#''women can just wear a little makeup! you don't have to put on a Full Face!'' bit regarding Not Wearing Makeup

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

Random Captain John Price headcanons

sfw and nsfw

pairing: Cpt. John Price x reader (cod mw)

tags/tw: domestic stuff, afab!reader, masturbation, spanking, hickeys, Price is an ass-man

a/n: inspired by a conversation I had with @melancholyy-hill and just some random thoughts, might do a second part to this, tell me if you want any other characters

John Price MASTERLIST

sfw

-Price has two phones, one for work and a private one, he doesn't like using the same one when he's deployed in countries where there's definitely a chance of it getting hijacked

-he's so tidy, like having a surroundings to calm his mind, make it easier to concentrate for him

-he's also pretty strict with his own cleanliness

-don't get me wrong, Price doesn't mind getting dirty on the field and in bed, would be weird if he did lol, but once at home or base, he takes care of himself

-we talking beard oil, grooming, trimming his nails if they got jagged during deployment and picking out the dirt from beneath them

-not that he dislikes showing you off in public, on the opposite he loves having you by his side, showing others you're his, but he gets uneasy with PDA

-that's why he's such an old-fashioned gentleman with showing you affection around people, those small gestures that make women swoon and telling you that you're found 'a good one, god you're so lucky'

-hand on the small of your back in a crowd is a must, palm resting on your knee when sitting down, you walk on the side furthest from the road, standing/walking behind you on the escalator or stars if you're wearing a skirt, kisses to your hand, temple, forehead or crown

-he always does the bed in the mornings despite you being the one who wakes up last

nsfw below the cut

-he's such a fucking ass man, like he appreciates boobs, thinks your nipples look good poking through a shirt or deliciously teasing in lingerie, but he prefers your ass

-like this man's hand is drawn to the plush flesh of your rear like magnets, just like his eyes

-back turned? eyes down, staring at ass.

-don't get him started at how he folds when watching it jiggle in doggy style or reversed cowgirl

-lowkey struggles not to blatantly stare or grab at you when you're in public and the pants/leggings you're trying on make it look too fucking good for his health

-sometimes you can just be relaxing, laying on your stomach and he comes up from behind, kneading your ass, swatting it to watch it jiggle

-other times, he pulls you on top of him, resting a book against your ass as he reads, one of his hands always groping you, you simply prop a pillow on his legs to get comfortable as you'd gotten used to this request of his

- you've stopped counting the times he'd put down his book and started parting your asscheeks as he massages your rear, in the end Price can't help how his thumb rubs the folds of your covered pussy

-if he gets to know you don't mind spanking, it's over, the man swats your ass constantly around the house,

-he thinks your gasps are adorable as you shoot him a look he ignores bc he knows you like it

-does not whine, not a particularly big moaner either, but the grunts and groans is enough to make up for it

-high-sex drive when he's around you, but during deployment he keeps it under wraps, which leads me to...

-not that big of a masturabator, but once in a while he needs to rid himself of the crawling desire in his spine, simply having to jerk one out to be able to concentrate, probs because he thought about you for too long

-BUT he actually really loves mutual masturbation, started when he walked in on you once when returning unexpectedly early from a mission

-'don't mind me, love, continue' he would husk at your wide eyes following him as walked from the bedroom doorframe to the little seating area you had in front of the bed, sometimes used when you did your makeup or Price would read, sitting down and to your surprise pulling down his pant, jerking his already half-hard cock to full length, waiting expectantly

-he puts on a show as well, using two hands, one to stroke himself in matching speed to how you finger yourself, the other cupping and fondling his balls

-would definitely not shy from throwing his head backwards when reaching his sensitive cocked with palms too rough in comparison to your soft ones

- Price is so fucking sly about where he leaves hickeys

-as previously mentioned, he doesn't really like the public attention it pulls, but a primal part of him swells when seeing the marks he's left during your intimate moments, so he definitely likes to give you little lovebites

-so you can bet your ass you could leave the house in a crop-top and they wouldn't be visible, strategically placed where no one but him and you could see them, meaning the line of your panties, on or around your breast, inner thighs, etc

-the beach might be a problem however, you would never forget the time Soap had cackled like a fucking madman when he'd spotted the marks' inconspicuous placement, leaving absolutely no room to guess what Price had done between your legs

#john price #captain john price #john price call of duty #john price x reader #john price x you #john price cod #john price x fem!reader #john price x female reader #task force 141 #price cod #cod modern warfare #soap cod #cod mw2 #john price smut #john price headcanons #cod headcanons #cod fanfic #cod mw3 #cod mwii

[spidybaby]

Ur fics r so good! If u can,can you do a part 2 to be quiet please with kylian sobering up and not remembering what he said so his mom teasing him or smth like that

Now you be quiet, please

Summary: After the events of last night, Fayza chooses to make Kylian pay for his words.

Warnings: Slightly cursing.

Thank you for reading ❤️‍🩹🥺 hope you like this ✨️ part one

"Turn that off" he says as he heard the alarm go off. "y/n, turn it off" he shake you a little to wake you up.

You sit up in bed and look at him confused, a few seconds later you turn your attention to the loud alarm turning it off. Taking the covers out you made your way to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

After a nice cold shower to wake you up, you did your skincare routine, indecisive about wearing makeup or just a tinted sunscreen. Deciding on a little bit of concealer to cover your sleepless "Kylian, amour wake up." you call him as you make you way to your vanity. "Amour, wake up" you repeat as you sit and prepare you products.

Melissa reminded you of the brunch before leaving, causing Kylian to invite himself. When his mother and you said no, he made a fuss, leading to him actually getting invited so you decide to actually wake him up.

"Five more minutes" he says as he place his pillow on top of his face "Five more nothing, please wake up" you say as you throw the covers off of him. "Go shower, please" he whines but wakes up and walks to the bathroom, slamming the door on the way.

Once your makeup and hair is ready, you walk to the closet and pick a simple outfit. Deciding for the two of you, you picked Kylians outfit, matching with yours. "Bébé, your clothes are ready on the bed" you say before leaving the room, looking for your purse.

You sit on the big couch you have at the living room, texting Melissa for her to know you and Kylian will be on your way soon.

After a few minutes you hear kylian walking into the room "let's go" he says putting his hand out for you, you take his hand in yours and walk out to your car. "J'ai faim" (I'm hungry) he says while putting on his seat belt "vous avez toujours faim" (you're always hungry) You laugh at him.

"Bonjour, vous êtes enfin arrivés" (Hi, you finally arrived) Melissa says as she saw you walk to the table. "Bonjour à toi aussi" (hello to you too) Kylian says smiling at the two women at the table "Lana, Comment ça va, mon bébé?" (How are you, baby?) He kissed his niece cheek.

You two sit and order breakfast, making small talk as you wait for your food. You notice the look his mother is sending you. Remembering his words last night you feel your face blush and try to hide it by talking to Lana.

"Kylian, how was your night?" Fayza ask "You had a good time?" She drinks her coffee waiting for him to answer "Oui, I needed that so bad" You want to laugh. He was referring to the party but his mom wasn't. "Oh I'm sure you did, I mean you were so desperate for everyone to knew" the way his mother is playing with him makes you and Melissa laugh.

He has this neutral expression. "I mean, I couldn't help it" he shrug eating his croissant "So it was like the one at the morning or was better?" Melissa asks, making you hide your face in your hands. "What?" Is all he can ask, confused at what they mean.

You groan and turn your body to him "You don't remember?" You wanted to laugh because his face is a whole poem. "Je suis si confus en ce moment" (I'm so confused right now) he stops eating to pay full attention to you. "Lana, Vous savez ce qui passe?" (Do you know what's going on?) He asks his niece. She shrug her shoulder not caring as she enjoys a macaron.

"y/n, what's going on?"

You can't help but laugh. "Ask your mom, I have to go to the bathroom" you get up and make you way to the bathroom. Not wanting to be there when his mom explain the situation.

His eyes follow you until you dissappear from his sight. "Maman?" He asks her now. "Dites-moi juste ce qui se passe ici." (Just tell me what's going on). Fayza just smile and look at Melissa.

"Omg, Kylian. Last night you announced to your mom and I how good y/n made you feel that morning and how good you were going to make her feel as soon as you hit home." Melissa finally explains the situation to him. "Oh" is all he can say, not sure how to answer.

"The weather is good today, don't you think?" He's trying to change the subject, embarrassed about it. "Oui, very good weather. Kind of cold, good for the type of activities you like in the morning. Don't you think?" His mom can't help but tease him. "Yeah, a good warm up, good for before training stretching" Melissa join the teasing. "Arrêtez, s'il vous plaît" (stop, please) he can feel the heat on his face, hiding it with his hands.

You return happily, noticing the way the two women are laughing and the way his face is hiding behind his hands, you can't help but feel sorry for him.

"I'm back" you grab one of his hands and intertwine your fingers with his. "So, you understand now?" You tease. "Last night you were so comfortable expressing this, why so embarrassed now, bébé?" You want him to feel a little bit of the shame you felt yesterday. Enjoying it.

"Don't" he begged. "Remember how I asked you to be quiet, you told me your mom knew about it. Why are you so shy now, Kylian?" You smiled continuing with the mocking.

"Now you be quiet, please." He hides his face in the crook of your neck.

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe angst #kylian mbappe fluff #kylian mbappe x y/n #kylian mbappe fic #kylian x reader #kylian smut #kylian fanfic #kylian x you #kylian mbappe oneshot #kylian mbappe imagine #mbappe smut #mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe x reader #mbappe x reader #mbappe fanfic #mbappe x you #football drabble #football x you #football fanfic #football smut #football angst #football

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

The mental image of Bruce hearing someone refer to him and assistant!reader as “the CEO and his dog” and decking them right then and there, public persona be damned

As a general rule, women, Bruce knew were not always perfectly put together. And, his lovely assistants were no different.

It was a very long flight, aided and abetted by an emergency landing and having to take a puddle jumper some where else to get on another flight... It had been a nightmare.

And as some point, you'd simply removed your make up and changed your clothes- tight dresses and heels were good for office buildings but hardly comfortable navigating gravel and bullying people into doing what you needed them to do to move his speaking engagements. So he wasn't shocked at your switch to a pair of nice linen pants and a plain-colored shirt. And he was tickled to death seeing you in sandals and a messy bun.

Why, he had no idea. But he was fine with you being comfortable. If he could dress down, there was no reason for you to wear a full face and clothes that were beautiful but not functional.

Even bare faced you're a pretty girl- but he's always a little taken by surprise how... young you look. It's not that you didn't know how to do makeup and it aged you but. There was a quality that made him want to kiss you on the forehead and make sure you didn't stray too far.

However, apparently, not everyone had similar feelings about women and their apperance.

God for bid, he reflected as you tended to the scrapes on his hand, a lady's face get just a little shiny or she have any sort of imperfection anywhere-

"I don't think you broke anything," you tell him.

"Good. It was a bad punch."

