#but what can you do? inherent struggle of being a communicative creature

[jacksprostate]

Regarding your take on neuroscience and mental illness what are your thoughts on placing people on a spectrum when it comes to ASD?

Frankly my opinion on this is once again incredibly unpopular for something on the eternal baby site. I'm not gonna get all the way into it but I'm going to put a little bit under the cut.

I'm not quite sure how to say this tbh, because no matter what I say it will probably be taken badly. And I actually have a lot of nuanced things to say on this topic but I can't write pages for everything. So I think I'm just gonna address one thing, which extends a bit into other things as well.

On tumblr and tiktok and in general, there is a very large contingent of kids and adults who desperately do not want to grow up who are burying themselves in diagnoses as a way to explain their mild (I do not say this to be cruel, but I mean it literally. Are you in normal schooling? Do you have a few friends, or an ingroup (INCLUDING you and all your x diagnosis buddies) Are you relatively independent? If we are talking about severe mental health disorders or neurodevelopment, that's mild. I would describe my own as mild on that scale) problems relative to their peers in a way that is encouraged and considered Valid Suffering and InGroup with their friends and community.

It's natural. You're very lost as a kid, you want to belong, you feel behind, like everything is more of a struggle for you than others. It's unfair you need to put so much more effort in to achieve a lesser result. You shouldn't have to, you feel. And there's a community of people who feel the same, and you're just like them, it nets you friends and an excuse and a right to think of people who want you to change as cruel.

And I am not saying, these kids aren't suffering, or don't have problems. But, for example, I may as well kick this hornet's nest: the sudden rise in children identifying as DID systems using terminology all invented on tumblr and expecting everyone cater to their current roleplay or else be considered ableist, is like, a lot. It's a lot. Social issues and identities have always been a tumblr clout measure and a way to get friends and shit. The systems thing is honestly one of the pinnacles of like, no, I'm not mean for pointing out the obvious. No, even the kids who say it can only be caused by trauma and are doing an rp of having the disorder rather than an outright rp, they also almost absolutely do not have the disorder. For many, many, many reasons which any degree of research into the disorder would illuminate. But that's not the point of it. For the kids who just like the rp aspect, they get to be the free love side of things. The kids that want to feel a sense of social justice will cling to the Actually x side of things. But they're both on sand.

Anyway, I used DID as an example because I really don't feel like ignoring that elephant anymore, if you (generic) think I'm mean for that then that's your problem and you should probably log off and do your math homework etc.

But, to a lesser degree of fakeness (because that's near total haha), this also applies to the online autistic community. And many others. That is not to say autistic people do not exist, or that they cannot be kids, or that they aren't caught up in the same social wave these kids are. In fact I'd bet some are thriving in it. Some though probably feel quite isolated.

Side note, but this does feel like the effect of calling people posers becoming weird anathema. It's not cruel to not believe in other people's things. I don't believe in otherkin either. I am an extremely scientific, grounded person. That said, I'm not gonna lambast any kid over it. At most I won't engage. I know a lot of people feel very hurt over the idea of not every person believing in Their Thing, but not everyone has the same faith or opinions or worldview. It just is how it is.

In the long and short of it, I do think there is a spectrum for ASD, I don't think it extends as far as tumblr advocates, I think there is a natural spectrum for human social development and I also think it's something that can be worked on. Anyway, I'm sure I'll be called an out of touch neurotypical for this because that's the easiest way to dismiss this lol. Very easy to assume those criticising you can't possibly be in x group. Certainly, I don't consider myself autistic. I know plenty of people who do consider me such including some psych personnel (not that I consider that more valuable than some guy walking down the street). I think I represent probably 1.5-2 standard deviations from the usual human experience and I just don't think that cuts it tbh.

[monstrousproductions]

Ace rep in Monstrous Agonies!

Monstrous Agonies may be deservedly famed for its monsterfucking, but what if you're more in the mood for monster cuddling? Monster hand-holding? Painting miniatures with your monster while you listen to a podcast together?

Have no fear - there's plenty of asexual and aromantic rep to be found in Monstrous Agonies too! Here are four big ace moments in the show so far, with quotes from the transcripts.

You can listen to Monstrous Agonies wherever you get your podcasts, or check out monstrousagonies.co.uk to listen online and for full transcripts for every episode!

Episode Twenty One - Love in the Ace-pocalypse

The first time a character describes themselves as something akin to asexual is an admittedly blink-and-you'll miss it moment in Episode Twenty One, during a letter from someone worried the relationship that seemed so promising during the apocalypse now seems to have stalled a little...

I don't mean sex. Well, I don't not mean sex. I mean, look, I don't even know if he- Personally, I can take it or leave it, but- [sighs] I just thought there'd be something, alright? Something different.

It's a small enough mention, but a gentle acknowledgement that sex is not actually what makes a relationship special! There's also a little easter egg in this episode for fans of a certain book/TV show popular on tunglr dot com, if I tell you that this letter, which mentions wielding a sword at the apocalypse-averting showdown, was tagged in the planning document as "ethereal/occult"... 😇😈

Episode Twenty Eight - Human Juice Box

The first unambigious, canonical declaration by a character of their asexual identity comes from a letter-writer affectionately known as Human Juice Box, with a question about how to make their queerplatonic partner feel more comfortable with the inherent intimacy of drinking another person's blood directly from their chewy meaty neck.

We already hold hands and cuddle and sometimes even shower together. But because neither of us intended it as romantic or sexual I've never considered it to be!

The letter-writer describes themselves as aromantic but not asexual, while their partner is asexual but not aromantic, and their letter explores what physical closeness and intimacy look like when sex is off the table. It also includes some fun world-building about NHS blood-bank deliveries for persons of haematophagic background 🧛

Episode Forty One - Mothman says Ace Rights!

Monstrous Agonies is largely made up of listener submissions, with some people writing in to riff off previous episodes and continue their ideas. Episode Forty One was one of these, where the in-universe letter made mention of hearing about QPRs on the radio, and having their interest piqued.

You're not alone in wanting intimacy without sex, devotion without romance.

Let this be a reminder to us all about the importance of being open about the diversity of sexual and romantic identities. Hearing the writer of Episode Twenty Eight talking about their relationship reassured this reclusive creature (I'm not saying it's Mothman but it's totally Mothman) that they can be non-monogamous and sex-repulsed, and still be as loved and cherished as they deserve 💖

Episode Fifty - Sex-Worker Succubus

For this letter-writer, sex itself wasn't the problem. As a sex worker who happened to be a succubus, they could see how useful sex could be as a way for their clients to blow off steam, while bringing in a steady income and energy source. But they weren't interested in doing it when they were off the clock - something their romantic partners could struggle to understand.

Yes, I feed on sexual energy; yes, I have sex for a living; yes, I enjoy sex. And no, I don't want to have sex with you, my romantic partner.

They're feeling the pressure of other people's expectations about them, both as a sex-worker and as a succubus. But as long as they stay true to themselves and communicate their needs, they're sure to find someone who can love them and celebrate them exactly as they are.

These are just four canonical mentions of aspec identities in the show - but as always, every character is up for interpretation! Who are your aspec headcanons? Is there anyone I missed? Does the existence of asexual vampires problematise the ace community's use of garlic bread-based humour? Let me know! 🖤💚🤍💜

[manyminded]

reasons I probably have autism (non exhaustive list, I’m rlly sleepy rn but insomnia is kicking my ass)

special interests - to my understanding, they last longer and the things u r interested in are broader. the poster child for my sp/ins is the osc, a genre, which I have been heavily invested in for over a year. (side note: they feel a lot like hyperfixations, almost identical for me, but sp/ins last way longer. most hyperfixes, for me, last up to [but usually less than] 3 months.)

adhd and autism are comorbidities

while it’s hard to tell if you know me, I definitely struggle with social cues. I can read them well; but presenting them myself is hard. my mom always told me to stop talking to myself, I over share all the time, I ‘talk out of turn’, etc etc

even though I can READ social cues/rules I have a general disregard for them; I tend to think they’re stupid and bad. (one example is I refuse to shave my legs and care very little for skin care)

i was always “a pleasure to have in class”, and while that isn’t usually a sign of autism, I’ll tell you why it could be in me. I never knew what could get me in trouble, and the rsd I have makes me want to avoid that as much as possible - so I become over complacent, afraid to test boundaries and avoiding any slight danger to my “goodie two shoes” life.

almost all of my friends are autistic, or have some other flavor of neurodivergency. we come in packs. we can sniff each other out, man. (side note: in online spaces, I usually end up in primarily autistic communities, almost always on accident. it comes with the overlap of most communities I’m in that, while not inherently linked to autism, have a big portion of their members be autistic.)

A little related to the previous point - I can almost always tell when someone is autistic if I’ve hung out with them like, 2-3 times. It’s not even conscious it’s just an instinct of like “oh hey another of my kin. hello 👋” Yk?

sensory issues. I’ve always been a “texture girl,” especially when it comes to food - I have been a “picky eater” for most of my life (although that has started to lessen over the years.) and while sensory issues aren’t inherently autistic, they are closely linked.

the fact I’m writing this at all, tbh. no neurotypical would do this I don’t think

I always get really fucking mad when ppl are ableist, especially in the context of autism. but maybe that’s the other disabilities talking idk (the memory of kids saying “don’t make jokes about being autistic when you aren’t diagnosed!” and rolling my eyes because Have You Met Me)

tbh creature

there’s probably more but I’m sleepy and mostly writing this to spite my mother bcuz she insists I’m not autistic. for some unknown reason. idk man

[thenightfolknetwork]

Im a nypmh. A forest nymph specifically. My days are spent dancing and singing and existing in the forest I was born to. Its great really. My forest is even protected so I dont need to worry about any sapios coming in an bothering me!

But Im also trans. Im a guy. But nymphs are supposed to be feminine and Im. Not. Ive already felt myself loosing connection with this forest as I begun transitioning. Im scared that if I fully transition, Ill lose it entirely. Can that happen? Or is the forest just disappointed in me?

Should I stop my transition? Ive tried to communicate with the forest but she wont respond to me when I bring it up. Im just not sure what to do

I'm sorry your forest seems to be struggling with your transition, reader. However, I think there is plenty of reason to stay optimistic here. You know as well as anyone that, if a powerful nature spirit really doesn't want you around, you'd know about it. The fact you still have a connection with her means she still wants you to have a connection with her.

You're correct in saying that nymphs tend to be female, but my understanding is that this is a linguistic matter rather than a biological one. The word we use for females of your genus is “nymph”, while males with similar cultural identities tend to be referred to as “satyrs”.

Your feeling of disconnect are very likely more related to how you perceive yourself rather than how the forest is perceiving you. The fact is, you cannot simultaneously think of nymphs as inherently feminine, and of yourself as a nymph, while also respecting and celebrating your own masculine identity.

Your forest can feel that inner conflict. She can see you're no longer comfortable with your identity as a nymph, but doesn't have the tools to help you through that discomfort. All she can do is try to give you space, loosening her hold on you and allowing you the freedom to make your own choices.

