men who have ruined my life

Morning Light

Filthy smutty smutty smut. That’s all this is.

Please enjoy and send me your feedback! I love hearing your thoughts!

xx

When I woke up, I could feel his breath hot and heavy on the back of my neck; his arms were tightly secured around my waist. My back was pressed to his toned chest; his left thigh was trapped between my own. He was snoring lightly. There was a little light coming through the crack in the curtain. I guessed that it was still pretty early morning.

I rolled over in his arms to face him. There was a beam of light illuminating his face. His eyes were closed, eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. His lips were parted slightly, but there was a trace of a smile there. I petted my knuckles down his jaw line before leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to his soft, pink lips. He stirred in his sleep and his eyes fluttered open slowly. I kissed the corner of his mouth and leaned back again. When I opened my eyes he was regarding me thoughtfully, a sleepy smile spread slowly across his lips. I grinned and nuzzled my nose against his.

“G’morning,” he greeted, his morning voice deep and raspy, vibrating the air around my mouth.

“Morning.”

“Sleep well, love,” he asked. I nodded my head.

“Mhmm,” I purred, “How about you,” I whispered as I traced his plump lips with my fingertip.

“Much better now that I’m here with you,” he replied quietly. I looked into his bright green eyes as I smiled again and he smiled back at me. I wrapped my fingers around the back of his neck and pressed my lips to his. The hand on my waist pulled me flush with him. I was wearing a t-shirt and panties but he was fully naked as per usual. I placed my palm on his bare chest as he closed his mouth around my bottom lip, gently sucking before releasing it.

I felt his cock stir against my leg as his hand made its way up my shirt; his fingertips gently ghosting up my stomach. My tongue flicked out and licked at his bottom lip before pressing my mouth back on his. He rolled over on top of me and I welcomed the weight of him, having been too long since I had last felt it.

Keep reading

@anarchycox has ruined my life by suggesting I think about BruceClintTony. 

  • Clint would have such confidence issues. He’s dating two of the most brilliant men in the world, one of whom is a literal billionaire. He’s not sure why they’re slumming with a carnie who’s only worth something because he’s good at killing men with pointy sticks.
  • Bruce is in awe of Clint because he’s one of the only people who isn’t afraid of The Other Guy. In fact Clint treats the Hulk with the same love and sarcasm that he shows Bruce – “Hulk, darling, could you give me a lift to that building over there? Try not to break it, I need it for a look out.”
  • Because of this the Hulk goes absolutely mental when Clint gets kidnapped by Hydra. Clint smiling through broken teeth when Hulk busts through a wall – “Aw, did you miss me?” Clint being utterly surprised when Hulk cradles him to his chest and says yes.
  • Tony nearly crying the first time he sees Clint working on one of his robots. Not because he’s afraid that Clint will break them, but because he’s talking to them the whole time. “Dum-E stop poking me, I can’t fix your wheel if you keep bumping me.” Clint laughing and responding to Dum-E’s indignant beeps. Clint brushing off Tony’s amazement – “Just a few loose screw. No big deal, Tony.”
  • Tony building Clint an outrageous coffee maker that syncs with Jarvis, so that Clint always has cup of coffee in the morning.
  • Clint suggesting totally mundane dates for the three of them that the other two would never think of. Bruce is hilariously bad at bowling, while Tony is the reigning skee ball champion. 
  • Neither of them will ever play darts with Clint. 
  • Bruce teaching Clint and Tony how to cook. Tony has Dum-E waiting by the fridge with a fire extinguisher and only cuts himself once, while Clint somehow manages to burn the soup. 
  • Tony being amazed that Clint always seems to know exactly what they needs. A cup of coffee will appear at his elbow when he’s working in the lab at 3 AM. Bruce will be starting to stress out and Clint pops up suggesting yoga and incense and probably a lot of sex to get all the tension out.
  • Tony is always excited about yoga because it always ends in sex. 

I’m rambling and I need help because this ship is suddenly consuming my very soul.

Male privilege & a basket of tampons

Years ago, a friend went to a party, and something bothered him enough to rant to me about it later. And it bothered me that he was so incensed about it, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. It seemed so petty for him to be upset, and even more so for me to be annoyed with him.

Recently, something reminded me of that scenario, and it made more sense. I’ll explain.

The party was a house party. One of those parties people throw if they’re renting a good-sized house in college. You know the type—loud music, Solo cups of beer, and somebody doing something drunk and stupid before the end of the night.

