#so yolo i'm posting this now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mostlysignssomeportents · 19 days

Text

General Mills and cheaply bought "dietitians" co-opted the anti-diet movement

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in NEXT THURSDAY (Apr 11) in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroehttps://cockeyed.com/lessons/viagra/viagra.html, then PROVIDENCE, RI (Apr 12), and beyond!

Steve Bannon isn't wrong: for his brand of nihilistic politics to win, all he has to do is "flood the zone with shit," demoralizing people to the point where they no longer even try to learn the truth.

This is really just a more refined, more potent version of the tactical doubt sown by Big Tobacco about whether smoking caused cancer, a playbook later adopted by the fossil fuel industry to sell climate denial. You know Darrell Huff's 1954 classic How To Lie With Statistics? Huff was a Big Tobacco shill (his next book, which wasn't ever published, was How To Lie With Cancer Statistics). His mission wasn't to help you spot statistical malpractice – an actual thing that is an actual problem that you should actually learn to spot. It was to turn you into a nihilist who didn't believe anything could be known:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/04/how-to-truth/#harford

Corporations don't need you to believe that their products are beneficial or even non-harmful. They just need you to believe nothing. If you don't know what's true, then why not just do whatever feels good, man? #YOLO!

These bannonfloods of shit are a favored tactic of strongmen and dictators. Their grip on power doesn't depend on their citizens trusting them – it's enough that they trust no one:

http://jonathanstray.com/networked-propaganda-and-counter-propaganda

Bannonflooding is especially beloved of the food industry. Food is essential, monopolized, and incredibly complicated, and many of the most profitable strategies for growing, processing and preparing food are very bad for the people who eat that food. Rather than sacrificing profits, the food industry floods the zone with shit, making it impossible to know what's true, in hopes that we will just eat whatever they're serving:

https://journals.plos.org/plosbiology/article?id=10.1371/journal.pbio.2003460

Now, the "nothing can be known" gambit only works if it's really hard to get at the truth. So it helps that nutrition and diet are very complex subjects, but it helps even more that the nutrition and diet industry are a cesspool of quacks and junk science. This is a "scientific discipline" whose prestigious annual meetings are sponsored (and catered) by McDonald's:

https://www.motherjones.com/environment/2014/05/my-trip-mcdonalds-sponsored-nutritionist-convention/

It's a "science" whose most prominent pitchmen peddle quack nostrums and sue the critics who point out (correctly) that eating foods high in chlorophyll will not "oxygenate your blood" (hint, chlorophyll only makes oxygen in the presence of light, which is notably lacking in your colon):

https://www.badscience.net/2007/02/ms-gillian-mckeith-banned-from-calling-herself-a-doctor/

When the quack-heavy world of nutrition combines with the socially stigmatized world of weight-loss, you get a zone ripe for shitflooding. The majority of Americans are "overweight" (according to a definition that relies on the unscientific idea of BMI) and nearly half of Americans are "obese." These numbers have been climbing steadily since the 1970s, and every diet turns out to be basically bullshit:

https://headgum.com/factually-with-adam-conover/what-does-ozepmic-actually-do-with-dr-dhruv-khullar

Notwithstanding the new blockbuster post-Ozempic drugs, we're been through an unbroken 50-year run of more and more of us being fatter and fatter, even as fat stigma increased. Fat people are treated as weak-willed and fundamentally unhealthy, while the most prominent health-risks of being fat are roundly neglected: the mental health effects of being shamed, and the physical risks of having doctors ignore your health complaints, no matter how serious they sound, and blame them on your weight:

https://maintenancephase.buzzsprout.com/1411126/11968083-glorifying-obesity-and-other-myths-about-fat-people

Fat people and their allies have banded together to address these real, urgent harms. The "body acceptance" movement isn't merely about feeling good in your own skin: it's also about fighting discrimination, demanding medical care (beyond "lose some weight") and warning people away from getting on the diet treadmill, which can lead to dangerous eating disorders and permanent weight gain:

https://www.beacon.org/You-Just-Need-to-Lose-Weight-P1853.aspx

Fat stigma is real. The mental health risks of fat-shaming are real. Eating disorders are real. Discrimination against fat people is real. The fact that these things are real doesn't mean that the food industry can't flood the zone with shit, though. On the contrary: the urgency of these issues, combined with the poor regulation of dietitians, makes the "what should you eat" zone perfect for flooding with endless quantities of highly profitable shit.

Perhaps you've gotten some of this shit on you. Have you found yourself watching a video from a dietitian influencer like Cara Harbstreet, Colleen Christensen or Lauren Smith, promoting "health at any size" with hashtags like #DerailTheShame and #AntiDiet? These were paid campaigns sponsored by General Mills, Pepsi, and other multinational, multibillion-dollar corporations.

Writing for The Examination, Sasha Chavkin, Anjali Tsui, Caitlin Gilbert and Anahad O'Connor describe the way that some of the world's largest and most profitable corporations have hijacked a movement where fat people and their allies fight stigma and shame and used it to peddle the lie that their heavily processed, high-calorie food is good for you:

https://www.theexamination.org/articles/as-obesity-rises-big-food-and-dietitians-push-anti-diet-advice

It's a surreal tale. They describe a speech by Amy Cohn, General Mills’ senior manager for nutrition, to an audience at a dietitian's conference, where Cohn "denounced the media for 'pointing the finger at processed foods' and making consumers feel ashamed of their choices." This is some next-level nihilism: rather than railing against the harmful stigma against fat people, Cohn wants us to fight the stigma against Cocoa Puffs.

This message isn't confined to industry conferences. Dietitians with large Tiktok followings like Cara Harbstreet then carry the message out to the public. In Harbstreet's video promoting Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Cocoa Puffs and Trix, she says, "I will always advocate for fearlessly nourishing meals, including cereal…Because everyone deserves to enjoy food without judgment, especially kids":

https://www.tiktok.com/@streetsmart.rd/video/7298403730989436206

Dietitians, nutritionists and the food industry have always had an uncomfortably close relationship, but the industry's shitflooding kicked into high gear when the FDA proposed rules limiting which foods the industry can promote as "healthy." General Mills, Kelloggs and Post have threatened a First Amendment suit against such a regulation, arguing that they have a free speech right to describe manifestly unhealthy food as "healthy."

The anti-diet movement – again, a legitimate movement aimed at fighting the dangerous junk science behind dieting – has been co-opted by the food industry, who are paying dietitian influencers to say things like "all foods have value" while brandishing packages of Twix and Reese's. In their Examination article, the authors profile people who struggled with their weight, then, after encountering the food industry's paid disinformation, believed that "healthy at any size" meant that it would be unhealthy to avoid highly processed, high calorie food. These people gained large amounts of weight, and found their lives constrained and their health severely compromised.

I've been overweight all my life. I went to my first Weight Watchers meeting when I was 12. I come from a family of overweight people with the chronic illnesses often associated with being fat. This is a subject that's always on my mind. I even wrote a whole novel about the promise and peril of a weight-loss miracle:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781429969284/makers

I think the anti-diet movement, and its associated ideas like body acceptance and healthy at every size, are enormously positive developments and hugely important. It's because I value these ideas that I'm so disgusted with Big Food and its cynical decision to flood the zone with shit. It's also why I'm so furious with dietitians and nutritionists for failing to self-regulate and become a real profession, the kind that censures and denounces quacks and shills.

I have complicated feelings about Ozempic and its successors, but even if these prove to be effective and safe in the long term, and even if we rein in the rapacious pharma companies so that they no longer sell a $5 product for $1000, I would still want dietary science to clean up its act:

https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jamanetworkopen/fullarticle/2816824

I'm not a nihilist. I think we can use science to discover truths – about ourselves and our world. I want to know those truths, and I think they can be known. The only people who benefit from convincing you that the truth is unknowable are the people who want to lie to you.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/05/corrupt-for-cocoa-puffs/#flood-the-zone-with-shit

#pluralistic #corruption #nutrition #food #diets #dieticians #nutritionists #junk science #junk food #astroturf #fat acceptance #fatphobia #health #nihilism #steve bannon #flood the zone with shit #general mills #dietitians

890 notes · View notes

alsaurus-loves-dean · 2 years

Text

#Rhys posted a thirst trap that literally ruined all of our lives just now so #I don't give a FUCK about my fanfic anymore I'm gonna write the weirdest fucking shit because I deserve this #literally fuck it YOLO I'm DONE giving a fuck because there's NO POINT #it's just futile. you go your whole fucking life thinking this could never happen to you...#and then you're forced into finding Rhys Darby attractive?#it's inhumane

1 note · View note

murfpersonalblog · 1 month

Text

IWTV Trailer (me losing my freaking marbles - YOLO) Pt2

I'm just going frame by frame thru AMC'S BEAUTIFUL new IWTV trailer. But I had to split this into 2 parts cuz Tumblr won't let me post 30+ pics. 🙄

They transition from Louis telling Claudia "It's you and me," to BB!Dan being "disrespectful"--yelling at Louis wanting him to make him a vamp, like we heard in S01E01.

