#it's targetting women in cruel way

[spyres-moved]

genuinely baffled at whoever is saying that isat doesn't like women

[butterfly-ribbon]

still in disbelief about how mizu5 genuinely captures the subtleties of transmisogyny so accurately like nothing else i've seen before especially with the nuances with which mizuki's story is told … all it takes is a single sentence, a few words … i love that the classmates saying that shit don't even … realize how cruel they are, bc that's how it /is/ and bc "oh no, we said something weird to a Normal Girl, that makes us look bad" - transmisogyny is just a punchline to a joke for them, that's how detached they are from their own cruelty and it's really not any different from the 'average' misogyny and how that tends to be a joke amongst boys. what ena ended up being exposed to is really just the classmates' 'boy's locker room talk' leaking out, so to speak? ena's probably heard jokes from people about how unfeminine her behavior is in the past and she quickly spits out "that's not funny" bc ena and mizuki are both "pretty girls" who like fashion and dolling themselves up, and hearing them talk about how mizuki's cute in this way … i'm sure it reminds her of her own experiences with being an 'influencer' - people like her when she shuts up and makes herself cute and appealing and ena must've absolutely received her fair share of comments and messages from weirdos for posting selfies of herself online, but i think what drives this home to me as such a fantastic narrative is the way that they call mizuki "attractive as long as she's not making any trouble and being a pain" bc it really speaks to how trans girls are objectified and only deemed 'acceptable' as long as they make themselves into limpless dolls who are acceptable targets for any form of abuse and misogyny instead of trying to claim their own subjectivity as women, so there's so much crossover in how mizuki's experiences work alongside ena's? but also mizuki faces so much more constant and direct criticism, all her actions and choices so closely under scrutiny.

mizuki loves and appreciates the attention of girls and when she first met ena she saw herself in the art that ena made - ena draws a girl in pain and mizuki goes "she's me". in the scene where mizuki gets outed, ena is speechless not bc she thinks mizuki is "gross" or bc she's mad mizuki "tricked" her? she's just horrified that she just got degendered /by association/ and then had to listen to these boys speak about the girl she's in love with in this /aggressively/ violent way, especially since mizuki has a meltdown, knowing, apologizing for hurting, even as ena would absolutely say "no, i'm sorry, im sorry, please don't hate vourself" bc mizuki feels like she's the one at fault for feeling like ena would assume the worst of her, but mizuki also feels like she doesn't have the right to be angry at people … this is the first time we get to see mizuki's rage and it's so palpable … i love so much that she hates the idea of niigo's kindness being born out of her 'abnormality' as a trans girl … she hates everything about this. she hates the idea of coming out, she hates the idea of having a question attached to her girlhood..

mizuki logically knows that niigo are going to accept her bc they've also gone through so much turmoil themselves and understand what it's like to be on the fringes of society, but she still can't shake off all those intrusive thoughts about how they might only accept her out of pity or consideration bc they feel too bad for her rather than a genuine understanding and the idea that things might change between them bc of that is too terrifying to embrace… such patronizing 'kindness' burns too much for mizuki to accept, so she'd rather run away and shut herself out completely… for mizuki it's like being stuck on a bridge where the only two ways out are ones where nothing changes and this hurts in its own way bc she can't tell how much of it would be genuine and how much would be an act and the other way is them /trying too hard/ to be considerate and this can easily become alienating bc mizuki truly just wants to be "one of the girls" in the most natural sense? she doesn't want to be made to feel like she's being accommodated, but there's also all the guilt that she's been internalizing for being "deceptive" and not saying the truth sooner that further complicates things and makes her feel like she's undeserving of any kindness that she may be offered… even though she genuinely was going to tell ena the truth herself, it doesn't matter anymore bc someone else told her before she even got the chance to do so herself and that's something she actually wished would happen in the past, so is there anyone to blame but herself? mizuki's entire thing is that until now she's been "writing" a fictionalized cis girl version of herself when she's with niigo and obscuring her own transness bc she doesn't want to be treated as an Other or have an asterisk attached to her girlhood bc she just wants to be treated as one of them instead of having to explain herself or prove anything but she has her facade violently stripped away from her in the most traumatic way imaginable and now she's entrapped within dysphoria induced suicidal ideation...

[gay-otlc]

I think the above screenshots (taken from this post) are a great example of how transandrophobia functions: A combination of misogyny, anti-masculinity, and transphobia, intersecting in a way that specifically targets trans men & mascs.

Transphobia

It is transphobic to say that medically transitioning, or transness in itself, is a mental illness. If you believe someone's trans identity is a mental illness in need of "treatment," you are a transphobe. Particularly the first one, saying that the "wrong kind" of transness should be illegal. That is an incredibly horrific thing to say no matter what, and especially given the current political situation for trans people.

Misogyny

Trans men are men, but claiming or implying that trans men are inherently "hysterical," "emotionally unstable," or "insane" is still rooted in misogyny. There is a long history of women, or people who were thought to be women, being discriminated against through being labeled as hysterical. Even people who affirm that trans men are men may subconsciously hold these views about women, as well as people who were AFAB, and can reinforce this form of misogyny.

These comments, stating that trans men are mentally unwell and unstable, are using misogynistic ideas against trans men. In addition, people with BPD (which is often treated with mood stabilizers) in particular face misogynistic treatment from both mental health professionals and society in general. (You can read more about this here and here)

(Bonus: Ableism. These comments are also cruel to people with already stigmatized mental health conditions like BPD or bipolar disorder. And ableism often goes along with transandrophobia; for example, the panic over "confused autistic girls identifying as men.")

Anti-masculinity

The basis for both of these comments, as well as the other comments in the post this was taken from, is the hatred of men- including, and especially, trans men. Both testosterone and manhood itself are demonized in these comments, as though being a man (on T) is a problem that, if "untreated" by mood stabilizers, will make trans men dangerous, abusive, and misogynistic.

Not only do these commenters hate men, they have a particular hatred for trans men. After all, the comments don't say "men without mood stabilizers should be illegal," it specifies trans men. It doesn't say "Anyone with a testosterone dominant endocrine system, please go on mood stabilizers," (or to be less transmisogynistic, "any man with a testosterone dominant endocrine system, please go on mood stabilizers").

These people believe that all men are bad, but trans men are even worse. They believe that a trans man on T is more dangerous than a cis man with naturally high testosterone levels. The hatred of men affects all men, yes, but disproportionately affects marginalized men.

Transandrophobia

These statements aren't just transphobic ("trans people, please go on mood stabilizers once you go on HRT"). These statements aren't just misogynistic ("AFABs without mood stabilizers should be illegal"). They aren't just anti-masculine, as they hate trans men more than cis men. These statements are a specific and unique combination of transphobia, misogyny, and anti-masculinity: That is to say, transandrophobia.

Obviously, these issues exist on a much larger scale than a couple of people being assholes on tiktok, and have very real, severe effects on trans men & mascs. But these comments were a good, clear example of the different aspects of transandrophobia and how they intersect.

[k-s-morgan]

Just wanted to show one recent example of what Russia has been doing to Ukraine. The city of Kharkiv, with over a million residents, is located close to Russian borders, meaning that it's difficult to defend it from air strikes. Russia has been systematically destroying it and killing its people, intensifying its attacks more and more, using the fact that most Ukrainian allies forbid us from launching our own attacks on Russian territory.

On May 25, Russian sent bombs to a hypermarket in Kharkiv. On a weekend, in the middle of the day.

That same day, it bombed the park. Before that, it hit the rest zone.

And a publishing house.

And the hotel.

And the television tower.

And so on and on. Russia specifically targets public places and areas of life to make Kharkiv a ghost city. To destroy the home of over a million people. Many, many residents are constantly dying from these attacks, including children, pregnant women, the elderly, and other most vulnerable population groups. And Ukraine is unable to hit the locations from which Russia bombs Kharkiv because it's forbidden by our own partners. It's a joke.

And it's just one city. Russian bombs and missiles are erasing towns and villages from existence entirely on a constant basis. I can't even imagine how many people and animals die as a result. It's impossible to comprehend it on a human level. Just like it's impossible to comprehend the world's indifference, where on the one hand, we have support, but on the other hand, this support is limited to not letting us lose quickly. We are under the most cruel restrictions and limitations. And as long as the greed controls the world, which is probably forever, and our partners keep having mutually beneficial relations with Russia, there is no way out of this. Just more deaths, suffering, and misery.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨

　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: In a seemingly perfect relationship, Y/N and Matt face a silent storm when Y/N, after appearing in a video on Matt's personal channel, is the target of cruel comments that leave her feeling inadequate. Unable to share her insecurities, Y/N distance herself from Matt, wallowing in self-criticism and painful comparisons, until he snaps.

WARNING: Crying, insecurities, comparison, yelling, fighting.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N felt the weight of the world on her shoulders as she tried to navigate the dark mazes of her mind. Since she appeared in the last video on Matt's personal channel, everything had changed. The acidic words of the "fans' comments burned in her memory, leaving deep marks.

