#imagine being the biggest pussy on the face of the planet and then finding out one of ur soulmates is this creepy occult-loving motherfucker

[hyperfixationtimego]

perhaps I have said this before but I do not understand where all the hostility for the common idea of soulmates (specifically as in, people who are destined to meet and fall in love) comes from.

I personally really love the fictional idea of two or more people being spiritually connected somehow, and the greater universe basically determining their fate (it’s difficult to word the ending to that sentence, but I don’t mean “determining their fate” in a negative or overly controlling way - the entire point of the soulmates concept implies pairing your literal soul with the soul or souls of the people that will make you the happiest version of yourself that you could possibly be.)

I’ve often seen ideas and concepts where it’s proposed that someone meets their romantic soulmate just before the soulmate dies, or perhaps learns of the soulmate’s death without ever having had a chance to meet them, and thus mourns for someone they really didn’t even know, but personally, to me, that just……doesn’t make sense? The concept of soulmates, this beautiful concept, is an inner machination of the universe expressing its love for the souls inside of it - why would it go through the trouble of connecting your heart to another person’s if the two of you were not destined to be an important positive part of each other’s lives. The only type of world in which I could imagine the tragic “losing your soulmate before you ever got to know them” angle actually working, would be in a setting that involves living different lives over and over and over - and always being happiest in the ones where you and your connected soul/s encounter one another.

I also believe it’s important to note that there is a distinction between romantic and platonic soulmates. Perhaps a person would be happiest loving themself and not a partner - they would still have a soulmate or multiple soulmates in the form of close, personal friends (and I must make the distinction here that I use the word “friends” with as much gravitas as I can possibly muster - in the would-be world of soulmates, these platonic relationships and connections are just as deep and meaningful as their romantic counterparts are, because that’s how it is in the real world, too.)

perhaps it is the lack of control that scares people. and I understand that; I myself am very much a perfectionist, and have been suspected of multiple certain disorders due to one of my more intense symptoms being an averse reaction to sudden change, and difficulty managing my own expectations. but what I find almost comforting about the idea of a world in which soulmates exist, is this sort of inherent humbleness of a human discovering that no matter how defiant they are, no matter how hard they resist or say they will never care for their soulmate/s, they are ever so gradually forced to realize that they do care about this person, and they are in love with these people, and that there is indeed a benevolent greater force at work here that they likely can’t even begin to comprehend.

I just imagine the serenity. the realization that they’ve been struggling against a non-existent current. the universe loves them, has always loved them, and gives them this solid evidence - in the form of a soulmate’s laugh or smile or affection -that their life means something. That the life was worth living because of how they contributed to others’ lives, and how their own life was contributed to in turn.

#I have so many more worldbuilding thoughts on shit like this by the way #like sorry you guys hate fun I guess 😭 #I should probably write a dr soulmate fic at some point huh #*stares very pointedly at Korekiyo and Kokichi* #you two are going in the reluctant & unwilling soulmates box. go on get in there #Kaito is also going in that box but mostly just because of Kokichi. #and you know what actually maybe a little bit because of Kiyo too. #imagine being the biggest pussy on the face of the planet and then finding out one of ur soulmates is this creepy occult-loving motherfucker #no cause now I need to write this like PRONTO ugh #am about to take a shower and probably brainrot about this some more so bye for now ✌️ #soulmates #soulmate au #worldbuilding

[justmediocrewriting]

I just KNOWWW in my heart and punani that OPLA Sanji calls his girl "Duchess" when they get nasty and this has been living rent free in my mind for a HOT ASF MINUTE. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

-💅🏾

✍️: sis can I just say that I am SO HERE for your TED talk? I strongly feel as though OPLA Sanji is one of the rare men out there that can be romantic and downright dirty and degrading at the EXACT SAME TIME. Literally in the same sentence. For example:

★ He talks in such a sweet voice, like, this mans could say the filthiest and most degrading shit and it would sound like he’s praying to you.

- “is it too much? Do you need a break, duchess?”

- “you can take so much more, doll; I know you can.”

- “gods, duchess, you’re trembling. Do I affect you that much?”

- “you’re being so good for me, love. I think you deserve a treat.”

- “you’ve made me so hard, duchess. I think you should take responsibility.”

- “stay right there and don’t move; I want to worship every inch of your beautiful body.”

★ it’s not just his words either. He displays a mixture of dominance and worship in every move he makes

- holding you by the hips, hands nearly feather light on your skin yet halting every movement

- definitely a fan of stroking/holding your cheeks/jaw, forcing you to keep your eyes locked on him as he picks you apart

- don’t even think about closing your eyes. He’ll find a way to open them

- loves every inch of you and makes sure you know it

- absolutely loves to hold you in his lap. Will wrap his arms around your waist to hold you there until he’s satisfied, and though hes normally very composed and calm, there are times he gets impatient and will start humping you right there through his clothes

- isn’t a fan of getting extremely frisky in front of others; but you won’t be safe from hidden teases, such as a small squeeze to your thigh under the table or an “accidental” graze of his groin against your ass

- also makes a habit of riling you up through whispers

“you look ravishing today, duchess.”

“I can’t wait to get you out of those clothes.”

“I wonder how I should worship you tonight…”

★ a fucking sex god. Let’s be honest y’all opla Sanji gives off that vibe. He definitely knows his way around a woman’s body, but he also knows that every woman is different and that their optimal pleasure points vary — this makes him the most mind-blowing lover on the face of the planet

- he is immediately eliciting and gauging reactions even before the two of you get intimate

- it’s so subtle that no one really catches on

- refers to you by various endearments to see which ones bring the biggest blush to your face — he’ll then use that information to his advantage in the bedroom, using them so much that you’ll literally feel like melting

- his main goal in the bedroom is to send you straight to euphoria in the shortest time possible

- his hands are dexterous and experienced, locating spots within you that even you didn’t know existed, and finds your erogenous zones with little to no difficulty then abuses them mercilessly

- this mans talks you through your orgasms

“that’s it, duchess. Keep squeezing me like that, it feels so good.”

“gods, you’re soaking us both. So beautiful.”

“I’m here duchess, just let go. Let me see you lose it.”

“are you about to cum, duchess? Don’t be shy, you can make a mess on me.”

“you sound so beautiful, doll. Just like an angel.”

★ his own pleasure comes second to him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t go all out when it’s his turn. The way he fucks you can sometimes border on brutal, with fast, deep thrusts that bring stars to your vision; yet he somehow manages to nearly replace any and all pain with intense pressure. I imagine that he’s a fan of any position in which he can see your face

-cowgirl

- missionary

- mating press

- strong enough to stand up and hold you while he fucks you — with or without pressing you against a wall

- fucking loves eating pussy, and is damn good at it

- though he thoroughly enjoys watching your face while he pleases you, he will give that view up for a good 69

- it absolutely drives him crazy to hear and feel you gagging on his cock as he slurps, licks, and sucks your pussy

- ride his face. Just fucking do it

- will move your hips for you if he feels you aren’t riding fast enough

- will willingly give up his right to oxygen in favor of burying his face between your thighs

- mostly dominant, but he will occasionally display some submissive behaviors — mostly with words

“gods, please don’t stop, duchess. Keep riding me like that.”

“your pussy is so damn good, love. I can’t get enough.”

“that’s it baby, take what you need from me. Use me, duchess.”

★ agghhh damn you nonnie this is INFESTING my brain right now. Maybe I’ll write a one-shot of this instead just headcanons at some point. “Duchess” is definitely an endearment that Sanji would call his partner. I also have a few that I see him using, such as:

angel (😩🤤), babydoll, doll, darling, sweetheart, madam, precious, GODDESS (fuckk I caaaant)

I’m so thirsty for this man it’s unreal.

Also, I know I’ve been basically dead on here and I apologize profusely for that. My motivation has been crushed for a while and I’m trying to build it back up bit by bit. Thank you all for being patient with me ❤️ I love you all so much

#opla sanji #opla #opla x reader #one piece live action #opla sanji x reader

[lovingdilfs]

First post… kinda nervous ö

I have an beautiful idea, making smut stories out Elvis songs!

So here is the first one.

The story is taking place in 1960

19 years and still the biggest virgin on the planet. Maria, your friend got invited to a party where Elvis Presley. When you finally decide to go with her everything changes in one night

(Based on the song let yourself go)

TW: smut, angst and alcohol

Word count 1.8k

The grammar is not it honey, English isn’t my first language so bare with me 🫶🏼

Let yourself go. Pt 1

"Well there is no discussion, you're coming to the party! Girl Elvis motherfucking Presley will be there, how could you ever think about not going."  Maria said on the phone

"Omg Elvis!" You said with excitement in voice.

"Yeah girl, that's what I said Elvis is coming to the par-" you interrupted Maria

"Maria, I don't care if Elvis will be there. I hate parties, is always some guys just trying to find pussy.

I'm not going"

"Yeah that's true... but what if Elvis is there to find some pussy and accidentally slips into yours" Maria laughed out well knowing you were the cleanest girl when it came to sex "And besides that point, then we will celebrate your 20th birthday a little earlier"

But the thought made you a bit warm inside.

Imagine if I lost my virginity to Elvis Presley. I wouldn't say I was a fan, but goddamn he was a beautiful man.

"Maria! Stop, I'm not going end of discussion"

"You're coming, end of discussion... I'll be at your house at 17'o'clock, then I'll fix you up and get you ready for the party.

Do you got a dress?" Maria were almost out of breath talking so fast.

"Yeah, no I don't" you said while looking at your closet.

"No worries I'll bring ya some" Maria hanged up.

"Mari" you were interrupted by the beeping sound.

You laid the phone back down and rolled on your back letting a breath leave your lips.

A knock hit the front door

"Shit" you said while your mouth was filled with food, you swallowed quickly and opened the door.

"Hello miss girl, are you ready- what! Haven't you showered yet" Maria lifted her arms, her hands were filled with hangers

"No... I-I fell asleep"

"Girl go upstairs and take a shower and shave every inch of your body" she said while closing the front door. You looked confused at her

"What are you looking at, hurry!" She smacked your ass.

You turned the warm water on, getting in. The warmth were spreading around your body. You wiped the water away from your eyes, looking down at the razor

doing all this work for nothing

You shaved everywhere knowing damn well nothing was going to happened tonight

But what if... 19 years old and still being the biggest virgin walking on the planet

You squeezed the rest of the water out of your hair, grabbed a towel. Dried your body off, putting on some your expensive moisturizer you only saved for special occasions. You opened the door to your bedroom, a steam cloud followed along with you.

"Clean?" Maria said while searching in your vanity

"Yes clean"

"Great, now sit down and let me do all the hard work" she followed your over to the free chair.

You looked confused around,

"Maria have you been looking in my closet?"

"Certainly, I needed to find some sexy panties, honey you need to throw out your grandma panties" she laughed, You rolled eyes at her.

2 hours went by quickly and you finally were done in Maria's beauty salon.

"And just like that! Your done" she swirled your chair around to face your mirror

"Oh gosh Maria, where did you learn all this stuff" you couldn't even recognize yourself, you looked so beautiful.

Your hair waved perfectly, your eyes were popping out underneath the makeup.

And the dress curves all the right places.

"You know, just here and there... If Elvis don't fuck the shit out of you tonight I will do it" she laughed "Now, get up and make a spin for me"

You did as she said

"Wow, I'm such a good friend" she clamped her hands together as she was a proud mother.

"You ready honey to get ya cherry popped" she said as she gathered her things.

__________________________________________

Maria and you pulled up the house, It was beautiful nothing like your own little house.

"Come on girl, let's get drunk and make dumb decisions" Maria pulled your arm.

A bunch of guys were standing out in the porch smoking and drinking.

"Sorry boys, but make room for the girls" Maria said while trying to push them away

How does she do it, the confidence.

You felt the guys eyes all over your body and you even heard one of them say "Goddamn, a ass she got" It left a red flush to your cheeks

Maria pushed the front door open, and the sight left you speechless. It was so beautiful, but so many people

No way, Elvis is going to lay a eye on me. There is so many beautiful girls here.

You grabbed Maria's arm tightly and followed her along out to the kitchen.

"Here take this and down it" she handed you a drink and you didn't even hesitate. The alcohol were burning all the way down.

"And this one to"

You looked at her like she had lost her mind

"Trust me, you will need it"

You poured the drink down your throat, coughed a bit of the burning sensation.

"And the last one for now, happy birthday girl" she handed you a glass and cheered with you

Oh gosh, whiskey

"Now let's dance!" She took your hand, and pushed against the crowd.

"Maria, have you seen him" you whispered into her ear trying to mute out the loud music

"Who..." she said

"You know Elvis" you eyes were searching for him.

"Uh la la, somebody is getting ready for tonight" she smirked and sent a wink. You hit her arm playful "Stop Maria, I just want to know if he even is here"

"Don't worry baby, I have a plan. Just follow along when you are bit more drunk"

1 hour passed by quickly, you felt more intoxicated by the second. Many people had gathered outside to smoke and talk.

"Last drink, and then we'll hunt for some boys" Maria said

"I'll be back in a second, I just gotta touch up, wait for me here okay" You downed the drink like it was water and headed for the bathroom.

The house were like a maze

How can a house have so many doors...

You wriggle the last door handle.

"One second" a thick southern voice came from the locked toilet.

"Oh I'm sorry sir-" the door opened and you were speechless and embarrassed.

Oh god why!

You starred at the beautiful man, coming out from the toilet.

His eyes were a dark blue that burned into your eyes. His hair were messy but still intact. His skin were light tanned

It's true, it really is true Elvis is so much handsome in real life

"Are ya going to use it?" He frowned his brows.

You just starred in silence before snapping back to reality "Oh yes, certainly. Thank you" you said while squeezing under his arm and past the door.

You closed the door slowly, still having your eyes all over Elvis. His hand slipped in between the door and doorframe

"Honey, what's ya name?" Elvis said while looking you up and down.

"Uhm... Y/N, why do wanna know my name" you said in flirtatious way

Nooo, so embarrassing. Never drinking again.

"Y/N, pretty name you got there honey. Well nice to meet ya" he reached out for your hand

"Well nice too meet you too mr. Presley " you handed your hand to him, his soft lips glanced your skin.

"I hope I see ya again Y/N, thanks for the little toilet meeting" he winked at you and laughed in boy-ish way. He let go of your hand

"Certainly, mr. Presley"

You closed the door, and let out a breath

OMFG! DID I JUST TALK TO ELVIS PRESLEY! HE KISSED MY HAND! AHHHH

You calmed down, and fixed your hair and makeup before making your way out to Maria again. "Maria!" You yelled, She hushed you as she were flirting with some guy.