And they immediately cut to the clip we've seen before of Louis crying & being dragged off by some old dude (if that's a vampire I feel bad for him, LOL). This might be Claudia/Madeleine's execution, rather than the Trial itself, cuz Louis was wearing a different outfit. (And Claudia's wearing the YELLOW DRESS! Imma be sick! 😭)

So I wonder when the "best outfit" Jam Reiderson said Claudia wears is gonna take place--which I'm assuming is the red Flamenco dress from the posters.

It is SO incredible that we're actually gonna see The Trial, and LESTAT BEING THERE, and seeing Madeleine & Armand & Santiago.

It's interesting that they cut from Armand saying it wasn't SanFran where he failed Louis but Paris, and jump to hallucination!Lestat mocking Armand, yelling "HA!" Is Louis' outfit the same as the one where the old dude dragged him out crying? It kinda looks the same. So is Louis imagining Lestat being FURIOUS with Armand for what's about to happen to Claudia? I wonder why Les is in THAT suit, cuz it looks like the same one he wore in S1E03 the night he kicked Jelly Roll Morton out of town & ragged on Louis about not wanting to kill humans.

Good lord, here we go. #GoneTooSoonMadeleine. U_U And I LIKE THE IMAGERY of the joint/shared transformation, nodding to Claudia desperately wanting Louis to be her (blood) spouse, as they make Madeleine together.

Jfc Louis really did almost kill BB!Daniel. O_O He shattered all that plaster--that's brain damage for sure--no wonder he can't remember the interview, LOL. (I still think Armand used the Mind Gift to make him forget everything.)

A lot of paintings and canvases--art heist Armand?! Are we finally gonna see how he made all that money, going around stealing priceless treasures!? (You can see Armand's feet floating, LOL.) Or is the inside of that chateau his coven raided, "we own dominion!"?

Daniel asking Louis: "YOU BUY THAT?"

AMC thinks they're FUNNY! Cuz they cut right from Armand stealing art he didn't BUY, to lovebomber!Lestat laughing in the townhouse and Louis yelling in what looks like a train station? So he's freaking TF out in public (just like Paul).

Ooooo--then they have Lelio!WolfKiller!Lestat about to attack someone (Magnus? Nope, I double-checked it's Armand cuz ofc it is), looking like the freaking BEAST in his red cape--

--right before we get Lestat's POV of Louis and him fighting in Ep5.

Cuz yeah, Lestat had snapped, and was beating Louis like he was a DOG, like he wasn't even seeing a PERSON, let alone someone he was supposed to be protecting from vampires/monsters LIKE HIM--and OMFG Louis was in blue just like Belle was during the wolf attack--I hate this show.

And they immediately jump from Louis getting beat by Lestat to what I assume is Louis getting jumped by the Theatre--trapped in the coffin they were gonna bury him alive in.

What on earth is Claudia throwing? I swear I think these are bombed/blown-up body parts--pieces of someone's life gone cuz of the WAR. (And immediately cut to Loustat fighting.)

"Who are you, Louis? If there was no ME, if there was no HIM." So yes, the fan theory that Louis WANTS those pieces gone are correct. Or rather--Louis THOUGHT that having those pieces removed would help him. He thought he could recover the lost parts of himself if he wiped his mind of the painful memories. But something must've triggered him--likely finding Claudia's diaries after the 1970s--we are SOOOOO deep in Merrick territory. Cuz Louis wants those memories BACK now--with a vengeance.

*squints* Are they really GOING THERE with Lesmand!? O_O That's not Nickistat, right? Cuz the very next clip is Armand--using telekinesis on Louis (or Daniel?) WTF?!

And then we see the familiar clip of Armand using the Fire Gift when he first meets Louis. Just paralleling how much Armand openly flaunts his many gifts in front of Louis, while Lestat tried to hide everything he could do to not scare Louis away--until Ep5 ofc.

Doomed "happy" "family." YELLOW DRESS ALERT ☝️. The calm b4 ish hits the fan. They immediately cut to Claudia being "welcomed" by the Theatre and Santiago zooming thru the tunnel--

--DEATH to all of them! "F**k these vampires"--Claudia never lied!

Louis, you are just too dang pretty--GTFO off my dang screen. 😍

Another YELLOW dress--these images are cursed.

Loustat reunion at the Trial, if that's the same outfit Lestat wore here.

Give him hell, Armand! 😈 He wanted to be the Devil's Minion so bad--here you go! Look at all that glass shattering around him; no wonder Daniel's scared for his life, LOL! (If this is actually Louis throwing a fit I will DIE.)

Louis finna GO OFF on this BUFFOON! So THAT'S why Armand was mad! XD Louis (or Claudia?) was about to rip Santiago's whole jaw off! XDDDD

The sound of Louis just crying has me in a STATE. AMC is doing something SO freaking different from the film & the books. Louis is actively trying to make sense of things, as we see this poor man just suffering with PTSD and mental illness; with no one to HELP him but some crotchety old man who borderline hates him, and an old AF vampire who'd loves him so much that he'd rather have Louis forget everything cuz ignorance is bliss. 😩

Louis WANTS to remember everything. Armand does NOT want the interview. And Daniel is scared.

Holy freaking goodness, what an incredible trailer. 👏 May 12th can't get here fast enough!

#interview with the vampire #loustat #loumand #louis de pointe du lac #louis de pointe du black #justice for claudia #must see tv #the hype is real

62 notes · View notes

waitmyturtles · 8 months

Text

THE MORNING AFTER: ONLY FRIENDS, EPISODE 2 ("I PROMISED YOU THE MOONSHINE") EDITION

Being a day late to watching and writing about Only Friends allows me a little airspace away from the gasps and dopamine of the collective community first watch of each episode, and lemme tell ya -- my dash yesterday was so hot, it was like melting Tupperware on a stove. Unfortunately for many in the fandom, the ships are going to sink. That shower scene got some folks wrecked. Many folks on my dash have a sudden disdain for Neo Trai (poor kiddo). For anyone who reads around here, you might remember my implored begging of the Tumblr family to watch Gay OK Bangkok before Only Friends premiered, and I still stand by it. The Only Friends team -- Jojo Tichakorn, Ninew Pinya, writers Den Panuwat and Best Kittisak -- are playing with a lot of concepts that I thought were just FABULOUSLY explored in this second episode, and these concepts ARE going to lead to further innuendos and endings that the shippers are just not going to like. (I think GOKB primed us for this.) And frankly, by the way this episode played out (as we were talking about a couple days ago, @lurkingshan) -- I think that's a hell of a point that the team is making in our faces.

I'm going to get to this more in a moment. Let me explain more, by way, of all things (!) -- plum wine.

So a bunch of us meta clowns (cc @ranchthoughts, @chickenstrangers, @lurkingshan) were talking about a theory I had on Friday regarding the theme of ephemerality in the first episode. How Cheum indicated to Mew that there's a lot in Thailand that'll bring them down, from pollution to radiation. She wanted Mew to nab Top -- she indicated that life is fickle, so what did her homeboy have to lose? Go get yer man, she said.

@ranchthoughts, @chickenstrangers, @lurkingshan and I took this conversation further yesterday (please read all the reblogs on this link, folks, it's a great conversation!), exploring the many more references to the ephemeral, fickle nature of time and life that Only Friends is referencing. @chickenstrangers clocked that Yo's bar is called YOLO. @ranchthoughts clocked that Sand's bag of plum wine read "you only live once." @lurkingshan noted that Jojo's played around with the ephemeral before -- in Gay OK Bangkok, examining the impact of HIV on Bangkok's gay male population.

The reblogs of the post linked above also capture some common mentalities about the "future" for our current crop of young folks today (I... am not young, lol), particularly for the young queer community. That through climate change, the slow-snail-paced fight for equity (like the legalization of same-sex marriage in Thailand) (and even comparing it to the roll-back of rights for the LGBTQ+ community in the States) -- as @ranchthoughts wrote, there seems to be a stronger sense of "live fast, die young," among younger cohorts than when I was a young lass, born in the 1980s, when a middle management career could get you everything you needed, with a unfettered retirement in sight.

