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I’m really tired of seeing people broken up into labels of absolutes.
People are not just “good” or “bad”.
People are not a list of labels.
People are complex, situations are complex.
I know, that makes it a lot harder when you want to just write off everything someone’s ever done as bad – but that’s not how people actually are, and it would do everyone good to stop pretending they are.
I am tired of hearing about the fear people have in putting themselves out there. And it is a scary thing! Putting yourself out there means subjecting yourself to people who want a really good reason to tear you down, who will jump at the first chance to feel “good” by labeling someone else as “bad”.
I reject this. I reject the idea that there should be fear in speaking up and talking about experiences and trying to reach an understanding of a situation.
I’m unhappy to see people spitefully urging others to cut off ties with their friends under the guise of “well, that person’s just inherently bad, so if you talk to them you’re bad too.” That is fucked up. You definitely have the right to let the friend know you don’t want to hear about whoever troubles you, but you do not at all have the right to decide who their friends should be. This includes guilt trips.
Anyway, just try to be more aware of others. Everyone else is a person like you. They might not have the same experiences as you. They might not understand how their words are harmful, or how what they’re doing is wrong. They certainly won’t if you never tell them.
Most people are trying to be good, but they’re going to mess it up sometimes. Try to keep that in mind. Even when people do really fucked up shit, sometimes they are trying to do good. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions” and all that.
Nothing gets solved, no growth happens when you put people into a box from which you’ll never let them escape.
Yes, you absolutely must be careful about people who have tendencies and patterns that are harmful to you. Sometimes people try to overcome those patterns and they fail, and you have to distance yourself from them: that is the sad reality of life. Sometimes though, they can overcome it. But they certainly won’t if the first thing you do is write them off after a fuck up.
>Most people are trying to be good, but they’re going to mess it up sometimes. Try to keep that in mind. Even when people do really fucked up shit, sometimes they are trying to do good. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions” and all that.
Oh, I never forget that. In fact, that’s the worst part.
Pushing the idea that people are morally/ethically binary and permanently on one side or the other doesn’t allow room for growth. Things like cancel culture can further promote hatred because it discourages learning and empathy. You put this so eloquently and I hope this gets reblogged at least another 50,000 times!
“Tell me your story,” the elder brother said, comfortably relaxed in a large chair situated forward and to the right of an immaculate couch on which a woman nearing fifty years of age sat. His sibling, younger by mere minutes, stood near a bookshelf in the corner of the room. He leisurely browsed the collection of novels while silently wishing to escape this situation altogether. The lady of the house delicately sipped her tea with shaking hands.
“I’m not sure I can properly describe what happened,” the woman slowly placed her tea onto the hand crafted coffee table before her and replaced her hands in her lap. She absently toyed with the knot of the cloth that served as the bandage on her left hand. The broken window of her garden room had been replaced earlier that day, but her wounds will scar her skin forever.
“Why not start from the beginning, it is usually the best,” the younger brother scoffed at his brother’s attempt at humor in this dire situation.
“I suppose it all started the night of the storm.”
note: I gave my friend permission to post this back in June so you may have seen it from her (idk her username)....
The decorative box had been in the corner of the room for years. The box was engraved with a story, the one of the wolf and the witch. I was always fascinated with the mystery, the feud between the two powerful beings. But my ancestors told the story a bit differently. For us the story went like this…
Once upon a time, in a little run-down house at the edge of the woods lived a man with his wife and two children. The man was a poor woodcutter and did not have enough money for food. The wife, the fourth daughter of a rich man, had been raised surrounded by riches and was unhappy with her new life. She told the man that they should lead the children into the forest and leave them. The man, weak in will and driven by hunger, agreed with his wife and the next day led the children into the forest. The children, a boy named Hansel and a girl named Gretel, had heard the plan the night before and were prepared. Hansel filled his pockets with white pebbles and every so often he would look back at the house and drop a pebble. This created a trail that would be shown under the full moon.
Later that night the siblings set out from their camp and started to follow the trail back to their house. They huddled together to combat the cold and fear. The howl of the wolf rang louder than the growl of their stomachs. When they had been traveling for some time they came across a curious little girl wearing a red hood.
“What are you doing out at this time of night?” the stranger asked.