It was a vlog-type video, where the couple was spending the day walking through parks, going to museums and strolling through the mall, but comments like "She's not good enough for him", "Matt deserves someone better" and "The other YouTubers' girlfriends are better than this" filled the comments box and echoed in her mind constantly.

What was once a stable and loving relationship now turned into a minefield of insecurities.

Y/N began to see herself through the distorted lens of the comments. She endlessly compared herself to other women on social media – the influencers with flawless skin, sculpted bodies, and perfect smiles. Each comparison only served to erode her self-esteem even more. She wondered what Matt saw in her and if, perhaps, those people were right.

This whirlwind of insecurities made her distance herself from Matt. She avoided dates, responded to his texts in a short and evasive way, and when they were together, her mind was always distant, immersed in thoughts of inadequacy. Matt, in turn, noticed the change but didn't understand the depth of what was happening.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The morning after the video came out, Y/N and Matt sat down at the kitchen table for breakfast. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the kitchen, along with the random sounds of Nick and Chris echoing through the house, but the silence between the couple was deafening. Matt was engrossed in his phone, responding to emails and interacting with his followers.

Y/N, on the other hand, could barely look at him. The words of the comments were eating her up inside.

"Good morning, baby." Matt murmured when noticing her presence long minutes after she had entered the room without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Good morning." Y/N responded, trying to hide the anguish in her voice, her teeth gripping her bottom lip in a death grip, restraining herself from saying anything else.

She stirred the stainless steel spoon inside the white bowl full of cereal, without appetite. Her mind returned to the nasty comments, each word a knife in her heart. She felt inadequate and inferior.

Her eyes occasionally glanced at Matt, who looked so happy and self-assured, and wondered how he could love her when so many people thought she wasn't good enough. When he had thousands of better options than her.

"Do you wanna go to the mall today?" Matt asked, looking up from his phone in confusion seconds after, noticing the unusual silence. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I am." Y/N lied quickly, nodding her head and forcing a smile. "I just didn't sleep well. Maybe I should stay home today." She shrugged, maintaining eye contact.

Matt accepted the answer without question, returning his attention to the phone a few seconds later. For Y/N, it was a momentary relief, but the pain was still latent, pulsing.

How had he not noticed the sea of ​​pain in her eyes?

Maybe he didn't care anymore.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A few weeks later, Matt decided to take Y/N out to dinner at a restaurant they both loved. He wanted to cheer her up, realizing that she had been distant the last few days. However, Y/N could not escape the mental prison she had constructed.

As they sat, Matt excitedly talked about his new ideas for the Sturniolo Triplets channel and how excited he was to be able to vlog and stream again. Y/N tried to pay attention, nodding her head and keeping her eyes fixed on the boy's face, but her mind wandered to the words that seemed etched into the walls of her mind.

Her orbs momentarily strayed to the tables around hers, noticing other couples made up of beautiful women.

They looked beautiful, confident, and charismatic.

And she felt small and insignificant.

"Did you hear what I said?" Matt asked suddenly with a slight tone of frustration, his brow furrowed and his posture rigid.

"Sorry, I was distracted." Y/N quickly responded, feeling embarrassed, her hands clasped together above her thighs, squeezing her fingers in an act of nervousness.

"You've been so distant lately. What's going on?"

Y/N wanted to spill it all, tell him about the comments, about how inadequate she felt, but the words wouldn't come out. She was afraid Matt would confirm her insecurities.

"Nothing, I'm just tired. Work has been taking a toll on me." The girl lied, avoiding the blue eyes that stared deeply at her.

Matt sighed, clearly worried and annoyed, but accepted the apology.

Dinner continued, but the atmosphere was tense and heavy. For Y/N, every moment was a fight against tears and despair.

He would get tired of her.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A small launch event for one of the Space Camp lines. It was a momentous occasion, and the triplets were excited to take a new, longer step in their Internet career.

Y/N wore her best dress with the best heels and the best makeup, trying to look confident, but inside, she was in pieces.

During the event, Matt was surrounded by people, laughing and talking, interacting with his closest friends, and explaining his role within his brother's brand.

Meanwhile, Y/N felt like a ghost, invisible. Every time someone looked at her, she felt like they were judging her, comparing herself o other women present.

At some point, while Matt was busy chatting with some important guests, Y/N heard two women commenting nearby.

"She's Matt's girlfriend? Wow, she doesn't seem like anything special."

"He could get someone so much better."

The words were like stabs. Y/N felt the ground disappear beneath her feet, and all the air escaped her lungs, her heart freezing.

She needed to get out of there.

The girl quickly walked towards the nearest bathroom and locked herself in a stall, tears streaming down her face, completely ruining the makeup she spent hours doing.

She felt like an impostor, a farce.

When she returned to the event about twenty minutes later, Matt noticed her red eyes and lack of makeup almost instantly, excusing himself from those he was talking to and walking towards her with quick steps.

"Babe, hey, what happened?" Matt asked in a low tone as he approached, worried.

"Nothing, just something got in my eye, I had to take off some makeup to get it out." She lied once again. She was getting good at it. Too good.

Matt looked suspicious but didn't insist, nodding slowly.

Upon arriving home that night, Y/N lay down on the bed next to Matt, the duvet covering half of her body. Matt quickly fell asleep, exhausted from the event, seeming to not have the strength to try to talk to his girlfriend or the will.

Y/N lay awake, staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing a mile a minute.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The culmination of everything happened when Matt decided to share with Y/N ​​a new idea for the channel, something he was really excited about. He had spent weeks planning the boys trip with his brothers and Nate, along with how they would record everything, turning the precious moments into a long vlog, so sharing the finished idea with his girlfriend was a crucial moment for him.

Y/N sat next to him on the large sofa in the living room, curling up on the gray upholstery and trying to focus on the excited words coming out of Matt's mouth, not even giving herself the luxury of feeling surprised at how quickly he spoke - different from his usual self, her mind being far away.

"So what do you think?" Matt asked after finishing his line of reasoning, his eyes fixed on Y/N's face expectantly, waiting for a reaction.

"Ah yes, that sounds good." The girl nodded briefly, smiling slightly, her eyes with a distracted gaze.

Matt frowned, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.

"You didn't even hear what I said, did you?"

"Sorry, I'm just... distracted." She cleared her throat, looking down at her crossed legs.

"I can't handle it anymore." Matt muttered in a low tone, taking a deep breath as his expression closed completely, one of fury taking the place of confusion, standing up abruptly and starting to walk between the television and the sofa in an attempt to calm himself down. "You've been acting so strange, so distant. I feel like I'm talking to a wall all the time. What's happening to you? Where's the bubbly Y/N I used to know?"

Y/N remained silent, tears already beginning to well up in her eyes as she looked at him through her wet lashes, silently begging him to stop, but Matt continued, his voice rising with each word.

"I'm tired, Y/N. Tired of being ignored, tired of trying to figure out what the hell you want. I feel like I'm carrying this relationship alone! You act like you don't care. Do you even care anymore? Because, honestly, it doesn't seem like it, and with each passing day, I become more discouraged with you."

He stopped his steps, breathing heavily, his eyes now fixed on Y/N, waiting for a response. When she finally looked up, her vision was blurred by the tears that were now running freely down her face.

"Matt, I... I'm so sorry." She began, her voice shaky and weak and her throat burning from the force she was trying to stop the sobs. "I didn't mean to make you feel this way. I'm just going through a hard time now-"

"Hard time? This has been going on for weeks! I don't know what else to do to reach you." The brunette suddenly interrupted her, his frustration boiling over. "You refuse to tell me what's going on, and I'm tired of being ignored."

"You don't understand..." Y/N felt a wave of despair take over her heart, shaking her head repeatedly.

"Then make me understand! I can't go on like this, Y/N." The boy ordered with tears in his eyes, his right hand flying to his own hair, ruffling it roughly in an act of nervousness. "Maybe we're not ideal together. Maybe you're not the right person for me!" The words escaped as quickly as his mind could process.

Y/N felt her heart stop for a few seconds, her skin freezing as her throat closed before a loud, ugly sob shot through her like lightning, escaping her lips intensely. Every cruel comment, every insecurity, everything accumulated in her mind at that moment, confirming her worst fears.

"They were right," she thought, "I'm not the one for him."

All she wanted to do most at that moment was run out of that house and away from him, but with the storm outside, her not knowing how to drive and the late hour prevented her from making any hasty decisions, after all, she had nowhere to go. That was her home, or it was meant to be.

Meanwhile, Matt closed his mouth almost instantly, his eyes widening as his mind seemed to process the words he had spilled, feeling the impact of them, his heart aching as if a hand was crushing it hard as he watched the girl he loved breaking down in front of him.

"I didn't mean that, baby. I-I'm so sorry. Oh my-" His words were interrupted by his own sob before his now weak legs began tentative steps towards Y/N, afraid of her reaction.

But Y/N couldn't do anything but cry, her body shaking violently with the strong sobs that escaped her mouth, clawing at the walls of her throat, her face already swollen and wet with the intense tears that fell without stopping.

