#which is framed as empowering

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

idk if youve read the nico and will book yet but is there homophobia in that book?

I did read it actually! it was one of my first books of the year actually (though it was so aggressively fine that I've forgotten most of it tbh ,,,,)

as far as I remember there is a bit, but it isn't major? (anyone who has read it more recently please correct me if I'm wrong)

I just checked the trigger warnings on StoryGraph and these are the ones under "Graphic":

[ Grief(64) ; Death(39) ; Mental Illness(37) ; Violence(28) ; Injury(23) ; Blood(15) ; Death of parent(15) ; torture(7) ; panic attack(7) ; child death(5) ; outing(5) ; homophobia(4) ; emotional abuse(4) ; eating disorder(4) ; confinement(4) ; abandonment(3) ; self harm(2) ; gaslighting(2) ; suicidal thoughts(2) ; war(2) ; medical content(2) ; dysphoria(1) ; bullying(1) ; kidnapping(1) ; gore(1) ; medical trauma(1) ; murder(1) ; fire(1) ]

note that the tw in story graph are distributed on three levels: graphic, moderate and minor. they are added by the readers themselves (which is what the numbers mean: how many readers added this as a tw, in this case on the "graphic" level specifically) often times tws that have a low number on "graphic" (like only 1 or 2) appear more often in the "moderate" or "minor" tier.

(also just searched for my review on it to see if I wrote anything useful but all it told me is that it was the third book I read this year and that I was a bit depressed at the time lmao (which maybe explains why my memories of it are so shit))

[ringneckedpheasant]

finally reached the stage of adulthood where I Don’t have to have my bed in a corner like a bird that needs its cage to be enclosed on two sides to feel secure

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Darkest Desire

Based off of this nonnie request! It’s a bit scarier than intended and I do apologise for that teehee. There’s also no smut…

Blurb: With a group of friends you visit the local Halloween Scare walk, an event that is hosted annually out in the creepy plaines of Hawkins and whilst it’s masks on for the locals, it’s very much masks off for the scare actors…

Pairing: Scare Actor!Eddie x Reader

Warnings: 18+, the holiday of Halloween is mentioned, talk of blood/gore, faux blades/knives, cursing, reader is referred to as girl, use of pet names, degrading, praising, stalking (cat&mouse), sly/cocky and slightly mean!Eddie. Characters are all 20+

-

divider by @reveriesources

Crunchy dry blood orange leaves litter the earth and frost tainted wind nips at your nose and cheeks. The squeals of excited children racing by your costume clad frame fills your ears with immense joy and you giggle airily as they launch themselves into one another. Racing toward the brightly lit luminescent funfair games in hopes of winning a stuffed animal or a goldfish in a bag.

Their parents lug behind them, their attire consisting of some makeshift costume they had thrown together at the last minute in hopes of pleasing their tiny humans and earning themselves a quiet car ride without any tantrums or fuss.

Your group, on the other hand, weren’t here for the childish and conning games. You were all here for the Scare Walk.

You hadn’t agreed on a coherent group costume so it was a pick and mix of totally different genres and ideas and from an outside perspective it was abundantly clear that there was no communication on the matter whatsoever.

Steve was dressed as the main character from Nightmare On Elm Street, Freddy Kruger. Nancy clearly had helped with the makeup aspect of the costume assemble but everything else screamed Harrington. He cropped the stripped knitted jumper to better suit his athletic frame and his hair was still very much classic Steve.

Robin had taken a whole new approach, dressing up as the colourful Rubik’s Cube puzzle toy. Deriving inspiration from the colourful squares she wore a long black jumpsuit covered in humongous reflective and vibrant square sequins. She more resembled a neon glitter ball, but you gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Nancy’s body was hugged by a khaki green boiler suit that had the long legs cut off and on her back she wore a black backpack with some DIY altercations made to it. She has begged Mike to help her create her costume, and that’s how she ended up dressed as a Ghostbuster, putting a strong feminine spin on the male dominated film. You hadn’t expected anything less from Nance, she was always looking for ways to empower women and her costume made you smile. Proud.

Jonathan had chosen a much whackier costume to better fit with his personality. The pungent smell of weed radiating from his body only complimented the fluorescent green costume he was wearing and the radioactive orange bandana blindfolded over his eyes. He had opted for the beloved character from the children’s series Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’, Michelangelo. Which shouldn’t have surprised you— but it did.

And finally, you had chosen something distinctively different from your friends. You had made the bold choice to go as a flapper girl from the 1920’s, inspired by Fitzgeralds novel The Great Gatsby. It was a bold move because you paired the costume with kitten heels and although they were small you knew by the end of the night your feet would be crying out for rest. It is a Scare Walk after all. Your body was adorned by glitter and lace and the fringe of your dress tickled at the exposed skin of your legs.

It was a bit chilly tonight, but you were having too much of a ball to really hone in and pay attention to the sharp gusts of wind. Steve and Robin were arguing over whose costume was more original and whilst Robin’s was, Steve always somehow managed to argue himself into being ‘right’.

“Talk to me when you have hand sewn a bazillion sequins onto something and not just took a pair of shears to a ratty old sweater.” Robin remarks with a smirk, crossing her arms over her chest and marching ahead of Steve.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that it was surprisingly difficult to cut this thing into a straight line— and it isn’t ratty or old, I literally bought it like two days ago.” Steve fires back with a squinted gaze as he follows closely behind Robin’s reflective beacon of light that seems to lead us through the dimness. Nancy grumbles inwardly to herself.

“Can you two stop bickering like babies? We’re here to have fun! So let’s go and do that!” She hooks her arm with yours, charging forward, “I heard that some people from campus are working here this year. I don’t know what they’re doing but isn’t that exciting? We might bump into them!” You admired how Nancy could make a good situation out of everything, however you didn’t quite share her enthusiasm for meeting people you already knew. Nancy was all about making and strengthening connections whereas you wanted to just have fun— judgement free.

And now that you knew that your peers were watching your every move you couldn’t help but feel your confidence shrink slightly and your words clam up. Dying in your throat before they could ever be heard aloud.

-

The walk started off relatively slow and rather boring. You kept mistaking your dress tickling your calf’s as insects running up the skin of your legs and Robin would giggle at the way your head was constantly shooting downward.

“You seem awfully jittery— is someone scared already?” She taunts, wiggling her eyebrows at you and grinning widely as she did.

You scoff in response, “Please. I’m nearly dozing off back here.”

An eerie dark silence falls over the group and the golden haze from the spooky funfair starts to fade into the background behind you as you venture further and deeper into the doom and gloom of night fall.

The smell of sweet popcorn no longer lingers in the hairs of your nostrils and a sinister chill runs down the back of your spine; like fingers tickling your bare skin.

“Are we sure we are sticking to the trail? It’s getting pretty dark out here— OH MY FUCKING GOD!!” Two little girls dressed in bloody dresses and horrifying makeup charge toward you from a nearby hidden brush. Their eyes glow a disturbing shade of white and they hold faux knives that still look devilishly real. You stumble backwards, nearly collapsing from shock however before you could fall to the ground you feel a hard body hit your back which makes you scream out in terror.

The figure laughs at you, jeering and sharp as you whip around to meet him and your hand is quick to find your chest. Your fingers claw at the fabric of your dress and you fist the fabric with a shaky grip. You’re panting, struggling for breath and the skull painted face looms over you for a moment too long; cocking his head to the side as he examines your costume.

That’s when you realise something. Something that you immediately recognised as a dark secret. A dark desire that should be kept hidden.

As his onyx orbs gleam and glare down at you, you feel a wave of heat feather your cold skin. Your core pulses between your thighs and your mouth hangs open in dreadful clarity; you were fucking turned on by this.

His chiselled face is painted to resemble a bare skull. White with inky dark circles that deepen his eye sockets and his cheekbones are defined with thick blended shadowy lines. His lips are painted black to match his contours and he has hand drawn on a stretched toothy smile and an empty nose cavity.

He doesn’t speak a single word.

He just stares at you. Almost as if he is furious with you.

And before long he drags himself away from you, like the simple task is deemed painful and impossible for him.

His torso is dressed in a fitted white button down shirt which is rolled up to his elbows and it exposes his tattooed forearms. On his legs he wears a simple but professional pair of black trousers paired with black suspenders that sling over his shoulders. On his feet he has combat boots supporting his ankles and some sort of padded device strapped around the joint of his knees.

You gawk at him as he skates across the concrete on his knees at an alarmingly fast rate toward another group of poor people; leaving sparks of light in his dust as they squirm and scream. Some of them even go as far to sprint off into the darkness away from him; which leaves the masked man cackling darkly and running after them.

“Holy shit! I had no idea he would be working here this year!” Steve slaps the palm of his hand onto your shoulder as he chuckles heavily and you pull away from him confused and slightly annoyed.

“Who is ‘he’ and how do you know him?” Steve’s laughter dies out slowly and his hands come to rest on his hips. A stance that he did often. The rest of the gang come to join you with curious expressions on their faces.

“Seriously? You don’t recognise him?” There’s a pause as you shake your head ‘no’ and Steve rolls his amber eyes dramatically, “That’s Eddie Munson, dipshit. He’s always smoking weed out in the courtyard on campus? Playing with the fire from the benson burner during chemistry— is this ringing any bells?” You shrug, crossing your arms defensively over your chest.

Is Eddie Munson someone you should know about?

“He has long, curly hair— not better than mine but hey, it’s definitely up there.” Steve’s hand smooths over his slicked back hair that is thick with gel and you laugh, now being able to form an image of Eddie in your mind.

