#also just same with the word ’feminism’ losing its entire meaning

[quillkiller]

One thing i find so interesting about feminism today is it’s like you can’t even say women are victims anymore. you say women are abused by men and people scream their heads off about how men can be victims and suddenly without anyone realizing the narrative shifted and now women are not allowed to be the oppressed minority anymore bc everyone will try to explain it away. it’s all white women tears or rich women etc. so people act like you’re Insane for saying maybe we should look out for celebrity women lol

!!!!!!!! ive been saying

it’s so fucking depressing!!! it’s like the whole amber heard thing all over again. people see it trending on tiktok that now we’re all supposed to hate her so that’s what im gonna do Lol 😝😝 without even reading up on the case and forming YOUR OWN OPINION ???? like what are we DOING !!!!! and like especially with these people who came crawling back saying like wahhh i take it all back i was just following the hype / i support amber heard now 😞 IDGAF !!!!! like you actively joined a movement that literally bullied a victim to domestic abuse. all because you couldn’t take the time to read up on the whole thing and form your own opinion ?? yall were THAT ready bully and laugh and point your fingers at a woman .. yall are not seeing heaven .

and like people just. do that. and it’s the same thing with the chappel roan situation. people aren’t paying real attention to what she’s saying and then there’s a whole hive of people ganging up on her and people get on that shit without even forming their own opinion on the matter. YALL JUST HATE WOMEN !!! how do you guys not SEE THIS PATTERN !!! a woman (celebrity) is celebrated for a while until it reaches some sort of peak and then everyone is turning on her all at once ???? it happens ALWAYS??? and it is not fucking lost on me that both amber heard and chappel roan are queer women lmao. like yeah people hate on other female celebrities too but not to this fucking degree

[heraclitizer]

For there is no sex. There is but sex that is oppressed and sex that oppresses. It is oppression that creates sex and not the contrary. . . . The primacy of difference so constitutes our thought that it prevents turning inward on itself to question itself, no matter how necessary that may be to apprehend the basis of that which precisely constitutes it. To apprehend a difference in dialectical terms is to make apparent the contradictory terms to be resolved. To understand social reality in dialectical materialist terms is to apprehend the oppositions between classes, term to term, and make them meet under the same copula (a conflict in the social order), which is also a resolution (an abolition in the social order) of the apparent contradictions.

monique wittig, "the category of sex"

[A] language, a semiotic system, because it is a framework for expressing meaning created to serve all members of a society regardless of class, cannot be considered an oppressive superstructure in itself. It is when a language “give[s] preference and support to some one social group to the detriment of other social groups of the society” that it “loses its virtue” and becomes a “jargon”. Where gender is the language, indifferent to all classes, restrictive gender roles are patriarchy’s attempt to enforce a jargon.

. . . In resistance to the patriarchal jargon of restrictive gender roles, the feminist movement emerged to develop a gender system that is not a jargon, one that serves society as a whole, even if it has not necessarily always seen itself in such terms. Transfeminism, the most advanced form of feminism, with its recognition of the need to rethink gender entirely to properly account for the people that fall beyond even the link to a “sex” coercively assigned at birth, represents the culmination of this mission.

In the quoted section, Alyx shows that her thinking is indeed materialist: mechanical materialist, not dialectical materialist. “Our genders and our selves are produced by society”, she declares, positioning “society” as something beyond our control. “Patriarchy is the subject” and “we’re the object”, she claims, but if her thinking were really dialectical she would recognize that people are not the object to society’s subject, but that both people and society are simultaneously subject and object, influencing each other in a dialectical relationship.

kinsey tamsin favre, “the gender politics of [alyx mayer's] 'eroticization'"

The use of speech, such as it is practiced everyday, is an operation that suffocates language and thus the ego, whose deadly stake is the hiding, the dissimulating, as carefully as possible, of the nature of language. What is caught unaware here and suffocates are the words between the words, before the “fathers,” before the “mothers,” before the “you’s,” before “the arising of the dead,” before “structuralisma,” before “capitalisma.” What is smothered by all kinds of talk, whether it be that of the street or of the philosopher’s study, is the first language (of which the dictionary gives us an approximate idea): the one in which meaning has not yet occurred, the one which is for all, which belongs to all, and which everyone in turn can take, use, bend toward a meaning. For this is the social pact that binds us, the exclusive contract (none other is possible), a social contract that exists just as Rousseau imagined it, one where the “right of the strongest” is a contradiction in terms, one where there are neither men nor women, neither races nor oppression, nothing but what can be named progressively, word by word, language. Here we are all free and equal or there would be no possible pact. We all learned to speak with the awareness that words can be exchanged, that language forms itself in a relation of absolute reciprocity. If not, who would be mad enough to want to talk? The tremendous power—such as linguists have made it known to us—the power to use, proceeding from oneself alone, all language, with its words of dazzling sounds and meanings, belongs to us all. Language exists as the commonplace where one can revel freely and, in one stroke, through words, offer to others at arm’s length the same license, one without which there would be no meaning. “Par toutes leurs voyelles, par toutes leurs consonnes (les mots) se tendent, s’ouvrent, aspirent, s’imbibent, s’emplissent, se gonflent, s’épandent à la mesure d’espaces infinis, à la mesure de bonheurs sans bornes” [With all their vowels, their consonants, (words) stretch, open up, inhale, become saturated, fill up, swell, spread over infinite space, over boundless happinesses].

Language exists as a paradise made of visible, audible, palpable, palatable words. . .

monique wittig, "the site of action"

[violetrainbow412-blog]

I hate you [E. M]

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

word count: 13K (oopsie)

summary: You and Eddie Munson know exactly how you feel about each other. Until a moment changes everything and you embark on a journey of discovery about your relationship.

warnings: rivals to lovers (more lovers than rivals), hurt/comfort, mention of attempted abuse (but doesn't go too far) family problems, parental abandonment, the reader is ashamed of where she lives, drugs, drinking, swearing.

Love at first sight is an awesome thing. You make eye contact with the other person and suddenly their eyes become the most beautiful on the planet, instantly clicking and convincing you that you could give anything for them. Something similar happened to you with Edie Munson, but somehow the terms got confused, and instead of having love at first sight you experienced hate at first sight.

Middle school is the time when everyone is looking for their place in the world and you found refuge in black clothes, metal, and any position that was decisively against the system. To this day you had devoured entire books on anarchy and feminism, but you also did not deprive yourself of reading as energizing as the Lord of the Rings. But well, going back to the topic, coincidentally Eddie Munson also decided to take that course and although everyone's first thought was that you two would become friends, the truth is that the opposite happened. Because being honest, being different loses its meaning when there is another person identical to you, right?

In this way a kind of silent treatment was agreed upon between you; you hated him and he hated you.

It was like that for many years, doing endless things just to irritate each other. Sometimes he'd rush to grab the last of your favorite desserts in the cafeteria (even when he didn't like them) or you'd run to the movie and record store to rent just what you heard him mention over lunch. Other times you'd steal his stuff when he was distracted and Eddie would respond to this by taking some of yours, to the point where you guys had a little collection of each other in your rooms. Most of it was crap: a guitar pick, a chewed-up pen, a band pin. But it was as if they were trophies that you kept with special affection... or rather hate? Whatever the case, the point is that between you and Eddie there was a tension that by this point everyone had already been aware of.

Most of the time you had the same ideas and agreed (although you would never admit it) but when a disagreement arose, however minor, it was like watching Troy burn again.

"I know you're Ozzy Osbourne's bitch, but the truth is I think he's not that good" you had said once, seeing that he was wearing a shirt of the aforementioned. You were sitting next to him because you were late and there were no seats left, so you took advantage of the moment to make him angry "Now as a solo artist, I mean"

“At least he's still singing,” he muttered under his breath, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “Not like this horrible group you like… what was its name? Oh yes, Coven. Only 3 albums, 5 years. It's embarrassing that you want to criticize him with that kind of taste.”

“Still, I don't care. That guy is so overrated. It's like…very basic, you know?” you insisted, trying not to be affected by what he had just said "And the Coven singer was the one who popularized the sign of the horns, did you know that?"

“Of course it wasn't her. It was Ronnie Dio”

"Huh, another overrated guy."

"Are all successful metalheads overrated to you miss feminism?" he asked rolling his eyes. You two kept arguing, paying no attention to the class, until things escalated so much that you two were sent to detention and even then, you kept fighting.

It was the daily bread and that was why one Monday morning when Eddie saw you walk through the door, he mentally prepared himself for what was to come. It was something common between you, you greeted him with one of the most derogatory nicknames you could think of and he answered with a similar insult. He straightened his back slightly as you walked past him, not wanting to seem too interested in your arrival, but he was shocked to see that there had been nothing but silence from you.

That had never happened.

Eddie didn't immediately turn his head towards you, but he did try to peek at you, hoping that maybe you could come back by remembering he was there. But you just sat in the last chair as usual and dropped your head against the table without paying any attention to the world around you. The guy looked you up and down: black boots, ripped pants, and a huge hoodie from your favorite band that you probably bought at a flea market. There was nothing unusual about you and yet he felt like you were a complete stranger.

With a frown and the gears of his mind working at full speed, Eddie took a sheet of paper and crumpled it into a ball that ended up landing on your head, so you could pay attention to him. But you didn't even get up, you just flipped the bird in such an impersonal way that it hurt him.

During class Eddie didn't have time to do or say anything to you because it was going to look completely weird that he was turning back every so often, but the feeling of awkwardness in his never left him for a second. Even when the teacher made one of those stupid comments that annoyed you so much, he didn't hear you reply at all.

Maybe she's just tired, he thought. He kept moving his leg restlessly up and down until the bell rang and he was finally able to get up to look at you. Indeed you looked tired, with a couple of dark circles that not even the cheap makeup you bought had been able to hide. Your lips looked somewhat dry and pale and your movements were similar to those of a zombie.

"I see that someone woke up with the left foot," he said with a mocking tone, while he approached you and leaned against a table, practically imprisoning you.

“Very funny, Munson. You better go fuck yourself and leave me alone” you exclaimed reluctantly, still not looking at him, as you collected your notebooks in your backpack and went through a gap that he had left uncovered. He thought that behavior was very strange, even for you, but he decided to let it go and tried to think of something else. Although after several days in which you had barely looked at him, thinking about you became something inevitable.

"Eddie!" Garreth half yelled, snapping him out of his thoughts of him. The entire club had noticed that their leader had been more distracted as he hadn't even mentioned anything about the campaign that night. "Are you listening to us?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry,” he stammered, leaning a little further forward on the table so he could look at his friends. They babbled about the monsters they still needed to defeat and Eddie only bit into the talk, teasing that they wouldn't stand a chance of winning.

He had started to feel livelier and more dynamic until his eyes unintentionally found you. You always sat alone and there was usually a mess of things on your table. Sometimes you'd read a book or nod your head from side to side to the music playing on your Walkman, but this time you were just mindlessly playing with your food and you hadn't even had dessert.

“Is it Y/N?” Dustin exclaimed suddenly. Eddie tensed at the mention of your name and turned to look at the boy.

"She is what?"

 “Is she the one who has you so lost in thought?” he asked, smirking. The most intelligent of the group was perhaps that boy, so the one with the long hair knew that it was totally useless to pretend before him.

"She's been kind of weird lately. That's it"

"And since when are you interested in her?" Mike murmured, frowning. Biting the inside of his cheek, Eddie didn't know what to say, even though he didn't understand why he was making such a big deal out of you, and he looked your way again.

"I guess I just want someone to annoy" he answered, shrugging, trying to convince himself that it was. There was an awkward silence for a few seconds in which everyone looked at the curly-haired man, until he got up from his chair "I'll be back in a minute" he said, without giving time for a reply from his friends, and then began to walk in the direction of where were you.

As soon as you saw him you let out a disgusted moan and rolled your eyes.

"What do you want?"

"As kind and beautiful as ever," he said wryly, as he dropped into the chair across from you.

"Today I'm not in the mood"

"That's the problem, you haven't been in the mood since the week started," Eddie began. His hand went directly to his cheek for support and he felt the icy coldness of the rings brush his skin.

"What are you talking about?"

“I'm saying you look miserable, girl. And I mean, I love that you're miserable but I usually like to be the reason for it,” he explained, but you just rolled your eyes again “You haven't even yelled at me or told me how useless I am and I'm honestly starting to feel a little bored. Have you stopped hating me already?"

“You're a complete drama queen and you probably have some fetish or something with being called useless. And I'm not going to contribute to that, thank you."

“What fetishes I have or don't have are none of your business unless you're going to do something about them,” he said with a flirtatious grin. You looked at him with annoyance and then you looked back at the food that you probably weren't going to eat. But Eddie was persistent so he got up from where he was to go to your bench and trap you between the wall and his pale body. "Are you going to do something about it?"

"I'm serious, I'm not in the mood to put up with these things. Not today, Eddie."

Eddie, you said, and the aforementioned felt a tug on his chest. You never said his name, he was always Munson or idiot or asshole or whatever derogatory term existed in English (and even other languages), or very occasionally a cold Edward. But something as personal and loving as Eddie sounded strange coming from your lips. And added to this, your voice had such a desperate and tired tone that suddenly everything disappeared and he wanted to give you a hug.

Wait a second… was he feeling compassion for you?

He was surprised when he felt your body slide under the table to escape and he felt silly for having frozen. When you reached for your backpack, his hand went almost by itself to hold your wrist.

“You okay?” he said. His voice was a kind and genuine whisper that took you by surprise and the fingers that barely pressed around your wrist felt warm.

"I'm better than ever" you just answered, while you let go and took your things. Eddie watched you walk down the hall with the certainty that you had blatantly lied to him and a touch of concern for you that he never thought he would have.

By the time Eddie got home it was late at night and all he wanted was to sleep for days at a time. But, unluckily for him, he still had a pile of homework to do that he knew he wouldn't do over the weekend. It wasn't the first time it had happened and he refused to fail another year, so he scavenged the house for some caffeine and poured himself a couple of cups as he wrote in his notebook. He had turned on music at a low volume and had left only his boxer shorts and a worn shirt that seemed to be enough for them despite how cold it was inside the trailer. He stayed like that for God knows how long and just as he was drifting off to sleep the ringing of the phone woke him up with a start.

It was after one in the morning, who could call him at that hour?

He thought maybe it was some emergency Wayne had had and he stumbled up to the phone, picked it up, and answered with a soft Hello? 

"Eddie!" he heard from the other side. Her voice was muffled by music and other voices "I am Robin"

"What are you doing calling so late?" he asked in confusion. He and Rob were good friends, but he couldn't see a particular reason for the situation.

"Oh, I'm at a party. Steve wanted to come but he didn't want to come alone and so he convinced me to come as his friend and if he didn't get someone then we could be together and stuff. You know, he's been unlucky and so am I, but Vickie isn't here otherwise it would be super embarrassing for her to see me half drunk or with Steve because then she'd think we're…”

“Rob,” he cut her off, “I love hearing your stories and I'm glad you guys are having fun, but that's just what you called? I would have appreciated if you did it on a more conventional schedule.”

“Right, I forgot. I'm calling because the girl you always argue with is here, the one who dresses like you…”

“Y/N?” he interrupted her again “And you want to pick her up or what? Are you calling me for advice?

"No, stupid! Let me finish. She came here a while ago but now she was really drunk and I don't know how it happened but she ended up getting into a fight with one of Jason's friends and her face was bleeding horrible and I can't find her anywhere."

Eddie's blood ran cold when he heard that. You weren't much of a party person and I was sure you didn't like most people out there but the fact that you'd bumped into a guy was even weirder. The pang of concern that had been latent now rumbled in his chest with force.

"Where is the party?"

“At Trina Smith's house. It is down the street…”

"I know where it is," he replied. Eddie had done a couple of sales for her and her friends "I'll be right over, if you find her, please keep her quiet and I'll find you ok?"

“Many say that she left the house, perhaps she is in the yard or on the street”

" I get it. Thanks Rob, take care of yourself”

"See you Eddie, good luck," she said goodbye and after that the boy rushed to his room to put on the first jeans he found and a jacket that was lying on the floor.

The road wasn't that long and was made even shorter by the dangerous speed at which he was driving. The idea that your face was bleeding terrified Eddie because he didn't know what those animals were capable of. A woman had been beaten, that was too much to say.

He parked in an available corner and started walking towards the house, listening to the laughter and music that came from there. He was already mentally reviewing the questions he could ask guests sober enough to find you, but it wasn't necessary as he found you standing with your body leaning against a post by the sidewalk.

“Y/N?” he asked, bending down so he could search your face. Robin wasn't lying, your cheek was full of dried red liquid and your lip looked split at one end. It wasn't as bad as he'd imagined, but it still made his blood boil.

“Munson?” you asked confused, looking up from narrowed eyes. It was obvious that you were drunk "Are you coming to break your nose too?"

"Did you break his nose?" he asked, unable to keep a bit of amusement from his voice. Even in your state you were a bully and it comforted him to know that the bastard hadn't walked away unscathed “Very metal, baby. But no, I'm here to take you home."

"I can go by myself, I don't need your help" you spat. You tried to walk, but after only a few steps you stumbled and Eddie laughed to himself as he grabbed your waist to help steady you.

“Obviously not. So either you leave voluntarily or I'll drag you to my car,” he murmured. With no choice but to lean on him to start walking and as you went the sounds of the party became smaller and smaller and were replaced with the calm of the night. Then Eddie helped you into the passenger seat with silence hanging between you "Where do you live?" he asked, but you didn't answer. You didn't want to go to your house, but you didn't want to have to tell him either, so noticing your lack of response he started the engine and started driving in a direction you didn't know.

It was obvious he wanted to ask questions and so did you, but instead you just kept staring out the window, your eyelids threatening to close many times. When you finally pulled over you were in a trailer park and still with all the alcohol in your system you were able to deduce that this was where Eddie lived.

"I'll stay here" you exclaimed, with your raspy voice "Tomorrow morning I'll be gone, I promise"

“You're not going to do that,” he said. There was no room in his tone for a contradiction "Come on inside, it's not as bad as you imagine" he continued and after going down he opened the door for you and practically carried you to the entrance. He was right, it was a very common trailer and you could see many books scattered on the table, which you assumed were the boy's homework. Your vision was too blurry to register any more details and you tensed a bit when you noticed that he was leading you to his room.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going to take you to my bed," he explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. But from the way your face paled, Eddie knew there was something you weren't telling him. "What's wrong?"

“Did they call you? Are you going to come here?"

"They? What are you talking about?" Eddie asked with a frown. He had never been the smartest but perhaps hanging out with Dustin had given him a few of his deductive abilities, since it took just a few seconds for him to understand what was happening "Y/N, what did those bastards do to you?” he asked, anger painted all over his face, "Did they touch you?"

“They wanted to do it. That's why I hit him” you clarified. He felt his heart shrink a little and one of his fists clenched tightly as if he was preparing to fight too "And I swear if you're with them, I..."

"Never. Not in a million years” he was quick to say “Don't even think about it, I would never do that to you. To nobody” he insisted and his voice sounded completely sincere “I promise I just want you to be able to rest because the couch is shit and I don't think you're comfortable. But if you want, we can go back there”

“I would like the bed” you dared to say. The truth was that your back was killing you and if you wanted to recover a little you would have to trust him. Eddie nodded and led you into the bedroom, where he helped you lie down. You couldn't appreciate too much, but what you did notice is that there wasn't a single space that was unoccupied; posters, furniture, photos, instruments, magazines, empty cans, full cans, and even a blanket with the name of his band. It was a most picturesque place, in your opinion.

“Robin was the one who called me. She's the short-haired one who plays in the band, she's my friend and she thought maybe she could use some help. She tried to look for you, but she didn't find you” Eddie explained, as if he wanted you to finish trusting him. Of course appearances could be deceiving, but thanks to all the years of knowing him you didn't imagine him capable of taking advantage of you while you were drunk so you relaxed considerably. "What were you doing there, anyway?" His words sounded almost like a scolding.

“Alcohol and drugs are always free at those parties” you replied while shrugging your shoulders “Things just got a little out of hand”

"Hm," he hummed, nodding his head gently. He looked at you and remembered the small detail of the stain on your face, so he got up and looked for a clean cloth that he moistened slightly, then extended it in your direction "You should clean yourself"

"Ajam" you murmured, getting up with difficulty and taking the piece of cloth with your hand. When you began rudely rubbing your cheek Eddie's eyes widened, lunging at you.

"No, don’t do that. You are going to get hurt. Do you want me to help you? No. I'll help you, even if you don't want to” he rambled. He took the rag from your hand after sitting down next to you he gingerly cupped your chin. You didn't say anything while he cleaned you up and for a second you felt like you were going to fall asleep under his soft touch, until a throat clearing brought you back to reality "You have to clean your lip too or it's going to get infected" he explained. He had a poor attempt at a first aid kit next to him; just a half-baked bottle of hydrogen peroxide that no longer had a label and some cotton balls. So you agreed and you decided to do this yourself because you didn't want Eddie Munson's hands near your mouth.

He watched the entire process and after that there was silence between you again, for a long time, but it wasn't as awkward as he expected it to be. Eddie was searching for something to say for conversation, but his thoughts were overwhelmed by the sound of a quiet sob.

You had started crying.