"N-no, you're right. I'm a fraud. I'll never be good enough for you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for m-making you loose time with me, I'm so sorry! M- Matty, I-I'm sorry-" That was all her mind could process: apologies. Her hands tightened into fists above her thighs, her long nails digging into her palms, drawing blood and hurting the sensitive skin.

"Baby, please, breathe, you're going to hurt yourself if you keep crying like that. Breath, hm? Please." Matt sat down next to her, his left hand pressing against his own eyes roughly, trying to shake away the tears that flooded his blue orbs, while his right hand flew to Y/N's ones, trying to slowly undo the knots of fingers she had created.

"The comments on your channel... about me. Saying that I'm not good enough for you, that you deserve someone better." Y/N began to say again between sobs, pulling in choppy air between one word and another. "I can't stop thinking about it, comparing myself to other women, and the worst of it all? They are all right! I couldn't bear the thought of being close to you and making you look ugly with me, o-or dislocated... so I distanced myself." Y/N's hands that were surrounded by his right one clenched tighter against each other, her skin taking on a reddish tone due to the strength she exerted in her grip, feeling her wrist and arms shaking with nervousness and anxiety.

"I don't-" Matt shook his head, sniffling and blinking repeatedly in an attempt to stop the tears. "I had no idea. I'm sorry for not having noticed, for not having noticed the signs in your way of acting and trying to understand, I'm sorry for acting on impulse and blaming you, love. I'm sorry for having said those horrible things, I'm so sorry, lovey. Why didn't you tell me?" His blue eyes, which looked at her with attention and closeness, carried immense pain for seeing her in such a state and knowing that it was his own fault.

"I just… I didn't know how to tell you. I was afraid that you would agree with them, that you would realize that I really wasn't the right woman for you, and that you would leave me." Y/N choked back a sob, sniffling repeatedly, trying her best to stop her crying, looking up at him as she felt his hand squeeze hers tightly, trying to stop her from keep hurting herself.

Matt's expression softened as his eyes met hers, a mixture of understanding and pain written across his face before he closed them for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Y/N, you're not weak for feeling all this. Everyone has insecurities, but hiding them from me... you're pushing me away, which caused me to think other things were going on, on my own fault. It was a miscommunication on both sides, but I want to help you, and I can't if you don't trust me, babe."

"I'm so sorry, Matt. I'm so sorry for hurting you, for letting my insecurities get to us. I just... I feel so lost." The girl murmured, her voice lowering in volume considerably, her shoulders slumping even more. "Maybe I'm really not the one for you, you know? Maybe they're all right, and you just have to see it, too."

Matt's heart clenched at her words, and he gently lifted her chin so their eyes could meet again, his orbes traveling repeatedly around her face.

"No, Y/N, don't say that." He whispered fiercely. "You are the one for me. You're everything to me. These comments, they don't know us. They don't know how much you mean to me, how much you complete me."

"But how can you be sure? How can you be sure that I'm not dragging you down?" Y/N's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her breath still hitching from the sobs and her bottom lip trembling.

Matt sighed deeply, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

"Because I know what we have. I know the love we share, and I see the amazing person you are, even if you don't see it yourself right now. You're not dragging me down. You're my partner, and we face everything together, good or bad. And I'm sorry for making it seem different or the opposite of what it really is by acting like that, I wish I could take it all back." He shook his head, feeling his hear burning with shame.

Her gaze softened slightly, a glimmer of hope sparking within her.

"But the comments... they get to me, Matt. It's like their words are a constant echo in my mind." She sniffled, immense pain surging through her shoulders and back as the adrenaline and tension subsided.

"I get it. I really do." He nodded understandingly. "But we can't let other people dictate our happiness. We have to believe in ourselves and each other. We're stronger than this, Y/N. And I'm here for you, always." His thumb caressed her jawline, lightly wiping the wet trails where the several tears fell.

"I don't want to lose you, Matt. I want to be strong for both of us." A small, tentative smile formed on her lips, the first real smile he'd seen in weeks.

"You don't have to be strong alone." He reminded her, his hand finding hers again, holding it firmly. "We'll be strong together. But you need to talk to me. Let me in, okay?"

"Okay. I'll try. I promise." She nodded, her grip on his hand tightening.

"That's all I ask. Just promise me you'll never feel like you're alone in this. We're a team, sweetheart. And I love you so much." Matt leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"I love you too, Matt." She whispered, a new determination settling in her heart. "And I'll do better. I'll let you in."

"That's all I need. We’ll get through this together." He smiled, a genuine, relieved smile before using his hand holding hers to slowly pull her closer, wrapping his arms around her torso and pulling her upper body to rest against his own, laying her head against his hoodie-covered chest before resting his chin on top of her head, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply, the fresh smell of shampoo filling his nostrils, making him realize how much he missed it.

They stayed there, holding each other, feeling the weight of emotions that had been suppressed for so long. Y/N knew that the road to regaining trust and security in the relationship would be long and difficult for her, but in that moment, wrapped in Matt's arms, she felt a spark of hope.

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[vintagegeekculture]

"The Ayla Descent Theory" of Mary Sues

"Children of the Earth," Luis Royo.

After the success of Jean M. Auel's stone age novel Clan of the Cave Bear, there was a very lengthy trend in the publishing world of stone age adventure novels aimed at women that lasted for a decade and only really fizzled out in the early 2000s. After all, "Ayla," the name of the main character of these books, was one of the top baby names of 1987.

The target audience for these books were weird midwestern aunts....you know, the Mists of Avalon and the Mercedes Lackey/Valdemar audience. Therefore, the Clan of the Cave Bear imitators also featured things of interest to the weird aunt audience: Scotland, redhaired women with sharp tongues, commanding wolves, Ireland, Feminism, riding herds of wild horses bareback in scenic locations, Wicca, matriarchial religions, swimming with dolphins....but above all else, American Indians (a culture this audience finds interesting, as anyone who has seen the home decor of a typical weird midwestern aunt can attest), with many novels set in Ice Age America, like Children of the Dawn, Reindeer Moon and the First Americans. Decades later, this audience would form the core fandom for Game of Thrones, and the character of Khaleesi Targaryen in particular.

These books almost assuredly still have a place of honor on the book shelf of the weirdest woman at your job.

Nearly all of these imitators have two of Clan of the Cave Bear's defining traits: 1) a supremely beautiful, usually blonde athletic and statuesque main character over 5'11" who does not realize that she is so beautiful and desirable, who is good at a variety of different skills and is friendly with animals like hawks, dolphins, or horses, and 2) a love triangle between this aforementioned blond but innocent Venus and two bodybuilder muscular he-men cave hunks, one of whom is a blonde guy with long rock star hair (it was the 80s), and the other being a buff black guy with dreadlocks (or otherwise ethnic in some way).

The heroine usually picks the blonde guy in the end, but the audience usually picks the ethnic guy.

In the late 90s and early 2000s, in the broader culture of fandom, it was fashionable to dump on "Mary Sues" (indulgent wish-fulfillment author personas in fanfiction) and the people who wrote them. Accusations of creating a Mary Sue approached a kind of hysteria. Even at the time, when everyone else was getting swept up in this, I thought that getting mad about aunties writing fanfiction showed a loss of perspective, and was a bit silly. Thankfully, we've benefitted from moral evolution: the consensus in fandom now is that writing aspirational characters is a harmless activity that tests a young writer's creative muscles, like the half-Vulcan pretty new ensign on the Enterprise that Kirk and Spock both fall in love with, or a new archer girl who Legolas falls in love with joining the Fellowship. This hate walked hand in hand with insecurities, in the exact same way that people worried about their appearance or concerned with their weight are often cruel to fat people, and there were frequent tests if this or that character in your writing was a Mary Sue.

There was a running joke in this 2000s culture of anti-self insertion called the "Ayla Descent Theory of Mary Sues." The joke was that Mary Sues came into existence because Ayla, the beautiful, athletic heroine of the Clan of the Cave Bear novels, was the ancestor of their entire lineage, as the first known Mary Sue to ever exist in the historical record, described as being a statuesque blonde who did everything right and was always at the center of love triangles, and who changed human history.

According to the running joke, Mary Sues everywhere were descended from Ayla from Clan of the Cave Bear, and she was the first to exist, and Ayla was the explanation of where all the Enterprise's new ensigns main characters fall in love with come from.

[ghostedgrim]

She's all that is about the popular guy being dared to date the "nerdy girl" by his so called friend, he takes the dare but ends up falling for her. She finds out and they have a fight and break up. He wins her back in the end. Take it anyway you want! I do want Eric to be jealous as hell after they break up when other guys start taking an interest in reader!!

She's All That pt.1

Pt2. Request page. Masterlist

Warnings ⚠️: Getting dared to pretend to date someone, implied violence, jealousy,

"Eric, with all so respect, you're a Dauntless leader, yet you've been single since day one." The music in the bar is so loud that for a moment Eric almost didn't hear him.

"Personally James, I don't see how that's relevant. I have enough hookups to satisfy me plenty, I don't need some girl or whatever. Relationships I just a bothersome hassle."

"I bet you don't have a single romantic bone in your body."