“Ohh, the metal head? He sometimes walks around with his guitar slung over his back?” You reply as you begin to walk off after realising that you have all come to a stand still— and partially because you want to see Eddie again.

“Yeah! He is wicked with a guitar! I’ve seen him play.” Robin chirps from your left and Nancy hums on your right.

“He is pretty good.” Jonathan speaks through a mouthful of candy and you try to disguise your disgust as you unfortunately get a glimpse of the food on his tongue.

“Right…” is all you quietly reply as your eyes scan the bluish darkness. You can hear an owl hooting off in the distance and if it weren’t for the jump scares waiting for you, you would find this promenade quite peaceful.

Crickets whisper conversations from the tall blades of grass and you can see lanterns dotted up ahead of you. They cast ghoulish shadows all around the dirt path and your head twitches from side to side— trying to catch any of the silhouettes moving.

But they don’t.

You have strayed further ahead of the group, their voices hitting your ears in the form of muffled sounds but you don’t bother to wait on them. They are too busy laughing and booing at some of the scare actors whereas your heart is still palpitating at a ridiculous rate from the last scare.

Some of the actors were so gruesomely scary that you felt transported into your favourite slasher films whereas the others were just looming and ominous— more human. Humans are the scariest creatures after all. You fear your own kind in opposition to the unknown.

That’s why when the familiar skull skates over to you on his knees, you freeze this time. No fight or flight; just freeze. Your mouth gaping wide as his nose nearly brushes yours.

“Eddie.” His name is a breathless squeeze from your lungs as it leaves your mouth. You have to say his name aloud in order to ground your thundering heart. Were you excited or frightened? Maybe it was a mixture of both.

Whatever it was, the man stood in front of you wasn’t best pleased. His eyes narrow into irritated slits and his fingers toy with a piece of your hair— twirling it before yanking on it playfully.

Steve, Nancy, Robin and Jonathan all sprint past you in urgency. They screaming until their throats run raw as a deranged man with a faux chainsaw chases after them. Hot on their heels.

You and Eddie go unnoticed by them… and now…

Now you feel afraid.

“Y’know you aren’t supposed to address the actors personally, right?” He sneers through a tight jaw.

“He speaks.” You quip back sassily and Eddie huffs a distorted laugh.

“I’ve seen you around campus— even prettier up close. It’s a shame your attitude ruins that.” He circles you like a shark in water and you follow him. Twirling around makes you dizzy but Eddie’s chuckle makes your dizzier.

“Like a little lost lamb.” He coos, “Where are your cronies? Seems they’ve ditched.” His glove clad knuckle grazes your cheek and you flinch away from his soft touch. Taking a few steps back you widen the close distance between the two of you.

This causes Eddie to grin hugely; showing all of his teeth as he did.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now?” He prowls toward you however you are quick to match every one of his steps. He takes a stride forward? You take a step back.

“You could run away if you wanted… but that’ll only entice me more. Didn’t they tell you? I love the chase.” His voice is a low animalistic growl and you couldn’t understand if this was Eddie or his character talking to you. Was this all an act or was he genuinely this menacing?

“I thought you actors weren’t supposed to get this close to the public…” You hunch your shoulders upward toward your ears as you cower away from his stalky frame and he stares through you; the gears in his head turning.

You shift on the balls of your feet uncomfortably and your skin blazes beneath his intense gaze.

“You’re blushing.” He says matter of factly and suddenly you feel the need to straighten your posture and try to get as far from him as possible.

“I am not.” The lie is pathetic as it meets the frosted air and Eddie smiles eerily.

“It’s the makeup, isn’t it? You like the makeup.” His head strains back on his neck as he lets out a loud laugh, “Fuck— that’s pathetic. You must be into some really weird shit.”

“I- that’s absurd!! I have no idea what you’re talking about!” You squeal and slink your arms around your torso. Partially because you were cold but also to be protective and assertive of yourself, “You don’t even know me—“ Eddie interjects, his finger tapping impatiently against his painted lips.

“Shhhh.” You feel the soft grain of his leather gloves as they tickle your skin and Eddie’s hands fully embrace your bare shoulders, “It’s okay— I like your costume too, I suppose.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, “I mean, it’s a bit outdated and boring but hey, you look good.” He flashes you a teasing wink that is nearly enough to make your lungs implode with lack of oxygen.

“Goodbye, Munson.” You swivel on your kitten heels and briskly find the frozen dirt path again. Your head involuntarily looks over your shoulder, trying to catch sight of Eddie one last time as you leave him behind but to your total disadvantage the metal head was no longer standing where you had left him.

He too, had taken off.

And unbeknownst to you, you had just pressed play on one of Eddie Munson’s all time favourite games; Cat and mouse.

-

It was getting later and later with every passing second and you couldn’t find your friends anywhere. You had last seen them run off whilst laughing and screaming in total horror but you hadn’t seen them since.

Had they actually ditched you and went home?

Once the thought infiltrated your psyche you contemplated on cutting the scare walk short and heading back to the funfair to search for them. However, going back meant that you had to go alone and there was something devilish about that.

To your left, through a thick canvas of sweetgum trees you can hear the owl again. Hooting softly— a sound that should calm your nerves but instead it tugs on them viciously. It’s more like an emergency siren warning you. A sign for you to run and to never look back.

A man made whistle slices through the chirping of the birds and it cuts at your skin like the edge of a blade. You look left and right, frantically dancing in circles as you try to determine where it’s coming from; but you are met with nothingness.

“Eddie, if that’s you then cut it out! This isn’t funny!” Your fingernails pinch at your skin as you begin to walk panicked in the opposite direction. Never paying attention to what’s in front of you, your gaze always trailing off to the side and behind you.

That’s when you see him— the skull peering at you from a dark line of trees in the distance. Your feet come to a staggering stop as you eye him. Was your mind playing tricks on you? Was Eddie really staring back at you or were you deluding yourself?

You swallow thickly, your mouth dry as you watch him emerge from the greenery. Before your brain can compute what your body is doing you are running; charging into the fullness of the forest.

Tree branches whip and rip at your skin, causing it to redden and sting. You wince but you continue soldiering on, your shoulders barge through sticks and nettles and thorns.

Your mind had convinced you that this was real. That you were being chased by a psycho.

“Hey— hey, stop!! It’s okay! Wait—“ Eddie is close behind you, crunching twigs beneath his boots but you are quicker than he is; more frightened and resilient to get as far from him as possible. For your own safety.

“Sweetheart! Stop!” You can hear him getting frustrated as he trudges through the cluttered landscape but you can see lights shining in front of you, just up ahead, and it causes you to force your legs to quicken. Desperate to reach there.

But just before you explode onto the funfair grounds your legs give way beneath you and you crash to the ground. The palms of your hands scrape against the jagged forest floor and your dress rips against a spiked log. You thought this shit only happened in the movies— but tonight you were proven wrong.

You look behind you and your eyes well up with tears of both pure adrenaline and fear at Eddie propelling himself toward you.

You bring up your hands around your head to protect yourself as you shrink back onto the floor, over the fact that your hair is full of pine needles and your knees are scraped and bleeding.

Eddie crouches by your side, a deep frown on his face and worry in his eyes.

“Hey, sweet girl, you’re okay…” Eddie bites off his leather gloves and throws them to the soft earth. He is gentle to pry your cold hands away from your muddied face and he hisses quietly at the temperature of your skin compared to his. He examines the palms of your hands tenderly, “Ouch… this must hurt. What were you thinking?”

Your foolishness almost causes Eddie to laugh, but after witnessing the genuine anxiety plaguing your features he decides not to.

“It was too real.” You blubber, letting out a dampened sob and Eddie’s heart pangs with guilt and sorrow, “I couldn’t find anyone and… and I saw you and I just couldn’t think of anything else…”

“I’m sorry, love. C’mere, let me help you up.” Eddie is crouched down, his knees bent as he braces himself in front of your shaking frame. He outstretches his hands toward you and you take them hesitantly.

Thanks to Eddie’s strength he pulls your weak body up to meet his with ease and he hold you against his chest. Breathing softly as he tries to calm your laboured and nervous breaths.

“I really am sorry… it’s just me, ‘Kay? I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise.” He peppers comforting pecks into your hair and your nails claw at the back of his shirt, “It must’ve been pretty scary; being out there all alone with me.”

You nod, your mind finally calming at the sound of his lulling and gentle voice.

“I do like the makeup.” Your confession is meek and muffled against his chest, “I think there must be something wrong with me.” You laugh, managing to pull away his chest and look at him much more confidently now.

“Not at all,” Eddie grins, “I think it’s quite the opposite, actually. Very normal— it might even be considered vanilla to some people out there.” Although you have removed yourself from the skull painted man’s chest, the closeness between the both of you remains the same.

The truth was; Eddie had always admired you. Your intelligence and your cunning. You were beautiful, which was the cherry on top of your infectiously bright personality. He had noticed you at the beginning of the academic year and he was too chicken to talk to you. You both were connected through Steve but Steve never really paid attention to Eddie’s longing and begging looks toward you.

But Steve didn’t have to say anything. Not anymore. Because you could see it for yourself. You could see beneath the intricate paint on his face that Eddie felt something for you. You weren’t sure what it was; lust, a crush or plain friendship but you could see it. Feel it.

“You must think I’m a total freak.”

“You have no idea who you’re talking to, sweetheart. I am the biggest freak to have ever lived.” Eddie lets out a giddy chuckle and his hands continue to rest lightly around your body. You welcome his lingering touch and his nearness. It felt familiar. Nice.

