps in a bed (curled up beside you more often than not these days). He cuts a handsome figure in mirrors and the photographs that you have pinned up above your desk. He walks about in the sun most days without complaint despite his pale complexion, and though he may not be a sleek. Predatory creature that oozes confidence, grace, and sex appeal, he’s no slouch either—lithe and handsome in a boyish sort of way, all knees, elbows, and wide dark eyes.

· In fact, the only requirement he seems to meet on the proverbial ‘vampire checklist’ is his fixation with blood—and the need to consume it. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t. You’ve come to the conclusion that what you think really doesn’t matter in the end—your opinion isn’t going to sway him on the subject one way or another. This is a truth about himself he believes perhaps more deeply than anything else. Who were you to try and change that?

· So, you do your best to take everything in stride, and when you can’t, you humour him. Still, every once in a while, something will trip you up—you still can’t quite decide if he’s joking about being over eighty years old or not. But you do your best. You had even let him feed on you once. Though only once. In the end, it was Martin who had decided the experience was not one he would like to repeat.

· He had laid you out on your bed, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you faint.” Though you’d told him nearly a hundred times that you’d be just fine, that you’d had blood taken before at the hospital, he had insisted.

· You had expected things to be different. For a start, you had expected him to climb into your lap, to press his lips against your neck, seeking your pulse the way it’s done in the movies. Instead, he’d taken out a little white kit from his bag. He had unzipped it and laid it out on the bed, revealing a little bottle of clear liquid, a row of sterile, hypodermic needles, and a pack of fresh razor blades.

· His long fingers fell upon the needles, caressing them lovingly one by one. Much to your relief, he did not pick one up. As if he could sense your apprehension, he’d said, “Don’t worry, I won’t need these.” He’d glanced up at you, measuring your reaction, “I won’t need them because you’re not going to fight me. Are you?” It wasn’t really a question. You shook your head, and the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “Good. It’s so much easier when they don’t fight me.” Those words had made you shudder. He really had done this before, then. Part of you hadn’t believed him—he seemed so…harmless

· He’d picked out a single blade from the package, meticulously removing the white paper wrapping, taking extra care not to tear it, or let the blade cut into it. When he was through, he folded the paper into a neat square and dropped it onto the comforter. He lay the blade flat on his palm for you to see. “I don’t have pointy teeth, you see.” He took your hand, opening his mouth and guiding your fingers along the edges of his flat, dull teeth. “They aren’t sharp, so they don’t cut deep enough. You understand?” You’d nodded and he had kissed your fingertips gently, one by one.

· “I’ll be careful, I promise,” He’d said, “I’ll only take a little. Just enough to take the edge off.” Despite the hungry glint in his eyes, you’d known he was telling the truth. He didn’t need to reassure you of that. You trusted him. Besides, you had asked for this. At least, he’d stopped asking if he still had your permission every five minutes. Of course he did.

· And yet. Your heartbeat had kicked up, jittering like a frightened bird when you’d seen the needles and the razor. It was as though actually seeing them had made the whole situation feel more real. There was no denying you were afraid, but you didn’t tell him to stop—you didn’t want to. You had made up your mind. You wanted this; wanted to help.

· He’d held your hand in his own like it was a thing made of glass. His fingers gripped the razor with a practiced grace as he held it just above your palm. Watching him, you were struck for the second time by just how rehearsed this seemed. How many times had he done this, with or without permission?

· “Take a deep breath for me, okay? There’s a good boy.” Did he talk to the others too? Even the ones who fought back? You could picture him, chattering softly against the skin of some poor soul, sprawled limp across the floor.

· Limp or lifeless?

· The thought unsettled you, but you did as you were told, filling your lungs nearly to capacity as the sharp edge of the blade bit into the meat of your palm just below your thumb. As promised, he had been quick, pressing only as hard as was necessary. Even so, the sting of it made your flinch, your hand jumping in his own. His fingers tensed around yours, the tightness of his grip reflected in the grimace that flashed across his face as he bent his head to seal his lips around the wound.

· You had expected to feel him pulling the blood from you, but he simply let it flow into his mouth, the coppery taste heavy on his tongue. He exhaled through his nose, long and low—a pleased sound. Something about that set you more at ease. He hadn’t recoiled or wrinkled his nose at the taste of your blood. You hadn’t even realized you were worried about how you tasted until that moment.

· You had started to feel dizzy beneath him—dizzy not from a loss of blood, but the wet heat of his mouth against your skin. Your heart had stuttered in your chest as his tongue probed gently around the edges of the wound, soothing your sparking nerves, even as the blood continued to drip down his throat.

· When at last, he pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breath came hard; his chest heaving as though he’d just run a great distance. Immediately, his hand shot to his front pocket, fingers searching for the roll of gauze bandages he’s swiped from Cuda’s first-aid kit.

· He’d wrapped the clean white fabric around your hand with such care it made your heart ache almost as much as the wound itself. When he was finished, he’d flipped your hand over and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. Then, he spoke. His voice was small, barely more than a ragged whisper, “Thank you.”

· “Was that…was it okay?” Your skin felt feverish, as though the heat of his mouth had seeped into your flesh and was burning you from the inside out. And the dizzy feeling had only grown worse, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut for a long moment.

· Martin was still struggling to get his breathing under control, “Yes. I-It was good…better than good, actually. But…”

· “But?” Had you done something wrong? Had you tasted bad after all? You cracked open one eye, then the other. The spinning had mostly subsided, but you still felt unsteady. “What can I do better next time?”

· He’d gone stiff all over then, and his reply had come sudden and sharp, “No!” He cringed, the force behind his words clearly surprising himself as well. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “No ‘next time.’ I…I can’t stand hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

· You’d gazed up at him, blinking in confusion for a second. Then you realized what he’d meant—you had flinched when he’d cut you. Oh.

· You reached up, cupping his cheek, “Oh, Martin. You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” It wasn’t strictly true—it had hurt a little, but you had been prepared for it to. You brushed a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with a careful swipe of your thumb.

· “Yes, I did. I saw it.” You had tried to protest further, but he’d cut you off, much to your surprise. Martin almost never talked back like this, though perhaps you’d simply never given him a reason before. “I saw you flinch. I won’t put you through this again.”

· And he hadn’t. Though you’d brought the idea up more than once, he had dismissed it each time with the same stubborn shake of his head. If Martin was anything, he was true to his word.

· “…and it’s been such a long time since we heard from the guy.”

· The DJ hums in agreement, “It has indeed, my friend. Maybe we’ll hear from him later tonight. If you’re out there listening, Count, don’t be a stranger! Give us a call,” He begins rattling off the stations toll-free number. “We’re all dying to hear from you again!”

· You feel Martin stiffen up against you. You knew about the interviews he had done; you’d even heard one of them, back when Martin was little more to you than a silent, sullen face behind the counter at Cuda’s shop. And even when he’d started talking to you, he sounded different over the radio—his voice was deeper, and he sounded so confidant, so sure of himself when he talked about his ‘sickness.’ He almost never sounded like that in day-to-day life. You weren’t embarrassed to admit you found it attractive.

· Martin on the other hand, was mortified to know you had heard him. He had known that people were listened to him, obviously, but they were supposed to be strangers. You actually knew him, and he’d talked about sex. Of course, reminding him you’d done a lot more in your time together than simply listen to him talk about sex did little to lessen his horror.

· Of course, you also knew he’d been doing fewer and fewer interviews now that he had you to talk to and share his life with. But on occasion, when the pleading from the DJ gets too desperate, or he was simply that bored, Martin could be coaxed back onto the other end of the phoneline once again.

· You glance up at him, but in the darkness, his expression is unreadable, eyes cast down toward the end of the bed, long lashes throwing feathered shadows across his pale cheeks. From the very beginning, he’s been hard to read. As you’ve come to know him better, you’ve needed to get comfortable with the idea of asking when you want to know something you could easily intuit if speaking to anyone else. He’s very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a neutral expression and placid silence, but he would tell you almost anything if you asked him directly; so long as he had the words to explain it to you.

· Do you want to make a call, Martin?”

· For a long moment, he’s silent, turning the idea over in his mind a few times. You had never actually been with him when he’d done an interview in the past. He’d usually wait until you were three days deep in an assignment with no quick end in sight, or out of town with family. Maybe he would be too embarrassed to do it with you here or maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight. But, after a minute, he tilts his head down toward you and says, “Why not?”

· The radio crackles out a jaunty tune—a commercial for some small business or another. “I’ll call in a few minutes. He doesn’t seem busy tonight.” Martin sits up, bracing his back against the headboard of your bed, and dislodging you from your perch. You grumble a little, irritated by the loss of your comfy spot, but you crawl into his lap anyway.

· You press soft kisses into his skin, beginning at his hairline, and trailing down over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks—the right then the left—the very tip of his nose, and finally his lips. He smiles against your mouth, leaning into the kiss with his whole body.

· When you pull away only a moment later, you can practically hear the pouty turn of his mouth. He whines softly, but you pay him no mind, trailing kisses down his chin. “Are you nervous, Martin?” The question comes out muffled by the soft curve of his jaw.

· “Not really, no…” He trails off, eyes cast to the ceiling, “I like the attention, I s’pose.”

· You pull back to look at him, barely stifling a snort of amusement, “Don’t I give you enough?”

· His eyes slide from the ceiling, falling upon you dark and wide. For a moment, you think he’s taken you seriously, but the pouty turn of his mouth breaks into a blinding grin, “You give me lots, sure, but I’m a creature of the night, remember? We always want more.”

· The two of you sit there for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the silence stretching on into the night. Then, you collapse into each other in a fit of giggles. Martin buries his head into the crook of your neck, shaking with quiet laughter. Sure, when he’d said wasn’t untrue, but when he put it like that, it was hard not to laugh.

