oozey mess
Love Begins
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Show & Tell
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Origami Around
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Xuebing Du
Noah Kahan
Misplaced Lens Cap
cherry valley forever
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Mike Driver
blake kathryn
Game of Thrones Daily
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@risenlikethedead
I always forget there are maga people on tumblr, this doesn’t feel like a website you’d find them on, so to keep them away:
Reblog if your blog is a maga free zone because if it wasn’t clear enough fuck ice, fuck maga, fuck Trump, Fuck Rowling, and fuck all the other bigots I missed
My first time operating CCTV cameras I was handed control over what was essentially 50 independently moving eyes that collectively covered an area about the size of a football field and from that experience I now know that
Suddenly having 50 moving eyes can make you disoriented and barfy and the adjustment period sucks ass
It takes both more and less time than you’d think to figure out what the structure as a whole looks like and where those eyes ARE
After you get used to it the entirety of the structure itself and all of the eyes you can see from feels like an extension of your nervous system in a very bizarre way. Like I have dreams now from the perspective of A Building and I’m not sure how to describe that.
Once you are aware of an unreachable blind spot it nags at you constantly and you can feel it like a hard little lump under your skin you need to poke and scratch at and it’s ardghgguychgghhbhhhbhhh
Unexpected rift among security specialists on this one as 50% of respondents say “Yeah I know exactly what you mean” and the other half drop in just to say “no OP is just a freak”
Bringing this back because I was on shift at this specific location the other day when one of the older cams got fried and I had to pull out the tower and rummage around in the wiring of my own damn eyeballs and maybe I AM the freak here but I'm disturbed to say it was an *extremely* bizarre and vulnerable feeling
Like being your own neurosurgeon
Also I'm blind in one of my 50ish eyes now and it feels like I lost a tooth in my brain
john price who buys a plot of land and moves west, only to arrive after weeks on the trail and find a ramshackle little cabin already squatting on it. the whole place looks abandoned. reeks of neglect. he draws his gun and ventures in for a look anyway, see if he can’t at least salvage the place to build his own—and scares its lone resident, a woman armed only with a knife.
though it takes some time, skittish as you are, he talks you down. learns who you are and what you’re doing on his property. apparently, you’ve been fending for yourself for months after your new husband took your horse into town for supplies and simply never came back. no letter or body, nor word from anybody who might’ve seen him—just a house that’s falling apart and a garden you depend on to keep you alive.
price shows you the deed and bill of sale to convince you he isn’t some drifter or swindler trying to trick or rob you, and watches the fight go out of you when you realize what the papers actually mean, that the land was never your husband’s to begin with. that this stranger has every right to put you out.
you were frightened before, but now you’re looking at winter coming on with no horse, hardly any money, nowhere to go, and truly no one left in the world. and price, who’s spent his life living hard and thought that he’d spend the back half of his life alone, finds he can’t stomach the sight of you standing there trying not to beg him mercy.
he looks at the growing calluses on your palms, the dirt under your fingernails, and the dried mud caked along the hem of your skirts, and he is struck. all those violent, bloody years he survived when better men did not? this must be what he’s been kept alive for. to come all this way to this slice of heaven and find you here.
so he strikes a bargain instead: you can stay through the next month while you decide what you want to do. in the meantime you’ll help him make the place livable and he’ll teach you what he knows.
you’re not stupid. you know exactly how lopsided a deal it is, how little you have to offer compared to what he’s putting on the table—besides the obvious. he gives you the night to think it over, you toss and turn beneath for hours trying to invent a better alternative, but there simply isn’t one.
in the morning, bleary-eyed and embarrassed, you tell him you accept. john just grins and drains his coffee. to him, the matter was never in much doubt. he puts the two of you to work immediately.
the first few weeks are hard. john tackles the roof and walls first, making you his little helper, calling down for whatever tool he needs next or sending you to fetch whatever materials you can manage. you go to bed and wake up sore, palms blistering in a pair of his old gloves. all the while, john, strong as an ox, seems capable of working from dawn until dusk.
