#I also shouldn’t be in the position to always be educating people

[itspupppycat]

I’m very much tired of the internet. I’m tired of people using mental health disorders like it’s perfume or something “that’s how my OCD is set up” “that gave me ptsd” etc. I see it all over the place and it really upsets me. People who live with these disorders don’t typically go around talking like that. But I feel like an asshole for saying that because what if these people actually have the disorders they fling around but on the other hand I don’t like what that does for people who really do deal with these disorders. I don’t like the way I feel in my body when people fling around ptsd like that. It’s a real disorder that I experience and it is not a quirkily little thing I throw out there when something slightly upsets me. Instead I have insane intrusive thoughts and I cry violently when I think I’ve done something wrong bc of how often my mom was physically violent toward me for “doing something wrong”. Like please be more mindful of other people’s experiences and remember that therapy language is for therapy.

[konigbabe]

like real people do

Pairing: ID!Leon Kennedy x fem!teacher!reader | single dad AU

Word count: 5.8k

Tags/warnings: no y/n; fluff; eventual smut; p-in-v; slice of life; gendered female reader; gendered female anatomy; original kid Kennedy character

Summary: He's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit; yet, he's your student's father. Handsome. Confident. Alluring. But off limits–at least he should be.

a/n: Inspired by @yeyinde’s ask. Also, canon ID!Leon is around 29 but Leon in this '"universe" is aged up to be in his 30s (age won't be specified but I imagine him to be in his mid-to-late 30s).

divider by @benkeibear [source]

series masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man hard to resist; his confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily– “So? It’s just dinner.”

The innocence of children always manages to brighten up even the darkest of days, their smiles and eagerness to learn contagious; filling your heart with positivity. It's a feeling that's hard to come by as an adult; life's challenges tend to chip away at your soul and slowly rob you of that childhood magic.

As the clock strikes five and your shift comes to an end, the school falls into an eerie silence. A lingering sense of relief washes over you when leaving the building; you've done your part in shaping young minds.

Walking out the front door, the warmth of the sun caresses your skin, its rays sliding around your bare arms like silk.

Twisting the key in the lock, your eyes catch a glimpse of slight movement from the corner of your vision. Turning your head, you see a little girl perched on the concrete steps below, her delicate features illuminated by the warm glow of the sun.

Her hair, a cascade of light brown waves, frames her chubby cheeks and the crown of her head is adorned with blonde highlights that shimmer like golden threads.

She turns to you when you address her, slowly stepping down to her level.

"What are you still doing here," you sit down, her small backpack creating a wall between your bodies.

As you sit side by side with the little girl, basking in the comforting embrace of the sunlight, she kicks her legs up; eyes up front, both of you watch the cars pass by on the street.

The Washington Spring air’s filled with the sweet scent of blooming cherry blossoms, carried on a gentle breeze that rustles through the trees. The distant sounds of children playing in a nearby park mingle with the honking of cars and the chirping of birds, creating a symphony of noise that signifies the arrival of spring in the bustling city.

"Waiting for daddy," she says with a hint of excitement in her voice.

The little girl looks up at you, her eyes full of wonder and innocence. You can't help but wonder about the mysterious Mr Kennedy and his absence; an enigma surrounding his name.

Like a forgotten toy left on the shelf, the girl's father remains absent from any involvement in her education. Despite several months passing since her admission to your class, there has been no sign of him. No parent-teacher meetings, no Father's Day celebration, nothing.

An enigma.

"Speaking of," your voice trails off for a moment, "How’s your daddy doing?" you question her. You shouldn’t; it goes beyond your job description to put a kid in situations like these. But still–

Her eyes, a vivid shade of cerulean, sparkle like sunlit water as she gazes at you; smile wide upon the mention of her father, the young kid toys with the straps on her bag.

"He’s busy."

A pang of understanding pinches your heart.

–his presence (or rather the absurd lack of it) keeps gnawing at your brain.

"He fights monsters," the girl adds after a moment of silence; her tone more serious. It's as if she's describing a mythical hero, fighting off beasts in some far-off land.

"He seems to be busy quite a lot," you smile to ease the topic; well aware that the girl, as bright as she is, surely catches on as you keep asking the same question every week, "is your mom coming to the parent–teacher meeting?"

The girl shakes her head before she speaks, "I don’t know my mom."

Oh.

You know you shouldn’t push more; well aware of the unprofessionalism you’re displaying.

"The woman who picks you up–"

"–aunt Claire," the kid corrects you, "I’m sorry for interrupting, miss teacher."

You smile, trying to put her at ease. It's clear that she's been brought up with good manners.

Lost in how to answer her, you almost don't hear the sound of a car approaching. The girl jumps up, her face alight with excitement. A low rumble reverberates through the air as a sleek black SUV glides up to the curb, its shiny exterior reflecting the warm rays of the sun.

The tinted windows obscure the view inside the car, adding an air of mystery to the vehicle. As the car comes to a stop, the quiet hum of the engine fades to a gentle purr, and the driver's door swings open.

The girl grabs her backpack at the same time a man steps out of the car; you’re able to only see the light brown hair decorating his head.

"Daddy," the girl yelps in excitement. You stand up, dusting the invisible dust from your jeans.

He stands tall, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of the crisp white shirt, tucked tightly into the blue dress pants. A single button undone on his collar, revealing the curve of his clavicles. The sun glints off his aviator sunglasses, hiding his eyes from view. He approaches the little girl with a warm smile as she runs into her father, you presume; standing still, watching the situation unfold before your eyes.

Lowering himself to her level, he extends his arms, inviting her in. She eagerly accepts, wrapping her little arms around his neck in a welcoming embrace.

"Hey there, pup," you manage to hear his voice; low and soft. Gentle. "Sorry I’m late; got held up by paperwork. Y’know the drill."

The kid chuckles before pulling away, a sound so pure and innocent it brings a smile to your face.

Standing back up, his face turns towards you. You're struck by his imposing presence, the way he commands attention without even trying. His chiseled jawline is dusted with a light stubble, giving him an air of ruggedness. He moves with confidence towards you, one hand enclosed with his daughter’s.

The girl tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, introducing you before he even reaches your standing point–to which he smiles gently.

"Well, nice to meet you," his hand extended in greeting, "I’m Leon Kennedy. Her dad," he nods towards the girl.

"Mr Kennedy," you murmur, taking his hand in yours; noting the callouses on his palm.

As your eyes travel up his arm, they catch sight of a fresh bandage peeking out from under his slightly rolled up sleeve. But it's not until you look up at his face that you see the true extent of his weariness. Small scratches mark his jaw, subtle hues of purple and yellow decorate his cheekbone like a watercolor painting.

It’s clear that he's been through a rough patch. Makes you wander back to the girl’s words–

("He fights monsters.")

–and maybe he does. In some twisted sense.

"I actually wanted to speak with you," you release his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin lingering on your fingertips., "are you free next Tuesday? Around one PM?"

"Am I in trouble," he chuckles; the stretch of his lips exposing a slight scar on his lower lip.

The girl tilts her head, eyes studying you intently. You can't help but notice the slight beauty marks across her neck, the softness of her features, the way she looks up at her father with curiosity.

"Not really; I just need to discuss some matters with you."

"Okay," he responds, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, yet he remains stoic. Posed. "Sure."

"I’ll see you then," you nod and take your leave, but not before stealing a few glances at his back as he turns away from you. It’s impossible not to notice how his broad shoulders strain against the fabric, or how his hair cascades over his forehead; tousled yet somehow perfectly in place.

The weekend flies by, the days blurring together until suddenly it's Tuesday.

Despite his daughter's reassurances from yesterday that he'll be here, the uncertainty of whether he'll actually show up still grips you tightly.

A knock on the open door disturbs your grading.

"Mr Kennedy," you remark upon his arrival. The pen falls onto the desk with a clunk; back straighten, you invite him to sit on the chair prepared for him beforehand.

He’s dressed more casual–the black, expensive looking leather jacket squeaks against the wooden chair as he sits down after a simple "Hello". The faint but distinct aroma of sharp, citrusy notes wafts from his collar; the refreshing and invigorating aroma that catches your attention before your eyes trail to the bandage on his wrist.

Clearly seeing the way your eyes subconsciously linger on the piece of medical tape, Leon puts his other hand over it, shielding your view. Silently focusing your attention back on his eyes; the same blue hues as his daughter’s.

Sitting before you, legs spread apart, the undeniable similarities between him and his daughter are glaringly apparent. The way he holds himself commands respect, his posture erect and confident.

"Mr Kennedy, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you in person."

Fingers interlocking as you lean on your elbows, his gaze following your every movement like a predator stalking its prey; almost as if he’s sizing you up. His eyes watchful.

"Okay," he responds casually, a hint of question behind the simple word.

You clear your throat before continuing. "Your daughter is a remarkable child," a small smile accompanying your words. "She's well-behaved, intelligent, and often surpasses her peers."

Leon nods, lips pressed together.

"Got that from her mother, probably," he remarks. Almost bites back. Jaw tightening.

Leaning back, your fingers drum a quick rhythm against your desk.

"But we’re not here to evaluate your daughter; but you, actually, Mr Kennedy."

Leon’s brows arch up, highlighting the soft surprise that flashes across his face. The subtle shift in his expression does not go unnoticed by you.

"Didn’t know I was being evaluated," his voice trails off.

You nod in acknowledgement, sensing the man's confusion.

"You’re aware of our school assemblies, right?"

His face remains stoic, so you continue.

"Father's Day, parent-teacher meetings, career days, sports day," you list a few, hoping to spark the idea in the man’s mind.

"So," he leans back against the chair, arms folded on his chest.