· “Welcome back, everybody. It’s almost the top of the hour at 01:57! I’m your host Barry…”

· You hadn’t even heard the ads end! Martin scrambles for the chunky landline phone that rests on the beside table, nimble fingers punching in the numbers at speed. Though his calls had become less and less frequent, he evidently kept the number somewhere in his memory.

· Martin’s voice is hushed as he speaks to whoever manned the phones down at the radio station, muttering something about ‘the Count.’ As he speaks, he winds the coiled phone cord around a delicate finger. It’s a simple, distracted habit of Martin’s but it makes your heart flutter whenever you catch him doing it.

· You stretch your arm as far as you can, reaching for the radio, unwilling to give up your perch in Martin’s lap for even a second. Your fingertips brush the cool metal—once, twice—then you manage to curl your fingers around it. Pulling it into your lap you turn the volume down low so only you can hear it.

· “I’m just getting word that we have a special guest on the line,” the DJ sounds positively elated, “Folks, it looks like the Count is back in town. Hello, Count! Where have ya’ been?”

· Martin hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as he searches for the words, “Around.”

· There is a definite lag between the words in his mouth, and those same words coming through the radio. The dissonance confounds your ears and makes your head ache in a dizzy sort of way, but you want to hear both halves of this conversation, not just Martin’s.

· “So, what trouble have you been getting into since we last spoke, Count? Murdered any pretty ladies recently?”

· There’s a smile in Martin’s voice, “Not ladies, no.”

· “Oh really? Any men then?”

Martin glances down at you, though he makes a non-committal noise. The DJ takes a breath, as though he’s going to say something, but Martin cuts him off, “I wouldn’t call what I do murder, anyhow.”

· “No? But you still need to drink blood, right?”

· “Oh, yes.”

· “How have you been getting your food, then? Don’t vampires uh…kill with every strike?”

· Martin laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shudder through you. “I’ve been managing.” His tone is damn near conversational. You gaze down at him, marvelling at how easy this seems to be for him. The Martin you’ve come to know and love rarely (if ever) speaks to strangers, and when he has no other choice, he’s never this talkative. It’s strange, but by no means an unwelcome change. You nuzzle against him, letting his voice thrum through your skull as it vibrates around in his chest.

· “Enough talk of blood and guts, Count. What about your other problems, huh? Tell me, are the streets of Braddock safe at last from the real terror stalking them? Have you…” He pauses conspiratorially, “Found yourself a girl yet?”

· Those words drive an icy spike of hurt deep into your guts. No, he had not found himself a girl. Martin must have felt your jaw clenching, as his free hand begins to card through your hair—soothing and soft.

· “I’ve found…someone.” The implications of that word settles you almost as much as his touch. ‘Someone.’ Not a woman, but someone of significance, nonetheless. He bends down to press a quick kiss into the crown of your head. “Someone special.”

· The DJ gasps, sounding scandalized. “Someone special! Well, I never. Good for you, Count.” You can’t say you’re a fan of the man’s tone—pleasant enough, but with a sharp edge that borders on condescending. But there’s little you can do but grit your teeth and bear it. “How long until you suck this one dry and move on?”

· Wow. Fuck this guy. On some level, you’d known he was an asshole—sure you felt bad for him when people were rude, but he could dish it out just as well as he could take it. Every once in a while, he’d push a caller too hard or make a snide comment the conversation could have done without. You didn’t like hearing it when strangers were involved, and now that you were the subject of such a comment, you like it even less. He makes it sound like you’re some random conquest, or worse, little more than a meal to Martin. How wrong he was.

· Suck this one dry and move on? Fat chance, Buddy. Though, his wording did give you an idea…maybe you could make this night just a little more interesting for the both of you.

You sit back, uncurling your legs and dropping your knees to either side of Martin’s hips, straddling his lap properly. Settling your weight back into his lap, you pull a face, pointing to the radio in your lap and mouthing, ‘What a jaggoff!’

· Martin’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to stifle his laughter. He nods sympathetically but doesn’t say anything about it to the DJ. He’s slow to anger, preferring to divert the conversation rather than cause a scene. You can’t help but admire him for that. You lean forward, stamping a kiss against his collarbone.

· “I…uh…try not to eat the things I love.”

· “Ooooh, so it’s love, huh?”

· You roll your eyes at the DJ, though you can’t deny hearing Martin say he loves you sends a little thrill through you—it was the same thrill you’d felt the first time he had said it to you, and the same thrill you hoped to feel for years to come. You trail little, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Martin’s throat, your mouth feverishly warm against his skin. A shudder jolts through him like an electric shock as your teeth scape across his Adam’s apple. You grin against his flesh, sliding up to nip along the underside of his jaw. There is a sensitive spot at the very corner that you love to exploit, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to do so.

· Your teeth graze over the spot and his body jitters beneath you. His voice catches in his throat, though if the DJ notices, he doesn’t comment. You nip gently at the spot, reddening the pale skin as you worry it with your teeth. You long to suck a bruise there—the purple-blue hue would doubtless look stunning against the pallor of his skin, but you knew Cuda would have a conniption if he saw it, and you didn’t want to put Martin through that again. Not after last time. The pair of you had agreed that perhaps in future, it would be better if any hickeys you left remained under your clothes.

· Pressing one final kiss against that spot, you pull back to look at him. You can tell he’s getting flustered—there’s a flush beginning to creep up his neck from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, deep pink and blotchy. You know, given time, it will reach his cheeks, the colour blooming high on his cheekbones. When you get him worked up enough, you could make Martin blush to the very tips of his ears. It was adorable.

· Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as you drag your nails down his chest. His teeth catch his lower lip. You can almost hear the whine trapped behind those pearly teeth.

· “Why don’t you tell us a little about this special someone, Count?”

· Martin hesitates, “I don’t know about that.”

· “Nonsense! You can tell your good ol’ pal Barry. Who am I gonna tell?”

· Martin isn’t that stupid. He knows Barry doesn’t need to tell anyone anything—he’s live on air, he’d be telling them himself. His eyes flick down to yours, searching for something, be it permission or resistance. He pulls the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder as he waits for you to make up your mind. You know he’d hang up in an instant if you asked him to—he’d likely do you one better and never call in again if the DJ was just going to ask questions about you all night long. But you trusted Martin not to give too much information away—he’d managed to stay hidden all this time, after all.

· You nodded at him, smiling and thumbing gently over a nipple. Though your touch is light, and the sensation is dampened by the fabric of his shirt, Martin makes a sound as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He shifts beneath you, tucking the phone underneath his chin as he moves.

· You grip the striped fabric of his shirt, working it in your hands. You lift it a little, fingers slipping just beneath it to splay against the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is warm and soft beneath your hands. You look down at him, arching a brow and asking for permission with only your eyes.

· “Fine.” He says, and though the word is an answer for the DJ’s pleading, he’s talking to you, looking directly into your eyes—granting the permission you were so hoping for.

· “Great! So, how long have you been together?”

· You fall into him, hands pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up over his chest. Your lips are on his skin in a matter of seconds, trailing kisses across every inch of exposed skin—stomach, ribs, hips, and everything in between.

· “It’s been ahh—” His words are cut short by a tight little moan as you bite down hard just below his left nipple. However, he manages a solid recovery as your tongue laves over the spot soothing the sting, playing the whole thing off as though he had needed time to stop and think about it, “—bout a year, maybe a little longer.”

· Clever boy.

· You drag your tongue a little higher, flicking over the sensitive skin of his nipple. He arches into your touch, hips canting up against yours, threatening to buck you from your perch. He tilts his head, trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for you with both hands.

· He takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling your head away from his chest. You grin up at him, taking in his expression—his pupils blown so wide with want they swallow all but the slimmest ring of brown iris, his lips parted and shining in the semi-darkness, flushed to the tips of his ears.

· You surge up to kiss him, remembering only at the last moment, he needs to keep his mouth free to carry on the conversation. With a huff, you divert your course, and fix your lips back against the skin of Martin’s neck.

· He swallows hard as you press your lips back against his pulse, pushing his hips back up into yours. You can’t keep the grin form your face as you feel him pressing up against you—the outline in his pants far more noticeable now.

· His hands tremble slightly as they search for yours, dragging them down to the front of his jeans. You grin widens as you press down. Even through the thick denim, you can feel his cock throb under your palm. Someone’s excited.

· You look down at him and he turns his head away, flushing a shade darker. He was so easy to wind up like this, it was almost unbelievable. A few kisses here, and gentle touch there, and he was a blushing, whining mess spread out on your sheets for you to enjoy however your pleased. You had chalked the over-sensitivity up to a lack of experience, and had expected it to fade after a few months, but it hadn’t. He was just that reactive, not that you were complaining.

· With deft fingers, you pop the button of his jeans, quietly dragging the zipper down. He lifts his hips, wriggling helpfully as you drag his pants and underwear down over his thighs.

· His cock bobs free, flushed and leaking already. You ghost the pads of your fingers over the soft skin of his shaft, and he shudders, his whole body tensing. His knuckles are white where he grips the phone, and his jaw is tight with the struggle of keeping quiet.

· You wrap your hand around him, stroking gently from base to tip. His back arches off from the headboard, and he falls forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. The phone receiver bumps against your collarbone, hard and hollow. The plastic is pleasantly cool against your feverish skin.

· “Is it different being with a…uh…forgive the expression, normal person?”

· “They’re a…” His laugh is breathy, almost a moan as he glances down at you, “a real handful.”

· You barely stifle a laugh. You glare down at him in mock disapproval, and he sticks his tongue out at you. Cheeky little bastard. Though the colour still sits high on his cheeks, and his breathing comes through parted lips in short puffs, he seems to have adjusted well to your pace.

· “Nothing you can’t handle though, I’m sure. Do they know about your…condition, shall we say?”

· “They are aware, yes.”

· The DJ laughs, “And how did that go? Can’t be an easy thing to hear—that your boyfriend might vamp out and eat you whole!”

