#little-ball-of-feminist-rage

[lovingpersondeputypeanut-blog]

My dating Lego ninjago head cannons

Cole

Was really into rock music. Seems like the kinda guy to make playlists for you if your dating and sing songs for u and can play guitar

Takes you on dates to all u can eat buffets

Let’s you raid his wardrobe

Go gym together and lift weights

Defo has a priv TikTok

Is fucking huge like 6,5 and pure muscle so towers over most ppl

Gives the best fucking hugs ever like bear hugs

Not rly a jealous person but very possessive, like if u walk in a room ppl will know your dating

Lloyd

The best boyfriend ever due to all the fucking trauma

Sleeps on you all the time but says he wasn’t asleep so you start having to take photo evidence

Doesn’t listen to music rly but if you tell him you like a song he’ll have learnt all the lyrics an hour later

In a couple shorts and In the series he’s seen playing pool and he’s rly rly bad at it and ends up just putting the balls in the holes some other way and is rly competitive and will tell yu you’ve cheated but is amazing at darts

Turns up early to dates every single time

Is defo too shy to make fist move but after the initial stage makes all the first moves

Very easily jelous will not make it obvious and makes himself upset as a result

Kai

Has never ever been on time. Is either 2 hours early or 2 hours late no Inbetween

Is rly caring one you get to know him due to having to bring up nya and although it doesn’t seem like it is rly respectful to women

Is a raging feminist cause of nya and goes to feminist rally’s with her

Is very jealous and will make it obvious

Goes on shopping trips with you and has a rly good fashion sence and will buy you stuff

Loves game shows and will yell at the tv

Jay/nya

I can only picture jay and nya together so these r my hc for them

Had to sneak around for a year because Kai refused tk let them sleep in the same room

Once got rly drunk and made out in the living room and the whole team woke up and saw them

Go on early morning walks because nya is an early riser and jay has adhd so has more energy than the whole team combined the minute he opens his eyes

Renovate cars together and have a plan to do up a camper van and go travelling in it

Cause jay grew up in a trailer park he worked instead of going to school and was around a lot of older people a lot so literally every other word is a swear and nya only gets annoyed when it’s around her parents and will give him the dirtiest look

Nya grew up without parents and while Kai was better at the blacksmith stuff she invented things to help him and did most of the cooking and cleaning because she was to young in Kai’s opinion to go near the blacksmith stuff, when jay learnt this he made sure he was always the one who cooked and cleaned

They sleep spooning with nya always being the little spoon even though she won’t admit it until Lloyd and Kai take a photo when her and jay passed out on the sofa after a mission

They argue lovingly a lot like will have little disagreements all the time due to nya being stubborn and jay not being able to read her angry emotions due to his autism and him being to hyper due to his adhd

Nya has an alarm on her phone for his adhd meds

They do the food shopping because they love to go out on walks together and jay thinks it’s fun

Nya is possessive and jelous obviously where as jay gets rly upset cause he thinks he isn’t good enough and nya has to comfort him and reassure him he is

Pixal/zane

Another couple I refuse to separate

Pixal has rly warm hands and Dane’s are freezing

Both do iq tests and both get the same score each time

Play wii sports a lot and it gets rly competitive

Chess matches !!!

Love watching shows like aliens uncovered because it makes them laugh

Have each others initials engraved into their metal

Sleep in the same bed because zane has nightmares that either him or Pixal is going to die

Neither of them get jealous

Sometimes Pixal works to hard so falls asleep while she’s working so zane has to carry her to bed and gets rly annoyed the the others if they wake her

Zane wears a hair tie on his wrist for her

#ninjago #cole ninjago #legoninjagoheadcannons

[heavyweightheart]

Hi! If you have time/energy, could you point me towards some resources? I'm trying to let go of my desire to "be beautiful" - perform beauty rituals like makeup, wear clothes that "flatter me" but aren't comfortable, etc. - and Google is not helping me at all. I want to work towards a state where I can just be without concern for whether I look beautiful or not, but I can't find any resources for doing that. Any advice you have (or even just better terms to Google) would be helpful. Thank you!

hey! this is such a big question, about what’s really a lifelong process. but i hear you saying, like, where do you start?? 

i like my own body image curriculum hgfkdjgldk in case you hadn’t heard. and the list of other resources there is good too–someone like sonya renee taylor is challenging norms around beauty, size, gender, race. caleb luna too! i think you really need to find your people–this process definitely happens interpersonally as well as intrapersonally. the people you spend time with and the social media you follow can be a powerful influences in growth and healing or in harm and the reinforcement of norms. 

other practical tips are: cover your mirrors! try just existing, interocepting. check in with your body rather than its reflection. this can definitely happen in degrees.

start small! maybe you just go on one grocery shopping trip in “““unflattering”““ clothes (you know well that this is just fatphobia). could you hang out w friends w no makeup, just once? idk where you are w all this, but meet yourself there. what’s a small positive challenge that you could experiment with? 

align with your values! when you’re having a how-do-i-look panic moment, think “what’s really important to me right now?” if it’s personal connection, say in the form of validation, are there people you can get that from? i’ve learned from my friends that you can just ask for what you need! “do you have the space to give me some affirmation right now?” “i’m having an insecure moment! could you just remind me that i’m valuable?” what do you want taking up your brain and heart space? practice thinking on them.

terms to search: body acceptance; the beauty myth (this book is worth reading); self-compassion; appearance preoccupation; fat positive; cripple punk; [lots of things i’m forgetting]

#little-ball-of-feminist-rage

[slaterherms]

˗ˏˋ 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

                  𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 ! ´ˎ˗

hi rpc ! i decided to make my very first masterlist, and i made this for random muse aesthetics, for that one little section in some apps that ask for aesthetics. i was a bit lost on how to approach this, but ultimately, i’ve decided to give aesthetics inspired by own muses. so please enjoy this little insight of my muses and i hope this helps / inspires some of you ! ♡

i still have many more muses, so i might make a part 2. 

ALEXANDER MORGAN bruised knuckles, chipped black nail polish, annotated books, a half empty bottle of alcohol, weirdly shaped mugs, winging life, a god complex, messy sneakers, cigarette butts, a boyish grin, smiley piercings, sarcastic comments, a modernized vintage car, dive bars, the song magnolia by gang of youths, sunglasses after a rough night, raising the middle finger as a response to everything, taking a punch with a grin, riling up a crowd, the sound of cheers, drumming fingers on tables, summer nights. 

ACHILLES HART video game music, long socks with patterns, a pot of black coffee, clicking of a keyboard, coding, all-nighter for work, all-nighter to finish a video game, a scowl that seems permanent, self-deprecating humor, a cracked relationship with a father, a beat up 60′s model car, red eyes from a screen, the song father of mine by everclear, lights reflecting on the street right after rain. 

JACK O’RILEY a small plant in every room of an apartment, a collection of vinyl records, a worn out journal, an acoustic guitar, calloused fingers, a black kitten, live music, jeff buckley’s voice, an empty record store, the color dark sage, a broken home, thunderstorms, black coffee, second-hand books, a walkman, long leather jackets, dirty boots.  

SUMMER DALTON tattoo sleeves, pink rolling paper, winged eyeliner, baggy pants, a habit of self-piercing and tattooing, clear lip gloss, lipstick stained cigarette butts, festering rage, balled fists, the song honey by halsey, a bluntness that can’t be helped, acting out, red heels, black crop tops, claw-shaped painted nails, fingers full of rings, mid-day summer.

DAXTON PASCUAL skateboards, scuffed shoes, bruises all along legs and arms, the sound of a bong when you take a hit, a drawer of rolling paper, the smell of freshly baked goods, golden retriever energy, counting in your head to ease anxiety, painted nails, dyed hair, impulsivity, innocence, oral fixation, the inability to focus on a single thing, romantic comedies, the smell of freshly cut grass. 

RONAN JEAN random sketches, a sketchbook, random band t-shirts, messy curls, dilf glasses, chewing at the end of a pencil, all-nighters, a spacious loft, industrial styles, honey whiskey, male manipulator music, sixties movies, finding peace in being alone, dark academia, hand-me-down clothes, dark colour palettes, an autumn night. 

ROSALIE BERG light academia, red lipstick, tote bags, long coats, hair clips, french nails, always holding a book, gold jewelry, kind to everyone, wandering in bookstores, walking everywhere, listening to podcasts, watching crime documentaries, neat handwriting, sticky notes everywhere, a little bit of sadness behind their eyes, natural makeup (or none at all), sweaters, a spring morning. 

FAIROZ MOUSA snake imagery, colourful jewelry, layered necklaces, a collection of crystals, tarot cards, incense, plants all over their apartment, sapphic literature, academia, chanting for a cause, dark coloured nails, tattooes all over their body, crop tops, long skirts, bandanas, braids, colourful eyeshadow, combat boots, feminist art, social justice social media, mood lighting, sunsets on the beach. 

#rph #rp aesthetics #muse aesthetics #character aesthetics #rpc #appless rp #muse help #resource #aesthetic masterlist #rp masterlist

[angelplummie]

FUCK BOY CLASS 1A

CLASS 1A X READER

masterlist

warnings: suggestive, tiny but angsty, mostly rage inducing crack

part 1 part 2

DENKI:

• does the whole trust worthy goofy guy thing :|

•he just a funny silly guy 🤣 you’ll think “omg is it just me that thinks he’s actually really cute ...?”

• No. it’s not just you. it’s every girl on campus alright?

• he fucks anything and everything that comes his way, indefinitely. girl, boy, non binary, he plays them all

• i mean #gayrights but he’s a man whore

• thing is he’s not the worst of the bunch he’s just a huge slut that’s too dumb to realise other people have feelings

•fucks who he wants, when he wants bc he can

•somehow he always has ten thousand poor sods in love with him even though there’s nothing behind those pretty eyes

•if u decide to fuck around with him... best night of your life tbh but it’s not worth the embarrassment of crying over the fact he made out with 3 people at YOUR birthday party even after he cuddled you after he nutted in u :( u thought it meant at least something!

•naw that’s just how he rolls, u were warm and nice so he went for it. meant less than nothing to him

•always smells a little. like not enough that u don’t fuck him, but enough that u notice

•girl don’t cry over him he can’t remember ur name i’m so sorry

KIRISHIMA:

•lord help us all

• typical gym bro pussy pounder, all he can think of is Sport™️ and Nut™️

•He’s the type to have a really rowdy friend group but so he pulls the “woah guys, you’re scaring the lady, are you ok 😅😘🥺”

•And then you’ll go, omg this guy is so sweet and so different and so hot, i should definitely have sex with him, he’s definitely a nice guy

• Aha! you’ve fallen for his trap! you fool!

•he’s like a fake feminist :/

•if his friends say something misogynistic around girls he’ll be like “woah woah woah! that’s uhhhh that’s a little sexist!”

• his friends roll their eyes at his stupid ploy “yeah whatever man” but they don’t expose him, bro code or whateva

•the second you lovely ladies leave he’s like 10x worse

• “naw bro that girl was ugly” “no tits, no ass, what’s the point?” “she would be hot if it wasn’t for her face” “she’s a slut but id still hit, it’d be loose tho”

•every horrible thing you can imagine he has said. I despise him

•if he’s got his sights on u, he’s having you, end of.

• hell do anything to get you to sleep with him if u turn him down the first time, he loves a challenge

• honestly he’s a bit too proud of himself, his strategy is just being really hot in ur vicinity and hoping u crack, all while keeping up his nice guy shtick

•credit to him it works a lot of the time

•if that fails, he’ll join whatever study group ur in and mansplain to you, which surprisingly doesn’t work either

• his last resort is to actually learn stuff about u and have a real conversation, which is so yawn, but works when he brings up the fact that he volunteers at the local orphanage and “those kids are like my little brothers you know?”

•suddenly he’s balls deep in you and he sticks a finger in ur butt? okay

• got to admit, he is a good fuck he’s just the worst person ever. he really sucks.