With an exhale, upon your failed attempt to make him take the hint, you resolve to explaining the school rules to him.

"Our school mandates that the child’s parent or legal guardian be present at at least three of those assemblies per school year. You haven’t been present on any of them, not even last year."

He lifts his chin slightly and raises his eyebrows, eyes fixed on you with a look that suggests he's waiting for more information or an explanation.

"There’s actually a policy within out school that allows teachers to prohibit the child from participating in certain activities or events if a parent is not present–"

"–you’re kidding," Leon interjects, his tone laced with disbelief.

Raising your hand, you stop him from continuing, "and your daughter is a great student, so I don't expect that to happen to her. But with your continuous absence, she's at risk of being excluded from certain activities."

"My job keeps me busy. And I don’t really have a say in it," Leon retorts.

Arms still folded across his chest, his brows furrow in frustration. Defence sets inside his flesh; jaw slightly twitching, his eyes bore into yours.

"Maybe her mother could–"

"–not an option," he stops you before you manage to finish the sentence.

You nod in understanding. Leaving forward, you hope to appeal to Leon’s sense of responsibility a little more.

"In that case; we’re having a sports day this Friday. If you could just show up to support your daughter, I could mark it as you being present."

Leon chuckles, his voice smooth. Looking out the nearby window, he stares into the field right next to the school for a moment, deep in thought. The sunlight filtering through the window casts a warm glow on his sharp features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.

Silence passes before he speaks up, "Wouldn't a dinner suffice instead?"

You clear your throat and try to compose yourself, feeling your heartbeat pick up at the unexpected request. "That's not very appropriate, Mr Kennedy, " you say softly, attempting to hide the fluttering in your chest. "Let's see each other at the soccer match."

"Sure. I’ll see what I can do; is that all?" he asks, head turned to the side. You gaze upon the now exposed wound on his jawline, vaguely resembling a cat’s claw scratch. The bruise colors on his cheek faded over the past few days.

"Yes," you assure him.

"Y’know, this whole thing could’ve been an email."

You smile wryly, "Would you react to that email?"

Looking back at you, there’s a flicker of mischievous dancing in his eyes. Leon's gaze holds yours for a moment longer, and you find yourself drawn to the subtle crinkles at the corners of his eyes, evidence of his amusement.

"You got me there."

The sun blankets the field in gold, casting elongated shadows of the children as they scamper around in pursuit of the ball. It’s still quite early. The air’s crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and; sound of excited cheers and shouts echo throughout the surrounding area.

It’s comforting. Soothing in a way.

With a group of teachers, you watch the little girl darting across the field, her movements resembling that of a graceful gazelle as she expertly maneuvers the ball. She weaves in and out of the other players, a look of determination etched on her youthful face.

A chorus of her name echoes across the field, drifting like a wispy trail of smoke. The other kids cheer her on as she makes her way towards the goal, her tiny frame seemingly defying the laws of physics with her quick and nimble movements.

A round of applause erupts when the ball meets the back of the net. You watch as the little girl’s teammates rush to congratulate her.

"And who is that," a woman’s voice tears your gaze away from the cheerful moment, hands stopping mid-clasp.

Curious, you look at her. The other teachers already gazing to your right. To the parking lot.

Leaning against the sleek car, its design demanding attention; even from further away, he exudes an air of quiet confidence that's impossible to ignore. Eyes covered by another set of sunglasses, the same leather jacket strains against his folded arms.

Mr Kennedy.

Leon Kennedy.

Something about him always seems to draw attention; to captivate anyone who catches a glimpse of him.

It’s odd. Uncanny–

You should know better than to think in such a way about your student’s father.

–and you wonder if it’s just you who feels that way.

As the group of teachers chatter, a voice pipes up, "Is he someone's father?"

"He has to be," the conversation carries on, "or he wouldn’t be here–"

"–or he’s a creep."

Turning to face the person who said it, you scoff at the teacher before speaking up.

"He’s her dad," You nod in the direction of the girl with a beaming smile on your face, as she energetically waves at Leon. His response, though polite, is less enthusiastic, evident by the restrained movement of his hand.

Escaping the gossip, you follow the white boundary lines of the field towards your target, the soft grass crunching beneath your feet. Leon's eyes are fixed on the field, his sharp features softened by the spring glow.

But he's quick to notice your approach, turning his head ever so slightly to the left. It makes you feel naked as he shamelessly watches you coming closer.

"Mr Kennedy," you greet him.

As you approach, the warm spring breeze ruffles your hair, the sweet scent of blooming flowers mixing with his heady aroma. Posture relaxed, his broad shoulders almost blend with the darkness of the car behind him.

"Just call me Leon."

Eyes back on the field, a tinge of carelessness in his voice, a small tug on his lips. Hesitating momentarily, you put your hands in your pockets.

"I’d rather stick to being professional."

It makes him chuckle; voice rumbling with amusement–

"You’re making me feel old," he teases.

–making your chest tighten. His words brush against your ears like the gentle rustling of leaves on a cool autumn breeze.

The lightness in his tone, the hint of playfulness, stirs something deep within you.

It’s your turn to return the light laugh. The sound mingling with the chirping of birds in the distance.

"It’s good that you’re here. Your daughter seems to appreciate it as well."

Leon's eyes flicker to his daughter, still surrounded by her teammates; a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah," he says, the warmth in his voice evident, "she’s been talking about this game for a week."

"She’s really talented in sports."

A cool breeze brushes against your skin as he removes his sunglasses. Eyes reminiscent of the clear waters of a mountain lake–the color seems to deepen and intensify as he looks at you, drawing you in.

"That she got from me," the corners of his mouth curve up into a charming smile. His voice deep and smooth, like a glass of well-aged whiskey. You can sense his confidence, the way he carries himself with ease, and it's hard not to be drawn in.

It's alluring. The way he exudes a sense of self-assurance.

Smiling lightly, hand resting on the cool hood of his car, you both watch the children race each other. Cheers fill the soccer fields.

Even in momentarily silence, it’s comfortable–

"Well, she certainly inherited some good genes, Mr Kennedy."

–there’s no awkward cluster around the two of you. It’s natural.

It draws Leon’s attention back to you. Arms folded, his fingers sneak around his bicep, gripping gently as he shamelessly looks at you. His face a canvas of chiseled features and sharp lines. reminiscent of a Greek statue carved out of marble. A faint scent of musk and cologne lingers around him, blending with the sweet aroma of blooming flowers in the air.

"Just so you know, miss teacher," his voice soft melody that lingers in your mind, "the dinner invitation still stands."

It’s tempting.

The words hang in the air, tantalizingly close.

A whistle cuts through the sounds of the soccer field, interrupting the moment. Leon’s attention briefly flickers towards his daughter, checking as the little girl sprints towards the two of you, before returning to your face.

"And I should remind you, Mr Kennedy, that it’s not very appropriate to ask your daughter’s teacher out."

The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man is hard to resist though. His confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily–

"So? It’s just dinner," his tone is almost conspiratorial, as if he's sharing a secret with you.

–it makes you feel alive.

(Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s not strictly forbidden.

Only frown upon. Harshly.)

It's like he's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit.

"Daddy," his daughter doesn’t hesitate, jumping straight into her father’s arm; yet Leon isn’t phased at all, hoisting her into his arms, "Did you see my goal?"

"I did, pup," arm sneaking underneath her knees, you notice the bandage gone, "you killed it."

"Miss teacher," the kid addresses you, hand sneaking into her dad’s hair to hold him tightly while looking up at you with bright, curious eyes, "Did you see me? Did you see my goal?"

"Of course," you answer with a warm smile, "you did great. Seems like you got good genes for it."

The little girl beams with pride, hugging her father even tighter. Leon chuckles, the sound low and rich, and nods his head in agreement.

"I’ll see you on Monday then; pleasure seeing you, Mr Kennedy," as you turn to leave, you can't help but feel a twinge of regret.

The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by occasional laughter and the clink of glasses. The dim lighting casts a warm glow over the wooden booths and bar, giving the place a cozy feel. The smell of fried food and beer lingers in the air, adding to the ambiance of the traditional American pub.

From a corner, a live band plays classic rock tunes, and the patrons nod along to the rhythm, singing softly under their breaths. It's a perfect spot to unwind after a long workday, catch up with friends. Or even make new connections.

Your little freedom.

Away from responsibilities. From the stress of daily life.

This is your escape, your sanctuary, where you can let loose and just be yourself.

Coming to the bartender, you order another round for the group you’re with, only to be taken back by a familiar voice saying your name.

Turning to look at the man by your right, the white stripes on his jacket contrast against the dim, warm ambiance of the room. Fingers tapping on the rim of the glass of whiskey, he takes a sip, his gaze fixed on you; the amber liquid catching the light, casting a glow across his features.

"Mr Kennedy," you exhale, almost in disbelief by the sudden situation.

Mind whirling with surprise and curiosity; the bar is chill against your exposed arm as you lean onto it, turning to look at the man by your side.

"Wouldn’t expect a teacher to be in a bar on Friday night," he smirks, the corner of his lips curving up in amusement.

"We’re not as frigid as people have us to be," you replied, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips.

Voice like a smoldering flame, waiting to be ignited, he tilts the glass towards you, "Oh, really."

The allure of his presence tangible.

A gravitational pull.

"Well, Mr Kennedy," the words roll off your tongue smoothly, "I suppose we all have our ways of letting loose after a hard week."

He chuckles, the sound deep and throaty; making your pulse quicken, heartbeat pick up. "I couldn't agree more," he says, taking another sip of his drink.

You study him for a moment; taking in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, how his hair fal across his forehead in a disheveled yet stylish way. There’s something undeniably attractive about him, something that draws you in against all odds–

–like a moth to a flame.