"That's what you think, James," the bartender hands Eric a plate of food and leaves her number on the receipt. "Now if I were an unromantic man, that woman wouldn't have given me her number just now."

"Okay whatever, we both know you're good at getting men and women into your bed, but can you handle a full on relationship?"

"Yes, I just prefer not to, I don't need it" Eric shrugs.

James smirks and holds up his wallet. "Prove it then, date y/n then, the ex Erudite girl from your iniation class. You don't have to love her back, just make her love you. Do it and I'll pay for your next tattoo."

"Fine, how long do I have?"

"I'll give you about a month."

"Then we have deal James."

Is drinking by the chasm stupid? Yes. Do I care? Absolutely not, not when I've been on a week long trip to Amity to handle Dauntless soldiers who forgot their mission and decided to play with the Amity girls. My job is to train and direct Dauntless soldiers, yet most days I find myself spanking ass because they don't know how to behave.

"God I should've stayed in Erudite." I groan. Obviously it isn't true, the people there were cruel, liars, manipulators, vain, but I must admit I missed all the reading and research I'd done throughout my time there.

"Saying stuff like that would get you killed," I damn near jump out of my skin at the sound of the deep rumbling voice behind me. I turn around to see Eric standing right behind me. He wraps an arm around my waist to stable me, and guide me away from the chasm as I sway. "Long day?"

"More like a long week," my hard scowl meets his cold grey eyes, "What do you want Eric?"

He looks at me with a prideful expression, "I wish to take you out on a date. Don't worry about work tomorrow I'm assigning you a day off."

I scoff, taking another sip of my drink. "Me? Hookup with you? Not interested."

Eric falters for a moment, a small tick in his jaw, before returning to that prideful arrogance. "Good, I'm not interested in a hookup. Meet me tomorrow at 8pm by the train, I'd like to get to know you, nerdy and all."

Before I could even argue he walks away, that entitled ass really thinks I'll just go where he tells me because he said it's a date. I wonder if he uses that method with every girl he hooks up with. Either way I'm not going.

"I'm not going." I remind myself for the uptinth time today. I'm laying on my stomach atop a skyscraper, sniper rifle in hand. Every shooting range in Dauntless is underground except for the rifle range. Every target is at least a mile away, and every night they're moved to a new spot, hidden somewhere on the streets below, or hidden in a new room within the buildings around me. Sometimes, the targets are put on conveyors so they move around, and sometimes some are hidden so well you can only see a tiny sliver. To handle a gun that can shoot from miles away takes practice, and extreme smarts. Constantly I must calculate how the wind may effect my bullet, how far before gravity pulls it down, the most effective place to hit a target, arm to disarm, leg to stop them from running, chest or head to kill.

Only 7 people here in Dauntless have been trained and can handle a rifle and I'm one of those seven. It's one of the few jobs I can use to challenge myself. Kinda fascinating how using a gun takes so much math and knowledge in physics. None the less, I still train at least twice a week like the others.

I'm not fucking going! BANG!! My gun jerke violently, the bullet flies through the air landing perfectly onto the head of a far away target.

I look at my watch, "6:15." I'm not fucking going.

I readjust. BANG!!

I wonder what Eric could possibly have in mind for our date. Wait, why the fuck should I even care? I'm not even going.

It would be rude to stand him up though, and maybe he does actually like me, maybe he's finally going to be in a relationship and he actually chose me. I scoff, nah that's fucking stupid, as if Eric would think to pick me our of all the women already obsessed with him. I'm sure he'll live if stand him up.

BANG!! I miss by a whole 5 feet. "Fucker."

BANG!! I miss again...

It's 7:58, I'm standing by the train tracks wearing my nicest black dress, combat boots, and my favorite gun and dagger holstered to my thigh beneath the skirt of my dress. I even did my makeup. Fuck me, why the Hell did I fall for this crap?

I watch the train approach. "Where the Hell is Eric? Is this a prank?" I fail to hear the frantic footsteps from behind me. I barely have time to process anything before there's an arm around my waist and I'm getting dragged into a train car.

"Sorry I'm late, had some last second paperwork to handle. Thank God I made it in time to catch the train. You okay?" Eric is wearing his typical black cargo pants, combat boots, his black shirt is tight fitting and pared with a black jacket, his hair is in it's signature style and everything. Why the Hell am I about to swoon?

"I'm uh, yeah I'm fine." I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear as I regain my footing. "For a moment I was scared you stood me up."

Eric scoffs, "Stand up a beautiful girl like you? I'd rather punch a brick wall." He sits down on the threshold of the door, letting his legs dangle out of the traincar as we race through the city. "Come sit," he pats his thigh.

If he's dissapointed I didn't sit on his lap he doesn't show it as I sit across from him. Unlike him I keep my legs inside the train car. "So uh..." I click my tounge, "why did you ask me out in a date, and why did you do it without the intent of hooking up? Last time I checked you never had time for a girlfriend."

"You've never been asked out before-"

"Oh so you're asking me out as a joke? Or pity? Because I'm not staying if that's the case." Eric appears to panic for a moment and quickly grips my shoulder as I try to stand.

"I wasn't finished," he states defensively, Eric's eyes stare deep into mine, their color cold as a winter storm, yet my cheeks warm and my heart stutters. I should probably check that with a doctor. "You and I came to Dauntless and went through iniation at the same time, if I recall correctly you ranked 10th place out of 35 initiates. Now you're not only training and directing Dauntless soldiers, but you're also apart of the only seven people here in Dauntless capable of handling a sniper rifle. I think I have every reason to be curious about you, because the fact that nobody has asked you out is baffling, especially considering how stunning and powerful you are."

Never have I expected a man like Eric to say such words. Stunning? Powerful? I know I'm strong, no idea where he gets the idea I have good looks, but honestly, I feel like I'm the hottest girl in Dauntless after hearing those words. Eric's hand rests atop mine, warm, strong, calloused from rigorous training, his eyes seem to trace my face, and suddenly I'm 16 and freshly transferred to Dauntless again. Eric was terrifying, but hot back then, he still is now just more tame.

I soon realize I've been gaping like a damn fish for minutes now and Eric's small chuckle breaks me from my trance. "I take it nobody has told you that before," he brings a hand to my cheek, his expression soft, "let me be the one to change that, to show and tell you just how amazing you are."

I used to imagine how his lips would taste. t

Then I turned 17 and pushed it from my mind because I was convinced Eric would never love me. He would always be too busy chasing tail to even notice me. But now his eyes are on my lips, his tounge even darts out for a moment to lick his bottom lip. He then looks back at my eyes, he leans in the hand on my cheek pulling me closer. "You smell like strawberries." Our lips are almost touching, his warm breath fanning across my jaw, he smells like gunpowder, cedarwood, and whiskey. I can barely hear anything over my pounding heart. I close my eyes, leaning forward to close the distance between us.

"Shit!" I open my eyes as Eric frantically pulls himself away from the door and the traincar is encased in darkness for several seconds until we leave the small tunnel. "Fuck," Eric laughs, "nearly lost my damn leg." I can't help but to laugh with him.

"That would certainly be quite the traumatic first date." We settle down again the wall both looking out the open door across from us. "How about we just keep all our limbs inside the train for now?" Eric sighs, and we both relax taking in the sight and sounds of the dark clouds rolling in and the distance thunder. The train rolls through the miles of green, flat land between the city and Amity. You can still see the bright lights of the Erudite buildings. It's peaceful, and I can't help but just enjoy the moment rather than talk.

"I once lit my hand on fire." Eric says it so casually as if he were talking about the damn weather.

"You what! Please do tell." I smile like a little kid excited for candy. Eric smiles back and dives into the story of how in chemistry he accidentally covered his hand in lighter fluid, then instead of washing it off he thought it faster to just burn it off. Fortunately the fire lit and burnt out too quick to cause any permanent damage.

It's pouring by the time the train reaches the Dauntless sector. Eric jumps off, then I jump right after. I barely have time to finish standing before he's wrapping his jacket around me. "I would hate for you to catch a cold. Now let me walk you home."

I'm starting to think this is a dream.

Asking her out was one thing, I never meant to get attached. We've been dating for almost a month now. Every time I see her my heart stops, and all I can do is admire her like some dumb schoolboy with a crush. Never in my life did I think I could actually fall in love, and never did I think I would stay up all night imagining what it would be like to kiss a girl, let alone replaying the sound of her laughter in my mind over and over. She's strong, smart as Hell, arguably smarter than me, and gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous I could drown in her arms. Honestly if she suffocated me I'd probably thank the damn woman.

"I'm fucked, I'm so utterly fucked." I spend maybe another hour in bed with nothing but my boxers on. I'm already running late, but fuck it, it won't kill Max if I'm late for work just once.

I'm quick to change clothes and rushed out of my home to search for y/n. I find her in the training room running a small squad through some drills. Without a single care I kiss her cheek, "Good morning, my dagger. Sorry for interrupting, but I just needed a small taste of you to get through my day." Her cheeks are dusted in red, and fuck she's just so damn cute it stabs my heart, and then her expression snaps back to stone and she shoos me away.

