#i'm just. miserable. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inkskinned · 1 month ago

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the tradwife movement is the same as it has always been - back in the kitchen, back to breeding - it just has better branding.

when i was younger, i hated pink. i was not like other girls. this is now something i'm embarrassed of - this was not me being a "girl's girl."

but it was expressing something many of us felt at the time: i literally wasn't what girlhood was supposed to be. this is a hard thing to explain, but you know when you're not performing girlhood correctly. it isn't as easy as "i liked x when girls liked y" - because there were other girls that liked x, too - but i never figured out exactly the correct way to like x, or to be interested in y.

now there is the divine feminine. this is the same rhetoric it has always been: women are biologically driven to like pink and ribbons and submitting to our husbands.

the problem is that the patriarchy found a better PR team. because yes, actually, i want every woman to have the choice to be a homemaker. i also want her taken seriously for her legitimate home-making labor. i want her to be recognized as also having a job, just unpaid. i want men to have this opportunity, too.

but it is no longer "i made this choice and I love it." instead it is a sixteen-paragraph rant about how selfish it is that my generation isn't having kids. instead it's long videos about how if you feed your children processed foods, you're going to kill them. instead it is "this is what womanhood is supposed to be. i feel bad for any other choices you're making."

the shame spiral is just prettier. it is large houses devoid of personality. it is the implication: if you don't have this, you aren't happy. the solid, everlasting assurance: women are actually supposed to be submitting. this is the default. this is the natural state of things. all other attempts inflict suffering.

but you can no longer say i'm not like other girls. you can no longer reject this image completely. you cannot find it revolting, even if you know that the underbelly is toxic and festering. sure, it is the same repackaged patriarchy. but the internet does not have shades of grey. you should support and reward other women! your disgust is actually internalized misogyny. not because you are seeing a vision of yourself the way they're trying to train you to be. not because you feel her ghost pass within an inch of your earlobe. not because your father will eventually ask you - why can't you be like her?

because they figured out how to make it beautiful: women will sell other women on this idea, and we will find the singular loophole in feminism. sure, she's shaming you in most of her videos. sure, she implies that a different life is obscene. but she just wants you to be happy! you'd be happier if you were listening!

and the whole time you're sitting there thinking: i'd actually just be happier if i had that kind of money.

#spilled ink #writeblr #warm up #this is an incredibly difficult idea to express #but i basically keep watching the same timelooped interaction:#someone makes tradwife content where she's like ''i think it's SO sad when ppl don't have kids EW''#and then the response is ''... go fuck yourself? i think ur life is miserable and bad ?"#and instead of being like ''oh we are all under capitalism huh''#the response is like ''you CANT say that. she made a CHOICE. she is ALLOWED to have KIDS and be HAPPY #unlike YOU who is UNHAPPY bc you don't have KIDS.''#like .... these are people who will throw the first stone. and then when you lob one back #they ask why you're so violent. they tell you that you're a bad activist.#and you're like. PARDON????? you implied being a woman meant i need to submit to my husband???#and they're like - well it's just my belief. so what if i'm invalidating your entire identity.

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rogueddie · 1 year ago

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When Steve wakes up, he is very confused. His room looks very different and unfamiliar- but he knows it's his. It still has the plaid wallpaper his mom had picked out for him (he hadn't liked it, but there was a lot of lines and pretty colors).

The toy car his babysitter, Sarah, had gotten him for his fifth birthday isn't on his dresser anymore. He knows that she'd left it there for him last night, playfully insisting that he couldn't play with it until his actual birthday.

He'd been so excited to play with it. He wants to cry, and wail. He wants to run to his parents and scream until they give it back.

But they aren't home. That's why his babysitter had been over the previous night. They have a very important business trip that they aren't allowed to miss, not even for Steve's birthday.

The pictures in the hall look different too. Sarah had put up some cool pictures for him. She'd done the same for his fourth birthday. They had to take them down at the end of the day, but it had been nice to have family pictures up. Even if it was just for a day.

