#and the problem is that it would be FINE if they were doing a different story!

[seewetter]

This seems like a series of perplexing opinions.

Sure, trains were built by capitalists for the needs of capital. Unsurprisingly, that's their historical context and intended purpose.

And yes, trains imply long-distance travel. Trains imply transporting goods across vast distances. Trains imply an interconnected society, a society whose needs and ambitions are geographically quite far-ranging. In a world with train networks, someone or something is traveling far beyond a local village.

And I agree with girl-debord's first post in this thread and don't see anything particularly weird about it. But that's because I give people the benefit of the doubt when I can. To me, saying "tech is not neutral" is a fine statement to make, because tech is embedded in social processes and can often cause harm through them. We can use mass surveillance tools to monitor the health of animal populations, for example, but that is not their main use -- and in cases like that, the wonderful use case is only relevant because of problems caused by capitalism to begin with. Would we worry about rhinoceros or dolphin population decline without a capitalist society, where "free markets" have generated mass production processes for fishing industries and generated market pressures on black-market ivory trade or the cutting down of forests?

"what are you even trying to say here? mass movement of things and people is bad?" Not every Tumblr post drawing a connection between capitalist interests and the creation of something is morally condemning that thing. That said, it's possible to assume that the Debord quote "it should be understood that this apparatus is in no way neutral" is being used as moral condemnation here, so it's a fair question, I guess.

"moving objects for significant distances along the ground" is a priority to a particular global system under which trains were invented.

It's also a priority for a lot of people who find parts of that particular global system appealing for reasons that are entirely understandable. People all over the world do in fact want access to resources not found in their neck of the woods.

And I will be careful here. I agree, for example, that the mass transportation of medicine, for example, is often only necessary because big medical conglomerates are legally prohibiting and violently enforcing their patents.

But it's kind of odd to argue that it's a bad thing that large numbers of people can flee a large natural disaster (say a volcanic outbreak) with the help of fast transportation.

trains are "efficient" within the parameters of that system--that disrupting ecosystems and exploiting immigrant workers are acceptable trade-offs for the value generated by global trade

Trains are not global trade.

Global trade does not, intrinsically, involve exploiting immigrant workers.

"those bad consequences you bring up aren't an inevitable consequence of a connected world."

Are we going to argue that train tracks don't disrupt ecosystems?

"technologies are neutral. politically they don't actually cause people to act."

Depends. If you have a train, you might go looking for work far further away from home than if you didn't have a train. Your family might not see each other much because the availability of the technology (paired with market pressure to get a job) has conditioned you to behave a certain way.

"i don't want borders. you know what makes for a great border? the inability to just fucking physically go somewhere else."

I don't think that's a good way of framing your opponent's ideas, transfemsriseup. Plenty of immigrants cross borders without trains.

Actually, come to think of it, how can technologies not actually cause people to act if without them, people supposedly act differently?

"but what I'm suggesting is that the consideration of whether or not trains are "worth it" has happened within a framework that I don't ascribe to as a communist, a framework of value."

You don't ascribe to value as a communist? Not even use value?

"railway workers don't build railroads because they believe that the railroad will be a good thing for everyone, they build them because they are paid to and without that pay they can't eat or afford a home. and these technologies were invented for similar reasons."

We could apply the same argumentation to paleolithic technology still in use today. Under capitalism, workers don't (generally, unless they happen to be enthusiastic) do anything at work except to get paid so they can eat or afford a home. We can't argue that trains mustn't exist because their construction and operation has some environmental impacts that are imperfect and because the workers who built them weren't free. Might as well argue that people should live without homes, because workers don't freely build homes but do so in order to eat.

Okay, maybe that's not what you're saying. Another thing you might be saying is "just as workers are restricted to certain choices, so too are profit-seeking capitalists restricted and under these restrictions they invented the train".

But I think a similar rebuttal applies. An abandoned military barracks can serve as a makeshift shelter and will not turn people into servants of the military-industrial complex if they take shelter there. Similarly, a train can serve more purposes than the one for which it was built.

"i think if you can understand the idea that maybe car-centric suburbs are terrible & wouldn't exist without the pseudo-needs created by a capitalist society, this shouldn't be much of a jump."

Understanding the argument isn't much of a jump, no. It's just odd to argue against the least intrusive form of adaptive long-distance travel. Trains are less environmentally intrusive than highways, shipping lanes and air travel routes. Yes, people could walk, but if people walk, they can't escape unforeseen disasters or physically connect with family members on the other side of the continent. Then there is no way to supply people with emergency aid or help out with a resource shortage.

"wow, an ML, the supposedly scientific and materialist ideology, saying that material conditions dont affect how people act? and in the defense of consumerism, no less?"

The ML you are mocking mentioned 3 benefits:

Medicine (an essential supply)

Immigrants (freedom to travel)

Food (potentially a consumer good, but also a vital necessity)

How do we conclude that this is a defense of consumerism?

on the topic of trains and the role of technology in ongoing atrocities, i think something to consider if this is shocking to you is that the development of all technology since the start of the industrial revolution (and a lot of it before that tbh) has been dictated by the needs of capital. trains wouldn't exist without the reign of an economic system that demands mass circulation of commodities. the world has not been shaped by what's best for everyone but what's best for perpetuating that economic system. as Debord says about media technology, "it should be understood that this apparatus is in no way neutral and that it has been developed in accordance with the spectacle’s internal dynamics" (The Society of the Spectacle, thesis 24).

[gtgbabie0]

-Vi x Reader

Synopsis: {The aftermath of the war seems a little more bearable with your girlfriend there by your side}

For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

need her. Enjoy my lovelies 💕

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The weeks after the war seemed to last centuries, the hours dragged on painfully slow and it felt like no matter how early you went to sleep, you could never get enough to carry you throughout the day— not that sleeping was easy anyway.

The council meetings were stressful, with each member bringing a mountain of different problems that were all so important in their own right— change needed to happen and each moment you weren’t actively working was wasted, or so you say.

However the exhaustion was turning you into a mess, Vi could see it as clear as day no matter how many times you put on that sweet smile and promised her you were ‘fine’ with a warm hand against her cheek. You weren’t fine.

Vi knew you would crash and burn sooner or later, and by the looks of you, it would be much sooner than she’d liked.

“Stupid damn thing.” You huff out in anger, hands trembling in a mixture of pain and frustration as you try to open the gauze— the damn plastic concealing it might as well have been superglued together and your hands just won’t steady themselves enough to get a good hold.

You grasp at the edges of the sink basin, giving up, the porcelain cold against your clammy hands. It was a slight relief, but not enough. With a ragged breath, you drop your head slightly to avert your gaze from your reflection in the mirror. You couldn’t take it, between your injured eye and the ache in your head, you felt as if you were teetering on the line of insanity.

“Here, let me.” The sound of Vi’s soft voice ripples through the tension that clouds you, her calloused hand presses against your upper back and you sigh in something akin to relief.

A strange feeling of embarrassment curls around your already weary heart, how long has she been standing there— watching you crumble?

You shake your head stubbornly, “I can do it myself,” you tell her, in faux confidence— trying to convince yourself, biting down on the inside of your bottom lip as you try to regain control.

You take the gauze packet in your hands once more before tugging it open harshly, your elbow collides into the bottle of antiseptic causing it to hit the tiled floor with a bounce. It felt like the universe was testing you, laughing at how you kept failing.

“I know you can, just let me take care of you for once, yeah?” Vi whispers, picking up the antiseptic bottle and placing it down on the countertop— her hand falling from your shoulder blade to rest on the small of your back.

But you were so tightly coiled with your own maelstrom of emotions that you continue to try and push her away, her hand fighting yours in a push and pull. You didn’t want her to see you like this, you were better than this.

“I can do—”

“Stop it, stop. I’m helping you.” She interrupts you with a sternness in her tone that it takes you aback slightly.

You nod reluctantly, caving in with a shaky sigh as you let her turn you around to face her by your hips, your lower back resting up against the sink countertop and she notices the way you avoid her gaze, it hurts her a little.

A silence settles between the pair of you as Vi takes off the gauze that covers your eye— revealing the patch that protected the sensitive wound from possible infection. Her knuckles brush along your cheek so tenderly that you can’t help but lean into her touch, it was almost an instinct at this point.

“It’s ugly,” you state, looking up at her through your eyelashes as you watch her frown in disagreement with your words, a small scoff escaping her lips.

“It’s not— it’s healing, you’re not ugly.” She tells you, a gentle firmness dancing through her tone as she continues to admire you through loving eyes and your shoulders drop— it’d been far too long since you let yourself relax, the ache in between your shoulders could attest to that.

“Besides it adds to your flair.” She adds with a small smirk.

“My flair?” You repeat through a breathy chuckle, rolling your eye as a smile begins to teeter against your lips. It felt good to have her like this, gently stroking your face, standing close to you… it felt good to lean on her for support.

Vi’s own smile widens at the sound of your chuckle, such a sweet noise that sends a wave of comfort through her chest. Even though you were exhausted and in pain, you still managed to make her heart bleed in all the best ways, although if she’s being completely honest it doesn’t take much at all for you to bring that out in her.

“Mhm, yep, it adds a certain charm.” She nods confidently, her fingertips gently grazing along your cheekbone to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“It also makes the easiest things feel impossible, everything just feels off.” You sigh, tilting your head to nuzzle against the roughness of her palm ever so slightly.