At some point, my friend had occasion to use the bathroom. When he went into the bathroom, he was disgusted to see that the hostess had left a basket of feminine hygiene products on the counter for guests to use if needed.

Later, when my friend told me about it, he wrinkled his nose and said, “Why would she do that? Guys don’t want to see that!”

When I suggested that she was just making them available in case a woman needed them, he insisted that they could be left in the cabinet or under the counter. Out of sight, anyway.

I wish I’d had, at the time, the ability to articulate what I can now.

To me, this situation is, while relatively benign, a perfect example of male privilege.

A man walks into the bathroom and sees a reminder that women have periods. And he’s disgusted. He wants that evidence hidden away because it offends his senses. How dare the hostess so blatantly present tampons and pads where a man might see them? There’s no reason for that!

A woman walks into the bathroom and sees that the hostess is being extra considerate. She gets it. She knows what it’s like to have a period start unexpectedly. The feeling of horror because she’s probably wearing something she doesn’t want ruined—it is a party after all. The sick embarrassment because someone might notice, especially if she’s wearing light-colored clothes, or worse, sat on the hostess’s white couch. The self-conscious, semi-nauseated feeling of trying to get through a social event after you’ve exhausted every avenue to get your hands on an emergency pad or tampon, and you’re just hoping to God that if you tie your jacket around your waist—you brought one, right?—keep your back to a wall, clench your buttcheeks, squeeze your thighs tightly together, and don’t…move…at…all—you might get through the evening, bow out gracefully, and find an all-night convenience store with a public restroom.

Or maybe she came to the party during her period, but didn’t bargain for her flow to suddenly get that heavy. Or she desperately needs a tampon, but her purse is in a room where a couple is not to be disturbed. Maybe she doesn’t know the hostess well enough to ask if she can use one. Or she doesn’t know anyone at the party well enough to ask. Or she figures she can make do with some wadded up toilet paper or something.

Whatever the case, she walks into the bathroom, and she hears the hostess saying “Hey, I know what it’s like, and just in case, I’ve got your back.”  She sees someone saving her from what could be a minor annoyance or a major embarrassment.

The hostess gets it. The woman who just walked into the bathroom? She’s either going to see that the person throwing the party is super considerate, or she’s going to be whispering thanks to Jesus, Krishna, and whoever else is listening because that is a basket full of social saviors.

But to the guy who wrinkled his nose, it’s still offensive that those terrible little things are on the counter, reminding his delicate sensibilities that the playground part of a woman is occasionally unavailable due to a gross bodily function that he should never have to think about.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s a tiny thing. It’s a tiny annoyance for the man, and a more significant but relatively tiny courtesy for the woman. After all these years, my friend has probably forgotten, but I never have.  As a woman whose life is partially governed by a fickle uterus that can ruin an evening faster than a submerged iPhone, his story has stuck with me.

How can you be so offended by a small gesture that has zero effect on you, but could make such an enormous difference to the person who needs it?

It occurs to me now that this is a small but effective illustration of how men and women see the world. It’s part of the same thought process that measures a woman’s value through her bra size and her willingness to have sex with him—that everything about us is displayed or hidden based on how men perceive them or what he wants to get from us. Unattractive women should be as covered as possible, while attractive ones shouldn’t be hiding their assets from male eyes (or hands, or anything else he wishes to use).

A woman who isn’t smiling is an affront to him because it detracts from her prettiness, despite the fact that there might be a legitimate reason for her not to smile (or more to the point, that there isn’t a legitimate reason for her to smile). Her emotional state is irrelevant because she’s not being pretty. It’s the line of thinking where a man blames anything other than cheerful sexual consent on the woman being a bitch, being a lesbian, or—naturally—being on her period. Everything we do, from our facial expressions to our use of hygiene products, are filtered through the lens of “how it looks to a man.”

It’s the line of thinking where a small gesture from one woman to another, an assurance that someone else understands and will help her without question or judgment, a gesture which could save a woman’s evening from being ruined, is trumped by a man’s desire to see an untainted landscape of pretty, smiling women with visible cleavage and vaginas that never bleed.

And people wonder why we still need feminism.

