#like not always i have enjoyed my fair share of well meaning liberal baby's first feminism media. i have a soft spot 4 it.

[marklikely]

on further reflection maybe it isn't out of character that i liked the kens over the barbies when a lot of the joke is how the barbies are all blandly nice and hypercompetent which as you may know is like my single most uninterested gender dynamic for fictional characters

#i shouldn't be saying any new opinions without rewatching the movie maybe fan response & hindsight is biasing me but it's like #oh you have men that are allowed to be silly and cringe but the women are all nice and have only minor surface level flaws? cool im bored #and the human characters honestly fall into a similar trope. the human women have *more* personality but still very little. #margot barbie as i remember her didn't really. have any flaws or do anything really wrong but she at least had desires #so she's *better* than the others. none of the other barbies except weird barbie are even distinguishable smh #i mean issa rae had the funniest jokes when she was allowed to speak but that's about it. #avpost #there's a reason the main barbies sequence i can remember is when they pretend to be stupid to get the kens to like mansplain to them #bc it was the one time the female characters were allowed to be like. silly. and not boring or trying to force an unearned serious beat. #unfortunately the idea of bad and/or cringefail women is antithetical to a movie like this but idk that's the characters i actually enjoy . #weird barbie could have at least been cringefail but she's still. hypercompetent too. :-/ #idk maybe on repeated viewings ill catch more Subtle Flaw Nuance that makes the female characters less boring to me but #it just feels like based on what the movie was going for they were targeting all my personal least fave female character tropes #well meaning liberal babys first feminism media can fall into this trope of goofy men with competent nice women and its soooo dull. #like not always i have enjoyed my fair share of well meaning liberal baby's first feminism media. i have a soft spot 4 it. #but its usually things where the women have conflict *with each other*. or its horror media. so the women aren't all perfect/nice.

[wolfstar-in-color]

July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that. 

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him. 

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things. 

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation. 

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit. 

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do). 

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster. 

Colorfully,

Mod Theo

#wolfstar #disability in fandom #disabled remus #crip remus #please write me some crip remus #I beg of you #fandom meta

[oftenderweapons]

Mold Me New (1) – Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons story

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Wordcount: 3.2k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!!  Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Introducing the reader’s backstory, exploring her life as a wife and then as a single woman who is slowly getting to know herself as an individual person.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: There are mild curse words, a bit of a sad vibe regarding falling out of love and getting a divorce, description of several bad dates and good ones that end badly, mention of getting drunk, mention of sex toys, mention of one night stand.

In case you like my writing, here is my directory for idol!AUs, scenarios and imagines, and in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

I forgot to mention, bc I’m dumb and bc we’re becoming one body with two souls, but this chapter (as most of the decent, edited things I post) was beta read by the magical @joheunsaram​ (she’s recently lost her previous blog and she’s rebuilding it, please go say something nice and YOU SHOULD FOLLOW HER SHE’S A QUEEN ,,,,, my queen 🥺✨)

Enjoy 💜✨

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 

When you fall in love with someone, the feeling is like entering a chocolaterie. The scent engulfs you, full and rich and sultry, igniting your senses, the heat making your skin glisten in a light sheen of perspiration, making you exceedingly vulnerable to pointless stuff, like the way your lover exhales. Or their hands skimming your arms.

At least, that was what your best friend had told you.

You had none of that. To you love was a daisy being twirled under your nose, sharing cotton candy, the smell of crisp apples, flannel sheets, the sound of dead leaves crackling under matching footsteps, a sturdy but shiny steel band around your finger suddenly substituted by a golden one.

That had been the beginning of the end. When practicality and simplicity had turned into conventionality and disinterest.

When gifts stopped being things you loved and became things he thought you loved. And then things everyone loved.

When love became a chore, that's when everything crumbled. When kisses became just a good morning and a welcome back, when there were no more laughs echoing in the kitchen, when leaves kept falling but it was your footsteps alone making them crackle, when flannel sheets kept feeling warm but still something was missing — because someone was missing — when suddenly there was no more time for fairs and cotton candy, when daisies became roses, Love stopped making sense. It stopped having a meaning for you.

You were no longer sure of the life you had built with the man of your dreams, the boy you had fallen in love with when you were eight, the guy who had walked with you across the corridors of your high school, who had made you twirl under the lame disco ball of your prom, who had gone through college finals with you, who had spent three summers making your hangout spot into a home, turning the small old shack into a proper place for you to build a new life together. He was your first kiss, your first valentine, your first time. He was the man at the end of the aisle, the man who would walk with you until the last of your days.

But one day he started running and you still walked.

Or maybe you were both running in different directions, no longer on the path to the same destination, your priorities somehow switched.

Of course, it wasn't his fault.

It wasn't yours either.

You had both participated in this small unraveling, and you had both expressed the intention of changing, of finding compromise, an in-between, without either of you actually making the effort of fixing your trajectory, small habits and old pet peeves pulling you even farther apart.

The attempts — multiple ones — were painstakingly embarrassing. There were tears on both sides as you wondered what had caused this sudden rift that separated you — except it wasn't sudden, only your realisation was; the crevasse had been there for way longer. Maybe it had started as a small chipping the very day you met him, and it wasn't until now that you realised how the small sign had turned into an ominous presence, and then into unfathomable, inevitable doom.

And then the divorce.

It had been disgustingly easy, both parties agreeing on the procedures.

You didn't want the house. And you didn't need it. He didn't either.

Selling it had been exceedingly painless, you had shared the money, since he wanted to offer you stability. He already knew you would both suffer and he didn't want you worrying about rent. He was still your friend, after all.

Going back to being alone scared you at the beginning, until you realised that few things were truly bothering you. At least there wasn't this ghost of a human making you doubt all of your plans. You could plan dinner five days ahead or improvise. You could go to the restaurant as a last minute deal. You could go on long walks without the 'I'm sorry baby, emergency' making you rush back to town.

It felt like a bit of a liberation.

And your family's bookshop was doing well enough, since it was situated near the college and it also offered printing service.

Of course there were bad days. Sometimes you woke up searching for a body beside yours, however that feeling had significantly subdued after you had gotten used to the new bed. You missed human contact, being close, intimate with someone, having someone who knows you that deeply.

And then the true nightmare.

Finding someone new.

You were genuinely uninterested in dating. You had given it a go and it had sufficed.

It wasn't your world.

How could it possibly be?

You had never dated. You had basically offered your heart to the person that has always owned it. It's not like you had any experience in that labyrinth that is dating. All those unspoken social norms and the pining and tension. You only knew the comfort of a warm hug, the beauty of a kiss sparking from innocence and affection and slowly turning into steady, warm passion. You didn't like infernos, you liked candles. You liked the domestic hearth. You liked moderation.

And dating was all about extremes, from strangers to 'I'm inspecting your throat' on date one. And then suddenly it's date three and the same guy who brought you to a pizza place and a diner is suddenly going out of his way to bring you to a pretentious, expensive restaurant as a way to propitiate the possibility of you dropping your panties.

You had allowed this foolery only three times. Apparently all the suitable suitors were either really prone to pushing the pedal or had a passion for tongue gastroscopies.

The first one, Albert, had been quite the gentleman on date one. On date two he started making inappropriate jokes with a heavy body shaming undertone — a bit cliché for the stereotypical gym rat. And on date three he had dropped all pretenses at politeness and had outright palmed your ass in public, which made you rightfully uncomfortable. As you pointed that out, he proceeded saying that after all it was your third date and it was time to loosen up a little.