in the afternoons, when the heat makes repair work miserable, he puts you both on his horse and rides double to the nearby lake to teach you to fish. you squirm the first time he makes you gut a trout, nearly retching when the knife opens its belly. john only laughs when you try to shove the whole bloody business back toward him. his big hands close over yours instead, guiding the blade while his chest glues to your back, his voice rumbling in your ear as he chides you for trying to worm your way out of it. can’t live on good intentions, love. go on. get your fingers in there.
he teaches you to shoot next and that’s when you get your first inkling of whatever life he led before he found you. he’s an excellent shot, on foot and horseback. he’s also a good teacher. hands-on. correcting your stance, one wide palm at your waist and the other on your elbow, enduring every flinch of yours until you can fire without shaking. he shows you how to set basic snares and read the ground for tracks. in return, you teach him what grows best in the garden and what you’ve found foraging.
and during those early weeks, you live on edge, waiting for him to ask for more than just a second helping at dinner. because you know enough of the world to know what sort of bargain a woman in your position might ordinarily be expected to make, whether the exact terms are spoken aloud or not.
you hold your breath whenever he squeezes past you in the kitchen and go stiff when his hands squeeze your sides while shooting, steadying you against the recoil. more than once you’ve lain awake listening to the floorboards creak beneath his weight while he stays up late, waiting for him to appear at your bedside. when you bathe in the lake, he stands watch on the bank with his back turned, and though you wait to catch him looking over his shoulder. but, to your honest shock, he never does.
he’s refreshingly gentlemanly. you can’t tell whether he’s honoring the existence of your husband, suspended somewhere in that awful limbo between living and dead, or whether john is simply a patient man biding his time. waiting for the right moment.
whatever the reason, each day that passes without him demanding that certain kind of tender as payment relaxes you just a bit more. your vigilance eases and you stop keeping track of where he is in and outside of the cabin. for the first time in a long time, you feel at peace.
as a consequence, the whole situation grows domestic. his razor appears beside your washbasin. his coat hangs beside yours by the door. you start setting two places at breakfast and supper. at night, when there’s oil or wax to spare, you read aloud to each other.
so it comes as a surprise when, near the end of the month, john tells you to put on your best. you’re going into town.
today, apparently, you’re going to finally buy a horse of your own.
you start protesting immediately—you haven’t the money for a horse, your husband carried the bulk of it, you certainly don’t have enough a good one—but john waves all that away. you need one, he insists. can’t have you stranded. and while you’re in town, you can make some inquiries after your husband.
that shuts you up. almost makes you petulant. worse is the stab of shame when you realize you’ve barely thought of the man in weeks. for months, his absence had occupied every waking hour. you would daydream and imagine hoofbeats or footsteps and fly to the window, searching. then john arrived, and at some point, your husband became an afterthought.
in town, john waits patiently while you ask after your husband at the general store, the barber, the blacksmith. he accompanies you into the saloon, standing a few paces behind while you question the bartender and whatever regulars might have been there around the time your husband disappeared. john doesn’t say a word. he watches their faces, thick arms folded across his chest, eyes jumping from face to face beneath the brim of his hat while you explain when your husband left, the horse, and what he looked like.
nobody knows a thing.
in the end, you wilt dutifully. resigned to the fact that he either ran off or that his bones are bleaching in a ditch somewhere on the road. the thought ought to devastate you more than it does, and that brings another little stab of guilt.
john simply plants a hand between your shoulder blades and steers you toward the livery.
there, at least, he manages to cheer you up. he helps you choose a pretty chestnut gelding with a blaze on his forehead and a friendly disposition. john pays for him while you’re busy cooing at the creature, along with a saddle and tack, and when you claim that you’ll pay him back, he merely smiles and says, ‘m sure you will, love.
back home, neither of you mention that your agreement is nearly up. and when the month comes and goes, and neither of you mentions that either.
