#should i tag all the beautiful women who inspired this post

[eilarae]

yknow murder drones did a really good job at feminism and like yeah it's partially because we get this awesome protagonist who's complex and has agency in the plot and undergoes fantastic character growth and that's great. like solid +20 feminism points good job protagonist uzi

but then we get all these women who are actual freaks who commit atrocities who have murdered countless innocents who are covered in blood and do heinous things on the daily AND BABY NOW THAT'S FEMINISM. +10000000 POINTS GOOD JOB GIRLS KEEP IT UP

[wereallydobevibing]

Oh, to Find Love in Russia | Konig x Reader

I used to post my stories on tiktok under the username @codlover but I figured since tiktok might get banned I should delete that account and post it here. Here’s one of the stories.

Feel free to use my work as a prompt/inspiration. Better yet, feel free to write your own ideal part 2 just MAKE SURE YOU CREDIT AND TAG ME.

WARNINGS: Mentions of injury, specifically written for my delulu girlies💕

The ice, cold air of a wintery Russia rushed through your body like death through Pompeii. With your lips an ungodly shade of purple and your fingers feeling so stupidly numb, you follow the public map displayed on the side of the nearest building to meet a short term comrade in a common tourist area.

It took you some time, having never been to Russia before, but you eventually find yourself walking alongside a very large man who names himself König. He leads you away from the tourist path and into a market area where you both enter a less than busy bar. You agree you’ll talk here, where it was warm and your shivering didn’t hinder your ability to speak.

The next two hours was a conversation of confirming your roles here and the goals that were set to be accomplished – you both were sent to gain intel, but König’s main focus was to serve as your armor, and gaining intel was especially assigned to you, dear reader.

You were not a special forces operator because you were big and strong, or because you had a particular set of skills pertaining to combat at all. Your task-force had elected you to become one of it’s soldiers because you were a holder of intelligence – you were the brain, and everyone else was the body.

Your skills lied in your ability to speak and understand a multitude of languages. Your looks and personality made you attractive to others both romantically or otherwise – people couldn’t help but make themselves known to you. You were good at making them feel so special that it hurt too much to not spill all their flavors into your cup.

Blackbird, they called you; a symbol of beauty and intelligence. You were your team’s little warbler – whatever they needed to know, you were sent to find out, and you always came back chirping your sweet song of intel.

König was quite taken by you from the very start – he’d never met a woman in his field that carried herself with such grace. Overtime, many women in special forces became much like their male colleagues; rough around the edges, heavily drinking and/or smoking, cursing like wounded sailors.

You? You were so clean. Not a single profanity fell from your glossed lips, your voice was smoother than the finest of silk velvets. Your eyes are still warm with the hope of a better world and twinkled with the gentle promise of eternal youth.

Granted, you were still rather fresh in age being in your early 20s. Still, you were special.

As you both got familiar with each other over the next few hours, König grew firmer in his belief that the radiance of your skin was actually your golden soul shining through your pores.

The safe house you’d both been given had been put together at the last minute. A fact that was clear by how it was a small cabin with only a couch in the living room and one bed in the bedroom, certainly not prepared for two. The kitchen was stocked with little snacks and such, but if either of you ever got the taste for a real meal, you’d have to eat out or go grocery shopping.

König was quick to offer you the only room, as you were a lady deserving of privacy.

Over the course of two weeks, you took turns cooking and choosing restaurants. But by week three, you’d become so focused on your task of manipulating a Captain in the Russian anti-group that you’d end up spending every free moment of your day at the desk, documenting the day’s occurrences and future strategies. König became responsible for making sure you both ate – it seemed that if he didn’t feed you, you’d simply forget to do it yourself and starve.

Week four was when the storm arrived, the great finale that signaled the nearing end of every mission – Blackbird had collected everything she needed and was ready to fly on home and feed her findings to her kin. Things were wrapping up and, naturally, that meant shit was going down.

The final day would end with König wounded – he fought well, your knight in shining armor. Of course he won, but he was losing blood from his abdomen and you knew he was in pain.

The jet that was assigned to pick you both up would not arrive until morning. Your due date was not until two days from now, but you’d finished early. Until then, you used what you had to stop the bleeding and make him comfortable.

You leave him on the bed that you’d been sleeping in for the last five weeks, flat on his back. If not for the pain of his stab wound, he might’ve enjoyed drowning in the lingering, feminine scent of shampoo and perfume stuck to the sheets and pillows you burrowed yourself in at night.

You bandage him with delicate fingers – such a stark difference compared to the medics back at the KorTac base. They were always so rough, like hornets pricking and prodding at his body.

He doesn’t notice how your focus was divided between his wound and his bare chest. Your impulsive thoughts, if you gave in to them, would’ve had you resting the palms of your hands flat on his muscles and grazing your fingertips over the ridges.

You tried to be respectful, the man was in pain – but you just couldn’t help your nature as it demanded to behold the glorious sculpture settled before you. Thousands of years ago, König might’ve been the model for ancient Greek statues. He was beautiful.

König sits up on the mattress when you finish, which now is stained with speckles of blood, clenching his jaw as he did. Your hands come up on his bare chest and you stop him.

“What are you doing?” You ask, bewildered, “You have to rest, König, you’re hurt.”

“This is your bed, schatz,” König grunted, “I will go to the couch.”

Now that the mission is over, you suddenly feel a wave of guilt come crashing down onto you. You’d been so busy thinking about what you needed to do, how you were going to get your hands on the information you’d been sent out to receive that you didn’t ever stop to think about König’s comfort. And here he was, spending every single day of the last five weeks watching your back, making sure you ate, and that you were comfortable. All he did was think about you.

As you stare at him, your heart begins pulsing erratically. Your face grows warm with the sudden realization that this big, brutal, soldier of a man was such a gentleman. He’d been so kind and considerate, looking over your shoulder for you like he was born to do it and not just because it was his job.

Your hands raise to cradle his masked face. You think about how this six-foot-ten beast had been sleeping on that tiny, poor excuse for a couch for nearly two months for the sake of your comfortability, and how he would do it even now when he was in pain.

Without a second thought, you go in and kiss him through the fabric of his mask – a little peck of admiration for his chivalry, a humble praise for being a rare man.

König stares at you when you pull back, he’s stunned. All these weeks of very subtly flirting with you … he thought you’d never notice, or even reciprocate his interest. König figured that you both would separate at the end of this story like Orpheus and Eurydice, he’d be damned to never know you again and you’d forget him as soon as he was gone.

With your hands still holding either side if his jaw, you tell him, “Lay down, König. Here.”

He brings up a large hand to meet one of yours, using the other to hold himself upright and stroking your wrist affectionately with his thumb, “You will not sleep on the couch, schatz.”

“No,” You agreed. “We will both stay here, on the bed, and that way if you need anything, I’m right here to help you.”

Still not believing what’s happening, he tries again to rise from the bed, only for you to guide him back down until his head rested on one of the pillows.

You ask, “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

König, beneath his mask, feels his lips curling upward as he laughs breathlessly.

He grins, “Okay?”

It was perfect.

[ohgaylor]

IT MUST BE EXHAUSTING (AN ANALYSIS)

Hi. Taylor’s the problem. And she knows it. (affectionate)

All right friends. It’s time to dive into an analysis again. I’ve been reflecting on a lot of Midnights and Taylor’s ever-present self-deprecation this era and in my regular fashion, I had to make an extremely long-winded analysis post about a certain motif of hers that I’ve noticed has only grown more apparent this time around. and essentially that is her self-awareness toward her ever-ambiguous signaling in regard to her identity, and where she is positioned in the complicated and delicate journey of coming out, as well as the plethora of emotions that surround that for both herself and her fans and those of us who pick up on the queer coded subtext of her music and art.

to kick off this analysis, may I remind you of this beauty of a quote from Taylor’s 2018 reputation tour pride speech that prefaced Delicate?

I want to send my love and respect to everybody who in their journey and in their life hasn't yet felt comfortable enough to come out ... and may you do that on your own time and may we end up with a world where everyone can live and love equally and no one has to be afraid to say how they feel. When it comes to feelings and when it comes to love and searching for someone to spend your whole life with, it’s all just really really delicate.

That is quite possibly my favorite thing she’s ever said. and what inspired this tag.

Now I need to clarify up front — I am never insinuating a need or even desire for Taylor to come out. Because that’s not our place to say. If you’ve been around my blog long enough, I would hope that nuance would be apparent. I simply point out regular motifs and patterns within her art and how it correlates with queer-coded themes of closets, of almost coming out, of outright queer coding, of rainbows, of keeping a love secret and safe, and on and on and on. The signs are there if you know what to look for (re: “I gave so many signs”) and that’s what I explore on my blog. The point is, I will never demand she come out. But I will stand with her in this complex journey she appears to be on. It’s entirely her journey and however she wishes to navigate that is hers to decide.

but that doesn’t detract from the reality that for those of us who see this beautiful queer subtext of her art and music and visuals and work and self, the ambiguity and constant back-and-forth when it comes to her identity (and the idea of coming out) can in fact be a lot to try and process and understand and ultimately to reconcile as we root for her. Trying to understand where she stands is much like chasing a moving target. (not that she owes any explanation to us, because again, she doesn’t.) her art and creativity are her place of expression and catharsis. however, watching her navigate these complexities and trying to root for her in this sometimes messy space is also, dare I say, exhausting.

hence, the title and general theme of this analysis.

so let’s begin.

First, we have this verse in Anti-Hero which is the perfect setup to illustrate this specific motif,

I should not be left to my own devices They come with prices and vices I end up in crises Tale as old as time

This is essentially the thesis of Taylor’s message, the feeling that her own judgement and actions might be the very cause for certain crises she finds herself in, however enticing those vices and choices may be. In choosing to straddle a glass-closeted lifestyle as an artist at her status and level of fame, all the while heavily queer-coding to her (receptive) audiences, only to be seen by most others as the hallmark of straight women as per her highly publicized bearding, juggling this all can be overwhelming. But it’s also a space that she has essentially curated and perpetuated herself.

An anti-hero is a central character in a narrative who conspicuously lacks heroic, moral qualities:

Although antiheroes may sometimes perform actions that are morally correct, it is not always for the right reasons, often acting primarily out of self-interest or in ways that defy conventional ethical codes.

Identifying herself as the anti-hero in this sense comes as a candid confession, as though she is admitting that maybe she is driven by self-interest. (which again, she is entitled to as we all are in our own lives.) (re: the jokes weren’t funny, I took the money, my friends at home don’t know what to say) Alternatively, and perhaps additionally, acting out of self-interest in this context may mean concealment of parts of her identity for the sake of self-preservation. The nuances behind why she hasn’t chosen to come out are at play here and I doubt any of us can fully comprehend what that is exactly.

I never had the courage of my convictions, as long as danger is near

Pouring out my heart to a stranger but I didn’t pour the whiskey

Combat, I'm ready for combat. I say I don't want that, but what if I do? 'Cause cruelty wins in the movies. I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you … Dark side, I search for your dark side. But what if I'm alright, right, right, right here?

You can easily grasp the intense oscillation as she goes back and forth between these decisions while juggling a myriad of reasons and factors, all of which are incredibly weighted. She knows it’s exhausting for us because it’s that much more exhausting for herself.

So, she elects to pursue a route all too familiar to closeted individuals in the public eye, one of bearding and concealing their identity.

I had some tricks up my sleeve … Perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear, like it could be love, I could be the way forward, only if they pay for it … the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up

I took the money. My friends from home don't know what to say.

The cost at which this lifestyle comes is worthy of an analysis all on its own. But Taylor seems to be indicating that she has found safety and security in her self-made cages and closets of sorts.

I prefer hiding in plain sight

‘Cause shade never made anybody less gay

If the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels break

My town was a wasteland, full of cages, full of fences*, pageant queens and big pretenders. But for some, it was paradise.

In the darkest little paradise

(also, note the *fences. I’ll come back to that later.)

She brings focus to the fact that her town was full of cages and fences, which initially may carry a negative connotation. But here’s where she turns it around and says that for some, it was place of paradise, that the self-made cages brought security and freedom. That the idea of “forever” is in fact the sweetest con. That the good life she was hustling for through the tricks she had up her sleeve is within grasp. That this could be the way forward. Tell me that doesn’t scream a queer-coded experience?

But knowing Taylor and the complicated nature of this deeply personal topic, there is also a level of remorse regarding the said-cages and choices that had put her in crisis.

I cut off my nose just to spite my face, then hate my reflection for years and years

I’ve got a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you

I’d pay if you’d just know me

Now, despite the way she has managed to remain glass-closeted, a large subset of her fans and the general public completely miss what she is signaling in regard to her queerness. (re: “I gave so many signs / you didn’t even see the signs”) but it appears she is feeling some remorse for the devices she’s used and the way she’s navigated things because she knows that she’ll be the one paying for it.

So again, Taylor fully acknowledges she’s the problem. She endlessly dances around the topic, sometimes to an extreme (re: “bent the truth too far tonight,” Bettygate and specifying a male perspective despite widespread interpretation of the alternative; similar thing with Lavendergate, etc etc) She writes from “male perspectives” so as to have a way to write female pronouns. She uses pseudonyms for similar motives. She equates herself with gay pride and places herself adjacent to the community repeatedly, and dances in Gaylor Park and rainbow kaleidoscopes. She dresses in rainbow attire and gives speeches emphasizing the delicacy of coming out and on and on, all while also remaining straight-passing. It’s complicated and messy and indeed exhausting.

sending signals to be double-crossed

I’ll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

no doubt these devices and choices have come at a cost. first, the personal cost of remaining closeted (or in the very least, glass closeted) by her own making. The nature by which she has driven her career, of “taking the money” and pursuing a career (and by extension, following heteronormative cultural standards of remaining closeted), all point to the self-made cages she twists in.

recall the Delicate pride speech…

I want to send my love and respect to everybody who in their journey and in their life hasn't yet felt comfortable enough to come out ... and may you do that on your own time

That is a major theme for her. The idea that through a closeted state, certain freedoms can coexist.

