#is SO centred on sexualising everything

[tyrannuspitch]

no hate to the ppl who do like to write that kind of thing, but i do kind of wish genfic didn't carry such strong fluffy/positive/"wholesome" connotations. what if we all held hands and wrote genfic about murder-suicide

[astrogirlythings]

Aphrodite astroid in astrology:

Astrology Observations Part - 8 :

In mythology, Aphrodite was the Goddess of beauty, fertility, sexuality, passion, pleasure and procreation. She is all about physical attraction and beauty, so naturally, her planetary ruler is Venus. But in reality... She was jealous of a mortal (Psyche) for garnering more attention and praise for her beauty. Aphrodite became so jealous of Psyche that she sent her son Eros to make Psyche fall in love with the ugliest man in the world.

1st House : these natals are so beautiful almost like a goddess. These individuals choose beauty over everything else.. they have a tendency to judge people based on their looks. If the aspects are more on the negative side... these natals r prone to being narcissistic. 🙁 They also have the tendency to be jealous of someone for being more attractive than themselves. They almost act spiteful and toxic towards people who r more attractive than them.

2nd House : 2nd house rules the face.. these natals spend a lot of their skin care. They have the best skin care routine. They r spenders in general.. they love pretty things and they love collecting pretty things as a hobby. You can also say.. that these natals have an expensive taste. They have a tendency to be jealous of people who have more fancy things..

3rd House : these natals may have / own beautiful / expensive cars. They are also known to be very bubbly.. maybe quite popular in their school days. They have a tendency to be really jealous of people who own a better car / vehicle.

4th House : these natals own beautiful houses. The most aesthetically beautiful house among the people u know. They also have a very rich family life. You might live in a house that is feminine dominant. There may be drama in ur house... Drama among women in ur house.. or jealous from or towards women in ur house / women that have access to ur house.

5th House : these natals have a lot of romantic flings.. they have on and off relationships with a number of people. U also have a strong liking for having a baby. If u do have a baby... Chances r.. that the baby is very beautiful. You may be seen as a bit childish in the eyes of others. U r also prone to comparing ur children with others.. in terms of looks.

6th House : these natals have an aesthetically pleasing routine.. routine / lifestyle that is almost perfect. They take good care of themselves.. the gym routine and the eating habits are almost perfect. They r also very workaholic... They work hard when they should and look after themselves well too. They also have a lovely pet friend.

7th House : jealousy is a popular theme that plays in these natal's relationships. The natal will be the centre of the relationship and people r extremely jealous of the natal's significant other. Marriage happens almost immediately here.. and if the natal compares the marriage to the flings that he / she has.. the natal will be disappointed. The marriage can seem a bit difficult.. but it can be saved with minor adjustments.

8th House : the natal has a very powerful sex appeal. Almost vixen / succubus kind of.. imagine having goddess of sex in the same house as the "House of Sex".. the potential partner will be obsessed with the natal. Chances r that the natal will be unwantedly sexualised. If a relationship has a bad time.. the chances r that making up will make the relationship more stronger than ever.

9th House : these natals will have a great time exploring different cultures and philosophies. They like traveling to different places and dress accordingly. They have an almost exotic kind of charm.. their social media would most likely look beautiful..

10th House : the girl boss energy is balanced with feminine charm with the addition of this aspect. The natal might be a business woman who surrounds herself with the most beautiful things. Although the natal is hungry for power and all things beautiful... The natal cares so much about how they r being perceived.. they won't let their greed show. They care just as much about their public image.

11th House : these natals r surrounded by people who genuinely care about u. These natals have a group of loyal friends, followers and acquaintances.. and more likely that they r a part of a community or a group where they r the leaders. These people can benefit from social media or being part of a social awareness group.

12th House : this placement gives a lot of trust issues to the natal and I can empathise on a deeper level. The natal might have been cheated on, hurt or humiliated.. because of all the pain they had.. they will have a hard time trusting any new partner. They also attract a significant amount of jealousy when they r doing well. These natals really grow and spiritually evolve during solitude. Although they have a lot of secret admirers.. they have a tough time coming to terms with their self worth. Spiritual practices / worshipping will play a huge part in healing their soul.

[lacy-oh-lacy]

Jill Roberts ･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

NSFW Alphabet

Scream Masterlist | Main Masterlist

CW: Fem!Reader, Mean!Dom!Jill, bdsm

Aftercare

Giving aftercare is not Jill’s strong suit. She doesn’t really care about it and only does as much as it takes to keep you complacent. She actually likes being the recipient of aftercare though, she doesn’t need it but she likes being the centre of your attention and having you fawn over her.

Body part

On herself: Though she thinks highly of her body in general Jill doesn’t have a favorite part.

On you: Your cunt …Yeah... Like, sure, she likes the rest of you but she definitely objectifies and over-sexualises you a lot so if she has to pick, your cunt it is.

Cum

Jill isn’t squeamish about cum but if either of you make a mess you better be ready to lick clean it up.

Dirty secret

Jill’s entire sex life is a dirty secret honestly. She comes across as very demure and innocent, and the first few times you get sexual she’s the same. Then once you’re comfortable BAM, she’s hard-domming you and using dirty talk that would make the most avid porn viewers blush.

Experience 

She has barely any experience but Jill doesn’t half-ass anything. She learns the ropes quickly and never wavers in her confidence.

Favorite position

Sitting on your face is her number one favorite, followed by taking you from behind. They’re not very affectionate positions but they are super carnal and dominant.

Goofy 

Absolutely not. Jill can joke around a little bit during the foreplay but when you really get into it she takes everything so seriously. You’ll literally feel the temperature drop if you so much as giggle while she’s in the mood.

Hair

Being so image-obsessed, Jill doesn’t want you to see her if she’s not perfectly smooth down there, even if you couldn’t care less.

Intimacy

Your sex life is very passionate but you’d need to be wearing rose-coloured glasses to think there’s anything romantic about it …most of the time. It’s rare but sometimes Jill does want to have more vanilla and tender sex, usually when she feels insecure or wants something from you.

Jack off

Jill would much rather get off with you and she’ll be annoyed if she can’t, but she’ll definitely masturbate. She’s not going to just suffer until she can get her hands on you.

Kink

She’s into a lot of branches of bdsm, things like bondage, degradation, pain play, orgasm control -all of these being inflicted on you of course. She also fucking loves being praised.

Location

She has the most freedom in private so usually in one of your houses. She is into public sex sometimes but only if you’re very well hidden.

Motivation

Complimenting Jill is the quickest way to turn her on, especially if you’re really flustered and subby while you do it. Though she’s at her absolute horniest when she knows she’s making you horny, especially if you’re really bad at hiding it.

No

Anything that involves a third person, she’s far to possessive and jealous for that. Also, being on the receiving end of degradation.

Oral

Jill’s a pillow princess. She loves having you pamper her pussy and reminding you that your head belongs in between her legs. She will go down on you but more often than not she’ll just tease you, not letting you cum so easily.

Pace

She goes hard and usually fast, but sometimes she’s more fond of taking things torturously slowly, she loves to deny you.

Quickie

She doesn’t love them but if she’s horny and low on time she’ll definitely drag you off for one. They tide her over but they don’t wholly satisfy her, most days you have a quickie you end up having proper sex later. 

Risk

Jill wants to keep up her good girl persona so she only takes calculated risks. She’s totally fine with danger but not just danger for the sake of it.

Stamina

Jill has nearly supernatural stamina, she’s athletic and has an unflinching pain tolerance. Even when she does start to tire (which isn’t often) you’d never know with how well she conceals it.

Toy

She doesn’t use toys every time but she definitely knows how to make the most of them when she does. She likes using vibrators the most, taking her time toying with different parts of you, or leaving you tied up and writhing on the bed with one inside you while she studies.

Unfair

No question, she’s a giant tease. She loves turning you on in public and denying you in private. She hates being teased herself but it’s worth it because then she gets to punish you for it.

Volume

Aside from degrading you and general dirty talk Jill doesn’t make a lot of noise. She’s very composed and doesn’t like to give you the satisfaction of knowing the effect you have on her. The most you can usually get out of her is heavy breathing.

Wild card

When you first started having sex Jill was more of a sub, or at least she pretended to be. As her trust in you grew she got more comfortable being the sadistic dom she is.

X-ray

Jill’s body looks very delicate and her underwear is quite innocent too -ironically, because of course delicate and innocent are the last words you’d use to describe her.

Yearning

Jill actually only has an average libido but when she is in the mood it hits her hard. She’s in a hurry to get off and the longer she has to wait the more irritable she becomes.

Zzz

Sex doesn’t really tire her out so no. She honestly does like cuddling afterwards though and even some pillow talk, especially if it includes you telling her what a good job she did.

[mykneeshurt]

Pray

Image by - emmakatka on Flickr

Priest AU

Father Keegan Russ x AFAB!reader

Warnings - 18+, minors DNI, explicit smut Heavy use of religious imagery, sexualising religion (Christianity/Roman Catholicism), so much smut and blasphemy, all chapters are explicit but all consensual

A/N - I’ve kept this as AFAB as there are no pronouns used, however you are a nun. Which is a female vocation, so if this needs to be changed to female please let me know! This was inspired by joyceartworks on instagram, her nun series is one of my favourite pieces of artwork.

———

You stepped off the coach, into a small beaten up town in the middle of the Appalachians. It was late afternoon, verging on evening as the sun set behind the mountain range in the distance. The trees were starting to turn, in front of you was a beautiful valley, filled with reds, oranges, browns as the autumn took hold of the sleepy town. The town looked run down, eerily quiet even. Holding the tunic of your habit you fought against the strong breeze which suffocated the town.

A white church sat in a field opposite the coach stop, rotting in the deafening silence of the misty mountain town. Gravestones littered the perimeter, each one covered in moss, crumbling back into the earth. A sign next to it read ‘Jesus is Lord. He is coming soon. Repent.’ This would be your home for the next few months, your Reverend Mother had sent you here for your next mission.