You poured another light drink, and as you were turning around to kitchen counter, you bumped into a chest spilling all over the guy.

"Ah, uh I'm so so sorry-" you lifted your eyes to glanced the guy

Really god again! Could it be any other guy than Elvis.

"Well...well isn't that ma little toilet girl"

"I'm sorry... let me find some paper"

"No it's fine honey, I was just about to head home." He said while holding your hand

"Home...? But the party" you said while frowning your brows

"Party isn't really thing"

The words hit you hard, because party wasn't really your thing either

"I just need to tell Jerry I'm going home" his eyes headed towards Maria

Maria with one of Elvis friends! God give me some goddamn confidence come on! "He looks a little bit busy" you said glancing over at Jerry

"Goddamnit always!" He said, looking a bit annoyed

"I can tell him, if it's. You see the girl, that my best friend" you looked up at him. How perfect can you be!

"Will you honey, that would make me the happiest man"  he clenched his hand around your shoulder "On one behalf " you said

"Anything for you toilet girl"

"First of all you stop calling me toilet girl, second of all you take a birthday shot with me" you said while fidgeting with his buttons

"That's exactly two..." he smirked.

You poured 2 shots up and lined them up. "Here you go" you handed him the shot

"Thank you ma'am"

The two glass clanged together

"For you" he said and downed the shot and you poured the shot down while holding eye contact with Elvis.

"How old" Elvis said while wiping his mouth

"20 years old" you said

"Wow 20 years old, that the second round birthday, congratulations"

"Thanks" you felt a bit red in the head

I hope it don't show

"We got a deal?"

"Huh" you looked confused at him "You know with Jerry"

"Oh yeah right, you can count on me"

"Thanks honey" he left a small peck on your cheek before going out the door.

Your eyes followed him when he left out of the door. Ugh... one chance I get and I messed it up You looked over at Maria, her face were smashed together with Jerry.

You poured a small amount of whiskey into your glass and headed for the couch. All the people that had been smashed together at the start were down to 13.

You sat in misery on the couch, pouring the whisky slowly down your throat. Your eyes were getting heavier and heavier until they shut fully.

#elvis #elvis photos #elvis presley #elvis smut #elvis film #smut #angst #lovers #drunk #1960s style #vintage

[1kook]

one man, no hands

— a some way, some how jungkook drabble summary “Just my mouth,” he reassures you, rough hands slipping beneath the sides of your skirt, urging you to lift your hips as he nudges it over your tummy. “Promise.” warnings established relationship, mechanic jungkook, business woman oc, cunnilingus / eatin out, jk is dirty like in the literal sense rating m (18+) wc 2.5k 

notes am i confident in the title? no. am i stubborn and feel like it has to follow this pattern out of some weird self made obligation? yes, please help me. anyway here is 🔧⚙️ jk and his hot girlfriend once more <3

For the most part, you like to believe you were a pretty composed person. Sure, there are a few instances in your personal history where you exploded, sobbed, cursed the planet to hell and back. But given your chosen career track and the amount of stupidity you dealt with on a daily basis, you’re significantly more mild-mannered compared to your peers. That being said, you were by no means the dictionary definition of serene. After a long day of meeting clients around the city, a rather unsatisfying lunch, and atrocious city traffic—all while breaking in a new pair of heels—there was nothing more satisfying than pulling up to Jungkook’s empty auto shop and huffing out one long, “fuuuck.”

Jungkook doesn’t mind. “Hey, gorgeous,” he calls from over his shoulder, looming over the open hood of yet another innocent vehicle. The metal table beside him holds every tool imaginable. “How’s my sexy department manager doing today?”

“Terrible,” you confess, heels clicking against the concrete floor. You realize he’s hunched over his own car today, a rather rare sight if you’re being completely honest. Jungkook wasn’t the biggest fan of working on his own car(s) at the shop, something about pride and refusing to admit something was wrong with them in front of people who looked up to him. Men, you chuckle, finally closing in on him. 

He’s terribly sweaty, the sweltering heat turning the inside of the garage into a human microwave. “How’s my sexy mechanic doing today,” you hum, throwing all reservations aside to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek. Jungkook, as always, makes sure to nuzzle into the touch. 

“Pretty good,” he replies, taking advantage of your affectionate nature to set aside the tool that had been in his hand. You watch his sturdy fingers reach for the hood of the car, carefully shutting it because he knows you hate the smell of metal. The rag tucked into the pocket of his red jumpsuit is littered with stains, and the half-assed wipe of his hands against it doesn’t help. 

When he turns, that same hand attempts to reach for you, the remnants of oil buried beneath the tips of his fingernails. “Hey,” you warn, intercepting him at the wrist; you’ve spent one too many nights at the local laundromat trying to remove oil from tweed. 

Jungkook frowns, shakes his head to the side in that infuriatingly sexy way that not only lets you see the dark furrow of his shapely brows, but also has the tendons in his neck bulging just the slightest. “Give me a kiss,” he pouts, pretty pink lips fighting off a smile. “I missed you.”

Hands holding onto his wrists, you lean forward, your pointed heel tapping against the dirty toe of his work boots. 

One of your greatest contributions to society was introducing Jungkook to strawberry flavored chapstick, a deed that the universe pays you back tenfold with each kiss he bestows upon you, lips so soft and sweet. If you look past the distinct smells of the auto shop and Jungkook’s own natural scent, you swear you can smell the strawberries. 

It is as you’re trapped in this train of thought that Jungkook manages to overpower you, abruptly stepping forward enough to throw you off balance. Your gravity shifts, and while your heartbeat may spike for a moment, you know he’d never let you fall. “Easy there, beautiful,” he grins, one tatted arm wrapped around you. He’s got that stupidly cocky grin on, the one that usually proceeds some stupid or horny thought. 

Lo and behold, a second later he says, “can I eat you out?”

You roll your eyes, placing two hands against his chest. Jungkook takes it as a sign of your approval and moves in for a second kiss, only for you to shove him away with a huff. “You haven’t even showered, smelly,” you chide, straightening out the front of your blazer in a rather snooty manner that has Jungkook scoffing. 

“Please?” he tries again, not the slightest bit phased by the unimpressed look you throw his way. “I’ll wash my hands.”

“Jungkook,” you level, settling into one of the many rolling seats that decorate the floor of Jungkook’s garage, your cell phone placed down on the metal table nearby. From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of the familiar paper wrapping of the deli down the street, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you eat at Shin’s for lunch? I don’t want your onion breath on my intimates.”

Jungkook steps in front of you, looking down at you with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Well then,” he says calmly, and then, drops to his knees in front of you. It has you jolting in surprise. Before you can accidentally send yourself rolling across the floor, Jungkook catches your ankle in one hand, tugging you forward until your knee presses against his side. “It’s a good thing that was Jimin’s lunch and not mine.” 

“Kook,” you gasp, the muscles in your legs weak against the grip he has on the back of your knees. The muscles in his forearms tense up as he slowly pries your thighs apart, leaning down to place a rather soft kiss against your knee. The tenderness of his kiss shouldn’t be surprising, but it never fails to make you inhale sharply, hands slowly coming to rest against his shoulders. 

The brush of your fingers against him has his eyes flickering up to meet yours, strawberry sweet lips curling into a smile. “Just my mouth,” he reassures you, rough hands slipping beneath the sides of your skirt, urging you to lift your hips as he nudges it over your tummy. “Promise.”

One shaky exhale later, you find yourself slowly nodding along, fingers burying themselves within the dark tresses of his hair. “No hands,” you remind him one final time, letting him manhandle you out of your panties. “And be gen—“

Your words are swallowed up by the surprised squeak that slips through your lips upon Jungkook’s first long lick over your slit. “I’ve got you,” he chuckles, the low and breathy kind that makes your skin tingle. “Hold on to me.”

“What the— fuck!” you exclaim, pulling at his hair in sheer fright when he whirls your chair around suddenly, pushes you the three feet until your chair is bumping against the front of his bumper, appropriately named. “Jungkook,” you scold, roughly yanking him up by his hair. “Don’t do that.”

“Shh,” he hushes, but the shock still has your heart thumping a little too quickly. You pinch his ear. Jungkook shakes you off just as quickly, throws you a childish glare. “You’ll need the support.”

The opportunity to question him never comes, because a second later Jungkook is tugging you forward in your seat, knees neatly placed over his shoulders for easy access to your pussy. You did need the support, you realize, back pressed against the curve of the hood as Jungkook begins the rather torturous process of teasing you. 

As promised, his hands rest over your thighs, thick fingers digging into the soft skin as he descends upon you, one featherlight kiss pressed against your mound. The polite greeting of his lips is followed by the not-so-polite greeting of his tongue, the warm and wet muscle caressing your clit. 

Your breathing hitches, a pleasant warmth settling in your core. It blossoms quickly, stamps out the remnants of fear from a few minutes ago. Jungkook’s tongue plays a key role in that change, nudging your clit back and forth carefully as he listens to the subtle alterations in your breathing. 

After the day you’ve had, the delicate way Jungkook laps against you has you melting, both into his touch and against the cold metal of the hood behind you. “Oh,” you pant, eyelids fluttering at the kiss he places against your labia. 

He’s relatively quiet today, just soft sighs against your cunt. Without his hands, you’re surprised by how easily he navigates his way along your lips, tongue nudging your folds apart. The round tip of his nose throws you for a loop as he kisses down your slit, the soft skin unintentionally brushing against your throbbing clit. (Or maybe intentionally— you never really knew with Jungkook.)

At your quivering entrance, he pauses, pulling back with glistening lips and dark eyes. “Good?” he murmurs, tongue peeking out at the corner to trace across his red lips. Another shake of his head, dark strands tickling his cheekbones. 

“So good,” you exhale, releasing one hand from it’s trembling grip in his hair. You press it against the side of Jungkook’s face instead. Briefly, the tips of your fingers brush against his ear, an action that makes his eyelashes flutter, mouth dropping open just as your thumb presses against his lower lip. “Make me cum,” you command, as if you aren’t completely at his mercy right now. 

Still, Jungkook humors you. His pearly teeth playfully bite down against your thumb, a smile making its way across his features when you pull away. “You got it, boss,” he teases. 

You roll your eyes. “You’re the boss here,” you mumble, shivers running down your spine when he ducks back down once more. 

Lips suctioned around your clit, your thighs quiver beneath his touch. A soft whine pulls itself from your throat, hand jerking forward to grasp at the white undershirt he’s got on, stained like always. Jungkook ups the intensity, pulling away with a loud pop only to bestow a chaste kiss against your sensitive clit. “Please,” you whimper. It takes every last remaining ounce of self-control to keep yourself from accidentally clamping your legs shut around him, hips jerking forward as he licks his way down your slit once more. 

His tongue dips its way between your folds, over your quivering opening, as if he’s circling where he’ll pleasure you next. A second later, you feel your entire body tense up momentarily as he slips his tongue in. It’s nowhere near as girthy as his cock, barely comes close to two of his fingers. But there’s something about Jungkook being so close, mouth against your pussy, that sends a shock of electricity straight there. 

“Oh— Oh, god,” you sigh, head lolling back, tapping against the hood of Jungkook’s car. 

The fingers digging into your skin tighten to the point of bruising, his hands growing anxious with every breathless moan drawn out from you. His plush lower lip is warm against your puffy skin, hot breath fanning over your wet folds as his tongue slowly works its way in and out. Slow, painstakingly slow. The speed has you growing restless, legs threatening to lock around his head, pushing him against your cunt until he can’t breathe. 

It’s a good thing Jungkook is the one in control, his flattened tongue trailing one, long lick over your pussy. It starts at your entrance, glistening with arousal and his saliva, and ends at your clit. You’re almost certain you can feel your heartbeat through the bundle of nerves, releasing a loud cry at the way the tip of his tongue flicks against it once more. 

The muscles in your legs, tired from walking all across the city, spasm beneath his ministrations. Your shoulders, tight from the weight of your responsibilities, relax back against the warm metal hood. Every kiss Jungkook places against you has you melting, feeling so unbelievably pampered. “Fuck, J- Jungkook— baby,” you whimper, letting go of his shoulder to bite down on your knuckles. 

Jungkook breathes harshly against you, brows furrowed together as he focuses on making you feel good. The sight of his handsome face buried between your thighs makes you shiver, jolt when he pushes his tongue into your entrance once more and begins slowly thrusting it in and out. It’s so wet, mixes with your arousal and makes this lewd sound that only fans the flames of your pleasure, fingernails pressed against his shoulders and then burying themselves against his scalp. 

It doesn’t take much longer, fatigue and pleasure catching up to you all at once, accumulating in a toe-curling orgasm unlike your usual ones. It’s quieter, filled with stuttered gasps instead, Jungkook’s name occasionally finding its way into the mix. By the end of it, you find yourself fretting over the state of your boyfriend’s scalp, having pulled it roughly at the height of your pleasure. 

“How cute,” Jungkook hums softly, eventually releasing one of your trapped legs from over his shoulder. He rubs the back of his hand over his mouth and chin, transferring a dark stain of something onto his porcelain skin. In that moment, you’re glad you banned the usage of his hands on your pussy. Without anything to hold it up, your leg slips down, the impact of your heel against the concrete sending a tingling pain up your leg. 

“Ouch,” you murmur, and then find yourself demurely covering your exposed pussy, still glistening with cum and saliva. At your modesty, Jungkook snorts, releasing your other leg only to surge forward and knock his forehead against yours. “Ouch,” you repeat, the stinging pain exacerbated when Jungkook pushes himself closer.

“So, what do you say?” he asks, smiles that devilish smile that makes him look like a Calvin Klein model. His hands are at your waist, helping you tug your skirt back down. It’s nothing grand, but your rose-tinted view makes you swoon at the way he manhandles you. He’s dangerously handsome, has you mindlessly wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Say about what?” you mumble, hypnotized by the cherry hue of his lips, and the fact they probably taste like you. 

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, like he’s going to kiss you. Instead, he pauses just in time to say, “how was my onion breath?” 

You’ve never pushed someone away fast enough, nearly impaling him with the sharpened heel of your shoe against his chest. It sends him tumbling back, a rough cough mixed with a boyish chuckle, the dorky kind as he sprawls himself over the dirty concrete floor of his auto shop. It’s as you’re glaring down at your immature boyfriend and what you’re certain is a tiny puddle of motor oil beside his head, that you realize this is your life now. Men, you think bitterly. 