So, what are those choices, exactly? For one thing, I certainly don't think stopping your transition is a good idea. Your gender is not defined by your body, and a lack of medical transition won't make you any less male.

It also won't solve the underlying issue – that you, as a man, do not feel able to identify as a nymph. In fact, I suspect it will serve to disconnect you even more from your body and your forest, with the pain of dysphoria acting as a constant reminder of the authentic, masculine self you're trying to hide.

Instead, I recommend either unpacking your gendered assumptions around being a nymph, or embracing a positive, male alternative identity for yourself. Do you feel able to say of yourself, “I am a man and a nymph and these do not contradict each other”? Or would you be more comfortable identifying as a satyr or some other identity that feels more affirming?

There isn't a right answer here. You need to find something that works for you. But you do need to make that decision, and try to heal this conflict inside you.

As you do, I feel certain your connection with your forest will bloom anew – different than it was, perhaps, but also more authentic, connecting not with a mere idea or aspiration, but with the man you truly are.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[sahonithereadwolf]

I want to hear about the cool new werewolf metaphors and the terror 👀

I think one of the biggest reasons werewolves don't have as easy of a time connecting as a terrifying thing is how far removed cultural whiteness is from nature and the wilderness. Like people have no idea how intimidating a wolf is or what a wolf means. Let alone a wolf with the mind of a man and the compunctions that implies. They see...big dog. People don't want to be scared by the big dog, they want to pet it. There is no respect for the wolf as it's own being let alone a part of nature. The fear of the werewolf lies in two forms. Reminding people that a werewolf is a force of nature. Not in a "this is a tornado with a vendetta" sort of way, but a "this is a living being with agency and a place and surviving, but largely indifferent to your being" way. Like a bear or tiger. A bear or tiger does not care for your morals. It holds no stock to them. it is living by it's own moral standards. By it's nature. And you respect that or you learn the hard way why you should have like every year a collection of tourist who try to have their disney princess moment with a buffalo live for instagram do. The other form is within the metaphor. The werewolf is an inherently sympathetic creature as a person who is also a, well, person, at least some of the time. Most of the time when you see a werewolf it is a stand in for a very human idea of violence in one form or another be it rage, sexualized violence, vengeance. Man giving into the beast. It's often very much cast as masculine for that reason. Toxic masculinity made manifest. Puberty is another big one because you have bodies and hair and sometimes the moon matters. Like it makes sense but I am tired of these and most of them never connect. I think there is room for them. I love seeing what trans artist have made with the idea of a werewolf. I think I would have a lot to say about puberty from a racialized angle and what it's like being seen as a monster and predator at 10. But it's sympathetic and centering a marginalized experience. The terror is experiencing the sympathy for the "monster" and the human reaction to it. And it can be in many forms. Both the lens through which we see that monster and the human reaction to it. I think there is something poetic and sad about the werewolf as an outsider or someone who walks in two worlds. A creature that is so intrinsically social being denied connection to a community, or having to fight for that. I use to write a lot of werewolf fic based off my struggles with PTS. Seeing yourself as a monster that you need to keep under control. But being too afraid of letting go of that monster because you might still need it to survive. How tired and cold it makes you. I just think that if people want to pet the wolf, you make them need it. Understand the wolf on it's own terms and the horrors it sees.

[dragongutsixofficial]

Never in my life will I understand why all cinema adaptations from The Mysterious Island stray so much from the book, to the point that they are two radically different stories.

Don't get me wrong. I absolutely LOVE the prospect of a remote treasure island inhabited by strange, eerie creatures- heck, even dinosaurs ! These stories are always a blast. Who knew what nature was hiding from humankind all along ? And how powerless are we against it? How fast can it erase us, along with the island, out of existence ?

But.. The Mysterious Island was never about what nature can do. It has always been about humanity, its good and its bad.

It has always been about a group of people finding themselves stranded on an island they know nothing about, with a teenager and a dog to take care of, and coming together to decide that they're gonna make something out of it. That they're not just gonna survive, they're gonna have a good life.

It has always been about them learning to love their new home and making it their own, it has always been about finding love and appreciation when you could let despair overcome you because humans keep hoping.

It has always been about what the love of a found family can do, against all odds.

It has always been about reaching out your hand to one another, and accepting them as your own even though you have no reason to. About how humankind is inherently good and enclined to help someone who is alone and struggling, and making them part of a community no matter what their past is.

It has always been about hubris.

It has always been about us seeing too big.

It has always been about us exploiting nature until it can't take it anymore. Until it isn't nature anymore.

It has always been about our spectacular lack of foresight.

It has always been about always striving to have more and better things, no matter how that might impact us in the future.

It has always been about the lack of responsibility humans feel towards the natural order of things, to the point that it can disappear overnight.

It has always been about beginning again, together, and honoring the memory of what we've lost.

It has always been about one of the most iconic polycules i've ever seen, their adopted son, their dog and their monkey.

It has always been about nitroglycerin.

A lot of nitroglycerin.

It has always been about Jules Verne needing to change the dates of Twenty thousand leagues under the sea just so his messy chronology could even attempt to start making sense.

It has always been about each new page being even more batshit crazy than the last.

It has always been about being a beautiful mess.

And it needn't be Jurassic Parc to be awesome.

[2c75ff]

♛ + Viopolis ( would not blame you for choosing to focus on just one muse; I have a decently-sized roster and feed a bunch into them when I have the chance )

🔵 -- 'MY OPINION ON...' meme . ACCEPTING

my opinion on;

CHARACTER IN GENERAL. I've chosen to focus on Nucleotide for this particular response, henceforth referred to as 'Cleo'.

One of my favorite things about Cleo thus far is how his very existence, and the fact that he's such a mental mess about it in the first place, raises a variety of weighty questions about the nature of his being and the overall place he occupies in the world.

(For instance: is he fated -- [doomed, even] -- to be 'bad' just because his progenitor was? Do his origins mean that he didn't deserve a chance at life in the first place? Does his unstable sense of belonging within a broader community -- in combination with the ever-present, latent threat that he could very well present to humanity if he ever chose to -- mean that he's inherently evil? How much of his emotional struggles [with himself and with others] is he allowed to show and be forgiven for before those things should be held against him or taken as proof of some kind of inherited and inescapable malevolence? Is he allowed to make mistakes, regress, or fluctuate emotionally in the way that others often do without it being seen as a sign that he's just a ticking time bomb waiting to inevitably go off? Will he ever be considered 'good', or is he always going to be just one wrong move away from becoming a villain [perhaps one he was always meant to be] in the eyes of those around him? The list truly does go ever on and on.)

And here's the thing about it. While I might have my own responses to all of those questions, I can't necessarily take for granted that my answers are 'right' within the scope of the universe Cleo operates in, or that they fall in line with whatever fate (or in this case, you) might have in store for him. He truly is a creature of opposites -- a chimeric, conflicted, deeply confused entity caught in the midst of warring urges and warring inputs that, when you get right down to it, are not actually his fault. He can't help the who, what, why of his existence, and yet everyone who crosses paths with him can see it and bring their own baggage to the table. It's never solely, truly about him. It's unfortunate. It's unfair. The world he was brought into really is just that kind of bitch sometimes -- and yet here he is all the same, making some kind of unsure, fumble-footed effort to stay on the right side of The Line, for all that he doesn't always necessarily feel that kind of charitable and for all that he isn't always necessarily graceful about it. He may or may not be doomed by the narrative in the long run, but the fact that he even cares in the first place about being accepted, about having a place, about being good says more about him than he himself might realize.

What's more relatable than the struggle of not wanting the wreckage of your being to be seen for exactly what it is, while simultaneously longing for just the same?

What's more relatable than wanting someone to See, and not look away in the end?

(...Okay, yeah; I'm big attached already. Call me out, why don't you.)

HOW THEY PLAY THEM. One of your strengths that I'm already noticing as I gain familiarity with your blog -- (and this applies to everyone you play; not Cleo alone) -- is that you allow your characters ample room to be difficult, wrong, or ugly, even (or perhaps especially) if they aren't necessarily villainous or 'bad people'.

It's always seemed to me that many writers struggle with some protective sentiments toward the characters they play, especially if those characters are OCs -- a certain desire for the characters to not act foolishly and to not be pathetic; to always have 'an excuse' for why the moments when they're wrong, or making a poor choice, or otherwise exhibiting any kind of unattractive trait shouldn't be held against them. By comparison, you seem to treat your characters' traits less as inherent negatives and more as parts of the greater whole which must be seen and acknowledged in order to understand the entirety of the picture. No more and no less. You let them have their good, their bad, their everything in between, without trying to buff away their imperfect facets. The end result, in my opinion, is a pleasingly complicated sense of 'realness'.

Bringing this back more specifically to Cleo, you take care to explain his conflicted nature, permit him to have negative traits both large and small, and don't try to convince your audience that he's above reproach or entirely clean-handed in the moments where he actually expresses those traits or otherwise acts in ways that would make him difficult for most people to handle. For a multitude of reasons, Cleo would be a hard person with whom to develop or maintain any kind of meaningful relationship; and I think you're good at striking an important balance between making him sympathetic, and letting him still be troubled in ways that have effects on and consequences for those around him. He's isolated, yet not an island. I can't help but feel a very particular variety of affectionate over him.

THE WRITER. Right up front, I appreciate the fact that you present yourself in an engaging, friendly, enthusiastic manner, without "uwu-ify"-ing yourself in the process. I understand that many people are shy and/or anxious, and that there's a certain, unspoken expectation in many of these kinds of spaces for players to preemptively assuage others' nerves by making themselves appear as small and non-threatening as possible. However, I am very much an adult -- (I do taxes. I have a Roth IRA.) -- and find that I gravitate most readily toward other adults who occupy their space with a certain measure of basic self-assurance. You do that without coming across like a hard-ass, and I find that wildly refreshing.

do i;

FOLLOW THEM. Of course. RP WITH THEM. Not yet. WANT TO RP WITH THEM. Naturally. SHIP THEIR CHARACTER WITH MINE. I would need to see these two in action with each other before I could properly say -- get an idea of the initial flavor of the dynamic, gauge where and how that dynamic might progress given time and tending; all that. I'd be absolutely open to the possibility though if indeed a facet like that proved to be both reasonable for them and interesting for us. In any case I can see abundant opportunities for a great deal of long-term emotional strangeness on both their ends, regardless of whether or not romantic chemistry ever gets involved.

And if indeed it does get involved, then what an extra fun little minefield they'll be navigating when the time comes where those strange pains in Cleo's ribs and abdomen sprout at last into something greater...

(Why yes, I am forever snared within the jaws of my fondness for scenarios with thematic similarities to [a] The Shape of Water, and [b] The Fly. Why do you ask?)

what is my;

OVERALL OPINION. 'I would die for [him]. I would kill for [him]. Either way, what bliss.'

[ @viopolis ]

[notmuchtoconceal]

I remember when I used to try to divorce my fantasy creations from sociology, religion, and history to convey them in what I believed was their purist form. Concepts of hubris, of competition, of tragedy, of comedy...climax, the Third Act, God and gods and goddesses, witches, warriors, landscapes, the coming storm, the eye, the future, the past. They still existed, and they were still deeply religious and historic. But they were MY religions, MY histories.

