#and the fact that people put this country on such a high pedestal

[blkwag]

the u.s will always have blood on their hands because… *opens history book* but this…. i have no words

[dreamescapeswriting]

Smutober Day 1 ~ Formal Wear Namjoon [M]

WORD COUNT: 1.1K

PAIRING: Namjoon x Fem!Reader

GENRE: established relationships, minors DNI, formal wear, pauper x prince, cunnilingus (female receiving) slight public play, almost caught

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - Smutober 2023

⤜MASTERLIST

"Put it on," Namjoon chuckled as he watched you closely from across the other side of the room and you giggled a little shaking your head at your boyfriend. There was no way you were about to put on a crown that probably cost more than your house ever would. The two of you were currently being held inside of the throne room while you waited for him to be announced to the rest of his party, You weren't supposed to touch anything inside of here and he knew that.

"No. It's too expensive, besides, we have to be downstairs for your party," You reminded him but he rolled his eyes at you, kicking himself away from the wall he had been leaning on and making his way over to you. He'd been watching you ever since you walked into the room and you'd been looking at the crown that would - eventually - go to you once the two of you were married and he wanted nothing more than for you to try it on.

"I'm the prince and what I say goes," He teased, wiggling his brows at you as he took the crown off the pedestal and held it in his hands. The thing sparkled as he held it, it was a silver crown made up of diamond roses and diamond leaves, It was fit for the most perfect of Queens and you could never imagine yourself wearing it. No matter how much Namjoon reminded you that one day it would be yours, you'd never feel right wearing it. It just didn't seem like your kind of thing...None of it did. Not even dating a prince and yet here you were, engaged to be married to one. 

You rolled your eyes at him as you did a curtsey, holding the edges of your dress as you did so and bowing down your head to him dramatically.

"I'm sorry Your Royal Highness but I simply can't put on that crown, for we can't be late to the ball." Namjoon chuckled once again before placing the crown on top of your head, a gasp escaping his voice as he saw how you looked in it. He'd always imagined you in the crown, or maybe another if you ever wanted to redesign it but this was perfect for you, you were perfect for it. 

You were stunning, beautiful...You were all of those things before of course but there was just something about seeing you in a formal gown and a crown that was sending him wild. He let out a small cough when he felt his dick growing harder inside of his pants, god, he felt like he was suddenly 14 again and couldn't control himself.

"Oh Joonie," You cooed stepping closer to him and placing your hand over his crotch smirking a little as he closed his eyes,

"Does seeing me look like a princess turn you on?" You whispered seductively, softly massaging your hand over his dick and smirking as he bucked toward your hand. Namjoon let out a small growl as you slowly sank down onto your knees,

"A real princess would never kneel before someone else," He stated before standing up and walking you toward the throne where he would be sitting in less than a week as the King of his country.

"Joonie, I'm not a princess..." You trailed off as he sat you down on the edge of the throne and sank down onto his knees, he lifted your gown up a little chuckling to himself.

"What if someone walks in?!" You asked in a slightly panicked tone, though the thought of it was turning you on all the more.

"Your dress will cover me." He shrugged it off as though it was the most casual thing in the world for you to be sitting here when in fact, you could have been imprisoned or worse if the wrong kind of people came to find you here.

"And if they ask why I'm sat on your throne?" You arched a brow at him but he simply met your look with a smirk,

"Hmm, maybe you should tell them I'm sucking your clit and they'll leave us to it." He winked before disappearing under the confines of your dress making you squeal out a little and cover your mouth. The last thing you needed was for his bodyguard to walk into the room right now and ask what all of the noise was about. Before you could say anything else your legs were hung over his shoulders as he dipped his head between your thighs,

"F-Fuck, Joonie," You whined out as he began to devour you like a man starved, sucking on your clit as he thrust his tongue deep inside of you, you could have sworn your vision was going to blur as you whimpered out his name. Your hands found the armrests of the thrown and you dug your nails into the cushioned grip. Your head rolled back against the headrest as you slowly ran your hand down to where his head rested under your dress and you pushed him closer to you, trying to get him deeper.

Something that was so wrong should never feel so right, you thought as you continued to rock your hips toward his mouth, moans slipping from your lips as you forgot just where you were sitting and who could walk in.

"Don't stop," You veered as he continued to fuck you with his tongue, your hips rocking a little against his face as you moaned out loudly. There was a slight tapping on the door and your whole body burnt as you stared over at the door, almost panicked about whoever it was walking inside.

"Prince Namjoon?! Is everything okay?! His guard asked from the other side of the room, Namjoon pulled his head free from under your dress while thrusting two fingers into you and curling them at your g-spot.

"Perfect! Thank you Carlos." He called out before going back to work, sucking hard on your clit as you wriggled against the chair trying to move away from him until your body spasmed and your orgasm erupted inside of you causing you to cry out in intense pleasure.

"Who knew my Princess would have a thing for almost getting caught?" He moaned out, pulling himself free from under your dress and straightening his outfit out.

"M-My turn," You whined standing up on shaky legs and pushing him down onto the throne but before you could return the favour for your earth-shattering orgasm the doors opened.

"Prince Namjoon, Princess Yn, they're waiting for you," Carlos called out making you glare down at Namjoon who simply chuckled, letting his guard know the two of you would be right behind him.

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @laylasbunbunny @tinyoonsblog @whitefoxgirl @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @minhosify @choisoorin @straykids5star @heyjiminnie @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @btsiguess-kpop @halesandy

[crashing9against9the9walls]

Before any of y'all could begin to dunk on Olly, may I remind you all that Israel once urged the BBC to pull out Olly Alexander for petitioning against Israel's participation in Eurovision since last year.

I get what Queers for Palestine is urging him to do but to put him in the pedestal ALONE like that and not call out for all the other artists (or at least the other LGBTQ artist) is just so infuriating. And the worst part of it is, whatever he does will not be enough for them. He already release a statement and it wasn't enough for them (it had likely gone through many revisions in order to get past the BBC). Had he remained silent, people would start accusing of of being complicit despite the fact he's been vocally pro-Palestine from the beginning.

Also, I feel like people are not getting the financial and legal consequences of him or any of the other artist just withdrawing all willy-nilly especially since they are all under contract with the broadcasters*. Like, some of them might be working part-time job, some like Silia are still in High School, some literally have music as their only source of income and we all know that's not enough to cover the legal fees and potential lawsuits that would entail. Also, there's a huge risk of being blacklisted, not only in the broadcaster from ever returning to the song contest, but also in the entire music industry, which is already hard to enter/make it. On top that, poorer countries like Albania or Moldova just couldn't afford to do that and jeopardize everything.

It's literally just impossible to win.

This whole mess is a lose-lose situation where nobody but Israel wins. Like, if they do withdraw, that's exactly what Israel wants because less competition for them. But if they compete, that's also what Israel wants because it meant validation of them being there even thought everyone wanted them gone.

All and all, this is literally the EBU's fault by allowing Israel compete in the first place. They literally created a impossible situation where, one way or another, the artist will be thrown under the bus.

Tl:dr... BLAME THE EBU, NOT OLLY!

Edit: * I just really need to put the one out there.

[dekusleftsock]

I JUST HAD THIS REALIZATION IN THE SHOWER WHY HAVE I NEVER. THOUGHT ABOUT KATSUKI LIKE THIS.

So this is going to kind of go into Izuku’s bullying from Katsuki but it’s mainly if not entirely about why Katsuki has always stood out as a person, regardless of quirk or even leadership.

What got me thinking about this was actually those “American meets K-Drama bullies” on tiktok, which I often feel has a hint of xenophobia, but I digress.

One of the main points as to WHY the American in those examples would “win” is because of the cultural differences between fighting back vs shutting up and taking the beating. The main reason most Americans believed they would win is because culturally, a K drama bully would never think that their victim would retaliate, much less try to beat their ass in the first place.

Japan and China have similar cultural standards, especially to bullying (which is why bullying is so so bad statistically in Japan, with a whopping 57% bullying rate), and this “sit down and take the beating” cultural standard often permits bullies to continue to retaliate within the school. (Fun fact I was actually researching divorce in Japan for this due to some misinformation I’d read a while ago, but apparently Japan doesn’t have joint custody?? Like period?? It comes from the idea that a family is a set unit, and that were a parent to want to leave that unit, they are fundamentally no longer apart of it. No marriage, no custody, no child. You simply don’t see your kid very often, or ever. Sometimes this is even a decision on the father’s part, thinking that it’s “too painful to see the child after separation”, and that parents don’t see the benefit in children having both parties in their lives)

So, thinking of this in mind, I first went to why Izuku wouldn’t necessarily speak out or try to fight back. He wants to, he definitely almost does, but ends up standing silently shaking instead. Yes, fighting back may feel good, but even to people who would sympathize with said struggles may still blame the victim in this situation for “causing trouble”, it’s why Izuku and Katsuki’s relationship is even more interesting; it’s not just Izuku gaining confidence as he goes into high school, but that after he was given a space TO fight back (the first hero training), he actually started his arc on “defying society” and “not pushing things under the rug”. Tearing that rug to shreds doesn’t just mean looking out for those who haven’t been looked for, but also for destroying the standards that fighting back is a fault of yourself.

Tbh we also have this in the west as well, even those Americans who like to make those TikTok’s shaming people in countries they have no contextual idea to understand, much less solve. Because it’s not that fighting back itself would be hard, but that the social backlash would cause you to be even more of a target. It’s a lose-lose situation, so yes, a student will choose the wisdom of their parents and their elders that tells them to pretend it isn’t there.