“I hate you,” you announce childishly. You find your discarded panties on the metal table beside a goddamn wrench. You fling it at his chest, only the slightest bit turned on when he raises it up for a sniff. “Mmm,” he purrs, letting the flimsy fabric rest over his eyes. You don’t even have it in you to scold him on how dirty that is, instead nudging his side with your shoe. “You know,” he says, catching your ankle in his hand. He guides your foot over him, surprising you when he places it directly over his chest. “I had a dream like this in high school,” he confesses, making your face heat up. “Think it was because of those 50 Shades of Grey books we found in your attic.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #bts fic #mine #swshd

[agentwhiskeysdarlin]

Permanent

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: smutty goodness my friends, use of spit as lube (is that a warning idk), unprotected sex (as I always say wrap it before you tap it), fluff at the end

Word Count: 1,844

Author’s Notes: this was a request from @sabinemorans​ that was meant to be fluffy and cute and oops my fingers slipped and I made it smutty. I also left a cliffhanger cause there could possibly be (not making any promises) a part 2. I have an extreme weakness for the cuteness that comes with Din exposing his real name to reader but I made it smutty this time (once again oops). I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as the last. I enjoy very much writing for our wonderful Mandalorian. 

ao3 link for story

  The market was not very busy thankfully. It was nice for a change to not feel like you had to look over your shoulder every few seconds. Mando had seemed extra relaxed on this planet and you could see why. It was beautiful yet simple and there was not very many creatures roaming it and the market was incredible. You were almost overwhelmed when you stepped within the different vendors, none of them as pushy as they were in other places. Mando had not went far but he did need to gather supplies and the fact that he felt okay enough to leave you alone made you relax for once.

  Your fingers seemed to wonder to the clothes that settled on a table and you wanted so badly to purchase something a little more feminine to wear but you were not sure what Mando would allow credits to be spent on so easily. You glanced up at the next booth and your mouth pulled into a smile when you saw the stacks and stacks of books. They were such a rare find and you always had to sniff through them to find languages you could read but you were so excited to finally be somewhere they were even sold. You hurried your way over and began to scan the spines slowly. Mando entered in the corner of your eye and you looked up smiling like a complete idiot.

  “They have actual books,” you said almost a bit too excited and you immediately toned yourself back.

  Mando was a lot looser around you than he was with most people. You had forced him to become this way with you due to your over friendly manners but once he relaxed his shoulders and you started to hear more of his voice you were pleased with yourself. It helped that the two of you had been traveling together for almost a year and a half. You had once upon a time been a bounty until Mando found out who he was capturing you for and how incredibly terrible they were to you and instead took you in to protect you. You had grown fond of him quicker than you cared to admit and the two of you seemed to fall into a bit of a romantic relationship recently. Shared kisses in the darkness of the Razor Crest and sleeping in the same cot was the extent of it but silently you knew that Mando’s feelings were slowly starting to match yours.

  “Get you a few,” Mando’s voice pulled you back to reality as it spoke through his modulator.

  “Wait are you sure we can afford it?” You turned to look at him imagining his eyes hidden away behind the visor.

  “I have a few credits put back. We will be fine.”

  You could have squealed with excitement but you kept it to yourself, your smile only spreading wider and you let your face do your talking for you. You turned back to the books scanning again over the spins. You picked several up in familiar languages scanning the backs of them before picking out three that sounded good. Mando paid the vendor and you tugged them in your bag before the two of you started walking to check the rest of the vendors out. Your hand swung next to you side and finally you braved yourself and let your fingers lace in between the gloved ones of The Mandalorian. Mando tensed and you gulped thinking you had made a mistake but then he squeezed your hand back and you couldn’t help but look at him with a smile. 

  He never once let go of your hand the rest of the time you wondered through the market or even on your walk back to the ship. A comfortable silence had settled its way between the two of you until you were back in the ship. The suns had already set and darkness swirled all around you. Mando pulled you into the ship, closed the hatch, and had ever light off before you could even think twice. You almost asked him what he was doing, your heart rate picking up in worry until you heard his helmet being removed and then his lips crashed against yours. He backed you up against the nearest wall his still gloved hand coming up and cupping your cheek the other one snaking around you to pull you closer. You relaxed against him kissing him back deeply. You never thought either of you would ever come up for air put his lips finally pulled away from yours and making their way across your jaw and down your neck. Your head settled on the wall behind you and you panted finding his hair and lacing your fingers in the locks and letting out the smallest of whimpers.

  “Mando please,” it was a desperate whine of wonder what was actually happening here.

  “Din,” the word was mumbled against your neck and your overly heightened state could be playing tricks on you but did he just tell you his real name?

  “Wait hold on what?” You pulled at his hair to regrettable pull him away from you.

  “Din. It’s my real name. I need to hear your scream it when I fuck you,” he growled and then he was on you again.

  You didn’t have time to process the moment, the excitement nothing before his hands were everywhere removing your clothes and his armor. His lips and teeth marked every spot of skin they could possibly find and you were a moaning, whimpering, panting mess completely at your bounty hunters mercy. 

  “Din please,” you whined again desperate for him to touch you where you needed him most.

  “What do you want cyar’ika?” He growled in your ear.

  “You, your fingers, anything please Din.”

  His fingers found your clit and began to rub quick, small circles on it causing your knees to give out and you to once again let your head fall back. Din held you up with his body so close you could feel his hard cock against your upper leg. He let his fingers dip in your entrance and gave you several pumps causing your moan to grow louder.

  “So tight and already so wet. I can’t wait to feel you around me cyar’ika. Been waiting for this for a long time,” his voice was sending chills down your spin.

  “So ready for you, been waiting for forever too,” you let out a chuckle your words coming out barley a whisper the pleasure over taking you.

  His fingers were suddenly gone and you let out a whine in his direction at the sudden lose of him. He picked you up and you quickly wrapped your legs around his waist and he skillfully moved around the ship until he came upon some kind of container that he sat you up on letting you hang off the edge slightly.

  “You ready for me cyar’ika?”

  “Yes please.”

   You were incredibly unsure if you were actually ready. You knew nothing of what he looked like under that armor including just how big he was. It had been a very long time since you had been with a man and you gulped as he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer to him. His hand came down on your pussy suddenly and you felt liquid being spread across it, saliva the only lube that was to offer at the moment and you didn’t mind it only pulled another desperate moan from you. He lined himself up and started to push into you. He was big and he began to stretch you almost painfully causing you to pull in air through your nose.

  “Breathe and relax. If it’s too much we will stop,” his voice spoke softly in your ear before he connected his forehead with yours.

  “No keep going…just be slow,” you panted out.

  He moved inch by inch until he was bottomed out inside you, his body fully connected with your and you took a few moments to adjust. 

  “Din move please.”

  He pulled out and snapped his hips forward going fully back inside you. He picked up to a very fast past until the pain subsided and your moans were begging him for me. He had you slightly picked up off the container under you and you had laid back. He started harder and faster fucking you so much that the thing under you was moving. You let out moans mixed with curses grabbing at the edge and white knuckling it. You had never in your life left this amount of pleasure and you never wanted to know anything else ever again.

  “I’m…so…close,” you panted tears of pure pleasure gathering in your eyes.

  “Cum for me cyar’ika. Scream my name,” Din growled bringing you up closer to him by the back of your neck.

  His pace seemed quicken even more and you hit your high with so much intensity you were not entirely sure what slipped past your lips or what your body was fully doing. All you knew was Din and your high the whole universe could have exploded in that moment and you would never have noticed. Din followed you with groans and your name slipping past his lips. He slowed his thrust to get you both through the high before he stopped and you both just held each other letting you both get your breathing and heart rate back in order. He pulled out of you and you couldn’t help the whine that followed. You would never be the same again and you hoped and prayed to the gods that he would be the last man you would ever know. He moved to pick you up bridal style and skillfully again moved around the ship until he was lying you gently on the cot. 

  “Stay right here but don’t look toward the fresher,” he kissed your temple and you nodded closing your eyes.

  It was hard at times not to look but you respected him and his Creed too much to break the biggest vow they had. He shortly returned back in darkness wiping a warm towel in between your legs causing you to jump slightly.

  “Did I hurt you?” His voice as full of worry as he threw the towel away and pulled you to him chest to chest.

  “No not at all. It was amazing,” you smiled and reached up finding his lips with your own before giving them a quick peak.

  You both settled in silence for a few moments. His fingers traced patterns on your back and up your neck causing you to drift off until your memory struck you.

  “So Din huh? What about the Creed?”

  “I hope some other things within the Creed will be followed soon.”

  “What does that mean?” Your brows pulled together in confusion of his words.

  “It means that I want no one else in this universe but you and I hope to make that a permanent thing soon.”

Tagged: @jimmythegirl​ @harrytags​ @arcadianempress​ @discogrrl​ @immundusspiritu​ @someplace-darker​ @beskars​

#mando x reader #mando fic #the mandolorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fic #pedro pascal #smutty times #I actually love this a lot #carey writes #main man mando #fem!reader

[vegetalass]

can i get uhh, the boys dating a dominant woman/person for the first time 👁👁 can be nsfw or not, your choice! if it’s silly you don’t have to fill it- btw i love ur your writing muah

👁👁 Wow…… Anon, you’re my best friend now and ily… Dominant HCs unlock my sharingan tbh… but my taste is actually really particular and not very mainstream so i really hope that this is what you had in mind and is suitable! Hopefully this is nsfw-enough for you!! 

18+!!!

sorry everyone because i went crazy again and this is super…. Long…..

Lowkey this is me @ myself rn tho for finishing this (although tell me why this sounds like the way abigail talks to john LMFAOOO) 

Arthur 

Despite being the biggest yes-man on the planet, he’s not really used to being considered the “submissive” one in any relationship

He’s big and tough looking, so anyone who can get up in his face and boss him around is pretty commendable in his eyes

Especially if it’s a romantic partner

It’s a little awkward at first because he’s so used to being the one providing for everyone, that being taken care of, or even just having his needs thought about, really makes him 🥺😳

To him, what’s attractive about having a dominant partner is partially just knowing that he doesn’t have to hide anything about himself

You WANT him to be himself, and will call him out when he’s not

In a way, he also honestly doesn’t mind not having to be there for you 24/7

That isn’t to say he’s not prepared to fight for and protect you, but knowing that you’ll stand by his side and always tell him how you really feel brings him a great deal of comfort 

If you fight with him about joining him for rides, bounties or chores for Dutch... 

Not only does it make the trips easier, but it also starts making the sex better

Basically... AFTER WORK SEX!!

(Sorry mom, please forgive me) 

And while it doesn’t happen at first... Once you let the pet names start slipping, he’s officially a goner 

The more intense they are, the better 

Sweetie, Baby, Sugar, Pookie, etc. all have him melting in a puddle 

Especially if you’re nonchalant about it and pretend not to notice what it does to him 

All soft smiles and “Arthur, Baby, tell me where you left Charles’ bow?” 

Yes, he has to pass away 

(Not really though because we already lost him once) 

Once you start sharing a tent/cot/bed.... You have to be the big spoon 

People might disagree with this… But he is just in love with you trying to wrap both your arms around him and the way you throw your leg over his hip

Cuddle him like a teddy bear and squish his face in your chest PLEASE

It makes him feel loved and needed… And frankly… He deserves it

(I actually have this down as inspiration for a fic, but…) I just imagine your relationship being one where you’re the one who makes him take care of himself, where you’re always trying to make sure he’s healthy and you do all the shopping for him and you’re the one to pick out all his new clothes.... And you make him stand still for you as you hold them all up to his chest to make sure they fit him right 

And he squirms when you touch him

He just feels good knowing that people see him being loved and getting taken care of

Basically, as long as it’s genuine, just treat him like your baby and he’s yours forever

John 

HOOO BOY

We already know this guy likes dominant people (*cough* Abigail *cough*)... But I really can’t lie to y’all… He’s a simp

The Absolute King of Simps 

At the beginning of your relationship, just as you’re getting serious and he’s begging to realize you aren’t namby-pamby, you could say anything to him and he’d just turn into a huge blushing fool 

Stuttering and everything when you ask him for things or for his help

Kisses are all opened-eyed, intense, and focused

He brings you some wildflowers that he found laying around and when you reach out to try to kiss him in thanks... 

You guessed it, he passes away 

Once you get more comfortable with each other, if you start standing up to Abigail on his behalf... He’d do anything for you 

Not that he doesn’t care for Abigail, but it’s easier when he has backup and someone around who doesn’t tell him that he’s shitty all the time

Watching you get annoyed when Abigail says something mean makes him feel better

Before this all started, though, he has to admit that he did have a little fun trying to have secret sex with you before you came out as a couple 

Loves it when you start toying with his clothes when he’s around.... 

Do things like stick your hands in his pockets or hold onto his suspenders or belt loops as he’s walking or passing you by 

That thing you sometimes see old married couples do when one has their arms wrapped around the other while they’re doing something boring and mundane like sitting around 

Um... Do that to him

Since he’s bad with expressing himself and has been verbally brutalized by Abigail on more than one occasion, his favorite thing is really just physical contact... 

Especially if you aren’t shy about it 

Okay I’m gonna day something controversial.... Straddle him... thanks and goodnight everybody

“John?” You call to him, though it’s more of a call for attention than a question, “Kiss me.” 