We know Taylor has made a point to emphasize the comfort she has found in keeping elements of her life to herself post her apocalyptic summer. And the way she has largely receded her personal life from the public eye is telling. In an effort to protect the “real stuff”, she is withholding from others and has found safety in that.

Privacy sign on the door and on my page and on the whole world, romance is not dead if you keep it just yours.

She knows it’s not always a world that some would choose to be a part of. She describes it as a wasteland, likely desolate, harkening back to cowboy like me. A place where hustling for the good life, perching in the dark as con artists (or pageant queens and big pretenders) and telling all the rich folks anything they want to hear like “it could be love” is all too familiar.

It’s a painful dichotomy she fully explores in The Archer, recognizing that maybe it’s her lot in life to straddle these lines of staying where she is, perched in the dark, while wanting to step into the daylight and let it go.

and that’s where the second cost comes in — in how those of us who see her for what she is signaling herself to be, are ultimately left to ourselves to make sense of it.

It’s the same kind of essence of this fantastic analysis regarding coney island and her apology of not making us certain subsets of her fans and communities her centerfold.

Being left to her own devices, she has ultimately crafted a duplicitous persona, of which she has spoken about specifically when discussing mirrorball…

Everybody else feels like they have to be on for certain people. You have to be different versions of yourself for different people. Different versions at work, different versions around friends, different versions of yourself around different friends. Different version of yourself around family. Everybody has to be duplicitous, or feels that they have to in some ways, be duplicitous. And that’s part of the human experience, but it’s also exhausting. You kind of learn that every one of us has the ability to become a shape-shifter. But what does that do to us?

Is it self-preservation? Or self-made self-destruction? (re: “they told me all of my cages were mental” “what a shame she’s fucked in the head” “lost in the labyrinth of my mind”)

Among the various anxieties that plague her in regard to this subject, Taylor makes one fear very clear. And that is for some inevitable day where we will leave her after we’ve had enough of “her scheming”.

'Cause they see right through me, they see right through me, they see right through. Can you see right through me?

I wake up screaming from dreaming One day I'll watch as you're leaving 'Cause you got tired of my scheming For the last time

These desperate prayers of a cursed man spilling out to you for free, but darling, darling, please, you wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking if you knew where I was walking

Will you forgive my soul when you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?

She will get as close as she can to the topic, (“Gay pride… everything that makes me me!” to name just one) only to pull back or leave it ambiguous and devoid of clarity…

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

And I cut off my nose just to spite my face Then I hate my reflection for years and years

…only to feel guilt for skirting around the topic…

You said I was freeloading … I bent the truth too far tonight, I was dancing around, dancing around it … Your picket fence is sharp as knives, I was dancing around, dancing around it

This to me is the a significant price that comes from her being left to her own devices. Yes, there is freedom that comes from closeting/bearding. But glass closeting brings a more painful mess of emotions for both the closet-er and those seeing it for what it is. This is what she addresses in Anti-Hero with painful clarity.

And sometimes this can come at a painful cost. Take YNTCD for example. In this video, she positions herself within the queer community, dancing in Gaylor Park, and boldly declares herself an advocate for LGBTQIA rights.

But as we know, the video was met by many as out-of-touch (re: “freeloading”), performative and whatever else critics were spewing.

motion capture put me in a bad light. I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where I went wrong. writing letters addressed to the fire

Now for a detour.

I want to talk about the purple / blue / lavender glitter for a minute. Here, in the Directors on Directors interview, Taylor describes the glitter as being a metaphor for herself...

It’s supposed to be a metaphor for like, I bleed glitter, I’m not normal, there’s something wrong with me, I’m not a person, I don’t belong, I don’t fit in anywhere.

Recall how I said chasing a moving target?

Let’s talk about the significance of this scene and a handful of others in terms of the lavender glitter.

[For some queer context regarding glitter]

I’d first like to point out Hayley Kiyoko’s purple glitter jacket above, from the YNTCD video. This is Hayley Kiyoko we’re talking about. The proclaimed Lesbian Jesus. And in this moment, while she is wearing the purple glitter jacket, she is aiming an arrow at a target, signifying The Archer. This moment is key.

And then you have the Miss Americana documentary, wherein Taylor explicitly equates herself with gay pride, while talking about the Me! music video.

It’s a line of dialogue that screams at me with such intensity. Irrefutable. As a film editor, I know that every line in a film is deliberately placed and thought out and meticulously addressed. And therefore we can trust that Taylor intended for this line to make it into the film. I can tell that surrounding dialogue is seemingly trimmed and crafted in a delicate way. And part of that is the very direct statement that “Gay pride…everything that makes me, me!”

And it’s within this music video that we again witness a massive “ME!” literally jumping out at us on screen, in none other than purple glitter.

A handful of others could sense that the conclusion of Miss Americana felt as thought it was headed in a different direction than the one it ultimately took. And that for whatever reason, Taylor’s political advocacy took center stage while a deeper analysis regarding her LGBTQIA advocacy did not.

Cut back to the Anti-Hero music video where we get The Archer aiming right for Taylor, and striking her, causing her to bleed, yet again, purple glitter.

Pierced through the heart but never killed… did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism, like some kind of congressman

My covert (secret) narcissism (ME!) I disguise as altruism like some kind of congressman (the political turn and advocacy present in Miss Americana)

In other words, covering up who she is (“gay pride… everything that makes me me!”) under the guise of a film almost exclusively focused on her journey of discovering her political (“Vote for me for everything” pin) activist voice. And what scene depicts this with near precision???

this one.

motion capture put me in a bad light. I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where I went wrong. writing letters addressed to the fire

'cause cruelty wins in the movies, I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you

The subsequent look on her face of absentminded agony says it all. She knows the confusion that comes from rooting for her as (especially if she is seen as an ally who maybe crosses one too many lines if presumably as straight.)

The inner-turmoil on display for us in The Archer has transformed into a tone all too exhausted in its own right within Anti-Hero. She knows we’re tired. She’s tired too. In a self-deprecating jab, she admits that she is the problem and she knows that everybody ultimately agrees with her on this. Shielded within a pop anthem, her vulnerability is on display. And so, in Dear Reader, with equal parts desperation as well as wit, she concludes…

You should find another guiding light, guiding light. But I shine so bright.

And so it is ultimately within this utterly messy, exhausting, complicated, ever-changing and nuanced journey that Taylor reaches out to those of us who do in fact see through her and who ultimately simply see her, that she asks us in all sincerity…

Who could stay? Who could stay? Who could stay? You could stay.

And I, for one, will stay.

[enjoy my other analyses here]

[fluffypotatey]

Silly/Dumb Things that Make Me Irrationally Angry

disclaimer: the key words here are “silly” & “dumb”

The “Narnia Kids are the Founders of Hogwarts” theory

The “it was all a dream” theory

Thinking protagonist = hero

When fandom villainizes a character simply because they’re “in the way of a ship”

Character in relationship starts pursuing a different character (typically the MC) but doesn’t break up with the character they’re currently dating?????

Speed running enemies to lovers trope (that’s a trope for slow burns wtf are you doing put it down!)

Calling Disney’s Beauty & The Beast a story about Stockholm Syndrome 

Calling any diverse media “woke” to undermine it

Misunderstanding how tags work on ao3 (particularly the / and & for pairings)

Misunderstanding the purpose of tags on ao3

Calling Lucy Heartfilia weak 

Forgetting that Dick Grayson was a mathlete

Basing all of Jason Todd’s personality on his anger and ruthlessness 

Misunderstanding Jason Todd’s anger

The DCEU butchering my boy Batsy

The “I was accidentally eavesdropping and left believing they were talking shit about me but turns out I missed the most important bits” trope

Being a military historian who loves the Civil War (I don’t trust you)

Using the word “females” to sound smarter (you just sound dumb also “women” is right there)

Spring Break being colder than usual (IT WAS THE MIDDLE OF MARCH IN TEXAS WHY WAS I SHIVERING)

Calling me by a nickname that I already refused to (you gotta earn that shit)

Ep 2.08 is never really touched on again after it’s “resolved”

vld’s lost potential (while i have made my peace, i will still bare my scars)

text blocks in fics

dialogue with no quotation marks 

“Oh lookie, we got this wonderful fantastical world (that takes some inspiration from history) with it’s own politics and world building BUT we keep the sexism and racial prejudice bc the inspiration we pulled was medieval times :)” <- i will fight you for sport

mistaking rivals to lovers for enemies to lovers (similar flavor just R to L is slightly tamer. can they blend? yes, but they are not the same thing)

the blatant disregard for internet safety on tiktok (why tf would you announce your age, show your face, and air out your dirty laundry to everyone??? where is your caution? this is not vine, lil beans, y’all are stressing me out. did you miss the pbs episode about the dino agents and stranger danger??? or the fever dream computer game our 1st grade class had to play at school???)

if you have the sniffles, for the love of all things holy, please stand up and get a tissue. no one cares if you get up. i honestly prefer hearing you blow out your nose than hearing you suck up snot every 5 minutes.

taking the backstories told by Macaque and Azure about the Monkey King in lmk at face value (biased narratives are a thing! unreliable narrators are a thing! i will give the biggest sigh if Sun Wukong is placed as the sole character at fault in another fic i read with this)

“redemption” arcs

“sympathetic” villains

missing the fucking point about why Batman chooses mercy and rehabilitation over baseless violence (this also coincides with my issue with how some people view Jason as the Punisher 2.0 bc it suffers through the same fucking glorification of justifying apathy of human life and rejection of 2nd chances)

missing the fucking point about what makes Superman super (here’s a hint: it’s not his fucking power)

the fact that i missed most of Vine’s peak bc i wasn’t allowed a phone until middle school

i lost my post canon script of Cinderella in the prince’s POV that i wrote in 6th grade (rip, i should have created a personal gmail so much sooner, i could have saved you T^T)

understanding a motive does not equal justifying or excusing said motive. you just now understand why a person did what they did. maybe you find justification in it, maybe not, but it’s not absolute!

[jaiafilyani]

I posted 155 times in 2022

20 posts created (13%)

135 posts reblogged (87%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@daughterofthesettingsun

@fierysword

@venusinkatabasis

@immoderateheart

@heavenly2008

I tagged 23 of my posts in 2022

#filianism - 22 posts

#deanism - 21 posts

#dea - 18 posts

#spirituality - 17 posts

#goddess - 16 posts

#god - 15 posts

#filianic - 12 posts

#religion - 11 posts

#deanic - 11 posts

#god the mother - 11 posts

Longest Tag: 47 characters

#the divine feminine is real and it's everything

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I don’t say things like this often, but this is a book I think everyone should read!

It has inspired me to make my first (authentic to me) altar. Women have created our own seperate space vía home altars for millennia…In pre-historical times we see evidence of this, we see it all over the world stretching back into the inky depths of time…Whether in highly patriarchal Ancient Greece making their hestia the center of their home, Mexican mothers passing their devotion to Mother Mary / Mary of Guadalupe via home altars, Hindu women creating gorgeous home altars for Durga or Kali or any of the numerous Hindu deities, whether she be a devotee of Guan Yin, or of Yoruba…Women create true religious life by blending the religious with the mundane, by creating sacred womens cultures formed around home altars, by creating power denied via patriarchal religion through home altars…It’s divine.

Quotes:

“I ventured to ask Virginia why she kept an altar at home, she simply replied that it was a “beautiful necessity.”

“…historically it has always been women who are more likely to keep or reinvigorate old practices alongside the new, which are usually a result of male-determined war, conquest, or ideological transformations.”

“the altar is…The meeting place of the sacred and the mundane, the parenthesis between the two worlds…where communication with the ineffable is possible…altars are very important tools used for facilitating the interweaving of the two worlds.”

“For a woman, keeping an altar is a distinctly personal assumption of relationship with divine ally’s in whatever form they take for her.”

“For Wiccans, the altar is foremost a setting for the tools that are ritually used to invoke blessing and change…For many, the women’s altar is itself a sign of religious immanence by virtue of its ancient emergence from the natural world [explanation of first altars being piles of stones, etc]…Other women adopt the altar as a source of their own self-nurturance…As a mirror of self-reflection, growth, and change, the altar becomes a site where women claim and exercise an unencumbered sense of their own spiritual effectiveness.”

25 notes - Posted September 20, 2022

#4

❤️🌸More memes…Amadea! 🌸❤️

See the full post

25 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

#3

In light of the filianicstudies website going down, I’m posting download links Dea called me to put on zLibrary awhile ago…I didn’t get why it mattered because the site was up then but now I’m so thankful. Praise Dea. Here are the PDFs to the Clear Recital and the Madrian Orders 1 + 2

And here’s a pdf to the critical apparatus provided a lovely friend of mine.

29 notes - Posted June 6, 2022

#2

New daily ritual dropped! 🌹 If you connect strongly to Green Tara like me, this is a great practice. If you don’t it can pretty easily be adapted.

💗 I associate Her with the quote ‘She will save every being, down to the last blade of grass’.