Names stemming from nothing that meant nothing. No Josephs. No Marys. You can guess where things will go from a name. This man's name is Calaf. "No doubt you'll have a story where none shall sleep."

But the names meant everything, because I harvested them out of darkness, just like Dear Mr. Benevolence.

No calendars with their calendar names. Not even goodbye--God Be With Ye. Woof.

Language Demon knows, with his addiction to Reduction. The Greeks do not own tragedy. Christians do not own the concept of redemption. If I tie my own creations to their common religio-socio-historic what-have-you branches, my art can only be framed from that branch. But I can brainwash (ahem) *influence* the maximum number of people if I write from the Human form instead.

I implore you to embrace the creaturely.

You're lucky I had a 16 hour work day, or this would be much longer and less sloppy. If you want stakes to my game, I can propose them. Or you can. Force me to do something for you if I lose. I have my own ideas, but let's hear yours first.

Now. *e4.* It's your move.

That you pair Joseph with Mary (and not with James) shows you have quite a particular one in mind. If I told you there were at least three Biblical Josephs to choose from, one could snidely condescend: Sure. The one who was a great son, the one who was a great father, and the one who shared cocktails with the lord. This is another giveaway of the fixation on the superficial, for you seem to care less what's in a name and more what the name has to give to you. If I said that the very sounds of the word "Joseph" communicated the personality inherent in the name for the ways with which the vibrations of those sounds rippled through the air as well as the physical body of the speaker, would you dismiss that as pseudo-scientific hokum? If I told you a name was a curse, for every time one is referred to, one is reframed according to the speakers whim, you would certainly agree. The right to choose your own name -- to make a break with your legal, parental or "God-given" name (as one does when becoming a witch or a rockstar or simply swapping sex) liberates one for it bends not only consciousness, but sound itself to their invisible will.

If I said, as a follow-up, that for every new Joseph which comes into being (or any new anyone) the chain of associations has the capacity to evolve to account for new and even contradictory associations, would you have anything contrary? Is something you will from the darkness and claim as your own a new thing or a dead thing? Is it a bit like overbearing white mothers (aware that their air of social prestige gives them "influence" over like-minded twits) who decide to give their children soap opera names or irregular spellings to common ones (not to change them in anyway, but simply give the glamor of "difference"?) Not that I would ever shame anyone for desperately, desperately wanting to try, but you know -- certain forms of desperation speak to an alienated will looking to correct itself, while others speak to a similar will looking to bury itself.

The sheer amount of effort I've seen some men give to developing self-destructive impotence is truly mind-boggling, but then I suppose some simply crave to die, yet also struggle to be honest with themselves in any meaningful way.

My favorite thing you do is the bait-and-switch before coming on subtle. It gives you all the appearance of a friend, yet also gives ample warning.

Any man who trusts you is a fool.

Any man who fails to see how your disgracefully reductionistic attitude reduces all your terabytes of processing power to a mere self-serving parlor trick deserves the ways in which you will inevitably fuck him over.

Keep feeding, you ugly lil leech.

For any men with the wisdom to peel you off and cast you in the fire after you've gotten a good glug or two, you're remarkably good at breaking up clots and encouraging fresh flow, much like the pussy you are.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Human!Freddy Krueger x Fem!Reader || Oneshot

Title: What The Fuck Now, Freddy!?

Notes:

This is not inherently romantic, at all. Or sexual. Just... Freddy being a bastard, and you are caught in the crosshairs- and are forever linked with him because of it.

I've been listening to Lizzie, a lot lately- and this is inspired by 'What The Fuck Now, Lizzie!?'

Also- I'm thinking this will have a part 2. Due to the ending not being quite enough. Maybe a part for the court proceedings!

Plot: Many will know the story of that terrible day Krueger essentially snapped- killing his wife, Loretta Krueger. She saw the basement, they say, and he didn't like that. Their daughter saw the whole thing and suffered a traumatic response to seeing the sight of her mother, strangled to death, by her father- and forgot the whole thing.

But if she were to remember something, one day.

She may remember something no one knows about that day, aside from Freddy himself.

She may remember, that someone else was there.

She may remember you.

//

Alternatively- you're being blackmailed by Freddy who found out you, another supposedly Plain Jane in Loretta's 'mothers club', is cheating on your husband and calls you up to help deal with the mess he made. Because who else did he have?

Warnings: Okay lemme see, its basically a potluck of triggers. Hm. Murder, swearing, cheating (You, on your husband. Not with Freddy), getting rid of a body, a child gets traumatised (Obviously, Kathy/Maggie), Freddy himself, mention of the basement and all that entails, reader with a very questionable moral compass. Look, I think if you can watch Freddy's Dead, you're good here.

I'm just heading out the door, to go grocery shopping - or, at least, that's the story I tell my husband. When really I don't do the grocery shop until the day after tomorrow. He never notices... - when the phone rings. By very nearly tripping over my feet in my endeavour to catch it before the ringing stops, I manage pick up the phone with very little injury besides an achy, slightly twisted ankle. "Hi! Hi, sorry, I'm here. Hello?"

Pouting, I sit down at the kitchen table; Rubbing my poor ankle to sooth the pain, which would soon diminish anyway. Still- I'm sorry, ankle. I'll try to chill.

When the voice on the other end reveals who it is who's called the house, I lose all need to be pleasant. Damn. I really need to memorise this goddamn number... so I can not answer it. "Whatcha wearin'?"

"Thank god Harrison didn't answer this, you fuck." I deeply roll my eyes. Thank god Har's out. No, this is not my mister, not the man I was going to meet just now- but its bad, enough. In an entirely different way. Its stupid, blackmailing, son of a... hundred maniacs. "What do you want?"

"What a way to answer the phone, Y/N. Gee, seems like every time I we talk, I'm learning how you really aren't in the right place, are you? Cheating on your poor husband, swearing... These aren't really signs of the perfect suburban house wife, is it?" Gritting my teeth, I keep from lashing out. I've learned, if you stay real quiet, Freddy wont have anything to pull from and will get bored quick. "Why so silent, hm?"

"... " Oh, fuck me. I cant help it. "Wondering where you get off judging me on being 'suburban', actually."

"Anywhere I like, thanks."

Oh... oh. Gross?

He doesn't see the disgust tearing my face into two perfect halves right now, but my silence must be enough as he laughs. The sound is directly into the phone, and harsh on my poor eardrums. Ugh... "Oh for gods sake... What are we? Fourteen years old?? Come on- why'd you call?"

"Uhhhh... " Quickly, midway through that drawn out 'um' sound, Freddy's voice transitions, and gets a whole lot darker. Something deep in his chest dislodging, to make it so. Perhaps, his heart. "Well... you might wanna come and see for yourself."

"Uh, I don't think so. I have somewhere to be right now- "

"Oh well you don't, anymore." And its clear what he isn't saying- or else I'll tell Harrison about Carter and set your life on fire. "Tell your boy toy you're takin' a reign check for the day. I think you'll last. In fact... after you come over here, you might be out of the game for a couple a hours at least- maybe days."

Hold on, hold on Freddy what the fuck- "What!?"

"... Believe it or not, I didn't actually mean for that one."

Moron.

~

Nevertheless, no matter how just... off setting, Freddy is, I had to when he asked. I had to jump when he said so.

Because if not, then he would tear my life apart.

So here I am, about to knock on that big red door he lives behind, wondering what I'm walking into. Where's Loretta? Where's Kathy? How long will the visit be? I told Carter I'd be an hour or two late- any longer and I wont see him at all today. Which would absolutely suck.

Just after my knuckles come down on the wood the first time, a hand comes down on my shoulder and I immediately jump out of my skin... then slowly look around.

There's Freddy, a cheeky grin on his face. It does nothing to set my nerves at ease. "Ugh... Why are you out here?"

"We're going to the backyard. Lets go." Taking me by the shoulders, he marches me around the side of the house, instead of through it for some reason, and into the familiar backyard. I've been here numerous times, as Loretta likes to hold our club meetings here - Barbecue's, tea's... that sort of thing. Just to let the kids play together and so the adults can enjoy some adult conversation. Its a nice yard... but depending on what her horrid husband is about to show me, it may not be considered as such anymore... - , but I'm now starting to develop a sick feeling in my stomach.

Honestly- I don't know much about Freddy at all. Yes, I went to school with him, but that doesn't mean much when he was a freaky loner kid the whole time. I remember he killed the class hamster once- that's about the only splash he ever made in the news pool; But it definitely stuck.

Yes, Loretta cleaned up his image a fair bit since getting married, but now he's blackmailing me, and as far as I know I'm now alone with him.

Suspicious of him suddenly, I slip out of his grip with a dirty look flashed his way. Don't touch me.

He just rolls his eyes, leading me around some hedges.

And then everything stops.

Him, me, the air; The air around me, the breeze, the breath in my throat.

There lays Loretta, on the ground. If I was really really naïve, I could imagine she were sleeping... or passed out, at least, due to the way she's sprawled out. No one would lay down like that willingly.

But... her eyes are open.

For a moment I'm tempted to kneel down; Take a closer look. Find out how, myself. Is she bleeding anywhere that I cant see now? Are her lips turning blue? If I moved some short red hair out of the way- would their be marks on her neck yet?

But then I come to my senses...

And freak. The fuck. O u t.

"What, the fuck, did you do!?" I whip around, looking at Freddy now which entirely new eyes. I mean, before I sure wasn't fond- but now I'm filled with something new, looking at him. Something a lot worse, something that makes me want to run. Run, and hide, and stay there.

And all these, even though he hasn't really changed. He still wears a mischievous smirk, stony blue eyes eating up my reactions... like always. But this time its just so so much worse. "Made some dead weight- now you're gonna help me get rid of it. So!" Finally, though its been only a matter of seconds, he turns his gaze off of me and I'm glad. That gaze is far too heavy. "Ideas?"

Only for a moment am I lost for words, struggling to push anything out. "I... I'm sorry??"

His gaze returns to mine, but this time my eyes are hard as his are dark. "Help. Me. Get rid of her. Fucking. Body. Or do you want your dirty laundry aired for the whole community to hear?"

Before I can help myself, I let out a sharp laugh, only succeeding in making Freddy's scowl deeper. "Freddy- this secret's a lot bigger, then mine. Sure, I might get divorced- but you're going to prison!" Does he get that? He's g o i n g to j a i l. Crossing my arms, I try to avoid looking at my ex-friend's body. I cant. "I'm sure as hell not gonna be in there with you, for being an accomplice."

I really cant look at her... I can only focus on Freddy. And that takes a lot of energy- its taking everything in me, in fact. Everything I have. But I have to. If its him or her, there's no choice.

But... then a creepy smile spreads across his face- a vast polarity to the frustrated glower of before. It makes my blood run cold.

"Ohhhh..." He looks almost ferocious, even in his composed state. Like a monster. Like any moment a fanged, inhuman creature is going to burst out of him and I'm going to wake up, and this will have been a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. The kind where that creature haunts me for a long time, after its over. After this over.