Lowkey this shit has me so fucked up bro 

Charles 

When he first realizes he’s pursuing someone more dominant than him, he’s a little bit… at a loss

He was raised a respectable gentleman, always taught to treat his partners delicately, so when he starts dating someone so bold and unafraid, it’s a little bit confusing to him

That’s not to say he doesn’t like it… but it’s honestly just unusual that he’s not exactly intimidating to you 

Most people find him quite large and overpowering, and never hesitate to question his skills as a natural leader... so having someone around him who takes the reigns from him ends up being a nice change

He just never really knew there was another option for him

This applies to sex, too, as he highkey enjoys sitting back and letting you take charge and pamper him 

He also ends up becoming really appreciative of the fact that you never hesitate to fight alongside him or take over what he’s doing

If Dutch ever sends you on a mission together… it’s over for anyone who gets in your way

He’s absolutely in love with the way you’re able to handle yourself around big tough guys 

And if you have a sharp tongue, that’s even better

The more headstrong and passionate about your beliefs you are, the better, basically

Literally power couple vibes only

Even if you just started dating, if you say anything mean to Micah… he’s going to get a boner 

Even just seeing you fight with people, verbally or physically, is also a turn on

Not even bothered if anyone tries to clown for being into someone dominant 

Cue him: *thinking about all the times you’ve had bomb ass sex* *sunglasses emoji*

Your sex life is basically a Megan Thee Stallion song 

Sorry, I don’t make the rules 

Lowkey if you ever told him to shut up or be quiet during an argument or sex he’d be 100000000x more in love with you

As long as you always have a mutual respect for one another and others, he’s gucci with practically anything else

Micah 

Knowing what we know about Micah… This one is a little bit tough

In the beginning, despite his obvious attraction, he will most likely try to fight with you and try to put you “back in your place”

Obviously, this absolutely does not work and he loses the fight every time 

But once his anger turns into sexual attraction... It feels good to just give up

It’s definitely kind of a sore subject for him, at first

Not that he doesn’t want to be with you, but he’s afraid of being seen as weak after talking all his big shit 

Even after you start dating, it takes awhile for him to truly calm down 

His eventual submission is partially based on the fact that he doesn’t want people to think he’s a bad boyfriend 

And the line is already very thin

Honestly, just pull your big ol’ puppy dog eyes on him (and/or threaten to leave him) and he’ll just sigh and go along with whatever you want

He’s both surprised and unsurprised that it becomes such that he has to “earn” any affection from you 

You don’t really express this outright, but you both know it’s all deliberate

He begins to like the feeling of giving in and making you happy, and though it takes him awhile to get used to, he definitely starts to like pleasing you (and yes, in every single way), as well

It’s an accomplishment that he can actually take pride in

Especially since you started withholding affection from him when he gets a little too high on his horse 

Knowing you’re pleased with him and seeing you happy, along with the kisses (and… more) he knows he’ll receive later, is the reward in and of itself

Lowkey just proud of the fact that he can keep a fighter happy 

Honestly, I’m just imagining him being all grumpy about having to do something for you, but still doing it anyway 

“But Micah, I thought you wanted to make me happy?” Or “Awe, Micah, don’t make me sad…” 

He’s like “Smh, fuck” because you know he can’t resist when you’re being s✨a✨s✨s✨y

If you ever call him Daddy to tease him, he 100% will call you Mommy

Dutch  

Please pussy whip this dude, PLEASE

He literally deserves nothing less

He’s so used to being with docile and private girls that the attraction to you is not only needed, but also very natural 

He notices it at first by the way you stare at him

It’s a curious look, not exactly mean, but not exactly kind either

As we know, he doesn’t really like it when people challenge his ideas, but for some reason, whenever it comes to you… He’s willing to lend an ear to hear what you have to say 

That being said, most of the time it’s just to tell him to stop picking on Arthur or siding with Micah (because what else would it be about? 🤡)

Micah gets pissy about this and tries to tell Dutch to stop listening to you, but you just tell just tell him off, too 

Dutch is always surprised that he finds this attractive

Honestly, being with someone who he considers to be on the same level as him is very alluring 

The fact that you value your own opinions as much as he values his… 

It’s spicy, basically

Most of the time, you have to force him to give you affection 

Not by begging, but by demanding 

Hold out your hand until he holds it, or strip in a place where he can see you but can’t touch

(Tie him up *cough*) 

And when he’s standing around camp, busy doing work or talking to people, hug him from behind, drape yourself on him, or make a place for yourself on his lap… ANYTHING to distract him and to get what you deserve

It drives him crazy, but at the same time, he can’t resist a lil brat like that

That being said…at the same time, he is also someone who needs to earn affection from you

He doesn’t realize this, but you are just as stubborn as he is, and as soon as he realizes he’s been ignoring you for too long and you’ve stopped giving him any attention… WHEW!

He will really start acting like a clown just to get you to touch him again

Especially if he sees you pretending to twirl your hair around the other boys in camp 

Eventually, he discovers he needs to beg for you 

Give you things, call you sweet names, massage you, take you on trips out of camp, have Pearson give you extras... Anything and everything to show you that he’s sorry

It works… eventually… and when you’re finally together… unbutton his clothes and pull his hair to tell him how he makes you feel

 Steal the cigar from straight out of his mouth and start to smoke it... See what he lets you do to him later

Turned on by the fact that he thinks you need him and he needs you, but at the same time, definitely down to be a cuck if you ask

It takes a while, but he turns into a total “Yea, Dear” and “Anything for you” type eventually

Unfortunately, though he likes praise, it’s not fun to give it to him simply because he already thinks he’s so great

No you’re not, King, I promise...

Kieran 

God, it’s really not hard to be the dominant one with him

He’s used to being told what to do, so when he starts noticing his attraction to you, there’s no surprise why

That being said, it’s definitely more of a gentle dominance he finds himself drawn to 

While his general efforts at existing often go unnoticed by most, it’s the praise you give him that really gets him the most in the beginning

Later, that evolves into being praised in the bedroom… But that’s a story for another time *winky face* 

All I have to say… Handjobs 

Also… edge him

Okay bye now for real 

It’s very likely you’ll have to start the relationship off slow, but before you know it, he’ll be wrapped around your finger

That being said, do not abuse this power *insert gun emoji* 

Of course he needs to be bossed around, but it has to be with good intentions 

“Kieran, Sweetie, would you mind taking my horse out today?” And “Kieran, could you please get the washing bins set up for me?” AND “Kieran, would you mind grabbing something for me, babe?” 

The list goes on and on and on... and yet he is happy to do it all for you 

It’s all in the way you whine his name

Because yes, you got him. 

Also, please tease him

While he is a pretty shy about it, he has to admit he loves that the way you poke fun at him makes his heart beat fast

“Aw, Kieran, don’t be shy!” And “You like that, huh?” 

Initiate lots of PDA, since he absolutely loves it but is too shy to do it himself

Kiss him on the cheek, drag him around by the arm, play with his hair, ANYTHING, and he’s putty in your hands

Flash him in public…………....

Praise Jesus

YES, HE IS THE LITTLE SPOON!

Javier

Javier thinks very highly of himself, so meeting and falling for someone dominant is actually very surprising to him

This is partially due to the fact that because he thinks so highly of himself, he’s never visualized his relationship as anything other than with him as the top

Once your relationship takes off, however, he realizes that he actually doesn’t mind being the one who gets taken care of

He is quite spoiled, after all

That being said, he is probably very private about the whole thing, mostly because he’d be the most sensitive about getting teased for being “submissive”

Once the honeymoon phase is over, though, it’s a lot easier to treat him the way you want to 

Wear clothes that belong to him, especially clothes that he likes

Not only does he think this is extremely sexy, but it also means that he has a harder time choosing his own outfits

Plus, he loves a good strip tease… 

Dodge him when he tries to kiss you or cover his lips with your fingers

Then tease him when he thinks you’re done and keeps trying to give you affection

The best way to get him to pay attention to you is by ignoring him 

It’s not as severe or as serious as it with Dutch, but pretending you don’t see him when he’s showing off or talking to you immediately gets you whatever you want

It’s all in good fun, though 

P u l l  h i s  h a i r

ESPECIALLY if you’re trying to get something from/out of him

Highkey, this dude loves cuddles

They’re one of the few things he’s open about begging for

You can tease him for this, but as long as you give in and just… hold him… he’s a very happy boy

 Big fan of spooning but also of just being tangled up with you in any which way… 

It doesn’t matter if he’s laying on you or you’re laying on him

Both are good

Lowkey... do nasty things to him at the campfire

It doesn’t even have to be that nasty, even just putting your hand on his inner thigh or up his shirt is enough to Put Him on High Alert

Pinch him...

Just… pinch him, please. 

He likes it

Despite enjoying your dominance, at the end of the day, he doesn’t mind it if you get a little bratty and demanding sometimes, too 

Especially in the bedroom *winky face* 

#rdr2 #rdr2 headcanons #red dead redemption 2 headcanons #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #GOD i need to be arrested immediately #i started writing this at like 5 am which is why it had to be so long (because I accidentally made Arthur's and John's parts long) #it would've been out earlier but i had lots of hw #even tho its only the second day of class SMH #i skipped hosea bc i lowkey couldnt do my peepaw like that #and sean because it was already 8 pages on google docs #you can always request more tho! #my call for requests only got me 2 asks #so theres lots of space for you to *micophone* SEND ME REQUESTS #either way i hope u all like this bc im embarassed #and while im here... yes u do peg them... but i know not everybody is into that so its optional #I had fun with it though because i love having *cough* boys *cough* whipped #Anonymous #anon

[sikereviewdotcom]

strawberry shortcake s2 ep1 - horse of a different color

this one was suggested by someone who couldnt keep their mouth shut and not sing the strawberry shortcake intro theme in the middle of our economy class

no one wanted to hear that, but they  went ahead and then i actually followed up on that train of thoughts i remembered about the fucking cartoons and i knew it pronto: its a must-see shit its like slightly above the level of magical school bus series, but the final rating is for the fin not the beginning so lets begin this horseshit:

were reviewing “horse of a different color”, it focuses indeed on strawberrys horse, honey pie pony (its her entire damn name, how sweet right? like all of them, i got diabete from this review but its the cost of maintaining this blog anyway, the kids are playing together on a that tree having fun jumping around like chimpanzees hooba hooba but sadly our filly quickly realizes she cant play king kong with them and keep falling on her ass,

yet since theyre all retarded or young (id say its a fifty-fifty case for them kinda normal ig, i mean they ARE literal 6yo) they try several ways of getting her up on that tree, not thinking how to get her down if they ever were to succeed (good for them: aint happening) its child labor too btw, from an horse still same deal what if honey pie fell down on them? crushing them corpses with her mighty pounds? the findus company would be delighted to hear such news, im sure its some quality (sweet ass) horse meat

once it all fails she understands a horse isnt meant to climb a tree, too big too fat its four legged, not even entertaining the relationship giraffes have with trees

but it aint over, then (after a talk with herself) hp hears the laughters of a bunch of kids which catches her attention, it always does who can ignore that sorta noise? although she aint annoyed by it shes just into the idea of riding a bike now, shes even gonna get a go at it oh yea thats it we finally found her human hobby gogdamn shes a backward furry

of course it fails aswell since she has no hand for the handle and shes heavy so i guess its the reason why she rides into w/e and cant stop? because otherwise she couldve also just.. actually it makes no sense does it? i mean she couldve easily stopped the ride actually how is that kid bike even holding her? ive never tried putting a pony on a bike for 6 y/o but i doubt about its capacity in not being crushed aswell as i doubt in the kids bones not being severely damaged after a visit under honey pies horsy buttcheeks

but all of that really makes her sad: she cant play with her human friends and shes the only horse around strawberry land or whatever see me tearing it for her, theres so much emotions in this episode especially after that filly trynna get kids to get into some horseplay horseshit like dude theyre only 6, lets go easy on them, might have a problem with the parents of the kids watching this episode no one even thought how fucked up this one part is? sure horseplay isnt only sexual or w/e but it still is the visual of 6yos on all four jumping around and neighing together with their ass a little bit too exposed wow im going on a dangerous road here? aint i? not gonna sue the writers im sure it was their subconscious speaking probably got issues from their childhood, eventually got them sorted out since 2004 what do i know? aside from me not caring

back on track : after seeing horsey being so sad the kiddos decide to get her a horse friend but where the fuck? they got no idea, they are proud nonetheless and go tell honey the good new until they are like “wait but we have no idea where to find horses!” ofc we get a big reveal, some serious strawberry shortcake lore: actually all the horses, ALL OF THEM FROM THE ENTIRE FUCKING PLANET are on one (1) single island: ice cream themed to diversify it all they are just chilling over there in ponyland and for some reason this one here got lost or idk guys she took the boat and checked the rest of the world out as an even younger filly, found strawberry and her friends and decided now she was a centaur  slash humanrry furry human, idk you get it but shes their friend and so on to introduce the concept of an AWESOME island full of equestrian activity and ofc ice cream but its kinda lame because who cares? everythings already made out of food, also why isnt the ice cream melting? its one water? nevermind for the introduction as i was saying, hp sings an horrendous sounding song it deteriorated my ear drums they got pierced or something  or maybe im exagerrating? either case horses cant sing:

so to the ice cream land they go, huh

of course it wouldnt be a big adventure without an almost broken bridge oh no whatever shall we do? could we possibly cross it safely? lets try it out  guys: yay it worked good for us little stress and suspense it was wack how they got honey pie out of the hole her big ass hoove made im mesmerized by the power of friendship and sugar at this point, just in full awe for the rest of the episode probably over dosed on all the ice cream flavoured horseshit, i got some all over my mouth its dripping on my desk i gotta clean that later

next thing we know: horses its all this episode is about (aside from labor) but you see, so far hp would switch between normal human language and neighing well turns out her other fellow equines can only neigh and so they just neigh together while our english well-spoken mammal translates to the moronic kids who just smile smuggly

of course the animals are having a welcome party then, dancing around while the morons are just bored, harsh one being a cartoon character isnt it guys? w/e theyre gonna ask for honey pie to come back home now, convinced that her natural habit isnt her place and she loves them too much to just leave them and never come back and break any plans they ever had together- oh shit looks like shes leaving forever huh? what a plot twist mark that on the bitch quota for today

the first one to leave is the little boy btw, important thing to note: hes the biggest pussy he cant even face reality: oh no, no more pony back time before sleep thats quite a bummer, downer and man how are they going to survive now they got no animal to watch over them? jesus theyre soon, on the boat (idk where they got it from idk why suddenly theyre on a boat because then theyre once again gonna cross that bridge but ok) anyway yea theyre having a relationship crisis during that ship trip yada yada ah and the bridge, because (see i do not call them morons for now reasons obviously they deserve this title not only because theyre 6 but also because they are just daft:) they proceed, once in the middle of the bridge all 4 of them, to stop and wonder