You didn’t even bother staying for dinner, left a bill on the table and left.

No matter the first disappointment, you decided not to let that disrespectful fool slow you down. And since your best friend knew everything about rat headed number one, you allowed her to set you up with one of her colleagues after she reassured you he was nothing like the one before.

Except somehow he was. The first date was at the local pub, and you somehow found yourself getting along well, his jokes were funny and he had good timing, he was relaxed, confident but still a bit clumsy and shy. He could be a good candidate.

But that was before he pushed his tongue to your tonsils as he kissed goodbye.

You gagged.

On date two he admitted you weren’t exactly his type. You were glad to reciprocate the statement after he told you his dream was having four children and a farm, alluding to the fact that his bride needed to be the perfect housewife.

You were pretty adamant that was not the kind of future you wanted for yourself.

Candidate number three was a guy you had met while grocery shopping, and somehow he had impressed you in an absolutely positive way on date one and two. Everything had been perfect, he was kind, considerate and well-mannered. Date three had been innocent, simple, down-to-earth. And then date four. Perfect dinner at his place. He had made you swoon and he had a very pretty cat he was very affectionate with.

He was the first man you had felt desire for in a very long time — almost eight months after your divorce.

The sex had been decent for being a first time.

And then he had entirely disappeared and never texted or called you back, which didn’t sit entirely wrong with you. You wished him all the best but you were actually glad. You liked being you and doing your own thing: having someone too much down your neck, getting in a relationship, having to check in with another person again felt more like a burden than a win.

Maybe it was just a coping mechanism to avoid facing the fact that he had been someone you could have liked, someone you could have built something with.

You were a happy woman, and it’s not like you really felt lacking or incomplete, like some of your single friends felt. And you had no intention of starting a family anytime soon, no matter if your old high school classmates had begun popping out kids left and right. You were more than happy to live the teen and early-twenty years you had spent in a relationship.

You were getting to know yourself in a way most of your friends didn’t have time to — you could already see them going through a midlife crisis after their kids became old enough to navigate life by themselves, which meant no more need for overprotective, and sometimes borderline suffocating, mothers, who suddenly found themselves with too much free time and too little tasks to complete.

Knowing your needs made you a stronger, better woman, and solitude had gifted you a level of introspection and balance that you doubted they could ever reach; maybe that was an arrogant consideration, but you knew there was no way knowing and loving yourself would ever bring you to crying over disrespectful, ungrateful youth whose only fault was that of growing up out of their mothers’ plans.

Unfortunately, there was no way your family — especially your grandmother — could ever tolerate the idea of you not needing a man and a family to be happy.

“Oh, come on, isn’t it time for you to bring a nice fellow back home?”

You shook your head as you and your grandma took a walk along the river, the sunny March afternoon feeling way too nice to stay at home. “Granny. There’s no people like Grandad anymore.”

“Oh, darling. You’re starting with the wrong role model. Not even back in my days we had men like him. He was the exception.” She nodded to herself with a sweet smile, remembering the husband she had lost a few years back.

“It’s so frustrating. And after all that happened… You know how it was. We were together for years. He was the only one I had. I don’t even know how to do these things. And books cannot teach you stuff like that. The more you read, the more you realise that most of these men had never even seen a rom com.”

“Oh, come on, but you have the internet these days! Can’t you find him in there? You have all these phones and computers and everyone has them, there must be a good one in the internet.”

She always said that “in the internet”. Like it was a physical place.

“I don’t even want to look in there, Granny. There are so many dangers in there.” You shuddered as you thought at the funny instagram pages where the people posted screenshots of the worst descriptions. All the embarrassing playboys and the fishermen and the lame wanna-be poets.

“Right… How can you know he is really is a person?” She considered, patting your back proudly. “You’re pretty. And you’ve always had the most perfect bum of all your cousins. Just like mine!” She grinned cockily, giving a playful smack to your ass, making you laugh loudly.

“It won’t last long.” You said, looking down. Solitude scared you sometimes. Being old and alone could be hard on the spirit and you had a feeling that old hag you would curse your dumb arrogance and inconsideration. However, for now you were still somehow making it through. Your divorce was finalised almost ten months ago. You could still consider yourself just fresh out of it.

“You’re smart. And I’m sure you have a lot to offer. You’re a good woman, and you’re far from being too old. There’s never a thing such as too old. Don’t let yourself be fooled. Look at me.” She said. “I’m still living a good life. Herbert has left me but I’m still here. Walking. Cooking. Drizzle keeps me good company.” She smiled sweetly at the mention of her dog, a lovely large poodle elegantly strolling at her side, its light grey fur finely trimmed by your grandmother’s expert hands. She had been a hairdresser for decades: learning how to keep Drizzle’s coat had been a cup of tea for her and he’d kept her distracted from grief after your grandpa passed away.

Her face formed a meditative pout. “Maybe you should just get a dog. Or even better, a cat. You’ve always looked like a cat child to me. So quiet and focused, like you knew some secret that nature would speak to you alone. You were always so attentive as a child!”

You smiled and looked at the path under your feet. Drizzle stayed unbothered as a loud, angry dachshund walked towards him, barking annoyingly. You had never felt sympathy for that small evil breed.

“I think I could get a kitten one of these days. Or a cat, from the shelter.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it in the internet!”

“So we’re really doing the party thing?”

“Listen, baby. It’s gonna be your first party as a free woman. Real mind blowing birthday sex.”

“I’m not a virgin, you know?” You stared at your face in the mirror, spreading some moisturiser over your forehead, inspecting the small lines there. You shrugged and let them be.

Maybe you would spend your best years single and find a sugar baby in ten or twenty years. Wait, weren’t those called toy boys?

Who cares.

Maybe it was time to get the post-grad you had always dreamed of. You would need to check your bank account before making that decision — maybe finally telling yourself yes could be the real birthday gift. That is, beside the huge dildo waiting in your drawer. Not being attracted to men or women didn’t mean you didn’t like sex.

You just found it difficult to imagine being with someone.

“Darling I’d bet an arm and a leg he never gave it to your right. You just need a bit more experience.”

All you needed was a hot bath, some candles and a good book. No man, no one night stand, no birthday sex could possibly make you as happy as decent jazz, wine and a novel.

“Why aren’t we doing that wine tasting at the winery out of town?”

“Because I want you choking on cheap alcohol, having all the fun you didn’t have on your twenty-first birthday because you were planning your own wedding. And I bet you’re the only one who wasn’t fucked in the bathroom of the Wickhead.”

Terry could be incredibly crude, but you loved her nonetheless. You loved her even more for it. She had never hidden anything from you, she had told you even the most embarrassing details of her own life. And she had always been the kindest, most faithful friend: she had driven you way out of town when you were eighteen and your period was late and you needed to buy a pregnancy test without all everyone and their dog knowing; she had chosen your wedding dress for you, spotting it and telling you it was going to be the one before you could even see it. When your marriage had started crumbling, she had spent countless nights with you, keeping you company when your husband was busy with his business trips. Though Terry had insinuated cheating, you knew he would never break your trust like that, and she had decided to trust your better judgement.

You had simply fallen out of love with each other.

And when you had moved into your new apartment, Terry had helped you repaint the walls and build the extra bookcases and install the shelves and fill your wine stand. Before leaving she had grabbed an unfamiliar box from her car, placing it on top of your bed, opening it and spreading out a set of “single necessaire”, as she called it. A couple toys, lube, condoms. To celebrate your re-found sexual promiscuity, she had said, though you objected, it was hard rediscovering something you had never had.