Life has a funny way of working out.

You should stop.

But ‘should’ doesn’t exist in the moment of impulse. In the realm of desire. Pure, unblistered passion. The temptation to follow desire is too strong–

The world falls away.

–and all thought of 'should' dissipates.

Leon's hands slide around your thighs, gripping the flesh firmly as his body pushes against yours. Pinned to the wall; his lips trail the pulse of your neck. The tip of his tongue leaving wet patches on the heated skin.

The sudden intrusion of reality makes you gasp,"What about—".

It’s Leon’s hand on your breast; squeezing, teasing the clothed flesh through the thin material, thumbing at the erect nipple, that earns him a moan. His daughter’s name spilling over into a sound so soft. Inviting.

Like a hummingbird.

A content hum echoes in his chest; pressed tightly against yours. Feeling the muscles contract beneath you, respond to your movement; to the way your hips press against the growing bulge in his pants.

"—she’s stayin’ at my friend’s," he mumbles against the curve of your collarbones, teeth grazing the firm area.

With a strong grip, your fingers entangle in his hair. The texture soft and silky, like running your hands through fine threads of spun gold.

"Isn’t she young for sleepovers?"

It makes him look at you. Eyes glazed over; hungry. Primal–

He pulls you into an embrace, arm wrapping around your back, his palm cupping your ass. The heat of his body seeps through your clothing, searing your skin with its intensity, his breath ghosting over your lips as he whispers, "I really don’t wanna talk about my kid right now."

It’s a command rather than anything else.

Followed by your clothes.

He has you bare before you make up your mind.

–causing your skin to crawl.

With every touch, every whisper, every breath, he leaves you feeling more exposed, more vulnerable.

Limbs tangled together, lips pressed against each other; there’s no beginning and no end. When one begins, the other follows, like an unbroken circle of passion and desire.

Utter consumption by the fire inside you.

Leon’s hands feel scorching. Each stroke branding your skin.

He splits your apart, fills you to the brim. The head of his cock kisses the innermost parts of you as you stay seated on top of him. Nails scratching the firm muscle of his breastplate; he grips your sides. Digs his fingers into the soft, plump flesh there.

Teeth nip at your chin. Gently nibbles accompanied by your hips circling on top of him.

Cascade of groans, grunts and moans echo throughout Leon’s bedroom; each sound building on the other to create a crescendo of pleasure. The mattress beneath you creaks and strains under your knees.

Lost in the feeling.

His words a salacious melody; sung in a sultry whisper followed by his teeth, nibling at your earlobe; securing your grip on his shoulders feeling the strength of his muscles as he guides your moves.

Up and down. Up and down.

Circle your hips when your pelvis meets his. When your ass touches his thighs; when his fingers dig into the round flesh.

The rhythm builds, the tension mounting with every breath. The ache of desire deep inside, a longing that can only be sated by him. With each movement, you feel closer to the edge, your body aching for release.

Leon whispers encouragement, his voice like a caress against your skin. Head buried in the crook of your neck, your arms tighten around his shoulder. Face buried in the top of his head, the scent of him fills your senses; a heady, intoxicating aroma that envelops you in its warmth.

You breathe him in, savoring the subtle notes of bergamot and spice, the rich undertones of musk and earthiness.

Leon’s name leaves your lips in a soft, breathless moan, a prayer to the god of pleasure.

His lips brush against your collarbone, lingering there for a moment before trailing lower, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Skin erupting in goosebumps as his breath tickles your chest, your body bows like a taut bowstring, a supplication to his touch. Offering yourself up to him completely.

Hands roam over your body, tracing the curves and planes of your skin with reverent fingers. As if he knows just where to touch you.

With a strong pull and push, your back meets the hard mattress. His hands move over you like a painter's brush, each stroke bringing out a new hue of pleasure. Hips grinding against yours.

Pressing your body closer to his, chest to chest, he rocks against you. The intensity of his movements leaves you gasping for air, a low moan escaping your lips as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your skin as he continues to rut into you.

Long lost is the slow motion–

Your pelvis meets his in a harsh, demanding thrust.

–now he’s chasing his own high. His own release.

His hand slides to cup your jaw, grip your shoulder, eyes boring into yours; intense and unwavering, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts through the depth of your eyes. Consumed by the heat of you.

Head thrown back, you close your eyes; unable to match the fire in his as he grinds against you; his breaths ragged gasps, the only sound in the room the soft rustling of sheets and the slapping of skin against skin.

Leon knows he won’t last long. Not with the way your mouth remains agape, nails digging into the firm tendons of his biceps; heels digging into the flesh of his ass, pushing him deeper. Demanding him to go harder.

You just look so pretty underneath him.

Fingertips trace the warm flesh of your curves. They move slowly, mapping the supple contours of your body with precision; each touch deliberate, a way of committing the curves of your form to memory.

The sensation is electric, every nerve ending on high alert.

His thumb finds your clit, circling it with teasing precision, a feather-light touch. Pushing your hips into his, he obliges your silent demand – adding a bit more pressure with each pass. The slow, steady rhythm of his touch in bright contrast to the sharp thrusts.

Building the tension inside you, until you feel like you might burst. But he doesn't let up, not yet. He's savoring every moment, enjoying the way you writhe beneath him.

Your breath hitches, body tensing as he works you with an almost clinical precision. The ache between your legs grows, spreading through your entire body. He watches you, gauging your reactions, and adjusts his touch accordingly.

The way he focuses on you, with a singular, unwavering intensity, is both thrilling and terrifying.

As for Leon, every movement, every sound, is calculated. He wants to make this last. He wants to make you lose control.

His muscles tense as he drives into you, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge. His breaths come in short gasps, matching the rhythm of your moans. The heat between you intensifies, a physical force that binds you together.

With one final push, final flick of a thumb, he takes you over the edge, his name on your lips.

Clenching around him, walls fluttering, his thrusts grow slow. Leisurely.

As if he’s tantalizing himself. Savoring the feel before he lets go with a groan; a guttural sound that echoes through the bedroom; body spasming. The two of you entwined in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

There should be some sort of regret.

Standing by the foot of Leon’s bed, still searching for your clothes amid the scattered chaos of the apartment, covered by a random shirt you’ve found on the ground (that’s definitely not the one you’ve come with), you can’t help but be drawn to the sleeping man lying before you.

The sheets barely cover the curve of his lower back, and even in slumber, the muscles of his back remain visible; the outline of his physique remains defined and sharp, even in relaxation. The memory of his back muscles beneath your palms lingers on your skin, as if he were still present with you in that moment.

There’s no regret.

Exiting the bedroom, you walk past the kitchen into the hallway. The emptiness of the space is palpable, with nothing adorning the plain white walls; no family photos or decorations to add personality. Only the essential pieces of furniture remain. The floor creaks beneath your bare feet as you open the door closer to you–

(It’s almost like he doesn’t have anyone.

A sense of desolation creeps in you.)

–and are met with a blinding contrast to the rest of the apartment. Rainbow colored sheets neatly tucked into the small bed, pillows in shape of various animals. Light furniture covered in school supplies; and a photo decorating the nightstand.

You pick it up, immediately recognized the two people. It might be the first time you’re seeing Leon actually smile, wide and bright. Happy; with his daughter tightly wrapped in his arms. Faces pressed together, smiling at the camera.

"I hope you're not trying to steal anything," Leon's voice interrupts your reverie; low and husky, still laced by the morning sleep, "I don't have much, y’know."

As you pivot to face him, you can't resist noticing how his bare feet stand out against his fully-clothed form. Hair tousled and messy, only adding to his rugged appeal.

An irresistible wave of attraction washes over you as you scrutinize his appearance, and his playful tone only adds fuel to the fire.

"Don't worry, I'm not after your prized possessions," you reply with a smirk, feeling emboldened by his proximity.

Leon's eyes twinkle mischievously as he steps closer to you, his warm breath brushing against your cheek. "Well, in that case, what’re you after?"

"I was just looking for a bathroom."

Leon's gaze lingers on you, lips curled up in a half-smile. "The bathroom’s down the hall to the right," he points with a nod of his head.

You nod back, trying to ignore the electric sensation that courses through you at his proximity. "Thanks," you say, stepping past him towards the direction he indicated.

As you walk down the hallway, you can't shake off the feeling of emptiness that you felt earlier. It's clear that Leon lives a minimalist lifestyle, but the lack of personal touches leaves you with a sense of melancholy.

Entering the bathroom, you take a moment to splash water on your face, trying to compose yourself before facing Leon again.

His voice echoes through the small apartment as you make your way towards his voice, entering the kitchen; you're struck by how immaculate it is. Everything’s in its place, and there isn't a single dish out of place. The countertop is spotless, the sink free of any debris, the stainless-steel appliances gleam in the light.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air with the morning sun streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room.

"I’ll pick her up in an hour," Leon stands in front of the refrigerator, two mugs in one hand, bare feet making a soft thumping sound against the linoleum floor. His hair’s still tousled from sleep, his t-shirt is wrinkled, clinging to his muscles as he holds the phone to his ear.

There’s a certain charm to his disheveled appearance that you find appealing.

Looking at you, he makes no effort to stop the call, instead a playful undertones his voice as he hands you a mug and motions towards the coffee machine, "yeah, just woke up. Had a long night."

Shaking your head at his words; he watches you with a small, amused smile, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

"See you then. Bye, Claire,” he ends the call, turning his full attention to you.

"Y’know, miss teacher," he pours himself a glass of water, "if you just wanted to skip the whole dinner thing, you should’ve just said."