‘Help Father Keegan Russ with the souls of the damned.’

You’d met him briefly before on a few occasions, and ever since his piercing ice grey eyes had lingered in your mind. The smirk he gave you when he shook your hand still kissed your skin and the heat from his gaze still penetrated your core. He was going to test your faith, that you knew for certain.

As you entered the church the door closed behind you with a thud. The old wood barely hanging onto life with each use. The floor was stained a dark cherry colour, with stark contrasting white walls. Cracks crept along the structure, the wooden floor creaking beneath your feet with each step. A huge cross loomed over the alter, also a deep cherry colour.

Darkness soon slithered through the windows of the Church, a cool draft following it. The pre-lit candles on the walls illuminated the room with a golden glow, shadows danced in the dark corners where the light refused to touch. Each flame danced with the chill that filled the old building.

A door opening at the side of the altar made you jump. Clutching your chest you spun around only to see Father Russ emerge from his quarters. ‘Ah! You’re here!’ He bellowed as he approached you. He was dressed in all black, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his Roman collar contrasting perfectly against his shirt. It made his eyes pop even more. Almost hypnotising.

Grabbing your suitcase he gestured for you to follow him, both pairs of footsteps echoed in the empty church as he led you to his quarters. You instantly felt the energy shift, his presence permeated your being, not even the rosary you wore could keep him away.

He showed you around his quarters and to your room, which was adjacent to his own. A simple bed, desk and wardrobe adorned your room. A dull orange glow emanated from the single light in the centre of the room. Dropping your suitcase down he leant against the door frame. ‘Dinner will be ready soon, why don’t you get freshened up. We can eat then I’ll show you the Church and go through what your duties will be.’

You nodded, giving him a warm smile. But not before casting your eyes over his body, you tried to fight it but you were drawn to him. His biceps bulged under his black shirt, his broad frame nearly filled the door frame, accentuated by his small waist, only adding to his impressive physique.

———

Sometime later there was a knock at your door, opening it you were met with him. An embarrassed look on his face. ‘Father Russ? Is everything ok?’ You asked, trying to fight the heat that bubbled to the surface. ‘Change of plan. I’ll show you the Church now, I forgot to turn the stove on.’ He admitted whilst scratching the back of his neck. Giggling you gave him a bright smile ‘ok, lead the way Father.’

He showed you the confessional booth, where the hymn books were kept, and took you through your duties whilst you stayed here. Sitting on the altar steps you exchanged pleasant conversation, he sat close to you. Thighs spread as he leant on them, watching you from the corner of his eye. ‘Would you like to pray before dinner?’ He offered, as he shifted his posture.

‘Yes Father.’

‘Kneel’ he ordered before he got to his feet. Doing as you were told you knelt before the altar, hands clasped around your rosary. He brought forward the Ciborium, a simple golden cup which held the host. You looked up at him through your lashes, eager to please the man before you. Eager to please God.

Standing over you he peered down into your eyes, an invisible force pulling you deeper and deeper into the temptation of sin. You tried to rid your mind of the impure thoughts that plagued you, you tried to focus on Gods words, you tried to ignore the primal feeling that surged within your core.

God how you tried.

Releasing his hand from the cup he traced his thumb along your bottom lip, along your jaw. ‘May God keep you in enternal life’ he muttered as he pulled your jaw open. You were the picture of innocence, on your knees, doe like eyes, mouth open ready to receive the body of Christ.

But within than innocence a deep wickedness hid within the shadows.

His eyes lit up as he noticed your tongue piercing, ‘and what’s this?’ He asked as he cocked his head to the side, thumb still burning on your lip. Your face changed, from an innocent lamb to a wolf in sheep’s clothing. ‘What the Reverend Mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her’ you purred as you gently kissed the pad of his thumb.

You watched as his breath caught in his chest. Maybe God sent you here to test him. A test you hoped he’d fail.

He placed the host gently on your tongue and watched has it melted in your mouth. You kept your focus purely on him as you swallowed, slowly. Biting your lip as you rose to your feet. You were mere inches away from each other, the empty space in between you bursting with energy.

Reaching down you picked up the host, he raised a brow ‘you know you shouldn’t be touching that.’

‘Better to ask for forgiveness than for permission, maybe you should take it back’ you quipped as you placed it on your tongue. Pulling him in by his belt his body slammed into yours.

He regarded you for a second, battling with God, battling with his faith.

Eventually he snaked his hand around your neck pulling you into a kiss, using your tongue you moved the host from your mouth to his. Using your neck he pulled you deeper, closer. Your hands still lingered on his belt, feeling his erection grow beneath the fabric.

You pulled away and watched as he swallowed the host. You searched his icy eyes, the windows to his soul. While his face remained stoic, his eyes had a glint to them. A twinkle. Much like your own. Both of you in this moment wanting to test your God, wanting to give into this sin of lust, wanting to bite the apple.

He moved first, pushing you against the altar. He lifted you onto it with ease, pushing his lips onto yours, unrelenting, unforgiving, all consuming. You kissed him back, arms wrapped around his neck as he laid you down. His hands slipped under your habit, mapping your body beneath your clothes.

Palming at your breasts he felt the unmistakeable presence of a nipple piecing. He groaned into your mouth at his finding, rolling his hips into you. His hard cock slowly rubbed against your cunt as he held your waist, fingertips threatening to bruise your skin. Nipping at his bottom lip he pulled away, ‘I knew God was testing me when he sent you to me’ he smiled.

‘Mmm’ you hummed as you cupped his jaw, ‘seems like we’ve both failed.’

Sitting up you pulled at his belt, desperately trying to get to what you wanted. Hiking up your habit skirt he pulled down your tights, finding beneath them lace adorned panties. ‘God’ he whimpered, already feeling how wet you were for him. ‘Don’t take the lords name in vain Father’ you smirked. He ran a finger along your slit causing a sharp moan to burst from your chest.

Placing his forehead against yours he inhaled your moans of pleasure as he inserted his finger. Cradling the back of your head he held you close, whispering words of praise, words of adoration.

Gazing into his eyes your pupils were blown wide with pleasure, breath heavy and thick as he added another finger. ‘Don’t stop Father, please’ you muttered under a strained breath. Thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy, you said a silent prayer to yourself. Begging God forgiveness, begging him to let you cum.

‘Take me Father, take me here, in front of him, in front of his angels, in front of his cross’ you pleaded, gripping onto his shirt, his neck. He removed his fingers, watching as they glistened in the golden light of the Church. Placing them on his tongue he savoured your taste, his once icy grey eyes now a river of black. ‘Divine’ he whispered beneath his breath.

Unbuckling his belt he released his painfully erect cock, and lined it up to your entrance. With one smooth thrust he pushed into you, leaving you gasping for air at his stretch. ‘Yes Father’ you whined as he pulled your hips off the alter forcing you to wrap your legs around him. Each movement was calculated and swift, adoring rather than punishing.

You leant back onto the alter, eyes fixed on the cross as he fucked you. He watched as you bit your lip, as you gripped the white linen between your fingers, as your eyes rolled. He’d wanted this since the first time he’d met you, spending many a night cock in his hand thinking of you. Thinking of your taste.

It was better than the host.

It was better than the sacramental wine.

Better than forgiveness.

Better than God.

Soft whines fell from your lips as his breathlessness hung in the air. Each slap of skin rung out in the Church, each thrust begged for forgiveness, begged for redemption. He knew he’d spend the rest of his life begging God for absolution of he could keep his cock buried in your perfect cunt.

‘Pray for me Father. Pray for us’ you managed to ask, in between your pants and whines. Pulling out he quickly repositioned you, your back arched against him as he held your throat to his shoulder. Slipping inside you once more as he hovered above your lips.

‘Soul of Christ, sanctify me’ he began … ‘body of Christ, save me - thrust - Blood of Christ, inebriate me; - thrust - Water from the side of Christ, wash me; - thrust - Passion of Christ, strengthen me’ he whispered, his breath tickling your lips. His eyes transfixed on yours, his words being absorbed into your skin.

‘O good Jesus hear me; Within your wounds hide me;’ he said as he added a finger to your clit. ‘Separated from you, let me never be; From the evil one protect me’ he emphasised the word evil as he added more pressure to your clit. You moaned into his mouth, providing him with the very oxygen he needed to live.

‘At the hour of my death, call me; and close to you bid me; That with your saints, I may be praising you forever and ever. Amen.’ As he finished the prayer your orgasm washed over you like a blinding light, your muscles constricted, wound tightly as if round a tree. Your eyes screwed shut as the intense wave of pleasure made you ascend.

He held you close to him still, watching as your face contorted with the ultimate pleasure of lust. His fingers still lightly brushed over your sensitive clit, making you buck from overstimulation. He was close. But this isn’t how he wanted you.

His thrusts slowed as he kissed you, slowly releasing your neck and finally pulling out of you. Breaking the kiss he placed his fingers in your mouth, you ran your tongue over his fingers. ‘Kneel’ he whispered just like he did before. A sign of reverence. Except this time he used his fingers in your mouth to push you down, guiding you.

Kneeling before him your clasped your hands once more watching as he pumped his cock before you. Biting your lip you recited your own prayer. ‘I’m truly sorry for all my sins. Please fill me with your grace.’ After the final word you stuck your tongue out, the silver piercing in clear view. He caressed your jaw as he neared his high, soft whimpers and grunts rang in your ears as he came into your mouth, onto your tongue.

The silky white fluid ran to the back of your throat as you swallowed eagerly. Not wanting to waste a drop. Not wanting displease his holiness, instead wanting to show your devotion to him. His face was flushed as he lifted his head, smiling down on you as he tucked himself away. Giving you his hand he helped you up, kissing you one last time, ‘I fear we may really have to beg for forgiveness for this’ he smirked.

