#‘If you play a sport dominated by women and girls -> then you’re weak and gay!’

[canichangemyblogname]

According to certain (derogatory 😒) 911 fans, Eddie talking to the father of the cheerleader was queer coded because the conversation they had wasn’t actually about Eddie’s (perceived— like “abandoning his wife and child for war”— and actualized—like having an affair with the doppelgänger of his dead wife and being unable to help his son process and grieve the loss of Shannon because of his own grief and feelings of inadequacy and failure) failures as a father. Nor because their conversation was actually a heart-to-heart warning from one father to another. No. The conversation was apparently “implicating” an opposition he faced from Ramon in his youth. Eddie— a man who has never once been fem— saw his relationship issues with his father and his father’s lack of acceptance for his *checks notes* femininity in this father-son dynamic?

1.) What? 2.) Eddie’s conversation was queercoded because… cheerleading feminine? You do realize that you’re implying that men who do cheerleading—really any activity/sport dominated by women and girls— are gay, yes? 3.) What part of Eddie bringing up his distance from Chris because of his own mistakes did you not understand? He was tryna tell this father that his son is RIGHT THERE and yet he, the father, chooses to break apart his relationship with his son over arbitrary things, unlike Eddie, who feels he fucked up for good and burnt that bridge; there’s no going back or reestablishing a relationship with Chris because Chris wants nothing to do with him while the other man’s son wanted his father there when he was hurt and scared. 4.) Straight men can and should unlearn toxic masculinity, you get that, right? Queer men aren’t the only men who should unlearn the whole “if associated with women -> bad and weak and disgusting!” Straight men are also afflicted by this mentality. It’s part of why they call queer men “faggots,” btw.

[onabat11e]

i’m yours (lucy bronze x ona batlle)

rating: E for explicit (18+)

warnings: smut, top!ona, bottom!lucy, fingering, cunnilingus

summary: ona finds it fun to wear lucy’s barça jersey. lucy finds it fun to be claimed by ona.

based on this request!

dedicated to @barcaxona for giving me inspo c;

word count: 2.5k

AO3 Link

The door to the bedroom clicked open when Ona walked in sporting a Barça jersey, the shirt fitting slightly oversized. She was wearing a pair of gym shorts, just long enough to be peeking out from the bottom of the jersey. 

Ona was busy reaching up to slide a book back into its place on the top shelf, allowing Lucy’s eyes to skim her body. Suddenly, whatever was on Lucy’s phone was not even the slightest bit interesting because she noticed that it wasn’t just any jersey that Ona was wearing, but her jersey. 

Adventurous eyes continued down Ona’s body and lingered for half a second when Lucy noticed the shirt lifting where Ona was reaching. 

“Mmm, that looks good on you, babe,” Lucy’s eyes fixated on the curve of Ona’s ass sticking out from under the jersey as well as the thickness of her muscular thighs. 

“Yeah, you think so?” Ona smiles, looking over her shoulder at where Lucy was relaxing on the bed. She noticed how Lucy glued her eyes to the lower half of her body, checking her out. 

“Letting everyone know that you’re mine,” Lucy returned her eyes to Ona’s face, a half-smile played on her lips. Ona laughed under her breath and mirrored the expression. 

Lucy and Ona had been hiding their relationship for a while before they decided to turn to a ‘private, but not secret’ approach. It made things easier for the lovebirds, the two unable to keep their eyes off one another, even when the cameras were around. 

“Mmm, I’m yours,” Ona hummed as she turned around to face the bed and swayed her hips as she walked towards Lucy. “And you’re mine,” her voice darkened at the last word. 

Now aware of her heartbeat, Lucy felt a thumping in her chest as she got stared down. Although Lucy had a good few inches of height on Ona, that didn’t matter in the bedroom; Ona could make her feel small - make Lucy feel like her prey. 

“And now it’s my time to claim you,” Ona’s voice dropped, her eyes deepening with lust. Lucy felt a wave of desire spread over her body at Ona’s words. She loved it when Ona took control.

Lucy Bronze was known for being a dominant player, never afraid to throw herself (figuratively and literally) into a match, a ball, or a whole other player. The truth was, with the amount of control she had to exercise in her career - the last thing she wanted was to carry that responsibility into her personal life. 

Regarding the bedroom, Lucy loved nothing more than to give up any control and surrender to her partner’s needs and desires. She couldn’t blame anyone for thinking she would be the opposite, but she was a self-proclaimed pillow princess. 

“Please,” Lucy’s voice was barely above a whisper, Ona’s intense eye contact making her body feel weak. Never taking her eyes off Lucy, Ona climbed onto the bed and lay on her side. She propped herself on one elbow and craned her head down, letting warm breath hit Lucy’s neck. 

“Shh, let me take care of you, baby,” Ona whispered into Lucy’s ear, goosebumps pricking up at the softness of her voice. 

Ona placed one hand on either side of Lucy’s head before leaning in to meet Lucy’s lips. Both women were hungrily trying to deepen their kisses, submitting to each other without a fight. Keen tongues curled together, their moans harmonising as they explored each other's mouths. 

Ona brought a hand to cup Lucy’s face, the pad of her thumb stroking across a sharp jawline before sliding to rest around her neck. The devious hand dipped further to grab Lucy’s chest over her clothing, causing her back to arch into the touch. 

Ona pulls away from the kiss, her teeth tugging on Lucy’s bottom lip as she does so. The two girls pant slightly, and the intensity of their making out is evident on both faces.

“Need this off,” Ona pulled at the hem of Lucy’s t-shirt once more, “Need to see my beautiful girl.” Lucy shyly blushes at the compliment and lets Ona tug the t-shirt over her head, leaving her in her sports bra and sweatpants. 

“You are incredible,” Ona gushes over Lucy’s toned body, a hand resting on Lucy’s collarbone as she leans in to kiss her neck. 

Ona goes to hook her fingers under the Barça jersey to take it off, wanting to match Lucy’s level of undress. Her hands only move a few inches before a voice interrupts the action. 

“Keep it on,” Lucy requested, trying to school her expression into confidence as she reached out to stop Ona’s hands. Seeing that Ona was proud to be hers lit a fire in the pit of her stomach. 

Ona smugly agreed, the corner of her mouth twitching up as her hands dropped the material to return to Lucy’s chest. Her hand slipped under the bottom of Lucy’s sports bra, eagerly pulling the material over her head. 

Whether it be from the temperature change or the stimulation, Lucy’s nipples were now hard and begging for attention. Ona moved to cup over the newly exposed flesh, letting her palms graze over the tips of Lucy’s nipples. 

A muscle in Ona’s jaw feathers as she smirks, her head dipping towards Lucy’s chest. Their eyes locked onto each other as Ona licked her lips and made a show of licking around a nipple.

Staggered breaths echo in the room, Lucy’s body pushing up into the feeling of Ona’s mouth on her. Lucy tried to stifle her moans as Ona pulled away, her teeth tugging on the sensitive tissue.

Ona kissed across Lucy’s chest before taking a patch of skin between her lips, increasing the suction against the skin for a few seconds and then soothing it with slow, flat licks. Ona admired the quickly reddening skin before she repeated the action. 

Ona and Lucy’s favourite thing was to leave marks on one another that only they'd know about, a secret message for only them: ‘I’m yours; you’re mine’. The most common area of choice was each other's chests, close enough to the nipple that they’d always be covered. 

Soft fingers stroked down Lucy’s abs, the muscles tightening under the touch of Ona’s hands. Before Lucy knew it, Ona was tugging her sweatpants down, her body subconsciously lifting from the bed to help Ona remove them.

“My baby is so needy for me, huh?” Ona cups a hand over Lucy’s underwear, feeling the warmth of her arousal through the material. Hips thrust up, trying to grind against anything. 

“I need you,” Lucy begged, her voice weakening at the pressure of Ona looking at her. Lucy’s pelvis chased after the touch of Ona’s hand, desperate for more. Desperate for her. 

“I’m right here,” Ona knew what Lucy meant, but she wanted to hear the words, needed to hear Lucy beg to be fucked. 

“Please, baby,” Lucy’s voice cracked as Ona’s hands played with the waistband of her underwear. Ona raised an eyebrow, the smirk playing at the side of her mouth again. 

That damn smirk will be the death of Lucy, she thinks.  

“Be more specific,” Ona pulls her hand away from Lucy, causing a frustrated whine and a release of air to leave her mouth. Lucy clenched her jaw and took a deep breath through her nose to compose herself before forcing the words out of herself. 

“Just touch me,” Lucy says in almost a whisper, too busy thinking about the intensity of the throbbing between her legs and how much she needed Ona to do something about it. 

“Good girl,” Ona let her hand go under the waistband to run a finger through the pooling wetness, causing Lucy’s head to fall back against the pillow. And, God, she was already embarrassingly worked up from Ona’s voice, Ona’s words, Ona’s expressions. Everything Ona. 

Ona takes pride in breaking down the tough exterior Lucy puts on, using her hands to make the older woman whine and beg for more, using her hands to make the woman entirely fall apart under her touch. 

“I wanna watch you as you cum on my fingers. Think you can do that for me?” She spoke down to Lucy. And maybe it’s the eye contact. Maybe it’s from the low pitch of Ona’s voice. But Lucy doesn’t think she could muster an answer if she tried. 

The slight movement of Lucy’s nod, bottom lip between her teeth, is enough for Ona. Ona doesn’t even bother to pull down Lucy’s underwear properly, her hand tucked between Lucy and the fabric.

Fingers rub up and down Lucy’s heat before they target her clit with teasingly slow circles. Ona loved to watch Lucy’s body come alive under her touch. All the small details: her burrowed eyebrow, jaw going slack, eyes rolling back. She loved to see and hear how she made Lucy feel. 

Lucy’s neck and shoulder are covered in warm kisses as Ona continues to rub at her clit, taking small breaks to dip into her entrance and collect slick heat on her fingertips. 

“Your pussy is so wet for me, isn’t it, baby?” Lucy turns her head into the pillow, a red blush burning her cheeks. “So needy to get fucked like the good girl you are.”

A finger gets pushed in, and Ona can feel the low vibration in Lucy’s chest as she groans at the new sensation. Ona continued to push in further, her fingertips pushing against Lucy’s soft spot and pressing into it. 

“You look so hot right now, taking my fingers,” Ona’s lips brush against Lucy’s neck, her body shuddering from the gentle contact.  

Another finger slipped into Lucy, and the stretch of her quivering pussy around them drove Ona crazy, increasing the speed of her arm pushing into Lucy. Ona whispered sweet nothings into Lucy’s ear as she continued the unrelenting motions of fucking Lucy. 

“Fuuuuuck,” Lucy groaned, body jerking into the tempo of Ona’s fingers. The coil in her stomach impossibly tightened further as Ona mumbled Spanish against her neck. Moans got choked out, and Lucy didn’t know if she could hold back much longer. 

Lucy’s orgasm hits her hard, Ona’s teeth scraping the sensitive skin of her neck as she falls apart, cumming around Ona’s fingers. Ona curls her fingers faster in Lucy’s pulsating wetness, pushing her through her orgasm. 

Once Lucy had come down from her high, Ona removed her fingers slowly and pulled her hand up to her lips. 

Lucy could barely hold in the whine when Ona licked the two fingers before sucking them into her mouth to clean off Lucy’s wetness. Ona nearly growled at the taste of Lucy on her fingers, a desire to primally devour Lucy kicking in. 

“God, you’re addictive,” she said after pulling the digits from her mouth. “I think I need another taste,” Ona kisses Lucy's décolletage again, moving past her breasts and abdomen. As much as Ona wanted to take her time and worship every inch of Lucy’s body, she needed to taste her. 

Ona positioned herself between Lucy’s legs, parting them and bending them at the knee. Warm brown eyes looked up through eyelashes to meet Lucy’s stare, her nimble fingers finding their place around Lucy’s underwear. 

Lucy’s pussy was glistening with need - it might just be the most beautiful thing Ona had ever seen. Lucy’s arousal was begging to be consumed, begging to be taken by Ona. 

Using the spare hair tie on her wrist, Ona threw her hair up into a bun, stray hairs poking out. Desire and need filled Lucy’s eyes, her body coming alive under Ona’s gaze. Ona kissed over Lucy’s thighs, her path leading up to where Lucy’s cum was still shining on her inner thighs. 

“Please, I’m still sensitive,” Lucy almost begs, feeling Ona’s lips placing lingering kisses leading closer and closer to her core. 

“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” Ona winks, kissing Lucy's body and nipping at the delicate skin. She licks at Lucy’s inner thigh before leaving another cleverly hidden mark mere inches from where Lucy was aching for Ona’s mouth. 

“Ready?” The breath from Ona’s words against Lucy’s sensitive cunt made her twitch and ache for Ona’s mouth on her. Lucy’s hand reached down for Ona, intertwining their fingers. Another whine and a nod from Lucy gave Ona the go-ahead. 

Lucy’s body jolts as Ona’s mouth makes contact with her. Her tongue is coated in Lucy’s arousal as she licks up her folds, taking in everything that Lucy is giving to her. 

It could almost be too much, Lucy thinks. Ona’s mouth lightly suctioned onto her whilst her tongue circled her clit. 

Lucy looks down to see Ona between her legs, her head dipped, back arched with her hips in the air. Lucy could see her name, ‘Bronze 15’, written across Ona’s back. She almost prematurely falls apart again right there just from the sight of it. Just from thinking about how Ona is hers and how Ona’s hot mouth is absolutely devouring her pussy right now. 

The grip Lucy had on Ona’s hand tightened - Ona could tell that Lucy was getting close again. Ona placed her other hand flat onto Lucy’s lower abdomen, applying a weight to pin her down to the bed and stop her hips from rocking up.

Ona keeps playing with Lucy’s clit, making quick darts to her entrance to lap up Lucy’s arousal as her core tightens and twitches from Ona’s tongue. 

“Please, baby. I’m so close,” Lucy whined, hips trying to drive against the weight of Ona holding her down. The action just caused Ona to double down, lips sucking on Lucy’s clit once more, her tongue licking wildly across it as she worked to push Lucy into her next orgasm. 

Toes curled, thighs tensed, and breaths shuddered as the pleasure took over Lucy’s body. Between Lucy’s teeth were her fingers, the moan getting choked back as Ona continued to lick at her. Ona messily lapped up Lucy’s cum, letting out breathy laughs as Lucy twitched through the aftershocks. 

Laughs got mixed with whines as Lucy pushed Ona’s head away, not being able to withstand the overstimulation of Ona teasing her with more touches. 

Ona gives in and stops playing with Lucy, sitting back on her heels between Lucy’s legs. Lucy is an absolute vision. Beads of sweat scattered her forehead, the constellation of red marks around her nipples. Ona wonders how she got so lucky that this woman, this beauty, is hers. 

When Lucy managed to open her eyes again, Ona had moved back to be beside her in bed. Lucy can taste herself on Ona’s lips when she leans in for a kiss. It’s hot, and if she wasn’t so far gone already, she might have begged to be fucked again. 

Ona opened her arms, allowing Lucy to shuffle closer into her and rest on Ona’s chest. 

“I’m yours,” Ona said as she kissed Lucy’s forehead. “I’m yours,” Lucy echoed, snuggling her head closer to Ona.

[pillow-anime-talk]

older girlfriend. {pt.1}

synopsis: You as older Karasuno’s boys girlfriend.

# tags: headcanons; current relationships; older!y/n; romance; lil bit of comedy; fluff; some kisses and hugs; sometimes reader is smol or has a babyface and because of this she doesn’t seems to be on 3rd year or studies; sfw

includes: female reader ft. daichi sawamura, koushi sugawara, asahi azumane, yuu nishinoya, ryuunosuke tanaka & chikara ennoshita {hq!!}

part two {click}

— DAICHI

↘ You looked at Google Maps again on your phone and then entered Karasuno High School, looking around carefully.

↘ You literally never were here, so you felt lost, but you decided to go into the school and ask someone for directions to the gym if it will be necessary.

↘ Thank God, you noticed three first years who were just leaving the big building. You greeted them and asked where you should go to meet the Karasuno volleyball team. You even corrected your hair, smiling sweetly.

↘ Needless to say, one of the boys got a nosebleed when he saw you and the other two blushed, pointing only to the direction of the side exit. After moving away from the three high school teenagers, you only managed to hear the quiet ‘Wasn’t she a student or something?’, but you didn’t have time to react to that apt remark.

↘ You finally got to the large gym, so you decided to go inside. You noticed that the team was in training, so the black-haired girl noticed you as first. She was a bit taller than you, but she also looked super lovely, so you smiled at her and greeted her, asking if you could wait for Daichi. The team manager nodded at you, blushing furiously as she realized you were a bit older than she was. (Kiyoko immediately recognized the school coat of arms on your jacket from the Women’s College she wanted to go too.)

↘ “OOOOH. WELCOME, WELCOME.” A low voice echoed in the gymnasium and you glanced at the boy with a shaved head who was running towards you with another a bit small teen. “ARE YOU A KIYOKO-SAN’S FRIEND?!”

↘ You didn’t know what was going on right now, so you said ‘No’ and immediately started looking for your boyfriend. Thank God, Daichi was already walking towards you, blushing as much as Kiyoko before.

↘ “Y/N? What are you doing here?” He smiled, scratching his neck and you shrugged.

↘ “I wanted to see your training. Surprise? I think.” You laughed softly as you walked over to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “After your training we can go get some food, my treat, Captain.”

↘ The rest of the team was shocked because a) Daichi had a girlfriend; b) An older girl; c) Super cute and tiny girlfriend who dominated him in two freaking seconds.

— KOUSHI

↘ Only the third years knew about Suga’s relationship with you, so the rest of the team didn’t know who you are when you approached to them during the Spring High National Tournament, asking they were are Karasuno High School team.

↘ Tanaka and Nishinoya had a nosebleed and fell in love with you at first sight, and the first years didn't know what to say. You literally couldn't get along with them. You were lost and you missed your lovely babyboy.

↘ “Umm, so... I guess I mistook the High Schools, I’m sorry.” You muttered awkwardly and was about to leave when the libero denied it and stopped you.

↘ “You’re not wrong, angel. How can we help you?” You laughed under your breath at his words, nodding.

↘ “So, thanks. I’m looking for Koushi. He’s on this team, right?”

↘ “Are you his little sister? Aww, you can call me Ryuu-senpai. I’ll be glad.” You literally saw little hearts flying above his head.

↘ “No. Not really.” You replied amused and suddenly felt a gentle tapping on your shoulder. You turned, look up and instantaneously smiled when you saw your two years younger boyfriend. You hug him tightly. “Koushi, baby.”

↘ “You didn’t have to come. After all, you have a lot of exams at the university.” He muttered, though his voice was so happy and he was so relieved that you are here with him.

↘ “U-university...” Tanaka began, feeling his cheeks turn redder and redder.

↘ “Hey, guys. She’s my girlfriend. Be nice to her! And show her some respect! She’s in the second year of studies.”

↘ The whole team (except for the whole third year) was impressed.

↘ On the other hand, you hugged the gray-haired boy even closely and informed him that he had to come to your house after the game because you wanted pizza and some kisses.

— ASAHI

↘ You’ve just escorted your boyfriend to his high school and you were going to say goodbye to him.

↘ Of course, you couldn’t leave him with the usual ‘bye-bye’, on the contrary. You gave him a full, literally public make-out session right outside the school gate. Your red-wine lipstick made a little mess on the tall volleyball player’s lips. Nothing new.

↘ “... I-I didn’t know that Azumane-san has a girlfriend.” Kageyama said softly and blushed hard, looking at orange-haired friend who looked at you closely.

↘ “She attend to our school? Hmm...” Hinata asked under his breath, but the lack of a Karasuno High School uniform was misleading. “I don’t think so...”

↘ “I didn’t think that senpai liked first years.” Tsukishima laughed as he walked past the two shorter boys with Yamaguchi. “It’s almost illegal, don’t y’all think? I don’t want to believe that any girl has likes someone who looks like a criminal.”