She had shaken her head and left you to “familiarise” yourself with everything.

“You know I’m not exactly a party person, Terry. This will end badly.” You said, sitting on your bed with your back against the headboard, your legs stretched out before you.

“You can allow yourself some fun once in a decade, you know?” You could hear her scoff on the phone.

“But I do have fun. Book. Wine. Bingo!” You explained, rolling your eyes as the booed.

“Come on, do it for me. Do it for your single friend who wants to get drunk and possibly sixty-nine? Please?” The other thing wrong with Terry is that if you ever met her in person, you would face the sweetest five foot three and a half — she insisted on the half — human being you could ever meet, with pretty wavy blonde hair and wide, sweet green eyes, the most boopable button nose and a sprinkle of freckles on her golden skin. She literally glowed in sunlight and her flowy gowns always made her look like a goddess: you could see men fighting for her, dying for her and going to war for just one of her gentle smiles.

“Don’t you have a FWB for that sixty-nine thingie?” You asked with an exceedingly inquisitive tone. It had been a while since she last updated you.

“Dumped him.” She replied curtly.

You tutted before exhaling. Emotionally constipated people — what’s wrong with them?

“He’s dating someone since he was ready for a relationship.” Terry sounded a bit colder than usual.

“And you weren’t?” You asked. You felt your tone hesitate with slight concern. You knew she would just put up a wall and ignore your question.

Fortunately, she didn’t. “I’m not ready to talk about that. It’s complicated, Frog.”

She was hurt and wanted a distraction.

“Okay, Terry. We’re going to get rip roaring drunk this Saturday.”

The line went silent.

“You know I love you right?”

“I love you too, sweetie. Now go to sleep, you have an early shift tomorrow.”

The line went silent after you bid each other goodnight, your body settling underneath the sheets once you realised your eyes were fluttering shut  as you tried to read a few pages to put yourself to sleep.

Placing down the book, you hugged the extra pillow, settling your face in the corner between your sleeping pillow and your spare one, the heavy woolen comforter acting like a weighted blanket. You placed another pillow behind your back, making a soft cocoon all around you.

Yes, sometimes you still missed being hugged to sleep.

The taglist is open!

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

#taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fanfiction #thetruthuntoldnet #thebtswritersclub #Taehyung strangers to lovers

[yekistraight]

Hey, could you explain what being a feminist means? I’ve heard all these terms before, and there’s this huge stigma around it. So do you think there’s a way you could clarify at least what your beliefs are, and what you believe it to be? I’m simply trying to study stuff and see what it’s become or is. Thank you.

Sorry I wrote so much i just wanted to make it comprehensive:

General definition of feminist is someone who believes in the socio-economic equality of the sexes. In the beginning this was a straightforward ideology to follow. Women needed to be equal to men. It’s only fair, there’s no reason not to be. But sharing power is not something the ruling majority particularly enjoys so there’s been some bumps in the road. Decades and decades of bumps.

The feminists of the past started this push a long time ago with one message: “we want to be taken seriously, we are humans too and we need rights that benefit us and protect us from you[men]” and they were right. Sex based crimes against women were happening at an alarming rate. So much so that it had become part of some cultures and traditions, meaning it would be defended and men would be protected while women basically died, physically and socially. Women lived in fear and helplessness, being sold a dream of subservience promoted by religion and ego in exchange for protection from men. What about the women that still, despite the odds, wanted to choose a different path? Well, they were brave enough to step out of line and others followed. They exist throughout history, inspiring other women will their bravery and confidence, proving that it was possible to have the power and authority that men had. Now imagine giving every woman that access to power? They’d have everything right? Well feminism didn’t start like that (it was racially exclusive actually) but fortunately the ideologies spread out through cities, across oceans and into continents where women wanted, no, NEEDED such power; the power to change their destinies that had been set upon them by another mere human being.

So feminism is like a sisterhood, where we’re only related by a common goal to protect each other while trying to defeat our common enemy. Here’s where the simplistic ideology begins to mutate based on strategy and cultural progression.

Feminism is a sisterhood, but not a monolith. There’s been different waves (eras) of feminism where each sisterhood used different tactics to achieve their goals for equality. Its like making a new checklist after the old one gets checked off. However there’s been one item that still needs a lot of work before ticking off and that’s dismantling gender roles. Gender roles are the root cause of every.single.thing. Toxic masculinity, performative femininity. Gender roles were created to control humans and keep them in their place. For a feminist to push her way into male dominated spaces, she must first acknowledge that gender roles have been constructed to work against her and break through it. So take note, everything is the way it is because of gender roles.

In this era, the sisterhood has been split into two major groups, two warring tribes if you will: libfems and radfems.

Liberal Feminists accept everyone. They use the tactic of assimilation, where they water down feminist ideologies to make it inclusive for everyone. They follow the lead of oppressed minorities who reclaimed slurs and instead reclaim methods tused to oppress women that past waves of feminists fought to dismantle. Remember what I said about gender roles? These women are bringing it back and think they’re reclaiming it. How do you reclaim something that hasn’t been dismantled yet?The only power they’re concerned with is the feeling of superiority that comes from thinking bowing down to the patriarchy is their idea. Their feminism tackles issues like rape, victim blaming and misogyny, things that affect them personally, while taking on the burden of other marginalised groups as their own, pushing their own goals to the backseat while feeling a self-righteous high. Basically, they’re activists who have lost the plot but would keep pushing blindly than admit it. The second group was born from libfems that wanted more than a feel good pat on the back from the patriarchy for not being too interfering.

Radical feminists are still following the original objective of their predecessors. They still have their eyes open to sex-based oppression and are aware there’s still a lot of work to be done. They don’t put the opposite sex’s needs above their own or let other group’s ideologies influence theirs and because of this, other groups as well as libfems have dubbed them as enemies to progress. Ironic isn’t it? The group that still fights for sexual equality has been silenced by none other than their own. Of course hatred for this group of feminists didn’t come out of nowhere. Radfems and their female-only values are presumed to hurt trans women, as trans women are biologically male and don’t have the same sex based experiences as biological women. Trans activists took these as transphobic fighting words and ostracised radfems, silencing them and their ideologies, claiming that everything they fought for was an attack against the trans community. Conservative americans also share some radfem values, basically the one on keeping the movement focused on female only issues, and because the right is notoriously bigoted (ironic because conservatives are the ones who uphold the gender roles feminists fight against so a conservative feminist is paradoxical) this is enough to tell people that radfems can’t be trusted. That they’re all racist, transphobic white supremacists. Because all groups that share similar ideologies are bad. The public, not wanting to be on the Unpopular Opinion side of history, shifted away and further pushed radfems into the background while libfems and their blind acceptance values were hailed as the patron saints of feminism.

So what feminism was and what it is now are vastly different. It started as a movement in different countries with different goals, then it graduated and took on more serious topics. It was like a game where every level gets tougher to prepare you for that last boss, the one who holds all the power you need to physically change your reality.

Today in the year 2021, young girls are being told that it’s feminist to enjoy selling their bodies for money. That it’s the same as working in a mine (a common comparative statement). That it’s feminist to look as womanly as the gender roles men created dictate. That it’s feminist to watch porn and be happy your romantic partner watches it to; this means you’re sexually liberated. Grown women go to Tiktok full of minors in the style of pimps to show off stacks of money they’ve made from pleasing men. They say “i did it because i wanted to and so should you”. Minors are all over twitter trying to lure men with financial dominatrix tags. They can’t wait till they become legal to start selling their nude bodies to men. They were told it would make them feel powerful. People who are skeptical are shamed into silence, because the popular crowd is always in control and no one wants to be the odd one out.

