"having a large chest is the beauty standard" no having a large chest is the Sexual standard theres a difference. i can only even be Hot and everything i ever wear will be deemed too sexual for every single situation. tank top shows too much cleavege or side boob a button up is always too busty and a crop top will always show too much skin. having a large chest leads to so much back pain and sexualization and complaining about it makes people go "ahh grass is alwahs greener/you are the beauty standard, why complain?" like genuinely i urge yall to watch anything with a larger chested woman and notice, REALLY notice, that her chest is her entire personality. notice that people critiqing misogynist charavter designs alwayd tend to rally in the statement that large chest=misogny, casting aside the Many Many Many women and people who look like Me and just . have a large chest? and exist? and deserve respect and not to be seen as nothing more than a sex symbol by both sides? idk ikdayy
whats a stereotype for your country that you absolutely do. mine is that i unironically go "eh" and apologize a lot and i often drink maple syrup straight
There is no drug on earth that can replicate the absolute euphoria of hitting a writing flow state at 2:00 AM. You arenât even typing anymore. You are a vessel. You are a channel for the gods. The characters are speaking directly into your brain and youâre just the stenographer trying to keep up. You feel like you could fight a bear. You feel like you invented the alphabet
i made a post like this before but I can't find it now. so. I'll just redo it.
What's the first "big news story" you remember from when you were a kid?
It's something I love to ask mixed-aged groups sometimes because I think it's really interesting to see the responses. I've gotten answers from the Olympics of [whatever year] to Watergate to more recent stuff from my niblings.
My first news thing I remember is the OJ Simpson trial. I vaguely remember watching the news with my grandparents before that, but that's the first story I remember, in part because my second grade teacher had us go play so she could watch the verdict đ
This prompt response grew arms and legs and backstory, but this is the heart of it and the part that fits the theme best.
By Any Means Necessary
Ilya Rosanov/Shane Hollander, Dallas Kent
(Vampires, shades of Bones and All )
The backrooms of the Centaurs home rink are something of a rabbit warren. Making the playoffs last season has given them enough of a financial boost that theyâve been doing a whole lot of long overdue renovations and repairs, but mostly that means that behind the scenes, there are closed off corridors and repurposed rooms, and itâs altogether too easy to get lost.Â
Dallas Kent isnât lost. Heâs following someone, and that someone knows where theyâre going so heâll worry about getting back out when heâs done with his unfinished business. He canât quite focus on exactly what heâs going to do when he gets there, but that doesnât matter right now. What matters is how much he hates Hollander, that he is hunting down a target and that they know it. Know that however long they manage to stay one step ahead, eventually heâll catch them. What matters is how much whatever he does to Hollander will hurt Rosanov, and thatâs what this is really about. Itâs about the way fucking Barrett looks at Rosanov for his approval, the way heâd once looked to Dallas for it.Â
(He doesnât think about the look on Barrettâs face when heâd figured it out, the slow change in his expression, the dawning understanding that heâd finally found his best friendâs line in the sand, the one transgression he could never forgive. The rage and disgust transfiguring the familiar face, an expression heâd seen a thousand times and never expected to see turned his own way. And worse still, the despair in those familiar eyes, an expression heâd never seen before and never wanted to see again.)Â
Hollander ducks into a room up ahead at the last possible moment, and Dallas nearly rolls straight past it. He makes a cursory backwards glance to check thereâs no-one else around before he follows him into what appears to be some kind of plant room, for the air-con and the ice system probably. Itâs bigger than Dallas would have expected, but noisy and poorly lit, so ideal for his purposes. Hollander isnât hiding like he expected though, heâs leaning against one of walls, less like a scared prey animal and more like a femme fatale. His post-game sweaty hair is flopping forward over his eyes, and heâs watching Dallas with a wry smile like he knows a secret that Dallas is not going to enjoy finding out. Thereâs something compelling about him - Dallas knows that women go wild for it, but heâs never understood what they saw in those pretty boy looks and bullshit boy next door charm - that narrows Dallasâ whole field of vision down to him and the pool of light heâs lounging in. Thereâs something slightly wrong with Hollanderâs smile, he canât quite put his finger on it, but he also canât look away from it either.
He hears the squeak of rubber soul on tile before he registers the movement in his periphery. Itâs a lot of effort to drag his gaze away from Hollander, but he manages it and heâs somehow both surprised and not at all surprised to see Rosanov watching them from the shadows. Thereâs definitely something wrong with Rosanovâs eyes, Dallas realises slowly, like the thought arrives from a distance, they seem to glow a little in the low light. They donât look entirely human. As though he can hear the thought Rosanov grins, and it isnât remotely friendly and there are frankly too many teeth on show. Itâs kind of an open secret in the league that Rosanov has some kind of blood disease, needs regular blood transfusions, and is correspondingly deeply weird about spilled blood on the rink. Heâs also remembering, other rumours that used to circulate when he was with the Raiders, about their very particular rituals around their captain and his blood disease. Dallas has done his share of referring to people with the disease in question as vampires, but even he knows that the vast majority of sufferers have symptoms more like haemophilia, that most team doctors will have a bottle of tranexamic acid mouthwash on hand as a precaution, and that itâs not even that contagious unless youâre making an effort. But like everybody else he knows that there is an small minority of people who arenât just getting quarterly blood transfusions and anti-clotting injections before trips to the dentist.Â
Dallas has long thought of himself as a kind of hunter - heâs been called a predator a lot recently, and it doesnât fill him with the secret thrill it used to - so he watches Rosanov stalk towards him with the understanding that heâs in the presence of an actual predator now. Heâs also painfully aware that he canât actually move, that whatever compulsion was keeping him from looking away from Hollander earlier is nothing in comparison to this.Â
âItâs called âthrallâ,â Hollander says softly in his ear, and Dallas flinches, he hadnât noticed the other man move, but heâs behind Dallas now and his arms come up around him to hold him still. âItâs almost like hypnosis, though I think itâs mostly pheromones. Iâm only stage two so mine isnât as strong as his, but itâs good enough for this kind of thing, to draw someone in and make them think they came of their own free will. His is more like a sledgehammer, you know about it, you just canât do anything to stop it happening.â
âYou guys do this a lot or am I special,â he forces out, desperately trying to maintain his usual cocky bravado.