• honestly he probably won’t even talk degradingly about you to his friends, you weren’t particularly anything, he has sex with a lot of girls, ur not really special

• leaves hella hickeys bc he’s a dickhead

SERO:

• cunt

• blatant and obnoxious flirting

• wears chains religiously

• paints his nails black but he’s so shit at it

• smokes more than he shits, and he shits a lot

• makes tik tok thirst traps, and they’re annoyingly hot

• ur like omg cringe who does that lol but when he waddles his emo caboose up to u u fold immediately

• so annoying, so so so annoying

•like he’s just a little squirmy rat man, a little guy that makes u itch but u let him in ur pants anyway

• he’s so smug after the fact as well, always making sexual comments about u to ur face afterwards

•if u tell him ur uncomfortable he’ll just be like “what? you didn’t seem uncomfortable when i _____”

•he’s shit i want to hit him

• pukes at every party he goes to, fucking nerd

• says he’s a communist but he is most definitely not, he just likes leftist hoes

•got a stupid fucking tattoo of some dumb quote on his leg, something like “live fast die young” u know he gets that shit out every party

•takes way too long on his hair. no one cares that you got a mullet please stop talking about it

reblogs appreciated!! masterlist

#bnha imagines #mha imagines #denki imagines #kirishima imagine #sero imagine #bnha x reader #mha x reader #denki x reader #kirishima x reader #sero x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #denki smut #kirishima smut #sero smut #bnha crack #mha crack #denki crack #kirishima crack #sero crack #bnha angst #mha angst #denki angst #kirishima angst #sero angst

[blackwomen-lgbtq-aas275]

Analysis of Paris is Burning

Paris Is Burning reveals the world of the “Children,” as Black gay men and women lovingly call themselves. This documentary examines the community’s flamboyant rituals of balls and voguing. It is not only a celebration of queer culture, but a chronicle of overcoming adversity by being vocally unapologetically yourself.

The overarching theme of Paris is Burning revolves around the influence that Black and Latine queer, trans, and gender non-conforming people had on the ballroom and drag scene. This influence stems from the resilience that these communities had in self-affirmation in the face of opposition from those who wanted to deny them their humanity.

The defiant joy we witness in the ball walkers at so many moments of the film, despite the AIDS pandemic, racism, homophobia, transphobia, pov­erty, homelessness, violence, harassment, addiction, and what­ever other hardships they may have been dealing with at any given time, was infectious in 1990, when the film premiered, and remains so today. In this era of fake news, hate speech, anti-trans legislation, the resurgence of white-supremacist ide­ology, immi­gration blockades, and mass violence to suppress social change and human-rights advancements, Paris Is Burning still provides a vision of vibrant resistance—a fierce proclamation that queer and trans lives matter, now as they did then. That message, along with the unique performance culture and the everyday lives that Paris illuminates for us, made it a global revelation when it was released and has since elevated it to legendary status.

The film is an education: a way into a lifestyle that even many of us who share an identity with the people onscreen otherwise had no access to, because this culture felt—still feels—so specific to a time and place. Which is part of the reason the movie’s legacy remains so complicated. It was directed by a white filmmaker with relative financial and social privilege: a complete outsider to ball culture. It went on to win a prize at Sundance, get a distribution deal with Miramax, and land raves from publications like the New Yorker and the New York Times—all signs, to some, that the movie was intended from the outset to be consumed by white audiences.

At least one star has spoken out against the film over the years. “I love the movie. I watch it more than often, and I don’t agree that it exploits us,” said LaBeija, mother of the House of LaBeija, and one of the documentary’s most memorable storytellers, to the New York Times in 1993. “But I feel betrayed. When Jennie first came, we were at a ball, in our fantasy, and she threw papers at us. We didn’t read them, because we wanted the attention. We loved being filmed. Later, when she did the interviews, she gave us a couple hundred dollars. But she told us that when the film came out, we would be all right. There would be more coming.” The film went on to make $4 million, according to Miramax, and a battle raged between some of the featured performers and the distributor over compensation. In the end, about $55,000 was divided among 13 performers, based on screen time.

Another problem with Livingston’s depiction of the ballroom and drag culture is that it virtually erases the impact that Black queer women and gender nonconforming people had in the scene. Although some were featured in the documentary, such as Octavia St. Laurent, they were relegated to such little screen time that you could’ve blinked and missed them. 

I’m reminded of bell hooks and her works surrounding Black Feminist Theory and oppositional gaze and how this influenced how I consumed this piece of media. The idea that the liberation of Black women would lead to the liberation of all people was something that hooks felt really strongly about and this documentary was an opportunity to not only uplift the LGBTQ+ community, but to uplift Black women. And, as is usually the case, Black women were forgotten. 

bell hooks was the founding mother of a critical discussion that focused on the role of the black female spectators and their relation to white and black representation on film. She contends that, despite a long history of oppression on screen and in real life, black people had the right to gaze, or observe, and at times this right was repressed, leading to a further ‘rebellious desire’ to gaze. This rebellious desire of looking is what hooks defined as ‘the Oppositional Gaze’. With this gaze, Black women can have the opportunity to be critical of Paris is Burning, because although it is important, it is not enough. Representation matters. Inclusivity matters. This is a start, but should NOT be the end.

#paris is burning #documentary #analysis #lgbtq+ community #lgbtq #lgbtq+ #ballroom #drag #ball #black women #trans #nonbinary #gender noncomformity #representation #bell hooks #black feminist theory #oppositional gaze

[mrs-march-ahs]

Kai Helps You Find a Purpose

Summary- A blue-haired stranger helps you overcome the feeling of being lost after you quit your job. He seems fascinated by the rage in your body and shows you how to use it in an unconventional way.

Warnings- Murder, rape, knifes, blood, Kai Anderson. Words- 1.8k shorty:)

I’ve had this idea in my head for the longest time, so I really appreciate any feedback! I love doing my own ideas but if you prefer when I write requests then I wanna know! Enjoy! :)

---

You slam the glass door behind you as you exit your job. Well, old job. No matter how hard you work, your boss refused to see your potential and when you asked him for a raise for the final time and he said no, you gave him an ultimatum. And now you are left to walk out of your old job to the carpark with a backpack full of your belongings. To be honest, you hated that job anyway, and despised the sexist boss. He crossed a line by underappreciating your hard work, even after hours and constantly giving praise to the other fuckers who could barely make a cup of coffee. You walk over straight to his white Mercedes and pull out your pocketknife, hoping that in the dark of the evening nobody will witness your crime. As you squat down to the level of the front right tire and stab it powerfully with your knife, you can feel the feminist rage in your body deflate. After you do the front left and go towards the back one, you see a figure of a broad man standing at the front of the car, watching you. Although you saw him, his voice catches you off guard. And frankly, pisses you off too.

“If you slash all four tires then insurance will pay for it”, he states, assuming that you didn’t know that already. “Slash three”. The mansplaining makes you groan.

“Do I look like I need advice, asshole?”, you reply, rolling your eyes. Contrary to what you expected, the man stays stood watching you and laughs at your remark. When you push the blade from your knife particularly deep, you sigh in satisfaction, but fail to pull it out. You wriggle it around a little before looking up at the man.

“Are you gonna just watch me or at least are you gonna help?”, you ask, tugging at the knife.

“You don’t need my help”, he says quietly and ominously. “Use your strength, work smarter not harder”. The useless advice made you sigh in anger and push the knife in deeper, before practically ripping it out of the tire. He stands leaned over the hood of the car to watch you slash the tire, and smiles widely when you manage to do it by yourself. You stand up and look at him, and he stays smiling, and compliments you on your work.

“See? You don’t need help, you’re strong”, he whispers at you. You can’t help but smile back at the support and at the relief that he won’t snitch on your vandalism. When you take a step towards the curb to walk home, he puts his arm out to stop you and unexpectedly offers to buy you a coffee. You timidly say yes, but when he walks towards his car and opens the door for you, a red blinking alarm goes off in your mind and you kindly refuse to get in a stranger’s car. Although he laughs, he understands, and the two of you walk a mere 2 streets to a restaurant that he claims is owned by his friends. When the two of you walk through the front door of the packed restaurant and he asks for a table and instantly gets it, you have no reason to not believe his connections. You sit awkwardly across from the stranger who introduces himself to you, before praising you on your inexcusable actions.

“It takes a lot of strength to notice when you’re not being appreciated, it takes even more strength to just slash his tires instead of slashing his fucking throat”. His words are so serious that you don’t question how he knows what happened. “What do you want to achieve?”

“I want to make the world a better place in any way I can… I volunteer at soup kitchens all the time… dog shelters… I know it sounds horrible but no matter what I do, it doesn’t feel satisfying or like I’m achieving anything”. He exhales in amusement and you defensively expand.

“It’s like I’m waiting for some good karma to come to me, but all I feel is guilt because I’m doing good things for the wrong reasons”. You look down and swirl around your coffee with a spoon as you wait for him to judge you. All you felt was guilt, you wanted to be a good person and you knew you shouldn’t wait for good things to happen to you just because you’re volunteering. He puts a finger under your chin and makes you look at him. His big black eyes hypnotize you and you wait anxiously for him to speak.

“You need to put your rage towards something good. Anger doesn’t help anybody, but I saw today that you are capable of rage”, he coaxes you quietly. “A strong rage can be used as unlimited energy and shouldn’t be wasted, but put towards something useful… what fills you with rage?”

“The sexism at my work”, you immediately respond. “None of my male co-workers get harassed on the job. They don’t get told to smile or unbutton their shirts for tips. They get raises that they don’t deserve. As long as that keeps happening, I will always be filled with rage”.

The blue haired man hums in agreement and smiles at you. “That’s a solid source”. He drinks the end of his coffee and offers to drive you home.

When the two of you sit in his car, he proposes that instead of going back to the motel you lived at, you come over to his and the two of you could share a drink.

“No, I’m sorry. I need to go home and scream into my pillow”. Although you laugh after saying that, Kai doesn’t.

“What are you achieving with that? That’s like working hard to get money for gas, just to pour it down the drain”, he scolds you and raises his voice with every word. “You have this rage; we’re going to use it for something good!”, he shouts.

“Yes, but how!”, you reply, and watch Kai take a few turns before driving around the same couple of blocks a few times. You sit silently and hope he’ll explain the plan, but he doesn’t, instead he slowly drives down the streets, carefully inspecting the alleyways. Finally, when a short hum escapes his lips, he pulls his car over and points towards an alleyway on the other side of the street.

“Look what’s happening”.

You narrow your eyes trying to see down the dark alleyway and unbuckle your seatbelt to lean over closer to Kai. A man down the side of a building is stumbling slightly with a gun in his hand, pinning a woman against the wall and forcibly pulling her clothes off, only for her to try to push him away.

“Wait… is he uh-”

“What is your feminism fuelled rage telling you to do?”

You look Kai dead in the eye and his black eyes and clenched jaw silently ask you whether you’re willing to do what it takes. Saying that you want the world to be a better place means jack shit if you’re not ready to singlehandedly protect your sisters and put your rage towards making the world cleaner and safer. Not tomorrow, not in years to come, but now.

Without another second of thought, you jump out of the car and run to the alley, Kai following closely behind. Kai grabs the drunk man by the shoulders and rips him off the wall, allowing you access to push the woman out of the alleyway and onto the street, letting her immediately start running. The drunk attempts to fight Kai, throwing hard punches that all miss. Not wanting to steal your spotlight, Kai throws the man into the wall, letting you take out your feminist rage on his face. You put your hands in his hair and grip tightly, repeatedly smashing his face into the brick wall, leaving instant blood stains and scratches. Hopefully, a lifetime reminder of the scum he is. In order to save him the disgust of having to look at himself in the mirror, you drag his face along the wall, hoping that the cracks in the wall will be enough to leave his face bleeding.

“Work smarter; not harder”, Kai reminds you.