💗 I pick up a piece of grass early in the day (if I have to pluck it I say thank you to Sister Earth)

💗 When I see the blade of grass I carry around, I say her mantra of Om Ture Tutarre Ture Soha in my head or aloud if I can. Im reminded of how she is so caring and will save every living creature and gain comfort from it. I also try to embody that attitude as I can (usually just basic kindness to others, you don’t gotta save the world here)

💗 I do this throughout the day. I find that it puts me in a meditative mood and has made me spontaneously sit down outside to say Her mantra

💗keep doing it. I’m thinking of getting a glass jar and every day putting my piece of grass in, perhaps as I pray then reflect on the day. Might add journaling.

My counselor helped me come up with this but it makes for great devotional practice (that’s what I use it for, as well as to keep myself calm). Enjoy 😌 If you adapt it for a Janya, Dea, or goddess then please reblog with your addition! 👀

43 notes - Posted March 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I’m a bit obsessed with this goddess I just discovered! She covers the domain of sewers, drains, and purification - a goddess explicitly connected to feces and everything nasty & helping society thrive by diverting it. She was later assimilated into VENUS! It feels very raw. We can sometimes make goddesses so pure, I feel like the symbolism in such a down to earth goddess is so incredible! In an odd way, she reminds me of a nastier version of Mary, Untier of Knots!

I also feel She’s an excellent representation of the Daughter, helping us all in her role as savioress. As well as Her role as Priestess, in transmuting energy and changing situations.

47 notes - Posted February 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[growinstablog]

People with disabilities are finding empowerment from Instagram communities

When I search for “bipolar mother” on Google Images, I find a lot of women with their heads in their hands, their crying children in the corner. These images actually understate the broader stigma of being a bipolar mother — the stories that I hear daily about interactions between mothers and their families are disheartening. As a bipolar pregnant woman, I was terrified that my first psychiatrist was right when he told me I should never allow myself to get pregnant; he said I might kill my baby.

When empathy and understanding are not part of our daily life, we suffer. But social media has filled in that chasm — and it can provide a lifeline. I don’t drive on freeways, and while getting around Southern California has always been intimidating for me, with an infant it’s become even more difficult. Social media can function as the support group and family that most of us don’t have, or have trouble accessing physically.

While pregnant, I started to follow Elsie Larson’s entry into motherhood on Instagram. Larson is known for her popular DIY blog on “A Beautiful Mess” and for the app “A Color Story.” She adopted a girl with albinism from China named Nova. They painted together, giggled together — they were what I wanted to look like with my little girl. I decided that when I had my baby, I would try to Elsie Larson it and forget about those scary Google images.

I joined Instagram. I didn’t know what typical people were doing there — I saw a lot of pictures of food. But popular hashtags like #disabledandcute and #disabledandsexy mean that a diverse group of disabled people — different genders, nationalities, disabilities — are calling their bodies sexy with the same tag. All of these people are connected by disability.

Michelle Griffith, owner of the Spoonie Sisters shop on Etsy, explains it this way: “Those with disabilities learn what it’s like to live with other disabilities. It’s an amazing supportive community. They truly understand your struggles, victories, frustrations, excitements.”

Hulya Marquardt, a double amputee and course manager, finds a correlation between how many pictures of disabled people one is able to see and the degree of acceptance they embrace. “It becomes normal,” Marquart tells me. “People get used to seeing other people in wheelchairs or with missing limbs.”

Images like these are influential. Kārlis Podnieks, a paraplegic basketball player, was inspired by photos he saw online. “As an athlete, I always have had examples,” he says. “So I try to be that example now. Instagram gives me a way bigger platform to be an example for a bigger audience.”

The dual effect of this dynamic is to simultaneously manifest an actual community — you and I are not alone — and to build self-esteem — you and I are “normal.” A bipolar woman posted on Instagram that she hated taking her medicine. One day later, this started an expanding conversation about how we are all so grateful that bipolar is a treatable disorder, despite the real physical and emotional hassle that taking or changing medicine can cause.

Of course, some people with disabilities are unable to access the internet at all. And for those of us who can, connecting online still has its downsides — social media spaces can be both dangerous and upsetting, and personal boundaries are poorly defined. I get lots of responses to my pictures asking if it’s really true that I’m bipolar and a mother because other users, too, have been warned not to have children.

Recently, I received a message from a woman with bipolar disorder asking if she could also get married and have children. I sent a picture of my baby, asleep on my lap, and told her that I was properly medicated. She sent me a self-harm picture of her wrist with the words: “Look what I did.” I told her that was unacceptable and if she did it again I’d have to report her.

When guys try to hit on me on Instagram, I ignore them at first. But if they continue, I block them. Once I started a conversation about what to do about insomnia. People were chiming in with all the things they do to sleep. But one man — who was mad that I wasn’t following him back — wrote, “Try a shotgun.”

Sometimes people ask for my cocktail of medications so they can be as stable as I am. I’m glad to describe what works for me, but I make it clear that different meds work differently for different people. I always tell them the same thing: this is the best time in history to be bipolar, but it’s just about finding what works for you.

Like Kārlis Podnieks, I’ve wanted to be an example for others since finding this diverse support community. I don’t want to be a victim. My desire to set an example has helped me move away from people who demeaned me (intentionally or not) and spend more time in a more supportive climate, even if the support is digital. My digital spaces help me feel that I’m protecting myself in an otherwise hostile environment.

Elsie Larson is setting an example for me to follow: when she announced that she had been matched with a baby with albinism, the increased traffic to her blog crashed her site. Though she talks openly about albinism and her daughter’s sensitive eyes, no one is obsessed with her daughter’s disability. With every image on Instagram, Larson and Nova normalize it. We’re obsessed with Nova’s sunglasses, her bell-bottoms, and her three stuffed pigs, all named Piggy.

I have experienced what Ben Clark, another person in my online social sphere who calls himself “your friendly paraplegic,” explains this way: “Having the platform to do this has really helped not only others but myself, giving me the opportunity to learn about myself.”

During the terrible days of a med change, I removed myself from my daughter for her safety. I turned to Instagram for support. I didn’t post happy photos to pretend it wasn’t happening. I posted thoughts and images of how I felt in a “bipolar middle” — the middle of a potential relapse. I showed what my house looked like during a recovery and a list of my med-change mistakes, and I talked about what I should have done differently.

The irony is that the digital world feels more real to me than the real world has ever felt — this digital world includes so many of us, and it shows our strengths and helps us deal with our weaknesses. I have found not only friends on Instagram but collaborators as well. I’ve asked people to be a guest on my blog and sell “Meet My Meds” T-shirts, which list the medications that help make us who we are.

Knowing that I’m part of this becomes a touchstone, something I can rely on when I’m feeling great or not so great. No matter the time or day of the week, I can find someone going through something similar to what I’m going through. A comment on a picture or a direct message starts a dialogue. This centers me — it helps me be honest about who I am, and about what I can and cannot do every day.

I can’t wait for everyone to catch up and learn from us. I long for the day when a Google search offers images of a “bipolar mother” in the same context as a “working mother” or “CEO mother” or “astronaut mother.” After all, the moon is within our reach.

This article by Rae Rose was originally published on How We Get To Next, a non-profit project interested in exploring the intersections between science, technology and culture, and how those things are changing the future. Follow them on Twitter,  like them on Facebook, and subscribe to their newsletter.

https://growinsta.xyz/people-with-disabilities-are-finding-empowerment-from-instagram-communities/

[kudzucraft]

God there are so many fun people at this cafe. And it’s not, like, a busy place in the middle of the city. It’s a corner cafe in a small southern town. It goes to show the variety of life I guess. Characters I’ve met include:

• The owner, a talkative catholic Alaskan with three mixed-race kids and an estranged husband. Somehow ended up out here, running a cafe

• The Baristas: Goth, Sweetheart, Country, and Scene. They’re all really wonderful and have wildly different styles. Goth says fuck whenever she can get away with it and makes the best cup of coffee; she’s the manager. Sweetheart calls me “honey” and “baby” and “beautiful” and has all that Southern charm. Country is a reserved, rural girl who’s working part-time through college. Scene is the new girl, shy but with wild outfits and anime-inspired styles that stand out.

• Father Rob, an everyday regular. The local Catholic priest (yes, even though we are in protestant land). A friendly, if occasionally abrasive Filipino man who loves esotericism, creative cooking, and impassioned debate.

• The Liberal Aunties. A gaggle of mostly-retired older women, many of them ex-teachers, who appear once or twice a week to gossip and grouse about politics (Trump). The leader/most outspoken of them has been to Africa to help save endangered wildlife and she relates lots of things to her experiences there.

• An extremely fey older gay man from the coast who cruises in now and then (“Girlies! I’m back!”) to much delight from the baristas. Loud almost to the point of obnoxiousness, but it’s sort of charming—he’s got a lot of presence and he owns it. Also into New Age shamanism. Yes he has met the Catholic priest.

• The millionaire heir of a local oil company. A lanky, exuberant twenty-something who zips into the shop near closing, chats and jokes with the girls, and eventually makes himself a latte with like 5 different sweet ingredients. Overpays and then darts out again. A doofus with too much energy. He has more money than God.

• The bright baptist lady. She’s always wearing the most colorful, lovely outfits. She comes in to have breakfast or lunch with her son sometimes. Really outspoken and friendly—she’ll just strike up a conversation with you. Super faithful, God has a plan for everything (but sometimes he plays jokes!)

• The private eye I mentioned in my last post, who comes in whenever he has the cash for it to get a coffee (and maybe something harder—this is a bar too). He’d be broody if he ever stopped talking, but he’s a chatterbox.

• The grumpy, conservative old man. Staple in every town. He’s a friend of the owner, and they’ll hole themselves up in a corner to gossip while the owner sort-of sweeps the floor. He seems sour at first glance, but when you talk to him he’s not so bad, just sorta stubborn.

And this doesn’t count all the dozens of weird people that come in day by day but aren’t regulars, or the bizarre stories I overhear or witness day to day (like the. smoothie incident). Maybe I should just make a tag…

[j-restlessgeek]

normally I am not sure if and how I can respond to tags but yours have been so consistent and sweet for the old song videos I felt like I had to find out one way to do it :'D

Thank you so much for these wonderful words, I'm so happy to know my songs have been able to resonate with you 🥹also sorry for posting them in the middle of your works I can almost feel the frustration and that's on me x'D

With the break down well... it was not the song itself

Story time!

I had had a few days by this point to write a song which normally is more than enough time for me but this year (2020) I hadn't felt inspired to finish the song I wanted to work on. That morning I'd just vented about how I might not have anything done until the presentation that would happen two days later if this kept happening. So I scrapped everything and sat down near a bonfire (unlit) to just breathe for a moment. While sitting there a butterfly flew by me and I felt inspired enough to write Butterfly within 30-45 minutes after that.

As mentioned in the post in hindsight the song is kind of a call out to myself about the dangerous part I'm walking down repressing my identity as a nonbinary transmasculine person. That made it so in the moment the song felt raw and vulnerable yet I didn't know why. For this reason and because I got people to sing choir on it I might not have practiced it as much as I should.

Past forward to Friday where we had to present it to the whole school (60-70 people). I was playing with the first act on our little set so I hadn't had time to think about my own song at all so when it suddenly was my turn I went blank. The microphone kept falling down as well making it hard for me to concentrate on getting the words and guitarplay right so after restarting the song twice I ran out of the room visibly crying.

One teacher I have a strong bond with found me and calmed me down yet I was sure this was it: I'd missed my chance to perform my song.

But luckily that was not the case and I got a slot inbetween two other classes' presentations. However most of the women that sang choir on the song originally didn't get to perform this time given how rushed the whole situation was.

It went pretty well all things considered. Just funny to think about in retrospect how this break down might have been triggered by something else other than the situation itself :'D

This got very long, my apolegies :'D

Sorry about the late reply had to finish work first :(. But also thank you for sharing this with me. The story behind the song is in its own way beautiful. A butterfly; a sign of rebirth and a new chapter (in my mind at least). Am so glad the teacher was able to calm you down and that you still got to perform your song. It’s a banger of a song.

And oh I get the repressing until you break so well. I used to be my biggest bully for almost a decade. Agreeing with the people around me that would say that I was a waste of space, not worthy to live, that no person would ever love me that am not worth anyone’s affection or love. That I had no reason to cry or they would give me one. But I also had a bully that was outside of my own mind. Used to kick, hit and yell at me. That am a stupid bitch, that my place in the world is wasted, etc. used to aim balls at my face. (was fun in 3.-4. grade) now I feel sorry for him, his home live must had been hard.

I would reject people cause I was so low and filled with self hatred and believed that people deserve to be actually loved and not tricked into it. I still believe that you have to love yourself first before loving someone else unconditionally. (Teenage me had no idea that the answer no to having a type or crush was valid)

Nowadays I wish I could tell my younger self that she is worthy to be loved, that she isn’t broken or a waste. And that the people who think so aren’t worth a second thought.

But I also know that my younger self wouldn’t believe me. Big trust issues.

Anyways it got really bad and I broke a few times before getting to the point where I am now. I found music and my passion plus one of my favourite people at the same time. He was so free in his own being, was pleasantly loud and proud of me. He was funny too and soft. (We don’t work together anymore but I work towards it) (maybe one day I will see and work with him again).

I am in a much better place now, I know more about myself. I worked out most of my self hatred, I haven’t been absolutely horrible in a year. Of course with small flare ups. But there were more good days as there were bad days. I have accepted that am weird and not fit for the norm.

I hope this wasn’t too depressing.

[bvckys-doll]

Masquerade

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 4.4k

Summary: Y/N and her family are invited to a masquerade ball since Netherfield hall has a new owner: Lord James Buchanan Barnes. What (Y/N) does not know is that this will be her last night among the living. 

