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mmmmalo · 3 years

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For anyone still under the impression that June Egbert is just a product of the Toblerone wishes with no particular relevance to Homestuck proper, here's an argument to the contrary: that June (or whatever you like to call her) was already here, woven into John's relationship with the idea of Dad.

Act 1 has a certain preoccupation with the ideal forms of things, John having multiple instances of saying X isn't a REAL X unless it has this or that characteristic. "A fire BELONGS in a fireplace, categorically." One of those outbursts touches upon masculinity, with John saying a gentleman without a monocle is a piss-poor excuse for such. Along such a paradigm, you might gather that something like John saying the beaglepuss sucks as a disguise or trying (and failing) to integrate Dad's pipe into the façade communicates that John is kind of grasping at this ideal of masculinity exemplified by Dad and getting frustrated that he can't seem to measure up to it (or that masculinity feels "fake" on him).

This sort of dynamic is more blatant with Dave, who talks openly about how he isn't a "hero", not really, measuring himself against the impossible standards set by his Bro. But as much was already implicit in Act 1.

Later it gets established that John has some kind of fear of heights: the first ogres appear after John experiences vertigo from almost falling off the stairs, and again after getting launched by the pogo hammer. (Just as Karkat suspected he was given a planet covered in his own blood as a form of harassment, Sburb placed John's house on that needle plateau because of this fear of heights; the game generally manifests adversaries in response to fear). The phobia becomes relevant to Dad stuff after the ogre fight is over, when John is hesitating to jump down into Dad's room: it isn't just that John's nervous about entering the room for the first time, the descent itself makes John anxious. Furthermore, this juxtaposition serves to establish that the fear of heights and anxieties around Dad are related somehow, if not outright synonymous. The two are associated again at the beginning of Act 5 Act 2, when dream!John tries to jump over a canyon to reach Dad, but awakens mid-leap. The formal reason John awakens is Vriska of course, but if we ignore her we're left with John approaching Dad and immediately experiencing vertigo. (The name "June" comes from Vriska contacting John shortly after this dream, incidentally)

This comes up again when John finds Dad's wallet and gets overwhelmed by the prospect of Manhood and the responsibilities it entails -- next thing you know John is flying around in Dad's car, having fun... and after the scene is interrupted by Seek the Highblood, we return to find John crashing the car (another fall from the sky!) and talking with Vriska about dread surrounding societal expectations, and the possibility of rejecting them to pursue something different for yourself. John came into the scene worried (if quietly) about the expectations surrounding manhood, so the Vriska conversation serves to makes those kind of concerns more vivid.

The car crash is itself kind of a metaphor for that conversation's trajectory... in Act 6 we see something analogous play out among the Dersites who have gotten into dapper-wear: one Dersite sits on a hat, panics about ruining it, and then begins to wonder if perhaps a crumpled hat could have a value of its own, aesthetically. (Dirk expresses this sort of counter-assessment more bombastically: "...the next best thing. By which you mean, the vastly superior thing.") Dad Crocker swoops in to condemn the crumpled hat, but the Dersite's tentative revaluation of an apparent failure mode is something the scene shares with Vriska, who initially regards her ambivalence towards murder as a symptom of personal failure, unbefitting her caste. John enters that conversation with a crumpled car, and from context we can guess John's revaluation concerns "failing" to be a man in the way Dad is, and how maybe that doesn't need to be considered a failure.

As laid out so far, I guess none of this quite necessitates trans-Egbert, since people can come at "anxiety and reservations at the prospect of embodying masculine ideals" from a number of angles... but there are other considerations which make me think wrestling with self-deprecating thoughts like "I'm a failed man" are maybe comorbid with a budding sense of being a girl, in Egbert's case.

Foremost, I think it helps to recognize that Dad's car can function as a symbol of John's body. To sketch a case for that:

1a. Death often means transformation: the trolls die in questcocoons to reach the godtiers, suggesting that death stands between the caterpillar and the butterfly, their too solid flesh dissolved into a goo.

1b. A command in Act 1 implores John to "retrieve arms from MAGIC CHEST". John complies twofold: we see some fake arms retrieved from the toy chest, held up by John's real arms which have been "retrieved" from John's ostensibly armless torso.

2. This dual usage of chest is deployed in part 3 of Openbound, in service of building a dysphoria metaphor (among other things). The segment reintroduces us to Fiduspawn, a game in which one creature hatches from another, a host creature, killing the host in the process (fans of the Alien films may recognize this as derivative of the "chestburster", fans of Homestuck may recognize this as analogous to godtiering). Damara (who Rufioh refers to as "doll") becomes the host plush, who is accused of locking away Rufioh's "happy thought" (Tinkerbull) in her "chest". Rufioh's beef with Damara serves to illustrate an adversarial relationship with one's own body, the ways in which the body itself seems to function as a barrier to some happiness. The carnal imprisonment of euphoria (the "happy thought") represents dysphoria. The conversation between Kanaya and Porrim which follows has analogous content and offers a potential resolution to such a conflict, with Kanaya coming to distinguish her body from the reproductive duties assigned to her body by her caste's place in society, and knowing that she is not "bound" to the Matriorb by any will but her own...

3. But the paradigm of Fiduspawn reminds us that the act of actually ripping the happy thought out of your chest has suicidal overtones, when taken literally. And Aradiabot notwithstanding, the inner ghosts the kids give up are often green: Dirkbot tears out his uranium heart and explodes, Rose peels pink bricks off the green core of an island and wonders aloud if her existence is a mistake, and (returning to our main topic!) John tries to retrieve the green package from Dad's car. The retrieval of the box comes to represents the birth of the self from its shell, the now broken body, a gesture which overlaps with the pursuit of death.

So we can infer that Dad is akin to Damara here, having locked the desired object (the box, the "happy thought") within a container that we can identify with John's own body. Thus Vriska's talk of perhaps rejecting her assigned role in society proceeds naturally from the wreckage of Dad's car: insofar as the car functions as an emblem of the masculine expectations imposed upon John, the car's wreckage suggests the possibility of liberation from those expectations, liberation from your own body. John is "sick to death of cake" -- cake is a Life symbol imposed by Dad, in visceral excess, accumulating as every birthday marches John towards Manhood. The possibility of living as a girl does not seem to have occurred to John yet, life and masculinity seem inextricable and absolute. The first time John sees Dad's car totaled (after Rose drops it), the symbol of self-as-corpse is surrounded by yellow bands of caution tape. The Authority Regulator who placed the tape will later declare himself to be THE LAW, and we should take his word for it: the scene's function is to declare that the crumpled car, the "dead" and therefore feminized body, is forbidden to John. No surprise then that as John marches to her death, in defiance of the Law's prohibition, she-whose-name-does-not-yet-suit-her is met with impressions of several maps that actually align with their territories: troll movies whose titles are their contents in full, a rocket encoded by the sound PCHOOOOO. John wants that for herself, I think. And as @lscholar once pointed out, it’s worth noting that John's pursuit of this unity (this pursuit of "death") is interrupted by Dave, who in saving John's life repeatedly emphasizes their status as "bros" -- masculinity being, again, inextricable from life within John’s symbol system.

...and that's the short of it. A more detailed account might get into the association of Vriska and other blue girls with the feminized corpse, or read into Equius self-consciously roleplaying as a cat girl between John’s joyride and crash, or perhaps try to apply this car-body framework to the appearances of Dad's car in the Epilogues. And I haven’t even touched upon clowns...but I'll call it here for now.

#homestuck commentary #john #i might do a follow up going into life metaphysics and how jade ties into things

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buckysboobs · 3 years

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BEG ME TO STOP || k.p.

Warnings: degradation, slapping, spit kink, spanking, choking, daddy kink, slight consent play, dom!kai, just 1.6k words of really rough and filthy smut. Also it's my first time writing smut and I got carried away so oops?

He's busy reading the grimoire while she sits and watches him and the way her LED lights cast a reddish hue all over the room. He looked dangerous, and she was feeling like playing with fire.

"Malachai." She calls out, heart thumping against her chest. He replies with a 'Hmm?' without taking his eyes off the book.

"Give me attention."

He looks up at her. She's on the bed laying upside down, eyes hopeful and locked on his crotch. For some reason they're always locked there. It is a very nice sight.

"No." And with that, he's back to reading.

She gets up and slowly walks over to the chair. She snatches the book away from him and straddles his lap.

His hands push up to her waist to still her.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks, gaze hard, an eyebrow raised. She throws the book over her shoulder and looks right into his eyes.

"Daddy, please give me attention."

Once he realizes what she really wants, his features soften and his hand comes up to cup her cheek.

"Yeah?" he asks. She nods.

It was unpredictable, how he suddenly yanked her by the hair and darned a slap upon her cheek. She moaned, heat rising up her skin.

"Always so thirsty for daddy's attention, aren't you? Such an attention seeking whore."

She made the infamous puppy eyes at him, "I'm sorry daddy, just wanted your touch."

"Oh with that attitude i'm gonna give you a hell of a lot more than that."

With that being said he holds her close and whooshes away to their bedroom. He throws her on the bed, his lips immediately pressing to her lips. She starts sucking on his tongue when his hand wraps around her throat, his fingers applying sight pressure as her mouth snaps open and a gasp escapes the back of her throat.

He spits into her mouth.

She hums in content, swallowing and opening her mouth for more. He slaps her again.

"Don't be a greedy bitch now, darling." He commands, lips attaching to her neck and sucking cherry shaded bruises into her skin.

"Daddy please…" she cries, small hands trying to pry open his shirt, "I want to feel you!"

"Of course you do." he smiles, and with a snap of his fingers his shirt is off. She presses her lips to his shoulders, open mouthedly sucking, loving the salty-sweet taste of his skin. His hot breath fans over the side of her neck and down her chest as he's licking wide stripes, fingers pushing into her hips.

"Off." he mumbles against her skin and with a heavy tug, he pulls down her panties. He shoves his fingers into her mouth and she rolls her tongue around them, sucking like there's no tomorrow. He pulls them back with a pop and she blushes red when his index finger rubs against her clit, furiously applying pressure. A heavy gasp escapes her throat when Kai starts kissing down her stomach, licking into her navel and down to her heat. She presses her thighs together, almost trapping his head between them when he pries them apart with his hand and moves back up to lick into her mouth.

"Daddy please…" she whines, pushing her heat back and forth on his fingers, trying to get some friction and he sniggers mockingly.

"Getting yourself off on my fingers… what a fucking slut." With that being said he abruptly reaches down and licks a wide stripe up her gaping cunt.

"Oh shit!" she cries out, earning herself a spank.

Kai's prickly beard rubs against her pussy and inner thighs as he eats her out like she's delicacy, tongue reaching in and out of her core and thumb rubbing harsh circles on her clit. Without warning, he pushes two fingers in and she gasps, hand yanking on the sheets to ground herself.

His experienced mouth sucks on her clit, fingers furiously thrusting in and out of her pussy, mind reveling in her cries and gasps of pleasure and mouth full of her sweet taste. His long and thick fingers scissor her open, thrusting hard against her insides, basically tearing her apart and he's not even started.

She pushes down on his fingers when Kai comes to level with her, whispering dirty things into her ear.

"Grind on 'em," he moans, his dick getting impossibly hard against his jeans at the mouth watering sight of her, skin red, hair spread out all over the sheets and eyes filled with tears. Her mouth looked puffy and a cry escaped her parted lips when he gave a particularly hard thrust with his fingers.

She feels a heat pool in her belly and cries out, "Daddy i'm close!"

Kai pulls back and she whines in protest.

"I was so close!" she says, breathing heavily as she watches Kai play with the buckle of his belt.

"Make daddy feel good and he'll let you come."

That's an offer she can't refuse so it barely takes her a minute before she's on her knees, pulling down Kai's jeans and watching his hard cock bounce against his stomach. Kai's hand comes down to rest atop her head, slightly pulling at a few strands of hair as she takes the tip into her mouth, giving kitten licks to the head.

Kai slaps her across the face, his fingertips burning her skin. "Don't be a tease, bitch."

Tears roll down her cheek and she moans around his cock, taking all of it down, the gag reflex she had worked so hard on finally coming into use. Kai yanks at her hair roughly, thrusting into her mouth while her hands rest on his thighs. He shoves his cock harder into her warm mouth, letting out breathy moans at the sounds of which her heat begins to pool again and her hand reaches down to play with her clit.

Kai sees that and pulls out of her mouth, spitting onto her face and darns another slap onto her cheek. She cries out loud, her pussy pulsing wet and throbbing.

"Nasty little bitch," he snorts bitterly, shoving his cock down her throat again and yanking her head back by the hair, "I didn't allow you to touch yourself, did I?"

She moans and it sends vibrations around his cock, he's thrusting harder when she feels him twitch and his seed is spilling down her throat.

"Swallow it." he warns, even though he knows he doesn't have to tell her. She swallows it like it's delicacy and she's been starving forever, closing her eyes and humming in content. Kai pulls out and she opens her mouth to show him that she had, indeed, swallowed it all.

"That's my girl." he praises and she beams at the response. However, the soft moment is over when he grabs her and pushes her against the wall, tongue plunging into her mouth.

She grips his shoulders but he doesn't take it, instead he thrusts hard into her pussy. His hands find hers and their fingers intwine, Kai holding them beside her head as he thrusts roughly without warning. She cries out, but the pain subsides soon and she's dwelling in the pleasure that comes with his animalistic thrusts. Her body's bobbing up and down with every thrust and Kai is grunting right into her ear, his breath tickling her skin and hands holding her down. She's crying because it feels so good and it hurts so good, his thick cock ramming into her tight cunt and heat striking every inch of her skin, his pubic bone slapping against hers. He pulls out for a second and whooshes them away to the bed where he flips her onto her front and enters her from behind, ripping a scream from her lips. He's cheating with his vampirism too, his thrusts hard and deep when he changes the angle. He grabs her neck and pulls her back up against his chest, pounding into her mercilessly while she screams his name.

His hand comes down to brush against her clit and she starts to cry even louder, "Fuck! Fuck i'm going to cum!"

"Go on, bitch, come for me" he whispers in her ears but his thrusts never stop, he fucks her through her orgasm, still pounding hard and furious when she begs him to stop.

"That's a good girl, beg." He fucks her hard and rough and she screams, tears rolling down her cheeks and pausing at her chin, her fluids slipping down her thighs. She could have used the safe word if she wanted to , but she truly didn't because the pain and the overstimulation felt so heavenly.

"I'm gonna fill you up." Kai snarls, fucking into her roughly and rubbing fast circles on her clit, lips attaching to her ear, "I'm gonna bury my seed in your tight little cunt, breed you like a bitch in heat."

"Oh god daddy oh shit— FUCK!" she cries as another orgasm washes over her and he thrusts even harder if possible, flipping her onto her back and throwing her legs over his shoulder, he fucks her into oblivion where she's completely at his mercy.

It hurts so good. She feels his thrusts get slower and realizes he must be close to his own orgasm but this didn't stop him as a loud groan escaped his throat and he fucked her like an animal.

With another thrust he's spilling into her, washing her pussy with his seed and leaving his cock buried tight into her as he collapses right on top of her, breathing heavily. Her hand comes up to play with his hair and he gives her cheek a soft kiss before pulling out, making her wince.

"I wanna cuddle, daddy." she mumbles, and he smiles at her, laying right beside her on the dirty sheets as he opens his arms and she falls right into them.

___________

@1-800-khaleesii

@rome5683

@genevivetaylor

@slut4kai

@fandom-strumpet <33

#kai parker #kai parker imagine #kai parker smut #kai parker x reader #smut #malachai parker #malachai parker smut

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ahloveisboo · 3 years

Text

point of view (m)

pairing: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader

genre: 18+, friends with benefits!au, smut (mentions of choking, mirrors, alcohol consumption, swearing, implicit condom use. always be safe, kids!)

wc: 1.6k

summary: you just can’t seem to quit soonyoung.

a/n: this soonyoung is system!soonyoung but you don’t need to read one to understand the other as these are just in the same timeline, happening simultaneously. (also, ALWAYS make sure you have discussed any kind of choking with your partner beforehand bc it needs to be consensual and not something to be taken lightly or done inexperienced)

"She's going to fucking kill me."