‘Oh I’m counting on it Father.’

—————

A/N - I fucking love Appalachian gothic/mid west gothic it has my heart

Taglist - @tiredmetalenthusiast @glitterypirateduck @lollycotton @00ops1e @cowyolks @soapyghost @dontfearthereaperazura @ghostslillady @luminousbeings-crudematter @villainsoftheweek

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

hi! i just saw your analysis of the “treasure of my heart” quote and omg you have a GIFT for analysis! In that post you mentioned the “Rare Spices” billboard Inej talks about in CK; I’d love to hear more of your thoughts on that!

Hi, thank you so much!!! I personally think that the “Rare Spices” advert is one of the most important pieces of information we get to further both worldbuilding and charactisation, so let’s talk about it.

The advert is massive sign painted on the side of a warehouse in Ketterdam, near Sweet Reef, and alongside the words “Rare Spices” it depicts two young Suli women in “scant silks”, mimicking those that Inej was forced to wear at the Menagerie. When she’s first liberated from Tante Heleen, Inej begins to explore Ketterdam and one of the first things she sees beyond the city centre is this advert. It terrifies her. It terrifies her so much that she stands there just staring at it for an unspecified amount of time, before turning and running back to the Slat faster than she has ever run before. In fact, it terrified her so very much that she has a nightmare about the girls on the billboard that night. In Inej’s nightmare the girls come to life but are trapped in the paint, banging on the billboard to get her attention to ask her to free them, whilst she is powerless to help them. Inej at the time comments on the horror of seeing this scene mere miles from where “the rights to her body” were bought and sold and haggled over (I think most of that is quotation but I don’t have my books to hand so I’m not 100% sure), and it tells us so much about how the Suli culture is exploited and fetishised within this community; whether it’s Ketterdam, the rest of Kerch, or the world at large (we could argue this is highly implied through Zoya’s POV, but it’s a whilst since I read KoS and RoW so if anyone wants to weigh in on Zoya in this then please do I’d love to read it 😁).

In my post where I mentioned the Rare Spices poster I was specifically focusing on the way Inej’s culture was sexualised for the purpose of being at the Menagerie, and how we know that other cultures are appropriated and fetishised by the Pleasure Houses as well (the Fjerdan girl at the Menagerie wears the wolf mask, an animal sacred to her people, and Nina wore a fake Kefta that was made in Kerch and is described to be a pale imitation of real Ravkan-made Kefta). But for Inej, up to the point of seeing this sign, that was a small part of the world; the actions of the few, a localised evil that she understood to be the opposite of the rest of the world because she still viewed everything with a childlike innocence. Seeing this sign breaks that façade for her and is arguably the first step towards what she views as the ultimate corruption of her innocence: murder. Because once she knew that the world on mass would see her and her people the way she was forced to present them, to appropriate her own culture, and to be fetishised for her “caramel” skin and “farcical mockery of a Suli caravan” she was forced to admit to herself that there was no way of returning to the person she used to be; not only someone who had been violated, exploited, and abused but also someone who believed that on the whole the world was a good place and that as long as you avoided the small parts of it that were dangerous you’d be okay.

And consider the wording of the sign. “Rare spices” next to two young Suli women wearing “scraps of mint-coloured silk”. There is a long history in our world of sexualising the so-called “exotic”; even the English/British idea, that I assume is what led to this same idea in the USA and much of the English-speaking world, that blonde women are more attractive, often leading them to be over-sexualised, can be drawn back to the Roman Colonisation of England because the vast majority of Romans were brunette or dark-haired and they saw the blonde Anglo-Saxons as “exotic” and attractive. (To be clear, in our own society this long history sexualisation has been mostly aimed towards people of colour and I’m absolutely not ignoring that, I’m just using this example because it’s the furthest back in history that I know of being as the colonisation was around 43 CE). The presentation of not only the spices but these women as “rare” to increase their sex appeal enhances this idea of ‘the exotic’ and by comparing them to the spices it, very similarly to all of the language surrounding Inej at the Menagerie, labels the women as stock, as produce, as something consumable like spices.

But something that I personally find really beautiful that Leigh Bardugo does surrounding this sign as well, is that Inej never condemns the girls on the billboard for the ‘suggestive’ outfits they wear, as long as they are worn by their own choice. She imagines that when she has her ship and begins to hunt slavers that the paint will peel from the sign and that she will have finally succeeded in freeing the girls, that they will “dance for no-one but themselves” and this is so beautiful but also so important as a declaration of female empowerment and autonomy because they have every right to dance and wear whatever they want to, but no-one has the right to force them to do that.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Charlie Walker - Sinner in the store

warning : heavy smutish, no sex, use of Y/n, minors don't read, kissing, some biting, handjob male reciving and a sexy nun outfit

Summary : It's Halloween and this special night is nothing without the right costume and some excitment mixed with the fantasies of Charlie of his girlfriend in an unholly outfit.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~

Halloween was coming up and the group of friends at Woodsbooro High had planned something special besides the usual movie marathon. Something special that would surpass the annual Stabathon for all of them. A horror show with its own scary cabinet of the extra class put together to give the younger ones who were also taking part a huge scare.

They had specially converted the farm with all the rental mannequins, spider webs, axes and lots of fake blood. Everything was perfectly prepared and everyone was mighty proud of themselves, rewarding themselves with a beer before the troupe set off in the direction of the city centre.

Not always paying attention to the road due to the fun and alcohol. But it didn't matter, the evening had already begun and the pumpkins were already glowing everywhere. The only thing missing for them were the good old bad Halloween costumes.

Of course the extra sexualised version, otherwise it wouldn't be any fun. ,,So who wants to be the slut cat?" asked Kirby and held up a tight leather outfit with matching collar and small golden bell.

A comment came from Robbie but when Kirby held the outfit out to him he quickly fled to find his own outfit. ,,Y/n what about you?" the blonde asked and held the outfit out to the girl of the same age, the other eyeing the fabric carefully. ,,No thanks...I had something more along the lines of chastisement in mind" she replied and gave Charlie a meaningful look who was standing next to her.

The brown-haired man seemed to have already fixed his bright eyes on something other than the cat outfit. Kirby seemed to understand and shrugged her shoulders before grabbing Jill and disappearing into the rows with her.

Y/n also grabbed Charlie's hand tighter before pulling him behind her. She saw his blue eyes flit from one outfit to the other, embarrassed yet taken. The slight blush on his cheeks made her smile. Just cute she thought before arriving with Charlie in front of the wall of partner costumes.

She let go of his hand and began to look through the costumes, one dirtier and more erotic than the other. Whether it was the princess and her knight, the queen and the king, the cowboy and the barmaid.

Or simply the policeman and the criminal. Costumes they had all seen before, they wanted something at least half new. ,,Sweetie say the policeman or the teacher?" she asked, holding up the two costumes.

Expecting an answer, a line or a joke, maybe just a look, instead he had taken a few steps away from her. He seemed to be looking through the racks and his eyes were fixed on one outfit.

He seemed to have forgotten everything around him and when she saw his fingers tangled in his shirt she knew that a visit to this shop was an excellent idea. Hanging the outfits back, she quietly walked over to hers, stood behind him and slowly let her hands wander over his body. Feeling her pull him out of his thoughts he flinched and looked over his shoulder.

As her fingers moved from his neck over his torso to his hands. ,,What? Are you all right?" he murmured, confused and curious, as if he had missed an important conversation, but at the same time trying to hide the fact that he was perhaps pulling his shirt over his middle a little too revealingly. ,,How outrageous in public," she whispered to him and giggled as he lowered his gaze to the floor.

He knew she had, had seen him when he had used his fantasy to imagine her in one of the outfits. Following his gaze before he looked down, she smirked audibly.

She let go of him and grabbed the outfit he seemed to want to see on her. ,,Shall I put it on?" she asked, seeing the brief nod before she walked towards the relatively large changing room. She could hear him following her, nervous about what was to come.

But when she pulled the curtain closed and heard a puzzled noise from him, she said hastily, ,,Don't worry, your heart will be ready in a minute," before just putting the costume on. She would buy it anyway so she might as well put it on now. Getting out of her jeans and t-shirt, she briefly looked at her body in the mirror.

Seeing the bright blue eye peeking through the slit, she took a small look at her naked body before he hastily jerked away from the slit as she winked at him. ,,I see you Charlie" she murmured and continued to pull on the costume which clung perfectly to her body, revealing every contour, curve and nuance.

Not to mention the low cut on her bust and the top that only just peaked over her backside. ,,Come in, my sinner," she announced and saw the curtain open as Charlie stood in front of her. He was almost pressing himself against her because of the limited space. But Charlie didn't seem to mind when he saw her in the nun's outfit.

The dark veil on her hair, the short tight dress with the white corset which only made her breasts stand out even more. She was his holy woman just as he had imagined only better. ,,My-my heart...I am your-you are beautiful" he mumbled and fiddled with the velvet of his shirt nervously but obviously taken with her.

Trying not to hide the red on his cheeks, he lowered his gaze reverently. But she tilted her head slightly and continued to penetrate his field, listening to him whimper with pleasure as her upper width bumped against him.

She seemed to enclose him in her sanctity. ,,What a filthy sinner you are spying on me what?" she asked seeing his slight nod and the hastily muttered ,,Yes" before she ran her hand over his cheek. She felt him put his cheek in her hand, wanting more from her after she had irritated him on and off throughout the day. He had been so patient for her, pulling back with every kiss and being such a good boy.

Moving away from him as much as she could, she sat down on the small chair that was supposed to be for the clothes and smiled contentedly as he knelt down in front of her, stifling a groan. His long curly brown hair in the light gave him an almost angelic look.

Beautiful. ,,Say, do you confess your sin? That you are full of lust and lascivious?" she asked quietly in the little homemade beige chair, knowing that someone could come in at any time. They could catch them doing what they were doing, but one look at his middle let her know that it seemed to be exactly what he wanted.

