hi. Can I request a mature one shot where cristiano's wife punishes him for something? Thanks!
Meeting Cristiano Ronaldo had been a complete fluke.
I worked for a chain of elite nightclubs that had sister clubs in London and
other UK cities. It wasn’t out of the norm for celebrities or music artists to
come to the clubs, play a small set or just be there to promote an evening. Of
course, the club would pay a lot of money to host them, but they’d usually get
it back over the weekend in door sales, cloakroom sales and on the bar.
For one of the events, Cristiano was paid for 3 hours work
to come, show his face, pose for photos and a post on social media to say where
he was. Again, a lot of money was parted to secure Cristiano and another girl,
Anastasia and myself had been assigned to making sure he was happy for the evening.
We had VIP booths for customers and also VIP booths for our stars. We’d man
their booth, ensure they never had to leave unless it was to mingle, get their
drinks and make sure they were happy.
Under no circumstances, were we to perform any
other duties for the stars or the customers. No matter how much money was
flashed in our direction.
Don't you think that using self inserts and self ships is making you more vain?
Hello! And to answer your question: No. I don’t think it does make me vain. However I think using self insert things is making me feel a little less shit about myself? And having years of being told I was never good enough, and that I didn’t deserve anyone who liked me for me- surely feeling less shitty isn’t bad?
I do not believe in myself,
but I believe in these words.
Does it make me vain to
write so much, to pour the
essence of my estranged soul
into strangers, like this?
The night is coming dark,
is scraping nails against
tabletops and rolling eyes.
I struggle to do my papers,
because this feels too much
like failure, like turning off
the lights and staying quiet
for the monsters in my head.
How can I ever be
good enough, if not in this?
Hi! Do you mind me asking at what number of followers your art started to get notes? is there some magical breaking point or is it just pure luck? i've been on tumblr for 2 years now and my art still stays unnoticed no matter what i do and how well i do it. IS THERE ANY HOPE? i will be enormously happy if you answer, but it's ok if you don't. thank you!
Can you tell me a decently long version of your story, the person or reason behind the writings?
Hi, I’m Bekki.
I go by Anne on Tumblr, it’s my middle name.
I’m 28, I’m Canadian. I’m in a family of 5 and we are very close.
I think there are three main story-points you need to know to understand me as a writer. The first is that I was in love for the first time at 17 with my best friend at the time - at 18 (summer after graduation) he kissed me, which started a 3-year long disaster. I slept with him on the night of my 20th birthday, which meant a whole lot more to me than him. I don’t really know how to describe this relationship except to say that I loved him more than myself and he could never really decide if he loved me (which I now know means he didn’t). There were some pretty major things that happened between us that I’m not really going to go into in public, but by 21 I had all my self-worth wrapped up in him. The thing we had ended that summer, which brings me to the second story-point.
My family has a history of clinical depression. All the women on both my mom and dads side are on medication for it (it’s just built into our genes that our brains don’t do chemicals right), so it was really just a matter of time. The end of this ‘thing’ plummeted me right into the deep end of depression and it was a 3-year climb back out. I never did the self-harm thing. Tried it once, and I understand why people do it - but in the end I chose to self-medicate in other ways. I’m currently not on medication - though almost went back on about a month ago because its been a VERY hard year for my family and me personally - but luckily this year I had a someone who has come into my life at just the right time and has sort of kept me in the shallow end (which brings me to point-three).
Point-three is that I found a friend this year in an unlikely place, and he has taught me so, so much. I write about important relationships in my life, and he is important so I do tend to write a lot about him. Right now it’s he and I against the world, and one day he’ll find someone amazing to take my place and I am going to fucking hate her, but be so, so happy for him.
I think those are the important things to understand me emotionally when it comes to my writing… yea.
yesterday was a poop day cuz i felt sick and everything was just not going right, so i’m gonna try to think of happy times today so here’s a picture of myself from a couple days ago when i was waiting for my friends to pick me up for homecoming.
Poem for The YouTube Comments About My Rape Culture Poem
Writing a poem about rape culture
and the way I have been street harassed
does not make me “really vain.”
Rape is not something I wish for.
Street harassment has nothing to do with appearance.
It has everything to do with power
and taking it away from women.
Dear King Trawal,
Announcing that this poem should be renamed
“Problems of a White Woman”
is almost too racist to respond to.
Perhaps you believe all women deserve
to take it, to swallow and not complain,
but you think all women of color
should say thank you when you fuck them
Know this - that all women are sisters
regardless of color and we sharpen
our knives just the same.
Dear Monster Fueled,
Telling me “you can’t fight off an urge as strong as sex”
in response to a poem about rape
is a perfect example for why this poem
NEEDS to exist.
I have been asked this question before
but you are the first to accuse –
to claim I hate men. I could never
hate the sex that has loved me,
raised me, devoured me. It is the patriarchy,
the endless take, that I hate.
Dear Bri Readin,
Thank you for searching for Rape on google.
I am sorry you think the result is funny.
Dear Everyone Who Is Angry I Say “ALL OF THE MEN,”
Hyperbole is a tool
to require that ALL OF THE MEN
question how they participate
in rape culture. There is no hook
I am here to let you off of.
You do not get to excuse yourself,
regardless of gender, from self-examination.
WE ALL PARTICIPATE IN RAPE CULTURE.
If we do not acknowledge that FACT
we can NEVER break the cycle.
It’s pretty standard—raw, unedited, straight off my iPhone and uploaded to the Internet for all the cyber-universe to see. The image quality is appalling and my expression resembles that of someone with a shovel rammed three quarters of the way up their ass. Still, it’s my face.
There is no way in hell that I would ever look this decent in a candid photo. Like, none. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Nein. If you’ve ever browsed through my tagged pictures on Facebook (which I highly advise you don’t), you are most likely under the impression that I’m some sort of rouge scientific experiment escaped from a government containment facility. I mean, I am, but that’s beside the point.
I don’t smile with my teeth because it gives me a double chin. I’m wearing moisturizer, concealer, blush, bronzer, lip gloss, eyeliner and mascara. My head is tilted at just the right angle to maintain the illusion that I am actually somewhat attractive.
Everything is calculated. Posed. Deliberate.
Selfies are designed as a means of self-validation. I don’t think that’s news to anyone, but regardless, it needs to be said. Is “selfie culture” disgustingly narcissistic, objectifying, or both? Here’s the thing: it’s neither.
When you post a picture of yourself to Instagram or Twitter or Facebook or Tumblr, you generally expect a degree of feedback. Your followers dictate your desirability with the tap of a finger. Ten likes, twenty, fifty, one hundred. How many people need to call you beautiful before you start to believe it yourself?
Some people know they’re hot. That’s fine. Magnificent, even. I’m happy for you. But for the rest of us average Joes and Janes, we’ve become masters at faking confidence in a dog-eat-dog world. I don’t think this makes us frauds; it makes us human.
There are some days where I wake up feeling cute. I want to document said cuteness, so obviously my initial response is to snap a photo or twenty in front of my bedroom window where the lighting is most flattering. I literally cannot even begin to describe the treasure trove of lost selfies laying discarded in the depths of my phone.
Does it make me vain that I want people to reassure me that I am capable of being cute? My best friend rolls out of bed in the morning with her big blue eyes and wavy hair and perfect skin, and then there’s me, flopping around in the sheets like a fish out of water before soaking my retainer in denture cleaner. I think we know who wins, here.
The point I’m trying to make is that we’re all allowed to be a little supercilious on occasion. Do your dimples look especially prominent today? Awesome. Is your natural hair cooperating for once? Sweet. Did you just get your braces off? Radical, dude.