veronicaleighauthor · 2 days ago
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In Defense of Amy March
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A couple weeks ago, I did a re-read of “Little Women.” It had been a couple of years since I picked it up and I was in the mood for some Alcott. Oh, and the March family. I’ve been deeply attached to the story since I was about fourteen. Jo March was the heroine after my own heart. There was one character though, I could never warm to. That was Amy March. I really couldn’t stand her. She burned Jo’s manuscript and got that trip to Europe, and she was just so snobby and selfish. Right? I mean, that’s how she’s portrayed in most adaptations. Jo has to toil and suffer while Amy gets everything handed to her on a silver platter. During this re-read I decided to pay attention to the youngest March sister and see if I was justified in my dislike of her.
“It’s nice to have accomplishments and be elegant, but not to show off or get perked up,” said Amy thoughtfully.
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When the story opens, Amy is a kid. She’s twelve and the baby of the family. Mr. March is serving as a chaplain at war and Marmee works outside the home. Older sisters Meg is a governess, Jo is a companion, and Beth is the homemaker. Amy goes to school and deals with much of what most kids deal with. She struggles with her lessons, she is teased for being poor, she tries to sneak pickled limes in to eat them. Amy is on the receiving end of her teacher, Mr. Davis’s brutality when he discovers she has limes and raps her hand. She is self-conscious about her nose. She has to wear everyone’s hand-me-downs. She is determined to be a proper lady, she is artistic, and she tries to improve her vocabulary. Amy takes parts in her sisters’ theatricals, though doesn’t want to go to the extremes that Jo goes to, and avoids bruising herself.
If anybody had asked Amy what the greatest trial of her life was, she would have answered at once, ‘My nose.’ 
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Amy and Jo often disagree with one another. One evening, when Jo and Meg plans to go out to the theater with their new friend Laurie, Amy is determined to join them. She and Jo go round and round, but Amy is bluntly told she isn’t wanted and it would be an intrusion for her to be there (my words, not the actual dialogue). While Jo is away, Amy burns a manuscript her sister has been working on. A fight ensues and though Amy tries to make up for what she did, Jo won’t forgive her. She tries once more to spend time with Jo, when her sister and Laurie are skating at the local pond, and nearly drowns as she crashes through the ice. Her live is saved and she and Jo reconcile. Jo forgives the girl and though Amy knew she was doing wrong when she destroyed the manuscript, maybe it’s time we as readers (myself included) forgive her too.
Amy opened her eyes, and held out her arms, with a smile that went straight to Jo’s heart. Neither said a word, but they hugged one another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything was forgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss.
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When Beth falls ill with scarlet fever, Amy is determined to stay at home with her family, risking her own health and wellbeing. Laurie manages to convince her to go to Aunt March’s, where uncertain of what the future may bring, she makes a will of her own in case she dies. Aunt March takes a liking to Amy and from then on, she is the older woman’s companion. Once Beth is well, Amy is allowed to come home, in time for her father to return home from the war and to see her older sister Meg engaged to John Brooke.
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The next time we see Amy, it is three years later and she has grown into the proper young lady she always aspired to be. She dresses well, pays calls, dabbles in various forms of artwork, donates her time and energy to charity booths. Somehow, we as readers belittle this, when this was common way of life for ladies in the 19th century. Consider Marian Brooke, of The Gilded Age TV show, who embraces her own femininity and lives and thrives in New York society. Amy March is doing the same thing – while Jo breaks many of the societal rules, Amy wants to be part of that world. This is best demonstrated in Part Two, when Amy and Jo pay calls at various friends’ and relatives’ homes. Amy does her utmost to help Jo, but Jo (and don’t get me wrong, I love my girl Jo) is downright rude, improper, immature, and sloppy. Amy, on the other hand, is well-mannered, her appearance is neat, she is respectful, and she shows an interest in her hosts. This leaves an impression on Aunt Carol, who is planning a trip to Europe. She originally planned to invite Jo, but the visit shows her Amy would be a better candidate to take to Europe.
“You can go through the world with your elbows out and your nose in the air, and call it independence, if you like. That’s not my way.”
You laugh at me when I say I want to be a lady, but I mean a true gentle-woman in mind and manners, and I try to do it as far as I know how.
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So, Amy didn’t steal Jo’s trip to Europe. She was true to herself and a wealthy relative rewarded her for it. She accompanies Aunt Carol and her family on their tour of Europe. This was another common practice in the 19th century. Family or friends would take a young lady along, to see the sights and with any luck, make a match there (think “The Portrait of a Lady,” by Henry James). Amy enjoys herself there, meeting new people, wearing the fashions of the time, learning about art and the countries she visits. The original plan of her life is that she becomes a successful, famous artist. In that way, she’s equally ambitious to Jo. However, while in Europe, she comes to accept her own limitations. Amy understands she has talent, but she doesn’t have genius. At least not compared to the greats or her contemporaries. She comes to terms with this; she will always love art and be artistic, but she must be practical now.
Very few occupations were open to women of that era, especially in the social circles Amy moved in. Teaching or being a governess would have been acceptable – many ladies of genteel and respectable families worked as governesses. Meg worked as a governess. But the pay wasn’t great and it would be a step down for a socially conscious young woman. The only way to secure her future was to marry well. By today’s standards, and many readers of “Little Women” it’s considered mercenary for Amy to think of marrying for money. However, again, think of The Gilded Age show, where some of the characters did or do want to marry for financial security – Agnes van Rhijn and her son Oscar van Rhijn.
Amy herself states: “I may be mercenary, but I hate poverty, and don’t mean to bear it a minute longer than I can help. One of us must marry well. Meg didn’t, Jo won’t, Beth can’t yet, so I shall, and make everything okay all round.”