Moving closer to her he nodded willingly confessing everything the words just kept flowing from his lips as he kissed his way up her legs making her beauty clear with each successive kiss.

While her fingers ran through his dark curls, tugging lightly and praising him, knowing that he would walk out of this shop with an orgasm and a collar with a bell. ,,Such a good submissive for your mistress," she quipped, knowing that doing such an unholy act in a church would probably turn her on even more. ,,Just shameful and you would do anything," she continued, only seeing the brief nod before she pulled him up to her by the hair.

His hands clung to her hips, lightly squeezing, wanting to touch more of her, wanting more, just wanting more. But the pain she gave him was enough to make him groan.

While she moved the tip of her shot to his middle, squeezing lightly and watching him lean his head against her torso. ,,Please-please don't," she murmured over and over, his hips moving slightly to get more of the arousal. He wanted more from her. Her finger tucked under his chin, forcing him to look up at her, but all he saw was his goddess.

His goddess who could treat him as she pleased. Instead, it was divine for him alone to know that he was loved, that he was needed. That they had each other, that she gave him attention. Before she pulled him into a deep kiss, heard his sigh of relief and he pressed further against her.

Before she pulled him back by the hair a throaty moan of thanks came from him the redness on his cheeks darkened as she kissed her way down his neck leaving a bite. The bites of the possessed None, the bites of Satan. The bites of her love.

With each passing moment, his excitement grew as he wanted more and more, and the indistinctly fledgling words just spilled from his lips. At one point he almost cried out of frustration. ,,Look at you," she said and rose from her chair to stand behind him before she pulled him up slightly by the shoulders and he wanted to press himself against her again.

But she reached around him and grabbed his jaw forcing him to look at himself in the mirror while her other hand went to the bulge in his trousers. She reached into his trousers and ran her hand over his boxer shorts while she continued to stroke his cock.

His hips thrust towards her and he rested his head on her shoulder as he continued to look at himself in the mirror. ,,Such a good boy," she whispered to him, hearing the whimpering before she continued to push him to his limits as the first tears slowly began to form in his bright blue eyes and only unintelligible words came from his lips.

She felt the twitching of his cock in his underwear and knew that he was getting closer to his climax. ,,Y/n, Charlie! We're about to go buy some more booze!" they both heard the voice of Kirby who seemed to have finished with the others.

She had noticed how Charlie had flinched, afraid they might come in. That their friends discovered what they were doing. ,,Not so scared sweetie...tonight I promise you are all mine" she whispered and placed a soft kiss on his cheek as she slowly turned away from him. Running her fingers through the dark curls one last time, she heard a dejected sigh.

Before he let out a ,,I'll take care of you, I promise" and gave her a sincere look before she went out of the changing room and chose a white lie for Charlie, which took him a little longer to get his clothes right. But they both knew that all their sins had not yet been confessed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@icarus-star , @shady-the-simp , @roryculkinsgf , @spookyorchid , @paranormalfool , @thatsthewrongwallcraig , @angelsanarchy , @milaeth , @madamemaximoff06 , @ria-coolgirl , @cc-luvr

[capwilliamsxn]

according to leah she lives her life so unapologetically herself but is uncomfortable being openly gay, loves being accessible but ignores fans, hates wasting time and doing nothing yet claims to be the biggest napper, wants to be the best centre back in the world but can’t even be bothered to practice her cornering position. why are we giving this hypocrite a pedestal? she has shown multiple times that she pretends to be the person people want her to be and contradicts herself in literally any interview she does

are u being serious? like???

1. there’s a difference between being unapologetic and completely public. you can be confident in yourself and who you are without screaming it on rooftops. she’s confident in who she is (with sexuality, clothing, appetite, music tastes etc) and shares that with her family and friends and the people she knows. because she’s a private individual and values her privacy.

also, considering the homophobia and disgusting insults open gay people (especially those in sport) face daily, is it any wonder why some people don’t scream their sexuality? leah already faces thousands of sexualising, demeaning and vile comments daily (across all social medias) without homophobic people knowing her sexuality and attacking her for it.

i’m guessing you’re a new ‘fan’ if you don’t already know this. i mean, back when leah and jordan would post together, they (particularly leah) would get so many disgusting comments.

also, she’s never actually said anything about her own sexuality, everything people say is just an assumption. she’s hinted at it, but who actually knows (if she’s gay, straight, bi or whatever). it’s no-ones business except her own, she doesn’t have to share that with fans to prove she’s comfortable with herself. i’m sure all her friends and family and teammates all know, which is all she needs.

2. when has she ignored fans? those games when she went inside without interacting because she wasn’t feeling great? (do you know that she literally has endometriosis, anxiety and gets sick like the average person does. she’s not always going to be 100% great and up for interaction. like i’m sure you aren’t.)

the other week she literally responded to a leeds player on twitter who was excited to play against her and wanted her shirt, instead asking if they could swap an that she couldn’t wait to meet her. that’s a fan interaction. she visited a bunch of kids and told them about being mascots for the arsenal game v chelsea. that’s a fan interaction.

she constantly makes herself visible so that young girls (and boys) can look up to her and don’t have to search to find a role model like her in sport, like she had to do herself as a kid.

3. this is the dumbest comment ever. like. yes she has a fear of time and it causes her anxiety, why would that mean she can’t have a nap??

she’s a human being AND a sporting professional who tires herself out physically (and mentally) almost every day. naps are literally what people take to rejuvenate themselves. having anxiety about time isn’t going to tell her body to not get tired and need sleep.

i’m sure on the days where she has more anxiety regarding time (like new year’s eve) she probably won’t nap or whatever.

4. i actually don’t even know if you’re being serious here. like. what?? (if you are,) being great on corners isn’t the only thing it takes to bring a great CB. but she literally is good at them anyway.

for the defensive corners: she’s great at blocking, at managing the traffic of players afterwards and at pushing the play back out and to the other side of the pitch. and for attacking corners: she’s literally scored numerous headers/goals from them and can make a great defensive run or secondary attack.

5. everyone has a version of themselves they want to be, and the best people work at themselves every day to achieve that. that is something leah clearly does, and for herself not anyone else. she doesn’t have to prove anything to you, or people like you who make ignorant and dumb comments without informing themselves first.

she has said before she doesn’t put herself on a pedestal and that she doesn’t view herself as she does her own heroes. if you’re putting her on that, it’s down to you and you personally. she’s a normal person who is trying deal with and be successful in the position she’s in (both her job and role as a public figure). she’s not acting or pretending to be anyone, she’s simply being herself.

(my ask box is called ‘think first’. you should read that before submitting something).

[beachbabey]

What is it like to be a cg?

Hi anon! I got asked a similar question here on what it’s like to be a caregiver on in an emotional aspect. but I’m gonna use this ask as an opportunity to try and educate people a little bit more so hopefully it can help inform some people 💕💕

being a caregiver is a big responsibility and isn’t to be taken lightly, you’re literally taking care of someone who’s emotionally and physically in one of the most vulnerable states that can ever be in, it’s become a very self centred, self beneficial thing for most of them and I think most caregivers have to understand that caregiving has very little to do with yourself, and with the rise of age regression as a topic of discussion on places like tiktok and tumblr, the relationships dynamic of a caregiver and a regressor has become somewhat romanticised and sexualised, it’s become so akin to romantic relationships to some people and that’s where the lines of regression and ageplay blur and where it becomes controversial and morally dubious

There’s a lot of stigma around regression and for good reason, researching it is incredibly hard and not much is documented (everything there is either points you to bdsm/nsfw topics or to Freud and Jung and neither are things I wanna discuss). Regression as a therapy technique is also highly controversial, as it’s used by some therapists alongside/with hypnosis, and so can put people in very suggestive and susceptible headspaces. Some therapists even suggest seeking therapy/medical advice for people who regress but as long as you’re keeping yourself and the people around you safe, and regressing doesn’t damage your mental health, it is perfectly safe for you to do.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

For me personally, both labels have trauma attached to them and I feel like they both silence real issues. Even if I’m technically more in line with a pro-ship stance because I think harassing people for anything is wrong, I’ve seen that side of the debate shame and pressure people for being uncomfortable with things in a healthy and unagressive way, I’ve seen them dismiss the harm that poor education on abuse can cause (not as in like, writing a Bad Fanfiction, but when people are actively unaware what they’re writing is abusive- which is not a moral failing but can be very dangerous). I’ve seen them advocate for incest and brush off the idea that any sort of power dynamics could be involved and shame people for just pointing out how the institution of family in this society means such a relationship would almost always lack informed enthusiastic consent due to that alone. I’ve seen them sexually harass people over their works, just in a “positive” light. I’ve seen them deliberately trigger survivors if they’re “antis” or even just don’t use the term. I’ve seen them act sexual around kids and normalise stuff like calling yourself a loli- because I fucking did that in discourse servers when I was a teenager and thought it was normal due to. Other things that aren’t relevant here. I’ve seen them defend communities that have actual evidence of child predation because they refuse to look past the fact they also are pro ship.

Online discourse is inherently unhealthy, even if I agree with the positions (and I do not agree with all the pro ship positions because, one, it’s a meaningless buzzword that means literally every position, and two, I tend to talk about media and it’s impact in a way that doesn’t centre a fifteen year olds sonic fanfiction and I think it’s silly to do so). Being a pro shipper as a teenager was like being in a cult. So was being an anti shipper, earlier on. Because they made me feel like the whole world was against me! I feared everything but the ingroup, and I listened when they said I could only trust them, because they said so. If someone in that community told me to jump, I’d ask how high. Because I was a teenager and they were the only people who wouldn’t harass me for being a trauma survivor who copes through art. I sexualised myself and no one was concerned even when I was fifteen. I flirted with adults and lacked boundaries and it was seen as funny. I don’t want to be associated with a group like that- both pro shippers and anti shippers. Most probably aren’t like that. But the discourse genuinely triggers me. It’s not healthy and it lacks nuance.