"Bruce-"

"You're not a dog," he said simply. "Or a pet. Or a commodity. You're a woman. I won't set a precedent that anyone can talk to you that way."

"I already called legal... And Alfred is putting together bail. Just incase."

"What would I do without you, Miss Y/N?"

"You probably wouldn't be getting put in a cop car."

#Bruce wayne #Bruce Wayne x reader #ask answered #assistant reader #minors dni #reader insert

[hadesoftheladies]

Girlhood Is Surveillance

In the imaginations of most men, oppressive policing is done by a military force or officers of a district. Men are deployed, with weapons and uniform, to enforce the will of the state. They use violent means (or the threat of violence) to intimidate. Certain words are banned by the government and uttering them risks being locked up, done away with, killed.

Yet, the most powerful, pervasive, and far-reaching form of surveillance is the reality for most girls.

Oppressed groups typically go through more surveillance than the oppressing class. They are viewed with more suspicion, afforded less allowances, and must work harder to prove themselves worthy of basic rights. The government is aggressively involved. They mandate what schools can teach, what media houses can publish, what public speakers can say.

For girls, surveillance starts before they can walk. This kind of surveillance is an extension of the surveillance her mother endures from her peers. She is dressed appropriately in pink, in bonnets, in frills and baby bows. By the time she is five, she is policed by her closest relatives. She may or may not be allowed to run shirtless like her brothers. Especially when her uncles are there. She must not wear nail polish or she must play with makeup. She must wear tutus and dresses.

This also happens to boys, but in a much different way. The reason I describe girlhood specifically as surveillance is because in a patriarchal, pornified world, the boy's body is neutral, that is, not provocative. Not insulting.

The female body, on the other hand, is semiotically significant. It is a symbol of sex, of desire, of lust (at least as a man experiences it) and thus is wicked, crude, and crass. The girl is surveilled because on the streets, in the home, by anyone who looks at her, who she is is interpreted to be provocative. In other words, her femaleness, naked or evident, is hate speech. Or impolite language. Language that polite society cannot be seen to be having. Her shoulders, knees, hands, thighs, breasts, are pornography.

This is just a fraction of the surveillance of girlhood.

As she grows up, she learns there are ways she must sit, things she must not know, things she must not say, and things she must wear. Her mother (and sometimes father) are the chief police on these things. They watch her, check her before going out, frisk her to make sure the skirt is not rising above her knees, the hijab is in place, etcetera.

On the streets, the girl learns, that she is also being watched by others. Men whistle at her as she walks to primary school. She learns how easy it is to be shamed as a girl. By teachers, strangers on the road, girls in school, boys at the playground. For having hairy legs, a crooked (normal) nose, a bare face, a face that isn't bare, too much height, too big boobs, too small boobs, thin lips or full lips, a flat butt, a butt that shows, etcetera.

She censors her womanhood when it comes. For if her brothers or father see her blood in the toilet, that is her body once again being provocative. Perhaps she becomes aware as a teenager, of the inequality and injustice. If she speaks out, she will be met with a host of police ready to put a stop to it. Her best friend will say, "Some women like looking beautiful. It is not a crime to want to be beautiful. You are judging me." Her mother will say, "Girls libidos don't matter. Sex is not for girls to enjoy, but for men." Her father will say, "Don't worry your pretty little head about things you don't understand." They will all dismiss, all shame, all hush her. They will call her ungrateful, a lesbian (which means social outcast, unnatural, inhuman, wrong), a radical, or a child throwing a tantrum. All of which are threats, whether or not they recognize them as such.

This policing system does not need the use of officers or the military much because the narrative is in society's consciousness. The people will police deviants themselves after the government tells them what the deviants look like and gives them the stakes of noncompliance. This kind of surveillance is also older than the government, if not as old as it is. It's oldness makes it that much more difficult to notice and resist.

The people who love you become the police. They will snitch on you to their peers if you do not conform. Your mother will tell your aunts and grandmother. Your father will joke about you with your brothers. Your sister will tell on you to the popular girls. And these are not the worst kind. Most girls, like every other animal, every other human being, will go the route with the most ease and the best chance at survival.

They will conform. They will cross their legs. Do their hair according to their age. Paint or not paint their nails. Wear the hijab. Wear skirts that go over the knee. Wear the pink. Curl their hair. Smear the lipstick, eyeliner, mascara. Put the powder and glitter on themselves. Wear the heels and stockings. Kiss the boy, etcetera.

And now, because they've been told how closely they're being watched, for their looks, whether their clothes are appropriate or not, whether their mothers are happy or not, whether their brothers feel threatened or disgusted by their pads or their tomboyishness or not, whether they are excelling too much in sports or academia or too little, whether they are smart or not, whether they are fat or not, whether they are acceptable or provocative or not . . . it becomes of paramount importance that they surveil themselves. Because they are in a hypervigilant state. They are in survival mode.

Girls are their own self-police. Harsh on every angle and feature. Because they have been told that people pay special attention to them everywhere they go. And to some degree, this is true. Everyone is easily insulted by femaleness, because femaleness is provocative. Please note, not femininity, femaleness. Femininity is camouflage because it signals conformity. Agreeing with the narrative that insists that the female body is the symbol for sex or motherhood. That the female body is pornography. The women that flaunt their bodies and say, "I am sexy and want you to know it!" are conforming. The women that hide their bodies and duck their heads to show meekness toward their God are conforming. None of them challenge the assertion that the female body is by-default provocative, an invitation to sex, shameful.

Now, surveillance has expanded. You see girls tilting their heads in one direction on their cameras because they believe this is their best side. They all have makeup or makeup filters. That thin their faces and enlarge their eyes. That make their lips a little fuller. They gag themselves and retch up nutrients and food in order to keep themselves safe. Obsessed with beauty and meekness because it is their livelihood. What secures them in society.

And yet . . . does it? Little girls are killed for a little hair showing from beneath their headscarf. Young women are murdered by the men whose advances were rejected. Toddlers are whistled at by grown men on the street. Teenage girls are the sex symbol of the generations in TV shows, movies, music videos. Mothers starve their girls, physically and emotionally abuse their girls, to keep them compliant. Girls have burn marks, scars, wounds from conformity. They have blistered feet and bra lines burned into their ribcage.

The government is not inactive, either. It does not punish femicides. It mandates forced birth. It regulates population by regulating the human female, rather than the male that has been left to run amock. Who starts these pregnancies and is responsible for any statistic for violence in the general population. It ensures that women need men to survive the economy. It ensures that women are successfully sold and bought for the economy. The pimps need their money, after all. And the president needs the pimps. The oligarchs need their workers, too. Workers need mothers to create them and wives to sustain them. Girlhood is the governments business.

A girl will blame herself for how her boyfriend treats her, for being raped. She will then, instead of looking at the world, at the perpetrator, will police herself and other girls around her even more aggressively. Violently.

Surveillance is most powerful when privacy is destroyed and the person made into a data point to be exploited. Girls do not have privacy, for their private parts are taboo discussions in public life. They are offensive discourse and so must be suppressed and regulated.

Girlhood is living under the most extreme and powerful form of surveillance, where everyone is the girl-police, including the girl herself.

#radblr #radfem #radical feminism #girlhood #feminism

[squarebracket-trickster]

Sorry guys, rant incoming. I considered deleting this but I put too much effort in.

"girlboss" "girl dinner" "girl math" "boy math" "gen z are making fun of us for wearing x" "here's how to dress like gen z:" "girlies" "girl's night" "boy's night" "me and the boys" "90s kid"

"I don't feel like an adult" "I'm 34 and I can tell you, I still don't feel like an adult either." "My parents seemed like real adults when they were my age." "I still feel like a teenager."

Maybe you'd feel more like an adult if you started calling yourself one. Maybe you'd feel more like an adult if you stopped trying to dress like a teenager. Maybe you should move your bed out from the wall and get a wallet. Maybe find a calendar app that works for you.

You are an adult. Even if you live with your parents. Even if you do part-time shift work at minimum wage. Even if you haven't graduated college. Even if you are single. These are adult things to do. Because you are doing them. And you are an adult. Start treating yourself like an adult. Fake it 'till you make it if you have to.

In other, writing-related, news:

That trend on TikTok of 20-40 something women authors (and writers yet to be published) promoting their books like,

"Omg! I can't believe I've sold X number of copies!! I never thought I would!" "Ahhhh imagine publishing your book and all your dreams come true and now you get to meet famous authors and work with big names in the industry!!" "Would you read a book where [proceeds to list a bunch of oversaturated tropes that tell me nothing about the actual plot]?"

It reeks of infantilization. If you didn't believe anyone would want to read your book, why should I? You made it on the NYT bestseller list! Stop acting like a mega-fan who got to meet a celebrity. You are their peer! "Would you read a book--" What if I wouldn't? Why does it matter to you what I think of your book? And for the love of god stop hiding behind tropes you know are already popular. "Here is my book: This is what it is about." Have some goddamn confidence.

It is fine to mention in passing "this idea was really far-fetched so I didn't know if it would appeal" or "I was struggling with self-esteem when I wrote this". It's fine to fan a little bit. It's fine to discuss the tropes in your book. But why are you building your brand as an author off of your inferiority complex? You are using your poor self-esteem as a marketing tactic to seem "humble" and "relatable" but it's coming across as unprofessional and desperate for reassurance. You are an adult. You are competent. The more you act like it the more you will believe it.

And of course, I haven't seen a man promote his book this way...

On another note, do any of the 20-40 something women writers who do "write with me" videos on TikTok actually enjoy writing or are they just doing it for the aesthetic?

They all have gorgeous minimalism writing spaces full of white and pink and a macbook beneath a window. Their makeup is done and they are conventionally pretty to start with. But their entire video is just them talking about how little progress they made, how many pages they deleted, how often they got distracted, how frustrated they are. And like, yeah. We all have those days. But what about the good lines you can't wait to share? The days when the words just flow? The cool stuff you learned while researching? Why don't you ever make videos about that?

Is this some other attempt to seem "relatable" by only talking about the "bad" side of writing? Because again, it's coming across as lacking confidence at best and, at worst, that you don't actually know how to write. And that is not the brand you want as an author.

Again, its always women. Why must women market their self-esteem issues in order to sell their art? Why must we be perpetually awestruck children (girlies, book girls) in over our heads?

#also why do I get the sense these women are selling a lifestyle more than they are actually promoting their own books? #I feel like someone more qualified than me could link this to modelling good christian gender roles #and cultural conformity or something #it isn't lost on me how much of this is about trying to seem humble #and how much validation is tied to protestant success and hard work ideas #is this where the indoctrination starts? #give us 'role models' as influencers #also Alex Aster of Lightlark fame is the WORST for this #her content makes me physically sick to watch #and again interesting that it is pretty widely agreed on at this point that she is an industry plant #interesting that the industry plant is leaning so heavy on the humility and infantilization of women tactics #as though appealing to protestant christians is a major concern of the industry #what's that about? is it just sales? or is it related to those evangelical groups trying get books banned? #how much influence does conservative christian america have within the trad pub industry? #maybe I am really reaching here idk #I don't have any sources #it's just speculation I am open to be proven wrong

[4evasummer]

"when we found love in summer" (jing yuan)

plot: march 7th helps prepare you for a beach date with jing yuan. with a nervous heart, you finally muster the courage to confess to him. notes: this fanfic is quite self indulgent, especially because i'm a literal sucker for anything summer related. also i wrote some of this at 2am whilst having ponytail to shushu by akb48 on loop and the rest like 8 hours later. content warning: fem! reader, reader is shy, reader is black coded, jing yuan is a tease.