To me, the most wrenching references to the ephemeral in this second episode focused on death. "Do you want us to die?," Sand asked laughingly as Ray played around in the car. Top can't sleep alone because after a childhood trauma, he's afraid he'll die alone. Ray's deceased mom is shown with a glass in her hand.

And how are these young folks behaving? In the face of literal death, as they themselves are referring to it: they're living life very riskily. Top's a player. So is Boston. We hope they're playing safe. (Gay OK Bangkok had condoms all over the place. I haven't seen any yet in OF.) Ray's blood alcohol levels are clearly through the roof. Sand's committing a crime.

Say what now? Committing a crime?

I hope folks clocked that. What's REALLY making me shake my head is how slick the non-sexual commentary was in this episode.

Going back to my original post on ephemerality that I let loose on Friday: I talked about the metaphor of plum wine and the passage of time -- how plum wine tastes sweeter and better as you let it age.

Sand was pissed that his bottles of plum wine broke because he's making it himself. That's why he wanted Ray to pay him back for the lost supply. Sand lost both product AND time.

Making and selling plum wine is illegal in Thailand. It's like the selling of rotgut during Prohibition.

SAY WHAT? For real. Thailand's laws around alcohol are wild, y'all. The display of alcohol logos is weirdly regulated (I laugh at how bottles are often blurred out in Thai dramas), brewing alcohol within Thailand is insanely complicated (some people brew alcohol in Thailand, then bottle it elsewhere and import it BACK into Thailand to skirt these laws), and -- you cannot buy alcohol from 2 pm to 5 pm.

Remember we saw Ray sneaking some sips from a flask outside the hostel site? That's a major flag for confirmed alcoholism (drinking alone during the day). But also, if Ray wanted a drink during the hours of 2-5 pm -- he had to have the booze on himself to have a tipple.

We know Jojo does NOT shy away from political commentary. We saw it in spades during Dirty Laundry.

What I love about Jojo's work is that he's unafraid to call out the hypocrisy of these kinds of laws. The making of plum wine is ILLEGAL? In Japan, making umeshu is traditional. (It's also the easiest and most delicious thing ever, please try making it!). For many of us around the world, making umeshu is a hobby, and a perfectly safe one at that. Considering Thailand's economy is so dependent on tourism, and that Bangkok itself is a world-class city, you would think that the selling of alcohol wouldn't be so complicated, and yet... 'tis.

This leads me to what I saw as the second Big Theme of this episode, besides ephemerality: I saw a lot of hypocrisy in this episode.

We got the liquor laws bullshit. We got Boston. Boston strikes me as a hypocrite for setting up his friend Mew with Top -- all while Boston's still wanting to get with Top, to the point of sneaking into Top's shower.

And Mew strikes me as a hypocrite, too. He wants to "redo" the start of his relationship with Top?... on his own terms? So, they're not boyfriends anymore? After already....having dated? Believable, my dude. The guys are in a PatPran-esque battle of... something, and I don't think it's wits, because neither of them seem to have many wits about them. They seem to be more interested in just winning a goal that (except for sex for Top) seems wholly unclear. Does Mew not know that Top may very well NOT respect Mew? Is Mew aware that his read on Top may not be at all accurate? And.... does Mew actually care? I'm not convinced of it.

Live fast, die young. What does it matter to be a hypocrite if the future is unstable, if time is speeding by -- and if no one is holding these young folks accountable for their behavior, as I put into the tags of @ranchthoughts's post yesterday? As Nick says to Boston: "you're a rich guy -- you don't care much for things." What, exactly, would make these rich kids care about being ethical human beings?

Accountability is around the corner for this group. Nick is starting to catch feelings. Boston is wondering why he's getting rejected by Top. Sand's recognizing that Ray's sniffing out something between them (cc @neuroticbookworm) (and, who knows, as NBW first referenced in her post -- Sand might be catching feelings, too). All of these friends -- it's mindblowing! -- leave Ray alone, often, wasted off his ass, to get himself home, as Sand himself notes.

These characters are going to get hurt, and it's only a matter of time until we begin seeing it happen. At the micro-level, human to human, they will hurt each other. And society, Thai society, is doing these young people no favors by not helping to equalize the inequity between rich and poor -- as Sand has to take risks to sell illegal hooch, of all things, to just get by.

Wrapping this up with what I was mentioning up at the top about the jibbles that the fandoms are starting to feel towards the established GMMTV ships of this show slowly sinking. Isn't there a bit of hypocrisy there as well? This show is NOT going to be pretty for the ForceBook/FirstKhao established ships. What are we, as fans, going to do when that time comes? Will we condemn Jojo? Will we stop watching the show? Will we equivocate by way of blaming other characters?

This show should be celebrated already for the risks it's taking, and the risks it will take. (Remember: fans protested at the GMMTV building in 2019 when the KristSingto ship was broken for He's Coming To Me.) Only Friends deciding to take on the toxicity and hypocrisy of shipper fandom? Bring it on. We cannot only enjoy the performances of these actors when they're paired up with one repeating partner. As the life of Gay OK Bangkok depicted, as the life of Only Friends is depicting -- life is a whole lot more complicated than just a dreamlike, over-organized monogamy between two people (ahem, Mew). Life -- and TIME -- will bring complications and change, sometimes unwanted change, that we have to learn to handle and manage. I'm not colored surprised in the least that Jojo's making this experience for us jump out of the screen and into our own hearts, as we see our beloved actors take risks upon themselves by their breaking of their own ships. I am all here for it, and I hope the shipper fans can be, too.

(BIG UPS to the small meta army family -- @ranchthoughts, @lurkingshan, @chickenstrangers, @neuroticbookworm -- I'm so thrilled to continue being thoughtful with y'all!)

137 notes · View notes

catsconflictscopicsandchamomile · 4 months

Text

No but full stop. if you say anything like "Gen Alpha is being raised wrong/horrible to have in class/morally fucked-up/idiotic/doomed/just really really cringe" I will unironically lose all respect for you immediately.

all this stuff about "they're illiterate", "they have no respect for parents or teachers" "screens have rotted their brains" "they just speak in weird Skibidi Toilet Gyatt Rizz Meme Language" "the screens have made them have no behavior standards or morals" "the ScReEeEeEeEnsssss"

...you sound literally exactly like our parents' generation did with us. and elder millenials'/Gen X/even really late boomer's parents' generations did with them about video games and cable tv and...regular tv

and radio

and records

and. dime novels.

and it literally just goes back like that forever

OVID talked abt this stuff in the EXACT same way

so yeah, if you say that stuff without a shred of self-awareness, then I

1) do not think you can keep your commitment to "not fuck up future generations like we were fucked up", since you're contributing to that fucking-up right now by your words and actions.

2) will assume that you have a similar shortsightedness in other issues that require you to compare your own/modern-day views and events to historical ones, and lose faith in your interpretation of everything from aesthetics and online drama to world-altering current events because of that

3) genuinely I just have nothing but disappointment in people who say these things. anyone on this site who hates "icky gen alpha things" almost definitely did the same thing themselves.

They have "Gyatt", we* had GLOMPING, Yaoi Paddles, shitty mspa twerking gifs everywhere, and "Oh My God, Look At Her Butt"

They have "Rizz" we had "YOLO SWAG" and "I made you a cookie but I eated it" and those selfies where you held your camera up too high and then looked up at it from under your bangs

They have "Skibidi Toilet" we had SO MANY THINGS. Llamas with Hats. Charlie the Unicorn. Annoying Orange. Crazy Frog. Potter Puppet Pals. Minecraft Parodies if you're younger gen z. friCKING TOBUSCUS MUSIC, that man was a PLAGUE.

They have a toxic social media culture focused on heavily edited and unachievable beauty standards, enforced popularity culture, rigid aesthetic-based social groups, harmful rumors about health & beauty, a pressure on young girls to act mature, and underlying racism/classism, all leading kids who dont have adequate guidance to, AT BEST, try beauty "products" that arent meant for kids and are usually scams. We had... literally the exact same thing except our airbrushing was on celebs and models instead of coming from filters.

*I am older Gen Z (24 y.o.) but was so fucking sheltered until ~2014, and even then... I'm going off tumblr-history blogs, yt retrospectives and "my friend said so" to understand what "we" had

TLDR STOP BULLYING GEN ALPHA

...except about "Starpatch" or "Starface" or whatever it is. yes, ik its also popular/more popular with younger gen z. yes I'm literally making a post rn to bully(lh) yall JUST as hard about it. if it were my exact age group doing this I would be bullying yall. i dont care who does it, starpatch is so fricking silly.