Soonyoung giggles against your neck, his hand under your skirt as you try very hard not to think of the repercussions of ditching your best friend and focus on his teeth scraping over your sensitive skin. "All the more reason to make this one worth it," Soonyoung notes, tilting his head to capture your lips.

You groan into his touch, as you have done many times before. It's not like you didn't try to fight it—you really did, because you're not the meaningless flirt type of person, but something about Kwon Soonyoung just keeps pulling you in, over and over and over again. The first time you blamed it on the alcohol, the second time on the way his hips swayed in time with yours, his breath fanning over the back of your neck, but there was no excuse for the third time (or fourth or fifth).

Soonyoung has you in a figurative chokehold and a part of you relished it. To be in someone else's mercy and not have to think for a few blissful moments. The buttons of his jeans are already popped, his shirt loosely hanging over the front where you pulled it free. His tongue tastes like Redbull, the sickeningly sweet tinge of it mixed with vodka evident as he laps into your mouth.

You suck on his bottom lip, gently letting your teeth graze along the skin until he hisses, licking his lips to ease the sting.

"We really should get back to the party," you say, unbuttoning your blouse as Soonyoung casts his hooded gaze downwards, where his hand still lingers on your thigh. "I don't want people getting the wrong idea."

"Oh, darling," Soonyoung's voice is low and sultry, his tongue thick in his mouth. "That ship has sailed a long time ago." He accentuates his words with another kiss. "I think people expect us to fuck at every party we go to by now."

"You're gross," you say, unable to bite back a smile. You allow your blouse to fall from your shoulders. "Now take off your shirt."

Soonyoung complies willingly, notably flinching when your cold palm comes up to rest against his chest. "You know I like it dirty, baby," he says in response to your first statement, and this time you laugh out loud. You swat at his chest, covering your mouth to hide your laughter as you dip your head back. There’s a goofy grin on his face as he watches you, your eyes squeezed shut and cheeks rising.

“We’re literally in a bathroom, please don’t talk about dirty right now,” you plead before he moves to grab your ass and lifts you to sit on the sink, pushing up your skirt with his thumbs.

“Still beats Mingyu’s bedroom closet,” he reminds you, hands roaming over your exposed skin as he re-attaches his lips to your throat. You move your hand to his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape. You hum at the memory, gently tugging at the locks to pull him away from you. “Yeah,” you muse, breath ghosting over Soonyoung’s lips as you move closer. “Why can’t everyone have a private beach house like Minghao?”

Your tongue flicks out to tease his upper lip, leaning back when he chases your mouth for more. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing in this throat, and his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs in frustration. His gaze finds yours, temporarily robbing you of your breath. He’s so beautiful, even without the visible flush now painting his cheeks, but in this state - eyes hooded and throat adorned with angry red marks - he looks to die for.

Soonyoung must’ve thought the same thing because he inhales sharply, as if he suddenly realises something. Brushing a lock of hair out of your face, he smirks. “Fuck, I wish you could see yourself right now. You’re so hot.” You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, something stirring in the pit of your stomach at his words. He brings you in for a kiss, deepening it with a determination that leaves your head spinning. With his hands on your ass, he pulls you against him, letting you feel how needy he is for you. “Do you-” he breathes between kisses, “do you want to watch?”

You still at the question, unsure of what he’s asking. “Hm?”

But Soonyoung is not looking at you, you realise. His eyes are trained on the mirror behind you, his fingers nimbly working to push your skirt up enough to get a full view of your ass in the reflection. Jeonghan’s bathroom isn’t necessarily big, but it’s big enough to have a double sink with a big mirror that’s lined with tiny light spots, perfect for putting on make-up or your daily skincare routine. You bite your lip, mulling over the implications of his question in your head. “You look so pretty when you cum,” Soonyoung continues, his tongue trailing over your exposed collarbones. “I want you to see how pretty you are when I fuck you.”

With a jerk of his hips, the last of your hesitation crumbles, and he almost misses the way you nod before letting yourself slip off the vanity top, pressing your bodies together impossibly close. Soonyoung winds his fingers in the strands of your hair, gently tugging at them as he breathes you in. At last, his hands fall to your hips, turning you around in one swift motion. The action causes you to topple forward, your hands seeking support on the cold marble top. For a second you pause, feeling Soonyoung’s cock brush against your ass from behind, his hands still firm on your hips as he waits for you to make the next move. You slowly raise your eyes, locking with his in the reflection and he smirks.

It’s exhilarating, the way Soonyoung never breaks eye contact—not when he moves to cup your breasts, playing with your hardening nipple as he sucks at the sweet spot behind your ear. Not when he finally pushes your skirt down and his jeans with it, a hand dipping into your panties to rub between your folds. Not when his fingers wrap around your throat, gently squeezing as he bucks into you, until you’re no longer able to indulge him; your eyes fluttering shut as you feel the muscles in your thighs tighten. A strangled moan forms in the back of his throat as you push your hips back to meet his and his knees almost buckle, making him collapse against your shoulder. The obnoxious sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with Soonyoung’s heavy breathing and the rapid succession of his name spilling from your lips, increasing in pitch as you get closer to release.

"You're so fucking hot," he breathes, voice ragged when he speaks. "And so wet." He tilts your chin up with two fingers, using the ones holding onto your hip to give it a little pinch. Your eyes widen at the sudden pain and Soonyoung smiles as he soothingly rubs the skin. "Do you see?"

Your eyes reconnect in the mirror, the look he's giving you shooting straight to your core. You tip your head forward to catch his fingers in your mouth, licking around the digits slowly. Soonyoung almost climaxes right there and then, but his pride doesn't allow him to cum until you do.

You're close, though and it only takes a few extra flicks to your clit for you to come undone. Your jaw slacks in a final, drawn-out moan as you throw your head back, your back bumping into Soonyoung’s sweaty chest. He follows soon after, placing idle open-mouthed kisses against your shoulder to muffle his own sounds.

A moment passes, Soonyoung’s arm wrapped around your torso to keep you steady, both of you catching your breath. He lets out an airy laugh, his eyes locking with yours again over your shoulder. You reciprocate the sentiment, a chuckle escaping you before you allow his fingers to guide your head sideways enough for Soonyoung to plant a kiss to your mouth. This one is softer, laced with content and satisfaction. You curse Soonyoung for being so damn intoxicating and you know, no matter how hard you try, this will happen again next time and again the next time over.

Maybe you’re okay with it, though. You watch him with curiosity as he gets dressed, smoothing out the crinkles in your own blouse in the process. Something stirs inside your chest when he leans over to peck you on the lips. The corner of his mouth quirks into a smile before pushing the bathroom door open, glancing at you over his shoulder. The previously muffled music washes over you in loud waves, and you allow Soonyoung to take your hand.

“Let’s see what stage of murderous your bestie has reached by now and if she needs any rescuing.”

You laugh at his comment, internally hoping you didn’t fuck up too much by leaving her to herself in a house full of people she hardly ever spoke to. The thought gets put on hold as you’re met with the sight of her pressed against Joshua—the Joshua Hong, who she’s been crushing on for months in secret—his hand in her hair and lips locked. You hear Mingyu and Seungcheol hooting loudly, but she seems unbothered by the ruckus they’re causing.

Soonyoung pushes through the crowd, grabbing a red cup with a mysterious content from the table as he passes his friends. He bumps into Joshua’s shoulder with a smug grin. “Do you guys ever breathe?” he yells over the music.

Joshua visibly tenses, your best friend pulling away from him with a look he can’t quite read. Her fist raises threateningly in his direction, and Joshua laughs heartily before stopping her.

“Soonyoung,” he says, patiently but a tone to his voice that implies he’s not joking around. “I’ll give you a headstart if you start running now.”

#kwon soonyoung #caratwritersclub #svtwritersnet #hoshi #soonyoung smut #soonyoung scenario #soonyoung fanfiction #soonyoung drabble #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung imagines #hoshi smut #hoshi imagine #hoshi drabble #hoshi scenario #hoshi x reader #seventeen #seventeen soonyoung #seventeen hoshi

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vegetacide · 3 years

Text

TaG: Bloodlines (Part 6)

Veg • notables: Little something for Fluffember .. works for several prompts... Brothers, warmth and together...

Any errors in this are strictly my own

Ty to @gumnut-logic and @scribbles97 for the brainstorming help and the encouragement.

Previous: Part 1 | Part 2 Bit 1 & Bit 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Rating and General warning: Mature content head. If you are not a fan of medical issues of a female nature in relation to pregnancy please proceed with caution.

Characters: Virgil, Kayo, (V/K) Scott, Alan, John, Gordon and Grandma.

Location: TaG-verse AU | Tracy Island

E N J O Y

8-8-8

Part 6 - Keluarga

The flight home was thankfully an uneventful affair.

Kayo had fallen asleep almost as soon as the jet’s door had been closed and Virgil had been by her side holding her hand the whole way back to their island.

When the island finally came into sight there was a collective sigh of relief. The stress of everything having sucked the energy right out of all of them and home meant safety, comfort and more importantly; sleep.

Tucking Kayo safely back into their marital bed saw Virgil relaxing for the first time since… well since he’d woken up that morning..God, had it only been twelve hours ago? It felt like a lifetime and the exhaustion weighed on him furiously.

Not that he would be able to get much sleep tonight.

Leaning over his sleeping wife, he adjusted the sheets and brushed her forehead with a kiss. She stirred slightly and turned into him, always one to seek his heat even on a tropical island and her eyes blinked open myopically.

“Shhh, it’s okay. We’re home. Go back to sleep.”

Kayo snuggled further under the covers and quiet ‘Love you’ drifted his way as he emptied his pockets of his ID, wallet and personal communication.

A light knock on their door, had him turning and he toed off his boots to muffle his movements before he traversed the short distance. Opening it he was only mildly surprised to find his brothers on the other side.. All of them.

Holding up a finger he glanced back into the room to make sure everything was in order and that Kayo would have everything she needed. Not that it looked like she would be rising anytime soon. The whole affair of the day had done her in.

Truthfully, he was happy she was finally getting some rest even if it was ordered and dismantling Shadow had been in his back pocket as a way to convenience her.

Surprisingly though after going through all the details with his family when they were discharged, Kayo looked like she wasn’t in the mood for any more lecturing so the Shadow card hadn’t needed to be played.

She’d barely moved since they’d left the hospital except when he’d move her. He’d woken her up long enough to pour a drink of electrolytes down her throat and a protein bar into her belly and she’d been out again barely after swallowing the lot.

An uncomfortable trip to the bathroom later which his Grandmother had seen to though he had been hovering just outside the door in case he was needed. A change of clothes and into bed she went. Out like a light again before her head even hit the pillow.

He was done in himself but his brain was running in circles which didn’t look like it would be giving up anything time soon. So the company just outside the door was a welcome distraction.

Satisfied that his wife would be alright. He set his comms to alert him if she woke up and carefully crept out the door.

“Hey Virg,” Alan whispered, stepping up to his brother and giving him a hug. “How’s Kay? She gonna be alright?”

Virgil hugged his brother back, taking the opportunity to ruffle his hair while he was at it.

Alan grumbled at the action and wiggled away. Smoothing his hair back into place as soon as he was free and Virgil couldn’t help the smile that upturned his lips at the disgruntled look his littlest brother shot him.

“Hey Space Case. She’s sleeping but Doc said she’ll be alright. She just needs to get some rest.”

“Looks like you could use some yourself.” Gordon observed and moved in for a hug as well.

“Thanks, Squid. Glad you noticed.”

“Well someone has to keep you honest and Kayo..” His eyes did a sweep of him from head to toe. “Well, she’s blinded by all that muscle."

The swat Virgil sent the aquanau's way as easily dodged as he danced out of reach.

Laughing as he used Alan as a human shield who protested loudly at being manhandled, he tossed out “All that bulk is slowing you down, you should lay off the protein shakes.”

Virgil just rolled his eyes. Trust Gordon to do whatever he could to lighten the mood with whatever tomfoolery he had at his disposal.

It was at that point that he noticed John standing in the back of the crowd of brotherly forms. “John, when did you get here?’

John just shrugged, “Not long ago. I came as soon as I could but that storm system off the coast made taking the elevator down impossible.

“It’s good to see ya in the flesh.” Virgil smiled, stepping forward enveloping the communications expert in a hug. John’s hugs were rare but the returned squeeze was given freely, a testament to the support system his brothers were offering.

“You too, brother mine.”

Scott stepped up next, though he’d been at the hospital with the couple. “Anything you need, let us know.” He offered and the round of hugging continued.

“I know and I appreciate it.”

He could always count on his family when the chips were down, there was no doubt about that.

Scott released him, one hand giving his shoulder a squeeze and tipped his head towards the door at Virgil’s back. “Doc’s made arrangements to come out in a couple weeks' time. Just had the call come through with the details. Shouldn’t be a problem getting him out here for it. Between us and Aunt Val we have plenty of pilots who can give him a lift.”

“Great, I’m sure Kay will be thrilled.” The hand on his shoulder squeezed again and Scott gave him a knowing look.

“She’s a fighter. Hates being benched just as badly if not more so than we do.”

“That’s what I’m worried about..”

“Meh don’t worry about it. With the Great Doctor Sally Tracy with her sights set on her, Kayo doesn’t stand a chance.” Gordon piped up. “Trust me on that one. She’ll be lucky if she can manage to wiggle a toe without Grandma noticing.”

“Well she had to be super vigilant with you, Gordo. We still have no clue how you managed to change the electronic audio to Spanish from the couch.”

Gordon stood up taller, primped in all his mastery of everything prankster. “Trade secret. If I tell you, I would have to kill you.”

This time there was no dodging the swats directed at his head from three older siblings though Alan yet again shrieked in protest as he was tossed about like a sac of meat.

Sally was a practical woman with simple tastes and simple pleasures. A night of bridge with the girls at the local social club, bocce ball every other Tuesday with fellow medical alumni and curling once a month with her bereavement group who had become like an extended family to her after her husband had passed.

Simple things, never extravagant.

She grew up with the mentality that to get what you wanted took hard work and determination. Blood, sweat and tears was her motto through her years of medical training and her intern placement in one of the busiest hospitals in the U.S.

She’d worked hard to get where she was today despite the trials and tribulations of being widowed, dealing with her own grief and that of her son’s and taking charge of his young brood while he wallowed in his pain.

She didn’t fault Jeff for his actions, she understood them intimately. She’d lost herself in taking care of the boys to help keep the pain at bay. Oftentimes pushing them just as hard as she did herself. In the end though despite the odds, she thought everything had turned out all right.

Was the road easy? No. Far from it. Was there things she wished she had handled differently? Of course. Her son disappearing into a bottle of despair being one of them. But the boys had been raised well by their dear mother even if only for a short time.

The eldest who remembered her memory took that care, love and devotion their mother had been known for and poured it into the younger two. Doing everything within the power of their shattered world to keep the family in one cohesive piece even when their father was absent both mentally and physically.

They’d survived and come out the other end stronger than anything she could have imagined and she wasn’t afraid to admit it and how proud she was of every single one of them.

And true form when one of the brothers stumbled the other four were right there to steady him and get him back on his feet. Providing whatever support that was needed in their own individual ways.

When others would bolt, her boys rallied. Diving in head first to shore up whoever was in need. It’s what made them great at what they did. That core strength of love and support radiated out of everything they touched and because of that they’d helped more than she could count.

Here she was, coming to check on her adoptive granddaughter and her loving boys where right were she expecting them to be. Standing as a unit outside Virgil’s door. Surrounding him and holding him up with hugs, pats on the back and caring words.

She stopped and kept back a few paces, letting them have their moment and watching all the love. They deserved this moment cause they were few and so far in between.

Rescuing the world didn’t leave much time for brotherly interaction and these precious moments needed to be cherished.