· Martin sighs, “I already told you, I don’t eat people…” His voice is much steadier now, even as your fingers brush along the sensitive spots on the underside of his cock. That means its time to switch things up. You can’t have him getting too comfortable. Where would the fun be in that? You tighten your grip—something that usually makes Martin thrash against the sheets and sob into your pillows—and begin to swipe your thumb gently over the tip of his cock with every upward stroke. He almost drops the phone as he yanks it away from his mouth. He covers the receiver with a shaking hand just in time, as a soft whine slips through his teeth, “Oh, fuck…”

· You press a finger up against your lips, reminding him to be quiet. He presses up into your fist, his hips stuttering as your thumb traces a lazy circle around his head. His free hand flutters nervously about his mouth, as he tries desperately to keep quiet. His breath comes sharp and quick though his nose as he struggles to keep control. You shift your weight, pinning his hips back down with your thighs, and though he tries to buck back up against you, you hold him firmly in place. He whines high in his throat, shooting a pleading look up at you, but you just shake your head and point at the phone, ‘Keep going.’

· Slowly, Martin brings the receiver back up to his ear. His tongue flickers out over his lips and he lets out a shaky breath, “S-Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

· “I said, ‘let’s circle back to what you said before,’ about not eating what you love. Why not? If you don’t need to kill to feed, why not feed on this special someone? Surely if they love you back, they’d be willing.”

· You slow your hand, wanting to give Martin a fighting chance at answering. You were momentarily intrigued by the DJ’s line of questioning. You knew why Martin didn’t want to feed on you, but you were curious as to what sort of excuse he would give.

· “W-Well…it’s come up mo-ore than once but…” Martin goes silent as you squeeze down on him, his posture going rigid, his head thrown back against the headboard.

· The DJ lets the silence hang for a moment, but when Martin doesn’t finish his thought, he cuts in, “But…? You still there, Count?”

· You let up, and Martin takes a big gulp of air, as though he had only just remembered he needed to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I’m here. It’s…it’s complicated.”

· “Oh yeah? How?”

· “Well, it’s not about whether they’ll let me or not…” He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he steadies himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “It’s that I want more.”

· He tries in vain to buck up into your fist, his hips rolling in shallow, abortive little thrusts. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, his eyes boring deep into your own.

· ‘I want more.’ Those words were meant for you.

· You blink down at him, momentarily dumb founded. Then a grin spreads across your face, sharp and hungry. If he wants more, you’ll give it to him—you’d give it to him until he was begging you to stop.

· Sliding down his body, you know this is risky. Martin has never been good at keeping quiet, especially not when you’ve got your mouth on him. But the idea is simply too enticing to pass up on. When were you ever going to get the change to suck his cock live on air again? Besides, this might be good practice for him in the art of keeping his voice down—not that you didn’t love to hear him, it just might be nice to keep your…activities a secret from the whole neighbourhood for once.

· You wriggle down onto your stomach, bringing your face level with Martin’s cock. Settling yourself into a comfortable position between his knees, you bend your head, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.

· He makes an involuntary choking sound in the back of his throat. You look up at him, resting your chin on the tops of his thighs. You want to give him the time he needs to make up his mind. If he tells you ‘no,’ or pushes you away, you’d gladly go back to stroking his cock and kissing his neck. You would get just as much pleasure from the shivers and whimpers you could wring out of him that way.

· But he doesn’t tell you no, rather he pushes his hips up against you, pressing the tip hard against your lips. You flick your tongue out, ghosting for only a moment over his sensitive flesh, but it’s enough to make his eyes roll back, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You do it again, and his mouth falls open. Though no sound escapes the look on his face is just as glorious.

· This is going to be fun.

· You crane your neck, opening your mouth and gently taking the head inside. Martin’s free hand shoots to his mouth, and he bites down hard on the meat of his palm to stop himself from sobbing out loud. You press your tongue flat against him, dragging it slowly against his hot flesh. He thrashes beneath you, jostling the phone against his cheek.

· Carefully, you sink further down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He lets out a long sigh around a mouthful of palm.

· “What was that, Count?”

· “Oohh…nothing,” Martin grinds out, “Just…closing a window.”

· The lie was flimsy, but the DJ, despite his skeptical tone, didn’t seem interested in pressed him on it further, “…Right…so how is your control around this person, huh? Do you ever get the urge to just go to town on them?”

· Martin’s laugh comes out as a low purr, and he bucks into your mouth once, “Mmm, sometimes.” Ever so slowly, as you’ve sunk down onto his cock, he’s been curling in on himself. His head now rests atop your own, and you can feel the heat of his cheek radiating against your scalp. If that heat is anything to go by, he must be positively scarlet.

· “And what does that entail for you exactly?”

· With a little jolt, his cock brushes up against the back of your throat. You swallow down a little choking noise, breathing steadily through your nose in an attempt to calm your gag reflex.

· The warmth of Martin’s cheeks is suddenly gone as he straightens up again. His head hits the headboard with a thump. “I-I just wanna…” He swallows thickly, his breath coming hard, “Push into…p-push my teeth into their throat and just,” He bucks up into your throat, either unable, or simply unwilling to stay still any longer, “just take what I want.”

· “Their…blood?”

· You swallow around Martin and his back arches so far he practically lifts off the bed “Yes! Yes, everything they have to give!”

· “Right…for a moment there it sounded a bit more, uh, sexually motivated than that.”

· Again, your throat contracts around him, and a hiss of air escapes through his teeth, “No difference really…”

· The DJ is silent for a moment, “Now that’s an interesting tidbit about you, Count. I’m sure all the ladies out there would love to hear more about that.”

· Marin fucks up into your throat again with a soft groan, “I’m…I’m sure they would but,” His breath is coming harder now, “unfortunately, I’m taken.”

· The DJ laughs, “Hear that, Count? That’s the sound of hundreds of hearts all over Braddock breaking. Sorry, folks but it looks like you’re out of luck.”

· Oh. He’s taken alright. You can just imagine the anguished looks on their faces when you learn he gets taken almost every other night by another man.

· Though you’d love to keep him in this position, you’re struck by the sudden, possessive urge to have him on his back. You tap his thigh thrice in quick succession and Martin withdraws almost immediately. He’s always so respectful of your wishes, even if he whines a little when his cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden chill of the air on his wet cock sends a shiver through him.

· You scoot back, grabbing Martin by the calves, and pulling him down into a more horizontal position. He fumbles with the phone, as it slips from his grasp, landing on the bed near his shoulder.

· “What’s going on, Count?”

· “S-Sorry, I just…I just dropped the phone is all. I’m…I’m feeling awful shaky these days.”

· “Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”

· Martin’s tone is distracted, “Ages.” He is far more focused on you, his dark eyes trained on yours as you loom over him.

· The DJ asks another question, but you’re not listening as you slip Martin’s slick cock into your mouth, wasting no time in taking him back into your throat where he belongs.

· Though you can’t make out his words so well over the rushing in your ears, Martin’s voice sounds strained, slightly higher than usual. He’s fighting the pleasure hard.

· His free hand fists itself in your hair, pushing you down tighter against his cock. You swallow hard, trying desperately not to gag as he rolls is hips into your mouth. He’s come such a long way since the first time you asked him to fuck your mouth. He’d been so nervous that you did most of the work, bobbing your head faster and faster until he’d spilled deep into your mouth. He had apologized for almost an hour after, thinking the rasp in your voice was all his fault. Now? He’s practically asphyxiating you, and you hadn’t needed to say a word.

· Martin is shaking—his thighs tremble on either side of your head, and the phone in his hands nearly slips from his grasp again with the force of the tremors passing through him.

· You hollow your cheeks and he’s forced to cover the receiver again as a series of whimpers tear free from his lips. You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, and he sobs, his hips canting up off the bed.

· “I-I’m close,” His frantic whisper comes tight through his teeth, an edge bordering on panic creeping into his voice. You grip his thigh and redouble your efforts, gaining a high whine in return.

· “Hey, Count? Count there’s a lot of interference on your end…I can’t really hear you. I think this is where this conversation has to end, but call back another night, huh?” Martin doesn’t even respond, he simply slams the receiver back into the cradle, ending the call.

· Almost as soon as the call has disconnected, he’s a whimpering mess. “Oh, fuck! Your mouth…I-I can’t! Is it okay? Is it okay if I…?”

· He can’t bring himself to say it, but you know what he means and hum a soft affirmation around his cock. He cries out as the sound vibrates around his over-sensitive flesh.

· With a whimper, he fucks up into your mouth, once, twice, then he shudders, his whole body going rigid as he cums. His knees clamp around your ears, squeezing your head as he shakes with the pleasure. His fingers pull at your hair, any tighter and you’re sure he’ll pull some out. But you press on, hollowing your cheeks, letting him ride the high for as long as he can.

· The sound he makes as you swallow around him is nothing short of wrecked. His fingers claw the sheets as though he’s trying to drag himself away from you, from your mouth, but his body remains locked in place beneath you.

· His cock twitches against your tongue as you slowly pull back, the wet drag of your tongue digging raw little whimpers from his throat, and a shudder passed through him when you pull of and his cock is again exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hips press forward, seeking the tight heat of your throat again. It would seem almost desperate if the motion wasn’t so sluggish, almost sleepy.

· He reaches for you then in the dark. His hands, hot and sweaty from exertion and gripping both the phone and the sheets for so long, grasp either side of your face as he pulls you up for a kiss.

· The salty taste of his cum still coats your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care as he presses his lips against yours with a desperation you rarely see in him.

· Pulling back, you whisper against his lips, “Was that enough attention?”

· He smiles, “For me? Yes.” He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “But now it’s your turn.”

#martin x reader #slasher x reader #martin 1977 #slasher imagines #ripper fics #sorry for how late this is #enjoy!