Now compare that to women who spend time researching horrifying news of sexual violence still happening today. Women still having to sell themselves to survive in 2021 is a clear indicator that we’re still not taken seriously. Sex buying, pimping and displaying women as commodities is the reason little girls are being stolen off the streets and shipped off to a disgusting dreg who think he’s owed sexual satisfaction.

Radfems want to end child sex trafficking, sex slavery, wedding night virginity checks, honour killings, femicide, sewing up little girls vaginas to avoid them exploring their sexuality before their wedding night and bring attention to way more hardcore shit being run by top dogs who are cooperating with the old powers that influence the governments.

Whose side do you think the media will be on? Whose side is worth not risking ruffling feathers?

Feminism has become many things now. You can choose the one that reminds you of the cruelty of man or the one that creates a comfortable fantasy of false empowerment while women’s violence continues. Both get stigmatised anyway.

If it wasn’t obvious already, I’m a radical feminist.

I’m an autistic radfem living in a backwards country where the lgbt community can’t thrive so there’s no pride parades, no trans movement, nothing that can be publicised anyway. I can’t create a fantasy where everything works because nothing works. Women are dying around me everyday for being female, my best friend is trapped with an abusive father who hates her for being a female firstborn (something babies get killed for), I’m not worthy of basic respect without a husband, a poor woman from a muslim state gets death threats from her fellow muslims for wearing a backless top while a rich married one gets praised and women can’t apply for anything important without a man’s permission.

Now why on earth would i want to pamper the gender that made and uphold those laws? The battle here is still greatly a battle of the sexes. Despite this stale level of progress, our movement, like many others have allies. Male allies are great, allies are great, we need them to push buttons yes but also remember they can never fully understand what we feel. All they can do is try their best to help and in return we give them acknowledgement and support; so no we’re not supposed to be misandrists or transphobes. We just hate anyone who uplifts what we and our ancestors have been fighting to destroy.

That’s all

#radfems do interact #radical feminism #feminism #terf

[danksimstho]

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Johnny invited Ophelia, Ripp, Chloe, Lola, Pascal, Lazlo, Vidcund, and River Smith, but only Ophelia, Ripp, and River showed up. It was a small party, but his Mom and Dad we’re there. Jill was loving the party, not letting herself think about Johnny’s approaching departure.

After spending time cavorting with his family Johnny went out to the porch and found his guests. He chatted with Ripp and Ophelia on the porch while River went on in and danced with Jill.

Eventually Johnny had to vent all his nervous energy so he asked Ripp to dance. He was paying particular attention to Ripp since he was planning on moving in with Ophelia in college, so he knew this time with Ripp was important.

They played video games and Johnny was awesome with them as always. Ripp never complained about not knowing the game, he just smiled along and enjoyed playing with his friend.

Ophelia had just gotten a big style change, thanks to moving on campus. She had a bit of her aunt’s money to rent out student housing and she already used some of it on hair extensions and getting someone to braid them. Johnny and Ripp thought she looked so hot they were almost intimidated. She had also reached a growth spurt and was tall and fierce. She looked so confident you couldn’t tell she had bad anxiety and was worried about why her boyfriend was seemingly distancing from her.

“Are you gonna miss your sister?”

“Yeah, I might miss her most of all. Who’s gonna pick on her if I’m not around? Who’s gonna stick up for her? Who’s gonna teach her all the stuff a big brother does? I hope they invite me over often.”

“You’re gonna miss her more than me?” Ripp asked. “You bet your sorry ass I am! She’s my sister! I love her to bits!”

“I’m sure its gonna be hard on her without you. I know its gonna be harder on me and Buck now that Tank’s off to college.”

“Tank went to college? Where to?”

“La Fiesta Tech.”

“Damn, that’s the same one me and Phe are going to. I’ll probably see him around, then.”

“Well at least you’re in student housing, so he won’t be at your dorm.”

“True.”

The party ended and the guests went home, so Johnny hugged his father goodbye and Jenny waved him off as Ophelia joined him in the taxi.

“I’m so happy you’re here.” Said Ophelia. “I was really nervous living on my own. I’m not used to the quiet. It’s so much warmer in this house, I haven’t shivered in my sleep. There’s not much in the house but I’d still like to show you where everything is.”

“Sure babe. I think I’m gonna love living here. I mean, you’re here, right? What could be better?”

“Just check out the rug under the bed! I know how you love sports cars…”

She lead Johnny to the bedroom and showed him where she put everything, then she brought him to the bathroom and showed him his toothbrush.

“Dear Diary” He began. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? It’s been so long that I aged up and moved out to college. I’m in my first semester at La Fiesta Tech and I’m living with my highschool girlfriend, Ophelia. You remember her. After Ophelia stepped up her look I decided to wear something less baggy. “This sounds silly but I didn’t want people to think I was her loser boyfriend. There’s another alien here, I caught sight of her on campus. She had short black hair and long winged eyeliner. Even more strange, she had alien eyes. But it’s Strangetown, or well, near it anyway. The campus on a whole seems pretty Liberal, comprised of a fair amount of counter-cultural students. I think I’ll fit in great here, although I might need to set up a better space for outdoor parties.

“Whenever we get the chance I think I’d like to go clubbing. There’s a lot of community lots around here for the students to gather and I love meeting new people. Plus, there’s dancing, and I’m wild about that. “I heard there was a breakdancing club somewhere on campus? Maybe I can get into that at home. These student loans are kind of crushing us, though. I’d love to get a job but there’s not really time for one. Maybe I can write home for some more money.

“I found out mom quit her job on my birthday. How are they gonna take care of Jill with two stay at home parents? At least Dad gets retirement checks. Maybe it’ll be alright.”

Ophelia had loved reading ever since she was a kid, escaping into worlds unknown, then coming out with knowledge she could share with others. She thought Literature would be her perfect Major. She navigated to her school’s home page and registered her major.

“Hey honey I just got done registering my major, have you decided on your yet?”

“Nah but I don’t want biology, that’s for sure.”

“Why not?”

“You know, the students might wanna poke n prod at me.”

“What about literature? That way we can have all the same classes.”

“Mmm… Maybe. It was one of my top picks but I’m just not sure yet.”

“That’s cool, you have time to figure it out. Well, as long as you don’t switch mid-way or later.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“So… It’s our first night together in our new house.”

“So it is.”

After they talked some more Johnny invited his mother over to see their new place while Ophelia made dinner. She was so proud of him and happy to see him.

“You’re all grown up now!”

“I know, mom.”

“It seems like yesterday you were my baby boy. You looked like a little green squid, your father and I were so worried, but now you’re all grown and healthy and strong.”

He flexed “Yep, super strong! I can beat up any burglar that comes here!”

“Oh I don’t want to think of any burglars! You both barely have anything to steal.”

“That’s kinda rude mom, we’re trying our best.”

“I know, dear, but you should have at least taken your desk from home.”

“Jill uses it more than I do. I thought you could make use of it. I definitely don’t need another bed, me and Ophelia are sleeping together.”

“Oh I suppose you would. But what about Ripp?”

“Huh?”

“I thought he might move in with you after he goes to college.”

“Well, between you and me mom, he’s kind of failing highschool.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. He’s such a talented boy. It must be all those fights he gets in.”

