High heeled shoes don’t become flats if you break the heels off.
The posts of earrings aren’t sharp.
Nail polish takes a long time to dry and smudges when wet.
You can’t hold in a period like pee.
Inserting a tampon is not arousing or sexual in any way, ever.
Feel free to add your own.
– Bras leave red marks on the skin under and around boobs and it is a magical experience when taken off.
– Make up can take anywhere from 5 to 25 minutes depending on how skilled you are.
– Taking hair out of a ponytail after wearing it for hours does not make it perfectly straight when it comes down.
– Hair when wet sticks to the skin it no longer flows, idiot.
-When women with long hair kiss, turn around, do anything, their hair falls in the way.
– Stockings are itchy and tear like wet paper bags.
– Pantyhose, tights, leggings, and stockings are each different.
– Waxing hurts and leaves red skin for a while afterwards while shaving leaves stubble
– Most can’t run in heels unless they have been VERY worn
– Insecurity in appearance doesn’t mean “buy me a drink”
– EVERYONE HAS DIFFERENT TASTES IN EVERYTHING
-Having large breasts sucks. It sucks beyond belief. If a garment happens to fit your large chest, odds are it won’t fit the rest of you. Underboob sweat is real and terrible. Bending over for extended periods of time will tweak your back out. Running can be painful due to boob turbulence. Bras are hella expensive. Big breasts are not fun.
We have never, ever looked in a mirror and silently described our nude bodies to ourselves, especially the size/shape/weight/resemblance to fruit/etc. of our breasts.
when lying down, turning around or moving about in any way, boobs (especially large ones) change their shape. They just don’t stand there like they’re waiting for the fricken bus or some shit. they move, they flatten, sometimes they *gasp* sag. neither is a sign of ugliness or age.
If boobs spill out over the top of the bra cup, that bra doesn’t fit
Not every nude moment is sexual
Cat calls can be terrifying & are never pleasant.
Being checked out by strange men is usually uncomfortable.
So I won several different FTH auctions, and now there are a number of beautifully talented writers, from many different fandoms, who have agreed to write fic in protest of the evil that Trump and his cronies want to bring to the world.
I’ve been thinking of this in my own head as Resistance Fic. Tonight it occurred to me that this could be an actual Thing.
How about it? Every time you post a story in support of freedom, of peace, of diversity, of kindness… Every time you put something out there that would piss off a white supremacist, that would horrify a Nazi… Every time you write something in support of people who might be afraid right now…
How about tagging it with “Resistance Fic?”
Fiction is a powerful thing. It teaches us lessons, open up new horizons, gives us strength when we’re scared or sad. Lets us know we’re not alone.
Couples receive “parent points”, which they can use to purchase their children. Most parents wait for a few thousand, but you chose to buy the cheaper, 100 point child.
Shane knows what it’s like to be a 100 point child. He knows how it feels to see potential parents–potential families–come through the facilities doors, faces bright with excitement. He knows how it feels to see them reading the little plaques on the nursery doors, scanning the lists there for the right bits of knowledge and etiquette and grace that they want their baby to have.
He knows how it feels to see their faces pinch outside the window before they hurry to the next room.
Shane grew up in a 100 point nursery. They had torn, ratty, books and no teachers, and when snack time came, the tray was pushed through a slat in the door. They were called “unruly” and “damaged” and “stupid.” A lot of the other kids threw tantrums and broke furniture (and sometimes other kids). A lot of the other kids went quiet after the first few years when they realized they’d never be adopted until they were old enough (or pretty enough) to be useful. A lot of the kids cried and didn’t stop until they got taken away or were aged out.
Shane’s grown up a lot since aging out. He put himself through school, got himself a job, shed his 100 points like the torn clothes he’d left the facility in. He’s powerful now, successful, and he’s grown out of the twisted nose, big ears, and gap-toothed smile that had made him one of the less attractive 100 point babies. Or maybe he’s grown into them. Who’s to say?
It’s taken him a long time to get enough Parent Points to do what he wants. Being a man is, for once, somewhat hindering as most of society equates “parental” with “maternal.” He’s lost count of how many social workers have politely hid expressions of surprise when he told them he wanted to adopt stag, that he’s willing to take the classes, get the grades, make the oaths to get even one Parent Point.
Pete and Jane Carson were poor, so poor, and lived so far out away from town that they had trouble managing to earn many Parent Points. The points were awarded very strictly, and since their truck was…third-hand at least, well, they didn’t always make it everywhere exactly on time.
But they were so in love, and so enthusiastic about it, that as soon as they managed to reach that magical hundredth point, they practically ran to the Ward Building.