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a-beast-of-prey · 5 years

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▌𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: Forever unknown and doomed to be known only as K’ (pronounced Kay Dash, not Kay Apostraphe. K Prime also works, but if you call him that to his face, he’ll deck you).

▌𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍: Single. Though I do have some writing partners whose muses he’s shacked up with, since I multiship. However, they all belong to their own seperate continuities/verses and don’t overlap unless all parties agree to it.

▌𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒/ 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒: Pyrokinesis; wields Kusanagi fire from his right hand only. Can sometimes make the fire manifest as small explosions, adding extra oomph to punches. Also able to kick it out in projectiles. Translocation; has a branch ability of the technique where he appears to completely freeze time for roughly three seconds. Minorly boosted strength and healing capabilities thanks to genetic manipulation and modifications. Rather uncanny aim with thrown projectiles (especially if they’re odd, like eyewear).

▌𝐄𝐘𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑: Blue. Exact shade seems to change, but a sky or slate blue might be the most consistent. (I know I use “icy” as a descriptor a lot, but it’s more for the emotional coldness they give off than the actual colour. Plus the juxtaposition with his flame powers lmao)

▌𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑: Snowy white. Platinum or silver also kinda works.

▌𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒: Older sister, Seirah, who is dead but got cloned. The clone also responds to Seirah, but is more commonly known as Whip. May or may not have a mother and father somewhere in the world. Or they could be dead. Who knows? Certainly not this poor lad. :^)

▌𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐒: None; can’t afford to look after one on the team’s current budget, and it also isn’t safe for an animal to hang around them when they’re still being hunted for the powers in their bodies. Used to have a dog as a child, pre-kidnapping.

▌𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄: Sweets, King of Fighters tournaments, and being controlled by people.

▌𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒/𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒: Sleeping, riding his motorcycle, reading, yoga.

▌𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄: Lots of people. Mostly NESTS personnel and assassination targets for NESTS before defecting from them.

▌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌: Crows, beasts of prey (mostly wolves, tigers, and lions), lazy asshole cats.

▌𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒: Rude; tendency to take his temper out on others... generally with fists and fire; smoking and drinking; isolates himself, especially when he’s hurting emotionally; bottles up vulnerability until it eventually explodes; leaves his sunglasses collection everywhere so it all gets sat on/thrown in the wash/generally ruined; deliberately throws those same sunglasses at people’s faces and doesn’t care about how many pairs break or how much it costs because it looks cool; binge eating or starving himself when depression is at its worst.

▌𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐒: None. Admires certain qualities in people around him, but doesn’t put them on quite that high of a pedestal because he sees them more like equals.

▌𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Bisexual.

▌𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐄/𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒: His immediate thoughts are no thank you and fuckitty bye. He has enough commitment issues (and issues in general) that make it difficult to enter a meaningful relationship in the first place, let alone marrying someone. Eighteen is also too young to be thinking of that shit anyhow. Big no to kids too for the same reason, and also because he’s terrified of the idea that any nut spawn that come from him are going to grow up as sad and messed up as he is. Also acutely aware of the fact that he can barely take care of himself some days, so he’d struggle with a little snot goblin that depends on him. Might consider adoption, maybe... Though this would have to be a very tight-knit relationship that’s been going on for years to even entertain the thought, mind you.

▌𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒: Hospitals and lab settings; having the few people he sees as friends abandon him completely; losing his flames (even if he sees them as a burden, he figures he’s useless without them, and will be abandoned accordingly); the hypothetical loss of all sense of self, and also completely forgetting his friends, should he ever start regaining his lost memories.

▌𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒: All black leather is his main go-to. Otherwise he just wears whatever the fuck is comfortable, regardless of ugliness of colour and/or patterning. Tacky Hawaiian print shirts are a favourite for some reason - probably Maxima’s abysmal dad fashion sense™ rubbing off on him. Generally prefers jeans and long pants. Tightness and looseness of all clothing varies. If applicable, jackets and button up shirts must be open so he can breast boobily. Often ditches shirts under jackets and hoodies like a tosser because it looks cool, irregardless of, say, nipple chafe from leather. Almost never seen without his cross necklace because it’s very important to him. Always has a minimum of one to three pairs of sunglasses on his person at all times, even if you can’t see them being worn on his face.

▌𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄: Platonic sense? He’s got Maxima, Kula, and Whip/Seirah. Romantically is, again, verse and partner dependant because I multiship.

▌𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒: Never initiates them and actively pushes people away with prickliness and rudeness instead. But if you can somehow tolerate his bullshit with patience and kindness without abusing it, or his trust, over enough time, there will be a slight shift in demeanour, mostly without him realising it. He’s still rude as hell, but there’s no bite to his insults anymore. True friends earn unwavering loyalty - the kind where he will fight and lay his life down for you, if necessary - and quiet and subtle shows of kindness. More open displays of kindness are not only mega rare, but awkward. But it’s kind of endearing and cute... just don’t tell him that or he’ll sulk.

▌𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊: Coffee. Beer too.

▌𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐓: The beach. In the apartment he shares with Maxima and Kula; the couch is his favourite spot, as is the kitchen. Roaring down any stretch of road on his bike.

▌𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐌 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍: Ocean is preferable, but he’ll take whatever he can get on a hot day.

▌𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄: Anyone who can put up with his bitchass to begin with, tbh. Looking at some of my ships though... rays of sunshine, or someone who meets his snark with equal snark, seem to stand out. Superficially, if they’re hot in some fashion he’s going to have a passing interest. Mmmmmight have a thing for larger men lowkey? A fan of big chests on anyone; they’re optimal pillows. Someone who can kick his ass just as much as he kicks theirs.

▌𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐒: Indoors. He’s not afraid of going into the woods at all, but if given a choice, he’s melting into a couch and never stepping foot outside unless necessary. He’s lazy and is loath to part with creature comforts.

TAGGED BY: nobody; I stole it from several people when it was making rounds a few weeks ago

TAGGING: *reaches thru my screen to boop ur nose*

#♱ [MEMES] chance encounters #{{oops this got very long because of elaborations}}

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littlebabycrybtch · 3 years

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ok ik bitches are still going to complain but i gotta rant to keep my shit together;;; ngl after being stuck co-raising two babies now i really feel genuinely Disgusted by unnecessary parent critique. like it actually makes me feel so viscerally upset and depressed when i remember nobody gets this or cares to and probably just wants to call out what im doing wrong, instead of lend me a hand to do it better. man im not treading lightly here the ‘no excuses’ mentality is literally Inhumane to parents and dehumanizes them as these superhumans, they arent, they are people trying to take care of themselves Plus One. there Are ‘excuses’ for not being perfect. just bc every child deserves perfect doesnt mean it can be given and that fucking SUCKS but that is one of the only times im comfortable saying; ‘thats just life’. you cant magically make life better for kids the way you think, you’re not a protector, you’re their Rock to teach them How to DEAL with what life brings, that means you’re allowed to struggle with it too. childcare is like this cosmic design to work you physically and mentally to the brink, fucking forget the normalization of how many people you think you’ve seen raise kids and done fine, it is harder than you can even fathom. they probably did not do fine behind closed doors. the parents with the best behaved and most obedient kids probably did harmful things to make them that way that will eventually come back to them, the parents with the happiest most well adjusted kids probably had the money to provide the extra care for that. there are ‘excuses’. idc if it fucking annoys you or w/e, i dont like being the bitch that says stuff nobody wants to hear, but you truly deeply cannot 100% understand unless you are raising kids, i dont say that to hurt your feewings or exclude you, i used to think that way, i say it bc when you see me passed out on the couch while my nephew gets into something dangerous, its because i got one hour of sleep that night while he kicked me in our bed for 4 hours. he cant help not knowing how that affects both of us, but i cant help being affected by it just cuz im supposed to be ~the big strong adult~, bc i am not a fucking xman. i CANT pretend it all away. while im sitting there napping im also waiting for my mental health meds to start working. im also dizzy from not eating. it sucks that he gets into shit sometimes. hes still gonna get into shit sometimes, and i can do my best, but if i sit here worrying that karens are gonna get pissed abt that and work myself even harder im gonna straight up explode. who does that help. who does me falling apart help. come babysit my kid for free if you wanna help me bitch!

parents are doing twice the work of a normal person while also teaching one of these people theyre caring for, how to BE a person. i used to be SO pro judging parents and im literally nauseated by the judgments now. “i cant believe this parent looked away and their kid got hurt, i cant beleive they just leave them there with a tablet or a snack or a toy while they nap, i cant believe they let them do that, i cant believe--” btich you literally have no idea how lucky you are that they are not both already dead. you are so lucky tehy are both alive and the parent isnt hospitalized for mental health or even physical exhaustion, or addicted to a stimulant (which includes caffeine), or using smth to relax like weed or alcohol (hello wine mom culture), or the kid isnt traumatized from watching their parent have repeatd breakdowns. that is literally better than most situations already. no matter how impossibly perfect the family could be in your mind, kids fuckin get hurt and they make mistakes and the PARENTS make mistakes bc theyre PEOPLE and yall this blows my mind that ppl dont realize this but,,,,, Little kids??? THEY DO NOT LISTEN TO THEIR PARENTS bc they essentially CANT..... for like YEARS there is a period they WILL NOT LISTEN TO YOU at ALL while they have the full autonomy and smarts and strength to cause horrible consequential problems, they are capable of learning how to circumnavigate your ‘babyproofing’ in new ways every single day, but they have ZEROOOOO MORALS OR CAUSE AND EFFECT SKILLS to understand RIGHT FROM WRONG, NO MATTER HOW OFTEN YOU TELL THEM!!!!! IT WONT CHANGE, ITS LITERALLY A PHYSICAL BRAIN THING THAT THEY CANT LEARN WHAT ‘NO’ MEANS FOR A WHILE YET!!! THIS CAN LAST FROM AGE 1 TO 4, SOMETIMES LONGER! THATS GENUINELY INSANITY INDUCING FOR THE ADULT WHOS KEEPING THEM IN LINE HUNDREDS OF TIMES A DAY, KNOWING ITS AMOUNTING TO ALMOST NOTHING UNTIL YEARS LATER!!!! IT DOESNT HELP WHEN PPL JUDGE YOU AND DONT BELEIVE YOU AND THINK YOU JUST ARENT ~TRYING HARD ENOUGH~! holy FUCK dude, idc if you wanna judge, im losing it bc i am being forced to keep my cool while a child whos pinching me and genuinely HURTING and BRUISING me laughs in my face bc he truly DOES NOT KNOW this, and there is NO WAY for me to convey it to make him stop at the moment!!!! thats maddening!!!