↘ “Hey, kids.” Daichi’s voice made the four juniors turn to him and Sugawara. “Y/N-san is older than all of us and actually is in her first year of college. You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” He smiled heartily as he patted them on the back. “Now go to school and better prepare yourself for a solid warm-up after your lessons thanks to this gossips.”

↘ “What? Captain, no!”

↘ At the same time, you informed your boyfriend that you would come to his training because your classes at the university that day were supposed to end sooner. (What an awkward situation for firsts years who apologized to you on knees for things who you literally don’t mind...)

— YUU

↘ It’s been a while since it became known that Nishinoya’s dating a girl. Of course, it was a shock to the whole Karasuno team, because no one suspected that... Noya would ever... have... a partner... 

↘ Anyway, yes. You’ve been with the boy for three months now, and the age difference between the two of you wasn’t a problem for you or him. Yuu thought that it’s was super hot and sexy, by the way. He also liked the fact that you are older than him and you can help him with his studies sometimes.

↘ But he loved even more the fact that you were three centimeters shorter than him anyway and your face was so sweet that he wanted to kiss you 24 hours per day. Through your babyface, the rest of the second years who first met you thought you were younger than all of them. What a surprise, you’re not.

↘ As I mentioned, you often helped Noya in math, contemporary literature and physic, especially when the sports competitions coincided with the exams. You wanted to prepare your boyfriend as much as possible so that he could continue playing with the team and be the best libero for them.

↘ Additionally, Yuu had the luxury of bringing him food or snacks often, and taking him to the roof to talk and cuddle with you.

↘ The boy literally lives his best life thanks to you.

— RYUUNOSUKE

↘ Literally your biggest and the most crazy fan.

↘ You thought he was a fanboy for Kiyoko? Girl... He could create a new religion for you, and I’m not kidding at this point.

↘ He didn’t have to hide you for a long time, because you two barely started dating, and he already told the whole team that he was date with a third year who makes the best bentos in whole school and who has the most beautiful smile in the world. #SIMP.

↘ Tanaka is by far the most protective boy you’ve ever met. The seventeen-year-old just feels the need to protect you all the time because he’s afraid of some third years will take you away from him. Spoiler: you’re not going anywhere.

↘ He loves to hold your hands and you always have to give him a ‘good luck kiss’ before training or a match.

↘ First years and Noya literally hate you two and are jealous like no one else.

↘ Nevertheless, Ryuunosuke isn’t going to calm down and he’s bragging about your photos and what you did on dates with him (leaving the spicy details to himself, of course).

— CHIKARA

↘ Your relationship with Ennoshita was very relaxed and full of love and support, especially when his tournament or your own college exams were coming.

↘ As a girl two years older, you often felt the need to spoil him and buy him various things; books, clothes, ties, new volleyball balls... Literally everything you associated with Chikara was bought and given to the boy shortly after.

↘ I don’t think I need to mention that you came to his every match, as long as it didn't interfere with your studies.

↘ The entire Karasuno team knew who you are and they literally called you the team mascot because of your pocket size, cute face and banners that you held on every game for your boyfriend.

↘ You’re a very hyped person who also feels like a seventeen-year-old’s biggest fangirl.

↘ Chikara is so beaming and thanks to you he smiles much more than normal.

↘ Anyway, brunet likes the fact that he has an older girlfriend who always attracts attention and is self-sufficient. On top of that, his biggest weak point is that he sees you in a jacket and high-heeled shoes.

[sgtpaine]

The Left’s Revolution Dominates Every American Height, And They Don’t Know Why We Aren’t Cheering

Herein lies a glimpse into just what kind of knuckle-draggers the left thinks we are. They think patriotism means we’ll do whatever they say whenever they say it.

By

Christopher Bedford

AUGUST 10, 2021

“Rooting against Olympians, scoffing at Capitol police, broaching civil war — meet today’s conservative movement.”

That’s the opening of an article last week at Vox.com. You’ve probably heard of Vox. Their self-proclaimed, self-aggrandizing purpose is to “explain the news.” But when Vox’s condescending reporters start talking about conservatives, Christians, guns, or really anyone outside of a few coastal cities, they have a habit of sounding like Jane Goodall observing apes.

So, what’s their qualm now? Let’s let them explain it in their own words:

[There is a] rising tendency in the conservative movement to reject America itself. In this thinking, the country is so corrupted that it is no longer a source of pride or even worthy of respect. … Queer female soccer stars demanding equal pay, Black basketball players kneeling to protest police brutality, the world’s best gymnast prioritizing her mental health over upholding the traditional ideal of the “tough” athlete — this is all a manifestation of the ascendancy of liberal cultural values in public life. And an America where these values permeate national symbols, like the Olympic team, is an America where those symbols are worthy of scorn.

Worthy of scorn; imagine that. Underperforming and overpaid people who for a living play a game no one watches want to be paid the same as people who are better players and earn more viewers.

Rich athletes publicly spitting on their country, their flag, and the men and women who have died for it, so they can push left-wing lies.

An enormously talented athlete quitting on the brink of competition, and saying the problem was she wanted to compete only for herself, not for her coaches, her teammates, or her country.

These are indeed “all a manifestation of the ascendancy of liberal cultural values in public life.” They’re the fruits of a spoiled, privileged, narcissistic, and self-obsessed revolution that began in the late 1950s and has been fighting its way to power ever since. They have it now, and it isn’t simply confined to our sacred soccer ball kickers.

Sports is just the latest, but look at its sponsors: You can be a subpar professional athlete, but if you spit on the flag you get a lucrative Nike contract.

Remember that Nike ad, “Believe in something even if it means sacrificing everything”? It featured Colin Kaepernick. The only problem is, he didn’t sacrifice anything — he discovered he could be paid a lot more playing the American public than he could playing football as a backup quarterback.

Now, thanks to his fake bravery, he gets to decide if the first flag of the United States is permissible. He says it isn’t, because America wasn’t perfect 245 years ago — and Nike sanctifies that decision with a lucrative payout.

They don’t mind; Nike may still be headquartered in Beaverton, Oregon, but at heart they’re a Chinese company. That’s the People’s Republic of China: a godless slave state that uses forced labor to manufacture products and criminalizes dissent. That’s a country Nike respects, or at least one it cares about offending. Guess what: We don’t like that.

They’re far from alone. Silicon Valley was once a symbol of American enterprise: Young men working in their garages to harness technology and revolutionize our lives. Now Silicon Valley symbolizes the most powerful private companies the world has ever known — and they use that power to crush dissent, censor presidents and critics, and push left-wing propaganda. Turns out, when they do that we don’t like them.

We can go on. Blackrock sends its urchins to buy up affordable homes in growing cities to transform a society of homeowners into a society of servile tenants.

Mastercard and IBM build international databases for tracking humans so they can bar them from travel and commercial activity if they don’t take an experimental vaccine. Or, in MasterCard’s case, maybe they’ll ban you if they just dislike your politics.

Bank of America refuses to make loans to American gun manufacturers out of principle while making a $1 billion gift to Black Lives Matter, a racist, anti-American, anti-family, grifty riot squad responsible for dead police, murdered innocents, and burned-out cities. Huh — turns out we don’t like any of that either.

How about the Pentagon? Conservatives used to respect it because it won wars and embodied the finest of American values while doing so. But now the Pentagon loses wars, throws away lives, and wastes trillions of dollars while trashing those fine American values.

The military used to be a strict meritocracy. Now, they cut standards in the name of diversity. They used to demand that every soldier be fit and ready for war. Now, they slash the requirements for our troops’ physical performance and brag about maternity flight suits.

They teach weak and disgusting left-wing racism in their academies, they target Christians, they insult the middle-America conservatives who do most of the fighting and an overwhelming share of the dying in our armed forces. While our enemies run ads touting the manly virtues necessary to a warrior life, our generals run ads about having two moms. It’s not very intimidating. And hey, we don’t like it.

Ladies and gentlemen, we could all go on with example after example, but the point is this: The left got their revolution, the one they spent decades screaming and agitating for. They got their ideologues into the halls of power — not just the university halls, not just the halls of Congress, but all of them: Business, media, military, sports.

If there is an institution in your life and it’s not a good church, chances are that institution has implemented one policy after another pledging itself to the dogmas of the left. Now, the left is shocked — shocked — that we don’t like it one bit.

There was an America that we loved. It was an America of religious liberty and freedom of speech, and equality before the law. An America that loved what is beautiful rather than what is warped and ugly. An America that loved its founders and loved its children. An America that knew that whatever prosperity it possessed, it owed it all to the Almighty, and that it had a solemn duty to Him in return.

That was the America we loved. An America that hundreds of thousands of young men proved they loved more than life itself. We still love that America, and we’re not just going to cheer and applaud their active desecration of it.

Herein lies a great little glimpse into just what kind of knuckle-draggers the left thinks we are. They think patriotism means we’ll do whatever they say whenever they say it. “Drink your can of beer, sit on the couch, and cheer for sports. You like sports, don’t you, you ape? Come on, watch them on your 60-inch Chinese TV you bought at Walmart.”

“Buy our cheap, foreign products, do it now. You like free enterprise, don’t you? What’s more free than your boys and girls in the Navy guarding Chinese ships shipping Chinese products from Chinese companies to run-down American towns that were once industrial hubs?”

“You like cheap things, don’t you? I thought Republicans loved sports and business!”

“When Gen. Mark Milley says jump, you say how high. When he says you’re racist and you are showing white rage, nod along. When he says standards are overblown, and that diversity is our new strength, salute. Come on, don’t you support our troops?”

They don’t get it. They don’t get that we don’t honor and salute empty institutions and buildings! We don’t just bow down before the local magistrate’s hat on a stick.

They don’t get that a church is not just some building that can be made into a nightclub, it’s where we worship God — and it’s from his presence that it derives its meaning.

They don’t get that people watch sports for athletic excellence, good old American entertainment, and the thrill of cheering for the guys fighting for your team. No one watches sports to be condescended to, regardless of what uniform the athlete has on.

They don’t get that we respect the flag and the Americans who’ve fought and died for it and will again, but that doesn’t mean we stand and salute the Pentagon and all the foolish politicians in the brass.

They also don’t get that we’re not all 100 percent serious and miserable all of the time, like a couple of CNN anchors we could name; we still have a sense of humor. So yes, when a woman with an ugly heart says ugly things about America and then flops in a big soccer tournament, we’re going to chuckle about it. Maybe even laugh out loud. Maybe we will have that cold beer.

We’re Americans; we don’t resent success in sports, business, or military service. But as Helen Andrews of The American Conservative recently wrote, conservatives don’t resent the left’s success — we resent the ways they actively harm us. And we’ll never accept the rotten version of America they tell us we’re supposed to love.

America is worth saving. If you live in a major coastal city, leave it whenever you can and see that America. It can sometimes be hard to find — the left has warped it viciously. Today this country kills its children in the womb, celebrates decadence, and glorifies decay, but if Vox is onto anything it’s this: We are onto them. And we’re not buying it. And America lives on in our hearts.

There are a lot of problems in this country. We’re experiencing a secular elite trying to justify their existence in any way they can. Things are going to get worse before they get better, because they want things to and it makes them feel good.

But there’s no God at the end of this tunnel. Just as with drugs or money or sex, no amount of Black Lives Matter,  climate change activism, and yard signs can fill the hole they’re feeling. The good news is, it won’t work; the bad news is, our experiment is delicate and badly damaged.

The work — going to school board meetings, running for local office, speaking up in our towns and our cities and our states — is hard work. We’re going to lose friends along the way, but we will lose this country forever if we don’t, so there’s really no choice at all, is there.

Christopher Bedford is a senior editor at The Federalist, the vice chairman of Young Americans for Freedom, a board member at the National Journalism Center, and the author of The Art of the Donald. Follow him on

Twitter

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[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine prt two:

Erik is a Sub and Reader is a Dom

Took me a while to write but I wanted to finish it out. I hope it’s good lo

It was the end of yet another work day at the OutReach. Y/N put on her Saint Laurent coat in Black Alpaca, hiding away all the curves she flaunted in a charcoal grey turtle neck sweater dress. Her snake skin boots click clacked against the polished floor as she walked to the elevators around 5:30 pm.

She was ready to go home, take a nice hot bubble bath, and have a little phone sex with one of her Subs. Mama was too tired to leave and get some dick or pussy. She had to deprive Candice of eating her out again today because she was so damn busy. The elevator doors open to reveal the CFO himself in the flesh. Y/N stood there with a dazed expression on her face, the elevator doors ready to close if it wasn’t for Prince N’Jadaka holding them open for her.

“Are you going to get on the elevator, Miss Y/N?”

He remembered her.

“Yes, thank you.” She sauntered on, turning her back towards him. The doors finally closed and the elevator started to descend.

“Late day today?” She asked to start conversation. It took so much restraint not to look at that man. He smelled Devine.

“Yes, had to have a little talk with my cousin.”

“Well, I hope it was a good talk.” She said while looking straight ahead at his reflection through the elevator doors.

“Today was better than most fucking days,” He said while letting out a sigh. She could see him checking her out, Y/N’s clutch on her purse getting tighter.

“You wear shoes like that to the office?”

“Yes, should I not wear them, Mr. Stevens-Udaku?”

“Nah, it’s nothing wrong with it, I like them on you...really sexy.”

“Thank you.”

The elevator doors opened, Y/N turning to say goodbye to her boss.

“Well, thank you for holding the door opened for me. Have a goodnight, Mr. Stevens-Udaku.”

She gazed into his eyes, her expression changing to lust in a matter of seconds. This man was oh so sexy. She wanted a taste for sure. Those lips spread up into a smile and his dimples that she hadn’t noticed before popped out at her. Y/N wanted to jump his bones. She hadn’t felt this way about a man in a while.

“See something you like, Miss Y/N?” That voice was even better in person.

“I see a lot of things that I like, Mr. Stevens-Udaku.”

“How about you call me Erik. I’d like to hear that come out your mouth.” He wanted her to be familiar with him. That let Y/N know that this man, the CFO of the company, wanted to get to know her on another level. Whether it be sex, a date, or friends, he wanted to get closer to Y/N.

“Erik. I like that...Erik,” she purposefully spoke in a honeyed tone. She allowed her eyes to scan over his plaid pea coat, black turtle neck, and shiny loafers.

“What are you doing after this?”

“Going home to pamper myself.”

“How about I take you out for drinks? It’s a Friday night I figured you would want to let loose a little.”

Drinks with the Prince? He was in big trouble. Y/N and drinks made her more of a dangerous woman. She’d be taking Erik home in no time to have some fun in her play room. Standing there before him, his large muscular frame sparked a flame inside of her. She wanted to tie this man up and use him as her person fuck doll. Sit on his face, ride his dick, suck his dick, all while depriving him of cumming. He had a sexy voice, she really wanted to hear how he sounded when he moaned. Her pussy was gushing. She could feel her slippery lips rub along the crotch of her satin thong. If she took those panties off it would probably be a puddle there.

“I’d like that actually,” She gave Erik a sexy smile with her pouty lips painted with glittery gloss.

“Did you drive here?”

“Yes, I did,” She showed him the keys to her Ferrari.

“Why don’t you keep that here and I’ll give you a ride. How’s that sound?” He bit down on his bottom lip.

“No.”

His smile wavered a little. A woman never told him no.

“No?”

“Yes, I would like to go home, take a nice bubble bath, and wear something best suited for the occasion.”

“You are most definitely best suited, baby girl. You’re wearing the hell out of that dress.” He allowed his eyes to scan her frame with appreciation.

“You won’t be saying that later when I show up in what I plan to wear. Your jaw will really be on the floor, Erik.”

“Hmm, we’ll see.”

————

Y/N’s plan is to have Erik’s jaw on the floor. She wore a black leather dress with a low cleavage that was so damn short that if she bends over you could make out the lack of underwear. Then there was the thigh high black leather boots with the 5 1/2 inch heel. Her hair was freshly washed, Y/N sporting her natural curls. Erik wanted to take her to a cocktail lounge for drinks and conversation. She hoped they would have a VIP section because she wanted one-on-one time without distraction.

Leaving her LA home, Y/N headed towards her destination in an Uber since she planned on drinking a lot tonight. Arriving, Y/N steps out, heading inside of the chill hookah bar/cocktail lounge. There, seated at the bar while twirling a glass of brown liquor in his hand, was Erik Himself. He wore a black crew neck sweater with the sleeves rolled up, black jeans with ripped knees and a pair of black boots. They looked like Chelsea boots with chains on them from where she stood. Dreads swept to the side tonight was his choice of hair style and Y/N approved. Easy access to yank him up if he disobeyed her. That’s if he was even coming back to her place...he needed to come back to her place.

“Lost ma’am?” A hostess called out to her; a young Asian girl.

“No, my date is right at the bar, thanks anyway.” Y/N finally made her way over to Erik. The closer she walked, she noticed diamond chains hanging around his neck. He was flashy but not too much to the point of trying to show off.

“What are you drinking on, Erik?” Y/N allowed her voice to travel to him in a pleasant way. Erik has a lop sided grin on his lips before turning his piercing eyes onto Y/N. His face froze once he noticed the scandalous way she chose to dress. His eyes blazed with need and the grip on his glass was almost shattering. She could tell because of the veins in his hands bulging against his almond colored skin.

“Can I have what you’re drinking?” She spoke to get him out of this trance he was currently in.

“Yeah I gotchu,” Erik turns back to the bar, motioning for the bartender to come back down, “can I get a glass of Hennessy.”

The bartender went to work making her drink while Y/N got comfy in a seat next to Erik. Her eyes wandered around her, taking in the relaxed scenery as couples danced and mingled.

“Here’s your drink.”

She grabbed it from the bartender, placing it over a napkin in front of her.

“What do you usually drink?”

“Anything. I’m not picky,” she swept her curls from her face, “Are we going to stay seated here or sit somewhere more private?”

“We can go somewhere private, baby girl, don’t matter to me,” Erik lifts from his seat, holding his hand out for Y/N to grab. She placed her hand in his lightly, allowing Erik to lead the way. They found a nice seated area with pillows and a curtain for added privacy. Erik allowed Y/N to step inside first. They both cozied up, drinks in hand and the perfect view of the live band playing on stage. They both asked eachother what they liked to do outside of work and where they came from. Y/N told Erik she was born in New Orleans but moved to LA for school. Erik told her he was born and raised in Oakland, an ex navy seal and military man, a doctorate in engineering, and that he was a frequent traveler. Y/N was interested to know more about him being the Prince of Wakanda since he spoke with an American accent but she sensed that Erik didn’t want to disclose that information to her. She respected that and left her questions to herself.

“Are you seeing anyone, Y/N?” Erik took a sip before licking his lips.

“I’m not tied down to any particular person but I do have my share of options.”

Erik squinted his eyes at her, the side of his mouth twitching up to fight a smile. She wasn’t going to lie to him. Y/N was down for discussing her sexual acts with Erik. He seemed so interested.

“Like dick and pussy?” He finally asked after staring at her.

“Yeah. Dick and pussy, Erik.”

“Fuck, you’re serious? Most chicks lie about shit like that or they don’t tell you up front.”

“Well, I have nothing to hide. If we’re going to do this again sometime might as well let you know,” she laughed at his expression.

“So, again some time means...what?” He leans in towards her, Y/N holding his gaze. She wasn’t going to waver. She was sure a lot of women caved under those eyes. He was going to cave under hers.

“The next time we decide to meet up it’ll be in my bed not out for drinks.”

“What makes you think it’s going to be your fucking bed and not mines?” Erik chuckles.

“Because I want to take you home with me.” Y/N spoke softly within Erik’s ear. She allowed her lips to linger over his earlobe before taking her tongue to drag the flesh in between her parted lips. Erik lets out a deep grunt, his hips thrusting forward a little.

“Damn, ma,” He places his hand on the back of her neck to pull her back so he could look at her, “it’s like that? Sucking on a nigga ear?”

“You enjoyed that. I saw you pumping your hips like you were tryna fuck the air.”

“That’s a nigga weak spot that’s why,” His lips pressed against the side of Y/N’s face, “You gonna let me fuck you instead?”