A sympathetic look flashes through her pretty eyes, god knows it was true— too many times had she watched you lose your cool over what used to be 'simple things' as you familiarised yourself with the loss of sight. Her heart broke for you, she hated seeing you like this and she hated not being able to do more for you, to just take all your pain away.

“I know baby, I know— but you’re handling it like a champ,” Vi whispers, letting her hand drop from her face to grab a clean gauze pad, her eyes flickering between yours and her hands as she readies the fabric— offering you a small reassuring smile.

With careful fingers she places the gauze over your eye, securing it down with medical tape and she winces as you suck a sharp hiss from your clenched teeth, your eyebrows knitting together in pain— Vi quickly pulls her hands away, not wanting to cause you any more pain with a soft “Sorry, sorry,”— but you’re quick to hold her hands in your own, giving them both a comforting squeeze.

“It’s okay,” you promise her, looking at her with a faint pleading in your gaze— wordlessly begging her to hold you and not let go, to not pull away, and immediately she knows what you want. She could read you like an open book.

So without a modicum of hesitation, she loops her strong arms around your shoulders to bring you close to her body— wrapping you up in a protective hold and you could practically feel the heaviness on your shoulders lessen as you melt into her with a small pitiful noise that makes her heart clench.

“You’re not alone— you don’t have to do this all by yourself, I’m right here.” She seals the promise with a gentle kiss against your hairline before cupping either side of your face, tilting your head backwards slightly so she can meet your gaze.

Vi watches the way your eye flutters close in contentment when she strokes your cheeks with her thumbs— your fingers grasping at the fabric of her tank top almost as if you were afraid she would slip between your fingers.

But lo and behold she doesn’t, she’s standing right in front of you, cupping your face, with such a reverent expression it causes your breath to hitch in your throat and you think you would cry if you had the energy to.

“Vi,” you breathe softly, a sob threatening to spill over your lips which you conceal with a sigh as she bumps her forehead against your own— her hand rests against the side of your neck before slowly slipping to cup the back of your head, fingertips dragging along your scalp soothingly.

“I’ve got you, right here.” She replies in understanding, pressing her lips to your own in a loving kiss— one that dismantles you completely and you’re finally ready to admit you needed sleep and a day of rest… or maybe two, Vi would be there to ensure it.

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[alexanderwales]

Zombie fiction has a problem, which is that in the real world, zombie fiction exists.

So you have two basic approaches: either you have the protagonists and general public say "what's happening, why are the dead rising, I got bit but I'm going to be fine", or you have the protagonists say "this is so weird, it's just like in all that zombie fiction!"

These are both annoying in their own way, but I find the latter approach to be more deeply irritating, personally, the kind of meta that's just lazy and overdone in spite of not having been done all that often.

This is a problem that notably doesn't exist in most other genres. People go to look up vampires on their computer all the time, and they say "wait, the legends are true??", and the vampire says "I did not like our depiction in Nosferatu very much". This is totally fine, the legends bled into popular culture or whatever. But zombie fiction is among those that can't do this, because it's a different kind of story, and there's no hiding it, no covering it up. If zombies were in any way real there would be mandatory training on how to kill them and CDC warnings and structural responses, which does substantially take away from the genre.

Now, would I read a zombie story that took place in a world where zombie outbreaks were a semi-regular occurrence with policies and procedures and discourse and training? Yeah, I guess, if it was well-written. But most of the long-running zombie stories get there eventually, once all the survivors have been doing the survival thing, and I can think of a few examples. It's hard to get right, much harder than the "what is happening, what is this" sort of story.

[galactic-magick]

For You: AU!Claggor x Reader

Summary: In the alternate timeline, Powder encourages you to admit your feelings for Claggor.

Words: 800+

Author's Notes: Adult alternate timeline Claggor is fine af so I wrote this short oneshot. Also I just needed to write something more lighthearted and cute after writing that devastating Viktor fic earlier. Enjoy <3

“I don’t get why you can’t just tell him,” Powder huffs, shuffling through her drawers for a particular brush. She glides on eyeshadow in your favorite colors, endlessly teasing you while she works, “It’s obvious he’s liked you since we were kids.”

“Oh, like finally admitting your feelings to Ekko was so easy,” you roll your eyes, causing her to scold you for opening them. “Besides, that’s not even true. He probably just sees me like a sister.”

“Look,” Powder tilts your chin up as she applies blush to your cheeks. “As someone who was actually raised as his sister, I can promise you he treats you differently. I catch him staring at you all the time, and he goes out of his way to be nice to you. Like, he literally made a new hybrid flower for you for your last birthday. What is it you’re not getting?”

“He gives plants to everyone, I don’t think I was special,” you shrug, pressing out your lips so Powder can swipe on some gloss.

“You’re a lost cause sometimes,” she sighs with a laugh. “Come on, it’s time to make our entrance.”

-

The Innovator’s Competition is crowded as usual, with loud music and ambient lights showering the entries and guests. Powder meets up with Ekko while you go to grab a drink and browse the inventions.

People start dancing, and you sway back and forth a bit to the beat. You don’t particularly want to third wheel right now, so you make do on the sidelines. You’re closer to the snacks here, anyway.

“Wow, Y/N. You look beautiful.”

You whip your head towards the voice, your mouth stuffed with one of Jericho’s famous, sloppy appetizers.

“Oh! Hi, Claggor!” You swallow as quickly as you can and wipe your face with your sleeve. “Sorry, um, thank you.”

“Anytime,” he chuckles. “How come you’re not out there dancing?”

“I...I just don’t like dancing alone,” you say, your eyes darting back to Powder and the other couples and friend groups on the dance floor.

“Well let’s go then,” he extends his hand to you.

You smile and take it, weaving through the crowd as he pulls you towards the middle. You see Powder give you a thumbs up before your attention is back on Claggor, and suddenly the crowded room feels less overwhelming.

You let lose, showing off your most ridiculous dance moves without a worry in the world. That was the thing about Claggor, he always made you feel safe, like you could be yourself whenever he was around. There is never a glimmer of judgment in his eyes, never an inkling of unkindness. He’s been your most stable and trusted friend for years—he played with you, explored the city with you, mourned with you, rejoiced with you. He’s just that kind of guy, with a heart of gold that never wavers.

But if you told him how you really feel—how you’ve felt since you were young—things might not be the same.

-

After the competition, Claggor takes the scenic route while walking you home, showing you a couple new gardens he’s been working on around the city. He hopes that one day plant life can be the key to the pollution problem in the underground, a dream that isn’t too far off with the latest hybrids and prototypes he’s made. It’s fascinating, and you’ve always admired his natural talent with nature.

He picks you a flower from one of the gardens, the kind he knows are your favorite.

“For you,” he says, slithering the stem into your hair. His hands, his face—it’s all so dangerously close now. You can feel his warmth, feel his gentle gaze.

Maybe Powder’s right, no man who saw you as just a friend would look at you like this.

You take the chance and close the space between you, kissing him quickly before stepping back to gauge his reaction.

He immediately pulls you back in, grabbing you by the waist and kissing you harder. You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers twiddling with his soft wavy hair.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he says, your lips barely moving apart.

“I think I have some idea,” you giggle.

“Would you look at that, what did I tell ya?” You see Powder and Ekko coming around the corner, clearly ecstatic about this new opportunity to tease you. “Finally.”

Claggor keeps holding you close as you fire back, “Did you follow us just to say ‘I told you so’?”

“Nah, I didn’t even know you left the party yet,” Powder laughs. “But boy am I glad I saw this!”

She keeps walking with Ekko, whispering and chuckling as they go. You and Claggor can’t help but burst into your own fit of laughter as well, basking in the hilarity of the whole situation.

“We’ll never live this down, will we?” Claggor smirks.

“Absolutely not.”

[str4wberrysw4n]

TIME TO YAPP 🎀

I named him zach, mainly as a "placeholder," but i don't care if his name is different in the 3d. he's taller than me, pale skin, brown eyes, with his dark hair in a wolfcut style. we met on the first day of school and i thought he was so cute. but i was too nervous to talk to him, until we got paired up for a project. zach was so goofy and fun, and even after it ended, he still wanted to talk to me and ended up taking my number. his whole wardrobe is kind of like a 2000s rapper mixed with opiumcore. baggy jeans, wife beaters, chains, all that shi (and he looks so fine in them 🩷) zachy looks really scary when u first meet him (ngl he can be if u piss him off), but he's generally just a big teddy bear ( ˘ ³˘) he is one of the sweetest people i've ever met and the best choice for my first bf :D he's always there to help me and listens to me when i vent abt shi that's bothering me. ik it sounds like the standard, but trust me, it's above the standard for a teenage boy...he also just has the EXACT same humor as me. bro is literally just me as the opposite gender ong 🙏 like one time i texted "hawk tuah 🔥" for literally no reason and his response was "ur very very SPECIAL 💜" (in revenge, i didn't give him any cheek kisses for a whole day  (｀ω´*)) another thing is that he let's me practice braiding his hair. my mommy never learnt how to braid hair from her mother and so struggled a lot with mine. i didn't want that problem if i ever had a kid, so he lets me practice on him. the first time i tried cornrows and he asked how he looked, I said "white boy carl ahh 🙏" he stole my juice box after >:T he's also one of the most chronically online ppl ik. like i swear bro is on tiktok 20 hours a day bcuz why am i responding to the tiktoks he sends like im grading his fukin homework?? speaking of hw, im so glad that he had y'know,actual aspirations n shi. so many boys in my school r getting into gangs n shit which is why it makes me so happy i ended up with someone who isn't affiliated with allat. he wants to go to a local college, which is fine, but i definitely think he could get into a better one if he wanted to. my prince is so intelligent (σ´∀`)σ also, he's been working out at the gym lately and it's starting to show 👀 (ngl gotta start doing it too) his parents absolutely love me, especially his mommy :3 once while we were in the car she was like "remember [my name], if my son ever gives u trouble, u come straight to me, ok?" it was a joke ofc (my bf would never hurt me) but it's nice to know i have their backs!! there's so much more i feel like im missing but it's hard for me explain!! when i love someone or smth a lot, i get so excited to talk abt them i can't put into words how i feel. i wuv him sooooo much n im so happy he loves me too!!!🎀