listen to me, neither of you dying or experiencing lasting damage is literally the goal every day, not just ‘raising them’, but that you both survive to the end of it. im appalled by how different the lifestyle is and the way ppl just... dont know that/REJECT that information so they get to judge. ofc tiny vulnerable innocent kids deserve the best, parents cannot always provide that if they want to Survive, bc they also deserve , basic understanding and humanity. you call out abuse all you want, theres a difference between the 'lesser of two evils’ choices, or even the genuinely Bad choices you can Accidentally make when at your wits end (which you should immediately correct anyways), and ever causing intentional physical or mental harm to the child, but the secodn yall start nitpicking or blatantly being ignorant to a struggle just so you get your blame validation in i literally cannot AFFORD to give you the time of day, im busy running on minutes of sleep, so if you think i have enough free time to entertain ur whining that my kids got a messy face and has been on his tablet in a highchair for an hour or w/e, idc, im using that time to shower for the first time in 2 weeks bc nobody else is gonna be there for me to let me do that shit :) so frankly put your money where your mouth is and help struggling parents whenever you can. i cant make shit better out of thin air.

“oh, but i dont have the money to help you.” YOU THINK IM AFFORDING CHILDCARE?? YOU CAN COME OVER AND HELP DIRECTLY WHILE I DO CHORES. “oh, but i dont wanna babysit for my friends, i dont like kids.” OH REALLY?????? OH YOU DONT LIKE KIDS??? BC THEYRE DIFFICULT MAYBE ??? SO MAYBE YOU SHOULDNT JUDGE WHEN ITS HARD THEN????? LIKE YOU RLY THINK JUST ‘LIKING THEM’ SUDDENLY MAKES IT EASY FOR ME?? YOU THINK ME FINDING MY NEPHEW CUTE AND LOVING HIM AND HIS LAUGHTER GIVES ME FUCKING SUPERMAN POWERS TO DEAL WITH THIS???????? “but You chose to have kids” rt in my case i literally didnt and would be homeless if not offering to help care for them but HEY COOL CONCEPT PRO CHOICE KINDA FUCKIN INCLUDES WHEN PEOPLE ‘CHOOSE’ TO HAVE KIDS EVEN WHEN THEY STRUGGLE AFTER, TOO LATE TO FUCKIN COMPLAIN NOW, JUST HELP A BITCH OUT. LIke... bro BRO b R O im losing it stop giving parents the inspiration porn treatment while disrespecting the actual struggles they go thru any time the child actually suffers bc they are unable to shield them from their struggle. can i be real, life literally will not go without struggle. you cannot raise them to have a life better than what the world is, you can do your best but you really cant MAKE it fair. once again this is not a ‘raise the perfect child’ contest you are just . trying to raise them at all. its messy. every single day you will have successes and failures, and you’ll be running on empty, and you’ll be doing that just to make it through to do it again tomorrow, while it slowly (AGONIZINGLY SLOWLY) gets easier each day. im tired of pretending lmao i dont wanna hear you bitches judge parents anymore, i dont wanna hear the stupid ass ‘im allowed to’ shit anymore dude!!!!! for gods sake i can agree with you when some shits just plain wrong but ill never apologize for standing up for myself or other struggling parents even if it makes you uncomfy, i can care about Both the child and the parent at the same time, ig i wont ask you why you seemingly cant. 😶 ESPECIALLY when things like classism and ableism tie in so often with these situations. not to mention racism like im white but hoooo if i hear one more story about a black parents ‘negligence’ in efforts of just trying to help their family, like leaving their kids somewhere during a job interview or w/e, vs the white parents that LET THEIR 10 YR OLDS WANDER AROUND MALLS BY THEMSELVES... im gonna scream. im gonna fuckin scream. its so unfair. fuck off, stop the spiteful ignorance, change this shitty hateful culture.

tldr; you Can care about kids while respecting parents, even when they arent perfect. you can advocate for children while also advocating for parents, and in fact, you should fucking try.

#vent/ //#might delete later ///#ok to rb but. i swear to god if this pops off and ppl whine...... literally L I T ER A LL Y come take care of my kids #NO BETTER YET BC ITS ACTUALLY FEASIBLE!! FOR EVERY COMPLAINT. 5 DOLLARS IN MY PAYPAL #SO I CAN AFFORD DAYCARE. LITERALLY IF OYU CLAIM ANY STUPID SHIT BC I ADMIT ITS HARD TO CARE FOR SMALL KIDS #U HAVE NO EXCUSE TO NOT PUT THAT FAKE BITCHY JUDGY CONCERN INTO ACTUAL RESULTS. THANKX #anyways on a real note again this is a vent moreso than a disc horse post thats meant to be shared around so #its not perfect its just. my feelings over the past couple years dealing w this man #really fuckin tired of it i really spent so many years 100% on the side of 'i have critical understanding i get to judge'#no i didnt. no you dont. its not comprehensible till you're pushed to your own limit with childcare. i hate being that btich #cuz nobody wants to hear it. but its the truth swallow it #long post //

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misspaigej · 4 years

Text

My First Trip to Africa: Sierra Leone, Freetown - Kono

AFRICA

I constantly desired to go to Africa. Like most Afro-Americans, I grew up in an surroundings idolizing the whole lot, Africa. Once I got there, I comprehend I Knew nothing approximately Africa. My maternal grandmother made it clear that everything Africa is excellent. Granny did not, however, spend time disparaging the accomplishments of different cultures.

Growing up in Nicaragua's Latino and black cultures. And for me, there is no differentiating among these two ethnicities. Latinos are blacks, and black are Latinos. But this is not so for each person who finds choose with one group.

In Africa, these differences will amplify. Creating a surreal world in which an elite minority will treat different with detached. Sometimes stereotype can give an explanation for things If it turned into easy as black and white. However, things are seldom black or white.

STEREOTYPES

The standard stereotype can not explain Africa's ethnic variations; maximum people's look darkish to me, however they are variations; differences that go again for centuries. The Sierra Leoneans requested me regularly, "are you Nigerian," "American" or "Hausa," those usually got here up. Chief Morsay described Biko and me as "white." He told us that we're foreigners much like human beings with white skin. His index finger became rubbing the pinnacle of his hand for emphasis. When Afro-Americans do this in a conversation, we recognise that it's an impediment similar to "Whites Only." "You're not Africans," he stated. In Africa, it topics where you come from, or from what aspect of the river; within the case of the Congo's Bushong and the Lele ethnic group; what aspect of the river makes a distinction socially politically and financially.

But none of that changed into on my mind. I became excited to visit Africa. Relating to my grandmother's Afrocentric ideals; I wanted to look for myself the grandeur of the continent that launched civilization and the entirety that makes us stunning: The melanin, the curves, rhythm, the meals Loose Diamonds. A list of defense mechanism, my vanity used to combat the regular influx of American racist propaganda, where the whole lot is ready colour, and black is the colour that faints all hues.

RACISM

Consequently, racism is the lens thru which most Afro-Americans view the sector. It's not a distorting lens; for the most component, the lens is accurate; despite the fact that limiting. Focusing most effective on the only view. In a international where people find myriad of ways to segregate each other, racism makes this division feasible.

It is obvious that the Belgians of King Leopold II acted inside the maximum racist, inhuman way in the direction of the humans of the Congo. But in the long run Mobutu Sese Seko of the Ngbandi ethnic group arrested Patrice Lumumba of the Tetela ethnic group. I do not think that ethnicity become the cause for Mobutu Sese Seko transgression in the direction of Lumumba. Thomas Sankara and Blaise Compaoré, each are from the Mossi ethnic organization of Burkina Faso. But similar to King Leopold II, greed become the cause for Mobutu's treachery in the direction of Patrice Lumumba and the destruction of infinite Congolese lives. Compaoré did the same in Burkina Faso securing privileges for a ruling minority; keeping strength on the rate of Thomas Sankara and the humans of Burkina Faso. Using corruption, expropriation even overseas assistance to preserve electricity. With no country to answer to, these guys have been no one of a kind than King Leopold II inside the inhumane remedy in their countrymen.

In Sierra Leone, the (RUF) will put in force the equal, cutting off limbs and ad systematic rape and homicide; dispersing lots and enslaving the population to extract diamonds for his or her non-public wealth.

POVERTY

But poverty is a relative factor. Having grown up in the Caribbean and Latin America. I changed into conversant in 1/3 world fact. But none of this organized me for Africa.

THE TRIP

The extent on conversations goes up the nearer you get to the African departure living room. Things are direct. Laughter reinforced; the sucking of the teeth is loud, the grins big.

The plane landed in Lungi International airport to a remarkable chorus of cheers and applauses. Like a Hollywood emancipation scene, Africans are satisfied and thankful to be domestic. You can experience their excitement. I too turned into excited, to greet the African air. Stepping out of the aircraft, I located the humidity familiar. What turned into different, was to check out a crowd and seeing one coloration of black humans. I attempted now not to appearance surprised; I pretend I've been here before. The Africans looked at me like if I've been here earlier than too.