Sarah isn't downstairs.

He almost does scream this time. She'd promised that she'd stay the night, sleeping on the sofa, so he could have pancakes for breakfast. It's one of the many things that he can't, or isn't allowed, to make on his own.

His cake isn't in the fridge either. He even pulls a chair over so he can climb on it, to see if she'd hidden it on one of the higher shelves.

He sits on one of the dining chairs, watching the clock, and waiting.

After two hours pass, he gives up any hope he has.

Sarah, just like his parents, is probably too busy for him. He reasons that she probably just forgot to tell him. His mom had done that one time- it had stung, but he couldn't blame her. He forgot lots of stuff, even if it is important.

The only cereal in the pantry is some plain, corn brand that he doesn't recognise. It tastes just as bad as it looks, but there isn't a lot of food anymore.

At least, not a lot that he can make.

He has a second bowl, putting a few spoons of sugar in. It's not much better, but he doesn't feel so hungry anymore.

The TV looks different too. There's weird and new things playing. It's fun, interesting, and distracts him well enough that he's able to keep himself from worrying about how long he'll have to be alone again.

The next day goes the same.

The third day, he risks cooking. It ends up a little burnt, but it's better than cereal all the time.

The fourth day, he can't eat the food he tries to cook. It smells too nasty. He has to have cereal again. The sugar helps.

The fifth day, he doesn't risk cooking. His parents have never left him alone, without a babysitter, for more than a week, so he'll have a nice meal soon.

The sixth day, he checks their voicemail. There's a few odd messages from grown up sounding people, asking about how he's feeling, but he doesn't recognise any of their voices. He doesn't know what numbers he should try calling. He hopes they try calling again.

The seventh day, he sits at the bottom of the stairs. He stares at the front door, ready to jump up and give his mom and dad a warm welcome home.

The eighth day, he's starting to worry. Surely his parents will remember to call a different babysitter?

The ninth day, there's a key in the door. He almost misses it, sat in the kitchen, glaring at his cereal.

"Steve!" Someone calls. It sounds like one of the nice, unfamiliar grown ups who left a voicemail message. "Stevie! You here? How are- oh my god."

"Hi," Steve greets. He waves, tries giving his most polite smile. He almost forgets to keep his lips shut- his dad told him that his teeth don't look nice enough for a grin that big yet. "You're one of the nice people who left me a message, right?"

She stares at him for a long moment, mouth hanging open. "Steve?"

"That's me! What's your name?"

"Robin."

He sticks a hand out to her. "I's nice to meet you Miss Robin!"

"Yeah," she replies, voice high and thin. Her hand is trembling when she gently shakes his hand. "I'm... gonna need to use your phone. Real quick, ok?"

"Um... ok. But you can't make long distance calls, mommy will be very mad at me." He bites his thumb nail, following her into the hall. "Are you a babysitter? Is Sarah sick?"

"Sarah?" Robin echoes, questioningly. She's only half paying attention though, pushing in a phone number.

"My babysitter. She was supposed to be here for my birthday."

"It's your birthday?" She chokes out, spinning around so fast she stumbles. She looks heartbroken.

"Not anymore! It's ok, you don't need to be sad. She gave me my present early too, so it was good."

"Wait. How long have you been... what have you been eating?"

"Um. Cereal, mostly. All the food is different. It's weird."

"That's not- oh, hi," she turns away slightly, talking to whoever is on the phone. "Yeah, I'm at Steve's right now. Gather, like, everyone. We have a major emergency."

"No!" Steve quickly says. He tugs at the bottom of her top. "Not an emergency! You can't say that, you'll get me in trouble!"

"You don't understand, this is-"

"No, please," he pleads. He can only hope he won't get in trouble for talking back to her. "I'm sorry."

"Ok, ok, alright," she agrees. She pauses for a second, listening. "No, that was Steve. Yeah, exactly, that's why-"

"Tell them it isn't an emergency. Please. If dad hears, I'll be in big trouble."