Leaning against the wall, she allowed a soft smile to grace her lips. Something in her movement must have alerted her boys though because no sooner had she settled than one by one they turned her way. Not surprised in the least to find her there.

She looked at them, taking in the details of the men they had grown into and she locked the details away for safekeeping.

Scott with the little licks of grey at his temple a sign of the stress the last years had put on them all but his eyes sporting the beginnings of laugh lines.

Virgil, his quiet nature and artist spirit. Steadfast even with his wife just feet away resting with their babe growing in her belly. As worried as he was for he felt things more deeply than all of them he put on a brave face. Not wanting youngest brothers to see him waver even though she knew he was.

His eyes spoke volumes. She could see the exhaustion and fear in them but even so he graced her with a small smile in return.;

John, her star baby. When had he come down? Shocked, she frowned slightly as she took in his uniform. He’d need to wear that for a while until he acclimated to Earth’s gravity again.. A downside to living in the stars so far away. How he managed the isolations, she had no idea. He’d grown up in a house so full of life until there hadn’t been but he’d silently held on. Striving to be the best at what he did.

Next was the vivacious Gordon. Beams of sunshine in his hair and mischief in his eyes. He’s seen and done a lot in his short life. Days so dark with despair as his broken body healed. She’s spent many an hour sitting with him in the VA hospital watching and keeping him company as his body painfully knit itself back together again after every surgery but for all of it. He never complained with the exception of food. Just grinned and bared it though she could see the cracks. He'd come through it all, scarred and sporting a motley collection of surgical steel plates and bolts and kept on smiling.

And lastly her baby boy, Alan. Her rocket man. He’d missed so much in life. A normal childhood, school, friends and typical boyhood misadventures. First date, prom, graduation but he’d still done the family proud and held his head up high. He flew the stars and was living a dream most kids his age could only dream about. A tender age but the top of his field and he got to fly a rocket ship. What kid wouldn’t love that?

Her boys. No, her men. Through diversity and trauma they all stood tall and together.

Pushing away from the wall she went to them and was lost in a sea of hugs.

8-8-8

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfict #fanfiction #fanfic #TaG Bloodlines #vegetacide #flufflember #Virgil Tracy #kayo kyrano #virgil/kayo #Virgil X Kayo #Scott Tracy #Alan Tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #Grandma Tracy

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tarithenurse · 4 years

Text

Stolen - 10

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: Angst. Feels. Plot. Regerts. Fluffy inclinations. Mentions of torture. References to past MCU events. A/N: *radiates love to everyone* *begins singing Tina Turner’s “You’re simply the best”* Ask or reblog if you want a tag.

10. Leave a Scar

… Reader …

Two days later and you’re still praying that Loki has no idea what you’ve heard even if the chances seem remote. He’s grown quiet. Brooding. Most of the time he’s off somewhere without you but when he returns he finds a secluded corner and a carafe of wine to wash down his gloominess with.

He’s plotting how to kill me. It makes sense – haven’t you done what he wanted you to? The talk about keeping you safe must have been nothing but a ruse to eventually break your spirit completely before delivering the final blow. On the other hand, it seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to if he was just going to waste the effort by being emo. Plotting to kill someone else? Now, that would make sense considering his track record.

On and on your thoughts run in circles and not even the beautiful view from the balcony can provide enough of a distraction today.

“Tell me, mortal.” His voice startles you, coming from right behind you. “What’s plaguing your mind, hmm?”

There’s nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from those piercing, green eyes boring into the back of your skull. Pulling at the sleeves of the purple dress (kindly lend to you by the Älfir), you consider how to out-lie a liar.

“What...what is going to happen now?” you manage to ask, forcing your voice past a lump in your throat.

The sigh that fans your shoulder is chilling. “It seems I have to change my plans.”

Unsure of anything, this isn’t what you had expected. Turning towards him, the somberness clings to his face and cuts his already sharp features from ice. Only now do you realize that there had been a spring in his step and a softness to his gaze a short week ago but since then something has extinguished the light.

Your hand twitches as you restrain yourself from reaching out to stroke his cheek. “What’s happened?” Did he see that?

If he did, nothing in his demeanour divulges anything as Loki steps as close as he can without the mossy greens of his clothing brushing against purple. A thousand worlds could come and go that second and you would never have noticed because the Asgardian’s presence is all-encompassing, sucking you into his personal vortex of pride and pain, stubbornness and deference.

“Why would you care what has happened?” His words are cold like blades of ice, but this time you see through it and wait him out. He resigns. “The Älfir’s magic is not strong enough. They cannot restore Jotunheim.” Deflated.

“If they could’ve then they would’ve healed the Priestess too.” Biting your tongue off suddenly feels like a really good idea.

The silence is oppressing, drawing out the seconds as the man looks you over as if you just dropped from the moon. Like he’s seeing me for the first time. The sensation is far from comforting, something that’s enhanced as the thin lips begin to curve into a crooked smile revealing white teeth.

“You did that.” Man, you hate the way he practically purrs.

“Barely.” You step backwards, bumping into a pillar.

Even now, you can’t help but notice how smoothly he moves as he follows in your footsteps. “But you did.”

Somehow managing to sidestep the god, you make it two steps into the shade of the room before his hands have gotten hold and you’re twirled, forced against the cold wall.

“Don’t -”

“Shush.” He places a cold finger on your lips, making you comply automatically. “We all have sacrifices to make.”

A smidgen of logic in the back of your skull is screaming at you to shut up, to let him have this victory while you figure out a way to get out of the situation. Of course you don’t listen to it, deciding instead to pull yourself up to your full height (as unimpressive as it may be compared to Loki) and glare at him. There’s even a moment there where you impress yourself by how calm your voice is when you answer.

“No. I won’t be your puppet anymore.” Black eyebrows shoot upwards at your words. “And if you kill me, at least I know you’ll still be crying every night.”

That’s the instant the sense of heroic pride dies.

The emerald eyes you secretly admire change into a sea of blood while a flood of blue, broken by ridges and lines cover what skin you can see and causes you to gasp, drawing in air so cold you can feel the lungs crackle in complaint. If at least Loki would snarl or growl, then it would somehow make sense, but he just smiles, the white teeth suddenly similar to the fangs of a predator. A wolf...and I’m the lamb.

“Mortal. Pet.” A claw traces along your cheekbone before scraping down your throat. “I thought we were coming to an understanding? You would obey my every wish in return for the life of those you love?” Nodding is the only option. “Tsk tsk. Perhaps I have underestimated you, wench, thinking you had a soul, a heart. Hoping you would recognize real evil when held up against the light of truth.”

Well...I’m already doomed. “You told a story -!”

“A story?!” This time he does snarl. “I’ll show you story!”

The cold of his hands burn the skin on your forehead, wrist, and palm as he slams your hand against his brow and mirrors the movement.

... Loki ...

The first glimpses are simple until the events fully unfold. Falling – he will hate the sensation forever. Falling through nothingness for half an eternity until he lands more dead than alive...except this time he’s watching it from the outside. We’re watching it. Though the Jotun can’t see it, he knows that [Y/N] is there with him, a spectator without the option to look away when the actor is found and brought to the Titan.

What were months or maybe years at the mercy of Thanos and his Children flash by in a few minutes, perhaps. Torture, mind games, hatred twisted and turned until it points back to the outcast prince and penetrates his soul, leaving it to fester before he finally succumbs to the touch of a sceptre. From there the events unfold in a blur only occasionally brought into focus when a part of the fallen god tries to rebel against the shackles.

It’s only when the Loki they watch is lying at the feet of the Avengers that clarity is fully restored, though one kind of shackles is replaced by another. Then: a speck of blue grants an opportunity impossible to dismiss.

A vision. A memory. A nightmare.

Loki’s hands fall to his sides. It’s over. The wall in the Älfir temple looks less real than what [Y/N] and the Jotun have just witnessed, but the wide eyes staring up at him brings reality back like a kick in the balls. She knows. Everyone knows when they witness the recollections of someone else – no amount of so called rational thinking can convince them they have hallucinated because they feel it as if they lived it themselves.

“[Y/N]...”

Tears are welling in her eyes, lips quivering as she tries to root herself in the present. “He...y-you...” What I wouldn’t do to take away your pain. “That was -” A sniffle interrupts her.

He hates it. Hates the despair she’s drowning in at his hands. Truly, he has proven to be the monster he claimed not to be. Losing control and forcing [Y/N] through this nightmare serves no purpose at all.

“I will...I will ensure your safety and then you will never hear from me again,” he promises shamefully, “now...get some rest.”

...

Flat on his back and with the hands behind his head, Loki’s gaze is fixed on a point far beyond the ceiling above. Dawn is nearing yet sleep has evaded him, chased away by memories and guilt. It served no purpose. Priding himself of his logic, the turmoil raging inside his heart is has pushed the Jotun to act rashly and he hates it because he wishes to be more than a beast that simply lashes out when cornered. He doesn’t want to be the monster he behaved like. No, the man in him has to find a way to -

“Loki?” The whisper is hesitant, almost too quiet to hear. “Are you...are you awake?”

He sits up, bare feet on the stone floor as if to ground himself. The covers slides from his chest, revealing the pale skin in the darkness but [Y/N] probably can’t see it with her human eyes as she stands in the doorway.

Draped in the soft-flowing silk from a borrowed shift, she could almost pass for one of the ghosts from the fanciful tales children enjoy to fear. Loki can see her better than that. He can see her face straining as she tries to find him in the dark, and her arms wrapped tightly around the ribs below her bosom perhaps to find some comfort.

“Yeah...I’m awake,” the god rasps softly in return. Is that regret or relief in your sigh?

Sitting there, waiting for the unknown, a tension begins to permeate the air and send tendrils to every nerve ending of Loki’s body. A coil tightens in his chest and it becomes nearly unbearable when [Y/N] tentatively walks towards him, her feet careful as they seek out the right path. A few steps before the goal, her hands reach out to locate the Jotun and he has taken them before thinking to stop himself.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, the mortal braves the silence. “This doesn’t mean we’re okay, but...I believe you now.”

“[Y/N] -”

“Shut up.” He does. “I’m trying to say that...that I get it a-and I trust you.”

Loki has no answer. Gaping slightly at her, he tries to come to terms with the woman’s foolishness. Once or twice a sentence nearly forms in his mind only to dissolve before it can be uttered and the task increases in difficulty as she shyly shifts her weight from one leg to the other, toes intertwining as best they can while she bites her lip.

He obviously startles her as he stands. Yet you don’t run, my dear? A shiver rolls through her the moment he embraces the lithe form.

“Oh! Oh, we’re...hugging? Okay, we can hug,” she babbles, unknowingly making the god smile into her hair.

It’s impossible to say how long they stand like this or when [Y/N]’s warm fingertips start a slow dance across his naked back. Then again, time hardly matters as the Jotun pulls back enough to study her face, smelling her hectic breath that fans against his skin.

“Thank you,” he says, but means I think I love you, “you should rest.”

Her hands retreat, and right away Loki misses the scalding touch and the heat of her body as she navigates the darkness to find her own bed.

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argylemnwrites · 4 years

Text

Wants and Needs

Character: Drake Walker

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (The Royal Romance Books 1 and 2, various points)

Word Count: ~3100

Rating: R (language, sensual content)

Summary: Drake’s wanted her a lot of different ways.

Author’s Note: Kicking it old school for Day 21 of the Choices February Challenge (Desire) with a return to slow burn, pining Drake from the early TRR books. All of it’s under the cut because this earns its rating from the start.

He wanted to fuck her. And that was a huge fucking problem.

She was absolutely Liam’s favorite out of all the women that were there for him. It was so fucking obvious. This wasn’t going to be like Leo’s social season where there were women the prince clearly wasn’t interested in and who were fair game to approach, try and strike up some sort of connection. Not only was Liam absolutely going to give every woman here an opportunity to get to know him, but it was clear that at the end, the one woman Drake would actually be interested in hooking up with was going to be Liam’s pick. She’d charmed Liam from the first moment, and he was completely drawn to her since that night in New York.

The issue was that Drake had somehow been drawn into her charms too, and he couldn’t quite get her out of his head. It’s not that he even really liked her when it came down to it, so he didn’t quite get it. She was good looking, but so were plenty of the other women at court. They weren’t stuck in his head like she was though, with her mouth that always seemed to quirk into a wry little smile, her playful, teasing eyes, her insanely dark, thick hair. The hair he kept picturing his hands sinking into with her kneeling in front of him, those eyes staring up at him as she took him in her mouth. Those eyes fluttering shut, that mouth falling open, that hair fanned out on a pillow, as he drove into her. Countless fantasies that were an absolute pipe dream.

She was going to haunt him. He just knew it. She was trouble. She’d dressed up like a devil at the Masquerade Ball, for fuck’s sake. If that wasn’t a sign from the universe to stay the fuck away, he didn��t know what was. But instead of listening to every bit of common sense that told him to stop obsessing, all he could picture was how she’d looked in that dress. The way it clung to every curve and the lacy cutouts that gave him glimpses of the skin underneath.

You don’t wear a dress like that if you aren’t fucking confident. Just another trait that sucked him in. But she was also intense as all get out, even though she put on this air of carefree playfulness. You could just tell that there was this fierceness to her. You didn’t go toe to toe with Olivia Nevrakis if you were some delicate little flower, after all. The way she’d just forced her way into Liam’s private tent at the Derby today just confirmed that she was tough, ready to fight for what she wanted. And that kind of intensity was hot.

But that intensity wasn’t directed at him. She was here for Liam. He’d watched her flirt with him. He’d seen them sneaking off at the Masquerade Ball. She was interested in his best friend, and his best friend was interested in her. There was no part for him to play here at all, other than keeping an eye out for her at Liam’s request. So he needed to get her out of his mind, his dreams, his fantasies. He needed to work through this insane attraction.

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Not only did he want to fuck her, but now he wanted to spend time with her. God, he was such a mess. But not only was she sexy and fierce and damn hot, but she was also funny and witty. And kind. And easy to talk to. Fuck, he liked being around her. He liked it way too much.

No sooner had he vowed to create some distance between him and her so he could get her out of his goddamn mind, then he’d found himself getting roped into some inane cronut run with her and Maxwell and Liam and Hana, one of the other suitors. And he’d enjoyed himself. Enjoyed her company.

To be fair, he’d kind of known she was funny before that mini adventure. She’d always been ready with a sarcastic comeback for whatever he’d thrown at her. Matched him shot for shot without getting offended or upset. Hell, her quip about getting thrown in princess jail nearly made him laugh out loud. But watching her outside the confines of the palace or official royal events was refreshing. He finally felt like he was getting a sense of who Riley Liu really was. And she was someone he wanted to get to know better.

He knew some things about her already. She was competitive, she’d made that much clear during their impromptu ski race. She was silly, joking with Maxwell constantly. She was energetic and just a little wild, often jumping into things seemingly on a whim, going as far as to fake a medical crisis to snag a bowl of soup. She was a chameleon of sorts, managing to blend in better than he would have thought possible. Better than he’d told her was possible. Hell, she was obviously a great problem solver, too. How she’d manage to pull off a decent Cordonian waltz in less than 24 hours he wasn’t sure, but it was impressive as fuck.

And then there was the way she’d unleashed her fury on Olivia when she was being an utter bitch to him about Savannah. Followed him out to make sure he was okay. Shared her craftily obtained soup with him and Hana. Not seemed to care at all that she’d been relegated to the outcast’s table. It was her own unique brand of kindness, one that seemed to have no regard for being polite or proper. Hell, she’d already bluntly called him out on shit more times than he could count. It just never felt mean-spirited. She just called things like she saw them and did what she thought was right. It was damn refreshing. He didn’t quite know what to make of her.

No, he had to stop thinking of her like this. She’d be just like the others in the end. Even if he liked spending time with her now, this place changed people. What had he been thinking, inviting her to the wine cellar? She wasn’t going to come, and even if she did, it was a bad idea. He needed her to ignore him, like everyone else always did. It was the only way this didn’t end in disaster. He just couldn’t bring himself to want her to blow him off. Damn, he was so screwed either way.