The tarmac and runway are big, like any airports. But at Lungi you don't see the buses, vehicles or the on foot tunnel protecting you from inclement weather. Everything is open and huge as the sky. I did not see industrial airplanes or business aircraft; simply empty tarmac with a much far away blue-green woodland horizon with out a homes in sight.

Walking into the slight immigration constructing become a marvel, no crowds! I notion this unusual for an worldwide airport. Somehow, I notion they might be connecting flights to the other part of Africa. Only the folks that could be boarding at the identical aircraft in course to Liberia. Right away as you enter the constructing, you notice a few old style booths with modern fingerprint popularity machines. Immigration officers had been smooth and short. They ask for passport and yellow vaccination card. Welcome to Sierra Leone!

The people of Sierra Leone are friendly; they may be beneficiant with their consolation quarter. They greet you, touch you lightly with a common custom.

Waiting for our luggage, I became attracted to 2 large, very wonderful, status wooden sculptures. Two action figures carved from a unmarried tree trunk. No one paid those any thoughts. They stroll via them like nuisance African memento. I constantly preferred the eye to detail of African artwork; there's a consideration for the viewer, the wearer, and dealing with of artifacts. This affiliation of welcoming artistically with dance, texture, food and shades became for me African arts functionality.

Although very outstanding, I did no longer understand at the time; the ones wooden sculptures will constitute the fruits of my African artistic affect.

Leaving the airport, we see a signal with our names. Our host Chernor, we call him Cherry, set up to have Lamin greet us and arrange the bus tickets so that it will take us to the seashore and the ferry to Freetown. Lamin works for a organisation that assists travelers to Sierra Leonne. Having someone at the floor that speaks, Krio become calming. Krio is a higher bargaining language; exchanging money is aggressive, some notes have preferences. So there may be room for saving if you can good buy in Krio.

Outside, they are younger guys promoting bus tickets along side Sim Cards. They're aggressive, but now not pushy. There's plenty of coins in sight constantly changing arms. We look ahead to the air circumstance mini buses to fill with passengers. The ferry isn't far away, approximately a mile. But it takes about ten minutes power to get there. The street is incorrect; I idea that this being the manner to the airport it is probably in higher care, however no. It become just the begging of the many examples of forget and corruption that the people of Sierra Leone live with each day.

The seaside is huge and smooth; I note this due to the fact anywhere else seems to be litter with debris. I see some modest swiftly constructed shanties. I changed into looking for colorful fishing boats but did no longer see any. They're small children, gambling with torn and dirty western clothes. They paid us no thoughts. At this time the little wharf was full of the passenger from the plane, awaiting the ferry; bags and people below a timber hut, with an armed protect. We waited for several hours. It could be sunset before they referred to as our numbered tickets, the small ferry made several journeys transporting us appropriately to Freetown.

The boat trip takes less than an hour to pass the ocean estuary arriving in Freetown at night time. The view turned into dark with out a identifying capabilities to look. Inside, our host Cherry and his driver Mohamed are there waiting. They picked us out of the group right away before absolutely everyone offers to assist. Lamin had despatched images. Cherry made certain that Mohamed receives our bags. Cherry greeted us with a big smile, glowing eyes, on a vibrant spherical friendly face. He right now asked us approximately the flight and are we hungry. He said he has cook dinner meals home, "it is probably too highly spiced for us," he stated. So if we adore, we will go out to get some meals. We opt for the spicy food; it became very late for our jetlag bodies to go out. The streets in Freetown, at nighttime, are jammed full of vendors selling everything. None of it looks appealing to me. Freetown just does not appearance easy. And this is a wonder. A Big marvel!

We left the wharf on a two-lane paved road lit with occasional street lamps. Mohamed is focused on his challenge even as Cherry does the speaking. I'm satisfied he is. The road maintains getting crowded the closer you get to town. They're lots of small children out selling stuff, anything. I see plenty of bake excellent and fruits. Everything seems lease. Things experience extraordinary, anachronistic, a chunk out of area, like if I've traveled lower back in time. The people don't appear concerned approximately the traffic. The avenue is abuzz with African track. And the human beings are simply moving with purpose in what looks like a chaotic order.

GODRICH

We tour on paved roads all the manner up to College Road in Godrich. Then we turn proper. And Mohamed slows to a move slowly; the street now unpaved becomes a series of hills and gullies slowly main up to the subsequent turns, like the bus ride from Lungi to the seashore. There will be extra moments like this. Mohamed is trying not to have the lowest of the car drag on a hill, patiently he turns. Like if he has executed this lots of time.

CHERNOR'S HOME

The vehicle got here to a prevent at a big metallic door, about 10 ft high. Surrounded by means of fencing simply as high with damaged bottles cemented at the pinnacle. We're three turns off the main avenue, some of the houses have this barrier. A lot do not; a few houses are simply packing containers of corrugated scraps steel wooden and cardboard prepare. There is a feel that Freetown turned into now not always like this. These dwellings bare the scars and the remains of political corruption and a vicious, inhumane civil battle.

At Cherries domestic, he introduces us to his uncle Mohamed, his sister Mimona and his "House Boys." Cherry has "House Boys" and a "House Girl." At first, I concept he turned into speaking approximately his kids, however no, that's what they call the servants or assist. Although they may be extra than servants, they need to be endorsed by way of a member of the family. They call you "Sa" like yessa. Like I said, It appears like you're lower back in time.

Mimona placed a big bowl of "krain krain," at the desk. Cassava leaf pounded and shredded with warm peppers introduced to the pot of fish and boiled Jazmine rice at the side. It become hot; they had a great snicker looking our faces get shiny. Although very highly spiced, it turned into scrumptious. The rice become helpful calming the krain krain's warmth. We needed something to drink. Small luggage muddle Sierra Leone. This night time while eating hot Krain Krain we have brought these ubiquitous waterbags. According to the water task "Infections and parasites, maximum located in contaminated water, cause the largest motive of dying in Sierra Leone."

After a completely long adventure, the mellow dance of Mosquito Smoke Coils, I changed into feeling tired. I wished a bathtub. Reacquainting myself with these norms of the Caribbean and Latin America: The open shower and cold water. Making certain now not to drink the water from the pipes all through my bathe. I went to sleep in Africa.

The next day I noticed lots of children a few in uniform. The faculties are out early for the infants. Education in Sierra Leone is legally required. But a scarcity of faculties and instructors has made implementation impossible the by-product of corrupt institutions plaguing this kingdom. I saw a collection of three taking walks on the street with a basket on their heads. They appearance five or six, too small to be on foot in a hectic metropolis by themselves.

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rauliskafan · 7 years

Text

Sweet Talker

For @svu-stories! Because we all need some Rafael at the end of a long day...

“What’s all this?”

Jingles jumped up first as you struggled in the doorway with a tray of fried chicken. Any love that might have been meant for you disappeared as she stretched up and pawed the tin foil. Your arms ached, your legs felt worse as you pushed the tray towards your husband and stumbled back to the hallway for two white paper bags.

“You could have called from the street,” he said. “I would have helped.”

“Like I was in any position to grab my phone.”

“What about the cabbie?” he asked as he tried to give you a quick kiss.

“That would mean a bigger tip and as it is we’re about to be down an entire income!”

It came out sharper than you intended and you lazily patted his arm as you kicked off your shoes and sank to the couch.

“Do I not want to know?” he asked.

“Just leave me here for five minutes to die.”

“Okay. But if you’re still breathing in five minutes and one second, we are going to have a proper conversation.”

For now, he left you in silence, rummaging through your cursed cargo as Jingles kept circling his feet.

“Sort of makes me wish I hadn’t already eaten,” he mumbled.

“It’s not time yet!” you cried out with one hand over your eyes.

“I was addressing the cat,” he shot back. “And it’s a compliment to the chef.”

“I wouldn’t know what that sounds like.”

Peering through your fingers, you saw his eyebrows stretch towards his hairline as he plopped a lime-flavored potato croquette into his mouth.

“You could eat at a time like this,” you said.

“Far be it from me to turn down a free meal.”

“Perish the thought.”

“Are you going to keep me in suspense or what?” Rafael asked.

“Ninety more seconds.”

“Fair enough.” Rafael pet Jingles as you stared up at the ceiling, sighing heavily as the day you’d rather forget flashed before your eyes in unwanted waves.

“Time’s up,” he said. Looking at him again, you noticed a chicken leg conquered and a piece of sweet corn pudding half gone.

“Were you a competitive eater in another life?” you quipped.

“Well from the sounds of it I am going to need a second job.” He laughed lightly as he sat by your side, bringing your feet to his lap as he massaged them tenderly and waited for you to share the rest of the story.

“We had to audition today.”

“Are you turning actress on me? I can see that. A touch of Bette Davis in her Warner Brothers days.”

“Someone’s been watching TCM when he should be going over his legal briefs.”

“I can multi-task, mi amor,” he said as he kissed your toes. “And you can do anything that you put your mind to.”

“Hardly.” His hands moved up your legs until for your fingers were in his grasp. You liked the look of it, but the image started to blur as your eyes hazed over.

“The client wanted a tasting.”

“You can do that with both hands tied behind your back.”

“Tell that to a certain Wall Street banker… or should I say his fiancée by way of Georgia.

“You less than perfection?” he asked as he nuzzled your neck.

“She criticized every dish we put in front of her.”

His face turned somber as he caressed your ankles, hitching up your black pleated skirt to peck your knees.

“I should call Rollins to see if she has outstanding parking tickets or something,” he teased. His free hand found its way to your hair, stroking the strands that had been your French braid many minutes and blocks ago.

“It wouldn’t matter.”

“What made tonight different?”

“Tonight, there were five other caterers waiting and watching in the mix,” you said. “I felt like was on a fucking reality show.”

“Now if someone has ruined your love for MasterChef forget whatever Rollins might dig up. We’re pressing charges right here in Manhattan.”