But, besides that, in America (and I honestly wouldn’t doubt that this is in Europe too) the subtlety of that shame IS STILL THERE. I can even account for this in my middle school, for lightly pushing my bullies who ganged up on me, I was the one blamed and threatened punishment. The idea of a fight at all in high school would cause immediate suspension on both parties records, regardless of why or who started it. My brother in middle school was expelled for threatening kids who were both physically and vocally harassing him, and instead of any sort of help from the school, they REFUSED footage that might have defended him and my brother was then ostracized by my neighborhood/school district and thought to be some kid about to shoot up a school, he wasn’t.

Violence isn’t always the answer, obviously, but this is mainly to point out the hypocrisy of putting the west on this pedestal for fighting injustice.

I wanted to put this in somewhere but didn’t know where so it’s going here, but I find this take even funnier given the fact that North America has a 1% higher bullying rate than Asia which is so fucking funny and ironic

BUT BACK TO THE MAIN POINT ON KATSUKI, IM GETTING THERE I PROMISE🙏🙏

I think there’s this perception online of Katsuki that he is considered so unbelievably cool and normal given the context of his middle and elementary school, but putting it into perspective? Fighting your bullies, especially ones a year older than you, is REALLY WEIRD. Like, he’s an odd ball. It actually makes so much more sense as to why Izuku admires Katsuki in the first place. Katsuki has NEVER simply sat down and took the beating IN HIS LIFE.

And when you really think about it? All of that direct language, how rude he talks in Japanese (as in what pronouns he even uses for people, to the point that even the “softer” or “more intimate” pronouns he uses are… also kind of rude), and yk, suddenly, it’s almost like all the people at the beginning of their first year making fun of him… makes sense. And not just in a “lets humble this guy” way, they have no reasons to think of him in any kind of way really, they’re simply reacting to Katsuki and his odd way of speech and forwardness. He IS weird here, not just an asshole.

But EVEN GIVEN the fact that people know and think Katsuki is weird, he still strides along anyway. In fact, the only person who has ever gotten under his skin has been Izuku, who never even implied that he thought any malice of him in the first place.

Even now Katsuki continues to be himself to such a visceral, outward degree. I saw this post recently that was saying Izuku was actually quite mature for his age, but I’d argue that it’s less maturity, and more that he has just abided by a certain cultural standard of being thankful for the opportunities he’s been given.

It’s almost like Horikoshi has used Katsuki as this… idk, societal commentary? He certainly stays a societal commentary here in the west and our standards, often portraying more nuanced ideas of forgiveness and change and humility, but it’s different now that I think about it.

Katsuki isn’t just a character made to be rude for the sake of being funny, he’s an honest to god, walking, talking, culmination of what Japanese culture stands to change. It’s why Katsuki keeping his “hardened” traits is so so SO important. And it’s even more interesting given that he’s popular, he’s powerful, and he’s still bold while he does so.

Katsuki didn’t try to be popular, he just happened to do so. Explaining why he’s so bizarrely different from everyone else suddenly makes everything about his character make sense to me. Like, ofc Izuku would admire him to an almost worshipping degree, ofc he would stay in his life regardless of his flaws, Katsuki is himself in the most unapologetic way possible and THATS what’s truly admirable about him. His quirk, his determination, they’re both beautiful, but he’s the hero in his life because heroes inherently juxtapose the society around them. And that is exactly what Katsuki is.

And Katsuki, for all his flaws, never changed himself for society. He was always, long before he went to UA, before he even had his quirk, before he’d probably even met Izuku—been a hero.

[sasukesgucciflops]

Here I am back on my John Marston BS.

I pointed this out before ab how ppl loved calling John “watered down” but I’m also seeing people forget that he was also put on a very high fucking pedestal and had no idea how to handle it. In other words; he was the gifted kid who got burnt out after everyone expected everything from him. John never expected to be seen as such. He actually preferred to not be held to such a degree. I’m sick and tired of people feeding into the “John’s a golden boy” “John’s a piece of shit” narrative. Clearly these people have only seen RDR2 and have no clue about everything in RDR1 and yes I’m giving an attitude so y’all better catch it.

Here’s my John Marston character analysis and this is only about one aspect of him. (Wait until you see every other aspect bc I’ve literally dissected this man like a frog oops)

He never fucking asked for it. In fact, he didn’t expect jack shit from anybody. If anything, people used him. People used him up. You see it plainly in rdr1, he’s being used to hunt down his old partners. To find his old partners he’s gotta ask the sheriff, what does the sheriff do? He uses him to handle some lowlife gangs around the county. The sheriff ACCIDENTALLY—not even voluntarily—reveals someone that ends up somewhat helping him out. West Dickens—and what does he do? Uses him. Seth? Uses him. Travels over to another country, what do they do? USE HIM!

Okay, so rdr2—if you couldn’t get the picture already—John was one of Dutch’s MAIN PAWNS. That man raised John to USE HIM. John was young and had lots of energy and he was gullible enough to let Dutch do whatever with his naivety. The most fucked up thing about all of it, not only about how (almost) everyone saw him as a pawn, not as a genuine friend, saw him only for his uses;

John didn’t care. He knew he was being used but he didn’t care. Yes it bothers him and again he’s fully aware he’s being ran around in circles by all these people; it doesn’t matter. He sees himself as someone who is replaceable. He’s expendable. It’s whatever. He was always made to think this and perhaps he knew that it was his fate to be all used up and thrown out like it was nothing. And that’s what ended up happening.

No, he wasn’t a perfect father. He SHOULDVE done much much better about that. Just for that I let anti’s breathe a little because in Jack’s younger years, hell no John wasn’t a good father! John was in denial, busy trying to live up to his dreams of being someone he isn’t. On that note, John slowly realized that Abigail and Jack were probably the only ones that didn’t see him as a pawn; they just wanted him to be present and that causes him to do a 180. To him, it was worth dying for them. Maybe he felt as if he owed them a debt that could never be repayed—it’s almost like he expresses this to Jack a dozen different times. “I’m sorry, Son. I’m not going anywhere.” And “I know I wasn’t around a lot for you but I’m trying to make up for that”. He becomes viscerally aware of the damage of his absence (as he should) and it becomes something he fears he’ll never get to make up for.

Abigail never wanted to use him. She just wanted HIM. Jack—OF COURSE never wanted to use him, he wanted a FATHER. Honorable mention, but Arthur never saw him as a pawn either. In fact, he was well aware of how John was being treated, even mentioning it to him canonically, along the lines of, and I’m loosely quoting this, “At first you’ll be a prize pony until you become a work horse”. These people become so important to John—among others such as Bonnie, Charles, Sadie, even Uncle—because they never tried to use. him. John was more than expendable to them, he was worth something to them and for that he loved them and felt as if he would owe them for eternity.

I truly can’t believe some of y’all completely miss that whole point because it’s written EVERYWHERE it’s literally how John’s story goes and we experience it with him. His story is so fucking tragic and yes, while Arthur was the prime example of “having a doomed narrative from the start”, people don’t talk about how John is literally in the same boat. That man was always doomed, by his friends, the people he would try to call family—he was raised all the way up just to be put down…. THAT’S the story of John fucking Marston.

[craycraybluejay]

Finished watching Inside Job. Reagan is far too relatable for my comfort.

The manipulative alcoholic genius who treats her like property and shits on her own genius to save his ego. Yeah uh. Yeah.

One side of my genetics is asshole geniuses in high places; doctors, musicians/actors (not the most well known but they had their time in their country), and prodigies whose lives went to bumfuck nowhere because they were too busy trying to satisfy their ego with easy targets and jobs that they can't possibly fail at than to, you know, do something actually useful with the intelligence they were cursed and gifted with.

That bastard could've been a goddamn legendary astrophysicist but instead he decided to be an abusive drunkard. He could've had it all and he squandered his own life and the lives of everyone who was stupid or unfortunate enough to be near him. Same with his father and probably that guy's father too. Potential is practically endless but these cucks never actually DID ANYTHING with it. Do you know how annoying that is? The fact that someone would prefer to abuse you and the people you love than go out and do something meaningful and important with their abilities? The fact that someone could have all the doors open and slam them shut just to try to fuck you up? To try to make sure you couldn't achieve what they failed to?

He could've been a genius but he's an idiot just like his shitty ex-wife. He's a small-minded, uneducated, unambitious jackass. He'd rather shout slurs at queer people than study some goddamn science. Rather drink to blackout than make something interesting. I absolutely HATE people like him. You had the damn world in your hand but decided it was more important to hurt people and yourself than actually *enjoy* life and do something meaningful.

I'm just so bitter about it. My only memory of "praise" from him was him accusing me of plagiarizing in the third or fourth grade because my writing was "too professional and good" to be mine. Always talking down on my abilities and intelligence.

And meanwhile on the other side his ex-wife puts me on a damn pedestal and then talks down to me. It's genuinely confusing what the goal is. Perhaps something like "I want to appear as if I have The Best Kid" like a Gucci bag but also "I don't want anyone to challenge the regressive beliefs and ideas I have, nor do I want to stop feeling superior to everyone around me."

I hope to gods I don't miss my shot. I hope to gods I can fucking do something instead of follow this same toxic cycle of abuse and meaninglessness. The waste of potential. The full surrender to the worst of yourself.

[thatgordongirl]

Part 3 Love Interests/Family of the Ghosts

Carol - Joyful song

The fact her name is a song and Pat liked signing show tunes seems to imply they may have bonded over music. Carol wearing velvet while Pat wears brown perfectly encapsulates their personalities in relation to one another. Carol is more passionate and exciting, being the song that Pat loves, and Pat being a sturdy and stable person willing to cherish her. 

Daley - Assembling, gathering 

Gathering is probably in relation to Pat’s job as a Scout Leader. Assembling has more control and would definitely be something Pat would do with his scouts, it seems like he wanted to leave his love for scouts in his son’s name. 