the timeline simply stretches, one day passing into the next. any sense of urgency gets lost. there’s still work to be done on the cabin, after all. you’re getting better with the rifle but john reckons you’ve plenty left to learn. you’ve only just got your own horse and ought to become a better rider before setting off anywhere alone. then the sun starts setting earlier and the leaves start to change, and really, leaving now would be foolish what with winter so close. you better to stay until spring.
john lays all this out over dinner one night. says it so plainly.
you agree, a mite too eager, and hide your smile behind another bite.
that night, while you sleep curled beneath your blankets, john eases your door open enough to look in on you. he stands there for a long while, listening to your breathing, before slipping a hand into his pocket. his thumb finds the worn band of that wedding ring he picked off a dead man on the road west and toys with it.
he wonders if he ought to pray. john never put much stock in faith or fate before. but what could he call this? finding that failure of a man, then finding the home he’d abandoned and the wife he’d left behind? what else is john supposed to understand it as, if not a series of signs pointing him precisely where he was meant to go? of all the land he might have bought, all the roads he might have taken—what are the chances?
the next day, he takes that dead man’s ring down to the lake and tosses it in. he will buy another the next time the two of you ride into town.
and that night, after weeks of patience, of sneaking off to see to his own wants in private, kicking dirt over his wasted spend, he will finally make his move. he will employ that same slow tenderness he’s shown you from the beginning. he has no reason to believe you won’t welcome it. you won’t shy away. you’ve been alone so long, starved for company, and he’s taught you to reach for him when you need something, hasn’t he?
no, you won’t fight him one bit. you’ll understand better, too, when he’s got you on your back, cock buried deep, drool hanging off your lip—you’ll know that you’re both right where you belong. where you’re meant to be.
and with luck, by the time spring returns, there’ll be more reason for you to stay. maybe his baby in your belly and a new ring on your finger. that bargain of a single month so far behind you both that neither of you will remember there was ever supposed to be an ending to it.
Grace Rocky save stars. Grace Rocky explore each other's bodies for science.
thinking about all the ways u can talk dirty to a pregnant partner before they start to show,,,,,,
“oh, look at you, sweetheart. if i didn’t already know you were knocked up i could figure it out just from looking at your puffy pregnant cunt.”
“soon you’ll be so big that everyone can see what i did to you, but for right now it’s just between us. so good for me, carrying our little secret.”
“you’re already glowing, look how flushed you are.”
“poor thing, are your tits already getting sensitive this early on? i can only imagine how much worse it’s going to get.”
“that’s right, baby, take the cock that knocked you up. take the cock you got yourself good and pregnant on.”
“god your pussy feels even better now that i’ve claimed your womb. it’s like your body knows it’s all mine.”
“of course i’ll finish inside you. not like you can get any more pregnant than you already are.”
“you want my cum sweetheart? go on. ask for it. tell me you wanna be filled with the cum that bred you.”
A cute guy likes me on a dating app. After chatting with them for weeks, we decide to go on a date. They are very flirtatious and forward over the app, but not when we meet in person. He admits he thought I was transmasc like him, we laugh about it because his mistake is funny and means I'm not passing but in a silly backwards way. I think his sudden awkwardness in person may be nervousness and flirt with him in ways less forward and aggressive than he'd been flirting with me earlier, and they become cold and distant for the rest of the date. By the time I get home they've blocked me on the app we met on. This case of being mistaken as a transmasc on a dating app will happen 3 more times, and in 2/3 times it results in a similar sudden lack of interest where once they were coming on to me. None of these people will be cis.