I need someone to yap about their s/o

[astrcmoni]

★ᯓ say you trust my loveᯓ★

pairing: billie eilish x fem!reader

MASTERLIST

synopsis: In the quiet tension of a rainy evening, you and Billie navigate the fragile cracks in your relationship, her unspoken fears and your quiet persistence threatening to collide. Through tender words and honest vulnerability, you begin to bridge the emotional distance, proving that love—yours and hers—is worth the effort.

warnings: cussing here and there …

wc: 2.4k

authors note: finally caught a break to write again. this is inspired by the songs ‘trustworthy’ and ‘bending my rules’ by flo (literally in love with their entire discography) anyways hope you enjoy this💋

the faint plink of the faucet echoed through the quiet room, irregular but persistent. each droplet hit the metal sink with a sharp, hollow ring, like a tiny clock ticking in no set rhythm. the sound seemed louder in the stillness, a soft but nagging reminder of something left unresolved. Occasionally, a bead of water would gather on the edge, hanging for a moment before falling with a heavier, more deliberate splash. It was the kind of noise that got under your skin, subtle at first, then impossible to ignore.

the air around you felt heavy, as if an invisible weight pressed against your chest. every breath came shallow, as if the room itself had grown too small to contain the silence. the space between you two buzzed with unspoken words, each one sharp and electric, but stuck just out of reach. It was the kind of tension that settled in your stomach, coiling tight like a spring, leaving you both restless and paralyzed. Every little sound—the creak of a chair, the faint hum of the fridge—felt magnified, filling the void where conversation should’ve been. The longer it stretched on, the more unbearable it became, like holding your breath and waiting for a storm that might never break.

the distance had been growing between you for weeks. it was subtle at first — billie canceling plans here and there, zoning out mid-conversation, brushing off your attempts at figuring out what’s wrong with simple “i’m fine’s”. But now it’s undeniable, overtime you’ve grown to be sick of the bullshit. something in your gut was telling you that something was up and you weren’t going to let her run away this time.

your head was held up by your closed fist as you sat on the end of the couch. the hairs on your skin stood up slightly as the cold air washed over you. the mugs of tea sat on the coffee table, untouched and long gone cold. the faint film on its surface shimmering under the dim light. outside, raindrops trickled down the windowpane, their slow erratic paths leaving streaks that blurred the world beyond. the dark clouds above hung heavy, threatening to burst at any moment but for now they held back— just like the words between you two. the air in the room felt damp, not from the weather but from everything that’s been left unsaid. even the clock on the wall seemed hesitant, its ticking faint and uneven, as if time itself were unsure whether to move forward or to stop entirely.

her eyes bore into her phone as she curled into herself in the corner of the couch, phone illuminating her face and casting a faint glow in the dim light. she’d been sitting like that for nearly an hour, scrolling through her screen as though it could distract her from whatever was on her mind. and all you could do was watch, watch as she avoided you—avoided the conversation that clearly needed to be held.

It wasn’t unusual for her to retreat in to herself when she was overwhelmed. It’s something that you’ve come to learn as the deeper your relationship developed. learning that her walls weren’t going to be the easiest to break down and you weren’t one to force them either. but this time it was different. this wasn’t just some stress or a bad day. it was bigger than that and you both knew it. it was a fear…a fear that she wasn’t ready to face, even when it ate away at your relationship the more the problem was ignored and you were determined to figure it out.

‘this can’t keep happening’ you thought as you let out a tired sigh.

“what?” billie responded, not caring enough to look up at you. “you’ve been quiet all day. what’s going on?”

“i’m fine” she murmured. her tone flat and words unconvincing.

“my god- here you go.” you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes shut, trying to calm down your building frustration.

“what?” her brows quirked up in confusion as she finally looked at you. eyes as blue as the seven seas bore into your own, for what felt like the first time in forever.

“you’re giving me the same rehearsed bullshit billie..that’s what. you shut me out and you hope that I don’t notice but I do.”

perplexity flickered across her face, as she set her phone down. brows knitted together as her eyes widened slightly, darting back and forth searching for a plausible explanation. her lips parted, but no words came out at first, just a shallow breath, as though she were trying to catch up to the accusation. The furrow in her brow deepened, and her head tilted just enough to show disbelief, like they were trying to piece together how things had gone so wrong. “Wait, what?” she finally stammered, their voice shaky, as if the accusation itself had knocked the wind out of them.

“just tell me what’s wrong.” your words left your mouth, ending off in a small plea as you scooted on the couch. close enough to give you comfort but far enough to give her her wanted space.

billie shifted her weight, discomfort written all on herself. “nothing i’m just tired”

“you’ve been “tired” all week babe. just talk to me…please.”

Billie’s gaze flickered briefly, like a shadow passing across the room, before she quickly turned away. Her lips pressed together, tight and unreadable, as if the words she wanted to say had been swallowed whole. A slight shift in her posture—shoulders drawn in, a subtle retreat—spoke louder than any denial. When her eyes met yours again, it was only for an instant, a look heavy with something unspoken, a silent plea. Her brows lifted for just a fraction of a second.

“Can we not?” she muttered softly under her breath, before her gaze darted back down, focusing intently on her hands or anything but the conversation. The space between you stretched taut, and with a delicate sigh, her gaze dropped, focusing on anything but you—a quiet invitation to let the silence speak for her, to walk away from the subject before it unraveled any further.

“no. we’re going to have this conversation. wether you want to or not, it’s as if you keep waiting for me to fuck up.”

you knew her to well, if you didn’t address this right now it’ll only worsen until it’s too late. instead of letting it go you decided to come up with a compromise, subsiding your frustrations and coming with a softer approach. “look people have bad days, i get it. you’re allowed to have them but don’t act like you have to deal with it all by yourself anymore. i’m right here”

she reached for her phone once more as she swallowed hard, eyes flicking back to the screen. “you always say that,” billie’s voice barely audible, the sound so soft as if they weren’t meant for you to hear. words caught in the space between you two. fragile and vulnerable, like glass. as if she was testing the air before allowing them to fully fall open. “But what if you don’t mean it? What if one day, you wake up and decide that we’re…that i’m not worth the trouble anymore?”. the weight of her question lingered in the air like a quiet storm, too heavy to ignore.

your eyes slowly blink as you take in her mere confession. surprised at her honesty but not the fear behind it, because you understood it, you once lived it.

her gaze flickered around the room before landing on you once more. “it’s not you..believe me it’s not. you’re doing everything right, and that scares me. I’m not used to this—someone being so steady. I keep waiting for you to prove me right, to show me I was stupid for thinking I could trust you.”

Your chest tightens, a sharp ache slicing through your heart as Billie’s words settle between you. It’s sudden, unexpected, the kind of pain that makes your breath catch, like something fragile inside you has just been cracked open. You knew she was afraid, but hearing it—hearing her voice, trembling with vulnerability—hits harder than you imagined.

a frown etched itself onto your face as you finally spoke up, your words gentle but firm. “now baby that’s not fair. i’ve bent my rules for you—things i said i’d never do, i’ve done because of how much i care about you. i’ve bent over backwards to show you i have no plans on going anywhere. what do i have to do to make you believe that? doesn’t it mean anything?”

reaching out you took her hand into your own. thumb mindlessly caressing the ink that was etched into her skin. it was an act of comfort, for hers or your own? that you weren’t sure of.

“It does. but it’s like everytime I start to believe you, something in my head is telling me to just not trust this. like maybe i’m fooling myself again.” looking down at your intertwined hands she grabbed them and placed them in her lap, opting to play with your fingers as she spoke. this subtle gesture letting you know that although nervous— she felt safe enough to let you in.

“I don’t know…it’s not something you can necessarily fix. it’s….me. I’ve been let down so much, i don’t even know what it feels like to completely trust someone.”

your fingers lifted to her head, brushing back strands of auburn hair that fell astray behind her hair. lifting her chin with your knuckle causing her eyes to meet with your own. “I get that. And i’m not magically stop feeling like that overnight. But I need you to meet me halfway, billie. I’ve changed how I do things because I want this to work out. Because I want you, all that i’m asking is that you at least…try”.

“and what if I can’t give you everything that you need?”

you breathed out, words falling from your soft lips. “then i’ll stay here and prove you wrong…” you leaned in closer, voice steady. “I’ve never done this with anyone but i’m willing to for you, just let me in a little more. I don’t need perfect billie— I just need you to be honest.” the words came out with ease, the weight of them grounding you both. making you feel more certain than you had in days.