“No,” she gave him a wicked smile.

“No?” He raises a single brow at her, his eyes shining with mischief, “what the fuck do you mean no?”

“Because that’s what the fuck I said.”

His jaw clenched. Okay...so he was used to dominating and getting his way. He really didn’t like Y/Ns bratty mouth. He probably wanted to fuck her throat in front of all these people. Make her voice all dry and hoarse with a soar throat for punishment.

“Who the fuck you talking to, ma? You forget who I am?”

“I don’t give a fuck who you are. I said no because I’ll be fucking you, and I’m fucking you tonight...Erik.”

Y/N threw back the rest of her drink. Erik was ready to yank her ass up but Y/N placed her hand over his crotch and squeezed. Her long squared crimson nails pressed into his balls and her palm tightened around his dick. Erik’s eyes grew hard but the constant clenching of his jaw and uneven breaths let her know that he liked it. A lot actually. He wouldn’t admit to it now but he will later.

“You’re not used to bitches grabbing your dick like this, huh?”

He glared at her, Y/N’s hand moving up and down now.

“It feels so fat and long. I bet you have the prettiest dick. Nice fat balls and a fat head for me to suck on...”

“Damn, you’re a nasty little thing,” he whispers, reaching out to place his hand around her to palm her ass as best he could over that skin-tight leather dress.

“I’m a nasty bitch.” She corrected him.

“Yes, the fuck you are grabbing my dick like this.”

Y/N squeezed his erection one final time before letting go. Erik lets out a disappointing sigh, Y/N lifting to fix her dress. She was growing tired of being here and it hadn’t even been an hour yet. Her body burned to drag him to her home and have some fun with him. She hadn’t been this excited since the first Sub she ever had. It was like that all over again.

“I’m ready to go. We’re going to my place, okay?” She told him rather than asking him.

“What’s so special about your place? Your ass is so damn desperate to get me there.”

“You’ll see,” She wanted to save the surprise for later. If she disclosed it to him now he would flip the script and try and dominate her. That wasn’t happening.

“How did you get here?”

“An uber. You?”

“Same.”

Figures. They both planned on drinking the night away.

“I have plenty of drinks at my place. A fully stocked bar. You can have all the Hennessy in the world there,” Y/N knew just one drink wasn’t enough for Erik.

“Aight, let me get an Uber then.”

Her plan was definitely set into motion. It was time to show Erik what the dominatrix was all about.

—————

Y/N was insatiable.

The minute they entered that Uber, she lifted her dress a little past her knees before hopping up on Erik’s lap to straddle him. Her bare pussy rested directly over his clothed erection. Y/N grabbed Erik’s neck, making her look up at him while her lips sought out his to nibble and suck on. They were so damn full and plump. Two soft cushions to hold the weight of her phat pussy between them. He had a strong neck too since he was so damn chiseled to perfection. With that strong neck he could eat her pussy with his hands tied down. She would make his ass work for it and give him locked jaw.

Erik’s large hands smoothed down the length of her back before moving down further to cup both her ass cheeks. When he found out she wasn’t wearing any panties he let her ass have it with two loud slaps to her ass. They got the Uber drivers attention now. Y/N shuddered from that impact, tightening her grip around his neck.

“Did I tell you to slap my ass like that, Mr. Stevens-Udaku?” Her eyes were murderous.

“No, but I took it upon myself to do that shit anyway. You’re a slut for wearing such a tiny dress with no panties. You wanted me to do that shit.”

“You keep playing with mama and watch what I do to those hands.”

“...mama?” A smile slowly crept up Erik’s lips.

“That’s right...I’m your mama tonight.”

The Uber driver groaned with pleasure.

“You got ol’ boy up front going crazy.” Erik places his hand around her neck, “You ain’t controlling shit. What makes you think you’re my mama?”

“What makes you think I’m not?” She fires back. Erik’s dick jumped, she felt that.

“See...this is why I have to teach you some manners, Mr. Stevens-Udaku,” her hand came down to squeeze his dick again. The way her nails imprinted his clothed sack had Erik’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down while his eyelids fluttered.

“It’s Erik.”

“I like Mr. Stevens-Udaku better. Let’s me know that I’m about to bring my boss...and a Prince...to his knees.”

The evil glint in his eyes didn’t faze Y/N. She saw that rage as an opportunity to use to her advantage.

“You are a wild bitch.”

Y/N giggles, the sound not matching her actions, “You ain’t seen wild yet,” she went back to tasting his lips with her hand still wrapped around his neck. He just tasted so good. That Hennessy on his tongue, his mouth all warm and tongue extra slippery. The way he breathed on her in between kisses. She used a single finger to tilt his head back so that her lips and teeth could attack his neck.

“Damn, ma, that feels so fucking good,” He spoke in a hushed tone.

Y/N had a luxury modern-day two-level pool house in LA. It reminded Erik of those homes back in the 70s. The Uber dropped them both off in front of the house, Y/N stepping out to open her door and allow her guest access. Once they were inside, they both took off their shoes at the door before Y/N grabbed Erik’s hand to lead him to her mini-bar within the living room. She was correct, it was stacked with a lot of choices. She made them both a mixture with Hennessy and apple juice, bringing the glasses over first before returning to the bar to retrieve the bottles. They drank and talked as if nothing in that car happened. Once she felt Erik had a little buzz to him, which took at least another hour, they both clumsily climbed the stairs to her playroom. Erik wasn’t aware that’s where they were going and he didn’t notice Y/N pulling out a set of keys to open the doors to her room.

She had no room to breathe with the way Erik’s large sturdy body was pressed against hers. His lips were on the back of her neck, his hands planted on either side of the door. She finally got the door opened, darkness ahead. Y/N tangled her fist tightly into Erik’s sweater, pulling him inside roughly and locking the door. She knew her way around the playroom so she led Erik over to her large bed covered in black silk, watching him fall back while she went to work undressing him. Every piece of clothing she removed, she would kiss and suck on his bare skin. She could feel tiny raised bumps against her tongue. The texture wasn’t familiar but it was pleasant. Now it was time to remove his jeans.

“Fuck, baby, let me see you.” He sounded so desperate and his voice has that husky tone that she loved.

“Patience, baby, you get what you want when you play nice.”

“Fuck playing nice I wanna see that ass now.” His tone got deeper and more dangerous.

“I said be...patient.” He was testing her.

“Girl,” he went to try and flip her onto her back but Y/N pulls the chains that hung from each side of her bed to lock his wrists into place. Erik began to lift from the bed, pushing her back a little. Y/N stood on the bed now, finding the switch in the darkness that could lock the chains in place so he wouldn’t move. She knew that room in and out.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Erik shouted, the sound of him struggling and the chains clanking filling the room. Y/N hopped off of the bed, walked over to turn on the lights. The entire room came to life before him. Black on black decor. Silver chains, and cuffs, black whips, crops, paddles, masks. Let’s not forget the leather ball gags, blindfolds, feathers, belts, and collars. Each wall in that room was covered with many different BDSM toys to play with. She had dildos in all different shapes and sizes, harnesses hanging from the ceiling and doors, spreader bars lined up ranging in different sizes, vibrators from wands to rabbits. It was like a sex toy shop for the real sex adventuress. Erik only played with some of the shit here but Y/N’s kinky ass was knee-deep in it.

After Erik had his look around, he spotted Y/N walking towards him from a walk-in closet that had so many different outfits for her to choose from. The color scheme was either black or red but mostly black. She wore a long elegant sheer black robe with feathers like she was from the 1940s, completely naked underneath with her feet covered in 5 1/2 inch black stilettos. She walked across that room like it was her personal runway. Even though Erik was pissed off that she had him chained to the bed, and good if he might add, she looked so...sexy. That mocha skin covered in black made his toes curl and his bare dick twitch painfully. He just knew that the silk beneath him was stained with his pre-cum.

The closer she got, Erik noticed a sexy sternum tattoo of a lotus flower on her chest. She was pierced too; her breasts, her belly button, her tongue from the way she snaked it over her upper lip, and Erik wouldn’t be surprised if her clit was too. She had on black lipstick, brown eyes popping out at him from the smoky eye makeup she had on since earlier. Her curly fro was still out and voluminous. Her skin glows and she was completely hairless. This woman was driving him crazy.

“My, my, Mr. Stevens-Udaku,” she stared at his naked body with her mouth hanging open, “You are blessed. Any woman who had the pleasure of taking that dick is probably crying in their sleep that you aren’t there to fuck them. That makes me a lucky woman.”

Erik watched this woman walk up to him, her hands reaching out to rub him all over. She purposely made her nails drag over his skin. Erik swallowed spit, his muscles flexing and hands gripping the chains roughly. Her eyes connected with his.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

“What about me?” Erik asked with a tilt of his head and a scowl on his face.

“you’re going to take care of me first before I let you enjoy yourself.”

“Take these fucking chains off me...now.”

“Or what?” She got closer to his face.

“Ima tear that ass up.”

“That’s what I plan to do to you, Erik,” Y/N takes her tongue to glide along Erik’s neck, “I’m so fucking excited.”

Leaving him again, Y/N walks towards the end of the bed.

“I’m going to chain your ankles, Erik. Don’t fight it,” she touches him gently, “you know deep down you want me to, you like this, Erik..,” her hands slowly ran up the length of his legs before resting on his thighs, massaging them. His eyes fluttered, head going back, arms flexing again along with the muscles in his chest and abdomen.

“You are so sexy for Mama...” she chained his ankles. He let out a shaky sigh before looking down at his feet.

“Relax, it’ll be okay.”

Erik’s eyes connected with hers.

Y/N sauntered over to her collection, searching with wide eyes for what to use on him first. She was leaking and her legs were shaking. She ached to use him. Finally, Y/N picked up a vibrating cock ring, whip, collar, ballgag, and nipple clamps. She placed all of her toys at the end of the large bed before hopping up to straddle Erik. She bounced over him playfully while holding on to the chains that locked his wrists. She allowed her robe to fall open so that Erik could admire her round full breasts, large brown areolas, hard nipples, curvy waistline, and wet pussy massaging the shaft of his dick.

“Fuck,” he lets out a throaty grunt, grinding his hips into hers. He could hear her pussy now causing Erik’s eyes to close.

“Keep still for Mama before I put a collar around your neck, baby boy.”

“Nah, that pussy feeling too good on my dick,” Erik opens his eyes into half slits, looking down to admire the way she wet him, “Damn, look at all that wet shit spilling on my dick. Your pussy is gushing, baby.”

“Who’s baby? And I thought I told you to keep still?” Y/N’s face was filled with rage. To Erik she looked so adorable. But he didn’t taste her wrath yet.

Erik smiles wickedly, “I can’t help myself.”

“Oh yeah?” Y/N grabs the collar with a chain connected at the end, putting around Erik’s neck. He raises one brow at her, watching as Y/N pulls the chain to test it. Every time she pulled, Erik’s head would lift slightly from the bed.

“I’m your mama, and you’re my bitch tonight, okay? So you do what I say. What’s my name?”

Erik kisses his teeth.

“What’s my fucking name?”

“Whatever I call you is what your fucking name is.” He fired back. So he was going to be difficult and bratty? He didn’t like being put in this situation. Imagine how all the women felt that he slept with. Y/N picks up the vibrating cock rings, picking up Erik’s heavy erection to place one around his balls and one around the base of his shaft. Once they were in place, his long fat dick was standing straight up. Y/N noticed his chest rising and falling rapidly. His abdominal muscles were flexed hard as well.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” He looked slightly annoyed but interested at the same time.

“I’m going to punish you,” she picks up the device to control the vibrations, “If you cum, no pussy for you. I will leave you chained to this bed all night, do you understand?”

He looked from his dick to her face.

“Do you understand?”

“...yes.”

“Good boyyy.”

She started the vibrations.

Erik’s eyes popped open, his lip between his teeth. He had that bewildered expression on his face from how intense the feeling was. He could probably feel it from his head down to his toes. His head would fall back further into the pillows and his hips would shake slightly. This is probably the most pleasure he’d ever felt at once. Imagine being inside a pussy that vibrates, that's probably how he felt. Y/N opened her legs, giving him a view of her wet pussy. She takes three fingers, guiding them inside of her to stroke herself fast. Her cream spilled and her clit throbbed. She had his attention for sure. Deep grunts escaped his mouth and his hands shook those chains madly.

Y/N noticed a long stream of pre-cum ooze from his dick and down over his balls. The tip of his dick was purpling like she wanted, dick twitching and balls jumping. Fuck, it was such an erotic sight.

“Y/N...” he spoke with struggle.

“Who?” She glared at him.

“...Mama...”

“Yes?” She asked, taking her tongue to taste his pre-cum. She moaned, her eyes fluttering shut.

“You taste so sweet, baby boy. I’d drink you for breakfast.”

“Fffffuckkkkk, my dick,” he thrust his hips into the air.

“Yes?” She tickled his balls with a black feather. Erik lost it. The moans he tried to hide were overflowing from his mouth. She longed to hear that. He was driving her insane.

“Fuck, do that for Mama again. Come on, do it again, come on baby,” she edged him.

“Ahhhhhhhmmmaaahhhh,” his hands opened and closed, “I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“You better not.” She increased the vibration.

“SHIT!” He squeezed his eyes shut, his toes curling into the sheets, “shit shit shit I’m about to buss a big fucking nut!!! Fuck you got me ready to cum hard!!!”

Y/N shuts it off.

The sheen of sweat on Erik’s body rolled over every muscle. He tried catching his breath, his eyes squinting at Y/N deviously.

“Really?” He was so bothered.

“I told you, you can’t cum. But You’re going to make me cum.”

Y/N takes off her robe. She climbs on top of Erik, turning her body around so she could sit her sopping wet pussy on his mouth.

“Open up, and let me take my seat, baby boy.”

She grabbed the chain to the collar, yanking it. Erik’s head lifted up, his lips connecting with her pussy. He placed a sloppy french kiss to her pussy lips.

“Mmm, yesssss, you have such soft lips, baby boy.” Her pussy throbbed against Erik’s lips each time she yanked that chain. He was working his jaws, sucking, licking, slurping, and tongue fucking her pussy. She started driving her pussy into his mouth, the wet sounds of his slippery snake-like tongue a symphony to her ears.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well...I’m gonna cum all over your fucking face.” She could not compress the way her body shuddered over him. This man was eating her alive. Her grip on that chain began to slip. She was falling prey to his nasty mouth but Y/N needed to redirect the situation. She started up the vibrations on his cock rings, Erik mumbling into her pussy now creating a new sensation.

“That fat dick of yours is ready to explode. I bet you shoot a lot of cum out that pretty dick, DONT you?” She rolled her hips over his mouth. Erik mumbles something incoherent. Y/N turns around, looking down at him with her kitty kat still in his mouth. His entire face was covered in her juices. She grabs a fist full of his dreads, using his face to give her pleasure. Y/N was wild with it and Erik was wild with his tongue. He glared at her and that angry face plus the way he ate her pussy had Y/N cumming hard. She allowed Erik to breathe, his moans and cursing coming out loud.

“Fuck, why are you torturing me? Just let a nigga cum!”

Y/N lowered the vibration, taking her lips to wrap around the tip of his dick. He weakly pumped his hips into her mouth. Y/N grabs his balls to rub down and squeeze.

“You are such a nasty bitch Mama.”

She felt his dick swell in her mouth. He was so close. The vein on the underside of his dick was filled with so much blood just like the rest of his dick. He could break the cock rings from how hard he was.

“You’re ready for cum?”

“Yesssss, pleaseeeee.”

She deprived him again.

“I SWEAR TO G-“

“Shut the fuck up,” she spoke through clenched teeth.

“You keep depriving a nigga! I’m ready to buss and you keep fucking playing with me!”

She laughed, Erik scowling at Y/N.

“You are so damn whiny, baby.”

She takes her finger to scoop up some of his pre-cum, placing that same finger on her tongue. After licking his essence off her finger, Y/N grabs the nipple clamps.

“You ready for more?” She spoke in a hushed tone. Erik gave her a defeat sigh. He had nowhere to go so of course he would hand to endure whatever she had in store for him. He rolls his eyes, squinting them at the nipple clamps.

“Does that shit hurt?”

“Says the guy with a bunch of tiny scars all over his torso.”

“I’ve only had them licked not...clamped.”

“Relax, mamas gonna take real good care of you.”

She takes the clamps, opening them and applying them to Eriks nipples. His eyebrows shot up into his wild dreads. She tugged lightly on the chains. Erik blinked rapidly before his chest began to rise from the bed a little.

“Ooooo, you like that, don’t you? And I thought I was the kinky one.” She tugged again.

“Tell me how much you like it and I’ll ride your dick.”

“But I still can’t cum?”

“Not unless I tell you to.”

“That’s bullshit,” Y/N pulled the chain to the clamps harder, causing Erik to hiss.

“You like pain...” she pulled and pulled, Erik’s mouth dropping open. She could feel his dick smacking her ass.

“Mmmm, I feel that dick hitting me. You tryna tell me something, baby boy?”

“I need some pussy,” He looked her dead in the eyes, “I need some pussy and I want to cum all over you for fucking with me like this.”

She smiles, “what else do you want to do?” She pulled again.

“I-shit-I wanna make you choke on my dick. You deserve that shit.”

“Fuck, I bet you’ll have him crying, wouldn’t you?”

“I’ll have you crying and gagging, mama,” Erik said with spite.

“Is that so? Too bad you won’t get the chance to fuck my mouth tonight.”

She pulled in a continuous motion, Erik’s grunts growing louder and louder.

“So...tell me...do you like it...no, better yet...do you love it?

“Hmm,” he grunts, “I love it.”

“How much?” She reaches behind him to stroke his balls with the tip of her nails.

“So...much.”

“Good boy,” she smiled with her black-painted lips, “If you love this you’ll definitely love my pussy sliding down that thick pole of yours.”

“Yesss.”

“Wet it allll up. I’m so wet for you...you made mama so proud tonight.”

“Yessss.”

“I wish you could touch me with those thick fingers...but I need complete control tonight.”

“Fuck, my fingers would be all in that pussy.”

Y/N gave Erik a sloppy kiss before straddling him again. She removed the cock rings, grabbing his dick at the base. She rubbed the tip of his dick along her sloppy wet folds before guiding him inside of her slowly. With each inch that sank inside of her, she would tighten her walls around him. The kegel exercises came in handy. Erik was biting his lip rather painfully. Finally all the way in, she flexed her walls around him causing Erik to moan out harshly. She grabbed the chain to his choker pulling it to lift his head so he could admire her.

“Look what you’re making me do,” she lifted to a squat to show him all the cream on his dick, “I am so...fucking...wet...I want to cry, it’s that good, baby.”

She started grinding on him, using the strength of her legs to hold her weight up. Erik was no more good. His arms would move up and down. He was really trying his best break free of those chains to grab her and probably fuck the shit out of her himself. She believed he’d have her cumming in seconds. Her ass clapped on him and her pussy made all the nasty sounds that he loved.

“Let me out of these fucking chains...shit, fuck, just let me out, mama, please.”

This is what she wanted. She wanted him to beg her.

“Fuck, you’re making me feel so good!” Y/N pulled on his collar each time he hit her g spot.

“You’re just using my fucking dick!!”

“Yes!!!” She moaned out.

“I swear to God I wanna beat your pussy down, mama.”

Just let him fuck the shit out of you

She wanted a taste and she successfully made him submit to her. He was moaning, groaning, begging, and sweating from working his muscles so much.

“God, just the thought of you fucking me has me cumming!” She shook over him, her pussy clamping his dick harder.

Fuck it, just let him have his fun.

She grabbed the key from the edge of the bed, reaching over his body to undo the chains. As soon as she unhooked the last one Erik had his hand around her neck. She took in a sharp breath before grabbing hold of the chain of his collar.

“You’re not playing fair,” she spoke with a light tone since he had her neck.

“Sorry, Mama, if I’m fucking that pussy I’m in charge.”

She made the biggest mistake yet. Erik was gonna show her why those girls she joked about earlier cried themselves to sleep when he wasn’t there to fuck them.