I am in a self defense class for queer people, learning hand to hand combat as a community. I have been here months. I notice I'm the only transfem in the classes but there are other trans people there so I don't think much of it. Today I have some stubble as I did not have time to shave before the early morning class. When discussing unrealistic action movie and anime fight scenes I describe on of my favorites, quoting the lines as I pantomime the goofy moves. They smile and laugh along until the word bitch leaves my lips in one quote, then the bisexual woman who only ever they/thems me glares at me like I've committed a grevious crime, and the rest of the class looks at me like a freak in awkward silence for a moment before moving on. I learn bitch is not a word a clocky bitch can "reclaim". I am quiet in classes now, and when I go I focus primarily on the training, when I see other trans women try it out they often give me a sad look and do not return for a second class. I get a sinking feeling that if I ever use this training to save my life one day I'd be branded a violent man instead of a strong woman.
I am texting with a good friend of years who was one of the people who helped me realize I was trans like them and even the one who helped pick out my name loves talking about our shared interests and sharing their favorite smut with me. We bond over favorite stories, artists, characters, and kinks as well as our trans experience. Yet they constantly tell me they could never date someone who's AMAB because of the trauma of being "female socialized" and their genital preferences for vulvas. Every compliment they have ever given me on my appearance or outfit is followed up by "but in a non-sexual way, I could never date you". Today I finally have the courage tell them they don't need to say that every time. They ignore this response. We keep talking for awhile, but they start taking months to respond to my messages and respond with a short sentence at most. They no longer share details about their life and shut me out when I ask or share details about mine, even the most mundane and chaste details. I stop talking to them. A birthday gift I bought them months before this falling out happened looms at me in my closet. I cannot use it as it doesn't fit me but can't bring myself to throw it away, just in case we reconcile one day. I feel pathetic for craving friendship with someone who sees me as "abuser-bodied", that so much of my early stages would've been impossible without their help. I feel a little more lost without them.
I am at a queer/trans/enby kink dance party with some friends. I am scantily clad and wearing a skirt and high heeled boots. I do not pass well so this space is one of the few places I feel safe and free dressing like this. It is packed with queer and trans people just like me engaged in delightful debauchery and wearing very little. The music hurts my ears but I'm happy to be here, I feel overstimulated but alive and authentic. I am approached by a beautiful stranger from across the dance floor, she is graceful and stylish, like some modern Galadriel clad in leather, white lace, and industrial piercings with impeccable voice training. She compliments my outfit, I compliment hers. She tells me I need to shave my armpits if I want to look like a real woman. My two friends stand up for me and yell at her. They assure me she was just being an asshole, that women were supposed to be hairy, but I can't help but notice how both of them have hairy armpits and yet the "advice" targeted me. The wide range of bodies that people here tonight find desirable on cis women don't seem to apply to the women like me. I am the only one of us that doesn't go home with a hookup at the end of the night. I realize now she likely spoke from experience. I am still hurt by her words, but realizing the kinds of experiences she must have had herself to feel her words were kind advice hurts far worse.
A local queer photographer who's work I follow is looking for women & non-binary models for a photoshoot. I have become comfortable with getting photos taken of me for the first time in my life since my egg cracked, and had a few small time modeling gigs under my belt. With something like this I could actually have the beginnings of a portfolio. I reach and am told that they are not looking for trans women models, "only women and AFABs". Getting the same line I get from agencies from an independent queer photographer repackaged in "woke" terminology stings. I see many queer and nonbinary models I looked up to take part in the shoot. I have to wonder if they knew that the photographer's definition of woman didn't include trans women, or if like me in my martial arts class they noticed no transfems were there but didn't think much of it because there were other trans people there.
It is years ago and I am still an egg. I am with my partner of 4 years. I am exhausted after a long day. She asks me for sex in the voice that I know means saying no will hurt her. I learned from her long ago men have high and insatiable sex drives, therefore saying no meant I wanted to have sex, just not with her. So I say yes. The sex is painful and unsatisfying, and I simply do my best to thrust through the discomfort until she cums. I feel numb and hurt. She enjoys herself but seems sad I did not cum. I assure her I love her. When we hold eachother after my obligation has been met and I finally feel comfortable and safe. We begin talking. She talks about the trashy women she saw on the street today, describing their cringe outfits and ugly styles and bad hair. All the styles and clothes and hair I yearn to try myself in my deepest and most repressed desires. I change the subject and ask her about work and family. She asks if I'd still love her if she were a man and I say yes. She says she would still love me if I were a woman. Something in that statement feels like a lie. It is months later when we break up and I move out. Now that I am a woman I look back and know from our years together that if I were a woman then she'd hate the kind of woman I'd become. That if I were a woman she'd still have the same expectations of me as a man, that her refusal of sex equated an impersonal not being in the mood but my refusal of sex equated a cruel refusal of love.