#gen z #gen alpha #history #trends #skibidi toilet #gyatt #rizz #cringe #tumblr culture #tumblrcore #social media #ageism #igen #longpost #rant ish #i have opinions about this actually #soapbox

43 notes · View notes

petite-madame · 9 months

Note

I've seen a notice doing the rounds lately about art and writing on twitter being scraped to feed AI, even private accounts. As someone who's are is so beautiful and detailed would this put you off using the platform? I was thinking about opening a fan writing account on there but this has put me off a lot :(

Hi anon ^^

Thank you so much for your question and for taking the time to contact me. 💗

To be honest, no : even if an artist/writer decided to stop posting on Twitter specifically, it won't change a thing because they are not going to be safe anywhere on the internet, whatever the platform. If someone wants to feed an artist's art into AI (Midjourney, Stable Diffusion, whatever), they will do it. I mean, do you think that artists like Sakimichan or Karla Ortiz agreed to have their art fed into AI ? It was used anyway. Same for writers (as you are writer) and now voices (singers and voice actors).

I try not to think about it too much, I just…post. I mean, my art has been stolen for years by people on Amazon, by shops on Aliexpress, etc..The latest being this FB post. I don't even blame the person who bought the art (I guess it's a print ?), I'm sure they meant no harm.

Let's not even talk about my Spider-Man artworks. This is nothing.

Anyway, either you don't post anything anywhere because there will always be a risk that your content will be fed into AI (whether you agreed to it through the terms of service of the site you are using or not), either you post and…YOLO! 😅 Life on the Internet on 2023 baaaby!

I wish you good luck on your project. Maybe you could wait a bit and see how it goes on Twitter or open it on another platform like A03 ? I hope you'll find a way.

Thanks again and have a great day. 💗

#pmasks

84 notes · View notes

thisloveislikeabattle · 7 months

Text

for no reason whatsoever my brain immediately assumed that the halloween party would happen towards the end of episode 8, or at least in the second half

the police arriving at the party and the problem with the drugs, along with all the theories about who called the cops and if anybody's gonna be arrested, feels to me like an end-of-episode moment. classic cliffhanger, right?

and maybe that's really how things are gonna happen but maybe not, because I noticed that some scenes in the preview for next ep can only make sense if we consider them happening after the party

that's way I have a little theory based on that:

1. this specific topmew scene

we can see them in their university clothes (idk how to call them, is there a better term?), in what kinda looks like a bathroom to me but that's not really important, so maybe they meet after class? I'm focusing on this because top's sentence leads me to believe this is after we get to actually see mew's bad state at the party

2. the nick and papang interaction

we don't know yet if nick's scenes with papang are actually related to nick's plan to earn boston's forgiveness, that's what the preview makes me think but the only friends previews have always been pretty deciveing on purpose. what really matters to me anyway is the shirt nick is wearing in that second scene tho, and the assumption that it also takes place after the party

3. sand starts to take some distance from ray

after the raymew dance scene, and the talk with ray outside yolo, we can see that sand is actually starting to walk away from ray– he's finally setting some boundaries, not letting ray walk all over him. those two scenes, both taking place at night, are the only sandray scenes we are shown– sand and ray are the only ones that don't have a daytime scene in the preview

now to my final theory, after considering all the above (and in case you're wondering, yes, the previous ones were points to give my main theory context and recipes) :

that sandray scene from the series' trailer

if the halloween party happens relatively early in the episode, and if the scenes we see of the guys in university are after that, we could finally have this 0:02 seconds scene from the trailer in our hands.

it all makes sense to me: ray showing how selfish and possessive he truly is as soon as he notices sand getting away, not caring at all about how he's been hurting him all this time– and we can see that from sand's expression.

also thinking about sand being like "we cannot be friends we were never friends" / "fuck it I'm gonna kiss this guy just because he's also dressed as freddie mercury" / "i'm not one of your options ray", at which point ray could start to realize sand really means it and be like "you're not going anywhere".

now, I don't know if anyone else had the same initial thought as me or if from the start it was pretty clear to everybody that some scenes are supposed to happen post-party– that wasn't my case tho so i wanted to share it even if in the end I might be totally wrong

#here's my monday theory #only friends the series #only friends series #ofts #only friends #sandray #raysand #topmew #bostonnick #ofts sand #ofts ray #ofts top #ofts mew #ofts nick #only friends spoilers #only friends meta

49 notes · View notes

jalwyn21 · 2 months

Note

We really don't talk enough about how much it must have sucked for Tom to be left for someone else like that. Didn't Taylor imply that she cheated on him? And then to have songs written about how happy she is with this other guy. Gorgeous definitely hits different when you think about that. I saw an interview that Tom did post breakup and the interviewer says he seemed so heartbroken when talking about how he was feeling after the breakup, they decided to stop asking questions about her completely and changed the subject. So I can see how there might be resentment towards Joe for being the guy that caught his fickle girlfriend's attention. But I think Tom probably realizes now what a bullet he has dodged and that compared to Joe, he's actually gotten away relatively unscathed. So I'd like to think that he feels for Joe now because he knows what it's like to fall for this woman only to be stabbed in the back. I feel like Joe is the ex that she seems to be hung up on the most. She's always been obsessive about past relationships but never to this degree to the point where I almost feel sorry for her because of how pathetic it is

Well according to her own songs she cheated on Calvin with Tom. Hence the "'Cause us traitors never win" in Getaway Car.

And according to Cruel Summer she was having sex with Joe during the summer of 2016 when she was dating Tom...so she cheated on Tom with Joe.

And yes, it is horrible the way Tom was humiliated and mocked back in 2016. He deserved better.

To quote myself from an earlier post: The way I see what happened in 2016:

Joe was 25 and stupid, and instead of staying out of t's mess he was like : YOLO! Her bf is not my problem. 🤷‍♀️ And if he did, I'm sure he feels bad about it now... 🙄 Or...

T never told Joe the whole truth about Tom. Like she could have told him that she and Tom were just FWB or it was an open relationship, so Joe was never really aware of what he got himself into...

So, I don't know how guilty Joe was in what happened in 2016. Guess we'll never know what really happened, cause Joe will never talk about it. Tom doesn't want to talk about it either. So all we have is her side of the story. As always... 🙄

And yeah, you seem to be correct about the whole stabbing in the back...

#joe alwyn #joealwyn #free joe alwyn #jalwyn #nonnie #q&a #anti taylor swift #shit swifties say #toxic swifties #tom hiddleston #calvin harris

24 notes · View notes

starryficsfinishwen · 5 months

Text

✧!。◟[NSFW] ʟᴇ ᴘᴇᴛɪᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴇʀᴏɴ ʀᴏᴜɢᴇ — Von Negut x reader [PGR]

[ doubles as Halloween and 100 150 followers special! ]

“Bonjour, petite fille... Pourquoi marches-tu dans la forêt toute seule?”

a.n. - why does Tumblr have no option to react to comments LOL I'd like to thank the ones who reacted to the previous post and motivated me to make this one happen! I'M SORRY AGAIN FOR BEING SO LATE. I have finals in one-two weeks but hi I'm here LOL I also haven't edited this yet, I still have stuff to write notes and study but YOLO This was also planned to be the 100 followers special but yall. it grew to 150 already LMAO Im so thankful, thank u!!!!!!!!!!!!!

pairing - Wolf!Von Negut x f!human

words - 7,522

warnings - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. NSFW THEMES: virginity loss, corruption kink. blood and murder is involved. dubcon. mentions of murder. cunnilingus. porn with plot LOL

special mention - banners belong to @/saradika!

Your mother warned you not to stray from the path.

In your little town, the one you've grown up in, dense green foliage covers the borders. During springtime, flowers and pollen would fill your noses, and the sun is kind to let your laundry dry faster. In summertime, the trees give off cool air for you to sleep in late into the morning. Orange leaves that fall to the ground become the children's plaything, when autumn drenches your little town in cinnamon brown and orange hues. However, in the winter...

“Another victim!” cried out an elderly man as he wrapped the dead body in a thin sheet of cloth, “dear God!”

Townsfolk would gather around the center of the town square, as a dead body mauled to death would appear once a week during winter. Blood and broken bones paint the cobblestone, signaling the beginning of yet another cold winter.

You bring your red cape closer to your neck, the winter air shivering you to the bones. You look away at the horrendous sight of the dead body by the fountain, to which you've known the victim was once your playmate during your childhood years.

“It's those damned wolves!” one of your neighbors proclaimed, unsheathing his sword from his scabbard, “we must hunt them down while it's daylight!”