Warnings: soft!dark themes here! A bit of manipulation. Blood! Pride and Prejudices vibes at the beginning of the fic.

Author’s note: I’m happy that I can finally post this one because I’m a whore for masquerade balls and vampires! Especially Vampire!Bucky! This goes out to @emily-roberts (who can’t be tagged unfortunately) since they inspired me to work on Masquerade here! Maybe this will get a sequel, i’m not sure yet.

You can find my masterlist here!

The year is 1867. Queen Victoria is still in power, and the country is at peace. At least, to the people who are lucky enough to live in the countryside in England. Especially the women who were the ones that learned the least of the ongoing problems around the world. At this time in history, they were mostly excluded from these kinds of conversations. Something (Y/N) was deeply offended by.

Most of the women around her had only one thing on their mind: the latest gossip and men.

Nothing would fit better into the gossip than a mysterious lord who had recently moved into the large estate near Netherfield Park. The whole city was in turmoil, and everyone wanted to get one of the coveted invitations to the grand inauguration party.

(Y/N) could still remember the day a few weeks ago when her mother was running around the house in a rage and talking to herself over and over again. Her father had tried to ignore his wife as much as possible.

“I have heard from Mrs. Brenstock that the new Lord of Netherfield Park is about to give a ball. A ball, Mr. Edwards! Can you imagine that? He doesn’t seem to have sent out any invitations yet, otherwise, we would have gotten one by now, wouldn’t we? Tell me I’m right” she had let herself sink into her chair. With the thick needle in her hand, she repeatedly stabbed her new embroidery cloth.

(Y/N) had been sitting across from her mother at the time and hardly noticed her rambling about the ball, as the young lady was too absorbed in her thoughts about her newest book, which was on the table in front of her.

For her mother, this was finally the chance to marry her off to a rich man. Perhaps even to the owner of the estate himself, since many speculated him to be single. Most women of (Y/N)’s age were already married, some even had children.

It wasn’t that (Y/N) wasn’t very talkative. If she was given a suitable subject, she could chat for hours, but her mother had always preached to her that no man wanted a woman with a loud attitude. Despite all this, (Y/N) didn’t kept her mouth shut and spoke freely about what she thought. Mostly.

It had been a month since that conversation between her parents and (Y/N) was now sitting with them in a carriage on their way to the estate of the new lord of Netherfield Park.

The letter had arrived about two days after the long discussion between her mother and her quiet father. (Y/N) seemed to be more relieved than her mother because she couldn’t bear her constant chatting and complaining about the ball.

In her lap was a white mask that her mother had brought home a few days ago. A masquerade. That was the order of the new landlord. An unusual way to celebrate a party, where you wanted to get to know the locals better, but (Y/N) didn’t put much thought into it.

With a calm look, she peered out of the window of the carriage and could see how the estate grew in the distance. The lights were shining through the high windows towards them as they rode the carriage to the large courtyard, where some other women were already getting out of their carriages and ascending the great marble staircase with their families.

Her father was the first to go out of the carriage, before he helped his wife out. In the end, he reached out to his daughter. For a brief moment, (Y/N) struggled with the wide skirt of her dress, before standing firmly on the ground.

Once again, she let her gaze wander over the courtyard and looked up at the broad facade of the estate. Suddenly (Y/N) caught a glimpse of a silhouette. Someone who seemed to be looking down at them and was watching what was going on. But before (Y/N) could take a closer look, her mother grabbed her arm and dragged her into the hall.

~

Upstairs in the said room, James watched how the carriages gathered in the courtyard and presented the different guests of almost every status. All came to see some of the wealth of the estate and the treasures that were on display in its halls.

“How many people will visit us tonight? Take a guess” Steve asked him. He was sitting at his best friend’s desk and had put his feet on the tabletop while he leaned back.

James’s gaze was still on the staircase as his gaze followed the woman who had just looked up at him. Yet he replied, “More than two hundred, I would say. Enough to get our bellies full for the next month. You’re going to keep them under control, aren’t you? We need posts at every door.”

“Of course. I’ve never worked sloppy before. You should know that”, Steve winked at him before he stood up and drained the last remaining blood out of his cup. The next moment he pulled some gloves out of his jacket and put them on “But answer me one. Why a masquerade?”

“You don’t want anyone to remember us by mistake, do you?”, a dark smile grazed James features. A similar smile came up on Steve’s face before he pulled the mask over his eyes and left.

~

In the meantime, the large ballroom of the estate had filled with guests and a small orchestra on a raised balcony played quiet music.

With all the hustle, (Y/N) wondered if she would even recognize anyone. The masks just made it harder to spot anyone she knew. Maybe she could get away from her mother. Time and time again she looked for familiar eyes.

Nervously, she again smoothed the wrinkles of her skirt and chewed around her lower lip. With each breath, it seemed to her as if the corsage of her dress was still lacing up.

Before her inner rambling could cause her to make her more uncomfortable, the hitting of a staff made the crowd go quiet. Everyone held their breath and turned to the source of the voice “Please welcome Lord James Buchanan Barnes and Colonel Steven Grant Rogers!”

The guests applauded in honour of the two men who were standing on a raised platform at the end of the hall. One of them stepped forward and raised his wine glass. (Y/N) couldn’t make out his features. Still, he wore a fancy dark suit with a wine-red tie. His slightly longer hair was tied with a ribbon in the back of his head. Although (Y/N) couldn’t see his eyes, they seemed pitch black.

“It is an honour to welcome you all to my new home. Until now, I have been welcomed with kindness in this beautiful little town and I am very happy to get to know you all better soon. I haven’t even lived here for a month, but it already feels like home to me. Let us all enjoy this evening. Sing, laugh and dance!”, his voice echoed through the room. It gave (Y/N) goosebumps.

He raised his glass to which his guests responded with the same gesture before they all took a sip of their drinks. It took less than five seconds, and the conversations were resumed. It was as if that greeting had never happened.

But (Y/N) could not take her eyes of her host. This was the person she had previously seen standing at the window. Before she could look away from him, he had already noticed her and seemed to reply to her stare. She tensed.

She hastily looked at the wine glass in her hand, from which she quickly took a short sip. The music started again. This time a bit louder than before because the guests began to dance. It wouldn’t take long for her mother to approach her once again and tell her daughter to find a suitable dance partner for the night.

~

“Do you see that woman over there? The one in the red dress and the white mask”, Bucky walked next to Steve as they made their way through the guests, who all respectfully stepped aside and bowed. Again and again, the two nodded to some people appreciatively.

Steve followed his friend’s gaze unobtrusively and nodded briefly “Pretty little thing. Do you want to go play or save her all to yourself for the night?”

“I haven’t decided yet, but I am sure going to do something with her”, he winked at Steve and stopped at the edge of the dance floor, watching his guests dance. Shortly thereafter, Steve also left him to dance with his wife Margaret, who approached them.

While his friends were busy having fun at the party, James resumed his search for the woman he had just spotted. It did not take long for him to find her her standing next to an elderly couple, who seemed to have an exciting conversation with two other guests. The woman herself didn’t seem very interested in the conversation and kept sipping on her glass. That was his cue.

~

(Y/N) gave out a soft sigh and investigated her wine glass, which would soon be empty. She listened with one ear to the conversation of her parents but did not attempt to participate herself. The unknown woman just boasted how her daughter had married a wealthy man from Oxford some time ago and now lived there. (Y/N) was already getting ready for a sermon from her mother.

Once again, the young woman raised her glass to her red lips as suddenly-

“Excuse me if I bother you but would you do me the honour of dancing with me?” said a deep voice to her, which seemed quite familiar to (Y/N). Her gaze wandered from her glass to the chest of the man standing before her. Her breath was stunted. It was Lord Barnes looking down at her with a gentle smile on his lips. He held out his hand to her, but (Y/N) couldn’t take her eyes off him.

For a moment, it seemed as if (Y/N) had forgotten to have a normal and decent conversation when her mother stepped in and tore the glass out of her hand “She would be honoured to dance with you, Lord Barnes.”

A charming smile spread across his lips as her mother said so. But he turned his gaze to (Y/N) again and asked for her approval “I hope that is indeed the case.”

(Y/N) blinked. Once, twice.

“Yes, I would very much like to dance with you”, she now agreed herself and took his hand, which he still held out to her. He gently drew her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her hand “What a relieve.”

It was not only her mother who lost her breath at this gesture. Like in a trance, (Y/N) followed her new dance partner onto the wide dance floor, where people automatically made room for them in awe. Soon he stopped with her in the middle of the dance floor and pulled her to his chest, where she instinctively assumed her posture and placed her hand on his shoulder.

Slowly the music started anew. A slow waltz. Controlled, he guided her through the room, and it seemed as if (Y/N) had never done anything else in her life. Every step was exactly as it should be. It was as if they were floating over the dance floor. At least, it seemed like that to her.

“I hope I didn’t take you by surprise”, James remarked, looking down at his dance partner, who focused her eyes on his chest. The reason behind it was the fact that he was a lot taller than her.

Hastily (Y/N) shook her head as her cheeks heated up “Not at all, my lord. I was just surprised, that’s all. There are so many beautiful young women here, I wondered why you chose me.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I have just chosen the prettiest in the room”, James replied, presenting her his charming smile, which made his eyes light up for a second. (Y/N)’s knees got soft. It seemed liked she had been enchanted by his aura.

It wasn’t long before the music became quieter and stopped. Together with the other couples, they stopped and applauded the musicians before James gave her his arm and whispered to her “Would you like to accompany me outside? It seems to be getting a little stuffy in here.”

A lie. It’s been years since James truly breathed air.

“I would love to.”, (Y/N) nodded and took shelter with her host before following him out onto the wide terrace. On their way there, (Y/N) did not notice James meeting the eyes of one of his men. It was Sam who stood near the exit and smiled at his friend. He knew James had found someone new to play with. If only it were for tonight.

“A beautiful night, don’t you think?” James looked up to the sky, where thousands of stars were glowing. It was more common here in the countryside. In the cities, the stars could be barely seen by the smoke rising through the chimneys into the sky.

(Y/N) followed his gaze and leaned forward against the wide stone railing. She nodded back, “Yes, it is. You haven’t seen such a sight very often, have you? I mean, I heard you moved out of town. What prompted you to do this?”

“The war and tranquillity I am looking for”, James replied honestly this time and turned his gaze back to (Y/N), who was still looking up at the stars, but noticed how he looked at her with his eyes: “You haven’t told me your name yet.”

“You didn’t ask for it either”, (Y/N) replied quick and smiled.

Oh, she’s cheeky. I like that.

He laughed for a moment and neck before he asked, “May I know your name, milady?”

At last, she looked at him again and her eyes shone as she replied with a smile, “My name is (Y/N). And I’m not a lady, my lord.”

The tension she had felt before in his presence was blown away. She felt comfortable in his presence, but she couldn’t explain why. He radiated a certain calmness that made her feel safe and comfortable.

He tilted his head to the side as he smiled, “The name suits you. But tell me, (Y/N), why would a pretty woman like you be alone with your parents at a party like this? There must be a man in your life.”

“Why? Because a woman like me needs a man?” she answered with a counter-question. She wondered how long he would put up with it. But it seemed that the remark would excited him more.

He raised an eyebrow, to which she smiled briefly and replied honestly, “I have a mind of my own, as my mother says. Most men don’t like this feature very well. In our small town, they want a woman who makes a man look good. She has to be pretty and smart, but not too smart for her to make the man look stupid. She needs to be educated, but not waste too much time on it. The piano is very popular with most men.”

“Women who only deal with the latest gossip have never really interested me. Besides, I like to talk to women who can keep up with my intellect. Someone like you”, James replied honestly again, leaning his hip against the stone wall to take a close look at her.

As (Y/N) fixed her posture to look him right in the eye, he stepped foward. He gently raised his hand and put his index finger under her chin to raise it so that she could not take her eyes off of him, “Men can be stubborn, especially English men. But we Americans love it when a woman has something more on her mind than piano notes and pretty clothes. How boring it would be to have someone with you who only agrees with everything you say. I have met lots of these women, but I have seldom encountered someone like you.”

Smiling, (Y/N) held his gaze as he took his hand from her chin and took her hand in his. She looked down for a moment but did not attempt to let go.

“You’re the first man to say something like that to me, and you seem to mean it”, she smiled and briefly squeezed his hand. From the gloves he was wearing, she didn’t even notice how cold they were. Once again, he put her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on the back of her hand, “I am glad to see my presence and my personality please you, Lady (Y/N).”

“As I said, I’m not a lady”, she laughed softly as her cheeks heated up once more. The smile on his lips made her knees soft again, “To me, you are one.”

With every moment that passed, he liked the young woman more and more. Something he didn’t expect. It was selfish, but he knew then and there he wouldn’t let her go. Not as fast as he had planned. It would be difficult to inspire her for eternity once he had done it.

A life like him could also be lonely and desolate. Many souls had already gone mad after being transformed and being unable to return to the world of the living. It drove them mad. He wouldn’t let his (Y/N) go crazy. Not so easily.

“My Lord?” her sweet voice tore him from the thoughts that were swirling through his head. His gaze fell back on her as she gave him a worried look. He gently brushed a strand of her hair from her face and smiled calmly, “Forgive me, I was in my head.”

“Do you think maybe we should go back to the hall? Your guests would also like to exchange a few words with you. I don’t want to besiege you forever”, (Y/N) glanced over her bare shoulder and looked at the tinted glass doors that shielded her from the guests. Many couples were on the dance floor together and seemed cheerful.