A lesbian group begins organizing a queer woman's strip night event. A safe place for amateur performers to shine and women to perform and enjoy sexuality away from the male gaze. I see no transfems in the promotional material or leadership team, and I've learned not to think nothing of it just because there are other trans people there. I do not go.
I am talking with my therapist. They are trans too and an amazing therapist, often providing insights and advice only someone else with the lived experience of being trans can. I express distress and suicidal ideation at the fact I feel like I need to pass before I can dress the way I want. That until I get expensive hair removal procedures and FFS I can never feel safe and welcome presenting authentically. I lament how these things are expensive and may never be accessible to me. They tell me I need to deal with my "internalized transphobia", as if these feelings aren't a result of constant rejection and othering by external forces even within queer spaces. As if the scrap of womanhood others sometimes acknowledge in me does not rely on their perceptions of me.
There is a publication accepting works from trans people of all stripes to document trans experiences. It gets flamed for not having a single transfem as a contributor. The people behind it apologize profusely, they say didn't notice no transfems had sent work in and would do a sequel publication that was transfem-centric. I wonder if anyone had noticed there were no transfems but didn't think much of it because there were other trans people there. I think about the kinds of spaces I've seen like that, and the implications it has about how they treat transfems, and I am unsurprised no transfems submitted.
One of my closest friends for years is very supportive of me when I first begin crossdressing and experimenting with they/them pronouns. She gives me suggestions on cute clothes to wear and takes me shopping as well as asks for pictures. We had helped eachother discover we were both queer as young teens, come to terms with it, and navigate it in a hostile environment, so I have complete trust. We are close enough we are frequently asking eachother advice on serious life choices & relationships, sending nudes for critique + tips before sending them to our partners, and sharing our most secret and vulnerable moments. She often asks me for tips on getting her straight boyfriends into pegging and crossdressing that make me slightly uncomfortable but I don't mind, she is a loyal friend I would endure a great many discomforts for. I host a lunch for us one day, and come out to her as a trans woman. I tell her my new name, say I no longer use he/him pronouns, and thank her for her support on my journey thus far. She launches into a monologue about how by changing my name I am throwing away all our memories together and spitting in the face of my family. Taken aback by her sudden heel turn after being so supportive of me being nonbinary and GNC, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom to get a break and give her some time to process. When I am in the bathroom trying not to cry, she is on the phone. I overhear her misgendering me as she is talking about me being bisexual in a frightened voice. She sounds truly afraid that I intend to be sexually violent towards her. When I leave the bathroom and sit back down I pretend not to have heard. She gets off the phone, saying she was just chatting with her boyfriend. We talk a bit longer, she explains how "the surgery" is dangerous and experimental and she hopes I won't get it. I assure her I won't and do my best to change the subject and hope she comes around after some time to process things, hurt and shocked that what I saw as a natural shift in the path I was already on marked me as frightening in her eyes after knowing eachother for over a decade. That a fellow bisexual suddenly saw my bisexuality as dangerous now that I was asserting myself as a trans woman. I say goodbye to her, and she says goodbye to me using my deadname, I do not risk an argument to correct her. It is months after the meeting we have not seen eachother since and she has not responded to any messages I sent. After reflecting on her reaction further I decide that I don't really want to spend time with someone who thinks these things about me for my own safety and mental health, regardless of our history. A friend of 14 years who supported my queerness and transness gone the instant I crossed an intangible woman-shaped line that marked me as a predator and invader in her eyes.