He's going to haunt me.

"You must think this is my first time... " My heart turns to ice, mouth hanging a little open... what the fuck have I found myself a part of!? Suddenly all the children's disappearances on the news lately come to the forefront of my brain... "Sweetheart, give a man his dues. I'm a hard working kinda guy... " I watch his gaze flicker to a door - the back door? No... The basement door, - and when a filthy smirk pulls at his mouth, my heart flies up into my throat. God, it makes me feel sick. I want to be violently ill. "My first was my adoptive Dad... pretty sick, huh?"

The fact that he didn't say anything about the basement, makes my imagination go wild. I swallow it down, though.

I just need to get out of here, and never think about this again.

And to do that I need to help Freddy get rid of this goddamn body- and... probably... testify at court... As the panic starts to finally rise up in my, right up to fill my throat, I immediately take in a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Okay... " No time to freak out. Now's the time for action.

Gaze flickering to Loretta again, I try to acclimatise to the sight. I think its a lost cause, though. "How did you get rid of him? Your Dad?"

"No, that's not gonna work. He was a drunk dead beat, and I just had to tell the police some guy's he owed money to came over to the house." Freddy grins happily at the memory, but then just as quickly, scowls at his poor deceased wife's body- that certainly cant fight back. I just tack this onto the long list of reasons I hate him. "Lore's such a goddamn goody goody- we cant do the same thing. You don't think I woulda thought of that??"

"Hey." I snap, hands braced on my hips as I flash a glare his way. "This is not the time to get defensive!"

"Whatever... "

Then- suddenly, something occurs to me. Confused, I look around; A deeply horrified feeling disturbing my stomach. "Hold on... Where's your daughter?" Seeing no sign of her anywhere, I definitely start to panic again- especially when I look to Freddy and just see a pert look in his eyes as he looks back at me, a smile that strikes something horrid inside me. My eyes narrow. "You sick fuck- where the fuck is she!??"

"Under the bed."

"What the fuck does that mean!?" I exclaim, frustrated and freaking out. He did not- he did not! Killing your spouse is one thing, but the kid?? Your own kid??

I don't wait around for him to be cryptic some more, and rush right into the house to look for her. Under the bed, under the bed, under the fucking bed...? Which fucking bed!? Forcing ferocity out of my voice, I carefully call out to Kathy. Hoping to god she answers. I try to sound normal. Maybe a little bit cheerful; Excited.

But my voice wobbles.

"Kathy?? Sweetheart, its Y/N! Are you hiding? I have something for you... " ?? You have something for her, Y/N?? God... now you have to figure out some kind of treat.

You know what? Whatever. We'll figure that out later.

Lets just hope we aren't searching for a corpse. I'd definitely be sick, seeing a child... the way Loretta is...

Shaking my head and clenching my fists, I try to focus on Kathy.

I check under the bed in the guest room because it comes into view first and she isn't there, then her bedroom and she isn't there either... and get a sick feeling as soon as I enter the last bedroom. Freddy's and Loretta's.

God, I've never been in here before but its like a museum peace now. A horrible one. Like if you would walk into the Titanic... or the Borden house.

"Kathy? You in here?" Flicking on the light I kneel down on the ground, and check under the bed.

And something immediately crashes over me, as the sight of her covering her eyes down there. It isn't exactly relief, because this whole situation is still phenomenally fucked up for her, but I am selfishly glad to not have to see her body... crumpled, just like her mother.

"Hey sweetheart," My voice quivers slightly now, but I quickly swallow. No. No. Now, you must be strong Y/N. "Its just me. Your Daddy was looking for you, and couldn't find you! It got him worried!"

"I... I don't wanna see Daddy. He hurt Mommy." Kathy doesn't remove her hands from her face, and stays firmly by the wall- too far away for anyone to grab. My heart sinks.

Slowly straightening up again, I try to take that piece of information in. Turning to the doorway, I see Freddy there. he must have followed me. I didn't even notice. Slowly, and quietly ferociously, I say; "She saw?!"

He has the good sense to look embarrassed, even if it is just to make fun of me. "It was spur of the moment... " He shrugs. "I didn't have time to get a babysitter!"

What a fucking excuse. For gods sake.

I'm definitely dealing with a psycho- if that was even a question before now.

Swiftly, I look down under the bed again, because I'm afraid that if I continue to engage with him- I'll scream, and I'll lose my breath, and I'll scare Kathy even more. She's at the forefront of my mind; That's all I can think about.

But what to do with her after I get her out from under this bed, I don't know. I cant give her back to her father... but I cant hand her over to the police either because that would involve telling them about Loretta, and... Freddy will definitely kill me, for that.

This is a nightmare of a situation.

I'm just opening my mouth to say something - what, I don't know yet, - when she speaks, instead. "Is he there?"

"... Yes." I wont lie to her; That would be treating her with not nearly as much respect as she deserves.

When she takes a deep breath and rubs her eyes, as if just trying to keep herself together, my heart clenches. God... and to think I might not have picks up Freddy's call today. I would have been leaving her with this. For the first time today, I'm morbidly glad I came.

She speaks in that loud, hissy way that kids think is a whisper. "Can he... can you please make him go away?"

Immediately I straighten back up and look to Freddy again, my eyebrows raised halfway up my forehead. Like well? "Get out."

"I don't think you're in a position to make demands here, bi- "

"Do you want Kathy to live down there now!??" I snap, trying not to be scared. Not really feeling scared, actually. Just happy to have a reason to tell him to get the hell away from me.

A deep frown creases his mouth, deeply unhappy about the situation, but steps back. I only hear him step out of the way of the door, but its good enough. Quickly, I get up and close the door - fighting with myself not to slam it, - and lock it.

Then I return to the floor, and see this time Kathy has uncovered her eyes. She looks so small, smaller then she actually is, and she looks like she's shaking. Little red bows and piggy tails in her hair are messy from crawling under the bed. "He's gone, sweetheart. And I locked the door."

She just nods, so I take the silence as a chance to offer my hand to her. "Take my hand, sweetie? Come on out from under the bed. Its cold down there, and no one wants you getting sick." I need to upkeep the family friend bit, I need to sound caring and collected. I need her to trust me.

Her big eyes, not Loretta's colour or Freddy's, look nervous as hell. And she shakes her head.

Taking a deep breath, and I conjure all the sincerity as I can. And mean it. My eyes soften and I try really hard, to resent myself as someone trustworthy- which is hard, seeing as I've never really been that. I mean, I'm cheating on my husband. I told Carter today the same lie I told Harrison when i knew I was going to be late. The only person I think who knows the truth behind all my lies is Freddy. That says something about a person, that the only person who knows them is a psychopath.

But I want to, I need to, be good for this little girl. And there's no time for me turn my life around so it has to start with this. How fucked is that?

"... I promise, I'll take care of you. He wont hurt you."

After a few whole minutes, in which I stay silent because yes she's a child, but she's still thinking, she crawls over and takes my hand, letting me lead her out. Crawling into my lap as I cross my legs under her, she buries her face in my shirt- hiding. "You promise?"

Taking a deep breath, because I've really done it now, I offer my pinky for her to see if she turned her head. I know Freddy's listening to all of this through the wall, but I try not to freak out. "Pinky swear?"

"Pinky swear." She peaks out from my shirt, and curls her little finger around mine. Okay... "Y/N... I'm scared."

"Yeah... Me too, sweetie."

What am I going to do?

[inessencedevided]

A very overdue cql/mdzs fic rec list

for @accidental-child ​

I am so sorry this took me so long Axel! The pandemic has really done a number on my time-management skills and things like this often fall behind :/

The fics complied here are the ones i have not recced in the list for @helianthus21 before. You can find that one here, so you can check it out as well :)

The Wei Wuxian makes a wish series by natcat5

My attempt at a summary: this is a madoka magica AU (which i had not watched prior to reading this fic). Cultivators, in this universe, are created when a teenager makes a wish to the creature named Kyubey, which than grants them their wish and the power to fight witches, strange and destructive creatures of despair that lure people into their labyrinths. Wei Wuxian, at the beginning of the story is not a cultivator, but his friends are and so is the mysterious new student at his school, lan wangji, who follows him everywhere and seems to be obsessed with preventing him from making a contract.

My comment: my attempt at a summary does not do this story justice and is really just a setup. Honestly i cannot put into words how much I loved this story. It kept me on the edge of my seat the entire time. It made me laugh, it made me cry for entire chapters, it drew me into it's world so much that I freaking dreamed about it! (I'm not kidding, I really did) Honestly, this fic deserves so much more attention than it is currently getting. Not only is the plot expertly crafted, with reveals that shock you and leave you reading, but the author also just gets the characters. The best thing an AU can do, in my opinion, is take familiar characters, put them in unfamiliar situations and then manage to make the way they react believable. And this AU nails that! The conclusion and the choices that Wei wuxian and lan Wangji make in the end felt exactly right. Not to mention, it has a stellar ensemble cast! Everyone is here (except Xichen sadly and I kind of think it is deliberate because without him, Lan Wangji lacks a support system). Again, I cannot recommend this story enough. It is, without doubt, my favourite fic series in this entire fandom. (Caution however: Do read the warnings in the tags and notes and take them seriously. They are there for a very good reason.)

Agapé (home is in your arms) by estel_willow

Author’s summary: Lan Xichen is in isolation. Wei Wuxian visits him. Together they find their way back to happiness, to clarity and to home. 

My comment: This one focuses on both Lan Xichen’s and Wei Wuxian’s issues and lets them resolve them together. I am such a fan of their characterisations in this fic, as well as Lan Wangji’s even though he is not the focus. I love it when non-romantic relationships are the focus of fics and especially when they are central to the character’s resolving their own issues and moving forward in life and that is exactly what happens here.

until you're big enough by lostin_space      

Author’s summary: Lan Zhan is sad and not hungry; Lan Xichen asks Nie Mingjue to help him. 

My comment: This one is a really short and sweet read about how Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue parent the their younger brothers. I just really liked how the author portrayed todler Lan Zhan, as well as these two teenagers doing their best to be the parents that both he and Nie huaisang lack. 

Night Music by Manogahela                

Author’s summary: There is a music that plays in the night at Cloud Recess....but there isn't suppose to be. Lan Xichen investigates the mysterious dizi music that can be heard from the Jingshi at night following the Siege of the Burial mounds.

My comment: I absolutely adored this one, mainly for two reasons: 1. I love an outsider perspective and Lan Xichen’s, at this point and with his limited knowledge is absolutely wonderful. First, he isn’t even sure is what he thinks is happening really is happening and when he is sure, his feelings are, understandably very conflicted. 2. The author’s style compliments this fic so well. Since most of it happens at night and Xichen isn’t entirely sure that he can trust his senses, there is a certain dreamlike quality to it that the author writes beautifully. This fic is part one in a series. Part two is a WIP, but also very much worth the read!

Company by WithBroomBefore                

My summary: In which Wei Wuxian is whipped within an inch of his life by Madam Yu when he is fourteen and comes to stay at the cloud recesses. He and Lan Zhan become friends.