I catch James in the small squad of men, he's smiling and my heart drops as I remember our bet. I take my time walking up to my office. "How the Hell am I going to escape this?"

Today was exhausting, and I received far to many lewd comments about my relationship with Eric than I'd like. But now I can finally go visit Eric at the bar. For a guy known to be heartless and terrifying he's an amazing boyfriend.

Many people, especially Four, had warned me that Eric was likely dating me as a joke, but I highly doubt he'd continue fake dating me for a whole month as a joke. It's definitely not a joke. Yeah he can be mean, really mean, and cruel, especially to initiates, and yes he's heartless to seemingly everyone here in Dauntless but he has exceptions for certain people... I'm important to him, he's not dating me as a joke, sure he's capable of being that cruel but... he isn't doing that... right?

I try to shake the uneasy thoughts from my head, their just stupid fears, that's all. I pull on Eric's jacket and quickly make my way down to the bar.

I've been sitting alone at this table for nearly 20 minutes, and I can feel the eyes on me. My stomach is a storm of unease, and my doubt is ever growing. This isn't the first time Eric has been late to a date. When we first started dating, he had been cocky, full of himself, half the time it sounded like he was trying to talk me into bed. Despite our first date, it had taken me a while to finally, truly open up to him, to trust him, and believe he wouldn't hurt me. Yet here I am, sitting alone at a table a week later.

It's been a fucking hour, and I swear I can hear the whispers, feel the eyes. The waitress looks at me with contempt, as if she's won something and I lost at whatever she was winning it. My unease eventually turns to frustration and soon I'm walking through the dimly lit halls in search of Eric.

"Fuck me man, and here I thought you were incapable of a relationship." James, without a damn doubt that's his voice.

"Well I'm full of surprises." Eric? That's definitely him. Why the Hell is he with James instead of me, and why are they talking about relationships?

I stalk closer to where I'd heard them speaking, James is running his mouth about a girl's ass making it easy for me to find the two men, and watch them while remaining unseen.

"Have you both kissed, better yet fucked?" James asks and it makes my stomach turn sour. Kissing is fine, but asking about my sex life is not. Not that I have one, yet.

Eric huffs, "no we haven't had sex, and unless you count kissing on the cheek, then we haven't kissed yet."

"Ah, so in that case it isn't love." James has a concerningly victorious look.

"Just because we haven't kissed doesn't mean she isn't in love with me. She's never kissed a guy before, let alone have sex." Eric sounds somewhat annoyed.

"Well damn, a virgin, and unkisssed, I think I may need a taste myself. It's been awhile since I've tried a girl like that. Though-"

"James," Eric warns, his voice deep and posture tense. I wish I could see Eric's face, but all I can see is his back.

"Fine, fine, so you claim she's in love with you. Now I can argue that, but I saw the way that girl looked at you when you visited her last week. She looked at you the way a girl looks at a puppy." James shrugs, and then his eyes lock with mine and he smiles. "It seems I've lost our bet Eric. You can be romantic, and you are capable of making any girl, even ugly miss grumpy, genuinely fall for you. I can't wait to watch her face and see her cry when you tell her you're whole relationship has been fake."

"James-"

"Then aging you should definitely keep dating her. Think about it, maybe she'll stop being so closed off and grumpy, better yet, she'll stop being so strict on my squad. Perhaps you can make her give me a few promotions."

"Playing with her emotions to make her date me and fall in love was-"

I don't think, I just run. I don't stop running, not until my legs give out and I find myself sitting in a train car. That asshole! I trusted him, I loved him, and yet that fucker was using me for his own sick gain! My comm link keeps ringing, and in my frustration I stupidly throw it out of the train.

I'm crying so hard I can barely breathe, my chest hurts like Hell, and my vision is so blurry from tears that I can barely see shit. It was fake, it was all fake. Everything he said was fake! I was nothing to him! Absolutely nothing!

I curl up, and I hate myself for doing it, but I pull his jacket tighter around me. "Gods how can I be so fucking stupid... they warned me, so many fucking times and I ignored them like an idiot."

The sun is rising by the time I get off the train. It's freezing cold, snow covers the street and snowflakes fall from the sky. I glance at the cameras as I walk back to the compound. No doubt Four is watching me through them, or is already at my apartment with a whole essay of a lecture awaiting me. I don't even know if I have the energy to keep walking. So I just lean against a brick wall inside an alley.

I don't know how much time has passed, I'm shivering uncontrollably but I just can't seem to move.

"Y/n." His voice is deep, soft, and full of warmth and I find myself crying all over again.

"Four, I... you were right I-" He interrupts me with a tight hug and kisses my forehead.

"Later, let's just get you home and warm." Four bundles me up in a spare jacket and scarf he brought before picking me up and carrying me home. The exhaustion hits me hard and I unwillingly let myself drift asleep.

I'm bundled in thick warm blankets when I wake up, two warm hands hold one of mine. I finally open my eyes. I'm in my bedroom, Four is leaning against the wall near my door, his knuckles scabbed, and splattered with blood. Confused I look to my left to see who the Hell is holding my hand. To my suprise it's Eric. His gaze is locked on our hands, eyes are rimmed in red, bruises decorate his jaw, right eye, and possibly other places, even his nose looks broken.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Eric's head snaps up and he looks at me in such a way that I'm convinced he actually does love me.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, what happened- no, what I did was wrong. You didn't deserve any of that." A tear slips down his cheek and I roll my eyes at his pathetic attempt of gaining my pity. "Yes, James and I made a bet with him betting I couldn't make you fall in love with me. It was wrong, and it was cruel for me to manipulate you like that-"

"Get out." I snap.

"Hear him out, trust me," Four interrupts. "We both know Eric isn't the guy to let himself get beat up, especially without throwing at least one punch back." It dons on me that Four beat the shit out of Eric, but that's not what suprises me, it's the fact that Four is utterly unscathed. Eric actually let Four beat him up after what he did to me.

"I- at first it was fun, but then I started to develop feelings and holy shit I fell. I fell hard and fast and I didn't know what to do." Eric's voice breaks and he looks away from me. "You were like a goddam dagger, burrowed deep into my heart and seared into my brain. I thought, maybe to could just let myself win the bet instead of calling it off, you'd never have to know and we'd get to keep dating. You don't have to forgive me, but please know ever I've told you, it was the truth and I do love you. I love you so much it hurts."

"A part of me wants to believe you, Eric. However, the other part of me knows you're nothing more than a lying manipulative snake. I don't want to ever see you again, don't talk to me, don't even look at me."

Defeated Eric finally rids himself from my room.

"What happened to James?" I ask Four.

Four smiles, "Eric broke his jaw."

I sigh, deep in thought, "Did Eric actually let you hit him."

"Pretty much. I found him outside frantically looking for you, I punched first before asking questions. I had already seen all I needed to through the cameras. He didn't fight back once, just stood there and took my beating. I yelled st him for quite a bit before dragging his ass here then returning to the security cameras and waiting for you to step off the train."

"Four?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. And if I ever act that stupid again, slap the shit out of me."

[matan4il]

Holocaust survivor Theodor Adorno never said that it's impossible to write poetry after Auschwitz, but he's often misquoted as if he did. I think it's because those of us who care about the Shoah, struggle with the idea of poetry after Auschwitz. The symbol of culture vs the epitome of violent cruel barbarism. Both connected to a nation considered highly civilized. The art dedicated to describing vs an absolute hell that is indescribable.

For me, the poetry that was written about the Holocaust is at its most authentic expression when the sentences break down, like in Dan Pagis' poem Written with a Pencil in the Sealed Train Car, whose one sentence never ends. Most of all, I feel it when I read Paul Celan's poem Death Fugue, where the sentences run on, and into, and away from each other. In such poems, the meaning is what survives the breaking down of this rather basic verbal structure.

It's October 7th again, which is weird because it marks an entire year of it being October 7th for Israelis and Jews.

On that October 7th, I wrote, I wrote facts because I had no words to describe all the things I was thinking and feeling, running on, and into, and away from each other inside me. A year later, I have even less words. And my sentences don't break down, to reflect what broke down for me, as I observed too many horrors perpetrated by terrorists, and too many out there celebrating the brutal rape, abuse and massacre of my people, and justifying it, and victim blaming civilian men, women, children and Holocaust survivors, and peddling antisemitic libels like their lives depended on how dehumanizing they can be to the Jews and the civilians of the Jewish state. My sentences don't break down, but a part of my heart and soul is forever broken.

And now, on top of everything else, the antisemitic mob is also appropriating October 7th, the day when we were massacred, making it all about another group. Despite the fact that the only Palestinians killed on Oct 7, 2023 were terrorists and not-innocent civilians who invaded Israel in order to loot, rape, maim, burn, torture and kill. Many Palestinians and antisemites were celebrating and spewing hate and falsely accusing the Jewish state of genocide on Oct 7, 2023 already (and for years before that. Their destruction of what that word means started way before Hamas' massacre). And on Oct 7, 2024 they won't even let us quietly break down, and run out of words, and try to find what meaning survives these atrocities and continued antisemitic global abuse, and remember our victims, the people butchered in the biggest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust, and those who died trying to defend us from that in this war which we did not start, and the victims targeted or raped or murdered in the many anti-Israel, antisemitic terrorist attacks and hate crimes that took place over the last year.