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If Amy marries say Fred Vaugn, one of her suitors, she intends to help her family and those around her. It isn’t a bad plan…but it isn’t the right plan for her. After spending some time with Laurie, who she met up with in Europe, she understands she can’t marry just for money. Marmee and Father didn’t raise her that way and it wouldn’t be enough for her. Love, respect, admiration, and friendship must be part of the equation. The more time she spends with Laurie, she slowly falls in love with him. However, Amy isn’t pleased with Laurie’s behavior as of late. If she had really wanted to marry for money, she could have ignored his vices and set her cap at him. He once loved Jo and after nursing a broken heart, he meanders around Europe spending his grandfather’s money, wasting time, and not living up to his full potential. It is Amy who inspires him to become the best version of himself…and it is Amy he truly falls in love with. According to the book, Amy didn’t steal Laurie from Jo, because he never truly belonged to her.
“I’m not afraid of storms, for I’m learning how to sail my ship.”
Amy and Laurie both find their way, they marry, and after the tragedy of losing Beth, they return home. They find their happy ending together.
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lottsoluv · 6 months ago
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I don't see anyone talking about this on Tumblr at all
Please take a small bit of time of time out of your day to go and block a bunch of celebrities that have not talked about Palestine or better yet ha e spend thousands and hundreds of thousands on the MET Gala rather than spending time and money talking about or donating to Palestine
It's already been working! Kim Kardashian came out calling everyone participating in this Block Party "trolls" and that she hopes she sees the number go down faster and she's gonna come find us etc etc
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unmaskingdisability · 4 months ago
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A rock was thrown through the window of our local trans resources office.
My trans and Disability Group was attacked by a dozen troll accounts last week talking about how trans people are into beastiality and child porn.
Troubleshooting, a coworker told me "if these are the worst things that happen this year we'll be getting off lucky"
I know he's right. And the fact that that's true terrifies me.
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hawkeyedflame · 2 years ago
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#im not vagueing anyone specific so if u think this is abt you don't get your underwear twisted okay this is about like. so many ppl.#but it's so fucking frustrating seeing people i know (friends/family/coworkers/etc) going thru so much mental health struggle#often accompanied by physical health issues like weight/skin/pain problems#and knowing their diet is absolutely dogtrash#and trying to come up with a way to tell them that is nice but will maybe get them to think or change their ways#i know i know. you can lead a horse to water and all but it's just fucking agonizing knowing that people are suffering so needlessly#and it would go away if they just put the right food in their bodies#and no this isn't even an injunction to carnivore you can recover significantly with meat-heavy noncarnivore ketogenic diets#but people are so resistant to the idea that they can eat their way out of mental illness even though this is well documented#it just makes me want to rip my hair out that people would really rather stay the same than try something that could make them better#like i really can't fucking relate the whole reason i ended up a carnivore is because i was so *desperate* to be healthy#and trying something for a month just to see sounds so much better than letting everything get worse until i'm literally dying#but then i see so many sick people with garbage diets just completely resist the suggestion that the solution could possibly be so simple#like what more can i do for you? i dont want you to be sick. YOU dont want you to be sick. what do you lose from just trying??#ugh i cant. im so. i know this is going to be my career path but god fucking damn if it isn't infuriating
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mer-se · 1 year ago
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Gotta love when ppl make snarky comments about u still wearing a mask at work (around a bunch of elderly people, and audibly very sick snotty ass people queued up at a pharmacy all day everyday) like my body literally and at times scarily doesn’t work right since I had covid and I eat well - not overweight or old. (only worth saying because those are the excuses they use otherwise ur fine) It’s not ‘a cold’ for a lot of ppl, and if it was congrats a lot of ppl don’t walk away the same and just because you’re a self righteous fucktard doesn’t take away the fact that it’s pretty serious for many. Yes - even still. Fuck off.
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freebooter4ever · 1 year ago
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"The media was saying 'oh the russians are good during the year, but in the playoffs they aren't strong enough. That maybe mentally they are weak'" lar*onov said
Gahhhhhhhhhhhh sounds familiar -_- like certain assholes commenting on my favorite. I would like to introduce my boot to their face.
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harrylights · 14 days ago
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#ok sorry for all these posts but i’m trying to take my own advice and not just keep everything in rn#tw that i’ll tag separately at the end but: mental health bipolar addiction vague mentions of sui attempts and just general negativity sorry#hearing that he struggled with manic/low episodes too on top of addiction (etc) is just so fucking. !!!!!!!!!#as someone with bipolar 2 and a recovering addict this just keeps hitting harder and harder and i think about all the times i was manic#and was lucky enough to get help that kept me here on this earth#and it’s so fucking upsetting that even all the money in the world can only get you so far w these things. our world is not set up to help#its set up to make these struggles even harder than they already are and just. fuck#i won’t lie it makes me scared knowing that grief often triggers some sort of episode for me too and now i’m at my parents place w all these#photos of my dad on the walls and i’m in the same rooms that i fell in love w 1d in#i’m so fucking sick of people dying for basically the same fucking shit#most of my friends who OD’d or took their lives also had bipolar and addiction and i’m just like#what is it even gonna take for things to change#dealing w the inevitability of death is one thing but all these young ppl going thru their own versions of the same shit and nothing changes#it gets harder and harder each year and i can only hope that nobody else ik including myself won’t suffer the same fate here#but how am i supposed to hold onto that hope when it just. keeps. happening#i feel so weird making this post publicly bc ik it’s pessimistic and negative but my heart fucking hurts for so many reasons#and i wish i was home rn. i’m honestly tempted to just go back tomorrow like how tf am i supposed to deal w this and keep it to myself#rraahhhhhhhhhHHHHHHH#i can’t stop crying haha#rowyn rambles#tw mental health#tw sui ideation#tw addiction#tw death#tw overdose
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daisukekambehateaccount · 4 months ago
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negativity ahead be cautious
is feeling indescribably shitty every single day even more so than normal for the past three months seasonal depression even if there are only 2 seasons in your country
#repressed anger is a b#i think i am gonna reach my limit for this half of the year very soon#anger management issues + avoidant attachment style is like the most bad person thing ever#i mean if you have those you're not a bad person don't listen to me#i am so tired#my eczema and gastrointestinal issues are flaring up like crazy#which means my anxiety is getting worse and worse because it's the only reason i have so many physical health issues in the first place#senior year is effing me up#and i have the shittiest most anger-inducing history teacher known to man replacing my old history teacher#who wants us to do group presentations to cover the entire fucking rest of the syllabus that my old teacher didn't cover#because this fossil is so lazy to teach that everytime she enters the class it's a 50/50 chance that she gives a “back in my days” lecture#for either half the class or the entire class#i genuinely cannot even tolerate my parents anymore#it was easier to suck it up back when i didn't have many issues#but now i genuinely can't hold myself back from snapping at them#now the least hostile route i can go is feigning ignorance#ignoring them and trying not to appear in their line of sight#or staying in my room for as long as possible so I don't have to make contact with them#okay maybe it is my fault that my stomach literally eats itself every day#but if it helps me not unalive myself then i gotta do what i gotta do if ya know what i mean#can't i just sleep for the entire year#i bet my friends hate me for not replying to their texts for weeks#i was sleeping is such a shitty excuse#but i do sleep 16 hours a day#i genuinely can't do anything so i avoid everything by sleeping#the sound of my mom's voice amplified by the small space in the car actually triggers me#i hate it so fucking much when people sexualise arlecchino#she is not someone low scum like you can touch#and i think I've just been sucking up other people's negativity like a negativity vacuum#because my empathetic ass can't stand to see someone suffering without feeling their emotions
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nanamiscocksleeve · 2 months ago
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Prescription For Pleasure
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Warnings: MDNI, sex, masturbation, medical masturbation, use of vibrators, clit play, piv sex, use of latex gloves, oral (fem receiving), some praise, kinda slow burn A/n: I am not normal about this man in any way. Not really proofread. Please do not use my banners without permission.