Billie’s gaze flickered to yours, her eyes softening just a fraction, but her lips remained pressed together, caught somewhere between doubt and hope. You could see the hesitation in the way she inhaled, as if every breath she took was a decision. She opened her mouth, but the words faltered. A small sigh escaped her, her shoulders slumping slightly as she leaned back, hand covering her eyes acting as another wall and shielding her from everything, as if the fight had drained from her.

“You think you can just… wait for me to change?” Her voice was quieter now, almost lost in the space between you. She didn’t look away this time, though. “I’m not sure I can be what you need.”

You felt the sting of her words, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, scooted closer, your hand reaching for the one covering her face without thinking, needing to make that connection. “You don’t have to be perfect,” you repeated, your thumb brushing against her knuckles. “Just be real with me. I can’t make you trust me, but I’ll show you that you can. All I need is the chance.”

For a long moment, she didn’t speak. Then, slowly, as if testing the waters, she squeezed your hand just slightly, a quiet admission that she might be ready to believe.

“you’re so…steady. It’s like you’re this constant— and i’m just chaos. How are you so sure?”

“Because I know what I want. and I want you, chaos and all.”

“you really think i’m worth all this effort?” billie’s eyes soften as she looks at you but she’s still hesitant. the hue of her eyes reminding you of swimming pools. so full of emotions that you can drown in it.

your head moved on its own without hesitation. “yes. i wouldn’t be with you if i didn’t. To be honest…I get scared too, sometimes i wonder if you’ll ever trust me the way i do you? but then i look and i know you’re the one for me. i’ll do whatever it takes to show you that.”

for the first time in days billie relaxes just a little. letting herself fall into you, allowing you to truly connect with her. a few beats pass by as you both fell into a comfortable silence. your hand combed through her hair over and over while you watched the rain.

The soft pecks on your neck pull you out of your thoughts, and you feel her smile against your skin. It’s a quiet, unspoken apology—a gentle way of saying she’s finally letting go, letting herself be here with you. You turn slightly, just enough to meet her gaze, and for the first time in days, there’s a softness in her eyes that you haven’t seen in a while.

“I’m not perfect,” she says, her voice almost too quiet, but it doesn’t feel like a confession anymore. It’s more like a surrender, like she’s finally giving herself the permission to just be—to let you in without the weight of all her walls.

“I never needed you to be,” you reply, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I just need you to be here, with me, right now. That’s enough.”

Billie exhales, her body relaxing into yours once more, and this time it’s different. There’s no hesitation, no fear creeping back in. She’s just here, in this moment, with you. For the first time in a while, there’s peace in her touch, the steady warmth of her presence grounding you both.

The rain outside has softened into a light drizzle, the world outside feeling distant and muted, as if nothing else matters but the quiet connection you share now. You press a soft kiss to her temple, and her eyes flutter closed for a moment, the weight of everything finally lifting.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice small but sincere. “For being patient with me.”

You smile, a soft, tender curve of your lips. “I’ll always wait for you, Billie. As long as you need.”

And in that moment, everything feels like it’s finally falling into place. There’s no more rushing, no more wondering if things will work out. For the first time, you both just exist together—imperfect, but real—and that’s enough.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi! I love your work - it's been really helpful to me, especially your lessons on horror and depictions of violence.

You mentioned that there were some forms of violence that you'd feel uncomfortable seeing used against Black characters because of their historical context. I was wondering - were there any kinds of violence that you'd be uncomfortable seeing Black characters use against others? The reason I am asking is that the main characters of a project I am working on - two of whom are Black - are morally grey in a "cartoon villain" kind of way. They use a lot of exaggerated violence, but it's usually directed against even worse villains, and it's meant to be played for laughs. (If you know the band The Mechanisms, it's pretty similar in tone to their stuff.) One of the Black characters, E., is a high-profile art thief and assassin, while the other, B., is what would be called an "eco-terrorist" (I have problems with that term but that's beside the point) who's done stuff like blowing up oil pipelines and dams. Do you know of any similarities to real-life issues that I should be careful about when writing these characters?

Thank you so much!

Your premise sounds fine.

Personally, what's old to me is the Black Girl Bully, and that form of "social" violence, I guess. It feels like the reverse never really gets addressed; particularly the social violence of White Womanhood™. But anyway, we get it, you think the angry Black girls and women are so mean to the innocent, "just want what's better for everyone" white main character who plays as the savior. 🙄 I'm so sick of that. The writing is almost never done well enough, and even when it is, by then I still hate that they have to "soften up" from "being a threat" to work with the white character. It feels like a roundabout way of saying "be more palatable or you're a problem".

Though, tbh, if there was gonna be a Black villain, I personally would like to see it go whole hog. Like if you're gonna force me to uphold whiteness as the standard, I wanna see that villain be a VILLAIN, put them THREW IT. So I can't say that there's a level of violence I won't accept, so much as how are the characters being treated in that moment. Am I here to watch the poor nonblack characters that we coddle bc they're perfect fight against the evil, wicked dark-skinned Black lady, or am I watching the protagonists fight a good villain?

But that's fighting people's beliefs, too. Writing Superman with a Black Lex Luthor is going to generate different responses, despite the story being of the same quality with the same script.

Also, just regular stereotypes in general are to be avoided. As per usual, it's all about how you write your characters.

[pedroscurls]

just the tip (one-shot)

summary: you're ready to take the next step with logan, but you're still a bit nervous. pairing: old man!logan x fem!reader content warnings: explicit smut (18+, mdni), inexperienced reader, missionary, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, logan can't control himself, implied age gap (but no mention of age), no use of y/n. word count: 3k a/n: ok, this is yet another one-shot of complete old man logan filth. it never really is just the tip, is it? 🤭 i'm just so obsessed with logan and can't figure out which version of him i want to write on most days lol. honestly, idk where this idea originated from, but here we are... i just have a fantasy of old man logan showing me the ropes ya know... anyway, hope you enjoy! 🙂‍↕️

Logan doesn’t know what he did in this life to ever deserve you. Someone so sweet, so patient, so kind, so pure. He doesn’t even know why someone like you would ever be interested in someone like him. He knows he’s no longer in his prime – his hair now a gray shade, beard overgrown with more gray than brown, crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, wrinkles around his face. 

And you… You’re obviously much younger than him – everyone is much younger than him – but your innocence and your purity makes you seem so much younger than you really are, despite being very mature for your age. You smile so sweetly at him, gaze at him with such kind eyes that he doesn’t ever feel deserving of you. 

But you had approached him first. All shy and unlike the rest of the girls in your group the night that you both met. You seemed so out of place, like maybe you had just been dragged along for the night because you were quiet, reserved, even when you had three drinks and one shot of tequila already. 

The rest of your group was loud, outfits way too revealing that everyone had eyes on them. They craved and yearned for the attention, but you were fine with being in the background. This wasn’t usually how you spent most Friday nights, but your friends had convinced you and you owed one of them a favor. 

You weren’t the prettiest in the group and you certainly never got the attention of anyone else when you were with them, but you didn’t mind. Your friends never made you feel less than you were, always the ones to reassure you and give you the confidence that you lacked. 

And that night was no different. They had given you the confidence to approach Logan who was keen on spending just a couple of hours drinking his problems and nightmares away. Alone. 

But when you sat next to him and flashed him that sweet smile paired with those kind eyes, Logan knew he wouldn’t have the strength to turn away from you. He tried to act like he wasn’t interested, tried to act like talking to you was an inconvenience, but it never deterred you. Instead, you remained seated next to him all throughout the night even well past the time the bar was closing. 

“Your friends left you,” Logan told you. 

“That usually is the plan,” you admitted. 

His head tilted. “The plan is to go home with a stranger? Sounds dangerous if you ask me, bub.”

“I don’t usually do this.” 

“Do what?” 

“Go home with a stranger.” 

“Ain’t going home with me,” Logan whispered. “I don’t do this either. Too old for this, actually.”

Logan didn’t miss the way your face fell at his words. All night, he kept asking himself why did you pick him? What was so special about him that you decided to spend the rest of your night talking to him? 

“If I did invite you back to my apartment, would you say yes?” You asked quietly, your kind eyes now filled with hope. 

“Don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. 

You didn’t push him, wanted to respect his decision and his boundaries. So instead, you grabbed a napkin off the bar counter and a sharpie before writing your name and phone number. “Call me?”

“Sure,” Logan lied, staring down at the napkin. 

Once outside the bar, you pulled out your phone. “Well, I better call a Lyft now. It was really great talking with you, Logan.” 

“Let me take you home at least,” he muttered. 

“Oh, you don’t have to.” 

“I’m a driver,” he chuckled lowly. “If you called a Lyft, there’s a high chance that it’d be me who takes you home anyway.” 

“Okay,” you smiled up at him and Logan felt his heart race even faster at the sight. 

And since then, you and Logan had developed a friendship that soon turned physical. Heavy make out sessions and lingering touches, but you hadn’t taken that extra step, hadn’t gone the full distance. 

–

“I think I’m ready,” you tell him, hands resting on his shoulders as you sit on his lap. 

“For?” Logan asks, head tilting as his strong hands rest on your upper thighs. 

“To have sex with you.” 

Logan clears his throat, can feel his manhood stir beneath his pants. He stares into your eyes, tries to search for any uncertainty but you look determined. You look like you’ve made up your mind. 

“Sweetheart,” he sighs. “You know I’m fine with what we’ve been doing. I don’t want to push you or make you feel like you need to do this for me. We’ll go at your pace.”