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So, he still wanted to have sex with her, but now he was sort of friends with her, too. How had he let this happen? This was a terrible situation. He knew how this story ended. The smart move would be to step back. Create some actual fucking distance here so he didn’t get gutted in the end.

But he wasn’t smart, apparently, because he kept finding it impossible to say no to her. Hell, he was finding it hard to say no to Maxwell because it was like saying no to her by proxy. It was a nightmare. He needed to shake her from his mind. It’s how he found himself helping at the Regatta, admiring the way her ass looked in those shorts as she actually pitched in, bustling around the ship. It’s how he found himself hanging out with her on the beach, trying to keep his hands from lingering when she asked him to help her get her back with sunscreen, trying to not react when her hands trailed across him to do the same. It’s how he found himself out on the dance floor at some stupid themed bar instead of drinking whiskey in the privacy of his room for his birthday. It was all because of her.

She was just being nice. She was a decent person, and she was being nice to him because he was Liam’s best friend. He repeated the mantra over and over again, trying to get his stubborn mind to give up on her. But she just had him wrapped around her little finger without even fucking trying. God, he was so fucking dumb. A couple months of telling himself he needed to put some distance between himself and this woman, and all he’d manage to do was find more and more ways to spend time with her. And now it was to the point where they were friends, or at least friendly. He’d already let this go too far. He needed to put an end to this as soon as fucking possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He knew it was selfish, but he wanted to know he wasn’t alone in this. He couldn’t be the only one with feelings here, right?

She obviously preferred Liam to him, but that didn’t mean she felt nothing for him. It just felt like there had to be something there. The way she would seek him out, chat with him, listen to him, sip whiskey with him, laugh with him. And sometimes when he caught her eye, the way she was looking at him… well, he finally felt like he was seen.

This was more than just some dumb crush or attraction. He felt so connected to her sometimes, it was almost unnerving. He felt like he was reaching his breaking point here. To feel so much, but to not be able to tell anyone or say or do anything about it was just the worst.

He knew he shouldn’t bring it up with her at all, but particularly not tonight. Not when she’d already had to deal with Tariq. His own lame emotional needs shouldn’t be another thing to be thrown at her at her at this point. But something about the way she’d insisted on checking on him, in spite of it all, it just crumbled the last of his resistance towards her. He just had to ask. He just had to know.

Because he didn’t know how he could feel so much, so many things he’d been fighting, if there wasn’t something on her end, too. And maybe knowing he wasn’t alone in this whole mess would make him feel a little less crazy. Losing your mind over your best friend’s woman was not as bad if she was doing the same, right?

Hell, who was he kidding? Whether or not she felt any sliver of anything beyond friendship and maybe pity for him, it didn’t fucking matter. No matter what she said, the end result wasn’t going to change. Their fate was set already. But even though Drake knew that was the case, he still felt like he needed to ask her. He just wasn’t sure what answer he wanted from her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If he thought he wanted her before, that was nothing, nothing compared to how he felt when their lips met. This was more than he ever could have hoped for, but somehow was nowhere near enough. His hands were everywhere he could reach. She was clutching him so tightly it was almost painful. Things were so desperate, so wild.

Their clothing was the only thing between them and bad decisions and regret. Or at least even worse decisions than the ones they were making right now as their tongues slid past each other. It would be the easiest thing in the world to drop his jeans to the ground, tug her clothes aside, and give in to what he’d wanted for so long now. What apparently she wanted too. He’d have her up against the wall in five seconds, crying out, clawing at his back.

But as good as that would feel in the moment, it wasn’t right. She was here for Liam. He’d be proposing very soon. And if Drake let this go any further, not only would he be the world’s shittiest friend, but he’s pretty sure it would be even harder to let go of his feelings for her.

He wasn’t going to be able to fuck her and walk away. There was no getting her out of his system. If he gave in now, he would only tumble deeper under her spell. And that was something he needed to prevent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He just wanted to see her again, but without that look of shock and violation and pain etched across her face. Without her being dragged away from everyone and everything, being treated like scum of the earth for something that wasn’t her fault.

He’d been selfish with her. He knew he didn’t deserve anything from her, no matter how much he wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to be with her, to love her. She deserved Liam and the kingdom that came with him. And he swore if by some miracle, by the grace of any of the deities that he didn’t believe in, she came back into his life, he’d make her life better. He’d be whatever she needed him to be. Friend. Advocate. Sounding board. A friendly ear when she needed to vent. He’d be there.

It had been too much to want her for himself, he saw that now. But if he could help her, make her feel better in any way, shape, or form… well, that would be a worthwhile course for him. He just wanted to do his part to bring any happiness he could to her life.

He’d wanted to follow her, to be there for her, to let her know that she wasn’t alone. Liam was right, though. He needed to keep some space to keep her safe in light of everything that had been thrown at her. He just wished there was a way to be there for her, as a friend. It didn’t feel right, letting her face this shitstorm on her own, but he couldn’t figure out another way. He’d just need to make it up to her if he was ever so lucky as to see her face again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wanted to take her away from it all, from this world of lies and deception and shitty assholes. He wanted to take her where it would just be him and her and no other distractions. No bitchy blondes who threw things in her face with sadistic glee. No Beaumont brothers who either knocked up sisters or hid sisters in foreign cities.

She claimed she wanted the same things, but she never made any move to actually leave it all behind. It was probably one of those things that sounded good in theory to her, but that you’d never actually do because you knew deep down it was a big mistake. She could still wind up with Liam and become queen, after all. It wasn’t an option at the moment, but she probably was hoping for that in the future.

He wanted to believe her fully when she talked about their future, but he knew if he took things further with her now, she’d regret it later. Her isolation, her pain, the mud that had been slung at her hung over her head, so Drake knew he couldn’t take that next step with her, to sleep with her, while everything was still so up in the air. Sure, it would make both of them feel great in the moment, but it would lead to so much pain going forward. A temporary reprieve with long-term consequences for both of them and their relationships with Liam.

He didn’t want her to feel rejected. He wanted her to know he wanted every part of her with every part of himself. Mind. Body. Soul. Spirit. But he needed to draw a line in the sand. They couldn’t take this all the way and walk away unscathed. So he needed to keep his mind clear, even as she stripped down to her underwear and leaned over the pool table, testing every damn fiber of his resolve. If they were going to do this, he needed to wait until it could be real.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She wanted him. Not Liam. Not anyone else. She chose him, and a couple days later, he could still barely wrap his head around it.

He didn’t fully know how to process this information. He’d never been in this position before. But he knew he had to do this right. He couldn’t screw this up. Not with her. Not when she was everything.

He was scared. Scared of not being enough. Of not living up to her expectations. Of coming on too strong or not showing that he loved her enough. There were so many ways this could all go wrong, and he already felt like he’d stretched his luck to the max by having her want him in the first place.

But as she gently brushed her hand against his and gave him a warm smile, her dark eyes clear and bright, he knew he owed her facing this overwhelming wave of emotions. Because if she wanted to take a chance on him, well then it was time for him to embrace this next step with her.

As they wandered out of the ballroom, drinks in hand, vaguely meandering towards her bedroom, he felt a strange blend of calm and anxious simultaneously. The desire was there for both of them, that much was clear. And after waiting so long, after wanting her for so long, Drake wanted to make sure she understood how much this meant to him. How much she meant to him. He also wanted it to be good for her, for the whole thing to be worth the wait. He wanted her calling out his name over and over, toppling over that edge again and again. So yeah, there were some nerves in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t some casual hookup. But at the same time, he could see how long they’d both been inching towards this. In a strange way, it felt inevitable, even though he never dreamed it was a possibility.

This was right. This felt real and sturdy and purposeful. It couldn’t have happened earlier, and neither of them wanted to wait any longer. They needed to have this moment tonight. There was no other time that felt so perfect and right. Things had changed between them, but that was what they’d been heading to for a long time at this point. And while there was no going back once they closed her bedroom door and lost themselves in each other, that was kind of the point. They both wanted to take this chance.

Permatag: @kimmiedoo5 @speedyoperarascalparty @mfackenthal @lilyofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @jamesashtonisbae

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie @octobereighth

Drake x MC only: @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley--walker @notoriouscs @butindeed @addictedtodrakefanfic

Event: @choicesfebruarychallenge

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr #the royal romance #choicesfebruarychallenge #trr fanfic #choices fanfiction #choices trr #choices #playchoices #choices stories you play #30 diamonds #n*fw

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youngerdaniel · 4 years

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Youngo’s 2019 at the Movies (with Baby Yoda)

IT’S THAT TIME AGAIN, FOLKS...

Wherein this blog crawls out of the woodwork with fresh aspirations for a more consistent content strategy in the year to come. Like a Baby Yoda emerging from his floating iron egg to great the sun. So let’s dust off some cobwebs and talk about the great movies that came out in 2019.

BRIEF UPDATES FROM THE WAFFLER This year marked a turning point. No, not that fucking decade that everybody’s making a big deal about. Not even that I hit 30 but thankfully have most of my (still not totally gray) hair... Nope, I went into business for myself. I leapt off the stable lily pad of 9-5 etc. and went freelance! Life’s been full of stories since then -- both the kind I write, and the kind I get to look under the hood on. I’m happy to report I’ve written more than ever before... Just not blogs, and mostly stuff I’m not at liberty to discuss.

*Clears throat. Pulls up the collar on his trench coat.* And I may have had more hair turn gray. Turns out, running your own ship is quite a bit of work, especially when you’re teaching yourself how the hell you do it. Nevertheless, I loved the shit out of every minute of it, and I still use phrases like nevertheless. It could easily be a blog (or several) for a different time, but the short and easy explanation of the absence is I was busy, it was fun, get over it.

Besides, we don’t actually care about whatever lame excuse I have for why I haven’t been posting. We’re here because it’s 2020 and time for a listicle, dammit! This one is neither definitive nor ranked. But dang if 2019′s fodder didn’t come sauntering into theaters like the big chuckling cherub of Christmas Present, with a cornucopia of awesomeness.

THINGS I LOVED, IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:

UNDER THE SILVER LAKE David Robert Mitchell’s neo noir takes a fittingly existential approach to detective fiction. An enigmatic case, hidden clues and coded pop culture, Andrew Garfield’s charmingly hapless sleuth... There’s a lot to love in this weird soup of a movie. At times nightmarish, often trippy, and an excellent performance from a parrot. Late night fodder.

CLIMAX Gaspar Noe does not make sane movies. With Climax, there’s a hypnotic quality that sucks you in and drags you along on its nightmarish journey as a group of dancers drink from a punchbowl laced with drugs. The result is absolute bedlam, and everything from the lighting to the camerawork pulls its weight to put you into the action. This is the kind of thing you watch and marvel that, “Wow, they went there.” to varying degrees of satisfaction. Like a freight train barreling toward the side of a mountain, it’s hard to look away even though you know you probably should.

JOJO RABBIT And then there’s a different kind of madness. The movie that billed itself as “The movie that shouldn’t work.” Jojo Rabbit is so full of heart. This is Taika Waititi in full force, and hilarity meets real pathos. Love is better than Nazis. It’s a simple message, and I think it doesn’t need to be much more. The relevance of such a narrative in our time is pretty disappointing, but the truth seems to be that we need ones like this to come along and remind the collective. The mashup of humor with genuine drama is balanced in a way that will feel familiar to fans of THE HUNT FOR THE WILDERPEOPLE or BOY. The performances are superb, and it’s a beautiful looking film. If you missed it last year, start the new one off right and amend this problem.

US The thing I dug the most about US was how unique it felt. Original premises in horror are on the rise, and there’s no denying the man leading the wave is Jordan Peele. The social commentary elements of this followup to GET OUT play with a little more subtlety, and in some ways it almost felt like a stronger move... But I refuse to compare the two of them. US stands out in its own right, and carries some of the most memorable performances of the year. A twisting narrative that crackles with tension, and a concept that haunts the imagination. What if your every action had an equal an opposite effect on a mirrored version of yourself? A study on the impact of the class system, and a nightmarish what-if to explain the real life series of underground tunnels that span the United States. Also, that costume design! That Alexa gag! The way this one opens up at the midpoint was such a delight in the theater. I’d apologize for spoilers, but let’s be real... You’ve seen this movie.

AD ASTRA Best summed up as “Daddy Issues in Space,” AD ASTRA feels like the kind of sci-fi mysteries that were made in the late 70s and 80s. A spellbinding journey to the far edges of the galaxy to save the world, and maybe prove that aliens exist. Oh, and to stop your possibly insane father from destroying the human race on the way. Brad Pitt is on fire, and everything about this potent emotional journey remains focused on his character’s dilemma of deciding whether or not his father was a good man, what it means to him and his own isolated existence, and whether he can overcome that shit and live a life instead of taking risks. From its opening scene to its closing one, this one blends gripping life-or-death set-pieces exploring the dangers of space travel and the cyclical nature of humanity’s progress with small moments. The journey, the heart-wrenching climax, and the harrowing trip home is well worth the rental fee. Check it out.

THE GIRL ON THE THIRD FLOOR

Some horror movies exist to make you think, some exist to cover their protagonists in black goo, subject them to grueling physical and psychological lament, and chuck ‘em through a woodchipper for good measure. The Girl on the Third Floor takes your average premise of “Stubborn and troubled guy picks a fixer-upper house to flip, only to discover horrors beyond his imagining” and leans hard into the gross-outs and festering boils of body horror. Reminiscent of Evil Dead, Amityville, and Dead Alive, there’s so much insanity to love, and the movie makes some big turns -- some surprising, some daring, some a little out there. It is by no means perfect, but it’s got a charm about its rough edges. You will never look at a marble the same way again.

I LOST MY BODY

I know. “A life-affirming work” left me a little skeptical too. But from its very first frame, I LOST MY BODY is arresting. Its hypnotic narrative follows the story of a severed hand in search of its owner, and has great fun carrying you along with its troubled protagonist’s journey from a crush to obsession. The sheer amount of visual storytelling and striking imagery is worth the runtime, but for any arthouse lovers feeling a little too chilled to hop down to the nearest indie theatre can open a new tab and have at it. Didn’t expect to be as moved by this one as I was, and for that I must recommend it.

AVENGERS: ENDGAME The fact that a movie like this can even exist is pretty amazing, and I have to say, as the culmination to the Avengers saga as we know it, ENDGAME delivered something with way more heart and character than I expected. Funny, sad, bittersweet, and massively satisfying. This is the Thanksgiving Turkey dinner of movies. It’s got everything. But the best part for me was how little fighting the big superhero finale of the decade had to it. Firmly rooted in character, taking ambitious and surprising turns in their trajectories, and balancing the fanwanks with a genuinely exciting story. I mean, c’mon. Time heist? A Greatest Hits play that also recontextualizes a few of the lesser films of the sweeping franchise? The third act battle felt a little tacked-on, but the conclusion felt like exactly what we needed.

READY OR NOT I love this movie. Love it like an adorable, scrappy friend who always manages to make their social commentary entertaining. Hide and Seek turns deadly for a bride to be when she meets her future in-laws, the proprietors of a board game company that takes their product very seriously. A darkly funny survive-the-gauntlet-till-morning ride. Great characters. Awesome kills. A few really unexpected and delightfully devilish turns. Oh, and it takes a stab at privilege and how far some people are willing to go to preserve theirs. It’s got teeth, a mean bite, and it’s fun to walk around the neighborhood. If you liked YOU’RE NEXT, you will probably love this movie. I still can’t get its final few moments out of my head. And I mean that in the best way.

PARASITE Speaking of social criticism and privilege, there’s no denying the brute fucking force of PARASITE. Following a struggling family who imbed themselves into a rich family by posing as the help, this madcap game of suspense takes so many surprising turns that even describing the full plot spoils the fun. Go into this one having read as little as possible. It will take you for a spin. Part con movie, part social critique, part comedy and part tragedy, it’s a lot to digest, but it’s a damned tasty treat.