“Well, we could ask you the same thing,” Hansel responded, suspicion growing.
“Oh!” the stranger exclaimed. “I was out to visit my grandmother but then a wolf told me that it would be nice to pick her a bouquet of flowers, you see the flowers next to the trail were so beautiful,” the girl stopped, losing her train of thought. “Oh!” the sudden shout startled the siblings. “But, I wandered too far from the trail and now I can’t find it.” She hugged her basket close to her.
The brother and sister look at each other, unsure of how to respond.
“We can’t leave her all by herself,” Gretel reasons.
“What do you suggest we do?” Hansel huffs.
“Take her back home.” Gretel offered. “Papa knows this forest better than anyone. He would surely be able to guide her back home.” Hansel ponders the situation.
“Fine,” He is unhappy, but not heartless enough to leave the stranger by herself. “So, what’s your name anyway?” The stranger smiles.
“People call me Red.” Hansel and Gretel star at her, not getting the point Red is trying to get across. “My red hood…” Red says as if it was obvious. Gretel laughs in understanding.
The trio continues to follow the path of pebbles back to the house at the edge of the woods. By the time they reach the house the sun is high in the sky. When they reach the house the wood cutter is ecstatic that his children are back. The wife plasters on a smile that does not reach her eyes.
“Another mouth to feed.” the wife’s voice drips with venom. When she catches her husband alone in the house while the children sit outside. “At this rate we will all starve to death before the next full moon!” she waves her arms to emphasize her point.
“Well, what would you have me do?” The man responds. “It is clear now that it is not the will of God for us to leave the children.” The wife stalls to think.
“No. No, of course not.” the wife smiles. “But maybe this strange little girl is a sign!” The wife begins to weave a tail of happenstance that led the stranger to them. “Surely, you could take all the children with you through the forest to wherever this little girl needs to be and then leave them. The children will me better off, trust me.” The husband starts to think it over but the wife had made up her mind; the children will all be left astray.
The next morning they all set out into the forest towards the nearby town. Some time into the trek the wife trips and falls into a small stream.
“Drat!” The wife screams. “Now my clothes are all wet. We must go back.” The group pauses and the wife forms a new plan from the happy accident. “Oh no,” she acts sorrowful. “If we all go back then there is no saying this little girl will get back to her family on time. They are bound to be worried sick!” She grabs her husband by the arm and starts to turn away, back towards the house. “Papa and I will go back to refresh my clothes and we will catch up with you all soon. Just follow the path and you will get to the town.” Without waiting for any response she pulls her husband back through the familiar forest.
The children all look at each other for a moment.
“All we have to do is follow the path,” Hansel says. “It’s not as if we are lost like last night.” The girls nod in agreement and they all resume their trip.
When they are nearing the mile radius of the town a familiar figure shows up ahead of them on the path.
“Well if it isn’t miss Little Red,” the wolf says with a sneer. “Lost your path to grandma? I know the way, if you follow me I will even show you a shortcut.”
“What makes you think we will believe you?” Gretel spits. The wolf smiles.
“You have friends now,” the wolf says to Red then turns back to Gretel. “It is not my goal to fool you, you have my word. Wolf’s honor.” The wolf holds its forepaws up as if in surrender and any opposing reason that was forming in the children’s minds flees. They are soon following the wolf through the forest.
Night falls and the children grow hungry. The trance that the wolf holds them in weakens with each rumble of their stomachs. The wolf suddenly takes a sharp turn, as if to narrowly avoid something, but the children do not follow. They walk straight into a peculiar yard. Toward the center of the yard is an enormous house. As the children draw closer to the building they discover that it is made out of cakes and sugar. Their hunger motivates them to pull at the house and eat their fill.
“Who dares peck at my house?” A little old woman screeches from the window.
“It is the birds,” Hansel responds as he stuffs his mouth. The door swings open to reveal a witch.
“Oh my, if it isn’t three little birdies.” Her voice conveys a snark that scares the children, caught in their lie.
“Hey!” The wolf yells from the gate of the yard. “Stay away from my prey!”
“Your prey?” The witch lets out a cackle. “You must me mistaken, these little birds are on my land.” The witches toothless smile riles the wolf.