"Hey, hey, what's up?" he exclaimed, panicking completely. His hands were floating in the air not knowing where he should place them “Does it hurt?” he asked, but you awkwardly shook your head “Is it because of those guys? Did they hurt you? Do you want me to tell Steve to kick the crap out of them?" Eddie insisted, but you didn't say anything. It was obvious that you were trying to contain the tears with all your might.

“This is stupid, I'm coming home” you sobbed as you tried to get up without falling on your face. But it was clear you wouldn't even make it to the road, and he panicked and did the only thing he could think of.

He reached out with both arms and wrapped you in a hug.

He didn't even know why he had done it, maybe it was the automatic response he had to seeing someone cry, but the moment you fell on his chest he realized it was probably a bad idea. Knowing you, the safest thing was that you were going to push him or yell at him or insult him or all at the same time.

But even though you tried to walk away, the weight of your pain was greater and you ended up giving in completely. You relaxed into his hold, all the tears you had held back for months were spilling onto the young man's shirt. When was the last time someone hugged you? You could bet it had been years.

"Don't worry, we're fine" he whispered, with a sweet voice that you had never had the joy of hearing, while he ran one of his hands up and down your back. You were completely heartbroken, crying so loud that the neighbors could surely hear you if they wanted to, and Eddie never thought he could see you in such a state.

You were the tough girl in school, who could defend his ideas tooth and nail, who faced others without fear, and who always managed to find a new way to annoy him.

And now you were in his arms, curled up in a ball and expelling all the water from your body in tears.

Of course this was driving Eddie crazy. A few days ago you had wished him a happy weekend with two middle fingers, it had been years and years in which you two shamelessly despised each other that you were collapsing in a single night.

Not even in one night, they were breaking down with a fucking comforting hug.

"I can't take it anymore," you said, with your voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt "My life is a mess and I live in a shitty place and everything... everything is horrible" he was still, thinking about what he should answer before that. But luckily you kept talking "And he was gone for so many years and now he comes back as if nothing happened, hoping that the doors are open and we love him as if he hadn't been the most son of a bitch father" a short pause that was due to a sob “And he yells at us and calls us out and I just want it to be over. Because every day I feel worse than the previous one like I'm drowning in a huge well that no one is going to pull me out of because I don't have a single fucking friend. Because I drink to forget everything and I'm so pathetic and…” you couldn't continue, the overflowing tears didn't leave you, and after this he didn't say anything, but he pressed you closer against his body as if that could make any difference. As if with that he could remove, even a little, the weight of your problems.

Eddie hadn't the slightest idea that all of this was happening to you and now that he was, he felt bad that he never noticed. Most likely, that was why you had been in a bad mood all week and he had been so selfish as to recriminate you for not paying attention to him. But now you were there, opening all your feelings and fears with him, while he was frozen. It was obvious that he didn't know what to say to that, he didn't know you well enough to give an opinion, and yet he wanted to help.

“You can stay here to sleep if you don't want to go home” he offered “And if you need to go, I can take you too. Whatever you need, just ask me,” he murmured, hoping that meant something. For him the best way to help someone was to be of use to them, as he tried to do with you.

“I'm so lonely,” you sobbed, louder than the others, and Eddie frantically shook his head.

“You're not, Y/N. You don't…” Eddie tried to formulate words of encouragement, but he couldn't. So he just held you tight and waited for you to calm down. At some point Eddie couldn't hear you crying anymore and looking down he realized that you had fallen asleep.

He carefully separated you and placed you in a comfortable position between the yellowish pillows, while he covered you with a sheet that Wayne had just bought him.

Eddie still couldn't understand what causality of fate had decided that tonight the girl who could barely stand to be in a room with him would sleep in his bed, but he decided not to make a big deal out of it. For an instant, just a thousandth of a second, through his mind he crossed the idea of ​​lying down next to you to sleep. But he was aware that he didn't sit still at all when he slept and he didn't know how you would react, so he better grabs a pillow and walks down the hall to the couch.

In a few minutes, he was asleep too.

When you opened your eyes, your head hurt horribly and your whole body was sore, but even with these discomforts you couldn't help but notice the ceiling of the room that definitely wasn't yours. You panicked at the first second and sat bolt upright, afraid that someone had dragged you to some seedy place and ruined your life. But instead you saw a messy room that made you suddenly remember everything that had happened the night before.

Oh, that made you panic even more.

Some things were still a little blurry, but you remembered the essentials: you had gotten into a fight, Eddie Munson had come to pick you up, and suddenly all the feelings you had been holding back came out like verbal vomit as you cried on your chest. That couldn't be true, no way.

A feeling of tremendous regret flooded your entire system and your mind wandered to what he could do to you now that he had that information. Was he going to tease? Was he going to use your feelings to blackmail you? Was he going to tell the whole world? You didn't even know why you had told him, but most likely it was all because of the alcohol you had drunk and the bad time you had at the party.

The last week had been too hard for you, you weren't lying to him when you said you lived in a shitty place. Your mother was a woman who made a bad choice when she was young; your father. For years you had endured his abuse and his alcoholism until the twins were born and he decided it was best to leave. To be honest, that relieved you a lot and you didn't feel guilty at all. You had begun to dress as you wanted, to discover what you liked, and to have your own personality. But the dream didn’t last long, at some point your mother couldn’t work a single shift and you had to take care of the twins during the afternoons and evenings, when they weren’t at school, with Fridays off for you. It was a pace of life that you had gotten used to and although it was heavy it was much better than having your father at home. That was why when a week ago he had arrived, drunk and screaming, you had felt so upset. He was worse than you remembered him and he had made your siblings cry, but even with his insistence you didn't let him in the house. He was persistent and it was as if he had been sucking the vitality out of you every time he went to claim you were a bad daughter. And the ghosts of the past were sometimes too heavy.

You were praying with all your might that Eddie had gotten out of the trailer or that he was busy or whatever so that he wouldn't notice that you had woken up. You staggered to get up and search for your shoes, not missing the chance to take a curious look around the place. Now that your vision was less blurry, you could notice the drawers with cassettes, the discarded clothes, and even a box of condoms near some inappropriate magazines. You rolled your eyes at the latter and thought about when was the last time Eddie Munson had touched a… person, making a mental note to tease him about it later.

When you finished putting on your shoes you noticed that you had lost the scrunchie that was holding your hair somewhere and you internally cursed that you had lost your favorite. You sneaked out of the place, not sure where the front door was or if anyone else lived in the house until you ran into the boy sprawled out on the couch while he was snoring a little. The position didn't look comfortable at all, but he seemed to be and you walked past to where you assumed the exit was. But you didn't count on tripping and knocking over a metal tray that was on the nightstand, causing a ruckus loud enough to make him jump awake.

"Trying to run away before twelve, Cinderella?" he asked, with a raspy voice and a sleepy smile.

“Let's not make a big drama out of this. I'll just go,” you answered, slightly uncomfortable. But when you tried to open the door, it was locked.

“First of all, we aren’t foolish enough to give thieves a free pass. And, secondly, you can't leave without having had some breakfast. Probably the only thing in your stomach is that cheap booze,” he said. Eddie stood up fully and stretched his arms up, allowing the shirt he was wearing to ride up just a little to reveal the edge of his boxers and his happy trail. Without you having wanted it, your eyes had already gone to those details and you were only grateful that he didn't notice “Feel free to take what you want. We have cereal, or eggs, or cereal, or a half-wilted banana, or cereal…”

"Cereal, I get it," you said, trying not to express too much. You didn't know why Eddie wasn't kicking you out of there or saying mean things to you yet, so you had to move carefully.

Eddie walked around yawning and rubbing his face with one hand while scratching his butt cheekily with the other. You stood in your spot and when he noticed he beckoned to you in annoyance.

“Are you deaf or what? Come sit down and have breakfast” he exclaimed, a little more like he normally sounded when he talked to you. You walked over and took the plate he gave you, as well as the box of Lucky Charms from which you poured yourself a portion.

Both of you began to eat in silence and although at first you took that as a sign that he was upset, the truth was that he really wasn't. He even looked nonchalant, eating huge spoonfuls as he read the label of a can lying around, completely oblivious to you. You decided to take advantage of the opportunity and finished your plate of food only to serve yourself another because he wasn't lying when he said that surely you only had alcohol in your body.

"Huh, thanks for breakfast" you answered when you finished, a little shy. You wondered if it would be a good idea to talk about what you had the night before and find out if that had changed his perception of you in any way. Or did you just want to know whether to expect an unfavorable reaction or forget it for peace “Do you mind if I use your phone? My mom is probably wondering where I am."

"Of course not, use it" he smiled. You walked over to it and called home, hoping someone would be available. It was heard that they picked up the phone and then a little voice.

"Yeah?"

"Hi, Amy" you laughed "I'm Y/N, is mommy around?"

“She's asleep” exclaimed the little girl “Where are you? Why didn't you come last night?"

"Something happened, I'm at the house of a..." for a moment you doubted that it was the right thing to say and out of the corner of your eye you could see that Eddie is looking at you "friend. If mom wakes up, can you tell her I'll be right back?"

"Okay"

“Thank you, flea. See you in a while"

"Goodbye," said the high-pitched voice and then the beeps sounded indicating that she had hung up.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your pants and turned to him, who didn't even pretend he hadn't been listening to your conversation.

“So we are friends”

“I couldn't tell her I was at the idiot from school's house,” you said, but he burst out laughing.

"I don't think that language is suitable for a girl of..."

"6 years"

"A girl of 6 years" he completed. You were silent for a moment, you looking everywhere except at him and with him seeing nothing but you.

"I guess I'll go, bye" although you rushed towards the exit, he was faster and managed to get in the way, forcing you to stop.

"Let me take you"

"I can walk"

"I realize that. But it's Saturday morning, it's cold, and you're hungover."

You had to admit that your whole body ached and the idea of ​​going in the car seemed very appealing, but you weren't going to allow yourself to owe someone like Eddie Munson any more favors.

"Still, I prefer to walk" you answered, so he gave up. He moved out of the way and looked for the key, in the tray that you had thrown at the beginning, to open the door and let you out "See you later"

"Be careful," he murmured. You had only walked to the porch when he spoke again "Y/N"

"Yes?"

“If one day you want to talk to someone you… you can ask me. I don't judge” he replied. You looked him straight in the eye looking for any sign of lying or an iota of mockery, but the truth is that you could only find sincerity in his gaze.

“You are not going to understand”

"I can try," he insisted. You just wanted him to keep quiet and pretend that nothing had happened. You didn't want him to feel sorry for you.

"Goodbye, Munson" you murmured, going down the stairs and walking on the grass without letting him say anything else.

The next time Eddie saw you, the vitality had returned to you. Although you still had those soft dark spots under your eyes, your face looked less worried and the eyes had returned to glow as they normally did. He assumed that the problems (or at least parts of them) had been resolved over the weekend.

And luckily it was because while you hadn't completely gotten rid of your father, you had managed to get him away with some help from Chief Powell and a threat of a restraining order. That was a relief for you and especially for your mother, so at least you were able to breathe more freely when you entered the school.

"What's up, loser?" you said as you walked past Eddie, taking him by surprise. You didn't stop to look at him, but he grinned at the sound of your voice and stayed that way for the rest of the class. From time to time, you caught him looking at you, and each time you raised your eyebrows at him, as if asking for an explanation, but he just laughed and shook his head. There was something different in the way he was looking at you as if something about you was funny, but you were very grateful that it wasn't some kind of pity or sadness for you.

The two of you didn't speak for the rest of the day, but you did share a couple of teases and smiles that lightened the mood. You kept sitting by yourself and reading the second half of Carrie while he climbed on tables and yelled at jocks.

After a couple of days Eddie came to school with his hair tied up and you were indignant when you noticed the piece of blue cloth that adorned his hair, but when you claimed it, he just laughed.

"I wanted a souvenir, can you blame me?" he murmured softly "Besides I look better than you"

"Oh sure," you said sarcastically, "He was my favorite, you know that?"

"I was going to give it to you, but now that you say you care so much, I think I've lost the urge," he exclaimed, smirking at you. From that day on he used the hair tie daily, sometimes in his hair and other times just on his wrist, but always bringing with him that part of you that he had stolen from you. You weren't going to admit it, but it hadn't bothered you as might be expected.

So time passed and things continued their course. The world went round and round without stopping to think about anyone and you had to learn to live with it.

One night Eddie heard about the party that Chance was throwing for the basketball team and everyone from school that he wanted to go to, so he packed his lunch box full of joints, cocaine, and whatever substances he had on hand to attend. He didn't like these people, but in the end, money was money.

When the boy arrived he was already packed with people and that made it easy for him to mingle with everyone. He would find a quiet corner of the house to sell and when it was all gone, he would go back to his trailer to sleep like a baby.

After selling a couple of things he decided he could smoke a cigarette just to lighten up the night and he almost choked on the smoke when he felt someone drop next to him on the couch and take the cigarette out of his mouth with two fingers.

"You don't mind sharing, do you?" you laughed, inhaling deeply on the tobacco and slapping the boy's thigh briefly. Eddie's eyes lingered for a second on the way your lips suckled and he inadvertently blushed. He thanked God the place was dark or you would have noticed.

"What are you doing here?" he muttered. You took the cigarette out of your lips and put it back on his before answering.

"Alcohol and drugs are free, remember?"

"Well, get drunk as much as you can because I won't give you an ounce of weed" he mocked. You were wearing a black midriff-baring top and ripped black jean pants, while Eddie had opted for a flannel shirt that must have belonged to Wayne, with blue jeans. Both he and you couldn't help but glance in appreciation.

"Then I don't have anything to do around here anymore," you said sadly. You were about to get up when he spoke again.

"And how have you been?"

“Since when do we ask each other personal questions?”

“I was just trying to be nice and see if you deserved something free, but if not, suck my dick”

“Oh, I don't think I could find it”

"Do you want to try?" he scoffed. But the closeness between you, the cigarette resting sweetly between his lips, and the deep voice he used made you a little tense.

"I have been fine. Existing” you admitted, in an attempt to divert the topic “And you? How's your lazy life going?"

"I'm doing fine," he replied, just as calmly. A couple of girls came over to shop and Eddie treated them politely just because they were pretty. As you listened to him talk to them you realized that he wasn't as clumsy at flirting as you had thought "I guess you'll stay here, huh?"

"If it doesn't bother you" you replied, taking his cigarette away again to take a drag "And if it bothers you too, I don't care."

You didn't talk about too much with Eddie, but that didn't mean you weren't having a good time with him. The scent of the only cigarette he had ever smoked was in your nostrils and mixed with a cheap but good-smelling cologne he wore.

When the lunch box was almost completely empty, Eddie slammed it shut and turned to you.

“Do you want to go outside for a smoke?” he asked him, raising his voice over the music someone had put on. You nodded and both of you walked towards the exit until at some point Eddie took your hand to avoid losing you. He was in the front, so you just let him drag you to a more secluded section outside. You ended up in a pool that was surrounded by a fence in a clear sign that you couldn't go there, but it meant nothing to him.

"Do you want a Marlboro or do you want marijuana?"

“Are you going to charge me?” you asked before and he smiled while he shook his head "Then give me a joint"

So he did, and when you placed it in your mouth, Eddie reached over to put it in the fire of a worn black lighter. You caught him looking at your lips, but you didn't say anything. Then he took off his tennis shoes and pulled his jeans up to his knees to put his feet in the pool, which you imitated after a while.

The two of you smoked until there was only a small butt left that you tossed aside and it didn't take long for the effects of the drug to kick in. You could see it in Eddie's narrowed eyes and the goofy smile he had, even though you were sure you looked the same.

"I like your toenails," he exclaimed, his words slow and soft as you gazed down at your own toes with electric blue nail polish.

"You're so high, Munson" you laughed, and then he joined you. Your head felt heavy, but you'd just be careful not to fall forward, or else you'd end up soaking wet. "I never thanked you for that night," you said suddenly. He turned to you to try to get a better look at you and unintentionally he leaned closer "So thanks I guess"

“I hope things have improved”

"Why are you suddenly being so nice to me?" you asked. Although that's supposed to make you happy, the phrase sounded more like a claim.

"What are you talking about?"

“I haven't heard you scoff once about that. You haven't even blamed me for what happened or told anyone, why?"

“Is that what you expect of me? What is an idiot who takes advantage of girls and makes fun of sensitive family situations? I thought you had a better idea of ​​me” he answered, sounding upset and hurt.

"You hate me"

"Oh come on, do you think that shit is serious?" Eddie asked, crossing his arms and frowning at you. “Maybe at first it was real hate, but we're not in middle school anymore. It's a kid thing."

"Then why do you always bother me?"

"Because it's fun. But I'm not cruel enough to mess with something I know hurts you. That's the job of guys like Jason” he argued, nodding towards the interior of the house “And you? Do you really hate me?"

"Maybe," you muttered, though the word sounded more like a question. "I mean, you're annoying."

"My love, there is a huge difference between someone being annoying and hating someone," he murmured. Eddie was too close to you, speaking only in whispers that smelled like what you just smoked “And if you really hated me, you wouldn't be here with me. You need passion to hate and you don't have it. I can see it in your eyes,” he said, exhaling this last sentence with something akin to pain. You didn't know what was happening to Eddie, but what you did know was that he was too close and it was making you nervous.

It's amazing how easily you decided you'd hate this man, you were second-guessing if it was truly worth doing. Being blinded by your supposed dislike for him had never let you notice that over the years he had become more attractive or that he was a sweet person. You didn't even know what you were feeling at the time, to be honest. You only knew that you were very high and that Eddie was sighing almost on your lips.

"So you're saying you never hated me?"

“You're still too maddening. Weeks ago, I could have vomited hearing you speak."

"And what made you change your mind so suddenly?" you asked in annoyance, while you rolled your eyes and took some distance.

"The night I picked you up," he answered. You turned around curiously, hoping he would have a more elaborate response than that. There was silence for a moment and then he spoke "That day I found out that you have feelings, to everyone's surprise" when he said this last, you tapped him lightly on the shoulder and he laughed "And I don't know... seeing you like that made me feel strange”

"I don’t want your pity"

"It's not a matter of pity, it's a matter of empathy," he said. You felt as if you were mesmerized by his huge brown eyes “We are social outcasts, you and I, and you know it perfectly. And it is very stupid that we are striving to maintain. We like the same things, we have the same ideas, we could be good friends if we put our minds to it, would that be so bad for you? Do you really despise me enough to deny yourself a chance to stop feeling lonely?”

You were silent for a moment, the thoughts in your head clumsily trying to sort themselves out. The water from your feet felt cold, your hands were sweaty and you wished with all your might that you hadn't smoked so that this conversation would be more coherent. But part of you also knew that if you weren't in that state, this would never have happened.

“And what are you suggesting? That we just pretend nothing happened and move on?"

“I could get over it, the worst thing you ever did to me was that time you put frogs in my backpack” he laughed, remembering and inevitably making you do too “But I don't think you're bad, just like I'm not. I just think we've carried on a pointless rivalry for so long that it's starting to feel unnecessary now,” he mused. You were still silent, now looking at the blue floor of the pool below you "Either that or you're completely obsessed with me and you can't face your feelings so that's why you bother me daily"

“Woah, stop there, the weed got too high in your brain,” you said between laughs, hearing him laugh too. This short moment you were sharing with him made you realize that it wasn't that unpleasant to be with him. In fact, it wasn't at all.

"Then? Shall we call a truce and join forces to save each other from ending up at the bottom of the social hierarchy?”

“I am at the bottom. You have friends"

“And they could be yours, too,” he said, gently, as he reached out his hand toward you, “Just throw away all these years of unwarranted hatred and start over. You know, like civilized people."

Was it that simple? So short was the step you had to take to end that distance that you yourselves had imposed?

"I doubt very much that you are a civilized person or that you ever have been" you smiled, at the same time that you reached out to take his hand "But it could work"

"It's nice when you're not being a grumpy bitch, don't you think?" he scoffed. In revenge you pushed him into the pool, but he wasted no time pulling you by the leg and giving you the same fate.

You splashed to annoy him and suddenly you were already in a water fight, laughing that your stomach hurt. Above you two the stars seemed to be shining brighter than any other night and the moon witnessed how the water washed away any grudge you had for each other. So, for a brief moment, the whole world was just him and you.

Even though Eddie didn't become your best friend overnight, you were making progress. The first few days you tried (really yes) to stop being rude to each other, but it was something so decisive for your relationship that you couldn't put it aside. Of course, over time the insults were accompanied by smiles or winks from the boy as a silent signal that you were just kidding.

After a few weeks Eddie had already introduced you to his friends and to your surprise they liked you. Most of them were younger than him and you even met the one responsible for him rescuing you from the drunken mess you had been. His name was Robin, he was so nice and it amused you to hear her tangle with her own words.

You remembered Steve Harrington from early High school and although at first you were reluctant to talk to him, when you finally did you realized that he had changed a lot since that time. He was less cocky and even a little dumber. But in a cute way, of course.

But the one you were getting to know the most, obviously, was Eddie. During classes sometimes you would have an exchange of words or he would make you smile. You had found out that he was also a big Lord of the Rings fan and once you spent almost an hour talking about just that. Contrary to what you expected he was quite intelligent and that helped for another couple of deeper talks.