You release the man from your grip and watch him stumble and lean against the wall for support, giving you enough time to take your pocketknife back out and plunge in straight into the mans crotch. As he sloppily yells in pain, Kai grabs the gun out of his hand and throws it over a fence, just in case he gets any ideas. The intoxicating high of seeing this rapist bleed and cry in pain gives you one last kick of confidence, which you use to twist the knife in his ball sack before ripping it out. Kai stands watching you, smirking and almost hard, listening to the beaten-up motherfucker pant and sob. Kai pushes you out of the way and shoves him to the ground one last time, before grabbing your hand and legging it to the car.

When you sink to the car seat, trying to catch your breath, not a single thought coming to your mind for the first few seconds. The adrenaline of assault makes your heart want to jump out of your chest. But when you look over at Kai, expecting him to mirror you, he sits calmly, waiting for you to calm down. Your head is blurred with disbelief at what you just did, but despite knowing in your mind that violence isn’t the answer, you sit there as Kai starts driving and wait for the guilt to overpower your body. But it just…doesn’t.

“I’m so proud of you”, Kai says and puts his hand on your thigh giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m waiting for the guilt to kick in”

“It won’t”, Kai informs you. “You don’t care about the homeless or animals”

“What?! Of course, I do-”

“No, you don’t. You care about sexism. That’s what powers you. How many statistics do you know about rape? How much do you know about rape prevention? Feminism? Malala and Michelle fucking Obama?!”, he yells.

“That’s what fills you with rage, and that’s what begins the unlimited cycle”. Although his words sounded so sure and factual, you just couldn’t accept it.

“I don’t want to do it with violence”. Your voice weakens which makes Kai huff in amusement. He parks his car outside your motel and turns to you.

“You just made the world a better place. You saved that woman. That scum will never be able to reproduce. If you weren’t doing the right thing, you’d feel guilty”. You look up at him with worried eyebrows and he gives you a warm reassuring smile. You can’t deny his words, and the adrenaline and sense of accomplishment overshadow any speck of guilt you’re meant to feel. Just as you’re about to open the car door to get out, he puts his hand on your shoulder and looks at you once more.

“I’ll come by and get you tomorrow, I want you to meet my friends”

#american horror story #ahs #american horror story cult #ahs cult #kai anderson #kai anderson x #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson fanfiction #kai anderson imagine #murder story #evan peters #evan peters character #ahs imagine #american horror story imagine

[maschotch]

You make suchhhhh a good point about jj's red flag "girl boss" moments. I think that the writers do a shit job with female empowerment at times, especially with her. Most of the girl boss moments I like are with Emily or Penelope, where they're being super smart or charming or good at their jobs (or Emily kicking the shit out of someone) lmfaooo. Minimal loss is a great example for me of Emily being a strong and feminine character. She's soooo badass in that episode and i love it <3 But a lot of times they completely miss the mark on strong female actions, particularly with emily and jj. A lot of times I think they rely on sexualizing them to catch or interview an unsub, which is fine until it becomes some of the only representation we get. I can think of sooooo many for Emily in particular where her big moment is just turning on the "feminine charm" to flirt with or arouse the unsub. There's the swinger episode, the episode with the fox, but the ones that stick out are 52 pickup and the Doyle arch ofc. Like it happens sooooo much it gets a little weird after a while. Then there's the flip side, where they have a girl yell at a male unsub who's? Already cuffed? With Elle she has that scene where she yells at the man who's house she's searching ("what's the matter scotty? Scared of a woman who's not afraid of you?") Or Emily pinning down that unsub in season 5 and telling him to "just relax" when he's getting r*pped in prison. It just. Doesn't seem empowering to yell at an unsub who's already in cuffs lol. And JJ. JJ is just a whole different breed because her girl boss is either being a mother or just being an ass to unsubs or just the male members of the team. She just straight up hates men at times which is funny until it just goes too far to people who don't deserve it. Being a jerk ≠ being a feminist

yeah the writers do Not do well writing women lmao and you can always tell when they’re trying to make it ~a moment. like emily in limelight “if she were a man you’d say she had balls” or that elle quote you mentioned or any other odd lines of dialogue that dont quite fit. they do their best when it seems like they’re not even trying: emily sacrificing herself for reid in minimal loss, penelope being just as if not smarter than reid and not shy admitting it.. those are good moments.

tbh the emily stuff.. like her flirting w unsubs.. thats just kinda what she’s good at? yeah it’s definitely repetitive and maybe even overdone (i can never get rnough of those moments ahfhkshd shes just so hotkdhskdjksjd) but its in line with her character and her specialties. manipulation is her forte and flirting is a good way to do that smoothly. it automatically lowers someones guard as they anticipate whatever possibilities are suggested and more willing to be open and susceptible to her casual questioning. it’s less suspicious. and honestly i do think there’s something to be said ab an attractive woman using the creepily lustful gaze that she’d be subjected to anyway and using it to her benefit

not gonna even attempting to say the prison r*pe comment was appropriate. however… i think that was less of a failed attempt at a girlboss moment and more about emily (and extension the team) taking out frustrations from the previous episode. they’re still grieving and hotch’s emotional state is kinda up in the air rn. his turmoil throws the others off balance too. emily snapping and crossing the line with an unsub is an example of that: a manifestation of all the pent up rage she has for what their leader went through. it also does come back around to the suggestion that hotch was sexually assaulted by foyet in his apartment

the point is that all the women on the show act like that at least once, thanks to the completely fucking idiocy of the writers. what makes it different with jj, at least in my opinion, is that she does that shit way more than anyone else. her very aggressively gendered comments combined with her “sassy snarky” personality where she makes fun of people and rolls her eyes all the time just makes her seem.. mean. and tbh we all go through a “man-hating lesbian” phase but it should quickly balance out to a more broad perspective of gender roles in society. continuing to bash men just for existing and lumping them all as one idiotic mass is just terfy. its not breaking down any barriers: its upholding the traditional binary, just degrading one instead of the typical other. feminism is not an excuse for transphobia. the way to end misogyny isnt through misandry, but i dont think jj HAS an appropriate perspective. shes still very (willfully) ignorant about a lot of this stuff if only bc of her refusal to listen

anyway anyway anyway long story short YEAH. theres an acceptable threshold to account for the show’s inevitable stupidity, but jj pushes way past that. its not just a line or two, its her whole fucking personality. it makes her very hard to like when she’s so fucking hateful

#hopefully this makes sense. shes not feminist shes just transphobic #i forgot to even mention the mother thing but yeah that too #asks #the emily moments.. i see how those can be annoying. i do #but at least we can still come up with a motive/mindset for those lines #with jj we csnt even do that #shes just a bitch

[marciabrady]

Cinderella?

Favorite thing about her?: I love everything about her but I think people overlook how sassy she is and her bite! All of her comments to Lucifer, and the singing bit about Anastasia and Drizella, are so enriching and add a great depth of character. But also, how realistic she is! This was totally erased in that live action, but in the animated version, she gets so FRUSTRATED at times. She even misplaces her anger at the clock and Lucifer in the very opening scenes. We see her fight back to Lady Tremaine and win in certain cases- like when she asserts her right to go to the ball- but we also see it backfire, like when Lady Tremaine gives her more and more chores to do. Just the overall depiction of abuse is so realistic and I think people dislike how close to home it is. Our modern sensibilities call for all female characters to be superheros- look at Rapunzel's hair, Elsa's magic, and Moana's connection with the ocean. No one wants to see the depiction of realistic abuse and how it can wear on someone, or what those family dynamics look like behind closed doors. They want Cinderella to beat up all three women in her household or start an Etsy business or something lol but for all that being said, I still marvel at her strength of character. The fact that she picked herself up and went to the ball after 1) years of abuse, 2) having to assert her right to go in front of three of her abusers, 3) being physically assaulted and having the very clothes violently torn off her body is so??? Like I get social anxiety from going to public places- I can hardly imagine how she must've felt with ALL of those circumstances AND the fact that she didn't even have a chaperon bring her to the ball and I just love Cinderella so much omg I'm not crying, you are

Least favorite thing about her?: This question implies there's something to dislike about Cinderella which is WRONG except if we're talking about the live action, which is literally awful. The live action got her character so wrong and the entire cast of that film went on a press tour bashing the original Cinderella while upholding their own as the feminist approved version and I literally can't even think about it without boiling in rage. Especially because the original Cinderella possesses more of the qualities they claim the 2015 version has and the original lacks. UGH if you ever want to talk about this HMU because I have THOUGHTS

Do I like her movie?: HER MOVIE IS SO GREAT. The music is so unique and I'm obsessed with all the vocal talent. Like, the fact that Lucille Bliss interpreted the words 'Mother, mother, mother' on a written script LIKE THAT is everything. I can't find a single unlikable character though, like everyone brings it from a vocal, characterization, and animation standpoint. Also, it's animated so realistically! Compare Cinderella's thicker waist to any of the Renaissance and post Renaissance princesses and you'll see what I mean. But also, it's just so fun and joyful and lighthearted while also not shying away from addressing and depicting abuse in such a realistic way. Lady Tremaine is actually my favorite villain of all time, to this day, because of how understated but effective she is. UGH I LOVE

Favorite outfit she wears? I ALWAYS loved the pink dress the mice made for her the most as a child! Pink was my favorite color and she had her hair down and lookeD STUNNING. Also the fact that it was a thrift from her mom's is so cute <3 That being said, she literally doesn't have a bad outfit. Her wedding dress is the best one Disney's ever come up with, I don't even need to explain the enchanting quality of her ball gown, the servant dress looks so comfortable and functional, and even the nightdress is flattering to her!

Favorite song from her movie?: The reprises she sings of So This Is Love is hauntingly beautiful. I can literally hear it echoing throughout that hidden staircase on the way to her little attic room.

Favorite animal (or human) friend she has?: I'm sorry but I LOVE Bruno and Major the horse way more than I should. I just love the idea that most people view Cinderella as this ultra glamorous princess and her sidekicks are literally mice, an old bloodhound dog, and a rail thin horse. But, the dog and horse remind me of when we see her with her father, and seeing their fall to grace too serves to give Cinderella a sense of companionship and community and history outside of the mice who she presumably meets later on.

Which trait of her personality do I most see in myself?: Probably her frustration at things that are beyond her control. I also think her FOMO moment of missing the ball and trying to talk herself out of wanting to go before concluding "and it'll be completely wonderful" is so cute. But I also try to get along with people I hate, for the sake of family and things like work, but also end up shading them like Cinderella lol but I think in order to be resilient and live a successful life, you kinda have to roll with the punches the way she did and always believe in the possibility of something wonderful happening and I hope I maintain that ideology as beautifully as does Cinderella

How would I rate her prince?: TOP TIER! Listen, that eye roll he did at the ball is EVERYTHING. Also I love the idea of a prince literally tearing a kingdom apart to find me after a single dance. Plus, with his father being as animated as he is, you KNOW that family is entertaining to marry into. Also, he's a TOTAL hunk (only counting the first movie)

Where does she rank on my top 10 favorite princesses?: TOP TIER AS WELL. Her, Snow White, Aurora, and Ariel are like on a whole other tier for me where they literally exist as my favorite characters of all time and they can't even be categorized as princesses because my love for them extends past any labels.

Put a Disney Princess in my ask and I'll answer!

#historianofenchancia #ask #thank you!!! #cinderella

[hellomynameisbisexual]

Here's a shortlist of those who realized that I — a cis woman who'd identified as heterosexual for decades of life — was in fact actually bi, long before I realized it myself recently: my sister, all my friends, my boyfriend, and the TikTok algorithm.

On TikTok, the relationship between user and algorithm is uniquely (even sometimes uncannily) intimate. An app which seemingly contains as many multitudes of life experiences and niche communities as there are people in the world, we all start in the lowest common denominator of TikTok. Straight TikTok (as it's popularly dubbed) initially bombards your For You Page with the silly pet videos and viral teen dances that folks who don't use TikTok like to condescendingly reduce it to.