"march, is this really necessary?" i sighed as my friend scurried across the bedroom, deep in thought. "i can tell very easily that your feelings for jing yuan are so intense! the way you behave, especially when you're staring at him, is so obvious!" i looked away from march 7th, already feeling embarrassed about showing my emotions too much. "my main issue is confessing to him. if i keep chickening out, i won't be able to confess to him before the end of summer..." i mumbled. "i don't know what kind of taste he has when it comes to women, i barely know anything about him and worse yet...he's intimidating..." march tiptoes in my direction with a smug look on her face. "i know just the solution to your romantic woes~" she whispers. "h-hey! is it really necessary to dress up so much like this?" i ask, watching march 7th rummage through a suitcase full of accessories. "come on! the most important thing when it comes to confessing your crush is to look as amazing as possible! it's summer, so that means you'll have to wear something cute to impress jing yuan!" she says as she picks up a pink bikini with a yellow and orange hibiscus pattern. "this one's so cute! it suits your skin tone!" march squeals as she held it against my body. "isn't it a bit too...revealing? it looks a bit..small." i ask, examining the bikini carefully. "don't worry! you'll find out once you put it on~!" she chirps. "but first i should get your hair ready, then pick out your jewelry, and after that i need to get you a body shimmer and perhaps a glitter tattoo..." march 7th continues rambling on as i pondered about. although i admired how determined and confident she was about getting jing yuan and i together, i couldn't help but feel a bit nervous about the whole thing. it would be a total bust if she put a lot of hard work into assembling an outfit for me only to get rejected by him.

"and...done!" march 7th huffed as she finally adjusted the flower in my hair. i stared at myself in the mirror, taking in my current look and feeling slightly flustered. "isn't the makeup a bit too much?" i asked, watching her grab a bottle of perfume and spray it on my arms. "it'll be fine!" she assures me. "you already know how you're going to confess, right?" she asks. i nodded. "good luck (name)! and don't forget to fill me in on the details once you come back!" march 7th screams as i shyly wave back at her before leaving the beach house.

it didn't take me too long to see jing yuan at the beach, staring at the glittering ocean and beyond. i couldn't help but take in the view of him. he looked so majestic, his hair flowing in the wind, that pretty mole under his left eye, his amazing, sexy body...i eventually snapped out of my thoughts but it was too late because he already noticed me staring at him a little too hard. "hello there, (name). it's been a while." jing yuan smiled at me. "hi! i was wondering if...if you're free today because i was thinking of spending the day with you." i say. jing yuan takes my hand his, "sure, you can watch me surf." he says as he places a gentle kiss on my hand. i could feel my face warm up due to his actions and my body stiffen due to my emotions eventually getting the better of me. i eventually calm myself as i watch him grab his surfboard and jog towards the waves.

after watching jing yuan surf for an hour, he finally returned to the shore. i couldn't help but notice the way the droplets cascaded down his muscles. "like what you see?" his voice snapped me back to reality. a smirk grew on his lips as he leaned closer towards me. "l-let's...grab lunch together!" i suggest, trying to change the subject as i got up and dusted myself. jing yuan chuckles as he follows me behind, a small tint of pink dusted across his cheeks. a few hours later, we were walking across the shoreline, watching the sun set across the horizon and bathing the beach in various shades of orange and pink. as jing yuan looked off into the distance, i hastily mustered my courage to confess my feelings to him. "j-jing yuan...?" i whispered. he turns around and focuses himself onto me, making my heart pound intensely. i automatically look down at the sand as my brain quickly pieced together my confession for him. "ever since i met you, i felt like i can't take you off my mind. everything about you is absolutely perfect that not even this sunset could match it...or even the sky. my love for you is more vast than the skies, deeper than the ocean and more passionate than the sun...i-i really love you." i blurted out, preparing myself to be rejected. i felt his arms embracing my body, bringing me closer to him. "i love you too, (name)." jing yuan responded. "you're the prettiest woman i've ever met, it's as if you were crafted by god himself...i've never seen a woman so kind and courageous like you...ever." we eventually pull away from each other to stare at each other in the eyes. the space between us eventually disappeared as jing yuan trapped my lips in his. his arms snaked around my waist as he brought me closer to deepen the kiss. after a few seconds, he pulled away. a soft smile appeared on his face as he adjusted the flower in my hair. "i almost forgot to tell you...you looked gorgeous today." he whispered shyly. i laughed as i leaned into his face and kissed the mole under his left eye, as the sun disappeared under the horizon.

this is a much longer fanfic i decided to put out today xD. it's so self indulgent hahaha. likes and reblogs are appreciated!

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #jing yuan #jing yuan x you

[daughterofthereaper02]

Imagine the dagger squad are all at the readers house getting ready for the Navy State Ball and Nat and reader are getting ready in her room together blasting Taylor swift and dancing around getting all dolled up and rooster Bob and Hangman look so happy to see their S/O feeling completely comfortable infront of their friends. It would be so cute to them look like love struck puppies 💖

A/N: YES! This is so cute!!!!!! SIDE NOTE: I have seen different photos with women in uniform and out along with the men in their whites and blues. For this they WILL be in their dress whites (what Maverick wore for those who don't know).

Warnings: Fluff, Taylor Swift, reader in a dress (no detail besides color. Can imagine a pantsuit instead).

You sang into your hairbrush with Nat, both of you singing Mr. Perfectly Fine with face masks on. You two had become quick best friends when you both met after your boyfriends introduced you to her.

Now you both decided to make a day out of getting ready for the Navy State Ball together, getting your nails done early this morning and then just hanging out doing skin care and stuff before. You guys were goofing around the whole time. Occasionally one of your boyfriends one come to check in on you guys, smiling fondly as you both hung out. Neither of you had the typical prom experience so you were giving it to each other.

That experience meant blasting every Taylor Swift song and singing loudly.

When it came down to finishing getting ready with however you both did, with hair and makeup, the music went on louder. It was all Taylor Swift and you both sang at the top of your lungs while the rest of the dagger squad began to show up so everyone could carpool together.

"I like shiny things" Nat sang as you helped her do her hair. "But I'd marry you with paper rings!" You continued, a big smile on your face as you carefully curled her hair. This was an event where she didn't have to wear her uniform. You were ready besides your outfit, standing in your bathrobe.

Jake came up and knocked on the door. "Ladies? You almost ready?" He asked but he was staring at you in awe, like you were a million dollars. "Just about honey. Need to put on our outfits, shoes, and jewelry. Then we'll be down. Finish putting on your uniform" you laughed. He mockingly saluted, "Yes ma'am" he told you before walking away.

He practically flew down the stairs and to Robert and Bradley, "Stunning, absolutely stunning" he said, his voice making it obvious he was star struck. Robert looked upstairs, wanting to go up but Jake stopped him. "She wants us dressed and ready" he said, the song switching upstairs. "The country side?" Bradley asked as Tim McGraw came on. Robert laughed and shook his head, "Her and I danced to this in The Hard Deck when you two were passed out drunk in the corner. Someone put it on and it may have been the day I wore that cowboy hat" he grinned as he adjusted his pins in the mirror.

Upstairs you were in a dark grey dress that fit the dress code. You put on your jewelry and took a deep breath as you looked at Natasha, "You look amazing Nat" you smiled, taking in the sight of your best friend, she looked like a goddess. She turned to you and her eyes widened, "Me? You look like an angel, those boys are going to be shocked" she smiled brightly, making you flush. You were both about to go down when she forgot something, you barely realized the music was still going and switched to Wildest Dreams.

You stepped down the stairs and the three turned, their faces full of love. They straightened up a little more, tucking their covers under their arms. Bradley came up and held out his hand, "May we have the pleasure of escorting the most beautiful woman to the ball?" He asked, making your face flush but you nodded, "It's all my pleasure" you murmured.

None of you saw your friends recording it, it was going to be shown at the wedding. It had been captured perfectly, the looks of love, the way Bobs face twitched and his jaw clenched to not let his jaw fall, the deep breath Bradley took in shock of you, and the way Jake's face lit up seeing you again. They also caught your look of complete adoration when you saw them, that no one else was in the room.

It was a beautiful night, spending it with the three as you all danced. If you were in Jake's lap at the little after get together at a diner and half asleep, no one said anything.

Tag list:

@blackcat2907

@18crazybutcutealsopsycho

@peaches-and-sunshine

@natasharomanoffisbaebby

@sweetheartlizzie07

@lollypop90907

@the-hottest-lieutenants

@jamiedontbeacracko

@fandomstanner24

#top gun #top gun: maverick #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #pete 'maverick' mitchell #maverick #rooster x reader #bradley brashaw x jake sersin #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake x bradley #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x reader #robert 'bob' floyd x reader #robert 'bob' floyd #robert floyd #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

[thecatinthepurplepants]

so I have a headcanon for how John might look to someone actually able to see him and I, of course, had to decide on the headcanon that would make it damn near impossible to draw him (at least to draw him consistently) but I like the idea too much to let it go

I probably SHOULD put this under a read more since it got kinda long but uuuhhh... don't wanna lol

SO I feel like when John first attached to Arthur, back when he was still just "the entity", his appearance was very... malleable. At first he looks like how a lot of people depict him, a vaguely human shapped black shadow with yellow eyes pearing over Arthur's left shoulder, but as soon as they got out into the world he started seeing ✨️fashion✨️ in the wild that changed. Even though he didn't remember it, he's a piece of the King In Yellow, and I'm willing to bet that the ol banana monarch has a passion for adornment and a tendency towards vanity thats usually associated with royalty that John would unknowingly inherit (I mean, we already know this, he bitches about Arthur's clothes getting ruined often enough now that they got that nice new suit)

I think at first he sees some men wearing nice hats when him and Arthur step outside into the city for the first time and something in him just goes "ooohhh" and one just kind of appears on him, probably with a gold band or little adornments like feathers and shiny dangly bits hanging from the brim. I don't even think he'd be able to choose just one style, shifting from one to another every so often as he sees more around or mixing and morphing styles into looks he likes more (I think he'd be partial to structured hats, fedoras, homburgs, maybe even a skimmer hat but with the rim stretched out to be more of a structured sun hat for extra flare)

But of course his newfound sense of style doesn't end with men's fashion cuz he doesn't know what a gender is and I highly doubt thay anyone that can see him would care enough to try and impose gender roles on him

He sees women passing by on the street wearing makeup and suddenly he has gold lipstick and shimmering yellow eyeshadow over shining gold lashes long and full enough to make any Hollywood starlet absolutely sick with envy

He sees someone more eccentric who's absolutely decked out in gaudy costume jewelry and he can't just NOT have all that wonderful clinking, shiny treasure for himself so he's now draped in gold chains, necklaces and bracelets of huge chunks of polished stones in both simple and elaborate designs, amber, tiger's eye, citrine, anything he wants really but it will always turns some shade of yellow or gold no matter how much he would want it to be another color (I think the best he could do in way of colorful variety is turquoise with veins of gold running through it)

And the funniest thing?