“I trust you,” you admit quietly. “I’m not… experienced like other women my age should be, but–”

“Inexperienced or not, I don’t care about that.” Logan lifts you off his lap and sets you on the couch instead, his hands immediately moving to cover the center of his pants. “We don’t have to–”

“I want this, Logan. I want you. All of you.” You bite your lower lip and move to settle on your knees on the couch, staring up at him. “I’m not a virgin, but I haven’t been with many men before.” 

Logan���s eyes narrow at you. “Oh, that so?” He isn’t sure why he feels jealous at your words, imagining other men who've had you in their bed. He’s had a taste of you, knows exactly what to do to get you to come and you’ve done the same to him. And yet, he hasn’t had you in a way these other men have. 

You nod at him, so innocent and pure written on your features. He can sense your nervousness, but he can also smell your arousal. It hits his senses all at once and his gaze darkens. “I just don’t want to disappoint you.” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Logan smirks. “I’ve seen the way you suck my cock,” he growls. “You ain’t gonna disappoint me.” 

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, feel the wetness begin to settle between your legs, dampening your panties at his words. You loved when he would talk dirty to you; it only excited you even more. “Y– You like that, huh?” 

Logan nods and stands up from the couch, lifting you into his arms without issue. “Of course,” he whispers, taking you to his bedroom as he walks into the room with you in his arms. “I love the fact that you like doing it too.” 

You nod in agreement. “I do love it.” 

Logan grins and sets you on his bed, watching as you prop yourself on your hands with your lower lip pulled between your teeth. And he wants so badly to respond and tell you that he loves you, but he doesn’t. Everyone that he’s ever loved was taken from him, so he doesn’t say anything. 

“I know, you’re like a crazed animal.” Logan chuckles. 

You pout up in his direction and gently reach out to tug on the waistband of his pants, pulling him to stand between your legs as your free hand moves to massage his crotch. 

“See what I mean?” He groans, hardening even further with every graze of your hand. Logan gently takes your hand from him and shakes his head, lifting you further up the bed as he climbs atop of you. “You sure about this?” 

You nod and move your hands to rest on his chest, feeling the muscle flex beneath your fingertips. “Yes,” you say almost breathlessly. “I’m just a bit nervous.” 

Logan’s gaze softens and he looks down at you. You had broken through his hard exterior, had nestled your way into his heart, and even Charles had taken notice. You make him feel young again, like not all of the world’s responsibilities are weighing heavy on his shoulders. With you, he feels free, at peace. You manage to quiet all of the voices in his head, but he’d never tell you that. 

“We’ll go at your pace,” he whispers, moving his hand down your side. 

“I’m just nervous I won’t be able to take all of you,” you admit. 

Logan chuckles and leans back on his knees to gently tug down your shorts and panties. He tosses it carelessly to the side and instantly, he smells your arousal hit his senses. He looks down at your lower half, sex glistening with your wetness. “It’ll fit,” he says lowly, hands moving up your legs. “We’ll make sure it does.” 

“Maybe just start with the tip?” you ask, grabbing the ends of your oversized t-shirt above your head. You lie back down, hair splaying on his pillows as your body is now fully exposed and on full display for him.

Logan nods, pulling off his white tank-top over his head. He stands up momentarily to push down his pants, his manhood now standing at attention and leaking at the tip. He reaches down and strokes himself once, twice, before he settles himself between your legs. 

“Gonna get you ready for me first,” Logan whispers, his large hand splaying over your abdomen as it slides down towards where you need him the most. He hovers above you, lips resting just near your ear as he slowly slides his middle finger past your folds. It slides in with ease, your slickness allowing for easy entry. Logan gently nips on your earlobe, grunting in your ear as you let out a quiet whimper at the intrusion. 

“Logan,” you moan quietly, moving a hand to rest on his large bicep, gripping it tightly. This isn’t the first time Logan’s fingered you, but the anticipation of what’s to come has you clenching around his digit unintentionally. 

“Already so wet f’me,” he whispers into your ear, slowly adding another digit into your depths. Logan ruts against the mattress, trying to find his own relief as he slowly begins to pump his fingers in and out of you. 

You turn your head and bury your face against the crook of his neck, teeth grazing against his skin. “Logan,” you whimper, gasping quietly as you feel another digit enter you. 

“That’s three already, sweetheart,” Logan growls as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you. When he feels your teeth gently bite down on his neck, he groans, thrusting his three digits inside of you as he begins to curl his fingers within your depths. “Come f’me, honey.”

“Logan, I–” you shut your eyes tightly and arch your back, your breasts pushing against his chest. Your walls tighten even further around his digits, your hips rolling upwards as you ride out your high. 

Logan smirks and pulls back slowly, looking down at you as your chest heaves up and down. He pulls his fingers from you and looks down at it, his digits glistening with your arousal. He brings it to his lips and sucks your arousal from his fingers, eyes staring into your own once your eyes open. “Ready?” 

You nod, biting your lower lip in anticipation. “Just the tip, okay?”

“Sure, sweetheart.” Logan says, leaning back on his knees as he reaches down to grasp onto the base of his manhood. He leans in closer, running his tip along the length of your sex, applying pressure to your bundle of nerves.

You look down between your legs and bite your lower lip. The sight of him holding onto the base of his length as he rubs his tip up and down the length of your sex, until his tip catches against your opening. “Logan…” you whimper, reaching out for him but he just uses his free hand to grab a hold of your wrists, pinning them above your head. 

Slowly, Logan pushes his tip into you, feeling your tight walls immediately surround him. He groans and then pulls back, running his tip once more along you. Logan’s grip around your wrists tighten, pressing them further into the mattress as he pushes his tip – and only his tip – inside of your depths. Logan looks down and slowly pushes further into you, hearing you quietly gasp as a few more inches past his tip enter you.

“Logan, wait, baby–” 

Logan growls and then suddenly slams all the way into you in one stroke. The warmth of your walls surround him, so tight and so wet as his lower half presses firmly against yours. “Fuck,” he groans, his now free hand coming up to rest on your cheek. 

You feel your toes curl at the intrusion – nothing Logan did would have ever prepared you for the size of him. You can feel every inch and vein of his length inside of you, throbbing and stretching you. It’s so much, all at once, that when he pulls back only to thrust back in all the way, it causes your eyes to flutter. 

“I said–” you moan. “Start with the tip…”

“Couldn’t help myself,” he groans, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “You feel so good around me, sweetheart.” Logan feels your legs wrap around his waist, your ankles locking together at his lower back. 

You nod in agreement, tears stinging your eyes. Logan’s so deep and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You keep your eyes open and trained on him. He hadn’t removed his glasses, now staring at you from the top of his glasses. You try to wiggle your hands free, but Logan’s grip just tightens even further. 

“Logan, oh god,” you moan, his slow thrusts now picking up speed. He pulls out to his tip and then slams back into you, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. His hand moves from your cheek to grip your hip, fingertips digging into the meat of your flesh. 

He knows that he probably won’t last any longer, the feeling of your tight walls gripping him, the way he’s easily sliding in and out of your depths due to how wet you are for him. It’s in moments like this where he doesn’t know why you still stick around, why you still continue to choose him. Logan releases your hands and grips your hips in both hands, pulling back to look down at you. Logan continues to thrust into you, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echo off the walls of his room. 

Your hands immediately move to grip his sheets and he can feel your walls begin to tremble once more, can feel you begin to tighten around his length. Logan groans, eyes moving along your frame, his gaze lingering at the sight of your breasts bouncing with each sharp thrust he delivers. He knows his grip around your hips will leave marks and the thought of you walking around, going about your day with marks of him suddenly makes him feel territorial, suddenly has this desire to make everyone know that you’re his. 

“Logan, I’m gonna–” 

“Yeah, baby,” he groans. “I know, come f’me.” 

And just on cue, your legs tighten even further around his waist as your walls tighten around his length. He can feel you shaking, can feel just a rush of wetness. “Logan!” 

He groans. He’d never get tired of hearing his name escape your lips at the height of pleasure. Logan’s hips stutter, feeling a tightness build in the pit of his stomach as he chases his own release. He releases your hips to rest his hands on the mattress near your head, slamming his hips into yours – once, twice, three times before he releases inside of you, his seed filling you. He should have asked first, should have thought about using a condom, but when he pulls out of you and watches his seed trickle out of you, the guilt disappears immediately. 

You stare up at him and then follow his gaze down between your legs, watching his spend come out of you and drop down onto his mattress, staining his sheets. “You’ll have to wash these now,” you tease, your voice almost breathless. 

“Worth it,” he whispers, leaning down and gently pecking your lips. 

“Was that– Was I okay?” you ask quietly, your hands slowly moving to his hair. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Logan says softly. “We’re gonna be doing more of that.”

 An excitement flickers in your eyes and you grin, leaning up on your elbows to gently capture his lips with your own. “And just so we’re clear… I don’t mind that you came inside.” 

Logan pulls back and looks down at you. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I like knowing that I can still feel you.” 

Logan smirks and he can feel himself slowly begin to get hard again. His regenerative powers aren’t all that quick anymore, so he’s surprised that his manhood is stirring awake, yearning for you yet again. 

“Next time we do this,” you begin quietly. “Can I ride you?” 

Logan groans as he moves his hips, his tip slowly brushing against you. He slowly lies on his back and reaches down to stroke himself, eyes running across your frame. “Come on, then.” 

“Wait,” you bite your lower lip. “You’re– How?” 