Quickly, though, TikTok begins reading your soul like some sort of divine digital oracle, prying open layers of your being never before known to your own conscious mind. The more you use it, the more tailored its content becomes to your deepest specificities, to the point where you get stuff that's so relatable that it can feel like a personal attack (in the best way) or (more dangerously) even a harmful trigger from lifelong traumas.

For example: I don't know what dark magic (read: privacy violations) immediately clued TikTok into the fact that I was half-Brazilian, but within days of first using it, Straight TikTok gave way to at first Portuguese-speaking then broader Latin TikTok. Feeling oddly seen (being white-passing and mostly American-raised, my Brazilian identity isn't often validated), I was liberal with the likes, knowing that engagement was the surefire way to go deeper down this identity-affirming corner of the social app.

TikTok made lots of assumptions from there, throwing me right down the boundless, beautiful, and oddest multiplicities of Alt TikTok, a counter to Straight TikTok's milquetoast mainstreamness.

Home to a wide spectrum of marginalized groups, I was giving out likes on my FYP like Oprah, smashing that heart button on every type of video: from TikTokers with disabilities, Black and Indigenous creators, political activists, body-stigma-busting fat women, and every glittering shade of the LGBTQ cornucopia. The faves were genuine, but also a way to support and help offset what I knew about the discriminatory biases in TikTok's algorithm.

My diverse range of likes started to get more specific by the minute, though. I wasn't just on general Black TikTok anymore, but Alt Cottagecore Middle-Class Black Girl TikTok (an actual label one creator gave her page's vibes). Then it was Queer Latina Roller Skating Girl TikTok, Women With Non-Hyperactive ADHD TikTok, and then a double whammy of Women Loving Women (WLW) TikTok alternating between beautiful lesbian couples and baby bisexuals.

Looking back at my history of likes, the transition from queer “ally” to “salivating simp” is almost imperceptible.

There was no one precise "aha" moment. I started getting "put a finger down" challenges that wouldn't reveal what you were putting a finger down for until the end. Then, 9-fingers deep (winkwink), I'd be congratulated for being 100% bisexual. Somewhere along the path of getting served multiple WLW Disney cosplays in a single day and even dom lesbian KinkTok roleplay — or whatever the fuck Bisexual Pirate TikTok is — deductive reasoning kind of spoke for itself.

But I will never forget the one video that was such a heat-seeking missile of a targeted attack that I was moved to finally text it to my group chat of WLW friends with a, "Wait, am I bi?" To which the overwhelming consensus was, "Magic 8 Ball says, 'Highly Likely.'"

Serendipitously posted during Pride Month, the video shows a girl shaking her head at the caption above her head, calling out confused and/or closeted queers who say shit like, "I think everyone is a LITTLE bisexual," to the tune of "Closer" by The Chainsmokers. When the lyrics land on the word "you," she points straight at the screen — at me — her finger and inquisitive look piercing my hopelessly bisexual soul like Cupid's goddamn arrow.

Oh no, the voice inside my head said, I have just been mercilessly perceived.

As someone who had, in fact, done feminist studies at a tiny liberal arts college with a gender gap of about 70 percent women, I'd of course dabbled. I've always been quick to bring up the Kinsey scale, to champion a true spectrum of sexuality, and to even declare (on multiple occasions) that I was, "straight, but would totally fuck that girl!"

Oh no, the voice inside my head returned, I've literally just been using extra words to say I was bi.

After consulting the expertise of my WLW friend group (whose mere existence, in retrospect, also should've clued me in on the flashing neon pink, purple, and blue flag of my raging bisexuality), I ran to my boyfriend to inform him of the "news."

"Yeah, baby, I know. We all know," he said kindly.

"How?!" I demanded.

Well for one, he pointed out, every time we came across a video of a hot girl while scrolling TikTok together, I'd without fail watch the whole way through, often more than once, regardless of content. (Apparently, straight girls do not tend to do this?) For another, I always breathlessly pointed out when we'd pass by a woman I found beautiful, often finding a way to send a compliment her way. ("I'm just a flirt!" I used to rationalize with a hand wave, "Obvs, I'm not actually sexually attracted to them!") Then, I guess, there were the TED Talk-like rants I'd subject him to about the thinly veiled queer relationship in Adventure Time between Princess Bubblegum and Marcelyne the Vampire Queen — which the cowards at Cartoon Network forced creators to keep as subtext!

And, well, when you lay it all out like that...

But my TikTok-fueled bisexual awakening might actually speak less to the omnipotence of the app's algorithm, and more to how heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

Sure, TikTok bombarded me with the thirst traps of my exact type of domineering masc lady queers, who reduced me to a puddle of drool I could no longer deny. But I also recalled a pivotal moment in college when I briefly questioned my heterosexuality, only to have a lesbian friend roll her eyes and chastise me for being one of those straight girls who leads Actual Queer Women on. I figured she must know better. So I never pursued any of my lady crushes in college, which meant I never experimented much sexually, which made me conclude that I couldn't call myself bisexual if I'd never had actual sex with a woman. I also didn't really enjoy lesbian porn much, though the fact that I'd often find myself fixating on the woman during heterosexual porn should've clued me into that probably coming more from how mainstream lesbian porn is designed for straight men.

The ubiquity of heterormativity, even when unwittingly perpetrated by members of the queer community, is such an effective self-sustaining cycle. Aside from being met with queer-gating (something I've since learned bi folks often experience), I had a hard time identifying my attraction to women as genuine attraction, simply because it felt different to how I was attracted to men.

Heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

So much of women's sexuality — of my sexuality — can feel defined by that carnivorous kind of validation you get from men. I met no societal resistance in fully embodying and exploring my desire for men, either (which, to be clear, was and is insatiable slut levels of wanting that peen.) But in retrospect, I wonder how many men I slept with not because I was truly attracted to them, but because I got off on how much they wanted me.

My attraction to women comes with a different texture of eroticism. With women (and bare with a baby bi, here), the attraction feels more shared, more mutual, more tender rather than possessive. It's no less raw or hot or all-consuming, don't get me wrong. But for me at least, it comes more from a place of equality rather than just power play. I love the way women seem to see right through me, to know me, without us really needing to say a word.

I am still, as it turns out, a sexual submissive through-and-through, regardless of what gender my would-be partner is. But, ignorantly and unknowingly, I'd been limiting my concept of who could embody dominant sexual personas to cis men. But when TikTok sent me down that glorious rabbit hole of masc women (who know exactly what they're doing, btw), I realized my attraction was not to men, but a certain type of masculinity. It didn't matter which body or genitalia that presentation came with.

There is something about TikTok that feels particularly suited to these journeys of sexual self-discovery and, in the case of women loving women, I don't think it's just the prescient algorithm. The short-form video format lends itself to lightning bolt-like jolts of soul-bearing nakedness, with the POV camera angles bucking conventions of the male gaze, which entrenches the language of film and TV in heterosexual male desire.

In fairness to me, I'm far from the only one who missed their inner gay for a long time — only to have her pop out like a queer jack-in-the-box throughout a near year-long quarantine that led many of us to join TikTok. There was the baby bi mom, and scores of others who no longer had to publicly perform their heterosexuality during lockdown — only to realize that, hey, maybe I'm not heterosexual at all?

Flooded with video after video affirming my suspicions, reflecting my exact experiences as they happened to others, the change in my sexual identity was so normalized on TikTok that I didn't even feel like I needed to formally "come out." I thought this safe home I'd found to foster my baby bisexuality online would extend into the real world.

But I was in for a rude awakening.

Testing out my bisexuality on other platforms, casually referring to it on Twitter, posting pictures of myself decked out in a rainbow skate outfit (which I bought before realizing I was queer), I received nothing but unquestioning support and validation. Eventually, I realized I should probably let some members of my family know before they learned through one of these posts, though.

Daunted by the idea of trying to tell my Latina Catholic mother and Swiss Army veteran father (who's had a crass running joke about me being a "lesbian" ever since I first declared myself a feminist at age 12), I chose the sibling closest to me. Seeing as how gender studies was one of her majors in college too, I thought it was a shoo-in. I sent an off-handed, joke-y but serious, "btw I'm bi now!" text, believing that's all that would be needed to receive the same nonchalant acceptance I found online.

It was not.

I didn't receive a response for two days. Hurt and panicked by what was potentially my first mild experience of homophobia, I called them out. They responded by insisting we need to have a phone call for such "serious" conversations. As I calmly tried to express my hurt on said call, I was told my text had been enough to make this sibling worry about my mental wellbeing. They said I should be more understanding of why it'd be hard for them to (and I'm paraphrasing) "think you were one way for twenty-eight years" before having to contend with me deciding I was now "something else."

But I wasn't "something else," I tried to explain, voice shaking. I hadn't knowingly been deceiving or hiding this part of me. I'd simply discovered a more appropriate label. But it was like we were speaking different languages. Other family members were more accepting, thankfully. There are many ways I'm exceptionally lucky, my IRL environment as supportive as Baby Bi TikTok. Namely, I'm in a loving relationship with a man who never once mistook any of it as a threat, instead giving me all the space in the world to understand this new facet of my sexuality.

I don't have it all figured out yet. But at least when someone asks if I listen to Girl in Red on social media, I know to answer with a resounding, "Yes," even though I've never listened to a single one of her songs. And for now, that's enough.

#tiktok #queer education #bisexual education #queer nation #bisexual nation #bisexuality #lgbtq community #bi #lgbtq #support bisexuality #bisexuality is valid #lgbtq pride #bi tumblr #pride #bi pride #bisexual #bisexual community #support bisexual #bisexual women #bisexual people #bisexual youth #bisexual activist #coming out bisexual #bicurious #bicuriosity #bi positivity #bisexual info #bi+

[heavyweightheart]

How does one interview a new doctor? I'm looking for a new gp because my last one was really fatphobic but I don't know what to look for/what to ask when I go to a new one. Any advice? Thanks!

i’m sorry your last doctor wasn’t able to “first do no harm” and i’m sure i don’t have to tell you how common that is or how much it sucks or how much patience it can take to find a decent GP etc etc. i so wish medicine weren’t saturated with fatphobia. you deserve competent care!

i guess THE question i’d ask is “will you be able to treat me without recommending weight loss?”. you might say that you’ve had ED/disordered eating issues in the past (if that’s true) and that you’re unwilling to discuss triggering topics like dietary restriction or weight loss. maybe name the health issues you have specifically and ask about treatment protocols, e.g., “can you take a size-neutral, non-weight-loss approach to treating my asthma? what would those interventions be?”. you get the idea.

fat activist ragen chastain is great about this stuff. she even has cards you can print out to help you at the doctor. also check the HAES and fat-friendly medical professional directories to see if maybe there’s a practitioner in your area who already treats fat patients with basic decency and competence?? good luck

#little-ball-of-feminist-rage

[livefromtheballpit]

In this post I will be detailing what I know so far. 

In my years, I’ve been familiar with numerous fandoms and consumed quite a lot of the same media as was popular on tumblr during the 2014-2015 era. These pieces of media include but are not limited to:

Steven Universe

Supernatural

The Fault in Our Stars

Harry Potter

Percy Jackson

Divergent

Twilight

Glee

The Hunger Games

Avatar: The Last Airbender

However, I never fully participated in the fandom communities of any of them. Probably my biggest exposure to tumblr-adjacent culture was Steven Universe - mainly due to the fact that I followed the series as new episodes came out, as well as doing extensive research on the subject. Still, I had little cognizance of the majority of the fandoms that were popular during 2014-2015 - which is why I compiled a list of relevant ones during the time period:

Superwholock (Supernatural, Doctor Who, Sherlock)

Harry Potter

Percy Jackson

The Hunger Games

Steven Universe

The Maze Runner 

Divergent

Glee

Star Trek

Star Wars

Lord of the Rings

Naruto

Homestuck

Legend of Korra

Hetalia (oh my god)

The Fault in Our Stars

Adventure Time

The Lorax (Onceler specifically)

Hamilton

Dan and Phil

*There are likely a lot fandoms that I missed - the list will grow and change as this historical inquiry progresses. 