That's before we get into how on Oct 7, 2023 Jews were targeted and victimized, and for some reason, that translated into the horrific reality that on Oct 7, 2024 Jews are being warned to be careful, because we're going to be targeted today, too.

And I want to say something. I want to say so many somethings. With all the feelings and thoughts inside me. With the generational trauma that's had to witness 'Never Again' appropriated and weaponized against the people who first gave birth to this phrase out of the depths of the indescribable hell they survived.

But I just don't have enough - because there are not enough - words.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[shorthaltsjester]

seeing people use the various pinterest “pain that just made this person kind” quotes about laudna over the past few months truly grind my gears. like. textually no actually all that pain has irrevocably changed laudna in ways that are not kind, has changed her ways that means she dehumanizes herself, views herself as a dead end unworthy/incapable of having a life let alone a happy ending, and she can be calculated and cruel like. it is true that she is playful, but (and this is a theme across all fandoms about women in fiction honestly but especially in cr fandom) the reason her kindness is resonant is because we see that it’s not the only option that she’s resorted to out of her own pain, in fact it’s probably the hardest option faced with the trauma that she has. like the reason the moment in whitestone when she apologizes to percy because she recognizes they are both in pain from the same source, to me that’s as resonant as it is because up until the moment she made that choice to be kind, it seemed equally possible that she would lash out because of the different places they currently are in and that her pain still takes up such a huge role in her life.

this is probably a bigger issue i have with the notion of pain making people kind as if it the people in question have no choice but especially in cases like laudna where currently we’re seeing exactly how unkind her pain can make her — not in a Shes Evil way but just in a. it isn’t actually kind at all to hate yourself even if it makes you docile or willing to bend yourself to the plans of (even well intentioned) others. like, it wasn’t actually the years of solitude and delilah manipulation that made laudna kind, and in fact i’d argue that textually we’ve only seen proof that those years have made it harder for laudna to be kind in a way she might’ve been when she was still matilda; i think particularly of her attitude with children that would be taken more kindly from someone more alive and someone less literally haunting. that also shines in the whitestone exchange with percy, because it’s the recognition that underneath the cold and calculating city leader and the haunting witch come back from the dead again, they’re just two kids who had the unfortunate fate of having been targets for delilah briarwood, as different as the reasons for that were, they still both have to live with the pain, and they both likely would’ve been much kinder people if they didn’t have to.

kindness is a social skill that requires both practice/maintenance and awareness of those who you direct it at, neither of which are particular strengths of someone who has spent 30 years alone with her own voice mediated through a rat puppet or her patron’s in her head. and i do think it’s important for recognize that laudna tries to be kind, but i think the tragedy of her story and the complexity of her character is harshly undersold if you look at her and just ascribe her to the “all that pain and it just made her kind.” it makes the most interesting parts of laudna flat and static and worst of all, agencyless.

[sizhens]

Obviously I think it is good to be extremely critical of the way transgender women will be violently targeted by TME people in a gendered manner. However any transgender woman with the most basic of analysis and social connection with other transgender women either know someone or have been themselves the victims of other transgender women cynically wielding this transmisogynist disposability themselves to get a leg up in petty interpersonal bullshit. All of the kindest things I have experienced have been from other transgender women but likewise some of the most cruel petty things I've been subjected to have been at the hands of other transgender women. I am once again posting this page from Never Angeline Nørth's Sea Witch:

[frannyzooey]

devour (the entire universe)

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: E (additional warnings: harvesting violence, mentions of gore and blood, mentions of cannibalism, love as consumption and all the visuals that come with it, so much fucking and filth and ass play and cum eating it isn’t funny)

My submission for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event, my giftee is @wannab-urs ❤ Merry Christmas, my lovely!

I was so excited when I was given your name (!!) - I absolutely love seeing you on my dash. I tried to take as many things from your list as possible, but the prompt "love as consumption" really inspired this piece. Having never written anything like this before, I really, really hope you like it. A million thank yous to @hier--soir who beta'ed this for me and also gave me the best inspiration and guidance - I couldn't have done it without them. Thank you also to @bageldaddy who put up with my terrible spelling and who always reminds me, in the best way, that less is more ❤

--

CYCLE ONE

The first time you saw him, he stumbled into the field you were working in.  Your head snapping up at the sound of someone coming through the grass, you observed each other for a moment, each of your throwers raised. 

“Now this is something I have never seen in all my time in The Green,” he said. “A little girl.”

Immediately bristling, indignation flashed across your face underneath the glass dome of your helmet. You resented being called that - a little girl. The open prejudice against women harvesters was well known and there was something about his tone that felt mocking in a way you loathed, so you didn’t even dignify his statement with an answer. 

Instead, you held your ground. 

The two of you locked in a silent standoff, he took you in with a tilt of his helmet, assessing the threat you posed. You did the same, taking in his battered yellow suit, his lithe but broad frame. 

Eventually, he lifted his hands in acquiescence and turned, disappearing back into the thick vegetation. 

“A little girl,” you muttered angrily to yourself. Gouging your shovel into the rough soil, you sneered at the remembrance of his tone – as if he was taken aback by your presence. As if you didn’t belong here. 

Three weeks later, you understood the marvel in his initial statement. 

A woman an anomaly on the Green, others saw you as an easy target. Strong-armed out of your gems for the third time in weeks, other harvesters used brute force against your own smaller frame. Repeatedly forcing you into submission, you started to hate both them and yourself; the cruel environment and even crueler inhabitants bending you until you almost broke. 

It was at this point that he stumbled upon you again: only this time, he offered himself to your aid. 

Impressed by your tenacity, he suggested a partnership: your nimble fingers paired with his protection. 

Sitting in the dirt with your suit torn and your case gone, you knew it was foolish to reject his offer of protection, but you did it anyway. 

Both of you knew it was pride talking.

He crouched down in front of you, bringing you face to face. “I don’t see you have much of a choice. Or perhaps you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

You narrowed your eyes in stubbornness. “What’s in it for you?”

He shrugged. “A companion.”

You stiffened, and he shook his head. “Not that sort of companion.” His eyes raked over your form, as if he could see anything under your bulky suit, coming back to your face with a raise of his eyebrows. “Unless you’re interested?”

Your face hardened. “Not a chance. Protection only. Even split.”

He thought for a moment, his face suddenly transforming into something amenable.

“Of course.”

CYCLE TWO

At first, you hated him. 

Couldn’t stand the way he was always talking in that drawl of his, always spewing those endless sentences filled with nonsensical words and even less content. You had come to the Green to work alone in silence, after all. A concept he seemed to despise, given the way he wouldn’t fucking shut up. 

Attempting to ignore his ceaseless talking in the days that followed, you thought all the time about breaking the partnership - especially when you saw just how deceiving he could be with those words of his. It was a resource, you reasoned, to have that type of deception on your side, but what was stopping him from deceiving you? Constantly questioning his true allegiance, you kept your guard up – until the fourth time someone tried to take what was yours. 

He killed them. 

No hesitation, no negotiating. Calculated yet with a glimpse of something feral underneath that flashed in his dark eyes with every plunge of his harvesting knife into the man’s chest, you held your breath as you watched him take out the threat. Your form was frozen, the heavy grunts of his struggle echoing through your helmet. 

Chest heaving and fist gripping a blade covered in thick, dark blood when he rose, his breathing sounded heavy and labored through the radio. His deep voice crackled through, pulling you from your fog. 

“It’s okay, Birdie. Keep digging.”

CYCLE THREE 

Sharing a tent for logistical reasons, you had to get used to his…proximity. 

The careless way he discarded his clothes around the small space, the constant crinkle of Bits Bars. The way he changed his clothes in front of you whether or not you averted your gaze. His scent that clung to everything in that tent: the thin pillow and blanket he gave you, the towels you dried yourself with, the clothing he lent you to sleep in. 

Unused to having anyone in his presence, he was careless with his body and trying to give him some privacy (that he didn’t seem to want, nor need) you strained your eyes attempting not to look at his tanned skin every time he bared it. His body littered with evidence of survival, you wanted to touch every line of puckered skin with your fingertips just to see how it felt. 

Attraction due to proximity, is what you told yourself. 

Imagining the texture and heat of his skin, obsessing about the way his tongue peeked out to dart at his top lip when he was deep in concentration, staring at the size of his hands as he worked to daydream about how filling his fingers would feel inside you. The images haunted your every waking moment, and you tried to ignore them all, including the sleep thick mumbles that left his plush lips while he was dreaming at night. 

The intimate sound drove you mad with arousal, even though you assumed they were nightmares that plagued him…until the sounds changed into something more desperate. Until he said your name, his hips shifting on his cot with intent. 

Your pulse pounding in the dark, you slipped your hand beneath your waistband and delved your fingers deep into the silken wetness that greeted you. 