A couple of months was enough for you to be invited to sit permanently with the Hellfire club. You had fit in well with the group and they were a lot of fun, always managing to make you feel good even on the worst days. A part of you was very grateful for this change, because whenever a gray cloud wanted to settle, one of the people around you would blow it away from you. Sometimes unintentionally, other times intentionally.

You were even invited to one of Corroded Coffin's glamorous concerts and a part of you thought that Eddie looked hot playing guitar, but you wanted to take that thought straight to the grave if possible. But the problem was that those kinds of thoughts came more frequently than you would have liked. He was an extremely physical person and most of the time he was touching you in some way, whether it was putting his arm around your shoulders in a friendly way or moving you to the side by his palm on your waist, or whatever else occurred to him. the. Sometimes he would even come up behind him when you were sitting and he would massage your shoulders to entertain himself while you melted at his touch.

And of course you weren't the only one feeling this way, Eddie also suffered his own ordeal every time you took the pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans or when you were upset and confronted him, your face so close to his that it was difficult for him to find a valid argument to defend himself.

But, as always, both of you thought that it was best to do what you had agreed to from the beginning. Forget and move on.

"Your final work will be in pairs, please be quiet so you can hear your name" spoke the art teacher, trying to be heard above all the noise. You liked the class (even though you weren't the most skilled) so you hoped you'd get a good classmate. You looked around for someone you had a preference for; Stephanie was very good at painting, but Linda was better at drawing. There was another boy, Marcus, who was also quite skilled and who you wouldn't mind working with. You waited patiently until the professor murmured your last name and listened for the next "With Munson."

Your neck turned to see the aforementioned and you frowned in an expression of annoyance mixed with disappointment, while he smiled broadly.

"Soooo" you heard behind you, once the class ended, while an arm was around your shoulders "Your place or mine?"

“Can't we each make a part and then put them together? I don't need to spend more hours than necessary around you” you complained, just to annoy him.

"My house then," he continued, ignoring you.

"It's stupid, of so many people there, why did he have to play us together?"

"Fate, baby," Eddie muttered, shrugging. You had science in the next hour and you knew he was going to go to another room. "At 5?" he asked and you nodded. It was lucky it was Friday, otherwise you wouldn't have been able to accept "Don't be late!" he told you, pointing a finger at you as he headed down the hall.

You only had time to eat and nap at home before walking to Eddie's house, the sound of Kate Bush filling your ears. You had met her thanks to a red-haired girl named Max, whom you had once helped. Well, helped is a saying, because she was being picked on by some guys and you thought you could defend her, but when you got closer, she already had one pinned, so you just took care of the other one. Then you found out that she was friends with Dustin too and that she lived in the same park as Eddie, so you talked to her from time to time and that's how you ended up meeting her favorite singer. In fact, when you arrived, she was feeding a stray dog ​​and you were able to wave to her.

You knocked on the trailer door three times but no one answered so you started banging on it repeatedly and loudly, waiting for him to deign to open it for you. But you were surprised when the door was opened by a tired-looking older man.

“Huh, hi,” you said, suddenly feeling embarrassed at the way you'd been knocking on the door. “Sorry to bother you. I came with Eddie, for a school project "

“Ah, there you are” you suddenly heard. It was him, who saw you from behind him "Just in time" he laughed, looking at the watch on his wrist "Wayne she is my partner, her name is Y/N. Y/N, he's my Uncle Wayne."

“It is a pleasure to meet you. Sorry for knocking so loud."

"Since when do you apologize for being annoying?"

“Eddie, don't be rude” his uncle scolded him, before you could say anything “Welcome, make yourself at home. I'll go to town for a few things, but you guys have fun”

Goodbye Wayne. Be careful” exclaimed the boy, coming forward to hug the man. You didn’t know that he was so affectionate and you smiled in a way that wasn't burlesque, but like tenderness.

"I'll be back in a while," he said and then walked out the door. Family ties weren't something you and Eddie had talked about openly but the fact that he lived with his uncle made you imagine that he too had his own difficult history. But you weren't going to pressure him into telling you anything if he didn't want to.

“Did you bring your material?”

“What you asked me for and a couple of dry paints that my siblings had”

"That will do," he laughed, as he shrugged. He looked quite comfortable and the clothes he was wearing were already worn, but for some reason they seemed soft. “We can go to my room if you want. It will be more comfortable that way” he suggested, so you took a couple of steps and followed him down the hall. You had only been there once, but now it looked cleaner and you couldn't help but make fun of it. Eddie didn't say anything, he just laughed and flopped onto the newly made mattress “I was thinking maybe we could use that finger painting technique and objects and all that. The one we saw last week."

"It could work," you said cheerfully. You took a curious look around the place and Eddie smiled when he noticed.

"What are you thinking about the view?"

"That looks like a virgin's room," you said without a filter and when you realized it Eddie was already laughing out loud.

"I love that you are so transparent with what you think" he replied amused, but without denying or affirming what you just said "You should spend less time criticizing me and more time focused on what needs to be done"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry” you murmured raising your hands. Eddie pulled out a box of art supplies that he had and you were surprised to see some figures that you assumed were for his Dungeons and Dragons club. You assumed that the drawings on the wall were his too and you were impressed, they really were good.

It was about an hour with you guys discussing what you wanted to do and Eddie making some sketches until the last one convinced you and you finally got to work. You were honestly having fun, because the technique was pretty messy and he had lent you a shirt to wear over yours so you wouldn't get dirty. Plus, he'd let you pick out a cassette to put on the stereo, and he'd given you a free beer he had in the fridge.

"You're ruining everything!" he screeched, trying to push you away from the painting. The truth was that you weren't screwing anything up, but he just wanted an excuse so he could get close to you and hear you laugh. Eddie didn't understand why, but lately he was enjoying both.

"Munson!" you yelled back. A small fight developed between you, but it was just powerless slapping.

You stayed like that for a while, none of you wanting to give in, just messing around like a couple of kids who want to have the last word. Once you calmed down, Eddie looked at you breathlessly and noticed a peculiar detail.

"You have something here," he said, pointing to his own right cheek.

"Here?" you asked innocently, carving your fingers over the skin. But you had only succeeded in staining yourself more.

“Yeah, but you—” Eddie began, cutting himself off with a laugh at the green paint on your face “You're the worst at cleaning yourself, just give me that, you silly" he muttered amused, reaching a little to take a handkerchief that he had lying around and putting one hand on your jaw while the other was in charge of rubbing the stain "This is the second once,” he complained, with a tiny smile.

His grip on him was careful and his movements against your cheek gentle. He was so close to you that you could feel your knee hitting his and you looked anywhere but at him in a desperate attempt not to freak out. Even so, out of the corner of your eye you managed to notice the tip of his tongue placed on his lower lip as a sign of concentration and a hint of a smile escaped you.

He was probably cleaning you up longer than necessary, but when he finally finished you turned to look at him, and although you wanted to say something mocking the words got stuck in your throat. Eddie was still holding your chin and after a few seconds he began to gently slide his thumb over your skin while he watched you closely. You could feel his breath hitting your nose and you honestly didn't know what it was that had him so enthralled. But unintentionally, you too got a little lost in his rounded features and bright eyes that you never took the time to appreciate. Although that wasn't the worst, the worst was when you caught your friend blatantly staring at your lips. You knew you had to tell him something, anything, but you didn't feel capable of doing it because you were sincerely enjoying the way he looked at you; as if you were something forbidden... or something desirable, which was even better. Unconsciously your eyes also dropped to his plump lips and you wondered if they felt as soft as they looked. He didn't have a trace of a beard, a sign that he had shaved in the morning with the cream you were smelling thanks to your proximity. Eddie's hand gently tugged at your chin and you obediently lifted your face to where he meant to take you. It was clear you were going straight for his lips, but with an inch to go Eddie suddenly released you and stepped away from him. Then a scandalous sneeze.

Nerves combined with surprise made you giggle, which then turned into laughter.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized, actually looking sorry.

"Are you trying to tell me I smell bad?" you dared to say to cut the tension, making him imitate your laughter.

Both of you knew perfectly well what was going to happen had it not been for the interruption of that sneeze and that was why your cheeks had turned a deep red and you avoided looking at each other. The distance was no longer so short, which allowed you to think more clearly.

“We should continue with the work, we are almost done”

“Huh, yes. You're right,” Eddie exclaimed, trying his hardest not to stutter.

You were quiet from then on, just listening to the songs filling the room and concentrating on painting your own section of the canvas in front of you. From time to time, you looked up to see him and were grateful that your eyes never met, even when Eddie was doing the same.

You were too worried to figure out what the hell that meant. You could have guessed the boy's intentions from the beginning, with the simple fact of your fingers holding his face, but still you let him do it, and not only that but you also helped. A very deep part of you had felt eager and aroused to close the distance and see what he had to offer you. But why? That was the real question.

“I think it turned out really well for us,” you said, after admiring the final product of your work “Considering we did it in a couple of hours and using mostly our fingers” you added, hearing him laugh.

"I'll put it on the shelf to dry and bring it back Monday," he informed you, to which you nodded. It was already dark and you had nothing else to do there, so you thought of your only logical option: leave.

“I have to go home, but see you later”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Eddie exclaimed, almost immediately, "I can't give you a ride because there's something wrong with the van and I'm going to check it out this weekend, but I could still walk you if you want."

This was the second time he was offering to share a little more time after being at his house and you knew you'd regret it if you said no again, so you agreed. He seemed quite happy and only had to put on his tennis shoes and a big black sweatshirt to be ready. When you left the trailer Max was also leaving his and just as you did when you arrived, you also said goodbye. She didn't say anything, but she would make sure to tell her friends that she had seen you out with Eddie that night.

Your house was so far from the trailer park, so you and he would be together for about a half hour, by your calculations.

"Did you hear Iron Maiden announced a new album?" he said to break the ice. That was enough for you two to start talking (as almost every time) about music. Eddie had both hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt and was walking more shyly than usual, maintaining a goofy grin most of the time.

Months ago you wouldn’t have imagined that you would be walking so happily by his side, so it was still a bit overwhelming at times. But you liked him a lot, Eddie was a good person despite everything and he could tell that he cared about you, otherwise he wouldn't be wasting his time bringing you home.

Suddenly Eddie started talking about a very funny anecdote with Robin, but the way he talked about her was so animated and loving that you felt a tug in your chest that you didn't understand why. You stopped listening for a second because of the idea that had crossed your mind and you had the urge to express.

"You like her?" you asked suddenly. Eddie snapped shut and looked at you with a frown.

“Robin?” he said and you nodded. After this he let out a laugh "It wouldn't work, believe me"

"But do you like her?" you insisted, not wanting to stick with a half answer.

"Why so much interest?" he scoffed, nudging you friendly with his shoulder, while you rolled your eyes.

“If you don't want to answer me that's fine, I don't care. I was just curious,” you snorted. Eddie seemed very amused by the whole thing and was looking down at you with a wide grin.

“She likes someone else and even though she's a great friend, she’s not my type at all. So no, I don't like her” he replied. You nodded softly, not knowing what else to say, when suddenly his arm was entwined with yours and he pulled you closer to him. "Are you jealous?" he asked playfully against your ear.

"What? Why should I be?" you exhaled indignantly, trying to get away from him, but instead of letting go, he put his arm around your shoulders. His hair reached your cheeks and his body was so warm that you were about to ask him to stop so you could hug him properly.

But that was unthinkable, how could you feel or think that kind of thing for him? It wasn't right, was it?

"I can walk alone from here if you want," you said, after a few minutes of being silent. His arm hadn’t left your body until that moment.

"Are you sure? It looks kind of dark,” he exclaimed, glancing at the streets beyond.

"I'll be fine. Thank you for having me…” you started to say, but you were interrupted when you saw a car passing by. Without thinking twice, you grabbed Eddie's sleeve and pulled him to a tall, leafy tree that was out there, letting his body cover you.

"What's going on?"

"It's my dad" you whispered. Eddie sensed your fear and leaned closer to you, crushing you between his hard trunk and his soft body, while you placed both palms of your hands on his chest. "I don't want him to see me”

"Okay, no problem," he said to reassure you, while he tried to hide you as best as possible from the sight of anyone who passed by. He suddenly thought there was a better way to do it and he used both arms to pull you into a hug, which you didn't refuse. You felt safe with the contact and the softness of the fabric of his sweatshirt was most comforting. After a while you raised your head over his shoulder and realized that, although it was the same car, it wasn't your father.

"It's a neighbor," you informed Eddie, breathing a sigh of relief and resting your cheek against his shoulder as you laughed.

Now that that worry was gone you realized the position you were in and tensed up a bit. The man's palms were planted firmly on your back and there was zero distance between you, so when you raised your head, you almost brushed his lips.��Almost.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," you hummed, looking into his eyes. The feeling of heat running through your entire body returned to you and your breathing quickened considerably "I was just scared, but everything is fine" you exclaimed laughing "I'm sorry"

"Don't apologize, it's fine," he insisted, with such gentleness in his voice that it made you shiver. One of his hands went up your side and brushed your hair away from the side of your face, then rested on your cheek. "Maybe this isn't the best time to say it, but I think it's pretty."

"What?"

“Your smile,” he said. The truth had taken you by surprise that answer and the only thing you could do was frown in confusion.

"What?" you repeated, this time with a higher, more nervous voice. You were so, so close to him that it wasn’t necessary to speak more than whispers.

“Your smile is pretty. You're pretty” he continued, completely oblivious to the blush you already had on your cheeks while you panicked. You had completely forgotten about the scare you had been through, now all your attention was on the way Eddie was approaching you.

Your palms were still on his body and if you wanted you could push him away, but you didn't have the willpower to do so. On the contrary, you were slowly stretching upwards. You couldn't think, you couldn't speak or react coherently at that moment, all your mind could process was the urgent need you had for Eddie Munson's lips. So when he moved the last bit of distance you held back a gasp and when he finally kissed you both of you exhaled shakily.

The contact began sweet and careful, so slow that it allowed you to explore all the sensations. His lips tasted like the beer you'd been drinking, the skin where your hands were felt warmer than usual, and ungraspable strands of his hair tickled you. You had your eyes closed and still with some shyness he slid his hand down your neck until he reached the nape of your neck, in an attempt to deepen (but not too much) the contact. So you did and by inertia your hands ended up at the base of his neck, trying to hold him in the kindest way you could.

Eddie pressed your body against the tree and took the opportunity to slide his tongue along the contour of your lips, like a silent request that you agreed to without hesitation. You discovered that he was a skilled kisser and you regretted ever judging him so harshly because right now he was achieving the ideal balance of being tender and driving you crazy at the same time.

You didn't want to cut off contact for fear of taking back what you were doing, so when you got short of breath you parted slightly and then you kissed again. His taste was making you dizzy and you were thanking God you were leaning against a surface, otherwise you would have fallen straight to the floor because of your shaky legs.

“Eddie” you managed to say, after what seemed like an eternity. But this, more than stopping him, encouraged the boy to continue leaving short and fleeting kisses on your mouth.

"Say it again"

"Say what?" You managed to ask between kisses.

"My name. I like how it sounds on you” he confessed, getting you to put on a smirk.

"Edward?"

"No," he said, in a quiet voice, almost like a tantrum "I feel like you're scolding me when you say that"

"So Eddie?" you asked joining your lips almost afterward. You managed to get up a little and take him by the neck of his sweatshirt to reverse positions without stopping kissing him at any time "Eddie..." you started to say, stealing a deep kiss "Eddie, Eddie, Eddie" you continued, between more kisses, as if you wanted to recover at that moment all the times you had called it something else. He thought his man sounded like a song coming from your lips, especially when you were whispering it over his.

You were completely beside yourself, just succumbing to the carnal desires that were buried deep within you for a long time, until you had the strength to stop and look at him. He had red cheeks, pupils shining widely in both eyes, and lips swollen completely. Luckily for you, you didn't feel regret at first glance.

"Wow," he exhaled. You couldn't think of another expression to describe what had just happened and when he started laughing out of sheer nerves you imitated him. Eddie removed his hand from the nape of your neck to lower it to your back, at waist level, while you rested your grip on the fabric of his clothing.

"That was strange"

"You don’t like me?"

"Yeah, it just felt… strange" you laughed and as you did you leaned in a little closer to him "I mean, I didn't think we… I never thought we'd ever get to kiss"

"I like spontaneity," he joked, chuckling. To be honest he felt as if he had just run a marathon, full of adrenaline and excitement, but also very nervous about what just happened could mean for you. 

"So…" you started to say, one of your hands fiddling with the chain of the necklace Eddie always wore, "That time you said it bothered you because I couldn't face my feelings you were actually talking about yourself, huh?” you scoffed, seeing him get even more flushed than he already was. "Who would have thought?"

"It’s not like this"

"Since when do you know?"

"Know what?"

"That you are completely obsessed with me" you continued, moving a little closer to provoke him.

"You wish I was!" he laughed as he took you by the wrists and pulled you away a bit. But in the middle of this maneuver, he managed to steal a kiss from you that made you smile.

"Your words and your actions aren’t very congruent, Munson" you joked again. You hadn't stopped touching each other at any time "I really have to go home or my mom is going to worry"

"Let me accompany you"

"No," you said, in a soft but determined voice "I don't..." you started to say, feeling the young man's attentive gaze "Maybe you can come later, yes?"

"Okay," he exclaimed sympathetically, as he let go of your hands and took a step back. Although you had said that you had to leave, you weren’t making the slightest effort to get away, because you wanted to talk to him first. You had discovered in recent months that this served to clarify things and avoid sorrow.

"I don't know why you kissed me, but I liked it," you said absently, hoping to cause some impact or an answer with that, but when you didn't hear him say anything you spoke again "See you Monday"

“I like you” he murmured, as if he had been thinking deeply during those seconds “I didn't know before, but now I do and I wanted you to know too. If that means anything” he timidly confessed to you. You took a step and, as if you hadn't had enough, planted a small kiss on him that made him smile.

"I think you're fucking cute, but sometimes I can't stand you"

“I can shut up if my mouth is busy. Effective and fast”

"You're crazy if you think I'll keep kissing you just like that"

"What if I ask you to be my girlfriend?" he asked, so quickly that he didn't realize it until the words had left his mouth. You crossed your arms and looked him up and down, analyzing the candidate.

"Ask me and then we'll see" you replied playfully. You really couldn't waste any more time “Bye, Eddie. Be careful, please."

"Good night," he murmured. The two of you headed off in opposite directions and when you had gone a few meters you felt the need to look back, only to discover that he had done the same "Love you" he blurted out suddenly, a little louder than normal so you could hear him. 

You bit your lip to contain the excited smile that threatened to appear.

"Love you" you replied too, waving goodbye.

You weren’t lying when you said that you never imagined that something like this would happen between you. Eddie wasn’t a person you planned to be in your future and yet there you were, wishing with all your heart that he would keep his promise so you could be more than just friends. Friends, he and you were fucking friends, and to top it off you just kissed him. That sounded so unreal.

You entered the house with the biggest smile of all and butterflies fluttering strongly around your stomach, now knowing that what you felt for Eddie Munson was nothing more than love.

TAG LIST: @sweetdayme4427 @smol-book-nerd @ilikewomendealwithit @harringt8ns @katsukis1wife @ilovereadingfanfics

[cinearia]

The "Morally Grey" in ACOTAR

I decided to write something I have been thinking about since I saw some people saying this when pointing out the wrong attitude of some characters in ACOTAR (aka Rhysand and company), but I think this can apply in general. In another specific story, but I will focus on ACOTAR.

And please, if you disagree, that's fine. This is an opinion of mine that I decided to write and post, because I find it an interesting subject that does not necessarily apply only in ACOTAR, but that is in the saga and I have seen people commenting on it. I don't want to fight with anyone, okay? I put in the tags that fit in.

So...

I love morally gray characters, but just to make it clear right now, I don't think that EVERY story has to have ambiguous characters. It's okay if the story is to follow a line more heroes versus villains line. But one of the things I saw here on tumblr and twitter about the attitudes of IC, Rhysand and Feyre was using that same argument, that they are not perfect, that they have their flaws. I definitely agree with that.

But history itself does not recognize this (and some fans too). Because nobody seems to call their shit out.

Starting from a general view that can include all of the IC. Like, how not to worry about your image while protecting your city? Okay, i get it, we had to be the tHe BaD gUyS, but y'all will suffering the consequences for this, especially if its to protect your own city. Some other people are protecting their citys too. Doesn't mean that you are wrong, but everything has consequences.

Or, how they constantly abuse their power; how Rhysand threatening and using his powers even at a political meeting sound good? How Feyre ended up hurting someone during that same meeting, even if unintentionally, was just fine? No one will call their shit about using their powers? Do you really seek to make allies and friends in the middle of a war by showing abuse of power and threatening others (and not just feysand doing this)? Or saying that they should step over the others so that there is only one king and queen in Prythian (that was right for you, Amren).

And that is partly the fault of writing. Now, more specific:

They lie and steals a valuable artifact from a possible ally and political leader of an entire court? Ah, but it is for a greater good. It will not jeopardize the confidence of a HIGH LORD OF A COURT who was supposed to be his ally in the midst of a war.

Did Feyre decimate an court? Ah, but the leader was abusive to her, she felt trapped in the place that was rebuilding because of a curse of hundreds of years, even though there are innocent people. And, of course, you will have the consequences for this.