Before I began investigating, I made a preliminary list of miscellaneous references I already knew.

“I like your shoelaces” “Thanks, I stole them from the president”

None pizza left beef

Warm milk in a starbucks post

Superwholock in general

OTP’s, ship culture

Kinning in general

Justgirlythings

Aphobe blocklist

Destiel and the events of November 5th, 2020

FNAF

Shane Dawson (not good)

Calling people “cinnamon roll” or “smol bean”

Undertale

MLP in general

Rage comics

Dashcon (and the ball pit)

Yourfaveisproblematic

Tumblr men in general

Now, a list of references I know at this point in time:

[everything in the list above]

Supernatural fandom has a gif for everything

Do you love the color of the sky?

Pomegranate gore TW

The Mishapocalypse

The disappearance of the Superwholocks

Moon moon

Moreo’s

My immortal

Dragonkin diamond eating stuff

The infamous John Green monologue, hence him leaving tumblr

Oncest

Coletureconcept

The infamous ‘you, come, now” pointing post

The most british picture ever

Feminist Ryan Gosling

Hetalia in its entirety

Joker without makeup

Ankle bracelet shoe pic

The Vlogbrothers in general

Fandom blog vs Hipster blog

Alexandria’s Genesis

Sharks are smooth

Handstand Abs Guy

The down with cis bus

All or Nothing

We popping the biggest bottles

That covers most of the information I’ve gathered so far pertaining to tumblr. I have also been looking into other parts of 2014-15 culture (music, fashion, pop culture, historical events) but I will only be reviewing internet-specific findings on this blog.

Stay tuned as this journey progresses.

#2014 #i am in too deep #help #how did people who experienced this stuff manage to not spiral into insanity #praying for anyone who was on the internet during this era #2015 #this is beginning to take a mental toll #heritageposts i blame you

[redhawtriot]

kiri n the reader have a platonic relationship, but every once in a while they'll get together in secret n watch movies together? its their little thing, bcuz when they watch romcoms (which is smn i definitely see kiri secretly liking) they both get a bit sappy during it n only trust each other to be that emotionally vulnerable around? kiri doesn't want to look weak n the reader is usually reserved they both feel comfortable ugly sobbing n huggin it out together b4 swearing not to tell a soul

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

This was so much fun to write😂 I added a lil twist and made the reader BAKUGOU’s TWIN SISTER!!

I feel like you probably wanted this to be really cute, but I don’t think I translated into that well…. 😅 but I really I laughed a lot though, so I hope you enjoy it half as much as I did! ❤️

Thanks for the great request!

HnM💕

Tectonic Plates and Platonic Dates.  (Kirishima x Reader (friendship))

You could honestly never get over how absolutely pathetic you probably looked as you sat a sobbing, wet mess in Kirishima’s bed. 

The two of you had seen your fair share of these kinds of things since your friendship began not too long ago; however, no matter how many times you witnessed it, it would still bring tears to your eyes when the girl towards the end of a rom/com would almost loose hope in her significant other, just to be swept off her feet in the end. 

Like, how many goddamn fight scenes and heartbreak soundtracks would it take before you had a heart of steel? The world may just find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop first. 

“Sally totally deserves better than this man, but I want them to find happiness so bad, bro,” Kiri whispered as he scooted closer to you in his bed to hand you a tissue, “Why did he give me such a tough ultimatum? Not manly at all, dude,” he finished as he shook his head and solemnly retreated deeper into his covers for comfort.

“Yeah, fuck Harry for making my eyes hurt,” you quietly replied with a choked sob before blowing your nose into the towel. 

God, if only Bakugou could see you now. How would your brother think of you, his tough-as-nails, older twin– reduced to a ball of tears next to his best friend by corny cinematography. 

Damn good corny cinematography. 

But that’s beside the point. Damn good or not, it was absolutely dire that the two of you kept your scandalous rom/com meetings a secret. Kirishima being the human embodiment of manliness would never dare bruise his masculinity by watching the “About Time”, and the mature, big sister of the all-mighty Bakugou twins would never forsake feminist movements of the last 70 years and watch crap like “Hitch” or “Love Actually.”

So why did you two have to catch each other at the premier of Mama Mia 2 a few months ago?

Little did you know that that day would only be the beginning to many secret meetings between you two closeted cornballs. What had started out as an accidental (and awkward) interaction at the movie theaters turned out to birth a series of the most classified operational meetings of the century. 

A secret tradition that was about to bust wide the fuck open.

Both you and Kirishima nearly jumped out of your skin as three loud knocks were heard at the door, 

“Kirishima, bro, I know you’re up!” Kaminari’s voice sounded on the other side of the door,  “Nobody, goes to sleep this early on a Friday night unless you’re Bakugou. You gotta look at this tiktok Sero and I just made!”

You immediately threw the laptop off of your lap and jumped out of the bed. You threw a frantic glance at the door and your heart dropped even further when you noticed that it was unlocked.

You two had been so damn discreet— you had staggered your departures from the common area, you alternated rooms frequently, you made sure that you both had palpable alibis for your absences.

All that work, and you were about to be foiled because you forgot to lock the damn door. 

“Bro, Iida walked in the middle of it!” Kaminari continued with a laugh before you heard the door knob shift.

Your heart violently thudded against your chest as the metal knob began to turn. You painfully whipped your head back to Kirishima, before spastically grabbing him and desperately throwing him off of the bed toward the door, “Do something!” you harshly whispered as you threw him a pleading glance.

“I- uh… NO!” Kirishima yelled toward the door, halting the movement on the other side. His eyes darted between you and the knob, “DON’T COME IN I’M…” the boy’s eyebrows rose to the top of his forehead as he tried to find his next words, “… Naked?” his voice trailed off in a high pitch and his shoulders came up for a shrug as he searched your expression for approval. 

He found nothing of the sort.

“Oh my fucking God,” you quietly exclaimed as you threw your hand to your forehead with a loud smack. 

“Wait, was that… Y/N’s voice?” Kaminari quietly questioned to himself on the other side of the door. Your soul just about escaped from your being as those words reached you. 

Oh, my god. There is no god. 

You snapped yourself from the utter horror of the situation and snatched your soul from its attempted escape before storming up to the door– lightly swatting Kirishima on the back of his hard head as you passed him, “No one is naked, Kaminari!” you whispered as you swung the door wide open to reveal to room’s contents. Kirishima nervously waved to the flabbergasted Kaminari with a slight chuckle from the ground where you had thrown him, “Take a look for yourself,” you gestured behind you with your lips awkwardly pressed against each other.

Kaminari reluctantly waved back to Kiri before his eyes settled onto your face. He stared at you for a moment with his head tilted, as if he were intrigued be something. Right when you were about to open your mouth and ask, “What?” he spoke up again,

“Are you okay, Y/N? Your face is really flushed and your eyes are red,” your mouth fumbled over itself as you tried to find an explanation, but suddenly, Kaminari got a look in his eye. The blond practically giggled to himself as his mouth tilted up into a mischievous smirk, “Just what were you two kids doing in there? huh, Y/N?” he said a bit too loudly, igniting your jaw to fly wide open,

“No, no, no! Denki!”You composed yourself almost instantaneously as you heard rustling from the room next to Kirishima’s. You waved your hands frantically in front of the blond in front of you. You tried to hush him as he continued, “Shhhhh! No!” you pleaded in a whisper as your face shriveled in terror.

He continued regardless of your impending doom, “Was I interrupting something, Kirishima?” He wiggled his eyebrows as he called out passed your distressed form and toward the redhead who was just then beginning to stand to his feet, “Does Bakubro know about you and his sister?” You could have killed his wanna-be Pikachu headass right then and there,

“Be quiet you idiot! He’s gonna hear y–”

Your words were interrupted as the door next to Kirishima’s violently swung open and banged harshly against the wall, “THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY ABOUT MY SISTER?!”

Your hands moved to rub your temples in preparation for the oncoming headache that was heading your way as your twin brother furiously marched out of his room. 

As soon as you made contact with your brother’s familiar fiery eyes, your entire body tensed up as if to prepare for fight or flight. You never stood down from an altercation with your little brother, but in this moment as you watched disgust and horror flash across his expression at the idea of you and his best friend sneaking around, you wanted nothing more than to shrivel into nothingness in the corner of the room like a dead spider. 

So yeah, it seemed as if flight might just be the best option. 

Your twin seemed to be at a loss for words as he tried to absorb the scene in front of him, but he quickly snapped out of his trance and re-immersed himself in his usual rage, “What the hell is going on here, shitty hair?!” he growled as he stormed up to Kirishima and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. 

“You fucking neanderthal, get the hell off of him!” you squeaked as you tried to peel Bakugou off of poor Kirishima. 

“Bakugou, man, it’s not what it looks like,” Kiri nervously laughed as you continued to futility attempt to free him from your brothers clutches. 

Kaminari could be heard laughing in the background off all of this madness, “Oh yeah,” he mused, “because by the looks of that messed up bed, it looked like you were getting all cuddly and snugly with Y/N.”

“WHAT?!” Bakugou screeched, causing Kirishima’s ears to slightly rattle.A guttural growl tore it’s way from his throat as his grips on Kirishima’s collar became tighter and he began violently shaking the boy– a steady stream of curses and death threats flooding out of him as he did so. 

Bakugou was straight up about to shake the last three brain cells that he had right out of his skull, “BAKUGOU CUT IT OUT RIGHT NOW!” You screeched as your face began tingling, “I AM ABOUT 3 SECONDS AWAY FROM KICKING YOUR ASS!”

Kaminari pracctically fell to the ground in laugher, only pausing when you threw him a very heated glare, “Don’t you laugh! You’re gonna catch these fists too, assdick!” Kaminari’s fits of laughter only intensified with your words.

Ass dick. What the fuck did you just say….?

Things literally couldn’t get any worse.

“What going on?” Sero’s approaching voice sounded from down the hall, “What’s with all of the commotion?”

Fucking great.

“None of your damned business!” both you and Bakugou sounded simultaneously- his being much more aggressive than your own. 

“Kirishima and Y/N were having a moment,” Kaminari gave a half-assed whisper to Sero.

“Kiri, you sly dog,” the second half to the same idiot replied causing Bakugou to shake the Kiri even harder. 

“I swear it’s not like that at all, you guys! Honestly!” Kirshima blurted out, gaining a glare from Bakugou as he quit shaking him– a sign to continue speaking and explain himself, 

“Y/N and I were just chilling out. I guess it’s kinda ridiculous that we have hid this for so long but…” he anxiously scratched the back of his neck.

Oh god, you were about to be outted. Revealed. Exposed. Fuck, you weren’t ready for this. There were still so many good movies out there to watch, but you would never get the chance to do so with your twerp of a brother breathing down your neck— ridiculing you for being such a sissy.

Kirishima what the hell are you doing?! They can’t handle the truth!

You stared at Kiri with wide eyes as he continued with a goofy smile plastered onto his face, “We have this… thing where we meet up and watch–”

“PORN.” you blurted out without thinking. As soon as the words flew of your mouth you could feel your face become red-hot with embarrassment.

Kirishima’s face heated up as well as he struggled to find words, “…what…?”

“what?!” Kaminari and Sero simultaneously cried out.

“hWHAT?!!” an unholy screech erupted from Bakugou’s throat as he disgustedly snatched himself away from Kirishima. 

You were so embarrased that you didnt even notice your face was literally burning up as smoke began to steam from your cheeks. It seemed as of the five of you gawked at each other for years before a sudden shift within your skin clicked in place and a loud explosion enveloped the room as you literally blew your top. 

Your quirk was similar to your brothers, except you couldn’t control your oxidation as spontaneously as Bakugou could, and you could also oxidize sweat from anywhere on your body. This meant that you were basically the human equivalent of a match wherever you rubbed your skin. 