“We both look like weirdos standing out here in the dark.” Your eyes scan around the auburn horizon of tall trees and a soft smile rests on your smudged lipstick covered lips, “People are going to think we’ve been up to no good.”

Eddie smiles, his hand coming to stroke your cheek gently and tuck some of your rouge hair behind your ear, “With how windswept your hair is, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

You both stand there, the air is clouded with electrifying tension and you can’t think of anything else other than how badly you want him to kiss you.

“I wanna take you out… on a date.” His hands cup your face, “When I’m not this caricature. I’ll just be me and you will be you. You won’t have to run from me…” His cold nose brushes the tip of yours, “I won’t have to chase you.” You can smell mint and nicotine on his breath and you have never been more intoxicated by anything in your entire life.

“What’d ya say, sweet girl? Let me take you somewhere nice so I can kiss you properly at the end of the night?” There is a slight desperation to his voice and you bite your lip to suppress a wide smile.

“I’d like you to chase me, Eddie. Chase me with daisies and a boombox and your guitar. You won’t have to run after me for long…” You are dangerously close to him now, your breath quickening as you press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. It takes every ounce of self control not to eat his entire mouth with yours, “Take me anywhere. As long as it’s with you.”

“I will.” He promises.

“And kiss me at the end of the night?” You are desperate yourself now, your eyes sparkling with moonlight as you look up into his shadowy hues.

“I will.” He strokes your hair so delicately; like you are the most precious thing he has ever handled, “I promise.”

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae @sidthedollface2 @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @purplewitchcauldron @manitskatrina @georgeweasleyslostearhq

[drdemonprince]

also like. The way that some discoursers describe the role of a "power differential" in an age gap relationship is heavily informed by cishet relationship expectations that frame a romantic relationship as adversarial.

Just saw someone in the comments of a post about age gaps discussing how confusing it can be to determine who in a relationship actually has the "upper hand," once you take into account factors like income, immigration status, race, and so on. True enough facts, but also -- why are we discussing relationships in terms of who has the upper hand? How will that upper hand be utilized and what does it mean to actually be in a loving relationship with another person when that is how you approach how you relate to one another?

Liberal feminist dating advice for cishet women in particular leads them to become obsessed with not losing the "upper hand" over the men that they are dating -- to not show too much affection or genuine interest, to not forgive mistakes lest you become weak, to not become dependent upon a partner, to remain economically empowered and so on.

Again, these are very sensible attempts to balwark oneself against systemic sexism in the patriarchy, I'm not blaming women for often needing to do all of that.

But can you actually be in a mutually supportive, interdependent relationship if you are constantly guarding yourself against losing your position? Is it loving, is it nourishing, is it a real relationship if you must always guard yourself against losing the "upper hand"?

Patriarchal laws and policies and the awful conduct of many men obviously makes this kind of thinking adaptive for many, but it is horrible that cishet women feel that they can never be vulnerable around the people that they love. That is not a state of affairs we should consider acceptable or admirable; that kind of thinking is not a solution to the real issue at hand, which in this case is systemic sexism, but in other cases could be ageism, classism, what have you.

we need to remove the existing power differentials in a structural way so that people are free to love others how they want to, and not constantly guard themselves against those they love. But even in the meantime, viewing a single interpersonal relationship as the battleground in which these systemic forces play out is a bit confused.

Telling individual people who are marginalized that they must be mindful of the "power differential" when electing whom to date is a bit like telling women they shouldn't "let" themselves be assaulted by wearing the wrong item of clothing or hanging out in the wrong places. That is not why abuse happens. It is not in the marginalized person's control. And instructing marginalized people to avoid receiving love and support as means of protecting themselves only leaves them far more vulnerable in a lot of cases.

[hyperlexichypatia]

This post reminded me of it, but my partner has observed that in contemporary gender discourse, maleness is so linked to adulthood and femaleness is so linked to childhood, that there are no "boys" or "women," only "men" and "girls."

This isn't exactly new -- for as long as patriarchy has existed, women have been infantilized, and "adult woman" has been treated as something of an oxymoron. Hegemonic beauty standards for women emphasize youthfulness, if not actual neoteny, and older women are considered "too old" to be attractive without ever quite being old enough to make their own decisions. There may be cultural allowances for the occasional older "wise woman," but a "wise woman" is always dangerously close to being a madwoman, or a witch. No matter how wise a woman is, she is never quite a rational agent. As Hanna K put it, "as a woman you're always either too young or too old for things, because the perfect age is when you're a man."

But the framing of underage boys as "men" has shifted, depending on popular conceptualizations of childhood and gender roles. Sometimes children of any gender are essentially feminized and grouped with women (the entire framing of "women and children" as a category). In the U.S. in the 21st century, the rise of men's rights and aggressively sexist ideology has correlated with an increased emphasis on little boys as "men" -- thus slogans like "Teach your son to be a man before his teacher teaches him to be a woman."

Of course, thanks to ageism and patriarchy (which literally means, not "rule by men," but "rule by fathers"), boys don't get any of the social benefits of being considered "men." They don't get to vote, make their own medical decisions, or have any of their own adult rights. They might have a little more childhood freedom than girls, if they're presumed to be sturdier and less vulnerable to "predators," but, for the most part, being considered "men" as young boys doesn't really get boys any more access to adult rights. What it does get them is aggressively gender-policed, often with violence. A little boy being "a man" means that he's not allowed to wear colors, have feelings, or experience the developmental stages of childhood.

This shifts in young adulthood, as boys forced into the role of "manhood" become actual men. As I've written about, I believe the trend of considering young adults "children" is harmful to everyone, but primarily to young women, young queer and trans people, and young disabled people. Abled, cisgender, heterosexual young men are rarely denied the rights and autonomy of adulthood due to "brain maturity."

What's particularly interesting is that, because transphobes misgender trans people as their birth-assigned genders, they constantly frame trans girls as "men" and trans men as "girls." A 10 year old trans girl on her elementary school soccer team is a "MAN using MAN STRENGTH on helpless GIRLS," while a 40 year old trans man is a "Poor confused little girl." Anyone assigned male at birth is born a scary, intimidating adult, while anyone female assigned at birth never becomes old enough to make xyr own decisions.

Feminist responses have also really fluctuated. Occasionally, feminists have played into the idea of little boys as "men," especially in trans-exclusionary rhetoric, or in one notorious case where members of a women's separatist compound were warned about "a man" who turned out to be a 6-month-old infant. There's periodic discourse around "Empowering our girls" or "Raising our boys with gentle masculinity," but for the most part, my problem with mainstream feminist rhetoric in general is that it tends to frame children solely as a labor imposed on women by men, not as subjects (and specifically, as an oppressed class) at all.

Second-wave feminists pushed back hard on calling adult women "girls" -- but they didn't necessarily view "women" as capable of autonomous decision-making, either. Adult women were women, but they might still need to be protected from their own false consciousness. As laws in the U.S., around medical privacy and autonomy, like HIPAA, started more firmly linking the concepts of autonomy with legal adulthood, and fixing the age of majority at 18, third-wave feminists embraced referring to women as "girls." Sometimes this was in an intentionally empowering way ("girl power," "girl boss"), which also served to shield women (mostly white, mostly bourgeois/wealthy) from criticism of their participation in racism and capitalism. But it also served to reinforce the narrative of women as "girls" needing to be protected from "men" (and their own choices).

I'm still hoping for a feminist politic that is pro-child, pro-youth, pro-disability, pro-autonomy, pro-equality, that rejects the infantilization of women, the adultification of boys, the objectification of children, the misgendering of trans people, and the imposition of gender roles.

[billfarrah]

I genuinely can't believe there are actually people coming for Young Royals for showing a character empowering themselves enough to remove themselves from a toxic situation and framing it as Wille "running away from his problems."

Removing yourself from a toxic situation which has caused you nothing but suffering and trauma and grief is not running away from your problems and it's genuinely such a dangerous thing to imply.

Why does Wille have to stay in a role he's never wanted, to please parents who have never accepted him for who he is or what he wants, who want to dictate how he lives his life and how his boyfriend lives his life and what path he takes in life and how he portrays himself to the media?

The show is literally about personal autonomy and finding the strength and motivation to be radically yourself regardless of what is against you and Wille's decision is portrayed an act of bravery. Leaving the monarchy is not "running away from his problems" - he's removing himself from an institution he does not believe in and does not want to be a part of and choosing to take a journey of self-discovery where he can discover who he truly is, who he wants to be, without anyone breathing down his neck or telling him whether he is allowed to have tattoos or how short he is allowed to cut his hair. Wille should not have to beg and fight with his family and with the royal court to be accepted.

The ending of the show never implies that Wille's mental health struggles are suddenly over and done with. Nobody is saying his anxiety and issues with anger have disappeared. Nobody is saying he will never struggle again. However, majority of his mental health issues throughout the show are directly linked to his role and the pressures it puts himself under. Leaving that all behind doesn't solve every problem he could ever had, but it alleviates a large amount of stress. Have people never left a stressful situation or relationship behind and suddenly felt an immediate and monumental relief?

I'd also like to point out that the ending of the show is not Wille abdicating. He has to officially renounce his claim to the throne for that to happen. He's simply just telling his mother how he feels and what he wants to do. The journey is not over for Wille and there will no doubt be many hardships ahead for him, but now that he's released himself from this and is for the first time sure of what he wants and sure he is able to deal with it, he is more equipped to deal with what's ahead than ever before.

Wille removing himself from the expectations of his family and the royal court are demonstrations of him working towards bettering his mental health, because he is finally able to recognize that the situation has always negatively affected him and he finally feels powerful enough and not drowned by anger, resentment and anxiety to leave it all behind and start over.