A murmur erupted amongst the crowd. Wolves— wild creatures that were the king of the woods. However, they are feral in nature, and they are unkind; they murder everything they see and soak them in blood. Once, they only hunted farm animals that the townsfolk had been taking care of (you remember the sheep your father once took care of; its wool ready to be sheared the next summer, yet it never came because its little body was never to be found, apart from the large, animal-like footprints left behind from its pen). Until one day, a human body would appear. And that was the day they all realized that the wolves were now hungry for human blood.

“It is daylight,” called out another neighbor, “we must hunt them down now!”

A ripple of cheers throughout the crowd. Men raised their weapons and lit their fire, holding it up into the air. Lingering through the crowd, countless cries mingled with the somber fury of men. You wish to run away from this sight, were it not for the hand that held you tight.

“They are idiots,” your mother, who lived half of her life in this small town, muttered. “Why should they risk their lives for something trivial like this?”

You wanted to retort, that a human life had died unwillingly to death, but you only grasped the handle of your bucket tighter. This, indeed, only interfered in your daily chore of fetching well water.

“I see your father in the crowd,” she sighs, the creases in your forehead somehow making her look older, “make sure he won't join them in this madness, will you, child?”

You nodded timidly. Although you wish to support the cause, your own kin's blood is far more important than anyone else's. As you prepare to wiggle out of your mother's grasp, the townsfolk suddenly fall silent; ominous, yet full footsteps from the cathedral, not too far from the towns square, echoed loudly.

A man draped in a long, black liturgical vestment, a bible in hand and a large cross hung across his neck. Behind the priest, a regal young nun with blonde hair and green eyes followed closely. Their presence alone made the whole town quiet down, parting to let the priest closer to the mangled body.

You've seen them so many times, yet their wonders still surprise you— the priest opens his old bible, the edges of the book fraying out. He holds onto the cross, steadying it just above the body, muttering a psalm with his eyes closed. The nun would pull out a small glass container, pouring the holy water onto the corpse, and it was set aflame— the townsfolk shrieked in surprise, yet the priest and his nun only stood without any reaction.

They have, after all, been the ones to clean up the messes of murder.

“Do not act so rashly, my brethren,” the priest spoke quietly as he gave the bible to the nun, “the creatures of darkness should not be sought; lest they return us the favor of more bloodshed.”

The people around the square quieted down. Slowly, some returned back to what they were originally doing, even your father who reluctantly went back inside the comforts of your home, until all that was left in the square was the priest, the nun, the ashes of the corpse, and the man who cried out for a hunt. The priest muttered to the man, one that you couldn't hear, but it must have infuriated him as he drew out his weapon and trudged north of the square.

You hear several of your neighbors starting to whisper again— something about being unfortunate, something about being the next victim.

“Well, that's the end of it,” your mother sighed, nudging you in the direction of the well, south, “your chores can't wait forever, dearie.”

Right. You forgot you weren't some omniscient god. You quickly picked up your buckets and walked south. But your eyes still lingered at the ashes that were picked up by the nun in her hand, unable to look away at the immense sadness reflected on her somber green irises.

You trudge forward.

Being a nun in your small town didn't seem bad. However, your mind often wanders to a future where you were in love with someone, bearing his children and living a long, loving life, despite not having a potential husband yet, that is— something that a nun cannot have, due to their devotional marriage to the Almighty.

These thoughts linger in your head, as you hum a worship song along the way, your two empty buckets clanking with your every step. It wasn't a long walk anyways, the well was now closer.

The noises in the bushes say otherwise.

The hairs on your neck prickle— you were aware rabbits occupied the area, their little paw prints digging into the snow during winter, but such noises were incapable of being made by such gentle, little creatures. You quickly pick up your pace, tugging your cape closer.

The bushes kept ruffling until you reached the well. When you look back, you only find your footsteps in the path, and the bushes were bushes. Breathing a sigh of relief, you do your business, tying your bucket and into the well.

“Aren't those buckets too heavy to carry, miss?”

If you think about it, they are— but not as heavy as your body, jumping to the sudden voice talking to you.

“W-what?” You put your hand to your chest, trying to steady your erratic heartbeat, “who's there?”

A leather shoe steps out of the shadows, before the voice reveals itself. He wore a white dress shirt with a large v-shaped cleavage dipping to his abdomen, his suit slung between his shoulders and flowing to the back, tucked neatly with clean black slacks. His eyes are a hazy shade of grey, dark hair slicked back. You've known all the faces in your little town, but with a face chiseled by the gods themselves...

He's not from this town.

“Apologies,” his lips started to move, face contorted with genuine worry, “I did not mean to scare you. The buckets you carry awfully look heavy, and I wish to help.”

Why was such a man here? You quickly stood to your feet, shaking your hands, “This has been a chore I've been doing since I was a child. You, sir, make me worry; why are you here? Are you lost?”

The man's stares linger, on the cape you wore, chuckling at your words, as if dismissing your warning. “I am not lost, little lamb. I happen to stumble across this area.”

Little lamb, it seemed to fit you as a nickname. All the other kids used to call you weak way back. But now it's different: the lady in red. But you shook your head, trying to forget the awful memory, “Do you wish to find shelter, then? I can ask the good ladies to provide you lodgings until you are ready to leave. You are not safe here, so may as well seek refuge.”

“Why?”

You ponder. Does this man not know about the rumor that circulates to the nearby towns?

Looking deep into his eyes, you mutter, “there is a wolf around the area. I suggest you leave before the day ends.”

In the middle of the darkness, sunlight peeks through the shade of the leaves. They highlighted the contours of his face. For a moment, you nearly miss the unreadable glint in his gray eyes and seemingly sharp teeth. But as you blink, his expression is nothing but confusion, as if he looked like a lost child.

“A wolf?” He hums, “ah, so the rumors were true. That sounds quite...saddening.”

“So you have heard,” nearly forgetting your task, you quickly carry your buckets once more, looking away from the charming man, “since you are well aware of the dangers here, then you should leave, good sir.”

“I'd rather you stay alive than to be an unknown victim in our town.” you added, before trudging through the path you came from.

A shame to leave him hanging, but you value your safety and mental health (even as you walk, you hear the incoming sermon of your mother). Out of the blue, the heavy weight in one of your arms disappears.

“Then that means I should at least help you with this, hm?”

You see him clear— pale skin, white teeth, sparkling eyes— in pure daylight, as he carries one bucket effortlessly.

“At least you and I can be safe from the wolf now, isn't that right, little lamb?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, hearing those words from the stranger. Shaking your head, supporting the weight of the only bucket you had in hand now, sighing.

“If you are not from this town, then let me introduce you to some ladies in town to let you rest. I feel bad when I let others do all my tasks.”

He laughs— heartily, it makes your tummy jump, you thought you heard heaven— “your kindness baffles me, little lamb.”

“I am only repaying what you have given to me,” You admit, smiling at him genuinely, “you are the one who is kindly carrying my bucket.”

“It is not heavy,” He mirrors your smile, and you nearly miss the sharp teeth, before it somehow turns back to human ones, “I see that you were the one struggling.”

You laughed before looking elsewhere, “I should probably give you something else, then.”

“Please, this is not a favor,” He stops before placing the bucket on the ground, “consider it as...a welcoming gift.”

He flashes you one last smile, before gesturing to the front. Confused, you turned to the direction he pointed— townsfolk going about their day, the children that were playing, and the fountain that seemed good as new, as if nothing happened earlier.

Turning to thank the stranger, you realize that he had long disappeared. Only the bucket that he helped carry remained.

Despite his sudden departure, a part of you had clung into some hope that he was safe. Maybe not in your town, but somewhere. Amongst the trees were other residents who grew tired of the fear that circulated within your little town, hoping that some were kind enough to let him in.

Fortunately though, the murder stopped. Usually, another body would have popped up in the town square, but instead, a yet-to-be lighted pine tree was erected near the fountain.

On another note, garlands of garlic and a symbol you couldn't recognize was carved onto the wooden posts standing by the entrance.

“It's to scare the wolf,” your father said after another work day, drinking from a bottle of ale that your mother prepared, “the priest commissioned us.”

The bucket of water seemed a bit heavy, several days after the kind stranger helped you. A greedy part of you wishes to see his ethereal face, but the rational one is too wary.

“He won't come back.” You said to yourself, disappointment tugging at the back of your throat, “He probably left town at this point.”

The rustling of the bushes behind you nearly scared the soul out of you. You think it's the wind, but the rustling only grew louder.

Raising one bucket to your chest, you prepare yourself to lunge at the upcoming threat in case it would jump out of its hiding spot. When that time came, you closed your eyes instead—

And a strangled, poor mewl of a cat was heard instead.