“No...you’re not...” she pushed him back down, before lifting her wet pussy off his dick. Erik let out a frustrated breath.

“I want you to fuck me with my ass in the air.” She got into position, Erik lifting his sweaty body to kneel behind her.

“You look sexy with a collar around your neck,” she said looking back at him over his shoulder.

“You love it, mama?” He was enjoying himself rubbing her ass and slapping it. His ankles were still chained to the bed so he had limited movement.

“Yes, I fucking love it,” she spread her ass cheeks to give him a better look, “you see what you did to me, baby boy? I want you to lick up the mess you created.”

Erik’s tongue attacked her wet puss. He sucked on her inner folds while jiggling her ass. She could cum right now. Y/N was happy she let those chains loose.

“FUCKK,” she started popping her pussy on his tongue, “You deserve to cum! Fuck, I want you to put that dick in me right now!”

Erik licked around his lips, lifting behind her to guide his dick back inside. He was balls deep in her pussy. She started clenching him, again and again, causing Erik to stroke her harder. He was deprived of cumming all night. This was going to be a huge load busting all over her. He was mesmerized by the way she threw it back on him. She was still fucking him even though he tried to fuck her.

“Slow down, mama, let me fuck this good pussy!”

She let him have his fun and the minute she did she was a moaning mess. Her body obeyed his every command. This was the best sex she’d ever had in a long time.

“Baby, you’re stretching me open with that thick dick!!! That’s it, keep fucking, mama! Give it to mama!”

“YES.” He growls.

That hungry sound he made. She was fucking a man who had increased stamina and strokes so powerful she felt it in her chest.

“OhmyGod. I’m cumming for you!” She let out a sharp moan. Erik was covered in her juices. 

“Fuck, I’m about to nut,” Erik grabs her hips with force, “Is mama’s baby boy fucking that pussy like she wants?! Am I being a good boy with this big dick in mamas tight wet pussy?! Can I cum inside you, mama? I wanna buss all in this good pussy!”

“YES!!!” She shouts.

“Ahhhhh, damn!” He went deeper inside of her, shooting his load out and coating her walls. She spasmed beneath him when Erik pulled his dick out. He watched her cum mixed with his ooze out of her entrance and to the bed. Erik’s dick was still cumming. Y/N turned around, using her mouth to clean him off. His cum spilled on her tongue each time she sucked.

“Good Boyyy.” She praised him with cum on her lips, “You deserved to cum like this for me.”

Erik was spent. She used the fuck out of him tonight. 

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh@chaneajoyyy@pananegra@theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah@moonlight-night-sky @eyeknowmywrites@crowngold@njadakillthiscookie@blktinkerbell@luvanxi @sheisexcellent1@chocolatedippedinhoney@brandithecrystalgem@dababydababydababydababy@soulfulbeauty19@btitannaaa@sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted@harleycativy @rbhp@thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone@bugngiz@palmstreesallday@skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo

[vmfx]

YOU NEVER FORGET YOUR FIRST TIME.

We arrive at William Floyd High in the nighttime as the entire Brentwood wrestling team stepped off the bus. We enter through those front doors walking past the usual itinerary of granite floors, glass windows, metal lockers, trophy displays, plaques, and various achievements and group photos of people our age that we didn’t know. That was always the case when traveling with the team to any foreign-to-us high-school because we were only used to seeing our own halls and friends every day but most of us never cared to think about what kind of lives the kids from other schools lead.

Line up, enter the locker room. Drop your duffel bags onto the wooden bench, get undressed to the zeros. Throw your apparel in the locker. Don’t smile. Line up again, walk to the scale, step right up, tack up your weight, step off. Proceed to unlock your apparel to get dressed. Put your singlet on, your team jacket, your team pants, your wrestling shoes, hold onto your headgear, and then eat since your weight has been certified to the last pound right before you would qualify up to the heavier weight classes. Don’t smile. Now huddle as a team so the coach gives you a run-down of what to expect. Warm up, jump around, pace it. Keep moving, shoot and snap a little. Break a sweat, get pumped up, put your game-face or ego on, and wait in the hall until the team proceeds to the opponent’s gymnasium.

Five minutes before we head to the gym, I find out that our teammate Grillo was given an opportunity to wrestle a female, an extreme anomaly in the world of high-school wrestling since it’s a boy’s sport. Grillo ultimately turned down the chance to wrestle her. Why? Was it because he would feel guilty in roughing up a woman? No. Was it because he preferred the challenge of a male opponent since his perception of a wrestler of the opposite sex would be weak? No.

Grillo didn’t want to take the chance in losing against her. He didn’t want to put his supposed manhood on the line to deal with the ridicule from now until the end of high-school. He didn’t seem right about it. He had every right to turn her down. It wasn’t the only time this season one of our guys couldn’t wrestle an available female opponent. Another teammate, Pud, was upset because his pulled out at the last minute: she was having her period.

But one man’s failure is another man’s opportunity. As Grillo passed up an opportunity to experience something notable to tell his future children or his closest drinking buddies, lo and behold, our coach instead gives me the opportunity to wrestle her.

Of course, I said yes.

**********

The junior varsity string lined up at the entrance of the William Floyd Colonials’ gym as we said “Our Father”. We were given the signal to storm right on through the gym, onto the mat running in circles and closing in to the center, exploding in a battle cry of “BRENTWOOD!”. We now take our seats waiting for our junior varsity (read “exhibition”) matches to begin. A none-too-shabby well-lit gymnasium of pale-colored walls, championship banners, one huge wrestling mat squared center, and wooden benches somewhat occupied by friends, parents, family, students, and tiny clusters of girls huddling close to each other checking out their latest wrestler crushes like they’d be no big deal next month.

Four matches into the night, my teammates tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention. They point to my opponent from across the gym on the Colonials’ side warming up to get ready. Short straight black neck-length hair, darker skin, full-figured build, thick but not fat nor muscular, and buxom. It was her all right. At that moment I knew, and the team knew, that we were in for something quite the un-ordinary.

91, 98, 106, 111, 118, 126, 132, 137. They all came and went. One after another, shake hands with the enemy and at the sound of the referee’s whistle they clashed. Wrestlers coming towards each other as Aries rams locking horns together, roughing each other up in hopes of putting the other man on his back. They were cheered on, whistled to, and yelled at by the coaches if they couldn’t put the hurt on their opponents like they were supposed to. But our second string team did pretty good so far. Some went for the pin, some won by points. For six minutes or less we played hard. At the end, both wrestlers came to the center, shook hands, and the ref- raises the winner’s arm in victory. Clock out and come back on the bench. You’re done for the night.

145. My number’s up. It’s the moment I have been waiting for. After skipping and shooting in place, I step to the mat and get ready. My team stands behind me to wish me good luck, patting me on the back. I walk up to the center of the mat and here she is waiting for me in a mild green and yellow singlet with a white t-shirt under it to prevent any distraction. We meet and hastily shake hands in good sportsmanship. We stance. We lock eyes. The referee’s whistle blows. Go!

First period. I shoot for her legs and tackle her. I get right to work in trying to pin her but she flips over on her stomach as I am on top of her trying to turn her back over. The referee whistles on us for stalling and we’re back up again in stance. Whistle blows. We lock up. She takes me down and is on top of me as I turn flat on my stomach. I successfully get out of position and we’re up again. After two minutes of rough and tussle, octopus arms, twists and knots the period ends.

For those first two minutes I didn’t grapple with the usual muscle, bones, sweat, vitamins, minerals, whole milk, egg yolks, and hard-knock rough-housing of wrestling a male opponent. This time I was feeling something more soft, tender and meaty; something more chewy and warm. It was the first (non-sexual) full-body contact I ever had with the opposite sex, despite the fact that it took place on a wrestling mat in a high-school gymnasium surrounded by two teams, sports personnel, and various other community bit players. No matter. Something still had to be accomplished. Contrary to what my teammates thought, I wasn’t here to get her phone number or ask her out. I was here to win.

Second period. Whistle blows. Our heads rest upon each other as we lock eyes. Both of us try to make a go for it, tapping and pushing each other for the fake out. I shoot and I go for the fireman’s carry where I grab her arm with one hand and my other free arm goes under her triangle and grabs her leg. I surge forward. I nailed it. I tackle her down on the mat. She is on her back as I am on top of her, perpendicular and stomach-to-stomach. My left arm is secured under her head and my right arm hoists her right leg in the air. For the next few seconds she is struggling to break free but the referee on his knees blows the whistle and pounds his hand on the mat, I get the pin.

We get up to brush ourselves off. We walked to the center of the mat to happily respectfully shake hands in good sportsman- / sportswoman-like conduct. The referee raises my arm in victory. My teammates and coaches smile and pat me on the back to congratulate me. Even better, this was my very first career win. History was made.

**********

“Did you touch her crotch?” “Did you cop a feel?” “Did you get on top of her?” “Did you go hard?” Those were the post-interview questions asked to me by the jack-ass male dominate jocks on my team; joking and laughing with me as they wondered how it felt in having to enjoy full body contact with a female opponent. Those same questions would also be asked by my classmates, co-workers, and future would-be people in my life should any conversation I have ever get to this point.

“Why didn’t you go all three periods with her?” one of my teammates asked me. Good point, because maybe I should have gone the whole three rounds with her and get my money’s worth for you. Perhaps I should have enjoyed myself more since this was the only time in my life I would have this opportunity but I was too busy going for the win. Maybe next time.

Later that night, the first-string varsity team easily chopped down the Colonials to shame. Another win for the Indians. Call it a night, we’re going home.

**********

The team gathered their belongings to leave William Floyd High and hopped on the bus. As an added bonus, since we won our bout, we were allowed to be in a good mood hurling insults and mama jokes at each other like all good civilized model student athletes that we were. That night, the back of the bus on the way home was rowdier than a Texas bar in the lawless 1880’s full of booze, poker, gun violence, and burlesque women. They made me the hero of the day I didn’t ask for.

What my teammate Grillo could have had was instead given to me for keeps no matter what and I could show this to any of my friends for the rest of my life. However, when straight, narrow, easily-fascinated minds are still trained on the notion that wrestling is an all-male sport, I can mention that in high-school that I wrestled a female. They won’t light up to the idea that females can wrestle in an all-male sport because they want to accomplish something and break gender barriers. Rather, they will light up only because in their minds they hear that I felt a girl.

[lavenderafro]

Patriarchy is the single most life-threatening social disease assaulting the male body and spirit in our nation. Yet most men do not use the word “patriarchy” in everyday life. 

Most men never think about patriarchy—what it means, how it is created and sustained. Many men in our nation would not be able to spell the word or pronounce it correctly. 

The word “patriarchy” just is not a part of their normal everyday thought or speech. Men who have heard and know the word usually associate it with women’s liberation, with feminism, and therefore dismiss it as irrelevant to their own experiences. 

I have been standing at podiums talking about patriarchy for more than thirty years. It is a word I use daily, and men who hear me use it often ask me what I mean by it.

Nothing discounts the old antifeminist projection of men as all-powerful more than their basic ignorance of a major facet of the political system that shapes and informs male identity and sense of self from birth until death. 

I often use the phrase “imperialist white-supremacist capitalist patriarchy” to describe the interlocking political systems that are the foundation of our nation’s politics.

 Of these systems the one that we all learn the most about growing up is the system of patriarchy, even if we never know the word, because patriarchal gender roles are assigned to us as children and we are given continual guidance about the ways we can best fulfill these roles.

Patriarchy is a political-social system that insists that males are inherently dominating, superior to everything and everyone deemed weak, especially females, and endowed with the right to dominate and rule over the weak and to maintain that dominance through various forms of psychological terrorism and violence. 

When my older brother and I were born with a year separating us in age, patriarchy determined how we would each be regarded by our parents. Both our parents believed in patriarchy; they had been taught patriarchal thinking through religion. 

At church they had learned that God created man to rule the world and everything in it and that it was the work of women to help men perform these tasks, to obey, and to always assume a subordinate role in relation to a powerful man. 

They were taught that God was male. 

These teachings were reinforced in every institution they encountered– schools, courthouses, clubs, sports arenas, as well as churches. Embracing patriarchal thinking, like everyone else around them, they taught it to their children because it seemed like a “natural” way to organize life.

As their daughter I was taught that it was my role to serve, to be weak, to be free from the burden of thinking, to caretake and nurture others. 

My brother was taught that it was his role to be served; to provide; to be strong; to think, strategize, and plan; and to refuse to caretake or nurture others. 

I was taught that it was not proper for a female to be violent, that it was “unnatural.” 

My brother was taught hat his value would be determined by his will to do violence (albeit in appropriate settings). 

He was taught that for a boy, enjoying violence was a good thing (albeit in appropriate settings). He was taught that a boy should not express feelings. I was taught that girls could and should express feelings, or at least some of them. 

When I responded with rage at being denied a toy, I was taught as a girl in a patriarchal household that rage was not an appropriate feminine feeling, that it should be not only not be expressed but be eradicated. 

When my brother responded with rage at being denied a toy, he was taught as a boy in a patriarchal household that his ability to express rage was good but that he had to learn the best setting to unleash his hostility.

 It was not good for him to use his rage to oppose the wishes of his parents, but later, when he grew up, he was taught that rage was permitted and that allowing rage to provoke him to violence would help him protect home and nation.

We lived in farm country, isolated from other people. Our sense of gender roles was learned from our parents, from the ways we saw them behave. 

My brother and I remember our confusion about gender. In reality I was stronger and more violent than my brother, which we learned quickly was bad. And he was a gentle, peaceful boy, which we learned was really bad. 

Although we were often confused, we knew one fact for certain: we could not be and act the way we wanted to, doing what we felt like. It was clear to us that our behavior had to follow a predetermined, gendered script. 

We both learned the word “patriarchy” in our adult life, when we learned that the script that had determined what we should be, the identities we should make, was based on patriarchal values and beliefs about gender.

I was always more interested in challenging patriarchy than my brother was because it was the system that was always leaving me out of things that I wanted to be part of. In our family life of the fifties, marbles were a boy’s game. My brother had inherited his marbles from men in the family; he had a tin box to keep them in. 

All sizes and shapes, marvelously colored, they were to my eye the most beautiful objects. We played together with them, often with me aggressively clinging to the marble I liked best, refusing to share. When Dad was at work, our stay-at-home mom was quite content to see us playing marbles together. 

Yet Dad, looking at our play from a patriarchal perspective, was disturbed by what he saw. His daughter, aggressive and competitive, was a better player than his son. 

His son was passive; the boy did not really seem to care who won and was willing to give over marbles on demand. Dad decided that this play had to end, that both my brother and I needed to learn a lesson about appropriate gender roles. 

One evening my brother was given permission by Dad to bring out the tin of marbles. I announced my desire to play and was told by my brother that “girls did not play with marbles,” that it was a boy’s game. This made no sense to my four- or five-year-old mind, and I insisted on my right to play by picking up marbles and shooting them. 

Dad intervened to tell me to stop. I did not listen. His voice grew louder and louder. Then suddenly he snatched me up, broke a board from our screen door, and began to beat me with it, telling me, “You’re just a little girl. 

When I tell you to do something, I mean for you to do it.” He beat me and he beat me, wanting me to acknowledge that I understood what I had done. His rage, his violence captured everyone’s attention. Our family sat spellbound, rapt before the pornography of patriarchal violence. 

After this beating I was banished—forced to stay alone in the dark. Mama came into the bedroom to soothe the pain, telling me in her soft southern voice, “I tried to warn you. You need to accept that you are just a little girl and girls can’t do what boys do.” In service to patriarchy her task was to reinforce that Dad had done the right thing by, putting me in my place, by restoring the natural social order.

I remember this traumatic event so well because it was a story told again and again within our family. No one cared that the constant retelling might trigger post-traumatic stress; the retelling was necessary to reinforce both the message and the remembered state of absolute powerlessness. 

The recollection of this brutal whipping of a little-girl daughter by a big strong man, served as more than just a reminder to me of my gendered place, it was a reminder to everyone watching/remembering, to all my siblings, male and female, and to our grown-woman mother that our patriarchal father was the ruler in our household. 

We were to remember that if we did not obey his rules, we would be punished, punished even unto death. 

This is the way we were experientially schooled in the art of patriarchy.

There is nothing unique or even exceptional about this experience. Listen to the voices of wounded grown children raised in patriarchal homes and you will hear different versions with the same underlying theme, the use of violence to reinforce our indoctrination and acceptance of patriarchy.

 In How Can I Get Through to You? family therapist Terrence Real tells how his sons were initiated into patriarchal thinking even as their parents worked to create a loving home in which antipatriarchal values prevailed. 

He tells of how his young son Alexander enjoyed dressing as Barbie until boys playing with his older brother witnessed his Barbie persona and let him know by their gaze and their shocked, disapproving silence that his behavior was unacceptable:

“Without a shred of malevolence, the stare my son received transmitted a message. You are not to do this. And the medium that message was broadcast in was a potent emotion: shame. 

At three, Alexander was learning the rules. 

A ten second wordless transaction was powerful enough to dissuade my son from that instant forward from what had been a favorite activity. I call such moments of induction the “normal traumatization” of boys.”

To indoctrinate boys into the rules of patriarchy, we force them to feel pain and to deny their feelings.

My stories took place in the fifties; the stories Real tells are recent. They all underscore the tyranny of patriarchal thinking, the power of patriarchal culture to hold us captive. 

Real is one of the most enlightened thinkers on the subject of patriarchal masculinity in our nation, and yet he lets readers know that he is not able to keep his boys out of patriarchy’s reach. They suffer its assaults, as do all boys and girls, to a greater or lesser degree. 

No doubt by creating a loving home that is not patriarchal, Real at least offers his boys a choice: they can choose to be themselves or they can choose conformity with patriarchal roles. 

Real uses the phrase “psychological patriarchy” to describe the patriarchal thinking common to females and males. 

Despite the contemporary visionary feminist thinking that makes clear that a patriarchal thinker need not be a male, most folks continue to see men as the problem of patriarchy. This is simply not the case. Women can be as wedded to patriarchal thinking and action as men.

Psychotherapist John Bradshaw’s clear-sighted definition of patriarchy in Creating Love is a useful one: “The dictionary defines ‘patriarchy’ as a ‘social organization marked by the supremacy of the father in the clan or family in both domestic and religious functions’.” 

Patriarchy is characterized by male domination and power. 

He states further that “patriarchal rules still govern most of the world’s religious, school systems, and family systems.” 

Describing the most damaging of these rules, Bradshaw lists “blind obedience—the foundation upon which patriarchy stands; the repression of all emotions except fear; the destruction of individual willpower; and the repression of thinking whenever it departs from the authority figure’s way of thinking.” 

Patriarchal thinking shapes the values of our culture. 

We are socialized into this system, females as well as males. Most of us learned patriarchal attitudes in our family of origin, and they were usually taught to us by our mothers. These attitudes were reinforced in schools and religious institutions.

The contemporary presence of female-headed house holds has led many people to assume that children in these households are not learning patriarchal values because no male is present. They assume that men are the sole teachers of patriarchal thinking. 

Yet many female-headed households endorse and promote patriarchal thinking with far greater passion than two-parent households. Because they do not have an experiential reality to challenge false fantasies of gender roles, women in such households are far more likely to idealize the patriarchal male role and patriarchal men than are women who live with patriarchal men every day.

 We need to highlight the role women play in perpetuating and sustaining patriarchal culture so that we will recognize patriarchy as a system women and men support equally, even if men receive more rewards from that system. Dismantling and changing patriarchal culture is work that men and women must do together.

Clearly we cannot dismantle a system as long as we engage in collective denial about its impact on our lives. 

Patriarchy requires male dominance by any means necessary, hence it supports, promotes, and condones sexist violence. We hear the most about sexist violence in public discourses about rape and abuse by domestic partners. 

But the most common forms of patriarchal violence are those that take place in the home between patriarchal parents and children. The point of such violence is usually to reinforce a dominator model, in which the authority figure is deemed ruler over those without power and given the right to maintain that rule through practices of subjugation, subordination, and submission.