Because like, that’s the thing! It does! Because it’s so laser focused on a meaningless thing! I in fact don’t base my views on that. It’s only a very techncial thing I’m aligned more to one side, because I don’t bother thinking about what Molly Eleven Year Old writes on wattpad. That literally does not matter.

not proshipper not anti but a secret third thing (person who has a career in the media and, through covering legislative politics, has watched "associating with problematic fiction or entertainment is an indicator of moral degeneracy" rapidly become a mainstream GOP position that they are encoding in legislation to target the queer community under the guise of protecting children, thus coming to the conclusion that positioning the "can people enjoy things that would be immoral IRL in their fiction" debate as a proship v anti fandom debate is akin to pretending that "should we have the death penalty" is a discussion that only matters in Death Note discourse — the extent and manner to which fiction affects reality is an issue that is immediately relevant to today's US politics, and to summarize my opinions on the matter in fandom terms would be to diminish the ways this debate is affecting america Right The Fuck Now. and i have stopped taking "this person is bad for shipping the wrong anime thing and being horny about it" in any sort of good faith ever since I saw it literally used as part of a GOP smear campaign against a transgender state legislator in an attempt to defend the right from backlash after they used their supermajority in the Montana house to prevent her from speaking on the floor. Anyway I think everyone on this site, especially Americans, could benefit from ceasing to think in proship v anti vocabulary and instead developing coherent political positions on the nature of fiction that do not directly align with current fascist political tactics)

[sullenconeygirl]

This was an interview I took from a friend of mine at school, and I honestly wanted to post it separately because I genuinely love it so much and I think everyone deserves to read it.

I was eleven years old when i first realised how different it was to be a woman, i remember crying about how no male would ever appreciate me because i didn't have boobs or a huge butt. I was eleven years old, and even though i had just begun puberty, i felt that my frustration over these things was normal, i wanted to appear like those slim thick girls who had no cellulite or belly fat but still had a voluptuous body but i was just a kid.

I've always known that I'm not considered "ugly," but i've never felt truly beautiful. I've felt pretty at times, but never the prettiest. I know this sounds self-centred, but after years and years of trying to fit into beauty standards , sometimes all you want is to be the most beautiful person in the room, just for that little ounce of extra self esteem and validation.

You either have the face or the body, sometimes it feels like I have neither the face nor the body. I know that i didn't have an attractive body, but my face was enough up until I got acne. Never in my life have i felt so unattractive and envious of other people. Why can't i have clear skin while they do? I'm not sure if body issues among women are genetic but i've never seen my own mother, the most beautiful person i know ever call herself beautiful. It pains me to realise that she's just terrified and doesn't want me to experience what she felt when she gained weight after being pregnant, but I don't blame her for forcing me to go on diets before i even knew what an eating disorder was. I know there's still a little girl in her who dreams of being and feeling beautiful, so i don't blame her when she tells me not to overeat because I'll regret it later in life or when she forces me to smile because frowning wrinkles appear from not smiling.

From victorian-era corsets to Brazilian butt lifts, when have we ever appreciated and accept women's genuine beauty in and of itself.

Women are so beautiful and we get tarnished and hidden by men who see us nothing more than a label, something to feel proud of themselves for obtaining, the female anatomy is made to create life and is so special yet we get sexualised and feel the need to oversexualize ourselves from such a young age to be considered beautiful in this society. The best way to describe how I feel about the world and how they treat women is a quote by rupi kaur,

"what's the greatest lesson a woman should learn?

that since day one, she's already had everything she needs within herself. it's the world that convinced her she did not."

[olivieraa]

this scene is so funny to me.

like, I've seen my fair share of anime. If there's anyone that's aware of the sexualisation of female characters in media, esp anime, its me. my liveblogging consisted of two main things. loving on VA's and hating on what happens to female characters in... almost every damn show I've ever watched. it was constant.

it got to the point where I got nit-picky. there were shows where it was excessive, where it was a part of the show. and there were shows where it had maybe one or two scenes. and I still called those shows out, bc I was always baffled as to why there had to be even one scene where a woman's body was the centre of attention.

I could go into heavy detail on that but I'm tired.

so this anime. this anime is the second type. its not a fanservice anime. its an adventure anime. but to be who I am today watching anime vs who I was years ago, I see this in another light.

so like, we know that there's a lot of things girls and women cant do without it being sexualised. we know that femininity is so engrained in how we're raised and the standards all around that we're either "happy" to portray them and fit the mould of what we think a woman should look, act and dress like, or we're pissed off about it.

about not being able to eat a banana in public, about wanting to play outside in the dirt but you're not allowed ruin your dress, or if that's not mentioned, its the monitoring of opening your legs while wearing a dress in front of boys, its the desire to cut off all your hair so its not in your way when you're playing or eating but your mother says your hair is too pretty to cut off, etc etc.

yes I thought the close up of this girls ass was unnecessary. its the second time in 6 eps (which shockingly, is not a lot, but still too much), and they advance the plot in no way. I've talked about that enough.

but what I see this time around is-- I'm imagining a real life girl. she hasn't talked much this whole time. idk what her deal is. but two characters have brought up that she's a tomboy. she got naked in one scene not caring who saw (legit doesn't care if a dude sees her naked), and then there's this scene. and also she mentions that she's herself (a human, basically) before she's a girl.

so basically the universal rule here is "a girl shouldn't climb a ladder first because then her ass is visible (no matter the clothing type) and the guy can't NOT look like its right there why wouldn't he, so therefore it should be the guy that climbs first bc its not like the reverse would happen"

and this guys quote is basically him saying that she needs to be more conscious about what her body can do to a man. what her existence can do to a man. that she has to monitor herself bc if something happens to her, its her fault. that a womans life consists of making DUMB FUCKING DECISIONS like NOT CLIMBING A LADDER FIRST and over-thinking and over-analysing everything bc she dares to have a female body.

and then... we all know... what happens... when girls and women get absolutely fed up of these rules

they opt out.

they opt out of it.

and we're supposed to accept that as normal. somehow. that bc you decided you dont want to follow these "rules", you decide to... go a different path, rather than just, idk, not follow the rules.

that's literally an option.

to stay as you are. a woman. a female.

and not follow the damn rules.

nobody is forcing you to.

you're not breaking any grounds when you decide to go the other way. you're really not.

[fashionunit2byebs]

In the 80s it was all about globalisation, diversification and popularisation, trends were rapidly changing and breaks in trend groups started to happen. MTV was the new a popular thing on TV and everyone wanted to be on it. Shopping centre started to pop all over the place making it more accessible for people to access the trend in the fashion world. The trend of this era were outrageous, over the top with the big hair, big shoulder pads, over the top makeup and so much more, there was a power movement with the power suites and shoulder pads showcasing the women starting to come into the work place, the term YUPPIE young urban professionals who are career driven. The music of this generation was iconic with stars like madonna she was rebellious and out there she was highly sexualised. The New Romantics style of music came in to this era. Vivienne Westwood created trends for the new romantic style for music legends like Boy George and David Bowie, however other music items had different looks like Duran Duran who went for the clean shaven preppy look of the item with big hair and clean line suits, people started experimenting with fashion and makeup.

This video shows the style evolution of Madonna, the start of the video show Madonna looks in the 80s showing the iconic looks and how she set so many trends of this era, and how she still on trend to this day.

The blitz was an iconic night club located nearby St Martins school of art and Central school which was filled with aspiring fashion designers and students. These students would often test out their designs in the club and many gained a name from this also big named celebrities became regulars such as Boy George, Marilyn and these colourful characters and creative people were known as 'the blitz kids'.

There was so many iconic designers of this era, Vivienne Westwood who made the New Romantics pirate looks, Giorgio Armani who was high fashion and he was the Calvin Klein of Europe. Polo Ralph Lauren who did the 80s preppy look which was worn a lot by Duran Duran, Calvin Klein he was very good at marketing however very controversial he did high fashion to lingerie the brand was very hip and forward thinking. John Paul Gaultier he broke the norms of what a designer is, he created a tv show basically a reality show about his life, he was also very intertwined with Madonna who was an icon of this era. This list of designers go on for this era who made such an impact on the fashion scene and how fashion was in this generation.

Everything was ver colourful and bright in the 80s however their was a Japanese takeover where Japanese designer like Issey Miyake, Yohji Yamamoto and Roe Kawakuba who change the fashion game completely in the 80s they brought the basics back with monochromatic looks and different shapes and change the way the 80s fashion.

[magicalgirlgrimoire]

Genesis of Genre: Part 4

Post modern Puella Magi and what the future holds for Magical Girl as a genre

Author’s note:

I wrote the bulk of this essay the same time as the previous essays I’d posted to this blog. There’s an interjection partway through that notes where I begin to rewrite parts, and you can check the addendum at the very bottom of the page if you want to read about my meek return.

The “Golden Age” of Japanese Magical Girl media would be the 90’s and early 2000’s, introducing us to to genre defining series like Sailor Moon and Card Captor Sakura, alongside the more Avant-Garde series like Utena. As mentioned previously, Sailor Moon ushered in an array of series clearly influenced by it’s sentai style dynamic, but those kinds of stories are much more rare these days. I believe we are instead in a Post-Modern age of Magical Girl Media. It’s more common to see a deconstruction or subversion of the archetypical Magical Girl narrative as opposed to seeing it played straight. While some pick up on the darker elements of the genre, others choose to subvert expectations; we’ve had everything from stripper angel magical girls to anime centred around groups of magical boys in the last decade. However, not all series are made equally, and in this (perhaps overly long) segment we’re going to look over the Magical Girl genre hits of the mid 2000s to the 2010s.