The lady took down their information and showed them all the brochures and read them all the disclaimers with a distinct air of disdain. It was obvious she thought no one had any business taking in any child worth less than a thousand points. Still, there was nothing to stop them from doing it–at least, nothing she could legally get away with–so she showed them to the hundred-point children.
It was agony making a choice. There were so many children there, and they were all so obviously in need of help. But one boy, the oldest and he was probably about seven, pointed them to a tiny child who’d been very sick lately and explained that the heat in the room didn’t work very well, and so when the little ones got sick, their tiny bodies sometimes couldn’t work hard enough to keep them warm and get them better. There was a look in his eyes that said sometimes there had been sick children who’d been eventually taken away and hadn’t been brought back.
So they took the sick child, whose name was Jakob, and gave him a home in their big, rickety farmhouse so far away from town, but they agreed. “That’s our next child.”
It was so much harder for single people to gain Parent Points. Lisbeth had sat in the same room as dozens of happy couples; had taken the same tests and had received the same courses, and yet had earned less than half the points that they did. Every time she first introduced herself to an instructor, they asked when her significant other would be coming, and wrinkled their nose at her when she made it clear to them that she was alone. It seemed like every time the topic of Parent Points were brought up, someone was telling her to wait. Wait until she found a husband or wife, wait until she was older and wiser.
my nemesis: i’m going to hurt you of course but first i’ll go after all of your friends and–
me: i don’t.
my nemesis: …what
me: i don’t have any of those
my nemesis: fr.. iends..
me: yeah
my nemesis: you don’t.. have those. not even one
me: nope
my nemesis: and you aren’t like.. lying. for your own/their sake
me: no i genuinely just don’t have any and i wanted to save you the trouble of having to start the process of looking into it only to find nothing to work with, so
my nemesis: oh. ah. wow. that’s.. polite. of you. i guess
me: mmhm
my nemesis: this is like.. seriously bumming me out right now. are you.. busy tonight? oh. fuck. obviously you aren’t. sorry. i’m sorry. wasn’t trying to be insensitive. god. anyway. we’re.. going to go to the movies, okay? i’m not getting any satisfaction out of.. that conversation. any joy just.. whoosh. right out the window. that whole exchange just truly ruined my current state emotionally and i’m.. getting you out of the house. asap
Couples receive “parent points”, which they can use to purchase their children. Most parents wait for a few thousand, but you chose to buy the cheaper, 100 point child.
Shane knows what it’s like to be a 100 point child. He knows how it feels to see potential parents–potential families–come through the facilities doors, faces bright with excitement. He knows how it feels to see them reading the little plaques on the nursery doors, scanning the lists there for the right bits of knowledge and etiquette and grace that they want their baby to have.
He knows how it feels to see their faces pinch outside the window before they hurry to the next room.
Shane grew up in a 100 point nursery. They had torn, ratty, books and no teachers, and when snack time came, the tray was pushed through a slat in the door. They were called “unruly” and “damaged” and “stupid.” A lot of the other kids threw tantrums and broke furniture (and sometimes other kids). A lot of the other kids went quiet after the first few years when they realized they’d never be adopted until they were old enough (or pretty enough) to be useful. A lot of the kids cried and didn’t stop until they got taken away or were aged out.
Shane’s grown up a lot since aging out. He put himself through school, got himself a job, shed his 100 points like the torn clothes he’d left the facility in. He’s powerful now, successful, and he’s grown out of the twisted nose, big ears, and gap-toothed smile that had made him one of the less attractive 100 point babies. Or maybe he’s grown into them. Who’s to say?
It’s taken him a long time to get enough Parent Points to do what he wants. Being a man is, for once, somewhat hindering as most of society equates “parental” with “maternal.” He’s lost count of how many social workers have politely hid expressions of surprise when he told them he wanted to adopt stag, that he’s willing to take the classes, get the grades, make the oaths to get even one Parent Point.
Pete and Jane Carson were poor, so poor, and lived so far out away from town that they had trouble managing to earn many Parent Points. The points were awarded very strictly, and since their truck was…third-hand at least, well, they didn’t always make it everywhere exactly on time.
But they were so in love, and so enthusiastic about it, that as soon as they managed to reach that magical hundredth point, they practically ran to the Ward Building.
The lady took down their information and showed them all the brochures and read them all the disclaimers with a distinct air of disdain. It was obvious she thought no one had any business taking in any child worth less than a thousand points. Still, there was nothing to stop them from doing it–at least, nothing she could legally get away with–so she showed them to the hundred-point children.