It also meant that when you got extremely flustered or overwhelmed, sometimes your quirk would activate, much like Bakugou’s, and oxidize the massive amount of facial sweat you tended to grossly compile in anxious moments and effectively explode your own fucking head.

The four men stared in shock as the smoke cleared from your skull, revealing your seriously pissed off face “GET. THE FUCK. OUUUT!!” you growled wildly. 

The three stooges looked at your enraged being in terror as your brother just scoffed and sent you a irritated glance. You just wanted to wipe the stupid look off his bratty little face, “ALL OF YOU!” you commanded as you violently shoved Bakugou out of the room onto his butt.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” he screeched.

“Yes, ma’am.” dumb, dumber and dumbest all three replied as they tried to hurriedly flee away from the crime scene. 

You quickly grabbed dumber by the arm, “Not you, Kirishima,” you groaned in annoyance before swiftly yanking the boy back into the room and closing the door to lock it. Bakugou barely missed catching the door.

“Y/N!!! FUCKING LET ME IN!” Bakugou snarled as he banged against the door, “NOW! you idiot! I’ll blast this door straight to hell! Shitty hair, if you wanna keep this door I suggest you let me in right the FUCK now! Don’t you touch my shitty sister!”

You ignored all of his psychotic rantings as you tried to find the comfortable position that you had been in in bed before shit had hit the fan. You calmly opened the laptop up and pressed play on the movie.

Kirishima whippped his head back and forth from you calmly on the bed to the raging shadow of a wild creature just under his door, “Are you… sure this is okay? I don’t think that door will hold much longer,” he couldn’t help but smile a little at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Good thing the movie only has 10 minutes left,” you tried to shrug off the embarrassment and return to the bliss of rom/com, “Now. I am gonna finish the damn thing. If you wanna leave be my guest.”

Kirishima gave one last glance toward the booming door before walking over to settle down into the bed next to you, “I think I’ll stay here,” he laughed.

“Good choice,” you replied as you looked up to him with a smile.

And you finished the movie even with your feral twin brother making furious, animal-like noises just on the other side of the door. 

#my hero academia #mha imagines #boku no hero academia #mha imagine #bnha imagine #bnha imagines #kirishima imagine #kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima #kirishima eijirou #bakugou #kastuki bakugou #bakugou’s sister #sero hanta #denki kaminari #kaminari x reader #sero x reader #kirishima x bakugou #platonic

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift Leaves Her Comfort Zones Behind on the Head-Spinning, Heartbreaking ‘Folklore’

Her eighth album is a radical detour into the deepest collection of songs she’s ever come up with.

So here we are again. The world was in the middle of the cruelest summer ever, just staggering through late July, when Taylor Swift decided to make it all so much messier — her specialty. In a move that nobody saw coming, she announced a surprise album on July 23rd, less than a year after her career-capping smash Lover. (A year to the day after she dropped “The Archer.”) Like the rest of us, Swift had to cancel her summer, including her LoverFest shows, which would have been next week. Instead, she spent the quarantine season throwing herself into a new secret project: her eighth album, Folklore. But the real surprise is the music itself — the most head-spinning, heart-breaking, emotionally ambitious songs of her life.

It’s a total goth-folk album, mostly acoustic guitar and piano, largely in collaboration with the National’s Aaron Dessner. No pop songs at all. It’s as far beyond Lover as Lover was beyond Reputation. She’s always relished her dramatic creative zigzags, but this is easily her most audacious move, full of story-telling depth she’s never come close to before. Some of us have spent years dreaming Taylor would do a whole album like this, but nobody really dreamed it would turn out this great. Her greatest album — so far.

Lover self-consciously summed up the first 30 years of her life, bringing all her musical passions together. But on Folklore, she leaves her comfort zones behind. It sounds like she figured she wasn’t going to be touring these songs live anyway, so she gave up on doing anything for the radio, anything rah-rah or stadium-friendly. She just made some coffee, sat at the piano, and let her mind wander into some dark places. You can picture the candle on her piano flickering as the wax melts over her copy of Wuthering Heights and another song rolls out.

Her sonic chemistry with Dessner is right in every detail; she also teams up with her longtime wingman Jack Antonoff and duets with Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon on “Exile.” The vibe is close to “Safe and Sound,” the rootsy gem she did with the Civil Wars for The Hunger Games soundtrack in 2013. As she explains in her Prologue, “In isolation my imagination has run wild and this album is the result, a collection of songs and stories that flowed like a stream of consciousness. Picking up a pen was my way of escaping into fantasy, history, and memory.”

Folklore really feels like the debut album of a whole new Swift — her narrative scope has opened up, with a wide-ranging cast of characters, for seventeen songs without a dud. Yet you can still hear that this is the same songwriter who dropped “Last Kiss” on the world ten July-ninths ago. Here’s a Swift progress report on her quarantine: “I’ve been having a hard time adjusting/I had the shiniest wheels, now they’re rusting/I didn’t know if you’d care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that.” The power of her mind.

It’s amusing in retrospect how people actually worried that being happy in love might mean Swift would run out of things to write songs about. Not a chance. It turns out to be the other way around, as she lets these characters tell their own stories: A scandalous old widow, hated by her whole town. A scared seven-year-old girl with a traumatized best friend. A ghost watching her enemies at the funeral. Recovering addicts. A fumbling teenage boy. Three of the highlights — “Cardigan,” “August,” and “Betty” — depict the same love triangle, from all three different perspectives. Other songs tell both sides of a story: “The 1” and “Peace,” or “Invisible String” and “The Lakes.”

Folklore hits overdrive halfway through, when it reaches a trilogy of heavy hitters. “August,” the album’s most plainly beautiful ballad, is a summer romance gone wrong: “I can see us tangled in bed sheets/August slipped away like a bottle of wine/Because you were never mine.” “This Is Me Trying” is the disturbingly witty tale of someone pouring her heart out, to keep herself from pouring more whiskey. “Illicit Affairs” is another tale of infidelity: “Take the words for what they are/A dwindling mercurial high/A drug that only worked the first few hundred times.” The tension explodes when she sings, “Don’t call me kid/Don’t call me baby/Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me.”

It’s going to take weeks if not decades to puzzle out all the intricately inter-woven narrative details of these songs. “Mirrorball” is about the same nervous dance-floor poseur of “New Romantics,” six years later, except tonight she feels like the disco ball that reflects everyone’s most desperate insecurities. “Mad Woman” expands on the familiar topic of witch hunts, but it also sharpens the feminist rage of “The Man.” “The Last Great American Dynasty” satirizes the upper-crust milieu of “Starlight” when she sings, “There goes the loudest woman this town has ever seen/I had a marvelous time ruining everything.” (Taylor uses the word “marvelous” twice in her career, and both time it’s songs about the Kennedys? No detail is too tiny for her to plan eight years in advance.)

“Betty” is a first — she sings in the voice of the 17-year-old boy in a Taylor Swift song, reckoning with the fickle behavior detailed by the girls in “Cardigan” and “August.” It takes off from the harmonica solo in Springsteen’s “Thunder Road” — which feels appropriate for the only tale on the album where she goes back to high school. “The Lakes” is a bonus track for vinyl, CD and (what a flex) cassette, but it’s a must-hear: Taylor walks in the footsteps of William Wordsworth, the Romantic poet who essentially invented the kind of introspective writing she does, wandering the Windermere Peaks of the Lake District.

Remember when she was threatening to spend this year re-recording all her old albums? She does the opposite here — she refuses to repeat her most reliable tricks. So many of the world’s favorite Swiftian trademarks are missing. No country moves, no synth pop, no first dates, no “Taylor visits a city” song, not even a laugh. The references to fame are few and far between, although they’re tasty when they do show up, as in “Invisible String”: “Bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to L.A.” She can’t resist adding: “Cold was the steel of my axe to grind/For the boys who broke my heart/Now I send their babies presents.” Touché.

If Lover was the last album of her twenties, Folklore is the first of her thirties. Lover was styled as a well-rounded musical autobiography, with everything from Nashville twang to electro-disco. Folklore takes a completely different approach, yet feels even more intimate, simply because it’s the sound of an artist with absolutely nothing to prove. She’s never sounded this relaxed or confident, never sounded this blasé about winning anyone over. It makes perfect sense that the quarantine brought out her best, since she’s always written so poignantly about isolation and the temptation to dream too hard about other people’s far-away lives. (“Last Kiss” is usually a summer favorite, but this year, “hope it’s nice where you are” feels a little too close to the bone.) On Folklore, she dreams up a host of characters to keep her company, and stepping into their lives brings out her deepest wit, compassion, and empathy. And it sounds like for Taylor Swift, her best is yet to come.

#taylor swift #folklore #review

[oh-theres-a-woman]

Blood Doilies; Part Three

A/N: Warnings for mentions of abuse and abusive relationships. Please read at your own discretion. The next chapter will also have the same warning. I understand that such topics can be triggering to some people, this is pure to show what the Female Reader has experienced in married life and her breaking away from that with the aid of the Blinders. Once more thank you for taking the time to read this story, feel free to reblog or comment if you’re enjoying this. 

Taglist: @zodiyack , @itsfrancisneptun , @shelbys-we-get-the-job-done, @amy-booxx​ & @fandom-fucking-shit​

Parts: [ 1 ] , [ 2 ], [ 4 ], [ 5 ], [ 6 ], [ 7 ], [ 8 ], [ 9 ]

Pairing: Thomas Shelby X Female Reader

Word Count: 1923

▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫

You set the tea down on the coffee table noticing the children had both fallen asleep on Mister Shelby’s knee. Offering a smile at the sleeping children. Whispering softly that you could take the children to bed, Thomas simply rose to his footing. Carrying both the children upstairs, calmly following him. Showing the beds for each child. Annabeth curled up into a ball with her little dolly looking absolutely smitten and at peace. Leaning down you kissed the little girl’s head, smoothing the messy mop of hair away from her face. Pulling the blankets up to her shoulders, brushing the back of your knuckle lovingly over her cheek.

Repeating the same action for Marcus, knowing that he’d need another feeding in a few hours time. “You’re a good mother, you do so much for your children,” Thomas said observantly from the door watching on with silent awe. Aunt Pol had always warmed someplace in his heart at her mothering but it had been a time since all the Shebly children had ground. Now the mothering seemed like a nagging.

Maybe it was the war that changed him but watching you at that moment. He didn’t see the harshness of his own upbringing. But the solid foundations of nurturing and admiration. Tommy didn’t quite remember the loving gaze of his mother, only her death. It had been the first of many lives that were lost. Charlie Strong had been the replacement when his father walked out of them and Pol took the helm of mothering. Swift in her workings and proved very stern for the young Sheblys’ that were left like orphans before she swooped in.

However, you were a different case. There was something about your maternal instincts that caused Thomas to stop a moment. Admire the qualities of a woman. The way in your wounds and bruises from an abusive husband, no matter the pain. You carried on your task of being a mother never let anything go to chance or mess with you. Easily smoothing a hand over baby Marcus’s locks whose were just like your own. Beautifully soft with a slight wave in the front. Tucking your son in, you watched him for a moment listening to his breathing, the little snores that left his buzzing button nose.

Thomas and yourself wandered back downstairs to the tea. Looking at each other for a moment. The narrow stairs led to you brushing hands in the walk. Causing you steps to falter for one moment. However, the Blinder once more found his seat again. Marking the page he had been reading to the children as if he’d continue that story for them another time. Picking up his teacup, he added some cream and one sugar. Stirring with the provided teaspoon then offering the spoon to you. Carefully, you poured the creamer not adding any sugar. Enjoying the strength of the tea. Lips slightly pursed together, glancing back to Thomas Shelby again. “Thank you for offering my family this safe house for the time until we get our lives back on track,” you said with a warm blush on your cheeks.

“It is alright, Mrs [Y/N],” Thomas said in a swift and noble tone of voice. Leaning back into his chair observing you. “The Peaky Blinders don’t take kindly to men who bash into their women and children.” Thomas’s words sparked a cool murderous rage in him. His eyes were like a cool fire, burning hotter than any red flame you’d seen in your lifetime. Glancing down at the marks that riddled your body and all that was hidden under your clothes. You hadn’t remembered a day where things weren’t thrown or fists were flying. Once upon a time, it was a social norm for a husband to beat his wife.