You’re seated in Zayne’s office, trying not to squirm as he sets up your appointment. Although this was now the third time you were seeing him for this regular inspection, it didn’t alleviate your nerves the slightest. Each month, according to the Hunter’s Association regulations, every hunter needed to be seen by their primary care physician for 3 consecutive days for their health.
And although the association deemed it a necessity, it was an embarrassing requirement according to you. The Hunter’s Association had done a survey and discovered that many of their employees suffered from high levels of stress because they were isolated and lacked much-needed human contact. To combat this, they made it mandatory to get physical contact by a medical professional every month.
But when all the fancy jargon was pushed aside, all the hunters called it the same thing - medical masturbation. It had become wildly popular amongst both men and women hunters, eagerly marking the days on their calendar for when they could come in. When you heard about the rule, you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole. You had tried talking to Jenna to insist that you were indeed taking care of yourself in that aspect, thanks to your trusted vibrator, but she had shaken her head no. 
“We need documentation. I’m subject to it, and so is everyone else in my order.”  Defeated, you’d walked out of Jenna’s office before remembering another mortifying fact with a jolt. Your primary care physician was Zayne. 
Your childhood friend, your trusted cardiologist, stoic and calm, who remained reserved during your general checkups, was going to be your medical masturbator. You had almost turned yourself into a ball on the floor, tweaked out at the insanity of it all. Although Zayne was your general physician, you had a separate gynecologist, and apart from asking if you’d had your annual PAP smear, Zayne had left that part of your anatomy unquestioned. It didn’t help that you were attracted to him, and sure, if he’d asked you out on a date, you would have been more than happy to let him inspect you all he wanted down there.
But this clinical setting, enforced by your organization was a little too much to bear. Wondering how to tackle this situation, you wander over to Tara who was humming as she made her medical bookings on her phone app. “Isn’t this exciting?” she squeals as she sees you. “God knows the dating pool is thin right now. This is just what I needed!”
Tara’s primary care physician was a woman, and you wondered if that was a pro or a con. On the one hand, dropping your panties for a woman doctor seemed less unnerving than for a man. But if you had a preference for men, would it work against your arousal? You shook your head at your ridiculous musings and focused on talking to Tara. “Are you really that excited about this?”
“You have no idea!” Tara taps her feet as she talks to you. 
“And you’re ok about having a woman stimulate you?” You probe, trying to gauge Tara’s reaction. Tara giggles and lightly pats your shoulder. 
“I don’t know but the idea is kind of hot. I mean, getting it on in a doctor’s office? Besides if I don’t like it, I can change the doctor the next time.”
Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. “You can change your doctor?”
“For this yes, the app gives you an option since it involves showing off a lot of intimate areas. You have to be able to trust your doctor right?”
You logged into the app, finding the little button to request a change in doctors, but for some reason, the page kept refreshing and crashing. With a sigh, you decide to get the worst of it over with and call Zayne, hoping he can make the change for you on his end. His voice is cool and professional when he answers your call.
“Yes?”
“So, you must have heard about…the new regulation?” you had put forth nervously.
“I am aware of it, yes.” 
“Well, for obvious reasons, I would like a different doctor.” 
Zayne smoothly says, “Of course. Patient comfort is always first. Do you have a doctor in mind?”
“Maybe my gynecologist? I tried doing it in the app but it keeps crashing.” There’s a moment of silence and you can hear Zayne’s fingers tapping away at his keyboard before a low hum leaves his end of the line.
“There appears to be a problem.”
“Problem?” you’d parrotted back.
“Yes. Because so many people are booking appointments at the same time, most of the available doctors are already taken. Including your gynecologist.” 
It felt like watching a bird crashing into a window in slow motion, that brief moment of hope that it wouldn’t hit the glass shattering in an instant. “Oh.”
There’s a pause before Zayne delicately says, “I’m sorry but it looks like you will have to make those appointments with me for this month. 3 of them according to the regulation. Hopefully, you can make the change for next month.” His voice sounded slightly apologetic.
“Won’t it be weird given that we know each other personally?” The question had fallen from your lips before you could stop yourself. 
“I promise not to treat you any differently than any of my other patients who are coming in for this inspection. I understand this may be a little unexpected, but I assure you I did a term of gynecology during my internship.”
A tinge of mirth carried over in his voice and you can’t help but make a noise of embarrassment. “Zayne, please!” His laugh was dry but not unkind, and you can’t help but want to hide your face even though he couldn’t see you. 
“Don’t worry too much. But I do advise you to make the appointments soon. My schedule is filling up rapidly.”
With those words, he’d disconnected the call and you were left wondering if an unknown god from another planet had cursed your existence. 