Margot - Pearl

Pearls are often known to represent wealth, femininity, purity, wisdom, patience and peace. These are all attributes Margot would have had to have while Julian cheated on her, as she was left to her devices as he was out most nights. This could represent her taking some form of divinity in Julian’s head as the ideal woman, even if he didn’t respect her. Sometimes when seperate from their wives, husbands will make them more grandiose and place every woman up to that standard, which can never be met. 

Rachel - Ewe, female sheep 

It is said when you see a sheep it can symbolise a desire to conform, to belong to an environment. This could represent Julian breaking away from conforming to parenthood. Sheep were often used to symbolise God’s people, which may also be in relation to Julian’s ‘sinful’ actions. 

Francis - Frenchman, free man

The free man interpretation could reference how Francis never got punished for tricking Thomas and marrying Isabelle. He was able to live his life fully in the house and gain all the money he wanted without Thomas ever being an obstacle again. It could possibly allude to French descent, or perhaps it’s referring to Thomas’ disinterest in other countries outside of his own. 

George - farmer, one who works with earth

Now, I wasn’t too sure what that could mean in relation to Fanny’s husband, but considering he was known as wayward in the family, perhaps he preferred a less high-class lifestyle. Maybe his way of being wayward was working with the farmers, and it was viewed as him removing his own worth marriage wise. Maybe that was a deliberate action because he knew he was gay, or had some idea of it. 

Eleanor - light-hearted, shining light 

At first glance, Eleanor is very similar to Kitty. But we all known she was incredibly manipulative. The shining light part of her name could be a reference to her manipulation blinding Kitty to her true intentions. It could imply that she tricked many people acting aloof and sheltered. 

Sophie - Wisdom

I think the wisdom Sophie had was beyond that of the men she was plotting with. She was smart enough to know how to dissuade them from suspecting Humphrey, and was bilingual. She was smart enough to know when to stay and when to run, yet not arrogant, as she thanked Humphrey with a kiss on the cheek. She was wise enough to know she couldn’t get out of the marriage but could interact with the plotting. 

Isabelle - Pledged to God

Pledged or oath in her name may relate to Thomas, and how she was going to marry him. Men were considered above women, so pledged to god would be Isabelle linking to Thomas in marriage. Beautiful in the shortening of her name would be how Thomas sees her, perfect and divine as he puts her on this pedestal in his head.

[possessionisamyth]

Just read Gambit #1 (2022) and wanted to get my thoughts down while theyre cohesive. tumblr was a shit that didn't save my first draft properly at all

I see what they were trying to do by having this Gambit mentor thing. Storm does grow up in her homeland learning how to survive street life as a child, however I do not think this story was the right direction to go for Storm.

Ororo is the first african character, the first black mutant, we get as a main cast member. A big part of her is her culture, though at the time was depicted in an extremely dated manner due to them not letting a bunch of black people in there to make comics, and how she was eventually able to thrive with her abilities in Cairo is a pivotal part of who she is as an adult. But this

Pretty much sums up my feelings on this issue run.

One of the things about colonization is assimilation. Erasure of your language, your culture, and how you were taught to interact with the world in order to conform to the ideals of the place you were put in. Removing Ororo from Cairo and making her grow up on the states will absolutely change who she becomes as an adult.

Growing up on the streets in the place she called home, on those very streets she used to play on, seeing the homes of her distant family, of her friends, of her parents friends, of those people's families from one side where she has parents to the other is pretty damn important to her character actually. Because any one of those people she knew personally or in passing were people who couldn't or didn't help her. They were people who could just as easily have been in her situation were the roles reversed. And she has to see the beautiful and the ugly sides of where she grew up, and she extends this viewpoint to everywhere she goes as an x-man.

They try to soften this by showing us a girl child gang Ororo tries to help only for her help to backfire, however it doesn't work. Those girls are still in an environment where they grew up before losing everything. Ororo has jumped countries, and this has a HIGH chance of her putting Cairo on a pedestal versus the shitty American city she's in now where she can't even speak her native tongue without getting crap.

Don't even get me started on the fact that it's a southern white man teaching the girl freshly plucked from Africa about the good ol USA.

Listen, I love Gambit! I do! I think he gets a shit hand and should be given more attention, but if they wanted to do this story for child Ororo it should've been

1) done by only black people to erase the dated depictions in her backstory

2) set in Cairo

3) under her original mentor

If they wanted to do this story for Gambit, it should've been with child Jean. Jean already has a monstrous adversary, The Phoenix, and this won't remove her from a place she's known. Having her defeat Phoenix as a child and leave it always lurking wherein she later loses the battle as an adult? Making her ask the question "what did I have then that I don't have now?" Letting Ororo and Jean bond over having shitty theft based childhoods? That's what I would like to see!!!

However, I don't know where they're going with this. I don't know if Ororo time/dimension jumped, or if she got de-aged or what because then why is Gambit being a dick to her? But, it is what it is, and I'm not particularly interested in reading more, but if my friend buys the rest and says they change their tune for some reason explaining all this, I'll probably flip through it, idk

[soft1scream]

this moment made me write for something real, that i thought to myself— this moment didn't turn the pages over— it started the book. 

i like to think that there's no hell for those who never believed in heaven— i guess there is really something in those formative years. however, here i am fondling all the fury behind my poetic persona just because i ended up in a state of disbelief as i can no longer sneak yellow in a black canvas.. and so i'm writing because finishing the drawing is the only option. 

.. and i'm writing because i'm a stutter. 

where i am isn't something i dreamed of, as a spiritual cruiser, perhaps an easy rider. i want to do well with education, thus i’m graduating soon, yet, the thought of steering my own path from here on out is something only i see difficult accepting. i haven't emblazoned my strongest version yet. when standing, i'm a quarterback, when lying, i'm dreaming in paperback. still, i'm crossing the threshold, unsure of life over there, hoping— that day, i will have a home for all of my habitats and be able to choose horror rather than my usual habits. 

my younger self has always dreamt of going to a different city, away from this tropical— non smoking country, live life and not just watch myself survive and have fun and be young forever and be forever beautiful and be the once in my family's lifetime. i dream of something bigger than who i am, i dream in 15 stories high, or just to see skyline underwater. yes, i will keep scintillating in incandescent scenes just like how lyrical obscurity will forever just be enigma to machines. will i blossom like a rose in a garden full of weeds or could the smog end me like the ashes that have watched over my deeds? 

i am still forced to be the skeleton that helps them sleep better at night, that's why i search for pedestals of human to avoid the view from their height. however, im okay for everything that was done to me that we're part of the reason i am who i am today, either by shattering me then turning me more refined or by abandoning me.. but i'm really grateful for those people i met while trying to find the person i call 'myself' that didn't alter or hinder the reflection that followed me every step of the way. this year was built to be a castle in the air, to make me realize, i'm not the only person in this world, that the world doesn't revolve around my desires. that i dream for something bigger than who i am. i would love to see the world as marianne as the people around me. 

i contemplated a lot during the times i was able to do so, realizing.. i have said "realizing" too many times now for my liking. i'm not used to realizing, most of the time i just don't wanna know.. anyways.. i realized that people just don't believe any of my kindness. that because i'm usually strong, people don't believe me if i get weak. not even my family or friends. even the poems i write won't get used to the fact that i am not what i used to be. and i don't want to be misunderstood for feeling what i want to feel or for feeling what i don't want to feel. 

i believe that i am more than what i show— what i reveal. deeper than what i say or how i act or how i put emotions to every words. it's my nature to pretend like im strong, it acts as an alibi to hide the fact that i'm weak and vulnerable and sensitive and careful and sad and tragic and beautiful but no hope... and it's hard being a weak skeleton in a thick skin, always feeling unloved and wronged. which in the end, my fault. for showing everybody how a person with applaudable background with no applauses behaves. but it can never be my fault that in this house, i cannot feel happiness. can't feel sadness, anger, pity or hunger. and once i feel stressed, i will be justified. i may seem normal, but my life is difficult. i live in a terrible house, never experiencing home. i guess i'm nasty and evil, but if you've seen what i can still remember, you'll understand me. it's very unfortunate that the person who has the most potential to love was given a family who never believed in that stuff. 

 

sometimes, when i think about it and writing about it, i let my teardrops wet the paper because it's somehow giving me the satisfaction of having to get to feel any emotion— as if i'm watering the rose from my very own grave— but then again, water takes away the letters from the paper— leaving me with indelible mistakes that makes me want to just pantomime my feelings.  when i'm lonely— i feel alone— i lie in my bed, but it doesn't help as the bed's too wide for me, or that one bottle of pepsi is too much to drink. god, i wish i have always preferred thunder from the rain. 

i want to talk about how i love a man— which i never ever opened my mouth for. most of the time, i'm just in love with the idea that we're completely different from each other, which is the standard for most movies but never in a reality tv show. if i need some man to tell me i look pretty, my body is tiny, i'm his wallpaper or that he draw my face upside down black and white— sure i can easily get these words from men, but if i tell you, i want someone to give me 15 anniversaries, quiet when there's something wrong, and laughs when i'm overreacting and won't tell me that it's enough!. 

i'm really grateful for my friends who cured all the headaches i gave them. there's no greater feeling than being burnt out after spending the day with them. when i'm tired but i look back on times i was happy. the source of me laying down is also the source of what keeps me getting up. for them. for fun. 