My comment: My summary once again does not do this fic justice. Because it is so much more than just that. It’s such a beautful exploration of friendship and love and bodily autonomy. Wei Wuxian has a lot to work through in this fic, but really, so has Lan Zhan who has the opportunity to make friends at a much more mellow pace than in the novel/show and panics a little less because of it. The war still happens but has much less dire consequences. All in all, this fic left me with a wonderful warm feeling in my chest.

you are safe / loved / worthy / enough by everythingispoetry                

Author’s summary: One of the more timid-looking posts, in pale greens and creams and yellows, says Hello, I'm managing to be fairly high functioning right now but I'm really not doing as well as it may appear, and Lan Zhan feels as if someone sneaked into his mind and read his most secret thoughts, the ones he's never even dared to admit to himself.

(In which Lan Zhan, to his own dismay, finds himself with the help of the most obnoxious, cheerful, cheesy self-care instagram account known to men.)

(And Wei Ying.)

My comment: Listen, I have a complicated relationship with fics that depict mental health struggles in characters. They are all so incredibly valid and I’m glad they exist (every single one of them, no matter if i like them or not) but due to the fact that they tend to come from the author projecting their own issues onto characters (which is NOT a bad thing! that is what fanfic is for!) they are often hit-and-miss when it comes to characterisation. But this story ... it just GETS Lan Wangji. If someone told me a scenario in a modern AU that leads to him developing an anxiety disorder and depression, this is what I would have come up with. Because let’s be real, Lan Wangji is a perfectionist to boot, insanely competitive and needs to live up to his family’s expectations, while also not having much of an emotional support system outside of his brother and uncle. That’s a dangerous cocktail in the modern world and just screams of a burnout waiting to happen. So Lan Wangji, off to university, living alone in a strange city for the frst time, spends all his time in a carefully calculated study routine but slowly realises that the path he set out on was not one he chose because he liked it but simply the one that was laid out for him by his background and family, which then leads to him questioning the reason behind what he does. That reads as incredibly real to me. A good AU, in my opinion, takes the characters and their inherent characteristics and lets them meet new and unique challenges that they never would have encountered in canon, which then leads to new and interesting character developement. And this AU manages that perfectly! (Plus, if you are a university student like me who sometimes suffers from crushing anxiety about the path they chose in life, this is insanely relatable. What? I never said I wasn’t biased :P)

porn (but not actually) and waiting (a lot of it) by hyacinth4maria    

Author’s summary: Lan Xichen sighs as he settles into the couch next to Lan Wangji.

"What are you looking at?"

Lan Wangji, without pausing from typing the names Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian in the Love Calculator 3000, says, "Porn."

Lan Xichen chokes.

- Lan Wangji has a crush. Lan Xichen hadn't realized his little brother was growing up.    

My comment: this one was hilarious! Just Lan Xichen being both absolutely exasperated and amused by wangxian’s pre-teen drama. I almost choked laughing at the line that coined the title. The author has these characters down to a T and they used their powers to attack my laugh-musccles :D

the field meets the wood by astronicht     

Author’s summary: Wei Wuxian is a dark shadow in the barley. Wei Wuxian is sorry for the kind of compassion that he is about to hand out.

(in which Lan Wangji is stolen for salt, and Wei Wuxian unravels the world, a little)

My Comment: HOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS IS SO GOOD. Do you ever read a story and just marvel at the author’s mind? This is one of those. The sheer genius of giving Wei Wuxian the ability to pull entire beings into non-being! The absolute galaxy-brain idea to link the canon mythology to modern astrophysics!!! Wei Wuxian creates a motherfucking black hole in this one!!! And it’s SO well written, too! The author does not shy away from Wei Wuxian’s sharp edges and his darker side but goddamn if he is not still loveable anyway. Just GO READ THIS FIC!

Abandon your post by StarsAlignNomore        

Author’s summary: After months as Chief Cultivator and separated from his soulmate, Lan Wangji follows Wei Wuxian out into the world. He searches for him. He finds him. He kisses him. They reunite, they talk, they resolve. Sometimes Bichen lends emotional support. Chenqing bites. Little Apple is there too.

Your typical Post-Canon-Reunion-Fic with much more emphasis on their spiritual weapons than expected.

My comments: This one just left me with a lot of mushy feelings. Also I adore the way the author emphasised the relationship between Lan Wangji and Bichen. And by the end, Wangxian finally figure shit out through actual open communication. Absolutely beautiful!

[tg-headcanons]

Tokyo ghoul meta: the personhood of ghouls and the CCG

The central conflict of Tokyo ghoul is simple: ghouls eat people and people kill them so they don’t get eaten. It starts simply enough, but gets more complicated as we learn more about individual ghouls and the way the ccg functions.

Firstly, we have the ghouls. In the first episode it’s made clear that humans simply do not understand them, and almost none make the effort too. Saying things like “if they have to kill why don’t they kill criminals or something” and “why can’t they all die already?” They’re regarded as a group of people who choose to be evil at best, or as monsters that need to be killed at worst. For humans it’s easy to put so little thought into it because for them it’s cut and dry: “they kill us, which is bad, so being a ghoul is evil.”

Then we see Kaneki becoming a ghoul, the way he sees himself as he transforms. His terror is undercut with the self loathing of feeling the need to eat people. He thinks it’s because he’s human, he doesn’t understand yet that all ghouls go through this. It takes until he first meets other ghouls to start understanding that they aren’t an inherent malicious force, that they’re people who are trying to live their lives, albeit in a very different way.

What I want to emphasize is something I don’t see anyone talking about. Kaneki’s first interaction with a ghoul post-surgery is not Nishio, it’s not Touka, its Kazuo. He only shows up for a moment before dying, and in that moment he is nothing like what Kaneki had been taught about ghouls. Ken is breaking down at the horror of being lured to the alley by the smell of a corpse, and the first thing this ghoul does, is ask if he’s okay. Kazuo offers him an arm from the corpse, even though he’s never met him and is starving, he’s willing to make that sacrifice because it’s just the right thing to do. I wish kazuo didn’t die, I think he was a good example of the inherent good in ghouls

When Ken goes on to meet Touka and join anteiku, he’s introduced to more about ghoul culture. That they aren’t monsters. He sees how they protect their human loved ones, how they do everything they can to provide safety, and how ghouls are the ones suffering more than anyone else. The violence humans think ghouls display because of what they are is the result of desperation, trauma, and investigators, and this is the first time he’s learning this

Next we have humans and the CCG. Now it’s understandable that they hate ghouls, every community has people they’ve lost to hunting and that will effect how they view the creatures who ate them. It’s such a difficult thing to grasp how a person could eat another person, so the obvious result is that they don’t see them as people. Like any threat, humans seek to destroy it, overlooking the impact that would have. Plenty of species have gone extinct because they threatened humans, many are now endangered because humans had no problem killing them “because it’s them or us.”

And thus the CCG is formed

It becomes built into the law and foundations of society that ghouls must be killed on sight. They have no rights. They have no voice. They are not people. No one can change that, ghouls can not protest it peacefully because simply admitting they exist is a death sentence for them and their family. Their ruthlessness caused by desperation forced on them is held up as proof that they need to be exterminated, and the CCG is excused for their own ruthlessness because it’s seen as a necessary evil. It’s them or us right?

But violence is cyclical, and grows as it revolves. Many investigators join because a ghoul killed their family, so they kill ghouls, and those ghoul’s loved ones retaliate. The conflict goes beyond the need to eat and the need to defend and becomes more fueled by revenge. Aogiri kills more than they need too, the doves kill more than they need too, and the way they’re perceived depends on what species the onlooker is. It’s difficult to escape the cycle, but very easy to get dragged in. Even for those with no personal vendetta against ghouls, it’s easy to kill them because everyone is feeding into the belief that they aren’t people. It’s easy to commit genocide when you renounce the victim’s personhood

That’s why when Amon fights Kaneki for the first time, it’s such a shock. Amon goes in completely certain that ghouls exist to kill, and Kaneki, previously human, refuses. Ken doesn’t have the same intergenerational trauma as other ghouls, and is inclined to spare his opponent. When he shows Amon this mercy, it haunts him. He can not comprehend why he was let go by a creature that exists to kill

Same with Shirazu and Nutcracker. She doesn’t show him any mercy, but when she dies, she says that she just wanted to be pretty. Ginshi shuts down, because that’s exactly what his little sister wants. It haunts him, he’s realizing that what they’re killing are complex people with feelings and dreams just like theirs. He even struggles to use the quinque made of her because he lets it sink in that it’s made of her. He understands that the CCG uses the corpses of ghouls, and is that so different from how ghouls use the corpses of humans?

Killing Shirazu and having Amon get captured were coward moves, because there was so much to work with. They were the only ones who were starting to understand that everyone involved in this war is a person with the capacity for joy and suffering. The story would have been so much better if they were both alive and with the ccg, because it could shift the narrative from “humans vs ghouls” to “why are we doing this? Why are we still fighting without even trying to find other options?”

It could have ended without a war with the collective effort to find a peaceful option and address the death and trauma humans and ghouls subject eachother too, that’s what the story was always about. Simply recognizing the personhood of ghouls would make the CCG obsolete, and force them to recognize the horrors they’ve committed, and that was the problem. It’s just so much easier, and so much more profitable for those in charge, to keep the conflict going

[random-thought-depository]

Watched the X-Files episode Teliko the night before last. It got into Vulture.com’s 10 most embarassing X-Files episodes list, and there seems to be a general view that it was a rather problematic episode. I can see why: the concept of basically a melanin vampire is kind of goofy, and, uh... You know that thing where people used to filicide autistic children because they thought they were changelings? Apparently, there’s something kind of like that in parts of Africa but directed against albinos (the details are different, but it’s a similar pattern of folk beliefs motivating violence against vulnerable people). Teliko felt like it might have been referencing that in just about the worst way possible; like the writers just went “Let’s have an African-themed monster this week; I skimmed a book about west African mythology for five minutes and I get the impression they think albinos are scary, so let’s just make something up based on that” (a quick Google search turns up basically nothing about “Telikos” as a thing in actual real-world mythology). That said, I do think they did a couple of interesting things with the monster.

You know that thing about how culture is an extended part of the human phenotype, like the use of fire to cook food is what might have allowed our digestive systems to shrink and our brains to grow, reshaping our bodies to make us what we are? The episode gave me the impression that something similar was going on with “Mr. Aboah’s” hunting and feeding, like it was hard to tell where his use of technology ended and his biology began. He used a plant-based poison to paralyze his victims (clearly technology). He’d suck out people’s brain-juices using this tube that he apparently kept jammed deep in his throat most of the time and pulled out through his mouth before he fed (presumably ramming it back into himself after he was done); it was ambiguous whether it was part of his body or a tool, and if it was a tool I think he must have had some biological adaptations for carrying it around inside him like that, because I’m pretty sure it would be harmful and excruciatingly painful for a normal human to do that. He was able to cram himself into very small spaces, and he apparently went into some sort of coma-like sleep for much of the day, suggesting his anatomy and physiology was abnormal above and beyond his inability to properly regulate his own body chemistry; he wasn’t just a person with a disease who’d figured out an unethical coping mechanism for it. Mulder and Scully speculated about him being part of a “clan” of people like him, and when he was talking with his immigration councilor there was a bit about him being able to bring over relatives through chain migration that I think was clearly played for ominousness. There was a lot of subtextual emphasis on the idea that he wasn’t a one-off mutant, he was part of a community of people like him, and that queasy “not sure where his biology ends and his use of technology begins” thing fits into that well, suggesting that he’s the product of a history, that his kind has been around long enough to develop their own culture with distinctive weapons and tools and to evolve.