KNIVES OUT In a word, it’s fun. Rian Johnson’s locked room murder mystery packs some wonderful barbs in the side of affluence, armchair activism, and the corruptive nature of wealth. A wealthy novelist is found dead, and all of his family members have motive... But don’t let the familiar set-up fool you, KNIVES OUT plays fair with its audience, but it is a fast runner. The story jumps ahead of you almost every time you think you’ve got it figured out. Daniel Craig’s genius sleuth is full of likable energy, protagonist Marta is full of layers, and the family are all such a pleasure to watch. Several times along the trip, I had no idea where the story would turn next, or how much further the envelope could be pushed, but by the end, I came out marveling at its construction. The production design is unreal. The direction and vibe are so unique, and by the closing image, it’s nearly impossible not to enjoy the shift in values. There’s also a speech involving donuts that I will be reciting at parties for the foreseeable future.

DANIEL ISN’T REAL

I closed off the year with this wildly inventive take on the possession trope. This. Movie. Is. Nuts. Which, considering it was produced by the same folks who did MANDY, shouldn’t come as a surprise. A mind-bending tale that riffs on Jekyll and Hyde, with a great modernization tackling the concept from a mental health perspective... It’s not the first time it’s been done, but the execution is just excellent. We follow a disturbed young man whose imaginary friend hatched from a childhood trauma makes a devilish return to play hell with his adult life. It’s a psychological horror that’s FIGHT CLUB meets THE DOUBLE. Great look. Excellent creature design and visuals for a cosmic horror that makes great use of low budget devices. If you’re looking for the answer to the age old question of “Should my third act involve my protagonist battling his inner demons literally with a rooftop sword fight?” You’ve found your contender.

I’ll tell you this, reader friend. The hardest part about 2019′s slate at the box office was deciding what to see. There were so many interesting movies that came out, brimming with big ideas and social commentary. Sad as the state of the world is, there’s no denying times of unrest have a knack for yielding great art. The Trump era has made its stamp on Hollywood for better or for worse. But the rising tide of voices pushing back give me a bit of hope, and a lot of salve for the whole existential dread thing. I think that, however small it is, is good.

For what it’s worth, none of these films are reinventing the wheel or burning flags... But they are asking questions. Okay, CLIMAX, really isn’t asking anything, but it is fun as hell. There’s just as much merit in the salve as there is in the flame that caused the burn. So may your 2020 be full of entertainment. I’ll try to get some useful content up here at least every couple of months in smaller digestible forms. Now go forth and brunch, you hungover, resolution-breaking slob.

#journal #yearinmovies #2019 #year in review #baby yoda #movies #writing

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harrypotterfirsttime · 4 years

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JK Rowling’s essay about why she’s a TERF: Abbreviated

My last post was LONG, much longer than I’d intended, and difficult to read on tumblr I’m sure (if anybody would like it sent as a pdf please let me know). So I’m making a shorter post and only including the paragraphs that I responded to with links to a source, for people who are more interested in the places where JK Rowling provably lied in her essay.

“For people who don’t know: last December I tweeted my support for Maya Forstater, a tax specialist who’d lost her job for what were deemed ‘transphobic’ tweets. She took her case to an employment tribunal, asking the judge to rule on whether a philosophical belief that sex is determined by biology is protected in law. Judge Tayler ruled that it wasn’t.”

First of all, Maya didn’t lose her job. Her contract was simply not renewed by her workplace, something that she was not entitled to under any law. JK Rowling also continues to falsely assert that Maya’s belief was that ‘sex is determined biology’, when she actually asserted that under no circumstances is a trans woman a woman nor a trans man a man, and the judge ruled that it did not fit all five necessary limbs to be a philosophical belief (it actually only failed the last one). The judge ruled that the ‘under no circumstances’ part of her assertion was absolutist, and that is what ultimately failed the fifth limb. [source]

“All the time I’ve been researching and learning, accusations and threats from trans activists have been bubbling in my Twitter timeline. This was initially triggered by a ‘like’. When I started taking an interest in gender identity and transgender matters, I began screenshotting comments that interested me, as a way of reminding myself what I might want to research later. On one occasion, I absent-mindedly ‘liked’ instead of screenshotting. That single ‘like’ was deemed evidence of wrongthink, and a persistent low level of harassment began.”

First off, this goes against the statement a spokesperson made for her when this happened, stating that she had a ‘clumsy middle-aged moment’ and liked the tweet by ‘holding her phone incorrectly’. The tweet she liked also had no content that she could research, it was a baseless claim that men in dresses get more solidarity than cis women (which I won’t even dive into, we have so much more to cover). [source] I also won’t dive into the use of ‘wrongthink’ as if we are all characters in George Orwell’s 1984, simply because nobody is controlling her speech, she is simply facing consequences for the shit she chooses to fling at the wall.

“I mention all this only to explain that I knew perfectly well what was going to happen when I supported Maya. I must have been on my fourth or fifth cancellation by then. I expected the threats of violence, to be told I was literally killing trans people with my hate, to be called cunt and bitch and, of course, for my books to be burned, although one particularly abusive man told me he’d composted them.”

Can we salute the man who decided to tell JK Rowling that he composted her books, because that’s absolutely hilarious. But really, I just want to point out that no matter how many threats of violence JK Rowling thinks she is getting, transgender people are subjected to much more abuse both online and in real life, and it affects their wellbeing much more directly than simply being called a cunt or a bitch on twitter. [source] While JK Rowling thankfully isn’t killing trans people, she’s disappointing so many of her LGBT+ fans who looked up to her and found comfort during their childhood in her books that encouraged people to be brave and be themselves.

“What I didn’t expect in the aftermath of my cancellation was the avalanche of emails and letters that came showering down upon me, the overwhelming majority of which were positive, grateful and supportive. They came from a cross-section of kind, empathetic and intelligent people, some of them working in fields dealing with gender dysphoria and trans people, who’re all deeply concerned about the way a socio-political concept is influencing politics, medical practice and safeguarding. They’re worried about the dangers to young people, gay people and about the erosion of women’s and girl’s rights. Above all, they’re worried about a climate of fear that serves nobody – least of all trans youth – well.”

I’ll tackle this paragraph from top to bottom. Firstly, the reason you believe the overwhemling majority of people supported you is because many of those who don’t (myself included, until now) simply rolled their eyes and ignored you, because you are not worth our time. We have lives to live that are unconcerned with your bigotry. Second, I hope those people who were working in fields dealing with gender dysphoria and trans people have since left their jobs, because they have no business serving a community who they secretly harbour unsupportive ideologies about. And finally, the idea of supporting and helping trans people (specifically trans youth) is DANGEROUS to young people, gay people, and women’s and girls’ rights is simply false. No women’s rights have been repealed in favour of trans people’s rights (mainly because trans women continue to shockingly be women). In fact, trans youth with parents who are very supportive and affirming show a statistically significantly lower rate of both depressive symptoms and suicide attempts. [source] [specific graph]

“If you didn’t already know – and why should you? – ‘TERF’ is an acronym coined by trans activists, which stands for Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminist. In practice, a huge and diverse cross-section of women are currently being called TERFs and the vast majority have never been radical feminists. Examples of so-called TERFs range from the mother of a gay child who was afraid their child wanted to transition to escape homophobic bullying, to a hitherto totally unfeminist older lady who’s vowed never to visit Marks & Spencer again because they’re allowing any man who says they identify as a woman into the women’s changing rooms. Ironically, radical feminists aren’t even trans-exclusionary – they include trans men in their feminism, because they were born women.”

The first two sentences in this paragraph are true. Viv Smythe, a trans inclusive cis radfem, is credited with coining the term TERF to describe her fellow radical feminists who are ‘unwilling to recognize trans women as sisters’. It has also become widely used to describe feminists who exclude trans women from their feminism, even if they are not radfems. [source] I don’t care about who has been called a TERF, all I need to know is that they are transphobes, which they should feel equally disgusted at the fact their behaviour warrants the label. Trans men do not want to be included in radical feminism because we were ‘born women’, and JK Rowling including this as if it is an excuse is appalling. Trans men are not women, therefore we do not appreciate radfems claiming to support us based on their obsession with what genitals we were born with.

“The fourth is where things start to get truly personal. I’m concerned about the huge explosion in young women wishing to transition and also about the increasing numbers who seem to be detransitioning (returning to their original sex), because they regret taking steps that have, in some cases, altered their bodies irrevocably, and taken away their fertility. Some say they decided to transition after realising they were same-sex attracted, and that transitioning was partly driven by homophobia, either in society or in their families.”

There is a lot to unpack in this paragraph. And I don’t have the room in this already much too long post to dive into detransitioning, so I’ll say this: it sucks that some people transition only to realize they shouldn’t have. But these people are a staggering minority of people who do transition, and there is no external person they can blame for believing them when they relay their symptoms (as doctors are supposed to do) and acting accordingly, with the patient’s consent. The issues I have here are the language JK Rowling uses to say young women are transitioning, purposefully misgendering trans masculine people. And implying that people are transitioning because they are gay, because their families or society push them to not be gay and instead transition, is absolutely laughable. Studies have already shown that society as a whole is much less accepting of transgender people than they are of gay people and lesbians. [source]

“Most people probably aren’t aware – I certainly wasn’t, until I started researching this issue properly – that ten years ago, the majority of people wanting to transition to the opposite sex were male. That ratio has now reversed. The UK has experienced a 4400% increase in girls being referred for transitioning treatment. Autistic girls are hugely overrepresented in their numbers.”

There are a number of factors that could have led to such an increase in referrals, and no studies have a definitive answer, though most speculate that the increase in acceptance and visibility of trans people is likely a major contributor. [source] Additionally, I personally believe that more trans women seeked transition years ago because it was impossible to be accepted as a trans woman without fully medically transitioning, whereas trans men could get by without transitioning and simply presenting as their gender. Now that transition is more acceptable and available, trans men do not need to hold themselves back from transitioning, but unfortunately, with more visibility has come more vitriol that is specifically aimed at trans women, and this could discourage them from transitioning or coming out at all. I won’t dignify the statement about autism in afab trans people being prevalent other than saying that cis people can be autistic, trans people can be autistic, and implying that neuro-atypical people cannot make informed decisions about their bodies and healthcare is abhorrent.

“The same phenomenon has been seen in the US. In 2018, American physician and researcher Lisa Littman set out to explore it. In an interview, she said:

‘Parents online were describing a very unusual pattern of transgender-identification where multiple friends and even entire friend groups became transgender-identified at the same time. I would have been remiss had I not considered social contagion and peer influences as potential factors.’

Littman mentioned Tumblr, Reddit, Instagram and YouTube as contributing factors to Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria, where she believes that in the realm of transgender identification ‘youth have created particularly insular echo chambers.’”

Lisa Littman’s study can be read here. There are a multitude of issues with this study, and many big names in psychology and gender studies have spoken up about the issues in her conclusions and in the methods to begin with, which are unscientific and deeply flawed. [source] The biggest flaw, in my opinion, is that the study interviews parents of trans youth as opposed to the trans youth themselves, and takes the parents’ limited knowledge of their child’s inner thoughts and experience as fact without consulting the trans person at all. Additionally, recruitment for the study was mainly done through anti-trans organizations. All of this information is available in the original study and in the rebuttal. Because of this, I cannot take anybody who cites Lisa Littman or her study seriously, because it is not credible whatsoever.

“When I read about the theory of gender identity, I remember how mentally sexless I felt in youth. I remember Colette’s description of herself as a ‘mental hermaphrodite’ and Simone de Beauvoir’s words: ‘It is perfectly natural for the future woman to feel indignant at the limitations posed upon her by her sex. The real question is not why she should reject them: the problem is rather to understand why she accepts them.’”

More people than JK Rowling is probably aware of feel ‘mentally sexless’ in youth, because they have no crippling discomfort regarding their gender identity, and either do not feel pressure to prescribe to gender stereotypical behaviours or actively rebel against it. According to brain studies, everyone is technically a ‘mental hermaphrodite’ because there remains to be no such thing as a male brain or female brain. [source]

“I want to be very clear here: I know transition will be a solution for some gender dysphoric people, although I’m also aware through extensive research that studies have consistently shown that between 60-90% of gender dysphoric teens will grow out of their dysphoria. Again and again I’ve been told to ‘just meet some trans people.’ I have: in addition to a few younger people, who were all adorable, I happen to know a self-described transsexual woman who’s older than I am and wonderful. Although she’s open about her past as a gay man, I’ve always found it hard to think of her as anything other than a woman, and I believe (and certainly hope) she’s completely happy to have transitioned. Being older, though, she went through a long and rigorous process of evaluation, psychotherapy and staged transformation. The current explosion of trans activism is urging a removal of almost all the robust systems through which candidates for sex reassignment were once required to pass. A man who intends to have no surgery and take no hormones may now secure himself a Gender Recognition Certificate and be a woman in the sight of the law. Many people aren’t aware of this.”

First of all, the number of kids who “desist” from their gender dysphoria are not reliable. Mainly because the methods in these studies are not robust (ie one study defined gender dysphoria as exhibiting any behaviour that was not typical of their gender, such as boys playing with barbies and girls playing with monster trucks; another study classified subjects that did not return to the clinic and did not follow up as desisters without confirming). [source] Additionally, studying children who do exhibit true gender dysphoria, the main factor determining whether it will persist or desist seems to be the intensity, and not at all related to peer relations. [source] Trans people wishing to transition medically may no longer need to subject themselves to extensive and unnecessary therapy to convince medical professionals that they are who they say they are, but they still need to wait on very long lists for our turn to access hormone replacement therapy and surgeries, and can spend all of that time being sure that we are indeed trans and want these medical treatments. JK Rowling is also purposefully misreporting facts in regard to Gender Recognition Certificates. In order to get one, one must be over 18, have lived as their true gender for at least 2 full years, and provide two medical reports (one from a gender specialist and another from a general practitioner) citing that they have gender dysphoria. If they have not had any medical transitional treatments, the medical reports must state whether they are waiting for them or why they are not pursuing any, in direct contradiction of JK Rowling’s assertion that any man can get this certificate. [source]

“I believe the majority of trans-identified people not only pose zero threat to others, but are vulnerable for all the reasons I’ve outlined. Trans people need and deserve protection. Like women, they’re most likely to be killed by sexual partners. Trans women who work in the sex industry, particularly trans women of colour, are at particular risk. Like every other domestic abuse and sexual assault survivor I know, I feel nothing but empathy and solidarity with trans women who’ve been abused by men.

So I want trans women to be safe. At the same time, I do not want to make natal girls and women less safe. When you throw open the doors of bathrooms and changing rooms to any man who believes or feels he’s a woman – and, as I’ve said, gender confirmation certificates may now be granted without any need for surgery or hormones – then you open the door to any and all men who wish to come inside. That is the simple truth.”

‘Natal girls and women’ is another transphobic dog whistle. There is a non-offensive way to say this, which I am sure if JK Rowling has done all the reading she has claimed to do, she must have stumbled upon the word ‘cisgender’ at some point. It effectively communicates the same information without alienating trans people and implying they are less than cis women. Trans women are not ‘men who believe or feel like women’, and this long standing myth that cis men will use the guise of being a trans woman to gain access to public bathrooms and changerooms has been thoroughly debunked, because trans women have been using women’s bathrooms and changerooms for years with no issues. [source] And scroll up for the claim that Gender Confirmation Certificates are given out to any man who decides to be a woman for a day above, this is just more misinformation, no ‘simple truth’.

“On Saturday morning, I read that the Scottish government is proceeding with its controversial gender recognition plans, which will in effect mean that all a man needs to ‘become a woman’ is to say he’s one. To use a very contemporary word, I was ‘triggered’. Ground down by the relentless attacks from trans activists on social media, when I was only there to give children feedback about pictures they’d drawn for my book under lockdown, I spent much of Saturday in a very dark place inside my head, as memories of a serious sexual assault I suffered in my twenties recurred on a loop. That assault happened at a time and in a space where I was vulnerable, and a man capitalised on an opportunity. I couldn’t shut out those memories and I was finding it hard to contain my anger and disappointment about the way I believe my government is playing fast and loose with womens and girls’ safety.”