“You make it easy,” he winks, reaching out to gently tap your hip. “Take what you need, sweetheart.”

You move to straddle his hips and Logan looks down to see his release trickle out of you, dripping onto the hair at his base. He stares up at you, feeling you slide down his length and he watches you tilt your head back, a moan escaping your lips. Logan bites his lower lip, hands moving to your hips as he gazes up at you. Logan knows that you’re way out of his league, that you deserve to be with someone closer to your age, but fuck – he’s going to keep you for as long as you allow. 

Because Logan knows that he’s so deep in his feelings for you that he won’t ever choose to let you go. 

And now, as you’re slowly rocking your hips, he’s going to keep this image in his mind until the day he dies. 

His girl. His.

[transandrogyne]

i understand the confusion that arises here if you think of transmisogyny as the intersection between transphobia and misogyny -- and i'm not saying that to be an asshole, i'm saying that because i had the same confusion for a while. but using the intersection framing isn't very helpful here since transphobia is ultimately the consequence of patriarchy & misogyny which, as you point out, impacts all trans people.

so, the better way of looking at it is to understand it as a form of misogyny that specifically impacts trans women. i realize this is a subtle difference, but it is still a difference that matters nonetheless. it makes more sense, too, when you consider the mechanisms at play with patriarchy. for example, if cis women are subjugated on the basis of their ability to physically reproduce and are made to provide free reproductive labor, then what happens to the trans woman who cannot fulfill that same role? and the answer, both historically and nowadays, is the relegation of trans women to a sort of social third class. economically, we see throughout history that they are frequently unemployed or involved with sex work, which is a reality that cis women also frequently experienced if they were unable to achieve getting married, having kids, maintaining their reputation and if their husband was unable to prevent the family from falling into poverty.

this is just one example of many, but the point here is that trans women experience very similar outcomes to cis women because of patriarchy, but their outcomes more frequently resemble the worst-case social/economic scenario of cis women because they are trans. there was never an opportunity to have a better life.

trans men, on the other hand, generally have a different experience when they are understood socially to be men. stories of figures you could consider to be trans masculine are often described a women dressing as men to achieve a better life for themselves -- that reality reflects what i'm trying to communicate. that's not to say that trans men never had it bad or that they never experienced misogyny, but what it does communicate as that being perceived by society as a man has historically yielded different opportunities and outcomes than being perceived as a woman. for instance, when i read stories of historical trans men, they're usually able to sort of live under cover and work very blue collar jobs because those jobs were available to men. and if they ever had to resort to sex work, they would have to do it as women -- most johns are straight men, after all.

thus, and i'm sure you've heard this before, "transandrophobia" as a term modeled after transmisogyny doesn't make much sense because it would imply "androphobia that is specific to trans men." now, maybe you want to say, "well, i'm using the term not to talk about the intersection of 'androphobia' and transness, but rather transphobia that is unique to trans men OR the intersection of misogyny and trans masculinity." and that's all fine and good, but we've run into two very large rhetorical problems since this discussion started.

many examples of experiences unique to trans men are not really unique to trans men and there aren't very good arguments explaining why they should be viewed as uniquely anti-transmasc

many arguments i've seen at least rely heavily on a very gender essentialist outlook. i believe there are a lot of well-intentioned people who just don't have the greatest grasp on the mechanisms of patriarchy yet, but unfortunately this tendency has resulted in a not insignificant amount of arguing about trans women being male and therefore incapable of understanding misogyny and ironically misgenders trans men and denies many of our realities

i do believe it's worth talking about the experiences of trans mascs specifically because it helps us develop a better understanding of how we fit into the broader scheme of things and develop ways to fight for a better future. unfortunately, though, a lot of discussion about feminism & misogyny in general (not just w/ this conversation, i mean as a whole) doesn't really have a solid, materialist understanding of patriarchy and leads to questionable conclusions. in the case of transandrophobia, i'm concerned that the culture that has developed has only reified ppl's distrust of trans women (not instilled it, mind you -- once again, we have to return to transmisogyny here as a structural reality) and therefore severely stunted our ability as trans men/mascs to talk about ourselves in a meaningful way.

If transmisogyny is actually the intersection of transphobia and misogyny, that would be something all trans people experience, not just transfemme individuals.

If it's just a word for transphobia faced by transfemmes, then it makes sense for transmascs to have an equivalent word.

If you say transmascs can't use the word transmisogyny to describe their experiences, and essentially just use it to mean transphobia against transfemmes, then it doesn't make any sense to get upset about the word transandrophobia

[sequinsmile-x]

My Foes and Friends

Emily gets a call from her teenage daughter when a day out with her 'friends' goes wrong.

-x-

Hi besties <3

Not really sure where this came from, but when has that ever stopped me??

I wanted to write some Momily, and Hotchniss with teenagers has a special place in my heart so here we are! <3

As always, please let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 2.7k

Warning: References to bullying

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily sighs contentedly as she settles onto the couch, her favourite book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. She swings her legs around, smiling at her husband when her feet land in his lap and he looks up at her, his attention briefly drawn from his book as he squeezes her foot. He takes one look at her, sees the slight tension in her jaw, the vein in her forehead that always gave her away, and presses his thumb against the arch in her foot.

“She’ll be fine.” 

She narrows her eyes, “I didn’t say anything.” 

Aaron smiles and skims his hand up her leg until it lands on her knee, “You didn’t have to.” 

Emily rolls her eyes, unable to fight the smile that chases it, and she shakes her head at him, “I thought we agreed a long time ago not to profile each other.” 

He shrugs, a spark of mischief in his eyes that she would have once thought he wasn’t capable of, “I’m not profiling you,” he says, smiling as he reaches out for her hand and links their fingers together, “I just happen to know you, and I know how much you worry about the kids. Gracie is fine - she’s at the mall with her friends and she has Find My Friends switched on,” his smile turns into a playful smirk, “It was one of your conditions of her going, remember?” 

She blows out a shaky breath and nods. Grace was 14 now and grappling for her independence, desperate to push boundaries and spend more and more time with her friends instead of her family. It made Emily ache, like she was being pulled in two different directions. In one sense, she was so proud of who her kids were becoming, but in another, she missed when they were small and their favourite place to be was tucked up against her side with their little fingers tangled in her hair. 

Jack had, mostly, come out of the other side of it now. He was 20 and unashamedly called either her or Aaron for advice whilst he was away at college, even if it was something as simple as how to cook something for dinner. It was comforting to know that even as Grace started to pull away from her, something she knew Lucy would start to do soon too, her teenage years just on the horizon, that they’d eventually come back to her. 

“I know you probably think I’m crazy-”

“Never.”

She smiles at the interruption and squeezes his hand, “But after everything we’ve seen…I just worry when we aren’t with them to keep them safe,” she scrunches her nose up, “Especially when they are at a mall. They’ve given me creeps ever since the Katie Jacobs case.” 

Aaron nods in agreement, a shiver running through him at the memory before he encourages his wife closer, his arm around her as she settles against him, “I know, sweetheart. But she’s sensible, and smart,” he tilts his head to look at her, “She’s you.” 

Emily shakes her head at him, her teeth pressed into her lower lip as she tries and fails to suppress a smile and she cups his cheek, “My mom would say that’s the problem. That she’s all me.”

He hums, “Well, you know your mother and I haven’t always seen eye to eye on certain things.” 

She chuckles, feeling a little lighter already as she leans forward to kiss him, her lips catching the corner of his mouth. She’s about to slide onto his lap properly, to kiss him until she forgets about everything except the press of him against her, but she’s interrupted by her youngest’s footsteps closely followed by her voice.

“Gracie is right, you two are so gross.” 

Emily shifts back from Aaron, her eyebrow raised at her 12-year-old, barely able to hide a smile as their eyes meet, “You okay, Lucy?” 

She hums and walks over to the armchair in the corner, and for a moment Emily pictures her as a tiny little thing who had to climb onto it, and it makes her ache, “I’m okay,” she says, tucking her legs under herself, “Bored.” 

“Did the internet turn off?” Aaron jokes, and Lucy rolls her eyes at him. 

“No,” she replies, blowing out a breath, “When is Gracie getting home?” 

Emily and Aaron exchange a brief look, both of them suppressing smiles so their youngest doesn’t think they are making fun of her. The girls had always been close, ever since Grace first held her younger sister, Jack’s arms around her as he showed her how to do it, but in recent years they’d started to pretend they weren’t each other’s best friend. It was another phase Emily knew they’d grow out of, but in the meantime, it meant that their home was now often filled with arguments about borrowed sweaters and make-up.

“In a couple of hours-” Emily starts, but she’s cut off as her phone rings, she looks at it, her brows furrowing as she sees Grace’s name and picture on her screen, “She’s calling me,” she says, picking up the phone as she exchanges another look with her husband, this one concerned, “She never calls,” she answers the phone, swallowing thickly as she tells herself she’s over-reacting, “Grace, honey, is everything okay?” 

“Mom,” she says, the shake to her voice making the spark of worry in Emily’s gut ignite, “Can you come get me?”

Emily’s already standing up, looking around for her shoes and keys, highly aware of Aaron and Lucy following her, their concern adding into the mix, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” 

“I’m fine.” 

She sighs, “Where are the others, are they still there? I thought you were going to get some food-”

“Mom. Can you please come get me?” Gracie says as she cuts her off, half shouting at her mother in a way she rarely did, “I’ll explain when you get here…but…please.” 