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #39 – Inglorious Empire: What the British Did To India by Shashi Tharoor

I honestly forget who first recommended this book to me – quite possible I just googled ‘good indian history books’ and found it that way? - but it’s been on my TBR list for functionally forever at this point. Which meant I went into it essentially blind, with no memory of what if any details I’d been given with the recommendation. Which meant I had a moderately disappointing reading experience just because I was hoping for a narrative history and not an explicit polemical/persuasive text. Still, taken on its own merits as one of those, it’s really quite a good one.

The book is an adaptation and expansion of a performance the author gave at an Oxford debate (arguing against the notion that the British Empire was a good thing) which was recorded and went viral enough to make it a commercially viable prospect. The origin story shines through in the form – aside from an introduction and conclusion, each chapter is a clear and specific argument against some specific justification offered for the British conquest and colonization of India, full to bursting with statistics and quotations buttressing every point.

I would very much like to say that most of it is devoted to stuff the average reader will know anyway (if illustrated with clear and affecting examples), but, going by the apparent public response to the original debate and some polling cited in the conclusion, apparently not! The YouGov polls about the English public’s knowledge and opinion of the Empire are bleak enough that yeah this probably is a direly needed work of public education, if mostly for people who will not at any point read it.

Still, the fact that the British Raj was explicitly and institutionally racist and reserved functionally all positions of real power and authority for white men shouldn’t be much of a surprise, nor the fact that the ‘rule of law’ was basically a sick joke as far as crimes across the colour line went, nor the fact that the extraction of wealth from India to make fortunes in Britain was the explicit goal of policy, nor the fact that resistance (especially resistance successful enough to spook the authorities) was responded to with utter and excessive brutality. All that is basically the meat of what having been a colony means.

That said, I was taken a bit aback by the sheer rapaciousness of early Company government – it’s one thing to hear about oppressive taxation, another to get quoted the census figures of how they were so extreme that enough peasants fleeing their land and homes to look for greener pastures to show up as overall population decline in the areas under HEIC control. Similarly, my understanding of how India was turned into a captive market for British goods was much more subtle and indirect than the outright smashing of looms and legal prohibition of any attempts to compete with British industries that were actually used.

Whereas I did know about the deadly famines that kept occurring throughout the Raj, but the sheer cartoonish malevolence of colonial authorities when faced with them always manages to shock me a bit. ‘Nature’s solution to overpopulation’ was a really horrifyingly opinion at the time.

The audience of the debate performance the book’s based on definitely shines through in the choice of sources – wherever possible, Tharoor quotes from or cites western (Anglo-American, generally) sources for his eye-witness accounts and always takes care to introduce and ground them in terms of western governments or academia. The quotes themselves are all helpful illustrations, though there’s probably slightly more than are really strictly necessary – I’m pretty sure by wordcount at least a chapter of the book was actually written by Will Durant.

I’m not sure if it’s because of the original format or just how Tharoor writes, but the book also just has a great love of adjectives. Seemingly every source referenced is ‘historic’ or ‘path-breaking’ unless it is merely ‘compendious’ or outright ‘invidious’. Not a bad thing, but once I noticed it I was totally unable to stop doing so.

The book is straightforward polemic and Tharoor makes no bones about his position, so I take his verging-on-idyllic descriptions of pre-colonial Indian governance (especially regarding land tenure and caste) and the probability that India would have unified into a modern nation state without colonialism a dose pour of salt. There’s a few other inaccuracies I noticed (referring to the East India Company’s theft of Chinese tea plans as the ‘birth of agricultural espionage), for example), but it was all in the realm of little asides or colourful anecdotes rather than anything load-bearing.

It is rather funny that the book repeatedly draws comparisons with French colonies to argue that India was worst off, on the grounds that Paris at least made gestures towards integrating Indochina or Algeria and their peoples into France (however inadequate and hypocritical those efforts were), whereas in India the maintenance of total domination and the clear policy that India and Indians were things to be exploited for the benefit of England never changed. Funny, because from the book of Vietnamese history I read a few months ago the perspective of nationalists in Indochina was quite the reverse, seeing the English as at least somewhat honest brokers who were willing to grant some level of (limited and inadequate) self-government, compared to the French. Grass is always greener, I guess.

Though that does get at Tharoor’s argument as to why the British were worse not just in degree but in kind to the Mughals and any other empire-builders from outside South Asia who had come before them. The Mughals became Indian, both in the simple material sense that all their taxes didn’t end up back in Samarkand and Indian merchants were intentionally ruined for the benefit of traditional central asia trade routes, and in the more cultural sense that the ruling class set down roots and intermarried with their subjects rather than establishing a cloistered ruling class. Instead, the Raj was more akin to Tamerlane’s sack of Delhi, extended across 200 years. (One gets the sense Tharoor thinks a permanent settler population moving into stolen palaces would have been preferable to the rotation of soldiers and officials arriving from the metropole for long enough to get rich before heading back to build mansions in the Home Counties.)

Also, speaking of Vietnamese history, I only have a sample size of two but it’s interesting how in both cases a class of liberal (in the western sense) intellectuals and bourgeois emerged who tried to take the colonial propaganda at its word and enter some sustainable partnership with the imperial power – and in both cases got at best ignored and at worst imprisoned, tortured and executed for their trouble.

Anyways, interesting read, if one that makes me want something more specific and rigorous about basically any specific section of it (though, not to jump up and yell ‘Canada Mentioned!’ but every time Trudeau was used as an example of a colonial power’s leader handling the apologizing and acknowledging stuff gracefully and well I had to really try not to laugh).

[the-trans-advice-blog]

Welcome to The Trans Advice Blog!

I created this blog years ago to connect with the trans community and hopefully offer some advice or words of positive to those you can. I just wanted to make a post talking about what you might find here.

1. Asks! Please feel free to send them. Whether you’re just telling me about your day, asking for specific advice, telling me about your name, submitting photos of yourself or your pets, or pretty much anything else you can think of! As long as it’s appropriate feel free to say whatever you like.

2. Queer art! I really really want to use this blog to promote queer artists that post their work here so feel free to tag me in your posts if you’d like me to reblog them.

3. Signal boosts! If you have any sort of fundraiser, informational post, or anything you think needs to be spread around please submit a post or send and ask. I’d love to help anyone I’m able to.

4. Reblogs! I try to queue as much as I can so I’m able to have a consistent flow of posts. If there’s anything I reblog that poses a problem or comes from and problematic source please let me know.

5. Nsfw! I’m 20 years old and may from time to time post things that are a little more vulgar. It won’t be porn, it won’t be overly explicit, but sometimes I want to post about kissing fags or something. I’d say I’ll keep it relatively pg-13 but if you’re not comfortable with stuff like that this might not be the place for you. Also I reclaim a lot of slurs for myself, I never use them on people I don’t know without consent but if you’re not okay seeing this you shouldn’t follow me.

6. Overall I just want this to be a safe space for those who need it. I love posting educational things and positivity! I’m always happy to take requests for types of posts you’d like to see.

Link to my personal intro

Here are links to the art I used for my pfp and header!

[zuleyhasposts]

Stand By Your Man (Negan/Reader)

Chapter Fifteen - All I See Is Darkness.

You could feel the blood on your face again. When you opened your eyes, only dark surrounded you. It was too difficult to see; not only because everything was dark, but also because your head was pounding. It hurt so bad that it started to feel difficult to have your eyes opened.

You didn’t remember anything, only the pain you felt when someone hit your head with something heavy made of some metal. Probably iron. You thought that it was the craziest day you ever lived; you couldn’t deny that you wanted to laugh for a moment. Before the crazy fight with Marika, and now someone decided to kidnap you.

When you heard footsteps, you forced yourself to see your kidnapper.

“You finally gained consciousness.” He said, while he moved a chair so he could have a better vision of you.

You tried to remember that voice, but nothing came to mind. At the beginning you thought it was Marika, but for time reasons it was impossible for her to be so damn fast. It was a man.

You squinted your eyes to see him better and only then you understood who the man in front of you was: Edward.

You moved but your body was blocked, he thought better to tie you up to prevent you from escaping.

“What do you want from me?” You asked with your weak voice.

Edward smiled. “You know, I really tried with you. I tried to be friendly, to make you interested in me…but it didn’t work.”

You laughed. “That’s quite pathetic,” your eyes were fixed on him, “don’t you see the way you act? You always acted weird around people and you creeped me out often too.”

You didn’t care enough to choose a different type of words for him. He kidnapped you and he also expected an educated manner from you? No way. You looked around, trying to see if you could recognize the room - or the place - you were in, without being too obvious.

“You didn’t give yourself the chance to know me!” He stood up abruptly, making you flinch. “You were always around Negan…even if he wasn’t with you, you always searched for him. How much I hated that, I can’t even explain it to you.”

“Don’t blame on Negan your fucking creepy behavior.”

Edward lowered himself, leaning closer to you, while he grabbed your chin with his hand. “Can you stop putting him on a pedestal? Do you actually think that he’s what he told you? Let me tell you something: he isn’t!”

After spending so much time with Negan - even when he wasn’t with you - you understood that he was so many things. And not all of them were bad. If only he wasn’t too insecure to open up, you knew you would have found a man that still had humanity in him.

“How can you be so sure?”

He let go of your chin and you could feel a painful sensation around your jaw. For a moment you thought you should have spitted in his face.

“So you don’t know.” He smiled creepy enough again.

“Know what?” Your voice was showing the signs of being tired of his mind games. You still moved your hands behind your back to find a way to untie your body.

He laughed maniacally. “Do you remember the first time we met? When I joined you and Simon. I was here because Negan asked me to spy on both of you. That insecure moron probably thought that Simon could get your interest. It didn’t happen and, in fact, after that he never called me back again.”