tw: pissed 

if i won't be a superstar, i will be a writer or close to a storyteller, but it's difficult when people will constantly overlook me, waste my potential that's deep within me like i wasn't built to show them, they put my talent on somewhere it don't fit, and they take away the light in me when i know im so much better than all of them. i'm fuming to witness my talents misplaced, relegated to places where they fail to shine, and to endure the dimming of my light at the hands of individuals who fail to see my worth. do you know how patronizing it is for me to witness them show up in a funny smirk while i'm trying to find a place i belong.. to be beneath the skin of a writer, an actual escaper, a city light underwater.. do you know how patronizing it is to assume that i would somehow prefer tasks of lesser difficulty simply because you doubt my ability to handle more challenging ones. your assumption not only diminishes my potential but also undermines my confidence.. who the fuck do you think you are?.. to confine me within the boundaries of your narrow perception. do you know how discouraged i was when i showed there not to do anything good in their eyes then not be involved but then get credited after all? it's nice, thanks for the recognition, but it pains to realize that my efforts are overlooked until it's convenient to acknowledge them. do you know how discouraged i am these past few days, and when i'm discouraged, i bet i will think i'm quitting and i bet i'd feel like a loser. do you know how it pains me when writing turned out to be the only thing i'm good at and then feeling that i failed at the one thing i've ever tried.. just because there's someone who thinks they're a so much better writer than me. and i know, i have to bleed ink onto every page to prove that. do you know how embarrassing it is to claim to be a writer then read rather than write, or listen because i have weak attention span. my imagination doesn't run wild but if there's one thing about me, i know how to write. i think about all the failed attempts of my writing journals for a platform that follows a format. it's not my fault i am built not to fit in. they're not gonna judge me for the way i write or me as a writer. they can try but they won't make my words or letters so much better 

i'm a metaphor for those who once felt overlooked, misunderstood, and unlovable. i still have something to say, even now that i already wrote an eight pager. i'm a straightforward mouth with a pretty face. i'm a coffee for those who never drank coffee. strong at first, but will tell you to wake the fuck up. i believe that everyone should have a "france" in their life— this is reality, live in it. i always carry the burden of going home, and it's hard to carry the burden of staying the same. when i'm not hungry anymore, i'm leaving this country.  if i ever feel like writing again, trust me you will know— cause i'll be posting about it. 💋

[vtori73]

Alright so... I HATE IT when people keep using the same damn argument of why western comics don't do as well as manga WHEN WHAT THEY ARE SPECIFICALLY TALKING ABOUT IS MAINSTREAM SUPERHERO COMICS!!!

It REALLY pisses me off because it seems like people seem to think these are the ONLY comics that exist except for manga which is SO ANNOYING AND IGNORANT!!! Please STOP only caring about mainstream media and get outside your fucking bubble and ACTUALLY give western comics a try because SO many are good and dont do reboot shit like superhero comics do.

And yeah those comics don't do as well as manga either and people will inevitably ask why that is (if they aren't ALL the way up manga/anime's ass) and honestly... I have a small theory on that. I don't believe it is THE main or only reason but it does play a part and that is the fetishization of Asian culture. We, the west, have done it forever and I believe some of it continues with how a lot of anime fans only really ever read manga or watch anime but NEVER bother with anything else comic or animation wise because if you like these forms of media you wouldn't limit yourself to just 1 countries yet many of these people do! Or aka, the weebs, and I say this because I've seen how these people are and how they act and such. They put manga/anime into this box high on a pedestal that NOTHING is able to even come close to touching which... is an insane thing to say of a specific depiction of an art form, PLENTY of non-japanese comics are amazing works of storytelling and art and there is PLENTY of stinkers within manga/anime.

I think one factor also is that these people can project onto it much easier than they can other stuff. By this I SPECIFICALLY mean the political ideas, opinions, issues etc can be easier for outsider audiences to ignore/not notice because it isn't apparent to them on a simple watch through because not everything can or is translated perfectly and that sometimes things can't always be translated because some things would need much more context that just isn't going to be depicted or explained within a single volume or episode of an anime or manga for various reasons but the main one probably being it just impractical and would require a lot more resources and take away from people enjoyment (not to mention even if it were a lot of people show they lack analytical skills with things that are from their same language or even culture).

Sometimes things are explained but usually with things that are easy to do with a few sentences. But sometimes even when ideas and opinions of a manga/anime has are much more obvious these types of people will tend to ignore them and claim that this stuff is all just apolitical and has no deeper meaning (unless it's sharing opinions they hold). Even progressive people run into this problem BUT not exactly in the same way as the above. For people who are progressive I see more so DENIAL of anime/manga they like exhibiting x,y,z and that it can't be because of x,y,z (one example being people will deny a specific popular anime has colorism or anti black issues).

Again, I don't believe it is the FULL picture of why anime/manga is growing in the west BUT I do very much wish some people would be honest and admit that some of the reasons why this stuff has taken off so much is possibly/probably because of fetishization of Japanese people and their culture (similar effect with kpop).

As for other reasons... I'm going to make a few guesses and say the specific way in which capitalism works for these diff countries mixed with the above issues, mixed with fandom AND the fact that manga/anime actually caters to various ages. I can't explain more than that because these are just my guesses but what I can say (briefly) is that unlike other countries Japan does seem to put some value into animation (mainly because it makes them extreme profit) and manga unlike other countries. Most marketing for cartoons is normally limited to ads and for comics is basically almost nonexistent. Our culture and our sort of capitalism doesn't value animation like it does in Japan. It is hard for me to get into because I'm not too knowledgeable on this stuff and it's getting late but basically the US (for example) doesn't see value in animation because it costs a lot more to make versus using real life people and actors and etc.

They don't want to spend a lot of money on something they don't have to and here, our culture LOVES actors for their acting but ESPECIALLY their looks and so that leaves animation a bit in the dust because people WANT to see big name actors. That doesn't stop these corporations from stapling on these big name actors in hopes to entice everyday people but ends up failing because these actors don't know that voice acting has it own set of skills same with these people who are put in charge of animation projects & crews (recent & big example: ATSV). Our culture puts more value and praise onto shows and movies that are live action, it's also where corporations are more easily able to exploit people meaning more profit for them (smaller actors, behind the scene crew members, etc). Hell, that's why Disney moved away from 2d animation because 2d animators are unionized so aren't as easy to exploit.

Anyway yeah... I'm tired and can't really think of anything else to add so, bye! Lol.

[healingsht]

Weird state of society for one of the 2 sexes

Girls are raised in a patriarchy Not in a way that reasembles what a patriarchy really is, as most country have made the required steps to not let any gap between the sexes be made and instead are opting for a class system that make the rich richer even when passing down generations and make it harder for everyone under to raise to the top But I do believe that girls are raised in a patriarchy and homophobia is a big part of why it is that way I don't see it often expressed when it is an obvious answer to some of the big problem our generation face on a day to day basis Parent are told to raise girls like princesses In a world that is hostile and wants to destroy everyone and introduce "the prince" as a gateway to leave these problems and be released freed for an unfair world It translate to girls not being introduced in any for of way to get better and manage theiur way in life other than by being typical raiponzel Which is terrible because who would wait for a man to do anything with your life ? I believe that it translate to more girls being raised in a different world from the boys and have a different path to life I believe it leads to ways of living that are totally different from their counterpart, being pinned against man in a world where only man are the answers Of course this way to think is bullcrap but is still the way girls are raised as if it was still the early 1800s I believe that the fact that reinforce that even more is the way boys are raised and the moment in life where conformism is at it's highest The early stages of developments are crucials to anyone who wished to become a part of society and yet it is the most unregulated part of our life as humans As it is very common in every institutions that our first instances of connection to society is school And it is even more common for the people watching over children to let the child grow and only interact when physical problems could occur I do believe this leads to a peak of racism, homophobia and overrall conformism which put both part of the boys and girls at war against each other and against themselves Having behaviours that are seen are girlish or boyish and having most of the people forced into some form of conformism when faced against the threat of potential bullying I believe homophobia is a big part of it because it devides even more than all else as being any of the traditionnal 2 sexes pins you in a case that you are forced to conform into I belive this devide put even more enphasis on that world where girls are made to be princess and are made to be affraid of men whilst "needing" one to be freed from this farytale that is now more real than not It forces girls to play a girly role or be put down and being left alone, which then leads to girls only having this way of thinking for a while and there comes the last point that reinforce this In cultures where women are prized and are judged by appearance, the upper class can easily pay for some of the young girls to still be in this world where man pay a high price to have even younger and even better looking girls around them this then leads to a false completion of the prophecy where these girls are now on a pedestal as they where taught would happen when the prince would come pick them up and force a false sense of security onto the head of those girls It leads to them being less prone to awareness as it isn't something taught enough to girls when they are the one that would benefit the most from it This is why I believe that girls are raised in a patriarchy, because they are raised to fit a mold of them that isn't even aware of what is needed or what is wanted The desires of girls have been delayed to a secondary priority for way too long and the way people raise girls, the homophobia of early school years and the objectification of women are all contributing to this problem I am really happy to see movement like LGBTQ+ raising the problem for thans people that is even harsher on them, But I do believe that by having a more broad vision of the spectrum that is not boy or girl personallity but just individual personnality more of a good way to prevent exclusion and more of these behaviors to stop entirely I believe an upringing focussed more on personnalities and less on the way you were born is to be benefited from everyone exept the rich class who is benefiting of this the more in twisted ways that led to our generation having to set all of these unfair treatments and our need to become the people we want more than what we are expected to be Changing this way to live is vital if we want to have a future that won't be as traumatising as to create entire classes of people who have already gave up on life "Doomers" That was my opinion on this subject even though incomplete I am looking to be able to understand more and see problems more precisely as the future come around This was made with only worry and love but if you have a thing to say about that my dms are open

[more-than-a-princess]

@quickdeaths asked: The Phantom of the Opera: what aspect of your muse do they think is hardest for people to accept? do they try to keep it secret / are they afraid of being ostracized if it’s found out?

universal classic monster headcanons asks - Accepting!