"Ok, big guy. It's not an emergency. Just... yeah, do that. Yeah. Alright. No, I'll be fine. I can deal with it. Ok, see you soon."

She hangs up with a sigh, turning to look at him. She still looks sad.

"Are you ok, Miss Robin?"

Her laugh sounds strained, but she laughs. "I'm alright. How are you?"

"I'm ok. Do you know when mommy and daddy will be back?"

"I don't. I'm sorry, Stevie."

"It's ok. It's only, like... I can't really, uh, cook."

"I can make you something. What's your fave? It was your birthday, you said? Let's get you something special! How old are you?"

He stumbles a little, trying to keep up with her fast talking as well as he long strides. "I'm five. Sarah was going to make me pancakes."

"We can do pancakes." She searches the cupboards and fridge, frowning. "Where is anything?"

"I dunno. I looked but everything is all gone or weird."

"Well... we'll just have to have pancakes later. Special pancakes, for the special birthday boy."

"I guess."

She steps close, putting her hands on her hips as she looks him over. "Are you sure you're five? Did you hit your growth spurt early? You're getting real big."

"I dunno. Mommy says I'm gonna be tall and be a real ladies man, or something."

"Do you even know what that means?"

"Not really. Mommy thinks it's cool though."

"Hm. Are you too big to pick up?"

"Oh, you're not supposed to. Daddy says I'm a big boy now. Big boys don't get picked up."

"Your dad's an asshole."

Steve giggles, quickly covering his mouth with both hands. "You're not supposed to say that! It's a naughty word!"

"Supposed to do this, supposed to do that," she tutts. She leans down, scooping him up into her arms, resting him on her hip. "Your five, stop being so boring!"

Her hand feels so big on his back, like there's no way he could fall with her holding him. She doesn't even seem to mind his hand automatically grabbing the collar of her shirt.

"Daddy doesn't like it when people pick me up."

"What do you like? Hm? Do you want me to put you down?"

"... No."

"Then I'm not putting you down. Daddy isn't here to tell us off, is he? And what he doesn't know, can't hurt him."

She bounces him a few times, making him giggle. Judging by her satisfied grin, that was her aim.

It confuses him, a little. Mostly because she keeps doing that- little things, little comments, trying to make him laugh. Trying to make him smile. Even just listening to him talk about things. Little things. Silly things. Like she isn't annoyed when he goes on, and on, and on.

By the time another person comes in, he's decided that she's the best person in the whole wide world. If she puts him down or tries to leave, he's going to throw a tantrum.

He knows it's bad, but he doesn't want her to leave too. She's cool.

"Oh, God. Robin, please tell me that the baby isn't Steve."

"He's five," Robin corrects. "And yes, it's Steve. I checked, it's him."

"What the hell happened to him?"

"I don't know, I called you!"

"Is something wrong with me?" Steve asks, voice quiet and timid.

"No!" Robin quickly tries to say, at the same time the man says, "yes, obviously."

"Dustin!" Robin scolds.

"What? Lying to him won't help!"

"Neither will being a dick about it!" She tutts at him, adjusting Steve in her arms when she looks to him. "It's nothing, like, bad. It's just kinda weird. See, when we saw you, a week ago... you were a little bit older than me. And now you're five."

Steve stares at her for a moment. She looks too serious, too honest.

"Weird," he says.

"Exactly," she agrees. "From what you've said, though, it's not that bad. You're still you, and you're healthy. You're just... not so big."

"Maybe El can fix him," Dustin mutters, squinting at Steve. He leans close. "When did this happen?"

"He's been like this for a week," Robin tells him. Her voice is quiet, almost scared- it doesn't help that Dustin looks horrified too. "At least."

"Who's been taking care of him?"

"No one."

"What the hell," Dustin turns his frown on Steve. "Why didn't you call anyone?"