âNo,â Rosanov tells him, coming to a stop barely a foot away from him, âwe donât do this a lot. Though you are correct, this is a really common hunting dynamic. Working in pairs, one to seduce and draw you in, the other to rip out the throatâŠâ he touches the scar visible at the base of his own throat, the unspoken implication that that was how heâd been turned, âso they can both feed. Largely unnecessary in this day and age. Youâre only special in that youâre an awful enough person that we can justifying indulging ourselves like this.â
âYou know, itâs so weird to me,â Holland muses conversationally, âyouâre objectively pretty handsome - if you donât know what a fucking asshole you are - and youâre successful and stupidly wealthy, you could have nearly any girl you want. Yet youâre out there drugging girls, left right and centre, like half of them wouldnât have said yes anyway if youâd bothered to be nice to them, or otherwise bothered to put a bit of effort in. Is it a power thing? Cause, thereâs plenty of people whoâd be into thatâŠâ
âSpeaking from experience are we?â Dallas interrupts desperately, âthat what gets you off, him doing this to you? Letting him feed off you.â
âYou of all people acting like what we do in bed is dirty and wrong.â Hollander rebuts mockingly, âBut no, I hate to spoil your self-righteous little fantasy, but weâve drunk each otherâs blood - and that is so fucking hot I canât even tell you - so weâre immune to each otherâs thrall. When one of us gets on their knees for the other itâs because we want to, because itâs fucking hot, not because we have to.âÂ
âWhy wouldnât I want to share this with him?â Rosanov asks, sounding genuinely confused. âManaging blood is a nuisance but itâs so much easier with two of you. And the payoff, the way weâre stronger, have more stamina, can heal better, age slower? Weâre the best, the only thing better than competing against each other is competing together. This way we never have to stop if we donât want to, we can keep playing forever. Why would I deny him that?â
âThatâs why youâre so angry with Barrett isnât it?â Hollander contends, âyou wanted to share your sick little pleasures with your buddy. You kept it to yourself for so long because you knew deep down that whatever festering little secret he was keeping wasnât anything as terrible as yours. I bet you were even a little relieved when he figured it out, because you were still hoping against hope that it was, if not something you could share, you could be all mutually destructive about his dirty little secret. But it wasnât, was it? His secret was terribly mundane, nothing to actually be ashamed of, just that assholes like you and his dad had made him think it was. And understanding what yours was made him realise that caring what people like you thought, trying to win their approval, was making him into something far worse.â
âFuck you, both of you,â Dallas spits at them.
âMmmm, no, I donât think so,â Rosanov replies cocking his head to one side and leaning in close, âI think weâre going to eat you instead. And if youâre very good, weâll not stop in the middle, when youâre too weak to fight but not so weak you pass out, and wonât be able to avoid knowing that we are, in fact, fucking each other about it.â
Dallas should probably be expecting the way Rosanov licks a wide stripe up his neck along the jugular but he still tries instinctively to recoil from it. He feels briefly as if the thrall has loosened, but it doesnât matter because the recoil push him flush against Hollander where heâs behind Dallas and he immediately gets his arms looped up under Dallasâ own and across his chest to hold him in place. Rosanov has his teeth in Dallasâ neck before he can even think about fighting back.
âHurts,â he forces out, surprised, heâd heard there was a kind of anaesthesia in a bite like this, so the victim didnât fight back.
âYes,â Hollander assures him quietly, ânormally it wouldnât, normally it would be quick and clean and youâd be numb. But we decided between us that you didnât deserve that. That you deserved to feel every last moment of your death, to be fully aware of exactly whatâs happening and why.â
For moment it feels as if Hollander is nuzzling his neck, before he feels a second set of teeth sink into a vein. It hurts, so much that the pain seems to consume him, but never enough that he blacks out.Â
He opens his mouth to scream, but he canât make a single sound.Â
Several wildfires are forcing members of a number of First Nations to flee their homes in northern Ontario.
âI had time to run home and pack a bag and get to the beach where the boats were waiting,â said a member of Namaygoosisagagun First Nation (Collins). âWe literally had minutes to get on the boats and flee before it took our town.
âOnce we left my house finally after packing what I could in a pack sack, the fire was right behind our place. We had to run to the beach and once we got there, it was only moments before the fire had jumped over the (train) track and was coming for us.â
it has since been confirmed that namaygoosisagagun first nation has completely burnt to the ground. if you would like to help the community navigate an ongoing crisis, i urge you to donate to the anishinabek nation 7th generation, a registered charity seeking to improve the lives of first nations people. donations are going directly to members of namaygoosisagagun first nation.
if you're canadian, you can e-transfer [email protected]. if you're outside canada, they accept paypal as well. see more information HERE
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