Opening one eye, you peeked to see a small kitten, perhaps smaller than the bread you consume every morning. Baby eyes peer at you, one more choked cry spewing out of its lips. Your heart crumbles at the poor creature, putting the bucket down so you could cradle it in your blemished hands, tucking it in the safety of your cape.

Too busy comforting the creature, you never noticed the looming shadow behind you.

“What a poor cat.”

You nearly threw the small creature in your hand. Looking back, your heart rattles as you lock eyes with the stranger from before. A part of you sighs in relief, partly to see that he was well and the other being relieved he was back, while the rest of your body shakes from his sudden arrival.

“Dear sir!” you breathed, fingers finding comfort by patting the kitten's soft head, “Please do not scare me like that. I do not know if I have a bad heart, yet.”

The pretty stranger laughs (at this point, you ask yourself if it was normal to have an upset stomach just from hearing his melodious laughter). Kneeling next to you, he stretches his hand out to the kitten in your hand, slender fingers caressing the area in between its eyes and its forehead.

“What a gentle, yet fragile creature.” He whispers, as if the words were only shared in between the both of you, “Pray tell, how did you find him?”

Ah, so he likes cats as well.

“He was mewling when I found him. I saw no signs of the mother.”

His eyebrows were stitched together, a subtle frown on his lips. Was this regret written on his features?

Fishing out something from his pockets, you trail his movements carefully as he pulls out a piece of meat, enough to fill the kitten's little stomach.

“I figured this would come in handy,” he chuckled, feeding the piece to the cat, “He needs it more than I do.”

You missed his words, instead, you were intently looking at his actions. “He is a he...?”

“Ah, so you have never known what gender cats bear?”

Timidly, you shook your head. “If the cat bears litter, only then will I know that they are a female.”

Golden eyes shine mischievously in the dark. Chuckling once more, he caresses the cheek of the kitten, to which the latter rubs against his fingers. He reached out, a strand of your hair in between his fingers, bringing them to his lips.

“How innocent you are, little lamb,” he whispers, “did your mother not tell you to talk to strangers?”

“She has, but if you were a demon, wouldn't you have killed me right now?”

His smile made your stomach churn, heartbeat skipping lightly in joy, “Quite perceptive, I like you.”

You giggle, “My mother tells me that, too.”

You bring the kitten to your eye level, a pout on your lips, noticing that you were going to be reprimanded should you bring an innocent feline in your raucous home.

“Little lamb, what's wrong?”

“I am afraid that I cannot bring this little one home. My family will be angry at me.”

The stranger sighed. Gently taking the warm cat from your hands, he smiles at you.

“I shall take care of him for you, then.” He spoke, “Only...”

Curiosity outweighs the warning signs flashing in your mind. You quietly asked, “Only...?”

“Will you come and visit me here, when you tend to your bucket? You shall see this creature whenever you like.”

Your heart leaps out of your chest as joy overwhelms you. No longer worrying about the poor kitten, you bowed to the stranger, thankful for his kindness.

“I still cannot believe how naïve you are, Little lamb.” You heard him mutter, but you paid no mind.

When you came back to the village, you failed to notice gray eyes following your every move.

You did your chores diligently. After all, you were a keeper of your word.

Almost everyday, you were rendezvous with the stranger, eager to care and see the growth of the kitten you found. At some point, you no longer questioned the history of the strange man; how could you, when it already felt like you were raising a family with him?

“Like a good mother,” he complimented once, “you take good care of things.”

Heat would rush to your cheeks, tummy fluttering with what you believed were an ache, were a bunch of butterflies taking home there, alongside your thundering heartbeat. (You would slap yourself, too, confusing the stranger and your family.)

Did you like the stranger? You never realized that the thought was buried in the back of your head, then. But all the same, gray eyes you came to remember would visit you, even in your wildest dreams.

On one particular day, while you were getting ready to fetch some water and meet with your stranger, your mother stopped you.

“Dear child, I'd like you to not do that for today.”

“But,” you paused, hands gripping the buckets, “is there something wrong?”

“I'd like you to take a day off, have your brothers do that chore,” she reached out to hold your shoulders, smiling, “spend a day with your dear mother, hm?”

But how could you inform the stranger you were with these past few months, when you were going out with your mother?

In the end, you couldn't get away; instead, she dressed you in your best ones, face coated with makeup you despised, and before the day ended, you found yourself sitting in front of a man you've never met before, a ring on his finger.

“[Y/N],” his honeyed words were nothing compared to the man in the forest, but the ring on his finger looked awfully more expensive than your life, glimmering and glinting as he announced, “we shall be wed soon, my bride.”

And your fate, though unfortunate, was sealed.

“You weren't here yesterday.”

You flinched from the tone of your friend, the stranger, as you picked up the fast growing kitten in your arms.

Even the cat noticed your distraught, licking your thumb. “I'm sorry...my mother did not make me leave the house.”

It wasn't a lie; after all, you hadn't left the house until you were being dragged to the saloon, your husband-to-be waiting for you.

“I really wanted to talk to you,” you added, twiddling with the kitten's tail, “but my mother...”

His gray eyes were...bleak. Looking at you with noticeable exhaustion, the man could only sigh. “I thought you broke your promise. You already know what would happen...”

You wonder how to break the news to the man. Aware that your attraction to him was more than what friends would feel, your heart crumbles at the thought of telling the truth.

“Dear sir...”

When he looks up, there was a small smile on his lips. “Little lamb, there is something that I must show you.”

Gently pulling you by the hand, you clutch your cape as the winter air seeps into your skin, trying to catch up at the speed of the man. By the time he slows down, you nearly forget you're human, legs surrendering from the exhaustion.

Thankfully, the man caught you first.

“I am sorry,” he said, as if he hadn't run so fast, “I forgot you aren't entirely athletic.”

You smiled at him, looking down to find the little kitten was snugly fit in his breast pocket, mewling contently.

“You can put me down now, dear sir,” you blushed, coughing, “I can walk on my own.”

“Nonsense,” he mirrors your smile, “let me carry you until we reach our destination.”

“Is it very far, then?”

Carrying you like a bride, he shook his head, a small smile on his lips, “We're quite close.”

The warmth and comfort as he carries you effortlessly, the smell of fresh pine and creeks— you could get drunk in this smell forever. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, trying to sneak your way in smelling more (it's too late; the stranger already knew.)

“You may open your eyes now, little lamb.”

You do. And you were not mistaken—

A field full of roses. Dressed in snow, it was the first time you've seen such a magnificent color, like blood, bleeding onto the white. When the stranger puts you down, your legs find themselves running to the field, eager to witness such beauty amongst the winter land.

“How...” words died in your throat, “How did you find something like this?”

Wordlessly, the stranger sits beside you as you fiddle with the flowers, fingers playing with your red cape, “I've told you; I'm a wanderer.”

Sometimes, you thought about your luck that was down the drain. But when you think about the stranger, the cat, and this beautiful scenery, a stray idea came to you, that made you look at the ashen-eyed man— what if you were to run away with him right now?

He looked back at you, piercing eyes glimmering as he slowly leaned to you, aware of how your breath was fanning his lips.

“Little lamb,” his words were your Achilles' heel, the sound of his voice dipping enough to make your heartbeat louder, “Pull away, should you not like what I will do next.”

What does he do next? Gently, softly, he presses his sweet lips to your inexperienced ones. Shortly, sweetly, with his eyes closed, it made yours flutter before surrendering to the feeling of the kiss.

You should pull away. You should have. You had a groom waiting for you at a church, the wedding a few days away. But was it a sin to kiss a man, a stranger you had fallen in love with, to wrap your arms around him, innocently and carelessly but passionately, as the kiss deepens? His heartbeat and yours in sync, your lips exploring whatever was there waiting for the unknown, his hands on your waist, holding your cape, breathing into each other's warmth— was it really a sin?

The stranger pulls away, somehow aware of the lack of oxygen, with a little whine from your lips, you almost made yourself want to hide away forever. But he only laughs, fingers caressing the apple of your cheek, a butterfly kiss on the tip of your nose. It was the first of your many kisses— and it made your stomach flutter wildly, your legs trembling from want.

“How cute,” the stranger chuckles, “And I thought you were innocent, little lamb.”

“I-It's my first time!” you mutter, looking away from his teasing expression, “I've never kissed anyone before...”

He leans closer, lips touching your cheeks, your jaw, feeling him smile as he inhales. “...do you regret, then?”

Do you? Your nails absentmindedly caress the nape of his neck, trying to look around but him. “No...”