If that isn't bravery, I don't know what is.

[tikosblogg]

Watching You…18+

Summary: Your life takes an unexpected turn when you meet your new landlord, Noah. He's unlike anyone you’ve ever met..

Warning: Stalking, smut,(DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THIS TRIGGERS YOU), piv smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), Male masturbation, female masturbation, light choking, DomNoah, SubReader. Let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: I was so excited to write this, sorry if it’s a lil sloppy, it unedited I just really wanted to get it posted. I’ll be going through and fixing things soon. Plz enjoy!❤️

I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves as I approached the modest little house for rent. The pale blue paint looked quaint in the cool morning light, a charming contrast to the whirlwind of emotions brewing within me. I had just broken up with my long-term boyfriend Ryan—something I once thought would end in happily ever after. It hadn’t. So here I was, a freshly single woman standing at the threshold of my new life.

At 8 a.m. sharp, I parked in the driveway and stepped out of my car, my heart racing with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. My first thought upon seeing Noah the landlord was that he was not what I had expected. I had envisioned some elderly, mild-mannered man in his fifties. But no, standing before me was a man maybe in his late twenties. He towered over me at no doubt 6’0+”, with dark brown hair that framed his face nicely. I noticed his tattoos, which peeked out from under his black t-shirt. His brown eyes held a mysterious glint that sent a shiver up my spine.

As we exchanged greetings, his grip was firm and confident, leaving me strangely anxious. “You must be Y/N,” he spoke, his tone low and dark. “Ready to check it out?”

I nodded, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling swirling within me. Noah led me through the front door, and I couldn’t help but notice how he moved with a certain dangerous grace. Each step echoed a sense of dominance, making my unease flare like a flame left unattended.

The interior of the house was warm and inviting, adorned with rustic charm. As he showed me around—pointing out the quaint kitchen, the airy living room, and the cozy nooks—I found myself distracted. His voice was silky smooth, his words enveloping me, and I didn’t quite understand why I was simultaneously drawn to him and frightened.

“As you can see,” he said, gesturing towards a window adorned with delicate lace curtains, “the morning light that comes through is nice. perfect place to just chill and relax.” He flashed me a grin, his eyes trailing down my body. I felt a blush creep up my cheeks.

“Um, yeah I like this. It’s nice,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the fluttering in my stomach.

He tilted his head, observing me with an intensity that made me swallow hard. “It’ll be great, then. There’s also Lots of space for whatever you decide to do with it.” His eyes traced my features, lingering just a moment too long, as if I were a puzzle he was trying to solve, casting an intriguing shadow across the enthusiasm I tried to muster for my new beginning.

By the end of the tour, I had already made up my mind. This house, with its charming imperfections and aside from the strange enigma of Noah, felt right. “I love it,” I said, my voice steady now. “I absolutely want to rent it.”

“Happy to hear,” he replied, his face lighting up with a genuine smile. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a set of keys, handing them over with a flourish. “Welcome home, Y/N.”

In that moment, Despite the weight of my recent heartache, this house sparked a glimmer of excitement. Without hesitation, I decided to move in that very day. The few possessions I had left—all dumped in storage—were easily gathered and loaded into my truck.

After a few trips, I had unloaded my boxes into the living room, arranging them haphazardly as I took in my new environment. It felt both empowering and overwhelming, a mix of liberation and nostalgia tugging at me.

It’s been a few days since I moved into the house, it was nice but there was a weird feeling that I felt in my gut since stepping into this house. I can’t put my finger on it. Lights that I remember turning off are back on when I arrive home. Things are moved around here and there. I eventually chalk it up to me just being stressed, and not remembering.

I jumped into the shower before heading to bed steam engulfed me as I stepped in, a comforting veil that momentarily erased the uneasiness of the day. I watched the water swirl down the drain, just as my thoughts spiraled around the same few questions that clung to me since I moved into this place. Why did everything feel off? I couldn't shake this sense of being watched, even in the safety of my own home.

The house appeared quaint from the outside. Yet there was just something about this place. My belongings had found their place, but I had yet to find mine.

As I lathered shampoo into my hair, I remembered the light in the kitchen. I distinctly recalled turning it off before I left for work, but when I came back, it blazed with its usual brightness. At first, I brushed it off, but then it happened again. And again.

A chill ran down my spine as I rinsed the suds from my hair. Maybe I was just adjusting to the change maybe I can convince myself that I wasn't losing my mind. But there is a nagging thread of doubt that wormed its way into my consciousness. I could have sworn I heard soft footsteps echoing in the hallway when I was in the living room earlier, a lingering sensation that I wasn’t alone, despite the silence.

The water turned a chilling temperature, and I stepped out, wrapping a towel around myself. I glanced at the fogged mirror, My reflection stared back, still adjusting to the woman in the unfamiliar space. I tried to shake the feeling away, reminding myself that fear often manifests from the unknown. But I couldn’t ignore the shudder that rippled through me at the thought of what might be lurking in the nooks and crannies of this place.

After getting dressed, I settled down with a book in the living room, hoping the it would draw me away from the creeping dread. The pages turned, but my mind was elsewhere. I finally closed my book, the words blurring as I fought against the tightening grip of anxiety. I needed to confront this feeling, to understand what was happening. I decided to take a late-night stroll, hoping to make sense of the oddities.

No perspective

Noah sat at his desk, the late evening light struggling to penetrate the heavy curtains of his dimly lit bedroom. His fingers drummed absently on the wooden surface, creating a rhythm that mimicked the pulsing hum of the computer screen before him. The glow illuminated a stark contrast to the intricate tattoos that spiraled across his forearms, each inked line a memory etched into his skin—moments of joy, pain, liberation, and regret.

His brown eyes narrowed as he focused on the live feed that streamed from the hidden cameras he had discreetly placed around the house—a house that he allowed you to rent, to call your own. He had been hesitant about sharing his space, but the thrill of having someone new around was too enticing to resist. The first time he caught a glimpse of you, something inside him stirred—a mixture of attraction and obsession. Your soft voice echoed through the halls, bouncing off the walls so beautifully. He found himself drawn to you, even in your absence.

Tonight, however, was different. He had been roused from a hazy daydream as he realized the steady sound of rushing water had filled the silence of the house. He switched views to the bathroom feed—his heart quickening as he peered intently at the blurry figure behind the frosted glass of the shower. The rush of the water created a soothing backdrop that only deepened his focus. You were there, completely unaware of his presence.

He leaned closer to the screen, entranced by how the steam curled around your silhouette like a soft embrace. There was something intoxicating about witnessing you in such a private moment—your usual work scrubs replaced by the melodic resonance of water cascading down your skin. Part of him wrestled with the morality of his uninvited voyeurism, and yet another part was simply captivated by your essence, the way you seemed completely at ease, freeing yourself from the demands of the world beyond those four walls.

“Will she hate me if she finds out?” he mused quietly, his breath barely breaking the stillness of the room. The thoughts tumbled around in his mind, as his pants got tighter. 

As his thoughts spiraled, his gaze was fixed on the current play of her movements—rivulets of water sliding down your shoulders, glistening like diamonds. You lifted your arms to wash your hair, and his heart raced as you turned slightly, the contour of your profile framed by the curtain of steam. In that instance, he felt a surge of need that was both exhilarating and suffocating. He was an intruder in your sanctuary, savoring the glimpses of vulnerability that you unwittingly revealed to him.

He leaned back in his chair, carefully pulling his hardened cock out of his sweats, stroking softly. His eyes stayed glued to your body, as he stroked himself. Your name softly falling from his lips over and over again. He watched as you rinsed your hair, wishing it was his hands running through the long strands. 

Time slipped away unnoticed until he spilled all over his hand, with one last groan of your name, and a subtle shudder. The shower finally turned off, The abrupt silence that filled the room was unnerving, yet he never looked away as you toweled off, your soaked body. Guilt washed over him, but he brushed it aside, fixated on the routine that unfolded—a ritualistic choreography of drying off, dressing, and preparing for whatever the night would hold outside your temporary sanctuary.

Y/N’S POV

As I wander down the sidewalk, the deep hum of crickets fills the air, their rhythmic serenade providing a sort of comfort. I trace a habitual path through the neighborhood, passing houses with their dimmed windows, curtains drawn tight—everyone tucked away into the warmth of their homes. But then, as I make the turn onto Maple Lane, I see him.

Noah's house is always a little different; the illumination from his porch creates shadows that dance along the walls, a juxtaposition to the stillness of the rest of the street. He sits outside, casually leaning back against his porch railing. His silhouette cuts against the porch light. He's smoking a cigarette, the thin stream of smoke spiraling upward into the night.

He catches sight of me approaching, a smirk blooming on his lips. My heart does an awkward flip in my chest. He’s undeniably attractive, a fact I can’t deny, even if I wish I could. His skin, adorned with all those tattoos, and the way his hair falls framing his handsome face. As I close the distance, I can feel the warmth of his gaze enveloping me, making the night air feel thicker.

"What are you doing out so late?" he asks, that infuriatingly charming grin still plastered on his face. His voice is smooth, it sends a jolt of inexplicable nervousness curling through me.

“I couldn’t really sleep,” I reply, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. My cheeks heat up under his scrutiny; I can feel the color creeping up from my neck. It’s ridiculous how he makes me feel this way.

He nods in understanding, but there’s a hint of something mischief-laden in his eyes. “Insomnia? Or something on your mind?” he quips, exhaling a thin cloud of smoke.