And changing doctors had proven to be more difficult than you’d thought. The entire organization seemed to be having a single thought. They had made appointments in the app almost halfway into the year, essentially blocking you from being able to do anything about your situation. Now on your third month with Zayne, you watch as he checks his notes from your last session, feeling like you want to scamper from the room.
The last two sessions had been incredibly stimulating, your arousal heightened by the fact you were attracted to Zayne. You’d never considered having someone watch as you touched yourself but found that you’d enjoyed it, at least, when it was him. He had remained professional, but you’d avoided him these last two months, save for when you had to get your monthly cardiac profile. He reads his notes from his computer as he prepares for your session. 
“Preferred device for stimulation still a vibrator, with a large, rounded, flexible head?” His eyes remain on his screen and you’re grateful for him giving you this smidgen of privacy. 
“Yes.”
“Preference for the doggystyle position still?” 
Your face burns. “Yes.”
“Still consenting for verbal stimulation?”
You nod your head.
“And still consenting for internal vaginal stimulation?” You make a noise of consent, squeezing your thighs together, your panties uncomfortably chafing against your already swollen pussy. 
“All right, I have everything I need.” He logs off and removes his lab coat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his well-corded arms, and your mouth almost waters at the sight of them. Clearing your throat, you shyly reach into your bag and pull out the vibrator in question, which he takes from you and clamps into a stand, adjusting it over the examination table you’d be on. A bottle of lube awaits on the tray next to the table and you swallow as he finishes the setup. 
“Whenever you’re ready,” he says in that deep voice, and feeling like your fingers are wrapped in thick woolen mittens, you reach behind you to untie the hospital gown you’re wearing, and it falls to the floor with a swoosh, your nipples pebbling under the sudden chill. A small set of sensors were taped to your chest and on the sides of your forehead, essential medical devices to ensure your orgasm was satisfactory. Unperturbed, Zayne gestures to the table and you make your way onto it, letting your feet settle in the stirrups as he settles on a stool between your legs, pulling on latex gloves before gently spreading your folds apart. You stare up at the ceiling as he does his initial checkup.
“Labia look healthy, no signs of trauma or abnormal discharge,” he murmurs, then runs a finger down the edge of the fold that separates your inner and outer lips, causing your core to clench involuntarily. You hold still, knowing very well he saw the action, holding your breath, letting out a little sigh as he lets go. 
“Normal reaction to stimuli, already semi-aroused,” he says, trashing the gloves and making another note on his computer. He glances over at you, leaning back uncertainly on the table. “You may begin.”
You swallow, then carefully turn onto your hands and knees, crawling towards the head of the table, grabbing the bottle of lube and squeezing the viscous liquid onto the head of the vibrator, avoiding eye contact as your breasts sway under the motion, nipples painfully hard from anticipation. You could feel Zayne’s gaze but can’t bring yourself to look up. Even though this was the third time, it hadn’t gotten easier, stripping naked and pleasuring yourself in his office. 
Once the rounded head of the vibrator is slick, you turn, the chill of the lube against your heated membranes causing more blood to flow into your already engorged nub, and run your moist slit across the surface to spread the liquid onto your slickened folds. Your hand fumbles for the little remote control and with a buzz, the vibrator turns on at the lowest setting. You click the button a few more times until it gets to the speed you liked, then fail to hold back a moan as the sensations pleasurably begin to take hold in your clit. 
The first time you had done this, nervousness had made you set the vibrator on the highest possible setting hoping to get a quick orgasm and sprint out of the office. Unfortunately, the sensors relayed this information into Zayne’s medical record that your climax had been unsatisfactory, and you had endured being lectured by him with the medical gown loosely draped on your body, your rear open to the cold office air. 
His tone wasn’t unkind but it hadn’t helped you feel better either. “It helps neither of us if you rush this. The whole purpose of this examination is to ensure you’re relaxing. I know it’s embarrassing but if you fail to have a proper orgasm, I’ll have to make you repeat the process until I get data that says otherwise.”
“The sensors are-”
“The only way to measure anything. Without involving another person anyway.”
His words had left you gobsmacked and your retort had died in your mouth. After that incident, you had learned. Even with the chagrin of having him watch you, you had learned to take your time and let the feelings build, leading to incredibly savory climaxes that made your body squirm from the aftershocks. 
Your hips sway, setting up a rhythm to brush your sensitive slit onto the head, letting it vibrate from cunt to clit, the lube aiding the frictionless sliding and making your core drip. Quiet noises of pleasure leave your throat as help yourself, arching your back and changing the curvature of your ass to maximize the sensations, then when the perfect pattern emerges, you let out a keening sigh, and try to remain still, letting the vibrator work its magic. 
Zayne, who has been quietly observing the computer this entire time, observing the spikes relayed from the sensors, asks, “Have you found your optimal pleasure form?”
“Yes,” you gasp, the timbre of his voice sending an arrow of lust into the deepest parts of your clenching core. You knew what was about to come next. The sound of Zayne’s desk chair moving, followed by the snap of latex gloves as he pulled a fresh pair onto those beautiful hands. He approaches the examination table and takes the bottle of lube you had set aside earlier, a wet squelching noise issuing from it as he squeezes it over his gloved hand, gathering the fluid on his index and middle fingers. He leans over to whisper in your ears; the verbal stimulation has begun.
The humiliating reveal that you had a heavy praise kink had come up during your initial session and despite your insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Zayne, the ever-diligent worker, had made a note in your profile, and he’d been fulfilling it each time. A tickle of hot breath near your ear, before he murmurs, “Are you enjoying yourself?”
The hum of the vibrator in the background coupled with his voice makes your breath catch in your throat. You nod, knowing you didn’t have it in you to form coherent words. 
“That’s a good patient. Good patients listen to their doctors you know. And you’re doing a wonderful job.”
Your hips snap back to push your clit against the rubber pad, letting out a whimper of pleasure, the action pushing your ass up higher, revealing your pathetically drooling cunt, fluttering with the dissatisfaction of being unfilled. 
“Are you ready?” He waits for your consent and you manage a husky, ‘mm hm’.
“Good girl. Take a breath.”