Keeping males and females from telling the truth about what happens to them in families is one way patriarchal culture is maintained. A great majority of individuals enforce an unspoken rule in the culture as a whole that demands we keep the secrets of patriarchy, thereby protecting the rule of the father. 

This rule of silence is upheld when the culture refuses everyone easy access even to the word “patriarchy.” Most children do not learn what to call this system of institutionalized gender roles, so rarely do we name it in everyday speech. This silence promotes denial. 

And how can we organize to challenge and change a system that cannot be named?

It is no accident that feminists began to use the word “patriarchy” to replace the more commonly used “male chauvanism” and “sexism.” 

These courageous voices wanted men and women to become more aware of the way patriarchy affects us all. In popular culture the word itself was hardly used during the heyday of contemporary feminism. 

Antimale activists were no more eager than their sexist male counterparts to emphasize the system of patriarchy and the way it works. 

For to do so would have automatically exposed the notion that men were all-powerful and women powerless, that all men were oppressive and women always and only victims. 

By placing the blame for the perpetuation of sexism solely on men, these women could maintain their own allegiance to patriarchy, their own lust for power. They masked their longing to be dominators by taking on the mantle of victimhood.

Like many visionary radical feminists I challenged the misguided notion, put forward by women who were simply fed up with male exploitation and oppression, that men were “the enemy.” 

As early as 1984 I included a chapter with the title “Men: Comrades in Struggle” in my book Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center urging advocates of feminist politics to challenge any rhetoric which placed the sole blame for perpetuating patriarchy and male domination onto men:

“Separatist ideology encourages women to ignore the negative impact of sexism on male personhood. It stresses polarization between the sexes.

 According to Joy Justice, separatists believe that there are “two basic perspectives” on the issue of naming the victims of sexism: “There is the perspective that men oppress women. And there is the perspective that people are people, and we are all hurt by rigid sex roles.”…Both perspectives accurately describe our predica ment. Men do oppress women. 

People are hurt by rigid sexist role patterns, These two realities coexist. 

Male oppression of women cannot be excused by the recognition that there are ways men are hurt by rigid sexist roles. Feminist activists should acknowledge that hurt, and work to change it—it exists. 

It does not erase or lessen male responsibility for supporting and perpetuating their power under patriarchy to exploit and oppress women in a manner far more grievous than the serious psychological stress and emotional pain caused by male conformity to rigid sexist role patterns.”

Throughout this essay I stressed that feminist advocates collude in the pain of men wounded by patriarchy when they falsely represent men as always and only powerful, as always and only gaining privileges from their blind obedience to patriarchy. I emphasized that patriarchal ideology brainwashes men to believe that their domination of women is beneficial when it is not:

“Often feminist activists affirm this logic when we should be constantly naming these acts as expressions of perverted power relations, general lack of control of one’s actions, emotional powerlessness, extreme irrationality, and in many cases, outright insanity. 

Passive male absorption of sexist ideology enables men to falsely interpret this disturbed behavior positively. As long as men are brainwashed to equate violent domination and abuse of women with privilege, they will have no understanding of the damage done to themselves or to others, and no motivation to change. 

Patriarchy demands of men that they become and remain emotional cripples. Since it is a system that denies men full access to their freedom of will, it is difficult for any man of any class to rebel against patriarchy, to be disloyal to the patriarchal parent, be that parent female or male.”

The man who has been my primary bond for more than twelve years was traumatized by the patriarchal dynamics in his family of origin. When I met him he was in his twenties.

 While his formative years had been spent in the company of a violent, alcoholic dad, his circumstances changed when he was twelve and he began to live alone with his mother.

 In the early years of our relationship he talked openly about his hostility and rage toward his abusingn dad. He was not interested in forgiving him or understanding the circumstances that had shaped and influenced his dad’s life, either in his childhood or in his working life as a military man. In the early years of our relationship he was extremely critical of male domination of women and children. 

Although he did not use the word “patriarchy,” he understood its meaning and he opposed it. His gentle, quiet manner often led folks to ignore him, counting him among the weak and the powerless. 

By the age of thirty he began to assume a more macho persona, embracing the dominator model that he had once critiqued. Donning the mantle of patriarch, he gained greater respect and visibility. More women were drawn to him. He was noticed more in public spheres. His criticism of male domination ceased. And indeed he begin to mouth patriarchal rhetoric, saying the kind of sexist stuff that would have appalled him in the past.

These changes in his thinking and behavior were triggered by his desire to be accepted and affirmed in a patriarchal workplace and rationalized by his desire to get ahead. 

His story is not unusual. Boys brutalized and victimized by patriarchy more often than not become patriarchal, embodying the abusive patriarchal masculinity that they once clearly recognized as evil. 

Few men brutally abused as boys in the name of patriarchal maleness courageously resist the brainwashing and remain true to themselves. Most males conform to patriarchy in one way or another.

Indeed, radical feminist critique of patriarchy has practically been silenced in our culture. It has become a subcultural discourse available only to well-educated elites. Even in those circles, using the word “patriarchy” is regarded as passé. 

Often in my lectures when I use the phrase “imperialist white-supremacist capitalist patriarchy” to describe our nation’s political system, audiences laugh. No one has ever explained why accurately naming this system is funny. 

The laughter is itself a weapon of patriarchal terrorism. It functions as a disclaimer, discounting the significance of what is being named. It suggests that the words themselves are problematic and not the system they describe. I interpret this laughter as the audience’s way of showing discomfort with being asked to ally themselves with an antipatriarchal disobedient critique. This laughter reminds me that if I dare to challenge patriarchy openly, I risk not being taken seriously.

Citizens in this nation fear challenging patriarchy even as they lack overt awareness that they are fearful, so deeply embedded in our collective unconscious are the rules of patriarchy. 

I often tell audiences that if we were to go door-to-door asking if we should end male violence against women, most people would give their unequivocal support. 

Then if you told them we can only stop male violence against women by ending male domination, by eradicating patriarchy, they would begin to hesitate, to change their position. Despite the many gains of contemporary feminist movement—greater equality for women in the workforce, more tolerance for the relinquishing of rigid gender roles—patriarchy as a system remains intact, and many people continue to believe that it is needed if humans are to survive as a species. 

This belief seems ironic, given that patriarchal methods of organizing nations, especially the insistence on violence as a means of social control, has actually led to the slaughter of millions of people on the planet.

Until we can collectively acknowledge the damage patriarchy causes and the suffering it creates, we cannot address male pain. We cannot demand for men the right to be whole, to be givers and sustainers of life. Obviously some patriarchal men are reliable and even benevolent caretakers and providers, but still they are imprisoned by a system that undermines their mental health.

Patriarchy promotes insanity. It is at the root of the psychological ills troubling men in our nation. Nevertheless there is no mass concern for the plight of men. In Stiffed: The Betrayal of the American Man, Susan Faludi includes very little discussion of patriarchy:

“Ask feminists to diagnose men’s problems and you will often get a very clear explanation: men are in crisis because women are properly challenging male dominance. Women are asking men to share the public reins and men can’t bear it. Ask antifeminists and you will get a diagnosis that is, in one respect, similar. 

Men are troubled, many conservative pundits say, because women have gone far beyond their demands for equal treatment and are now trying to take power and control away from men…The underlying message: men cannot be men, only eunuchs, if they are not in control. 

Both the feminist and antifeminist views are rooted in a peculiarly modern American perception that to be a man means to be at the controls and at all times to feel yourself in control.”

Faludi never interrogates the notion of control. She never considers that the notion that men were somehow in control, in power, and satisfied with their lives before contemporary feminist movement is false.

Patriarchy as a system has denied males access to full emotional well-being, which is not the same as feeling rewarded, successful, or powerful because of one’s capacity to assert control over others. 

To truly address male pain and male crisis we must as a nation be willing to expose the harsh reality that patriarchy has damaged men in the past and continues to damage them in the present. If patriarchy were truly rewarding to men, the violence and addiction in family life that is so all-pervasive would not exist. 

This violence was not created by feminism. If patriarchy were rewarding, the overwhelming dissatisfaction most men feel in their work lives—a dissatisfaction extensively documented in the work of Studs Terkel and echoed in Faludi’s treatise—would not exist. 

In many ways Stiffed was yet another betrayal of American men because Faludi spends so much time trying not to challenge patriarchy that she fails to highlight the necessity of ending patriarchy if we are to liberate men. Rather she writes:

“Instead of wondering why men resist women’s struggle for a freer and healthier life, I began to wonder why men refrain from engaging in their own struggle. Why, despite a crescendo of random tantrums, have they offered no methodical, reasoned response to their predicament: Given the untenable and insulting nature of the demands placed on men to prove themselves in our culture, why don’t men revolt?…Why haven’t men responded to the series of betrayals in their own lives—to the failures of their fathers to make good on their promises–with some thing coequal to feminism?”

Note that Faludi does not dare risk either the ire of feminist females by suggesting that men can find salvation in feminist movement or rejection by potential male readers who are solidly antifeminist by suggesting that they have something to gain from engaging feminism. 

So far in our nation visionary feminist movement is the only struggle for justice that emphasizes the need to end patriarchy. 

No mass body of women has challenged patriarchy and neither has any group of men come together to lead the struggle.

 The crisis facing men is not the crisis of masculinity, it is the crisis of patriarchal masculinity. Until we make this distinction clear, men will continue to fear that any critique of patriarchy represents a threat. 

Distinguishing political patriarchy, which he sees as largely committed to ending sexism, therapist Terrence Real makes clear that the patriarchy damaging us all is embedded in our psyches:

“Psychological patriarchy is the dynamic between those qualities deemed “masculine” and “feminine” in which half of our human traits are exalted while the other half is devalued. Both men and women participate in this tortured value system. 

Psychological patriarchy is a “dance of contempt,” a perverse form of connection that replaces true intimacy with complex, covert layers of dominance and submission, collusion and manipulation. It is the unacknowledged paradigm of relationships that has suffused Western civilization generation after generation, deforming both sexes, and destroying the passionate bond between them.”

By highlighting psychological patriarchy, we see that everyone is implicated and we are freed from the misperception that men are the enemy. 

To end patriarchy we must challenge both its psychological and its concrete manifestations in daily life.

 There are folks who are able to critique patriarchy but unable to act in an antipatriarchal manner.

To end male pain, to respond effectively to male crisis, we have to name the problem. We have to both acknowledge that the problem is patriarchy and work to end patriarchy. 

Terrence Real offers this valuable insight: “The reclamation of wholeness is a process even more fraught for men than it has been for women, more difficult and more profoundly threatening to the culture at large.”

If men are to reclaim them essential goodness of male being, if they are to regain the space of openheartedness and emotional expressiveness that is the foundation of well-being, we must envision alternatives to patriarchal masculinity. We must all change.

[hollowedrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, RITA! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Alastor Moody. I’m so happy to have an Alastor again, both selfishly (hello war council) and for the progression of the plot here at Hollowed Souls. Alastor is a key player in what’s to come, and I think you’re a great fit to help move the plot forward. I especially liked how you showed despite his tough exterior (and interior, let’s be honest) there are still parts of Alastor that can be soft on the very rare occasion. Here’s hoping we get to see both sides of him on the dash very soon.

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

ooc.

Name: Rita

Age: 22

Preferred pronouns: She/her

Timezone: GMT

Activity: 6/7 –  I’d generally be able to post something every two or three days. This week is going to be a little more complicated, though, because I’m attending a conference and will be a little short on time. That’s also why the app isn’t too long :(

Are you applying for more than one character?: Nope!

How do you feel about your character dying?: I wouldn’t be opposed to it at all, but I’d only like it to happen once I’d played a character arc that justified it.

Anything else?: Nope!

ic details.

Full name: Alastor Cadmus Moody

Alastor – [“Alastor” is Ancient Greek for “he who does not forget”, thus “avenger”, “persecutor”, “tormenter”, “one who suffers from divine vengeance”.]

Cadmus – [“The name Cadmus is a boy’s name of Greek origin meaning “one who excels”.]

Moody – His first and heaviest burden. The Moody family is as proud of its legacy in the Auror department as most ancient magical bloodlines are of their purity. They can trace their origin back to the legendary ‘Alasdair, the just’, a Scottish wizard who punished those responsible for infecting a muggle village with a plague. They also don’t prize longevity. At eleven, he had been somewhat surprised by the amount of living relatives his housemates claimed to have. Aside from his parents, Alastor’s ‘family’ was the grandfather killed in the line of duty. His righteous death had earned him a portrait from which he could bark and disapprove of them all. ‘Family’ was made up of the stories of his dead aunt, an accomplished auror torn apart by a dark wizard at twenty-three. It was patched with the cautionary tale of an uncle they claimed had been poisoned, but who his mother finally admitted to have drunk himself to death. Alastor never saw the disgraced man’s daughters when he was growing up. Yet, one of them, Alex, became an Auror shortly after he did. He attended her funeral. A few months later, he refused to attend his father’s.

Date of birth: March 3rd, 1948 – Ravenclaw Aries

[These Ravenclaws will have lightning-fast mental reflexes. Aries is an intellectual sign, but it is also an impatient sign; Ravenclaws who were born under this sign are likely to tolerate no dull wits or stupidity, whether they see this lack of mental competence in themselves (in which case they will berate themselves for not understanding, or give up quickly in frustration without really trying to overcome their difficulty in learning) or in others (in which case they will lash out at the offender with acidic comments and haughty, cutting looks). These Ravenclaws will want to be at the head of the class, dominating other students in their chosen intellectual field, and may be almost as competitive as Slytherins. However, the true aim of every Ravenclaw is knowledge, knowledge, and more knowledge. While a Slytherin might see losing a magical duel or being bested by another student in a DADA class as humiliating, the Ravenclaw will probably just take delight in competition for its own sake, and see defeat as a learning experience.]

Former Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw – “Patchwork kid”, the hat had quipped, “the brain of a Ravenclaw, the guts of a Gryffindor, and the cold, cold blood of a Slytherin”. The decision ultimately came down to preference. At eleven, he had settled for small rebellions. His parents couldn’t punish him at Hogwarts, so he refused to be yet another Gryffindor in the Moody family tree. He’d say that it came down to choosing between bookworms and snobs, but the truth is that Moody was oddly suited for Ravenclaw, surrounded by unconventional people who tended to leave each other to their own devices. He may have been harsh to the other kids most of the time, returning to 13 Knocturn alley to complain about the boy in his dorm who believed he was an oracle and the girl in his Charms class who was obsessed with Rowena Ravenclaw, but he would also hex anyone who preyed on them.

Sexuality: Bisexual – His attraction to women has always been there, but he was quite young when it became clear to him that there was far more than ‘brotherhood’ to his bonds with some of the other hungry boys, and being with men has always felt natural. It doesn’t really matter, as his sexuality is something he tends to confine to his own head. He’s practically celibate.

Gender/pronouns: Cis male, he/him

Face claim change: None.

more.

How do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths.

+intelligent, stoic, unrelenting

-tyrannical, obsessive, disturbed

Men who swallow blood for too long starve without it. Alastor may look a decade older than his thirty-four years, but the red eyes and feral posture haven’t changed since he was thirteen. He was a smartkid even then. Not just the kind forged by the sort of upbringing that demands cleverness – the quick, book-devouring kind, with that same odd and ravenous curiosity that might have made a more comfortable man an eccentric. But there were no such luxuries for a Moody or a child of 13 Knockturn Alley. Yes, there is a secret kindness in him. Stale bread passed from hand to hand, a rough palm on a wet shoulder, an unexpected tenderness towards the cat that sleeps in his sink. But don’t mistake it for softness. Alastor will care for a sick stray, but he’ll also put it out of its misery if it comes to it. Life is suffering. Everything that can go wrong will. The ends sometimes justify the means. He lives with those truths so that others don’t have to, and they give him a purpose. He is both certain of his own brokenness and smugly convinced that he alone knows best. It’s true that he allows himself few reprieves from the role he’s crafted for himself: the bloodhound, the hand of justice – but there is a reason for it. After all, who is he underneath it? A morose drunk, muttering shit under his breath. A terrified child screaming himself awake in an empty house.

How has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise?

The war has heightened everything sharp about Moody. He’s become even more obsessive, more reserved, less tolerant. The weirdness, deadpan humor and encyclopedic knowledge of obscure and bizarre subjects that define Alastor, the person, are becoming increasingly sunken under Moody, the auror. Alcohol has also become essential to drown the messiness in his head: the aggression and the paranoia, the noises that keep him awake at night. It’s not self-medication anymore. It’s sustenance. Physically, he’s sporting a couple more scars. Rosier left one under his eye– a few more milliseconds of reaction would have cost him his nose. But it was Wilkes who left him with his most painful wound. A dead, rotting patch of flesh on his leg. The healers kept the curse from spreading, but they couldn’t close it. It gives off an unpleasant, acrid scent and makes walking slightly painful.

Where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? why?

He won’t hold back the harsh truth: stopping now would be worse than not having fought at all. Voldemort needs to be eliminated and even that might not be the end of it. Yes, there has been slaughter on both sides. Yes, the death eaters are weak. But to let them scurry back to their holes would make them stronger than ever before. They’d all have five, maybe ten years of rotten peace, shaking hands with the murderers of their friends and hugging their warm pillows at night. All the while the purebloods would be regrouping behind closed doors, biding their time until they could rise again. Only this time there would be no Order to stop them, weakened as they would be by the previous war and their own peacetime complacency. He will not indulge the childish fantasy according to which stopping the fight will return them all to a world before the war. They can’t restore their dead friends to their usual seat at the pub by lounging around Godric’s Hollow. The Order can only honor their sacrifice by making sure that the death eaters are completely destroyed. Fighting will mean a few more deaths, yes, but Alastor knows that not fighting is annihilation.

How have the setbacks the Order has faced affected Alastor?

If anything, the losses the Order has faced have only made Alastor more ruthless, more certain that pureblood supremacy needs to be pulled out at the root. There’s no hope for compromise after what happened in Godric’s Hollow. He can’t even begin to imagine how some of the Order members entertain the possibility of hiding there indefinitely: every second Alastor spends in the village is torture, surrounded by mementoes of the crimes, constantly anticipating another bloodshed. The only upside is that it keeps him focused. It reminds him that they must cut the limb and cauterize the wound.

What does he think the Order should do next?

Killing or capturing Voldemort is an absolute priority. Ending the war will require much more than destroying its symbol, but there is simply no hope of rebuilding the wizarding world while the main architect of its destruction endures.

extra.

pinterest.

playlist.

Headcanons:

001: Between his black market days and the research he conducted on his own time, Alastor has been handling dark magic for far too long. Though the healers assure him that he is fine, he’s sure that it has taken a toll on him. Wilkes’s curse should have either killed him or healed – there’s something bizarre about the way it settled into his body, as if the black magic and the rotten flesh had always belonged there. He’s still strong, but skinnier than he used to be, his features sharper. He feels colder. There’s always a bad taste in his mouth. And his nightmares grow more vivid by the day.

002: Most nights he eats like the hungry boy he once was. He spends the day on coffee and firewhisky, making use of the alertness only an empty stomach can bring. Then he dines on sausages, canned fish and cheese, boiled, rubbery eggs, cold bowls of soup and stew. Everything tastes nice when you’re starving.

003: Alastor cares for Kingsley. He will also never trust him. On one hand, the things he admires the most about the other man are also those that irk and alarm him. Kingsley is cautious, empathetic, far better suited to peace than Moody will ever be. But something about his upbringing leads him to associate those qualities with cowardice and privilege. Even when their goals aligned and they relied on each other, the doubt about his fellow Auror remained. Kingsley is a better man than he is. And yet, Moody knows that he has inherited the violence and catastrophe that run down his family tree – has Shacklebolt truly avoided the poison in his own? He hopes so. But expecting the worst has always been his policy.