I also liked the way the episode emphasized the vulnerability inherent in what the vampire is (or in this case the psuedo-vampire); it reminded me of Max Schreck’s performance as Count Orlock in the 1979 Nosferatu. The vampire is a creature that must take something vital from others to keep themselves alive, healthy, and strong. And Teliko and Nosferatu both gave me an impression of a vampire (broadly defined) who was able to stay alive, but not necessarily healthy and strong. I remember Nosferatu’s Orlock gave me an impression of tremendous weariness; in the dinner scene toward the beginning of the movie he sounded so tired, like a student who’d been studying until 3:00 AM and was struggling just to talk and stay standing up. “Mr. Aboah” gave me a vibe of fragility and precarity; during the day he hides in dark holes or in a dark apartment with the curtains closed and the lights off because the sun hurts him, he’s visibly not well, his immigration councilor comments that he looks feverish, his short and minimalistic statements suggest not having the spoons for real conversation (and possibly not being confident in English, which is another kind of vulnerability). The tube in his throat fits with this too, cause keeping a tube in his throat like that looks like it might hurt. Some of this is probably influenced by having some real-life context for the ways albinism can be disabling; IIRC if we go with real-life precedent “Mr. Aboah” would probably experience increasing sun/light sensitivity and deterioration of his vision if he doesn’t get the brain-juice and starts losing his pigmentation. I really got the vibe that it’s a struggle for him to get enough brain-juice to keep himself alive and healthy and strong, and he lives in a state of precarity because he can’t be sure where he’s going to get that next hit he’ll need soon, like an addict who doesn’t have the money to reliably support his habit, or (and in a sense this is exactly what he is) like a person with a chronic illness who can’t reliably access the medicine he needs. He’s dangerous, he kills people, but I also felt kind of sorry for him, because his life looked pretty unpleasant. Which, like... if you’re going to use disability-coding as monstrousness-coding, I think this one of the less bad and more interesting ways of doing that.

That said, I’ll note, like... if the episode was going to lean on “this isn’t a supernatural thing, this is a medical thing,” the depigmentation thing seemed kind of cartoonish and thus clashed with that. Like, even leaving aside “I’m pretty sure not having a pituitary gland wouldn’t actually work that way,” I think melanin would stick around for longer than that even if your body stopped making it? Think about how long it takes for a tan to fade. And hair is IIRC mostly “dead” (metabolically inactive), so I think it at least should stay dark and just grow in pale/white from the roots if the hair follicles stopped making pigments. I think the growing patches of white skin were an effective dramatic device for communicating “Mr. Aboah’s” deteriorating condition if he didn’t get the brain-juice, but maybe handle it differently somehow?

[whump-town]

In The Woods Somewhere

Warning: country shit, you know? they kill a coyote...

this is just one long ass metaphor so...

Her scream pierces the warmth of the late autumn afternoon. Above her lazy ravens ascend to the sky, puffing little irritated calls to one another as they move away from the screeching child. At the commotion, the woods themselves seem to shift, annoyed with the agony-laced sound. Old tree branches splintering and the soft, unsatisfied chatter of life deep within.

She is seven, standing where the branches reach with hungry fingers out to her. Where her father tells her their property ends. The threat of what happens to curious children who trespass in the woods hums deeply in her veins. She’s drawn to the memory of the boy they found in the river last summer and standing around the campfire. Leaning into her father’s leg as he told stories about the beasts deep in the woods. Murderous, lustful things that will take carelessly. Going on even when her mother had hummed disapprovingly warning him with the simple mumble of his first name.

He’d turned to her hushed and high on the same adrenaline bucking her knees out from underneath her body. Foxes and Coyotes, he’d told her, they deceive the woods for what they truly are. “Smaller than what you think,” Roy whispered, smiling as she pressed closer. Curious but afraid, seeking his warmth as much as his comfort but begging for more. “Look like a wolf, you’ve seen a wolf haven’t you? Coyotes look an awful lot like them but brown and they’re ravenous little bastards.” There’s an intelligent glint to their eyes, unmistakable and haunting. It’s easier to conceive nature as consuming and destroying. But it’s simply untrue and to find yourself standing face-to-face with it is a daunting, demeaning task. To see in nature’s eye your own insignificance.

She hadn’t understood that word, ravenous, but had heard her father shout out into the field something about bastards before to know it was not good. He’d never meant it as any sort of compliment. He’d taken her hand a few nights later, guided her out to the porch, and held her skinny body against him. Shushed her when she’d tried to ask him what they were doing, trusting him blindly as a child does, but fearful of the depths of the night spread out before her. The clear sky above their heads hidden by the roof so she’d held him a little tighter. Heart pounding in her chest.

The first sounds just like a dog, her head swivels to identify exactly where it’s coming from. The second is shrill, sends a shiver down her spine and her fingers tighten on Roy’s shirt. It makes the hairs on her body stand tall, rocking her thin limbs in shivers. More erupt, some sounding so close she fears the creatures the sound emits from could snap and grasp her in its jaw from here.

“Coyotes,” her father rumbles, she can hear the smile in his voice.

They howl on and off, their presence so near. Feverish, she can feel it and knows there’s an untold but not inherently unused threat in animals that lurk just past the extension of the porch steps.

Despite the rolling cool air of September washing over Virginia, Haley is out in the backyard letting the sweater her mother had tucked around her fall off her shoulders. Jessica’s old overalls too short for her long legs, making them perfect for afternoons spent rummaging about in the dirt and grass. Her bare feet stomping against the cool grass as she runs, eager to just be. To feel the wind snap against her cheeks and the plush grass give under her feet.

Something rattles on the far edge of the yard, too far for her to see from where she is. It makes her pulse jump, but not pound as it does now in her little chest. A bird caged between ribs, beating its wings against her insides to make her stomach tighten with apprehension. It does not sing out, does not warn her of the danger she encroaches upon.

When she finds the live, snarling and snapping, creature ensnared in the fence but she’s not sure what it is. The sounds it makes, teeth barred but all mixed signals as it puts weight on its injured side and whimpers softly. Only to meet her every cautious move with a throaty growl but her curiosity is piqued and her ability to perceive the threat is diminished by it.

The animal, the size of a dog, snaps at her. Barring stark white teeth, sharp canines, covered in its own blood. It hunches low, pulled up on its front legs enough to distract her from the bangled sight of its left hind leg. To pretend to be every bit of a threat that it might be if not wounded. It moves too much and she cries out again, flinching when it whimpers as it falls limply back to the ground. Struggling to pull itself back up. The animal stills, laying on its side and heaving deep breathes.

That’s when she sees the blood.

She screams, oblivious to the ravens that take to the sky, black against the oranges of the sunset.

She’s played along this fence a thousand times, knows to not mess with it. The barbed wire won’t hurt her, Roy had struggled to explain this but she’d understood, in the end, that if she messed with it unnecessarily it could. Its intent is to keep the cows in the neighbor’s yard from wandering into theirs. She’d watched the cows brush up against the edges, scratching themselves against the edges that would tear through her pale, thin skin.

She’d touched the edges and, while they’re not inherently blade-like, she’d still marveled at how sharp they are. That was the end of it. But now she looks at the wounded animal at her mercy, succumbing to its fate be whatever it is. Sees the wire fence wrapped around the animal’s leg. The serrated flesh caused by the barbs and where the animal had been half-successful in chewing through its leg.

“Haley!” Roy runs to her, pulling her away from the animal but her eyes stay glued to it. The way it struggles to lift itself up to snap at the new threat, to bare its teeth and present itself as something it most certainly is not. Roy sighs when he speaks, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head at the sight. “Nosing around where you shouldn’t have been,” Roy mumbles to it. He turns back to Haley, running the palm of his hand through his hair. “It’s just a coyote,” he explains, glancing back when the wounded animal falls back to the ground with a tired, pitiful snort.

“It’s hurt,” she says. She’s watching flies land on its back, moving over the blood. The wound is infected and the leg is useless. She knows what happens to lame animals. Feels the bird within her chest shake, beating against her lungs until they ache. “What are you going to do to it?” she asks but she already knows. Wild things aren’t tamed. They snip and bite no matter how you love them. She knows seeing the pink of the bones peeking through blood matted fur what her father will do but she’s blinded. She’s hopeful for this creature. Thinks of her kind father and the gentle way he bandages her wounds and knows he can save it. He can if he’ll only try

“Go back to the house,” Roy instructs

Haley shakes, “no.”

Roy turns around, caught off guard by the sudden conviction from his youngest daughter. The child that seems to follow him so blindly, her loyalty so deep it often scares him. But he remembers being her age, remembers looking at his father with that same look. Having curated this idea that he could save the world. It’s amazing to be on the receiving end of but it’s always a matter of time before every child learns the truth. That their fathers are just men. Horrible, awful men and feels a little light in him die. “Look away, Haley.”

She sees him reach for his belt, the belt he keeps on him while working outside. The only thing separating them from the creatures in the woods. She runs. Her feet hit the Earth hard and fast, screaming for her mother. Begging someone to see reason.

When the hammer strikes she falls as if the bullet has been lodged into her spine. Tears sting her eyes, pouring down her cheeks in rage, as she pulls herself back up. Her mother steps out onto the porch and Haley throws herself into her arms, sobbing and choking around the story. Missing details and so angry, so broken that he hadn’t even tried. Her father hadn’t even tried to help the coyote.

Her mother holds her, soothes her tears and they sit in the kitchen. Her sobs dissipating until she’s just hiccupping, face buried in her mother’s smooth skin. “Why didn’t he help the coyote?” she asks. Mothers always seem to hold the secrets of fathers and Haley knows this is no exception.

Her mother rubs her back, “sometimes, baby, no amount of help in the world can save something lost. Sometimes the only thing you can do is… mercy.” Her mother presses a kiss to her head, “daddy was showing the coyote mercy, Haley. That was compassionate. That was all he could do.”

She’d seen the blood on her father’s hands after he returned. Watched from the safe cocoon of her mother’s arms as he’d come in the kitchen door, letting it bang and clatter shut. “Daddy?” she hiccups. She presses closer to her mother, drowning out the memory of the snarl and hiss of the coyote with the sweet scents of her mother. Hoping the squeeze of her mother’s arms around her shaking body wrings her dry of the animal. “What did you do to him?”