You inhale, trying to relax, then let out an uninhibited moan as Dr. Zayne inserts his middle finger into your needy cunt, the ring of muscles offering no resistance to the probing digit. He gently thrusts a few times, before curling the tip of his finger up into the delicate patch of nerves on your upper wall, the smooth come hither motion awakening a new level of pleasure in your body. Your fingers tighten on the edges of the table, sobbing, trying not to scream at the feelings that threatened to explode from you. He keeps up the gentle assault before asking, “Are you ready for another one?”
“Yes…” your voice comes out shakily, knowing you desired more than just his fingers, but that you would never get to experience it. 
“Perfect. So well behaved, taking exactly what I give you.” Zayne’s sensual voice floods your ear before his index pushes into you, the thickness of both his fingers sending you into overdrive. Your walls clench welcomingly around him, inciting an exciting pull of liquid heat in your abdomen, the muscles tensing in anticipation for the exquisite release you knew was about to occur. 
Feeling your inhibitions abandon you as you are stroked closer to orgasm your self-control slips and his name falls from your lips as he pushes over the edge.
“Zayne…” some partially functioning confine in the back of your brain registers what you had just involuntarily purred, but the spasms rocking your core, those gratifying waves of delight flooding your body made it easier to ignore it as your being is reduced to a pliant mess of pleasure. His fingers ease up as the fluttering in your pussy calms down, your clit pulsating weakly as the final vestiges of pleasure are wrung from your body. 
With a wet noise, his fingers leave your moist hole, the glove coated with your juices and the lubricant. Awareness finally comes crashing around you as you realize what you had uttered in the throes of passion. 
“I…I didn’t…I wasn’t in control…” You try to find a way to explain, to let him know you had very little choice in the matter of sobbing his name as you orgasmed, but everything feels flat, almost on the fine line between explaining and insulting. 
“There’s no need.” Almost as if he’s read your mind, Zayne matter-of-factly redirects the conversation. “It’s not uncommon to blurt out things during climax. Some people swear, and others call out names. It was a very normal reaction considering I was the one in the room with you.”
He throws the gloves in the trash and goes to check the computer, to ensure the sensors had given him the information he needed before starting the second round of the appointment.
“Oh.” You say quietly as he sits at his desk, feeling dejected. Although relieved he wasn’t making a big deal out of it, you can’t help but feel disappointed with his reaction. Shouldn’t a man be flattered when a woman cried out his name when she came? Maybe he really was treating you strictly as a patient. And here you were, pussy exposed and spread after being probed by his dextrous fingers, mooning over him like a high school girl. Perhaps the limit of your relationship with him was in fact, doctor and patient, the childhood friends aspect fading. 
So there was no romance here at all. You had a crush on him, and he was doing his job. Reality sucks. You sniff and suddenly feel cheap, and get out of the doggystyle position and try to find the hospital gown to preserve some of your modesty. Zayne glances over at your sudden movements.
“Are you cold? I can get you a blanket.”
“I’m fine.” You try to sound normal. 
“Your records show that you usually rest about 10 minutes before you are ready for the next round. Do you feel like that will be the case this time too?”
You find the gown and drag it up to your chin, covering your body as you lay back on the table. “Yeah. Actually a little sooner today maybe. I have somewhere to be.”
“You can’t rush these things. Your body will cum when it wants to. A forced orgasm doesn’t promote anything beneficial.”
“Well can we find a way for this to happen quickly and in compliance with the sensors?” You’re trying not to let your frustration show, the pleasantness of your orgasm fading. “I don’t think I have the patience to do two more rounds.”
Zayne listens to you impassively, but those amber eyes flecked with green had an underlying intensity you couldn’t place. “You don’t have the patience to do two more rounds?” He gets up and comes over to you. “You want to just leave then?” He approaches the edge of the table and there’s tension in his jaw. Perplexed, you look at him, his reaction unexpected. 
“No, I’m sorry, I know I can’t leave because of compliance and all that.”
“Compliance,” Zayne mutters under his breath before grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him, a gasp leaving your throat. 
“You’re getting frustrated because you have to do this a few times every month while being supervised? Do you have any idea what I have to do before you come in for these sessions?” His voice is a growl and you clam up, shocked by this aggressive display of expression from him.
“Every month I have to remain professional as you come in, pleasure yourself, and then leave. I have to endure seeing your beautiful body bare in front of me and control all my impulses to touch you, to not overstep my limitations as your doctor. I pleasure myself remembering the noises you make and ensure I’m well spent before coming in to do your appointments. You sit there, acting like it’s hard for you, but do you have any idea what you do to me?”
One of his knees is on the table, and he’s looming over you making you feel like a tiny animal caught in his fury. “It’s torture, to watch you. You’re not like the other patients I see. You never have been. Because with you, I always feel like I’m on the verge of losing control. Do you know how difficult it is to not do things to you that aren’t specified on your medical record? To have my fingers so intimately inside you, feel every little drop of pleasure clenching around my fingers, knowing at the end I can’t have you to myself? To hear you call my name and know that you only see me as your doctor?” 
Your face is a bright shade of red but you can’t look away from his face. His teeth are gritted, and when you dare to glance down, you see the noticeable bulge that has formed between his legs. He follows your glance and clicks his tongue, letting go of your chin. 
“I know I crossed a boundary today. It’s all right. You can go. I’ll reschedule you with another doctor. I know you didn’t want me in the first place.”
Your mind is a blur as you quickly reach out to grab his hand, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. His admission was like a prayer answered, and you weren’t going to meek about this. His breath hitches as he feels you pulling at his hand and gives you a look of uncertainty. Your lips part but the words you want to say refuse to come out. 
“Damn it,” he whispers ferally before his mouth captures yours in a rough kiss. It was wild and demanding, a contrast to the reserved, patient man he usually was. You’re swept up in the feeling of his mouth on yours, the taste of his tongue, and the softness of his lips. When you break apart, his hand cups your cheek, his eyes searching your face.
“This isn’t just because of the session right?” He asks keenly and you realize what he’s asking you. He’d been aching for you before this whole stupid policy came into place. The same way you’d been longing for him. 