I find this ironic, because what Sonia is desperately trying to keep secret from the world? It's that she isn't perfect, that she isn't the perfect, pure princess everyone thinks she is.

On one hand, she wants to be seen as normal. She doesn't want to be put on a pedestal because of her looks and/or her title: she wants to be treated like equals around her peers, and the world in general.

But on the other? Sonia is petrified of failure. Of letting others down. In the grand scheme of things, she's terrified that she will be a terrible Queen, or at least having her reign not make much of a difference in Novoselic's history.

But in the short term? It is so difficult for her to accept that she doesn't have her life together, despite what outward appearances say. Part of this is due to how she was raised, to only show weakness when it's at a political advantage to do so. And of course: she was put on Earth to give her life to her nation and its people. She has a duty to that before anything else.

So she feels so incredibly guilty when she can't live up to that.

That said, she keeps plenty of things about her life hidden, by necessity or personal preference: why she had to leave In Utero High School, the physical, emotional, and verbal abuse in the Royal Family, the amount of alcohol she consumes (especially in private), occasional drug use, the fact she doesn't identify as heterosexual and heteroromantic (which is expected by her family and country), how much of her life is kept under control, whether by herself or her family.

And most importantly? How afraid she is that she'll end up like her parents. Or admitting that quite a lot of her life doesn't make her happy. She's been raised in an affluent lifestyle and born into privilege, and her family reminds her all the time: she will never obtain pity from anyone regarding her dissatisfaction in her life. Not when pretty much anyone on Earth would trade her for the position.

And of course: everything is kept carefully hidden. Her family has people employed to do just that, in a variety of means.

[allegra-writes]

"The Game"

Tom Holland x Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut, daddy kink.

Golf is boring. You wanna play something else...

"Swinging on the front porch, swinging on the floor.

Swinging where we want, cause there ain't nobody home..."

Cherry Pie - Warrant

He should have known it was a trap. He should have known it from the very first minute. This was punishment, plain and simple punishment. Unusually cruel punishment. He didn't even know why he was so surprised, in fact, he should have seen it coming a mile away. After all, you were about as subtle as a train wreck. And that was exactly how you had hitted him. 

You had always despised golf, said it was snobbish and boring. But he always invited you to tag along just in case, because sharing one of his favorite activities with his favorite girl? That sounded almost like paradise to him. That was probably the reason why that morning, when you had jumped at the chance to join him at the country club, he hadn't suspected a thing.

Oh, how naive he was. How trusting of him. Because now, he had to play 18 while trying to conceal a throbbing, almost painful erection, watching you prance around wearing that. It was ridiculous. It was silly. It was cliche.

It was driving him completely insane.

Your little ensemble was straight out of some soft-porn movie set, he was sure of it: Keds, knee high socks… and a criminally short pleated skirt, especially designed to torture him. You guys weren't even half way through, and he was already about to snap, with his arms enveloping you, hands over yours on the handle of the club, as you bended over just a little, ass pressing against his pelvis just enough to tease him, to remind him how good it felt being buried to the hilt inside your tight, tight heat, the slapping sounds of skin against skin combining with your moans...

One of his hands let go of the club, subconsciously wrapping itself over your hip bone, when you moved, twisting, hips getting away from his. 

"Oh my god! I can't believe it, did you see that?" You turned around to face him, eyes alight with joy at having hit the ball for the first time in your life. 

And for a second, he felt bad. He was probably reading too much into it, chances were you didn't even know what you were doing to him. You were innocent in all that, it wasn't your fault not knowing just how damn irresistible you were, how hard you made him just by standing close to him…

Until he noticed the outline of your nipples under your white t-shirt, made almost see through under the bright sunlight. His eyes squinted in suspicion.

"Are you wearing any underwear?" He blurted out, cheeks immediately turning red, looking around to make sure no one had heard him. But there was no one around, not many people playing on a wednesday morning. In fact, you had the whole course pretty much for your selves.

His cock twitched inside his pants, but he shook himself, squashing the thought before it could take full shape.

You seemed to ignore him, as your face fell.

"I… don't think I was supposed to shoot it that way, though" 

Tom's eyes followed yours, but try as he might, he couldn't find the white dot he was looking for.

"Where the hell did it go?"

"I think it landed behind those bushes" You pointed to the far away patch of hydrangeas on the other side of the field. He couldn't help the snort that left his mouth,

"Yeah, that's not even close to where it should be!"

"Hey! Don't laugh at me"

"I mean, at least we know you have a strong swing" He let out between laughs

You rolled your eyes,

"Be gentle with me, this is my first time" 

The laughter died in his throat like you knew it would, as the innuendo hit him, eyes darkening as they roved over your body once again. You had to know what you were doing... 

You turned around so he couldn't see your smirk, as you started walking in big strides in the direction of the bushes, leaving him to struggle to follow you, carrying the bag full of clubs. 

It wasn't a bad sight, he had to admit, watching you walk ahead of him, your skirt bouncing with your movements, hips swaying gently from side to side. And it was even better as you reached the tall plants, parting the branches trying to see past them, bending over once again, your short skirt riding up your thighs, higher, and higher. He gulped, what little blood was left in his brain rushing south, as he saw the cleft where the round globes of your ass met your legs. You climbed on your tiptoes, and he choked on a groan: just a little bit more and the answer to whether you had or not any underwear on would be right before his eyes, literally…

"Found it!" You called out, victorious, falling to your heels again, walking around the lilac flowers, disappearing from sight, heedless to his disappointment. 

He knew it was a bad idea, as he trailed after you, like in a trance. But there you were, waiting for him behind the tall wall of bushes hiding you both from sight from every angle, mischievous glint in your eye.

The ball was nowhere to be found, and he finally understood.

Your stomach made a flip as Tom tugged at his glove with his teeth, discarding it on the green grass, his whole demeanor changing before your eyes, jaw squaring, eyes hardening, movements slow and measured as he circled you like a tiger stalking his prey. 

"You dirty little liar" He accused, watching the corners of your mouth twitch, trying to hide your satisfied smile, but it was useless: you looked every bit like the cat that got the cream. Well, he knew of another thing that looked great dripping down your chin…

"You think you're real clever, don't you? Really sneaky, teasing me all morning with this little outfit," He let his now naked hand trace your nipples, already hard under the fabric of your tee, making goosebumps erupt on your skin. He was right, you hadn't bothered with a bra, "making me hard with your little touches and smart mouthed comments…"

"Golf is boring" You shrugged, "I wanna play something else" 

He stepped back, away from you, leaving you feeling cold without his heat, despite the bright sunshine. 

"Too bad, baby girl, I'm done with games" His eyes were steel as he commanded, "Show me"

"Show you what?" You looked at him through your eyelashes, you knew how much he liked it when you played coy. But this time, he had told you the truth, the games were over.

"You know bloody well what" His south London accent was always heavy when his patience was wearing thin, "lift that little skirt and show me what's mine" 

You obeyed, and this time, he did groan, the wet patch on the simple white cotton of your thong almost better than his fantasies of your bare skin. 

He fell to his knees on the grass. God, he was so whipped! His plan had been to have you kneeling in front of him, choking on his cock as he fucked your mouth so deep and hard that tears would stream down your face. He would release himself down your throat, leaving you begging for his softening cock, his fingers, his tongue, his freaking golf club, anything to fill your empty little cunt. But of course all of that flew out the window the second he actually saw that pretty pussy through your panties, made almost transparent with your desire for him, the fabric clinging to every curve, every little detail clear for him to admire.

"Come here, baby girl" His tone was much softer as he spoke, "let daddy have a little taste" 

You did as you were told, never stopping to hold your skirt up high for him. Tom nuzzled the cotton, breathing you in before hooking one finger on the damp fabric, tugging gently to the side to reveal your most secret spot to him. He let his tongue poke out, placing kitten licks against your clit, eyes rising to meet your face. Your own were closed already, little frown between your eyebrows, as if the tiny shocks of pleasure coursing through your body confused you. So expressive. So responsive. 

How could he ever stay mad at you when you were so fucking perfect? It only took one taste of you to melt whatever was left of his anger, as he marveled of the angel whining so prettily above him, delicate fingers digging into his shoulders to support herself as her legs shook for him. It never failed to amaze him, to blow his mind. It had always been like that, he had put you up on a pedestal long before you had started dating. 

But now, he wanted to lay you down, and spread you open under the sun. 

He tsked at your huff as his tongue left you.

"No, baby, you don't get to complain today. You've been a very bad girl, so now," He helped you down onto your back on the grass, making quick work of your panties. Taking a hold of your ankles, he hooked them over his shoulders, aligning himself with your dripping center, "you're going to take my cock like a good girl" 

With that, he let his head breach you, entering you slowly, so slowly. Savoring every second, sliding in inch by inch, making you feel every millimeter of his thick, thick length as he buried it into your sweet pussy, stretching you to the limits of pleasure. He had you fold almost in half, as his pelvis finally met yours. You sighed, you had thought he would burst through your ovaries before he was completely seated inside you.

"Can you feel me, babygirl? Feel how deep I am?" 

You nodded, unable to form words. He relented, only a couple of inches, before surging back in. 

"Feel me stretching your tight little cunt? Fuck, it feels so snug…"

He drew back again, snapping back against you harder, making you cry out,

"Yes!"

"Only I can fill you like this" He breathed, in and out again, and again. And again, establishing a harsh rhythm, "This pussy belongs to me…" 

"Yes, daddy" You sobbed, obediently. By now you knew exactly what he wanted to hear. He tugged at your t-shirt, sneaking his hand under it, massaging your breast. 