PotC: Dead Man’s Chest  {Sentence Starters}

  • “Hide the rum.”
  • “You smell funny.”
  • “Do you fear death?”
  • “Never mind! Let’s go!”
  • “Dirt. This is a jar of dirt.”
  • “You know you can’t read.”
  • “You want me to find this?”
  • “Enough! This is madness!”
  • “Why is the rum always gone?”
  • “I’m here to find the man I love.”
  • “If you don’t want it, give it back.”
  • “I’m listening. I’m listening intently.”
  • “Now you’re not making any sense at all.”
  • “How much do you know about Davy Jones?”
  • “Come to join my crew, lad? Welcome aboard!”
  • “You look bloody awful, what are you doing here?”
  • “Come to negotiate, eh? Have you, you slimy git?”
  • “You hired me. I can’t help it if your standards are lax.”
  • “Life is cruel. Why should the afterlife be any different?”
  • “Do excuse me while I kill the man who ruined my life.”
  • “I’m deeply flattered, but my first and only love is the sea.”
  • “I got a jar of dirt, I got a jar of dirt, and guess what’s inside it!”
  • “I love those moments. I like to wave at them as they pass by.”
  • “There will come a time when you have a chance to do the right thing.”
  • “No! This is barbaric! This is no way for grown men to settle… oh, fine!”
  • “No doubt you’ve discovered that loyalty is no longer the currency of the realm.”
  • “I expect, then, that we can come to some sort of understanding. I’m here to negotiate.”
  • “My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled.”
  • “Let’s just haul out our swords and start banging away at each other! That will solve everything!”
  • “Do you fear… death? Do you fear that dark abyss? All your deeds laid bare, all your sins punished?”
The Hills - Chapter One

Story Masterlist

This is the first part of my first multi-chaptered story, I’m already working on part two and there might be more. Please let me know what you guys think. I tagged my forevers plus the people who asked to be tagged in this story, but if you want to be on or off my tag list, just say the word!! xoxo

Synopsis: AU in which Negan is a celebrity living a life of scandals in a lavish mansion in California. A young reporter on a mission to dig up dirt on him realizes the man the tabloids like to portray as a self-centered asshole has a hidden softer side.

WC: 3265

Warnings: strong language, alcohol, mention of violence, mention of drug abuse, nsfw.

Chapter One: No Ordinary Life

I watched the sunrise through the window as I took a sip of green tea from my mug. Perched on a stool in the kitchen with my laptop on my legs, I was scrolling down the articles of The Celebrity Times when a title caught my attention.

The headline, in bold red font, said, “OOPS, NEGAN DID IT AGAIN!”

Keep reading

Heartlines - Part 1

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: When Reader moves into Avengers Tower to finish her PhD in safety, the last thing she expects is to have something in common with the shy insomniac Bucky Barnes.

A/N: hi guys! so this is my first ever fic posted on tumblr! i hope you guys enjoy it, there’s a bit of set up in this part but i promise there’s more bucky action in the future! if you have any feedback pls hit me up, i appreciate any comments :) thanks for reading! t xx

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 5APart 6Part 7, and Part 8

Part 1

It’s not the first time you’ve been in the common kitchen at Avengers Tower, but it is your first time as a resident. Finally, officially, with your last box of sci-fi novels rescued from the wrong removalist van, you’ve moved into the Tower. The coffee from Tony’s state of the art machine has never tasted so good.

Tony rarely uses the kitchen for breakfast (he’s never around before noon) but today he’s made an exception. He’s not feeling so out of character as to put on actual clothes, and so while you’re in your usual pressed best, he is un-ironically wearing a matching Iron Man pyjamas set.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Have you seen the article by (at)AlanaMassey for melmagazine? Def. Worth the read. About how 1d is a great example of how boys should act and how their respect and joy made her an adult fan

Oh yeah this is a great read, thanks for the heads up!

Hold Your Laughter: Men Could Learn Something From One Direction

This is a blog dedicated to the five boys who ruined my life,” is a Tumblr tagline I read in the spring of 2013. If it weren’t already taken, I would’ve used it for the title of this essay. The tone and inflection of the 22-year-old wordsmith behind the turn of phrase was so clear as to deliver that sense that someone you’re seeing on the internet sees you back. She hasn’t updated the account in more than two years, so there’s hope she’s no longer under the ruinous spell of those five teen boys who ruined her life — Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, and Zayn Malik — the five original members of One Direction.

I cannot say the same for myself.