I log online and day after day see trans women getting banned and harassed. Seeing baseless callout posts calling them groomers and abusers getting taken seriously by other queer and trans people. Seeing proof that deep down so many people I consider kindred spirits see me and people like me as worthy of intense scrutiny and policing to keep "the queer community" safe and united. The blocklist grows but everything stays the same. I treasure the people in my life who don't take part in this and would do anything for them, but it seems they get fewer each time.
I'm not making this post to seek sympathy, I am used to this kind of shit and far worse has happened to myself and others. I just make this to illustrate transmisogyny is not some "online-only" issue like people claim. Even if online issues weren't "real" (as healed is fond of saying, "online is real") this has tangible effects in the way trans women are treated offline as well. By communities, friends, partners, colleagues, systems, etc. That's why we talk about it.
So much of the discussions people have paint transmisogyny as some online oppression olympics maliciously trying to divide the community, smear transmascs, and "reinvent bioessentialism". That is not what it is about. Discussions about transmisogyny is about how we are treated for being what we are, and while related to transphobia and misogyny it is seperate because it often represents doors other trans people and women can walk through that transfems cannot. It has affected me in my most intimate moments when I was with other trans and queer people I felt safe around, and taught me that I need to carefully manage my persona and presentation at all times lest my authenticity be branded "male socialization". I am even terrified to express attraction to people who express attraction towards me because I'm so used to being treated like a predator upon reciprocating or being used and abandoned by people I trusted. I am terrified to be too excited about shared interests with friends lest I be too loud or talkative about it and branded with aggressive male socialization. So I make myself quiet and small, and shrink from the community and people I care about, and become more and more isolated.
Anyways, stop platforming anons who spread lies about trans women, stop hopping on TERF harassment campaigns because the trans gal they're smearing "gave you bad vibes", and maybe consider carefully if in your own life where you draw the line for a transfem's behavior is any different from where you'd draw the line for anyone who's not one.
This post put into words what I have been wracking my brain trying to verbalize for years. everyone needs to understand how it is. If you have transfem friends, if you share social spaces with them, if you think of yourself as an ally, but you haven't internalized this truth, then you are not safe to be around for us.
i must say, i am a huge fan of when a book is in the middle of a very exciting plot containing many interesting problems when out of nowhere for a few pages it's like, "hey by the way, real quick, here's a detailed explanation of the city's water filtration system! i'm telling you this for a reason and you should worry about it. anyway! haha okay back to the plot" and you just get to be Scared for a while
i am kissing you on the mouth right now
you are the only person who understands me. you and the person who tagged a series of unfortunate events
The amount of slavery in Ancient Rome was legitimately terrifying tbh
Y’all know that I’m into ancient Roman history and I do a lot of research on it but even though I should be used to it by now sometimes I read an anecdote about how an individual slave was treated and I’m hit with the realization that like a third of the population was living like that and I just need to put my head in my hands for a second
Emperor Hadrian randomly stabbed a slave in the eye in a fit of rage and he was supposedly unusually sympathetic to slaves.
There’s other instances of people randomly punching slaves that they didn’t even know because they got in their way or something. This was just normal behavior.
And slaves didn’t rebel en masse because if even one slave committed an act of violent rebellion it was common practice to kill every slave and former slave in the household.
People only took notice for posterity when these mass executions got into the hundreds of people. One of the few recorded for the history books is of over 400 people being killed because one guy stabbed his enslaver.
Like how many people throughout history were beaten to death because some rich asshole was angry and there was no legal or social consequences for doing so? We don’t know.
When you study ancient history you’re reminded that slavery has never once been kind or justified. It just takes on different forms of evil in every time and place that it infects.
Mammal in a Sunday Dress, by Georgina M. Cox, 2026
Ghost who's been working himself half to death in the gym on base for hours, right?
Not the usual insane ghost workout that makes newbies cringe, but the kind that has him spilling blood onto the mats underneath the punching bags. Knuckles raw and red, face turned into a deep scowl.