I could tell him about the multitude of thoughts crowding my mind—the job I hate, my relationship that fizzled out, or even the creepy shit going on in my house. But the words catch in my throat, and instead, I feel my lips curve into a soft smile. “A bit of both, I guess.”

He leans forward slightly, the cigarette hanging between his fingers as he seems to evaluate me—my posture, my face, the way my hair flutters in the night breeze. It’s a gaze that feels invasive yet tender, like he’s peeling back layers I didn’t even know I wore. I fidget under the intensity of it all, the air buzzing with something electric, unfamiliar.

“You know,” he begins, his tone shifting casually, “it’s usually easier to talk things out than to keep them in your head.”

His words wrap around me, opening a door I wasn’t sure I wanted to explore. Usually, I detest conversations that delve deeper than surface-level chit-chat. I’ve been working on building walls, keeping people at bay so they don’t get too close. It’s safer that way.

A shiver travels down my spine, and I bite my lip, a whirlwind of emotions colliding inside. I glance down the street, realizing I’ve lingered a little too long; the cool breeze brushes against my skin, and I take a shaky breath.

“Maybe next time. I should probably get going,” I smile, hoping I didn’t come off rude.

His eyes linger on me, and I can read the question unspoken in the silence that stretches between us. "You sure? I was just about to pour myself a drink. You can join me."

The invitation hangs in the air, tempting me. My mind races, weighing the possibilities against the safe haven of my bed. But there’s still that strange feeling gnawing at me in the pit of my stomach—the kind that flutters when you’re teetering on the edge of something exciting and terrifying all at once.

“I wish I could, but I really should go,” I tell him, almost apologetically.

“Alright,” he replies, though his smile falters for a moment, as if disappointed. “Goodnight, y/n.”

“Goodnight,” I manage, forcing a smile before I turn on my heel and head back home, my heart a mix of exhilaration and longing, what is going on with me right now? I barely know this dude.

With every step I take, I can feel his gaze still on me, lingering like a warm touch long after it’s gone. I can’t escape the feeling that this night is significant, something that perhaps should have kept me awake. As I finally lay down in bed, the thought of Noah—his smirk, his eyes, the whispers of our words—wraps around me like a blanket, creeping into my dreams, making my heart race with possibilities I never expected.

I woke up in a panic, my heart racing as I struggled to catch my breath. My skin was hot and sticky, my shirt clinging to my body as if I had just run a marathon. I could feel the dampness between my legs and realized I had been having a wet dream about Noah. The thought of him made my cheeks flush, and I groaned as I kicked off the covers, feeling suddenly too warm.

I ran my hands through my messy hair and tried to calm my racing heart. Noah was my landlord, a man I barely knew, but I couldn’t get him out of my head. I groaned at the ache in my cunt, that’s not gonna let me sleep until I take care of it.

I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of my panties, my fingers finding my swollen clit. I was already soaking wet, and a moan escaped my lips as I began to run my fingers up my slit. I slid my them back down, dipping them inside me, Noah's name falling from my lips.

I pumped my fingers in and out, matching the rhythm from my dream, imagining it was Noah's thick cock filling me up. I needed to cum again, to feel the release that only a real orgasm could bring. My other hand rubbed my clit in tight circles, my breathing becoming ragged as I built towards another peak.

“Fuck Noah," I whispered, my eyes closed as I lost myself in the feeling. “Ohhh fuuckk.” I whined, pumping harder.

My fingers worked faster, and I bit my lip to stifle my moans as I spiraled towards my climax. I imagined Noah's tattooed body above me, his hard thrusts fucking me deep, and with a cry, I tumbled over the edge, my body shaking as waves of pleasure rippled through me.

NO PERSPECTIVE

Your soft, seductive voice called out to him, pulling Noah from his sleep. Groggy at first, he opened his eyes, his brown orbs fixing on the source of the sound—his computer screen. A sly smile formed as he recognized the sight before him. It was you. The woman he'd been longing to have, your fingers buried deep inside yourself, moaning his name. Noah's heart raced as he stood up, his bare feet padding quietly across the room. He approached his desk, his gaze fixed on the screen, and took a seat.

Noah leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, as he watched you through the hidden camera in her room. You had no idea he was witnessing your most intimate moment. Your fingers moved in rhythm with your soft, wanton moans, your eyes closed as you lost yourself in pleasure. Noah's cock twitched in his boxers as he took in the sight of you, your head thrown back, your soft hair forming a halo around your head. He could almost smell your arousal through the screen.

He loved the power he held in this moment. Knowing he could expose you, humiliate you with this very recording, made his heart pound with excitement. But he also knew that you were an innocent, naive soul, and the thought of corrupting you, making you his, was irresistible. Noah's smile turned devious as he imagined the plans he could put in motion to finally have you underneath him.

As your moans grew louder, your fingers working faster, Noah couldn't help but notice the wet, shiny evidence of your arousal. He imagined himself licking your fingers clean, tasting your sweet cum. His cock stirred, straining against the confines of his boxers, begging to be set free. He reached down, adjusting himself, as he continued to watch, his eyes glued to the screen.

Your breath quickened, your chest heaving as you built towards your climax. "Noah," you whimpered, his name dropping from your lips like a prayer. Hearing his name spoken so intimately sent a jolt through him, and he bit his lip, fighting the urge to touch himself. He wanted to save that pleasure for later, when it would be your hands on him, your mouth wrapping around his length.

With one final, desperate cry of his name, you found your release, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. His breath hitched as he watched, his own body tense with unspent desire. He longed to be the one to make you feel like that, to feel you tighten around him as you came. The thought of finally fucking you made his heart pound with anticipation…soon.

Y/N POV (next night)

It was ten at night when there was a knock at my door. The sound pulling me away from the haze of the late movie I had surrendered to. It was one of those nights where you find comfort in the dim light and predictable plots, but now an unexpected interruption threatened to unravel my cozy solitude.

I hesitated, the warm glow of the living room making me feel safe and enclosed. I wasn’t expecting anyone. As I approached slowly, an edge of anticipation tingled in my veins. I paused to glance through the peephole and my heart raced when I saw him on the other side—Noah.

His soft hair that fell effortlessly around his face and a smattering of tattoos that ran down his throat. I felt heat rush to my cheeks, a familiar tingle sparking to life. Unlocking the door, I felt as if I had unwittingly breached the barrier between dreams and reality. He grinned, that little boyish smile that could slice through my defenses. “Hey,” he said, his voice low.

“What’s up?” I asked, trying to sound more composed than I felt. I didn’t move aside; instead, I leaned against the doorframe, concocting the semblance of control. “I’m here for you,” he replied, his voice dropping to a whisper that wrapped around me like a comforting shroud. Confusion danced in my mind. “What do you mean?”

Without answering, he reached forward, cupping my cheek with his hand. His skin was warm, intoxicatingly so, and all at once my resolve weakened. He moved closer, dark eyes burning into mine. That familiar throbbing in my core ignited, feelings haunting me since my dream about him last night. That dream where I could feel his hands on me, his breath against my skin; it had felt so vivid.

“I’ve been watching you sweet girl,” he murmured, and my breath hitched. Then, he stalked forward. The way he moved bore an animalistic grace, confident, predatory. I felt the wall pressing against my back, a solid reminder of my confinement as he closed in on me.

I should have been terrified. He had just insinuated that he had been watching me, lingering just outside the threshold of my sanity. But instead, my pulse quickened, and I fought against the uninvited thrill that coursed through me. I never thought I’d find danger alluring, but here I was, breathless and drenched in curiosity.

Another chuckle escaped him, dark and almost playful. “I saw you,” he continued, leaning closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. My mind raced. I could smell the remnants of his cologne, something earthy and wild.

“I don’t—” I started, my throat dry as I tried to form coherent thoughts. His lips hovered just above mine, brushing ever so lightly, igniting a fire I thought I had tucked away. “I heard You whining my name.”

Despite myself, I bit down on my lip, wrestling with the conflicting emotions swirling within me. The pulse of fear intertwined with insatiable desire, and I was unable to decipher which was stronger.

“I—I don’t understand.” My voice faltered. “It’s okay baby,” he said softly, his breath warm against my mouth. “I’m here to help you.” Images from my dream flashed in my mind—no, not just images; sensations. The way his hands would glide over my skin, igniting every nerve ending. The way he’d whisper dirty words as he took me apart piece by intricate piece.

“This is insane,” I murmured, shaking my head. But Noah only smiled, stepping even closer until the space between us disappeared. My heart thundered as he reached out, fingers brushing against my collarbone, sending sparks down my spine. “Noah…” I breathed, caught between fear and longing. God, how could I resist?

“That’s it..Just say my name baby,” he urged, tilting my chin upward so his gaze was fixed on mine with an intensity that burned away my rationality. I swallowed hard, the room spinning. “Noah…” I whispered, and in return, his lips crashed against mine, and I lost all sense of structure.

The kiss was feverish, consuming. His tongue slid against mine as he pressed me deeper into the wall; I melted into him, surrendering to the tempest that was all things Noah. It was wild and electric, igniting every secret yearning I had repressed. He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, a series of heated stares exchanged between us.

He pushed me harder against the wall, his hot breath on my neck sending shivers down my spine. His hands were rough as he grabbed my ass, lifting me up and making me wrap my legs around his waist. I could feel his hard cock pressed against me, and I let out a soft moan as he carried me upstairs to my bedroom.

He tossed me onto the bed with surprising gentleness, and I looked up at him, my heart racing. His hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over me, his hands roaming over my body.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, his voice deep. "I love hearing my name come from those pretty lips."