(this one more personal and less political) Elain, perhaps the least worst of all, neglected Feyre as much as Nesta did, and also do nothing when she went hunting? Ah, but Elain is Elain.

Did Rhysand hide information from Feyre's pregnancy that she and the baby could die in childbirth? Ah, but he didn't want to worry her, he was scared to lose her and her son. And the whole IC agreed not to tell her anything? Ah, they also care about her, the High Lady.

(And this is the worst and yes, I’ve seen someone say that) Rhysand did it all with Feyre UTM, drugged her, put her in a dress that didn’t cover anything, made her dance all night on his lap? But because he wanted to protect her, we need to hear both sides of the story.

And that's fine because they are the good guys in the story. But it is nothing more than pure hypocrisy, and no consequence falls on them. If it happens, it will be unfair, is just to move the plot.

Do you want us to believe in the heroes of history, do you want us to side with them? Great, we can do that. We could have liked Feyre and Rhysand and the whole IC more, as a group that doesn't always do the right things, except that would have to change literally EVERYTHING (a little bit of charisma would be good).

Instead, for me, it became an egocentric boring FoUnD FaMiLy group that only cares about their own city - and it's not necessarily wrong to be concerned only with Velaris, it's part of their history. But forcing an image on them that doesn't match their actions makes me believe the opposite, especially cause started in ACOSF, again from AMREN, about a King and Queen in Prythian.

So, I came to believe that it was a POV issue. For IC, they are the heroes of history, and think they are better than the rest.

It would be curious, in fact, if the whole point was that Feyre's POV would incapacitate us from seeing the flaws that she doesn't see. And totally proposital. That is why we have to see her as a saint, but at the same time so badass. Wow, no one, i repeat, NO ONE, suspect of me while i pretend to be innocent.

Or how we see her mate so perfect, to the point that history doesn't allow us to stop and think 'wait, this is kind of ...weird'. Or that, as much as there is an error there, but not leat the reader question the characters themselves. Rhysand, for Feyre, is perfect.

We have to see Rhysand as that altruistic, laid-back person who does everything for others, mostly because he did it for Feyre, and that can't be denied. He saved her, took her to her city, her family. What made me stop to think is how Feyre may be reproducing their behavior. How he seems to want her to be part of it so badly. I don't know how to put it into words, but that's more or less what I wrote in another rant I did.

Everything she does is justified by the other characters. At the same time that she, Rhysand and everyone in the IC have hypocritical and very wrong attitudes that history itself does not recognize. And, worst of that, the story seems glorify her POV.

Seriously, when she disobeys the instructions given to her (what she does the most) she has no one to say 'girl, please stop. Just STOP)

And with this said, i add:

We don't have to agree with everything that the characters and the protagonist do. We can love them and still disagree with them, because they are people, or fae, like any other, and there will always be something in them that we will disagree with. It makes them real. They can be heroes and still have their dark side.

The reasons may be as noble as possible, but that will not exclude the consequences, it will not exclude them from being wrong. They do not necessarily need to take a spur or a lesson in morals, but just do not miss out on what every action can bring, especially political leaders in the midst of a war.

Whenever the IC does something, it is for a "bigger" reason, but without giving us the chance to even question it. We don't see them paying for their words, without necessarily moving the plot of the story, in a story that focuses so much on the development of the characters themselves and putting the war in the background (or how should been). Without us being able to question the motivations of the good guys and always doubt the villains.

And this is where I’m going to focus on a more specific point; funny like any character who is "MoRaLlY GrAy" and who "have YOUR rEaSoNs" are men or with history of abuser. Thats funny, right? The new one now is Eris, who was part of Mor's trauma and one of Lucien's nasty brothers, that one who already attacked Lucien, the one who was going to kill Feyre. Who did all that to Mor.

But having Eris saying that she, the victim, didn't tell the whole truth, and the history is now showing that we will see his side...

It just makes me ask, how, in ALL the process of creating and writing these books, passing for her editors, in the books that she wants to pass the message of feminism so much, SJM didn't stop to think, or didn't have a friend to put their hand on your conscience, how wrong does it sound for the abuser to say that the victim is lying?

Why are the men in this saga constantly gaining the gift of doubt?

I can no longer see Rhysand as being morally gray precisely because of what SJM wants us to believe as he is and justifies his actions. What could have been in ACOTAR stopped being completely from ACOMAF, probably because SJM wanted that in her story, the girl would stay with the """villain"""

For from then on, every action of Rhysand is justified and without future consequences, since we are supposed to root for him. Now he is the protagonist's new love interest. So we don't blame him for what he does. So, everything is fine. He's not the bad guy.

And meanwhile, Tamlin comes down to being the bad, abusive guy and... That's it. And no, I don't think he's a good person, he doesn't have to have an arc of redemption, what he did with Feyre is still wrong. The difference now is that Tamlin is just that, those are his only attributes now, while Rhysand has attitudes as bad as, perhaps more, than he had. One is being extremely vilanized while the other is the hero of history, when they are only two sides of the same coin.

I can share this hatred as ALL characters feel for Tamlin, if I didn't see how everyone else did such bad things. Let's remember too, one has the job of torturing people, another has decimated an entire village. They really do what they want and... It's okay.

Doesn't work say that the story has a morally grey area with the characters if the consequences balance it does not lean towards the protagonists.

It costs me less to believe that they are what they are every time SJM reinforces in Feyre's POV how selfless Rhysand is and how much Feyre talks about how badass she is and the two of them such a powerful couple. Literally, I start to think the opposite.

(I did a second part of this rant, but I think it can get a little more personal cause focus in Nesta and Feyre that I decided to split it in two)

[djemsostylist]

Of Queens and Trash

Here’s the thing. SCK has been on a downward trend since 13. The breakup was long, getting together again was tiring, the amnesia plot was poorly handled and the mess that came following his recovery was, well, a mess. The necessary break for covid gave us a chance for a fresh start for Edser. All the bad stuff in the past, and a focus in the last episodes of them being able to finally fulfill all the promises they had not been able to. After all, this was a story that, at its core, was about two people who met and fell in love and who, no matter what, chose to be together. Invisible handcuffs. And with the return of the OG writer, it seemed we might finally get that. After 39 episodes of angst and only 7(?) of real togetherness, surely it was time? Forget the pain of the past, and start with Edser navigating their world together.

And then the trailer dropped. And all of a sudden, all the people who had spent months eviscerating Serkan for behaving badly in the 30s were celebrating this new plot, the “great angst” and Eda “being a Queen.”

For me, I can’t get over the hiding of the child. It's a hardline deal breaker. I don’t think it matters who writes it, I think it's an awful plotline. No matter how "good" the trailer looks or moments seem, I will remember that I was watching a show about two people who loved each other and never wanted to be apart, about a man who learned how to open his heart, and this ruined it all.

Now, I think it's worth noting that my hard line, in this particular case, is in response to Edser, if that makes sense. I’m not hardline, “if this is in a story I’m not watching”. If it works for the characters and story because that is the type of story being told, then fine.

I don't subscribe to the woke feminism brand of "all women are Queens and all men are Trash" which seems to be a trend of late (and not just in fandom). I think people are people and people are generally imperfect but also trying. I don’t think women, simply by virtue of carrying a child, get full say in what happens to the child, regardless of the father’s wishes. I'm not fond of a “hiding a kid storyline”, and while I get the whole "my body my choice" style of arguing, it took two people to make the baby. Two people get a say in what happens. I get you are growing the kid, but you didn't spontaneously conceive.

For me, Edser being apart and/or hiding a kid is a hardline. It doesn't fit with the characters as I know them and it doesn't fit with the storyline. And look--I hated the amnesia plot. I thought there were a literal million ways this could have been done better, but it's what we got. So for everyone suddenly defending this new plot, despite it making about as much sense as Eda getting married to make Serkan remember her, then that means everything goes. No blaming writers or ignoring canon...everything has context and meaning now. And since “it's realistic” is also a common refrain, then fine. Let’s go realistic.

Imagine being in a plane crash. You wake up, you have clear physical/mental blocks. For someone who likes to be in control, that's terrifying. You have a ring on your finger with a woman's name you don't know, and an entire year missing. You call the one person you know will come (since your parents and friends are useless) and she comes and tells you a story that jives. You can't remember shit and you keep getting flashes and your hands won't work, so you take what she tells you, because why would you have any reason to doubt? It’s not like you can remember anyway, and trying to remember hurts.

You finally go back home, and you recognize nothing about your own life. Friends, family...everything is different. Your mom is out, your dad is gone, your best friends are married. You don't even live in the same house, you have people working in your company you don’t know--even your dog is gone. And then you have a hysterical woman throwing pictures in your face of a man you don't recognize and your brain is still foggy and all your friends and family seem to be shrugging their shoulders at you.

You're terrified and alone and all you get is some vagueness about an epic love story and too much emotion and all you want to do is hide. From everything. Plus your heart is doing this thing every time the girl is near and you think you might be dying maybe and remember how your brother died?

So, the girl kisses you, you literally feel like you might be dying, and it's like naw. Fuck this. I'm getting back an ounce of control. So you propose to Selin. I mean you don’t love her and you barely want her but at least she is the same. At least she hasn’t changed, and at least she doesn’t stare at you with the weight of a million expectations that everyone else does. At least she doesn’t look at you and hope to see a man you can’t ever remember being.

But then the girl everyone claims is your soulmate is suddenly engaged to another man, and spends every moment after that claiming she hates you, she is over you, she is better off/happier without you, doesn't need you.

So it's like, okay, what is the truth. Your brain isn't helping, your friends aren't helping, she isn't helping. So you lash out, you close off, because really, what else is left. Your life isn’t your life, your mind isn’t your mind, you can’t even figure out what’s real and what isn’t. And she’s getting married and you want to die but she’s getting married and surely if she loved you she wouldn’t be doing this?

And then you get your memories back. Finally. Everything comes flooding back ,and it's a lot. You cope in shitty ways, you don't respond well, etc. You’ve returned from the dead twice, and everything feels just slightly off, but maybe you can make this work. At least you have her. After a few days, you’re feeling like your old self. You've got your memories, your girl, the possibility of the future you had snatched twice, and then BOOM. She rejects you, out of nowhere.

Won't talk, won't communicate, you have no idea what the fuck is happening. She’s crying and sad but also not leaving but also not staying and your brain can’t quite work things out but all you can do is promise that you love her, only her, always her, forever. Surely she must know that by now, right?

And then she tells you about the baby. You can't remember the sex of course, but then you find out it probably happened while your brain was fucked, and you barely have time to process this before oh yeah the love of your life is leaving you bc she would rather you raise a baby with your rapist. And suddenly you might be dying, again.

But you stop her. You stop her and even though she says she didn’t come back for you, why else would she have stayed? So, you finally get her back, she tattoos you on her finger and maybe just maybe everything will be fine when BOOM. Cancer. You aren't even over the other shit, and you have a fucking tumor. You are 30 years old, you've survived a plane crash, amnesia, and now you have a tumor. How many times can a person die?

And so you don’t cope well. You withdraw, you back away. Your brother died when he was young, you know what that does to a person. You know what it did to your family. You have this fear that curls around your heart that says “but what if she becomes my mother.” And she goes. She leaves and she takes your heart and your child (that you don’t even know about) and it’s like...fuck. Again. Because everyone leaves you, eventually. And somehow, it’s always your fault.

So, what I'm saying is, Eda endured a lot, sure. She was hurt. Their breakup in 14 was hard and I’m not denying that (although there is another post I could write about how since Eda never actually uses her words to tell him how she feels he can, perhaps, be understood in assuming that breaking up after barely being together would hurt but also that she would move on and live her life happily without him. Which I guess season 2 proves…) Losing Serkan to an accident/amnesia was hard, looking at the body of the man she loves but not seeing the man she loves must have been agony. But Serkan was fucking wrecked. So instead of choosing to write a plot where they both get to heal, where they both get to explore their pain and work through it together, we get Serkan who reverted to being a robot to cope with massive trauma and PTSD, and essentially is abandoned by everyone, again.

I guess what I'm saying is, if staying with him and supporting him when he was dealing with trauma was too much for her, then fine.That is very true for some people, and it’s certainly realistic. But I don't really think that jives with Eda and her character, and while it isn't a trauma competition, I'd still think Serkan comes out a winner here. Eda lost her parents, which was awful. She lost him, but she got him back. Twice. His trauma is losing his brother, being abandoned by his parents, a plane crash, amnesia, emotional manipulation/abuse and cancer. And then he gets punished by having his daughter taken away from him because he was having a hard time coping. Keeping a kid a secret isn't "protecting the child" it's punishing the father.

Tl;dr The direction they have taken the characters is gross for both mains, but if people are trying to justify Eda keeping his child from him because “he deserves it” or “she did what was best for her” then I think we maybe haven’t been watching the same show. Even if he said “I don’t want kids,” saying that to a hypothetical child is very different then being told “a baby is very much our reality.” Because that's the crux right? It's not that he decided he just didn't want to be a father ever, he's scared of having a family and losing them or of them losing him. And then she made that very fear be realized. Which is tragic and quite the opposite of what his life partner needed to do in that situation.

Bitte.

Thanks to @lolo-deli for the proofread and the final lines, you are the best. And for putting up with my uncontrollable ranting about this for days.

[mirandalinotto]

I am 21, and when I was 15 I was shocked that all the career older women that I knew wouldn’t define themselves that way. Now, 6 years later, and after studying it in university, I sort of get why. Feminism has *many* variations, waves and phases, there are branches of feminism directed towards the white women of the 60’s and others directed towards black women in Africa (for example). Sure, the scene is supposed to be the same, but the content varies. It also has its extreme variations, aka “the man haters”. As I understand it, the public tends to fall into the fallacy that there only exists *one* feminism, whether is the “man hater” or the “both genders are equal” or the “girls should rule everything” depends on the individual. I think it explains why many women (both older and younger than Michelle) may not feel comfortable defining themselves by the word, even if the believe in equality, when I hear the most extreme variations even I feel that way. I wouldn’t be that harsh on Michelle, really...

I really don’t think I’m being that harsh? All I’m saying is that I was uncomfortable. I think most people listening would agree that it seems that neither the interviewers nor Michelle Gomez planned to have to debate whether “feminism” is still a dirty word in 2020 or not. 

You can hear it in one of the interviewer’s voices, that she’s caught completely off guard by the fact that Michelle doesn’t want to be associated with that word, even after they’ve clarified that to them and to the feminist magazine that they represent, it just means they believe in equality. 

But in response, Michelle goes so far as to argue that equality is mathematically impossible. I think most people listening would agree that it was pretty jarring. Michelle’s argument is basically: “I believe in equality, but I don’t think it’s possible. I get angry that men make more than me, but what’s the point of that anger? Nothing’s going to change.”

Michelle Gomez noticeably had trouble answering the question publicly, thinking that it would cause controversy if she said she was a feminist, when really, I think most people expected her to be one, so the controversy is actually that she spent 12 minutes debating why that label doesn’t mean what it means to most people in 2020.

I’m not trying to cancel her for it, and I’m not trying to be harsh. I am simply genuinely baffled that she went on an interview with a feminist magazine and then proceeded to say she didn’t like that label. But she also implied that she would answer the question differently privately, or off the record... because I think she realized that she miscalculated when it came to who her audience was. She was basically trying to appeal to everyone, while actually appealing to no one, by saying that her status as a feminist is entirely dependent on who is listening and whether or not she’s being recorded.

At the end of the day, she wants men in a sexist industry to still hire her, and I think she assumed that identifying as a feminist would lose her jobs, when really all it did was confuse both the interviewers and the listeners as to why she couldn’t give a straight answer to the question.

Tl;DR ~ Michelle Gomez “doesn’t like labels,” and thinks that the word “feminist” has a bad reputation that she doesn’t want to be associated with. But she reserved the right to call them later and proudly declare that she’s a “fucking feminist,” as long as the cameras are off, and I just find that...odd?

[girlsgonemildblog]

She Doesn’t Even Go Here - The Bachelor, Season 25, Week 6 Recap

Image from abc.com

Last week’s episode ended with MJ and Jessenia going on a pre-rose ceremony quickie 2-on-1. As they wait for Matt to arrive, they begin to go at each other’s throats, and he inevitably ends up walking in on their bickering.

Matt speaks with Jessenia first. During her conversation with Matt, she says that MJ is the one who began the drama, which is objectively not true. While MJ was a bully, the actual bullying was definitely started by Victoria and Anna. Jessenia was right to call out MJ, but there was something sketchy about her in this moment. Her whole speech seemed very rehearsed, and her tone was calculated. I don’t know why, but she just comes off as fake to me.

MJ, meanwhile, is crying and calling Jessenia a “little bitch”, which isn’t great for her “not a bully” argument. She then collects herself, fluffs her hair, and declares that she had a “weak bitch moment” and “forgot who [she is] for a second”.

Matt then talks to MJ and says that the person Jessenia described did not match his experience with her. It seems that Matt actually had a connection with MJ, which was shocking since I don’t remember them ever speaking before. I really think the drama this season has overshadowed the actual romance, which is expected to some extent but also annoying when it gets to this point because The Bachelor is a dating show at its core.

MJ gets sent home, and even on her way out, she refuses to take ownership of her actions, instead claiming that Jessenia “sabotaged” her. Jessenia gets the 2-on-1 date rose, but it isn’t shown. I think this may be the first off-screen rose in the history of the franchise. Sketchy. 

Shortly after the rest of the girls arrive, Chris Harrison joins them and tells them the cocktail party has been canceled, and they’ll go directly to the rose ceremony. The last mean girl standing, Serena C (pictured below), then declares that the toxicity in the house never should’ve been brought to Matt’s attention and blames Katie for the lack of time she’s spent with him. As Katie correctly points out, Matt canceled the rose ceremony because he knew who he wanted to keep. If he sent Serena C. home, it was because he didn’t have a connection with her, not because of anything anyone else said or did.

Image from abc.com

Unfortunately, he does not send Serena C home. Instead, he says goodbye to sweet Magi, who we better see in Paradise, as well as “new girls” Brittany and Ryan, leaving Michelle as the only remaining member of the second batch of ladies.

The next day, Serena C. decides she needs to “confront” Katie. What her actual argument against Katie was, I could not determine. She seems to think that bullying, harassment, and slut-shaming should be allowed to continue if stopping it could affect her chances with a guy. Serena C. contains so much internalized misogyny that it actually makes me miss the #girlboss feminism that this show usually espouses.

After all the yelling (there was a lot of yelling), Serena C. goes downstairs to talk shit and says of Katie, “she came in hot with her sex positivity,” like being comfortable in your sexuality is somehow a bad or shameful thing. This actually makes a lot of sense; Serena C. doesn’t know how to properly masturbate and possibly has never cum. Maybe an orgasm would make her a little more pleasant to be around.

Image from abc.com

The first date is a one-on-one with Pieper. She and Matt go to a private carnival in the woods at night that looked absolutely magical.

Photo from Twitter

She opens up to him about having a different love language from her parents, who express themselves through actions instead of words. She explains that this has made it hard for her to open up. Matt says he used to struggle with the same thing, and she gets the rose.

Photo from Instagram

For the group date, Matt takes the girls bowling. Why you would want to touch communal, uncleanable objects and then eat finger food in the middle of a panoramic is beyond me, but to each their own, I guess. The group is split into two teams, and only the winners will get to go on to the night portion. The girls who lose are understandably upset, specifically Abigail, who has grown frustrated with the process as she feels she and Matt are growing apart rather than closer. Kit has yet another funny one-liner, asking Matt, “what do you want in a wife? A bowler?”

Shortly after the losing team gets home, they are invited back to the date since Matt doesn’t want stupid games affecting his time with anyone. This is a great PR move for Matt with the girls. Also, it suggests to me that there was someone on the losing side who he really wanted to get to talk to…

Michelle, who was on the winning side, gets the rose, but I don’t know why because I don’t pay enough attention to the parts with no drama.

Katie finally gets a one-on-one, and the “activity” is pranking Matt’s best friend and bachelor nation heartthrob,  Tyler C., while he gets a massage. The two sit in a hidden room and whisper directions into the masseuse’s earpiece like Impractical Jokers, if it was actually mildly entertaining and the hosts were attractive. During the night portion, Katie gets friend-zoned, and we sadly have to say goodbye to one of the only good people on this season.

Photo from Twitter

Oh! I just realized I forgot to mention this entire episode has been littered with 30-second snippets of Heather Martin quarantining to get a chance to meet Matt. If you’re unfamiliar, Heather was on Colton’s season of The Bachelor, and her storyline was that at 23-years-old, she had never had her first kiss. Colton did eventually kiss her, and according to other contestants of that season, he was not very good at it. But doesn’t everyone’s first time suck, really? So it was fitting.

Anyway, as the cocktail party is beginning, Heather pulls up (in a minivan for some reason), walks right past all the girls, and goes directly to interrupt Matt and Pieper. As soon as Matt sees her, he burst out in laughter. Now I do not judge him for this, as I am also a nervous laugher, but this still cannot be a good sign for Heather. All the girls are angry, but Pieper specifically can best be described as “big mad”. Cue the cliffhanger.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Change of Heart

Here’s the WidowAna commission! Commissioned by someone who wishes to remain anonymous.