Emily pinches the bridge of her nose and blows out a breath, “I’m on my way,” she says, pushing her feet into the first shoes she can find, “Stay exactly where you are and I’ll come and meet you.”

“I’m in the food court,” she mumbles, her voice shaking again, her words catching in her throat in a way that lets Emily know she’s crying, “By the Taco Bell.” 

“Stay there for me, okay?” 

She hears a sniff down the phone, “Okay.”

“I love you, sweetheart.” “You too,” Grace replies, the shake to her voice instantly worse than it already had been. Emily makes her promise one more time that she’ll stay put, and they exchange hurried goodbyes. 

“I don’t know what’s happened, but she’s asked me to go and get her,”sShe huffs out a breath as she turns to look at Aaron and Lucy, matching concerned expressions on their faces as the pre-teen leans against her father’s side. Emily shrugs on a jacket and grabs her keys from the counter, “I’ll text you when I’ve got her, okay?”

“I should come with you,” Aaron says, and she shakes her head, stepping forward to kiss his cheek, something that Lucy doesn’t protest like she usually would.

“I have a feeling she won’t want a crowd, honey,” she kisses his cheek again, “You two stay here, and when I let you know we’re on the way back you two can get started on some hot chocolates.” 

Lucy leans forward to hug Emily, her arms briefly tight around her before she pulls back, “I think this calls for the fancy stuff we got from France in the summer.” 

Emily smiles and kisses her forehead before tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “I think that sounds perfect, sweetie,” she looks up at Aaron and smiles tightly, a silent promise that they’d talk about it later passing between them, “I should get going.” 

“Drive safely,” Aaron says, smiling despite his concern when she rolls her eyes at him, “The last thing we need is for you to get into an accident.”

She salutes him as she opens the front door, “Yes sir.” 

“Oh ew,” Lucy says, screwing her face up in disgust, “Please don’t call him sir.” 

___

Emily’s relief at finding Grace is short lived the moment she gets close enough to see her bright red face. The make-up she’d meticulously applied smudged on her cheeks and the sleeves of the sweater she has pulled down over her fists. 

“Gracie?”

Grace looks up at her, and her lower lip wobbles, fresh tears slipping down past her lashline, “Hi Mom,” she says, wiping her cheeks before pointing at the large table she was sitting at, empty seats surrounding her, “Pull up a chair,” she puts her elbow on the table and then rests her cheek against her fist, “There are plenty.”

Emily chooses the seat next to her and sits on her hands to stop herself from reaching out and pulling her into a hug, finding herself not entirely sure if it would help or embarrass Grace. 

“What happened, baby?” She asks, her heart aching as her daughter’s face screws up as she tries to suppress a sob, “Where are your friends-”

“They aren’t my friends,” she sniffs, wiping her cheeks again, “They made that very clear,” her chin wobbles and Emily clenches her jaw and clears her throat, pushing down the anger that threatens to rise up it, the need to find a bunch of 14-year-old girls and give them a piece of her mind briefly overwhelming, “They kept kind of leaving me out but I thought I was just imagining things. Then we came to eat, they sent me to get a table whilst they got food. And I watched as they just…left,” she looks up at her, “They just left without me. I tried to follow at first but then I lost them so I came back here in case they just went to the bathroom. I texted the group chat and then they told me they’d been picked up by Kayla’s mom, and that there wasn’t room for me in the car.”

Emily finally reaches out for her, her motherly instincts overriding any attempt to not embarrass her daughter, and she places her hand on her back to rub a soothing circle there, “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

“I thought they liked me,” Grace sobs, leaning forward and pressing her face against Emily’s shoulder, curling against her like she hadn’t in years, “I have no friends.” 

Emily has to close her eyes to stop herself from crying, and she stamps a kiss against the top of Grace’s head. She soothes her until she calms down, switching between kissing her forehead, whispering that she was right there with her against her skin, and rubbing her back. Once Grace is a little calmer, her sobs calming down into sniffles against her mother’s neck, Emily finally speaks, “I can call the school, have a teacher talk to their parents-”

Grace pulls back and shakes her head, her eyes wide as if she can’t imagine everything worse, “No,” she says, wiping her cheeks, “I want to pretend this never happened. I’ll just…” she blows out a breath and chokes on a humourless laugh, “Sit on my own for lunch on Monday I guess.” 

Emily knows not to push it, so she doesn’t. Instead, she nods and encourages Grace to lean against her again, enjoying the closeness her daughter was allowing her - something that felt infinitely selfish given the circumstances. All she ever wanted was to make sure her kids were loved and happy, and that if they ever weren’t for some reason that they knew they could come to her and Aaron. That they wouldn’t look for love in all the wrong places and wouldn’t have to live with the consequences like she had. 

“Being a teenager is hard, honey,” she says, “I can’t promise it will get easier any time soon, but it will get easier eventually.”

Grace scoffs, “Right, like being a teenager was ever hard for you,” she says, tilting her head to look at her and rolling her eyes when Emily furrows her brow, “Come on, Mom. You’re gorgeous. You’re confident. You have so many friends, and Dad acts like you hung the freaking moon.” 

She sighs and tucks some of Grace’s hair behind her ear, “That’s now, Grace. When I was your age…I had no friends,” she says, “Your Grandmother and I moved around a lot. I was always the new kid. That’s a hard gig.” 

Grace nods, “I guess.”

“And your dad was a theatre nerd,” she says, her heart blooming in her chest when she drags a surprised smile out of her daughter.

“No way.” 

“It’s true,” she replies, “It’s how he met Haley. I think there are some photos in the attic somewhere.” 

Grace laughs, “Okay, I have got to see those,” she says before her smile starts to fade, “What do I do on Monday?”

Emily wipes her cheek for her, “You go to school, you hold your head up high and you do your best,” she smiles, “And, if you want me to, I can get your Aunt Pen to mess with their cell service or something.”

Grace laughs again and nods, “I’ll let you know.”

She squeezes her against her side again, kissing her forehead, “Did you eat anything?” She asks, and Grace shakes her head, “How about we buy all the tacos we can carry and we take them home to share with your sister and Dad?” 

Grace nods, “As long as we can get some Baja Blasts too.”

Emily smiles and kisses her temple, “It’s like you read my mind, sweet girl.”

___

They spend all weekend trying to cheer her up. Lucy spends every possible second with her sister, even suggesting they have a sleepover in her room like they did when they were small and inseparable. 

Emily is able to keep her anger in check until the girls are asleep, snuggled up together in one bed. Aaron has to stop her from calling all of the girl’s parents, reminding her it’s not what Grace would want, and when she suggests going to the school with her badge and gun on display Aaron reminds her why that’s a bad idea too. 

She promises him she’ll be calm when she picks Grace up from school, but she isn’t sure it’s a promise she can keep if she’s upset again. If she runs to the car with tears in her eyes, insisting she’ll never go to school again, Emily isn’t sure she’ll be entirely responsible for her actions. 

She’s as surprised as she is delighted to see Grace all but skip to the car, a wide smile on her face as she climbs in, “Hi Mom.”

“Hi,” Emily replies, smiling at her as she watches her clip her belt into place then push the strap past her shoulder, “How was your day?”

Grace sighs as she rests her head back against the headrest, “It was okay,” she says, turning to look at her, “I did what you said - ignored them. Held my head high. And…I made a friend.” 

Emily smiles, “You did?” 

Grace hums, “There’s a new girl who started today,” she says, smiling softly as their eyes meet, “She’s called Emma. I figured she could do with a friend too.” 

Emily chuckles, the sound catching in her chest as she sucks in a breath, taken aback by her daughter’s kindness and empathy. She reaches over and tucks some hair behind her ear before she cups her cheek, “I’m very proud of you, baby.” 

Grace’s eyes go wide as she touches her, leaning away from the touch as she looks out of the window to see if any of her peers had seen the affection between mother and daughter, “Mom, how many times do I have to say, not on school property?” 

Emily clears her throat to stop herself from smirking and nods, switching on the car’s engine so she can drive away from the pickup spot, but not before she makes a point of straightening out Grace’s seatbelt to make sure it lays flat on her shoulder. “Right, sorry honey.” 

“Mom.” 

[dragonnan]

Saturday Sherlock Fic Recs

Gathered from my bookmarks :)

It's Not The Violin by copperbadge - M Somewhere between Alejandro and the fistfight, John Watson became someone Sherlock Holmes would kill for.

Sound of Silence by SailorChibi - G Sherlock returns from the dead but nothing is like it was. He doesn't speak and John doesn't understand, not until an encounter with the Yard explains the depths of Sherlock's trauma.

Lost for Words by awanderingbard - M Sherlock is assaulted by an unknown assailant while John is away at a medical conference, leaving him with a severe brain injury. While his intellect and personality are intact, he's lost the use of his right-side limbs and his ability to speak freely. John suddenly finds himself as the main source of support, and possibly a caregiver, to a flatmate who is struggling to do the things he loves most. And Sherlock Holmes has never been the best of patients.

Following On by in_in_in_in_in_in - G ‘Well,’ says Sherlock, throwing the empty bottle down into the foot well. ‘I did think I was going to die.’

‘You thought you were going to die?’ Donovan chokes out. ‘I knew you were a freak, but are you really so self-centred? I thought he was supposed to be your friend, and instead of worrying about him you’re worrying about yourself? Did you push him in front of you or something?’

When something happens to John, Sherlock doesn't understand why everyone's so surprised that he was worried for his own life.