Utena began the dialogue with darker themes; Akiyuki Shinbo’s 2004 Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha continued it. Nanoha is notable in being one of the first contemporary Magical Girl shows that was not aimed at young girls; instead it was a seinen, aimed at young men. We’d previously had lots of instances of men writing series, along with an uninvited male gaze, but these series were still targeting an audience of young girls. Nanoha is also different than pre-Sailor Moon examples like Cutie Honey, which is a Shounen, as instead of being more of an action comedy, it delved into darker themes of abuse, on top of being a spin off of an erotica visual novel game; all of which is made much more disturbing when we remember the characters are all elementary school aged children.

Real talk for a moment: it sucks a genre that started out being about young women’s friendships and dreams for the future eventually got turned into torture porn for crusty men. And it didn’t stop with Nanoha.

Shinbo returned in 2010 with the acclaimed Puella Magi Madoka Magica, the huge franchise that now comprises the original anime, several films and countless spin-off manga. I’ll save my complex feelings towards Madoka for another time; the key point is that for better or worse, it is a definitive deconstruction of all Magical Girl media that comes before it. Madoka succeeds in examining the human experience of suddenly being thrust into a world of aliens and magic better than it’s predecessors. The character’s youth and immature decision making is central to the story, and the tragedy stems from the magical girls being children who act rashly and aren’t able to fully process the consequences of their choices until it’s too late. While there is a portion of the audience that is undoubtedly there to view misery being inflicted to young girls for whatever gross whims, it can’t be argued that Madoka’s narrative managed to be compelling to people of all ages and genders, and that is a strength of it’s story. However at the same time, it also lead to a lot of copycats, just like Sailor Moon before it, because there is unfortunately a market for teenage girl torture porn. Please look forward to my Black Rock Shooter hit piece.

On the possibly brighter side, we also had more comedic subversions. First, there’s the very specific brand of Magical Girl shows that Studio Gainax and Trigger started putting out in the 2010s; both Panty and Stocking with Garterbelt and Kill La Kill take the sexualisation of the female body present in old school works like Cutie Honey to the logical extremes, and despite being so overtly sexual and fan-servicey, both wind up completely absurd by the end of it. These are obvious subversions of the idea of Magical Girls as pure and innocent; Panty and Stocking is particularly interesting because of how it blends Japanese and American art styles – particularly cartoons like The PowerPuff Girls- to create a cute and cartoony presentation that contrasts with the crass humour and antics of its titular characters. Conversely, I remember watching Kill La Kill during it’s original run and being stunned that by the end of it, when the finale happens and all the characters are completely naked, I was astounded to find I’d become completely desensitised to the naked human form (all this before 3 years of life drawing).

-a future interjection- I’m writing this at the time of posting. The part of the essay you just read is a part I’ve mulled over for over a year. My original essay from 2017, which I’m using as a basis for this much larger work, spoke quite favourably of both Kill La Kill and Panty & Stocking. I think I simply could not leave it as is.

I recently rewatched parts of both Panty and Stocking and Kill La Kill. Surprisingly, Panty and Stocking held up well, so this isn’t about them. Kill La Kill on the other hand simultaneously held up better and much, much worse than my first watch during it’s original run. (I think I might begin doing straight up reviews for shows soon; but that’s for another post)

My main thought upon rewatch was my attitude now, and my attitude nearly 10 years ago is a real reflection of the ways popular feminism, and my own ideologies have shifted over time. Originally, I’d felt the display of the main character’s bodies, that they were powerful and strong while wearing the skimpiest chainmail bikinis, was almost a power move. I especially admired Satsuki’s character, being someone so unflinchingly determined, and feeling no shame in her body as she served a higher conviction.

I just don’t think I can look at the show in the same way now. Yes, the show is still absurd; I do still think it veers into the surreal. But its far more uncomfortable than I remember.

Either way, both these shows still serve as a perfect subversions of the classic magical girl story. -end-

Sliding across the spectrum, there’s also the notable increase in shows that star Magical Boys. On paper this might seem like a thoughtful take on how we present young men but in reality most of these series are played for comedy and or fanservice for a female demographic. Though I’m sure there’s merits to it, it’s a far cry from earlier Magical Girl series which deeply examined themes of gender and sexuality. At best, these are missed opportunities!

We’ve also seen an uptick in remakes and sequels to more nostalgic franchise; Sailor Moon Crystal is the notable example, as is Card Captor Sakura’s Clear Card Arc which is currently ongoing. Tokyo Mew Mew, at the time of writing, has now seen two separate revivals with the short lived magical boy spin off (???) and now with a new anime version airing as I write this! I think the revisiting of these older properties is both a symptom of our expected nostalgic media cycles (see, the 30/20 year cycle), but also a reflection of the current want to revisit late 90’s and Y2K media again, and companies as always being more willing to bank on pre-existing franchise.

The last few decades of Magical girl media has, to be honest, been a mixed bag. However there is one, single shining light for me, and that is 2013’s Little Witch Academia, and it’s subsequent sequel film and anime series. Somehow, the creators of Kill La Kill, the most edgy, ludicrously sexual and action orientated Magical Girl show in recent years also created the most sweet and wholesome. Little Witch Academia takes the genre right back to its roots, utilising the Magical Witch Archetype with a main character named Akko, just like the heroine of years passed, and centres the relationships between the students and teachers at their magical academy. The series also stands out from Trigger’s other works as it didn’t start out as a syndicated show; the original OVA was Trigger’s first outing, created as a project for new animators, and its sequel film was crowdfunded to increase it’s original runtime of 20 minutes to a full 50. The eventual series was created in collaboration with Netflix, and I believe this alternate production also lends to why Little Witch Academia successfully unshackles itself from the troubling tropes that have stagnated Magical Girl media in recent years. Little Witch Academia is the genre returned to it’s primordial state; devoid of fan service and rich in substance, it’s a love letter to the genre.

Addendum:

I started writing this blog around the winter of 2020/Jan 2021. A lot of terrible things have happened in my personal life since then but recently, I started feeling like I could write some essays again, for fun. This particular essay had been sitting in my storage since back then too. As I said in the post, part of what made me not publish it until now is because I'd started to re-contextualise some of the writing with my current views, and it felt incomplete to post it as I'd written it; as in, quite true to my perspectives in my original 2017 essay. I still have a lot I want to write, both based on my original work and also large pieces, but I think I might start writing the essays out of order+mix in some more general reviews with my personal thoughts added in. I do intent to write a more contextual essay about western magical girl shows, but I'll leave that for later maybe! Thank you everyone who followed this blog and read my work so far. I hope I can start posting more frequently!

[wildlyglittering]

Good at Starting Fires

I really hated the overly sexualised way that Cassian looked at Nesta in ACOSAF and ACOSF when he commented on her drastic weight loss. Instead of being concerned that she was losing weight at a drastic pace he was more 'boobs man, great they're still there' and it wound me up no end.

I was sent a prompt by an anon that said 'angsty Nessian set in the Illyrian camp where Cassian sees Nesta in her underwear for the first time' and I found that I wanted to try and right that 'wrong' in relation to the above. Probably not quite what the requestor had in mind but hey ho.

Some mention of weight loss and concerns surrounding it.

***

The rain lashed onto Cassian’s exposed skin.

The deluge hadn’t turned into a full storm quite yet but still, this was the worst weather he had seen in a long while, the wind barrelling into him warranting his full concentration in order to continue to fly upright.

Cassian would have chanced some different manoeuvres to make flight easier but he wasn’t flying alone.

The female in his arms had said nothing to him since they left the ground, perhaps planning to ignore him for the remainder of their eternal lives. Cassian would usually provoke her into retaliating against some jibe but tonight, with thick darkness surrounding them and the harsh pelt of the cold rain against their skin, goading wasn’t suitable.

Instead, Cassian flew through the onslaught, clutching onto a shivering Nesta.

They’d exited the river house in silence. Cassian thought she would fight the decision, fight Feyre, fight him, but she hadn’t. Her lips pursed together with her spine rigid and shoulders defiant; a stubborn refusal to give any indication of defeat.

Nesta hadn’t looked at any of them, or spoken either, instead turning with clenched fists to walk out the door she’d walked in from.

“Bye then,” taunted Rhys from his place by the fireplace.

A sharp rebuke came from Feyre while Cassian rubbed his hands over his face before glaring at his High Lord. His next action was to move fast to follow Nesta.

Feyre had been on his heels but if Nesta wanted nothing to do with him she wanted less to do with her sister. Cassian reached her first and Nesta stared at him with cold eyes. “We go now,” she demanded through gritted teeth.

“Nesta!” Feyre called out from behind, half running towards them.

“Now,” she demanded again her voice thick and trembling.

For a moment it seemed like Feyre was going to shift into her wings and fly after them but maybe there was something in his expression, or Nesta’s, which stopped her.

Nesta had clung to his neck the way a child clung to their mother but he got the impression she really wanted to use her hands on his throat in a different way. The rain followed them from Velaris to the mountains; Nesta spending the entire flight with her face buried into his shoulder.

Cassian would pretend along with her that it was only raindrops falling onto her cheeks.

If the betrayal had cut her, she’d resolutely decided to not let the wound show. She’d been cornered like a wild creature by one sister and the other, the one Nesta adored with the fullness of her heart, hadn’t shown to say anything at all.

When they arrived at the cabin it was Cassian’s pity for her which made him absorb the spite spilling from her lips. The force of his landing caused mud to splash up their legs and Nesta pulled away from him the second her feet hit the dirt.

Despite the rain and with dripping hair and sodden clothes she was beautiful. The words from her mouth, decidedly not so.

“Pathetic,” she hissed at him over the roar of the thundering rain and he somehow understood her meaning underneath – how Cassian was a grovelling sycophant to his High Lord who would never place a wing out of line and never fight back.

Nesta spoke with fists clenched at her sides. Cassian wondered if there was a part of her that wanted to strike him and he wondered if there was a part of him that would let her. She turned away, her back as rigid as before, every bump of bone showing through the fabric.