(Older content)

Summary: In which Amelie feels her ice melting away after familiarity strikes her heart and she feels the need to return to Overwatch. Seeing Ana reminds her of what they used to have- and boy can that woman make a girl see stars.

Reblogs > Likes

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked!!!

Fandom: Overwatch

Relationship: Widowmaker/Ana Amari (FWB), mentioned romantic interest of Sombra/Widowmaker

Warnings: NSFT/R18+, Widowmaker is a trans woman with facial feminization and top surgery but no bottom surgery: Words used to describe her bits are cock/dick, FWB relationship, bondage.

Words: 2.5k

_________________

Overwatch had banded back together in another stand against the cruelty of the world, a war that would never be won. Of course, it needed to be done secretly- that went without saying. The government wasn’t fond of people with super powers causing a mess of things again. Every former agent that held the recon communicator got the message from Winston.

Even if they were playing for the same team.

Amelie could remember portions of being a member of Overwatch, the entire experimentation on her caused a big jerk in her memories. Yet, the communicator had jostled some more, a little tug in her memories that made her cold heart ache until she was absentmindedly stroking over the shape of it with her thumb, a frown to her plump lips. It would take her months to make her decision after this moment.

For once, in years, she had felt lost and confused. FELT something other than nothing. She once had had a purpose of being one of the greatest marksmen around, never missing, always taking down her prey without a shed of a doubt of anything that came after.

~Rest under the cut~

And yet...In her own mind, she found herself yearning for the smiles she once shared with the ones she used to call her ‘family’.

To Angela’s soft smiles as she checked over for injuries, to Winston acting as the father of the group and making sure everyone was fed, to their newest recruit- Lena- excited to try all the new things and do well. Ana’s kind eyes as she pinched Amelie’s cheek and told her that her aim was getting better by the day. A prideful look that always made Amelie laugh.

A shock had sent her forward in her sleep, eyes snapping awake as if something was calling out to her. Leave, run, go away- her first instincts in years that hadn’t been killer ones. She wasn’t following programming, or orders from men in Talon, something was melting her outer shell away.  Something calling out to her, leave, run, go away, a mantra-

There had been one person in this entire organization she had gotten close to. Or, as close as she could have possibly gotten. Someone who saw past the cold exterior to the woman she used to be- the woman she COULD be.

Sombra.

Sombra had found a way to get Amelie to open up as best as she could, somehow wiggling her way into the spider’s heart until she found herself almost aching to see the hacker smiling up at her. Such a little thing with a hidden story, Amelie just knew she was hiding it.

However, ones who hide together stuck together.

She found herself going to Sombra’s room in the middle of the night that very same night, quietly starting to pack her things for her until the hacker stirred from her position in bed, “Ugh-- Amelie? It’s too early-” She starts to groan, sitting up in bed with her hair a mess and rubbing at her eyes, but she’s startled when Amelie rests a perfectly manicured hand on her arm.

There’s a look they share. Amelie’s eyes don’t look lost and solemn, she looks determined.

A tired, yet mischief filled smile spreads across Sombra’s face with a bit of a laugh escaping her, “Oh we’re being naughty this early? Why didn’t you say so.”

It takes an hour, maybe less to gather what is needed and for Sombra to turn off both the lights and cameras. They’re gone by morning, no sign, no note. And an even bigger surprise for everyone when the one missing with Sombra, is none other than their perfect little doll, their perfect killing machine.

--

The switch back to Overwatch is a culture shock, not to mention the welcome party isn’t very welcome. Not when they see Sombra, at the very least, and the person who nearly killed Lena. Something Amelie only had a flicker of memory about, as if she could recognize her face to a T, but the whole scenario had been a blur. As if she had been a puppet to a ventriloquist.

Once finally accepted after keeping them both in almost interrogation rooms to ensure there was no bugs on them or any nefarious ideas, they were allowed to be apart of the group-. With surveillance, of course.

Lena took Olivia under her wing.

And Ana had Amelie, someone Amelie hadn’t seen in years and could admire the woman even more now.

Her hair was now grayed completely over, not a shock of black in it. Her eyes were just as kind as Amelie remembered them, honeyed and warm with wrinkles delicately framing the outer edges in crow’s feet. Her smile was just as warm, if a bit sad as she reaches to set her hand on Amelie’s cheek, as if checking her over. She’s even shorter than Amelie remembered.

“You haven’t aged a day.” Ana murmurs softly, sounding sad for her and Amelie can’t blame her. Her body was practically frozen at this age, looking just like the young 28 year old Ana remembered. Amelie can’t help it as she turns her head softly into her warm palm, feeding off her heat with a soft sigh. Another small smile makes its way to Ana’s lips, “And still just like a kitten.”

The word makes Amelie scoff, reaching up to hold Ana’s hand firmly to her cheek, “It has been ages since I have been shown...affection. Understand that this does not mean I will kneel to you again.” It’s almost a challenge the way she says it.

They had previously had a thing together, under the table sort of thing. Friends with benefits where the benefit was both women were comfortable in each other’s presence, and of course the ways Ana could make her melt. Before Gerard had captured her attention, that is.

Ana had been her source of affection, pleasure, and familiarity. Her touch could be soft or rough, entirely talented as they’d work Amelie over until she’d be drenched in sweat and sobbing. A dance they both had been familiar in.

Ana showed her the skill of an older woman, Amelie showed her the flexibility of a ballerina.

A soft laugh filters through Ana’s lips, using her thumb to stroke the cold flesh of Amelie’s cheek. “I would never ask you to- not after what you have been through, my dear.”

It strikes a chord in Amelie, something soft, something...familiar.

--

Of course, that familiar warmth, that soft feeling had blossomed. Old habits died hard, after all.

It’s how Amelie ends up in Ana’s room, again, and again, in the familiar darkness of the night. It’s how her plum lipstick gets smeared from Ana’s own mouth or her skin as Amelie indulges in the sweetness of her scent. Of how Ana feels and sounds when her lips wrap around a soft, small breast and Amelie shamelessly ruts into the offered thigh beneath her.

It’s also how Ana finds her own heart pounding harder than it had in years, at least for a scenario like this. How her fingers twirl in Amelie’s long hair, dragging her up to press kisses to her cold face and indulging in whatever she wanted to hear. How she feels younger by the day the more often she keeps thinking of Amelie and getting aroused, having to fight down a blush at the memories of the night prior.

Insatiable, as Amelie had always been.

And now? Now Amelie is in Ana’s room again, but a little differently this time.

She’s completely stripped naked, shuddering as little tremors wrack her frame from both desire and anticipation. She feels absolutely alive in these moments, head tipped to the side and her long hair free as it dips across her pale lavender flesh. Her curves are beautiful, smooth of scars that her body repaired. Her breasts are smaller, surgery she’d had ages ago during her Overwatch days, same with the way her face is gently sloped and molded perfectly for her own comfort.

Between her legs, her cock rests half hard, heavy against her thigh that flexes with tension. Her cock isn’t too big, perhaps about five or so inches with a beautiful curve upwards with a lovely thickness. It’s smooth and lavender like the rest of her flesh, a deeper shade at the head where white pre-cum beads. She’d never gotten bottom surgery, that much she had been comfortable with.

She’s smooth all over, blemish free and hair free. Something Ana found herself learning to like as she ran her hands over her flesh- but not yet, not now.

Amelie has her arms bound behind her back, wrists together and the rope coming to the ceiling to tie around a hook to keep her standing and still. Across her chest and over her abdomen is the rope binding her wrists firmly to her own body, looking much like a beautiful spiderweb. Ana had yet to lose her touch in the art of perfect knot tying.

Amelie’s legs are open, spread with her feet flat to the ground. Her chest is rising and falling evenly, trying to settle her nerves as her golden eyes, heavily lidded with thick lashes, watch Ana like a predator. Yet, in these moments, Ana should most certainly be taking that title.

Ana is stepped a bit back to admire her work, fully dressed in a white blouse unbuttoned at the top with flared sleeves and tight black pants it’s tucked into. It looked rather old fashioned, beautiful on her. Her gray hair is pulled into an over the shoulder braid, curling to between her freckled cleavage that makes Amelie sigh at the sight. A few stray hairs curl over the eyepatch resting over her eye and Amelie would dare say she looked stunning.

If she wasn’t being cruel, that is.

Warm fingers trace up her inner thighs as Ana rests in front of her, petting up and along her curves with her other hand. “Still as obedient as ever.” She remarks with a pleased hum, silencing any protest from Amelie when her fingers wrap around a dusty purple nipple and giving it soft attention. When she inhales sharply, arching into the touch, Ana’s lips form a tale telling smirk. “Just as sensitive.”

Deft and skilled fingers wrap around her cock, giving Amelie slow, languid pumps with just enough pressure. Ana’s thumb traces the sensitive glans under the head, tracing up to her slit and letting pre-cum spill out a bit so she can use it to slick up her movements. Amelie whimpers, rolling her head to the side and letting out a huff of pleasure when Ana’s warm mouth is replaced on her breast.  

A clever tongue flicks over her nipple and makes Amelie’s head swim with pleasure. She keeps her eyes closed, but she can picture Ana as perfect as ever touching her. With one hand working her over with languid strokes and gentle squeezes, her other holding Amelie’s side at where her curve meets the junction of her hip, stroking with her thumb softly in the circle of the ropes resting there.

“Ana-” Amelie breathes out, practically on her tiptoes when Ana pulls from her breast, kissing down her torso between each shape the ropes make. She only hums in response back up at Amelie, a pillow already waiting on the ground for Ana to rest on as she sinks to her knees. A hand gently rests over Amelie’s thigh, petting her outer thigh soothingly as Ana peppers kisses along the underside of her cock.

Amelie’s toes curl, turning her head to the other side before her head bows to watch her with a shaky exhale. Watching Ana’s eye flutter before peeking up at Amelie, letting her lips rub over her sensitive flesh, her hand keeping Amelie’s cock steady as she swallows the first few inches into her warm mouth.

Too much heat, too much warmth, the pleasure of it all- it's too much!

Amelie lets out a beautiful moan, hips jerking to no avail and only managing to tense her bonds tighter around her torso. She murmurs her name again, biting onto her plump lower lip as Ana takes her down with ease.

Practice, she could practically hear Ana chide in the back of her head, makes perfect.

Tension builds in her lower abdomen as Amelie nearly keels over on her bonds. She’s normally quiet in moments like this, nothing but sighs regularly passing her lips, but it seemed a scene like this brought out more of her. A soft swear under her breath, her mother tongue passing across her very lips as Ana keeps taking her into her warm mouth, nosing at her mound as she swallows around her cock-

“Shit-” She whines out in a higher voice, thighs tensing and her wrists jerking to try and maybe bury her fingers in Ana’s hair. To no avail, as her fingers flex and the jerk of her wrists only makes the rope tighten once more around her pleasantly. “Ana,” She tries again, voice high and warning.

It only results in said woman humming, swallowing her back down in a fluid motion as Amelie begins to cum. Vaguely aware of how Ana swallows it down, her hands stroking Amelie’s shaking thighs as if to soothe her.

When Amelie’s eyes flutter open blearily to look down at Ana, she watches as she slowly pulls off her soft cock. Sparing kitten licks and peppered kisses just to make Amelie shake a little bit more before she pulls back and wipes her mouth off on the back of her hand.

“How are you feeling?” Ana asks as she moves to stand up, stroking over Amelie’s curves and reaching behind her in an embrace as well as to pluck the knot from the ropes. “Do you want water? Tea?”

Amelie hums softly in a negative, letting her bonds be free as Ana begins rounding her to help with the bonds, rubbing over the marks left on her skin. “I feel...alive- better than I did earlier.” Spoken calmly, despite the waver in her voice from the tremors in her body. Once the ropes are all removed, she nearly falls on her first step, but Ana gently leads her to the bed instead.

“Come, lie down, you squirmed too much and caused a burn.” Sounding chiding as always, Amelie can’t help but smile at Ana’s fussing. Letting herself rest back on the bed and turn her head to bury herself in the familiar scent of teas and cinnamon.

Ana returns only moments later, a spicy smelling salve being applied to the rope burns across Amelie’s rib cage, wrists, and hips. Massaging into tense muscles as the prior Talon marksman sighs with pleasure and comfort. The entire time, Ana murmurs praise as she works her over, telling her how good she was, how beautiful, just as she starts to doze off. Safe, at last.

Now, Amelie just needed to find a way to get a certain feisty hacker’s romantic attention.

[a-political-wingnut]

Label me Human Part 2

These are my labels:

feminist

asexual

female

student

sister

daughter

cousin

millennial

student

sales associate

I have these labels. These are little clues I help others navigate around me, and likewise they can help me navigate the world...I can use them to find a group of in my area of study to talk with, or if I’m feeling upset about the housing market-I can go vent at my peers.

In this manner, as traffic signs or a sort of gps, these labels are helpful, but I am not defined by them.

They are not the sum of my parts, but pieces of a greater whole.

And this true of all these labels. Labels that we give ourselves, bestow on others, or have bestowed on us by our peers can and never will give a complete picture.

I am defined not by a list of words, but by my ideas, my words, and most importantly my actions, and the choices that I make with the time that is given to me.

This is true of everyone I think. [citation needed]

We are more than mere labels. At least I hope we are, because these labels while useful can also be detrimental. I’ve already covered this, so I wont spend too much time on it. But while these labels can serve as guidelines helping us navigate the messy traffic of life, they can marginalize people and create division within communities that need each other to be allies.

And labels themselves can be warped by perceptions and biases making something once wholesome and maybe even beneficial, toxic and detrimental.

How we behave while touting these labels, is what makes the difference.

The meaning of labels can change. Someone once wholesome and beneficial can be warped by prejudice and biases, until it becomes a twisted and toxic mockery of its former definition.

A prime example of this is feminism. Feminism by it’s very definition is a movement that supports equality for men and women. That’s what the movement actually fights for. However...a lot of people have decided that Feminism should instead be a movement that elevates women above men, as if women are shining beacons of purity or something, which they most certainly are not. As a woman I can confidently say women have the capacity to be terrible people.

Feminism is shifting away a movement that supports equality, and toward a club of misandrists who support and actively try to subjugate men. Which is a horrible thing to do.

Labels can be dangerous. Dangerous people, like irate misandrist can take them as their own, and derail entire movements, completely undermining the benefits those movements might have given.

And because they call themselves Feminists it becomes very hard to call them out on their bigotry because they can turn around go “woah there, I’m a Feminist fighting for the rights of the suppressed,” and becasue of that shield they become untouchable, and their prejudices have become scarily widespread hear on Tumblr and across other media platforms as well.

Misandry is not Feminism. It’s bigotry plain and simple. And Feminism is a movement that supports equality for both men and women. They are not the same thing, but until we stop allowing bigoted, hateful, and ignorant women to call themselves Feminists this will continue to be a problem.

Martin Luther King Jr. Could tell you, that you can’t fight fire with fire. That turning around and treating the misogynists with hatred and disdain, threatening to, if not actively seeking to strip them of their autonomy does nothing but prove that women and Feminists in particular really are monsters.

So thanks ladies. Thanks a bunch.

Thanks for making Women’s Suffrage look like a crock of hooey. Very helpful. And for making men feel like they’re under threat and need to defend themselves, making it harder to convince them to help us, becasue we really do need their help, you know, since they’re a part of society and have an easier time being taken seriously by other men than we women do-since the stereotype of the manipulative woman playing the victim card is still a thing-.. and I can’t imagine why that would be the case when those same poor defenseless victims turn around and start talking about exterminating, subjugating, or enslaving men-like I just can’t imagine why that mentality might persist. So again thank you for making the path to equality so much more difficult. Because it so bloody easy to walk before. Thanks.

And how you behave when you say you’re a feminist or X/Y//Z-or any label matters. It matters a great deal, because in that moment you become a face and a spokesperson for a group of people, and your behaviour is what they’ll remember long after your words have faded. If you support a marginalized group and you’re turning around and trying to marginalize others, you’re doing a disservice to your group.

Another example is Veganism (Yes I’m Vegan too-I did say I’d probably forgotten some labels lol) When Vegans treat animals with more respect than people, there’s a problem. There’s a problem with that individual’s mindset, certainly, but with the group as a whole if people within that community aren’t stepping forward to say, “we don’t support that kind of hatred/behaviour. We recognize that humans are animals too.”

I’m not going to say labels don’t matter. They absolutely do. But how you use them, when/if you use them matters more. There’s nothing wrong with an angry Vegan, or a furious Feminist.

But there is something wrong if that anger is used to spread hatred, bigotry, or violence. A label does not give you rightful claim to any moral high-ground if you start perpetuating bigotry or violence. And the moment you do so, you debase yourself. You lose all credibility and moral integrity.

The moment you start using labels or allow others to use labels to foster hatred and bigotry, you become a part of the problem not the solution.

Thanks Misandrists. Thanks PETA. (Side note: PETA was the reason I hated Vegans. For years. I hated them...until I became one because Caitlin Shoemaker and Unnatural Vegan showed me that not all Vegans are PETA, or endorse PETA.)

There are rational vegans. There are rational Feminists. Every group has their sinners and saints. And now that I’ve gone off about the hypocrites utilizing those moments for malicious gains.

Labels are important. I’ll say it again. But they should not be everything. There’s a time and a place to tell someone you’re a Vegan. There’s a time and a place to say you fall under the LGBTQA umbrella. There are times when those signs need to be made visible for one’s own benefit, and the for the benefit of a group or movement at large.

How one behaves while donning them matters.

But so does there usage. You can’t be non-binary and female at the same time. Being non-binary means you’re neither male or female, and I kid you not I saw this mistake made by someone yesterday. I’m not gonna link this, because I don’t need or want anyone who reads this to go after them. I have a gut feeling it’s a young person too. And I’ve seen the deplorable behaviour of adults on here, so I’ll address it myself.

Labels have clearly defined meanings, and that’s very important. The people who use those labels need those meanings to be as clear and concise as possible. They need those labels, because they are the shortest and simplest way to tell someone what you are or what you stand for.

Like which political party someone belongs to. Democrats and Republicans are not the same. That’s not to say there aren’t people who side with both on certain topics. But when you think Republican there’s a very clear image of a republican that comes to mind. Alt-Right likewise conjures something else. Labels need to be clear cut and as easy to understand as possible.

It’s important that they don’t get used in the wrong way, or that five different labels aren’t being used to mean the same thing. The latter, especially, muddies the water. And there are people in this world who might not what trans means, or what asexual, or non-binary means, and it’s important that labels be used appropriately and in the right context. Because the definition of the labels we use to define ourselves with matters.

And this brings me back to my main point. I sure know how to go a tangent lol. (Seriously. I’m sorry about that, but seeing people using labels to justify bigotry infuriates me like nothing else.)

Labels should not be treated as the whole sum of a person’s parts. It’s not good if they are. People are complicated and their thoughts and behaviors are messy. And I don’t believe anyone should able to stuff to themselves under a small umbrella of  words and acronyms and go: “Yup, that is me.”

I honestly hope that’s not the case. There should be an ‘and’ in  there somewhere. Lots of ‘ands’ all of which put together begin to paint a clear picture of who a person might be.

So these are my labels:

feminist

asexual

female

student

sister

daughter

cousin

millennial

student

sales associate

vegan (this applies to my everyday life and I missed it lmao)

These are facets of a person. Glimpses through a dusty window at the room inside. I am all of these labels, and I am so much more. I am me. I am Squirrel. I am human.

We are all human. And before someone looks at us and sees a straight person, a queer person, or a vegan, they’ll see our face, hear our words, and witness our actions. It is how we interact with our fellow humans that defines us.

[shalebridge-cradle]

Bisclavret Round-Up

Unholy took about three months to write. Fairy Tale took five. Hindsight took six.

Bisclavret took nineteen, and that should be the biggest indicator to you that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

This was my first venture into another fandom, and out of my comfort zone (though not entirely – supernatural elements for life). I’m not sure whether or not I did the source material and its characters justice, however, especially with the supernatural element I went with (Wolves are believed to have gone extinct in England in the late fifteenth or early sixteenth century), but I will try to explain my reasoning behind some of my decisions here.

The Characters

My main concern.

We get a good view of Monty’s thought process throughout the show, through the framing device of writing his memoirs and views of his private affairs. Phoebe and Sibella, on the other hand, are characters we don’t get much of in the way of examination – we only see them through Monty’s eyes until the very end, where they reveal themselves as more than that.

Sibella is a bit self-centred, and extremely practical when it comes to how she sees her place in society, which implies some self-confidence issues. Phoebe is more idealistic, and independent, but still hopes for a match fit for a storybook. But, towards the end, Sibella demonstrates she is more than a vain god-digger, afraid of losing the man she loves and willing to potentially compromise her image to save him, while Phoebe shows that she is not nearly as innocent or naive as the people around her consider her to be.

I interpreted the two women’s characterisations as thus; Sibella believes she is bound by society’s view of her. Phoebe does not. This, I believed, needed to be the focus.

Which is where we introduce…

The Whole Werewolf Thing

“[Post-modern Gothic] warns us to be suspicious of monster hunters, monster makers, and above all, discourses invested in purity and innocence. The monster always represents the disruption of categories, the destruction of boundaries, and the presence of impurities and so we need monsters and we need to recognize and celebrate our own monstrosities.”  - J Halberstam, Skin Shows: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters

I gave a number of possible causes of the D’Ysquith ‘family curse’, if it is one – the actions of the first countess, Gregory D’Ysquith burning down a monastery (divine punishment is a possible cause), but I never gave a specific answer. I think I might be operating on the logic of the original Bisclavret – it’s irrelevant.