It’s been nearly five years since I first fell down a One Direction VEVO rabbit hole, and I still haven’t found my way out. It’s been more than two years since Zayn Malik quit the group, and well over a year since the remaining members went on what many believe will be a permanent hiatus, a belief underscored last week by the unanimously positive reaction to the solo debut of the most beloved 20 percent of One Direction, Harry Styles. And it’s been roughly 16 years since I was the age where it was considered acceptable to enjoy a boy band. Yet here I am, grasping tightly to the ruinous euphoria induced by those five men who were so recently boys together.

The rest of the article is here

3 One-Eyed Men Walk Into a Bar

Where did I take a wrong turn? Harry thought as he slunk into his seat and readied his physical and mental shields.  Today didn’t start out normal, but this is several steps beyond the pale.

I think the American is about to shit kine. Atticus mused. I’m no happier than he is about this little brawl but really, what matters a fight between yourselves?

“It okay if I sit next to you, Mr. Dresden?” Shadow asked, as if this was not the strangest thing he had seen so far and that was saying something in their line of work.

“Sure thing, Muscles. I don’t mind the company, provided you explain to me just why Vadderung would want to take a piece out of your Mr. Wednesday.”

“He is not my Mr. Wednesday, and I would suppose that it has something to do with a scheme that Mr. Wednesday had that may have ruined Vadderung’s credibility.”

“Hey kids, none of that matters now, yeah?  These three just want a clean fight to settle who gets to give the orders.  Wolves may not fight over who leads, but men sure do and especially men from their time and place,” Atticus cut in.  He had found that asking why was only important when your own life was in the equation; trying to understand every creature’s motivation for every act was a waste of 2,000 years.

As the three men sat down, they all thought about what had set off this event.

It was only supposed to be lunch at Mac’s with an ally. How could I see a fight like this coming about? Dresden asked himself, shaking loose his shield bracelet and pulling his duster close.

I should have known there was something up when Mr. Wednesday asked to come to Chicago and wouldn’t tell me who we were meeting, only where. Usually he can’t resist the snide comment or allusion to someone’s deific origin, Shadow thought to himself, tense and ready to jump behind a rock.

I hope that I get to see just what Odin can do in a close-up fight, so far its only been him throwing a spear from a safe distance, Atticus mused, and I really wish Oberon was here, he would know what jokes to make, though Dresden seems to do that just fine.

She had arrived with a chill and a rise in every male’s blood pressure.  She was tall and pale, fairer than fair, and radiated danger.  Dresden recognized her immediately as the Queen of the Unseelie Fae, Atticus saw a very powerful faerie lady but was not worried in light of his amulet, and Shadow saw a woman too pretty to be human and put her on his ‘do-not-fuck-or-fuck-with’ list (a list that seemed to be longer than the contacts list in the cellphone he hid from Mr. Wednesday.)  

“I am here only to observe as the Queen of Winter and a signatory of the Accords.  You three have all signed the Accords, as you well know. I do not know who challenged whom, and it does not matter given the situation.  Therefore, the place of the duel will be Demonreach, Mr. Dresden will provide transportation to the island for all parties, and the weapons of the duel will be anything you may bring to bear.  Until we reach the island, not another word or charm from any of you, or else I will declare for the silent parties!” Mab declared with a certainty and confidence not felt by the mortals in the room.  She turned and made her way up the stairs to a limo that was big enough to fit everyone and leave room for the men to stretch their legs.  The limo made its way from McAnally’s to the docks in record time and everyone made toward the boat without incident.

“Mr. Dresden, perhaps you could tell me how this did come to happen?  I thought you were the local Warden, tasked to prevent such occurrences?” Mad asked stepping onto the Water Beetle.

“Yes, ma’am, but how was I supposed to know that when Vadderung asked to have lunch with me at McAnally’s, he was planning to get into a 3-way fight with himself? I never knew such a thing was possible before today!”

“Well lad, that’s the problem with these old gods, they wear mantles and masks, and splinter apart easily,” Atticus chimed in, rather unhelpfully, “And when a god of war is gearing up for Ragnarok, well, he reaches for any power he can get.”

“That tracks,” muttered Shadow.

“Say that again, big guy?”

“Just that that tracks with Mr. Wednesday’s MO these past few years.  He has been concerned with fading away,” Shadow answered, “It doesn’t surprise me that he would try to kill himself in ritual combat to gain power.”

“And you, Mr. O’Sullivan? You said something about Ragnarok?” Mab asked with the disinterest Dresden had come to recognize as extreme interest.