First of all, JK Rowling is blatantly lying. The Gender Recognition Act Reform has been completely shelved by the Scottish government in light if the more pressing need to fight the coronavirus on April 1st, and I cannot find any updates on this being considered by the government. [source] The only trans related news out of Scotland I can find is that on June 5th, the Scottish government included trans women in the definition of women in guidance for school boards, which will have none of the effects that JK Rowling is fear mongering about. [source] Again, I am upset to know that JK Rowling is a survivor, but she is using this revelation as a weapon to make people fear that it will happen to others as a result of trans people gaining access to the same public spaces as their cis counterparts. Women’s and girls’ safety is NOT being put at risk by trans people using a bathroom or changeroom.

#jk rowling #transphobe #terf #important #not hp #long post #sources

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blue-eyed-korra · 5 years

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A Meta about Lance’s Arc and Conclusion

So I’ve seen a lot of people complain about how Lance’s arc concluded at the end of season 8 (among other things but that’s another can of worms to get into at a later date). They say that it sucks cause while everyone else goes out and does things for the benefit of the universe, he’s stuck on Earth, on a farm, left to mourn the girl he loved for the rest of his life. They say it’s out of character and in no way represents who he is as a character.

However I would argue that not only is he not in a perpetual state of mourning, but that he’s moved on, content with life, spreading her memory throughout the universe and living his life for himself.

I’d also like to preface this post by saying that you have the right to feel how you feel about the finale. I’m not trying to invalidate your opinion, I’m just offering my perspective and I hope that it can help some fans who may feel confused about the finale to make sense of some things and make them feel better! If anyone wants to discuss Lance’s arc, whether you agree with me or not, feel free to hit me up in my messages so we can have a discussion about our boy!

Now without further adieu:

He’s not mourning. He’s been inspired and he’s still himself:

I’m actually shocked by the number of people who are upset that Lance is gonna be sad forever because I didn’t get that impression at all from the finale. If that were so he would still look visibly sad and upset whenever Allura is mentioned or whenever he’s reminded of her. But in the one year time skip on Altea he’s telling her story to the next generation and, when asked, talks about her openly and happily:

This is not the face of a man who’s not over the death of the woman he loved. Lance, in the end, is grateful that he knew her honors her by spreading her message.

Remember that Allura was more to Lance than just his girlfriend. Even before they got together he respected and admired her for her strength and conviction. We see that in Season 3 when he hands over the Blue Lion to her, in the Season 4 finale when he gives his speech, and countless other times throughout the series. That’s why he’s determined to spread her message and memory across the universe. She, like Voltron, has always been a symbol of freedom and hope.

And her death hasn’t changed him, per say. He’s still the same snarky boy we all fell in love with. He still jokes and laughs and enjoys time with his friends and family. Allura’s death didn’t ruin him. One year after her sacrifice he’s still himself:

That’s not to say he doesn’t miss her, of course. Anyone who’s lost a loved one knows you can’t just forget your love for them; you miss them with all your heart forever. And we see that with Lance keeping the picture of their date and a juniberry flower by his bed. Perfectly normal things to do when you lose someone:

And when the Lions fly off one last time and he sees Blue and Red, you know that he’s remembering all of the time he spent as a Paladin with the others and especially Allura. And he’s clearly saddened by their departure, eyes filling with tears, not only because it signifies the end of an era forever, but it also means he’s losing another piece of Allura’s legacy. It’s a sad moment for him...

...But it’s also joyful as well.

Because their mission, Allura’s mission, to save and defend the universe has been completed. Voltron is no longer needed and the universe is at peace. And each of them feel these emotions as well; they’re all awed at watching the Lions fly off into the unknown, all feeling these mixed emotions, but Lance is the only one who smiles with tears of sadness and joy in his eyes, filled with hope for the future and content with what they’ve achieved and what Allura has given to them:

He’s grown out of his insecurities and feels loved and respected:

Now with regards to him ending up on a farm with his family, while I would have never thought that this would be where he’d end up after the war, it isn’t without some narrative backing.

Initially it would seem crazy to think that the cocky boy who yearned for adventure and fame with dreams of becoming a fighter pilot would end up living a quiet life on a farm; but that’s just it, he isn’t that same boy from Season 1. He’s seen the effects of war throughout the cosmos and on earth. He’s felt homesick and lonely without his family. He’s seen death and destruction, stared death in the face, and even died himself. But he’s also been humbled by his experiences and by his interactions with the team. Lance no longer needs to show off and achieve impossible feats to get attention and validation from others, because he earned it through being a Paladin. His friends, family and allies respect him and love him, and for the first time he feels it. He knows that he’s in a different place than where he started but doesn’t mind. After all this war it’s not much of a long-shot to think that he may want to settle down and enjoy spending time with his loved ones, which seems to be the whole reason why he chose this life in the first place:

He gets to enjoy a peaceful existence, surrounded by love and support, knowing that those he loves and trusts will always be there for him.

He’s not stuck on a farm on earth living only for Allura, he’s going out and telling their story while living his own life:

Finally, I’ve seen people be pissed that he’s just stuck on a farm forever, never leaving Earth, but I don’t really get that from his final end card:

‘Continued to spread Allura’s message’ implies that he travels a lot. I can see him going with Shiro and Hunk on the Atlas, giving speeches and telling stories about Allura and all the adventures they had with the other Paladins; encouraging everyone throughout the universe to be the best people that they can be, embrace goodness and seek goodness in others. Like I said, Allura was an inspiration to him, and he honors her memory by spreading it everywhere that he can.

This picture may also give the implication that his life revolves around Allura’s memory since the whole ‘surrounding himself with the things he loved’ is shown to be his family, Kalternecker and the juniberry flowers (aka. Allura). And yes I can see why people would think this means he hasn’t moved on, but like I said, he’ll always love her. He may find someone else one day and settle down, but she’s his first love, and she was one of the best people he knew. Her memory will always be a part of him, not only literally with his Altean marks, but also in his heart. The flowers remind him of who she was and what she did for the universe, and he’ll always treasure her for it. But he’s still his own person. He’ll still live his own live for his own sake and not because of someone else. I think he knows that Allura would have wanted him to live his own life and that she’d be proud of him for living for himself.

He’ll make sure she’s remembered but he’ll never forget himself.

So yeah in the end, while I may not have picked this exact ending for my favourite boy, I can’t say I’m mad at it. Thinking about where he started, where he is now and what happened in-between, I can’t help but feel proud that he’s still able to make a difference in the universe while living a simple and content life on Earth. I can say with absolute certainty that I’m satisfied with his arc. He’s come a long way, and he’s always going to have the Paladins, his family and Allura with him to support and motivate him no matter what, and, as we’ve already seen, he’ll live a long and happy life filled with love and purpose because of it:

So thank you Lance for being yourself and becoming the a highlight of this show for so many of us. We’ll always love you Loverboy.

#lance #lance mcclain #allura #allurance #klance #voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld #vld season 8 #vld spoilers #my thoughts #long ass analysis #yeah i've been thinking of this for days but just got access to my laptop again so here ya go fandom!#my son #god I love him #he's beautiful #I WILL NEVER BE OVER HIM

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homotron5000sgayercousin · 6 years

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THIS RANT IS ABOUT SEXUAL ASSULT AND MELANIE MARTINEZ AND SICK MISGUIDED NASTY PEOPLE

Hi okay, I know I'm not one to really do stuff like this, I usually just reblog stupid memes and I'm very sorry if this is not the content you are seeking. I felt that this was a conversation I NEEDED to have with the general public. I apologize in advance, I'm not very well written and my train of thought is god awful but I am trying so hard to say all that I need to say about this topic, so if this gets weird and jumbled along the way I'm so sorry.

a few days ago, a female singer named Melanie Martinez was accused of rape by her best friend. The friends name is Timothy Heller and i am so proud of how brave she is by coming out with her story even though the world is full of nasty people with hearts full of hatred who are just trying to rip her to shreds (if you all could give some love and support that would be amazing).

A lot of Melanie’s fans are jumping to her defense, using excuses like, ‘not saying no means it’s not rape’, or ‘she could have pushed her off but she didn't’, or ‘melanie is too sweet and innocent’. And I have never been so deeply hurt by another human in my entire life. This poor girl has gone through a TRAUMA, her best friend and someone in power has done such an awful, despicable thing to her and some people have the nerve to say that, just because Melanie is a girl who has previously gone through her own traumatic experiences in the past, she isn’t and shouldn’t be held accountable for her actions.

It makes me sick to my stomach to think that This horrible woman has so much power over her fans that they are willingly letting themselves be blinded from the truth of her nature. Melanie’s past DOES NOT EXCUSE THIS VILE BEHAVIOR. As a victim of sexual assault, it makes me so livid that people carry this toxic mentality around. Just because Melanie is a WOMAN does not make it impossible for her to be a rapist. Just because Timothy did not fight back during the act does NOT mean she had given consent. She had said no repeatedly for TWO NIGHTS, her consent was NOT GIVEN.

Timothy’s story hit a little close to home with me because I had a friendship very similar to the one she described as having with this nasty abuser, codependency is a terrifying thing to be sucked into and it’s very hard to break out of, so the way she reacted to everything makes sense, I have had the same reactions when it came to my relationship, and in no way is ANY OF THIS HER FAULT.

To everyone who is siding with Melanie I want you all to realize that you are a part of the problem in the grand scheme of things, you are showing not only Timothy but hundreds and thousands of victims that people like Melanie can and will get away for their crimes. For every excuse you make, there is a victim being silenced by fear of this happening to them. You attacking an innocent woman because she spoke up about your idols disgusting act of sexual assault is degrading and vile. I can not fathom what goes through your head when you send the death threats, and rape threats, when you slut shame and victim blame. When I read these comments my heart breaks because the world is full of monsters like Melanie and monsters like you, who idolize the wrong people and harass victims into silence.

I implore you all to please, see Melanie Martinez for what she really is, a rapist and a monster. I can understand that it may be hard as a fan, i know you want to protect the people you love and idolize, but she is not worthy of your support. She committed a serious crime, and she needs to be punished for it. her actions cannot go unjustified.

#tw: rape #rape tw #melanie martinez #charleigh is ranting #im on zero percent sleep and i know this couldve been written better but im so mad and hurt #i will never stop talking about this until she is behind bars #this is a conversation that needs to keep going #yall can come at me i dont care #she is a shitty human and i want nothing to do with her

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juggydunes · 7 years

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SO MUCH SIN AHEAD. I swear.... sigh, It’s been a long time since I’ve written smut, peeps. Be gentle with me.

Warnings: None, just a ton of sinning.

Unbeta’d. Any mistakes are mine (It’s 3am as I edit this, I’m sure there will be mistakes)

Betty generally adores these quiet moments where the world is still asleep and she gets to see Jughead’s face relaxed, void of the weight he carries on his shoulders. She is aware of how creepy it sounds, but she could spend hours looking at how relaxed and content Jughead looked while he slept. Her heart seizes inside her chest, warmth spreading through her body.

Right now, though, Betty’s eyes are not focused on his face. Instead she lets her eyes roam over his naked body, as he sleeps, deep breathes make his chest go up and down, an action that she was finding utterly fascinating.

She bits her lower lip, her breathing coming out uneven. Betty knows she shouldn’t feel like this, they had been at it all night until they had finally fallen asleep. But after nearly two months of being apart because of an internship that had come up for him, she just can’t get enough.

There’s a need between her legs and inside her heart. A craving of being impossibly closer to him until she couldn’t discern their bodies apart.

Betty had gone and picked him up from the airport, jumping onto his arms as soon as she saw him. Part of her was aware of the cliché, but other part couldn’t bear to be separated from him any longer. Jughead had placed his head in the crook of her neck, breathing her in.

“Betts…” his voice trembled a little when he spoke, and when he leaned back to look at her, his eyes were glassy. “God, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Jug. So much” She had replied, placing a soft kiss upon his lips. “Let’s go home.”

His jacket was off as soon as the door of their apartment was closed, soon followed by the rest of their clothes. It had been passionate, quick and hungry. Jughead fucking her on the couch because they hadn’t made it to the bedroom.

Betty moans softly at the memory, clenching her thighs together, trying to quell the fire between them. Jughead sighs in his sleep, facing her now and she watches enraptured at his morning wood. She is a little embarrassed at how her mouth waters at the view. Betty’s tempted to wake him up with her tongue, but he looks so at peace and the dark circles under Jughead’s eyes spoke volumes about how much he needed sleep.

Her hand moves at its own volition. Down, down until she’s lightly fondling her breast, thinking about the way his hands had gripped her waist yesterday, bringing her closer and closer to him as he brought her to climax.

A gasp escapes her as her fingers tweak her nipple. Betty feels a new thrill as she begins teasing herself next to her sleeping boyfriend, the fire inside of her only increasing as her other other hand clenches the bedsheets.

Betty moves her hand slowly downwards, mimicking what Jughead always does, slowly teasing her on his way to her centre. She mewls lightly when she finds herself still wet from yesterday’s reunion, suddenly glad she’s still naked.

She moves her fingers through her wet folds and closes her eyes at the sensation, getting lost on the memories of yesterday’s reunion. The hungry but reverent way he always touched her. And… God, she wanted him to be touching him for real right now.

Betty lets her fingers move in circles on her clit, sighing, her other hand coming to cup her breast. She pinches her nipple and bites her lower lip as she tries not to make a sound. Her hips lift up a little, seeking release. A breathy groan leaves her lips and she opens her eyes, looking to her left before freezing when she sees blue eyes darkened with desire looking back at her.

“Don’t stop.” he says. Not a suggestion, not a plea. An order. It makes her throat dry and blood catch fire at the intense look on his eyes.

“Jug…” she says, breathless, still frozen in place.

“Go on… don’t stop.” he tells her, licking his lips absently, not moving from his side of the bed. “Start slow.”

Betty is compelled, as in a trance, she does as he says. Moving her fingers up and down slowly, never taking her eyes off his, her breath hitches. Jughead’s eyes are dark with want and it still makes her melt.

“Juggie…” she begs him lightly, not really sure what she’s asking for.

“No, I wanna see you touch yourself.” Jughead’s voice is hoarse, his hand lightly resting low on his stomach and his length now fully hard.

“What about you?” She asks, breathy, thoughts cloudy.

“Oh, I’ll be just fine enjoying the show.” Jughead replies, a shit-eating grin on his face for a moment before he lifts his arm to lay beneath his head, knowing full well how it makes his muscles flex and her mouth water.

Betty whimpers, still slowly touching herself, getting wetter by the second. His eyes roam over her body and it makes her back arch, pushing her breast up. He smirks softly at her like he knows what she’s doing but still not moving an inch.

“Pinch your nipple.” He orders and she does. “Harder.”

She follows his suggestions not once taking her eyes off him, moaning when he palms his length, her fingers circling her bundle of nerves quicker.

“No, no. Slowly.” He reprimands, inching a little closer as he inspects her work on herself. As if this is the making of a masterpiece, and by the light in his eyes, it might as well be. “Don’t get impatient, babe. Now… start fingering yourself. Just one.”

Betty lets her fingers drift down, until she can dip one of them onto her entrance slowly. But it’s not enough, she wants more.

“What were you thinking about?” Jughead asks, eyes glued to her. “Just before you saw me looking at you.”

“Us.” Betty says, her finger slipping in and out of her centre. “Yesterday.”

“Really?” Jughead hums, getting a tiny bit closer to her. “What exactly was I doing?” the glint in his eyes make her bite her lip in amusement and lust.

“You were eating me out.” Betty tells him.

“Was I?” He asks and she wants to wipe the grin of his face but she’s enjoying this too much. “How? I want you to tell me, Betts.”

“Slowly, because you’re a jerk.” she replies, moaning a little at the end as she remembers. A new wave of warmth flooding her. His throat bobs a little.

“That does sound like me…” he agrees. “Add another finger, Betty.”

She does, closing her eyes at the sensation. A sigh escapes her lips as she moves her fingers in search of that spot within her.

“Look at me, Betty.” Jughead’s voice makes her eyes pop open, he’s so close now. Betty leans forward a little to try and kiss him but he leans back with a chuckle. “Tell me more about what you were thinking.”