Your body felt mixed emotions all together. You weren’t angry at Negan, it was strange to admit to yourself that you almost felt something…positive. He worried that you and Simon could have gotten interested in each other, but it didn’t happen. You almost blushed at the thought.

He started to talk again to catch your attention. “The funniest part is that I got interested in you and you rejected me like I was some kind of trash…you did what everyone did to me! I was invisible for my entire life, you know? But now things will change.”

You felt scared. The man in front of you was clearly out of his mind and it shouldn’t have surprised you what he was capable of. You tried your best to not start panicking in front of him.

“What do you want to do? Forcing me to have some sexual intercourse? It won’t fucking happened.”

He disappeared in some corner, probably trying to find something. “Mh? Sexual intercourse? Who do you think I am? A beast?”

His voice sounded offended and your eyes rolled. You didn’t know if he was trying to be sarcastic or whatever, but you were sure he was failing at it.

“Well, you literally kidnapped me.” You said while you were trying to see what he was doing in the dark. Your head started to hurt more because of the straining.

He laughed at your clarification, like if it was necessary in a situation like that. “You’re right. It would have made sense, especially after I said that I was interested in you.”

A moment of silence, until he broke it by adding something else. “In reality, I have thought about it, I mean forcing you, but then I understood that you didn’t deserve that.”

You tilted your head, mocking a surprised tone. “Oh really? Don’t tell me.”

“Yes, you didn’t deserve that. You deserved something worse. I will use you as a demonstration of me not being a coward. I will use you as a demonstration of me being actually dangerous. Everybody will regret their actions towards me, they will be scared of a possible revenge of mine.”

You looked down again, not believing what you were listening to. “You’re insane, Edward. Don’t you hear how you sound? A revenge? Do you really think that revenge will fix your problems?”

You knew he looked at you because you saw his eyes in the dark. A shiver ran on your back, making you tremble.

“Probably it won’t, you’re right, but I have no choice.” He said while he grabbed what he was looking for.

“What do you mean you have no choice? You have a choice and you’re deciding to do this!” You screamed at him, thinking about the chance of someone hearing you.

“It’s useless to scream, you know? You will only lose your voice and I’m gonna be quite sad if I won’t hear your screaming and begging for me to stop torturing you.”

He got closer, but not enough for you to see what he had in his hands.

You didn’t want to beg him and you also didn’t want to convince him that what he was doing was wrong with sweet words. The pain in your entire body was only becoming worse and you didn’t have the patience to be a damsel in distress.

“You still didn’t answer me.” You remarked.

“And I don’t think I will,” he said while he stopped getting closer to you, “You know, at the beginning I thought that we could have ran together, away from the Sanctuary. For a moment, I wanted to feel the sensation of having someone to protect.”

You laughed at him. “Someone to protect? Only because I’m fucking tied up, but in reality you know that I would be the one protecting you. You don’t know the world outside, Edward. It isn’t a fucking television show and you’re not a main character, you would die in a matter of seconds.”

When he finally got closer enough, you could see what he was holding: an ax. The corners of his mouth went up and he read on your face that you finally understood what he wanted to do.

You controlled your reactions as much as you could. “You want to kill me, mh? You know that you’re gonna die next if you kill me, right?”

He looked at the weapon. “It won’t happen.”

“And why wouldn’t it happen? What did our mastermind think of as a solution?”

“I will run away and they will never find me.” The expression on his face was serious now. “Probably they won’t even know who killed you. Remember what I said? I was invisible for most of my life, no one ever noticed me.”

“The madness is making you incoherent,” you said, probably not caring anymore if you were about to provoke him, “you said that my death will be a demonstration, but how could it be useful if nobody will remember you?”

The grip on the ax became stronger and his face was becoming red because of the rage. “Shut up!”

You looked down again, feeling your eyes watery. You were scared and you couldn’t even defend yourself, it was over for you. Even if you felt it was useless, you still prayed in your mind that Negan could find and rescue you. You wanted to live, you didn’t want everything to end now because of a mad man.

────────────────────

When Simon reached Negan, he could see how the men were trembling every time he asked them if they saw or heard something. The rage exploded everytime the answer was negative. It was probably their first time seeing Negan so angry, Simon was used to it.

He reached his shoulder to catch his attention. “Did you discover something?”

Negan sighed, he was clearly stressed. “Fucking hell, no. They just said that nobody went out. What do you know?”

Simon rested his hands on his hips. “I searched in every room, nothing. I also asked around and it’s the same result you got.”

Negan’s grip on Lucille was so strong that his knuckles became white. “I don’t fucking know where I should search for her. I don’t want to wait any longer, especially if she’s in fucking danger.”

Simon thought before he realized something. “I know where we should search for her.”

Negan looked at him, waiting for Simon to keep talking. He was the only hope at that moment.

“There are the disused rooms in the basement of the Sanctuary. I don’t know if someone knows the existence of those, but we can try.”

“Let’s move our fucking asses and let’s go.”

────────────────────

“I still don’t understand something.” You wondered how you handled Edward enough to not kill you yet. You were only grateful that it was working.

“Say before your time is gonna end soon.” He sat on the chair, as if he was waiting for an imaginary clock to show the exact hour he was thinking.

You swallowed the knot in your throat. “If you wanted to kill me, why didn’t you do it in my room?”

“Why does it matter? You’re gonna die anyway.”

You were speechless at the way this man acted. “What do you mean? It’s my fucking life! I have all the right to know.”

Edward rolled his eyes, he was bothered at the way you were wasting his time. “It would have been too simple, you know? I wanted something more interesting to look at.”

“As if my dead body is something interesting to look at.”

“We are about to discover it.”

You saw him standing up from his chair, grabbing the ax that he placed on the floor moments ago. Edward raised up the ax, ready to take your life in a matter of seconds.

You wanted to shut your eyes, but for some reason you couldn’t do it. You felt every emotion and every sensation rushing into your body in different directions. It felt like the blood was burning from the inside and your heart was about to implode. You were about to collapse.

Before you lost your consciousness again, you heard his voice. Negan’s voice. You didn’t know if you were hallucinating or if it was real life, but you couldn’t deny that the feeling of hopeness was beautiful.

“Here you are, little pig!” He said before smashing Lucille on Edward’s head.

───────────────────────────────────────────

AO3 Link:

[official-saul-goodman]

hunger games posts gave me Thoughts i wanted to share so uhhh hiiiii local friend who studies literature and it’s place/function within society here with a comment. stories and writing (even though this p much goes without stating) have always been modes of entertainment and education and much more, we humans love our mediums. i think the biggest issues with the hunger games bullshit is people have begun to treat it like it’s a meme to just make the comment about it and leave it behind without using genuine critical thinking skills. it’s been going on for months and it’s starting to water down focus on what’s happening in favor of talking about fiction. i think the fiction shouldn’t be getting this in the way of the discussion of what’s REALLY happening. if it helps to click in younger minds that what their country is doing is wrong, that can be a positive, but fully grown adults repeating it like it’s a joke feels abysmal. like they’ve missed the point somehow.

i don’t know if this makes sense but summary is: literature as a tool for understanding the world = important especially for kids, but, constantly talking about the literature ONLY and not what it actually reflected of the world you live in/treating the real world thing with the same level of respect as the fiction = missing the point and making real issues into what feels like fandom talking points. i don’t think it should take a book or movie series for the average adult to understand horrors of violence on the scale we are witnessing and i definitely don’t think that they need to use that as the only frame of understanding what’s happening.

anyways hope that made sense and also to others who might be reading this…. the moment something fictional clicks you into something really happening, try to understand the real world through the real world information you can find, not a novel. any novel. go learn real history. as much as possible do not distance yourself from the worlds pain with a wall of fictionalization, engage with the world like you actually live in it and like life matters to you. even i engaged with people pointing out comparisons once or twice, months ago when they started, but i have not sat and made that all i will talk about, and certainly not to the point i’m not even keeping up with what’s //really// happening in rafah right now. especially not in favor of all the soulless “ooogh omg guys the capitol is real???” jokes i keep seeing from ppl talking about the kentucky derby.

this turned into a micro-hate rant about western europeans / US citizens thinking it’s some brain blast enlightenment to point out a dystopian novel about the US is a dystopian novel about the US. from fully grown adults it’s almost embarrassing, there is real life suffering happening and you need to talk about it like it’s real not like it’s a fucking story. it is baffling

Exactly like fiction can be a tool to help initial understanding of subjects especially for young people but when we're talking about current genocides and invasions going on people really need to learn to pull their socks up and behave like adults with sense. It's so insulting and dehumanising to the people of Palestine to be compared to some fictional group of ppl from some district in a book written by a lady whose father was a fucking Veteran.

It's so immature and stupid and so intentionally obtuse and unserious. It's cruel and selfish and totally just being done to be self congratulatory like ' haha look at me i made this connection between fiction and reality I'm so cool and special' like SHUT THE FUCK UP.

[papirouge]

What are your views on Catholics or very traditional Catholics? I’ve spoken with one guy who was and he believed that even women shouldn’t work and called it unbiblical. I mentioned the various women in the Bible that had businesses and worked but he didn’t really get it. I don’t get their animosity towards jobs too.

Because I’m poor and I’ve always had to work and women in my family never had money, we always had to work. Eventually I got him to admit that poor women should work (for no pay too) for rich women who should stay home and make babies. He lived a very sheltered life I learned. He didn’t even understand how taxes worked or how much things cost because he was still being taken care of by his very wealthy parents. Both of his parents were doctors too 🙄 he never needed a job or to go to school but only went to party. I think honestly he isn’t really Christian, he just feels so insecure and inadequate next to women who are business owners and educated so he’s Catholic to feel important. Because his world views and how he feels the world be is so ignorant

But I don’t pity him at all because he let it slip out that women with no family or friends to care for them should be prostitutes for men because prostitutes existed in Jesus time. And he still had the audacity to ask me why he was still single. It’s bad when you learn that even those hardcore traditional pick me catholic girls don’t want you 🫥

I always said I vibed more with Catholic women than I do with non Catholic ones.