He can't see any of it.

He sees through Arthur's eyes and even if he has a bit of an extra sense for being able to see supernatural shit he's still not visible to himself. All of the changes are subconscious decisions he doesn't even realize he's making, his metaphysical body altering to suit the person he's growing into. None of the other rare entities and people they've met who can see John commented on it, seeing how there's usually more pressing matters involved. Plus I highly doubt the Trader would be one to make observations on someone's fashion sense unless they were offering one of their accessories in trade, and only then if it actually had any value to him.

Tbh it would be funny if the King In Yellow, during his first in person meeting with the Jarthur unit, had stopped mid introduction just "You insolent fucking worm, you need to return what's mi- what... what the hell are you wearing??? No, I'm not talking to you, you fucking worthless mortal, silence- yes, YOU, whats- whats all... THAT??? I mean, it's not BAD but it's a bit... inelegant, don't you think?" and both John and Arthur are like "what the FUCK are you TALKING ABOUT???" while the Dancers are humming and nodding their agreement while they also quietly judging John's intangible outfit

Kayne would ABSOLUTELY comment on it though but only to either taunt John while confusing the shit out of him OR to toss him the odd (equally confusing) compliment about his fashion sense and how he's branched out from the Kings personal flare. BUT he's also a Stinky Bitch (affectionate) so maybe he just wouldn't let John know that he can see him at all because he thinks it's funny that he doesn't know what he looks like

I dont think it would remain unstable as it was when he was fresh out the book, though.

After Arthur's coma, the period where John was given (and accepted) his name and the foundation of his humanity, I feel like he'd settle in his appearance as his sense of self does. He'd change to fit his different moods but it wouldn't be as much of a chaotic kaleidoscope of fashions shifting and melding with each other as he was at first. Before it was very fluid, changing as he sees different styles or as he felt different from one second to another, so unsure of exactly who and what he was.

I think he'd stick with the hat, wide brimmed and still with little golden baubles hanging around the edge and a golden band, but I think the top would remain hazy and undefined because I dont think he'd be able to decide on which style he likes best. He'd definitely keep the chains and jewelry, maybe a shodowy imitation of the shape of a suit jacket or the plunge of a low v-necklined dress, depending on the day.

I think when he gets especially angry (usually at Arthur, because he's the only one who can really get him absolutely blistering pissed without even trying) the hat billows like its caught in a fierce wind, not like fabric, but like heavy smoke. The stones of his yellow jewelry glows like miniature sun's with the force of his emotions, chains tarnishing, and even his makeup turning bright neon, toxic yellow against the void of his intangible "skin" like the warning of a poisonous animal if he's mad enough

When he's scared, him and Arthur trying to hide from whatever horror or adversary they've encountered this time, the brim of his hat melts back several inches, the baubles blinking out of existence entirely like its trying to clear his line of sight, makeup and jewelry fading in their color and shine as his borrowed animal instincts scream at him to be small, be unnoticeable, hide hide hide

And in those moments (ones that happen entirely too often for John's comfort or sanity) when the worst has come again, Arthur's hurt, worse than usual, and it seems like he's fading fast from his injuries, the things that John's draped himself with as he's learned who he is start to fade away too. As John realizes he might be losing the only person he's ever had (again) he feels like he's losing himself, the person he's become in his time with Arthur. The panic sets in and he goes through the stages he always does, shouting at Arthur to keep moving, not to give up, begs him to stay with him, not to leave him alone, to stop fucking saying goodbye and keep fighting, his cobbled together sense of identity melts off of him like dust as his world crumbles.

But there are moments, few and far between though they may be, where he and Arthur get little bit of real joy. When Arthur's finally, fucking finally freshly washed, shaved, and fed a hot meal and John can actually feel him relax into a real bed. When they've bought a nice new suit and handkerchief (that Arthur let John pick out himself) and John can tell Arthur that he looks handsome in this cut and color. When John spots something he thinks is odd and describes it to Arthur in a way that gets a real, full belly laugh out of his human, even if he doesn't understand what exactly it was he said that was so funny. The yellows of his apparel and makeup shine and swirl together, the stones of his jewelry seem to dance around each other in their configurations while the colors swim inside them like a lava lamp or glitter inside a bottle of opaque liquid. The baubles along the brim of his hat rapidly change in shape and size, the brim itself seeming to bloom, stretching out even further like a cat luxuriating in a sunbeam.

Anyway, tl;dr John's an eldritch entity and I just think he deserves to have a shifting appearance that he builds around himself over time like one of those bugs that sticks shit to its body to build a shell but in, like, a cunty way

And also I think John should be allowed to be incredibly expressive but in a metaphysical way that ties to his appearance itself

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #john doe #john malevolent #john doe malevolent #arthur lester #headcanon #john doe headcanons #malevolent headcanon #long text post #the cat in the purple pants chat #i kinda wanna draw this anyway even though i know its gonna be a pain in the ass to try and depict the way i imagine #I'd have to animate a few of them to really get it down how it is in my head #why do i do this to myself lmaooo

[enbesbians]

Hi there. I am currently struggling with my gender. To put it simply, my birth gender is female but lately I've been feeling a detachment to it. Some days I feel like a woman and other days nothing. Just me. I don't know if that makes sense. But I've simply deduced that I'm non-binary. I've read a lot about it, but I still have doubts. Also, I think it's a bit related but I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. I want to look like a masc because I find myself more attractive that way and I feel more comfortable than my feminine version. I've always used to be a fem but as I said, I'm more comfortable in my skin as a masc. The problem is that when I see tiktoks of women wearing make-up and pretty clothes, I feel the need to become a feminine again. I used to love doing my makeup and I want so much to do it again. However, I tried it again not long ago and was repulsed by make-up, if I do say so myself. I'm really lost.

hi there pretty thing, firstly i want you to know that what you’re going through is absolutely okay. self discovery is such a hard thing to process and it can take a very long time to feel content within yourself and just know that each step you take is like leaping over mountains, you’re doing an amazing job.

i want to congratulate you even if you don’t feel so sure you’re nonbinary. if you do so happen to change, im still proud of you. gift yourself the opportunity of self care and think of it as character building— ‘this is who i am now’. no matter if you see others wear pretty clothes, makeup, dresses or anything opted to be feminine, you can still be pretty and masc presenting. oh all the pretty mascs in the world… you’re definitely one of them. if you feel comfortable that way, then be kind towards yourself and continue to present yourself that way. you don’t need to appear something else you don’t resonate with just to be socially ‘pretty’ since you were afab.

you’re so pretty in your boxers.. you’re so pretty in your jeans and ‘boy’ shirts… you’re so pretty in your masc styled hair. you’re a pretty person no matter how unfem you are and choose to continue to be. the prettiest in fact.

ive dealt with similar issues and even to this day being a nonbinary person (they/them pronouns) i give myself a hard time in what i feel comfortable in and what i deem to be androgynous in how i present myself. im moreso masculine and grew up as a tomboy— im tall… i have a deep, raspy voice so whenever someone would hear me over the phone they automatically assumed i was just a little boy. i knew i didn’t want to be a girl at the age of 6 but i also knew that i didn’t want to be a boy either. i slung myself around when it came to clothes, hating the fact that i was forced to wear dresses and look all pretty and proper in formal settings. having my legs being shown felt like hot lava was being poured against my thighs— i felt so exposed. my body is very curvy and so lots of people commented on that too and i SWORE id never wear makeup because of how it was presented in media— only for women and feminine presenting people.

one time when i was 13, i was given money to buy any type of clothes i wanted and i ended up in the male section— a dark crimson and black strapped shirt with a little pocket on the left side of my breast— i wore that so goddamn much it didn’t even seem like i had any other shirt. my gender felt affirmed and i felt so comfortable.

as i grew and was able to dress how i wanted to dress, i present as genderless, adding things that were both fem and masc, but how i put it together made it seem like it was neither. anything you put together doesn’t have to have a certain gender to it— it’s how you put it together and style yourself. my love for gothic/horror makeup felt easier to wear because i didn’t have to do full glam with good thick eyebrows, shimmer shadows and bold red lipstick, i could wear dark eyeliner, deep red shadows, maybe even dramatize my cheekbones. with makeup, you can manipulate your face in any shape or form. i think the way makeup is presented it makes it seem like there’s only one way of wearing it and it enables femininity… that’s not true. it can affirm masculinity and androgyny, it’s all how you put it together. trial and error and in the end you’ll find something that fits you.

to sum it all up, it’s amazing that you’re so self aware about what makes you feel good— keep paying attention to that. keep wearing things that makes you feel ‘pretty’ without needing to be like those girls on tik tok. be kinder to yourself and realize that whatever you want to try is okay and if you so happen to not like how it looks on you, then try something else. it’s a learning process and it might seem hard in the beginning— dreadful and never ending, but once you find the clothes that hang off your frame just right and if you want to, find makeup that can highlight your masculinity, god you’ll feel like you’re on top of the fucking world and ill be there to smile.

if you ever have more questions, ask away. im here. just try not to be so hard on yourself. sit down and breathe… don’t compare yourself to others, they don’t matter. pay attention to you, be selfish and find your true self you’re searching for.

#fern talks🍃 #lesbian #sapphic #wlw

[luesmainblog]

gotta love when a post about girlhood is really good only to end with the notion that doing the girly stuff like makeup isn't actually for fun and you can't possibly just have a normal fucking relationship with it. i'm genuinely sorry if you got into it out of social pressure, that sucks severely and i hope you know you should NEVER be obligated to partake. anyone who tried to force you or pressures you into it is a fucking asshole, probably a misogynist, and you deserve better. HOWEVER, Pleeeeeaaasseee stop assuming that ALL of us have the same toxic relationship with it that you do?? i was never forced into it, i've only ever felt pressure for interviews(which i do agree is fucked up and would like that to stop being a thing), i don't even wear it 98% of the time. for those of us where makeup is Occasional, it can be a really fun thing to do, or a helpful tool in getting yourself into the right mindset for something(just like wearing the right clothes can be). it IS possible to have a healthy, pressure-free relatinship with makeup. most of the time if i'm doing it, i'm doing it BECAUSE i'm not going anywhere and have the time to do some face art.

humans have been decorating themselves with funny colors for as long as they've been humans. please don't let the historical and modern misogyny convince you it's completely evil and never fun. the makeup industry can be toxic, makeup culture can be toxic, these things SHOULD be talked about, and i absolutely agree that little girls feeling the need to do full foundation-using 'natural look' contouring is fucked up. and it's absolutely worth questioning when someone feels like there's a Minimum amount, like "oh you just need eyeliner" no!! you don't NEED any!!! but wanting to put pretty colors on your face does NOT have to be that deep. don't let yourself sound like the radfem version of that dude who insists women only wear makeup to get attention from dudes, we both know that's bullshit.

and if you genuinely can't imagine EVER having a healthy relationship with it, then... don't have one. please, for your own sake, stop wearing it if you haven't already. just please don't project your toxic experience onto everyone else. no matter how many girls went through the same thing, your experience is not universal.