“will the bridge be able to hold all of us? wont it break? damn i wonder if it will crack” and they talks without moving until vlam: a tree comes and breaks it (dont ask) so now theyre in trouble:

back to ponyland: bitch pie realizes how much she misses her actual friends and that she can speak english which her other horse friends cant do so she is special and probably abnormal, shes a big outcat of the pony society and has no other reason but to escape her incoming death sentence for fraternizing with the humans of course none of the second part is true, she just wants to see the kids again so she says asta la vista baby to the neigher team and runs away see, she hasnt taken the boat and yet also arrive to the bridge? why a boat sequence then? i will skip this for now but it WILL play in the rating, imagine im the parent of the youngster watching this crap and i have to endure it

if it sucks this bad and is this illogical i might just get bored and change the channel, idc my progeny aint gonna be watching this in either case, ill make them watch political debates then interrogate them on what they learned after what but it wasnt actual political debates just random furry youtuber venting with their fursona sprites animated and thats how you make your kids retarded, the kick of this joke is that i aint planning on getting any kids but totally gonna make them watch classics too such as the attack of the killer donuts as soon as they reach 6 so they wont be dumb and probably not getting diabete or w/e in their adulthood

then honey pie saves the kids btw all of them, heavy shit

and they all go back to strawberryland, happily after a big “wow i missed you sm, you are my real friends w/e if you dont look like me i aint speciest guys really!” theyre all vegan too btw so this works for them i havent watched enough strawberry shortcake episodes to know if they ever eat meat but i have doubts seeing how theyre into a very cannibalistic diet which include eating dessert when obviously thats what they are at least half part, this cartoon raises a lot of political questions it may have a deeper value than i first attributed to it

the end: another terrible song plays about horseshit and how tasty it is

thats all folks

so the rating: big 6/10, so you know 5/10 if its a decent kid show where im highly eager to click on the x and get back making jams but nah

surprisingly enough, i only wanted to stop watching half of the episode and not the entirity of it so credits for thats since im an adult and not a kid, imagining kids enjoyed this sweet childish cartooness or w/e now why +1? its because of how many political questions it raised, how it made me think about our society and cakes yknow its more than kids having a conflict with an horse it talks about veganism, specism, handicap, cannibalism, the management of the limited ressources were exploiting and so on yea really makes you think, its subliminal messages to make kids smarter: they watch their dessert-imbecile counterparts doing bs and then get it right irl: good  ah- it also makes it better for you when youre watching this with your kid, you suddenly transcend to another level of spirituality, existential crisis activated or at least reasoning mode or w/e youre willing to name this the point is you arent bored still despite all of this i rated it quite low for such a serious kid cartoon what couldve possibly made me tic? 1) kids are morons and cant understand all of this, not clear enough for the targeted public 2) projection onto the characters/dialogues from the writers of their childhood traumas (the horse play event didnt go unnoticed, karren brown) 3) my little pony ripoff 4) its controversial, our society, especially in 2004 couldnt understand the depth of this shit and finally 5) i got so much ice cream flavoured horseshit all over my desk god help me this is so filthy what a fucking mess i would totally recommand it to anyone who feels like being blown away by the statements made in this work of art 6/10 but really we all know in the future, itll be a 9/10, some ahead-of-its-time-crap

tg, out

#strawberry shortcake #cartoon review #cartoons #sike reviews #child labor #pony labor #art #classic #diabete fuel #reviews

[darkstache-iplier]

Eric (Iplier) Derekson - The beginning

Welcome to another one of my fanfics. Today’s subject, baby boi Eric Derekson. This is just the introduction if you will, but soon enough I will have this fanfic going like the wild fire my heart is for this boi.

Enjoy!

------------------

When Eric first arrived at the Iplier's manor, his dad was not invited inside.

"Sorry, we only get villains, not assholes" was what he heard a man with a big 'B' on his tank top saying, before closing in the huge doors right on his dad's face. Then, he turned around and smiled, apologetically. "Sorry dude, house rules. You can stay as long as you want though, but first, I gotta take you to the meeting room"

"Who..." Eric tried, but his anxiety kicked in. Perhaps he was supposed to know who that person was, or maybe he wasn't supposed to ask questions. He wasn't even sure how he got to that manor in the first place. Maybe it was all a weird dream.

The guy just smiled, however.

"Oh sorry again bro, I didn't introduce myself" he said, raising his hand for a handshake. "I'm Bingiplier, but here I'm only called Bing. Or dude. Or whatever you wanna call me. I'm just the helper around anyway"

"B-Bing... like the... the search thingie?" Eric mumbled, raising his shaking hand. Bing took it in a firm grip and shook it wide and quick. It made Eric's heart beat faster for a moment or two. Maybe more.

"Exactly! We have the Google's here too but you're gonna meet them soon enough. Come on! I will take you there to introduce yourself!" he said, letting go (finally) of Eric's hand and guiding him upstairs. After looking around and sending once last glance towards the exit door, he followed the orange themed guy up the stairs, feeling his nerves kicking in at every step he took. His hands squeezed the handkerchief tight, looking around at the very fancy manor with some type of fright. Something seemed off in that place, something seemed scary, something seemed out of place, but it wasn't something uncomfortable.

It kinda felt like he belonged there... for some reason.

"There" Bingiplier (or should he call him Bing? Were they close enough for that?) pointed to a glass door. Here, things were cleaner, it all looked way more like a business building than a manor. Maybe the floors were thematic? Maybe Eric was reading too much into it all. Maybe Eric had never gone to a formal meeting without his dad before. Maybe he was panicking. Who knew? "I'll announce your arrival"

And just like that, Bing entered the room and Eric was left all alone.

Sure, he was only left alone for a minute or so, but it was time enough to make him regret his decision of going inside without his father. Maybe... just maybe this was too much for him to handle all by himself. His dad could certainly be a little inconvenient sometimes (but like not a lot, he loved his dad, he would never find his dad an inconvenience ever!), but Eric was not good with social interactions. Or any type of interactions. Actually, he was good at nothing at all. And his dad always showed him what to do, even if it was through screams or punishments. He couldn't handle himself on his own, not even if he was in a place where he... 'belonged'.

(But he didn't really belong anywhere)

When Bingiplier returned, he came with a man that Eric found immediately the scariest man in the planet. He even stepped back, feeling his legs tremble and his heart quicken its beats, and even a shiver went through his spine. The man had a glitched image, a 3D effect around him, he wore suits and dark clothes and he even had some weird make up on that made him look even scarier.

He was a living, walking nightmare.

"The last time someone looked at me with so much fear was ages ago. Literal years" the man said, and even his voice was broken. Eric felt a squeal come towards his throat, but he was so scared that not even that made its way out of his body. He just held his handkerchief close to his heart and gave another step back, trembling. "Calm down child. I will not harm you. My name is Dark. Darkiplier. You must have heard of me"

"N-n-never si-sir" he gasped out, with all strength he had, practically hugging his yellow rag with all his might. Darkiplier raised an eyebrow, turning his face to Bingiplier, who shrugged.

"The dude is like that. Scared like a little kitten"

"What a choice of words, Bing. You always impress me with your vocabulary skills"

"Oh thanks boss!"

"I was being sarcastic"

"Oh..."

Eric watched the scene unfold with really nothing to add. He wanted to run away, back to his father, and maybe never go back to that manor again. But now, he was already there, and like his father always said: 'stop being a coward pussy and do your fucking job right for once you freak!'

That usually motivated him to do the right thing.

"S-sorry, mi-mister Darkiplier..." he muttered, cleaning his throat and trying to speak a bit louder. "I... My name... my name is... E-Eric... Eric Derekson... It is... a pleasure t-to meet yo-you..."

Darkiplier and Bingiplier remained quiet for some time. A long time. A relatively long time, at least. A long time for Eric. Maybe it was a short time for them. He didn't really know, he didn't know them. But it was a long time for his dad. It usually meant he was angry. That couldn't be a good sign. Eric lifted his handkerchief, drying his sweaty forehead as the seconds passed by. He felt his entire body tremble like a leaf in the middle of a storm, so scared he had done something wrong, that he had offended them somehow... it was almost unbearable, to watch them watch him.

But he couldn't really go anywhere, or do anything to fix it. His mouth was glued shut.

"Eric, accompany me. You will present yourself to the others" Darkiplier said, suddenly, and Eric was pretty sure he imagined the dark grey on the man's cheek. A man like Darkiplier couldn't possibly blush. And Bingiplier just smiled, giving Eric what he thought was a 'good luck' thumbs up, but honestly, he felt no luck enter him. Only more and more fear. Even so, he approached Darkiplier and followed him towards the glass door. "They may seem strange or even scary at first, but I assure you they will not harm you Eric. Is that clear?"

"Y-ye-yes"

"Good. Come inside"

As Darkiplier opened the door, a whole new room appeared in front of Eric. It was a huge room, with a big TV on one side, and a long table with several places and people sitting around it, talking. As they entered, the talking quieted down a little, but didn't fully stop until both Eric and Darkiplier were standing next to the only empty chair in the room. The one that belonged to Darkiplier, Eric supposed. In one of the table's end. On the other side, on the other end, sat a man with wide eyes and a pink moustache that Eric had already seen before, somewhere. He couldn't really put his finger on it, but he knew he knew that man from somewhere.

"Egos" Darkiplier began, and he had the others' full attention. "This is our new member. Eric Derekson."

As usual, whenever he was presented to a large audience of people, there were no claps. (even if he wasn't sure if in these types of meetings, there should be claps)

"Him?" a man with a cowboy hat, wide sunglasses and a weird moustache asked, his accent thick even if spoken so quickly.

"What are his qualities? What makes him qualified to enter the Markiplier Egos?" a man with square glasses and a blue shirt with a big 'G' on it asked, glitching out a bit as he finished his sentence. Eric felt another shiver going up his spine.

"Quiet, quiet, quiet you all" the man with a pink moustache said, suddenly standing up, and all others seemed to go quiet at his sudden gesture. Apparently, he was the boss, together with Darkiplier. That thought alone made Eric dry his sweaty hands on his handkerchief, before twisting it on his hands, out of pure anxiety. "Kid... what's your name?"

"E-Eric" he mumbled, voice shaking, legs trembling, air missing from his lungs. The pink moustache man smiled in a somewhat gentle way.

"Hi. My name is Wilford Warfstache. Pleasure to meet you"

Wilford...

Wilford Warfstache?

Wilford Warfstache?!

WILFORD WARFSTACHE?!

"Y-you are Wilford War-War-War-War" he tried, but got stuck, breathing heavily and feeling his eyes water up in shame. Oh no. No no, he was embarrassing himself in front of one of his dad's biggest idols! Wilford Warfstache! The TV host, the guy who killed everybody, the police fugitive, the murderer of the family and their baby AND their dog, the game show host, the owner of Markiplier TV, the mad candyman man! THE Wilford Warfstache! The man his father wanted him to be! The man himself, right in front of him, and Eric wasn't even able to speak right?! He couldn't even say the man's name! And now he couldn't even see him anymore because his eyes were so full of tears he did not want to shed and his heart was beating so fast and his breathing was so quick that his vision was darkening a bit, or at least he thought it was, but then again his dad always said it was a big lie and that he only did it to call attention but now he didn’t want to call Wilford Warfstache's attention, he just wanted to cry because he couldn't just be normal and talk to someone like a normal person, and everything was spinning around him and he just wanted to be good for his dad and-

He woke up in a comfy bed, surrounded by white walls and lights.

"There you are, at last" someone spoke next to him, and Eric frowned, covering his eyes from the lights and reaching around for his handkerchief. "On your left" the same person said, and he reached for it, finding the soft rag and pulling it to his chest. "You gave everyone a scare, boy"

"I-I didn't... I didn't mean to..." he mumbled, slowly sitting up, and whoever was speaking to him helped him, putting a hand on his back. "Where... where am I? Who are you?"

"You are still in the Iplier's manor. In the medical section. I am doctor Iplier" he said, and as he turned off the lights, Eric's vision returned to normal and he saw a man with a lab coat and a smile next to him. "You had quite the panic attack earlier. I knew Wilford had some fans but I never thought I would see someone pass out like you did just because of his presence. His ego must be the size of a soccer field"

"S-so it wasn't a dream? This is really w-where Wilford Warfstache lives?" he asked, trembling again, and the doctor nodded, smiling lighter this time.

"Yes, yes it is. It is the Iplier Manor after all. And now you are somewhat part of the family as well, from what Dark told us"

"Part... part of the family?" Eric asked, eyes wide, and Dr. Iplier nodded, a little confused.

"Yes. You are an Iplier too, even if your name has nothing to do with it. You are one of Mark's egos, just like us" he explained, calmly, but nothing of it really made sense. Eric couldn't be one of the Ipliers! He didn't have the name, or the good looks, or the intelligence, or the appeal, or anything! He was just a training actor with some adds gig for the huge Markiplier, that he surely only got for pity or because his dad had enough charisma to sell them both to the great Markiplier man.

He couldn't possibly be one of them. There was no way.

"S-sorry, I think... I think you mistook me for someone... someone else" he said, slowly standing up and drying his already sweaty forehead. "I have... I must go. Where is the exit?"

"Um... second door to the left and then straight down the hall..." Dr. Iplier said, frowning lightly at him. "Are you sure you don't want to stay? You haven't met all of the Iplier's yet, and Wilford is not mad at you, if that's your concern..."

"N-no, I should... I should go. Th-thank you for-for taking care... care of me" Eric mumbled, smiling shakily and waving towards the doctor. "M-maybe I can... I can come back an-another day with-with my dad! I need to go home... goodbye"

And just like that, Eric walked off, taking the second door to the left and rushing down the hall until he saw the exit. Once he was outside, he noticed it was already dark, and his dad seemed to be in an awful mood for having to wait him around so long.

"Eric! Finally! What the fuck were you doing that took you so long?! And why the hell wouldn't they allow me to go inside?! Next time, I am coming with you, got it?! Now tell me everything you saw! I hope you didn’t screw up Eric, this could be our chance to become big in something!" his dad rambled, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him towards the car. Eric walked in silence, letting his dad ramble as much as he could, so he wouldn't say he passed out in the presence of Wilford Warfstache. After today, none of the Ipliers would ever want him around again. It would be a miracle to actually have a new chance with them. They probably thought he was a weirdo, and they were not wrong.

Eric truly had no chance on becoming anyone in life.

And he just wasted his best opportunity.

 ------------------

 "Doctor, where did he go?"

"He left"

The egos all looked at each other, confused and somewhat curious as well. Wilford and Dark seemed a bit outraged.

"What do you mean he left?" Dark growled, stepping forward, but dr. Iplier just sighed and shook his head.

"I couldn't do anything Dark, if I kept him here, he would be traumatized for life" he said, frowning lightly and looking down at the exams he had performed in Eric before he had left. "His reaction wasn't normal, even for an Iplier. He has some type of severe anxiety that I can't honestly diagnose until I have a talk with him, but that also doesn't seem to be happening any time soon. I don't think he will return by his own will..."