“Well, I may or may not have kicked off Ragnarok by killing Thor and now my Odin wants to get his hand on every advantage available,” Atticus answered non-plussed. Harry knew he would never quite manage that level of chill, but then again, he knew that Atticus had over two millennia of staring down gods and goddesses to perfect that nonchalance.

“So, to be clear, three versions of Odin contrived to battle each other and somehow roped the three of you into bringing them together, since they could not do it alone?”

“Yes, but, again, not my fault.”

“Looks like.”

“Yep, but I never had control over him.”

“Well, what a relief that you three are NOT the one who could best keep an eye on him,” Mab answered with enough sarcasm and frost to last through the next ice age.

“He already has an eye on himself,” Dresden muttered as he docked the boat and in a clearer voice called out, “Welcome to the Watsup Dock, everyone please disembark in a neat and orderly line with yourself.”

“No, mate, you didn’t make your dock’s name a pun?” Atticus looked over with a disbelieving and horrified glance.

“I did, and it’s a good name.  Makes me smile every time I think of it.”

“That makes it worth it,” drawled Shadow, “Smiles are rare enough in this world.”

Everyone was silent at that, recognizing the truth of the statement and the fact that they had all been through enough to know the truth of the statement.  It was a sobering moment, ruined by Mr. Wednesday trying to swipe a grab at Mab and coming away with chilled hands and her telling him that charms had no effect on her.  All seven of them made their way off the boat and to the open clearing where Dresden had fought against spiders and goons a few years earlier.

“If you have anything to say to each other, or final words for your companions, please say them now,” Mab said with a ring of formality that Dresden had heard only at official Winter events and when dealing with Nicodemus.  That, more than anything, imparted a sense of purpose and finality in all present.

“There is nothing to say, soon they will be part of me and I will fight with the druid in Ragnarok, as he promised,” Odin said with a stern look in his eye.

“All I have done, I have done to prepare for the wars to come, and should I fall, Dresden, my people will still follow you against the Adversary and the Enemies beyond the Wall,” Vadderung said with a grandfatherly smile and a resigned set in shoulders.

“Well I am of the opinion of my more arrogant self, but it is I, not he, who will make it out of this little dust-up and I will regain my pre-eminence in this modern era. Shadow, my boy, I don’t know why you stayed around, but it has been and will continue to be a pleasure travelling with you,” Mr. Wednesday said with his customary cavalier cadence.

“Then, BEGIN!” shouted Mab.

After the fight, no one could really say who won and who lost.  Sometime during the scuffle, Mr. Wednesday tried to sneak into the vaults below to absorb the energies of the prisoners, Vadderung and Odin stopped going at each other to stop him from succeeding, and Mab declared the fight void on the grounds of dishonest entry and stated purpose.  

After that declaration, everyone left.  Odin via chariot, sending Hugin and Munin to find Mr. Wednesday, declaring him to be a threat to Odin’s winning Ragnarok (“He has become too obsessed with his self, and lost his purpose here in this America.”) Vadderung and Mab left together by a boat crewed by Unseelie lords discussing strategy for the Outer Gates. The three humans made their way back to McAnally’s on Dresden’s boat and their own feet.

“Well, all’s well that ends well, and this day started with the promise of good food and drink, and it ends with the fulfillment of that promise.”

“Sure, but the fish and chips here don’t beat the ones I had at this little place called Rula Bula down in Arizona one time.”

“One of these days I have to get out of this town and try some of the food you guys and the Winchesters keep recommending without getting shot, stabbed, or threatened.”

The three men made their way to the bar with an identical thought in their head: These guys are good people, no matter who they work with.

What if I told you guys that even as a trans guy, I don’t wear my binder during sex? That I sometimes skipped binding on hot days because I overheat easily and could literally die. That I am okay being topless in front of my close friends. AND HO GET READY FOR THE BIG ONE. That I still cosplay female characters even after coming out.

Does that make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry, but that’s my life.

Saying that trans guy has to be dysphoric 24/7 in order to be considered valid is just as bad as when cis people say that you have to try and pass or you have to get top/bottom surgery. Both are equally unwarranted and disgusting. It also once again gives into the sexism against ftm who constantly have to prove themselves because god forbid they do anything slightly feminine (like let’s say, pose sexily in women’s clothing, binder or not) and are suddenly thrown under the bus for “not being real men”.