“I found them first. Law dictates that they belong to me.” The children in question watch the conversation while filling their bellies. As it was, the wolf was blocking the only exit.
“Hakk!” The witch spits. “I have not use for the law! If you’re not going to leave me then I will fight you for them.”
“Take down your wards and I will add you to my dinner!” The wolf exclaims in confidence. With a wave of the witch’s hand a gust of wind ripples the yard.
“You are mistaken Mr. Wolf, it is you who will become another ornament in my garden.” With a cackle she hurls a stream of magic at the wolf. The wolf leaps above it and attacks the witch with its powerful jaws.
To the side of the battle the children are occupied quenching their hunger. When Gretel turns to break another piece of the sugar window something shiny catches her eye. Inside the house is a room filled with treasures. Silver, gold, and jewels. She grab Hansels arm to gather his attention.
“Brother, look!” Hansel peeks inside and gasps. Together the children slowly break away at the window, as to not draw attention to their scheme. They quietly slipped inside the house and began to hoard the treasure into their pockets. When every available container had been filled the children peaked outside. The battle still raged.
“However will we escape this place?” Red questioned.
“I believe I can help with that…” The children startled at the new voice. They looked around but saw no one other than each other. “Over here!!” The voice called. All heads swiveled towards a door in the corner of the room. “Look up,” The voice said. When the children obeyed they found a intricate duck engraved above the doorway.
“Oh my,” Gretal gasped.
“Hello, I am the keep of this magical door.” The duck engraving spoke. “This door has the power to take you anywhere you could imagine. Usually I charge the price of a life but that old hag has kept me here for so long, I shall only ask a favor of you.” With a flash of light a green gemstone appeared in front of the door. “I am tired of living as a door. When you get to your destination, find a woodworker and have him make something grand with that gem. Oh, how I would love to live as something decorative.” Hansel picked up the stone and promised the duck that he would make a decorative box that told the story of the duck’s heroism.
Through the door the children went to the house of Red’s grandmother. The gentle elderly woman was delighted by the adventures the kids had been through. While staying with the grandmother Hansel used her late husband’s tool and fulfilled the promise he made to the wooden duck. Gretel baked cakes and breads to replace the ones they had traded to fill the basket with treasure and Red planted an extravagant garden so she would never be tempted to stray from the path again.
A few weeks later, during a trip into town, the father of Hansel and Gretel saw his children in passing. He was ecstatic to see that they were going well for themselves but feared they would not want to see him. He returned to the forest and live the rest of his days believing he had done the right thing. On that same day the trio heard that some hunters had heard the most interesting story from a near-death witch who had just defeated a hungry wolf. Through the years the story the witch told has changed. It is not a story of children and their struggles. No wood cutting family, no lost girl. It is known as the story of the Witch, the Wolf, and three Little Birds.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
In the darkness, that is where you find them. They hide and they wait. They shout and scream, or that is what it sounds like. But the truth is, they are talking, to each other. Can’t you hear it? They talk. Just like you and me. To them, we scream.
She hadn’t planned on running away that night, really it sort of happened. Something broke inside her and she just took off. Her plain, dirty-blonde hair lay in scatters about the hotel bathroom. The hotel room she had broken into. A pile of freshly dyed, dark red hair sat tied expertly in a messy bun atop her head. She smiled at the foot of hair on the floor, now glad that she had grown it out because she needed a change but also refused to cut it shorter than her shoulders. She hadn’t expected this room to be occupying anyone but she relished in the available clothes, cash, and car keys that, for whatever reason, had been left there. She only took a third of the cash, about $200, and only two outfits. She hesitated about taking the keys but she needed to get faraway fast and public transport was not an option in this small town. Even with her physical changes she would still be spotted, she knew from experience. So she wrote a quick “sorry” in leftover hair dye and took off.
She was standing at the stair door when she heard the scream, she muttered a quick curse and winced at the pain blossoming in her chest for her victims. She flew down the stair at a record speed then calmly, albeit quickly, walked through the parking lot until she came across the correct car. Inside she found it unnervingly clean. The scent of the car was most definitely masculine, one that did not hold any hint of perfume what’s so ever. This was, she decided as she remember the feminine scream as she had made her escape, something to ponder over later. Right now, it was time to drive and drive fast!
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