"His father might bring him back, however" Google stepped into the conversation, opening a few files in front of him. "From a quick research on the history of the Derekson's, his father is quite the fan of Warfstache, and for the reason alone he might come back with his younger son Eric even if just to get a conversation out of Wilford"

"That makes sense" Wilford agreed, and Dark did as well, soon joined by the rest of the egos. "We will wait for his return, and maybe then we can have a chat with both him and his father"

"If he is one of us" Dark started, his aura seeming to glitch more than normal "he won't be left behind"

#my fanfic #eric derekson #markipliers egos #this one can go on the official tags because there is no ships #thank god #dr iplier #darkiplier #wilford warfstache #bingiplier #this is gonna be a wild ride #derek derekson

[theepitomeofsimplicite]

Hi everyone! Judging from the post on How to Suck at Finding a Sartorial-Self Part 1 & 2 success, I decided to expand with a series of thought gathering centering around defining a personal style that is authentic through various experiences. Let it be travel, a change of lifestyle such as graduating from college to go onto a professional life or becoming a stay home mom or even retiring. Personal style may also be influenced by family patterns, cultural, social as well as peer pressures, financial stressors, and evidently the self-concept. I see personal style as a life long work in progress that evaluates internal motivators (how we feel, what we value, but also what we are experiencing and our confidence level) with external feedback (how others perceive us but also how much we care about what others think of us) and as one of the most important tools to confidence building.

It’s hard to overlook personal style as a way we speak to the world.– Women in Clothes

The birth of a sartorial-self

What if you could understand your appearance as a representation of your inner unresolved conflicts (the balance between our self-representation with that of others’ perception of our image) and then assemble a wardrobe to match the way you wish to be perceived? Your thoughts and feelings may be somewhere laying in your closet; you just have to look for garments to coordinate an ensemble that makes you look and feel fantastic.

Should be easy right?! It isn’t as mundane as you may think after all; this mere action of getting dressed every morning. It may even take some courage to gather around the thoughts of not feeling like to get dressed (a protective armor) to face the outside world (including your own mirror), and just wanting to give up would be easier. Have you too ever felt this way? Alternatively when your closet is full of clothes but yet feel that there is nothing to wear. This lack of inspiration may signal to the outside world that you are experiencing a style rut and unknowingly hint to yourself a lack of motivation.

The goal I wish to accomplish with my notes presented in this series of posts labeled Sartorial-Self Edits, isn’t to further populate the over-well saturated navel grazing indulgent blog post on the internet. But I hope to bring a critical perspective with my first person narrative. The kind I wish to find for myself as an avid intelligently ambitious reader who could care less about superficiality and the circus around social media approved recipe for success but I honestly wished there was more opinions and earthy curated blogs with an actual mind and voice I personally could relate to and feel inspired from. And my eternal search must go on but meanwhile here is what I can say…

But it can sometimes feel as though there’s a serious surplus of first-person writing by women who assert, often indirectly, that materialism is all right so long as its object is archival, or foreign, or handed down along the maternal line—that clothes-related joy is admissible only if it’s a symptom of something more substantial: an appreciation of history, an ambition to travel, family pride. The biggest fans of fashion are, like the biggest fans of pop music, prone to overcompensate for their visceral appreciation…There are many types of self-expression that are more efficient, more precise—not to mention cheaper—than trying to telegraph your soul via a pair of pants, but while it’s tempting to balk at the cliché that clothing is a conduit for personality, I can’t deny that what I choose to wear reflects my values, if not my “mood.” Many of the qualities I want to signal to the world—self-respect, discernment, attentiveness to subtlety—always risk being rendered illegible at a glance if I didn’t put great care into what I look like. And as far as I can tell, there’s been no evidence that caring about my clothes jeopardizes the many things I care about more than my clothes. – Alice Gregory for Elle, If You Buy One Book About Personal Style, Make It This One.

The mind of a sartorial-self

To begin this exciting series, there are a few key notes worth mentioning which regards my background; for some of you who haven’t met me yet or just recently started to hop into my world and reading my blog, I would describe myself more as a tomboy. I didn’t grow up as a typical gal with innate interests in clothes or makeup, let alone finding a personal style.

My background

My mind has never been bothered with looking pretty, being agreeable, or being a follower. What I concerned myself with was having fun adventures with new discoveries and learning something along the way. My goals have been to become a well accomplished individual who speaks more of experience and knowledge not so of appearance. So you can easily imagine that it never crossed my mind before that I could ever talk and write about anything related to sartorial style. Never would I imagine someday writing an English blog like this one.

The important thing about hobby is that it allows you to relate to people you wouldn’t normally relate to. It gives you something important to say to anyone you might encounter in the world. I had never before thought about an interest in clothes as a “hobby” or that this was one of the important functions of a hobby. – Women in Clothes

My interests have always been lying in science and technology. At the age of 5, I thought I would grow to become a great scientist unearthing the mysteries of the world. I still recall vividly how I’d document my research on dinosaurs and their trademarks on their claws, their teeth, their size and eating habits as well as their natural habitat. I’d lay my posters and hand made replicas of their claws to open my own museums. I then happily invited all my friends over at the comfort of nowhere else that my own bedroom.

I love watching my dad fix stuff and was always curious to learn how to take appliances or cars apart for repair or just to see how stuff were made. It’s fun! Later when I was about 11, I discovered that engineering was my path. I enjoyed designing and innovating still to these days. Engineering uses a great source of creativity, day-to-day life observations, a dose of intuition, but also the joy that comes from creating something of your own. I started leading teams at school to design and fabricate mechanical devices and was unknowingly put at a spotlight. That felt glamorous (but unfortunately  not so much today).

I felt that my field of interest came to me organically. When I was 15, I was selected into a highly specialized program that trained future engineers. There, I learned programming and electo-mechanical designs. I loved the simulations I ran to purposefully blow things up while my professor was looking away. Yeah I love experimenting in general and pushing the limits. The sacrifice was more than I was willing to take at the time (spending my saturdays at the school lab was far less fun and glamorous than hanging out with the cool kids) but I only see now that it paid off and served me well in my career.

So as you can deduce, there wasn’t much room, time nor effort I was willing to take for dressing well or being a popular sought after girl for my appearance. I myself thought I was so cool in fact with my hobby in astronomy for instance. I was about 13 and we had opened a new club at school. I still recall how I would go out in pitch dark nights freezing for a few hours trying to catch and photograph a glimpse of the planets and stars. I started for the first time in my life the activity of blogging; certainly not about Isabel Marant or APC haha but about Cassiopeia for instance and laid out my photos accompanying with a short story. I then tried to convince all my classmates to join the club as it was the coolest things to be part of. So you see that my environment was way far off from fashion and style.

Fashion and sartorial-self

All I knew from a sweet recollection of these care-free times is, I didn’t have any interest in fashion and clothes for I didn’t think it was important then. I also didn’t have to amass designer stuff, stuff that owns me today as it seems. Next is that if I was going to look for aspirations, where do I begin? Fashion magazines, social media, fashion blogs?

A problem I’ve always had with fashion magazines is that women are encouraged to copy other women.

The most compelling women are the ones who are distinctive, who are most like themselves and least like other women.

It’s as if fashion magazines don’t understand what a woman wants. I think she wants to be unique among women, a creature unlike any other.

It’s “offness” that is key in fashion, I think. On a more specific note, I find the “It Bag” repulsive. Often I’ll see one swinging in the arm of a wealthy woman in a tracksuit–it’s a charmless staple of female wealth. And think about what a purse really is an externalized pussy or womb. So to have the “right” one and the most expensive one–that sends a chill up my body. Taste is a wink, not a thud.

I learned that style isn’t what you wear, it’s how you wear it… But style, I also learned, is not about strictly copying others, because style is not transferable. There are too many variables.– Women in Clothes

Today as an grown up adult working professional, I realize how important the power of dressing has with my role in societal engagement that I carry a message to be addressed for what I must accomplish beyond myself. So to have a personal style to me is evidently not found in fashion magazines that fail to identify and highlight the core values of modern women; women who are distinctive, who have the freedom to make their own choices, and who don’t need to be pressured upon to resemble each other.

As a young teenager to these days, I cannot relate to and don’t feel aspire to any figures displayed in those known magazines. This sought “offness” isn’t necessarily found on what type of designer’s bag I must carry or any vintage finds I must wear to become the messiah of environmental friendly goddess, or worst yet how to buy clothing items from the all time favorite Parisiennes Jeanne Damas, Adenorah, and Camille Charrière and try to emulate the “It girl” so to be part of the world class Parisian Chic!

Not my sartorial-self style reference and the least my aspiration! Style cannot be copied simply because every one of us has a different body and self-concept. There is no way for instance I’ll break my head to think my hips will ever fit into a 501-less-than-flattering-moms-jeans! Non merci! C’est pas pour moi! No way on earth I could flâne around Paris wearing those deep-V-cut-barely-covering-my-boobs-tops inspired from summer laying around the beaches of the south of France or Bardot unless I don’t mind unsafe situations of unwanted attentions in the metro by some creeps.

Feminism and sartorial-self

These styles are a reference for so many women worldwide sadly don’t reflect my reality. Not so Parisian Chic after all! Everyone has different background and experiences let alone the mindset and life priorities. Today, the flaw I see in the rise of modern feminism is the lack of (diverse) female role models. These feminists talk a lot about marching (nothing wrong or against it) and putting up nice hipster posters while wearing super cool graphic tees then listing a bunch of hashtag for the world to acknowledge how much feminist they are. In fact the #metoo caused more harm in workplaces like mine. (Read Sheryl Sandberg account here). It doesn’t do much in my mind in my world when it comes to concrete execution plans and creating a positive change small or big (read my story here).

I am a very pragmatic person. (Not to the point of the Dutch lol but almost for most situations though). All my mentors, coach, and sponsors are men. Should I consider this a problem? Throughout my working experiences in tech, I have sadly not once encounter a woman with aspiring leadership skills even when they were in managing roles. I don’t respect them much and certainly don’t want to emulate their characters and ways of leading in any ways. Now, do you read my growing frustrations as being one of the very few still standing woman in tech working in a male-dominated environment who lacks of a relatable woman to aspire to both in the media and at work. I sometimes feel so lonely to tell you the truth about this sad fact.

Sartorial-self tribe

Fortunately, I have created a space like this to network with other women and grow from this thoughtful and very supportive community. I feel blessed that I am able to document while searching for my sartorial-self. For a while I felt utterly embarrass to be honest about the existence of my blog and some of the style related posts on my Instagram account when mentioning my hobby to my non female friends. Talking about clothes was perceived as superficial and frivolous as well as a great time and resource waste. I still recall a great friend of mine, someone who had coached and mentored me previously to become a leader and successfully managing teams of more than 30 guys, exclaiming abruptly to me “but you are better than this!!!”

Twenty-first-century women who are especially “successful” in the self-presentation department—fit figures, stylish clothing, deceptively natural-looking makeup, hair that behaves—are liable to be underestimated. In certain circles, knowing how to do your hair is, if anything, a peril—the result of a noxious myth that says working hard to look your best is somehow irreconcilable with having intellectual ambition. To be taken seriously as a woman can require an almost impossibly well-calibrated sensitivity to nuances in dress and makeup: Appear to care too much and you’re a ditz; don’t care enough and your ideas remain invisible to the people who are in a position to promote them. – Women in Clothes

I didn’t know how to feel or respond at the time. It seemed that it was disapproved by someone I respect the most and was irreconcilable to be a successful leading engineer while talking about clothes and style. I was a bit tormented about whether it was possible to bridge the gap. So I felt compelled by this anecdote and thought to myself that I ought to continue writing with my unique point of view with the hope that maybe along the way I could inspire others who were in the same position of lacking a female role model. And so that I can now explain it is reasonable to enjoy both tech and a sartorial-self styling and that by the way I am also a French woman living in California who also became minimalist. Voilà that’s me and it’s ok to be me! Speaking of minimalism…

The minimalist sartorial-self

Since the transition to the minimalist mindset (read here and here), I have been relying on the bare essentials. Having a curated wardrobe foundation streamlines my daily dressing and takes off the guess work to look adequate, the stress, the pressure, and uncertainty away from my morning routine. I became more and more comfortable in my skin for I know more about my sartorial-self. I am not certain if this realization came with age but I am more leaning towards the acceptance of my body and how to dress it. What works for me I keep and what doesn’t make me feel confident with my current asset (no more projecting myself into a future hot me. Jamais de la vie!) out it goes!

Learning to detach my sartorial-self from stuff gave me so much freedom and awareness. As I recently got into a car accident, I realized what was more important for me to worry about. It isn’t certainly about the damage on my car and the repair it needs. After getting off the phone with my parents to inform them of the event, they reminded me of how life was a priority over materials like my car. It’s only when our body and mind are damaged that we realize more seriously about taking care of our health. And that is so hard for me.

Detach from your stuff

Zen Buddhism teaches that in order to be happy, we must let go of our worldly attachments.

We’d do well to cultivate a similar sense of nonattachment. Developing such an attitude will make it significantly easier to declutter our homes-not to mention ease the pain when things are taken from us by other means (such as theft, flood, fire, or a natural disaster).

Do mental exercise to loosen the grip our stuff has on us.

No matter that we couldn’t afford designer clothes, fancy watches, or electronic gadgets. All our possessions fit in a few crates, and we didn’t have to worry about car repairs, home maintenance, or even going to the dry cleaners.

Many of us get the chance to relive our “stuff-free” lives once or twice a year- when we go on vacation. The word “vacation,” in fact, comes from the Latin vacare, meaning “to be empty.” No wonder we love to get away from it all! –The Joy of Less

Sartorial-self style

Its time to see our stuff for what it is… Generally speaking, our stuff can be divided into three categories: useful stuff, beautiful stuff, and emotional stuff.

Anything you use often. And that truly adds value to your life, is a welcome part of a minimalist household. Aesthetic appreciation is an important part of our identities, and should not be denied. –The Joy of Less

My sartorial-self styling has recently been influenced by the minimalist life; something useful and sometimes multifunctional, something beautiful aesthetically pleasing, something emotional.

With my current lifestyle with a 9-5 Engineering day job, I like to mix smart casual, comfort, and functions (that explains the extra layers I often carry more than most people living in San Diego). My favorite workdrobe is made of simple uniforms that shouldn’t distract what I must convey to the world for I care: a well fitted black or navy trousers (preferably cropped), a lose top or an oversized sweater (cashmere are so soft and beautiful), and a jacket (I love jackets, they make probably 60% of my wardrobe).

I favor and appreciate simplicity with natural elements: a straw tote and a plain white linen tee. No excess jewelry other than my golden necklace which is aesthetically nice but I use it as a stress relief as well. A fidget sort of device by spinning the disk around the spindle whenever I feel unwell. No unnecessary excess! No It-bag! No extra makeup either. Just simple clothes and style for a simpler and happier life!