Cassian frowned. The dress was drenched, clinging to her flesh in a way it hadn’t when dry, illuminating what the material would otherwise hide.

He shouldn’t have been able to see the sharpness of her spine.

“Do we have a place to go or are you reducing me to sleeping in the mud?”

Those words were small, sharp cuts which stung though Nesta had no knowledge of how Cassian’s nights as a youth were spent doing just that, with the smell of putrefying leaves on his skin and clumps of dirt under his nails.

“Well?” she snapped, turning her head to glare at him from the corner of her eye. This was a glance which said he was beneath her, that she didn’t need to turn to address him, that the sight of him offended her glorious eyes.

What Cassian saw painted a different picture; tinged pink eyes, and a red nose. The skin around her eyelids swollen.

He let the stings dissipate. Nesta had been thrown from one world into another and from that one into something new. He would hold his tongue.

“This way, sweetheart.” Well, to an extent.

They trudged across the mud, Cassian’s feet sinking into the earth as he overtook Nesta to show her the way and he didn’t bother glancing behind him to see if she followed. She had no choice, there was nowhere else for her to go.

Rain had seeped into Cassian’s clothes, his skin damp and his wet hair dripped water down the back of the neck. He was feeling wet and miserable and wondered how worse this was for Nesta in her heavy woollen dress.

His siphons emitted a soft red glow and that was all there was; them, the rain and the glow in the darkness. Not even the moon greeted them.

***

The cabin was a welcome sight.

Their belongings were there, mostly Cassian’s with some provisions Feyre had arranged for Nesta. The door creaked on the hinges as Cassian stepped into familiar, if slightly musty, surroundings.

A perfume of earth and open skies lay underneath the dust and he inhaled the scent through his nose and into his lungs. He hadn’t been here in so long with wars and commitments keeping him far away; but if Velaris was his home, this place was his sanctuary.

There was a shuffling behind him and for a moment, lost in euphoria, Cassian forgot he wasn’t alone.

Nesta stood in the entrance, surveying her new domain. Her wet hair had unravelled from her coronet braid and tendrils clung onto the side of her face. A fat raindrop travelled from her temple past her cheek and hung from her jaw before finally dripping onto her collar.

Cassian frowned again.

Nesta’s dress buttons had popped open in the flight and he saw her neck and collar bone, a strange sharpness protruding from the stark white of her skin. Shadows, he told himself, from the candle that had flamed into life. They cast shapes and make everything harsh.

Nesta’s fists were now balled into her gown as a puddle grew around her. If she noticed Cassian’s gaze she never let on and continued to sweep her eyes around the room with a bored detachment.

“This is it,” she said, “my prison for the indefinite future.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “If Feyre was going to keep me caged she should have at least made a gilded one.”

Yes, he wanted to say, because your residence was so lavish.

“Move,” but Nesta didn’t wait for Cassian to step aside before pushing past him, head high and eyes forward. She stopped in the living room, her head turning left to right as she took in more of her surroundings. Her face gave nothing away as she scrutinised the spacious open living space which branched into the enclosed kitchen.

Cassian shook his head and ground his teeth as he closed the door behind her, the wind bringing sheets of rain into the cabin. A trail of water led across the floor to where Nesta stood.

The middle of the cabin was lighter, framed by the multiple fae lights and candles, and Cassian saw so much more. Nesta’s skin was white all over but her pale hands had red, cracked knuckles and dark circles like old bruises hung underneath her eyes. A shudder rippled through her.

Rain smashed against the window panes and Cassian looked to the vast inglenook fireplace which took over one full side of the cabin.

The hearth was filled with grey ash and lumps of half burnt wood and the basket aside the fireplace held strips for kindling. There were no pieces sizable enough to get a full fire going and getting a fire burning was exactly what they needed.

“Upstairs and to the left,” he said and Nesta turned to him. “That’s where your room will be. Mine’s next to it, same side. Both will warm up quick when the fire’s lit as the floorboards heat too.” Cassian jerked his head to the stairs, “Go and get changed, I’ll grab wood for the fire.”

Her face, one of permanent indifference and as smooth as porcelain, changed. The expression lasted only seconds before Nesta schooled it into something passing for neutral.

“Fine, I shouldn’t have expected you to be prepared.”

She stormed past him, leaving enough space so not a single part of them touched, not her dress brushing against his leathers – nothing.

Cassian waited until she’d gone before releasing a sigh. He hadn’t imagined what he saw; her eyes wide in alarm, flickering to the fireplace and back, a jerk of her body like someone had slapped her with the palm of their hand.

He’d best watch for that again.

***

A sandstone path ran down the left side of the cabin which wound around a small vegetable patch, a smaller pool and down into the sloped garden. At the very bottom was an alcove of trees and the shed containing Cassian’s axe, a chopping block and, if he was lucky, some pre-cut pieces.

Through the haze of rain, the distant lights of a camp flickered beyond. Cassian was fortunate to have this place for himself, not that he didn’t reside in the centre of camp on occasion to make his presence known, but this was his slice of comfort in the otherwise endless trudge.

Now, this place was also hers, for however long deemed necessary.

The rain bounced off the paving slabs as he approached his destination. The shed was old but well-kept and thankfully, stocked with thick slabs of timber.

“Thank you, old friend,” he said with a hand to one of the trees. They were fast growing and long burning, a house warming gift from Rhys half a century prior.

Cassian gathered what he needed and turned back, the cabin an angular silhouette outlined upon the backdrop of the night sky, the mountains looming some distance away. The candles and fae lights had lit the building up from within and shone through the dark at every window.

He was halfway up the path when he noticed how bright they lit Nesta’s new room.

Cassian had never been concerned with decoration, shoving a blanket onto a bed and gossamer curtains onto the window had been enough, but now he realised how thin those curtains were, how visible the room was from the outside.

Nesta wouldn’t be able to see him, not with his leathers black against the night, but he saw everything as though she stood before him in the flesh.

She’d untied the laces that bound the stays of her dress and Cassian imagined the wet thud as it fell to the floor.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted Nesta in front of him, unrobing for him, those long, graceful fingers sliding up her collarbone and dipping down towards the ribbons of her bodice. In his dreams he would help her, his thick fingers weaving into hers, pulling at the material until it gave way to pools of silk and satin on the ground.

Imagination gave him options.

Maybe she would have been naked, with expanses of creamy skin readily available for his viewing or maybe there would have been a delicate piece of chiffon covering her like there was now, something flimsy for him to move aside.

He would have started by kneeling. His fingertips would trace the skin of her ankles before moving upwards to her calves, her knees and to her thighs which he would have kissed until she was breathless. Finally, he would have travelled upwards with his mouth, towards the apex.

This was his fantasy. Smoothing his palms over her curves, travelling up the cord of her spine, his tongue sliding over her skin, teasing with his teeth and all the while her breath would turn into pants, his name a prayer in her mouth.

This was a dream. Nothing more.

He stood alone in the dark, pounding heartbeat thundering in his ears and pouring rain saturating his hair as he spied on a female he now never hoped to hold.

By the Mother though, her body was far from what his mind had conjured and his heartbeat turned into a pain sinking between his ribs.

He’d thought he’d seen glimpses but here was the truth.

Her collarbone jutted out severely while her breasts and curves of her buttocks shrunk as her starved body ate away at whatever flesh it found. Nesta’s ribs - Cauldron her ribs – Cassian was able to count every one, the indents of her bone visible as though her skin was the thinnest paper. When she turned, he saw the same with the column of her spine.

He swallowed the lump in his throat down, a sting in his eyes that was nothing to do with the chilled wind.

***

Inside the cabin, Cassian dried out the wood and lit the fire, the red and orange flames dancing in the hearth.

Nesta might not eat but he would try and convince her, starting with something simple and small which would fill her but not make her sick. Shoving a plate of meat in front of her face was a bad idea so he decided on a light broth consisting of flavoured water and leafy vegetables and herbs grown from his garden.

Cassian was surprised she came when he called her down but was pleased when she did. Nesta stepped along the floor with bare feet, a new gown just as thick as the last covering the bones of her body.

She stayed close to the wall when she passed through the living space, the fire cracking and snapping opposite and she eyed the flames as though they would reach across the room and snatch her.

Cassian wasn’t sure where this fear had come from, tried to dredge any memory of where they’d faced fire and came up wanting. He’d ask her – not now – but when they’d reached a point of peace.

Still, she walked toward him, her throat moving as she swallowed fast.

“I’ve made us dinner,” and he gestured to the two watery bowls in front of him. Opposite each other. Face to face. Her eyes narrowed but she sat, suspicion on her face.

“What is this slop?”

He took a deep breath. Imagined her words as darts and his skin as impenetrable armour.

“An Illyrian broth; vegetables, herbs, some spices and the thinnest slices of poultry you’ll ever find.”

“It looks revolting.”

A muscle twitched in Cassian’s jaw. The dish was plain, colourless and watery but was filled with flavour and had what Nesta needed nutritionally.

He would refrain from telling her this was the staple of Illyrian’s recovering from sickness or injury, that he’d spooned this liquid into the dribbling mouths of multitudes of his brethren over the years and how he wasn’t above doing the same to her.

“Try it,” was all he said. “You might like it.”

“Doubtful.”

But she picked up the spoon, a tremor in her hand. Fear, withdrawal, or exhaustion he didn’t know. Maybe all three. Maybe rage.

Nesta bent her head forward, bringing the spoon to her lips and as she did, her dress, far too large for her frame gaped at the collar once again showing Cassian the sharpness of the bone under her skin.

Something sat heavy in his stomach, something like guilt and shame. He’d once thought of her as sharp tongued and soft curves, his mouth watering at the promise of the swell of her breasts and the shape of her backside.

His thoughts had been occupied with images of grabbing her with his hands, fingers digging into the folds of her flesh while they pounded the force of their desires onto each other. Nesta was no less beautiful now but when he thought of her body, thought of what he knew, he considered differently as to what his body would do with hers.