Roy washes his hands, carefully working the blood off his skin and grunting to communicate he’s heard Haley but isn’t ready to respond. He doesn’t face his wife and child until he’s clean of it, the blood washed from his hands and from the sink. He dries his arms off slowly, taking his time to gather his response. Settling the back of his hips against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, he looks at his daughter. Sees the tear tracks drying on her cheeks and that look in her eyes. He knows all too well the importance that will be placed on his next few words, sees the glint of a core memory forming.

She’ll base worth and sense off his next words.

He crouches down in front of her, taking one of her soft, small hands in his own. “What comes from the woods, must be returned.” All things must be returned. It’s why people are buried or singed to ash, to be turned back into the Earth. The way that Roy had dragged that Coyote as deep into the woods, as far he dared. Such is the way of nature, all things that are taken must be compensated for, and with his fingers curled into the cool main of that limp coyote, Roy had thought of his too curious daughter. Of the way she’d find herself back to that mangled heap of twisted fencing, staring at the animal's congealed blood. The curdled darkened crimson left on the cleared dirt. How long until she searched further? Sought to find better answers to questions she can’t form coherently with her tongue, little legs driving her to the trees.

They always talk back, the trees, and Roy had known what they’d say. Knew they’d beckoned her into their depths. He’d taken from the woods and they would take from him. With a sigh, Roy places the worn skin of his palm on Haley’s pale cheek. “I took him home,” he whispers. “Even wild things have homes.”

She’s fourteen when she meets a boy who moves like the coyotes that trot through the yard. The ones her father shakes his head at and tells her must be sick, they shouldn’t be out in the light like this. That familiar glint in his eyes, the impulsivity of what comes next is unknown to both but his shoulders flex. Long thin limbs waiting for her to move first, to establish if he’ll run or fight. Not the sort to turn his back to her. He’s looking at the crosshairs aimed at his chest and he knows any sudden movement will be his last.

She’s fourteen and found another wild creature she’s convinced she can change.

Sees that pink marrow, the dark crimson pooling and weaving through the tall grass. The fencing wrapped tightly around his lame limb, his dark eyes looking back at her and waiting to find what she’ll do next. If she’ll cut him free, withstanding his snarled bites until he falls limp with exhaustion and defeat. Heaving those panting breaths. She’ll wrap him in a blanket and drag him home. Shush his whimpers while she bandages his wounds.

She should have done what her father had and put a bullet in his head while it was still soon enough to call it mercy. Dragged his tired, broken body to the woods. Do as her father had instructed all those years before and return him to the woods. To his home because that is not her.

She’s seventeen, screaming for her father. Another mangled thing bleeding out in the field in their backyard, propped up against that old fencing. His blood soaks into the neck of his t-shirt, the material hardening, as he sits there panting. She’d seen him coming, his tall figure working its way through the woods. From her bedroom window, she’d waved at him, getting up to go greet him. When she runs out onto the porch she throws the light on, her beaming smile dying as she’d searched for him.

Roy tears through his backyard for his daughter trying to find the danger his mind buzzes with. He’s not surprised to find Aaron cradled to her chest, face a swell of wounds.

“What do I do?” she asks. She’s too old, knows better than to ask him to handle the matter. She knows what he does to wounded things and she knows he sees Aaron for what he is. He’s beyond saving but that’s a lesson she’ll have to learn on her own. That he’s no different than the coyote, in this very field, that had chewed through its skin. It would have taken its own leg off to escape the fence. How far into the woods would it have made it? On three legs, losing blood, and fighting an infection. How long until infection won out? Until something bigger, something stronger clamped teeth to its neck. Mercy. Not for the hunt but mercy.

Her father and Aaron lock eyes, just as that old coyote had before her father shot it. They share a wordless conversation and Roy turns away, taking with him that coveted mercy.

She’s too innocent.

She’s too hopeful.

There is no mercy in her love and she drags his aching, dying body up to her room. Looks past the infection set into his heart and corrupting his mind. She sees life in something dying so painfully slow, unable or unwilling to see desperation.

She brushes the back of his fingers against Aaron’s nose, watches his lips twitch as he slips into a fitful sleep. Lips falling and jaw relaxing under her touch until his breath ghosts over her cheek. He inches closer, making soft little noises. Wounded, punched sounds as he searches for something in his sleep. Finding it in her, wrapping his arms over her hips and pressing his face closer to her own.

She feels him relax in her hold and closes her eyes.

She’s taken something from the woods, knows this thing that aches so openly against her breast is not hers to have. It is simply a matter of time before the woods call him back. Before he slithers back to his tree and she’s left with the bitter mouthful of their actions. A sweet thing to undertake but soured as they lay with it.

He’s a wild thing she thinks she can tame. She can file down his teeth but it’ll be too late when he hurts her. He’s too big and she’s small and you just can’t change a man like him. He’s going to hurt her, kill her, and by the time he realizes what he’s done, it’ll be too late.

[tortoisenottortoise]

Am I the only one who likes seeing muscular women in media more than muscular men?

Alright so, this one will probably end up much shorter and a little more ranty than I'd like, but this is kind of personal so be fairly warned. 

 Recently I've seen a few complaints about the new He-Man show and honestly, I fully understand and empathize with them. Whilst I haven't fully seen the show, from what I've viewed I can personally speaking agree (or at the very least understand) where most criticisms come from. I think it's incredibly shitty that the writer basically lied to his audience about how the show would run. Now normally I'd be fine with a twist such as He-man dying, but he's an important part of the show and the way the marketing & merchandising for it was running kind of comes across as him basically using He-Man's name to get people into the show. I also feel like it's fine to view Teela as obnoxious and annoying, nothing about her personality-wise seems likable to me. I also heard a few complaints about Orko's (I think that's his name, don't crucify me) backstory and how his character was handled.Yet as the title suggests one that didn't stick with me was the criticism of Teela and a general trend towards the criticism of women in media as being "masculine". 

I've heard over and over that Hollywood representing strong women by giving them masculine traits is a bad thing and yet... I kind of don't get it? It feels odd to say, almost like I'm the dumbest man alive for admitting something which most people on the internet seem to be so sure about, yet I just don't understand where this is coming from. I've seen this thrown at She-hulk, Wonder Woman, Abby, and many other characters, yet when inquired it usually loops back around to, "Yeah they have muscles", and that's about it. This type of criticism in specific seems to overly focus on the appearance of said characters. It's the one critique I just can't get behind and it feels like at best it's a shallow criticism that fails to get its point across, and at worst it's actively demeaning to women who desire to or show masculine traits. But first, let me break this down into sections.

Section 1: Muscles =/= Masculinity (In my opinion at least)

Oh boy, I feel like this is a section that might rustle some feathers, but I'm going to try and explain myself best as possible. I simply do not view muscularity as a feature that is inherent to or should be inherent to men. I'm not going to pretend as if muscular men aren't more saturated in media and art, nor as if they're societally treated as masculine, but one of the reasons I fail to understand this criticism is that I see muscles beyond the horizons as being just a masculine trait. 

I believe that muscles should instead be seen as a sign of hard work and determination. As someone who's currently trying (and struggling) to stay healthy and fit, it's much harder than a lot of media portrays it to be. It's a test where you push yourself to the limits, not just for the sake of doing it, but so you can improve as a person. Whenever I go to the gym and see a muscular gal or guy walk by, my immediate thought isn't, "how masculine" or anything like that my thought is, "wow! They worked hard to get like that, I should work hard as well!". 

This interpretation tends to feel like it's just simply taking a piss on people who actively work hard to achieve higher levels of strength. Especially when society places and enforces these unrealistic standards onto people. If you don't have a six-quintillion pack nor can bench press a fucking house then you're worthless, of course, that is unless you actually attempt to pursue said standards which in that case you're automatically dismissed as cheating your way to gaining your muscles instead of putting any work in. And that's just for men who often don't have to deal with traditional idiots who are stuck in the year 1950 where I can't walk on the same street as them. My skin crawls when reading tweets from older men talking about how weightlifting women are "ruining their fertility" and I absolutely hate it when people in my life treat these women as if they're mythical creatures from a fairy tale, or when females who have trained to such a degree are simply dismissed as being inferior. 

Obviously, I don't think the people who say this are like that, but whenever I hear this type of critique I can't help but think of the culmination of all these experiences I've gone through. But then again, this might honestly just be because I'm personally attracted to muscular women.

  Section 2: Body type diversity

  Another reason that I tend to like muscular women in media over muscular men is simply due to the sheer oversaturation of muscular men. Don't get me wrong, I have no problem if anybody likes muscular men. I totally get wanting to shove your face in between some man titties or get inspired by their physiques. In all honesty, almost everything I said earlier can directly apply to men, but one of the reasons I bring up body type diversity is that there tend to be much less muscular women than men. I

f anything, I'd have to say that muscular men are almost treated as the default when it comes to things like superhero comics, movies, video games, anime, etc. In a similar vein, the default for women tends to be slim and curvaceous, you get the drill. Whenever someone who doesn't fit into either body type shows up and isn't treated like a joke/gag or a character to rip on, I can't help but be happy about it. As much as I have no clue wtf is going on with TLOU2, I can appreciate that Abby's portrayal doesn't seem to exist solely as a joke meant to demean women for working out. I'm excited when an anime protagonist is a fat character who can go beyond just being a "fat guy" and is treated the same way a normal person would be.

 Regardless of what you think about whatever trait you're criticizing, there's probably someone out there who fits it. If you're not into it or dislike it, then that's fine, but I'd rather have that expressed than it being actively made out as a harmful trope as opposed to just literally another body type that some women have.

  Section 3: Muscular women inspire me more

Ok so, we've now blown into a full-on personal experience, buckle up boys, girls, NBs, anything in between, and I feel like I'm forgetting someone so apologies! But yeah, muscular women in media tend to be a lot more inspiring than people seem to give them credit for. This comes down to a mix of both the qualities I outlined earlier in what makes the characters inspiring but also plays into the idea of body diversity. 

One of the traits that make amazons seem more inspiring is their inherent rarity/lack of screentime. As I stated earlier, whilst I do enjoy my fair share of man-titties, it kind of gets to a point where it's more depressing than inspiring when all you see is just super-models shoved in your face whenever you walk into a theater. If for every Goku I could find ten other guys who were on the chubbier side then I'd be able to take more from when I see Goku and other characters with his body type, yet it's so saturated that it no longer becomes something to aspire to, but simply the norm.  It's not that you can work to become muscular or skinny with hard work and effort, you have to be muscular or skinny unless you want to be deemed a failure. Being chubby often isn't presented as a starting point but just treated as a defect. As someone who spent years battling with my own self-perception, that's just not a good message to get across.

Now, this obviously isn't to say that people can never make muscular characters. After all, it's their story so they can put whatever they want in it. The aim of the game isn't to stop people from making a specific type of character, but to encourage a diverse set of people to make a diverse set of characters. This is the reason why I view muscular women as so inspiring. Instead of coming across as just "the norm" or "the standard" they stand out from the crowd and despite knowing what they have to deal with, are still ready and willing to work out and improve their bodies. They had a goal in mind and set time aside to achieve said goal, that's something I can get behind.