He started to rub your back when you hung your head, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“It was horrible,” you sobbed. “Some of them were people that I trained under. Or took passes on. And to have to stand there while that bleached blonde bimbo put me down...”

“No accounting for taste,” he soothed. “But it’s not the end of the world. So you didn’t land one little job.”

“Um… did I mention that I turned my pineapple upside-down cake right side up? In the Southern Belle’s lap?”

“Oh,” he said as he released your hand.

“I know, I know. It was a dumb thing to do. But I was just so angry and…”

“So in between my new career as a competitive eater, I’m going to have to rescue you from an assault conviction.”

“I hope it won’t come to that,” you said as you slipped back to the cushions. “What is current the precedent for attacks by pastry?”

“I don’t know.”

“A legal fact not on the tip of your tongue, darling?”

“I’ll do some research,” he assured you. “Worse comes to worse I bet I can plea you out for a batch of brownies at no charge.”

“You’re not listening. My food is a bust.”

“A little melodramatic, no?” Rafael brushed a lock of hair behind your ears, his lips nearly on yours as you shrugged way from him. Your speech came slowly as your stared at your hands that used to be able to do no wrong, that you had counted on from the instant you learned to boil water and prepare the perfect plate of pasta.

“What if I’ve plateaued?” you finally asked. “What if I’m never going to do anything amazing ever again?”

“Come on now.”

“It might be true. And it’s coming at the worst time. Now that we… that we want to start a…”

You swallowed the word family back and felt your legs trembling.

“Who would give a baby to a screw up like me?”

He turned you to face him, his stare hardening as he fondled your arms.

“One Georgia Peach who should probably stick with the drive thru does not mean that you should throw in the towel.”

“That was mean,” you giggled.

“And bleached blonde bimbo was charitable?” he challenged.

“Point taken.”

“And you forget,” he continued. “You’re going to be the most amazing mother the world has ever known. So no more talk about being past your prime or whatever this is. Mi amor, you are about set the gold standard for the second time.”

“When was the first?” you asked.

“When you made a short lawyer with a big mouth the luckiest man in the world.”

He folded you into his arms. Any and all lingering tension melted away in his embrace, and you took a deep breath as you looked into his eyes.

“Better?” he asked.

“That big mouth of yours... when I need it most....”

“I can keep it up all night,” he said with a wink.

“Such a sweet talker. But I think there’s a much better use for said mouth.”

He smiled knowingly as he lifted you into his arms. You squealed as he started to carry you towards the bedroom when a rustle from the counter claimed your attention.

“Oh no!”

Jingles was there, picking at the fried chicken. You disentangled yourself from Rafael’s hold to put the kibosh on her unexpected feast.

“It’ll make you sick, sweetheart,” you gently scolded. The anguish was writ large on her feline face as she sulked back to her tiny pink bowl, her dinner gone as she batted the ceramic before flopping on the floor.

“Sometimes she’s so fresh,” you muttered as you started to load the refrigerator, only to look back to see Rafael polishing off the corn pudding and feeding Jingles by hand.

“Seriously?” you asked with your hands on your hips.

“What? If it makes her happy. And I think I need to work up an appetite for… what you have in mind.”

You sighed as you kissed his beautiful mouth, his taste sweet and sure as you winded your arm in his.

“Guess I’m going to have to be the disciplinarian in the family,” you teased, the word coming out easier as he hugged you close.

“Want to start practicing with me?”

“Not another audition,” you moaned.

“Please. You already have the part. Your hands alone are worthy of awards.”

“Either you’re psychic or I’m in love,” you said.

“Let it be the latter,” he whispered.

“You’ll soon find out.”

You led him to the sheets, adoring the idea of everything you would do to him… how marvelous he had already… how he always made you feel…

““I love the way you never give up, mi amor.”

...and the way he always said the right thing.

#raul esparza #rafael barba #svu fanfiction #imagine #for my friend

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wanderinglotus7 · 5 years

Text

Good Morning, VIETNAM!

Let’s semi cross Vietnam off the list of places I’ve visited outside of Thailand. A group of friends and I traveled to Vietnam these past 6 days. Since our time was limited, we spent our time in the Northern region of the country. Most of our time was spent in Hanoi (the capital city of Vietnam), and we spent 2 days and 1 night in Ha Long. The plane rides and bus/taxi rides weren’t terrible except for the insane traffic. I thought traffic in Bangkok was horrible; Hanoi has Bangkok beaten so far. From land to sea, beeping and honking is the soundtrack of the people. Motorbikes cloistered the streets, alleys, and highways. Vietnamese drivers seem so reckless, but some people are reckless drivers in general doesn’t matter where they come from. I know riding in the taxis, I probably had about 20 mini heart attacks from the close calls we had; almost ramming in the back of buses and other vehicles, almost running over motorbike riders & pedestrians, tour boats crashing into each other coming into or exiting ports. Que the panic attacks.

The natural beauty of the north is remarkable. The rice fields in the midst of urbanization is a metaphor for how man and nature can coexist without one overpowering the other. The weather felt like heaven touching my soul. he average temperatures were between the 70s-low 80s degree Fahrenheit. My type of weather; reminds me of Virginia [which made miss home even more]. It rained a few times cooling things down even more. I’ve never been to places like Washington and Oregon, but from other individuals and some television shows/movies, Northern Vietnam reminds me of America’s Pacific West Coast. Then Ha Long Bay is drenched with multiple islands scattered among the sky blue water with a nice breeze tickling the skin. Like in Kanchanaburi, I felt so at ease and filled with peace. I found my serenity.

Wondering around Hanoi, we found a quaint and cute vegan restaurant where I had my first authentic taste of vegan food. I discovered my new favorite type of tea: winter tea (fresh lemongrass and ginger tea). I’m a sucker for tea and it I was ecstatic by the many options of tea I could choose from and it wasn’t milk tea or over sweeten tea (not knocking my southern sweet tea or McDs’ sweet tea). My friend Alex could OD from caffeine because there are hundreds of coffee shops covering every inch of Hanoi. I like Thai food, but I’m getting tired of eating some kind of chicken or pork dish with rice. And I love spices, but my taste buds needed another flavor besides Thai spices and seasonings. Vietnamese food is delicious and you can see a Chinese influence within their cuisine which makes sense because Vietnam is so close to China anyway. My heart jumped with glee being able to eat fresh seafood and eating a real breakfast. When I mean a “real” breakfast I mean an IHop or Waffle House breakfast: omelettes, pancakes, french toast, bacon (but don’t eat the pork), cereal, and etc. I say don’t eat the pork because some of the pigs in Vietnam are dying from some disease that got imported into the country from South Africa. Instead of chicken or pork, chicken or beef. The beef is better than the beef sold in Thailand (and seems less questionable...). I recommend everyone who visits Vietnam to eat their Vietnamese sandwich called Banh Mi. They are sub sandwiches made with either pork, chicken, or beef (at some food stalls); they even have a vegetarian option as well.

Reeling it back in, we came across an old cathedral looking church, played a strategic board gamed called Splendor at a tucked away cafe & board game shop. Later that night, we checked out the local night market where we ate more good food and I became impulsive and selfish and bought a bunch of stuff. However, I didn’t do too bad because I purchased reasonable items and the currency (Dong) is cheaper than Thai baht. The goods are cheap, but made decently and in some good quality. I really didn’t have that much money, but having all those smaller bills in my possession made me a big BALLER! Unlike Bangkok, I did not see one pigeon in Hanoi, however, take a look at some of the menus around there and you’ll find the answer to why. I can’t lie, I did catch a case of baby fever; the children were so adorable I wouldn’t mind adopting a couple or I can imagine myself having a little blasian mini me. The locals are nice like the Thai locals. There were street dogs, but not too many that I could tell. Most of the dogs I saw were of pure breeds and on the small side (i.e. Yorkies, Poodles, Corgis, etc.). What made my day was seeing a black and white Husky puppy (that’s the next dog that I want in the future).

Ha Long reminds me of Virginia Beach; the board walk, strips of bars and restaurants, casino, fancy hotels, and a local amusement park nearby (i.e. SunWorld). While there we did the most tourist thing, we payed and enjoyed a 6-hour boat tour of Ha Long Bay. Fun Fact: the recent King Kong movie (with Samuel L. Jackson) was filmed in Ha Long Bay. The tour included a free lunch and snacks, activities, transportation, and many Instagram worthy photo opportunities. During the tour, we physically visited three islands. The first island contained the largest cave in the bay called Surprise Cave. The rock formations are cool and not too depressing. The second island we had two options: tour the island in a banana boat or kayak. I never been kayaking before so, I chose to Kayak. Kayaking gives your arms a good workout and requires teamwork to navigate the waters. I saw more wild monkeys this time nobody was attacked or harmed. The water was for sure cold, and my butt did get soaked but it was okay because I dressed appropriately. We ended the tour at TiTop Island. I was tired and wanted to relax. Instead of hiking to the top of the mountain, I stayed on the beach until it was time to return to our boat. If I google myself in the near future, I’ll probably find my image in various tourist photos. At one point, one woman took mutliple photos of me and Stacey on the beach with the woman’s friends and relatives. Strangely, she had me posing pretending to take selfies while she took photos of me (what ever floats her boat). I took a pleasant nap on the way back to the main port.

Later that evening, we explored the area. Went to some bars and played card games (even received a free beer from our hostel), ate some good pho soup (and other food). Meet a couple whom got engaged earlier that day and their friends, and participated in Karaoke with even more fun-loving strangers. The next day, before returning to Hanoi, we purchased tickets for SunWorld. We rode the world’s tallest cable car system, walked thru a beautiful zen garden, and a rode a mini “roller-coaster” ride (it’s much faster than what it appears to be). The views from the cable car were gorgeous! The journey from Ha Long to Hanoi is about 3 hours (wasn’t too bad); the bus wasn’t crapped and the seats were decently comfortable.