“Err… Well… He’s not exactly picking the fights. He’s being bullied.”

“Have I heard of this bully?”

“I’d rather not say, mom.”

“Alright, alright, don’t tell your mother anything, see what that get’s ya.”

Johnny rolled his eyes.

“You’re so silly mom.”

“I am. Hey, are you too old for a… tickle monster?!”

Soon enough it got late and Johnny and Ophelia retired to bed. The next morning they were both rested but stayed in eachother’s arms to enjoy the morning.

“This is my ‘Phe’s making me Breakfast’ Dance”

“Sweet moves.”

“Thanks. Whatcha cookin’?”

“Toaster pastries. There’s not much in the cabinets unfortunately.”

“Ah. So It’s Pasta and Pancakes, eh?”

“We’d be lucky to get pancakes.”

“I’m used to my dad’s cooking. He was always really good.”

“I bet he had a lot of time at home to work on those skills.”

“You might be surprised. Alien kids can be a real handful.”

“I hope not. I’d like to have some own of mine someday.”

“You would?”

“Yes, I love children, and I love you.”

“Well, I love children too, but… We should give it time.”

“Ideally we’d finish college first.” She said.

“What about Ripp?”

“Are you asking if I want human babies?”

“No! I mean, if Ripp does move in with us, how will that work with kids?”

“I can’t imagine it would be all that different. Could be better than a two parent household. Three heads are better than one.”

“I don’t know if he want’s any. He’s always struck me as the type who can’t be tied down.”

“He loves kids, Johnny. He’s been looking for a proper family ever since his mom left.”

“You too, huh? I mean, when your family died….”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” She frowned. “Food’s ready.”

“I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. I shouldn’t bring stuff like that up without a warning.”

“Well I talk about it in therapy. I’m excited to get to see my therapist more, now that I’m paying for it.”

“It’s still your aunt’s money.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t kill her.”

“Thanks for the breakfast, by the way.”

“You’re welcome. Do you wanna cook next time?”

“Sure, I’ll cook supper. I need to get better at cooking for class anyway.”

“I don’t need cooking skill for my classes but it might be good for motherhood.”

“Always thinking ahead, my girlfriend.”

“That’s not true. You keep me in the moment.”

They shared a peck.

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#sims story #the sims 2 #strangetown #johnny smith #ripp grunt #ophelia nigmos #sims 2 jro #sorry i didnt finish this i have to upload it because my word document isnt working anymore #sims 2 story

[slxyangel]

Misplaced (Slash x Reader)

Summary: So he won’t let you drive his car? Okay then, he’s gonna suffer...

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: A LOT of smut.

A/N: Read this if you’re horny. And if you aren’t read it too, you’ll end up horny.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

Masterlist: https://slxyangel.tumblr.com/post/189625800403/masterlist

Your hands held the steering wheel as tight as they could and you felt the hem of your pulled down black lace panties pressed against the middle region of your thighs. A grin was spreading wide on your face. You were sure that, if you looked down, you would be able to see the fabric peeking under your awfully short dress, but you were already distracted enough and you didn't want to have an accident, so your eyes were strictly on the road. Instead, Slash's were looking at you so intensely that you felt the side of your head starting to burn. You knew you were being naughty, but at this point there was no turning back. Oops.

When you stepped out of the restaurant after dinner it had costed you a lot to convince him to let you drive his Corvette, but after some of his whining and some of your necessary emotional bribing he had acceded. Now, for the inconveniences, you were decided to make him suffer a little bit, so in the 15 seconds it took him to reach the passenger's door and get in the car you had pulled your panties halfway down your legs, just enough to let him see they were “out of place”.

You were pretty surprised that during the first half of your way home didn’t realize. He was too busy focusing on any minimum scratch you could potentially inflict on his four-wheeled baby just because you weren't him. But the moment he laid his eyes on your misplaced lace underwear… oh, lord save us all, he went fucking feral.

- If your pussy is wet and the upholstery of my car ends up stained you and me are going to have a problem.

- You said "if" as if you had a doubt my pussy is actually wet. Do you have it?

- What are you, teasing me?

- I asked you first.

You were pushing his limits far beyond control point, and you were having genuine fun. In your entire twenty-three years of life you hadn’t met a soul who was as “teasable” as Slash, more specifically as horny-Slash, and that gave you life. You two were always playing this kind of games, testing each other’s ground, pulling each other’s strings, so there was nothing new about this situation, but still it was useful for keeping the flame alive. After a moment of silence, when you thought he wasn’t going to say anything else, he spoke very quietly yet very clearly:

- As soon as we get home, I’m going to shove you against the table so hard that you are going to have a back pain for two weeks.

Holy shit. Well, if your cunt wasn’t soaking two minutes ago, now it definitely was. Maybe he was going to have to shove you against the desk too. Or the kitchen counter. Or the wall.

You parked in the garage of the penthouse you two shared, and the 18-floor way up in the lift seemed even slower than usually. Wth your dress considerably up and your underwear considerably down, you were looking into his eyes and he was looking into yours, extremely close but not touching each other; vibrating with energy, both unwilling to break the tension that could be cut with a knife, both determined to play that game. It costed you big time to introduce the key in the lock with Saul hovering behind you, but when you did and the door closed behind his back, there was no way out of that one.

His lips crashed into yours with the strength of a wrecking ball, fiercely, even angrily, and of course you corresponded. In zero seconds he removed his jacket and t-shirt and continued kissing you. You were so deep into the kiss that he caught you off-guard when his hands suddenly moved to the sides of your thighs. He grabbed the hem of your panties and pulled them up violently. And up, and up, and up. You felt the fabric pressing against your throbbing core as your tiptoes almost levitated over the floor and you were holding onto his bare shoulders. An uncontrollable shudder climbed up your spine and he whispered in your ear:

- This is how you learn not to misbehave.

Little bastard. He held you from the back of your thighs and pulled you up, carrying you away from the hall and into the living room. You took advantage of the position of slight superiority of your head and with a quick twist you bit the side of his neck, sucking and leaving a tiny mark, visible in the dim light coming from the window. He grumbled in surprise and left you on the floor right away, your lips shining with a victorious grin. He looked back at you with daring eyes: “So you wanna play, huh? Okay, so be it.”

The big dining table that filled a fair part of the room was behind you, almost in contact with your lower back, and he seemed to realize that at the same time you did, because the moment you exchanged looks, he sharply pushed you against it, kissing you with renewed desire. Now your ass was sitting on it with your dress barely even there to separate your skin from the wooden surface. His hands traveled straight to your hips, pulling up the skirt and acceding to your panties. As you concentrated in the task of undoing his belt, you were surprised by the sound of ripped fabric and the sudden feeling of fresh air on your wet pussy. That motherfucker had destroyed your favourite underwear with a snap. He sure as hell wasn’t going to get away with it, you’d come up with something.

However, you had more important things to focus on at the moment, meaning his pulsating cock, aching to be liberated from the fabric that covered it, so you got to it. The very minute you laid eyes on his length, even though it wasn’t new for you, your eyes shut open with lust. You let out a puff and felt the irresistible urge to put it in your mouth and suck the living hell out of him. You got off the table and on your knees in less than a blink, and before he could say a word your grabbed his dick and you swallowed it with your eyes closed, enjoying the glorious salty taste of his tip. You heard him make rough noises out of pleasure and you started bobbing your head and playing with your tongue, rhythmically. Without stopping your motions, you opened your eyes to see Saul’s head bent back, hair floating behind him and eyes shut. His fists were clenched at both sides of his body, as if he was trying to stop himself from grabbing your hair because he knew how much you hated it. The sight was magnificent.