“I think my guests will be able to be just fine without my constant presence for a while. Besides, it would be a lie if I said I didn’t want to spend some more time with you”, he replied, following her gaze briefly before turning her gaze to him.

It seemed almost supernatural to (Y/N) that a man like Lord Barnes would take such an interest in her, but it was mutual. She didn’t want to leave him. Not yet. She was delighted with his company and gave him a warm smile before she replied, “And it would be a lie if I said I am not pleased by your interest.”

A burst of hearty laughter came over James' lips. It had been a long time since he had heard such words that had truly touched him. Smiling, he held her hand that was still in his, before leading (Y/N) from the terrace into the wide garden, where many lanterns illuminated their path.

(Y/N) had already placed her hand on his arm and followed him through the small maze that stood in the middle of the garden. The tall hedges shielded them from curious eyes as they disappeared deeper and deeper into the maze.

“My parents will probably be wondering where I am”, (Y/N) smiled as she followed James through the hedges, still holding his hand tightly in fear she could lose him. Apparently, he knew his way around the maze very well, for he guided them safely to a small square that marked the middle of the maze.

In the middle of the square stood a beautifully decorated pavilion, clad in red and white roses and ivy trees. James led her there and sat down with her on one of the two benches.

“Your parents know you’re in good hands with me. I would never allow anything…bad to happen to you”, James merely replied. (Y/N) couldn’t have known that evil himself was still holding her hand and concealing his cruel nature with a pretty face. He could feel her heartbeat speeding up a bit.

“You know, (Y/N), a life like mine. . . is very lonely”, he told her, looking at the flowers hanging next to him on a pole. Yet he noticed how her gaze stuck to him. In a calm voice he continued, “Although I am very wealthy and have seen so much of the world, I have been missing someone to share this life with for years. Someone who accepts me for who I am and doesn’t want to be with me just for my money and my land. Do you understand what I mean?”

His gaze fell back on her. (Y/N)’s eyes almost pierced through his head as her eyes turned glassy. A soft sigh escaped her as she gazed down into her lap.

“I understand you very well. Even though my mother’s efforts are straining me a lot, I still want someone who. . . likes me for me. Who wants me. Not for my dowry, but for myself. I have never spoken to someone who understands me as well. . . as you do”, she replied, being astonished at her words.

James Barnes was the first man she could talk to without having to pretend. Her slightly rough nature had not deterred him. He had been tenacious, but still kind and attentive. It’s been a long time since she met someone like him. His personality seemed to drew her even closer to him. As if there was an invisible ribbon, which now tied her to him.

“You are so much more than just your dowry and a pretty face, (Y/N). Maybe it’s too hasty, but it would be a pleasure for me to get to know you better. The real (Y/N), who doesn’t have to act and doesn’t want to impress anyone. I already know you a little, but. . . not quite yet”, he stroked her cheek, giving her goosebumps. In a good way.

A short smile grazed her lips as she put her hand on his, “I would also like to get to know you better, my lord.”

“Please call me James. The title is too formal for me”, he smiled gently at her and ran his thumb over her cheekbones as (Y/N) muttered softly, “As you wish,…James.”

Slowly, he noticed her pulse increasing. He looked her in the eyes again as he got closer, and she could feel his cold breath on her skin. For a brief moment, it seemed like a dream to her, but it became reality at the moment as his lips touched hers. (Y/N) froze. She wasn’t expecting that. Not yet.

Immediately he broke away from the kiss and pulled his hand from her cheek, “Sorry, that was a little too hasty of me.”

If there was still blood flowing through his body, he’d be blushed. For the first time in a long time, he seemed nervous and ran his fingers through his hair. But (Y/N) grabbed his hand and shook her head calmly, “No, please. I was just…surprised that you…feel that way about me.”

“You’re just…so different. In a positive way, of course”, he held her hand and squeezed it briefly once when (Y/N) was the one who came a little closer and leaned forward, “No, you must forgive me. I didn’t mean to reject you. I like you…very much.”

Now James knew it was the right time.

Slowly he leaned over to her and kissed her gently on the mouth. Sighing her eyes closed as the young lady returned his kiss a little cautiously. After all, he had more experience in it than she did. But only now did (Y/N) realize how cold he was. It’s almost freezing.

“James, you’re so cold”, (Y/N) gently detached herself from the kiss and held her lips as he stroked her cheek and put a strand behind her ear: “Don’t worry. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Once again, he conquered her lips and pulled her closer to his chest. A little more courageously, (Y/N) grabbed the collar of his suit and pulled him closer. She closed her eyes again as he slowly continued to kiss her but wandered from her cheek down to her throat. Her eyes remained closed as she enjoyed his kisses on her warm skin. His lips were still cold, but now she did not seem to care anymore.

Soon he could hear her rapid heartbeat as he lavished kisses on her neck. (Y/N) did not notice how his eyes darkened and his teeth stretched into pointed pillars.

For a moment, James wrestled with himself over whether he should really kill her or go even further. Still, one thing was very clear. (Y/N) would never see the light of day again.

"Forgive me." he breathed against her soft skin and closed his eyes before placing his hand over her mouth. Before (Y/N) could even realize what was happening to her, he rammed his teeth into her neck. Her scream was stifled by his hand, but her body didn't give up so quickly. Panicked, she pushed and pounded against his chest as James sucked the blood from her body. But all her attempts did her no good, as he was far too strong for her.

Finally, she slumped lifelessly in his arms and sank against his chest. Sighing, James detached himself from her neck and pressed another soft kiss to the wound where his teeth had pierced her skin moments ago.

Gently he laid the young woman on the bench and pushed her hair out of her face. Carefully he untied the ribbon at the back of her head and pulled the mask from her face.

"Just as I imagined, my darling..." he ran his thumb over her lower lip and looked into her lifeless eyes before pulling his own mask off his face and tossing it on the floor beside him.

He took her hand in his and kissed the back of her hand, "I'll take care of you, my angel. No one will ever be able to hurt you again. We'll be together forever."

[mermaidsirennikita]

Simone is currently being dragged on twitter by saphne stans because she didn’t mention RJP when describing what she liked about S1 in an interview she did today… They’re saying her career after bridgerton will be a failure and that she’s ungrateful because he’s the reason she has this job.

Honestly so many of them seem like bitter white women. It feels very jealous and racist. I think they’re mad a WW isn’t the center of attention on the show anymore and Simone is of course super beautiful.

The level of anger that clip inspired is so weird because it was such an innocuous remark and Simone generally seems like the most inoffensive person. I also recall her once saying that Regé reached out to her to congratulate her when she was cast, so it’s not like she’s never mentioned him before either.

Yeah, I saw the post about it in the tag. It's gross, and inaccurate--though I want to be quick to add that I don't think everyone who misses Simon or ships Saphne is white. RJP's casting meant a lot to a lot of Black fans, and I don't want to dismiss that.

But yeah, of course Simone is going to be facing racism and jealousy from white women who enjoyed projecting onto Phoebe. The irrationality is ridiculous to me--because RJP "conquered racism" for her in the first season (which he didn't lol, that's clear based off of how fandom treats him to this day) Simone isn't going to have a backlash and should be grateful...? Nah.

For one thing, Simone did and has continued to face racism since her casting. It's not always blatant hatred--though sometimes it is. It's in the "something is off about this Kate casting to me, I can't quite figure it out" or the weirdly fetishistic shit people have been throwing at her since day one. Kate should do a Bollywood dance for Anthony! Kate should wear a sari! Kate will show Anthony a thing or two from the Kama Sutra! This is all racism. It's not necessarily the same as what RJP faced for playing a black duke (much of the racism around his casting was also based in the anxiety surrounding him romancing a white woman onscreen) but it's still racism.

But also... lol, her not mentioning him doesn't have to mean ANYTHING. I don't know why people read so much into it. And if it does mean anything, I guarantee you that decision was not made by Simone. She wouldn't be making the call to not mention RJP. Someone at Netflix would, and would direct her and her costars in that sense.

[kpopxx]

Spy Games [Chapter 1] : More Than It Seems

Characters: Twice Momo, Male Reader

4579 words

Authors Note: This is literally the first fiction writing I have done since I was a little kid writing stories about a town full of hamburgers. I was inspired to try my hand at writing by the plethora of amazing kpop smut writers out there right now, but by @lockefanfic​, @nsfwtwicecatcher​, @nsfwflint​, and @ggidolsmuts​ in particular. If there are any similarities between my writing and theirs, please forgive me as I’ve spent more hours than I’d care to admit “researching” their work. 

One thing that amazes me is how the hell everyone cranks out thousands of words with such frequency, as this post isn’t even 5k and it took forever to write. I can’t begin to explain how much respect I have for all the authors out there who can write so much and maintain such high levels of quality.

As a new writer, I welcome any and all feedback! Feel free to drop me a line if you have any critiques, or if you just want to chat!

***

“Coming up on the target now.” 

“Roger that, remember the office is on the top floor. Let us know when you’re inside. And remember, no elevators...” teases your handler, Choa.

“Thanks for the reminder,” you reply sarcastically.

You survey the skyscraper against the night sky--it would be impressive if it weren’t one of a hundred just like it downtown Seoul--and wonder what you had done to deserve getting the short end of the stick. Of course, you knew there was a reason to avoid the elevators: they sat directly in front of the building’s concierge and the cameras in the lobby, while the stairwell lay in a remote part of the first floor. The logic behind your impending hike didn’t make the reality any less abhorrent.

“Meanwhile, Seolhyun gets to infiltrate an organization in the Caymans. Just my fucking luck.” you grumble to yourself.

“Oh, stop whining, you big baby,” says Choa, reminding you to keep your thoughts to yourself.

You sneak past the lobby and towards the back of the floor you find the entrance to the stairwell in a poorly lit area.

“Beginning my climb.” you report, shaking out your legs as you prepare to go up.

“Sir, I-I’m getting some interference over comms,” chimes in the timid voice of the girl you knew to be your newest team member, Yoo Jeongyeon. “It could just be local chatter, but I want to make sure it’s not someone trying to listen in.”

“Probably nothing to worry about, but we’ll let you know if there’s anything you need to worry about.” Choa assures you. 

As you climb up the stairs, you wonder why anyone would want to listen in on this particular mission. This was a run-of-the-mill operation to investigate money laundering at an accounting firm. You’d infiltrated foreign governments, broken into and bugged the offices of billionaire CEOs, and tailed enemy agents. You could understand people wanting to hear those comms, but this? Either someone wanted something to listen to as a sleep aid, or this mission was more interesting than it looked.

A tip had come in through one of the new girls at the Intel Desk reporting that there was some fishy activity related to organized crime going on at the accounting firm. This was routine and you’d gone on dozens of similar recon missions before: break in, find suspicious intel, get out. But if someone wanted so badly to hear what was going on, the new girl may have stumbled onto something worthy of a promotion. Hayoung, you think her name was. Her chestnut, shoulder-length hair along with her well-endowed physique reminded you of a young mother, but her mature beauty belied her young age. You had caught yourself more than a few times fantasizing about her in your off hours…

You stop mid-way in the stairwell, scolding yourself for losing focus. Too often over the course of the last year you found yourself fantasizing about the women in your life. Sure, before the incident with Eunha you had sexual thoughts about your coworkers--you were surrounded by beautiful women, after all. But recently you noticed that your life was increasingly preoccupied with sex: both in your thoughts and the real-life exploits you carried out. 

Much longer than a few minutes later, you reach the 63rd floor out of breath and sweating, wishing more than ever that it was you and not Seolhyun lounging on the beach. You take a moment to compose yourself before peeking out into the office floor to see if the coast is clear.

“We may have a problem, boss. Jeongyeon looked into the comms disturbance and someone much more sophisticated than the average joe is definitely trying to tap in,” Choa says. “Jeongyeon’s kicking their ass right now blocking their access, but there’s only so much she can do alone. Eventually we’re going to lose control of this channel.”

“Dammit. I knew something was off with this op,” you grumble. “If they want to listen in to whatever I find, it must be important. We’ll go dark. Recon says this should be a quick in and out anyways. I’ll tag you once I’m out.”

“Be careful. Signal us if anything goes wrong. Just don’t do anything stupid.” replies Choa. 

“What do you think they pay me all this money for?” you tease, wanting to put her nerves at ease. “See you on the other side. Over and out.”

You could hear the concern in her voice. Even though keeping you safe was part of her job, you knew she cared about you. You also knew as well as she did that anything could go wrong even in the five minutes it would take you to break in, especially when it appeared that someone knew exactly what you were doing.

You switch off your comms link and head out the door and into the office.

It looked exactly as you expected--rows and rows of non-descript cubicles, with a princely office lined with glass walls occupying the far corner. Jeongyeon had retrieved the floor plan by hacking into the building’s security database earlier in the week, and you knew after her effort tonight in detecting and fending off the comms interference that Choa would want you to acknowledge the work the new girl had been putting in. She certainly was more skilled than the five previous team members you’d fired after Eunha, but you found it difficult to bring yourself to praise her. The Ops Officer position she occupied was a sore point for you, after all.

You deftly pick the lock on the corner office door and immediately sit down in front of the terminal on the desk, logging in with the security bypass Jeongyeon drew up. 

Again your thoughts drift to Eunha. Eunha was your longtime Ops Officer--highly skilled, you trusted her more than anyone. It also helped that she was your fiance. It made you sad to think about her; about what could have been, what should have been. Over the past year, you were constantly reminded of her absence by the utter incompetence of her replacements. You suppose it was nice that at the very least, Jeongyeon didn’t give you many opportunities to bemoan her performance in the same way--to remind you of Eunha.

You shake your head, compelling yourself to rise out of your funk and get on with the mission.