Honestly, I felt a bit more cultured when we returned to the city. We visited some museums: Vietnamese Women’s Museum and the Hoa Lo Prison Museum. I’m a woken feminist, so viewing the women’s museum really perked my interest and Vietnamese contributed and sacrificed a lot for the sake of their country. Through most of Vietnam’s history, women played major roles in fighting and trying to maintain their independence. Who says women can’t be bada****. Some of their most prominent leaders/rulers were women. At the prison, the Vietnamese people were brutally treated by the French. Men, women and children were imprisoned Hanoi’s hell. The prison was a death sentence for all prisoners; some individuals were able to escape, but those who did manage escape wither escaped and survived [which were few] or escaped, but their lives were immediately cut short once they tasted freedom. I also received another perspective on the Vietnam War which my Grandfather Donald Bailey fought. Always be skeptical because history can be interpreted in various ways depending on the person or group retelling the story. Sometimes the truth can hold some biases as well. Always double check your sources and facts. In addition, I made my first investment. I purchased an authentic piece of Vietnamese art signed by the actual artist. Kept in good condition it could be worth more money in the future, but I doubt I will ever sell it. Also, I purchased a handmade bamboo notebook from an indoor market. I can’t forget that I sat through my first jazz performance at a real jazz club. Jazz music isn’t my top choice (R&B/Soul #1), but I like jazz if I’m in the mood. The atmosphere of the club was sick; wish I can remember the name of the club, but it did take us a while to find the location of the club because it was hidden behind the opera theater. And Shannon found a restaurant that sold delicious Mexican food (lucky for us because it was Taco Tuesday).

Beneath the beauty, I witnessed the ugly. Violence against women is real y’all. Walking back to our hostel, we witnessed a group of citizens intervene in a could’ve been deadly situation. A woman was being followed a strange man carrying a knife. I’m not sure of all the details; apparently the man was making unwanted advances towards a passing a woman and she rejected him. I guess he didn’t like that so, he decided to follow her with a knife. Some people noticed what was happening and went after the guy. The woman was unharmed, the group was able to remove the weapon and led the man to a near by police station. On another night, a group of [drunk] 8-10 men try to encircle me; two men had the nerve to grab and yank on my arm. Luckily, I was able to tear myself from them and get away. I was so close to bustin some heads open if they didn’t let go of my arm or kept trying to entrap me (and we were close to an alleyway..I’m not about that life). Seriously, I don’t need anymore trauma in my life. Not just women, but everyone should be careful because anything can happen (hopefully they don’t).

With God’s fortune (grace) maybe in 3 or 4 years I’ll return to Vietnam and explore the Southern region. I can see more of what my grandfather witnessed during the war and learn more the war and the country’s history. I may discover another side of Vietnam (pretty or ugly).

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The meaning of life in a world without work

Most jobs that exist today would possibly disappear inside many years. As synthetic intelligence outperforms people in increasing responsibilities, it’ll update people in an increasing number of jobs. Many new professions are probably to seem: virtual world designers, as an instance. But such professions will likely require extra creativity and versatility, and it’s miles doubtful whether forty-year-antique unemployed taxi drivers or insurance marketers could be capable of reinventing themselves as digital-world designers (try and consider a virtual international created through a coverage agent!). And although the ex-coverage agent by hook or by crook makes the transition into a virtual-world fashion designer, the tempo of progress is such that within some other decade he would possibly reinvent himself another time.

The vital trouble isn’t creating new jobs

The critical hassle is developing new jobs that human beings perform better than algorithms. Consequently, by using 2050 a brand new magnificence of people may emerge – the vain magnificence. People who are not simply unemployed, however unemployable.

The identical era that renders human beings useless might also make it possible to feed and assist the unemployable loads thru a few scheme of commonplace simple profits. The real hassle will then be to keep the hundreds occupied and content. People have to have interaction in practical activities, or they go crazy. So what is going to the main class do all day?

What is a religion if no longer a massive digital fact game performed by way of tens of millions of human beings collectively? Religions together with Islam and Christianity invent imaginary laws, consisting of “don’t consume beef”, “repeat the same prayers a fixed number of times every day”, “don’t have sex with any person out of your own gender” and so on. These laws exist simplest inside the human creativeness. No natural regulation requires the repetition of magical formulas, and no natural regulation forbids homosexuality or consuming beef. Muslims and Christians go through lifestyles looking to gain factors in their favorite digital fact sport. If you pray each day, you get points. If you forget to wish, you lose points. If by using the give up of your life you advantage enough factors, then once you die you visit the subsequent degree of the game (aka heaven).

Living an Exceptional Life by Jim Rohn

There is a probable chance that someplace alongside the road of your non-public boom and development that you’ve been led to accept as true with that with the intention to make whatever of yourself, you need to make amazing achievements. Fortunately, that perception is fake. Living an Exceptional Life with the aid of Jim Rohn explains in the terrific element that you may nonetheless become an extraordinary character just by doing simple, everyday matters. Over time, your simple efforts will lead to enormous development, growing a life that others will respect you for.

The key to creating and great lifestyles is everyday progress

As long as you are making small, day by day strides closer to your purpose, you may get there right away. This e-book additionally discusses a number of the ways you may achieve what you’re after in an excellent lesser amount of time, in addition to what you want to do to stay on target.

Some of the principle training of Living an Exceptional Life with the aid of Jim Rohn include the way to get a miracle getting in your existence, the four training that have to be mastered in lifestyles, the foundation of an awesome economic method, and the most self-imposed limitations and the way you could deal with them.

Most probably, you do not earn quite sufficient money, or possibly you do however you are not glad about what you do. Each of the recommendations supplied in this motivational manual will assist you to find out your own happiness. If you don’t earn enough money, this book will show you how.

When it comes to personal setbacks, there are many of them

Little do most of the people recognize that they may be the one’s standing in their very own way. Sometimes, you honestly need to ask yourself, “what in lifestyles is making me unhappy?”, “how did it get that manner?”, “what can I do to change it?”. Doing so will soak up a bit of some time, and can additionally require a quite sit down with a pen and pad. What you may quickly find out is that not anything is the status for your way and there’s a great deal that you can do to alternate your present day state of affairs.

Brexit and Its Impact on the World Economy

What Is Brexit?

Brexit, that’s a portmanteau of “British Exit” refers to the UK’s selection to leave the European Union. The European Union is an economic partnership among 28 nations that shaped after World War II to help cultivate financial prosperity and cooperation. Following an advisory referendum held in June 2016, U.K. Citizens voted fifty-two% to forty-eight% in prefer of splitting from the European Union. This end result, a surprise to pundits, has had a tremendous effect on the financial system of the United Kingdom, international markets, and increased volatility within the United States economy.

Effects of Brexit inside the United Kingdom

Brexit has brought about an experience of uncertainty approximately financial boom in the United Kingdom. The selection to leave the European Union has accelerated the tension between the United Kingdom and its worldwide buying and selling companions, and it is able to cause many multinational businesses to move operations to other countries. HSBC, a global bank with a prime presence in London, says it could pass 1,000 trading jobs to Paris because of the Leave Vote. This is because the U.K. Will not be capable of taking gain of “passport”, an arrangement wherein an economic organization centered inside the European Union can carry out accredited activities in another EU member state in which it continues a branch.

Brexit’s Effects on Global Markets

Brexit also can have a main effect on the markets outside of the UK, mainly ones that behavior commercial enterprise with nations which might be members of the European Union. Since the United Kingdom contains approximately one-sixth of the European Union’s economic system, any stagnation of its economy could hinder economies of different international locations. Britain is considered one of the largest economies in the international, uploading billions of kilos worth of products and services from different countries. If British purchasers and corporations decrease their imports from abroad due to their declining shopping power, they could stymie the economies of different international locations. The Economist Group estimates that for every factor decline in the U.K. Financial system’s increase, other European international locations will revel in one-half to 1-third of a factor declines, resulting in lower earnings for European corporations. European stock markets reacted to this news poorly with the FTSE 250 plunging almost 14% within the days following Brexit. Similar declines have been visible in Asian markets because the Nikkei 225 Index and Shanghai Composite Index lost 7.92% and 1.31% respectively. While the most important markets have recouped their Brexit losses, uncertainty nevertheless stays as to the response those markets will have whilst the U.K. Triggers Article 50 and formally exits the European Union.

White Pages Reverse Lookup – Can It Work?

There has been a whole lot of communicating about these items referred to as opposite telephone directories, and people have been using them for an awesome variety of years now, but one question that has in all likelihood crossed your thoughts is in regards to whether or not or not a white pages reverse lookup may even help you get facts on unknown callers.

To answer this query, allow us to first take a short observe what a reverse cellphone variety research does within the first region. The technology has been around for some time, and you will be surprised to study that non-public investigators, regulation enforcement, and emergency reaction teams were the usage of reverse lookup databases for numerous decades, although the ones that they use are a touch unique than the ones made available to the general public.

Other names which might be used less and much less nowadays are gray pages and criss-cross directories. Now corporations have brought those equal capabilities to the general public to use, however, the massive question definitely is whether or not a reverse phone search is a total junk, or a complete existence saver.

The answer is that they do paintings, however, maximum white pages reverse research offerings are loose, and there are masses and lots of loose reverse smartphone quantity research websites available, however, you need to realize matters that may arise with those.

1. They aren’t correct

It’s possibly a 99.9% chance that you are trying to get statistics on various this is both personal or now not listed in any respect. Considering that this data is so secretive for a motive, you may get admission to it, but you can not at no cost.

There is genuinely a rule in the location that says that during order for a business enterprise to give you details about a person’s phone number, they need to charge for this statistics to preserve the possibilities of stalking, harassing and cruel conduct much less in all likelihood to manifest.

Therefore, you’re possibly being fooled if a website claims that it will display your details about a mobile smartphone number search absolutely free of charge, and you need to proceed with caution.

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