“No, it’s not. I had a crush on you back when you became my doctor to check on my heart condition.” A sigh of relief leaves him before he tenderly presses his forehead to yours, and you’re caught up in the sweetness of the moment. 
“I just had to be sure.”
Boldly, you raise your head, delighted when he meets you, pulled back into his kiss, your tongues sliding over each other, your fingers tangling into his hair, scratching the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you. 
You gasp as he breaks the kiss to drag his tongue down the column of your throat, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the heated flesh, your blood humming in your veins as your eyes flutter closed. He pulls away the gown and pulls your perked nipple into his mouth, and you revel in the jolt of pleasure it brings you, each suckle felt in your clit which had already swollen up again in need. His fingers capture your other nipple, softly tweaking and pulling it and drawing little whines of desire from your throat. 
Your hand finds the junction between his legs and cups the heavy bulge, drawing a groan from him, palming him through his slacks, feeling it grow and tent the fabric under your ministrations. A low guttural sound leaves him and he gets off the table, and you almost protest until you see him dragging the small wheeled stool from earlier towards the table. He settles down on it, looping his arms around the tops of your thighs and pulling you closer to the table's edge until your feet find the stirrups again. 
“Stay open for me darling,” he instructs, his eyes glittering and you shiver as you feel his breath against your swollen folds. You squeak as he pushes your folds apart with his nose, inhaling your scent, his eyes growing dark with lust. “You smell delicious. I always wondered. Had to stop myself from sniffing my gloves after you climaxed. Not professional you know.” 
The musky tang of your pussy fills his senses, and his tongue darts out and dips into your slit, finding the swollen bud and licking it with just the right pressure that makes your toes curl and stars pop into your vision. 
Your hand rests on his head, tugging his beautiful dark locks, his name falling from your lips without barriers. Your hips rock against him, moaning, then let a sob as his lips suction around your clit. His fingers, free from the gloves at last, probe your entrance, scissoring inside to prepare you for what was to come before they curl up into that gummy patch that he knew too well. 
The sensations flood you, and the sheer knowledge of knowing you had Zayne touching you this way, unbound by the usual rules was sending you into a frenzy. Incoherent noises leave your mouth, crying out hotly as he teases the orgasm from you, your body shivering from the intensity. 
He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and takes in your appearance, so soft and satisfied on his table, a dreamy look in your eyes.
“Are you prepared for the after?” he asks, you nod, more than eager to experience him. A sly smile crosses his face before he reaches over into the little chest of drawers by the table and pulls out a condom. 
“Hospitals have free condoms. It would be impractical to not use one when it’s on hand.” He explains seeing your questioning look and stands to undo his pants. You watch curiously as his cock is finally freed, eyes widening as it faces you, so impressive and veiny, standing proudly with a slight curve in its length. His pubes were neatly trimmed at the base, ebony curls visible behind the shaft. As he starts to roll on the condom, you feel your whole body heating up in anticipation. 
He leans down to kiss you before taking your feet and resting them on his shoulders, his cock at the perfect angle to enter you. As he sinks into your welcoming heat, you let out a sigh of longing, feeling the delicious stretch of muscle as he pushes up inside you, gasping as you feel his full length sheathe itself. As he bottoms out, his eyes close in bliss, hardly daring to believe that after all this time, he is finally getting to fulfill this private dream. 
Each stroke has him brushing against your gspot and kissing your cervix as he paces himself, feeling the primal urge to take you roughly and selfishly calling at his self-control. A growl leaves his throat as you whimper, straining towards him as the both of you struggle to keep a grip on reality. He feels the seductive way your walls clench around him, hears the soft noises you make, sees your face contort in pleasure with every roll of his hips. 
“Oh you feel so good,” he pants hotly, glasses askew, almost at the tip of his nose as he thrusts. “Clenching me so needily. Gonna milk me dry.”
Your response is a shuddering whimper, your back arching greedily to feel all of him, creating the perfect curvature to brush your clit against the base of his erection with each push of his hips. He feels the little bud on his heated skin, your combined fluids dripping onto his shaft, slickening the bundle of nerves with each stroke. 
“Be a good girl and cum on my cock the way you do on my fingers.” Zayne’s voice is husky as he tries to hold on, damned if he came before you. “I know you want to. I can feel the way your walls are spasming. They always do this pattern before you orgasm.”
The fact that he had memorized this knowledge of you was too much and you let go, your voice filling the room as you climax. Zayne’s hips stutter as he feels you around his length, pussy fluttering so him. His pace quickens, the sound of slapping skin becoming more and more urgent, his balls hitting your ass each time as he chases his orgasm. 
A shiver passes through his body as it happens and he buries himself in your warmth. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his cock twitch and pulse inside you as he spills his load. He pants, sweat on his forehead as he bends down to kiss you again, carefully lowering your legs which burn from the stretch as they settle on the stirrups. 
Threading your fingers through his hair, you brush your noses together, smiling shyly at him as he smirks, his eyes closing as he catches his breath.
“Can I see you outside of my office sometime?” he asks and you laugh at the invitation. 
“Are you asking me out on a date after having sex just once?” you tease as he grips the base of the condom and slides out, your pussy feeling the loss keenly. 
“I have been wanting to for a while. I was just wondering if I was misreading the signals. But I think I have a solid answer now.” He helps you sit up and cradles your body against his, idly stroking your skin, before gently removing the sensors off your body. 
“Let’s get dressed,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead after a moment of cozy silence, and the both of you hunt down your clothes. As he fixes his tie, Zayne passes by his computer and lets out an amused huff. 
“Something funny?” you ask as you button your blouse.
“The sensors definitely gave enough information to make anyone’s head spin.” You walk over and snort as you see the window, full of sharp spikes. 
“Well, at least I am guaranteed you had a good time.” Zayne’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he pulls you in for another kiss. 
“I’m not changing my doctor,” you reassure him as you pull away. There’s amusement in his gaze when he replies. 
“Oh, definitely not. I think if the Hunter’s Association ever sees this record, they’ll heavily advise you to remain with the same healthcare professional.” 