Swirling, swirling, swirling, you joined him in his dreams. 

CYCLE FOUR

Everything about your dynamic changed when he lost his arm. 

Used to him being confidence brimming over, he turned into something else. Sullen, quiet. The silence you once craved too foreign to be comfortable, you tried to coax him out. 

“You seem like you’ve been doing this a long time. Tell me about it.” 

“How long have you been on your own? How many planets have you harvested on?”

“How did you get that blonde streak in your hair, is it a birthmark or something?”

Slowly inching yourself into the hole he’d lowered himself into, you settled in next to him, curling yourself into his still side. 

Diving deep inside him to find the self-confidence you knew was buried deep, you cradled it carefully, nurturing it back to life. You modified his throwers for one armed use, stitched up the sleeve of his jumpsuit so it would stop flapping in the wind, helped him practice fighting techniques to learn a new way of throwing his lean strength around. When he had a setback in his healing, you bartered for more juice all on your own. 

Carefully soaking his stump, he had avoided your gaze the whole time – or tried to, but you wouldn’t let him. 

“Hey,” you murmured, his chin cupped in your hand. His dark eyes lifted to yours, and you held his gaze. “We’re still partners, right?”

He huffed in disgust, looking away. “A one armed man is of little benefit to you.”

“I decide what’s beneficial to me,” you challenged, the fierceness in your tone forcing the edge of his lips to tug up. 

He said nothing as his eyes searched your face and you considered how this must be for him – a reversal of roles, an independent creature like him used to coming out on top. Scrambling and clawing and fighting for it, sure – only this time he lost, and with it, everything he knew.

Except you. 

“I need you,” you said, reaching for his whiskered cheek to guide his face back to yours. “Partners. You and me, okay?”

“If you’d still have me, Birdie,” he offered, nodding in confirmation. “You and me.”

CYCLE FIVE

The first time you kissed, you were both drunk – and you did a lot more than kissing. 

For a man still getting used to one arm, he fucked you senseless. 

A bottle of…something found on the body of another harvester who saw Ezra’s missing arm and tried to take advantage, the two of you drank it in its entirety next to the still body left in the fight’s wake. Stumbling back to your tent with warmth spreading through your limbs to pool between your thighs, he saw your aching, restless want and matched it with his own. 

Insatiable, filthy, depraved: you thought his inhibitions were gone along with the contents of the bottle, but it turns out he never had any. 

Helmets tossed and clothes torn from each other’s bodies, his fingers left bruising marks in their wake paired with the ones pounded into the inside of your thighs from his rough thrusts that shifted the cot along the floor. He swallowed your guttural moans before matching them with his own, his teeth biting into the soft, pliant flesh that he found under the rough exterior of your suit. 

Riddled with the marks of his desire, he watched you ride him until you cried out his name and then made you sit on his face, licking his own spend out from inside you. 

Never stopping until you begged him for reprieve, he only let you sleep an hour before waking you up to do it all over again. 

He fucked you anywhere you were willing to be fucked after that: in broad daylight against the hull of an abandoned pod, bent over his cot with his dirty t-shirt stuffed into your mouth, right in the loose soil of a dig once. 

Introducing you to so much more than you had experience with, he drew every debased fantasy out of you, and then made it come true with his fingers, mouth and cock. Wondering where he’d even learned the things he knew, he regaled you with more tales of his travels, only this time he told you about the interactions of a different kind. 

A brothel, specializing in bondage. 

A woman who had trained her gag reflex, and then bringing in a friend, had shown Ezra how to train his as well. 

A bounty hunter once, who refused to take off his helmet. 

“It was thrilling, not being able to see his face,” he mused, a delighted smile stretching his cheeks. “He came more than anyone I have ever been with. Filled my mouth full of his milky desire.” 

He stopped there with a fond expression, lost in reminiscing. 

“Sounds like you don’t need me anymore,” you teased. “You should go find your tall drink of bounty hunter, and –”

A smirk graced his face, and he rolled you onto your back to settle above you. “I love my gems golden colored, but I love them green as well.” He winked. “Come now, my envious Birdie. I’ll always need you.”

CYCLE TEN

You learned to move as one - both inside the tent and out. 

Alone for months, you shifted with each others every movement, as if your bodies were connected just like the frequency of your helmets. Every tell of his showed plain through his suit, every mood shift of yours was met with a lift of his eyebrow. 

Every beat of time spent in the presence of one another all merged and blended into one timeline: before, and after Ezra. 

Before, there was insignificance, and after, there was only him. 

Love seemed too simple a word, too small for what you felt. You shared a heartbeat, a body, a mind — something more than just love. It was crushing and all consuming, something that took root deep inside you and branched out to connect with his own limbs. You needed a better word than love to describe your devotion. 

Something that dripped in reverence and coated your tongue just like he did. 

“Have you ever cared for someone so much you wanted to consume them? Swallow a piece of them whole, to keep within you forever?”

Love as consumption, he called it. 

You were used to his musings by now, the knowledge that he’d gathered over a lifetime of travels pouring out of his generous, plush mouth. Your bodies squeezed together on his cot, your skin was bare and sweat damp with exertion, your limbs intertwined with his. “There is something romantic about it, don’t you think? Wanting their body within yours.”

“Your body is already within mine nearly every night,” you teased, and he pinched the tip of your nose, grinning. 

“Too true, little bird. Too true.” His face shifted from playful to something subdued. “But you know what I mean.”

“Is that what you want me to do?” Your thumb traced a line across his eyebrow, your fingers seeking out the patch of white in his hairline just above.  “Want me to slice a piece of you off and eat it?”

He ignored the grimace on your face. “Which part of me would you choose?”

The question was phrased in such a way that you could tease him again, but you knew he wanted a real answer, not a playful one. 

“Well…” you thought, lacing your fingers with his to bring them to your mouth. “I have always loved these. But to leave you with any less fingers would just be cruel.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes fixed on the way your mouth molded around his knuckles as you gave them a kiss. Letting go, your touch drifted to dance along the blunt edge of his stump.

“Maybe a piece from here?”

He frowned. “You’d take even more from me, in a place I am already lacking?”

Your voice dropped an octave, your own expression turning solemn. “It was horrible, what we had to do. I hate thinking about it: the weight of your arm as it dropped away, the pain you were in.” You found his dark eyes, holding his gaze as you stroked the puckered flesh. “I want to carve a piece out right here, just to rewrite the memory of it. A gift from you to me, rather than something I took.”

“You took nothing that I did not beg you to take.”

The double meaning in his words – like all of them – wasn’t lost on either of you. 

“Only you would make amputation sound so romantic.”

He smiled, and you dug your fingers into the firm round of his shoulder, pulling his body to lie on top of yours. Cradled safely between your plush thighs, his hips immediately rocked forward with intent. 

His head dipped to nuzzle his nose against your own. “It’s easy to be a romantic with a muse such as you.”

Catching him with a kiss, your lips locked as he slid his tongue inside the wet cavern of your mouth and you breathed him in, winding your arms around his neck to keep him in place. Your fingers slid up through the crown of his mussed, shortly cropped hair and he relaxed on top of you, deepening the kiss. 

“I would give you my arm if I could.” 

You whispered your confession as his mouth covered your pulse with a harsh suck, and whined when he answered with a sharp bite: his incisors pinching your delicate flesh. His hot breath ghosted humid over your skin as he searched for another spot, biting down on the other side of your slim neck. 

Arching underneath him, you continued. “I would cut it off and give it to you.” 

He found the tender underside of your breast, catching it between his teeth and groaned, soothing the bite with a broad sweep of his tongue before continuing down the plane of your body. 

“I would give you anything, Ez. Anything.”

Mindless with lust from the sharp edges of his love, you writhed underneath him, hitching your knees higher along his torso. His strong muscles flexed and shifted under the squeeze of your legs, and he forced them open to spread your legs wider. Questing, his mouth sought out the tender skin along the curve of your hip with another bite. 

“Fuck,” you breathed, pushing your fingers through his hair to guide him lower. 

Situating his broad shoulders between your thighs, his mouth devoured.

Wide open to catch everything you gifted him, his tongue slid smoothly through your folds to collect every slip of arousal that dripped out, his throat bobbing with a swallow before going harder. His hunger shifted you up the cot, the lower half of his face buried inside your aching cunt and when his tongue found your clit with a smooth, forceful grind, you shamelessly begged for more. 

“Harder. Eat it harder.”

He growled, his fingers digging into your flesh to tug you tight against his face and a hoarse cry crawled out of your throat – one that broke into an astonished cry when he pulled back just to bite into the plush, smooth skin of your inner thigh. This one drew blood – you could feel the hot slip of it against your skin, his kisses smeared with it. Ignoring the blossoming throb of pain, you asked him to do it again. 

He did, right at the same time he slid two fingers inside you with a filling stretch and joining your hand with his, he rested his cheek on your inner thigh and watched as your fingers breached your slick warmth together. A finger of your own and one of his, then two of your own and two of his - your hands worked together, as they always have. His face right next to the liquid warmth coating the digits, his tongue joined to lap at your clit. 