Stood of to the side in the doorway, you sip a coffee. Gaz finally tilts his head after staring, having watched ghost push himself too far on the weights "he okay?"
"Yep. He just needs to get it out of his system." You huff, mostly here to babysit your boyfriend. A younger you would have begged him to stop, but you know there's really no avoiding when he gets like...this. "give him a bit to even out."
"What happened?" Kyle tears open a bag of crisps, hands you one.
"He dropped me while we were fucking against the wall." Your ass still hurts like hell from it. Gaz splutters and chokes next to you, doubles over to cough on his just eaten snack. "I told him it was fine, but he hates seeing me hurt."
"Christ— seriously?" Across the room, ghost returns back to the weights. You smile knowing you'll get to massage his biceps tonight. "I didn't think the guy could get it up."
"Oh he doesn't struggle with that, I promise." You chuckle, cast a glance at gaz.
He's light enough, you're sure. You know ghost better than he knows himself, and you explicitly remember how he and gaz spar on weekends. "hey, you ever been fucked against a wall? I'm sure si' would want to practice without hurting me."
"WHAT—" gaz flusters, more embarrassed than you've seen him...ever, really.
"I wouldn't mind it!" Ghost calls from across the empty gym, rough and low and more growl than anything else. "Cute ass, I've been dreamin' aboot it!"
Gaz makes a very significant squeak in his haste to retreat. You'll pick him up for the night next week.
Thinking about meeting your future husband, john price, at a bar...right?
But it's not the usual way you'd think. No glances across the bar, no shared smirks or flirty touches.
In fact, you hadn't even noticed john until another man shoulder-checked you instead of stepping the the two inches it took to get around you. The man, drunk by the smell of his breath, had whirled on you "watch where you're going, bitch."
The hand never grabbed your arm, because john stepped in.
Large body between you and the strange man, some words hissed that you couldn't focus on with the hunk of muscle un front of you. Between one blink and the next the man was flat on the floor and johns knuckles were bloody.
On the sidewalk after getting kicked out, with streetlights casting a smoky halo around john, you knew you had to take him home.
One night led to mutliple, led to staying for breakfast and coffee dates and then real dates. Led to whispered confessions and your dreams for the future slowly shifting to include your john. Led to a wedding and an even better wedding night.
On your honeymoon john insisted on taking you out of the country to meet some friends and stay in some fancy cabin.
"–And this is nikolai, but everyone calls him nik." John nods to a man you'd recognize anywhere.
"Are you...are you the man from the bar." You've never been good with subtlety. You look at price "why are you friends with the guy from the bar?"
Of course. Your husband whom you've believed to be your lucky savior since you met him has actually had his eyes on you for far longer. In his infinite wisdom, he decided staging a rescue was the best way to impress you back then.
...nikolai has the audacity to laugh when you chew john out for it.
oh fuck...
Thing I think about daily: whether my husband manufactured our meet-cute
Context: my husband and I met because a guy attacked me at the bar one night and my now-husband got in between the guy and me to protect me
Also according to his friends and family he had been obsessed with me for months before that
I ask this as calmly as I possibly can.
HOW DO I FIND AN OLDER MAN, I AM SICK AND TIRED OF NOT BEING ABLE TO FIND THEM, I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE EASY, I SAW THEM ALL OVER BEFORE I WAS READY TO DATE BUT NOW THAT I AM READY TO DATE, POOF. All gone :(((
You gotta go hang out at their spots. Older men worth having will never be in spots meant for younger generations like clubs and Starbucks (an older man in a younger person’s space actively trying to find a hook up is an immature creep and should not be allowed to date anyone. He will ruin your life in the worst way). You gotta find them are breweries, golf courses, classic bars, etc
Pro tip: the good ones usually aren’t on the apps cause they’re too busy living. You have to go interrupt their peace a little.