The reason there isn’t is because I intended it as a metaphor – which I think I’ve made clear with my chapter updates here (though you don’t have to read it that way, Death of the Author and all that), but I never quite decided and what it was a metaphor for. In terms of this particular narrative, it can be read as a metaphor for feminism, and/or a metaphor for same-sex attraction.

Feminism

Edwardian Era England, where A Gentleman’s Guide takes place, is not overly-represented in fiction. Not surprising, considering it’s a pretty short time period between the surprisingly long Victorian era and the world-changing events of World War One. However, when you think of that time period, a certain group tends to come to mind – the suffragettes.

(Just a note. Agatha D’Ascoyne, the character from Kind Hearts and Coronets who inspired Hyacinth D’Ysquith in the musical, was a suffragette. She has no lines, apart from “Shush!” – Deeds, Not Words.)

We know what these people wanted – Votes for Women. They were not prepared to wait for society to change to get it, and when peaceful protest was ignored, they began to act out. They refused to fit into their role of quiet, demure, loyal wives, and for some groups, this was seen as threatening. Anti-suffragette cartoons of the time often depicted these women as old, ugly and/or selfish for wanting similar rights to men instead of accepting their place as a ‘lesser being’.

The point I am trying to make is, being in defiance of the role you are expected to play – which Sibella is afraid to show – was seen by many to be ugly. Beastly.

Phoebe runs Henry’s country estate for him. Phoebe flaunts societal expectations by proposing to Monty, instead of waiting for him to propose, the ‘proper’ way to do things. While she is feminine, she does not fit the idea of what a woman ‘should be’.

Sibella makes a point to meet her obligations as a wife, though she does surreptitiously carry on an affair. She sacrifices her own happiness to get what she wants in a socially acceptable way. She has no intention of leaving Lionel in the source material, but she convinces herself that a rich, good-looking, polite man – what society thinks of as the ideal male – is what she wants, and realises on her wedding day that it isn’t.

And goes through with it anyway.

When she can no longer fit that mould, when she refuses to go along with Lionel’s plan to leech off the countess, when she undermines and argues with her husband, that’s when things start happening. Indeed, her ‘beastly’ outbursts manifest as standing up for herself. She ends the story as a much happier and self-assured person than she was at the beginning, and attempts to bring justice to other women.

Same-Sex Attraction

This is a bit more straightforward. We’re coming right off the back of the Victorian era here, where Oscar Wilde and others like him got their lives ruined. Same-sex relationships aren’t viewed in a positive light at all at this time – you like the same gender? Off to prison with you, deviant!

As people that were (and often still are) villainised, misunderstood and attacked for the crime of existing, some members of the LGBT community reclaim monsters such as vampires, werewolves and the Babadook as their own as a means of subverting their image in a heteronormative society. Being ‘monstrous’ is not bad. Being different is fine. You may feel malformed and wrong, but you are not. You and your quirks are accepted.

For some, the ones to fear are those who appear in the daylight.

Sibella, for all her talk of being a monster, only fights back when threatened. Morton has a heart attack when put in the position of his victims, subverting the formula he’s used to. Lionel, fearing that Sibella will leave him and damage his image, resorts to violence against Sibella and several other women he sees as substitutes for her. Mary attempts to murder Sibella for getting in the way of a monogamous man-woman relationship. In her eyes, Sibella is an irredeemable villain, but Phoebe can be ‘fixed’.

If you want to look deeper into this link between horror and the LGBT community, here’s a video essay discussing gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender representation in horror films.

There are only a few non-metaphorical references to werewolves. The wolf head in Eugenia’s dower house is a family member – as previously mentioned, wolves went extinct in England during the reign of Henry VII. St Hubert’s Key is a charm that more often than not looks like a nail, and was supposed to be able to rid the body of disease caused by a dog or wolf bite. There is some science behind this – the metal was heated before being pressed to the wound, and, if the subject was at risk of contracting rabies from the injury, the heat would likely sterilise and cauterise the potential infection site.

Not the First Murder-y Heir

There are a couple of characters named or directly taken from Israel Rank – Autobiography of a Criminal, the inspiration for Kind Hearts and Coronets and A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder. I’ve compared these works before, so I’ll just go over those that appear here.

Esther (Lane) – The third object of Israel Rank’s affections, and a governess. Knows more than she’s letting on in Israel Rank, and in this story as well.

James “Jim” Morton – Appears for about a page to explain Israel’s disillusionment with the ideal male – while Morton seems great to some, he really isn’t. Since Jim only appears as a child in the book, his characterisation here is drastically different.

Lord and Lady Pebworth – Almost directly lifted from the book, with Lady Pebworth being a bad singer and Lord Pebworth an older gentleman who lets his wife get away with a lot. The difference here is that Israel introduces the Hollands to the Pebworths, while the Pebworths are hoping the Hollands introduce them to Lord and Lady Navarro.

Sir Anthony Cross – Quiet, very well-off, slightly older gentleman who is quite taken by Sibella, but it doesn’t go anywhere. Acquaintance of the Pebworths. Pretty much the same guy.

Ethel D’Ysquith (Gascoyne) – An ancestor Israel is quite taken with, not only due to the resemblance between the two. He’s made the 3rd Earl of Highhurst because I didn’t feel like making an imaginary preceding title (Monty is only the 9th Earl, while the 10th Earl Gascoyne is about five generations before Israel – Ethel was the 6th Earl) and the 2nd Earl, Roland, had already been named in the musical. Phoebe’s description of him is meant to heavily imply he was also a werewolf. If I had read the book before fleshing out the D’Ysquith family tree, he would have taken the role that the first countess plays in the narrative’s events (Ethel Gascoyne hid in a tower with an Italian magician for 20 years).

Kate Falconer – The character who would later be known as ‘Boat Girl’ in Kind Hearts and Coronets and Evangeline Barley in A Gentleman’s Guide. Her great crime is to go on holiday with her boyfriend, and gets poisoned for her troubles. She survives here, and I used her to try a formatting technique (while she speaks, none of her dialogue is in quotes: in a way, she is voiceless).

(Sir) Cheveley Drummond, (Lady) Enid Branksome, and Catherine Goodsall – only mentioned briefly. Drummond is described as handsome and ‘interesting’ by Israel, Lady Enid is a young woman from a penniless but aristocratic family, and Catherine Goodsall in an actress whose abusive husband was beaten so badly by a Gascoyne he joined the navy and never came back to land.

In addition, Lionel’s later characterisation comes directly from Kind Hearts and Coronets, since he gets  almost none in the musical. His breakdown in Chapter 11 follows his emotional journey when asking for a loan – affability, begging, threatening suicide, insults and physical violence.

Literary References:

Not always relevant, but there is a wide enough variety that I’m collecting them.

Every chapter title, and the tagline of the work, comes from Manners and Social Usages by Mary Elizabeth (Mrs. John) Sherwood. It’s a bit out of date by the time of this story (written in 1884), but Sherwood does have some great phrases in her etiquette handbook.

Ruddigore is mentioned in chapter 2, only because it is a musical theatre production (opera) where ancestors play a role and family expectations are subverted.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Hamlet. It’s Hamlet.

When in the chronicle of wasted time, I see descriptions of the fairest wights, and beauty making beautiful old rhyme in praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights...  Shakespeare’s Sonnets, Number 106.

I desire, and I crave… Fragment from Sappho’s poetry.

The countess closes her book; something by a George Reynolds. George W. M. Reynolds wrote Wagner the Wher-Wolf (with that spelling) in 1857.

I met a lady in the meads, full beautiful, a faery’s child: Her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild. La Belle Dame sans Merci (The beautiful lady without mercy) by John Keats.

Sibella also briefly mentions Algernon Blackwood, a supernatural fiction writer who wrote a short story about a werewolf (portrayed quite differently here) that a character in 1909 could have possibly read (the story was first published in 1908).

In addition, the whole story is named after a very early depiction of a sympathetic werewolf, Bisclavret by Marie de France (and the most direct I think I’ve ever been with a title). It depicts, naturally, a werewolf (who is also a knight, because not being human doesn’t disqualify you from doing that – cutting social commentary for the 12th century) who is trapped in his wolf form after being tricked by his wife and her lover. Through chivalric behaviour to the king on a hunt, he works himself back into the royal court and, when his former wife pays a visit, bites off her nose. The king thinks the sudden aggressive behaviour from his pet prompts further investigation, the wife reveals all, and the knight is restored to human form. Also, all of the wife’s children are born without noses from then on. Lionel getting his nose bitten off is a reference to this poem.

Uncategorised Trivia

This work was written with the UK spellings of certain words, because it takes place in England. Previous works all took place in the US, and so used US spelling.

Les Patineurs Valse is French for The Skater’s Waltz. Reference to Asquith Jr. and Evangeline Barley.

All of the racehorse names Sibella finds are either variations, anagrams or synonyms of actual racehorses in the Victorian and Edwardian eras. Sir Hugh is Sir Huon, Gil Owen is Neil Gow, Irish Lass is Irish Lad, Supervision is Oversight and Pinnacle is Meridian.

Lionel was right to be concerned about Phoebe’s flower arrangement. Red begonias represent love, lavender-coloured heathers represent admiration and loneliness (and are a reference to another fandom I write for), tuberoses are symbolic of wild or forbidden passion (and was commonly used as a funeral flower), and verbena is reference to romance and sweet memories. The dead foliage is meant to mean sadness. Overall, the intended meaning is I miss you, my love.

[downtonabbeyrevisited]

Series One - Episode Three

This episode is in my mind the finest hour that Downton has ever had. And by finest, I mean the most absurd. It has everything: clandestine trips to the post office, millions of dogs and body horror. Episode three is the time when we all realise that we need to settle in, because life at Downton is going to get weird as shagging a diplomat to death is treated with the same level of outrage as owning a typewriter. 

This episode is really about Kamal and Kamal only for me but we do start to see the development of the plot point outlined in episode two, namely Gwen’s shadowy relationship with the post bag. When Gwen’s typewriter is laid bare on the servant’s dining hall table, Mr Carson reacts to it in an entirely calm manner with a level of alarm that befits the situation. Of course he doesn’t and in return, Gwen points out that all she has done is “Bought a typewriter and taken a correspondence course in typing and shorthand”. She is not aware that either of these actions are illegal but this memo does not seem to have reached Carson. 

Whilst all this is going on, Bates is lurking behind Anna and Gwen in a move apparently inspired by Donald Trump. Jaws music could be added here and it would totally fit. In fact throughout the episode, Bates does make a habit of popping up like a northern limping genie at times of distress in such a manner that means he is probably the only person in the house (upstairs or down) to have a proper handle on everyone’s emotional states. In modern day terms, he’s the sort of person who I imagine would have gone on a life coaching course.  But in the end, it’s not Bates’ emotional support that aids Gwen. Sybil comes to the rescue, vigorously circling adverts in the paper and plotting to smash the nearest available glass ceiling. More on this, and other smatterings of feminism, in later episodes. 

Bates has issues of his own though as he is sold a rather torturous leg brace by a man with all the scruples of an amoral PR flack who sells their services to industries that pollute. As such we are treated to some fresh out of drama school wincing and hissing from Bates whilst he takes on the tradition of men refusing any kind of medical help for serious things (yet somehow are more than happy to harp on about ‘man flu’ for days on end). Mrs Hughes eventually brow beats Bates into showing her his mangled appendage. Much to her credit, instead of recoiling in horror she cries in a sort of forlorn way and then proceeds to encourage Bates to contribute to freshwater pollution by lobbing the brace into a nearby lake. 

Someone who is almost having as bad a time of it as Bates this episode is Edith who somehow manages to become third wheel to a church. Kudos. Matthew is clearly more interested in the side aisles than anything that Edith’s personality can produce and firmly puts the nail in the coffin by suggesting “next time let’s take my mother”. The general sense of unease around Matthew seems to have dissipated entirely in the span of two episodes from everyone bar Violet and to an increasingly lesser degree Mary, but not as fast as Matthew would like. 

But for all the other strands in this episode, there is one that stands out: Kamal Pamuk (a name that Cora has difficulty pronouncing and Isobel can’t even read despite the fact that it’s a relatively straightforward name, pronounced pretty much as it is written). After a bit of casual racism from Mary, we finally see that the Turkish cultural attache has a heck of a lot going for him. He seems to think so too. And so does Mary. So that’s lucky I guess. The pair flirt on horseback as they hunt to the backdrop of some truly awful music: there is such a thing as too many violins. Kamal asks Mary to “take the jump” with him. It’s downhill for Mary’s reputation from there. 

But it’s not just Mary’s head that has been turned. Upon clapping eyes on Kamal, Thomas enquires of Carson “Is that one mine?”. Thomas is apparently ever the optimist and, as it turns out, Carson ever obliging which seems like an odd move for someone who loathes this side of Thomas. But maybe Kamal is so handsome that even Carson can see the appeal. The look that Thomas shoots the girls as he walks with Kamal says it all really. 

Behind closed doors, Thomas declares that he is “very attracted to the Turkish culture” but I imagine it’s in the same way that Zac Goldsmith is attracted to Bollywood. Kamal then indulges in a bit of period typical homophobia and blackmail and at the end of the scene we are reminded of the fact that Thomas lives his life sailing perilously close to the wind. 

Kamal is now a man on a mission. The strength of the set is tested as he basically runs Mary into a wall and I’m presuming that four burly prop hands are suring it up just out of shot. Mary is hesitant at first but then fully enters into the spirit of things only to have Kamal give up the ghost. Literally. 

But where Mary loses out, the viewer gains because thereafter is what I think the greatest section of Downton of all time. It starts with a shot of Kamal’s dead face in soft focus in the foreground and just gets better and better. The pinnacle for me is the beautifully framed shot of Anna, Mary and Cora shuffling Kamal’s body across the landing with the legs disappearing around a corner. Brilliant stuff. 

Romantic declaration of the moment 

There is clearly only one winner for this. Kamal Pamuk. He only got twenty minutes screen time maximum, but his absurdly handsome ghost will haunt us, and more importantly Mary, for many seasons to come. 

Expressive eyebrow of the week 

Every single character’s face from the 29:10 minute mark onwards but a special shout out does go to Carson’s face when Gwen declares that she does not want to be in service forever. 

Wait, what? 

“Is the screen a Cromwell casualty?” No but I think this date is. 

“I put myself entirely in your hands” Yeah, Thomas wishes…. 

“I am in the grip of madness” Kamal’s words also later to be uttered by whoever commissioned the movie. 

“Its my wonderful complexion inherited from my Irish mother” No-one has ever said this. 

“We must have a care for feminine sensibilities; they are finer and more fragile than our own” With that kind of talk, it’s no wonder Sybil eschewed the landed gentry and married an Irish radical. 

“I hope we’re in control of something, if only ourselves” The first of many signs that the Dowager Countess would have voted Leave if possible. Clearly, she was ahead of her time. 

There is a fleeting suggestion by Bates that Mrs Patmore is a spy. I would pay good money to watch this spin off. 

Also Thomas snacking in the kitchen is even more proof that he is, indeed, my spirit animal. 

[discyours]

What are your thoughts on contrapoints' new video if you've watched it ?

I had actually watched it before I got this ask but I wanted to rewatch it to make sure I had a good answer. Terrible idea, I spent way too much time on this, too much to justify shortening this out so I’ll put a cut out of courtesy to my followers. 

I did actually find myself agreeing with her on a few points, though I didn’t spend much time being excited about that since criticising “TERFs” is hardly a new or rare thing. Starting out the video with a dramatic reading of a Germaine Greer quote was funny in my opinion, but it did set people up for an obvious bias. Some radfems truly are that transphobic and that’s really important to acknowledge, but it’s hardly news to anyone in her audience. I would’ve preferred if she’d engaged with more moderate forms of gender critical feminism, though I can’t say it’s all that much of a surprise that she didn’t do so since the entire basis of her channel is essentially putting on a wig to create a strawman (that’s not to say that the points she argued against were never made by anyone, but she does get to pick and choose which ones she talks about rather than debating a real person).

It’s also quite telling that she only asked past gender critical feminists for their input, not anyone who currently holds those beliefs (though again, can’t say I’m surprised). I did actually like her explanation of gendercrit ideology (”The idea is that gender [femininity, masculinity, gender roles, all that] it’s all a patriarchal construct, and biological sex is the only thing that makes a person a man or a woman.”). It’s fairly rare to see people represent it even somewhat accurately, so props for that.  She then went on to mock questions about trans ideology as being comparable to “the Jewish question”, so,,, that strong start didn’t last long.

She explained that trans people are on the defensive against genuine questions because of the amount of transphobia we have to deal with from the government, the press, and oftentimes our family. It’s the reason we stick together and stick to unambiguous slogans that don’t concede anything (”trans women are women”). Which, cue 10 people unfollowing me, I don’t disagree with. I started this blog to talk about trans issues and at this point I’m about as trans-critical as troons can get, but even I don’t have the energy or desire to engage every single person I come across in their genuine concerns about trans people. The part Natalie leaves out however is that these slogans and chants are often part of an attempt to change legislation, where you don’t get to just state that trans women are women and refuse to discuss it when people don’t blindly accept it. Being on the defensive makes sense, but it’s incompatible with being on the offensive to change laws and social norms.

Moving on to CONCERN ONE: GENDER METAPHYSICS

This is one part where I actually strongly agreed with Natalie (well, as much as could be expected). She explains that sometimes, people use metaphors to explain feelings that are difficult to put into words, and that that’s how she understands the “trapped in the wrong body” language. Thanks to some groups who do mean this literally (thanks transmeds!) I don’t blame radfems for taking those statements seriously and attempting to debunk them, but I’m also really not fond of radfems jumping on just about any attempt to talk about dysphoria. A lot of the time these objections go beyond wanting to debunk something that is assumed to be meant literally, and beyond wanting people to think critically about their dysphoria; it reaches the point of expecting that they’ll simply reason people out of their dysphoria, since being dysphoric (and being trans) just doesn’t make any sense.

She also criticises brain sex theory much in the way that I do, and says she thinks of herself as a woman who used to be a man rather than having always been a woman. I’m too gendercrit to relate or agree completely, but compared to most trans people’s stance on this it’s pretty damn agreeable.

She finishes off this… chapter? With a quote about “living as a woman”, and while I have plenty of thoughts on that it’s elaborated on later on, so let’s move on.

CONCERN TWO: GENDER STEREOTYPES

Natalie explains that her clothes, makeup or voice don’t “make her a woman”, and that no trans woman thinks femininity and womanhood are the same. Rather, they’re using femininity as a cultural language to prompt people to see them “for what they are” (women).  

Obviously the question of what makes someone a woman has yet to be answered here (unless the quote from the last chapter was intended to but that’s pretty circular [go watch the video this is too goddamn long to copy everything]) so I’ll leave the “see us for what we are” be for now. But it’s absolute bullshit that no trans woman equates femininity to womanhood. How many trans women have explained that they knew from a young age because they liked to play with dolls and their mother’s makeup? There have literally been trans women claiming that butch lesbians are closeted trans men, and that an aversion to femininity counts as gender dysphoria. I do agree with her last point, though. I didn’t cut my hair when I came out because I thought that would “make me a man”, I did so because it’d help me pass. A lot of radfems are intentionally obtuse about the existence of cultural signifiers just to paint trans people as delusional gender-worshippers.

I am actually gonna quote her here because I think it’s important;

“I think butch or gender nonconforming cis women sometimes side-eye hyperfeminine trans women because they don’t identify with this version of womanhood at all, and they’ve had to struggle since childhood against a society that’s told them they have to be feminine. And I completely sympathize with that. I think there should be more gender freedom, less coercion less restriction. But also, I’ve had to fight against the same society that told me I should really, really, really, not be *this*. So, I feel like we should be able to form some kind of solidarity here.”

I was ready to be mad at the start of the sentence but I actually agree. I just think that solidarity is lost when trans women refuse to acknowledge that society’s insistence that they don’t be like *that* is about gender roles and hatred of gender nonconformity. There is great potential for solidarity between GNC females and feminine trans women, but trans women reject it because they don’t want to be seen as GNC males or acknowledge that other people do. They want to be treated as normal, feminine women, and not doing so counts as misgendering.

CONCERN THREE: ABOLISH GENDER

Natalie argues that, while potentially a good idea, abolishing gender is a Utopian project (/pipe dream), much like abolishing borders. That denying trans people their gender identity because “abolish gender” is much like denying immigrants citizenship because “abolish borders”. It’s targeting the people who are most vulnerable under the present system, and then leveraging that system against them under the pretense of abolishing it.

I’ll concede that abolishing gender (and frankly, radical feminism as a whole) is fairly idealistic. Most radfem goals are incredibly long term and while that’s a good thing in some ways (I’m quite happy to be with a movement that refuses to accept anything less than complete female liberation, rather than some form of feminism that insists it’s only needed outside the west [”We’re already equal! I can vote! Look at the pants I’m wearing”]), it also leads to quite a lot of abstract academic bullshittery, and unreasonable expectations of ideological purity.