“I’ve had it happen all my life, my father was a drunk and my mother a prostitute. I don’t really know any better…” You admitted in a defeated manner. Clenching your fists on your legs thinking about the life you led. “But, I want this cycle to end. Because if I let this keep happening, it’ll only happen to my children and they won’t know how to respect each other or their future loved ones.”  Deep down you knew this was the right thing, the sudden separation to make sure no more harm would come to yourself or the children if your husband overstepped his normal range of violence.

“Do you need my help in any way of separating from the man, because once you're divorced of him that debt owed is only on him. I don’t believe in wives cleaning up their husband’s debts when they have a family to protect. By those marks too, I’d believe you’ve been looking over them for some time too.” Mister Shelby said, reaching into his coat pocket, procuring a silver cigarette case. Opening it and offering you one with a slight incline of his arm. Reaching out you picked up one of the expensive tailor-made, always used to the harsh rolling without a filter.

Placing the stick of nicotine in between your lips, that were chapped and broken from a hit. Picking up a matchbook from the table lighting up your cigarette, then leaning out to light Thomas’s. He leant into the flame. The small light of the match burning embers of life at the end of the neatly rolled tobacco. Watching the embers eat at the paper when Tommy puffed. The flame licking at your fingertips were lighting the sharper features of the Shelby before you, causing a feeling of enchantment to pull over you.

Tingling burns at your fingertips, causing you to finally shake the match and drop it into the ashtray. Settling back into your seat letting out a calm inhale and sighing softly. The sitting room clouded with an illusion-like smoke cloud. Giving a new atmosphere to the room. Like it wasn’t heavy in the topics of conversation. The stress had been disbursed in to the air, exhaled with the carbon-dioxide and smoke through lips and nostrils.

“I need to find a way to get divorced from him, I know it’d help my case that we’re living separately from one another. It would be a year’s process at the longest, I’d need to find a way to keep the tea house. My own business… I don’t want to lose it to him. Need some form of income to keep a roof over the wee ones’ heads.” You muttered, flicking the ash into the crystal tray on the table. Wondering in all seriousness how much it cost to buy because it was impeccable. Everything in the Watery Lane home was beautifully charming and way out of your price range.

“I’m hoping to get settled then go back to work, have a friend lookout for the kids.” You said to the man, who seemed to offer a small nod. Knowing the modest little establishment in your ownership. By far considered the loveliest tea shop in Small Heath, it had charm and class to the small little shop. He’d remembered Ada gushing over it opening some years ago, by a beautiful young woman that had the dream to do so. Through the proper means, she opened the shop by herself. Even without her husband’s help. This seemed like an even biggest motivator for Tommy’s little sister feminist ideals.

“Given your current condition, I’d recommend your healing before heading back to work. Keeping a low-profile due to your husband’s likely retaliation to your left with the children. For your safety, I’d advise you take a week at the least, then return to work. I or one of the Blinders will be there to escort you home after.” Thomas took a swift to inhale of his cigarette. He didn’t know why he was so adamant to protect you. Normally the Blinders would help get rid of the trouble and then recoil. Yet, deep down he knew it's because he’d seen what the government and church would do if they caught wind of things happening.

You’d lose your children. Thomas didn’t want to see that happen, because you’d taken responsibility for your husband’s debt and tried to clear it up. Even in such a state that you were in. Trying to protect the little family you’d been in. Keeping those well-behaved children in line, working the long hours that he found out on an investigation prior. Where your morning shift could start as early as four-five o’clock in the morning for the baked goods. Then until closing hours in the evening. A short break in between to take your children home, giving the neighbour a break.

Only to have most of the money earnt wasted on your husband’s addictions and there were plenty of them. Never in a million years did he even expect anyone at that meeting today. But, there you were to shock him. Taking time out of your day, to see him and try to make things right. Surprisingly, it gave Tommy a little bit of hope for some of the women in this day and age. So, the patriarch of the Shelby family sat there and discussed with you into the long hours of the night. Things were arranged for your meeting with a solicitor under the guidance of Polly Gray. Moral support. Plus, everyone seemed to be as scared of her as they were with Tommy. Bonus.

*********** 

The following days passed quickly with everything being prepared. Marks began to fade on your skin and it restored some of your lacking confidence. You felt happier in the safe house. Not because of the fancy layout because your children were happy, they were settling in nicely. The Shelbys’ came to visit enough. John Shelby bought over his children someday and they all played while business and things were attended to. More often than not it meant walking in on the children all snuggled up on each other and napping; after having an argument or fight. Everything was sorted with a simple nap together, then they were as good as rain. It made you often wish that adults were as simple as children.

By the following Monday, you were returning to work. Your workers had been running the ship well and left things in perfect condition. It was nice to see the faces of the customers again. Hours were long like normal, but that’s how you enjoyed working. Things were peaceful and you didn’t feel an ounce of stress because Thomas had promised to come to pick you up after work and walk you home. It was safe… Well, that’s what you thought.

Hours passed by swiftly and you finished the till counting after hours in the office. The last thing was to do the bins. When you were collecting the bins. Wandering in the dark alley, tossing things into the larger bins outside for landfill. You were so focused on your task that the sound of someone sneaking up on you escaped your knowledge. A rough hand, the smell of hard liquor and cigars filled your nostrils. You knew that scent from anywhere. Your husband. 

He holds a hold on you, smothering your screams of utter terror and pinning your body against the firmness of his body. “It’s not nice to say goodbye in a letter,” he whispered in your ear with vile intent. Holding out in front of you, the wedding band you letter on the letter. Forcefully sliding it back onto your finger as tears fell. 

#by order of the peaky blinders #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinder fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinder x reader #peaky blinder x reader story #thomas shelby x reader story #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #paired with tommy shelby #thomas shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #reader x canon #polly gray #john shelby #drama #cliff hanger #part 3 #oh-theres-a-woman

[grubbyduck]

No Man’s Land - an essay on feminism and forgiveness

I have always proudly named myself a feminist, since I was a little girl and heard my mum proudly announcing herself as a feminist to anyone who would listen.

But I believe the word 'feminist' takes on a false identity in our collective imagination - it is seen as hard, as baked, severe, steadfast, stubborn and rooted. From a male perspective, it possibly means abrasive, or too loud, or intimidatingly intolerant of men. From a female perspective, though, these traits become revered by young feminists; the power of knowing what you think and never rolling over! My experience of being a feminist throughout my life has been anything but - it has been a strange and nebulous aspect of my identity; it has sparked the familiar fires of bravery, ambition, rage, sadness and choking inarticulacy at times, sure, but at other times it has inspired apathy, reactionary attitudes, bravado and dismissivness. And at other, transitive times, it caused me to rethink my entire outlook on the world. And then again. And then again.

In primary school, I read and re-read Sandi Toksvig’s book GIRLS ARE BEST, which takes the reader through the forgotten women of history. I didn’t feel angry - I felt awed that there were female pirates, women on the front line in the world wars, women at the forefront of invention, science and literature. I still remember one line, where it is revealed that NASA’s excuse for only hiring six women astronauts compared to hundreds of men was that they didn’t stock suits small enough. 

When I was 13, I tried to start a girl's rugby team at my school. I got together 15 girls who also wanted to form a team. We asked the coaches if they would coach us - their responses varied from 'maybes' to straight up 'no's. The boys in our year laughed at us publicly. We would find an old ball, look up the rules online, and practise ourselves in free periods - but the boys would always come over, make fun of us and take over the game until we all felt too insecure to carry on. I shouted at a lot of boys during that time, and got a reputation among them as someone who was habitually angry and a bit of a buzzkill. Couldn't take a joke - that kind of thing.

When I was around 16, I got my first boyfriend. He was two years older (in his last year of sixth form) and seemed ever so clever to me. He laughed about angry feminists, and I laughed too. He knew I classified myself as a feminist, but, you know, a cool one - who doesn't get annoyed, and doesn't correct their boyfriends' bulging intellects. And in any case, whenever I did argue with him about anything political or philosophical, he would just chant books at me, list off articles he'd read, mention Kant and say 'they teach that wrong at GCSE level'. So I put more effort into researching my opinions (My opinions being things like - Trump is a terrible person who should not be elected as President - oh yeah, it was 2016), but every time I cited an article, he would tell me why that article was wrong or unreliable. I couldn't win. He was a Trump supporter (semi-ironically, but that made it even worse somehow) and he voted Leave in the Brexit referendum. He also wouldn't let me get an IUD even though I had terrible anxiety about getting pregnant, because of his parents' Catholicism. He sulked if he ever got aroused and then I didn’t feel like having sex, because apparently it ‘hurts’ men physically. One time I refused sex and he sulked the whole way through the night, refusing to sleep. I was incensed, and felt sure that my moral and political instincts were right, but I had been slowly worn down into doubting the validity of my own opinions, and into cushioning his ego at every turn - especially when he wasn't accepted into Oxford.

When I was 17/18, I broke up with him, and got on with my A Levels. One of them was English Literature. I remember having essay questions drilled into us, all of which were fairly standard and uninspired, but there was one that I habitually avoided:

'Discuss the presentation of women in this extract'

It irritated me beyond belief to hear the way that our class were parroting phrases like 'commodification and dehumanisation of women' in order to get a good grade. It felt so phony, so oversimplified, and frankly quite insulting. I couldn't bear reading classic books with the intent of finding every instance that the author compares a woman to an animal. It made me so sad! I couldn't understand how the others could happily write about such things and be pleased with their A*. As a keen contributor to lessons, my teacher would often call on me to comment in class - and to her surprise, I think, my responses about 'women's issues' were always sullen and could be characterised by a shrug. I wanted to talk about macro psychology, about Machievellian villains, about Shakespreare's subversion of comic convention in the English Renaissance. I absolutely did not want to talk about womb imagery, about men’s fixation and sexualisation of their mothers or about docile wives. In my application for Cambridge, I wrote about landscape and the psyche in pastoral literature, and got an offer to study English there. I applied to a mixed college - me and my friends agreed that we’d rather not go if we got put into an all female college. 

When I was 19, I got a job as an actor in a touring show in my year out before starting at Cambridge. I was the youngest by a few years. One company member - a tall, handsome and very talented man in his mid-twenties - had the exact same job title as me, only he was being paid £100 more than me PER WEEK. I was the only company member who didn’t have an agent, so I called the producers myself to complain. They told me they sympathised, that there just wasn’t enough money in the budget to pay me more - and in the end, I managed to negotiate myself an extra £75 per week by taking on the job of sewing up/fixing any broken costumes and puppets. So I had more work, and was still being paid 25% less. The man in question was a feminist, and complained to his agent (although he fell through on his promise to demand that he lose £50 a week and divide it evenly between us). He was a feminist - and yet he commented on how me and the other woman in the company dressed, and told us what to wear. He was a feminist, only he slept with both of us on tour, and lied to us both about it. He was a feminist, only he pitted me against and isolated me from the only other woman in the company, the only person who may have been a mentor or a confidante. He was a feminist, only he put me down daily about my skills as a performer and made me doubt my intelligence, my talent and my worth. 

When I was 20, I started at Cambridge University, studying English Literature. Over the summer, I read Lundy Bancroft’s book ‘Why Does He Do That’ which is a study of abusers and ‘angry and controlling men’. It made me realise that I had not been given the tools to recognise coercive and controlling behaviour - I finally stopped blaming myself for attracting controlling men into my life. I also read ‘Equal’ by Carrie Gracie, about her fight to secure equal pay for equal work at the BBC in 2017-2019. It was reading that book that I fully appreciated that I had already experienced illegal pay discrimination in the workplace. Both made me cry in places, and it felt as though something had thawed in me. I realised that I was not the exception. That ‘women’s issues’ do apply to me. In my first term at Cambridge, I wrote some unorthodox essays. I wrote one on Virginia Woolf named ‘The Dogs Are Dancing’ which began with a page long ‘disclaimer for my womanly emotions’ that attempted to explain to my male supervisor how difficult it is for women to write dispassionately and objectively, as they start to see themselves as unfairly separate, excluded and outlined from the male literary consciousness. He didn’t really understand it, though he enjoyed the passion behind my prose. 