#rants #rambles #ask to reblog #i got stuff i have a toxic relationship with too but you don't see me condemning it as a whole #and yes i will admit the autism had a severe impact on how much outside pressures Gets to me. i get it. i am not the most usual case. #but god damn it my 2 or 3 days a month IF THAT where i put some colors on my face are FUN and you will not make me feel bad about them. #the presence of men makes me LESS likely to put makeup on. do you understand. Can you understand.

[butch-reidentified]

What do you think of this

https://www.tumblr.com/feminist-fog/722630344826847232/the-funniest-thing-to-me-rn-is-seeing-transphobic

I'm gonna respond to this as if I share your belief that it's easy to disguise your sex and that tons of trans people are doing this all the time, but it's worth noting that I really don't. Anyone can select and post a bunch of pictures, which may be edited for all we know, but are certainly deliberately posed and carefully selected by the subject before being shared online. Pictures do not reflect real life "passing," especially since these pictures don't show the full body and since a large part of "passing" is in the voice, intonation, mannerisms, and behaviors.

I don't blindly believe stuff like this. This is one single anonymous post that feeds right into a popular TRA narrative claiming that "transphobic" women would have an issue with trans men in women's bathrooms. Respectfully, one single anonymous post does not mean anything to me. If OP is going to claim that this phenomenon is really happening (and by happening, I don't just mean once or twice, but rather to claim that it's an actual phenomenon and an issue worth paying attention to), then OP should provide more & better receipts than this. It's the internet. We've all seen far too many fake posts that look rather similar to this, where someone allegedly is having their politics backfire on them. I've seen similar content where a supposed anti-choicer is being criminally charged for having a miscarriage and mourning how wrong she was to celebrate the end of Roe. It had zero outside sources to make it believable, yet I saw a lot of (intelligent!) women sharing it. That stuff is insidious. And I will be honest with you, the way this post is written/worded makes me suspicious. "This person looks so weird. Like they look super masculine. They even have a beard and everything." This just sounds so fake to me, it sounds like something a TRA would THINK a "transphobic woman" would say, not like how I ever hear radfems/gc women talk (can't really speak for conservatives/trads tho bc I don't fw them so idk, but from screenshots I've seen and whatnot it doesn't sound much like them, either). It especially doesn't sound like anything any radfem would ever say for the reasons I detail in #2.

If this did happen, it must be some conservative trad type, NOT a radfem/gc feminist. Why? Simply put, because conservatives/trads want to reinforce gender, so they aren't thrilled with the existence of unfeminine women, whereas we want gender abolished, so we love gender nonconformity. Our communities are FULL of gnc women, including detrans women, many of whom still look the same as they did when they identified as trans - despite the weird narrative I often see, "FTMTF" detransition does not inherently entail becoming feminine and/or performing feminine gender roles, stereotypes, and expectations. Radfem ideology being opposed to gender and viewing femininity as an oppressive construct means a large portion of our communities will be gnc women who don't shave or wear makeup, who have short & practical hair/nails, who wear baggy shorts and sneakers, etc. I myself do all of this, have had a mastectomy, was briefly on T in the past (and thus have a little facial hair and a deeper voice), and have stereotypically masculine behaviors/mannerisms. Many people have mistaken me for male. Do you think I have a problem with myself in the bathroom? I don't buy this narrative TRAs have about how trans men and gnc women would/do have issues in bathrooms from "transphobic" women because I've looked like this for many years and never had so much as a nasty look - and I go out ALL the time, at least multiple nights a week downtown + going to all kinds of places and events during the day. I also have a tiny bladder, so if any "masc" (hate this term tbh) woman was going to run into this issue in a public restroom, I'd be shocked it was never me.

So, yes, I don't technically know if this is fake or not, no matter how odd it seems to me, but regardless of whether it's real, I find it very hard to believe that this is happening with any degree of significance. And whatever degree it is actually happening is the doing of conservatives/trads, who presumably were already doing that to gnc women (including butch, trans-identifying, etc) before the whole trans bathroom debate was even a thing, and would/will continue to do this to those same women whether or not the trans discourse existed at all. Bottom line here: this isn't about trans stuff; it's about gender nonconformity which happens to include trans stuff. And if you are sending me this because you think I could ever be one of those women, joke's on you bc I'm on the exact opposite side of this story 😅

#mine #ask #long post #anon #anon ask

[gonegrove]

ooh a Heather headcanon I’d love to hear your take on is transfemme Heather 💕

now that's a vibe i can get into. ironically i've been seeing heather (and a lot of the other girls tbh) as cisfem bc in my brain i do a lotta non-cis stuff generally so it's actually Novel for people to like... just be cis to me lol. like i do 43574398534953489 variations in my head and read various queer versions bc it's Good Food and when i finally get to posting myself i'm like "wait-- novel concept-- i make them cis. bc that's the thing LESS people are actually." (<- insane queer logic from the gay echo chamber)

but like i can See This i can Vibe This. heather to me is one of the few characters who you couldn't sell me on being really any kinda masc. like i'm more inclined to see and vibe on say, a transmasc chrissy variation than a heather. but transfemme works well for heather. she's got Femme Energies and so long as they're present in a depiction of her the world is your oyster. like i think say, transwoman!heather and it serves to me contrapoints energies which i love. she would explain like, the evils of capitalism in full beat, a pearl necklace and drinking campaign while in a tub full of milk, a lush bathbomb and rose petals.

it would also add in a LOT of turmoil for her at home tho since her dad's a misogynist and her mom's checked out from dealing with him for at minimum 17ish years. like feeling feminine but living in a house were you KNOW even LOOKING at Girl Stuff™ is gonna get you shit and hearing constantly this degrading shit about women/femininity/anything associated with either while like, that's everything you connect with would be so damaging to her psyche rip.

god this is unleashing my love tho of men/amab ppl who're aggressively feminine dfkgjhkfd. heather being the nuriko from fushigi yuugi of hawkins. not a man, not a woman, not a transwoman but a Secret Fourth Thing (too beautiful to be contained and objectively more good looking in a dress than any of you). amab!heather who gets into glam rock just so they can have an excuse to grow their hair out and wear make up and cute little outfits. who TOTALLY joins the cheerleading team to "get girls" and not bc they're you know, REALLY PUMPED ABOUT CHEER!!!! (and also yes-- to get girls. it can be 2 things). who joins the swim team so they can shave in peace(it's aerodynamics bro!) (also they're just VERY competitive dfgfd).

they're the queen of hair and makeup and give all the best manicures. just really enjoys the variety in women's fashion and style and laments how guys really only get like, 3 things to pick from. is living the most fucking mission impossible back flipping thru the alarm lasers lifestyle to be masc enough they don't get kicked out, degraded or get the shit kicked out of but also find ways to be who they wanna be and express it as often as possible (bc like we gotta be realistic -- it's rural indiana in the 80s). guys trying to rag on them and calling them a fag n shit and they clap back with "and i'm STILL hotter than you AND your girlfriend put together and she'd ABSOLUTELY wanna fuck me!" (they're 100% accurate about this too lol).

#answered #heather holloway #transfemme amab heather is such a powerful concept #reminds me of all my childhood loves who were just men/amab ppl in dresses with FANTASTIC hair dfgfd #changes her name to heather after seeing heathers and being like lol YEAH this is a documentary about ME i'm ALL 3 HEATHERS AT ONCE

[ladyinrainbowglasses]

"Niagara" 1953 - TW: Domestic abuse, psychological abuse, violence against women.

So, I finally watched this movie yesterday, after putting it off for years. After all, Marilyn Monroe made so few pictures and "Niagara" is a film noir - one of my favorites. The verdict on the picture as a picture is... all right. Some of the choices that were obviously meant to highlight tension or danger ended up just being kind of dull. Some of the "exciting" moments just end up looking silly, like when Polly goes sliding through a broken rail over the falls and is saved by George Loomis. No, what's interesting about this movie is the sociological snapshot inherent in the picture. Here is a movie that makes no sense unless you acknowledge the reality of male sense of ownership over women. Every tragedy in this movie could have easily been avoided in one of two ways: letting a woman who is obviously wrong for you go or listening to a woman who is trying to tell you something. We are introduced to our major players pretty early: George Loomis, an older, gloomy man with major self-esteem issues goes to feel Big Sads under the Falls. He returns to a honeymoon cabin to find his wife of two years, Rose (Marilyn Monroe), pretending to sleep despite wearing a full face of makeup. Rose does that a lot in this picture. She rolls her eyes and rolls over after listening to him whisper-complain for awhile. Another honeymooning couple, these ones married three years, Ray and Polly, are supposed to rent the cabin the Loomis's are using. Rose Loomis suggests her husband is suffering from nervous fatigue and PTSD after serving in Korea, so Ray and Polly agree to use a different cabin until the Loomis's move out. Rose says she's going to do some shopping and asks the cabin proprietor to keep an eye on her husband. Polly and Ray go take in the sights, before Polly accidentally spots Rose making out with her lover in an isolated spot near the falls. Ray and Polly giggle about this a little. During an impromptu sock hop that evening, Rose appears dressed like this:

Ray and Polly have the following exchange: Ray: *frankly staring* Somebody better get a fire hose. Polly: *turns to look, gets the same grin as her husband.* Ray: *still staring* Honey, why don't you get a dress like that? Polly: *also still staring* To wear a dress like that, you need to start doing groundwork at age 13.

At this point, it is impossible to read Polly and Ray as anything but swingers who were hoping to hook up with another couple while at a popular honeymoon spot. Rose puts on a record with a sexy tune called "Kiss". George storms out of their cabin and breaks the record in front of everyone, cutting his hand in the process. Polly volunteers to put some antiseptic on it. George then unloads on her - he was fairly well-off before he met and married Rose, a barmaid. He frittered away his money taking her to dance halls and bars, because she enjoys nightlife. He volunteers to go to Korea so she will think of him as "manly" but is then sent back with "nervous exhaustion". He freaks out and destroys the model car he has been building, convinced that Polly sees him as a failure, because clearly Rose does. He also goes on a fun little rant about how Rose is "displaying" herself, to which Polly has the very appropriate answer that a hot woman dressing to show how hot she is does not make her a "bad wife". The idea that he and Rose are fundamentally incompatible, and they would both be happier without the other, never once occurs to him. Rose is portrayed as scheming by the men in the narrative, but all we are given from her motivations is that she likes attention, she likes to party, she likes to wear sexy clothes, she likes to dance, and she feels trapped by a man who throws temper tantrums when she does the things she likes. The obvious solution is that these crazy kids just get divorced. But no, this is 1953. George owns Rose. She is his legal property. She can't leave unless he says she can leave, and he refuses to let her leave because he "loves" her. You do have to wonder if this is why Marilyn Monroe jumped at the role of the "villainess femme fatale". The whole thing is predicated upon a man's sense of ownership over her. She can't leave this man she doesn't love or like. She has no legal recourses to get rid of him beyond annoying him so badly he lets her go or killing him. Guess which one Rose Loomis chooses?