I don’t think it’s reasonable to view individual trans people as personally responsible for accomplishing the very long-term goal of abolishing gender. But radical feminism is not about individualism (which a lot of radfems do seem to forget, to be fair). There are radfems who are supportive of trans people; Andrea Dworkin herself supported transition. Only as a bandaid for a much bigger issue (the existence of gender) but she at least felt that trans people should be allowed this bandaid, should be allowed to reduce their suffering in current society in whichever ways they can. Dworkin’s view on this is far from rare and some radfems are even trans themselves. But to get back to the part about radical feminism not being individualistic; while individual trans people are not necessarily an issue for gender abolition, the wider trans community and its current political ventures most definitely is. The entirety of radical feminism is not going to collapse from a singular tran getting a gendered hairstyle, but replacing laws to refer to gender identity rather than sex can absolutely be devastating in the long term (and in the short term, when you look at the amount of protections that female-bodied people lose as a result), and that’s exactly what the trans community is currently pushing for.

Natalie also criticises the fact that gender critical feminists don’t seem to go after, say, Kim Kardashian for promoting gender roles. That they attack trans women with barely any following rather than people with actual power and influence. And I disagree with that, radfems are definitely highly critical of women like Kim Kardashian. But the way Natalie makes this point exposes part of the issue; nobody is going after Kim Kardashian for wearing a dress because Kim Kardashian never made an active choice to start wearing dresses. She experienced female socialisation no differently than any other woman (or, arguably, far more strongly considering who her parents were), so there’s some sympathy to be extended there. She has more responsibility due to her platform, but it’s no easier for her to break out of gender roles whereas trans people, to some extent, knowingly stepped into another gender role.

CONCERN FOUR: MALE PRIVILEGE

Natalie argues that men don’t treat trans women like their equals. That non-passing trans women are not treated like men, but like monsters, and that “male privilege” is not a good description of that experience.

This is one of those things that’s really hard to argue against because there’s an inherent disagreement about gender. Natalie’s insistence that non passing trans women aren’t treated like men comes from preexisting notions that a man is more than simply an adult human male, which is where I disagree. Non passing trans women are treated like men, but that does not mean that men will treat you like an equal; much like straight men can still treat gay men like shit, white men can still treat black men like shit, etc. “Male privilege” has never been a good descriptor of gay men’s experiences with homophobia either, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t have any. There is more than one axis of oppression.

Moving on, Natalie brings up radfems’ skepticism about the whole notion of “passing”. I’m not going to bother to quote it because the entire part is good, but I do have strong feelings about this.

Her argument about gas station attendants and plumbers is completely on point, and I fucking hate it when people try to argue that anyone who reads trans people as their desired sex is simply being polite. It’s genuinely fucking impossible that everyone we run into has been indoctrinated into politically correct gender ideology, and the nerve a lot of radfems have to insist that our genuine life experiences are worthless next to their opinion is downright insulting.

Passing is, in fact, subjective. With my shift in perspective since becoming gender critical, my perception of trans people has changed too. People I used to believe passed flawlessly are now quite noticeably trans to me, but that’s not to say that that’s a result of “breaking free from trans ideology”. Relying on gender roles to identify people’s sex is in fact the cultural norm, and only actively attempting to view things differently (or spending large amounts of time around GNC people) changes that.

CONCERN FIVE: MALE SOCIALISATION

Natalie starts off by acknowledging that she has no idea what it’s like to be catcalled as a nine year old girl, or what that does to a child’s psyche. It did not start happening to her until she was an adult, when she knew what she was getting into and was ready for it. I just want to mention that separately because I just about cried when she said this. Sexual harassment at a young age is one thing I see trans women consistently failing to acknowledge, and an end has just come to the years of frustration I have suffered as the result of this argument going completely unaddressed.

She goes on to argue that socialisation does not stop at childhood; that it is a lifelong process. One example she gave is that her appearance is commented on far more now that she’s transitioned, and that that’s been something she’s had to get used to. I actually think that’s a good point and one that should be considered more, but I’m uncomfortable with the implication she brings when talking about resocialisation, as if childhood socialisation can be erased/redone entirely (which I don’t believe it can).

Then there’s the “trans women don’t experience socialisation the way cis men do” argument. Let me quote this and see if you can spot anything wrong;

“But also, trans women often don’t experience the socialisation the way cis men do. Many trans women are feminine and queer before they transition, and have always experienced a kind of femmephobia that is rooted in misogyny.”

The implication that feminine/queer equates to trans is really harmful, and once again she’s arguing from a different concept of what a man actually is. Not to mention that “femmephobia” is only a thing against men, as women are expected to be feminine.

“Some trans women also identified as women years before transitioning, and internalised society’s messaging about women more than society’s messaging about men. Now that’s still not the same as living in society as a girl from birth, but it’s also pretty different from the socialisation of most cis men.”

Interestingly enough, I initially wrote down “masculine cis men” rather than “most cis men” because that’s what the captions said. I wonder if Natalie realised her unfortunate implication that feminine = trans after uploading her video and decided to change it in the captions, since the words don’t sound all that alike.

She then talks about “stolen valor”, that she suspects that male privilege and male socialisation are such major talking points for gender critical feminists because they feel like it’s an injustice for people to claim their identity without experiencing their oppression. She compares radfems to transmeds; both groups supposedly believe that you need to suffer for your identity to be valid.

Fundamental disagreement about gender is affecting her understanding yet again. Identity-based thinking just can’t be applied to gendercrit ideology at all; the whole point is that gender identity itself is harmful, and that women who consider themselves as such because they are adult human females have extremely different experiences than people who feel that they identify with womanhood regardless of their lack of life experiences actually being female.

[”You didn’t suffer like I’ve suffered! You don’t know what it’s like”] “I’m tempted to strike back by saying that you don’t know what it’s like to occupy an identity so stigmatised that most of the people who are attracted to you in private are too ashamed to admit it in public”

Ever heard of butch lesbians, Natalie?

“You don’t know what it’s like to have a body so non-normative that you’re shut out of whole areas of society”

Cough

CONCERN SIX: REPRODUCTIVE OPPRESSION

I’m getting fucking tired at this point and I hate myself for even writing this long of a reply up until now. Basically, she pulls the good ol’ “not all women experience their womanhood the same way” argument, and then makes a fucking coat hanger abortion joke. I wish I had an in-depth reply to that but I don’t. I honestly don’t have the words to express how angry it makes me that someone who has never even had to deal with even the mere possibility of unwanted pregnancy thinks they have any place to joke about the horrific lengths women were forced to go to as a result of their reproductive oppression.

CONCERN SEVEN: ERASING FEMALE VOCABULARY

Through her assumption that feminism is a mere shield for gender critical radfems to hide their transphobia behind, Natalie is disregarding the actual feminist motivations behind opposing gender-neutral language. I mean, she literally does not even touch on it, she only says that nobody has any issue with individual women referring to themselves as women rather than “menstruators” (or, by her suggestion, “people who menstruate”).

Medical lingo is complicated, and I understand wanting to ensure that trans people do not lose insurance coverage when they change their legal sex. I don’t believe that changing all medical language to be gender neutral is the only possible solution there, but at the end of the day doctors are gonna know the difference between male and female anatomy even if their textbooks talk about “pregnant people”. Medical language is not the issue here, it’s the expectation that this language becomes commonplace everywhere, including in feminist discourse. That’s the point where female vocabulary is erased, and where it becomes impossible for women to discuss the reasons for their oppression. Menstruation and pregnancy are not “gender neutral” issues when it comes to institutional oppression, and we should not treat them as such.

Moving on, let me quote her directly:

“I have no problem with cis feminists discussing or celebrating periods or wearing pussy hats at political marches. […] I totally get why cis feminists would want to celebrate their reproductive anatomy in defiance of a society that routinely shames and subjugates them for it. The problem arises only when menstruation or reproductive anatomy are used to misgender trans men or exclude [women who don’t bleed].”

The assumption wasn’t that every individual trans woman takes issue with women discussing their anatomy, so “I don’t have a problem with it” is not an argument. I mean, you’re obviously free to say it to get people off your back about it, but it does not debunk radfem concerns when there absolutely are trans women who believe it’s “terfy” and “exclusionary” to talk about issues that only affect “cis” women. That last point is a funny one, despite all the inclusive language trans women regularly forget that menstruation is not a cis thing. And that’s an issue Natalie appears to suffer from too, unless this was unfortunate phrasing and we were just meant to assume that trans men talking about periods is not up for discussion. Either way, it’s clear that inclusive language is clunky to everyone, the mistakes that are acceptable to make just depend on which side you’re on.

CONCERN EIGHT: TERF IS A SLUR

Natalie uses an interesting definition of “slur” here: “a pejorative that targets someone’s race, religion, gender, or sexuality”. I say interesting because I can’t find it anywhere. I could find “an insinuation or allegation about someone that is likely to insult them or damage their reputation.”, “an insulting or disparaging remark or innuendo”, “a derogatory or insulting term applied to particular group of people”, but not hers. Presumably because she made it up herself (and haf-assedly at that, did you forget disabled people exist Natalie?) knowing that all of the former definitions would, in fact, consider TERF to be a slur.

Now I’ll be honest, I’m not a fan of the whole “TERF is a slur” thing. I’ve seen someone use that to say “if you call me TERF I can call you tranny”. I don’t think being called a TERF (which I have plenty of experience with) should be considered to be comparable to being called a tranny or a bitch. TERF has become essentially meaningless and is an inaccurate term roughly 95% of the time it’s used, but it is meant to have a meaning (”this person excludes trans people from their feminism”), whereas other slurs don’t tend to have any message aside from “this person belongs to a minority and I want to insult them for it”. I’m not ignorant to the fact that it’s often used as a synonym for “lesbian” though, and that it absolutely is used insultingly and with the intent to ruin a person’s reputation, so I’ll stay in my lane on that.

After comparing “gender critical” to “race realist” and mentioning a general refusal to use these terms as to not legitimise bigotry, Natalie explains that she has very little patience for “TERF requests for linguistic decorum” because of the “maximally hurtful, harmful, and insulting” language that radfems use to talk about trans people (eg, referring to transition-related surgeries as mutilation, and the terms “TIM” and “TIF”).

I have some thoughts on this because, while I fucking hate these terms, Natalie’s disdain for them is hypocritical. She just acknowledged that using certain language legitimises the ideologies behind them, and that’s exactly why “TIM” and “TIF” were born. Referring to trans women as trans women while also insisting that woman means adult human female, something trans women do not fall under, did not work out well for radfems in the past. Conceding linguistic ground merely for the sake of respect essentially meant they’d instantly lose that argument, an argument that is in fact extremely important for feminism. I justify using technically incorrect terms (including pronouns) to refer to trans people because I’m trans myself, I understand what it’s like to be dysphoric and I believe that signaling that level of respect can at times be essential to get people to listen. But this is not an apolitical issue and as much as I despise being referred to as a “TIF”, I can’t blame that term’s existence on hatred.

Natalie concludes her video by being “real” about what the core of the gender critical movement is actually about: transphobia. Visceral disgust and hatred for trans people’s very existence.

And you know, for some people that definitely is the case. But this isn’t where I concede that I’ve been faking trandom to give credibility to my transphobia, or where I break down, admitting that I’ve based my entire political stance on pure self hatred (I mean lord knows I have enough of it, but nah that’s not what happened). The reality is that there are gender critical trans people (including trans women), and I’d dare suggest that we are not the only ones who believe in gender critical ideology for reasons other than transphobia.

In conclusion, this video is just another rebuttal against a strawman of “TERF beliefs” which never even attempts to treat them as genuine, only as ignorance that is easily educated away, or hatred that can’t be argued with regardless. I can’t say I’m disappointed with this video (it’s certainly not lower quality than I’d expect from contrapoints) but I am disappointed with the political climate where this is the furthest any outsider is willing to go to debate against gender critical ideology.

[thekingdomheartsprincess]

when kairi died part of me felt relieved

very long rant filled with run-on sentences, over-use of bold words, and over-use of italics. you’ve been warned

I’ve been holding off on my full review and thoughts on kh3 until after I get through my second playthrough. I will say, it was an overall great game and I was pleasantly surprised by a lot. I have my issues, but I’d like to hold off until I’m finished with my regular paced play through (not speedplay) before I write all my thoughts. However, one thing I really have to get out now is how absolutely disappointed and disgusted I am by kairi’s entire existence in kh3.

And just an fyi, I set the bar low going into this for her. I wasn’t expecting much, yet somehow, I was still let down harder than I thought was actually possible.To me, the highlight of kairi’s appearance in kh3 was probably going to be because she was training with axel. Therefore, with the reasoning that axel usually gets excessive screen time---you know, the guy that should have fake died twice before his actual fake death (which I’m not complaining about, just saying)...kairi would have by default gotten some of that extra relevance right??

Wrong... in a stunning turn of events they actually left axel to the side as well. He got a few good lines in, but at the end of the day he barely fights, does anything important, and somehow has his keyblade destroyed by xemnas in his first real battle with it. I’ll get back more to the truly ridiculous lack of keyblade skills later. While I’m still on the topic of axel though, let’s talk about kairi’s use as a tool to figure out axel’s feelings and xion. Like, no problems with the whole kidnapping thing, no deep connection making. Did a lot of us expect and fear that kairi would be used as a plot device for axel’s xion memories? Yes. Does it make it any better that we were prepared for it going into kh3? For me, yeah, but the real problem is it doesn’t stop there. And axel’s feelings and memories of xion were poorly included and barely mattered anyhow

Also the whole letter writing thing axel comments on, a sad excuse for not wanting to actually provide sokai interaction. “They’re more for herself”-bullshit tbh. Someone tell square enix that if they make me play another game where my girlfriend writes me letters and I can’t respond I’m gonna lose it. *cough ffxv cough* It was a sad excuse for trying to build up sokai before end game. Plus, bad writing aside, if my girl kairi is gonna be a romantic plot device forever; you could at least let her send sora those stupid letters. The poor girl is talking to him in her head. WHY

So much opportunity here to build up sokai before the end of the game. And you know what? I don’t really care about sokai anymore, or whether its canon, or if they have any moments at all in the game. But it you are going to use it as a plot device, you could at least put some effort into it. Sokai needs to be better if it is going to have such a huge direct impact on the ending of the game. Maybe this was difficult, because this really wasn’t the game for it. Everyone has a lot going on in this game, and for sora, his focus is really on getting the people connected to his heart back. He barely even talks about riku in the game! Which is completely justified, because the boy has a lot of stress on his shoulders and a lot going on. The sokai getting thrown in basically at the last minute of the game, is like white noise in the background...that shouldn’t have been there.

The paopu fruit scene felt uncomfortable and thrown in at the wrong moment. There was opportunity for this scene at the end of kh2, or before sora left the island again for 3d. Or if some effort was put into developing sokai throughout the game (which again, I don’t think this was the game for this) it could have worked. Instead, we got a scene which really wasn’t romantic in the slightest, and pretty much had “somebody or both of them is dying/being separated tomorrow” written all over it. The scene starts out of nowhere basically, riku is quite literally shoved to the side to talk to himself, kairi sort of dismisses romantic intentions when asking sora to share it with her, and sora sort of just nods his head and rolls with it. The best part, is the imagery relating to the drawings in the cave (which is admittedly beautiful). However, this is not the sokai paopu fruit scene 7 yr old me envisioned. While I certainly don’t expect to get what I wanted to see, this is almost an insult to all of the build up to this moment in previous games.

What would have been the only wonderful and meaningful sokai scene in the game, is the one where kairi is able to help sora basically escape death and light his way through the darkness or whatever. The whole “I’m going to keep you safe now” and “you make me feel stronger” thing is really sweet as an out of context scene if I knew nothing else about kh3. The problem is, this isn’t really true. Kairi doesn’t keep sora safe, and the limits of her strength seem to be in that one cutscene. Not to mention, this already happened. We literally saw this same thing happen in kh1-and it was a better scene.

Maybe I could believe kairi’s determination behind her words if she was able to even lift her keyblade when she’s being attacked, or put up a fight against her kidnapper (i mean come on, even belle got to elbow xaldin), or finish a battle against someone who was not an alternate version of herself (or remotely believably on xehanort’s side for more than a second). Seriously, she did more with her keyblade knocking out a few heartless in kh2. That scene was actually cooler. I am truly disgusted that I have to even think that. It’s not that I thought she would go up from kh2, but I surely didn’t think she would go soooooo far down. 

They totally shot themselves in the foot with the whole merlin’s magic excuse. Axel and kairi show up as if they just got the keyblade 20 seconds before the keyblade war, yet supposedly they had unlimited time to train. Maybe we’ll get some bs excuse on how it “wasn’t exactly unlimited time” later, but seriously? If you were going to have both of them fail so miserably, you could have used the short training time as an excuse!! Why would you write yourself out of that excuse, just to give me these pathetic jokes of keyblade wielders. By all logical reasoning, if they had unlimited time to train, they should have both shown up stronger that xehanort and eraqus combined. Like did they just settle after they could shoot magic at x number of moving objects in merlin’s training facility???

She may not have done much, but by the time we saw her get mercilessly stabbed for no real logical reason I was relieved. Relieved that I might finally not have to watch this anymore, and can just go into all future kh games without having to worry about what they will do with her character. I want to say I was pissed, upset even, that they killed her off like that. Confused as to how this helps xehanort’s plan? Absolutely. I mean, wouldn’t that ruin his 7 princesses part 2 backup plan if he needed it? Wouldn’t the last key form as soon as he killed kairi? Were the 7 lights going to stop fighting him there? Was he just being a cruel dick? I don’t have the answers. But I will say that I didn’t actually get angry, until xehanort stole her fucking lines. “One sky, one destiny” She doesn’t even have that anymore. The significance of those lines, now can’t just be kairi’s but has to be shared with the man who killed her. Could it get any worse? Yes! Because sora has to go and do some strongly hinted form of self sacrifice for her again. Turning the shit show writing of kairi into probably the most detrimental part of the story. 

Now, its playing such a huge role in kh3 and future kh games. It makes the major plot point of the ending of the game suffer. There’s no kairi for me to appreciate that would make me care about her dying, the one really good moment sora shares with kairi is hardly based in reality, and what’s supposed to be used as a way for sora to prove himself doesn’t really do that. He already sacrificed himself for kairi. What more is this proving? And with no excuse for kairi’s lack of training or presence in the game, I’m confused as to how this happened or why I’m supposed to care. However Nomura needed this to end up to set up future kh games, was this really the only way to do it? 

I wish I could say I just personally cared this much about feminism in kingdom hearts, and that’s why I’m so disappointed by this complete and utter failure of writing a character, but that’s not even it. When I was little I loved kairi because she was like a new disney princess in a video game, and I was heartbroken when sora told her she couldn’t come with him for the rest of his adventure. That she would just “get in his way.” 23 year old me is still pissed and not letting go. Even more frustrating, is that square enix has (deliberately or not) ignored a large part of the fandom who just asked for a little bit better. The kairi bar was low, and square enix did the limbo rock under it. (bad joke i know, it’s 2:30 am and i should be sleeping)

I’ll shut up now, but be aware i’m screaming “and another thing about kairi in kh3!” every hour on the hour in my mind

[meditativeyoga]

10 Things We Didn`t Know About Yoga Until This Must-Read Dropped

Forget whatever you assumed you found out about yoga exercise history. Author Matthew Remski evaluates the new publication Roots of Yoga and also (spoiler alert) shares 10 of its greatest surprises.

Imagine you're a guppy in a fishbowl. Simply swimming around among the phony algae and also little plastic castle. If you're precocious you'll have an unclear hunch that there's something small or counterfeit regarding your little world. As well as recently, the waves have actually chosen up. Your water is sloshing as well as swirling. What's going on?

This is just what being an English-speaking yoga nerd has resembled over the past years. The waves originate from yoga scientists like Norman Sjoman, Suzanne Newcombe, Elizabeth de Michelis, David Gordon White as well as others, carrying your aquarium along the winding course of yoga exercise history as well as anthropology. You could have heard features of yoga exercise's relationship to Indian fumbling, the innovation of the modern-day master, and also just how some yogis just weren't exactly known for non-violence. In 2010 they handed it off to Mark Singleton, whose magazine of Yoga Body: The Beginnings of Modern Position Practice caused a small bedlam, sucking you down into the opportunity that every little thing you 'd pertain to believe regarding yoga exercise through its modern-day advertising and marketing may be a misconception. While you were down there you additionally heard something concerning social appropriation, yet you were wheezing for breath and also could not rather make it out.

Now, 2017 will certainly be referred to as the year when Oxford Sanskritist Sir Jim Mallinson grabbed hold too. With the publication of Roots of Yoga (Penguin, 2017), he and also Dr. Singleton have actually unloaded your aquarium into the sea, releasing you to the wilds. However not without navigating devices. With brand-new important translations of over 100 obscure yoga texts dating from 1000 BCE to the 19th century, threaded with each other with clear as well as steady-as-she-goes discourse, these authors have charted the deep.