“Good, because I want to kiss you more,” he admits, light kisses on your jaw, “God, it's all I want to do with you.”

His body presses more on you, and you only succumb to it— his warmth, his touch, his kisses. You wanted more, every part of you aching and aching until your body was screaming—

“Let's run away together.”

Your breathing chokes on your throat. Looking at him, his expression is serious and unwavering, your heart beating and breaking at the same time.

He moves and you're kissing him again. You forgot it's your first time, you forgot that he was a stranger— the pretty stranger was the water and you were drowning endlessly in him.

The kitten in his breast pocket mewled. It made you pull away. And reality, although painful, began to catch up with you.

“Little lamb?”

His gray eyes were looking at you with worry. Breathing unstable, you try not to let the tears prickling your eyes escape.

“Dear sir, I'm...sorry.”

“Why...?”

You try to drink all your regrets, pushing away the only warmth in this long, cold winter.

“I can't be with you.”

You don't remember what happened after.

You remember walking back, the warmth being overridden by the cold winter, your red cape dragging through the snow. You remember thinking that your mother would be mad at you, for not returning before sundown, that you should be preparing to meet with your betrothed. But to break your heart and the stranger— should you still call him that?— was far too much for your mind, that you had no emotion left whatsoever, to face what was waiting for you at the village.

Your footsteps are heavy. But at least, the light of the village was already bright. Wait, bright? Trudging through the thick snow a little faster, you hear incoherent cries and screams. By the time you reached the source, you felt someone grab ahold of your arm, causing you to yelp out loud.

“Where have you been?” Your mother's voice causes you to panic, poison dripping from her words, “You nearly made me have a heart attack!”

Your mother holds you by the chin, forcing you to look at the crowd by the square, seeing faces of horror amongst familiar faces. “Should you have shown yourself,” your mother sneered, “You would have been the talk of the town.”

With an opening from the crowd, you finally understood what your mother meant: the priest and his nun, an erected torch in the middle, and that horrid scene you thought you were done watching.

Another dead body. This time, their head was cut off.

---

How were you to know what happened next? Your mother forbade you to leave the house, fearing the wolf would hunt for another. Even all the other activities, including the meet-up with your betrothed, were canceled. You spent the rest of your days waiting, and waiting, unaware that you were supposed to meet with the stranger and fetch water from the well.

The stranger...the stranger you had fallen in love with, the stranger you thought you could run away with.

You sleep through your pain.

Until the days were slowly counting down to the wedding.

“[Y/N], dear,” one day, your father called you downstairs, “Will you please come and meet me here?”

When you did, you were greeted with a big basket, red cloth peeking in between the cover and its mouth. You noticed your mother and father were the only ones waiting for you in the living room, holding the basket together. You wanted to ask.

“It has always been our tradition to bury the flowers we grew before a member of the family were to be wed,” your father spoke, “Aa a tradition to honor our forefathers, we would like for you to do the same.”

“Your wedding day will be tomorrow,” your mother said, “and the priest already allowed us to leave the village, as long as you return before sunset.”

Ah, the wedding. How many weeks have you been holed up in your room, that you've forgotten?

“Not only that, your grandmother lives near the place we do the tradition. We'd like you to extend our invitations to her.” Your father added.

Your heart skipped a beat. It meant you were going to pass by the well, to meet your stranger. But your heart quickly sank— forgetting you've rejected him. There was a high chance he had left. Quietly and compliantly, you picked up the red cape you'd been wearing during your rendezvous and carried the basket that your parents had prepared.

“I'll be back before sundown, then.”

“We love you.” You don't miss those words, before the door closed on you.

The smell of pine trees on your cape still lingers on your cape.

With the first snow falling, your walk to your grandmother's cottage is far and long. But you don't mind, as the scent on your cape kept you company.

The basket is heavy in your hand, but you don't mind. It reminds you of the cat you found that day, and you wonder if it was now as heavy as the basket you carried. How was he? Is he safe? The stranger, will he not be mad after what you said?

It made you sigh from sadness. At the well, he was never there.

“Little lamb,” he would have called you like that, “what a kind little girl you are.”

His voice lingered, probably something that made you remember things. You remember the smell of pine trees on his fingers, the gentleness of his hands as he held the cat— onto yours. The way they easily slotted in between the gaps in your fingers, while you both lay underneath the kind sun, creating angels out of snow.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

The way he spoke of your nickname, his touches and teases. It was taunting, it was teasing, but it was all you had. His warmth close to your freezing one, tender arms wrapped among yours.

“Little lamb, little lamb,” the lilt of his tone, the way it tickled your neck, the way it traveled to your tummy, “A pliant, little girl of mine.”

Your memories morph into something else— an image of you, in between his hips, your dress dangerously lifted up your stomach. His hands were holding you by the waist, your arms on his shoulders. In your memory, you hear yourself in a tone you would have recognized as something so indecent, something so intimate. Calling the stranger with gray eyes and slicked-back dark hair in a name that you don't recognize, but somehow knew.

“Von Negut,” how vulgar, the name of someone you never recognized, “more, please.”

Do you remember something like this? When your mouth was on the stranger's lips, the way you grinded on his thigh, sultry moans you never knew that you could make—

You tripped on the snow, causing you to wake up from the memory you had. Catching on your breath, trying to grasp reality, you immediately notice that you toppled over your basket. But thankfully, the flowers in it were still intact. Shaking away the sudden fall, you try to move your body, but down there...you disregard it, as the cold was already disturbing you enough. You prepare to advance forward.

But to your surprise— grandmother's cottage was already in front of you.

---

For as long as you remember, your grandmother was the one who gifted you the red cape.

“It's to protect you from the wolves,” she said, “and you look prettier in red.”

You hoped it was true. Especially with all the murders.

“Grandma,” you called out as you knocked on the door, “It's me, [Y'N].”

A few more knocks should have made her open the door. But on your fifth knock, your grandmother had not made a sound inside. Quietly, you opened the door with a secret that your grandmother taught you when you were younger.

By the time the door opened, you were met with silence and darkness. “Grandma?”

Walking through the wooden floor, your step creaking, you look around to see if your grandmother is asleep. Eventually, you found yourself in her living room, where someone was sitting on a chair facing the windows.

“Grandma?” You called out once more.

“Hello, dear little red hood.” A nickname she fondly called you.

“Hello, grandma. I'm sorry I took so long, that I wasn't able to visit you.”

You quickly placed your basket on the nearest table, rushing to meet your grandmother, but she raised her hand midway, causing you to stop.

“...as much as I want you to pay your respects, dear, I would refrain you from doing so. Grandma...is not feeling well.”

You only noticed the gruffness of her voice. Bowing your head (with a little disappointment), feeling bad for her, wishing you brought medicine as well.

“What brings you here, child?”

“I wished to see you,” you began, “...and I wanted to tell you...to come and visit the town tomorrow. I will be wed by noon.”

A pin-drop silence enveloped the room before your grandmother cackled.

“Marriage, huh?”

You sigh wistfully, the stranger you met crossing your mind, “I...yes.”

“Who is the lucky man?”

“I have never met him before. But my mother said he is the son of one of the best hunters in the region.”

“Does not sound very convincing, tch.” You noticed the anger from her tone, but still, you did not mind.

“Pray tell, dear,” she began once more, “Along the way, did you want this marriage?”

The stranger. The kitten. Your heart and mind. They were all finding someone else. “No...I, I cannot say...”

“Did you not really dream of anyone else, hm?”

Did you? You suddenly remember the lewd thought you had earlier, of the name you called, which made your cheeks flush red, and down there...

“Tell me, little lamb, did you not think of me?”

You froze. No one else called you that nickname. Looking up, the person sitting on the chair finally revealed himself.

The stranger, with sharp teeth and blood in his mouth.

“S-Sir?”

“I wondered when you were going to show up, little lamb.”

With every step he took to you, you would move backward, until you bumped onto the table. Without wasting any time, your stranger pressed himself to you, caging you in between his arms, making you scream.

“Did you miss me?”

“Y-You're the wolf?”

“And here I thought you were glad to see me,” tenderly, like before, his fingers grade your jaw and lips, hungry gray eyes looking on your lips, before staring at your eyes. His fingers found themselves taking a strand of your hair to his lips.

“Marriage, it's a shame.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair, “I mean, he'd be lucky to have my little lamb as his wife.”

You're shaking in his arms, afraid and somehow aware of his size now that his jacket is out of the way, muscles and skin showing and touching yours. Down there, your legs tremble, and you try not to cry from being intimidated by this bloody man.

“But no marriage would happen tomorrow anyway.”