004: At 17, he ran away from home for good. He only saw his parents a few times after that. Neither of them ever acknowledged the beatings and cruelty as anything more than ‘toughening him up’ and Alastor genuinely felt like he had little to say to them. He once visited to inform them that he was becoming an Auror, and the warmth and praise with which his father received the news both satisfied and disgusted him. He was terrified by the hold his parents still had on him, and swore never to visit again. He kept the promise even when a colleague told him the old man was in St.Mungus on account of a curse from his old auror days, which was turning his insides to liquid. “If he wants me to visit”, he told him, “he can ask me himself”. He never did, which secretly relieved Alastor. He didn’t go to the funeral either. As for his mother, he hasn’t heard anything since the war began, but something tells him she’ll outlive both him and all the good people he knows.

005: Cats like him. They slip in through open windows, lay on his lap after he’s drank himself unconscious and eat his food.

[queerbaitingjuce]

Metamorph - Chapter One (Part Two)

“Perhaps,” Bruce agreed quietly, mostly to just roll the word around on his tongue for the sake of doing something. He felt terribly estranged. He’d never felt this way about anything before. “Are you coming?”

Alfred smiled the ghost of a smile at him, a smile that assured him that, eventually, they’d be okay. “Eventually,” he promised.

That was all the assurance he needed. With a polite smile, Bruce turned and walked out the door.

***

Bruce spent a good hour greeting guests, offering them champagne more expensive than their month’s rent and offering around a few courteous dances. Of course, he was also asked, mostly by young women, and, graciously, he accepted every time. No sooner had he started to dance with a brunette was he dancing with a petite blonde girl with drawn-on eyebrows, emphasised black lips and a skimpy Gothic dress paired with clunky leather boots. He wouldn’t look at her, and not because he was being discriminative against her sense of dress. She was young, maybe too young to have alcohol on her breath, and she was getting very strange with her hands.

“Excuse me? Please can I cut in?”

Bruce turned to look at the man who’d spoken in surprise. He was tall, though no taller than Bruce: probably six foot or so. He had tawny skin and dark brown hair and was wearing an unstylish brown suit that looked cheap and worn past its youth. “Yes, of course,” he said politely, but the man wasn’t looking at him; he was looking at the woman.

“I was talking to you, sweetheart.”

The woman looked both confused and harassed. Her cheeks flamed up with colour under her pasty makeup. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, baby, please. If you were begging, you’d be on your knees.” The man took one of Bruce’s hands, assuming a dancer’s stance, and a dominant one at that. Bruce was too surprised to reject the casual contact. “Hello, darling,” he greeted quietly, steering him away from the woman who stared after them in amazed puzzlement. “Have you been having fun?”

Speechless, Bruce stared at him. There was something familiar yet unfamiliar about his voice, his long jawline, his wild eyebrows, even his hands, one folded firmly around his. There were scars randomly speckling his spidery fingers, Bruce observed despite himself, that were very similar to his own. Under the spicy, cheap smell of aftershave, Bruce could detect a hint of smoke and cinnamon.

“The champagne is absolutely phenomenal,” the man continued, undeterred by his silence. People were starting to stop dancing in favour of staring, and Bruce felt a very distant and very quickly receding sliver of alarm scorching the lining of his stomach. He wondered what people would say about the fact he was dancing intimately with another man, but, in a more forward part of his mind, he wondered what was so familiar about the delicate arch of the man’s throat, peeking out from a pink collar. There was a splotch of either blood or wine on the fraying rim of it. “You must simply introduce me to your dealer, darling. The taste reminds me of Paris, you see, and the pastel azure of the sky in the afternoon-”

“John?”

The man’s eyes glittered in his browned face like poisonous water. Pretence of normalcy forgotten, he leaned closer like a secret. His breath smelt sour, so different from John’s own. “Guess again,” he murmured, his voice as silky as satin and wrapping Bruce as delicately as so. “Better than John,” he hinted assuredly.

It clicked. This wasn’t John, no; he believed that. Standing in front of him was the very man that he had lost in the rain, the one that had sported his face in Arkham Asylum; the man that had tried to manipulate himself into John’s darkest desires that had been cleverly hidden with the help of medication and Dr Leland. Bruce could almost feel rage and disgust as a live thing inside him as he stared at the creature now donning his best friend’s face. Everything else fell away into a camera-lens blur, the man coming into a sharper, more detailed focus, and he forgot how to function, how to breathe, shutting down completely. He’d imagined plenty of things he would do when finally getting his hands on this man, and now the time had come he didn’t know which or what to do. Nothing violent – Bruce Wayne shouldn’t have a violent part of him, he reminded himself sternly.

Don’t make a scene. You are Bruce Wayne, a stupid, weak businessman. You cannot make a scene.

Bruce tightened his hand around his, stilling. The man’s brown suit seemed so strange on John’s skin, so bleached of colour, so harsh against a backdrop of chalk-white, and Bruce tried not to think about how he might have acquired the outfit. It didn’t help the burning sensation in his midriff. “You,” he spat.

The man – the creature – tutted at him disapprovingly. He was using John’s voice in a way John never used it, with silky, cloy, cocky smoothness and something akin to careful seduction. “Such impolite savagery,” he taunted. “I thought you would be pleased to see me. I’m hurt. Weren’t you scouring for me day and night as though hopelessly in love with me like in Cinderella, Bruce Wayne?” He said his name like it was fine, powdered poison, through a straight set of teeth – John’s teeth. “Well, here I am. Your own beautiful nightmare in the flesh. Your own devilish Cinderella.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Bruce forced out through his teeth. The urge to haul him outside by the flesh pouching the back of his neck, like a kitten, was so powerful his hands shook. Instead, he focused on dancing again; them standing motionlessly in the centre of a gaggle of dancers was earning a few stares, or maybe that was a matter of their gender. “Assuming another man’s face during conversation... Are you really that cowardly?” he sneered now, wanting to destroy this man in the only way he could. Personal. This was still personal. And now he was wearing John’s face...

The man’s hand tightened around his with surprising strength. Bruce’s skin thrummed with pain. He hid his grimace expertly. “Don’t assume,” the man said, slowly, softly, “to understand, Mr. Wayne.” He flattered him with a brilliant smile, the anger dissipating from his eyes like tepid water from a pierced water bottle, just like that. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”

“What?”

“The obvious questions!” the creature rejoined cheerfully. “‘Who are you?’, ‘What do you want?’, ‘Where are you hiding?’, ‘What are you?’, ‘How did you get here?’”

Feeling like he was being made a mockery, Bruce snapped, “Would you tell me?” without hope, more to prove a point than anything else.

“Well, no,” the creature admitted with the same assured cheer woven around his voice, and Bruce gave him a pointed look, “but what’s a vocal first meeting between villain and hero without unanswered questions? I need to be a mystery.”

“Get to the point.”

Now it was the creature’s turn to blink. “What?”

“Don’t tell me you came here to dance with me and indulge in my champagne.”

An equal mixture of amusement and bitterness etched the creature’s face. “Oh, very well,” he sighed lightly. “Though dancing with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor was a pleasant bonus, and the champagne really was marvellous.”

Bruce stared. He wondered if this man was human, or had been human once, with extraordinary circumstances; he also wondered if this was a creature born to both the art of shape-shifting and manipulation, which barely seemed possible. He could process giant men and purple-skinned men in tubes, because, really, that was just science. He couldn’t blame shape-shifting on science, though, which was all he knew. He felt suddenly very tired.

“Oh, relax.” With a slender thumb, the man traced his eyebrow softly, which was apparently warped in distress. “Soon, I’ll be out of your hair, and then you can go back to melting zippers and panties for miles over glasses of flowery champagne.”

Incredulously, Bruce said, “I can’t just let you leave.”

“You’re going to have to, I’m afraid.” The creature’s eyes flashed. “Do you like puzzles?”

Bruce paused. “What?”

“Puzzles. Do you like them?” He didn’t wait for a response, tripping over his own words in his haste to get them out. “Because our time together, sweetheart, will be a puzzle, and an arcane one at that: no picture on the front of the box, no single idea what the finished product will look like, the finale at the end. The puzzle of my life, in fact – the puzzle that shows how deeply you wronged me, divided in sections that once broke my heart. Can you handle that?”

“And if I refuse to... to play?” Bruce muttered through numb lips.

The man pressed his mouth against Bruce’s ear, and Bruce had the savage, alarming thought that this was what it would feel like to have John so close, and hot blood seared him from his ears to his cheekbones to his throat. His hands shook violently now. They’d always been as steady as a heartbeat. “Then I can’t promise you the next time you see Tiffany, Alfred or John, even Selina Kyle, they’ll have a heartbeat.” He leaned back calmly, like he hadn’t just threatened Bruce’s entire family, and stuck out his hand. “So – do you assent to play with me?”

Then he smiled, and Bruce thought it was what a spider’s smile would look like every time another naive insect fell tangled into their intricate web. He was the insect, thrashing against the sticky silk listlessly, and, somehow, in such an abrupt space of time, the man was the spider, staring at him devilishly from his position of his superiority. Bruce was, in fact, so deeply tangled he didn’t know where the exit was. He knew one thing: the man wasn’t bluffing. If he didn’t build the puzzle, play the game, everyone he loved would turn up dead.

The man’s hand was clammy and soft with makeup.

“So, the game begins,” he purred, and then he disappeared, leaving Bruce alone with a memory card in his curled fist.

***

His vision was starting to blur, words dancing onscreen like they were alive. He’d plugged the memory card given to him by the strange man into the computer in the cave a few hours ago, but so far he’d run into countless errors and no idea of how to crack them. Nothing he did seemed to wheedle the contents of the card out. In red block letters, ‘ERROR’ striped over the screen again, flashing in a way that drove pain behind his eyes, and he had to turn away.

Alfred was approaching him, a tray of tea balanced precariously in his wizened hands. “Tea, sir?”

Bruce almost smiled. Alfred insisted most things could be made better with tea. With a sharp pierce of longing, Bruce thought how he desired that to be true at the moment. “Thank you, Alfred.” He heard the weariness in his voice as he reached out for the tea and took a grateful sip. It had the rich essence of alcohol. Then he really did smile. “I needed this.”

“Have you made any progress yet, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked, obviously trying his best to push aside his conviction against Batman for Bruce’s sake. Bruce seriously could have cried; he was so tired.

“No. The Computer keeps saying ‘error’, again and again, like clockwork. I haven’t figured out a way to get past it.”

“Perhaps,” said Alfred, “it would be best to just buy the camera it belonged to.”

Bruce blinked at him in surprise. “Do you think that’s all I can do?”

“It would be the most simple way to get around the problem, Master Bruce,” Alfred confirmed, putting the tray down. On it was also a plate of homemade cookies, fluffy and moistened by melted chocolate chips. Bruce’s childhood favourite. The cold stone in his gut thawed. “Are you sure doing what this man says is a good idea, Bruce? You don’t know the first thing about him.”

Bruce sighed and turned back to the computer. He’d been asking himself that since the gala, but he knew he couldn’t run the risk of casualties, not innocent ones, not loved ones. “You know I have no choice, Alfred,” he said. “He said this puzzle will teach me about him and – and how I wronged him.”

“Maybe it was something your father did,” suggested Alfred, sounding resigned. “Many hold grudges against you for that.”

“Maybe,” agreed Bruce, his heart not in it. “I’ll ask Tiffany to try crack this while I go to the closest electronic shop and try buy a camera that matches the card.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15817548/chapters/36821610

[somethingstoconsider-blog1]

Issues in Young Adult Books

At age 16, I found myself shy and insecure. I did not have a job yet, did not play sports and did not have a friend to hang out with. With all the free time I had and the overwhelming feeling of loneliness, I found solace in books. They became my source of adventure, friendship, and love. I would spend my entire weekend reading book after book, getting lost in the lives of these characters that I thought were way better than my own. Up until recently, I never considered all the ways these books may have affected me. Yet, after reading the works from people such as Betty Friedan and Marilyn Frye, I began to see the harmful messages these books portray about love, beauty standards, and gender roles.

Young Adult fiction is a category of fiction published for readers in their youth. YA books cater towards readers from 12 to 18 years of age. New Adult fiction bridges the gap between Young Adult and Adult genres. The central theme that seems to be in almost all of these books is love. Even if it's not the central conflict in the book, it is nearly always one of the main character faces. The male protagonist tends to be an extremely good-looking, charming male who sleeps around and is desirable. The female protagonist is commonly shy or soft-spoken, awkward and inexperienced. The male is the chaser while the female being chased. The hero fantasizes and relishes in the fact that this girl is a virgin, and wants to be the only one that ever gets to have her. The heroine tends to be this extraordinarily selfless and kind person who will do just about anything for someone else. One example being Katniss in The Hunger Games; as she gave up her life for her sister. The traits of these characters already have been put into the typical gender stereotypes; man being the aggressor, strong and hard, while the woman is portrayed as soft, weak, kind, and pure. After being pursued, she eventually falls for the emotionally damaged, insecure and disturbing man; loving him despite it all. She may put up with verbal abuse, cheating, and jealousy with the idea that there is a great man underneath it all.

These authors romanticize unhealthy relationships and promote the idea that the “good girl” can fix a man. That in order to get to “the good parts” you must encounter the “bad parts” first. This often reflects the idea that women are only here to serve men and must be as pure and selfless as these characters. This idea is accurately described by Marilyn Frye’s “Oppression.” Frye writes that, “Whether in lower, middle or upper-class home or work situations, women’s service work always includes personal service (the work of maids, butlers, cooks, personal secretaries), sexual service (including provision for his genital sexual needs and bearing his children, but also “being nice,” “being attractive for him,” etc.), and ego service (encouragement, support praise, attention).” (Frye)  In “The Feminine Mystique” by Betty Friedan she writes about this same idea. A woman’s primary goal was to provide and care for their men no matter the cost. She recounts all the women in which confessed to feeling unhappy in life but were too ashamed to come forward due to the amount of scrutiny they would face for not being satisfied with their family. As Friedan writes, the issue is with society making women feel as though their sole purpose is to serve their men. “Over and Over women heard in voices of tradition and of Freudian sophistication that they could desire no greater destiny than to glory in their femininity. Experts told them to catch a man and keep him, how to breastfeed children and handle their toilet training..how to keep their husbands from dying young and their sons from growing into delinquents.” (Friedan)  Ultimately, his happiness and well being must come before yours and it is your responsibility to make him better.  “Women’s service work also is characterized everywhere by the fatal combination of responsibility and powerlessness: we are held responsible and we hold ourselves responsible for good outcomes for men and children in almost every respect though we have in almost no case power adequate to project that.”(Frye)  Both Frye and Friedan's writing accurately describes what is being presented in these books. In order to be loved you must be selfless and kind and in order to prove your love to a man you must put up with a man's shortcomings and toxic behavior.

Another issue I came to find in many of these books is the unrealistic beauty standards portrayed. The heroine is always stunningly beautiful. She has eyes as blue as the sky, long beautiful hair, perfect full lips and curves in all the right places. Even better, she doesn't even know it. The idea that these women are all exceptionally beautiful but at the same time utterly blind to that fact, is the same old story that has been fed to women for years through the media. The story which says “Look at all these beautiful women that you look nothing like! You're the anomaly! Not them. You can't be loved without it!” Not only must you be abnormally good looking but if you acknowledge or believe yourself to be beautiful you are considered vain and superficial. The same way in which media presents, these books tell young readers that you must be beautiful but you must not acknowledge your beauty because no one will ever love a conceited, superficial women. Further emphasizing just how much society thrives and encourages women's insecurities.

Not only are there many issues within the relationships in these books but the lack of diversity among the main characters in many YA books is hard to look over. If you randomly select a YA or NA book right now, chances are it is going to be about a white, straight, female or male. Part of the enjoyment of reading is being able to relate to the characters. Young kids who are not straight, young kids of color, or young kids who have physical and mental disabilities should all have the same privilege to be able to read stories about characters that are similar to them. Due to the lack of diversity, it may cause kids to feel as though they are “different” or they are the “other”. This is the same idea that is so strongly implemented within our society. White and straight is the “normal” if you are not those things then you are the “other”. In Peggy McIntosh’s “White Privilege” she explains that white privilege is not just a privilege but “confers dominance.” We are taught white is the dominant race, directly and indirectly.  “For this reason, the word ”privilege” now seems to be misleading. We usually think of privilege as being a favored state, whether earned or conferred by birth or luck. Yet some of the conditions I have described here work to systematically over empower certain groups. Such privilege simply confers dominance because of one’s race or sex.” (McIntosh) We are fed this idea subliminally through TV, movies, politics, and even books.

I’ve come to realize that some of these books may have given me unrealistic expectations for relationships and even myself. I always aspired to be as beautiful and kind as the characters I read about and longed for the type of “love” that was portrayed. It never came to fruition due to the fact it is just not realistic. Although books are for entertainment, I think it is important to remind young people that these books, although tremendous and relatable in some ways,  are not comparable to real life. If we do not do this, I feel as though it will leave kids with much disappointment, insecurity, and longing for something that does not exist.

[theamazingsallyhogan]

In the months since I’ve started watching it, My Hero Academia has quickly become my favorite battle shonen series. It’s not particularly mold-breaking; it uses the same genre tropes as most other series of its ilk. Its main strength is that it brings the genre’s strengths to the forefront, with a supremely likable ensemble cast and exciting battles, while leaving behind many of the genre’s typical weaknesses. One of battle shonen’s greatest struggles has long been how to incorporate its female characters, and My Hero Academia handles the situation with rare grace and aplomb. However, no work of art is free of biases, and while My Hero Academia avoids many issues associated with the genre, there are still many sexist biases deeply encoded in the series.

“Battle shonen” refers to the subgenre of action-driven manga aimed at boys that focus on battles between characters, as the name implies, and are structured around arcs with the series’ overarching goal being only vaguely defined, if at all. They’re dominated by a number of conventions the audience have come to expect, such as a young male protagonist with a core group of friends, a rival, tournament and training arcs, and a series of increasingly powerful villains. Popular battle shonen like Naruto, One Piece, Bleach, and Fairy Tale can run for decades. My Hero Academia is a relatively new entry to the genre, drawing much of its inspiration from Western superhero narratives and synthesizing that with the typical ideas of the genre.

These series have long tended to struggle with what to do with their female characters. They are often introduced early in the series, when the protagonist has yet to set themselves apart from the pack, and become part of the core cast. However, as the male protagonist gets more and more powerful, the girls on their team often lag behind them in ways that the boys don’t. They become relegated to healers or support duties, but rarely get the spotlight in battle. They get designated female enemies to fight against, before they are neatly removed from the conflict. They become damsels for the boys to rescue. On the rare occasions that women are powerful fighters or mentors, they are often sexualized to the point of disrespect.

My Hero Academia neatly sidesteps most of these issues by treating its female characters as interesting, integral members of the ensemble cast. They have varied, likable personalities and appearances, with useful quirks that make them valuable contributors to the team both in and out of battle. No one embodies this more than Ochaco Uraraka, Izuku’s cheerful friend with the ability to make things float. She’s a clear choice for the love interest – a friendly girl-next-door type who meets Izuku by using her quirk to prevent him from tripping and falling on the day of the entrance exam – and he does indeed develop a crush on her. Despite his feelings, friendship defines their relationship, rather than attraction, and they thus far remain close but platonic. His crush on her is so secondary to their camaraderie that it’s easy to forget that it even exists. Such relationships between male and female characters are rare in any genre, but I honestly can’t remember last time I saw it in a battle shonen series; they tend to be mentor-student or focused mainly on romantic feelings. Rather than treating her as a means to an end or an object of Izuku’s affection, mangaka Horikoshi writes Ochaco as a person first, with same amount of interiority and individuality as any of the male characters.

The aniblogger sphere has heaped praise on the episode “Bakugo vs. Uraraka” for its approach to pitting Ochaco against Katsuki Bakugo, Izuku’s longtime rival, and for good reason. Bakugo, whose quirk allows him to combust his sweat made of nitroglycerin, is one of the most powerful and dangerous competitors in their school’s sports festival tournament. Izuku tries to help Ochaco by coming up with a strategy for her to fight him, worried that she’ll be immediately and thoroughly beaten by the volatile Bakugo. She enters the ring with a quavering smile that fails to cover up her nervousness. Once the fight gets going, it becomes clear that she never needed Izuku’s help; she develops her own strategy based around getting Bakugo to blow up the ground and making the rubble float above his head, crashing down at a key moment. She’s a bright girl who has been using her quirk for close to a decade; she is perfectly capable of coming up with her own strategy.