You started running your free hand up his still covered thigh until you reached his hand. He opened both eyes and looked down at you, as you guided his now less tight fist to the back of your head. His eyes seemed unsure of what you were doing, but you took his shaft out of your mouth with a “pop” and nodded at him, giving your unspoken permission. Tonight was not the time for containment. Then, with your tongue you drew an invisible line from the base to the tip, pressing hard enough along one of his thick veins, and got back to business. Your left hand was now holding his balls and your head was moving faster, following the slight pressure of his grip on your hair. You hadn’t stopped looking at him for a second, and the intimacy of your eyes locked to his felt too heavy, yet infinitely comfortable. When he caressed your cheek with his left thumb you sucked harder.

- Shit, babe - he stuttered, somewhat pulling away - if you go on like that, I’m gonna cum.

- And so? - you asked innocently.

- Well, - a smile painted his lips - because we don’t want that to happen. Not yet.

He gently held your hand and helped you stand up as you greeted him with your warmest smile but, as you expected, gentleness didn’t last much longer. (Thank God). He grabbed your head by the sides with both hands and held it firmly while he kissed you with a deeper intensity than before. The way he was gripping you you barely had freedom of movement to actively correspond him, but you were eager, so you fought for it like a tiger. The kiss was downright filthy and your breathing as well as his became uneven in a couple of seconds. Your hands ran up and down his bare chest until the time you finally decided to torture him a little bit more. His dick was covered with your spit and his own precum, so you used that preexisting lubrication to start jerking him off and moaning like the little bitch you felt like.

- Please… - you begged. You were drunk with lust.

- Please… what? - His voice tone was now a few octaves lower, more raspy, full of desire. - Ask it nicely.

- Come on, you already know what I mean...

His hair tickled your collarbones, and he was so close that, even in the dark, you could see his dilated pupils. His right hand let go of your face and traveled down to your bare cunt.

- Holy shit, you’re soaking. - the way he spoke made it look like it wasn’t already fucking obvious that you were horny enough to bake cookies inside of you - But I want you to say it out loud.

While he was saying those words in your ear he started drawing circles with the palm of his hand in your pussy. Meanwhile, your hand was still working wonders in his length, but he was containing himself like a champion.

-If you don’t say it there’s no prize…

He inserted a finger inside of you. Oh, shit...

- Come on, doll.

Another one. Christ, please, don’t do this...

- Say it.

He was going to drive you crazy.

- I want you, I want your cock. I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t even walk straight afterwards. Could you please do me that fucking favor?

He stopped.

- My pleasure.

And he entered you. Oh my god, that was an understatement; he split you in half. With a swift motion he had taken his own cock from your hand which, to be completely honest, wasn’t in the most suitable condition to do its job, and he had pierced you so hard and so fast that you saw black for a moment. Now you were seated on the table again with Slash’s lips sucking hickeys in your jaw, neck, collarbones and shoulders. At this point, your dress was bunched up in your waist and the thick straps were halfway down your shoulders; it was only there to bother, so you got rid of it. You hadn’t put on a bra earlier this evening, so now your breasts bounced along with his tireless ramming. Thirst-stricken, you dug your long nails in his back, tracing ten fine lines across his shoulder blades, and you bit the side of his neck where you had left a sensitive red spot earlier. He pulled your hair back, pounding even harder into you, and you thought you were going to lose control. The soundtrack was nasty: skin slapping, loud moaning, desperate growling, even screaming, furniture scratching the floor… a whole orchestra made out of filthy, pornographic makeout.

The whole experience was so hard, so intense that you were legitimately shocked when the orgasm striked you. Your body was torn between holding on to him, to have him closer, to get more of his contact, his skin, his presence; or bending backwards so subhumanly that your scalp pressed the table and your ribs still touched his abdomen. In any case, he chased after you and after his own orgasm like a lion hunting his prey. Both your highs were rigorously synchronized and you repeated each other’s name like a mantra at the same time your lips were almost sucked together.

Your legs were still wrapped around Slash’s hips and your upper body was crushed between his weight and the wooden table, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You stayed like that for a long while, not wanting to break that precious atmosphere; his head on your chest, his hair all over your face, your fingers intertwined at both sides of your bodies, both of you recovering from the lack of oxygen and the excess of sex. Now that you thought about it coldly and evaluated damages, maybe he was right after all, you were going to have a back pain for two weeks.

#imagine #oneshot #one shot #Smut #slash #slash x reader #fanfic #guns n roses #gnr fanfiction #gnr #slash smut #slash fanfic #slash imagine #guns n roses imagine #classic rock imagine

[jjamspace-blog]

Gifts That Last

So here’s another blog entry. This time it’ll be about my mom’s stories about her childhood. Actually, it’ll be about one story that’s more like a combination of multiple stories. Essentially, it was about how her mother, her aunt and uncle (and pretty much her entire family) became her entire parental unit after her father passed on early in her life. She talked about how her uncle left for Japan to work so that he could send her to university. She even talked about how her aunt would leave with a few pesos and somehow come back the same day with enough food to feed the house (a secret that she admits she has never figured out). She talks about how her mother acted as the mother figure (cooking and cleaning and other typical motherly stuff) not only for her but for her cousins as well. Not really too much to tell. These acts are things that happened regularly in her life. My mom told me these stories the same way we would talk about having a good day at school or work: always happy and always with peace of mind. 

This same view also passed onto me. When I was a kid, I never saw her aunt and uncle as a grand aunt or grand uncle. I always told the other kids that I had two grandmas and one grandpa on my mom’s side. They always looked at me confused and it was only years later (teenage years) that the concept of a grandaunt or granduncle was something that I understood. These trends essentially shaped my views on family. Your family isn’t the people directly related to you like your siblings, parents or children. It’s the people who are there for you when you need help and hang around anyway when things are fine because they enjoy your company and you enjoy theirs as well. I guess I have already been keeping them going. With my friends from high school, I essentially see them as my siblings. The that’s closest to me is someone I call my little sister (mainly because of the way she acts and because I’m way taller than her so it looks like I’m older). 

Hey, sis. (Vax’ildan and Vex’ahlia, the twins from Critical Role)

As a matter of fact, I commonly tease her the way an older brother would. My favorite past time with her is keeping track of all the boys she’s had crushes on. In a span of five years, I’ve counted nearly twenty. I’ve even calculated her rate using the basic formula for speed in Physics which speed = distance/time. Distance (being the boys which is around 16)/time (5 years). This means that she has liked around 3.2 boys per year. Truly a record. Other times, I’ve also shared sandwiches with her and helped her out with her homework. Heck, I even egged her on to ask her crush as a date to the 9th grade dance (an hour long pep talk mind you). She’s been of my best friends for almost 6 years now and that’s thanks to fact that my mother taught me how family isn’t about blood but bond.