I don't think being "very traditional" is remotely relevant to your relationship with God, so "very religious catholic/Christian" doesn't mean anything imo. Jesus broke several times "traditions" and negatively caught the attention of pharisees so I think this whold "traditionalist Christianity " that's quite en vogue rn is one huge misinterpretation of what Christianity really is.

And you're right, the Bible never portrayed women working negatively so male traditionalists beefing against women in the workforce shows that their grievance has more to do with their incelness and drive to control women, than a genuine will to follow the Bible.

I'm absolutely not surprised he lived a sheltered life and probably didn't witness women in his family working. But you know what's funny? It's that those people never seemingly connect why the Bible puts so much emphasis in helping the widow and old women with the fact that those women were depending on men for their survival and happened to be financially vulnerable once alone (with kids). You can bet men like the one you're talking about would not accept financially helping them because cOmMunIsm or something like that. They wanna prevent women from working but also refuse to deal with the (financial) consequences of women not working... And they have the audacity to blame feminism when feminism is one of the reasons falling into poverty once your husband dies/leaves is not a fatality for women. On that aspect, feminism represents a net positive for women, and that's why I'll never be an "anti feminist". Men didn't wait feminism to be piece of shit and abusing women out of their financial vulnerability. There's a reason female hysteria or poisoning your husband for social liberation were a bigger deal back then. "Life was easier when women didn't work uwu" anti feminists should go back to 1845, and shut the fuck up at this point.

Him painting prostitution as an alternative for poor women closes the deal about how this man wasn't Christian anyway. Their mask always slips off. Those men don't want Catholic pick mes either because they get a thril caging "liberal" women. That's the exotic bird syndrome. That's why they love porn and all this degrading stuff. Have you noticed how those dumb conservatives rage bait content sound like porn video title "blue haired SJW lady gets DESTROYED by based maga Chad" or shit like that. TRA do the same with 'terf' as well. They are obsessed humiliating them. They even profess their weird porn fantasies raping them...

[paperstorm]

Hi again.

I noticed another anon has already explained what was wrong about the Marjan praying clip and I do agree with everything that was said. But I thought I would point out other inaccuracies that I noticed as it could help to educate more people and also because you very kindly replied to my original ask and asked me to elaborate on the inaccuracies.

So one major inaccuracy is the fact that she has not covered her feet. Proper prayer attire always includes socks because it is compulsory to cover your feet while praying.

The other major inaccuracy is the way she did the Sajda (the position where it looks like she's laying on the floor). There is a specific way that the arms and legs are supposed to be when you're in that position.

I feel like both of these points are very basic knowledge that they literally could have gotten if they had asked even one muslim person.

You also mentioned that you didn't like that we got to see her hair in season 1 and that it felt like something we shouldn't have seen and I completely agree with that too. For some reason there's this weird obsession with having muslim women take off their hijab when it comes to muslim representation and that just really irks me because it's not something we take so frivolously. Majority of muslim women would not even consider taking off their hijab unless and until it becomes a situation of life and death and even then some women would choose to die with their hijab on and it's infuriating to see it being represented so carelessly.

Thank you so much, it sucks that they got these things wrong but at the very least hopefully this will help anyone who wants to write her character more accurately! I remember reading an article where Natacha talks about the prayer scene and how she knew it was wrong and tried to speak up but the people with power weren’t listening to her. Which is just really awful. I hope if they do return to showcasing her religion more they care about putting in the effort to do it right.

I was on the fence about how I felt about seeing her hair because I’m not Muslim so I thought okay maybe this is fine and I’m just being ignorant about it. But then I talked to one of my best friends who is Muslim about it and she said the same thing you did. That if Marjan was a real person and she chose to publicly take her hijab off that would obviously be her choice. But because she’s fictional, and she covers her hair, we the audience really shouldn’t be seeing it because we are not her family or her partner. We are strangers who she, theoretically, would not undress in front of. I’m glad they haven’t done that again.

[opiatemasses]

Time for IOC policy change, now! A decade of evidence

Everything about sport is brilliant, right? This isn’t the case! There’s a concept known as ‘the great sport myth’, coined by Jay Coakley, which is the ideology that sport isn’t always the great phenomenon that most of us believe it to be.

The Olympic Games are no different from other sporting events, in that they hold some negative connotations and have consequences for the host nation. The Games are meant to be for the people and should leave a legacy, in terms of long-term regeneration, economic growth and social improvement. This doesn’t always happen and now is the time for the International Olympic Committee (IOC) to make changes to its policies. Here's some of the evidence from the past decade illustrating the reasons why.

How would you like it if you were one day forced to move from your home? You wouldn’t, would you? One key impact that the Olympic Games have on people is displacing them from their homes and communities where they feel a sense of belonging. The relocation of people has been a consistent theme throughout the Olympic movement, and over the past 50 years, an estimated 2 million people have been moved because of construction, rent increases and gentrification. It’ll continue to happen if something doesn’t change now! Do you think the entertainment of the many is more important than the livelihoods of the few? See the specifics from the past decade below:

London 2012 - a minimum of 1000 people were moved to make way for the Olympic Park

Rio de Janeiro 2016 - construction of venues moved over 22,000 families

Tokyo 2020 - 300 households of people were moved for the Olympic sites

In the past, businesses have also been displaced. For the London 2012 Games, there were 350 businesses that either closed or were moved, which affected thousands of customers and employees! Within the UK construction industry, some short-term temporary roles were created, but these are insecure and don’t represent a positive impact from hosting a Games. This was the case in Brazil and after the Olympic site was constructed, roughly 30,000 people were let go. There weren’t many job opportunity improvements in Rio either, despite many believing a Games would bring benefits to a host nation. Remember, the Olympics are meant to be ‘for the people’. This doesn’t particularly sound like the brilliant mega-event you thought it was, does it?

Throughout the years, there have been many cases of ‘White Elephant’ structures left derelict in host nations. Rio’s citizens were promised that the Olympic facilities would be turned into leisure areas and recreational grounds. These turned out to be empty promises. There was also hope that educational improvements would be made, and facilities would also be turned into schools. However, many have been left abandoned in certain host countries, like Rio.

So, why talk about this now? As we can see from the clear evidence of the past decade, there are obvious issues. It’s evident that the problems affect people and the entertainment of the many does in fact disrupt the lives of the few, which arguably shouldn’t be the case. Did you know that the IOC doesn’t have any sanctions for a host nation if they inhibit their people in any way? Nor are there any for harming the environment, which has a knock-on effect for people as well.

I think highlighting these issues is important, as I’m sure many people may not be aware of them. Some organisations have had successful campaigns to highlight the issues and have succeeded in spreading awareness and educating people. The NoBoston2024 organisation managed to be the catalyst in stopping its country’s bid for the 2024 Olympics, for example. See their social displacement piece here.

So, what do I think needs to happen? The IOC needs to change its charter policies, to consider the people of a Games’ host nation and to put appropriate sanctions in place. How could we get the IOC to do this? Through spreading awareness via a social media campaign, which educates people about the issues that exist, much like the NoBoston2024 organisation managed to do. This would be a great catalyst and has proven successful time and time again. I think a petition needs to be written as well, to encourage the IOC to review its conditions and finally prevent similar problems from happening again in future Games.

Until reading this today, did you realise how much people were affected? That is exactly the case for the majority of people - until they’re exposed to the hard reality of the Games. Now is the time to act.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this subject and if you think these actions would help – please do share your views below.

N0890158

[nikethestatue]

god you were so right with that post about wtf cassian even does cause i was thinking about that the other day. like he has all this free time apparently and can train the valkyries instead of being among the soldiers he actually commands? like shouldn’t he be continually trying to build rapport and get to personally know as many of illyrians as possible since they, at best, begrudgingly tolerate him and rhys out of obligation? maybe he could even train some of the females himself and find allies who also want to work against the deep rooted misogyny and mistreatment. cause there’s certainly gotta be others.

better yet though, what does the IC in general do each day? 😭 sure they all got their roles and specialties when shit’s going down and there’s official matters at hand but like… beyond that? job descriptions? don’t know her. rhys does god knows what. correspondence and bureaucratic paperwork? feyre’s painting and giving art lessons to children if she’s not with rhys. amren’s doing puzzles or banging varian. mor’s… doing whatever it is she does — at one point i swear rhys says she’s the one who actually runs velaris and hewn city so then like what does he do??

azriel seems to be the only one busting his ass on the regular and it’s just expected of him. he really be off on missions constantly but is like on the bottom rung of the IC ladder. homeboy’s gotta be the most qualified in his position out of all of them. he’s got hella work experience, been doin the same job since rhys’ daddy was still HL. istg rhys better be bankrolling every single one of that dude’s living expenses and then some. at the very least once in a while just tell him like “hey bro i know we been through some shit but i appreciate your commitment to the wellbeing of this court and i love you unconditionally” ya know? #FreeMyBrotherAz

it seems like he kinda got pigeonholed into his line of work cause of what he is but he continues to do it to be able to protect the people he cares about and that outweighs any personal desires. but like what if deep down he wants to be a choral director or interior designer or something?

that being said: in a hypothetical near future, the Big Bad™️ has been defeated and prythian enters an unprecedented period of peace and prosperity across the courts. the IC is relieved of their official duties until further notice and rhys instructs them to take up work elsewhere. what occupations are each of them choosing?

I wondered that as well. Like what do they do?