Flinch by Salr323 - G "We hated him."

Oubliette by CherryBlossomTide - T After a traumatic incident, Sherlock becomes trapped in the darkest part of his Mind Palace. The only thing that can still reach him is the sound of John's voice.

A Cure for the Final Problem by Saasan - T (Warning for Character Death) As far as Sherlock knows, he's back in rehab, but something is amiss. Why won't John come visit him?

The Holiday by Scriblit - M (Warning for offscreen noncon) A month following an horrific, sadistic attack during a case, Sherlock is still physically incapacitated and emotionally damaged. A holiday is suggested, but even stuck out in the middle of nowhere, he and John happen upon a case that could make Sherlock begin to feel like his old self again - or could kill him.

Paying Back by Dayja - M Some men do not appreciate Sherlock's handling of their cases. They decide to pay him back.

Harmless Things by J_Baillier - M This is definitely not how John had imagined their Saturday night.

It takes John Watson to save your life. by Sparkypip - T A series of One shots where John saves Sherlock's life in so many ways. Will be updated sporadically as and when I get any time to write. As always I like my characters hurt, so plenty of angst, H/C, whump and bromance.

Seek Out The Unworthy by squire - T Set after the events of His Last Vow - but this time, the plane carrying Sherlock off to Eastern Europe never turned around, and John's life is very different as a result.

Hopeless Wanderer by Cyane (orphan_account) - Not Rated Mycroft wakes up in a cold, dark, cliche. Normally this would be fine, except this time, his captors were smart/stupid enough to drag Sherlock into this.

And they're going to be there for a while, until his agents and Scotland Yard figures out where they are.

This would be a hell of a lot easier if Mycroft wasn't blindfolded, tied up, and forced to listen to Sherlock's screams.

Redemption by sgam76 - G The reappearance of James Moriarty means an initial reprieve for Sherlock Holmes. But the consequences of that reappearance put not just the Holmes boys, but most of the world, at risk. An emerging threat in Eastern Europe brings visions of the plagues of the Middle Ages--but that's the least dangerous part.

English as a Foreign Language by standbygo - G Sherlock is not quite right after Mycroft pulls him out of Serbia.

When Your Belly's in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart - T The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side.

The Least of All Possible Mistakes by rageprufrock - M If ever a people deserved tasering, it’s Holmeses.

Define Vulnerability by TheGracefulBlueCat - T Shortly after Sherlock's return John realises something is very wrong with his friend. He, Greg and Mycroft try to help Sherlock as he falls deeper and deeper into the abyss called PTSD. But Sherlock is not ready to allow anyone in, but then the events of the current case cause him to hit bottom hard.

Into the Gloaming by Vulpesmellifera - M She lays the sage bundle down in one of his seashells, avoiding the label. How he loved cataloging natural items. That sharp mind of his so naturally tended to the sciences, and she’d taken great joy in encouraging him all his life. All the first thirteen years of it. The last year has been entirely different.

His hand lies just outside the white comforter. When she touches it, the chill of his skin sends a shiver down her spine. His lips move, his voice as soft as dead, dry leaves.

“What’s that, love?” she says.

“In the trees,” he says, his eyes still closed. “Is it John there in the trees? I think he’s waiting for me.”

Viola turns her gaze out the window and to the closest tree, a resplendent cherry in the throes of autumn. In the branches there, for just a second, she thinks she sees it: a black bird, feathers gleaming in the sun.

Learning the Heart by Calais_Reno - T An android tries to understand love and grief.

The Ancillus's Tale by Chryse - E (Warnings for noncon and MPREG) Once Sherlock’s body had been his alone. He was free to treat it with great care or none at all; to live on cigarettes and coffee and cocaine and then sleep it all off for days on end. He was free to stay in and sleep alone or to go to clubs and choose someone to touch him, mark him with nails and teeth or to kiss him with sweetness and care, according to his whim. Every part of it had been his decision. No more. Now he was property of the Crown, tagged and marked like one of the King’s deer, to be bred like one of his horses.

[starry-bi-sky]

do yall ever think about bruce/batman!clone danny standing in front of his bathroom mirror after finding out he was a clone and silently tracing his face. The slope of his jaw and point of his chin. The high angle of his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes, the curve of his brow bones and the shape of his nose. The volume of his hair and the way it curls and gets fluffy when it gets too long.

His hair is black the same way a crow's wing is black. His dad's hair is black the same way a black bear's fur is black. His dad's eyes are blue like the ocean is blue. Danny's eyes are blue the same way a glacier is blue.

His dad has a square jaw and straight flat hair, and he tans and gets a face full of freckles when he's out in the sun for too long. Danny burns like a lobster and his face remains untouched. Danny has a sharp jaw and tall cheekbones, and Sam says when he's not smiling there's almost something regal about him. You would never call Jack Fenton "regal" when he's not smiling.

Sam says when he's not smiling he looks scary the same way a stone statue is. Jack Fenton when he's not smiling looks scary the same way that german shepherd staring at you across the street is.

Do you ever think he grew up wondering if he was adopted. Because of course, he has black hair and blue eyes like his dad. But having the same color doesn't make you someone's child.

Or, worse, things he's heard from the other kids and the other parents and even some of his teachers growing up; that he was the product of an affair. And that his dad was just too stupid to notice. And Danny would defend his parents until the day he died, because Jack Fenton wasn't an idiot and Maddie Fenton wasn't a cheater.

But doubt comes in with fickle tongue. his parents swear up and down that he is their child when he asks about either. That Danny just had his grandparents' features, but he was their son and they loved him.

But Danny doesn't look like either of his parents. His mom's eyes are blue like an aquamarine and Jazz's too. And they burn like lobsters in the sun too, but Jazz gets freckles on her face and so does Maddie. And as Danny grows up he doesn't bulk up or get stocky like his dad did, and when he hits puberty he doesn't shoot up like a tree like Jack Fenton did.

He stays small, and they say he's a late bloomer (and he is), or that he just has his mom's height. But he's fast and has good stamina, and some days it feels like he's built entirely different from his family. That the things they went through growing up just didn't apply to him. Jack and Maddie Fenton both had acne and breakouts when they hit puberty, and Jazz inherits it and he's seen the amount of skincare products she keeps on her side of the bathroom.

And then he hits puberty and breaks out maybe once or twice, but his skin stays clear for the most part and the problems and changes his dad went through just don't happen to him.

And the truth is worse than all of the lies.

How horrifying.

[woodenela]

🕒🐯Mit dir an meiner Seite🐯🕒

My submission for the lawsanlaw anthology of 2024 If the text is too hard to read, I put it in the alt text as well :)

This was so much fun to do. My initial submission grew so much in size that I wouldn't have been able to finish on time. I WILL finish it though, just on my own time without the stress, haha. Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it :)

[coquelicoq]

i ate a cupcake recently without first spending five minutes talking about how logistically stressful it is to eat a cupcake, so. i am capable of growth

[victorie552]

I don't know when exactly Nerdanel left Feanor, so I am choosing to believe that they 'divorced' when Feanor was banished from Tirion and Nerdanel refused to go with him and their sons to Formenos. But I also headcannon that things between them were bad long before that. As in, Amras and Amrod suffered from "Our Parents Should Divorce Already" situation.

[agirlinthegalaxy]

It's been rolling around in my brain the last few days for some reason, but I still hate the family backstory reveals for Sophie and Eliot. I've seen some of the meta for it, but quite frankly, it still makes no sense. If it had been something actually thought of and intentional in the original, I think it could have been so fascinating. I mean, Sophie's willing abandonment of Astrid to contrast with Nate's loss of Sam or Eliot's adoption in contrast with Hardison's and Parker's? Could have been excellent! But they came out of nowhere in Redemption and don't work with these characters.

Sophie was still actively using the fucking alias that she met Astrid under! She met with someone from her past on the show! Like. Quite frankly, that one is unequivocally bullshit that they made up and threw in and pretended could fit with the established canon. (And I'm sorry, but the idea of Sophie abandoning Astrid and never telling Nate about her just... So much of Nate's trauma was rooted in the loss of Sam, and I think that introducing this element after he's gone and unable to respond to it taints Sophie and Nate's relationship in a way bc I'm not exactly sure how Nate would've responded to learning about this but I think that it's something he'd have needed to know. I don't know how to fully express my thoughts on that but yeah.)

As for Eliot, I don't like the adoption aspect literally at all. The way that he would interact with his family and the memory of his family would be different, and I think that it's flat out ridiculous to think that he'd have never mentioned it to the team in the original show, especially when dealing with the kid cases. (I also dislike the biracial adoption as its own element because if Eliot was actually raised by Black parents in the... idk what 80s/90s? That just. doesn't feel congruent with how they write Eliot interacting with PoC, not necessarily in a bad way, but babe, he's written like a white southern man raised in a specific kind of culture that does not jell with that. It also makes Eliot look... really bad that he was apparently raised with the knowledge of how fucked up the military was and his parents' history and made the choices that he did.) Like the show may not have explicitly stated it but the implication of that relationship was vastly fucking different throughout the original show.

Just. These were not backstories that were congruent with their depiction and characters in the original show, and they're also just moves that I don't particularly like or find interesting directions for those characters. There's also something to be said about how it was apparently unacceptable for a woman to not have kids or someone not reconciling with their biological family when that was something that the original show handled a lot better. Out of all the directions to take Sophie and Eliot's stories, that's just not really one that I think was a good idea.