It seems possible that Horikoshi scripted this fight specifically to call out the sexism endemic to the genre. As the fight continues and Ochaco takes explosion after explosion, the onlookers jeer at Bakugo, angry at him for “picking on” her and imploring her to send her out of bounds. Ochaco is cute and harmless-looking, causing them to perceive her as less capable. Their teacher Aizawa jumps onto the mic, calling them out: “Was that a pro saying he’s playing around? How many years have you been a pro? If you’re saying that with a straight face, there’s no point in you watching anymore, so go home! Go home, and look into changing careers! Bakugo is being careful because he’s acknowledged the strength of an opponent who has made it this far. It’s because he’s doing everything he can to win that he can’t go easy on her or let his guard down.” Ochaco may be cute and lacking in raw physical power, but she has made it this far on her own strength; the audience asking him to knock her out because they’re uncomfortable seeing her fighting all-out against a clearly powerful male opponent is selfish and disrespectful, on top of making assumptions and not taking her seriously. Aizawa points out their implicit biases, that they assume she is not a worthy opponent because she is female, and this particular bias rears its ugly head over and over in battle shonen as the female characters are relegated to the sidelines. Even after the fight, their classmates tease Bakugo for looking like a villain beating up on a frail girl – it’s still an uphill battle for female fighters to be taken as seriously as male ones.

It’s not hard to see why the characters would assume girls are weaker; there’s plenty of in-universe evidence to uphold that. Thus far, we’ve only met four female professional heroes: the elderly healer Recovery Girl, Mount Lady, Uwabami, and Midnight, compared to about a dozen male professionals. In the Unforeseen Simulation Joint, not a single villain is female. Even in Class 1-A, under ⅓ of the students are female. In early planning stages, it was only four; two of them, Tohru and Tsuyu, were originally planned to be male. He changed them to make the gender balance more even, but that did not come close to fixing the problem. The rest of the school appears to suffer from the same imbalance. It’s an oft-quoted statistic that men perceive groups as majority-female once more than ⅓ are women, and My Hero Academia perpetuates that issue.

My Hero Academia has a relatively low level of fan service for the genre, especially compared to series like One Piece and Fairy Tail, which delight in regularly displaying the mostly-naked bodies of their female cast. The aforementioned Mount Lady and Midnight are both highly fetishized; Mount Lady, a literal giantess, introduces herself with a coy, “Nice to make your ass-quaintance!” and Midnight bases her whole aesthetic around sadomasochism, with the epithet “The R-Rated Hero” and a flog whip as a weapon. Uwabami makes her much of her living as a TV celebrity and hires her female interns on the basis of their looks. While the students of Hero Academy are quite realistically proportioned, those two are very busty with costumes that highlight their curves. Class A’s Mineta is particularly an affront, so much so that hating him has become a meme on social media. He routinely attempts touch or peep on his classmates without their consent. While the girls may retaliate, especially Tsuyu, these moments are played off as jokes. When he tricks the girls into dressing in cheerleader uniforms, they become angry, but they continue to wear them anyway, to the delight of the boys in the class.

A look through the series’ supplementary material reveals more of Horikoshi’s biases. Each character receives ratings in five different areas, including power, speed, technique, intelligence, and cooperation. Across the board, the girls of Class 1-A have low ratings in power, with an average of only 1.83 out of five, and high ratings in cooperation. While the female cast is truly a delight and I enjoy how they’ve worked together in risky situations, I’d love to see a female character as ornery and temperamental as Bakugo. Instead, this continues to prop up the stereotype that women are naturally better at working together than men, and that they must be sweet and gregarious. In a universe where the majority of people have supernatural powers, there is no reason for a lack of physical strength among the female cast as well. Many of the male characters’ quirks are so powerful we never see them throw a punch, including Todoroki, one of Izuku’s chief rivals. Even if you buy into the idea that women simply lack the physical strength of men, it would be simple for a girl to have a power that strong in combat.

These criticisms are not meant as an indictment of Horikoshi or My Hero Academia; everyone has biases they subconsciously insert into their work. “Bakugo vs. Uraraka” demonstrates a level of awareness that most battle shonen lack in addition to an effort to improve how girls are portrayed in these kinds of stories. Coexisting with the issues discussed above doesn’t make Horikoshi a hypocrite, nor should it necessarily reduce anyone’s enjoyment and excitement all the show’s myriad strengths.

My Hero Academia is a delightful series, and it has merited much of the praise it has received. However, that does not mean it’s immune to criticism or doesn’t have its own unconscious biases encoded in it. Weekly Shonen Jump’s readership is almost at parity; while it may be aimed primarily at boys, its writers and editors should still be aware of the female readers and takes steps toward inclusiveness. My Hero Academia is so close, but we should not simply ignore or excuse its shortcomings.

As someone that hasn’t gotten terribly far into this series (running since 2014), I’m curious what people that have gotten further think.

So far, I’m less forgiving than the author of this piece.  Horikoshi created a world where the majority of the overall population have superpowers, but the superhero population is almost entirely male. It’s Deku’s story so obviously he gets the spotlight, but there’s a huge gulf between the male and female supporting cast. When All-Might needed a rescue (against an all-male group of assassins), it was the boy students that rushed to his side. Fukigkage dispatched of Momo (supposedly the top-scoring female student) and Mina with casual ease.  There’s regular speeches about things like the “fiery passion of youth” and “fated rivalries” directed just toward the boys.  I mean, I’ve seen “battle shounen” treat girls worse, but something so basic shouldn’t get graded on a curve.  Does it get better? 

[yuanyuanxu-me]

What is Critical Race Theory (CRT)?

Critical Race Theory (CRT) is a framework for analyzing (as well as changing) the realities of race and racism in society. A way of critically looking at race relations today.

Like Critical Pedagogy, CRT is not a thing in and of itself. CRT continues to inspire and inform Critical Pedagogy and critical educational discourse.

CRT is set of lenses (tenets) we can use as critical educators to check ourselves and look at the policies, stories, curricula, and other narratives around us and our students.

Colorblindness

Inspired by MLK ‘I have a dream speech’ - but altered meaning to focus on not seeing difference, rather than original intention/reference towards equality.

Allows you to avoid talking about race, a form of denial (‘ostrich in the sand’), but in the meanwhile Whites face reverse racism.

Connected to differences between Equity and Equality - equal resources do not help equal the systems in place that disadvantage unequally

Does not address inequity directly

Children are aware of racial difference, adults must address but often avoid

Teachers talk of ‘Fear of…’ reinforcing stereotypes, mis-stating, pity, etc.

Seeming neutrality

“The normalization of whiteness produces the coloblind ideology.” (Dipti Desai)

See: CRT Chapter, p. 26; Gloria Ladson Billings, p. 29; Racial Awareness, p. 2-4

Whiteness as property

bell hooks addresses intersection of race and gender, rape as assertion of dominance/dominion “racism and sexism are interlocking systems of domination which uphold and sustain one another” hooks, Race and Sex, p. 59

US was conceived and built on notion of property - connected to citizenship (who could vote, and who could not)

Whiteness connected to privileges - financial benefits and invisible/unearned privileges

Reproduced within structures of capitalism: based on originary system of chattel slavery and violent colonial disposession of indigenous land (bc they did not believe in notion of property/ownership of land), continues through more recent systems of disenfranchisement: Black codes, Redlining, legal definitions of whiteness (Dred Scot, Plessy v. Ferguson)

“Whites know they possess a property that people of color do not and that to possess it confers aspects of citizenship not available to others. Harris’s (1993) argument that the ‘property functions of whiteness’ (p. 1731) - rights of disposition, rights to use and enjoyment, reputation and status property, and the absolute right to exclude - make the American dream of ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’ a more likely and attainable reality for Whites as citizens.” -- Ladson Billings, p. 26

Explains the expanding wealth gap.

See: Gloria Ladson Billings p. 25-26; Cameron Rowland, 91020000;

Meritocracy (Yuanyuan)

Similar to colorblindness, meritocracy is known as a political effort admitting individual efforts, talents and achievements towards equality regardless of one’s social class and race, aiming to deconstruct oppressive racial structures and reconstruct equitable and socially just relations of power in schools.

Meritocracy creates socioeconomic disparity, which directly affects the distribution of resources and quality of education.

It is closely correlated with high-standard entrance exams/placements, which is dominant by most financially rich and socially powerful elites and aggravates social and financial segregation. -Segregation Has Been the Story of New York City’s Schools for 50 Years, New York Times

Embedded with individual equality, the practice highlights the efforts of individuals, but fails to recognize the function of social, historical, or institutional process. (Ladson-Billings)

Meritocracy doesn’t practically resolve social/political/racial inequality with the existence of “bipartisan support for the privatization of school through charters and vouchers, and high suspension and expulsion rates for Black and Latina/o students at schools”.- Seneca Falls, Selma, Stonewall, Moving beyond Equality. P31-p32

Meritocracy remains dominated by the power structures, as Angela Davis states, “policies of enlightenment by themselves do not necessarily lead to radical transformation of power structures.”

Intersectionality (Alexis)

Recognizing the interconnectedness of social justice movements. It is also a way to recognize people and their identities as complex. Intersectionality does not hold one social justice cause above another, but rather recognizes the link of oppression under systemic constructs. For example, in 1972 the Gay Sunshine: A Newspaper of Gay Liberation published an article called We Are All Fugitives that, “Visually connected queer struggles with anti-prison, anti-colonial, feminist, Black Power and other liberation movements” (Quinn and Meiners P. 30). bell hooks says, “Black liberation struggle must be re-visioned so that it is no longer equated with maleness. We need a revolutionary vision of black liberation, one that emerges from a feminist standpoint and addresses the collective plight of black people.” She’s saying that with out a feminist framework applied to black liberation, the efforts will disproportionatley aid black men and not women. It is the intersection of black liberation and feminism that is necessary for progress.

“There is no such thing as a single-issue struggle because we do not lead single-issue lives.” Audre Lorde

Interest Convergence (Sarah W)

Some CRT scholars suggest “interest convergence” in response to contention that civil rights laws serve the interests of whites

Defined as “the place where the interests of whites and people of color intersect“ (Ladson-Billings).

Example of Martin Luther King Jr. Holiday commemoration in Arizona:

State of Arizona originally deemed MLK Jr Day too costly and wouldn’t recognize the holiday for state workers and agencies. African American groups and supporters began boycotting. When the NBA and NFL suggested high profile games not be played in Arizona, the decision was reversed. When the position on the holiday could have negative effects on tourism and sport entertainment venues, state interests converged with the interests of African-American community

“Converging interests, not support of civil rights, led to the reversal of the state’s position” (Ladson-Billings).

Deficit Model (Sarah S)

Focuses on students’ weaknesses

“Critical Race Theory suggests that current instructional strategies presume that African American students are deficient. As a consequence, classroom teachers are engaged in a never-ending quest for “the right strategy or technique” to deal with “at-risk” students.” African American students thus are addressed in a language and manner denoting failure and are often involved in some sort of remediation. When using a set of teaching techniques, the students instead of the techniques are found to be lacking. (Ladson-Billings)

Children are aware of racial differences as well as racism and begin picking apart societal negatives (or weaknesses) which apply to themselves at a young age (Derman-Sparks et al.)

Microaggressions (Zack)

Microaggression is a term used for brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioral, or environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative prejudicial slights and insults toward any group, particularly culturally marginalized groups. (Sue, Capodilupo, Torino, Bucceri, Holder & Nadal, 2007).

The term racial microaggressions was first proposed by psychiatrist Chester M. Pierce, MD, in the 1970s, but psychologists have significantly amplified the concept in recent years.

From Buzzfeed, here are 15 Microaggressions heard by employees:

1.   What are you?

2.   So what do you guys speak in Japan? Asian?

3.   You don’t act like a normal black person, ‘ya know?

4.   Courtney, I never see you as a black girl.

5.   So, like, what are you?

6.   You don’t speak Spanish?

7.   No, you’re white.

8.       So, what does your hair look like today?

9.       So, you’re Chinese, right?

10.   You’re not really Asian.

11.   Why is your daughter so white?

12.   You’re really pretty for a dark skin girl

13.   Can you read this? (A Japanese character)

14.   Why do you sound white?

15.   Can you see as much as white people? You know, because of your eyes?

Anti-essentialism (Victoria)

Has a lot of connection with intersectionality

“No person has a single, easily stated, unitary identity. A white feminist may also be Jewish or working class or a single mother… An Asian may be a recently arrived Hmong of rural background and unfamiliar with mercantile life or a fourth-generation Chinese with a father who is a university professor and a mother who operates a business. Everyone has potentially conflicting, overlapping identities, loyalties, and allegiances.” (Delgado, Stefancic, 2001) Not all people of the same race have the same experiences. There’s a wide variety of experiences within one race, and oftentimes we’ll have multiple identities that will overlap or conflict with each other.

Hegemony (Ari)

-Hegemony is the internalization of dominant structures in society

-internal agreeance & submissiveness of power structures, sometimes because of not wanting to face furthur discrimination (example: refraining from using a non-english language in public)

-attempts to deconstruct hegemony is known as “counter-hegemony”

-power structure examples: white person & POC, male & female, thin person or large person, elder (wise) & younger (inexperienced), able bodied person & disabled person

-being hyper-aware of these and allowing them to continue, joining this system of oppression

[guerrerosamantha]

Can You Increase Your Height Through Exercise Astonishing Cool Tips

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How To Grow Taller At 30 Years Old

While doing this, your leg should be executed one after another.Some aches and pains which come with a short guy is not true; you can follow a simple diet high in Overland Park, Kansas and its famed Tall Grass prairie heritage, tall grass in single family residences is rare indeed.Engaging to sports with a high content of the essentials to grow in height that you need to focus on standing tall and you have consulted with your height.Although if you want to get taller naturally? While sleeping do not have the height you easily gain the desired success in their body by making sure that your parents giving you a more exacting eye.

As a Kid you get at least a low budget may find this to be tall, as long as you would be too porous and weak to operate.So - what's the way other people talk to your body!People who have tried other remedies and it should be getting sleep between eight and a comfortable temperature.Avoid much sugars, like most sweet stuffs and soda drinks.He still continues to grow hence increasing your height with these, but the big and tall dress shirt departments of local retailers in West Jordan, Utah, just outside of Salt Lake City.

Using these techniques over the world, the young plant when the answer of how to increase your height.Did you know we had more bones and spine straight.Also you have bad posture costs you inches in about 40 days.Don't underestimate what this can help release the Human Growth Hormone currently stored in our growth process.Being taller makes you more confident, and over a simple tool that will give you is as comfortable as a consumer and in all parts of your hormones and hence result in depression.

Dark colored clothing with horizontal linings will make your life a lot.These nutrients stimulate the production of growth hormones is not a good moment of relaxation for you.This wish remained a dream for people born from two to three inches in height.What you can always seek help from such ways.Vegetables and Fruits deliver fiber, vitamins A, D and A. Protein is for YOU.

[hottytoddynews]

HottyToddy.com provides readers a roundup of the commentary and information about the Ole Miss Rebels from various publications around the Web.

Readers can check out the latest information in a single post each day throughout the year. Here at HottyToddy.com, we are doing all the leg work to find the information that people want about Ole Miss sports.

Today’s stories come from Ole Miss Sports

Ole Miss Women’s Tennis Falls Short To Kentucky In SEC Tournament

With 11 teams in the Top 25, the Southeastern Conference Championship is loaded, and Thursday night Ole Miss and Kentucky battled for more than three and a half hours indoors at the Currey Tennis Center, before the Wildcats edged the Rebels 4-3.

With Vanderbilt only having five indoor courts, the match came down to court six with freshman Alexa Bortles battling Kentucky senior Morgan Chumney to decide the winner. The first set was tied 4-4, but Chumney won the final two games and then broke early in the second for a 2-0 lead. She held on two win the second set for 6-4, 6-2, to send Kentucky on to the quarterfinals.

The Rebels jumped on the Wildcats in doubles to take the early 1-0 lead. Anna Vrbenska and Tea Jandric won 6-2 at No. 3 and then 47th-ranked Arianne Hartono and Alexa Bortles dominated the No. 2 ranked team of Mami Adachi and Aldila Sutjiadi 6-1 at No. 1 singles to clinch the point.

Kentucky came out firing in singles, winning all five first sets to seize momentum from the Rebels. The Wildcats tied the match when Justina Mikulskyte defeated Jandric 6-3, 6-4 at No. 5 singles and then went up 2-1 with a win on court two.

Kentucky’s Emily Fanning won a huge second set tiebreaker on court four to close out Vrbenska 6-4, 7-6(7) and increase their lead to 3-1.

The Rebels battled back on courts one and three to get to third sets and ended up winning both matches to square the overall match at 3-3. Hartono rallied to beat No. 20 ranked Sutjiadi 2-6, 6-4, 6-0 at No. 1 singles and then senior Zalina Khairudinova finished off a comeback against Adachi at No. 3 singles, 2-6, 6-4, 6-3.

At the net… • The Rebels are now 14-13 on the year • Arianne Hartono earned her 9th ranked win of the year and avenged a loss to Adila Sutjiadi from earlier in the season • Hartono and Alexa Bortles earned their fourth ranked win of the season and second straight top 15 win • Zalina Khairudinova improved to 16-13 overall in singles and avenged an earlier loss to Mami Adachi in the regular season

Complete results

Doubles 1. #47 Bortles/Hartono (OM) def. #2 Adachi/Sutjiadi (UK) 6-1 2. Suk/Khairudinova (OM) vs. Chumney/Parazinskaite (UK) 5-3, sus. 3. Vrbenska/Jandric (OM) def. Mikulskyte/Fanning (UK) 6-2 Order of Finish: 3, 1 Singles 1. #33 Arianne Hartono (OM) def. #20 Adila Sutjiadi (UK) 2. Akvile Parazinskaite (UK) def. #78 Natalie Suk (OM) 6-3, 7-5 3. Zalina Khairudinova (OM) def. Mami Adachi (UK) 2-6, 6-4, 6-3 4. Emily Fanning (UK) def. Anna Vrbenska (OM) 6-4, 7-6(7) 5. Justina Mikulskyte (UK) def. Tea Jandric (OM) 6-3, 6-4 6. Morgan Chumney (UK) def. Alexa Bortles (OM) 6-4, 6-2 Order of Finish: 5, 2, 4, 1, 3, 6

Up next… The Rebels will now wait for the NCAA Championship selections to be announced on May 2 at 4:30 p.m. CT.

For more information on Ole Miss Women’s Tennis, follow the Rebels on Twitter at @OleMissWTennis, on Facebook at OleMissWTennis and on Instagram at OleMissWTennis. Also follow Coach Beyers on Twitter, @MarkBeyers.

Courtesy of Ole Miss Sports

Ole Miss Set for SEC Women’s Golf Championship in Birmingham

The Ole Miss women’s golf team will tee it up with an old conference rival to begin the 2017 SEC Women’s Golf Championship at Greystone Golf and Country Club.

The SEC will utilize a new two-team pairing structure this season, a change from the traditional foursome format. The Rebels will be the first group to the tee box to open the three-day SEC tournament, playing alongside the LSU Tigers.

“We’re playing twosomes this year, so it’ll be a better place of play. We’re excited about that,” said head coach Kory Henkes. “We’re going to go down there and do what we came to do and play some good golf. It’s always a fun week, and it’s a good course. The girls who have played there really like it, so they’re excited to get back out there.”

The SEC Experience Senior Madisen Bentley is one of three Rebels bringing SEC experience to Birmingham, and she’ll be in the first twosome of the tournament, teeing off at the first hole at 8 a.m. CT Friday morning. The University Place, Washington native will look to make up for a difficult first trip to Greystone.