It was agony making a choice. There were so many children there, and they were all so obviously in need of help. But one boy, the oldest and he was probably about seven, pointed them to a tiny child who’d been very sick lately and explained that the heat in the room didn’t work very well, and so when the little ones got sick, their tiny bodies sometimes couldn’t work hard enough to keep them warm and get them better. There was a look in his eyes that said sometimes there had been sick children who’d been eventually taken away and hadn’t been brought back.
So they took the sick child, whose name was Jakob, and gave him a home in their big, rickety farmhouse so far away from town, but they agreed. “That’s our next child.”
Mumbling, the King looked away from his knight and muttered, “I need you to save the dragon… from my princess.”
Sir Rian looked at the King blankly. “Is this a jest, your majesty?”
“I do not jest,” King Harold says, looming in his throne. He, all at once, deflates, burying his face in his hands. “Word has begun to spread of Maria’s…peculiar pastime. I was supposed to have a meeting with King John next week, discussing the possibility of his son marrying my daughter.” The King points to one of the scrolls littering the ground. “I just received that cancellation this morning.”
Sir Rian looks at the floor and winces. He recognizes the royal crests from a half dozen neighboring countries and surmises that this isn’t the first cancellation.
“Oh dear,” Sir Rian says before he can stop himself. “Your majesty, the line of succession–”
“–will see Lord Calloway on the throne,” King Harold says, face still buries in his hands. He raises his head just enough so that Sir Rian can see the unhealthy bags under his eyes. “Unless my daughter, my dragon-enslaving daughter, can be brought around.”
If Lord Calloway sits on the throne, Sir Rian thinks, the people will set it on fire. Having just come back from patrolling the southern reaches of the kingdom, fending off pirates, that’s not a scenario he’s fond of. “Surely there’s some diversion you can offer her, your majesty? I hear the princess is rather fond of swordplay. A new tutor–”
“Good god, man,” King Harold says, “does no news reach our borders? Maria has already mastered swordplay. Then archery, then hand to hand, then some infernal thing called an ahlspiess. I didn’t even know what an ahlspiess was and my daughter used it to win last year’s knight’s tournament!”
“It’s a type of spear–”
“I know that now!” The King takes several deep, calming breaths.
concept: space pirates who sound exactly like regular pirates, except replace all references to “the sea” with “the void”
“aye, the void is a harsh mistress,” the captain said, gazing out the window of her ship into the vast starry expanse. “she’ll take more than she gives, in the end. but those who are called to life in the void don’t know any other way.”
where everyone puts a self insert character into their favourite media via fanfic and fanart?
and not “oh this person looks like me” LITERALLY YOU
actual non-canon-compliant, over the top, embarrassingly sincere pictures and writings about you, the fan, being dropped into your favourite shows and films and books (and not dying instantly)
because it used to be both a cringey sincere fanfic trope and a tongue in cheek comedic fanart trope and I kind of… miss that fun?
it’s fun.
let’s do it. I’m calling it now
JANUARY 2017 IS PUT YOURSELF IN THE STORY MONTH
*looks at available stories*
UHHMMMMM I AM NOT SURE THIS IS A GOOD IDEA
DO IT
Seriously this is such a good idea. It seems like fanfiction has so utterly curled up and died recently, I don’t know what’s up. Everyone is so embarrassed of looking bad because of the systematic shaming of anything resembling fun that nobody makes anything fun anymore. Don’t be scared of just inserting yourself into literally any universe and just tearing it up there. When you are having fun, so are the readers.
I wasn’t scared of the idea of being embarrassed, I was more worried about my self-inserted self immediately pissing everyone off and winding up in worse shape than Obi-Wan. I have to take enough ibuprofen a day and can’t get real pain meds as it is. 😀
Everyone should do this. For REASONS (that are mostly ‘because it’s fun’ and ‘why the fuck not’).
So imagine that this dude is a seventh son and he has six sons. Everyone is excited when his wife gets pregnant but it’s a girl. Thing is that the kid is trans and no one knows why they’re so powerful
His name is Kaleb though no one knows it but him. His name sits high in his throat, ready at any moment to burst out, but it…doesn’t. It’s too big, too powerful, too personal when he doesn’t know what they’ll do with it. Or, rather, when he suspects what they’d do with it and is afraid.
“Kristine,” his mother shouts up the stairs, “you’re going to make us late!” There’s a smattering of laughter at her words, mocking and derisive, from his brothers.
Kaleb’s always the one to blame in these situations. A seventh son was supposed to bring the family luck, status and power. Instead, Kaleb was born with a vagina and the family’s six son streak came to a tragic end. The tragic part, they all seem to agree, is that Kaleb exists at all.