I blushed, feeling shy and exposed under his intense gaze. He leaned down and captured my lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue invading my mouth possessively. I moaned into the kiss, my hands tangling in his hair as I pulled him closer.

Then, suddenly, he pulled away, leaving me breathless and wanting more. With a dark glint in his eye, he reached down and grabbed the hem of my shirt slowly pulling it up over my head. I lifted my arms to help him, and he threw the shirt across the room, leaving me naked except for my panties.

He took a moment to admire the view, his eyes roaming over my body hungrily. "Perfect," he breathed, reaching out to pinch my nipples gently between his thumb and forefinger. I gasped at the sensation, my breasts feeling heavy and sensitive.

He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling gently while his hand massaged the other. I arched my back, moaning softly as pleasure shot through me. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was driving me crazy.

Then he stopped, leaving me cold as he pulled away. I whimpered at the loss, but then felt his hands on my thighs, pushing them apart. He hooked his fingers into the sides of my panties and slowly pulled them down, kissing and nipping at my inner thighs as they became exposed.

"Such a gorgeous pussy," he murmured, running a finger along my slit. I was already wet and aching for him, and I spread my legs wider, inviting him in.

He smiled at my eagerness, and then lowered his head, licking and sucking at my clit. I cried out, my hands tangling in his hair as he ate me out with expertise. His tongue flicked and circled my most sensitive bundle of nerves, driving me wild. He added two fingers, thrusting them in as he sucked and licked, and I bucked my hips, softly riding his face.

"You taste so fucking good baby," he groaned, pulling his face away momentarily. "I could eat you all night, but I have other plans for that tight little pussy."

Before I could respond, he flipped me over, grabbing my hips and pulling me up on all fours. I felt exposed and vulnerable in this position, but also incredibly turned on. Noah spread my ass cheeks apart, revealing my dripping wet hole to his gaze.

"So fucking beautiful," he breathed, lining his cock up with my entrance. With one smooth thrust, he slid into me, filling me up completely. I moaned loudly, the feeling of being stretched around his thick cock sending pleasure coursing through me.

Noah gripped my hips tightly as he began to fuck me, his thighs slapping against mine with each deep thrust. I cried out with each stroke, feeling his cock hitting all the right spots. He was driving me insane, and I could feel my orgasm building already.

Then, without warning, he pulled out, leaving me empty and whimpering. "Get on your back," he ordered, his voice hoarse with desire.

I did as I was told, lying on the bed and spreading my legs wide for him. Noah laid between my thighs, his eyes dark. He lined himself back up with my pussy and slowly slid into me, groaning as he buried himself to the hilt.

"Wrap your legs around me," he growled, reaching down to grip my thighs. I did as he asked, locking my ankles together behind his back and pulling him deeper into me.

Noah began to move, his hips snapping as he thrust into me. I met his movements, pushing my hips up to meet his with each stroke. We found a rhythm, our bodies moving together as he fucked me thoroughly.

He leaned down, his lips brushing mine as he whispered, "You love my cock, don't you, baby?"

"Yes," I whined, my voice hoarse with need. "I love it.."

Hearing those words seemed to push him over the edge. His eyes darkened further, and he grabbed my throat with one hand, squeezing gently as he continued to thrust into me. His other hand reached down to rub my clit in circles, his fingers slippery with my arousal.

"That's it, baby, cum for me," he growled, his voice deep and rough. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock."

His dirty words sent me spiraling over the edge, and I cried out as my orgasm ripped through me. My pussy clenched around Noah's cock, and I felt him throbbing inside me as he found his own release, his warm cum filling me up.

We lay there for a moment, catching our breath, our bodies still connected. Then, with a soft smile, Noah leaned down and kissed me gently. "I’m not done with you," he murmured against my lips. This is gonna be fun.

[insaniquariumfish]

Transwomen cannot be true feminist allies because they do not believe that femininity itself is inherently patriarchal, degrading, and unnecessary. IF they are in any way critical of femininity (which is rare), their only issue with it is that it is too strongly expected of women; they frame femininity as "something women should be allowed to choose if they want to," and not as something that is harmful to women in nature by default, whether they choose it or not.

They do not acknowledge the fact that a woman can only "choose" to be feminine in the same sense that someone raised in an extremely religious area can "choose" to be religious. Women are conditioned from birth to be feminine, told that their value as human beings is dependent on their ability to embody femininity, and if they are not feminine then they are punished for it and suffer for it. To frame this as a free and neutral choice is to deny the nature of what femininity is: something that is forced upon women, a tool invented and wielded by patriarchy to aid in the oppression of women and the empowering of men. And even if there were no longer any pressure from men for women to be feminine, the history of femininity, the centuries of suffering that women have been forced to endure in the name of femininity, why it was created, what purpose it is meant to serve, who it is meant to harm and who it is meant to benefit, none of those realities would be changed.

To trans women, femininity is essential to womanhood, and to be critical of femininity is to be critical of the very means through which their identity as a trans woman manifests. The idea of doing away with the association between womanhood and femininity poses an existential threat to them, especially to those who struggle to "pass," because how else can they signal their womanhood to the world, or affirm their womanhood to themselves, if they do not physically look like women and do not have female bodies?

They claim that they simply must be hyperfeminine, that they have no other choice, because for them to be gender nonconforming would result in them being mistreated and taken less seriously and struggling more in life. Well guess what, cis women face the exact same consequences for refusing to perform femininity. And masculine cis women do not have a panic attack every time they are misgendered, because they are secure in the knowledge that no amount of people not perceiving them as women can change the fact that they are women. Trans women claim to believe this themselves, that their womanhood exists independently of what they look like or how they dress or how they are perceived by others, but they do not act like this is the case. They act like validation that they are "feminine enough" matters more to them than the actual state of existing as a woman. They revel in femininity, find ecstasy in femininity. They cling to it with a vise like grip, embody the hyperfemme in as many ways as possible, and in doing so they only reinforce and perpetuate the idea that to be a woman is to be pretty, that to be a woman is to be dainty, adorned, coquette, frivilous, petty, bubbly, emotional, demure, submissive, stupid, sexy, slutty, an open mouth, an expectant asshole.

[bigskydreaming]

Y’know, I’ve posted before about how important it can be to survivors to be in charge of determining when they disclose what happened to them and to whom in what ways…..and thus how the trend of Dick’s ‘secret’ (what happened with Tarantula or Mirage or both) being found out by his family or friends despite his wishes or even his active efforts to keep it secret, and he’s forced to confront it and deal with all of them knowing before he’s ready and made any kind of peace with it himself, and this is often framed as being what’s best for him and its better now that everything’s out in the open and its like….no, that’s not how it works, you can’t FORCE people to recover on YOUR time table, and it happening in a way that gives them no agency or control over it is often a SETBACK instead of like….to their benefit, because while at its heart, disclosure is a relatively simple action, it can be hugely empowering to survivors because its the first time they’re able to definitively take what happened to them and DECIDE what happens next, to take back some of the CONTROL that was ripped away from them by the event and sent their life into a tailspin ever since…..

Ahem. Anyway. Like I said, y’know how I’ve posted before about….all of…well, that?

LOL.

Yeah, so anyway, I’ve been thinking lately about an ideal ‘counter-trend’ that I think could add so much to the view of these parts of Dick’s narrative and character and to discussions about them….and it also IMO is one of the most likely and in character ways that Dick WOULD be likely to disclose what happened to him and make it known to family or friends…..WHILE letting him retain full personal agency over making that choice HIMSELF, for his OWN reasons….

And that’s like…..letting them all find out because Dick makes the personal decision to open up about that to a survivor or recent victim he sees struggling in the aftermath of their own assault. 

Exposing his own vulnerabiltiies and hurt in order to HELP someone, to make something from his own pain, which is one of the key ways IMO that Dick tends to his own trauma and recovery…..using what happened to him as an opportunity to better help others, be there for them, connect with them and give them an easier time of it or more tools to help in their own recovery than he’d had himself. When he’s able to say and do the things a victim really needs to hear right then and there, because he’s been there himself and he’s just saying or doing what he wishes someone had said or done for him but hadn’t known at the time he needed or wanted or even had someone available to ask even if he were able to.

I’d love to read about a Dick Grayson who finds the strength and will to open up about his own secrets and traumas even if it means people close to him finding out and maybe pitying him (which he hates and I think is one of the primary reasons he doesn’t tell people when something bad happens to him oif he can help it) - specifically because its the strength someone needs from him in that moment, and Dick’s personal call to heroism is the need, the drive, to be what someone needs in order to save them if its at all within his capabilities. That’s why he’s a hero IMO: he doesn’t know how to NOT intervene in a situation where he knows his unique talents and skills could help protect or defend someone, save them from pain or loss or dying. He doesn’t WANT to know how.

Gimme a Dick Grayson who swallows down his fears, straightens his shoulders and defiantly tells his primal reptile brain “Fuck his secrets” - he couldn’t save this person from having this thing happen to them, but he can still be a kind of hero to them, for them, by CONNECTING with them, revealing that even he, a bonafide SUPERHERO, can and has been hurt that way, and it sucks and its painful and it wakes him up sometimes in the middle of the night, but he’s still here, he’s still the person HE chooses to be, someone who still laughs and cries and has friends and goals and dreams and bad days but good days as well….show me him being their own personal superhero by cutting straight through the shit their own demons try to convince them of - that this is their fault or they deserved this or it wouldn’t have happened if they were stronger, smarter, BETTER - because when freaking Nightwing, son of the Batman and leader of the Titans and someone superheroes the world over speak of in glowing terms….