I think this is a great time to talk about me as well (I don’t like doing this). Another story (this time from my father) was about how he’d take me out for rides in a car when I was around two years old. He’d drive around the neighborhood and I’d sit in his lap. Sometimes, he’d stop and bounce me on his knee like I was riding a horse. There were other times throughout my childhood where he’d wrestle with us (my younger brother and me) or even turn our beds into slides. I think it was this consistency of fun and enjoyment that pretty much said it was okay to be me and that my parents would take care of me. For Erikson’s stages 1 to 5, I really learned to trust my parents during my first stage. I also developed my autonomy as my parents would ask me if I wanted to do these things (the car riding, wrestling and knee horse) and there were times when I would not want to. So yes, my parents gave me more than enough space for me to develop my autonomy. I also developed my stubborn streak during this period (that I and my parents both say I have inherited from both of them). Though I got to choose, my parents also sort of nudged me towards the stereotypically boy things like Power Rangers, robots and Star Wars (Thanks mom and dad!). This is now the third stage and yes, I would say I did see the differences between the sexes here. I even got into the age old “boys are better than girls” argument. From here, I got into the 4th stage and I would say that the positive reception I got from the previous 3 stages did help as this was the time I started taking my school work very seriously and I became grade conscious. This did pay off as I actually got good grades throughout middle school and high school, helping me get into college a year early and even get into an Honors course. Even now in college, I am feeling more unmotivated compared to my past years because it’s all so new to me (the people, the profs, the size of the environment) and so my grades dropped. 

        ME IN HIGH SCHOOL VS ME IN COLLEGE 

         (I am not a D- student though)          (FYI I am mostly a B to sometimes B+ student)

Even then, I’d still consider myself on the more academically well off among my course and department as there are students who are just fighting to stay in the course while I’m well above the cut off. I just wish my grades were higher. Besides that, I’m still looking for my motivation again and I can feel it coming back (in extremely small amounts but baby steps, y’know?). Right now, I’d say I’m in the fifth stage of development going to the fifth. I’m very much secure in my identity as a grade conscious student and eldest son (because my brothers JUST HAD to be the socially outgoing little munchkins going into the performing arts so guess who’s stuck in the natural sciences as an aspiring Physician?). This is a great time to talk about my dream as a doctor y’know? I tried out theater, sports and the humanities (like the vast majority of my family) but for the longest time, I couldn’t see any of them as my vocation or calling the way this medical dream has. Just the idea of helping people regardless of their background and fixing them up and making them feel better is something I have gotten behind. The politics? The social justice? The liberalism? The conservatism? The communism? Democracy? Libertarian? Honestly, it bores me and disillusions me. I feel like being a doctor is one of the last few professions that does good just for the sake of good (in it’s ideal form of course). Every other profession I can think of has so many labels and causes that go with it. But a doctor? Just keep them alive. Make sure they wake up. When they come to you sick, you simply treat them with all you have. I will have that white coat adorning my shoulders one day as I become a competent Surgeon who’ll help just because it’s the right thing to do. And yes, I will treat people regardless of their background. I mean it. If politicians, soldiers and social justice warriors and hardcore conservatives wanna fight, they can do it outside of my operating room. Everyone gets fair treatment from me. 

Overall, I’d say I’m a nine to ten among the first five the developmental stages that Erikson’s theory has described. Specifically, 10 for the first two stages then a 9 for the the third and fourth then a 10 again for the fifth. I hit some rough patches in the initiative and industry stages because those stages required some socializing of me that I just could not put out as an introvert. Honestly, I’d say with the utmost conviction that I’m syntonic and trustful because of the good stuff and bad stuff that made me “me”. Thanks to my mother’s version of family and my father finding ways to entertain me and my siblings, I’ve lived a gifted life so far. I’m the smartest. I have my lazy moments. I am not particularly athletic. BUT I am functioning individual with just the right mix of qualities that I need (like academic knowledge, determination, etc.) so that I can make my way in the world to one day help people as a good Surgeon. So yes, my parents gifts of family and fun do last and I fully intend to pass them on in my own unique way. 

[wanagracia]

RE: A STELLAR SAYONARA

Dear You (Too),

I have honestly no idea why I should post this here, when I could just send it to you directly, or if you would even be able to read this. As I am writing this I had just read your letter, and to say that I was moved would be an understatement. As you can see, there could be no denying that I still do follow your blog just to see what you are up to. As evidence for such claim is the product of my stalking career, I would give you the gist of the facts I gathered: I know you are dating someone, I know where you work, I know you do balance sheets whenever you went out with your friends (which is hilarious, if I might add), and I know a lot more things about you after everything that had happened. I guess, I turned it into a hobby of asking other people about you, as if we are still friends.

A lot had happen and changed, you are right. I honestly do not know where to start, but since you did share bits of who are you today, I feel compelled to tell you about me too. I too, no longer plan on naming my firstborn Natsume. I had my first car which sadly isn’t a silver Volvo. I overcome my fear of braces and finally had one myself. I opened 2 businesses under my name but sadly neither of them is a café shop we could work as baristas. I got over YA too, now, I read various genre, sometimes regency, sometimes thriller, on rainy days non-fiction but mostly, due to scholastic necessity, criminal and civil cases. I finally quit accountancy due to lack of interest and took law school instead. And yes, I am dating a guy we (I mean our 14 year’s old selves) would probably swear I am never going to date (and we would end up laughing together). A few weeks ago I saw a picture of you and the guy you are dating as a background of a mutual friend’s photo, you two were behind the angle that you both appear to be so small in the picture but there is no denying that you are crazy in love with him, and not just a part but the whole of the picture screams you two must be very happy with each other. For this, you must at least know that I am ecstatic for you, probably as happy as I had been for you when you passed the board exam.

As for me though, I learned that first loves doesn’t always have to be a happy ending. Simply put, I have moved on with the one that got away and fell in love with someone who is completely opposite of him. You see, I am dating a guy 3 years younger than I am (we would have never guessed that) and he is amazing. He has this really gorgeous smile that I love, and embraces my quirks and fetishes. Crazy but, I would admit that at some point I remember you from him. His music preference (which apparently you outgrew), his singing (which is also tolerable), his jokes (like what humor we used to enjoy), his stick figure drawings, and his food preference (though, now I know you already eat siomai. Do you still eat congee too?). I remember one time he was browsing on my photo albums and he saw you. He asked how he never seemed to meet you (since you are practically like in every album that I have) and I simply changed the topic. I guess by that time I was not ready to answer the question of why and what really happened. But the moment I read what you sent me two years ago in messenger and I finally responded, he was the first one I told about it-- that I told about, well: You.

I told him our stories like you were a distant part of me; I talked about our crazy adventures, geeky conversations, music experiments, anime escapades, panda hunting, and fan-fiction obsessions. I told him about the old me, and the old you, or should I simply say the old us? Then I told him about how I ran away, my insecurities, my decisions and my choices. I also told him how terrible I felt, but how I never regretted what I have done. I am me today, like yesterday, or the day before yesterday but I am not me 8 years ago. Back then, for me, it feels like I was morphing to be you. I believe I had explained this to you enough so I need not re-write what had been said once.

Contrary to The Script’s lyrics of how when something breaks it does not breakeven, I had my fair share of grief too. It wasn’t because I left that I did not have my own moment of sadness, but it came with my decision and I had to live up to it. But of course, I have to admit that there were times I did actually breakdown. You were a huge part of me, the kind of like --my mom still asks for you no matter how i many years had passed and it still keeps me off-guard—kind like. So huge, that it was impossible not to miss you, and as masochistic as it sounds, I deserved it. You were my best of all friends, and was a great loss. But, I was proud, I was selfish, and I was young, probably even stupid. I did what I did to grow, which unfortunately was at your emotional expense.  I am sorry for what I had done, I really am, and I know that no matter what my intention was or what I could say today wouldn’t change anything, or how you felt those times. But then again you are right, in fact some days I cannot remember how it felt anymore, I remember the words; pain, friends, regret, guilt, your name, and how sorry I am but nothing more. Maybe because of the span of time in between, or the wall I built in the middle of us, or the bridges I burned around me, you had been right the way you described it, it is passive.