Also, you have to be willing to play the part in their fantasies a little. Lower your eyes, tuck your hair behind your ear, act soft and a bit shy and unsure. Wear softer make up, have a quieter energy, lower your voice, blush a little. Older men don’t want to feel like they’re being hunted or led into something, they want to feel like they found a quiet, demure thing that just happened to walk into their space. You gotta bait them and give them that illusion and they’ll do the rest every time.
Becoming a regular somewhere is better than hunting new places every weekend. Once they clock you as familiar, it's easier for them to make a move without feeling like they're approaching a stranger.
Also let them come to you most of the time, they still prefer to feel like the ones doing the choosing. If you're always the one initiating, it can kill the dynamic they actually respond to. That includes anytime after initial contact. Unless you enter a relationship: do not initiate contact first. Make him come to you every single time. They like that chase and having to work for it. Makes them feel like they snagged a reward when they bagged you.
Also- and I can not stress this enough- confirm he’s genuinely single before you start planning anything long term. A suspicious number of ‘divorced’ older men are merely married in a different zip code.
Wait what?? Bad dragon is selling nazi furries dicks?
Well that sucks I liked their toys.
yeah, bad dragon will do anything for a few extra pennies,
please check out:
hodge podge
strange befellas
darque path
juliet toys
swisok
kisuandfriends
tentickle toys
nothosaur toys
creature feature toys
pussy punch toys
mnstr toy box
wandering bard toys
bat bites
lust arts
pleasure forge
i’ve bought from several of these myself and i know they’re all well known and well acclaimed self owned toy makers. fuck bad dragon, get a way cooler and more ethical toy from any of these places. I esp love love love the ceela model from strange bedfellas but they and a lot of these places offer knotted toys, ovipositor toys, toys that have cum pumps, and of course monster dicks.
Neotori on Etsy is also fantastic, I have 3 sizes of their Mundir. It’s a knotted toy but the surface is VELVETY smooth which helps if you have more a more sensitive lining (like from testosterone, in my case).
I didn’t compile this, it’s by @fewhoneydew (on Twitter and Reddit), but here is a very well maintained masterpost (links to a Google Doc) for those looking for Bad Dragon alternatives!
There is also @safefantasytoys which has a list, and @fantasypackerreviews if you’re looking for packers specifically (rather than toys).
Vulpini Design is also a good one! Very quick response times when I had questions and quick shipping, as well as beautiful toys. The default firmness is perfect imo but you can customize that :)
There is a downside to having a job that largely involves standing perfectly still and silent without distraction for multiple hours on end and I think a big one for me is confirmation that staying up too late / having an injury / getbeing stressed etc. does ABSOLUTELY make u stupid
from my strenuous research I have also observed:
An adrenaline high can make u impulsive and makes complex tasks difficult to parse
Sudden strenuous activity can trigger an anxiety attack
Your sense of smell can be sharper or weaker at certain points of your menstrual cycle
Your self-confidence can be higher or lower at certain ponts of your menstrual cycle
You can crash from an adrenaline high
Being irritatable CAN be a sign of hunger and eating WILL make u feel better
You can influence your BPM with enough practice
There us a certain point in meditation where music stops sounding like music and is unrecognizable
People can tell you're watching them if your feet are pointed in their direction
If you don't look at someone when they're talking they sometimes forget you can hear
Perfectly normal things will seem aggravating if u are already mad about something so if u don't chill it'll keep getting worse
my notifications are once again devolving into a spirited debate about the ethics of actions that could potentially make someone uncomfortable, and at risk of sounding like someone about to get a lot of irate anons I think we're frankly giving way too to much moral weight to hypothetical discomfort
the thing about discomfort is that it's an extremely nebulous category that can be triggered by virtually anything and that's far too broad a category to have any inherent moral quality to it. like. my mom was mad uncomfortable when I stopped shaving. that didn't mean I was doing violence against my mom it just meant she needed to get over herself. many such cases it must be said.
there's not a single example I could give that's better than this
link to a free pdf of the workbook referenced above (2016 version)