SJM seems to think that Generals are only needed during war times. There seems to be nothing that the military is waiting for beyond the NEXT BIG WAR. Which comes about every 500 years.

So like does Cassian only work every 500 years?

The rest of them--I have no idea. Even worse, when Rhys was 'bad' and had no associations with other Courts, WHAT DID HE DO?

Also, what do they even need to do when there is magic? Why do you need to do anything. SJM seems to think there is some kind of feudal system in Prythian, where the HLs sit and listen to problems and collect tithe. Shouldnt there be others to do that for them? Why are there no cabinets? Who is in charge of education? transportation? agriculture?

Yeah, I've always felt like the only person in the IC with an actual JOB where he has to do things all the time is Az. And like, Rhys, get off his back. If he wants to kiss Elain, let him kiss Elain.

The only other person who works there is Nesta. They keep dragging her into weird missions and ask her to do dangerous stuff.

And Elain cooks and minds the kid.

The rest, apparently, live a life of leisure.

[sir-klauz]

I hate tumblr ppl who go on about how it’s not ok to be anti semitic, ableist, transphobic, racist, bad parents that cause trauma etc. and proceed to.. like, do literally all of that themselves to people, their friends who are minorities, their partners.

You think you’re not like the bigots? Well, I’m sorry, but you’re made with exactly the same cloth as them and your ideals may be real and you may wish them to be how you are but you you gotta truly believe in them, not just put them on for a Good Face or the cracks start showing all too easily.

You’re not pro equal rights if you still criticise people expressing any mental health symptoms.

You’re not pro equal rights if you only hang out with white people.

You’re not pro equal rights if you never talk about anything other than the things that personally upset you, because whao you can care about other minorities rights as well! Shocking!

You’re not pro equal rights if you try bottle up how people feel with emotional blackmail about how you won’t be around them unless they’re always happy.

You’re not pro equal rights if you still critique Jewish appearance, or the real life experiences of anti semitism Jewish people share and punish them for sharing it, after years of us having to be in hiding for the fact of our ancestors being killed, and still to this day synagogues being targetted and us likewise the same, being taregtted or ostracised, whilst pretending to care about anti semitism but mutually participating in it from a privileged position. Don't lecture Jewish people about what's anti semitic or not if you're not Jewish. Don't do it if you've never experienced anti semitism yourself. Don't get angry if they have. Don't ostracise if they speak about it. We've had years of people shutting our lives down, don't convert to do the same in our safe spaces either, we have enough of it in the street and amongst social gatherings, even in dating due to mocking of appearance, and being treat as ugly when we are not.

You’re not pro kids rights for equal rights if you hit your kids, or do anything to them which can leave quite a serious impact on them which hurts them, abandonment, child hatred, venting anger about things nothing to do with them out onto them.

You’re not pro equal rights if you never really actively support trans people around you or do anything at all to welcome trans people the same way as anyone else.

You’re not pro equal rights if you hate men. You’re not pro rights if you hate a specific gender as a whole.

You’re not pro equal rights if you treat the minority different to the mainstream, or what things you like the most with more humanity.

You’re not pro equal rights if you abuse animals. If you act like they don't even feel, if you ignore their depression, neglect, unhappiness.

You’re not pro equal rights if you judge the poor for being poor, or only wish to befriend rich people.

You’re not pro equal rights if you criticise speech and writing abilities of people with dyslexia or other things which make it difficult for people to write to your standard. It’s also classist, not everyone can afford the same level of education as you have been privileged to afford.

You’re not pro equal rights if you judge people’s physical appearance negatively, it’s not relevant, and just because you don’t find them attractive doesn’t mean they’re not worth your time. Similarly the people who surround themselves with only people they deem less attractive than them on purpose are dodgy as they’re trying to be the best/are threatened when it shouldn’t matter and what they do should just be their own business as everyone has worth.

[philsmeatylegss]

Just remembered the Nth Rooms and it just makes me think about how me, who spent ages 10 to now with mostly unrestricted internet access and it led to a lot of my hobbies and positive traits, am so for parents monitoring their children’s internet activities until ages 13 to 15.

I was fortunate enough to encounter situations with adults as a young minor and knew how to properly handle the situation and not endanger myself (for the most part). Basics like not sharing your full name, pictures, address, etc. But it is so easy to manipulate someone of that age to do otherwise.

I’ve talked about this on my side blog, @ed-recoverry , but at age 13, I posted a “body check” (restrictive ED people know). To put it blunt, I was fully naked with just underwear and my nipples scribbled out. Once again, I had the brains to not put my face in, but there were identifying factors. About ten minutes later, an anonymous account tagged me. They had reposted that photo. I was fortunate to contact enough people where Instagram actually had to respond (reporting photos rarely did anything in 2016) and the post was taken down. But I often think about what if the account didn’t tag me, blocked me right after posting? There was a very real chance my nude 13 year old body with identifying features could have remained on Instagram till this day.

Thankfully this is the only dangerous situation I encountered on the internet, and obviously now at age 21 I see how moronically stupid it was to post myself, especially nude, but you just don’t think that.

I had multiple adults through one way or another try to talk to me with the intention, upon reflecting, of sending nudes or engaging in sexual stuff. Once again, I’m thankful to have had the awareness that I always blocked as soon as the person asked for pictures or my phone number, but that just is something to small for a child to remember to do.

On tiktok, I see so many, so many, (especially girls) post casually about being groomed and sending explicit photos of themselves at ages 10-14. Especially if you are vulnerable, if you are starting to deal with mental health issues like I was, you just don’t have the ability to think about the implications and possible outcomes.

This all happened 2013-2017 when iPhones were just a big question mark and no on really understood what was possible with it. It was a new concept of direct messaging a random kid halfway across the world on Twitter and asking for nudes. It’s a situation, at the time, no one really thought to warn kids about.

Obviously, I’m not in elementary and middle school now, but I hope so much that it’s been implemented into education internet safety, with explicit emphasis on not sharing personal information, sending photos, and not engaging in conversations with adults, no matter who they say they are.

I don’t plan on being a parent, but I just hope millennials and gen z who are having kids or had kids who are approaching ages 10-14 have multiple conversations about not only what not to do online, but also why they shouldn’t do it and if they ever encounter something, they should tell an adult. If you tell a kid just not to share their address, they don’t have the ability to infer that that is because someone could come to your house and harm you. That is something that needs to be spelled out.

And I just think, especially early on, that is something you can easily enforce with monitoring. Although, I also am a firm believer that monitoring should just be used to see if 1) they are talking to anyone 2) they are doing something illegal (usually not on purpose, stumbling upon something). I am a strong believer that teenagers deserve privacy on their phones. And if you taught internet safety, made it a habit to not engage with strangers, explaining what can happen, it just makes a child less likely to even engage with an adult. And if they do, they know what details not to share and when the discussion is dangerous.

I do think being unrestricted online very young had a lot of very positive impacts on me. I was starting to question why I didn’t have similar personalities or interests than my classmates. And going online helped me realize that I wasn’t alone. And hearing curse words and seeing kissing never caused any damage. That’s why, even though I’m a huge advocate for monitoring, I’m a huge advocate for only interfering if your child is in danger. I found porn for the first time because Tyler Oakley (?) referenced cake farts in a video and I thought haha farts are funny and I looked it up and it was a naked woman farting on a cake. It happens. As long as they don’t click on the “horny milfs near you,” it’s okay to leave it alone and never bring it up.

As I said, was just thinking about the Nth room and how many of the victims, mostly the minors, were contacted on Facebook or Twitter or other mainstream, often harmless apps. Apps where conversations can be quickly deleted. And when I see the stories of minor victims in that situation, I can easily envision 12 year old me falling for it.

I feel so lucky that the other 12 year old who was my first internet friend, shoutout to Katie, was a real twelve year old. We sent pics back and forth, bot those easily could have been faked. Or of someone else. There’s just so many situations I can think of being online as a kid that could have so easily ended awful if I made one different small choice.

The internet at an early age can be a gift and be a very positive thing if there are appropriate guidelines. I’m a huge defender that the internet and social media has more positives and negatives and a big believer in the benefits of being on social media and being exposed to the wider world. But I can’t deny the danger in it. This is so random and idk if anyone is reading this who has kids or plans to have kids, but when it comes to introducing them to phones and laptops, please heed the warning from philsmeatylegss

[melanccholia]

The Rumor Comes Out: Does Bert and Ernie is Gay?

    Growing up on public television in the early aughts, I, like many children before me and many who came after, delighted in watching the brightly colored and educational exploits of Jim Henson’s puppets on the PBS show Sesame Street. Among them, the famous figures of Bert and Ernie, two “male” puppets who lived in the same house, slept in the same room, and were almost never for a moment apart from one another. Even now, close relationships between men- both platonic and romantic- are heavily stigmatized in American culture, and, despite being inspired by the real life camaraderie between Jim Henson and Frank Oz, the two remain a rare example of gentle affection between two men in media. The first recorded instance of Bert and Ernie being interpreted as being in a homosexual relationship was in 1981, when Kurt Anderson described them as “[conducting] themselves in the same loving, discreet way that millions of gay men, women and hand puppets do. They do their jobs well and live a splendidly settled life together in an impeccably decorated cabinet” in his book The Real Thing. Though he later admitted to making the claim as a joke, the plush couple went on to become gay icons to thousands of queer people who grew up watching them on the screen, maintaining a time honored gay tradition of seeking a reflection where none may be. 