As you scroll through files, you stop on one with a familiar signature. Reading its contents, your eyes open wider--suddenly you understand why someone would be interested to listen in to your communications. You quickly save the file to your flash drive and stand up to leave, only to be startled by a figure in the doorway.

“Care to tell me what’s on that?” comes a familiar voice from the darkness that you knew to be Hirai Momo’s. Momo was an agent for a foreign espionage agency--you had as friendly a rivalry as you could have when working for different governments. 

“What was the point of trying to hack our comms if you were just going to show up and ask me that?”

“I had no intention of coming until you decided to ghost your girlfriends,” teases Momo. “Besides, I like showing you how much better I am at sneaking around.”

Momo flicks on the light and she comes into focus. The Japanese government made a good decision when they hired her, you think. She was built for the job of a seductive spy. Her perfectly toned legs had a lovely sheen all the way up to her short skirt, while her cleavage suggested that her tits were ready to burst out of her tight, patterned blouse. Where most of your attention was drawn, however, was her lustrous blue hair, which fell to her shoulders.

“I may actually need your help with this, once you see what’s on it,” you say, nodding your head at the flash drive.

“Oh, so you’re willing to give it to me? I thought I was going to have to fuck you for it,” she says sarcastically. You knew behind the humor was more than a nugget of truth, though. Sex had been the primary vehicle for information trading with Momo over the years. You decide to test your reading of the situation.

“Just because I need your help doesn’t mean I’m giving it for free…”

Momo brings her thumb to her mouth and bites gently as she ponders your not-so-subtle proposition. She takes her turn to look you up and down, making you feel more than a little self conscious in her gaze of judgment. After so many years in the dangerous world of espionage, there were only a handful women who could make you feel so small. Then again, Momo was no regular girl. 

Once she’s satisfied she has properly appraised your worth, Momo lets go of her thumb and straightens her blouse.

“Fine,” she says matter-of-factly, “let’s get to it,” unbuttoning her blouse as she walks towards you.

You are surprised by the lack of fight she put up, but you thought it best to keep that to yourself. Her tone reminds you of a business meeting--that is, if you hadn’t seen her pull her top off as she approached you. She sits in your lap on the chair, wrapping her arms around your neck as you meet her lips for a kiss. Momo’s mouth was familiar to you, introduced to you many times throughout your career. It seemed like every time you ran across her you had sex. One thing you adored about your relationship with her was that it was absolutely without strings attached. You fucked for work, but just because it was part of the job didn’t mean you both didn’t enjoy it. 

Momo, however, was loath to admit the pleasure she got out of her liaisons with you. Call it pride, call it being professional, whatever--Momo refused to act like sex with you was anything other than work, no different than working in a spreadsheet.

You feel her reach down to your pants, quickly unbuttoning them as she sinks to her knees in front of you. You smirk--her eagerness to please you betrayed her air of ambivalence.

Momo wastes no time getting down to business. You are certain the Japanese trained her very well in tender foreplay, but it seems she doesn’t care much for subtlety at the moment. Instead, she utilizes a more direct method to extract your pleasure--one that must have required its own fair share of training--as she spits on your cock before immediately forcing it as deeply in her mouth as she can take it. One, two, three bobs is all it takes for her to reach the base of your cock, her nose buried in your pelvis.

“Fuuuck me, that’s good,” you groan as you hold her head in place for several seconds, and Momo replies in turn with a cough that spits a healthy serving of saliva on to your cock. You release your grip on the back of her head to give her a chance to breathe, but she surprises you when she simply continues to work her mouth on your increasingly saliva-drenched cock, swirling her tongue around your base. Most of the other women you had slept with in recent months would be gasping for air by now, but Momo’s demeanor was cool, calm, and collected. Almost as if she was reading your mind, Momo paused her slurping and pulled her mouth off your shaft--but not forgetting to continue stroking it with achingly deft corkscrew motions.

“What’s the matter? Girls in your department not able to take care of your cock like a real woman?” Momo clicks her tongue and grins. “I’ve told you for years, you’d never be treated so poorly if you came to work for a professional outfit like ours.”

“Shut up and suck my cock.”

Momo shrugs, and gets back to the task at hand. Slobbering even more as she takes you into your mouth again, you pause to thank your lucky stars that you had a job that paid you in part to fuck women like Momo. You gaze upon her face, which has become just as messy as your cock. Momo’s sloppy blowjob has not only left liberal amounts of spit on your cock, but on her face as well--with strands of her blue hair plastered to her cheeks. Even though you thought it impossible, you feel your cock get harder at the sight of Momo’s messy face.

For several minutes, Momo continues inhaling your cock as you find yourself nearing the point of no return, you yank Momo’s head off your throbbing cock in order to prolong your session. A bit too forcefully, it seems, as Momo falls over onto her side.

“What the fuck!” yelps Momo as she picks herself back up, glaring at you. “I suck your cock and you thank me by throwing me on the ground?

“I didn’t mean to, I’m just not ready to cum yet. We both know you would’ve ignored me if I had asked you to stop.”

“I guess you’re right about that,” Momo replies sheepishly. You knew from previous run-ins with her that she loved nothing more than swallowing cum. Even though you had just denied her that favor, you were already thinking about how to make it up to her in a few minutes.

“How about I repay your kindness? Get up on the table and let me eat you.”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries. I’ll get up on the table, but you’re going to fuck me.”

“Someone’s eager to see what’s in this thumb drive,” you tease, inadvertently reminding yourself that this was a transactional liaison. You suspected that Momo’s interest in you extended beyond her desire for the information at hand, and part of you yearned to take her outside of the confines of work. You’re skeptical such a day would ever come, however, given how ambitious Momo was. 

You knew her story--she applied for a job in the Japanese spy agency several years ago, making it all the way through the process before being cut at the very end. She ended up receiving an offer shortly after one of the other finalists died in a ‘training accident’, but Momo lived with a chip on her shoulder ever since. She lived and worked with a pathological drive to prove the agency wrong in their original decision to cut her. Already the youngest lead operative in her country’s history, she had an eye on the directorship and seemed destined for it. So, you supposed, it was nice to be able to fuck her before she became famous.

Momo hops on up on the desk, hiking up her skirt to reveal a delicious-looking blue thong that matches her hair. She looks behind towards you with lust heavy in her eyes as she pulls her thong to the side, revealing her glistening pussy--already dripping, you noted.

“I don’t have all night.”

More than happy to oblige, you line your painfully throbbing cock up with her pussy and you can feel the warmth radiating from it. You take a second to appreciate Momo’s incredible physique as your hands graze downward from her upper back, to her hips, and finally to her ass. As you rub it, you cannot help but appreciate how sublimely taut it is. 

“Jeeze, you act like this is the first time you’ve seen a woman naked,” Momo jabs, interrupting your reverie.

You are starting to get annoyed with Momo’s demeanor. It was nothing new, really--she always carried an air of superiority--but it nonetheless grates on your nerves to see her be so dismissive. You are mature enough to understand that at least a part of this aggravation had to do with the fact that you knew Momo slept with plenty of men for work. Not so mature, however, to be able to stifle the primal urge deep inside of you that wanted Momo to see you as the best of all her lovers. More than ever, it seemed that sexual vanity mattered a great deal to your self-confidence.

With a renewed sense of purpose and your cock in hand, you enter Momo slowly with a long stroke until you fill her to the hilt. In unison with your initial insertion, Momo lets out a whine that crescendos as you bottom out.

As you begin to thrust in and out Momo settles in and widens her stance ever so little, which has the added benefit of allowing you to go even deeper into her warm, wet pussy. Momo was not a girl of surprises. Her face was gorgeous, capable of angelic beauty and fiery lust. Her body reflected the many hours she spent in the gym with ample breasts, insanely tight abs, and a toned ass to match. Her pussy feels exactly as sublime as her beautiful face and incredible body suggested. The perfect combination for a woman who used her body to seduce and take advantage of brainless men. You decide to push out your mind the realization that at this very moment, you are in fact one of those men.

You wanted to make sure Momo felt each and every drive into her hot flesh. Momo continued to moan quietly, each breath punctuated with a new thrust and the sound of your skin meeting hers.

“Looks like someone’s gotten real quiet all of a sudden,” you say, noticing her haughty attitude had subsided as pleasure took you both over.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Momo says, looking back at you with rekindled determination in her eyes, “you’re no better than half the guys I’ve been with. I’m here for the file, not for whatever you call this.” She cooly turns her head to face front again, leaving you seething.

Your twinge of annoyance was now a bubbling boil.

You slow down before withdrawing your cock from her warmth--Momo lets out the faintest whine of disappointment, betraying her dissatisfied front.

Just as Momo turns her head again to complain, you quickly slam your cock deep inside her. Momo yelps, and you notice her eyes bulge as you move your hips in a circular motion with your cock filled to the hilt, scraping deep inside her pussy. After several seconds of this you grab a makeshift ponytail out of her hair and yank backwards, causing her to gasp and arch her back instinctively. As much as she bothered you with her air of indifference, you had to admit that the image in front of you was the stuff of dreams.

Taking advantage of the highly erotic sight before you and the increased leverage offered by your grasp of her hair, you began to truly fuck her with quick and powerful strokes.

“Take it, Momo,” you grunted, beads of sweat beginning to form on your forehead.

Momo said nothing, emitting only breathless gasps from her open mouth. You noticed that their intensity was gradually increasing, so you increased the speed of your shaft penetrating her young, sinful body. You knew she was enjoying this, but you wouldn’t be satisfied until you broke her facade. You wanted her to lose herself to you.

You speed up even more, and the volume of your skin slapping together increases as her pussy drips wetter and wetter, mixing with your leaking precum. You are slamming your cock into her now, and Momo has to grab on to the table to steady herself. Slowly but surely her pretense was crumbling.

“You want it, don’t you Momo? You want more?”

“Fuck yeah,” Momo gasps hoarsely, struggling to speak with her hair being pulled, “Give it to me...o-oh...fuck, give it to me!”

Satisfied that she had succumbed to her pleasure, you relax your grip on her hair slightly and lean over to growl in her ear.

“I’ll give it to you. I’m gonna make sure you remember this, make sure every time you’re with another man you wish it was me.”

Momo acknowledges your promise with a deep groan, giving you great pleasure as you resumed fucking her gorgeous body.

Your eyes drift downward to her glorious ass, now shining with sweat and jiggling violently with each crash of your cock inside her. Inspired by the sight, you release her hair and put one hand on her hip and begin striking her ass with your other. Momo shrieks in surprise, but quickly looks back at you with lidded eyes while biting her lip to tell you she wanted more.

Again you oblige, and it was quickly becoming clear that lust and pleasure were staging a coup of Momo’s senses. She’s making lots of noise, but nothing intelligible. Nothing but guttural moans interspersed with high-pitched squeals. You continue spanking her ass, alternating cheeks--noticing a deep pink beginning to form on both. She’d most likely be dealing with soreness for several days after this, you think.

“You wanna cum, Momo? Cum for me, I know you want to.”

“Mmmmm...Ah, ah, AH! Unggghh,” comes Momo’s response.

“Come on Momo, fucking cum baby...cum all over this cock,” you shout, sincerely hoping there was no one working in an adjacent floor to hear.

“FUUUUCK!” Momo screams eloquently, suddenly dropping her head as her body begins convulsing. You knew what to expect having slept with her before, but you are nonetheless surprised to see how completely overtaken her body was by pleasure. Her upper body jerks spastically as her legs tremble with your cock plunged deep inside her pussy, all the while letting out a high-pitched whine that turns into a soft whimper. Just a few minutes before she was defiant and happy to throw insults at you...now she was a mewling, writhing mess incapable of speaking. The dark, primal part of you is satisfied by her tacit recognition of your talent.

After a short while, Momo begins to compose herself and lifts her upper body from the table. You take it as a sign to slowly resume taking your cock in and out of her. You decide to give her now glowing pink ass a rest and caress her back, tracing long lines with your nails.

“Mmmmm, that feels good,” Momo says, her eyes still closed, “you fuck me so good.”

You slowly begin ramping up the pace, rolling your hips with each stroke. You want to make sure your cock pleases every inch of Momo’s pussy, and make sure it craves you when she’s alone at night. 

After several minutes of this tender, softer version of lovemaking, Momo comes back to her senses. She arches her back again and turns her head to gaze in your eyes as you continue to take her. She begins to move her ass back and forth on your cock in unison with your own strokes.

“Oh my god, you feel so good in my fucking pussy! Every...fucking...stroke!” Momo gasps, the final words punctuated by the force of her majestic ass crashing against your cock.

“You’re a bad girl, Momo,” you tease, “you like being taken and shown who’s boss, don’t you? You like me grabbing your hair and slapping your ass?”

“Yes!” she gasps, “Yes I love it! Mmmmm...I want you to fuck me until you cum. Fuck me until you cum!”

There was no command in the world easier to follow.

Satisfied that you had fulfilled your vain, immature desire to see her acknowledge your skill as a lover, you now focus yourself on extracting pleasure from the young woman beneath you. You settle into a pace with rough strokes, fiercely pounding her over and over. Your pleasure rises with each thrust, aided not only by the mindblowing caress of her pussy, but by the incredible sight of Momo on all fours before you moaning with each strike of your cock inside her.

“Fuck Momo...I don’t think I have much longer, I’m gonna fucking cum so hard!”

“Yes,” comes the response from Momo, “Yes, yes! Fucking cum baby, I want your cum so bad!”

A few more thrusts and you can feel the point of no return coming. For a brief moment you contemplate cumming inside Momo, to truly claim her. You quickly reconsider, wanting to give her what she truly wanted--to swallow your load.