I find my happy sartorial-self in tailored clothing. An ode to my mom’s gris blazer I wear so frequently that it’s seriously falling apart. I love the story it carries about how my mom shopped it in a tiny boutique in Paris where people used to get their clothes custom made to order. I feel delighted whenever I reach to grab this jacket and put it on myself. So this piece can be put under emotional stuff category. Although my mom’s body is surely different than mine (she has a petite frame), the blazer hangs nicely fitted on my shoulders and the sleeves fall right above my wrists. I could say that we style/ wear the same blazer very differently and that’s what makes it so fun in dressing.

I also recently “invested” in a new suiting jacket in navy from the Swedish label Filippa K. The word “invested” in the world of capsule wardrobe is used all over without care that I am actually lost in translation. To me, it doesn’t have to do with cost per wear or some other mathematical formulas. I simply see this piece of clothes as something useful and beautiful in a way that I will wear it often to work. I need it to advance my career for job interviews. When wearing it, I’d like to feel good in my skin and confident. So the fit and fabric must be of good standards. And if it could be versatile that’s also nice such as suiting up a casual outfit (tee + jeans). It doesn’t have to be so complicated whenever building a functional and beautiful wardrobe!

Many otherwise self-assured women seem constitutionally incapable of allowing a pretty dress to be just a pretty dress. We enjoy the cultural luxury of “overthinking it.” – Alice Gregory for Elle, If You Buy One Book About Personal Style, Make It This One.

I also like that “offness” mentioned earlier, something quirky. I love my ramen tee (read here) as my favorite thing to wear. And Taler (@nomadicfille) thinks it’s so meee!!! This shall be categorized as my beautiful fun stuff. I ramen tour with it internationally guys!! Follow this account @ramencraycray to see more.

My sartorial-self style has some androgynous elements by paring my outfits with the borrowed from the boys loafers from Gucci (read here). I like them even more now that they are well worn in adored useful and beautiful stuff. They make my féminin/masculin sartorial-self style effortlessly easy and chic.

Last note, since I got the perfecto which I wear as often as I can between my travels and weekends, my style evolved with an additional touch of cool edge I didn’t have before. I like it for its tough character. Read more on its story here. This jacket keeps me warm enough with a knit under or cool enough with just a tee under. I have the feeling that I will keep wearing this leather piece for a long time. Useful stuff!

What shall not be a sartorial-self

With an increased awareness combined with an appreciation for minimalism, I recently begin to understand what my sartorial-self cannot be. That is to believe that stuff will make me what I’m not. To add to this thought, I shall be defined by who as a person and not letting objects define me.

You are not what you own

Contrary to what marketers would have you believe, you are not what you own. You are you , and things are things; no physical or mathematical alchemy can alter these boundaries, despite what that full-page magazine ad or clever commercial tries to tell you.

Nevertheless, we occasionally fall prey to the advertiser’s pitch. Therefore, we must account for another sub-category of items we own: “aspirational stuff.” There are the things we buy to impress others, or to indulge our “fantasy selves”- you know, the one who’s twenty pounds thinner, travels the world, attends cocktail parties, or play in a rock band. We may be reluctant to admit it, but we likely acquired many of our possessions to project a certain image.

Ads also encourage us to define ourselves through our clothing-ideally, with brand name apparel. These designer labels don’t make our clothes any warmer, our handbags any sturdier, or our lives any more glamorous. Furthermore, such trend-setting items seem to go out of style mere minutes after their purchase-leaving our closets packed with outdated attire we hope someday returns to fashion. In reality, the majority of us have no need for celebrity-sized wardrobes, as our clothes and accessories will never garner widespread comment or attention. Nevertheless, marketers try to convince us that we live in the spotlight, and would do well to dress accordingly.

It’s not easy to be a minimalist in a mass-media world. Advertisers constantly bombard us with the message that material accumulation is the measure of success. They exploit the fact that it’s a lot easier to buy status than to earn it…

They tell us more stuff means more happiness, when in fact, more stuff often means more headaches and more debt. The purchase of all this stuff is certainly benefiting someone… but it’s not us.

Truth be told, products will never make us into something we’re not. Pricey cosmetics won’t make us supermodels… Yet we feel compelled to buy, and keep, stuff that holds a promise- to make us happier, prettier, smarter, more loved, more organized, or more capable…–The Joy of Less

I feel that it’s not easy to deflect from external pressure and resist the urge to buy something new every time to fill in some voids either in me or in my closet. The same way I used to buy things to project myself in an alternate reality of me. How many times I bought things mindlessly because there was a festival or a fancy party coming up and felt the pressure to dress a certain way or a trip I was anticipating and needed a big wishlist to be check marked?!

But I am determined to overcome this challenge by using this blog series as my antidote to prevent myself from buying more regrettable unnecessary excessive and alas aspirational stuff. I am however grateful of the luxury I already own such as my Céline trio bag who is a useful and beautiful stuff. But I see it as just stuff! I never fuss or stress over when this bag got splashed all over with champagne and beers and scratches all over, losing its shape because I must have overpacked it with essentials during my flights. Since I don’t carry a bag typically, this item served a purpose and I like to make as much use as possible and not to treat it as aspirational stuff with some special attention given with neat care taking or to avoid using it such that it stays in pristine condition so I could Instragram it for aspiring others. Euuh non! Pas moi!!

To me success isn’t within the line of owing a bunch of designer bags, luxurious cosmetics, a big house or even an expensive fast car. It has to do with freedom and the ability to take risks. It has to be living with less fuss and be more fun and passionate. It’s the ability to connect either others and not aspire others with things!

And lastly it has to be more intentional living with a purpose beyond ourselves. That is what my sartorial-self aspire to be. This sartorial-self is certainly different for everyone based on his or her lifestyle, passions, background, body, and self-concept, and how much importance he or she gives to the view of others. A gentle note from me personally is that don’t let others or society dictate what choices you have and what you must do to create your sartorial-self. It’s within you to concquer this external pressure and create the life that makes you happier. And I know it’s not as easy as it seems but it’s worth trying!

        Sartorial-Self Edit.01 Hi everyone! Judging from the post on How to Suck at Finding a Sartorial-Self Part 1…

#Filippa K #Minimalism #Minimalist Life #Personal Style #Sartorial-Self #Sartorial-Self Edit #Style #The Joy of Less #Women in Clothes

[eldritchsurveys]

950.

5k Survey XLVIII

2451. Do you roll your eyes alot? >> I don’t think I do. I used to have a lot of problems with people because they interpreted some facial expression of mine as eye-rolling, and for the life of me I could never figure out what they were on about. I know what it feels like to actually roll my eyes and I think I would feel it if I was just rotating my eyeballs around in my head all the time. But this just goes back to why I’d prefer people didn’t try to use my face as some kind of emotional divination tool. It’s not reliable at all. 2452. Do you prefer b-sides or remixes? >> Well, those things aren’t opposites, so this question kind of confuses me. 2453. What makes the world go 'round? >> I’ve forgotten. Some law of physics that I learned about in middle school. 2454. Is Blink182 punk or pop? >> Both. Pop-punk is a genre. 2455. Do you remember Fat Albert? >> Vaguely.

2456. Do you take things slowly, as they come? >> As opposed to quickly...?? I’m not really sure how to answer this. 2457. Are you laid back or tense? >> Sometimes I am laid back, sometimes I am tense. Those are states of being, not personality traits. (I suppose one could consider “laid back” to be a trait, but “tense” certainly isn’t.) 2458. Are you insecure? >> Sometimes. 2459. Imagine you aare working in a soup kitchen. You are supposed to give each person on the line a half a cup of soup. When hungry people come up to you do you just end up emptying the cabinets for them? >> Here’s the thing about that: There’s a finite amount of food, and your mission as a soup kitchen is to try to feed as many people as possible without being so miserly that no one truly feels fed. It’s a delicate balance to strike, but you’re not going to strike it at all if you’re just plying everyone with extra servings because you’re letting your feelings bleed all over the place. 2460. Why can't ywe give ourselves one more chance? Why can't we all just get along? >> Are these song lyrics? 2461. What bands do you want to see live that you have never seen? >> I think Orville Peck would put on a nice show. There’s a lot of bands that I haven’t seen that I would love to see if not for the fact that I can’t abide the suffocating human crush of general admission pits anymore. So now I can only imagine going to shows where the artist plays chill music and/or there is actual seating, lol. 2462. Do you like raunchy songs (like that lick ny neck, lick my back, lick my pussy, lick my crack song)? >> I didn’t like that song much, and I generally prefer non-sexual songs, but there are some sexually-themed songs I like. Puscifer has one that remains a favourite to this day, for example. 2463. Do you think that the Beatles are still the Beatles without John Lennon? Would you want to see the Sex Pistols without Sid Vicious? Did you think that the members of Nirvana were smart to reform as the Foo Fighters instead of trying to stay Nirvana after Kurt's death? >> I don’t care about any of this. 2464. Do you like the band Squeeze? >> I have only heard one song by them, but I don’t even remember what it was or what it sounds like. I just remember their name being on some Guitar Hero game or another. 2465. When you are angry or upset do you know you're being irrational but you can't really stop? >> I’m not being irrational simply by having feelings... 2466. Is there room in your life for one more trip to the moon? >> What? 2467. Where are they now: Your first best friend in elementary school? your first crush? your first boy/girlfriend? your first love? your first lover? >> *shrug* 2468. Do you have a lot of self pity? >> I don’t have a lot of self-pity. I don’t even know what that is. What I do have is a lot of grief for and anger on behalf of my younger selves. 2469. have you ever had something really good come out of something really bad that happened to you? >> Probably. 2470. Do you like magnetic poetry? If you could make a magnetic poetry set: what would be the theme? What would some of the words be? >> I don’t care about magnetic poetry. Like, it’s cool, I’m just not interested in it. 2471. What is one of your secret delights? What gives you a cheap thrill? What is your biggest guilty pleasure? >> None of these phrases mean anything to me. I just like what I like. 2472. Have you ever misinterpreted song lyrics in a funny way (I used to think that 'wake me up before you go, go' was 'wake me up and buy me cocoa')? >> Yeah, I always hear “heavy metal broke my (heart)” in Fall Out Boy’s Centuries as “heavy metal Pokémon” and it makes me giggle. 2473. What are the most popular/overused diary names? >> --- 2474. Are you under pressure? >> I mean, sometimes? 2475. How well do you know yourself? >> I don’t know. I have nothing to compare my self-knowledge to. 2476. Is 'soul' such an old fashioned word? Is 'love'? >> I’m not sure how a word that is still in common usage can also be old-fashioned. 2477. Name a person you love: How do you love them? Let's count the ways... >> Let’s not. 2478. Does your place have a lawn gnome? >> No. 2479. Do you ever wonder, 'why me'? When? >> Well, sure. When I’m thinking about all the fucked-up shit I’ve dealt with. 2480. Is rap a form of poetry? >> Yes. 2481. What's the differance between a player and a baller? >> I’m not sure. I thought they were synonymous. Maybe being a player is more about social status and being a baller is more about economic status? That seems sound. 2482. What imagery do you get from the words 'woodsmoke and herbs'? >> I don’t really get any imagery from that. 2483. How many days until your birthday? >> I’m not counting the days, but there’s a little less than nine months. 2484. have you ever MEANT to hurt anyone? >> Yeah. 2485. What are 3 things you don't know? >> Trigonometry, how kombucha is made, the rules of baseball. 2486. Do you usually feel physically well or unwell? >> Most of the time I feel fine, physically, although sometimes my digestive system is annoying. 2487. Would you ever submit your picture to be 'rated' on one of those 'hot or not' websites? >> No. 2488. Why are there hardly ever any fat people in movies? >> Because of current beauty standards. 2489. Is there any differance between what's real and what's for sale? >> That’s definitely a song lyric but I can’t remember the song. I want to say it’s a Stone Temple Pilots one... 2490. Are you funky? >> --- 2491. Do appologies always make things all better? >> No, and they’re not supposed to. An apology is an acknowledgement of one’s wrongdoing and the intention to do better, but it’s not the end of the story. Atonement is supposed to follow. 2492. Let's just say that there is a huge ass bomb that can blow up the Whole Planet..it is set to blow up in 100 years. You can push the button to stop it but if you do you Will die. You only have this one chance to stop it. Do you stop it? >> I hate situations like this. It’s like the trolley problem: this is not a reasonable situation for a person to find oneself in, so it’s really just an ethics exercise at the end of the day, and I’m not interested in theoretical ethics. 2493. Let's say someone else found the button to stop it instead of you. Do you think it is their moral obligation to save humanity at the expense of their own life? >> --- 2494. What's the silliest name you can think of? >> --- 2495. It's the middle of the night and you are home alone. Someone knocks on the dorr and says their car breoke down and asks to use your phone. What do you do? >> They wouldn’t get that far because I wouldn’t answer the door, lmao. But if we could manage to communicate through the closed door, then I’d tell them that I’d call the police or a tow truck for them. 2496. If a cop pulled you over and asked if he could search your car what would you say? >> I don’t drive so I never memorised the protocol for this. Although I should, just in case it ever happened to Sparrow while I’m in the car. 2497. Are you meek or nasty around cops? >> I don’t usually interact with cops at all. And if I did, my Black ass sure the fuck wouldn’t be nasty. 2498. If you were me and I was you then where would we be? >> --- 2499. What has been the greatest invention so far? >> I mean, most of them have been great, right? 2500. We are at question 2500. Do you REALIZE what this MEANS??!!! >> Yeah, it’s the halfway mark. I plan on being the one person on this website to finish this motherfucker, lmao.

#surveys #survey #5000 question survey

[literateape]

They Didn’t Vote For Trump. They Voted Against Us

by Don Hall

Growing up I went to a variety of elementary schools. We moved around and so I was cursed with being that new kid almost every year. The effects of this were plentiful and included a tendency to find the edges of acceptable behavior, the boundaries of what was considered appropriate, and poking through the natural hypocrisies of any institution to find the cracks in which to climb.

By the time I entered eighth grade in Benton, KS I was primed to be a complete pain in the ass. What I didn’t know was that I wasn’t going anywhere from that point until I graduated high school so those impulses to bend and break the rules of decorum and establish my own sense of autonomy within what I had grown accustomed to being fugacious would create impressions that I would no longer escape.

Being a bit of a book hound and more of a smart ass than a smart kid, I almost always encountered the bullies early in the school year. Benton Grade School was no different. When, in early September, after refusing to bow down to the rule of three of the Eight Grade Ruling Class and subsequently getting the crap beat out of me in a field just within sight of the school, I found myself in the principle’s office, trying to explain that, while I certainly mouthed off to these thugs, I never threw a punch.