His fingers would likely bruise her, leaving crescent moons into her skin and the bones of her spine would be obvious to his gaze. Now, he wanted to use his build to hover over her, to envelop her with his wings and cradle the back of her skull with the palm of one hand and cup her cheek with the other.

Cassian needed to make this situation right but he didn’t know where to start other than this meagre offering of broth.

Nesta ate two spoons, possibly three, but at least she ate, her eyes fluttering closed as she savoured her meal, the shadows of her eyelashes playing on her cheekbones. He smiled at her enjoyment, however brief, feeling his heart soar.

Nesta opened her eyes and looked straight at him. Cassian dropped his smile and her eyes narrowed.

I’m happy you like the broth, he wanted to say, however little you take. I’m happy you tried. I think you’re dying. I don’t want you to die. I want you to want to live.

A log fell in the hearth and banged against the grate, popping into the air and Nesta flinched, her eyes snapping towards the sound.

The flames seemed to hypnotise her as they whirled among the wood, consuming what they needed in order to grow. Wherever she was in that moment she wasn’t in the room with him.  

The moment passed and Nesta snapped her head back to Cassian, slamming the spoon into the bowl.

“I’m not here for your entertainment.”

“I know that.”

“Then stop staring at me like I’m a festival showpiece.”

Cassian frowned, “I wasn’t staring.”

“Tell your gawping eyes that.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched again. He was exhausted, not only from the long day but from arguing with Rhys about the plan, and from convincing Feyre that he and Nesta would be fine. His blood, already on the rise, had gained extra heat when Amren made her parting comment to him and all this was before he began flying.

“I wasn’t staring,” he repeated, “believe me when I say there’s nothing worth looking at.”

His temper was still hot, irritation singing a song in his veins and this was default for him, the well-travelled road to flinging insults.

It was a road Nesta travelled herself.

“Well, believe me when I say that even if I’m nothing I’m still worth twice of you, bastard.”

“You’ve been exiled to the camps so that’s not what your sister thinks. Either of them.” He gestured around with his hand, “Do you see Elain begging to be let in the door?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared, her hands now clenched into two fists, those red cracked knuckles on display.

“Well, this shows what your ‘friends’ think of you, if I’m worth little to nothing in their eyes and they have you taking care of me?”

“You should be thankful, sweetheart. No one else volunteered to listen to your temper tantrums.”

“Let me ease your burden then.” She stood, jolting the table and the bowl moved, spilling liquid over the side. “I would hate to bore you with one of my childish tantrums.”

“By all means, take yourself off to bed. You’re obviously in need of a nap.”

Nesta bared her teeth at him and Cassian schooled his face into one of boredom. She turned, her gown brushing against the furniture and as she passed through the living room, she grabbed a thick blanket draped across one of the chairs.

There was a change to her face as she went, fleeting but not fleeting enough for his sharp eyes. Regret? Yes. What she regretted he didn’t know but the snarl had also turned into a smirk, a twist of her mouth which screamed, I am victorious.

What had she won? The prize was a night alone in an unlit room with a blanket and empty belly.

As she left, the bored expression slid from Cassian’s face to be replaced by a furrowed brow.

Nesta was playing a game, one which required her to start fights so she could flaunt from the room as though leaving were her choice. He’d seen her grip, the furrow of her own forehead and the stark whites of her eyes.

She didn’t like the fire and she didn’t want to eat - or she couldn’t eat.

All Nesta’s choices had been stripped away from her in one afternoon and her decision to exit swiftly and in outrage was all she had.

He let her. He goaded her, stoking the small flame she held burning until she felt something, even if that emotion was irritation and anger - anything as long as it wasn’t cloying fear. If Cassian told her to leave then she would have stayed in her misery to spite him.

Cassian lifted a clay pot lid, surreptitiously positioned beside him on a chair, to cover her bowl. He would leave the dish outside her door with a slab of buttered bread. Maybe she would eat if it wasn’t in front of his watchful eyes.

He would eat his own in his room, the space of the kitchen and the living area seeming too big now, too empty without Nesta’s presence.

As he passed by the hearth, he lowered the flames with his siphons, letting them burn down. As he did, he thought of another fireplace, in another home, in a time which seemed forever ago.

He would help her even if she hated him for it. Cassian would prefer her vitriol to the nothingness living inside her where even her scent had turned glacial; ice cold to the bone.

So yes, Cassian would let the embers burn low for now but he was a creature of air and flame. He was good at starting fires.

TAGGING:

@nehemikkele

 You are the only person who has ever requested a tag from me so thank you so much! :)

[rantingcrocodile]

radblr will flame me for this but i don't like how bi women are split into febfems and bihets. lg and straight ppl arent split because of who they date. im on the fence about becoming a febfem and im lonely 🙁

Who cares what biphobes think?

What's particularly harmful is that there's this belief that if a bisexual woman doesn't label herself a "febfem," then she must be a gross bihet, and it's just not true. (Plus, it goes against everything that feminism stands for. A bisexual woman in the closet with a male partner is still bisexual and still oppressed for being bisexual, just like a woman who is a white, straight and celibate entrepreneur who is rich thanks to her own innovation with no ties to a man is still oppressed for being a woman. We know it’s wrong to pit woman against woman, but it’s both encouraged and accepted to pit bisexual against bisexual. It shouldn’t be this hard, but this is how deliberate and malicious biphobes actually are.)

It's surrounded by the myth that "febfem" means "mostly SSA-attracted" when it encompasses any bisexual woman who only wants to date women, whether they're mostly-OSA-leaning or not. But then the mostly-SSA-bisexual women are used as a shield to pretend that individual manifestations of bisexuality are somehow different sexualities altogether, when in reality it's nothing but politicisation of bisexuality and an excuse to pit bisexuals against each other.

If you want to only date women, that's good and I support you! But please don't label yourself a "febfem." I guarantee that you'll end up internalising more biphobia, since this space really does promote the idea that the word "bisexual" in regards to women automatically means "available to men and incapable of not having a man and centring men," which is a specific instance of biphobic misogyny.

I mean, look at the "bisexuals and lesbians and febfems" and how it was against the rules to be homophobic, but not a peep about biphobia being against the rules.

I’m definitely not “anti-febfem” when it comes to individuals, because I genuinely believe that the majority have been sold a biphobic lie and have internalised biphobia that they need to work through and I’ll always be there for them, but I am definitely “anti-febfem” as far as micro-labelling, politicisation of bisexuality, the pitting of bisexuals against each other, the denial that biphobia in general is the issue that we face and not simply “homophobia lite,” the biphobic misogyny etc etc etc is concerned.

The bottom line is that I’m pro-all bisexuals and I’m a feminist that believes that it’s safer for women to partner with other women (or stay single), but I also accept that there will be bisexual women who partner with men and they need just as much support because they’re bisexuals too, and the basis of our oppression is our bisexuality, not who we happen to jump into bed with.

Reducing us to who we want to date and fuck means that we’re forever sexualised and seen as nothing more than extensions of our partner’s sexuality. It’s dehumanising and wrong, and it breaks my heart that so few bisexual women see it, and so few other feminists acknowledge it, especially when those very same women are adept at analysing patriarchy and other forms of female oppression.

They’re more than capable of understanding all of this. They just choose not to because they hate us or because they hate themselves.

Being a “febfem” might be a band aid against some biphobia now, but it won’t last very long. It’s better to face a harsh truth now and live in reality than to let yourself sink into a pretty lie that’ll eventually be ripped out from under you.

[pumpumdemsugah]

Someone made a good video, Princess Weekes, was her channel name i think. It was on black womanhood, and black girlhood. There are some good pieces in there. But one thing that made me pause and think is when she said black women's bodies were viewed as genderless? That rubbed me the wrong way a little bit. Cause it didn't really make sense? Other than that the video was good! Thoughts?

I'd have to see the whole video but I think a massive issue with how alot of people talk about BW including social media savvy BW is very specific ideas get spoken of in a board generalised way because blah blah something gender

I think as much as some people moan about whiteness being the default for everything they compare everyone to it to the point they fail to talk about Black women as people but stereotypes and anything they view as 'other' , plus the coasting on certain hot take rhetoric trends. Black women are desexualised ( which some will call being genderless ) and hypersexualised so maybe that's what she meant but none of that is genderless ( id argue this for desexualisation as well ) . it's not true we're seen that way if you view sexualising as a form of gendered marking ( which I do ) so genderless wouldn't be ideologically consistent and the desexualisation is a form of racism and othering that tends to be tied to older and bigger Black women.

I pretty much ignore whenever anyone brings up Black women and gender and aren't specific or act as if we're simple opposites of the construction of white women - be it explicitly or implicitly said. People come to these conclusions cause what they mean is " Black women aren't stereotypd like white women" but end up implying " so we aren't oppressed like women" they're centring whiteness Vs talking about Black womanhood. You end up with a broad flat version of Black womanhood.

I reject this movement of making Black womanhood out to be this reject pool of unspecific ugliness and abnormalities . We are not our stereotypes, dehumanisations or other people's othering of us. Why would I define us by propaganda and othering and not our humanity and diversity ?I don't think some people know how to talk about oppression without unwittingly asserting that oppression and stereotypes is what they group actually is and we will never escape

People decontextualise much of the analysis about Black women and gender and leave out the conclusion: this is racism, sexism and we shouldn't compare it to the construction of the white 'well-bred' ideal as you end up with the idea of real womanhood ( what the well off white women have ) and non-womanhood, anything that isn't what well-off white women have

I think this type of framing of Black women and gender ends up entrenching isolation for Black women and self othering. It's not the full story either. And the way some young Black women talk about Black womanhood is honestly depressing and I think it's because they view themselves as experiment 636 as another anon said because of how flippantly people talk about Black women and gender