“Wh-what?”

Pulling out from his pockets, the sunlight glints at the gold band on his fingers, bloodied and gone.

“D-Did you-”

“-kill the man? I would be ruthless; of course not. I merely bullied him to give me the wedding band.”

Like your moment at the rose field, the stranger nuzzled his nose to your cheeks, making you sniffle your cries. “I've been waiting for you for a long, long time now, little lamb.”

Pulling away, pity and sadness were reflected in his eyes, a small frown on his pretty lips. Taking your hand, slipping in the bloody ring on yours, he began to speak.

“Do you know what I had to go through?”

Timidly through your tears, you shook your head. “N-No...”

“Wolves feed on human blood. Without it, we would die.”

He gently kissed your fingers, before whispering, “It was hell; trying to kill just to survive.”

A part of you somehow pitied this man. But he ruthlessly and mercilessly murdered every man in your little town. You looked at him as he continued to kiss your fingers.

“There is a solution to this problem, though.”

As if finding eureka, your stranger's eyes glimmered brighter than the ring you had in hand.

“I had to find my mate.”

His fingers were brushing away the tears streaming on your cheeks, kissing them away, “...and she happens to be you.”

He kissed you. Lips stained with blood, that you could taste in between breaths. But unlike his nature, he was kind, he was still so gentle.

“My little lamb,” he whispered in between kisses, “Be with me, or...”

His lips were now kissing the area underneath your ear, before threatening, “...I will murder everyone in that village.”

“No!”

With all your strength, you push him off, knocking the table and the basket in the process. But your attempts were futile; he grabbed your cape, causing you to fall onto the scattered flowers on the floor. Screaming and crying through the fear, you helplessly tried to shake out of his hard grasp on your arms above your head. But he already had you pinned in between his body.

“Ah, ah, little lamb,” He teases, “I'd rather you not do that.”

He leans down to you, lips capturing yours. You are helpless in his grasp, with nowhere left to run. His kiss was fiery, passionate. You were afraid, but the way that you molded perfectly onto him, the heat pooling at your legs, his weight above you; you could only pull away for energy, before being kissed once more.

“Von Negut,” you unconsciously cried out, mouth clamping for being carelessly moaning out loud when his leg brushed you down there.

He froze. Looking up, you swore his fangs were showing.

“So you remember,” he grinned, “I am glad I didn't have to introduce myself again, [Y/N].”

He knew who you were, like how you knew who he was before. The memory from earlier resurfaced, and you could only whine from the way he was kissing and teasing you with his lips.

“Let me touch you, little lamb,” he murmured, which you unconsciously opened to him, “let me show you that you are mine.”

His knees found themselves slotted in between your slightly exposed bottoms, your skirt now on your stomach. You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but with Von Negut tearing apart your blouse with one hand, you are more exposed.

“Beautiful,” he inhaled through your bra, burying himself there, “Mine.”

It really was too much: the heat, the wetness pooling down there, and his lips latched on your chest as he stripped you bare. Weakly, you cried out to stop, tears now endlessly crying as your voice turned into helpless moans.

With his free hand, he slipped it in between your thighs, prying your legs open. Neverminding the undergarments as he effortlessly tore them once more, his fingers were toying with your drenched thighs, purposely avoiding your neglected clit.

“Fuck, already wet?” Von Negut chuckled, “What a naughty little slut you are, little lamb.”

Embarrassment flooded you endlessly. His fingers finally decided to play with your wet folds, every sound echoing throughout the room. But just when you thought it was over, Von Negut hovered over to your exposed cunt, mouth drooling as he looked at you: disheveled and confused, amongst the fallen flowers on your back.

“This is mine too, hmm.” Licking one long stripe, you moaned his name out loud, fingers threading his now unkempt hair.

“V-Von Negut, n-no, it's too dirty there...”

“But doesn't it feel nice, hm?” He digs into your pussy, kitten licks on your clit as he played with your sopping wet hole. “You must be lying; you taste heavenly.”

Von Negut felt like he was in heaven at this point. Watching you writhe as he expertly and sloppily ate you out, forgetting the aching tent in his pants. Right now, what you wanted, was to prepare you for something big.

But with you moaning his name without any filter, then God, he was ready to cum right there and then.

“Mmh, look at this, such a virgin little hole, too,” He eases two fingers in, and fuck, it was already tight, with you crying from the pain.

“N-no more, p-please...”

“Little lamb- ah, please stop moving, mmh-” He tries to slip in one more finger, but you wouldn't stop moving. With two fingers, he curled it just right, as you arched your back with a moan.

“Von Negut, no more...!”

“You're coming now, aren't you, little lamb,” he laughed, watching as you bit your teeth, watching in the next few moments before you would come undone.

“W-what's happening?”

You wouldn't know, but Von Negut does. “Cum for me, little lamb.”

Per his instructions, your pussy clamps on his fingers, liquid coming out endlessly as you came violently, coating his hand. Von Negut laughs at your misfortune, but you-

“So, goddamn beautiful, little lamb,” he cooed, trying to call you back to reality from your first orgasm, “we're still not done...”

When he pulled his fingers out, your hole was still clenching around nothing, only igniting the thirst he had for you. Watching as you weakly turned on your stomach, crawling away, Von Negut takes his time, unbuckling his belt, revealing his massive, leaking cock.

Grabbing you by the hips, he drags you closer, cock rubbing in between your ass, making you whimper. “If I put this big thing inside of you, I'm going to make you my woman, hm?”

You turned behind him, watching it in between you, rubbing it against the good parts, “W-wait, will that even f-fit me?”

“You're my good little lamb,” he cooed, tip rubbing your overstimulated clit, “I'm going to tear through your hymen, you won't be a virgin anymore. You're going to be my little lamb, my little cocksleeve.”

His words spurred you on, hole clenching once more around nothing, “N-No, please-!”

“You'll take it like a good fucking girl.”

Without hesitation, he plunged the tip into your tight ring of muscle, your voice crying out from the pain as he sank into you, some blood gushing out, with cream forming from where he fucked you. He was supposed to let you adjust, to let you get used to his girth. But fuck, you just can't be still- your cunt asking him to fuck you more, to suck his dick deeper onto you. With a loud moan, Von Negut bottoms out, the tip hitting your g-spot.

“V-Von Negut-!”

You came violently once more, fluids coming out of your newly-claimed hole, tears and shaking as proof of your defeat. Von Negut should be smiling, then- after all, he was finally yours, as much as you were his.

“Little lamb?”

But you weren't listening. Instead, you subconsciously grind on his dick more, whining impatiently. “Nngh, p-please.”

“Fucked out already, hm? Fuck, and I thought you were so innocent”

Effortlessly turning you to face him without getting you off his cock, Von Negut finally sees your beautiful tear-strained face, helpless as he fucks you properly this time.

Was it always this blissful? Every noise and sound that Von Negut could coax right out of you was perfect. That his mate, the fated red hood, the panacea of all his problems, was finally his to take? Fucking you deeper and harder now, he presses a hand on where the bulge from fucking you was seen.

“Little lamb, [Y/N],” he called out, noticing that he was ready to come, even if he was seeing the expression on your face, “I'm so close...”

“P-please,” you lulled, brain fogging from the pain and pleasure, “V-Von Ne-Negut,”

The clench of your pussy, the way you called his name, and the way his cock was pistoning in and inside of your used pussy— fuck, that was all it took for Von Negut to moan your name and fill your insides, painting your walls white, overflowing, even before he hadn't pulled out yet.

With a sigh, he comes back to Earth, watching as you ride out the last of your orgasm. Pulling out, as messy as it was, with his cum dripping out of you, he tries to succumb to the urge to fucking it back inside. Von Negut carries you in his arms, carrying you to the spare bed he had prepared. You must have been exhausted, seeing that you couldn't open your eyes as he carried you.

“I hope the prophecy was right, then.”

Your mother once told you not to stray from the path.

But you were far from the path that was laid out to you. Somewhere amongst the dense trees of spring and summer, or the fallen leaves in autumn, and the cold in winter, you settled on a cottage far from the village. There, you could clean, cook, or sleep whenever you wanted,

It could be lonely, but it's not all the time. At least, when you're a ghost.

If you ever find a man in the woods asking to help, decline the offer. Unless you want to be a victim of his whims.

“Little lamb,” he'd call you that, “I hope your mother told you not to stray the path.”

please like and share!! likes, shares, reblogs are appreciated!!

>> starlillies <<

#pgr #punishing gray raven #punishing gray raven imagines #pgr commandant #pgr global #pgr vonnegut #von negut

48 notes · View notes