Surprise! It's BOTH! When she realizes she can't treat him badly enough to get him to let her go, she goes with scheming to get her lover to kill him. Through the entire movie, she is framed as the bad guy, but there is just no way to watch it without the fundamental understanding that because of the time and place, her only means of getting away from this man are psychological abuse or murder. You can feel pity for George Loomis as an insecure, jealous, and deeply unhappy man who is regularly taunted for inadequacy by a wife who clearly doesn't love him... but that just begs the question of WHY DON'T YOU JUST LET HER GO, YOU SCHMUCK?!? Anyway, murder plan happens. Loverboy is the one to go over the Falls. George lives and breaks into the honeymoon cabin to stab Rose to death. Whoopsie-daisy, Ray and Polly have moved in to that cabin and Polly is taking a nap.

Not what she's napping in, but hey, I'm asexual, not blind. Polly begins to scream when she sees a man with a knife looming over her. The man runs out and her husband and the cabin manager burst in. Polly is trying to hold it together and insists that she saw the presumed dead George Loomis with a knife, and she thinks he's trying to kill Rose. Ray, who up to this point has been pretty supportive, immediately assumes that Polly has lost her sense of reality from the stress and drama of their new acquaintances and tells her she was just dreaming. Every single time she insists, he complains to some other man that his poor wife's nerves are shot from meeting the overdramatic Loomis's.

Polly is not amused. Ray insists they leave that night, but then the owner of his work company wants to meet and congratulate Ray on a major advertising idea he had. After all, being close to the main company is why Ray wanted to go to Niagara Falls! Polly again sees George Loomis at the Falls, when she nearly falls through a broken rail. This looks immensely silly and I wish I knew how to make a GIF. George begs Polly to let him remain dead, because then he can just disappear and start a new life for himself. Ray still refuses to believe her and insists that a nightmare has merely frayed her nerves. Rose, in the meantime, has realized that the body found is that of her lover, which has the result of her collapsing in a nervous delirium. This strikes me as another point towards Rose not really being a villain so much as a victim of culture. She didn't want to take any money from George. She isn't running around with multiple men she doesn't care about. She is seeing one man who suits her better and she can't be with him until her husband says that she can leave. Maybe I'm a little too close to this, since I've also been in a relationship where a man refused to accept my statement that it was over. He kept demanding I try to make things work and refused to acknowledge that I wanted it over. His whining finally got me to stick around for another 5 months. By the time that 5 months was over, I no longer had even the slightest liking for him - I frankly found him an object of disgust and disdain. When someone tells you they want to leave LET THEM!!!! Anyway, George lures Rose to the Rainbow Tower Carillon by playing her favorite song. He then chases her through the building before finally strangling her to death.

He then discovers that the carillonneur has left for the night, locking the only way out. He sits with the corpse of the woman he couldn't let go for part of the evening, confessing, "I really loved you, Rose, you know?" Of course he did. But his only conception of love for a woman is that she is an object to possess. He loved her like some people love their cars. He manages to slip out in the morning, but the body is discovered soon after and a manhunt begins in Canada. Meanwhile, Ray and Polly are out on another pleasure excursion with the Boss and his wife. Polly has been telling Ray she's been feeling weird about George Loomis. She calls the local police chief without telling him, which causes Ray to pull that, "Silly little woman, can't tell a nightmare from reality! Now stop wasting the MAN'S time, little girl!" The group breaks up at a dock to get gas, beer, and sandwiches. Polly is on beer duty and gets back the fastest. Also, OOPSY-DOODLE THE LITTLE WOMAN WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE MURDEROUS MAN! George is attempting to steal their boat, so he can sneak back into America, rather than be arrested in Canada for murder. He knocks out Polly while stealing the boat. Turns out he's not great at grand theft aquatic and the boat runs out of gas in the river and is caught in the current of the Falls. Well, George does spring into action then, knocking holes in the boat in an attempt to get enough water into the boat for it to run aground on the rocks above the Falls. He manages to shove Polly onto a big rock before going over himself.

Polly is saved by a Coast Guard chopper. The movie ends with the police chief congratulating her husband on the force of his prayer, "Scuttle it!". No one apologizes to Polly for not listening to her when she said there was a man intending on murdering his wife on the loose. Because no one paid attention to her, based solely on the fact that she's a woman, two humans died horribly, and she barely survived herself. The men at the end continue to congratulate each other on what a good job they've done, even though 100% of everything could have been prevented by Ray Cutler listening to Polly Cutler and by George Loomis listening to Rose Loomis and letting her go. This movie is a tragedy of misogyny - downright Shakespearean in places. And it becomes more poignant because it stars perhaps the prime example of Woman What Men Wish to Possess and Call That Love: Marilyn Monroe. I hope she enjoyed working on this film, but I am also sure she saw the inherent tragedy wasn't that a scheming gold digger decided to kill a perfectly nice man after making his life a living hell, but that a woman with one personality had become legally enslaved to a man with a polar opposite personality and had no ways to escape besides forcing her enslaver to let her go or to kill him. These are both terrible solutions and a really, really obvious case for no-fault divorce laws.

May the New Year be full of people mutually agreeing not to pursue relationships that clearly don't work and men believing that women are just as likely as men to tell the truth.

#marilyn monroe #classic film #old hollywood #niagara #patriarchy #male violence #misogyny in film #film noir #misogyny in film noir

[darklovecat]

Todays outfit?

A white wrap top.

I am literally obsessed with this top. It look so feminine and delicate and it flatters my body in all the right ways and in a very tasteful way. I love the way this top wraps around my slim waist, I am a big fan of cute and playful cuts that are not too juvenile and I love wrap tops so this blouse is perfect. You can also style it in a lot of different ways depending on what look you are going for and again I love how versatile it is. I am planning to purchase this product in other colors as well, I'm thinking black and maybe red. It is rather low cut so I obviously need to wear something underneath it and it is see through as well because it's white so that's something to keep in mind.

A grey hijab.

I wear the hijab and since since it is in such close proximity to my face, it is essential that the color I'm wearing looks good on me. However, some colors just don't look good on me, they wash me out and bring out my facial imperfections, but I can easily make those colors work for me by strategically using makeup products and placing colors in certain shades on my face. This is one of my meh colors, this shade of grey does not look THAT bad on me, but it's still not my best color so I make sure that I apply heavy skin makeup to even out my skin tone, blush across my midface and lots of curling and mascara and eyeliner to make my eyes stand out more. I also blur my lip lines and use lip tints and lip gloss on top to make my lips look fresh and full. The end result is I look good with a product color would otherwise look meh on me without any makeup.

A basic navy blue pencil skirt.

I will never shut up about my pencil skirts, they are lovely and they are perfect. The thing is walking in maxi skirt is an art in itself it's really not easy because your movements are restricted and you can't take steps too big, but I have been wearing them for years now so I am used to that. It gets easier when they are high waisted because then your legs will be more free to move. Anyways, pencil skirts are an essential part of my look, I hate looking too casual and I never want to look frumpy or lazy because I visit a lot of different places every day and I have to interact with all sorts of people. I want to make a positive impression and I want to be taken serious so I dress accordingly, I hate looking like a mess. That's why pencil skirts comes in handy, it is next to impossible to look too casual with a navy blue skirt and they are always appropriate. When I buy pencil skirts I make sure that they are very structured and show just a little bit of ankle.

UGG Womens Classic Tall Grey Boots

These are the comfiest (and uggliest) shoes that I own, they are literally the most hideous shoes on earth (after Sketchers. And Crocs) but you just can't deny the fact that they are sooo cozy it's like putting your feet in a blanket, it gives me that cute comfortable feeling that makes me feel safe. They've been through hell and back and they look a hell of a lot more worn out than this but that's what why they're my comfort shoes, I know they do the job and they're ready to go whenever, wherever. One of my favorite things in the world is leaving the dance studio, rushing to the changing room and literally just jumping into these in seconds instead of having to deal with stupid ties or killing my feet. They provide warmth, comfort and love. They also ruin all of my outfits but that's okay.

Love,

Cat.

#hypergamy #hypergamous #hypergamous fashion #high maintenance #darklovecat #darklovecat fashion #ootd #glow up #level up journey #leveling up #level up

[muskmelon-enjoyer-199x]

thinking about the older trans women online in my teens and earliest 20s who told me stuff like

"that's bullshit. you only think and say those things because you hate yourself and you're projecting it on others"

and

"when you start to let go of those feelings you will be happier. those smaller things won't matter quite as much or at all"

and

"you're focusing on little things and refusing to fix them because you don't want to think about the big thing you can't fix, but you need to accept the big thing. it is never going away"

and

"how is being 'one of the good ones' working out? they're not going to really accept you, you know"

and

"you've internalized a lot and need to fix yourself. work on it, and then we can talk"

and

"you would pass if you put in effort. I know androgyny and never correcting people when you're misgendered feels safer, but you're clearly not happy. stop with the excuses, play around with the makeup, and do what YOU want"

and it felt so shitty and condescending and I hated them, but they were mostly right. Like some of them were delusional and mental in their own overly self-affirming ways, but most of them were right.

I was just a bucket crab trapped in the awkward space between boymode and girlmode. Like why did it take me almost a decade to actually start being myself-myself in public unapologetically? Why am I still afraid to wear a skirt?

(spoiler: internalized transmisogyny and several competing flavors of general gender brainwashing)

I haven't completely figured things out yet but now I find myself saying the same shit to dumbass babytroons and honestly it feels

really, really bad.

I know in a decade im gonna be kinda old. Some of them will have these same realizations, some of them will stay trapped, and some of them will be fucking dead and there is nothing more i can do. All I can do is say the same lines to the same dumb bitches, knowing full-well they're not going to actually hear them for at least another election cycle or two.

"but it'll be different for me!" No. No, it won't. The only difference is that as terrible as it is now, it is still easier in most ways than ever before and you need to take advantage of that before they find a way to steal it back from us.

Im sorry I said shitty things to you, older transsexuals who actually knew better than me the whole time

#internalmelon #mtf #dysphoria

[astheskyisblue2]

Chapter one- Sunflowers, The Pageant

A/n: Hi guys I hope you like this chapter! Please reblog, follow and or like if you want! Just a quick trigger warning for domestic abuse and child abuse here and throughout the story!

Aria’s P.O.V.- July before Junior year

    It should be illegal to wake up early in the summer. Summers were made to sleep in, comfy in your bed, and pretend like the rest of the world didn't exist. It should be socially unacceptable for anyone to get out of bed before noon unless it is an absolute emergency. 