“I…” She starts but stops when she feels the heel of her palm lightly touches her clit, inciting a mewl from her. “You were eating me out. You started slow but then you put your fingers in me as you bit my inner thigh.” She doesn’t have to look down to see the light marks there.

“Keep going.” He says, lowering himself until he’s at eye level with her lower stomach, then lightly runs the tip of his nose over the skin.

“You… You were looking up at me while you...Fuck, Juggie.” Betty is getting closer to her release, her fingers pumping in and out of her, the heel of her palm rubbing her bundle of nerves with every movement, tights quivering a little.

“While I what, Betty?” Jughead asks. He moves slowly, tracing her skin with the tip of his nose, barely a caress. From her lower stomach up to her breast, where he stops, letting his breath fan over her delicate skin, making her moan. Jughead doesn’t stop staring at her as he leans forward and bites lightly on a nipple.

“Juggie!” She whines, hips jerking.

“Come on, baby.” He’s at eye level with her now, their faces enough apart that he can look into her eyes without getting crossed-eyed. “Harder.”

Betty’s moves begin to lose tempo as she gets closer and closer to climax. She’s panting and moaning now, unable to speak as he watches her, completely enraptured.

“You look so beautiful like this.” He says. “Make yourself come, Betts, come on…”

And she does, it takes a few seconds before the coil inside of her snaps. Her thighs quiver and tighten around her hand as her back arches off the bed.

She’s breathing heavily with her eyes closed when she feels fingertips sliding down her arm before taking hold of her wrist. Betty opens her eyes just in time to see Jughead bring her fingers to his mouth and suck her juices off them. They moan at the same time.

“Delicious.” he says, finally releasing her hand. Betty is on him in a second, kissing him passionately as she moves to straddle him.

Jughead falls back on the bed, hugging her close to his body as they kiss. Betty bites his lower lip, a hand sliding to run through his hair. His hand roam on her back before moving to her ass, pressing her closer to where he wants her. His member touching her lower stomach and he hisses at the contact.

“You think you’re funny… teasing me like that?” Betty asks him. She moves enough that her hot center is touching his length, sliding back and forth, making him clench his jaw.

“Well… you did get to cum in the end.” he replies, voice hoarse, his hands gripping her hips so tightly that she wonders if they’ll leave a mark. “Some might say it’s my turn now.”

“We’ll see…” She tells him, but even as she teases, Betty lifts her hips, lining her entrance with him as she lowers herself on his member. They both moan, his grip on her hips tightens before releasing and coming to run the expanse of her back as she slowly rides him

“Ah, baby, you feel so good.” Jughead says, hand coming to grope at her breast. Betty throws her head back, giving himself over to the sensations as she rides him, how full she feels.

“Juggie… fuck me.” She pleads, movements erratic making her muscles ache with the effort.

Suddenly, she’s on her back again, Jughead on top of her with his arms hooked under her shoulders to keep her close. The new angle might now put him as deep inside of her but she loves the weight of his body above her, the warmth of his skin. When they’re like this, Betty feels safe and loved, like nothing could ever tear them apart.

His mouth travels the expanse of her skin, anywhere he can reach, whispering sweet nothings over her pulse joint. Betty’s hands move to grab the globes of his ass, silently begging him for more before they go back to his back, embracing him.

“I’m close, baby.” Jughead says, lightly biting her jaw, making his way to her mouth. “Touch yourself.”

Betty isn’t sure she’s gonna last long enough to. Her fingers find her clit as his thrusts become rougher and shorter.

“Fuck, Fuck!” Betty moans, her orgasm making her walls clench around his length, a sea of molten lava exploding inside of her, bringing him over the edge as well.

Jughead grunts, his forehead landing on her collarbone as they pant, coming down from their high. It’s either an eternity or short seconds later, Betty can’t really tell, that he moves off her to lie at her side, a hand softly caressing her thigh.

“I love you, Jug” She whispers, looking at him as he turns those beautiful blue eyes upon her.

“I love you too, Betty Cooper” Jughead replies, his arm lifting so he can bug her closer to him. Betty cherishes the closeness, a hand on his chest. “Can we sleep now?” She laughs at his question, voice already drowsy with sleep, before moving to kiss him softly.

“Yes, we can sleep now.” she tells him, closing her eyes as well.

#bughead fanfiction #bughead smut #betty cooper #jughead jones #betty x jughead #riverdale #mine #my fics #THE SIN BRO THE SIN

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honeybadgerradio · 7 years

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Manchester Bombed, Women Most Affected - Polecat Cast 114

Ariana Grande! Pamela Anderson! Chris Cornell! Celebrity news or nah?

Good Day, Sir! You Look Like Somebody Who Likes Degrading Minorities

By Max Derrat

For those of you who are fans of the Simpsons… remember that one episode where Homer was trying to sell a sexual performance enhancer inside a mall? HE goes up to one guy and says, “hello, sir! You look like a man who needs help satisfying his wife.” Now, imagine that… but in real life… and instead of a sex drug… it’s social justice.

Well, that is exactly what is happening at the University of California-Los Angeles, and to top it all off… the school is paying people to do it. A new program, titled the “Social Justice Advocates” program, is going to help students “navigate a world that operates on whiteness, patriarchy, and heteronormativity as the primary ideologies.” Roughly eight to ten social justice advocates will be selected for the upcoming fall semester. They will have to spend three hours per work facilitating their duties, which include weekly meetings and… wait for it… crafting presentations. The program is funded through the Bruin Excellence and Student Transformation Grant Program (BEST) which receives funding from the university’s Office of Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion.

It is no secret that we, here, at Honey Badger Radio, report on pre-existing articles during our shows. This particular story happens to come from an excellent news aggregator called “Campus Reform”, which, of course, reports on all the social justice hysteria happening on campuses across the USA. The best part of this whole story… is the fact that students who participate in this social justice program have been ordered by their supervisor to NOT talk to Campus Reform, and to defer interview requests to the UCLA media department.

In the meantime, I would like to take a second to not speak for Honey Badger Radio, but for myself. If you go to UCLA, and somebody comes up to you who says, “Hello sir! You look like somebody who takes pleasure in subjugating minorities”, I recommend you reply with the following: “Well, hello! You look like a massive tool who needs to do something productive for once in their lives like suck a dick and/or clit.” Source: http://www.campusreform.org/?ID=9204 I Don’t Care What You Think Is Sexist: You Don’t Need to Drink While Pregnant By Max Derrat Fellow, Honey Badgers… is it a good idea to drink alcohol when you’re pregnant? This is an honest question. Yes or no? No? Good, so in theory, we shouldn’t have to talk about the contents of this article… but since we have a show to put on…

Pregnancy charities and researchers are calling for a change to government guidelines which warn expectant mothers to avoid alcohol completely. Dr. Ellie Lee, Director of the Centre of Parenting Culture Studies at the University of Kent, said that, quote, “the exclusion of women from an ordinary activity on the basis of a precaution is sexist.”

Despite the fact that, you know, consistent heavy drinking during pregnancy can result in foetal alcohol syndrome… apparently there is no evidence that light to moderate drinking… or even the one-off night where you try every drink on the menu… will cause any damage. At the moment, it’s hard to say whether or not this is coming from a biologist, or the woman who heads the centre of Parenting Culture Studies. The British Pregnancy Advisory Service is campaigning for a change in the “tone” of the advice given to pregnant women regarding alcohol, stating that this might be, quote, “needlessly scaring women into aborting pregnancies because of fears that a few heavy nights out will have caused the foetus serious harm.”

Of course, trying to determine the effects of light and moderate alcohol consumption during pregnancy would be impossible because it’s unethical. Having said that, it might just be best to assume that eating and drinking healthy products might be best when you plan to bring a pregnancy to full-term. After all, the thing that should be on your mind shouldn’t be whether or not your feelings are hurt because you can’t abstain from alcohol for nine months, but the HEALTH AND WELL-BEING OF THE BABY. Source: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/05/17/telling-women-not-drink-pregnancy-sexist/?WT.mc_id=tmg_share_tw Conceptual PenisBy L Kemlo

A paper was published in a peer-reviewed social science journal as a hoax to prove gender studies is mostly garbage. The paper entitled the “conceptual penis as a social construct” was published in Cogent Social Sciences this May.

The authors, Peter Boghossian and James Lindsay, say that they were careful to make sure the paper did not say anything meaningful, and set out to publish it with the suspicion that gender studies is “crippled academically by an overriding almost-religious belief that maleness is the root of all evil”.

Here is an excerpt from the paper: Many cisgendered hypermasculine males, for instance, seem to identify those aspects of their masculinity upon which they most obviously depend with the notion that they carry their penis as a symbol of male power, domination, control, capability, desirability, and aggression (The National Coalition for Men “compile[d] a list of synonyms for the word penis [sic],” these include the terms “beaver basher,” “cranny axe,” “custard launcher,” “dagger,” “heat-seeking moisture missile,” “mayo shooting hotdog gun,” “pork sword,” and “yogurt shotgun” [2011]). Based upon an appreciable corpus of feminist literature on the penis, this troubling identification results in an effective isomorphism linking the conceptual penis with toxic hypermasculinity.

The paper goes on and even includes a part about climate change. Here is a gem: “climate change is genuinely an example of hyper-patriarchal society metaphorically manspreading into the global ecosystem.”

While this is comparable to the Sokal hoax paper that demonstrated that postmodernism was (is) a bunch of gobbledygook, the authors specifically tested their hypothesis that flattery of the academic left’s morality is the main determiner of publication in an academic journal in that field.

They succeeded. However, it’s important to note that their paper was turned down by their target journal “NORMA: The International Journal of Men's Studies” and Cogent, the one that ultimately published the hoax, is a pay-to-publish journal. Reason Magazine points out this may be better suited as a critique of pay-to-publish journals, while reminding everyone the evidence of problems in gender studies are obvious already, with real papers titled "Women's Studies as Virus: Institutional Feminism and the Projection of Danger” and "Glaciers, Gender, and Science—A feminist glaciology framework for global environmental climate change."

Source: http://www.skeptic.com/reading_room/conceptual-penis-social-contruct-sokal-style-hoax-on-gender-studies/

http://reason.com/blog/2017/05/22/no-the-conceptual-penis-as-a-social-cons

Pam Anderson Swallows...The Red Pill?

By Mike J.

Former model, actress, active member of PETA, and source of roughly 75% of boners produced in the 90s; Pamela Anderson has declared herself an anti-feminist. In a recent interview for the new Baywatch movie Anderson stated, "Men get weaker in an authoritarian environment; they don't need to be as manly. And women are working... who's watching the kids? I may get some heat for this, but I consider myself an "anti-feminist". Anderson continued stating her concerns over humans as a species becoming too androgynous, and adding that men shouldn't drink from plastic bottles as the plastic contains oestrogen. Anderson also expressed joy over the dropping of rape charges against Wikileaks founder Julian Assange whom she considers a hero and has visited several times.

Source: https://www.rte.ie/entertainment/2017/0521/876848-pamela-anderson-says-shes-an-anti-feminist/ http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-4526074/Pamela-Anderson-declares-anti-feminist.html

Fell On Black Days

By Mike J.

Chris Cornell, frontman for bands such as Soundgarden and Audioslave, was found dead May 18th in his MGM Grand hotel room after playing a show the previous day. The cause of death was determined to be suicide by hanging although Vicky Karayiannis, Cornell's wife, maintains that his suicide was the result of Cornell increasing the dosage of his anti-anxiety medication. Cornell had a longstanding history of mental health issues and multiple addictions, but appeared to have both under control after completing rehab in 2002. Cornell's death has reopened important discussions concerning men's mental health and male suicide. According to the Centers for Disease Control, white males between the ages of 45 and 65 make up the bulk of all suicides, with men in general representing over 75% of suicides nationwide. Julie Cerel, president of the American Association of Suicidology and a professor at the University of Kentucky School of Social Work states on the subject of male suicide that, "Men notoriously don't seek help, and as people are aging and at a place in their lives where the world isn't looking the way they want, men especially don't know how to reach out and get help or express that they're feeling pain." Cerel adds that even once men do decide to seek help, medical professionals aren't always trained to looks for signs of mental illness and suicidality. Currently only three states in the US require that practitioners of mental health be trained in spotting suicidality. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chris_Cornell#Death http://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/it-s-not-just-chris-cornell-suicide-rates-highest-among-n762221http://www.suicidology.org/Portals/14/docs/Resources/FactSheets/2015/2015datapgsv1.pdf?ver=2017-01-02-220151-870

Ariana Grande: http://archive.is/B8NDE

Bonus Story: http://time.com/3613506/prosecuting-women-for-false-rape-allegations/

Check out the latest Honeybadgers episode.

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skinnylittlelesbian · 7 years

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Without the Rain (9/17)

General Notes: This is an AU story, set in a very different world. There may be mild violence and mild sexual content later on. This will be tagged ‘withouttherain’ and ‘dailyfic’, just in case you want to block the posts or find them later.

Today’s word: Delirious

Erin returns home and stands outside her front door for several minutes. She shouldn’t be nervous about entering her own abode, but she knows Holtz is in there somewhere. She also knows that they’ll have to talk about the kiss, and she really doesn’t know what she wants at the moment. After talking through her feelings with Abby, she knows that she feels something real for Holtz; however, she doesn’t know if any good will come from being honest. Sucking in a deep breath, she opens the door.

“There you are!”

As she locks the door, she braces. She turns slowly and offers Holtz a hesitant smile. “Yeah. I was out looking for another way to get supplies.”

“I’ve been going over your work, and hot damn! Your beautiful brain is more gorgeous than I could have ever hoped for. If you found us a way to build it, we’re pretty much set!”

Holtz beams at her, and her stomach begins to unclench. In the afternoon sunlight, Holtz’s hair is a brilliant golden, and her eyes sparkle. Erin looks at her and realizes just how deep her emotions run--and just how doomed she is, given Holtz’s stance on relationships at the moment. She should have kept herself more in check; maybe then she wouldn’t be staring at Holtz like the world revolves on her smile.

“I… I did find a way to build it,” she admits quietly. If they finish this project, then Holtz will go on her merry way, and Erin will be all alone once more. “My friend Abby. She’s got a lab.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Holtz darts a little closer and grabs her wrist. She allows the blonde to drag her to the couch, where they both topple down. She ends up in Holtz’s lap, with Holtz’s arms around her waist. Her heart races, unsure of what to make of this intimate connection. “You really are the smartest. You know that, right?”

Erin flushes. “Not really. I mean, I do alright--”

“The smartest,” Holtz interrupts, bopping a finger against Erin’s nose.

“I… Okay. The smartest.”

“See? You learn quick.”

Erin feels a little delirious, as if she’d taken some strange drug and gone on a hallucinatory trip. There’s no other explanation for their proximity and the constant, genuine flattery. She jumps as one of Holtz’s hands tickle along her side before coming to rest on the small of her back.

“Holtz?”

“Hm?”

“What is this?”

There’s a moment of silence. Erin knows her palms are sweaty, but she can’t rub her hands on her uniform without revealing just how anxious she is. Rather, Holtz will see how much she cares about this connection. She isn’t comfortable being vulnerable, especially not with someone whose thoughts are impossible to discern.

Finally, Holtz lets her head dip. She twists her fingers in the rough fabric of Erin’s uniform. “I don’t know.”

“I just…” She clears her throat and stares at the opposite wall. “You said you weren’t serious.”

“I know. I know what I said.”

“Then--”

“I don’t know.”

The silence resumes, and Erin lets her head rest against Holtz’s shoulder. She wonders if she should be fighting more stringently against this. Although she wants Holtz, she also wants stability. Safety. She’s not sure she’ll get either with Holtz, but for some reason that’s not nearly as scary as it should be.

“What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” Holtz repeats, her voice soft and distant, despite being so close.

“I know what I want.” She twists her head and pulls back enough that she can seek out eye contact. Holtz resists for a moment but gives in. Erin continues, “I want something real, Holtzmann.”

“Jill.”