"These pretty tits are mine…"

It was hard to concentrate with him railing you into the ground, fast, brutal. Making sure the base of his cock dragged against your clit just right with every thrust.

"Yours, daddy" You managed, somehow, earning yourself a smile. If wolves could really smile at lambs before gobbling them right up...

He leaned forwards, bracing himself on one arm, the other travelling from your chest, to your neck. To your jaw. His tumb caressed your lower lip, and you opened up to him. Two of his fingers slid inside your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, you sucked them eagerly, hollowing your cheeks just the way he liked. 

"My princess… so pretty with your mouth full" Tom praised, hips never stopping, plunging his cock into you as far as it would go, over and over again, "wanna fuck your beautiful face… but this pussy… feels too good"

You sobbed around his fingers.

"So good… won't let me go… a slave" His thrusts were becoming messy. Erratic. Tom took his fingers out of your mouth to flick your clit with them.

"No, Tommy! Too much…" You cried, pushing at his hand, overstimulated. But he wouldn't budge. 

"Don't care. You're gonna take it" He growled, but sweetly kissed away your tears. He needed you to come, fast. Because there was no way he was lasting much longer, and you knew what to say if you really wanted him to stop anyway. 

"Fuck… yeah, just like that" he could feel you tensing around him. You were almost there, and he was right behind you, "so good… gonna come, baby girl. Gonna come inside you…" 

You shook your head, too delirious to express it with words, but he knew. You didn't like feeling dirty, didn't like the smell. But he fucking loved it. 

"Oh yeah… gonna fill you up… and you're not getting those panties back" His smirk was devilish, filthy. And you were sure that, even without his cock jackhammering into you, you could have come from that look alone. "Gonna see myself dripping down your thighs as you walk…"

His movements were downright sloppy now, as his words edged himself as much as they were edging you.

"Gonna have you sit in the car just like that… ruin your fucking little skirt… OH, FUCK" 

You felt his cock swell, pumping his seed inside your loins. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming, as his climax unleashed your own. Still, he kept moving,

"Gonna put your mouth around me while I drive…" There was no way the morning was ending without him having your mouth.

"Tom…" You could feel him begin to soften inside you, but he still wouldn't stop.

"Shhh, baby girl. Wanna make a mess…"

The end.

Buy me a coffee

[theepisceswriter]

Jealous AOT men (Levi, Porco, Zeke, Eren, Erwin)

A/N: Shout out to the bestie in my inbox that requested this and I’m sorry for taking forever to finally do it, but I hope you enjoy !

Synopsis: Do y’all fr need one? Basically just AOT men getting jealous in situations and how they handle it

TW: none really apply, GN!reader, fighting (kinda) for Porco cause he’s about that life like that, violence for Levi because he’s an angry short man, and mean douchebag rich boy Eren content

LEVI 

If there’s one thing Levi doesn’t tolerate when it comes to his partner it’s disrespect. He holds you on such a high pedestal and at a status that no one else can touch for loving him the way that you do, so for someone to disrespect the relationship you two have or you in general with some catcalling remark is like the greatest offense to him.

It doesn’t even have to be anything too serious. It can be something stupid like “I bet you’re hitting that fine piece of meat every night” and he’d have them on the ground in seconds with a knife pressed against their throat demanding that they apologize to you immediately.

“I recommend you apologize to them right now formally and watch what you say around me from now on or I’ll cut your tongue from your mouth with this very blade.”

Yeah, he doesn’t play when it comes to you at all. He has to set an example to let everybody know what to expect if they try either of you again because you would do the same too if the situation was reserved.

He lets the perpetrator go with no bruises besides the ones he got from Levi’s manhandling, probably per your request, and what do the two of you do afterwards? You just go on about your day like nothing even happened, like Levi wasn’t ready to cut someone’s tongue out over you in road daylight. It’s a norm for your relationship honestly because the two of you are both crazy.

PORCO

Aggressive! Aggressive! Aggressive! Porco is not afraid to get aggressive when it comes to other people trying to flirt with you and risk that possibility of fighting with them.

Especially when it comes to the creepy kind that don’t know how to respect your boundaries or get the hint that you don’t want to be messed with after turning them down numerous times. He was already on edge just seeing them come up to you and flash you that smile like they were genuinely charming or something, but once he saw them place their hands on your forearm and you brush it away with a scowl, he was lit up with anger!

There was no warning given to them to hurry up and go away before he gets mad or him coming up to you and wrapping a protective arm around your waist; he came running over and before you even knew he was making his way to where you were, he was throwing a punch dead smack in the middle of the perpetrator’s face.

“Don’t you know no means fucking no!?” “How dare you put your hands on my boyfriend/girlfriend!?” Told y’all he was really with the shits like that.

But because he doesn’t want to cause too much of a scene or get arrested or banned from wherever the two of you were at, that one punch (which is a really fucking hard punch that definitely going to have some impact on them whether it’s a bruise or some wooziness) is all he does before he’s yanking them by their collar and removing them out of the place his damn self. Did he overreact just a little? No! Because they touched you without your consent even after you expressed you didn’t want them to.

He’s a gentleman immediately after dealing with them and is by your side in an instant giving you a quick checkup with his eyes genuinely concerned for your well-being.

“Are you all right, babe?” “I hope your iight isn’t ruined but if you don’t want to be out anymore we can totally go home.” “They didn’t hurt you did they? Because I don’t mind going back out there to find them if they did.” So attentive and gentle with you. The complete opposite of what he was only minutes ago.

ZEKE 

It takes a lot to make Zeke jealous in a relationship because just the fact that he’s in a relationship with you is enough to make him feel secure in his place as your significant other. People can flirt with you and steal glances all they want because he honestly doesn’t care that much. It actually makes him feel smug and proud knowing that others are thirsting over HIS significant other like that, but can’t act on any of their thoughts because you’re his.

But....let the two of you be freshly broken up, or on a “break”, and he catches you out and about in public with some other jawn then it’s a whole other story. Now he’s feeling some type of way since he no longer has that guaranteed security from your relationship anymore. He’s hurt, but he’s not going to show that too much. Instead, he’s going to be smug and cocky with the way he approaches you two.

“So this is my replacement? He’s not even the great value version of me. You could do a hell of a lot better than someone like him and you know it, y/n.” God, he’s such a menace to society that deserves to be locked up. He wouldn’t stop at after the insults you send his way calling him pathetic and embarrassing nor at your request for him to leave. Matter of fact, he’s going to pull up a chair at your table just to sit there and mess with your poor date and eventually after backhanded compliment after not so backhanded insults, they get up a storm away.

“Are you really going to date someone who can’t take a little bit of heat from someone like me out of all people? Didn’t even have any worry remarks to come back at me with like I did for him. How sad.” He still just keeps going on and on even after the poor guy leaves, comparing himself to him and talking about how he’s so much better in not so subtle ways.

So much for getting hoes when you have an ex like Zeke, but you do like the fact that he’s trying so hard to get you back even if he won’t explicitly say it out loud; his actions speak everything

EREN 

Eren is such a douche bag he really is. Especially modern day rich boy Eren.

Let him catch someone trying to flirt with you while he’s in close proximity of you and watch him cause a whole scene at the country club or whatever rich place the two of you are at.

“Who the hell do you think you are flirting with my boyfriend/girlfriend? You can’t even compare to me so I don’t know what thought in your head made you think you can enough for you to try and get at what’s mine, but you better get rid of it right now. I can buy like three of you if I wanted to right now and it wouldn’t even put a dent in my bank account. You really think they’d go for somebody like you?” He’s such a meanie when it comes to you, he really is.

The poor perpetrator doesn’t even bother to fight for his name or pursue an argument with Eren because he knows it’ll get him nowhere but embarrassed even further, so he goes running off with blush on his cheeks from embarrassment because everyone within like 50 feet surely heard the scene that Eren just put on.

You’re just as embarrassed as the poor boy who was flirting with you, nagging at Eren about how he did entirely too much and how he should go apologize to him, but he just looks over at you with a smug smile and replies, “I gotta set an example for other people babe so they know not to mess with what’s mine.”

Best believe he’s going to be showing an overwhelming amount of PDA the rest of your outing and even go the extra mile to do something like rest his hand on your bottom or make out with you without warning.

ERWIN

This man is so powerful and holds so much authority in other people, even those who hardly even know him, that he doesn’t even have to do much when he catches someone trying to flirt with you while he’s on the other side of the room at some company event.

Like Zeke, it’s extremely difficult to make Erwin jealous because he knows you like the back of his hand and knows if a flirty interaction is happening with someone who isn’t him then it’s completely one sided and you’re just keeping yourself in the conversation because you’re a nice person like that. So, he’ll continue on with his conversation while you continue on with yours, but every now and then he’ll peak out of the corner of his eyes in your direction to make sure you’re okay.

It’s when he notices you getting uncomfortable and the other person getting a little too comfortable that he decides to step in; excusing himself from his conversation like the gentleman he is and coming over to you. You wouldn’t even know that he was there until you felt a broad hand on your waist pulling you into a chiseled chest that you’re aware of his presence.

“Can I help you with something?”

When I tell you his voice goes deeper than normal when he switches to an authoritative mode and it’s the most attractive thing ever that has you feeling butterflies in your stomach and the person who was trying to flirt with you shook to their core.

They don’t even answer his question or even look him directly in the eyes because the energy he excludes is just such big dick energy and from the way he came up and pressed you against him with no hesitation already let them know that you were his without either of you having to say it.

You stayed glued to his side for the rest of the night, one of his arms always wither wrapped around your waist or dangling over your torso holding you close.

[endlich-allein]

Interview with Till about his life: he fought with his father, killed his beloved dog, swam on a wild river and worked on suffering. How Till Lindemann's mind works

"I will finish you off" and why you fought for the German army.