    Nothing important happened in the morning either. All the fun things happened at night. But if everyone had the same schedule, none of the fun things would happen at night because the fun thing about night was the peacefulness. The feeling that you are the only one in the world, and nothing you did mattered. Not really. You couldn't do anything under the watchful eye of Mother Moon that would fuck up your life entirely. As long as the only thing you wanted to do was sit up, in your window seat, draw and  listen to rock music so loud you would probably go deaf if you listened to it at that volume during the day. 

   Of course, that was just an illusion. A wistful dream of a nocturnal fifteen-year-old's mind that was being deprived of actual dreams by a criminally insane aunt who thought that it was, and should be, perfectly legal and socially acceptable to wake up at five in the morning while on vacation. 

   Not only to wake up so early, but to wake up so early to go to a beauty pageant. A beauty pageant! Beauty pageants were outdated, archaic practices meant to put women on display as if we are cattle for men to select and slaughter. 

    They were created to showcase the perfect female. Perky, thin, submissive, middle class and white. Fuck that shit. Fuck feminity. It was another way the patriarchy used to keep women in the kitchen and dependent on men. Even now when women are legally allowed to work, it's still socially frowned upon to do so after having kids and more socially frowned upon to not have kids at all. 

   God forbid, a woman want a life outside of marrying some man, who has a lot less social pressure on him just for being born with a penis, and most of them don't even treat women right. Fun fact: Did you know that women are significantly more likely to be murdered by their husband or boyfriend than any other person in their life? 

   And beauty pageants on their own were a hot spot for women and girls to be sexualized and attacked. Poor Jon Benet… Poor who knows how many like her that we would never know their names. The wrong things were socially acceptable. The wrong things were glorified, and it made me want to roll back over and sleep until three in the afternoon out of protest and spite. 

  Unfortunately, the universe had other plans for me. My endlessly energetic and aggressively morning person of a  twin sister skipped into my room. She was already dressed in a white sun dress decorated with sunflowers, a pair of wedges and an oversized straw sun hat. She was also wearing the same gold cross necklace that she wore every day. Part of me wondered if it had molded to her skin by now and that was why she never took it off.. Who even wore hats indoors? Apparently the same person who got up and dressed at, by the looks of her curls and face full of makeup, three or four in the morning with a smile on their face. I didn't even get to sleep until three or four in the morning most days! I wanted to soak up every bit of nighttime that I could. I groaned, "What do you want, Bri?" 

  Brielle giggled, "Well, Good morning to you too Sunshine!" She somehow pronounced the exclamation point. Everything she said was punctuated with an exclamation point. I think she'd vibrate with the excess energy if she tried to talk like a normal person. "I brought you a little something."She held out a can of Coco Chameleon,my favorite coffee. It was an iced coffee blended with a thick flavor of chocolate and cold brew. So it tasted delicious and had enough caffeine to keep me alive. I refused to drink the dirty water that was black coffee.

    I'm sorry but nothing can convince me that anyone actually likes black coffee, they just get a high off of feeling superior to others because they chose coffee as their hill to die on. Out of all the injustices in the world. They. Chose. Coffee. Couldn't be me. I'd take my sweet sweet sugary bean juice any day of the week. And I did. On pageant days, I needed at least two. It made me slightly shaky but at this point my bloodstream was forty percent coffee and sugar and sixty percent actual blood. "Did I mention I love you?"

    Brielle giggled, "You didn't, but I know you do. I love you too, by the way." She sat on the end of my bed and drank her green juice while I chugged my coffee like I was stranded in the desert and it was the first water I had seen in days. 

   After I had finished it, I sat up, groaned and stretched, with that amazing yawn that forced all the tired out of my body except for the little bit that hung around my eyes. I wiped the crusties out and sighed. "Alright, let's do this shit." Brielle tensed. "Oh come on, Brielle. Shit isn't even a bad word in the grand scheme of bad words." 

   "But it is a bad word and that makes it a sin. No sin is better or worse than any other sin.." She clasped her hands in her lap. So apparently cussing was as bad as murder?

  "Well that's bullshit." I mumbled, rolling my eyes. Brielle gasped. "What? What'd I say?" 

  "If you want to live on the path of sin then fine but you sure as sugar will not drag me down that path with you. Now, Aunt Meredith wants you down in twenty minutes and if you're late we're leaving without you." 

  "I'm not sure that's the threat that you think it is!" I yelled after Brielle as she left the room and stormed off down the hall. I loved her but she was a handful and a half. She acted that way because of her boyfriend's family, the Kipps. Our family was religious, sure, but their family was even more so. Our family was the type that went to church every Easter, Christmas and sometimes after a particularly bad fight. We only ever prayed before meals like Thanksgiving when my grandparents were over.

    The Kipps were the type of religious that practically ran the church. Mr. Kipp led the youth group. Mrs.Kipp and Mr. Kipp helped organize and run most of the fundraisers and outreach for the church. Mrs. Kipp spent several hours teaching and rehearsing with the church band. Brielle was the singer for said band and their son, John was the drummer. Fun Fact: Music is only a sin if it’s not about God. You can’t listen to secular music but you can make Christian covers of those same secular songs which would require listening to said secular songs. Just one of the many hypocrisies of Christianity. Of course, I would never say that to Brielle because she found so much joy in Christianity. Or she found something good in it because she devoted a lot of her time to it and it was different from the way that people would ironically watch a movie or wear a band tshirt. So, who was I to tell her not to believe in the things that made her see the world in brighter colors? That brought her green eyes to life?

      Even if I didn’t understand it or believe someone could conditionally love me unconditionally. I knew that I loved her unconditionally and maybe that was the only thing humans were meant to understand. Maybe the only thing that really mattered was our love for other humans. I didn’t know if that was fake deep or real deep. It all sounded the same in my sleep deprived brain. I needed at least ten to function properly. More reason as to why it was sadistic to make me wake up at five in the morning when I had only managed to get about an hour. 

  Brielle prayed before every meal even if we didn't pray with her. She went to every service. She sang in the church band. She carried mini bibles and promotional bookmarks in her purse in case she saw someone “God told her to” give it to. Between Church, cheer, pageants and school, she barely had time to sleep and eat but it seemed to give her the type of peace I only got from coffee or music.

      I knew that they wouldn't ever actually leave without me. I couldn't ever be that lucky. So, I threw my sheets off and started going through my closet to put an outfit together.

       “What was that about?” I jumped. I hadn’t seen Grace in my doorway. 

      “Jesus Christ, Grace. You fuckin’ scared me.” 

        “Oh so that was what it was about.” She sat on my bed and wrapped my blanket around her shoulders. 

   “Yep. Which shirt should I wear?” I pulled two out of my closet. 

       “You’re kidding me, right?” 

         “What?”

        “They’re the same shirt.” 

         “Uh, no they’re not.”

    “They’re both band shirts.” 

  “So? Band shirts are incredible.”

   “Well of course you think that, all you ever wear is band shirts.” 

    “That’s not true.” I put one of the shirts back in the closet and pulled on my Welcome to the Black Parade one. I had two copies of this shirt because I loved it so much. Then I started brushing my hair up into a high ponytail. I didn’t feel like wearing it down, I would look too much like all the girls who were actually competing. Except, of course, most of them were taller than me. I was a very petite five-foot-two and it was the reason I would always be taken as a newborn kit when I was trying to be a fierce Lioness.  The “I could kick your ass” vibe wasn’t as easily achieved and not nearly as scary when you were a pipsqueak like me.

    Grace handed me her thick makeup bag. “Here.” I wish I didn’t have to wear makeup but it was one of Aunt Meredith’s ridiculous rules that I didn’t give enough of a shit about to fight her on. Especially not on pageant days.  She was a special kind of intense on pageant days, at least the season was almost over. This pageant would be our last one for the year, and it was only one day instead of the usual full weekend. 

   There were rules that I pushed back on. Out of the three of us, I was the most outwardly rebellious child. I was the only one that was begrudgingly allowed not to compete in pageants. That was because, as the clever and mischievous child I was before I became the clever and mischievous teenager I am, I had sabotaged the pageants. It never seemed to be on purpose.  A forgotten lyric in the talent portion, or going shy during interviews, or putting my dress on backwards or unzipping it for the actual beauty portion of the beauty pageant. Which by the name, should be the entire thing. In fact, in a beauty pageant in its original form, that was all it was. The talent and interview portion were added in a performative action to make beauty pageants more feminist, before feminism was a colloquial term. 

   I know that I just said I should let people enjoy things even if I didn’t completely understand them but there was a huge difference between religion and beauty pageants, even if I believed the message behind them for women was pretty much the same and spoke to bigger problems in society that I as a fifteen-year-old girl who couldn’t even vote yet was powerless to change. I didn’t have a lot of control over anything so I rebelled and listened to loud and angry music. Mostly of men and the occasional woman, like Halestorm, screaming about how fucked up the world was because it made me feel a little less voiceless even though it didn’t really make an impact on anything except my insides but anything that made me not want to peel my skin apart made an impact on me and maybe that was all I could do. Maybe the only person I would ever make a difference on was me. Maybe my legacy would die with me, and maybe that was okay. Besides, beauty pageants were keeping me from sleeping and religion wasn’t, so I knew which one I considered to be public enemy number one. 

   I dabbed a bit of concealer on the deep purple rings that underlined my tired emerald green eyes and applied a bit of mascara. The mascara really made my eyes pop. I hated myself for saying that because it meant that one of Aunt Meredith’s opinions held even the tiniest bit of weight. So, out of spite, I zipped Grace’s makeup bag back up and handed it back to her without applying lip gloss. “Thanks.” I pulled on my thrifted leather jacket that was starting to peel from old age and overuse, I wore it everyday no matter the weather. It had gotten to a point where I didn’t feel like myself unless I was wearing it. So I guess I understood Brielle’s obsession with her necklace at least on that level.

   “Grace! Aria! Get your butts down here!” Aunt Meredith screeched. 

    “Coming!” I groaned and tied my black converse, my Doc Martins hadn’t come in the mail yet and it was too hot to wear them and a leather jacket in the middle of the summer anyway. Wearing a leather jacket was pushing it but there was no way I was going out without my baby.

   “I swear that’s like your emotional support blankie.” 

    “Shut up.” I bumped Grace with my shoulder and slung my bulging backpack over my shoulder.

       Aunt Meredith fussed with Brielle once they were in clear view. “Brielle darling, you look beautiful.” 

  “Thank you Auntie.” 

    “But there’s something off.” She tapped a finger on her lips and inspected Brielle’s outfit. “It’s the hat!” She plucked it off her head with both hands. I’m not kidding. She had to use both hands.. It was that big. “There, that looks a lot better. You have to keep your head clear for when you leave wearing a crown.” There was no point in her saying that other than to make Grace feel bad. Brielle probably wouldn’t even be wearing that same outfit by the time we left that night. There were a lot of outfit changes. That was kind of their main shtick. Aunt Meredith knew this. She had been taking me and Brielle to pageants since we were three and dragging Grace to them even longer. There was a time, now only remembered through photographs, where Grace was her star, but somewhere along the line, I don’t remember when Grace started having to battle to even be seen. “You look beautiful, Brielle. A future Miss America.”