Kaleb looks into the polished bit of metal in his hands and takes a slow, calming breath. He watches his reflection breathe with him and pretends his hair is short in the blurry surface. “I’m a boy. My name is Kaleb. They can call me a girl, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. I’m a boy. My name is Kaleb.”
It’s a spell he casts every day, pretending as hard as he can that he has magic, that this will work. It’s more effective on some days than others, but the day he doesn’t cast it are the worst, hands down. Those days every time they look at him, every time he feels his dress brush his ankles, every time they call him she grates and sets his teeth on edge. Panic will well up in his chest and he’ll have to run to the forest behind their house where they can’t look at him, where can’t look at himself, and strip down so he can’t feel their perception on his skin.
He tucks the polished metal under his bed and rushes to the stairs, long strides eating up the ground quickly. It feels good to walk this way, without his hips swaying, and he does it as often as he can. “As often as he can” often means “where mother can’t see.”
Today they’re going into town for a marriage talk with the Mayor. Kaleb’s oldest brother, Jacob, is of marrying age and has his eye set on the mayor’s daughter. Kaleb’s already been told that the only reason they have to refuse Jacob’s suit is Kaleb himself. He’s supposed to be on his best behavior today and he intends to be.
Kaleb ignores his brothers as they yank at his hair, his skirt, as they blame him for everything from the mud on the road to the late hour. If he fights back, he knows he’ll be the one scrubbing pots and floors, not them. He knows there’ll be much worse waiting for him should the meeting not go well.
“Just behave,” Samuel, the second brother, tells Kaleb. He’s never actively hurt Kaleb before, but as the biggest of his brothers, Samuel is still a threat. “Or else.”
PLEASE IMAGINE THE FIRST TIME AN ALIEN HAS ONE OF THEIR HUMAN FRIENDS DIE
‘so hey, that was a great funeral, cool outfits, always glad to learn more about your culture and stuff. So, when is she coming back?’
‘She- she’s not coming back’
‘Yeah, not as Megan, but when is her replacement coming back?’
‘We’re- not hiring anyone new for a couple weeks???’
‘no no no, you’re not getting what I’m saying- I want to ask her about that book she lent me- can I keep it for another week or two, or does her new version want it back?’
The humans stare at the alien and just. slowly start to figure out what the alien is saying. The alien shuffles nervously, their six spindly legs making a skritching noise that echoes in the cold chapel. Finally, the kindest of the humans takes the alien aside and-
‘hey. so. Us humans don’t come back when we die. Not like you do.’
‘what? No, but you clearly talk about reincarnation, and-’
‘Those are just stories, Six. When humans die, we’re gone. We don’t come back.’
The alien laughs ‘No, see, cuz that would mean that- that would mean. That Megan- Megan is-’ The alien cuts off the hissing noise that is their equivalent of a sob. ‘I have to go.’
The alien spends a week in their spaceship, the only place they can send communication to their Mother. When they come back, their carapace is a glistening new shade of red, and they’ve ended up as a different gender. When the lab adviser asks them how they are feeling about Megan-
‘Megan? Oh, yes, my previous version was very fond of Megan.’ The alien cocks their head, like a particularly thoughtful bird. ‘I suppose that I regret her loss. She was a valuable member of the team.’
The lab adviser lets this be- they are aliens after all. But later, when lab hours are done, the adviser notices Six double and triple-checking all the lab equipment, especially- well. The accident that took Megan will never happen again.
The book is never returned.
Now imagine the flip side: Sevan finds out his human friend is due to have a baby in six months. Six months! He asks, and finds that no, there’s no way to delay a human birth. In six months, a new version of his friend will emerge. Will they still like space operas? What about visiting that smoothie place in quadrant 6? Will they even still want to be friends?
His friend asks him to be visit the baby, after it’s born. Of course, of course he will. It’s the least he can do. There’s always that vulnerable phase after birth when you haven’t got the hang of the new motor controls, and everyone needs a helping palp for the first few months.
The night he hears that the new baby has been born, he wails quietly and recites the qualities of his friend that he will miss the most.
Three days later, he gathers his resolve and knocks on the hatch of his friend’s place. Strangely, the access panel hasn’t been lowered – rude. He’ll make sure that’s one of the first things changed. His friends partner opens the door and lets him in and there – there is his friend,looking tired but well, a miniature copy of herself held in her arms. Imagine his joy when he finds out that not only will he get to spend longer with his current friend, but there will be another friend to get to know!
Steel Phoenix Studios 