Werner Lindemann wanders around the room, interrupting the silence with strange questions, writing something down. His motive is to get to know his son and make him a friend. But it's complicated. Generational conflict.

"My island of tranquility is shaken every day. The day before yesterday, a guy pulled on my socks because his were torn. Yesterday he didn't put out a single lamp in the house. Now, with voluptuous delight, he spits cherry pits into the cat's fur. Is this grown boy really an adult?"

The apprenticeship in Rostock, where you have to do window production after graduation, is the limit of boredom. Till Lindemann moved to his father in the countryside so that he could forget about the hustle and bustle of the city and not fall under the article for anti-social attitudes. He thought of a new life, in which there was no pointless work, and arranged an attic in his father's house.

In the mornings over coffee, he scolded life that everything went according to schedule. And listened very loudly to music - electronics and metal. My father didn't understand and grumbled: “I matured late. Naturally, I wanted to listen to the music I liked, but I could not get my hands on these records. For example, my father did not understand when I bought the Alice Cooper record for a month's salary.

Werner Lindemann was a children's writer who went through the war.

At the height of his career he disappeared for weeks on literary tours - his fame spread to teachers and librarians across the country. His father pecked at Lindemann for refusing to work and promised to turn him in:

"My willful child. What doesn't fit his standards is rejected as nonsense or crap." So he took a job as a carpenter, where he made shovel cuttings and cart wheels. The head foreman constantly drank vodka during the day, didn't want to be annoyed with questions and addressed the long-haired Lindemann with the nickname: "Mozart!" This suited him.

Werner Lindemann talked about war, hard existence and limitations. For example, about a grenade splinter that remained in his body. Lindemann did not believe in all these stories - but categorically did not accept service, war and murder:

“After that I objected: “I would hide, I would not go to war. Why did you even let yourself be dragged into this? You could have hidden."

And he said: “It didn't work out. They searched for it and it took away."

Then I said: “I would rather go under arrest. Never in my life, I would go to the front line to shoot people. It's against my nature. It would be better if I went to jail."

Much of the time father and son were simply silent, even while watching television.

"He regularly made me feel guilty, to say the least, he placed himself on a pedestal towards me: I shouldn't complain. At your age, I ran barefoot through the stubble, and in my stomach - a potato in a uniform."

The only acceptance is Mike Oldfield's music: "One day my father came to grumble again. At that moment I was listening to Mike Oldfield, and he sat down and said: "That sounds interesting."

For me it was like a quantum leap: my father sits in my room, listens to my music and thinks it was good. Probably because of melancholy. He was sitting in a rocking chair that I made myself - at the time I was working as a carpenter on a farm. I, too, always sat in an armchair, immersed myself in music and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes."

The conflict was intensified by a fight. Lindemann bought a Trabant car, installed speakers in it and tested the sound - loud as usual. “Then my father came and I had to turn off this fucking music. It was kind of loud for him. He was then fiddling around his cases of flowers, and then suddenly the situation escalated. I think he slapped me while I was still in the car.

He leaned toward me and hit me with the back of his hand. I made some bullshit remarks like, "Leave me alone," something like that. That was a provocation to him, and he said: "If you do that again, I'll hit you for real." And I said, "Then you'll get it back. Because you're crazy. Don't you dare to hit me anymore."

And then he hit me with his palm again. He wasn't controlling himself.

He was exalting himself. Instantly he introduced himself as a boxer - he had boxed in the Hitler Youth - and I just... I thought I didn't hit him, I just pushed him away. And then he stood in front of me again, "Come on, I'll finish you, you haven't got a chance!" Somehow. After that, he went up to the attic and threw all my stuff out the window.

It happened over the weekend, my sister was there, a lot of screaming, serious drama. Then I packed my things, put them in the car, went to a friend's house and never went into his house again. At first I lived with this friend, and a week later I bought myself a house in the village."

His father's book is about his son, which the son will only open up after the death of the father.

Lindemann is a late child. He was born when his father was 36. The gap in their relationship was felt in everyday life and perception of the world. Werner Lindemann woke up early in the morning, worked with the circular saw under the windows and did not understand when his son slept until noon after a working week.

Lindemann's parents then lived separately, but kept in touch. Mom worked as a journalist and discussed her texts with his father. "She still lived in Rostock and always came to see him only on weekends. Mostly on Sundays she came back quite early, because she couldn't stand the stress of being with him, either."

In 1988, the book “Mike Oldfield im Schaukelstuhl Notizen eines Vaters" In this book, Lindemann Senior describes the relationship with his son (whom he calls Timm in the book), who settled with him at the age of 18. The book was written in the 80s and laid on the table until the German Democratic Republic and the Federal Republic of Germany were reunited.

Werner Lindemann wanted his son to take up writing too. But this only amused him, although as a child he wrote poetry. At the age of 13, little Till Lindemann and his father were returning home along the bumpy road to Mecklenburg. They talked about career self-determination:

"You should already have thoughts about what you want to become, boy." My answer: "I don't know yet, maybe a fisherman on the high seas."

But immediately, no matter what I said, objections arose: “But then you have to get a certificate of maturity. But then you will be away all the time. But then you won't be able to start a relationship."

There was always a “but”.

At some point it got on my nerves, as usual. And I said: "Worst case scenario, I'll just become a writer.

I still remember how alienated his face became. "And what do you think then, what do I do! It's a very hard job! In fact, it's not even a job, it's a passion. And it's a job that's supposed to be enjoyable."

I said, "I don't know anybody who works with pleasure."

"Yeah, that's the problem. You have to look for a job that gives you pleasure." Then I say again, "But some people never get to choose..." This gigantic discussion happened because I didn't take his profession seriously. At the same time, he was completely lost, funny!"

Lindemann thoughtfully read his father's book, in which he comprehends their relationship, after his death. Faked for hidden anger and indecision. For example, in a situation where their dog Kurt was bitten by a fox. The father was frightened because of rabies: “At the same time, we did not even know whether he was bitten by a fox or not. The father immediately called the huntsman. But I said: no one will enter this courtyard and shoot the dog. I'll do it myself if I really need it. At some point I really had to kill the dog."

Lindemann is not a monster. The animals he fiddled with are an important attribute of childhood. He had an aquarium and hamsters, brought mice and rats home, and was friends with dogs. “Like many children of new buildings, he felt the need for someone alive, in need of love,” said Werner Lindemann. Sometimes the appearance of an animal in the house was surprising:

“This guy will never say what he's up to. He appears on the doorstep at the same time as me. He gets out from his vehicle, throws his coat open and puts a young black shepherd in my hands. "Your Christmas present!"

Till's father is speechless. My son stands before me like the sun's little brother. Touchingly concerned, he directs me into the house, working out a plan for the animal husbandry, accommodation and diet of our new pet housemate.

With confusion, a question flies from my lips, "Wheredid you get the dog from?" "Timm" is gibbering, "Imagine, the mason in the barnyard wanted to hang him, simply wanted to strangle him with a rope, said he was a worthless eater..."

Werner Lindemann died of stomach cancer in 1993, when his son was 30. They didn't finally reconcile, but Till visited him in his last days and was there for him with his mother: "They couldn't be without each other, even though they lived apart. Unreal, but my mother never had another man afterwards. To this day she can't let go of him."

- Not going to the Olympics in Moscow and ending up in the German ghetto

Lindemann had the knowledge and the potential to be a swimmer. And a shyness that pounded harder three days before the competition than concerts in front of crowds of thousands. "I know how difficult it is to develop willpower and stamina and instill those attributes. In the GDR this was instilled in us by coaches and so-called functionaries."

Lindemann came to swimming at the age of eight and devoted his entire youth to the sport. He would get up for training at five in the morning and pass out in the evening. His grandmother watched him from the stands. At a competition in Leipzig she shouted at the coach, who told Lindemann off for a poor result. The grandmother took the coach by the ear and said: "How do you talk to my grandson?"

Sports tightened up his upbringing and developed self-discipline. “Drilling - probably the boy has already received this experience as a swimmer,” Lindemann's father wrote. - Once he had to take second place in a competition, but by no means first place. Of course, he got carried away, forgot about it, became the first, thanks to which he received a shouting for indiscipline. And whenever he lost in the future, his coach would torture him at practice for a long time and yelled at him: "Even if you win, you're not a winner yet!"

Lindemann swam the 1.5 km freestyle and could have gone to the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Everything was ruined when he left the hotel without permission during a competition in Florence: "I didn't want to run, but just wanted to look at the city. Cars, bikes, girls. I was caught and kicked out of the team, but then I didn't give the required results either."

Lindemann competed at the European Junior Championships, but did not go any higher. After the story in Florence, his career in sport slipped away. Perhaps an abdominal injury influenced his departure. Lindemann is gone, but he doesn't yearn: "I was relatively young. There were no good [memories] left. I was glad it was over."

"The hardest part was getting back to normal. I fell into a real hole. My home was no longer a sports school, but a ghetto in Rostock. Now I stood out through drinking and fighting. I used to be surrounded only by beautiful ladies who were interested in swimming. Now I had fierce women standing in front of me asking, "How come you don't drink?" When I was shy about approaching a girl, it was interpreted as: "Are you gay?"

Lindemann now works with a coach and swims a few kilometers before his tours to get in shape: "When I exercise, I feel a certain lightness - not only physically, but also mentally. I just feel better. The main problem is staying in shape. That's where self-discipline comes into play. Teeth grinding is important."