  Brielle blushed and looked down at her feet. At least she had the common sense to be slightly ashamed. “Thank you, Auntie.” 

   “How do I look, mother?” Grace asked, apparently feeling brave that day. She was wearing a red off-the-shoulder shirt, dark blue jeans with a brown belt and matching brown boots. Her hair was curled too. I think that she tried to copy the way Brielle wore her hair but it didn’t go as planned. Most of the curls had come undone, but it worked. Her light chestnut brown hair was straight with a gentle wave to the ends. Her makeup was gentle, at least for her. I could still see the light dust of freckles across her cheeks, and instead of a striking lipstick, she was wearing a thick layer of gloss. She had clearly put a lot of effort into her outfit and I thought that she looked beautiful. 

  Aunt Meredith just ignored her, as she usually did. “What time do we have to leave?”

  Grace must’ve been feeling really brave that day because she repeated herself, “How do I look, mother?” 

  “You’re so rude. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a conversation?”

   “Okay.” She let out a sigh of defeat.

   “You look beautiful.” I said, sincerely.

    She rolled her eyes, “I wasn’t asking you.” 

    “I know.” I didn’t fire something back because I could see the hurt in her eyes. She didn’t need me mocking her for it. 

    “We need to load up the car anyway. Come on.” And by we, she meant me. Why couldn’t she and Brielle have done it? They were down here for twenty minutes before we came down. Brielle had given me a Coco Chameleon so they had gone to the store already too! We weren’t allowed to keep Coco Chameleon in the house in case it spilled and poisoned their precious green juice. But no, it had to be me. Every. Single. Time. I sighed and went to pick up the things by the door. A black metal box filled with hair and makeup supplies, several separate outfit bags, and Brielle’s baton.

   “Here, you need help?” Grace asked but  she was already picking up the bags.  Aunt Meredith and Bri had already gone out to the car.

   As the sun rose, we drove through the sleeping city to the pageant.

   The first portion of the pageant that day was Talent. “Can someone help me zip my dress?” Grace asked, struggling to push her hands to the zipper of her red floor-length gown. 

  “Relax, come here.” I held my hands out and she turned around, sucking in as I zipped it up.

   The dressing room, Aunt Meredith had paid extra to make sure we had a private one, was flooded with generic patriot music. Brielle flung herself across the floor, she was a flash of red, white and blue. She jumped and contorted herself while Aunt Meredith yelled out commands and the occasional compliment. 

    Grace lined her lips with red and twisted her hair into a braid. I handed her her belt box. A belt box was a small oddly shaped box that molded to her mouth and muffled her voice as she warmed up. Fifteen minutes later, Grace was called to the stage. On our way out of the dressing room, Aunt Meredith decided to share some of her oh so desirable wisdom, “Shoot for second place!” I’d say that she was just a bitch who had never mentally made it out of her teenage years but Grace and I were both still in our teenage years and we would never act like that. So, there really was no excuse for that. I wanted to punch her in the face to deliver some karma for her actions but I knew that that would only make her feel like she was the victim. So, with the little impulse control my sleep deprived brain would allow me, I put my hand on Grace’s back and led her out of the room and into the wings. As we stood there, I could feel a gentle shaking.

   “Grace… Are you crying?” 

  “No. I just don’t get why Brielle is some great saint. I mean, she’s not even that pretty.”

   “Oookay…”

“I didn’t mean you.”

“Brielle and I literally have the same face.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a bitch.”

“And Brielle is?”

“No…. Why do you always have to take her side?”

“I’m not taking her side.”

  It became more obvious that Grace was in fact crying.  “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired. So, so tired.” I would’ve offered to find her some coffee but I had a feeling it wasn’t the type of tired that coffee could fix.

  She turned around and I hugged her, gently stroking her hair.  “I’ll never be good enough for her, will I?” 

 I sighed and kept stroking her hair, “No. No hon, you probably won’t be.” Grace started crying harder into my chest. Yikes, I could’ve said that a lot more gently but it was the truth.

 “I just want to be what she wants. She’s my mother… why can’t I just be good enough for her?”

  “Because she’s a narcissistic bitch, and that’s not your fault. You can’t control her and… you can’t change that. But you know what you can do?” 

  “What?” Grace sniffled. 

   “You can wipe your tears, fix your posture, go out there and prove her wrong. Do it for yourself, okay?” 

 Grace wiped her eyes, “Okay. I’ll do it for us.” 

  I smiled and let her go. “I know you will.” 

  And she did, I knew she’d won even before the award ceremony. I waited in the audience next to Aunt Meredith. She was wearing an excessively flashy outfit. A bright red dress, rhinestone dangle earrings that looked like mini chandeliers  and a thick black and white pearl necklace.  All she needed was a thick white coat and she would look like Cruella Deville, except Cruella Deville was less evil. 

 “Thank you all for coming to DalesVille’s Annual Sweethearts Pageant. We have a lot of beautiful and talented young ladies here today and it was so hard to pick the winner. We wish we could give all of you a crown! But unfortunately, there can only be one winner per age category. Now let’s get on to the awards.”  Grace and Brielle’s age category was the last.

  “Second Runner-up is Cornelia Nottingham.” I held my breath, “First runner-up is Brielle Summers.” I let it go, smiling a justly smug smile. “And finally, Miss Teen Sweetheart is… Grace Roberts!”

   I jumped up and screamed. Aunt Meredith grabbed me by the wrist so hard I thought she was going to crush it. “Sit down and act like a lady!” She hissed at me through gritted teeth and dragged me down to my seat. 

   When she let go, there were red marks from her nails. “Jesus Christ…” My face burned with the heat of her anger in a way that told me she would’ve slapped me had we been alone. Little did she know, I would’ve slapped her back.

    Grace ran off the stage and hugged me. She had this expression of hope on her face that I hadn’t seen since we were kids. The sparkling crown on her head was reflected by the light in her eyes. “Did you see that? I did it!”

  “You did! Hell yeah you did! I’m so proud of you.” 

  “I’m going to check with the judges. There has to be some sort of mistake. My little Brielle has never lost a pageant to anyone.” This, of course, was a lie. But whatever helped her sleep at night. Aunt Meredith stormed off. 

 “Ignore her. These judges actually had a brain in their heads. You deserved to win, Grace. That was the best I've ever seen you perform.” 

    “You really mean that?”

    “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

     “Pinky Promise?” 

     I laughed, “You’re such a child.” But I held out my pinky to her anyway. 

  Brielle with her smaller crown, ran past our aisle and into the arms of her beloved John. Of course John was here. He picked her up and swung her around, then they kissed. They were that annoying, overly romantic couple. 

  “I wonder if they know they aren’t actually in a cheesy romance movie.” 

  Grace shrugged, “You know, it would usually bother me but I’m in too good of a mood for their dramatics to ruin it. I’m just glad she’s happy. John’s a really good guy.” 

  John handed Brielle a blue bouquet of sunflowers and some blue flowers. I didn’t know what type but I guess that didn’t matter. “Yeah, I guess he is.” They’d been dating for years and Brielle still blushed every time he did something romantic for her. 

  Aunt Meredith sashayed back over to us, her nose up in the air. “Don’t go getting cocky over your win. It was only by half a point and I’m sure that was a calculation error. You had lipstick on your teeth.” 

  “No, no you didn’t.” I said, thoroughly rolling my eyes at Aunt Meredith.

  “Well, maybe we should get your eyes checked.” 

   “They’re fine. Trust me.” 

    Aunt Meredith kept her teeth clenched. “Listen, young lady. It is one thing to not have even an ounce of taste but it is another thing entirely to blatantly disrespect me.” 

   “Oh, like you blatantly disrespect Grace? All. The. Fucking. Time?”

    “It’s not like that.”

    “No, you’re right. It isn’t the same thing because you’re the mother. You’re supposed to be above all this but instead you screw her over time and again.” 

  “Aria.” Grace put a hand on my arm but I shrugged it off. 

     “No, no I’m sorry but why the fuck do you think it’s okay? Do you not see the effect you have on Grace? On Brielle even? Why do you feel the need to bully teenage girls? Is it because you’re so deeply insecure that you can’t see people prettier than you without hating them for being that way? Maybe it’s not that they’re pretty at all, even though they’re fucking beautiful, maybe it’s that they’re actual human beings while you are proof that the devil exists.” I was met with a slap across the face so hard I blacked out for a second. 

   “Do not disrespect me, you ungrateful brat! I didn’t have to take you and your sister in but I did. And I can throw you out!” Everyone left at the pageant was staring at us by then. Brielle and John had snuck out. Good, I didn’t want her to hear the way Aunt Meredith spoke about us. She still had faith in the world, and the goodness of people and I’d be damned if I let someone take that away. I held my cheek, glaring at her. That was going to leave a bruise. Aunt Meredith flushed, looking at all the onlookers. “Carry on.” She dragged me out by my arm and Grace followed along. 

   The car ride was silent, Aunt Meredith didn’t even turn the radio on. So, I popped my headphones in and played  Second Chance by Shinedown on loop as I watched the sun go to sleep. It was my favorite song for when I needed to be somewhere else for a while. It was the best song to daydream about running away to and nothing could change my mind.  

          Brielle texted Aunt Meredith to say that she was going to the church lock-in. It was a youth group only event. Who wanted to spend the night in an old creepy church anyway? It was probably haunted. I didn’t see how it couldn’t be. There were two places on this earth that were definitely haunted: Hospitals and Church. Too much life went on in those places for them not to be. As much as I loved the Paranormal, I had no desire to actually see a ghost.

  Grace was still beaming by the time that we pulled into the driveway. She ran inside with her award. “Dad! Dad! Guess what?”

    Uncle Chris turned from the stove to his daughter. Bentley, our pitbull, was circling his feet in search of scraps. “What, Pumpkin?”

  “I won! I won!” 

  Uncle Chris hugged her, kissing the side of her head. His eyes had lit up in the same way hers did. For the most part, Grace took after her mother physically. So it was cute to watch their similarities. “That’s wonderful, Sweetheart. Congratulations.” 

  “Thanks dad.”

   “Do you want to do anything to celebrate?” 

  “Can we make cookies?” 

 “Absolutely not, you know the rules: No Junk Food of any kind during pageant season.” Aunt Meredith’s heels clicked across the floor as she joined us in the kitchen.

 “Come on, Mer. It’s just a few cookies. Don’t you want to celebrate our daughter?” 

  Aunt Meredith scoffed, “ Of course I-don’t undermine me in front of the children, Christopher. The answer is no.” She turned to Grace, “We can’t have you gaining any more weight. Then you won’t fit into your dress.” 

 “Don’t talk to our daughter like that, Meredith. Her weight is fine. She’s fifteen! She deserves to be a kid while she still is one.”

 It was like a shift in the air, something woke up in our monkey brains and we ran up the stairs, Bentley followed at our heels. 

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