Wanna know what gives me dysphoria? When you guys call me lazy because I chose to skip binding on a hot day. When you guys think it’s weird and “kinda gross” that I still will put on the female cosplays. When you guys tell me maybe I would pass more if I didn’t have colored hair, wore makeup, or constantly showed off my curves.

You don’t get to dictate our lives or how we feel. As for my fellow trans men who do struggle with dysphoria and don’t like seeing these kinds of behaviors those like me, YOU can surround yourself with the things YOU need to get by, just as I and other trans guys will do. Unfollow, block, ask for content to be tagged, have a discussion instead of a screaming contest, IT REALLY ISN’T THAT HARD.

But sure, just keep ruining someone’s life by threatening their career, misgendering them and sending them death threats that’s cool

anonymous asked:

as much as i hate her, i dont want her to die. Why? Because if hinata did, her godliness would skyrocket and she'd be worshipped a hundred times more than she is now. You know. The "how dare they kill off my pwecious hinataHimeChanSamaQueen" sorta thing. There's a very well known youtuber who reviewed Naruto and when 437 came out, he was "OMFG THEY FUCKING KILLED HER!!!". Why does Hinata get more praise than Sakura anyway?Sakura at least heals and breaks necks. Hinata just stutters and falls.

that’s actually a good point, anon. nice shout! but on the flip side, naruto probably wouldn’t have been ruined if she did die… like, honestly, i’d be cool with a bunch of grown-ass men crying over a background character getting killed off, if it meant that the series – that i invested time, effort, money, intense emotion and over half of my life (so far) in – was saved, tbh.

don’t get me wrong, i never necessarily wanted her dead. like, damn, that’s a bit ott… but after the shit-show mess of these past few years? hey, i’m game. but let’s be honest, hinata didn’t have to die for any of this bullshit not to have happened. if naruto simply received a different animation studio – an unbiased, competent one that actually does their damn job and directly animates the source material – we’d be fine. 

[1] there’d have been no false representation or depiction, with the hidden motive of brainwashing the mass fandom, thus making them inaccurately despise or hype a certain character/ship over filler content. [2] kishi wouldn’t have been forced to submit to their imposed ideals, that were only supported by supposed ‘popularity’ claims that they freaking forged through their own fabrication anyway! he wouldn’t have been pressured into being their ‘cash cow’ for further content, nor would he have depicted naruto as miserable (out of – what can only be judged as – spite, for not letting him rest or have creative control over his own series).

i don’t know about you, but s/p, the filler/fanon portrayals and the fandom are my main problem… idk, i think naruto could have been spared by just opting with a different, better and actually professional studio. maybe then a great shonen wouldn’t have become the shojo fantasy of a character with less than 40 pages of panel-time being “rewarded” with her infatuation. a ship with an equal amount of pages – that remained one-sided for the entirety of the manga (as validated even by t/l) – wouldn’t have become the only thing left of the franchise. and the series wouldn’t have been reduced to this misogynistic mess.

but i guess it’s easier for people to blame filler/fanon hinata… after all, she is the embodiment of what’s wrong with it – that her anime counterpart is representative of the damn homicide committed by s/p, with the fandom as their accomplices. a fitting analogy, right? 😅

8

150 GUYS WHO HAVE RUINED MY LIFE (IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER) -> Florent Mothe (100/150)

me, checking off my list on how to ruin marcus’s day further: 

-getting marked as a devout overseer ✔️

-getting branded as a heretic by friends and those he considered family  ✔️

-realizing those he considered family are not entirely who they present themselves and having to come to terms a lot of his life was lies  ✔️

-becoming one of the most wanted men of the isles after escaping and being painted as an evil, dangerous man by those he thought he could trust  ✔️

-getting his hand cut off  ✔️ 

To my first boyfriend:
You wrote me a love poem once
About how loving me was like a war
You knew you’d never win.
You knew I hated you;
I can still hear your voice
“If you’re not going to pass out, at least pretend for me”

To the second boy I ever dated:
I don’t blame you for how young you were
I was your first for everything
I know you won’t forget me
Just like I won’t forget your unkissed lips
Or the handwritten love letters I found on my birthday
between you and another girl.
Or how you called me ‘something to do’ while you waited for her.

To the love of my life:
We worshipped each other like sun gods
We shared a soul, I think.
You held my skeleton body
With the exact amount of care I needed.
I held your skeleton heart, too.