Their constantly varied sources-- equated from Sanskrit (naturally) but additionally Tibetan, Arabic, Persian, Bengali, Tamil, Pali, Kashmiri, as well as very early kinds of Marathi and Hindi-- explode the readily available sources for everyday professionals. They sink the ideas that yoga exercise is any solitary point that anybody has ever set or that it brings every person to the very same location. Currently, there's nothing to do but swim. As you do, right here are 10 deep-sea explorations (as well as a few monsters) you'll run into:

1. Shock horror! The Yoga exercise Sutras are not widely approved ...

... or perhaps respected among yoga exercise adepts. Composing in his 18th century Haṃsavilāsa, Haṃsamiṭṭhu tells his spouse and also fellow visitor Haṃsi: "Precious woman, Patañjali's training is nonsense, since there is absolutely nothing reasonable in anything attained forcibly."

2. Historically, if ladies practiced yoga, they were primarily unnoticeable or sexually objectified.

Domestic tête-à-têtes apart, "texts on yoga are written from the perspective of male professionals," confirm the writers. "There are no pre-modern depictions of females practising yogic poses ... Sanskrit as well as vernacular poems of ... north Indian ascetic traditions are highly misogynistic ... Ladies are never clearly restricted from practising yoga exercise, although [medieval] haṭha messages generally urge that male yogis need to avoid the business of women." Other than, naturally, when they have to procure menstrual fluid to get superpowers. (You'll need to read the book for that a person.) The sexism at play here relates to the anxiety that ladies are the key thieves of "bindu," or seminal fluid, which numerous middle ages yogis looked for to sublimate into overjoyed understanding. Clearly, all of this things has to be revisited and also revised by a worldwide society that now contains 80% women.

3. The social appropriation as well as religious identity disputes in yoga are even muddier than we understood.

Mallinson as well as Singleton effectively show that Buddhists (Indian and Tibetan), Jains, or even atheists all lay claim to yoga exercise strategies. And that knew? Muslims also exercised a whole lot of yoga, and created outstanding books concerning it.

4. Middle ages yogis recognized that asana-- and pranayama-- can be harmful.

“In the Gorakṣaśataka, as an example, we reviewed, 'Through practising yoga I have actually come to be sick'." Then there were several yogis who assumed postures as well as breathwork were whack. "There is no factor in spending a lengthy time cultivating the breaths [or] practicing hundreds of breath-retentions," states the 12th century Amanaska writing, "which trigger illness as well as are tough, [or] great deals of agonizing as well as tough to understand seals. When [the no-mind state] has actually developed, the magnificent breath spontaneously and also right away vanishes."

5. "Vinyāsa" didn't constantly imply a "series of postures."

Mallinson and Singleton create: "The Sanskrit word vinyāsa made use of ... by Krishnamacharya as well as his students to represent a phase in among these connected sequences is not found with this meaning in pre-modern messages on yoga exercise ... Vinyāsa and also relevant words are more usual in tantric messages, where they generally refer to the setup of mantras on the body ... The modern use of vinyāsa is therefore a reassignment of the significance of a typical Sanskrit word ..." This does not make vinyāsa any less effective, obviously, unless its results come partly from faith.

6. Body image isn't really simply a contemporary yoga exercise trouble.

Medieval yogis were stressed with slimness. The primary cleaning methods focused solely on losing weight are defined in most of the haṭha texts. Maybe today's yoga exercise feminism, which is gradually steering the culture toward body positivity, is likewise recovering an ancient fatphobia.

7. The chakras are as a lot a spiritual dream as a really felt reality.

Different yoga exercise sects mention 4, 5, 6, or twelve chakras. So that's right? One says that if you can't situate the chakras within you, that's okay-- doing a fire ceremony is equally as excellent. The chakras "are not a result of the yogi's empirical observation," compose the writers, "however instead components of a visualized setup on the body of tradition-specific metaphysics and ritual schemata." To puts it simply: they are ways of "clothing" the body in spiritual imagery proprietary to various method teams. This holds an important message for practitioners who recognize that language remains to affect physical experience. "The goals of a certain system," compose our authors, "establish the means the body is visualized as well as used within its yoga exercise methods. The yogic body was-- and remains to be in conventional specialist circles-- one that is built or 'written' on as well as in the body of the specialist by the custom itself."

8. "Yogic suicide" is a thing.

But is it actually suicide? In many communities, samādhi was considered as a joyous meditation where the yogi, intentionally as well as happily, never ever emerged. Yet instead of leaving the world, the 11th century Amṛtasiddhi suggests it's even more concerning combining the body with the serenity of the world, while solving the unknowability of the moment of fatality. "When the sun, in line with Meru, stops carrying on the left, know that to be the equinox, an auspicious time in the body. By acknowledging the equinox in their own bodies, yogis, packed with the vigour [created by] their technique, conveniently abandon their bodies in yogic self-destruction at the correct time."

9. A dominant motif of middle ages pranayama was complete self-sufficiency.

Muslim yogis give the example of the embryo, breathing its very own liquids, within a womb. This lines up with 19th century records of yogis burying themselves in underground caverns for months on end, stopping their breath in suspended computer animation. This might sound appealing for the modern-day specialist determined to conceal from the 24-hour information cycle.

10. If you read this book, you are distinct in yoga background.

No one has had such broad accessibility to the variety of traditions as we have now. We used to be offered techniques. Currently we are given choices.

So this is simply a couple of decrease in a whole lot of ocean. It's a vast and maybe frightening region. Guppies, besides, can easily obtain lost, or ingested by bigger fish. However after that-- so was old Matsyendranath, the orphan young boy who, legend states, founded haṭha yoga. He was deserted at the shore by his parents and gobbled up entire by a whale, which then took a deep dive. By chance or fate, this provided him the opportunity to eavesdrop on Siva as well as Parvati as they rested on the sea floor, murmuring concerning the mysteries of yoga. He listened for 12 years, which is regarding for how long it will take this reviewer to completely soak up Roots of Yoga. And, probably-- for it to come to be the leading book on every yoga exercise teacher training analysis list in the English-speaking world.

[kismetcanwriteme]

Of Comets and Comfortable Silence

In which Clarke is stubborn and Lexa isn't always patient with her.

or au in which a comet causes the soulmate tattoo trope. Ever seen Night of the Comet? It’s like that but not as scary.

Also on ao3  https://archiveofourown.org/works/20253967/chapters/48004738

Chapter 1/5

When the comet passed, it was all over the news. They said it was going to be the closest comet to pass the earth in over a century and the media promised a light show of epic proportions. Immediately, social media started blowing up. “Influencers” started live-streaming about it. #Arkadiascomet was trending. There was a star Snapchat filter. Pinterest exploded with space themed party ideas, and, of course, scientists were thrilled with the possibilities this flying hunk of burning rock had in store.

Raven, in particular wouldn't shut up about it, “Just think! Imagine what we could do with material from an unidentified star cluster. Clarke! If I can get my hands on a piece, imagine the reactions I could get” reactions. Sure. Reactions. read BOOM.

From the other end, Octavia was never one to miss a party opportunity and had suckered Clarke into buying the necessary glow sticks and the unsurprisingly uncharged star decorations.

And of course, Octavia had to invite Lexa. Goody. To say Clarke and Lexa weren’t friends was putting it mildly. The teacher frankly made Clarke want to tear her hair out (or tear Lexa to shreds, either way.) And it wasn’t like Clarke could escape her either, not since college when they all met and formed their little motley crew. Lexa was Lincoln's sister. Lincoln was Octavia’s boyfriend. Octavia seemed incapable of doing anything without her boyfriend. Lincoln loved his sister. Clarke was in hell. End of story.

 Everything was an issue with them. Lexa always had criticism ready for anything Clarke said or did, and Clarke always had a barb aimed at Lexa’s entire existence

From where to eat. “Clarke there isn’t anything on this menu that won’t destroy your heart. We are not eating here.” “Well it's a good thing you don't have a heart to destroy then isn’t it, Lexa.”

The touchy subject of punctuality. “Have you ever been on time for anything in your life?” “Have you ever started a conversation like a normal human? Maybe a hi or even a good morning?” “It would still be morning if you had been on time.”

The touchier subject of Clarke's choice in partners. “He cheated on you! Why is he still coming to the star barbecue?” “Because he’s still Raven's best friend?” “...he hurt you.” “What, do you suddenly care Woods?”

Even board games weren’t safe “Clarke, you can’t steal from the bank” “Not with that attitude” “That’s it, I'm putting you in jail” “That’s not in the rules!” “Neither is a fucking bank heist?!”

Of course, that didn’t account for the weird silent protective streak they had going one. Lexa was always the first to defend Clarke from many unwanted advances from strange men with her sharp words and impressive vocabulary. All in the name of feminism. And as much as Clarke would never admit it, she had put other people in their place more than a few times for speaking too harshly about Lexa's whole ice queen thing. No one was allowed to make fun of her for that. Except Clarke.

They drove their friends up the wall from day one and it was still going strong. Usually Lincoln or Octavia would mediate, and the entire group had learned to separate them by at least two people at the table. Gradually, the other members of their group learned to work around the hurricane that was Clarke and Lexa’s weird harsh protective not-quite friendship.

So it was strange to say the least when Clarke ended up sitting next to her on Octavia’s couch, drinking beer, wearing a galaxy skater dress circa 2010, and watching Night of the Comet (Clarke thought it was appropriate, and Lexa loved the dark humor in it.) As they took in the horror film about people turning to dust when a mysterious comet passed overhead, everyone else was outside where the music and space themed decor was. Clarke just couldn't bring herself to get hyped about it. What was so special about a hunk of rock? Lexa would probably know. Lexa knew everything. But Lexa would also roll her eyes and mumble something about Clarke being an "artist living in her own little world", so Clarke refrained from asking

“Hey! You guys kill each other yet?” Bellamy asked, bouncing in and flopping down by Lexa taking in her dark grey jeans and black sweater. “Lex! You were supposed to dress like something space themed” He pointed to his Space jam tank top and grinned.

Lexa smirked back, took a sip of her beer, and said “The night sky is black, isn't it?”

He laughed good naturedly and said “At least Clarke’s got the idea. Although, I haven't seen that dress since your date with...” he trailed off suggestively and laughed harder when Clarke poked him in the ribs.

“Oh calm down, Clarke. Everyone knows about your disastrous first and last date with Murphy in high school.” Lexa said.

“Doesn't mean I want the whole world to know.” she hissed back "it’s embarrassing.”

“I'll say.” Lexa snickered.

“At least I never tried to convince myself I was straight by taking Bell to winter formal.”

Bellamy gasped as if affronted “Lexa, you used me!? I thought what we had was special!” he wiped away mock tears.

Lexa nodded solemnly and placed a hand on his arm “I’m sorry Bell, the results came back from the lab. Its true... I'm Lebanese”

“NO! Not my good American Lexa! A Lebanese” he picked her up from the couch and spun her around while she shrieked. Even Clarke had to smile at that.”Now come on. let's see if this comet burns us to dust, turns us into zombies, or gives Rae something new to blow up.”

Unsurprisingly, the comet passed and did none of those things The night wore on, everyone drank too much, and then regretted it the next morning. And that was the end of that.

________________________________________________________________

Except it wasn't.

It didn't start gaining media attention until about a week after the fact, but the rumors had started buzzing the next morning. One of those unexplained epidemics that was far scarier than a zombie apocalypse. It started with couples, old ones who had been together since forever, going into the police, claiming they woke with tattoos that they didn't remember getting. The authorities put it down to dementia. So did doctors. It wasn't until one doctor and his husband of twenty years woke up with matching vine tattoos on their torso and arm respectively, that any research was started. The first thing they realized was that the tattoos weren't ink. Somehow, the skin cells changed color The second thing they realized was that they were not dangerous, at least, not obviously. None of the cells were deteriorating, they were just different. The third thing they realized was that it had started after the comet passed, leaving everyone to wonder what the hell the comet was made of that could cause something like this.

By the end of the week, everyone knew someone who had one, and everyone wanted one. Octavia and Lincoln were the first Clarke had seen. They woke up the next day with white flowers blooming all over their chests.

At first, Clarke assumed it had to do with who you were near when the comet passed over, and at first the scientific community agreed with her, but then she (and they, eventually) realized that couldn't be it, because she and Raven had fallen asleep slumped on the table against each other and nothing happened to them.

It continued like that, and it wasn't stopping. Soon, people who brushed hands on the street, who kissed their significant other would pull away with hands or arms or legs covered in color. Even a certified asshole like Murphy came to Clarke’s apartment two days later freaking out because some girl named Emori left blue geometric shapes all over his shoulder when she handed him his coffee. It wasn't until doctors could pull enough testing groups together that they figured out the correlation (although social media put it together much more quickly): Soul mates or, less romantically, Individuals with optimum attraction levels and high compatibility scores. Not only that, but the affected’ body chemistry changed. Things science couldn't explain, like hormone levels bouncing off the charts, blood types full on changing, genetics mutating. What scientists couldn't tell was whether or not new humans, those who were not alive at the time of the comet, would experience these same reactions. Whether this new mutation could be passed down. No matter what the outcome was, it was happening and happening fast.

________________________________________________________________

And the internet exploded.

Sometimes, Clarke wished the comet had been good for making things go boom, because if Clarke had to see another vlog about someone finding their soulmate, or another stupid meme about which unattractive character people jokingly thought there soulmate might look like or another crying youtuber apology video about trying to fake one for attention, she was going to lose it.

Unfortunately, the hype didn't seem like it was going to die down anytime soon. Everyone wanted to capitalize on the new phenomenon. Restaurants had "soul specials" and tattoo artists offered fake soulmate marks (Clarke could respect the great marketing strategy, but really it was just artists charging double for matching tats). Books were being written, movies were in the works, the number of wedding skyrocketed. Clarke had never gotten so many photography appointments in her entire career, and the small commission site she ran for her paintings was flooded with requests for paintings of tattoos. She ignored those.

One thing no one anticipated was that the new tattoos legitimized homosexuality in the eyes of many previously prejudiced churches. After all, they couldn't say the tattoos were a gift from God and not acknowledge gay people had them too. So at least some good came out of it.

Of course, there was still that small faction of people who thought they were a curse but there will always be crazy people in the world.

Clarke belonged to larger (but still small) faction of people who doubted the tattoos meant anything more than what people wanted them to mean, thought it was absurd that such a big decision was based on a(n admittedly nuts) genetic mutation caused by a burning rock, and told Lexa as much about a month later sitting across from her at brunch with their friends at their usual table outside.

“I'm just saying, I think it's ridiculous that people are putting so much stock in something so arbitrary.”

“Clarke, tattoos appearing on people from skin to skin contact is not arbitrary. Its something that's never been seen before in the history of the human race. Why are you so bound and determined not to admit its importance?” Lexa said. Oooh her eye was doing that twitch that told Clarke she was at her limit… One more jab.

“Placebo effect” she said simply taking a sip of her mimosa

“Excuse me” narrowed eyes, even better

Clarke shrugged “People believe the tattoos mean something, and so they convince themselves they feel that way. No offense guys.” she said jerking her head at Octavia and Lincoln.

“None take” he said “we were together before all this” Octavia nodding along with too much bread in her mouth.

Lexa looked like she was about to scream “So you mean to tell me that you don't think there’s any significance in people's blood type changing, their genetics mutating? You think that's all what? Coincidental?! Unimportant?”

“Of course not”

“Thank God”

“It probably mean tons of new research material for genetic disorder specialists.”

Lexa’s face got so red and Clarke lived for moments like these “You- genetic- I- fucking-” Lexa spluttered before throwing her hands up “I don't even know why I try.”

“But God knows it’s so entertaining when you do. Look, just because couples feel closer doesn't mean they actually are.” she said adding insult to injury by toasting Lexa.

“Don't worry, Lex. Clarke’s just scared that she’ll get one and become her mom’s new lab rat” Raven said adjusting her large sunglasses and smirking.

“Her what?” Bellamy asked from where he was trying to beat his sister in amount of rolls consumed in an hour.

Clarke groaned “Ugh, don't remind me, shes obsessed.”

Raven said “Doctor Griffin has volunteered to head Arkadia Hospital's new soulmate tattoo research team”

“Which reminds me, she actually asked if you two could stop by the hospital so she can see the marks for herself and probably ask to run tests.” Clarke said reluctantly, turning to Lincoln and Octavia.

“Sure, why not? I’m free. How bout you babe?” Octavia asked him

“Yeah, might as well figure out whose blood type reigns supreme in this relationship.” He replied nudging her shoulder playfully.

She rolled her eyes “We’ll stop by this afternoon around two.”

Clarke nodded “I’ll text her.”

The group eventually finished up their brunch and left the restaurant, Octavia and Lincoln to the hospital, Raven to go make something explode, and Bellamy to watch her, leaving Clarke alone with her least favorite person.

For lack of anything else to do, they started the short walk back to the apartment complex they both lived in. ( to say they had been displeased to find out they were neighbors was an understatement,)

It was quiet which was fantastic. Only the sound of their swishing sundresses kept them company. It was funny, because when they weren’t arguing, Clarke actually found Lexa’s stoic presence rather grounding, safe. Maybe it was an association thing. During Octavia's parties, Clarke and Lexa usually found themselves drunk on the bathroom floor at 4 am (the registered safe time for spilling your guts both literally and figuratively) having one of their rare “deep chats” it was the only time their friends didn't have to pull them off each others throats, and Clarke would only admit this with a gun to her head, but that was always her favorite part of the party. Everyone had a drunk buddy. Lexa was hers. Clarke thought she had held Lexa’s hair back while she puked enough times to earn the title.

Lexa interrupted Clarke's thoughts and by saying quietly “I think they would have been soulmates.”

Clarke played dumb “who?”

“Your parents.” she answered “that's why you're so against the whole tattoo thing. You’re angry they’ll never know, but I believe they would have been.” Clarke's dad had died three years ago in an automobile accident. The other driver was drunk but he survived. Jake Griffin didn’t.

Clarke felt her throat tighten “You don't know what I feel”

Lexa raised a hand to Clarke's denim covered shoulder which was immediately shrugged off “Its ok to be angry about the missed moments, Clarke. Your feelings don’t make you weak”

“Yeah?” she spat “what do you know, Lexa? You push your feelings down so far no one knows you have them. It’s a good thing Costia left before this whole thing. You would have been the first soulmate ever to feel nothing for your partner.” it was a low blow but Clarke was touchy about her dad. She saw Lexa draw into herself and regretted every word. When Costia left it was messy, she had been an integral part of their group and Lexa’s girlfriend all through high school. A year into college she transferred to Azgeda U. She and Lexa tried to do long distance but it was hard and eventually Costia broke it off and never came back to Arkadia. When she had broken it off she had told Lexa that it was because she didn't feel like Lexa felt anything for her anymore. Lexa was crushed.

Green eyes hardened “Fine. Message received.” she said, storming past Clarke into the building.

“Lexa…” she tried but it fell flat as the door slammed leaving her on the sidewalk alone

Chapter 2 is up on AO3

[rosalesbeausderholle]

27 to 30 37 and 38. You answer your questions with empathy and nuance! One of the blogs that makes me think and start with kindness:)

I'm glad you like the blog!!

I've just done 37 so...

27. How do you feel about rudefems using the word t****y? Do you use it yourself?

Nope, never done it, never will. And I hate that rudefems use it. My disagreements with the modern trans ideology don't come out of hatred for trans people as a whole, it comes out of ideological disagreements and also seeing how a lot of what they say fits into the misogyny and homophobia that I'm staunchly against AND even for the people in that group that I do genuinely hate, I wouldn't use a slur against them, because the thing with slurs is that when you use them, you're not just attacking the person you're using it against, you're attacking everyone who shares that characteristic with who you're insulting that makes them part of a marginalized group. And that's not a characteristic that merits insult (ie if I call a gay man a "f*g" I'm not insulting his attitude or personality or whatever made me hate him, I'm insulting him on the basis that he's gay). Like there's ways to insult people's individual shitty-ness without expressing your disgust at an entire group just because that one person happens to belong to it. Plus you have scores of insults to choose from, we can be very creative linguistically when it comes to that.

30. How do you feel about "baby radfems"? Are they too young to understand radical feminist theory?

Some people on here are 40 and don't understand radical feminist theory either so age is not that important.

The youngest I've seen on here is about 14, which I think is not too young to be able to understand radfem theory, since sadly girls at that age can have already been then victims of horrifying misogyny, and also it's the age where you're usually starting to form your worldviews and thoughts on important issues so as far as being able to understand I say they can. It's important that young women know about feminism.

However, I'd advice them not to get all their information from online bloggers, but to read about feminism from a variety of sources, to read books if possible, and to understand different perspectives within feminism, the more information you have and the more developed your critical thinking is the better imo.

Also getting tied up exclusively in online communities is not good for that age, engage if you want but don't make it your entire life, like go outside, engage with women around you, talk to your friends about it, and don't treat it as a fandom or the big names as influencers to idolize. And take steps back if all the negativity is worsening your mental health.

38. What is "white feminism" to you?

Since I'm a white woman I'm not best suited to answer this question but from my understanding it is a feminism that puts the needs and problems of white women first while ignoring women of colour, and also a feminism that doesn't focus on racism.

Of course the term loses some of its value when you have people calling any kind of feminism they dislike "white feminism" like when people called Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, who's from Nigeria and black, and white feminist because she said women and trans women aren't the same, or when people say talking about biological sex is white feminism at all since it's a colonial construct, like I assure you that it is not and also that misogyny also historically existed in non-white cultures, although not all of them of course.

But the original meaning of the term does address a very very real problem that we should really take seriously and listen to feminists of colours when they point out how we fuck up.