And so, you quickly withdraw your cock from Momo’s now sopping wet pussy and she instinctively turns around and drops to her knees on the floor. Stroking your cock with great fervor, her mouth wide open begging for what was to come.

“Please give me your cum, please, please! I want it...I need it! Cum for me!”

Your head tilts backward as a long groan escapes your lips. Your cum explodes from your shaft, shooting long, thick ropes of semen into her mouth and onto her cheeks and nose. Over and over, your cum splashes on her beautiful face until you finally reach the end of your orgasm, panting and exhausted. Momo’s face is a pornographic picture of lust, her eyes rolled back in pleasure as she swallows the mass of cum you deposited in her mouth.

“I fucking love your cum,” Momo says as she wipes the remaining cum off her face with her finger and promptly brings it to her tongue before swallowing it down as well.

“I’m glad we were both able to get what we wanted,” you say, struggling to catch your breath.

“Speaking of getting what I wanted…” Momo says, nodding her head to the part of the floor where the USB drive now sits, evidently thrown from the table during the session that had just taken place.

“Right,” you say, suddenly remembering you’re here for work, “make a copy and let’s get out of here.”

“Great,” says Momo, still on the floor with a satisfied smile of content on her face, “Hey, I meant what I said about having you join our team. As much shit as I give you, we could really use someone with your talent.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m better off staying put. Don’t think the Korean government would let me live if I tried defecting.”

“Probably true,” says Momo as she begins picking up her clothes, “Never hurts to ask, though.”

***

A few minutes later, you and Momo had both gotten dressed and copied the file onto a drive for her. Momo disappeared into an adjoining hallway and you set off to traverse the stairwell again. As you prepare yourself for the descent, you also steel yourself for the repercussions of giving the intel to a foreign spy agency. With the information you saw in the file, you knew the Japanese would have to be looped in sooner or later. If it was going to happen eventually, you thought it made the most sense to entrust that intel to the agent on the other side you knew would make sure things got done correctly. As logical as it seemed to you, however, you knew it wouldn’t be taken well back at the office.

You click on your comms link, now knowing there’s nothing to fear. 

“Hey Choa, I’m on my way back to the rendezvous.”

“Oh thank god! That took forever, I was about to call for a tac team!” Choa sighs with audible relief, “I take it you got everything you needed?”

“Got more than I needed, actually,” you say, nervous about Choa’s reaction to what you say next, “Listen, there’s one small thing you should know...”

“You did WHAT?!”

[songofsongs214]

Okay...

*takes deep breath*

I just want to add a disclaimer that these views expressed are just reflections of my own observances and understanding of what I’m seeing on this show. I welcome anyone else lurking through these tags who are happy and unhappy with the show to not hesitate to post your thoughts and opinions. We need to keep and cultivate the art of civil discourse in order to honor different points of view. And who knows maybe I'm super off base but I just wanted to express my frustration in a constructive manner or at least that was the goal.

So, now that I’ve said that I’ve got some big feelings about “The Rookie” right now and I really just wanted to articulate them the best I can. And everything is under the cut so people can continue scrolling if they want :)

I write this as a disappointed fan not just of Chenford but of the show as a whole. I was so excited to see that "The Rookie" was renewed for a 4th season. I had fallen in love with this show and the way that the writers and producers were able to create this genuinely good show about what it was like to be a police officer. I liked that there was humanity and hard conversations woven into storylines that seemed realistic (obviously needing some liberty for some unrealistic situations to create excitement and remind us it's entertainment)

For example, The episodes about what happens in a child abduction, the conversations with Dr. Ryan, the horrific reality of Doug Stanton, how police officers are stretched thin and need an allocation of resources in many urban settings like LA were inspiring and heartbreaking that had substance. One episode that stood out to me was the one with the VP and all of those people who were renting out that one room and they were afraid of being deported if they reported it and had nowhere to go.

These characters were dynamic and vibrant unlike a lot of first responder dramas and thrived in their storylines. The police procedural content gave them an edge honestly. It was interesting to watch.

Now sadly, this show reflects none of those initial traits. Ever since the first episode of season 4, I noticed a shift and a change in tone and I was weary of it, but I know they had to accommodate Titus’s exit so I wasn’t too worried. However, as the episodes have progressed with the forced introduction of Bailey and the sidelines of Lucy, Nyla, Angela and even Tamara it’s become clear that there is a clear Imbalance of male and female dynamics that go beyond just the “ships” that I adore.

Not one single woman has been given a substantial storyline. They only serve to create some drama for the male characters AND every man that has interacted with a woman outside of a romantic interest is rolling their eyes and patronizing them. And this is so frustrating as a woman to watch these scenes. men and women are different but to write them so unequally is problematic.

The introduction of The character of Ashley was also unnecessary and it can be argued it has nothing to do with chenford at all even. The episode is about a cop who has served for like 40+ years was meant to a father figure to Tim Bradford. Someone who understood the cost of the job and the joy of serving in ones calling to protect and serve. The episode would have been stronger narratively if there was no Romantic element or motivation. Tim Bradford is a character that actually was ( past tense) strong enough to thrive in a storyline that didn’t need a romantic entanglement.

And as a side note I wish paid writers would take more chances on their characters by telling more stories of revelation and growth without the introduction of a romantic interest and let the actors pull from other sources to create drama, Lord knows humanity has enough drama without those. Or to consider a romantic partner as a “reward” of sorts. Also romantic relationships are beautiful and a gift but they will not complete any one person and we should normalize writing relationships as such in my opinion.

Which is why this story choice was annoying at first. Ashley is either a throwaway character (created out of filler and a need to distract from a paring the creator does not support) or she is going to stay on the show. And I would argue that it serves no purpose and she doesn’t fit into the fabric of the show. She has nothing to contribute to the overall narrative or the characters. She’s not a police officer or a first responder and has no ties to the heart of the show. All she had was a dad who was a police officer her whole life. At least when Wesley was Angela’s love interest he was a defense attorney who added a different and opposing perspective and complemented Angela and the team of characters as a whole. Rachel made more sense because she was a social worker who created an interesting dynamic between a beat cop and her profession. Ultimately, Ashley just like every other female character on the show right now, was brought in only to prop up another male character who is not his equal in any way, she’s just a woman who looks like his ex wife. No connection.

And at present, one of the strongest female influences on the show has been reduced to a trivialized child. Lucy was devastated when Jackson died and it was just dropped. She’s no longer solving complex problems or giving insight with her college degree and advanced emotional intelligence. Nolan considers her immature and a nuisance which is reflected in the way he looks at other characters whenever Lucy shares something or is fawning over Tim . Tim in constantly rolling his eyes at her and is belittling her in front of co workers and her friends. He’s being written as someone who is not the least bit interested or invested in what she has to say or do. Tim was actually kinder as a hardass TO. I don't know if that was ever the intention, but that's how it's come across to me.

And let’s address specifically this latest episode. Lucy and Tim start the episode with being competitive and wanting a rematch ( which was not balanced well with what was happening in the rest of the episodes narrative) and they both wanted it to happen.

Then at the end of the episode to just drop it first of all is sloppy writing because they didn’t even follow their own arc they created. That’s like writing 101...Second, to have it fall on Lucy’s character that Tim is being responsible and she’s being immature is insulting and is hypocritical. When men are competitive their considered hot and attractive and are praised for their prowess. While if women are competitive they’re considered insensitive and naive. Not to mention it betrays Tim’s basic character structure. Go back to the 1st season. It’s how he connected with his wife and it revealed his insecurity in himself by how much it meant ( pointed out by Lucy mind you) to win.

In this scene there was no grand revelation about how some things matter more, it appeared to me as a viewer to diminish Lucy’s agency and make Tim look like he was responsible and a better cop than her. Which is horrible considering this character is one of the most dedicated to the job considering she lost her family’s respect and love over pursuing it. Talk about “gag me”.

Based on how this season has gone so far, I don’t anticipate that introducing Tim’s family will be handled in a responsible or illuminating way from a writer's perspective (* Nothing against Melissa and Eric and the other two lovely humans playing his family members*) Which is heart crushing to me because of how many similarities I have with Tim Bradford’s character about a similar upbringing. It’s infuriating considering the platform that “The Rookie” has and the opportunity to stand out in network television to tell stories of grit and heart that matter.

It is easy for me to say that the show lacks vision and that’s what is conflicting for viewers, but I think a sadder reality may be that it has vision and this direction is intentional to tear down “chenford” and be “awkward, funny or cute”.

And for the record I haven’t seen awkward funny or cute in chenford last interactions or the other characters. And the respect they had for each other isn't showing anymore either. The procedural aspect has been pretty much completely abandoned and these “ big storylines” are contrived and incomplete.

In my opinion, the writers have betrayed their original characters and this show had so much promise for me but now it’s lost it's appeal and uniqueness.

I genuinely hope that those that will continue to watch it will enjoy it :). It’s just not the show I really loved and it’s no longer prompted long needed conversations in society like it used to. Like it did for me and my best friend who are on opposite sides of the political and social aisle. Now, we just agree there’s missed opportunities all over the place.

Maybe after 2022 there will be a better shift, maybe I can see a better narrative but man right now it’s a struggle especially with all the big feelings I have about it.

Thank you for reading this if you made it to the end and I hope my love and appreciation for what this show was and I hope it to be again comes through.

Enjoy friends, for now I’m gonna lurk occasionally but I’m done watching the show prob until after the mid season finale. And I’ll be reading fan fiction along the way and hopefully I can provide encouragement to all of our fabulous writers and creators.

And if executives from the show are reading, I don’t appreciate as a viewer filler content when this show is better than that or baiting a certain fan base with shallow storytelling. Please do better.

[esther-dot]

The thing is the Willas and Tyrion post made to show the situation for Sansa was almost similar. Both are old men, disabled, heir to their house, trying to steal Sansa birthright. I don't think that op once said that Willas is cruel like Tyrion. I never saw Jonsa hated Willas. I think op means that Tyrells will be better than Lannisters yet they are opportunist like Lannisters. Maybe some do not like the pairing but no one called Willas a bad guy.

(in reference to this post)

I didn’t see the post my anon was referring to, but often, one post inspires other posts on a similar topic and depending on who you follow, you’ll experience a totally different conversation. Not all of us put our posts in the main tag so sometimes we’re responding to things the next person hasn’t seen. If you check on one blog and see a post once, it’s easy to ignore. If you scroll through and see the same post 5 times with added commentary or tags, and additional posts talking about it too, it hits you in a totally different way. It sounded to me like my anon felt what was happening on their dash went beyond the Lannister and Tyrell comparisons. I’m not characterizing the original post in any which way, just saying as the conversation evolved my anon got a specific impression that they objected to, and as I had spoken fondly of Willas before, they reached out. I didn’t mind in the least. Although, for what it’s worth, I haven’t seen Jonsas hating on Willas either. The benefits of curating your tumblr experience!

I agree with you that there is a comparison to be made between the Lannisters and the Tyrells, and that it is worthwhile to find parallels since the author enjoys those so much. I just think the contrast between the two scenarios (marriage to Tyrion vs marriage to Willas) better highlight the issue at hand rather than saying the parallels mean they’re the same. Saying, oh, here’s a good guy and a much nicer family and Sansa could have something rather beautiful there and—oh shit, they’re still using her, little girls are still being handed off as the means to an end, Sansa is still not being seen as a person—that’s the interesting stuff to me. 

Just because one family chooses methods that are less directly violent doesn’t mean there aren’t victims to their machinations, and there’s a really interesting direct parallel with the Lannisters killing Robb, and Olenna killing Joffrey. Obviously, one is a whole hell of a lot more sympathetic, one is a lot more evil, but there are a lot of intersections in their stories. But I think there’s a difference between living within the context of their world and being particularly evil. I suppose that’s what my previous anon and I agree on. Houses cared about advantageous marriages, marrying off children to procure things/alliances was normal (as in, the Starks were gonna do this), but even though it’s normal to them, we shouldn’t be ok with it, and we should recognize the shades of grey to each scenario. But the underlying sentiment is that it is all bad. It leaves girls and women incredibly vulnerable and that plays out later in other people’s stories where people marry and then kill women to get what they want. I believe that fate awaited Sansa if she had given Tyrion a child. I’ve written before that Sansa saved herself and the North when she refused to have sex with Tyrion, and as weird as the castle-y sex metaphors are, I think that supports the idea that this is something the author is consciously writing about.

But back to this topic specifically, in spite of the similarities between the scenarios, the big difference is that the Lannisters were holding Sansa hostage and forced her into the marriage, the Tyrells were offering her an escape from a horrible situation. Darling Sansa immediately romanticizes it and dreams of love and family, but even though she didn’t understand that the offer was not about her happiness and they had a goal, if we compare the two offers, if Sansa had a choice, she would probably choose Willas because she was a prisoner to the family that murdered hers and being forced into marrying one of them is a special brand of horrific.