To the boy I dated after him:
You told me you loved me on our third date
You cried outside my front door
For hours when I left you
Your tears did not destroy the hidden cameras I found in your room,
My fists did that.

To the man I fell in love with who I did not want to date:
You were the first person I ever heard
Talk about internalized misogyny.
You showed me how to unwind
The knots I had grown inside me.
I loved you like an addict
Once you told me you were always trying to fill the hole that heroin left in you
I guess I was just another drug that didn’t fill the void

To the man I considered marrying:
You wrote me poems on everything you could find
You left them on pizza boxes and napkins.
Sometimes you took days to answer a question
Because your thoughts were so bright
You needed time to sort them out.
You never did get the hang of making shade
When you drank you couldn’t see me
I knew you never would the first time you punched me.

To my father:
You are the reason I have never been ruined
You are the reason I do not carry my losses
For every man who has ever hurt me,
You have been kind and honourable ten times over.
I’m sure I owe you my life at least as many times.

To my brother:
Once when you were drunk
You gave me the wisest advice I’ve ever needed
“Don’t cry over douchebags.”
You have always known exactly what I needed
And when I needed it.

—  To the significant men in my life | molly burton

anonymous asked:

"you only care about men when they're having sex" MOTHERFUCKER IF I CARED ABOUT WHAT 3DPD DO IN THE BEDROOM WHY WOULD I EVEN SHIP CARTOON GUYS. AND IT'S NOT LIKE MEN WEREN'T REDUCING WOMEN TO THEIR TITS AND VAGS FOR FUCKING FOREVER, BUT GOD FORBID WOMEN START MAKING THEIR OWN CONTENT THAT...DOESN'T EVEN INVOLVE HURTING IRL MEN. i'm so sick of this bullshit - mlm aren't fucking marginalized because xxxsasunarushipperxx drew a picture of two dudes kissing

ROFL I’M DYING XXXSASUNARUSHIPPERXXX

honestly though, I’m an afab agender person but I kinda fall under the category of wlw, who are more fetishized than almost any group of people I can think of (aside from perhaps asian women)

and somehow, the fact that men occasionally beat off to girl on girl doesn’t hurt me or affect my life. I expect mlm to be able to get over it if I can. how is yaoi fandom actually ruining your life? oh, you have some anecdote about a girl on the bus squealing at you and your boyfriend? how awful for you. let’s talk about how many guys on public transit have sat behind me and masturbated.

KPOP is ruining my life!

So I’m up all night watching BTS win at the BBMAs only to wake up and discover that Seventeen, IKON, and GOT7 all dropped new MVs! On the same day! Stop it! Let me live! I have no more time or money to give you!!!

My current mood as told through the men who are ruining my life…

“I can’t believe it! I’m just so happy!”

Originally posted by jengkook

Keep reading

women aren’t harmless

I think a lot of women underestimate the power they have to hurt others. I really, really hate the concept of “internalized misogyny”, but this honestly seems like an example of it. “I couldn’t possibly ruin someone’s day/week/life; I’m just a lil’ ol’ woman.” I find that that mentality underscores a lot of “lol misandry” jokes, and that makes me uncomfortable. 

“Men are so much more powerful than me; I can’t possibly hurt them with my harmless venting.” That bothers me first and foremost for the obvious reason: vulnerable men exist. Queer and trans and ethnic minority men. Depressed men. Mentally ill men. Men who already struggle against feelings of worthlessness. If there’s ten white women and one black man in a room, and the women are talking about how much they hate men, they can’t throw up their hands and go “we’re just venting” when the black man points out that they might actually pose a legitimate threat to him. The fact that the marginalized identity isn’t the one they were picking on is irrelevant - they were still wishing him harm, and their racial position makes it easier to actually enact that harm if they wanted to.

But it’s more than that, even. I’m wary of the implications of admitting to powerlessness. If you want to step up and empower yourself, to assume your rightful place in the world, you don’t get to have it both ways. Having power, real power, means owning the attendant responsibilities as well. If you want dignity and agency and autonomy, then you also have to own up when your actions hurt others. 

The “women are harmless” trope is not feminist. It’s actually the root of pretty much all misogynist ideas. Part of growing into yourself and becoming a self-possessed woman is realizing that you have the power to do actual harm. That you can effect change, both good and bad. Give yourself some damn credit.