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support banner by @/ cafekitsune @theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @actuallysaiyan
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northgazaupdates · 1 month ago
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My friend Suad is despondent. She and her family have been displaced since the IOF bombed their home in Gaza City nearly a year ago. They have eked out an existence in shelter centers, friends’ and strangers’ homes, tents, and even open streets. Her firstborn Khaled was born under IOF bombing, and has struggled with malnutrition for his entire life up to this point. They have been displaced over a dozen times, often barely escaping before their prior location was bombed. You can read more about this situation in our “#Suad Ahmad” tag, as Tumblr has inexplicably deleted Suad’s blog for the 4th time.
The bombing is almost constant, and the debris dust from the bombs is so omnipresent that little Khaled struggles to breathe. Contaminants in the air, water, and scarce supply of food cause him to break out in frequent rashes, which occasionally ally afflict Suad as well. Khaled also has a frequent fever caused by a chest infection for which there are little or no available antibiotics.
Khaled requires medications, doctor visits, and the use of specialized breathing equipment for medical treatment which can only be used when a kind stranger allows the family to power the machine with their solar panels. As an infant, he also requires diapers. Astonishingly, the price of diapers in Gaza has risen to over $50 USD for a small pack. Anyone who has ever spent time with a baby knows that babies require mountains of diapers. $50 barely buys a day’s worth in Gaza.
Additionally, this is going to be Khaled’s first winter, which means he has no winter clothes of any kind. There are some winter clothes for infants for sale in Gaza, but they are extremely expensive. Khaled is sick and also suffers from malnutrition, making him more vulnerable to the elements. Winters in Gaza are wet, windy, and cold, and this past winter saw the deaths of many infants and young children due to hypothermia.
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Suad has been running a campaign to support her family’s evacuation for several months, but progress has been sporadic. The evacuation costs are exorbitantly high, and the cost of hopefully beginning their lives anew in Egypt will be extremely high also. In the mean time, Suad requires mutual aid for food, water, medications, winter clothes, doctor visits, diapers, and transportation.
This little boy deserves everything. He deserves to only know joy, to learn and grow in safety and health. He was born into a world which is largely neglectful of his suffering. Please be the exception. Please help this little boy and his family survive in a world that has turned its back on them.
Thank you❤️
Link to support Khaled, Suad, and their family
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enghanalulu · 4 months ago
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Please Don't Scroll 🥺🙏
I need your help 🫂
Donate to me, even if just a little. Share the donation link among your friends. Do not stop supporting us if you love Gaza and Palestine 🇵🇸🍉💔
My campaign is very slow in donating, my friends 😔😭
Your support and donation to me will be a dose of hope for me and my family ❤️
We thank everyone who stands by Palestine and Gaza ❣️🇵🇸
Continue to support Palestine and Gaza. We are very tired and exhausted from the tragic life because the situation is very catastrophic 💔😔
We have nothing, no home����, no work🧑‍💻
I was injured in this war and so was my brother 😐
The resistance to life is non-existent, there is no food, drink, and good health due to the health and life disasters that occur in Gaza 🤬
My family and I are very tired, and many people in Gaza are suffering like me and perhaps more 😔
I hope for your support in every way. It will help us. Do not stop supporting because we need you 🙏
Sending you lots of love and hugs for standing with us🇵🇸🍉🙏
@fairuzfan @sayruq @longlivepalestina @nabulsi @self-hating-zionist @thenewgothictwice @el-shab-hussein @risoria @palipunk @palestine @intersectionalpraxis @fallahifag @sealuai @malcriada @mangocheesecakes @youdontknowwhotfiamm @farcillesbian @stil-lindigo @apsswan @star-and-space-ace @rainbowywitch @marscodes @oursapphirestar @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @boyvandal-blog @the-bastard-king @13ag21k @agentfascinateur
Link 🔗 donate 🙏👇
My GoFundMe account has been closed and the money will not be refunded. I have created a new link 👇
To be sure of my personality and know me more, follow me on my Instagram account 🙏👇❤️
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My campaign is verified by @90-ghost
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wilwheaton · 9 months ago
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In a long essay about the televised incident, Wheaton makes a lot of salient, emotionally vulnerable points about his reaction to David’s stunt, tying it in to memories of parental abuse he suffered as a kid—pointing out, among other things, that, within the agreed-upon fiction that we all adhere to pretty fervently around all things Muppet or Muppet-related, Elmo is a child. Writing, Wheaton notes that “Elmo is an avatar for children all over the world. Children who are too small to understand Elmo is a puppet will know that a man attacked someone they love for no reason, and that will frighten and confuse them.”
Wil Wheaton condemns Larry David for his Elmo-based violence
This story is a week old, and has blown up today. The right wing smoothbrains are out in force, doing their usual thing, until they get distracted by the existence of a successful woman somewhere in the world and have to go rage against that.
I don’t know why this is happening today. I don’t know why right wing clout chasing incels have decided to make this their Thing today. It’s all very confusing, especially a week after the fact.
But I want to put something here that I added to my post on Facebook, that those dudes (it’s always dudes whose entire personality is “MONSTER ENERGY DRINKS!”) need to hear but won’t understand:
A lot of us who had the same visceral reaction to a grown man putting his hands on a child (Elmo is 4 years old) in anger, without consent, and then laughing about it all share an experience that you should be grateful you don't share with us. And when you say your shitty little toxic and cruel thing, when you reduce the whole thing to a puppet and a joke, you're doing to us what the adults around us did when we were kids. And it hurts all over again. Are you really someone who wants to hurt another person simply because you can? Maybe take the impulse to be a jerk and redirect it into being grateful you have no idea why this is so upsetting to so many of us.
Larry David put his hands on another performer, without consent, in a segment he was not part of. That, alone, is not okay. It is not EVER okay. The fact that so many people don’t get that, or are deliberately choosing NOT to get that, is telling.
But as I said, Elmo is a child, and he is a friend to children, so all the kids whose parents were watching the Today Show with them, because Elmo was on to talk about sharing big feelings and caring for your mental health, got to watch this man storm into a set, and angrily attack Elmo.
That’s indefensible behavior, and calling me names doesn’t change that.