He looked over his desk, his meaty hands clasped together over his colossal gut, and grilled me. I was the new kid and he felt it was his duty to explain things to me the way one who keeps the peace by ignoring the realities of brigandage under his nose feels entitled to do. Because I was a cocky little fucker, I pointed out his role in the beating I had taken. I casually explained that these prison rapists in training existed because he upheld the system in which they thrived. And, as was my tendency when being yelled at, I was smirking a bit as I said it.

“Christ, Hall.” he intoned. “You are one smug piece of shit, aren’t you?”

That interaction started the year of him seeking me out for punishments as often as he could and, given my DNA as a rule-challenging little smarmy jackass, it was never hard to bust me for something. Often as not, I was deserving of some sort of sanction but it was the many times when I did not deserve the lumps that burned. The ember of unearned injustice grew hot and the result was an increase in my pretentious arrogance which, in turn, made things worse rather than better.

By the time I arrived at Circle High School in neighboring Towanda, Tom Restivo, the hulking, muscle-bound Italian Vice Principle already knew me from reputation alone. And he was going to have none of it. I decided to see how far I could go and, that fall at lunch, I grabbed a semi-clear plastic glass from the cafeteria, went into the boy’s restroom and fished out an unflushed turd from one of the toilets. I waited until class was changing and slipped into his office and left it on his desk and, like an early Jason Bourne, disappeared unseen.

Twenty minutes later, I heard his voice over the intercom in the Freshman English class I had just barely made it to. “Mr. Warren? Is a student named Don Hall in your class? If so, please give him a pass and send him to my office immediately.”

I shuffled into his office and he sat there, reading something, the glass with the butt nugget still sitting exactly where I left it.

“Sit down, Hall.”

I sat.

“Hall, what’s that on my desk?”

I couldn’t help the huge grin that split my face. “Looks like shit to me, sir.”

“You know I’m going to suspend you for this, right?”

I didn’t know how he caught me but caught I was so I just nodded as I giggled.

When I came back to school a few days later after my suspension, he called me back into his office.

“Hall, I’m going to give you some advice. You can take it or leave it, it doesn’t matter to me. I’m giving it to you because you didn’t do what every other kid would’ve done when I nailed you for the glass of shit. You didn’t try to weasel out of it. You knew you were beaten and accepted your punishment without question or excuse. I like that in a young man so I’m here to suggest something that may help you in your four years here.”

“So you’re giving me guidance because I was a conformist and accepted my suspension without complaint? Jeesh, I feel so privileged.”

He smiled a joyless smile. “Yeah, that’s your problem. That was your problem at Benton. You’re a smug little fucker. You’re smart and you know it and a lot of teachers around here are going to learn to hate your guts because of it. Four years is a long time, kid. I think you’ll be the kind of student who always challenges the rules but you will lose those fights a lot, even when you’re right, because no one wants a smart ass to win. I’ve seen it happen every year. Dial it down and you might survive high school. Or don’t, and we’ll see if high school survives you.”

Liberals dominate the entertainment industry, many of the most influential news sources and America’s universities. This means that people with progressive leanings are everywhere in the public eye — and are also on the college campuses attended by many people’s children or grandkids. These platforms come with a lot of power to express values, confer credibility and celebrity and start national conversations that others really can’t ignore.

But this makes liberals feel more powerful than they are. Or, more accurately, this kind of power is double-edged. Liberals often don’t realize how provocative or inflammatory they can be. In exercising their power, they regularly not only persuade and attract but also annoy and repel.

In fact, liberals may be more effective at causing resentment than in getting people to come their way. I’m not talking about the possibility that jokes at the 2011 correspondents’ association dinner may have pushed Mr. Trump to run for president to begin with. I mean that the “army of comedy” that Michael Moore thought would bring Mr. Trump down will instead be what builds him up in the minds of millions of voters.

SOURCE

Just the other day I bet my nephew $50.00 that Trump will not only not be impeached but will be our president past 2020. Not because anyone on the entire planet thinks realistically that he is anything but a political moron and overwhelming dickcheese but because there are more people who despise the smugness of the Holier Than Thou Army of Identity Fetishists who think nothing of branding anyone and everyone not in lockstep with their political ideology as racists, nazis, or monsters and self righteously adopting the Faux Moral Authority of the Republicans who impeached Bill Clinton for getting his knob polished in the Oval.

There is an argument to be made that few voted FOR Trump but many voted AGAINST us. How could 53% of white women voters vote for the pussy grabber? The easy answer is that they are racist. With the fifty or so recent examples of white women calling the police on black people doing nothing more than existing, that makes sense except for the fact that those viral videos of Starbucks racists are not statistically significant enough to brand millions of people so reductively. It is just as likely to suggest that an unreasoning hatred of the strident self-satisfied intellectual class of liberal, constantly lecturing from a claimed moral high ground, was their unspoken rationale.

Identity Fetishist Ricardo Gamboa wrote in May on his Faceborg:

“As radical activists we imagine ourselves as delegates, or representatives or a voice of our people. But the reality is we’re anomalies or minorities amongst our people. Most brown people aspire to wealth and institutional wealth, are pro-police and prison, think gentrification improves the neighborhood, etc. I think it’s probably more accurate for those of us that identity ourselves as radical activists to maybe consider that our biggest problem throughout time is that we don’t have a people. We’re always in the work of forging radical people.”

I think that sentiment an be expanded to the totality of the self proclaimed Progressive Wing of American politics. “Forging radical people” by throwing out labels and minimizing whole groups of people by skin color or complex choices is what got us here with the most accurate representation of the social media name calling reductionist eighth grader we could find sitting on a hemorrhoid ring with a fat finger poised over a Twitter account behind the Resolute desk. He sits there, in no small measure, because the rest of the country hates us more than they despise him.

I say “us” as if I am part of the extreme left, the hardcore faction of self righteous idiots who believe that identity politics is anything but the Politics of Narcissism. When I say “us” I mean to say that I didn’t take Restivo’s advice in high school.

I stayed smug. More so, I doubled down on it.

I occasionally go back and read my strident name calling rhetoric during the Bush Jr. years and can hear the voice of a Lydia Lucio, a Ricardo Gamboa, or a younger Donald Trump within the arrogant, pompous asshattery of self righteous rage. I then observe in hindsight the unreasoning obstacles forced in front of Obama and wonder how much of that Mitch McConnell driven resistance had to do with a simple disgust with us.

Like me in high school, we aren’t learning that that smugness doesn’t win elections it merely makes us feel warm and fuzzy as if our ineffectual resistance will be noted by future historians as somehow significant when figuring out how to persuade those out in the world of real, flesh and bone humans separate from the avatars of the digital world that perhaps we might be able to work together for the better of everyone.

I really hope I lose that $50.00 to my nephew but I’m not counting on it.

#Election 2016 #Trump #Election 2020 #smugness #Ricardo Gamboa #extremes in partisanship #racists

[theliterateape]

They Didn’t Vote For Trump. They Voted Against Us

by Don Hall

Growing up I went to a variety of elementary schools. We moved around and so I was cursed with being that new kid almost every year. The effects of this were plentiful and included a tendency to find the edges of acceptable behavior, the boundaries of what was considered appropriate, and poking through the natural hypocrisies of any institution to find the cracks in which to climb.

By the time I entered eighth grade in Benton, KS I was primed to be a complete pain in the ass. What I didn’t know was that I wasn’t going anywhere from that point until I graduated high school so those impulses to bend and break the rules of decorum and establish my own sense of autonomy within what I had grown accustomed to being fugacious would create impressions that I would no longer escape.

Being a bit of a book hound and more of a smart ass than a smart kid, I almost always encountered the bullies early in the school year. Benton Grade School was no different. When, in early September, after refusing to bow down to the rule of three of the Eight Grade Ruling Class and subsequently getting the crap beat out of me in a field just within sight of the school, I found myself in the principle’s office, trying to explain that, while I certainly mouthed off to these thugs, I never threw a punch.

He looked over his desk, his meaty hands clasped together over his colossal gut, and grilled me. I was the new kid and he felt it was his duty to explain things to me the way one who keeps the peace by ignoring the realities of brigandage under his nose feels entitled to do. Because I was a cocky little fucker, I pointed out his role in the beating I had taken. I casually explained that these prison rapists in training existed because he upheld the system in which they thrived. And, as was my tendency when being yelled at, I was smirking a bit as I said it.

“Christ, Hall.” he intoned. “You are one smug piece of shit, aren’t you?”

That interaction started the year of him seeking me out for punishments as often as he could and, given my DNA as a rule-challenging little smarmy jackass, it was never hard to bust me for something. Often as not, I was deserving of some sort of sanction but it was the many times when I did not deserve the lumps that burned. The ember of unearned injustice grew hot and the result was an increase in my pretentious arrogance which, in turn, made things worse rather than better.

By the time I arrived at Circle High School in neighboring Towanda, Tom Restivo, the hulking, muscle-bound Italian Vice Principle already knew me from reputation alone. And he was going to have none of it. I decided to see how far I could go and, that fall at lunch, I grabbed a semi-clear plastic glass from the cafeteria, went into the boy’s restroom and fished out an unflushed turd from one of the toilets. I waited until class was changing and slipped into his office and left it on his desk and, like an early Jason Bourne, disappeared unseen.

Twenty minutes later, I heard his voice over the intercom in the Freshman English class I had just barely made it to. “Mr. Warren? Is a student named Don Hall in your class? If so, please give him a pass and send him to my office immediately.”

I shuffled into his office and he sat there, reading something, the glass with the butt nugget still sitting exactly where I left it.

“Sit down, Hall.”

I sat.

“Hall, what’s that on my desk?”

I couldn’t help the huge grin that split my face. “Looks like shit to me, sir.”

“You know I’m going to suspend you for this, right?”

I didn’t know how he caught me but caught I was so I just nodded as I giggled.

When I came back to school a few days later after my suspension, he called me back into his office.

“Hall, I’m going to give you some advice. You can take it or leave it, it doesn’t matter to me. I’m giving it to you because you didn’t do what every other kid would’ve done when I nailed you for the glass of shit. You didn’t try to weasel out of it. You knew you were beaten and accepted your punishment without question or excuse. I like that in a young man so I’m here to suggest something that may help you in your four years here.”

“So you’re giving me guidance because I was a conformist and accepted my suspension without complaint? Jeesh, I feel so privileged.”

He smiled a joyless smile. “Yeah, that’s your problem. That was your problem at Benton. You’re a smug little fucker. You’re smart and you know it and a lot of teachers around here are going to learn to hate your guts because of it. Four years is a long time, kid. I think you’ll be the kind of student who always challenges the rules but you will lose those fights a lot, even when you’re right, because no one wants a smart ass to win. I’ve seen it happen every year. Dial it down and you might survive high school. Or don’t, and we’ll see if high school survives you.”

Liberals dominate the entertainment industry, many of the most influential news sources and America’s universities. This means that people with progressive leanings are everywhere in the public eye — and are also on the college campuses attended by many people’s children or grandkids. These platforms come with a lot of power to express values, confer credibility and celebrity and start national conversations that others really can’t ignore.

But this makes liberals feel more powerful than they are. Or, more accurately, this kind of power is double-edged. Liberals often don’t realize how provocative or inflammatory they can be. In exercising their power, they regularly not only persuade and attract but also annoy and repel.

In fact, liberals may be more effective at causing resentment than in getting people to come their way. I’m not talking about the possibility that jokes at the 2011 correspondents’ association dinner may have pushed Mr. Trump to run for president to begin with. I mean that the “army of comedy” that Michael Moore thought would bring Mr. Trump down will instead be what builds him up in the minds of millions of voters.

SOURCE

Just the other day I bet my nephew $50.00 that Trump will not only not be impeached but will be our president past 2020. Not because anyone on the entire planet thinks realistically that he is anything but a political moron and overwhelming dickcheese but because there are more people who despise the smugness of the Holier Than Thou Army of Identity Fetishists who think nothing of branding anyone and everyone not in lockstep with their political ideology as racists, nazis, or monsters and self righteously adopting the Faux Moral Authority of the Republicans who impeached Bill Clinton for getting his knob polished in the Oval.

There is an argument to be made that few voted FOR Trump but many voted AGAINST us. How could 53% of white women voters vote for the pussy grabber? The easy answer is that they are racist. With the fifty or so recent examples of white women calling the police on black people doing nothing more than existing, that makes sense except for the fact that those viral videos of Starbucks racists are not statistically significant enough to brand millions of people so reductively. It is just as likely to suggest that an unreasoning hatred of the strident self-satisfied intellectual class of liberal, constantly lecturing from a claimed moral high ground, was their unspoken rationale.

Identity Fetishist Ricardo Gamboa wrote in May on his Faceborg:

“As radical activists we imagine ourselves as delegates, or representatives or a voice of our people. But the reality is we’re anomalies or minorities amongst our people. Most brown people aspire to wealth and institutional wealth, are pro-police and prison, think gentrification improves the neighborhood, etc. I think it’s probably more accurate for those of us that identity ourselves as radical activists to maybe consider that our biggest problem throughout time is that we don’t have a people. We’re always in the work of forging radical people.”

I think that sentiment an be expanded to the totality of the self proclaimed Progressive Wing of American politics. “Forging radical people” by throwing out labels and minimizing whole groups of people by skin color or complex choices is what got us here with the most accurate representation of the social media name calling reductionist eighth grader we could find sitting on a hemorrhoid ring with a fat finger poised over a Twitter account behind the Resolute desk. He sits there, in no small measure, because the rest of the country hates us more than they despise him.

I say “us” as if I am part of the extreme left, the hardcore faction of self righteous idiots who believe that identity politics is anything but the Politics of Narcissism. When I say “us” I mean to say that I didn’t take Restivo’s advice in high school.

I stayed smug. More so, I doubled down on it.

I occasionally go back and read my strident name calling rhetoric during the Bush Jr. years and can hear the voice of a Lydia Lucio, a Ricardo Gamboa, or a younger Donald Trump within the arrogant, pompous asshattery of self righteous rage. I then observe in hindsight the unreasoning obstacles forced in front of Obama and wonder how much of that Mitch McConnell driven resistance had to do with a simple disgust with us.

Like me in high school, we aren’t learning that that smugness doesn’t win elections it merely makes us feel warm and fuzzy as if our ineffectual resistance will be noted by future historians as somehow significant when figuring out how to persuade those out in the world of real, flesh and bone humans separate from the avatars of the digital world that perhaps we might be able to work together for the better of everyone.

I really hope I lose that $50.00 to my nephew but I’m not counting on it.

#Election 2016 #Trump #Election 2020 #smugness #Ricardo Gamboa #extremes in partisanship #racists