The ‘woman questions’ at undergraduate level suddenly didn’t seem as easy, as boring or as depressing as those I had encountered at A Level. I had to reconcile with the fact that I had only been exposed to a whitewashed version of feminism throughout my life. At University, I learned the word Intersectionality - and it made immediate and ferocious sense to me. I wrote an essay on Aphra Behn’s novella ‘Oroonoko’, which is about a Black prince and his pursuit of Imoinda, a Black princess. I had to get to grips with how a feminist author from the Renaissance period tackled issues of race. I had to examine how she dehumanised and sexualised Imionda in the same way that white women were used to being treated by men. I had to really question to what extent Aphra Behn was on Imionda’s side - examine the violent punishment of Oroonoko for mistreating her. I found myself really wanting to believe that Behn had done this purposefully as social commentary. I mentioned in my essay that I was aware of my own white female critical ingenuity. For the first time, I was writing about something I didn’t have any personal authority over in my life - I had to educate myself meticulously in order to speak boldly about race.

As I found myself surrounded by more women who were actively and unashamedly feminist, I realised just how many opinions exist within that bracket. I realised that I didn’t agree with a lot of other feminists about aspects of the movement. I started to only turn up to lectures by women. I started to only read literary criticism written by women - not even consciously; I just realised that I trusted their voices more intrinsically. I started to wish I had applied to an all female college. I realised that all female spaces weren’t uncool - that is an image that I had learned from men, and from trying to impress men. The idea that Black people, trans people, that non binary people could be excluded from feminism seemed completely absurd to me. I ended up in a mindset that was constructed to instinctively mistrust men. Not hate - just mistrust. I started to get fatigued by explaining basic feminist principles to sceptical men.

I watched the TV show Mrs America. It made my heart speed up with longing, with awe, with nerves, sorrow, anger - again, it showed me how diverse the word Feminism is. The longing I felt was for a time where feminist issues seemed by comparison clear-cut, and unifying. A time where it was good to be angry, where anger got stuff done. I am definitely angry. The problem is, the times that feminism has benefitted me and others the most in my life is when I use it forgivingly and patiently. When I sit in my anger, meditate on it, control it, and talk to those I don’t agree with on subjects relating to feminism with the active intent to understand their point of view. Listening to opinions that seemed so clearly wrong to me was the most difficult thing in the world - but it changed my life, and once again, it changed my definition of feminism. 

Feminism is listening to Black women berating white feminists, and rather than feeling defensive or exempt, asking questions about how I have contributed to a movement that excludes women of colour. Feminism is listening to my mother’s anxieties about trans women being included in all-female spaces, and asking her where those anxieties stem from. Feminism is understanding that listening to others who disagree with you doesn’t endanger your principles - you can walk away from that conversation and know what you know. Feminism is checking yourself when you undermine or universalise male emotion surrounding the subject. Feminism is allowing your mind to change, to evolve, to include those that you once didn’t consider - it is celebrating quotas, remembering important women, giving thanks for the fact that feminism is so complex, so diverse, so fraught and fought over. 

Feminism is common ground. It is no man’s land. It is the space between a Christian housewife and a liberated single trans woman. It is understanding women of other races, other cultures, other religions. It is disabled women, it is autistic women, it is trans men who have biologically female medical needs that are being ignored. It is forgiveness for our selfishness. It feels impossible.

The road to feminism is the road to enlightenment. It is the road to Intersectional equity. It is hard. It is a journey. No one does it perfectly. It is like the female orgasm - culturally ignored, not seen as necessary, a mystery even to a lot of women, many-layered, multitudinous, taboo, comes in waves. It is pleasure, and it is disappointment. 

All I know is that the hard-faced, warrior version of feminism that was my understanding only a few years ago reduced my allies and comrades in arms to a small group of people who were almost exaclty like me and so agreed with me on almost everything. Flexible, forgiving and inquisitive feminism has resulted in me loving all women, and fighting for all women consciously. And by fighting for all women, I also must fight for Black civil rights, for disabled rights, for Trans rights, for immigrant rights, for homeless rights, for gay rights, and for all human rights because women intersect every one of these minorities. My scoffing, know-it-all self doing my A Levels could never have felt this kind of love. My ironic jokes about feminists with my first boyfriend could never have made any woman feel loved. My frustration that my SPECIFIC experience of misogyny as a white, middle-class bisexual woman didn’t feel related to the other million female experiences could never have facilitated unity, common ground, or learning to understand women that existed completely out of my experience as a woman.

My feminism has lead me to becoming friends with some of those boys who mocked me for wanting to play rugby, and with the woman that was vying with me over that man in the acting company for 8 months. It is slowly melting my resentment towards all men - it is even allowing me to feel sorry for the men who have mistreated me in the past. 

I guess I want to express in this mammoth essay post that so far my feminist journey has lead me to the realisation that if your feminism isn’t growing you, you aren’t doing it right. Perhaps it will morph again in the future. But for now, Feminism is a love of humanity, rather than a hatred of it. That is all. 

#Feminism #yooo i have written a thesis lol #didn’t mean to do that it all kind of flowed out #intersectional feminism #forgiveness #carrie gracie #mrs america #why does he do that #lundy bancroft #equal pay #equal rights #literature #university #school #oroonoko #aphra behn

[ts1989fanatic]

Taylor Swift Leaves Her Comfort Zones Behind on the Head-Spinning, Heartbreaking ‘Folklore’

Her eighth album is a radical detour into the deepest collection of songs she’s ever come up with

So here we are again. The world was in the middle of the cruelest summer ever, just staggering through late July, when Taylor Swift decided to make it all so much messier — her specialty. In a move that nobody saw coming, she announced a surprise album on July 23rd, less than a year after her career-capping smash Lover. (A year to the day after she dropped “The Archer.”) Like the rest of us, Swift had to cancel her summer, including her LoverFest shows, which would have been next week. Instead, she spent the quarantine season throwing herself into a new, secret project: her eighth album, Folklore. But the real surprise is the music itself — the most head-spinning, heartbreaking, emotionally ambitious songs of her life.

It’s a total goth-folk album, mostly acoustic guitar and piano, largely in collaboration with the National’s Aaron Dessner. No pop songs at all. It’s as far beyond Lover as Lover was beyond Reputation. She’s always relished her dramatic creative zigzags, but this is easily her most audacious move, full of story-telling depth she’s never come close to before. Some of us have spent years dreaming Taylor would do a whole album like this, but nobody really dreamed it would turn out this great. Her greatest album — so far.

Lover self-consciously summed up the first 30 years of her life, bringing all her musical passions together. But on Folklore, she leaves her comfort zones behind. It sounds like she figured she wasn’t going to be touring these songs live anyway, so she gave up on doing anything for the radio, anything rah-rah or stadium-friendly. She just made some coffee, sat at the piano, and let her mind wander into some dark places. You can picture the candle on her piano flickering as the wax melts over her copy of Wuthering Heights and another song rolls out.

Her sonic chemistry with Dessner is right in every detail; she also teams up with her longtime wingman Jack Antonoff, and duets with Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon on “Exile.” The vibe is close to “Safe and Sound,” the rootsy gem she did with the Civil Wars for The Hunger Games soundtrack in 2013. As she explains in her Prologue, “In isolation my imagination has run wild and this album is the result, a collection of songs and stories that flowed like a stream of consciousness. Picking up a pen was my way of escaping into fantasy, history, and memory.”

Folklore really feels like the debut album of a whole new Swift — her narrative scope has opened up, with a wide-ranging cast of characters for 17 songs, without a dud. Yet you can still hear that this is the same songwriter who dropped “Last Kiss” on the world 10 July-9ths ago. Here’s a Swift progress report on her quarantine: “I’ve been having a hard time adjusting/I had the shiniest wheels, now they’re rusting/I didn’t know if you’d care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that.” The power of her mind.

It’s amusing, in retrospect, how people actually worried that being happy in love might mean Swift would run out of things to write songs about. Not a chance. It turns out to be the other way around, as she lets these characters tell their own stories: A scandalous old widow, hated by her whole town. A scared seven-year-old girl with a traumatized best friend. A ghost watching her enemies at the funeral. Recovering addicts. A fumbling teenage boy. Three of the highlights — “Cardigan,” “August,” and “Betty” — depict the same love triangle, from all three different perspectives. Other songs tell both sides of a story: “The 1” and “Peace,” or “Invisible String” and “The Lakes.”

Folklore hits overdrive halfway through, when it reaches a trilogy of heavy hitters. “August,” the album’s most plainly beautiful ballad, is a summer romance gone wrong: “I can see us tangled in bedsheets/August slipped away like a bottle of wine/Because you were never mine.” “This Is Me Trying” is the disturbingly witty tale of someone pouring her heart out, to keep herself from pouring more whiskey. “Illicit Affairs” is another tale of infidelity: “Take the words for what they are/A dwindling mercurial high/A drug that only worked the first few hundred times.” The tension explodes when she sings, “Don’t call me kid/Don’t call me baby/Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me.”

It’s going to take weeks if not decades to puzzle out all the intricately interwoven narrative details of these songs. “Mirrorball” is about the same nervous dance-floor poseur of “New Romantics,” six years later, except tonight she feels like the disco ball that reflects everyone’s most desperate insecurities. “Mad Woman” expands on the familiar topic of witch hunts, but it also sharpens the feminist rage of “The Man.” “The Last Great American Dynasty” satirizes the upper-crust milieu of “Starlight” when she sings, “There goes the loudest woman this town has ever seen/I had a marvelous time ruining everything.” (Taylor uses the word “marvelous” twice in her career, and both times it’s in songs about the Kennedys? No detail is too tiny for her to plan eight years in advance.)

“Betty” is a first — she sings in the voice of the 17-year-old boy in a Taylor Swift song, reckoning with the fickle behavior detailed by the girls in “Cardigan” and “August.” It takes off from the harmonica solo in Bruce Springsteen’s “Thunder Road” — which feels appropriate for the only tale on the album where she goes back to high school. “The Lakes” is a bonus track for vinyl, CD, and (what a flex) cassette, but it’s a must-hear: Taylor walks in the footsteps of William Wordsworth, the Romantic poet who essentially invented the kind of introspective writing she does, wandering the Windermere Peaks of the Lake District.

Remember when she was threatening to spend this year rerecording all her old albums? She does the opposite here — she refuses to repeat her most reliable tricks. So many of the world’s favorite Swift-ian trademarks are missing. No country moves, no synth pop, no first dates, no “Taylor visits a city” song, not even a laugh. The references to fame are few and far between, although they’re tasty when they do show up, as in “Invisible String”: “Bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to L.A.” She can’t resist adding: “Cold was the steel of my axe to grind/For the boys who broke my heart/Now I send their babies presents.” Touché.

If Lover was the last album of her twenties, Folklore is the first of her thirties. Lover was styled as a well-rounded musical autobiography, with everything from Nashville twang to electro-disco. Folklore takes a completely different approach, yet feels even more intimate, simply because it’s the sound of an artist with absolutely nothing to prove. She’s never sounded this relaxed or confident, never sounded this blasé about winning anyone over. It makes perfect sense that the quarantine brought out her best, since she’s always written so poignantly about isolation and the temptation to dream too hard about other people’s far-away lives. (“Last Kiss” is usually a summer favorite, but this year, “Hope it’s nice where you are” feels a little too close to the bone.) On Folklore, she dreams up a host of characters to keep her company, and stepping into their lives brings out her deepest wit, compassion, and empathy. And it sounds like for Taylor Swift, her best is yet to come.