When THAT guy looks you straight in the eye and tells you none of that is true, that he knows this because it happened to him too, and it had nothing to do with strength or weakness or deserving it or wanting it……its a HELL of a lot easier to believe coming from him. To internalize. To take in and make a mantra in your head that you can summon forth to remind yourself of whenever doubts start to sneak up on you again.

Sorry not sorry, no disrespect to any specific singular fic out there - I've LITERALLY written one myself (even if a big part of why Born Under A Bad Sign has languished so long is because I realized it wasn't really what I was looking for/to explore for a lot of these very reasons, and in hindsight I felt like I had just gotten caught up in the usual trends of fics about this topic instead of writing from a start point of exploring what I most wanted to see or read about as a survivor) so please don't take this as a slight to anyone who's written something like this. I'd be insulting myself too if that were the case.

But as a TREND, I've really grown to dislike that there's no shortage of stories where Dick's most vulnerable moments and secrets are dragged out of him DESPITE being the last thing he wants at that time, when there's a dearth of fics used to explore...when and how might Dick go about sharing these secrets or opening up about these moments because he WANTS to, because HE feels ready to. Or even exploring what happens or what he goes through if he opens up or shares about these things BEFORE he's actually ready to, because in an attempt to repurpose his trauma into something he feels can help another survivor, he ignored what he was actually feeling about whether he was ready or not to be open about this and have it known by more people.

Just....any and all angles where HE makes the choice, and not just because he HAS to, and even if he later regrets it or it brings up stuff he wasn't as prepared to deal with as he'd convinced himself he was in the moment....there's so many more avenues to be explored here, and I feel like without even thinking about it too much, most of these avenues get shut off as possibilities or turned away from because the sheer volume of fics where other people find out about these moments without Dick's direct disclosure or when he doesn't want them to or isn't ready for them to know, like....this particular direction is so everpresent it narrows focus and creates the kind of tunnel-vision effect we're all familiar with when it comes to all sorts of fandom trends, until it subconsciously feels like its THE only direction to take with all this.

Anyway. Just wanted to raise that discussion point and if anyone knows of any fics that ARE out there like this, feel free to send them my way.

[traceyc-uk]

I love your art and comics so much!!! You are like the queen of HL comics for me!!! ❤️❤️❤️ So much so you've been inspiring me to start making my own comics (it has been since high school since I made comics and let's not get into how long ago that was 😂).

I was wondering if you would be willing to share some of your comic making process, especially in the early stages? I had much of a process in pre-planning stages, but now I'm trying it to see if it will help with my storytelling.

I hope you have a great day!! ❤️❤️

Thank you! 😭 that’s so cool you’re making comics again! And bashful by your ask as I do it for lols and still figuring it out myself. I refer a LOT to a couple of my favourite comic artists too, which I think is noticeably incorporated in mine but I’ll try and show my workings best as I can

Think it’s already obvious I love drawing expressions, is usually my first starting point doodling idly what would become the key frames

Of course study your favourite artists! The ones I look to is Akira Himekawa - Zelda Twilight series and Adam Warren - Empowered (not for under 18s)

I dragged out some previous comic pages I think are appropriate examples of the initial paper scribbles, rough lines to final.

venomous valour is an example of messing up as I focused too much on the faces and the speech gets cluttered.

Crucio attempting to draw the eye where it needs the main focus.

A couple of pages from Shadow Mountain, the fight was drafted more to keep a consistent line of action and not let it get disoriented on the geography, personally I try and stick to the 180 rule. The arc here was more a happy accident but helps lead movement across the page

Dialogue I like the least, but this page the speech bubbles lead the page layout so it’s read in the correct order reading from left to right

Generally I try not get too fussy about the details and aim overall for readability:

- Clear silhouettes, in figures, framing and composition. I often check rough pages within drafts on my tiny phone screen, does the focus get drawn where it should

- Is there enough information on what is happening or about to happen, like an anticipation in a pose to lead into the next panel

-Show intentions without having to say it, ask myself if no dialogue is the intent still there? Using your lovely Serena and the Fifth-Year as an example

It shows when I get lazy and draw my panels like a film frame and I use principles more rooted in animation so I make blunders or newbie mistakes when translating into a comic format but it’s all in good fun. Anyway I hope this helps you in your process and look forward to seeing more of your comics too! 💕

Extra: the ineligible scrawls of the shadow mountain and ancient magic drafts

[late-draft]

The Fortuneteller thing.

I don't like how ambiguous and flippant the writing is about whether it A. does in fact feature legitimate predictions about the future in the atla universe B. is just making a joke and isn't actually giving any info so we should disregard everything Aunt Wu said C. actively insists that a person should make their own destiny.

Katara's prediction is THE problematic one, because Aang's is an empowering one as it says it simply cannot view his future love life, but assures him that he can carve out his own destiny.

By this logic, Katara's prediction should also have been that it's invisible and that she can make her own path and choices. But it doesn't, it says what it says. Unless Aunt Wu simply took a wild guess that Katara, a powerful bender, would like to imagine being with a powerful bender herself; but the series gives no hint, no visual clue through which we could spot that Aunt Wu was just guessing what her client would like to/should hear. For all intents and purposes, Katara's future prediction is framed by the series as actually legitimate.

I'm talking exclusively about metaphysics here, not about the narrative purpose of the fortunetelling it had in the show (because the purpose was to clearly position Aang as a possible option but still staying vague enough to allow it to not turn out to be true. Possible setup for a misdirect, a red herring.)

The vibes are off, that is, the framing of Aang's and Katara's predictions imply completely different things about how fortunetelling works in ATLA.

With all of that in mind, and if we accept Katara's prediction in the form it was given, I think the only, ONLY way I could consider it to be "okay", is if it resulted in Katara herself one day choosing to tell someone that she views them as a very powerful bender. This way it's her who is choosing, her who is deciding who to bestow with this description. It could be as a consequence of her becoming fully aware of what she feels for whichever person she describes.

[wilwheaton]

What happens when Texas makes it a felony to travel to New Mexico to access these services? Or invokes the Comstock Act to prevent internet service providers and phone companies from allowing people in Texas to look up or call abortion organizations? Texas could use Senate Bill 7–style laws, laws that cannot effectively be challenged in court, to allow people in Texas to sue women leaving the state to get an abortion. This effectively criminalizes the act of leaving the state to seek an abortion, and it leads inevitably to a situation where a woman leaves Texas, gets an abortion, and cannot or does not return. The resulting extradition fight will inevitably go straight to the Supreme Court, which will not be pulling a King Solomon. The court will have to decide for one side or the other, and it is going to infuriate the losing side. If the court sides with New Mexico, it will empower voices like Marjorie Taylor Greene’s, calling for secession. If it sides with Texas, it will set off a panic in blue states, which will realize that they no longer have control over their own state laws and are at the mercy of unaccountable Christian nationalists thousands of miles away. Framed as a battle between the rights of red states and blue states, it seems obvious which one this conservative-leaning Supreme Court will side with.

Why We’re Barreling Toward a Legal War Between the States

[doyouevenshipbr0]

examples of atla live action’s attempts to be more feminist and how they actually had the opposite effect and/or hurt the integrity of the show

already talked about katara and pakku. does not make sense that she did not have a master. point blank. just because something sounds empowering (ie katara saying “yes. and ur looking at her.” after zuko asked if she found a master) doesn’t mean it automatically is. there still needs to be logic and katara “being her own master” defies logic imo im sorry!

katara in general. she has no ferocity here which to be very honest i dont think is fully the writers’ fault. some of the blame goes on them but the actress for katara just delivered alllllll of her lines w the same exact mild tone. katara is overly motherly. she is bossy. she is passionate. she is nurturing. she is emotional. THERE IS POWER IN THESE THINGS!!!!! why would we take away her spark?!?!?!

i loved live action suki. however, i LOVE the line in the original when her and sokka part ways and sokka says “i treated u like a girl when i should’ve treated u like a warrior.” and suki says “i am a warrior” *kisses sokka on the cheek* “but im a girl too.” THAT LINE WAS SO PERFECT like lemme say it again there is POWER IN FEMININITY! there is no shame in that!!!!! why does this show wanna take that away so badly. at one point live action suki says something like “im not just a warrior, im a kiyoshi warrior” and before she parts ways w sokka she thanks him for showing her some of the world or something like that. which was fine but i just love the simplicity of the original. a girl can be a warrior and have a crush. why do we have to change that?

this is a small one and it doesnt REALLY matter, but i cant help but think they changed this to be more “feminist” which is just dumb. yue isnt betrothed? well she was but she broke it off? and hahn (her ex) isnt a huge dick? i mean it wasn’t the worst thing and i didnt really mind it but i was just kinda like ?????. feel like yue being betrothed tied into her sense of responsibility and foreshadowed the sacrifices she will make for her people. so. feels rly weird that they changed it. i think it was to show more women agency which is always cool. but in the original, yue finally gets her agency by becoming the moon spirit. that should be the end of her character arc. idk. a weird change that seemed unnecessary.

sokka not being sexist. honestly i think the live action did a good job at omitting this while not REALLY making it feel like something was missing. with that being said, something was still missing lol. once again, its apart of sokka’s character. i feel like everyone has already expressed their hate for this so ill just leave it at that.

i am a TAD indifferent on the women of the northern tribe joining the forces during the fight. on one hand i cant lie i smiled bc obviously i love water bending and i love women so there was definitely apart of me that was happy to see that moment. however. it was kind of giving like in endgame when theres that random shot of all the women superheroes in one frame so the movie could have a “slay queen. we are girlbosses:)” moment. like it just felt a little empty and it wasnt the feminist battlecry they thought it was. these women have been healing their whole lives. why would they be any good on the frontlines of a fight? they never learned combat skills! HOWEVER, when we see them, its mainly just them reinforcing the walls so like. that makes enough sense. im cool w that.

i know im dwelling but as we know i hold atla in the highest regards. it does a lot of things perfectly imo. and one of the things i think it does PERFECTLY is its treatment of female characters. literally the only thing i can think of that i dont like is when team azula beats the kiyoshi warriors and ty lee says something like “u are NOT prettier than us” NDBSKSJDJ like ok that was weird. but anyways. it irritates me how the live action kind of seems to have this pov that says “the original was good, but there were some ideas and plots that were outdated so we changed them to keep with the times” like they’re fixing something that was broken if that makes sense. when in actuality, i think atla’s representation of women is perfect and timeless. it was relevant and powerful in 2005, and it is equally as relevant and powerful in 2024. there was nothing about its feminist themes that needed to be “fixed” or “updated”.