Another thought I have is that we need to be very careful when comparing Willas and Tyrion because my other anon may have felt that people were emphasizing Tyrion’s dwarfism as his defining trait or Willas’s bad leg his. To their world that matters, but to me as a reader (to everyone in our corner of the fandom, I believe), I care more about who they are. And from what we know, as individuals, they’re nothing alike. Just because Willas would be married to Sansa doesn’t mean he’d have the same goals because we don’t know that he is power hungry or wants Winterfell for himself. His family is a bit conniving, but I don’t think we know that about him. Tyrion will never inherit his father’s castle, but Willas is the heir to Highgarden. That’s really scary for Sansa fans and that element, Tyrion’s lust for that position, (potentially) isn’t there in her marriage to Willas. I think that’s an important variable. So, broadly speaking, sure, similarities, but other Jonsas have notes there Willas may be foreshadowing for Jon, share parallels with him, and I tend to think they’re onto something. Anyway, if we’re thinking of Sansa as a person, it makes a huge difference that one man is a bad person (rapist, murderer) and the other is by all accounts a sweetheart. That one man has nothing and desperately wants title/castle/his evil father’s approval, while the other is loved by his family, has his own estate, and while his father wants to become more powerful, his methods are much more in line with normal standards for their world. So, not only are Sansa’s feelings about it different, her circumstances entering into such a marriage and prospects after are as well. That matters to me. I like to imagine Cat’s reaction to the news of a Sansa x Willas marriage compared to her reaction to them forcing Sansa to marry Tyrion. I think it would be quite different.

As I read your message and responded, I just kept thinking that it’s possible we don’t even really disagree. I can see why someone would say “it’s the same” and I think you can understand those of us who say, “but let’s make sure we acknowledge where it isn’t.” So, I don’t really feel like I’m arguing with you, just saying I come at it from a different angle, as my previous anon did.

[its-me-im-coraline]

Best Years // Thomas Raggi // Playlist

words // 1109

warnings // angst as hell, why am i writing so much angst? I dont know

pairing // Thomas Raggi x GN!Reader

author's note // if you want to be on the tag list let me know. sorry I did not post yesterday, i was not feeling really inspired at all so yeah, but thankfully that's changed today so here. WHO LET ME WRITE SO MUCH ANGST SOMEONE STOP ME OMG. Unless you like the angst, then don't stop me 😉 Also please forgive me for making Thomas the bad guy on this fic, i literally randomly picked the songs for these fics at first without thinking of the lyrics so now I'm stuck with the consequences of angst

request // nope

summary // Thomas and reader have been having an on and off relationship. One moment they are together, the next they are entertaining other people; but in the end they only ever think of each other.

“Don’t you just feel great, here, like that, with me holding you?” The man was lying on the bed of his hotel room, his partner in his arms, simply basking in the afterglow of what went down a few minutes ago.

Y/N just smiled at him, eyes closed and head resting on his shoulder. “Mhm,” they simply mumbled, drifting off to sleep.

By the time morning came around Thomas had already gotten up, leaving his partner alone in the bed before abandoning the room heading for the dinning area for breakfast. When he got to it his bandmates were already there, sitting at a table and eating, only giving him a disappointed look.

“You didn’t tell them. Again.” Victoria glared at her friend while poking her eggs with her fork maybe a little to violently

“There is nothing to say Vic. We are together again, what happened when we were not does not concern them.”

“Thomas! This has already happened so many times. You break up, you go with someone else, you get back together and act like nothing happened!” He was their friend, that is for sure, but Thomas’ bandmates pride themselves in their honesty and in their effort to be respectful. It did not seem to be the case for the younger man.

He wasn’t a bad person, no, but his mind was clouded by the options, the excitement of the moment, that rush. He loved Y/N - not that he knew that - but he had a terribly difficult time being consistent. He was young, spontaneous, had not had much time to explore his options, and while it was entirely wrong, he did so now at the expense of his lover. The words he heard put him in deep thought, and at this time deep thought ment deep drinking for him.

As the night rolled around Thomas found himself occupying the hotel bar. Considering emotions, problems and choices is a hard thing and though he had to do so he was not even remotely ready for that. The comfort of the drink and the existence of beautiful women was enough for a journey of the mind and a mistake of the body. By the time he was done he found himself sitting outside of his hotel room, where Y/N was just inside.

His back was on the wall and his eyes were closed, almost falling asleep right there, so he failed to hear them open the door. “Thomas, dio mio, I was just coming to look for you! Are you okay?” They were concerned to say the least, an obvious observation really. Their eyebrows were furrowed, lips separated and hand on their chest, holding the little pendant Thomas had given them - it was a thing they tended to do whenever they were nervous, hold the charm of the pendant, take a deep breath and it helped calm them down.

“No need, amore, as you can see I’m right here,” he slurred, stumbling across words, missing letters… He was very far gone and anyone could see that.

Y/N simply took a deep breath, bracing themselves for the upcoming night and morning. It was always the same cycle. He did something he should not, he would drink, do more things he should not and come back to Y/N. It was never fun but they did not have the heart to just leave him there.

“Come on, Thom, help me a little bit! You need to get up.” The man groaned but did as told before getting inside the room with his… partner.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as Y/N sat him in the bathtub, trying to rid him of his drunken state even a little bit.

“I know you are.”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand! I really am sorry. I want to change…”

How many times? Just how many times has he said the same things, same excuses and same empty promises. It never changed and it had certainly gotten tiring. That was precisely the reason they could not believe that Thomas this time would be different, he had given them a million reasons to hesitate.

Maybe it was the on and off that became tiring, both parties figuring out different excuses that simply did not make sense, but always being enough to cause the temporary break ups. A lot of the time, especially if on tour, Thomas would find someone to ‘comfort’ him for a few nights, wasting his time with people that simply were not his. They never were Y/N, no matter how hard he tried to not think about that, he’d wake up the next morning with an unfamiliar person but a familiar discomfort in his stomach.

“It will not be the same, amore, I promise,” he said this time, “you’ll see! I’m willing to try.”

To be completely honest, Y/N did not seem to believe much of the man’s words. They had heard them time and time again, it had become difficult to put trust in them again. “I am not sure, Thomas,” they said, leaning behind them on the counter, “how can I possibly say that it’s ok, how can we be together, again?” The exasperation was obvious, not being able to be contained, after all the pain and the strain in their heart.

“I know, I know. I’ve been terrible… But I really am willing to change. Make it up for all the times I screwed up. I’ll make up for all of your tears.”

Y/N stayed quiet. They did not want to continue this conversation, especially while Thomas was drunk, this state making it even harder to believe him.

“I did not do it,” he breathed out after the silence had gotten too much, “I didn’t do it this time…”

“What didn’t you do?” asked Y/N, curiosity lacing their voice, puzzled at his words.

“I didn’t go with anyone. Not when we were apart this time, not while I got drunk. Everyone thinks I did so I let them believe it, but I didn’t,” he explained looking down, “I couldn’t.”

“Why?” They knew it was not the question they should be asking but before thinking the word had already come out.

“Because I realized something,” he responded, putting his palm on Y/N’s face after they came back to the side of the tub.

The only hummed back at him, prompting him to continue. “I want to be with you, for good. No more fighting, no more drinking, no more tears, baby. Nothing. I want to be full on this, please. I’ll give you the best years and nothing else will matter anymore.”

tag list: @bieberhoodforever @tabi-toast @ginny-lily @moriro-da-regina @the-killer-queenie @makapaka11

playlist tag list: @cheese-toastie-11

[snake-in-the-garden]

I don't know if "bratz-faced" was targeted towards anyone except white women and the features they steal from the poc cultures that it shuts out from fashion because they don't want to admit they find it desirable. It's an analogy. Most dolls look the same, manufactured the same, just with a few fashion and name changes. Yes there are people who are naturally bigger whether in facial features or body or anything, and there's nothing with that. But we can't sit here and not admit the predominantly eurocentric beauty and its tight grasp on youthfulness wants all those things while still being stick thin.

Anon, the OP of that post used "bratz-face" as an insult and did not mention anything about cultural appropriation of black women and only focused on being upset about certain women following a trend they don't like and "skinnies". The reason I called the bratz-face comment anti-black was because the Bratz line was inspired by Y2K fashion which was defined by Black culture. A lot of Black girls including me latched onto the doll line because they saw themselves in that line more than the mostly white Barbie line. The Bratz style were villainized and sexualized for years(I heard the word "ghetto" a lot) just like Black women have been for years.

"But we can't sit here and not admit the predominantly eurocentric beauty and its tight grasp on youthfulness wants all those things while still being stick thin"

No one was denying that. That's why I said in the tags that beauty standards should not be a thing. No one should be put down for not "fitting in". I just don't like these "anti-makeup anti-femininity" radfems putting individuals down for engaging in something they enjoy. We already have to deal with men doing the same thing.

Should women's clothing be more diverse and body inclusive? YES!!!

Should the beauty industry stop being so predatory to young girls? YES!!!

Should influencers with tons of followers be more responsible about the content they put out? ABSOLUTELY!!!

Articles to refer to:

[pseudomenudo]

I have decided to create a challenge for Pride Month.

Let’s all reflect on the things that have shaped and affected us as LGBTQ+ individuals. I challenge you to answer this question: What’s an LGBTQ+ (theme/symbolism/mentions of LGBTQ+ anything!) song, movie, piece of art, book, poem, quote, ANYTHING, that you like? Why do you like it? Feel free to share it all in your response to this post!  Even YouTube vids, spotify links, whatever! Anything that shows us your fave stuff regarding LGBTQ+. I’ll go first. 

POETRY:

A poem by my favorite poet Walt Whitman: “Though biographers continue to debate Whitman's sexuality, he is usually described as either homosexual or bisexual in his feelings and attractions.” (reference: https://bookshop.org/books/poems-9781519702807/9781519702807)

Song of the Open Road:

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune—I am good- fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Strong and content, I travel the open road. The earth—that is sufficient, I do not want the constellations any nearer, I know they are very well where they are, I know they suffice for those who belong to them. Still here I carry my old delicious burdens, I carry them, men and women—I carry them with me wherever I go, I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them, I am filled with them, and I will fill them in return. You road I travel and look around! I believe you are not all that is here, I believe that much unseen is also here.

A large part of my sexuality and my freedom to express my sexuality healthily is thanks to Walt Whitman. Not only did he save my life once, he helped me understand myself.

ART:

As for art. Frida Kahlo was a great inspiration for me in terms of female sexuality, loving both men and women, and thinking of sexuality as more than sex and attraction. I also have a strong desire to become a mother one day, as she did. I am also terrified of infertility, as she was.

“While many maintain she had sexual relationships with both men and women, what is true is that she considered sexuality as something that went beyond mere intercourse. It spoke of creation, life, and, of course, her wish to conceive and become a mother. This obsession was a constant in her life and was beautifully immortalized in the bright shapes and colors of her canvases.” (reference: https://culturacolectiva.com/art/frida-kahlo-sexuality-paintings)

TW: Blood, nudity, infertility, hospital bed, childbirth

MOVIE:

TW for the movie: sex scenes, some sexuality, use of the n word, drug use, brief violence, and language throughout.

I very much enjoyed the movie Moonlight. Not only was it filmed where I live, I also went to a showing for it near the place it was filmed. When it came out, I was overjoyed, and loved the themes it showed in the movie. The element of water has always been a recurring one in my own life. Moonlight handles difficult topics, such as incarceration, death, prejudice, racism, homosexuality, toxic masculinity, growing up in poverty, familial relationships, homophobia, AIDS, father-son relationships and dynamics, black culture, how black gay men are viewed, love and relationships, separations, machismo, anxiety, etc. in a beautiful, graceful manner. The main characters father is from Cuba, and speaks of black people and black culture in cuba. This is something that isn't spoken of as much as it should be. The afro-cuban culture in cuba is important, and a part of Cuban people's history and ancestry. As a Cuban woman, I was proud to hear about the experience the father shared, not necessarily because of the experience itself, but because people will hear it and learn. Things must change. Many of these themes are things I struggled with in my own life. I felt a sort of kinship with the movie and its characters.

Have some clips of the film:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7D0T4ivCsF4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6yMItXePG8&ab_channel=T-Manfilm

MUSIC:

I think I heard this song when I was around eleven years old.  I think so many people know it already, it's very popular, but it was the first song I heard that really expressed feeling love for someone of the same sex. When I tried explaining to my mother how I felt inside, in terms of my sexuality and attraction to the members of the same sex, I showed her the youtube video of the song. It was a very interesting experience lol. Some lyrics I felt I related to were:

"Mother looking at me Tell me what do you see? Yes, I've lost my mind Daddy looking at me Will I ever be free? Have I crossed the line?"

And

"And I'm all mixed up, feeling cornered and rushed They say it's my fault, but I want her so much Want to fly her away," 

Spotify Link: https://open.spotify.com/track/4bJygwUKrRgq1stlNXcgMg

Music Video: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8mGBaXPlri8

QUOTE/BOOK

A quote that recently touched my heart was:

“In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.” from The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

When I read this, I thought, “This is what matters when you are with the one you love. This is all that should matter.”

Have a summary of the book from Goodreads.com (one of my favorite websites for organizing my books. If you want to follow me there, send me a message or ask and I’ll give it to you):

“Greece in the age of heroes. Patroclus, an awkward young prince, has been exiled to the court of King Peleus and his perfect son Achilles. By all rights their paths should never cross, but Achilles takes the shamed prince as his friend, and as they grow into young men skilled in the arts of war and medicine their bond blossoms into something deeper - despite the displeasure of Achilles' mother Thetis, a cruel sea goddess. But then word comes that Helen of Sparta has been kidnapped. Torn between love and fear for his friend, Patroclus journeys with Achilles to Troy, little knowing that the years that follow will test everything they hold dear.Profoundly moving and breathtakingly original, this rendering of the epic Trojan War is a dazzling feat of the imagination, a devastating love story, and an almighty battle between gods and kings, peace and glory, immortal fame and the human heart.”

And that’s it for me! I challenge ALL OF YOU to continue this and share your own. Feel free to reblog this and tag your own friends and mutuals to complete this challenge! Let’s share with each other the beautiful pieces of work that have inspired us as members of the LGBTQ+ community.