"Not supposed to unless it's a real emergency," Steve says. "Mommy says she has a repo... rep... rep-yuh-tay-shun. It's a big thing."

Dustin looks heartbroken, turning to Robin, who shrugs back at him. He groans after a pause, frowning at Robin. "Shit. You can't drive."

"Oh, shit."

"I'll call Eddie," Dustin sighs, already heading to the hall.

"Who's Eddie?" Steve asks.

"Eddie's a friend. He looks a little scary, but don't worry. He's a big softie, an absolute teddy bear." She leans close, whispering loudly with a grin. "Don't tell him I told you, though. He likes to pretend that he's all tough and mean."

"And he's... not mean?"

"Not a cruel bone in his body."

"Ok," he bites at his thumb, frowning when Robin gently pulls his hand out his mouth. "You won't leave though, right?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You gotta promise, though! Pinky Promise!" He lifts a hand, sticking his pinky up- Robin almost immediately wraps her own around his.

"I promise I won't leave you. Who knows what could happen if I leave you alone with the gremlins." She pretends to shudder. "Oh, the horrors.."

"He'll be here in five minutes," Dustin announces.

"That's... quick."

"Yeah. I barely got out 'Steve is in trouble' before he hung up."

"Maybe don't start like that next time," Robin rolls her eyes. She adjusts Steve again, trying to sit him higher on her hip. "He's probably breaking at least, like, five speeding laws or something."

"I don't think that's how it works."

"Whatever." She huffs. "Jesus. Steve, bud, I might need to put you down for a sec."

"Oh... um... do you have to?"

"My arms are really starting to hurt, bud," she says. She looks as upset at the idea as he feels. "Maybe we could sit down together. Would that be a good compromise?"

"Yeah!" He grins. "What's a comp- compa-"

"Com-pruh-mise." She says it slowly, careful to sound it out, as she sits down on the sofa. She pulls Steve around so he's sat on her knees, facing her. She keeps one hand on his back, supporting him.

"Com-pa-mise," Steve repeats.

"Oh, that was great!" Robin encourages, laughing at how big and excited Steves responding grin is. "Well, compromise is when..."

Robin is so patient with him, taking her time with him, making sure he understands what she's saying- before easily jumping onto whatever tangent he brings up.

It feels like only a few minutes have passed by the time the doorbell rings. Dustin stands to answer- Steve had completely forgotten he was there the whole time, too caught up in his conversation with Robin.

He doesn't come back for a moment. Steve can hear muttering, straining to hear what they're saying, but the living room doors shut.

A man follows him inside. He's tall, with long hair and dark clothes. He looks different to anyone Steve has ever seen before. He looks scary.

"Oh god," he mumbles, frowning at Steve. "You're not joking."

Steve tugs at Robins sleeve, leaning close to her, whispering, "who's that?"

"Oh, right!" Robin groans when she stands, lifting Steve with her. "Steve, this is Eddie. Eddie, this is Steve."

"This is Steve," Eddie repeats. "Jesus Christ."

"Why do you look so scary?" Steve blurts out. He slaps a hand over his mouth, horrified.

But Eddie just laughs. "Damn, Stevie, tell me what you really think."

"You do!" Steve snaps, face warming. "All the black and chains and stuff."

"Robin is wearing 'black and chains and stuff'."

"Yeah, but Robins cool."

"You wound me," Eddie gasps, slapping a hand to his chest. "I'm totally cooler than Robin."

"Nope," Robin quickly cuts in. "Steve said I'm cool, not you. It's been said, declared- no, decreed! Facts are facts, Eds, suck on it!"

"Ew," Steve and Eddie say in sync, grimacing.

"Alright," Dustin interrupts, hands on his hips. "You're introduced, now can we go? Now?"

Part two

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #ficlet #stevecentric #I've been trying to remember where I wanted to go with this but failing miserably so I'm just posting it #it's not great but I like it so 🤷‍♂️

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