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teardropsonsmyguitar · 1 year ago
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aces-and-angels · 3 months ago
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verified by 90-ghost follow asmaa @asmaayyad & on instagram (asmaa_ayyad98)
moots/lovely lurkers- lend me your ears (or eyes- y'all get it) and allow asmaa to introduce herself in her own words:
"hello I hope my message reaches you well i am asmaa ayyad from gaza, specifically khan yunis, i am 25 years old, i am trying to save me and my family from the war of extermination that is happening now (a/n: asmaa graduated from the university of palestine in 2021 and went on to study/train to become a practicing lawyer) we lost our home, our friends and some of our relatives, I have also been living far away from my fiancé for two years, I cannot reach him because of the increase in the coordination price and the closure of the crossings and borders (a/n: asmaa lists feras_lbrahim in her insta bio as her fiancé) please i want you to help me by publishing for me and standing by my side, as i am now struggling alone to save an entire family i wanted to contact @/90-ghost but he does not respond to me (a/n: since asmaa sent me this message, 90-ghost has been able to get in touch/share her posts) i would be very grateful to you if you helped me"
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asmaa's family consists of 8 members- all of whom led beautiful lives prior to the war. asmaa's older brother, dia, was looking forward to his own wedding. instead of experiencing such a joyous day, his life was shattered after his home was destroyed by the israeli army.
to lose a home- all your valuable possessions- your memories- in an instant is something that cannot be fully understood unless you've gone through it yourself. in asmaa's own words (read & share full post here):
"in addition to the pain, oppression and suffering that displacement causes us, there is a material aspect that no one talks about or mentions or mentions in the media. every place we move from to a new place requires transportation from 1,500 to 2,000 shekels... and despite this amount, you cannot transport all your belongings. this is in addition to the costs of setting up the tent again and trying to return what you lost of your things and belongings. displacement kills us more than death, it drains our health, our money and everything we own... displacement is another war that is harsher than this war of starvation and extermination... displacement is a hidden killer. how many people have been martyred because they do not have the price of displacement? the price that saves them from death! how many people have lost their dignity because of it?! oh god, have mercy on us and our situation 🙏💔"
asmaa's family has already lost so much- friends, loved ones, their cat, timur. they are living in a nightmare they cannot wake up from. the decision to evacuate is not an easy one to make nor is it one for the rest of us to scrutinize. it's what asmaa + her family have decided is the best path forward
please support my friend however you can-- the smallest actions can make the biggest impact
if all you can do is share- then share. follow asmaa to get the most up to date news regarding her family. tell someone you know about asmaa's story. allow others who may be able to contribute more find asmaa so her family may get to safety
and if you can give little more, please visit the link below 🖤
cw: photos of destroyed buildings + deceased cat (timur) included in the campaign
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karemandohan1999 · 25 days ago
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365 days since the war in Gaza🇵🇸
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One Year After the War in Gaza: A Never-Ending Nightmare
It has now been a year since the war on Gaza began, and yet the suffering continues. The people of Gaza are trapped in a relentless cycle of devastation, poverty, and despair. Homes, schools, and hospitals have been reduced to rubble. Families who once had a future now struggle to survive each day in unimaginable conditions. The lack of clean water, food, and electricity has turned daily life into a constant fight for survival.
The health system is on the verge of collapse, with few resources left to care for the countless injured and ill. Children, who should be growing up in safety, instead bear the scars of war—physically and emotionally. They go to sleep hungry and wake up to the sounds of bombs, if they can sleep at all.
My husband and I have lost many important people to us 👇👇👇👇
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I am Kareman Dohan, a Palestinian mother and educator. Before the war, I taught young children, hoping to shape a better future for them. But that future was destroyed when my school was bombed, and I lost my job. My husband, Ayman Alwan, was a fisherman, but our boat—the only source of income we had—was shattered and lost to the sea.
The most heartbreaking part of our struggle is watching our son, Hamoud, suffer. He is just 17 months old, and due to the lack of food and access to clean water, he is now malnourished. No parent should have to witness their child in pain, hungry, and helpless. Every day feels like a fight for survival, with bombs constantly raining down on us. We live in fear, knowing that at any moment, our lives could end.
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All we want is to escape this nightmare, to find a safe place where we can start over, but we simply do not have the means to do so. My son needs urgent care, proper nutrition, and a future where he can grow without the shadow of war hanging over him. We are trying with all our might, but the burden has become too heavy to carry alone.
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I am pleading for your help, for your compassion, for your generosity. Any donation, any act of kindness, can give my family the hope we so desperately need. Your support could save us from despair, and we will be forever grateful.
Donate and share
Donation Link 👇
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ayuwbfamily · 3 months ago
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‏Hello
Please do not ignore my plea,
‏I am Ayoub from Gaza, I am 20 years old, my dad 20 years of killing, displacement, destruction and bloodshed, after hesitation and thinking, I decided to create a donation campaign to save my life and the life of my family. My family and I need you and we have come to you with this urgent appeal.
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‏I am like any young man seeking to provide a secure future and a decent life, and my family is like any family that has a desire to live and search for a safe life and a suitable environment. I was studying at the university and the rest of my sisters who are completing their educational journey, but we had nothing left, neither a home, nor a university, nor a safe shelter, but the occupation threw our hopes and our home was extremely difficult After our house was bombed, the occupation forced us to move to the southern Gaza Strip without shelter or a place in an unsuitable environment where diseases thrive in displacement camps. During our displacement from the northern Gaza Strip to the south, the occupation arrested me and I was tortured for many nights in complete darkness. I could not see anything and was subjected to violent torture. You are in dire need of treatment abroad.
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‏And all my family has been exposed to diseases due to the conditions we are witnessing here.
‏And I would like to tell you, friends, that my father is disabled and suffers from chronic diseases, diabetes, heart pressure and is disabled without movement. My father needs treatment abroad so that he is not affected by the weaknesses we are experiencing due to the lack of health care here.
‏Our story means life or death.
‏But a glimmer of hope from the midst of this darkness, thanks to your generous donations, you can save my life and the lives of my family and my father so that we can all obtain the necessary care and treatment.
‏Please respond to our appeal and let us show the world the power of compassion and solidarity.
‏Ayyoub from Gaza
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