[donnapalude]

i know it has been said but i don't exactly see how someone can watch the entirety of bs & think that max's ending is supposed to be construed as a narrative reward for the "goodness" of her actions. & that that reward must necessarily come in the form of a stable position of power & uncomplicated personal happiness alongside it.

the semi-triumphant framing of her final scenes cannot be decontextualised from every single instance where the show has made clear that places of safety (especially for marginalised people) are ephemeral under the empire. nor from the fact that awful choices are made & will always be necessary to make those places possible. the only "victory" the show recognises max is that of being the character best able to navigate power in nassau. but that's a factual consideration, not a moral one. one cannot infer, from that alone, whether that power or her relationship to it have any positive value. this can only be ascertained by looking at the overall themes of the show, which generally does not advocate for colonial rule & securing one's own happiness at the expense of others. moreover, max's capacity to work within civilisation is also not depicted as a fully empowering trait, as it is predicated on her ability to contort herself in whatever shape required of her on any given moment. & even that is temporary. by killing the revolution, she has made sure that her happiness remains built on sand & that the empire may come to reclaim her little pocket of autonomy at any time. there's really nothing here telling me that her victory is anything but pyrrhic.

what i think confuses people is that the show is trying to portray max as a sympathetic person, without feeling the need to paint her as a good one. it simply puts to the viewers that her actions are completely logical & understandable given her life experiences & that, in the same situation, many would have made the same choices. to the point that in part this is something that "lives beyond choice". if the world has only ever brutalised you, what exactly do you owe to it? what grace, what forgiveness? i think the feeling that this framing entails a complete endorsement stems less from any actual message the show is sending & more from the inability to reconcile the complexity of this position. that of being encouraged to feel a sense of communion with a character without absolving them &, therefore, absolving ourselves with them. to accept that there is a shared culpability in the actions of a person like max that cannot be borne by her alone, but must be distributed structurally across systems we inhabit. & that, at the same time, positions of oppression & victimhood within those systems don't fully eradicate our potential complicity in them. i don't find any contradiction in portraying the existence of a sense of relief over our personal happiness, even when built on the suffering of others. the contradiction is intrinsic to its existence. that, however, does not make it any less present. all that black sails asks of us is to sit with this.

[chaifootsteps]

I think I put my finger on why apology tour is so stressful to watch.

So there’s this manipulation technique called “triangulation”, where an abusive person will pull in a third person to ‘verdict’ who is right and wrong. More often than not the person is either biased against the person or biased in favour of the abuser. This person has none of the intimate understanding of the relationship or details, they don’t even care to know. They just come in to tell the victim they’re hysterical and to stop being the problem. It’s framed as maturely keeping the peace and resolving conflict, but all it does is empower the abuser to continue. One of the worst ways is when an abusers constant behaviour finally makes the victim snap, then in that brief moment the abuser points and says look how crazy they are! They’re the real abuser! And this was precisely the intention of Full Moon.

That’s exactly how vivzie and stolitz shippers keep writing this, bring in a third party to scold Blitzø that he “fucked it up” and tell stolas he’s so brave. It was done with Loona who in post full moon fan works, is now stolas’ number one warrior. Vivzie brought in all these non characters to cry in the background to make stolas look like he’s a victim, one of them, when he’s not. To say “it’s a pattern!” Even though blitz didn’t bail on stolas and crush his feelings, stolas crushed him. And we’ll never see these props again. None of them engage with what actually happened or even care to know, they just project about other characters.

It’s actually a sign of insecurity in writing that nothing stolas says on his own, elaborates on why he’s a victim, Viv just had to co-opt Verosikas backstory and pretend it’s stolas’ as well.

"Triangulation." That's a new one for me, but it's unfathomably creepy how well it fits. This entire show's turning into a procession of abusive, manipulative techniques, none of which are portrayed as negative.

[oceane4loveu]

The vlog of the perfect "her" océane ≽^•⩊•^≼

"𝑊𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑢𝑝"𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 ���𝑒𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒!!! .𖥔 ݁ 🪐˖

ˢᵃᵗᵘʳⁿ ᴿᵉᵗᵘʳⁿˢ ᴵⁿᵗᵉʳˡᵘᵈᵉ

Heyyyy starfish! I know it's been a long time like 3 months but I was in a bad state. I was literally depressed, my girlfriend had just left me and my whole life was literally boring, I kept comparing myself day after day and I wondered why I was living such a bad life in fact to be honest I didn't feel like myself anymore. So I deleted all my social networks, I deleted the number of several people and I started to focus on myself and I realized that all my traumas were really preventing me from moving forward, already I am obsessed with wanting to be in a relationship and fill this lack of love so I get into relationships with people who are bad for me and I do things that end up hurting me. I compare myself to girls all the time because my ex was always comparing me to his ex or other girls and at the end of our relationship it became a habit for me to do that so by deleting social media and doing a social media detox it helped me to really start loving myself again and to become aware of a lot of things and today I feel like everything is going better in my life I found a temporary job while waiting to start my dream job, I love myself more, I do what I like and I feel better but I haven't achieved all my goals yet. 2025 is in what month and I think I spent too much time creating thousands of plans to finally give up at the last minute and postpone everything until tomorrow so I decided to enter a new era!!!! An era where I work hard for my dreams, I'm 20 years old and I don't want to make the same mistakes year after year! So I asked myself how I can become a completely new woman? how to become her? This better version of me. I watched a lot of tam kaur videos, searched for the best self improvement books and I finally found the method that works best for me it's simple and detailed. For that I watched this tam kaur video which is definitely my favorite video!

𝟏. 𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

Ok this year I planned more than 15 glow up plans that I ended up abandoning because all these goals were literally dictated by others like I see this person doing something and I want to do it too so each time I did nothing and I stayed there doing several glow up plans without really taking action so this time I followed the SMARTER method

S: SPECIFIC

Be specific in defining your goal:

What exactly do you want to accomplish?

Who are the people involved? (individual or team) How are you going to achieve it?

M: MEASURABLE

How are you going to measure it? How will you know when you have achieved your goal?

A: ACHIEVABLE

Is your goal realistically achievable?

Can you achieve your goal within a defined time frame?

Is the goal ambitious enough to motivate you to take concrete action? Reminder: Don’t set goals that are too ambitious and might seem unrealistic to achieve

R: RELEVANT

Are the goals relevant to your vision?

Are the goals aligned with your role? (student/professional/leader)

Is the reason/motivation for achieving this goal relevant/meaningful in your context?

T: TIMELY

What is your timeline for achieving this goal? (30 days, 3 months, 6 months) Break down big goals into smaller goals

E: EVALUATION AND EMOTIONS

Continuously assess the needs of your goal

If it serves your goal of personal, academic and professional growth and development

Do you feel

empowered/motivated/energized/excited to achieve this goal?

R: REWARD AND REVIEW

Reward yourself for achieving your goals Review your goals to adapt them to your current contexts and needs

I finally created a list with all my goals

𝐆𝐨𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝

𝟐. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞?

I used the everskies app to create an avatar of the new me but I will do a more in-depth post on that so Describe everything in detail:

A. About yourself. Your personality. Your brain.

B. Money

C. Career and opportunities

D. Friends and family

E. Relationship

F. Hobbies and happiness

G. Hobbies/how you spend your free time

H. Workouts, etc.

I. Home/habitat

𝟑. 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

move each goal into a weekly calendar every sunday, plan the week around that to come up with achievable goals to achieve all those goals and it becomes part of the weekly to do list

For example I want to read 15 books so I choose a book and I read 5 or 10 pages of that book per day and so on. I will use this planner and Canva to plan my week

𝟒. 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐞𝐭

I'm going to read several self improvement books that I bought recently and also here are some phrases that can help

A. You saw these dreams because you were supposed to see them. They are your dreams, seize them

B. Failure is part of your success

C. Don't despair of anything. Just do your job.

D. The fact that others live normal lives doesn't mean you have to live average. Work for your dreams.

E. Put down your damn phone

F. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stop giving reasons why it's not for you.

G. Stop thinking about what others are doing. Everyone's life is different.

H. Take a look at your inner speech.

𝟓. 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞

For this no need to be tired I took some routine ideas from Pinterest

𝟔. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬.

I understood one thing when I did my digital detox, no one comes and does all the work for me it's up to me to do it it's up to me to work to get what I really want it's not by running after people that it will happen by magic. It's time to work for my dreams and enjoy the process because the best version of me only depends on the actions I take to make it exist. So I focus on my goals.