“What?”

“My name is Jill. Well, Jillian. Jillian Monroe Holtzmann.”

“Jill, then.” Erin bolsters her courage. She’s already been more forward in the last two minutes than the past twenty years. Still, if everyone she knows can be brave enough to fight the system, she can express her feelings. “I like you, Jill. I want to see if I can love you.”

Holtz’s breathing quickens. “I--You don’t know me.”

“I want to,” Erin returns. Deciding to take a risk, she adds, “You said you didn’t think now was an appropriate time, but I think now’s the best time. Holtz, if I’m about to die, I don’t want to go without being brave for just one moment. I don’t want to miss another opportunity because I think I’m not good enough.”

Finally, Holtz straightens and pulls her closer. “You’re more than good enough, Erin Gilbert. You’re like the best.”

“I’m trying.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to try, too.” Holtz leans in and nudges her nose against Erin’s. “I like you, too.”

This kiss is mutual, unlike the evening before when Erin had been seeking desperately for comfort. Their lips meet gently at first, and then Holtz’s enthusiasm piques. Erin squeaks as Holtz eases her down onto the couch and straddles her hips. Holtz cups her cheeks and hums her approval, while Erin closes her eyes and parts her lips. Taking this subtle invitation, Holtz’s tongue slips into her mouth, and she sucks softly.

“Fuck,” Holtz mutters a moment later, drawing back far enough to catch her breath. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

Erin flushes, proud of herself. “You know, I had the same thought about you when you showed up at my door.”

Holtz kisses her again and again. She grips Holtz’s hips to keep herself grounded and allows her senses to be overwhelmed. When they retire to bed later, Holtz accompanies her. In the doorway to the bedroom, Holtz kisses her once more. Instead of letting her head back to the couch, Erin takes her hand and guides her inside.

“Just to sleep,” she murmurs. “But I think I’ll be more comfortable with you beside me.”

Holtz clambers under the sheets and pulls her snug. She nestles against the solid body, tangles her fingers with Holtz’s, and lets her exhaustion push her eyes shut.

#holtzbert #erin gilbert #jillian holtzmann #dailyfic #withouttherain

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kindabraveandlittlestupid · 6 years

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There is something growing in society. Perhaps it’s always been there and perhaps it has its purpose but with social media, the internet's connectivity and all that it is becoming more pronounced. I personally refer to it as “Burning Everything You love” it's commonly connected to the Hipster Culture; where they are hypercritical of things they are themselves involved in and take ownership of said thing while simultaneously tearing it down and of course denying others access to that same passion. Truth be told while Hipsters are the easy target, society collectively picks on them because of this but a majority of people engage in this behavior themselves (especially those who hate hipsters if only because they see their own reflection).

This BEYL mentality is something we all seem to enjoy indulging in. Myself included reviewing movies, games, shows, and so on picking them apart instead of simply enjoying them for being apart of my world. I am guilty of letting this side of me run rampant once or twice hating things that I had no reason to hate on or become overly critical of things I truly love. This form of criticism can be healthy in the sense that we can use it to examine things and explore how we might improve them, however, if left unchecked (without purpose or function) it becomes like a cancer of the mind and begins to rip into everything we know.

It’s how fanboys of Star Wars take 30+ year obsession and become the biggest haters of the new movies for both a collection of valid and invalid reasons. It how progressive-minded people can be coaxed into believing that their party is NOT for them and suddenly find themselves associating with the alt-right and embracing apathy. It starts to gnaw at healthy relationships like a dog with a bone. It launches a meme culture that is all about trolling instead of uplifting people. It is Criticism with no function or purpose and dare I say its very toxic and highly addictive. So let's delve into the topic of Burning Everything You Love and see if we can reflect on this nasty social habit we all see online and in politics.

Critically Protective

There are three glaring examples of Criticism in my mind in regards to BEYL: Protective, Possessive, and Destructive. Being Critically Protective is not always a bad thing. This is where healthy fandom exists, you love a thing there for you wish to see to respected and protected. This sort of criticism reflects on history, lore, previously set expectations, and so on. Its the reason why I said: “Why is the Stormtrooper black?” not because I had an issue with Finn but because we operated under the history that Stormtroopers were clones of Jango Fett. When they covered the history of switching from a clone army to using kids my criticism was immediately satisfied and had no reason to complain. People who held onto that criticism coldly might have been overly possessive or even destructive (racist) in their reasons for doing so.

Another element of being Critically Protective is caring for established lore. Using Star Wars again (I will do this a lot since it works for this subject) Disney decided to scrub the extended universe of all non-movie or cartoon related storylines. This naturally upset lots of fans who felt as though someone (or this case a large company) just invalidated their childhood in a big way. Being critically protective isn't always reflected inward on the material that fans analyze and review but it also reflects outwards at others who would see to adjust things as they see fit with no regards to how people might feel.

Critically Possessive

The Possessive element is the first taste of toxicity that people have. A sample statement of toxicity would be “I was into Star Wars before you were born”. They claim a seniority or ownership to the content. Males certainly embraced these geeky fandoms in a bigger way than women but girls are getting more and more into these fictions become a significant part of the base. This Critical Possessiveness tries to repel new people age, gender, and even race. The Possessive mentality locks in the expectations of the series and are highly critical to anyone or anything trying to change things. Its hard to tell just where a person is on a spectrum because they might get upset with Space Leia flying around like Superman after her bridge gets blown up (I even hated that scene) which puts them closer to Protective because the lore/rules of the force has kinda already been established for the community and someone was taking some big creative license. On the other end, people might possessive of the male-centric dynamic and slip into a destructive mindset when a bigger female presence is adopted into the movies which is plain sexism.

Critically Destructive

Being Critically Destructive is quite simply embracing the dark side. Hating on the movies for the sake of hating on it because it makes you feel important. I am ashamed to say I have done this in the past hating the Twilight series for being a vampire romance having never read the books or seen the movies. I don’t know why I hated on those movies or what purpose it served me to shake my fist at them. I was perhaps Protective of the Vampire lore of burning in sunlight instead of sparkling like a disco ball but that's a poor excuse to become destructive.

This sort of unhealthy criticism finds itself home in many forms regardless of gender or age. I would argue the largest antidote to this is maturity but some people never grow up. It’s why some people will always hate Justin Bieber, will troll strangers online and seek out ways to upset people who have passions they care deeply about. It no longer seeks to protect the thing that they loved but instead, feasts on corpses defeated fandoms. I think back to the most recent vore fest which was Mass Effect Andromeda, former fans smelling blood in the water wanted to see it fail and started shitting on a game for have bugs. The former ME games also had bugs yet we let that slide because we loved what was delivered to us. Something changed among the people who loved Mass Effect and we suddenly became social piranas becoming Critically Destructive and forcing Bioware to shelf the next installment.

Healthy Criticism

Criticism only serves a purpose when seek to make suggestions on how to improve or protect the things we love. Imagine if you will your favorite movie or video game was in your hands and you took a crack at writing the next chapter. You put your twist to it and try to make it both new yet familiar to the people who enjoyed the previous works. Would you prefer the review of your work to be “Wrong? Lame. Impossible. Fucking Stupid, You Suck.” or would you rather have “What did you mean by this? The force can’t reach across space. We can improve on this scene.“ One clearly exists to pull you down which is Destructive Criticism and the other thoughtfully combs thru your work asking questions that are protective and caring for the story.

So long as we understand why we are being critical of certain elements and are willing to help improve on those things as good critics do. Then indulging in this sort of Criticism is ok.

Reflection on BEYL

I have existed on both ends of the spectrum in regards to this. Hating on musicians, movies, or books; I never heard, seen or read. At the same time, I have gotten wiser with age and learned to be critical of the right things by letting the movie correct me if I approached it with a misconception. I did this with Black Panther wondering why they would isolate themselves in their advanced city while the world in chaos which my critique was quickly resolved when it became apparent that was one of the main themes of the movie. I learned to put things into their proper places understanding not everything must go through an unforgiving review process as it was meant to entertain not be work of art. Watch any of the Fast of the Furious movies, really fun to watch if you aren't trying to pick them apart.

I can't always turn off the critique in me but understanding if I becoming possessive or even needlessly destructive is the sort of reflection we can all benefit from. Maybe we will come to realize that we have all become too comfortable attacking the various fandoms we love. Perhaps we will also learn to listen to those who protect those fandoms and realize their critiques come from a good place (sometimes). That their opinions stop companies (gaming, movie,TV, etc) from doing what they want because let's be honest the people who hate all critics are the ones at the top who care more about a box office hit then respecting the lore. Thanks for reading.

Regards Michael California

#Fandoms #Philosophes #Reflection #Critical #Criticism

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christophertheodore-org · 6 years

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Mindless Entertainment and Propaganda Is Destroying Us

Michael P. Printup, president of Watkins Glen International, one of the country’s largest racetracks, stood with a group of about a dozen race fans at 8:30 a.m. Saturday. Next to him were boxes of free doughnuts and coffee. A line of men with towels, who had spent the night in nearby RV campers, pop-up campers and tents, stood patiently outside the door to a shower room. A light drizzle, one that would turn into a torrential downpour and lead to the races being canceled in the afternoon, coated the group, all middle-aged or older white men. They were discussing, amid the high-pitched whine of cars practicing on the 3.4-mile, 11-turn circuit racetrack, the aging demographic of race fans and the inability to lure a new generation to the sport.

“Maybe if you installed chargers for phones around the track they would come,” suggested one gray-haired man.

But it is not just sporting events. Public lectures, church services, labor unions, Veterans of Foreign Wars halls, Masonic halls, Rotary clubs, the Knights of Columbus, the Lions Club, Grange Hall meetings, the League of Women Voters, Daughters of the American Revolution, local historical societies, town halls, bowling leagues, bridge clubs, movie theater attendance (at a 20-year low), advocacy groups such as the NAACP and professional and amateur theatrical and musical performances cater to a dwindling and graying population. No one is coming through the door to take the place of the old members. A generation has fallen down the rabbit hole of electronic hallucinations—with images often dominated by violence and pornography. They have become, in the words of the philosopher Hannah Arendt [3], “atomized,” sucked alone into systems of information and entertainment that cater to America’s prurient fascination with the tawdry, the cruel and the deadening cult of the self.

The entrapment in a world of nonstop electronic sounds and images, begun with the phonograph and radio, advanced by cinema and television and perfected by video games, the Internet and hand-held devices, is making it impossible to build relationships and structures that are vital for civic engagement and resistance to corporate power. We have been transformed into commodities. The steady decline of the white male heaven that is NASCAR—which has stopped publishing the falling attendance at its tracks and at some speedways has begun to tear down bleachers—is ominous. It is the symbol of a captive society.

“We don’t see the youth coming in,” Printup said. “The millennial, the younger adults 18 to 35, is our target. We spend millions of dollars a year to target that group. But it’s hard. Look around. Who’s the youngest person here? That’s our problem. Every sport from the NFL to NHL is struggling with the 18 to 35 demographic. They call them weird. They call them difficult. They only want to look at their computers.”

Printup’s parent company, the International Speedway Corp. (ISC), has invested significant sums to reach this demographic with little to show for it.

“We have a digital firm that represents nearly all our tracks in the ISC,” he went on, noting that Watkins Glen, which drew about 16,000 fans this past weekend, is one of the few exceptions to the decline in numbers. “The digital platform is about the only way you can get to them. We target them. We buy lists. We hire an agency that tracks their Web and Internet interactions. If they bring up racing, we want to be there. When a kid Googles ‘Ferrari—racing—sports car’ we are one of the top 10 lists. We pay for that. It is not cheap. That’s how you have got to get these kids. But it’s not working the way it should.”

Robert D. Putnam [4] pointed out the decline of independent civic engagement, or what he called our “social capital,” in his book “Bowling Alone: [5] The Collapse and Revival of American Community.” He noted that our severance from local communal and civic groups brought with it not only loneliness and alienation, but also a dangerous and passive reliance on the state.

Totalitarian societies, including our own, inundate the public with a steady stream of propaganda accompanied by mindless entertainment. They seek to destroy independent organizations. In Nazi Germany the state provided millions of cheap, state-subsidized radios and then dominated the airwaves with its propaganda. Radio receivers were mounted in public locations in Stalin’s Soviet Union; and citizens, especially illiterate peasants, were required to gather to listen to the state-controlled news and the dictator’s speeches. These totalitarian states also banned civic organizations that were not under the iron control of the party.

The corporate state is no different, although unlike past totalitarian systems it permits dissent in the form of print and does not ban fading civic and community groups. It has won the battle against literacy. The seductiveness of the image lures most Americans away from the print-based world of ideas. The fascination with the image swallows the time and energy required to attend and maintain communal organizations. If no one reads, why censor books? Let Noam Chomsky[6] publish as much as he wants. Just keep his voice off the airwaves. If no one attends community meetings, group events or organizations, why prohibit them? Let them be held in near-empty rooms and left uncovered by the press until they are shuttered.

The object of a totalitarian state is to keep its citizens locked within the parameters of official propaganda and permanently isolated. Propaganda and isolation make it difficult for an individual to express or carry out dissent. Official opinions, little more than digestible slogans and clichés, are crafted and disseminated by public relations specialists on behalf of the power elite. They are repeated endlessly over the airwaves until the public unconsciously ingests them. And the isolated public in a totalitarian society is unable to connect its personal experience of despair, anxiety, fear, frustration and economic insecurity to the structures that create these conditions. The isolated citizen is left feeling that his or her personal misfortune is an exception. The portrayal of society by systems of state propaganda—content, respectful of authority, just, economically secure and free—is mistaken for reality.

Totalitarian propaganda, accompanied by isolation, or what Arendt called “atomization,” makes it possible for a population not to “believe in anything visible, in the reality of their own experience; they do not trust their eyes and ears but only their imaginations, which may be caught by anything that is at once universal and consistent in itself.” This propaganda, Arendt went on, “gave the masses of atomized, undefinable, unstable and futile individuals a means of self-definition and identification.”

Corporate propaganda saturates the public, especially a generation wedded to new technology, with these lies. Its power, however, comes from the meticulous study of the moods, prejudices, whims and desires of the public, to manipulate the masses in their own language and emotions. Konrad Heiden [7] made this point when he examined fascist propaganda in Nazi Germany, noting that propaganda must detect the murmur of the public “and translate it into intelligible utterance and convincing action.”

“The true aim of political propaganda is not to influence, but to study, the masses,” Heiden wrote. “The speaker is in constant communication with the masses; he hears an echo, and senses the inner vibration.” Heiden, forced to flee Nazi Germany, went on: “When a resonance issues from the depths of the substance, the masses have given him the pitch; he knows in what terms he must finally address them. Rather than a means of directing the mass mind, propaganda is a technique for riding with the masses. It is not a machine to make wind but a sail to catch the wind.”

Dissent will only be possible when we break the dark spell of corporate propaganda and the isolation that accompanies it. We must free ourselves from corporate tyranny, which means refusing to invest our emotional and intellectual energy in electronic images. We must build what the Russian anarchist Peter Kropotkin [8] called “voluntary associations for study and teaching, for industry, commerce, science, art, literature, exploitation, resistance to exploitation, amusement, serious work, gratification and self-denial.”

“We know well the means by which this association of the lord, priest, merchant, judge, soldier, and king founded its domination,” Kropotkin wrote. “It was by the annihilation of all free unions: of village communities, guilds, trades unions, fraternities, and medieval cities. It was by confiscating the land of the communes and the riches of the guilds; it was by the absolute and ferocious prohibition of all kinds of free agreement between men; it was by massacre, the wheel, the gibbet, the sword, and the fire that Church and State established their domination, and that they succeeded henceforth to reign over an incoherent agglomeration of subjects, who had no direct union more among themselves.”

Corporate propaganda has become so potent that many Americans are addicted. We must leave our isolated rooms. We must shut out these images. We must connect with those around us. It is only the communal that will save us. It is only the communal that will allow us to build a movement to resist. And it is only the communal that will sustain us through mutual aid as climate change and economic collapse increasingly dominate our future.

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