- Three weeks in the wild and loneliness as a creative tool

Emotionally, concerts = sports:

"How do I go on tour? Hungry. And happy. It is good to compare concerts with sport. You don't want to do both at first. You don't want to go on stage. You don't want to go to the pool. You don't want to go to the boxing ring. It all happens with reluctance. It has to be accepted somehow, that's life: spring, summer, fall, winter.

When it's done, winter's gone, the blooming begins, greenery appears, it gets bright, and you start to get a taste for it. When it's over, you feel happy. Then the body produces a sea of chemistry, a lot of happiness hormones. I think the body rewards itself."

The stage, like sports, is an embarrassment, but a necessity. Lindemann wore dark glasses in order to collect fewer views from the audience. Therefore, a couple of steps before the water, he looked at the pool with a shiver. You need to cope with yourself in order to open up to new emotions.

Lindemann's gut requires solitude and moderate solitude. This is the point:

“Loneliness is always good for a creative push - you drink a glass of wine and you feel even shitier. Art is not complete without suffering; art exists to compensate for suffering."

With his friend Joey Kelly, Lindemann spent three weeks on the Yukon River. They paddled through the wilderness in a kayak for eight to 10 hours each and lived in a tent. Lindemann didn't take a tape recorder with him, so he transferred the lyrics wandering in his head on paper.

They were catching inspiration and atmosphere:

"There were times when we wouldn't say a word for hours, but then: look there, look there! It was breathtakingly beautiful. These relatively fast-changing panoramas and skies, layers of clouds, the colors.

Except for a few bears and wolves, it's hard to see anyone else out there, it's exhilarating. Along the way we saw two hunters setting traps. No one else.

I grew up in the countryside, and I have a very strong connection to nature. I love fishing, hunting. It's an archaic experience that I like to revisit over and over again. When I'm in the city for too long, I start to miss it."

To recreate situations in the Yukon, Lindemann and Kelly trained for nine months on the Rhine river in Germany because of its liveliness.

"We went down the Rhine to where the transport ships create huge bow waves. If we hadn't had a coach with us, we probably would have been sunk by the side wave impact already during our first attempt," Lindemann said.

Together with Kelly, he had four sessions with two coaches and swam from Cologne to Koblenz [more than 100 kilometers by car]. Lindemann trained separately each week on the lakes in Mecklenburg. It's both physically challenging and savage identical to being natural.

In 2015, Till started his solo project Lindemann. On the album Skills In Pills, the song Yukon was released, in which the lyrics appeared first, and then the music.

- "My lyrics come from pain rather than desire."

The country boy is big and not much of a talker. That's how the Rammstein members saw him at the start, when they were hanging out at home. "He looked cool, like a big peasant talking one sentence an hour," keyboard player Christian "Flake" Lorenz recalled. - He always had food and vodka. He'd just steal a couple of ducks somewhere and cook them on a tray. And then, frozen like in Sleeping Beauty, there were people lying in corners and on trunks in his house."

Lindemann loves and appreciates home gatherings. This came from my father, who always had guests. “In my opinion, this is the little bit that I inherited from him. Throwing parties and gathering people. Throwing parties and getting people together. He just enjoyed being a good host. The house was always full of guests from Leipzig, from Rostock, foreign guests, even from Kazakhstan.

It was always exciting for him. He stood at the stove, cooked, bought an abundance of wine, and there was always a fire in the garden. At some point he stopped drinking, then he left the party at 21:00 and the whole company continued to feast. And in the morning he got up at four, cleaned and tidied up."

Till Lindemann is about self-digging, overcoming and childish shyness, which is covered by a pumped-up figure of a swimmer. This is how Lindemann decrypts himself:

• “And I really am like a big child - ill-mannered, but harmless. People think that I am always strong, explosive. This is not true. I am sensitive and easily hurt, but in love I am romantic and passionate."

• “At the very beginning, you sit somewhere in a dark room, open a bottle of wine and figure out how to make the lyrics popular with the music. At first you only have a vague idea of ​​what it could be.

And when, three years after recording, mixing, and more mixing, developing the artwork, all this nonsense, then you stand on stage, and what you came up with then really works, when you manage to get 20 thousand people to raise their hands, then you experience incredible sensations."

• “Art is a kind of therapy.

When I feel that something is arising inside me, domineering and is most often dark, I need to give it a way out, otherwise it will simply crush me. So destruction and self-destruction are the two pillars on which my creativity is based.

But everyone chooses this for himself.

• “My lyrics arise from feelings and dreams, but still more from pain than by desire. I often have nightmares, and I wake up at night sweating, as I see terrible bloody scenes in my dreams. My lyrics are a kind of valve for the lava of feelings in my soul.

We are all struggling to hide behind good manners and outward decency, but in fact we are governed by instincts and feelings: hunger, thirst, horror, hatred, the desire for power and sex. Of course, there is also additional energy in us - this is love. Without it, all human feelings would fade away."

- "When you're constantly living someone else's life, it's very hard to get back into your own skin. I like that in principle, but sometimes you start to get confused - are you out of a role or not yet. You're already Till, or you're still a homicidal maniac."

- "I hate the noise. I hate the chatter. I expose myself to it, which is pure masochism. And then I have to protect myself from it. Noise makes you crazy. You die in it."

• “I think there is no God. And if he is and actually allows all the misfortunes on this earth, then he must punish me along with other sufferings. I will not pray to such a god."

This is how the members of Rammstein see Till - flexible and with a split personality:

Guitarist Paul Landers: "Till is so good that when you let him know that his lyrics should go in a different direction, the very next day he brings a new version of the song."

Guitarist Richard Kruspe: “He's a hell of an extreme man. He dives very deeply into situations where I cannot follow him. Everything he does is very extreme; I don't know anyone who does it. "

Drummer Christoph Schneider: "I would not want to be in Till's shoes: his soul is tormented by doubts and contradictions, he is equally a moralist and a monster."

June 1, 2021 - Translate by Lindemann Belgium

[gatheringbones]

["My mother teaches composition and literature at the community college in Coos Bay, a logging town that almost collapsed when Weyerhaeuser permanently closed its big mill. Every quarter she teaches out-of-work and injured loggers and mill workers. If these men had their druthers, they'd still be in the woods, but because of work-related disabilities— either permanent or temporary— mill closings and the depletion of timber, they need to find other ways to put food on their tables. They have spent years working in the forests and mills. Some started as choker setters, working their way up the ladder to become fallers or foremen. The most dangerous and lowest paying job on a logging crew, a choker setter wraps chain around each log as it lies helter-skelter on the slope so it can be dragged up to the loading areas. Others drive logging trucks, know how to navigate the steepest, narrowest logging roads carrying tons of logs behind them. Still others have fed logs into the roar of the sawmill, pulled lumber out the other end. They know logs, trees, the lay of the land, chainsaws, and forklifts as well as urban folks know the criss-cross of streets in their neighborhoods. If you want to see a marbled murrelet, a bird— like the spotted owl— in trouble because it's losing habitat to clearcut logging, ask one of them. They'll know where to look, even give you directions if you're lucky.

A few of these loggers and mill workers write about their work to complete assignments my mother gives them. She says some of their essays break her heart, essays written by men who love the woods and the steep hills of the Siskiyous, who fell and buck the trees, and know the tension between their work and their love. They also know that the two aren't diametrically opposed. Their long days outside, the years of trudging up and down impossibly steep hills, chainsaws balanced over shoulders, feed their love. And in turn their joy at the morning fog lifting off the trees, the sound of pileated woodpeckers and gray squirrels, bolsters their willingness to do the dangerous, body-breaking work of logging. Other essays make my mother grind her teeth: pieces about conquest, the analogy between felling a 300-year-old Douglas fir and raping a woman only thinly veiled, both acts to be bragged about. In these essays, trees are jobs, endlessly renewable resources, lumber, and paper; the natural world, a force to be subdued.

All these loggers and mill workers are fighting poverty, struggling to pay the rent, the mortgage, the medical bills on a paycheck that has vanished. There are few unions in the logging business.

The timber corporations all have long histories of union-busting. The last time the mill workers tried to unionize at Weyerhaeuser's Coos Bay mill, the company threatened to pull out completely if organizing efforts didn't stop. The mill workers wouldn't back down, and Weyerhaeuser did in fact shut the mill down for months. In Coos Bay when people can't find timber or fishing jobs, they work the tourist season May through September and earn minimum wage. So these loggers and mill workers enroll at the community college and sit in my mother's classes, maybe hopeful, but more likely consumed by anxiety.

You, my reader, maybe I am imagining you wrong. Rather than believing that loggers are murderers and that logging is rape pure and simple, maybe you place loggers on some sort of pedestal, as the quintessential exploited worker in a capitalist economy. Maybe you believe that logging is ugly but somehow romantic. Make no mistake: there is nothing romantic about logging. It is dangerous work, fraught with hazards that can tear bodies apart. Mr. Rodgers, the father of my best friend in junior high and high school, lost his left arm to a sawmill. Jim Woodward, who lived upriver from us, could barely walk, his back broken in a logging accident years before. In addition to the catastrophic accidents, there is the routine hearing loss, the nerve damage caused by chainsaw vibration, the missing fingers. Nor are loggers larger-than-life characters. Some of them hate my queer, socialist-anarchist, feminist, tree- and fish-loving self, but their hatred isn't unique. They share it with many people in this country.

They are not brutes by virtue of being loggers. Or if they are, so am I, so is Jim, and so are the journalists who write about the bumper stickers they find on loggers' pickups. Do these journalists ever look for bumper stickers on logging executives' sedans? Do they ever wonder why the sticker "Save a logging exec, kill a spotted owl" doesn't exist? What story would they write if they stumbled across the bumper sticker I ironically imagine, "Save a logger, save the owls, kill a logging exec"?"]

Eli Clare, Exile and Pride: Disability, Queerness, and Liberation