The idea took such firm hold, in fact, that the New Yorker published an issue on the Supreme Court’s gay marriage ruling with a cover depicting Bert and Ernie curled up in domestic peace on their couch. It caused an immediate statement from Sesame Workshop itself, claiming that they are not gay, never have been and never would be- and it was not the first time they had made such a statement. Later, after writer Mark Saltzman admitted that during his time on the show he had always modeled them after the relationship between his late husband and himself, Frank Oz took to Twitter to finally put the claims to rest in September 2018: They are, most decidedly, not. They’re just puppets. And anyway, why do people care so much? “Does it really matter? Why the need to define people as only gay? There's much more to a human being than just straightness or gayness.”

Why does it matter? If we are all just people, the same as everyone else, why should we need to be pointed out? If we are all equal, why must we be defined as different? In Genre-Queer, Kazim Ali observes that “certain kinds of writing (bodies) are valued more, are promoted and supported and legitimized and that the kinds of writing that are undervalued or marginalized are precisely those which undermine (in both their form and content) traditional power structures and traditional ways of thinking.” This legitimization sends a clear message- even in a children’s show preaching acceptance and equality, undermine the existing structures enough and be prepared to find yourself labeled and discarded as other. In this light, writers would historically couch homosexual and homosical themes in heterosexual language, forming both the safety net of plausible deniability and a queer media culture that to this day remains incredibly sensitive to homosexual subtext… For many, it is this subtext, both real or imagined, that allowed queer individuals to see themselves reflected in their favorite characters. They can pretend, for even just a moment, that when they look up at a beautiful portrait of the world, someone like them can be staring back. 

And yet, some argue, without that intentional subtext, it shouldn’t matter because it is the author who has the final say, anyways. Elena Ferrante once wrote, on her own immateriality as an author, that “I know that my books can only be female… But I also know that female (or male) absoluteness is inconceivable. We are tornadoes that pick up fragments with the most varied historical and biographical origins.” During his online diatribe, Oz doubled down on his position, saying that “I created Bert. I know who and what he is.” I wonder, though, how much a creator truly knows his creation, and how much of life’s detritus can be discovered, blended into the character purely by accident? I can sympathize with the plight of keeping the little creature you have made close to your chest, but once on paper, once on screen, it has no choice but to take on its own life- especially so, for a character designed to be handed off from writer to writer. As well, the character already can only exist in the space between author and reader, and the reader’s role in the birth of the character can’t be discounted. The reader isn’t stupid, after all (no matter how many would try to deny otherwise), and when the fragments picked up by the author’s tornado settles, it is the reader who’s job it is to pick them up and examine the pieces the author themself is blind to. 

 Bert and Ernie, as all facts point to, are puppets, are men, are fictional when held in the hand and real to whom they matter, and most importantly, they have a wonderful relationship. To see them as straight is fine- Sesame Workshop would rather you did. To read them as gay is also fine. Human connection is a universal theme, and whatever form it takes, all that matters is that it touches the hearts that need to be touched. As Oz concludes, “If Jim and I had created B & E as gay characters they would be inauthentic coming from two straight men. However, I have now learned that many view them as representative of a loving gay relationship. And that’s pretty wonderful. Thanks for helping me understand.”

[reyesnatasha]

Literature - Short Story: “Why Should I Save Water?” By Jen Green and Mike Gordon

This Short Story is called: “Why Should I Save Water?” By Jen Green and Mike Gordon. It is aimed at children and, throughout a short but clear and concise story, demonstrates the importance of not wasting water, promotes the importance of why we should save water, and also the risk and consequences of not considering water as the important resource it really is, leaving a great message to children. 

Water conservation is portrayed through the actions and experiences of the child and the village community. The short story demonstrates the significance of water conservation by illustrating the consequences of wastefulness and the positive impact of education and crisis-induced behavioral change. It emphasizes the idea that water is a finite and vital resource that requires responsible management and preservation.

I think the greatest symbolism in this story is when the village refuses to take care of the water and keeps wasting it to the point where they run out of water, and it is not until then that they begin to take action and take the necessary care to keep the water resource alive. This can be brought to reality, implying that most people don’t care about a situation until it becomes completely critical, that is until the last second, which is something that shouldn’t happen.

Although this book is aimed at children, its message is very precise, it captures very well why we should consider water as a vital resource for life, and leaves a direct message, the fact that we should not wait until the situation is critical to take action, instead make any changes as soon as possible without waiting for the consequences, which is the perfect way for both children, and adults, so they understand that preserving water isn’t a decision but something we should do for our Earth, for ourselves and our future generations.

Turning the tap off when brushing your teeth

Take short showers instead of tub baths.

Wash the car with water from a bucket, or consider using a commercial car wash that recycles water.

The story is about a little boy who always thought about the importance of water and why we all should take care of it. He tried to tell others about taking care of the water, but they didn’t listen to him. Suddenly one day, the villagers found out that there was no water, they got scared and they went to talk to the kid and asked him about what to do. They understood that taking care of the water, conserving it and not wasting it is pretty important. After it, the water came back little by little, and they didn’t waste it again.

[slow-button-off]

There is a Wallstreet Journal article about the Vegas GP (paywall free archive version). 

And there’s some interesting bits in there but this quote below has brought on this rant about F1 and F1 engineering and fans in general. 

Netflix changed all of that. With a wildly popular show called “Drive to Survive,” which stripped away the technical parts of racing and replaced them with soap-opera intrigue, the sport cultivated an entirely new audience. New fans were younger, more diverse, and far more invested in the lives and personalities of the drivers than in tire compounds and wing angles. 

To preface my rant how you got into F1 does not matter at all. If that was DTS, if that was an edit of a driver on TikTok, if it was Instagram, if it was engineering, if it has always been a family activity or whatever it was, all of it is perfectly valid!

At the end of the day we are all here because we enjoy the sport. What brought us here doesn’t matter. 

You also don’t have to be super interested in the technical and engineering side of F1 that is also perfectly fine! You should enjoy the sport the way that you enjoy the sport. 

But to say that all the new fans don’t care about that is on one hand wrong but also idiotic. 

The engineering being such a focal point of F1 is what makes it unique. There is no other sport that is quite such an engineering competition. And instead of keeping that in mind and trying to find ways of making that huge part of the sport accessible to the new fans, the suggestion is to pretend it doesn’t matter. 

And F1 itself via FOM is also moving in that direction with less practice sessions and more sprints and all that. 

My asks are a super small sample size, but considering that this is Tumblr and considering Tumblrs main demographic it does show that there is interest in these topics. 

But instead of making the more technical and engineering things more accessible to fans via the broadcast or other great official resources it’s so often written off as “too complicated”. I have an issue with that attitude wrt STEM in general, but you have a sport that brings people in via whatever it was but then some of these people show an interest in understanding how the cars and all that works and instead of taking them along they get told it’s too complicated. 

It really isn’t. All of these concepts can be presented in a way that everybody can understand. But people have to find their own resources. And then they hit the next wall because while there is so much good and sometimes very in depth technical resources out there the threshold of prior knowledge you have to have can be pretty high. And if you aren’t super technically inclined that can be a massive turn off. 

But instead of using that interest that is definitely there and trying to use it in a positive manner we’re essentially being told young women don’t care about all that (because lbr that's the fans they are referring to). 

BUT THEY DO! (obvs not every single one because -> not a monolith) But there is interest! 

One massive issue is that, and I have seen that on my blog, people are scared to ask. On one hand because they are scared to not understand or scared to look stupid (which you do not!)

The amount of aks I get about more technical things that are prefaced with “I’m really new sorry” is insane! And really sad because it shouldn’t matter! Whether you’re new or you’ve been here for 20+ years if you want to learn more and have questions don’t feel ashamed to ask! 

Or even when I post a plot and I’ve been lazy and not explained everything super well or something is unclear, people are always so apologetic when they ask for more info and that makes me so angry at the world. 

Watch this derail into a rant about STEM education and sexism now. (tbf that one sentence is a bit sexist anyway)

Anyway, the interest exists, it just gets shamed into silence to a certain extent. And pretending they all don’t care and pretending that it’s all too complicated is doing everybody but also the sport itself a massive disservice. Just give people a place to start so they can then venture off into their own research rabbit holes if that’s what they feel like doing. 

[radical-revolution]

Avoid Consuming Public Criticisms of Your Vajrayana Guru

On a more practical level, once you have decided who your guru is, try not to listen to or read anything critical about any of the gurus with whom you already have samayas. Most of all, avoid social media.

Public condemnation of Vajrayana gurus’ behaviour will never go away. On one level, public reports about how a guru operates can be useful to students doing background checks on potential Vajrayana gurus.

Shouldn’t a new student be made just as aware of the prevalent negative perceptions of a guru as they are of the positive? That being said, it puzzles me that such a large proportion of the stories published about Vajrayana gurus are so one-sided. After all, if we really do live in a just society that promotes freedom of expression, shouldn’t both sides of every story be presented, without censorship or restraint? Isn’t that also one of the principles of good journalism?

I had always thought that one-sided reporting was the province of dictatorial propaganda machines, not objective, international news providers.

We must always remember that although disgraced Vajrayana gurus often lose quite a number of their disciples, many remain loyal and devoted. Most of these faithful students are neither potheads nor lama-groupies, but well-educated, smart, kind people who feel they benefited enormously from their guru’s teachings.

Buddhist magazines should bear this in mind when they publish critical articles about living gurus. I am not saying that critical articles should not be published, just that Buddhist magazines, in particular, should present negative reports responsibly and do their best to avoid inciting bad feeling or sowing the seeds of divisiveness within sanghas.

Both sides of every story deserve to be told as objectively as possible. If an interviewee makes a complaint against a guru, shouldn’t that guru be given the opportunity to respond?

Magazines that claim to be Buddhist should be scrupulous about providing truthful, balanced reporting. They should present as much information as possible about all the different points of view, so that the readers can make up their own minds.

—Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse

Poison is Medicine - Clarifying the Vajrayana

Siddhartha’s Intent