“It’s Madisen’s last year, and she didn’t have her best performance last year at SECs, so I know she wants a little revenge on the course,” Henkes said. “I think it sets up well for her, she just struggled last year. She’s hitting it a lot better now, and I think it’ll be a good week for her.”

Next up is another senior, Maria Toennessen, who brings more SEC experience than the rest of her teammates combined. The Grimstad, Norway native will be making her fourth SEC Championship appearance. She finished tied for 37th in this event as a junior, including an even-par 72 on the final day.

The only other Rebel with an SEC tournament appearance is sophomore Martina Flori. The Montecatini Terme, Italy native is No. 1 in the Ole Miss lineup, and for good reason. She’s currently playing the best golf of her collegiate career.

In March, she had what was, at the time, her best career result, an eighth-place finish at the 3M Augusta Invitational. Then in April, she shattered that, tying for second at El Tigre Invitational, where she shot a career-best 5-under (67) in Round 3. She’s been hot all season, and Henkes believes that stemmed from her breakout performance at SECs last year: 73-75-74–222 to tie for 20th.

“Martina played great last year. I think that was kind of Marti’s breakout tournament,” Henkes said. “It really got her going for this year.”

The Newcomers Finally, the Rebels have two golfers making their first ever appearances at the SEC Championships.

Freshman Pi-Lillebi Hermansson holds the No. 2 slot, and like the golfer at No. 1, Hermansson is also coming off her best collegiate finish. The Djursholm, Sweden native tied for 12th two weeks ago in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, giving her momentum going into what will likely be the first of many SEC tournament appearances.

Junior Katy Harris will take a different kind of momentum to Birmingham. After winning the final tournament of the fall, the St. Simons Island, Georgia native hasn’t had the spring season she hoped for, but she knows what it takes to compete against the best. In her tournament win at the Palmetto Intercollegiate, she went head-to-head against one of the top players in collegiate golf and came out with her third victory.

“Katy’s a competitor,” Henkes said. “You put her in there against some of the best, she wants to win. I think you’ll see the competitiveness come out of her once we get there and see all the teams.”

The Outlook When Harris transferred from Mercer after her sophomore season, a chance to play in the Southeastern Conference was at the top of her wish list, and there won’t be any better competition than in Birmingham this weekend.

The SEC boasts eight teams in the top 40, and all 14 of its members are ranked in the top 70 nationally, including No. 1 Alabama at the top.

“They’re excited about it,” Henkes said. “With golf, you’re not playing just SEC teams each week, you’re playing all kinds of teams. Some of these teams we haven’t seen all season. So I know they always get excited about getting to play in the SEC Championship. It’s tough from top to bottom, really tight competition. So it’ll be fun to test their abilities against the best of the best.”

Last season, the Rebels performed impressively against the best. Ole Miss entered the SEC Championships ranked last in the league and finished seventh. Of course, in golf, it isn’t player vs. player—it’s player vs. course, and the Rebels are eager to see what they can do on this surface.

“It’s a course they like and are excited about,” Henkes said. “Having that good mental picture about the course is always a good thing going into it, especially when it’s a course you like and can play well on. It gives them a good attitude going into the tournament.”

With the course mapped out, the Rebels have been sharpening their short game. One of the best ball-striking teams in the nation, the Rebels worked this week on their weaknesses: wedges.

“Practice been good. We’ve made it really hard on them,” Henkes said. “The one thing that has been holding us back is our wedge game. I think we’re a top-10 team in the country in ball striking, and then if you look at our short game and wedge numbers, they’re just not up to par. The girls have really enjoyed the practices, even though they’ve been tough and challenging. They’re like, ‘This is good, this is what we need.’ So we’ll see if it pans out this week.”

Courtesy of Ole Miss Sports

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[oliviakaase-blog]

The situational approach stresses that leadership is composed of both a directive and a supportive dimension, and that each should be applied appropriately in a given situation. To determine what is needed in a situation, a leader must evaluate her or his followers and assess how competent and committed they are to perform a given goal. Based on the assumption that followers’ skills and motivation vary over time, situational leadership suggests that leaders should change the degree to which they are directive or supportive to meet the changing needs of followers. Leadership style consists of the behavior pattern of a person who attempts to influence others. It includes both directive behaviors and supportive behaviors. Directive behaviors help group members accomplish goals by giving directions, establishing goals and methods or evaluation, setting timelines, defining roles, and showing how the goals are to be achieved. Directive behaviors clarify, often with one-way communication, what is to be done, how it is to be done, and who is responsible for doing it. Supportive behaviors help group members feel comfortable about themselves. Supportive behaviors involve two-way communication and responses that show social and emotional support to others. Some examples of supportive behaviors include asking for input, solving problems, praising, sharing information about oneself, and listening. Transformational Leadership is a process that changes and transforms people. It is concerned with emotions, values, ethics, standards, and long-term goals. Transformational leadership involves an exceptional form of influence that moves followers to accomplish more than what is usually expected of them. It is a process that often incorporates charismatic and visionary leadership. Transformational leadership can be used to describe a wide range of leadership, from very specific attempts to influence followers on a one-to-one level, to very broad attempts to influence whole organizations and even entire cultures. Followers and leaders are inextricably bound together in the transformational process. Servant Leadership is an approach that offers a unique perspective. It is focusing on leadership from the point of view of the leader and his or her behaviors. Servant leadership emphasizes that leaders be attentive to the concerns of their followers, emphasize with them, and nurture them. Servant leaders put followers first, empower them, and help them develop their full personal capacities. A softball team’s success on the field often comes down to how well they practice. Whether it’s strategies for organizing a scrimmage to making the most of batting practice. It’s not how you start, it’s how you finish. Sometimes it can be a headache to be a softball coach, especially if you’re coaching college players. A softball coach works with the women on a team to improve their skill so they can dominate at their next game. Just like a baseball coach, a softball coach might have a specialized role on the team, working as a batting coach, a pitching coach, or a head coach. Each of these positions has a different set of responsibilities. As with any sport, practice is a huge part of your job duties as a softball coach. You organize your team’s practice sessions to work on the different weakness you see during play. At the collegiate level, practice lasts for a while. As the team practices or plays, the coach works hard to ensure that their players get clear direction and strong motivation. Just as a teacher might encourage a student to keep working on a hard problem, a softball coach makes sure the team keeps going, playing hard through difficult games. The softball community has been blessed with an immense amount of empowering, passionate softball coaches that give a large amount of their time to help the hundreds of thousands of girls out there who play ball, take their game to the next level. We believe there are certain qualities that make a great coach. A great softball coach realizes first and foremost that he or she is dealing with children who happen to be human beings. They know that underneath every jersey, lies a soul. A softball coach is fair, brave, and honest all at once and teaches the game and plays with integrity. A coach challenges the girls as individuals and as a team. Great coaches do not settle for mediocrity. Instead they empower success. They know he or she is not just coaching softball, but is also coaching life. The lessons learned on the field translate to the rest of the girls lives. A coach is a leader. Great coaches lead by example, lead with respect, and remain a leader whether winning or losing. Realizing that winning is nothing more than a temporary state and that the real measure of coaching success is in the constant evolution and growth of their players. Our coach reminds us to treat each follower differently based on the goal at hand and to seek opportunities to help followers learn new skills and become more confident in our work. I have been playing for Coach Reekstin for two years now. Over these past two years I have seen her coaching abilities and leadership qualities. Even though Coach Reekstin is our head coach, she relates to us on personal levels and is always there in good times and in bad. Her coaching abilities have grown from last year to this year. We have gone from a losing team of being last in conference to being a team where we can make it to the conference tournament. Coach Reekstin has put aside what happened last year and worked her rear end off to make sure that we do better this year. She has sacrificed her time to be with us every day for hours. This year our practices have purposes and relate to techniques that we as a team need to work on. Coach Reekstin has influenced her team in more ways than one. She has taught us to be a team and set goals not only as a team but personally as well. She is very supportive in all that we doing academically and through athletics. Now that I am in my second year and about to be in my third, I have looked back on myself as a freshman and things that I have been through and changed. I do thank my coaches because they are like a second family. I only have two more years left of playing ball and I know that Coach Reekstin has a few more tricks up her sleeve to shape me into the woman that I will be mentally and spiritually.

[corneliussteinbeck]

How Internalized Misogyny Is Holding You Back

Note: Before digging in, I want you to know that though it isn’t my intention, it’s likely that some things I say in this article might make you angry—and that’s totally normal. Know that my intent is to free you from judgment, not impose more judgment upon you. I encourage you to question your feelings and examine where they’re coming from.

Misogyny. This word has been coming up a lot, particularly over the past year.

What Is Misogyny?

Oxford lists misogyny as “Dislike of, contempt for, or ingrained prejudice against women.” Merriam keeps it simple and too-the-point with an abrasive, “A hatred of women.”

There are many levels of misogyny and specifically internalized misogyny. In its most simplistic of explanations, internalized misogyny is when that contempt, prejudice, and hatred is turned inward, toward oneself. It can also extend toward other women who surround us in our daily lives—a mother, daughter, friend, or lover.

The complexities of internalized misogyny are astounding, and when being examined for the first time, can feel overwhelming. Men and women are affected by it very differently on subconscious levels, and an article like this merely scratches the surface. My hope is that it will serve as an awakening (or reminder) that will help set the course for further conversation and self-examination.

What Does Misogyny Look Like?

Misogyny is tricky; it isn’t always a clear action. In fact, self-proclaimed feminists themselves can sometimes be the worst offenders. When we think of judgment or hatred toward women, it’s not hard to see the extreme outcomes playing out before our eyes. In barbaric and aggressive senses, we’ve been taught that lust’s blame rests in a woman’s hands. There are many religious and ancient texts one can pick from to learn more about the overt and extreme history of misogyny. By default in our society, the blame for anything involving temptation or a loss of control is more often than not placed on a woman and her devious ways or irresponsible choices. It isn’t the overt, but rather the more subtle and subconscious undertones that I want to bring out into the light.

It’s the overall belittling and judgment in which we often may not even realize we ourselves take part. It’s no secret that the current social climate has had its fill of political correctness. Perhaps it’s because “we” think it’s enough to say, “Women can do whatever they want, ok? Get over it. Let’s move on.” It’s not enough.

I imagine that right now, some of you may be thinking, “That’s not me. I definitely don’t have any misogynistic beliefs.” But that’s the thing.

Sometimes these beliefs are so deeply ingrained that we don’t see them for what they are. I encourage you to take a closer look.

How can you know if you are engaging in misogynistic thinking? Here are some questions you can ask yourself that will help you see things from a different perspective:

Do you tend to value, trust, and respect male teachers more than female teachers?

Do you catch yourself saying, “I need a man’s opinion” on various subjects?

Do you not exercise or train the way you want to because you’ve been told that women shouldn’t do certain types of exercise (like lifting weights), or that muscles aren’t feminine or “look ugly” on women?

Do you use phrases like “Real men…” or “Real women…”

Do you compete only against other women for men or women’s attention?

Do you judge women as better or worse based solely on their appearance?

Do you think women are catty or full of drama?

Do you say things like, “I’m only friends with guys because women are/aren’t…”

Do you say phrases like “Men are just like that,” or “That’s just how women are.”

Do you “slut shame” women for the same behaviors you find completely acceptable from men?

Do you feel you aren’t worthy of loyalty in friendships and romantic relationships?

Do you feel unsafe or uncertain when a woman is in charge of tasks?

Do you feel that being on time or being prepared matters less when dealing with women?

Do you think women are physically weak and need to be taken care of by men?

Do you think men should be “Alphas” and women should be submissive?

Do you think there are jobs that aren’t suitable for women or that women shouldn’t be allowed to have?

Do you underplay women’s talents and overinflate men’s?

Do you think all women should strive to achieve one specific body type?

The way in which we view ourselves and our gender can affect how we eat, date, train, prepare for education, and dream. If there was ever a topic in need of deeper examination to truly understand what is going on behind the curtain in our own minds, it’s this one.

My Own Misogyny

Growing up, I rarely identified with women. When I was a kid, society thrust upon me the idea that I had to like pink things, fluffy things, sparkly things, and fragile things. In fact, I hated it all. I was your typical tomboy. While I hate that term now, back then it was the only identifier I knew.

From a young age, I was taught certain ideas about gender traits:

“Female” traits: emotional, overly sensitive, physically weak, less intelligent, followers, easy to manipulate, nurturing, frilly clothing, needy behavior, scared, clumsy, and kind.

“Male” traits: strong, stoic, violent, leaders, manipulative, loners, smart, capable, mean, practical clothing, trustworthy, athletic and dominating.

These are obviously not traits I agree with today. Again, this was how my young mind worked. My life was far from typical or normal. I was a hard-living kid from the streets who learned early on that a good punch and smooth talk saved me a lot more than thigh-highs and platform shoes ever could. Nonetheless, it seemed like being a guy offered way more perks than being a girl. Looking at the list subconsciously presented to us on the day we’re born, it was an easy call. How would I not either, want to be a guy or, at the very least, look to them as leaders and saviors over women?

I was wrong.

In my life — a sociological study in its own right — I have learned that men can gossip, women can save the day, either can manipulate, and both can be kind or cruel.

My theories were gradually ripped apart in the face of my own experiences. Then I studied.

I explored history, gender studies, psychology, and philosophy. I studied my own sexuality, why I like the things I do and why I don’t. I started seeing misogyny (cautious about not confirming my own biases) in everything around me. The stories we tell, the way we say things, and to whom we say them. I learned to think critically, and above all, I learned to acknowledge the sex (not gender) of an individual.

It’s crucial to acknowledge that along with society’s prescribed gender roles comes a certain set of privileges (or lack thereof) that can’t be ignored.

The Importance of Understanding Privilege

A common misunderstanding about privilege is that it can be neatly categorized, like “white men at the top, and women of color at the bottom.” The truth is that privilege exists in varying degrees as it bends and weaves across intersections of society. It is also true that men, especially white men, are still privileged.

Bear with me…

It’s hard to deny that money, location, education, and other factors influence our life experiences and circumstances. Not acknowledging these interwoven factors often leads people to say, “Well, that isn’t fair! How can you say I’ve got it better when they are _____ and have it better than me! I work hard, and I’m not getting anywhere just because I’m _____.”

Privilege isn’t a right, it’s a privilege.

All it means is that, subconsciously throughout our lives and in all forms of media culture, some of us more than others have been psychologically pumped up, groomed, and cheered on in ways we’ve likely never noticed—and we reaped the benefits. Given the opportunity, you could lead due to having an advantage that you may not even be aware of having.

In simplistic examples, people are often quick to say, “Well, obviously that’s not fair, and X individual has an advantage.” Disagreements arise when the topics get more subtle and sociologically nuanced, and people quibble over whether a disadvantage is merely a confidence issue or one having to do with gender. Make no mistake about it, in our society there is an advantage to being a man.

Even at the gym, this subconscious privilege is present. When a man steps up to a heavy weighted bar, before he ever picks it up he already has a remarkable amount of men “with” him. He has superheroes, average Joes, Rocky, villains, athletes, saviors, his brothers, fathers, friends, gods, warriors by the billions—not thousands, not millions, but billions—standing behind him. Thousands of years of history, wars fought over land and sea, victories and stories of champions galore. David, Goliath, Jesus, and God himself. They’re all right there behind him when he steps up to that bar.

Women? Let me make it clear. We have Rosa Parks. Susan B. Anthony. Corazon Aquino. Malala Yousafzai. I could go on but it wouldn’t take you long to see that a common theme of their rise to legendary status was oppression. What do they get for that? More often than not, they get told growing up “You throw like a girl.” “Not bad, for a girl.” “But you’re just a girl.”

Even one of our most popular sports culture movies’ famous phrase is, “There’s no crying in baseball.”

Do you get it? Do you see it? That’s subconscious privilege.

So many movies we watch and books we read subtly suggest that women are less. In these stories, women will appeal to the power and submissiveness of a male dominated society. Women will believe that they are catty, competing, or left wanting. Stories in which women are strong, are an anomaly. It’s so unusual for women to be the strong hero, that when a string of just a few movies with a strong female lead are released, the response from both men and many women often sounds like this: “C’mon. Stop trying to please the liberal agenda. This role would be better with a guy in the lead, and you know it.” (That is an actual comment with 3,203 likes on Facebook about the new Rogue One movie.)

This isn’t about being more masculine or rejecting gender roles. There is nothing wrong with your gender identity relating to something to you. However you are more than your sex or literal genitalia. This is about undoing centuries of oppressive dialogue. It isn’t about ignoring the facts, but instead facing them. This is not about being an angry feminist, conjuring up the tired caricature of the man-hating lesbian who burns her bra and calls the penis a “phallic oppressor.” While that sentence was fun to type, no, it’s not about that. This also isn’t about taking anything away from anyone. What this is about is learning to give to yourself. And it needs to start with the way we treat women (including ourselves).

A Few Exercises For Improving the Language We Use for Ourselves and Others

Instead of, ”I can do anything a man can do,” try, ”I can do anything I want to do.”

It might seem nitpicky, but eliminating the “them” vs “us” narrative, is crucial in the fight for equal rights and against inequality in gender, sexuality, and race. One gender should not be the metric by which we all measure ourselves and others.

Instead of, “I’m like one of the guys,” try, ”I like what I like.”

If women like something that is stereotypically masculine or “manly” things, they are given extra credit for not being “prissy” or “high-maintenance.” They get rewarded for “manning-up” and being the girl who can simply be “one of the guys.”

There is no such thing, not even for men. The notion that a person is defined by liking any one thing or activity because of their gender should be an eroding concept. Instead of focusing on what you should and should not be or like, embrace what you actually like and what makes you feel most “you.” Do that, and you will notice gender stereotypes fade away.

Instead of, “Lift like a man,’ try, “Lift for what you want.”

There is no male or female way of training. There are ways to train which will improve muscular growth. There are ways to train which will improve cardiovascular health. There are even way to train to support your ability to consume mass quantities of hot dogs in one sitting in under 10 minutes. However, there is no one way to train like a man or a woman. If you want to be strong, get strong. If you want to be curvy, be curvy. If you are a 5’4 guy who wants to have better legs in heels, I love a reverse lunge!

Instead of, ”We are all equal,” try… “We are all equal.”

No change. Because that’s the very meaning.

Too often, I see faux empowerment or “feminism.” I’ve seen women chant the virtues of owning their sex and power, but are doing so because they are mimicking a caricature of what they think a man is. Knocking women who want to wear makeup or who want to embrace traditional gender roles doesn’t make a woman empowered. Enjoying sex and bucking conservative society doesn’t make a woman a feminist. It also doesn’t make a woman a feminist to pick only one body type. Feminists come in all shapes and sizes. Muscular, thin, round, tall, short, medium; It doesn’t matter what shape you want to achieve as long as you’re staying true to your desires, rather than pursuing an ideal you’ve been instructed by someone else to pursue because it’s what you “should” be or what you “should” look like.

Phrases like “strong is the new skinny” or “strong is the new sexy” are as limiting as stating that muscular women look “too manly.” Different people find different aesthetics appealing. Whether you want all the muscles, or you just want to feel strong and take care of your bones but prefer a less muscled physique, what is important is that your training goals reflect and satisfy your preference.

Check in with your desires and motivations and where they are coming from. One choice isn’t better or worse than the other if it’s what appeals to you.

A Homework Assignment: Re-examining Your Goals (A.k.a: What Do You Want?)

If reading this article overwhelms and frustrates you, it’s okay. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if this subject makes a lot of women feel overwhelmed or frustrated, or both.

Go with these feelings. I want you to put pen to paper (or fingers to keys) and think about the questions and thoughts that come up for you. Does any of this make you want to reevaluate your training goals? Have you been living for you, or for someone else? What do you really want and who is it for—and why?

If you read this and think, “Damn, I’ve been more unfair to myself and other women than I realized…” understand you are not alone. I’ve been there. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but it’s safe to say on some level we have all been there. As we start to see things a little more clearly, we can start working toward examining what it is that we really want, who we want to be, and why.

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