xanax girl

I think making this kind of post is somewhat of a duty for any writer who wants to express themselves fully and freely.

Since I want to personalize each fanfiction as much as possible and give a distinct tone and color to every story, no matter how short or long, below you’ll find some guidelines and basic info to help you navigate my fanfiction consciously and safely.

MY PROFILE IS REALLY PERSONAL. I DON’T ONLY POST FANFICTION, I USE THIS BLOG IN MY EVERYDAY LIFE. I’M MULTIFANDOM AND I HAVE A LOT OF FUN!! hell yeahh

-Do not interact if you are a minor.

-You’ll find both explicit and non-explicit fanfictions, everything will be clearly stated in the description.

-The point of view may vary: I might write in third person, from y/n’s pov, or from Joost’s. I’m still experimenting with my style and I like to change.

-I write with a female protagonist; I do not write gn!reader or male!reader.

-Updates will not always be regular.

-All my fanfictions are grounded in realistic situations. (rpf- real person fiction)

-English is not my first language.

-I don't write much on AU.

About specific requests:

-I accept requests that involve including a kink, but I’m more reluctant to write about kinks like pegging or ageplay.

-I don’t accept requests involving pregnancy or children.

Tags you’ll find on my profile:

#yapp for posts where I talk and express myself.

#fanficsloth for fanfictions.

#requestsloth for requests. Requests are now closed, but you can still write to me any thoughts you have about Joost!!!

#inbox😽 for replies to my inbox.

Masterlist

“Are we still friends?” part.1 - part.2

“Hold me tight” part.1 - part.2 - part.3

“Silent words” part.1 - part.2

“Under the skin” part.1 - part.2 - part.3

“Die for you” part.1 - part.2 - part.3 - part.4

————————————————————

“Craving you”

“Snoring or sucking”

“Necessary tiredness”

“Hard perceptions”

“Damn distance”

“Thirsty”

“Needy”

“Light sleep” (short)

I hope this little guide can be helpful.

The guttural, choked sounds -almost as if he were trying to hide them- reached my ears as fast as they possibly could. I was already on my knees, his head resting on my shoulder, his limp arms unable to even wrap around my torso.

“Shhh... shhh, I’m here” I murmured, filling that grave-like silence that resonated through the room with an echo that was slowly taking the shape of a monster.

I ran my warm hands through his unruly locks and held them tightly, the way children clutch stuffed animals to their chests when they imagine monstrous shadows cast by the faint light filtering through their bedroom wind

“I’m here, what are you afraid of?”

The sobs became harder to suppress, his shoulders trembled and his tears soaked my shirt. My knees were starting to ache, but I didn't care; I didn't care if my muscles were about to give out, I didn't care if I’d end up with two red bruises on my legs.

I had him right there in my arms, in his most vulnerable state ever.

His trembling hands were still dead weight, his face hidden for the shame of letting his tearful eyes meet mine. His heart was completely open before me, cut in half, and I could see all the blood spilling out through those broken sobs and those senseless, disconnected whimpers.

it’s that we don’t care about the perpetrator’s past, and we don’t ask ourselves how he became what he became. it’s that we don’t care about the victim’s past, and we don’t ask what pushed them to seek out that situation.

it’s that we confuse “justification” with “motivation”

“why do you care about his past? you don’t have to justify him. he could have lived through the worst things imaginable, he’s still a piece of shit.”

it’s that we feel like vigilantes, that we feel justified in judging someone else because it makes us feel good to believe we’re better.

oh, how we love knowing we’re not like him, that we’re not shitty people, that we would never get our hands dirty like that.

oh, how fucking much we love feeling superior and refusing to actually touch a situation that feels so far removed from us.

Perhaps a type of cinema that’s too often underestimated is Italian cinema… setting aside what it has produced in recent years and in the early 2000s (but also 1990s, those so-called cinepanettoni), with some of the most embarrassing films ever made… well, I have to say it’s a cinema that reignites my soul.

The right directors manage to convey emotions that not even books are able to draw out of me. Long live culture, long live cinema, long live theatre. My soul feeds only on high-quality filmmaking.

If anyone shares my same passion, I’ll leave you my letterboxd account!!!

A lot of things have happened during this time I’ve been away.

Health-wise I’ve been doing really badly and now I’m recovering; unfortunately I have this constant exhaustion but honestly that’s been part of my personality since I was four years old.

I’ve written very little… if not just to say that I haven’t written at all.

I haven’t left the fandom: I’ve absolutely lost my mind over every announcement Joost has made lately (sadly I won’t be going to any of his concerts, I want to ABSOLUTELY kill myself).

At the same time, a small idea has popped into my head and it’s slowly taking up more and more space. I’d like to write fanfiction about multiple characters, broaden my audience, and make it possible for several fandoms to coexist on this profile. Who knows, if I manage to find the time to really focus on writing, I might actually pull it off.

“What?”

“The window. You opened it.”

She turned just slightly, just enough to recall the movement she had made God knows how long before - the one that had forced me to crouch on the floor with a rag, trying to fix the mess she had caused by letting in all that rainwater that chilled the floor.

“Oh right, yeah, I did. It was hot, so I wanted to open it.” The nonchalance in her voice made my nerves snap.

I put my hands on my hips and looked at her in disbelief.

“It was hot? Do you realize it rained and all the water came in? Why don’t you think before you do things?” I snapped at her, like every time she did something.

She was the one who always made us struggle. She was the one who could never stay still. She was the one who couldn’t manage to respect even half a rule I set.

She stood up from the chair and slammed her hands on the wooden table. The only piece of furniture in that room.

“I’m sick of your rules! I’m tired of this! I can’t do anything without being scolded, I can’t say anything because apparently I don’t know anything, I probably wouldn’t even be allowed to stand up from this chair if it were up to you!”

Maybe it was the first time she had rebelled like that since we started living together.

But she didn’t understand what it meant to live in constant fear of being overwhelmed by something bigger.

“I’m not scolding you over something small. You left that window open, and it was the one thing you weren’t supposed to do because you don’t remember, but when I made the same mistake, I almost died drowning-”

“Oh God, here we go again! You always tell that story. Because a bit of heat and then some rain… do you think it’s normal to behave like this? There’s not going to be some tsunami coming to wipe us out.”

But she didn’t understand.

She couldn’t understand what it felt like to try every possible way to stop a storm that had already entered through the window: waterlogged floor, soaked curtains, the table dripping, mud up to your knees keeping you from moving, the despair of finding yourself in a limbo.

Not knowing what to do to save yourself.

My throat tightened.

“Nothing is going to come and sweep us away. And maybe it’s true that I can’t remember the things that happened, but that’s because they happened two years ago… you have to let it go. Who knows how many times you’ve deprived yourself of the warmth of the sun through that open window, just to protect yourself from a rainstorm that might never even come.”

“But this time it came.”

…

“It came, but it didn’t overwhelm us.”

“It could have.”

She didn’t understand what it felt like to live with a broken window, violated every day by the rain. It was better to keep that handle shut and the window sealed.