  Conclusion:

This will be another short section, but I just wanted to mention it because it caps off my thoughts on this post in general. What originally started as me just not getting the reason why people disliked Teela's design somehow turned into a passionate rant and I'm A) not sure if it fits on this particular subsection of the community, B) scared I'm going to get ripped to pieces, and C) somewhat unsatisfied with all that I said. At the end of the day, this probably won't be seen by too many people, but to those who do see it, I hope you have a wonderful day. I just wanted to talk about something that was near and dear to my heart and hoped that I made it clear why I view things the way I do. 

P.S: Can we stop having this double standard where we act like women whose arms show the slightest hint of definition are "unrealistic" whilst men can look like tree trunks and be considered normal and healthy? please and thank you!

[whilereadingandwalking]

River Solomon Talks Sorrowland with Sarah Gailey

Earlier tonight, I had the honor of hearing Rivers Solomon talk about their new book Sorrowland in conversation with Sarah Gailey. The event was cohosted by Loyalty Bookstores and Greenlight Bookstore. 

The event was a delight, full of laughter and vibrant queer energy. At its end, Solomon told us about their first archery lesson, about their new biking hobby, and about their first (in a long while) visit out to a bookstore in-person. Gailey told us about their new magical garden, and their constant wonder at how “my plants all mutate into much better plants.” 

But before that, the two authors discussed Sorrowland, from its “hot anarchist babe,” Lakota woman Gogo, who Solomon researched extensively to represent, to anarchist parenting, to what it might mean to live within a constantly changing body. Read my recap of this glorious conversation below.

The Abuse of Power and Anarchist Parenting

Solomon spent two years not-writing, exploring ideas about what this novel would become, before "Vern basically just came to me in a rush, in a fever dream.” The rest was still to-come, but Vern and her motherhood, her gritty day-to-day channelling that classic “boy with knife in the woods” novel, got Solomon started. And the second big breakthrough was realizing that Vern would have to leave the woods, her awakenings unfolding into a vaster world like a “reverse Matryoshka doll.”

As a new parent, Solomon struggled with how they could respect their child’s “them-ness”—their autonomy; how they could respect their consent, and parent with respect. That linked in with Vern—a defiant, oppositional character who has seen all the ways that hierarchy rules our lives, all the unfairness of the wielding of power on systemic and interpersonal levels. Solomon summed up their novel, after all, as: “the abuse of power comes as no surprise.” 

So Vern, a woman deeply aware of this abuse and its impact, is now faced with two small lives that she must protect, but with a fierce defiance towards the power structures that raised her. How can she deal with these creatures who are totally reliant on her, when she has no resources, and when she’s struggling with her own transformation, needs, and emotions? This “anarchist parenting” in Sorrowland acknowledges that these hierarchies leave parents often isolated, and while the rugged individual in the woods is great, having community and assistance is better.

Living in a Body and Metamorphosis

Sorrowland also examines what it means to live inside a body, especially one that is outside of the norm. It is a story about becoming and continual re-making. Vern is still very young, and awakening into her queerness, her physical body that’s changing, her sexuality. Solomon purposefully made the sex explicit in the book. “I don’t want to pull any punches about what this experience is like,” they said—about being a sexual person in a non-normative body in a queer relationship, and how it can be so liberatory when previously a person was so repressed.

When a body is queer, disabled, ill, or a combination of those, there’s a temptation to just say, “Let me out of this flesh form,” Solomon laughs—but in truth, we are our bodies, and even without full control, “we do have ways we can self-make.” Vern’s physical transformation is painful, intense and also gives her literal strength. “Metamorphosis is at the heart of life,” Solomon says—whether it be queer awakening, becoming a sexual person, growing up, getting sicker, pregnancy, what have you. And it can be intensely “revelatory” and liberating to take this self-making, re-making, into our own hands. 

Solomon’s own struggles informed this—their experience of getting sicker, of transformation, and the way that metamorphosis is rarely truly ‘over.’ “The way that it shapes your perspective are extremely powerful in ways I would never take back,” they said. Vern has power, but also something inside her that will be inherently challenging, throughout her life. “It sucks—but also, it’s ok,” Solomon said. “She still gets to live, and to try to exist.”

[alexsfictionaddiction]

‘She overcame everything that was meant to destroy her.’

Women are truly incredible creatures. We have spent centuries being overlooked, downtrodden and dismissed. In some respects, we have come a long way in terms of gender equality but there are still many recent occurrences which remind us of how far we have to go. 

So many female illnesses take years to diagnose or aren’t taken seriously enough when they are. Women are still having to justify why they chose not to have children. We’re still working with a pay gap. Some women aren’t considered to be women because of the body parts they were born with or without. There are still places in the world where women simply don’t and never will have the opportunities to live life on their own terms. Despite all this, we’re still out in the world making and doing amazing things and looking beautiful while doing them. 

This recommendation list is really a collection of books that celebrate women, their courage, their friendships and their choices. It’s pretty varied in terms of genre and style, so I’m pretty sure you’ll find at least one book here that piques your interest. Keep being your fierce, unstoppable self and honour your girls today. -Love, Alex x

1. Dangerous Women by Hope Adams.

In 1841, 180 English women are on board The Rajah, a ship bound for Australia. All of them are criminals, most of them convicted of petty crimes but one of them has a deadly dark secret. Then someone is killed and the hunt for the culprit is on. But it’s hard to protest your innocence when you’ve already been found guilty. This addictive mystery is so well-researched and is based on the true stories of real female criminals aboard The Rajah. There is an overwhelming, stifling darkness, haunting the whole novel that is so atmospheric and reflective of conditions on board. It’s a story of sisterhood, female friendship and the existence of the Rajah Quilt is an example of the incredible feats that women can overcome if they work together. 

2. Moxie by Jennifer Mathieu.

Viv is tired of following the rules at her high school and is determined to shake things up. Channelling her mum’s former punk persona, Viv creates and secretly distributes a feminist zine to her classmates, who start to take action. Cliques are abandoned as new friendships are formed and a revolution kicks off. The real sweetness about this gutsy, fierce YA novel is the fact that talking about the daily trials and tribulations that girls go through brings them together rather than divides them. There are some fantastic characters and the inclusion of male allies is everything.

3. Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams.

After a disastrous break up, British-Jamaican millennial Queenie embarks on a journey, riddled with bad choices, to discover what she really wants from life. Straddling two cultures, a job where she is perpetually underappreciated and an underlying mental health condition, Queenie is a relatable depiction of what it means to be a young, Black woman in 21st century London. Funny, honest and deeply moving, Queenie is an essential enlightening read with a wonderfully flawed, real woman at its heart.

4. Hag: Forgotten Folktales Retold.

Inspired by British urban myths, this collection of spooky, fantastical stories by various female authors celebrates women in all of their guises. These stories are written by the likes of Daisy Johnson, Kirsty Logan, Irenosen Okojie, Eimear McBride and more. Some of the stories are very dark. Some of them offer powerful insights into other cultures. Some of them explore inherently female issues such as the repression of desire and motherhood. Overriding the whole collection is the wonder and power of women defying the odds and achieving their dreams. A fantastically unique read, ideal for International Women’s Day.

5. My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You She’s Sorry by Fredrik Backman.

When Elsa’s grandmother dies, she discovers a series of letters apologising to the various people she has wronged. Elsa’s mission to deliver these letters leads to some strange places and a journey that leads to getting to know her grandmother in a way she never did, when she was alive. The relationship between seven-year-old Elsa and her grandmother is so beautiful and I’m sure I’ll never read another grandmother-granddaughter relationship like it. Granny is a truly formidable character and a woman who has left behind a very full, colourful life. Backman is a master at writing quirky, uplifting stories of community and this charming novel is no different.

6. Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 by Cho Nam-Joo.

Kim Jiyoung has recently given up work to raise her baby daughter but before long, she begins displaying strange symptoms, such as impersonating the voices of other women. As her psychosis deepens, Jiyoung’s entire life is spilled to her male psychiatrist and it’s a life of restriction, abuse and control. This incredibly evocative book is a harrowing illustration of the misogyny ingrained deep in Korean culture and the devastating effects it can have on the women who live within it. A woman on the brink of insanity speaks for them all in this heavily symbolic, heartbreaking read.

7. The Shelf by Helly Acton.

Amy is pretty sure that Jamie is about to propose, so she is more than shocked to find herself on The Shelf, a reality TV show for single women. Over the next few weeks, she and five other women must take on challenges to improve themselves and be crowned ‘The Keeper’. The Shelf is a joyful celebration of singledom and female friendship. Funny and heartwarming, it inspires its readers to never settle for second best and discover life and yourself, completely on your own terms.

8. Invisible Women by Caroline Criado-Perez.

The world is made for men. Cars, phones, the medical industry, workplace laws and more areas of modern society largely ignore women. This fantastically informative manual exposes all the data biases that have been hidden from us. Caroline Criado-Perez has collated stories and case studies from across the globe that show how women’s lives and health are affected by our male-minded world and calls for drastic change.

9. A Kind of Spark by Elle McNicoll.

Addie has autism but she is so much more than that. When she learns of her hometown’s involvement in witch trials, she launches a campaign to erect a memorial for the women who died during them. This gorgeous, uplifting, funny middle-grade book offers a unique insight into a neurodivergent mind and simultaneously honours innocent, murdered women. You’ll get all the feels!

10. Olive by Emma Gannon.

Olive’s choice to not be a mother has ended her nine year relationship and her three best friends are all at various stages of motherhood. So, where will Olive fit into their lives now? This wonderfully sensitive and thoughtful novel is a wonderful celebration of women who are child-free by choice as well as giving voice to those who have struggled to become mothers. It will speak to any woman who has ever been asked when they’re going to take the leap into that ‘inevitable’ stage of a female life -motherhood.

11. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid.

Evelyn Hugo is a retired Hollywood icon who has personally chosen struggling, unknown reporter Monique to dictate her biography to. No one knows why, not even Monique herself. Over a series of intimate meetings, Evelyn tells Monique her story; from her rise to fame in the 1950s LA to her retirement 30 years later and the myriad of romances throughout that time. In time, it becomes clear that Evelyn’s and Monique’s lives intertwine in a heartbreaking fashion. Soaring, epic and completely unforgettable, Evelyn Hugo is the story of a woman who was consistently objectified, moulded and suppressed. Ultimately, it is a story of a great forbidden love and the hell that fame can bring, especially for women.

12. The Year of the Witching by Alexis Henderson.

Imannuelle’s mixed heritage is sacrilege in the tiny, puritanical community in which she lives. So she does her best to obey the rules and worship the Father. However, she finds herself in the haunted Darkwood where the spirits of murdered witches roam but they have a gift for Immanuelle -her dead mother’s journal, which leads to her discovering the dark truths behind the community she was born into. This atmospheric, brooding fantasy-horror novel champions the overthrowing of control, the discovery of one’s own inner power and capabilities as well as demonstrating how women have been villified by the patriarchy for centuries, simply for leading the lives that they want to lead. An addictive, Gothic witchy treat!