Unlike you, I have no reason to resent you. And, unlike you, I am not entitled to forgive. There is nothing I can do but pray to God to heal us both and wish that if we ever cross paths, we could say “Hi.” to each other without bitterness. However, I wish you would know that I longed for the day we could sit for a cup of coffee with bundles of stories we could have shared together with, or at some point after maturity that we become friends again. That maybe, just maybe, if there would come a time which we would meet, if there cannot even be a remnant or just a bit of that olden friendship in the surface, the least I could hope for is indifference as a sign of forgiveness. If this closure you mentioned in your open letter, which believe me sounds so liberating, is the answer to my prayers for your forgiveness, I would gladly take it. I would contentedly be somebody that you used to know, and along with such are my wishes of you and your family’s good health and prosperity.

Signed,

Yours Truly

Ps: I was just gonna greet you anonymously a belated happy birthday but was surprised with your blog post. Stupid me (I know it must be stupid I, but me sounds grammatically better) ended up crying in my desk table, I learned I must not be a cry baby. HAHAHA! Have a great evening!

[robinreyrshaw]

Pro-Lifers Aren’t the Ones Being Hypocrites, Tomi

Tomi Lahren and I work for the same company. I’ve been on her show a few times and I always enjoyed the conversation. I don’t really know her because I work from home up in Maryland and she’s down at headquarters in Dallas, but she seems like a nice person and I have no qualms with her personally at all.

I can’t and won’t speculate as to why she went on The View this past Friday, suddenly reversed course on abortion, declared herself to be “pro-choice,” and basked in the patronizing applause from the liberal audience and the radical feminists at the table. All I know is that just a few months ago she was describing abortion as the “murder” of “babies,” but when given the spotlight on a mainstream network, she eagerly rattled off a series of inane, half-baked Planned Parenthood talking points, while Joy Behar nodded approvingly. Here’s what she said exactly:

“I’m pro-choice and here is why. I am a constitutional, you know, someone that loves the Constitution. I am someone that is for limited government, so I can’t sit here and be a hypocrite and say I’m for limited government but I think the government should decide what women do with their bodies. Stay out of my guns, and you can stay out of my body as well… And you know, I get a lot of attacks from conservative women as well. Equal hate from all sides for me.”

Tomi, who has repeatedly blasted liberals for believing that the unborn have no rights, has now decided that actually the unborn really don’t have any rights, and anyone who believes otherwise (anyone who believes as she professed to believe about 14 seconds ago) is a hypocrite and a hater. Again, I can’t explain this dramatic and troubling change of heart. As is always the case with these kinds of mysterious flip-flops, two theories emerge:

The cynical theory is that Tomi says whatever will earn applause in front of whatever audience she happens to be addressing in the moment. She was “pro-life” in her Facebook videos and Twitter posts because it was sure to garner retweets and shares, and she was “pro-choice” on The View because it was sure to please the crowd in attendance and attract favorable coverage from outlets like Cosmopolitan.

The slightly less cynical interpretation is that Tomi really changed her mind for some reason, and decided to have her pro-abortion coming out party on The View, of all places. But even if she did change her mind, the fact that she threw pro-lifers under the bus is extremely disappointing. And the fact that she followed up this betrayal by playing the victim on Twitter, again mocking pro-lifers as “the conservative police,” and explaining that she’s a “moderate conservative,” as if we were all supposed to have known that based on her videos where she constantly criticizes moderate conservatives for being moderate, is equally as disappointing.

It’s also profoundly damaging and counter productive for a self-appointed spokeswoman of conservatism to publicly turn against the most fundamental tenet of conservatism, and in the process denigrate the conservatives who still believe in that tenet. If she’s had a sincere pro-abortion conversion experience, she has a responsibility to the audience that made her famous to explain it to them directly and respectfully, not to announce it to the hens on The View while insulting the audience that put her there. On the other hand, if the conversion was not sincere, or if she was pro-abortion all along and only regurgitated pro-life slogans to manipulate her conservative audience, then that scene on The View was something considerably worse than merely disappointing.

I can’t guess as to which of these explanations applies, and I won’t try, but a lot of people will guess and they can’t be blamed for guessing. When you reverse course so drastically, refuse to offer an explanation, and then act with contempt towards the people who are asking for one, you invite them to come up with their own. That’s just the way these things go. Rather than participate in the conjecture, I reached out to Tomi personally and offered to come on her show to have a dialogue. I think it’s fair to say that I’m the most vocal pro-lifer here at TheBlaze, and Tomi, as far as I know, is the only pro-choicer, so it seems that a debate between the two of us could be constructive.

Now, all of that aside, what matters most about Tomi’s pro-abortion comments is that they’re just plain wrong. It’s the wrongness I want to focus on, primarily. I will launch no personal attacks against her. I would much rather discuss the wrongness of her ideas, and there’s quite a lot of wrongness to sort through:

She’s wrong, first of all, because there is absolutely nothing in the Constitution granting a woman the right to murder her child. There are, however, several amendments which affirm the right of all humans to be treated as human.

She’s wrong, second, because this has nothing to do with what a woman does with her body. This has to do with what a woman does with the body of her child. While the body of a child may be dependent on the body of its mother, that doesn’t make the child’s body the same as the mother’s body. In a similar way, a newborn baby may be dependent on his mother’s breast for sustenance, but that doesn’t mean he is his mother’s breast. I think science backs me up on this.

She’s wrong, third, because rights do not negate responsibilities. Indeed, rights and responsibilities are dimensions of each other. Every right has a corresponding responsibility. For instance, you have the right to bear arms, but you lose that right if you use your gun to murder another person. With the right to bear arms comes the responsibility to do so in a way that will not result in the death of an innocent human. Likewise, a woman has the right to mostly “do what she wants with her body,” but not if “doing what she wants” means killing a baby. I basically have the right to drive where I want, but I don’t have the right to drive into my neighbor’s living room. I usually have the right to walk where I want, but I don’t have the right to walk on my neighbor’s head. I often have the right to say what I want, but I don’t have the right to call the police and falsely accuse my neighbor of cooking meth in his basement. In all of these cases, there is a built in understanding that I can “do what I want,” so long as “what I want” doesn’t include causing direct and intentional harm to an innocent party.

Speaking of responsibility, as I explain in my forthcoming book, parents have a special responsibility to their children. When you have kids, the list of things you can do dwindles while the list of things you must do expands significantly. This is what it means to be an adult. I am legally required to care for my children, even if caring for them represents an enormous strain on my body, bank account, nerves, time, energy, etc. If we cannot or will not fulfill this responsibility, we’re legally obliged to make other arrangements for the child. What we can’t do, after they’re born, is violently exterminate them because we suddenly decided that we’d prefer to be “autonomous” again. If the law prohibits such an atrocity after birth, it ought to prohibit it before. And if such a law after birth is not an infringement on the rights of the parents, then it cannot logically be considered an infringement before.

She’s wrong, fourth, because the real “hypocrites” are the so-called “conservatives” who believe that a child’s right to life is subordinate to a woman’s right to convenience. In fact, these “conservatives” are hypocrites in about 15 different ways. Allow me to list them:

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from Propaganda Guard http://propagandaguard.blogspot.com/2017/03/pro-lifers-arent-ones-being-hypocrites.html from Blogger http://robinreyrshaw.blogspot.com/2017/03/pro-lifers-arent-ones-being-hypocrites.html