Obscene sounds filled the small tent: the audible slick sound of your cunt accepting his fingers over and over again, your higher pitched moans blending with his lower ones. Keeping his fingers tucked snugly inside, his mouth lowered down between your cheeks to slide against your asshole and he ate you there with abandon as well, your thighs dropping open wider to give him more room. 

When his mouth found your clit again with a suck, the impulse to be eaten alive by him spread thick and warm through your hips, weighing heavily in your core. Propelled higher and higher with every pump of his fingers, the image of his blood soaked mouth as his teeth tore into your pulse made you pitch forward into your release, your body bowing against the thin cot. 

Breathless and still riding a pulsing wave, you begged him. “Come up here and fuck me.”

He obeyed immediately, letting his weight push the air from your lungs just before his mouth stole the rest. His kisses soaked in desperation, his cock notched thick and stiff at your entrance, and you accepted him within you without any resistance. Fucking you with harsh snaps of his hips, your fingers dug into the meat of his ass and surrounded in his warmth with the light blacked out by his broad frame, your lips found a home on his bicep that flexed taut next to your cheek.

Your body cradled within his, the humid air around you pulsing with life. The rhythmic woosh of his strong heartbeat, the safety you’d feel within the damp darkness, finally joined as one. 

His strokes snapped harder, his own want matching yours. His mouth ached to bite your soft lips, to nibble on the skin until it broke under the force of his love. 

His harvesting knife slipped between his ribs to crack them open, gifting you everything held inside. Feeding you bits and pieces of his heart, watching the muscle that’s only ever beat for you disappear between your lips. 

“Where do you want it, Birdie?” he begged above you, his mouth molding around the hinge of your jaw, tasting the sweet skin there. “I’m gonna come. Shit – shit. Where do you want it?”

“Inside me.”

A shudder slipped through his body as he came with a loud, sated groan, his hips forcing themselves into the cradle of your thighs to bury it as deep as possible – but he wasn’t done. He was never done, when it came to you. Before he could catch his breath, he slid his softening cock from your warmth and replaced it with his fingers, crooking them to gather the milky spend. 

Bringing them up to your mouth, he fed it to you. 

Glistening tendrils of release coated his fingers and your lips, smeared across your tongue when he forced them into your mouth and then sliding them out, he kissed you deeply, savoring your joined taste. He gathered more, this time shifting his touch to the tight ring of your ass and he pushed some in there as well, your hips arched up to accept it. 

Sweat, spend, blood: he consumed them all and likewise fed them to you. Hours slipped by, his appetite for you insatiable: forcing you onto your hands and knees to eat you roughly from behind, filling your ass with his cock before pulling out to spill hot across your lower back, smearing it over your skin like a balm, his fingers tacky with it when he wrapped them around your slender throat and made you take him again. Riding him, your fingers sought out the wet heat of his mouth and he kissed and nibbled on them, before drawing them in with a suck. 

The vast universe outside the tent was a threatening thing: harsh and unforgiving, ruthless and deadly. Inside the tent, tendrils of filthy intimacy surrounded your bodies as you orbited each other, creating your own universe between the sweat damp press of your bodies. 

“You and me,” he breathed under you, his teeth catching on the pads of your fingers and you dropped down, resting your mouth just under the whiskered curve of his jaw. His pulse a rapid beat under the skin, you relished the strength held just under the surface. 

“You and me,” you replied, your mouth opening wide.

[thrumbolt]

Top 5 most annoying Tamlin scene misinterpretations

1. ''There is no such thing as a high lady'' I hate this one, because it is always taken as some sort of proof that Tamlin is a raging misogynist who doesn't want an equal woman by his side or some similar type of nonsense. I don't know where this is coming from. Tamlin never wanted to be a high lord. He would probably welcome for someone to take over most of the work so he could just keep running through the woods. He also has absolutely no issues with taking advice from women in power (Ianthe? Hello??). His first reaction to the high lady question is literally this:

“Is everyone just going to call me ‘Tamlin’s wife’? Do I get a … title?” He lifted his head long enough to look at me. “Do you want a title?”

And let's not forget that Feyre's first reply is ''No, I don’t know if I can handle them calling me High Lady”. To which he then answers that she doesn't have to worry about that, since ''there is no such thing as a high lady'' because the magic choses the title and it keeps chosing males. Also this whole scene happens while he eats her out. Not that it's relevant or anything, just saying...

2. ''Tamlin killed Rhys' family'' No. Tamlin's dad killed Rhys' family. I have no idea how Tamlin doing it is ever the takeaway from that whole story. Let's just quote the actual scene:

“Tamlin’s father, brothers, and Tamlin himself set out into the Illyrian wilderness, having heard from Tamlin—from me—where my mother and sister would be, that I had plans to see them. I was supposed to be there. I wasn’t. And they slaughtered my mother and sister anyway.”

Yeah okay, Tamlin gave the information (supposedly) and was there (supposedly) sure, but it's highly unlikely that he was so willingly. Let's not forget that it's established that Tamlin was afraid of his father, that Tamlin's father is worse than Beron (who, I might remind you, tortures his sons) and that Tamlin was friends with Rhys at the time - which neither family approved of. Even Rhys doesn't actually believe Tamlin did anything besides being spineless:

''I didn’t care that Tamlin had been there, had allowed them to kill my mother and sister, that he’d come to kill me because he didn’t want to risk standing against them.''

In the end we don't know the details. Tamlin could've been tortured and tied up or whatever. Making him watch could've been a cruel form of punishment for being friends with Rhys. We don't really know until SJM graces us with Tamlin's side of the story.

3. ''It's really Tamlin's own fault that the spring court fell'' Alternatively also phrased as: 'Feyre just opened everyone's eyes to Tamlin's incompetence' and....honestly? This low key makes me question the reading comprehension of people.

Yes, Tamlin made a deal with Hybern, which was extremely risky, but the war was coming regardless (as we learn from Rhys in the first half of ACOMAF) and the spring court would be the main target because of its location next to the wall. Inviting Hybern into his lands in a trade is actually a pretty smart way to avoid a lot of death on Tamlin's part - plus he needed help to rescue Feyre and get her out of the deal she had with Rhysand (people forget that Tamlin didn't know Feyre didn't actually need rescuing from the guy that was abusing her in front of him in ACOTAR).

So yeah anyway, Feyre did several things to make the spring court fall: 1. She manipulated the solstice ceremony to make herself seem cauldron-blessed in the eyes of the people, 2. She made a sentry accuse Ianthe (who WAS doing sneaky shit) which essentially did nothing except putting Tamlin on the spot in front of Hybern, so he was kind of forced to throw the sentry under the bus. Good job Feyre, you got a poor sod whipped! But it also built resentment within the soldiers, which was her plan all along and 3. before leaving, she did this (let's just quote the whole thing):

''I had a people who had lost faith in their High Priestess. I had sentries who were beginning to rebel against their High Lord. And as a result of those things, I had Hybern royals doubting the strength of their allies here. I’d primed this court to fall. Not from outside forces—but its own internal warring. And I had to be clear of it before it happened. Before the last sliver of my plan fell into place. The party would return without me. And to maintain that illusion of strength, Tamlin and Ianthe would lie about it—where I’d gone. And perhaps a day or two after that, one of these sentries would reveal the news, a carefully sprung trap that I’d coiled into his mind like one of my snares. I’d fled for my life—after being nearly killed by the Hybern prince and princess. I’d planted images in his head of my brutalized body, the markings consistent with what Dagdan and Brannagh had already revealed to be their style. He’d describe them in detail—describe how he helped me get away before it was too late. How I ran for my life when Tamlin and Ianthe refused to intervene, to risk their alliance with Hybern. And when the sentry revealed the truth, no longer able to stomach keeping quiet when he saw how my sorry fate was concealed by Tamlin and Ianthe, just as Tamlin had sided with Ianthe the day he’d flogged that sentry …When he described what Hybern had done to me, their Cursebreaker, their newly anointed Cauldron-blessed, before I’d fled for my life … There would be no further alliance. For there would be no sentry or denizen of this court who would stand with Tamlin or Ianthe after this. After me.''

So, the sentries left Tamlin because of a lie. A fake story. Without sentries, Hybern decided to take over rather than just be guests and had a prime spot to attack the summer court in turn. Which is also why Tarquin is extremely pissed at Feyre - not Tamlin. So no, Tamlin wasn't a bad high lord. His only real mistake was ever trusting Feyre.

Sure, some argue that Feyre thought Tamlin genuinely sided with Hybern and might be a threat to the rest of Prythian, so taking him down would make sense for her even outside of petty revenge. But there's just one problem with that: Feyre is a mind reader. She could have just.....checked. lol

4. ''Tamlin didn't do anything Under the Mountain'' This one really gets my goat because it's not really true? Things Tamlin did to help Feyre: 1. He sent her away to the human realm. (People forget this, but he basically doomed his court to protect her ass - it's not his fault she came back!) 2. He made Lucien check up on her. (Yes Lucien was Feyre's friend but he still acted under Tamlin's orders!) 3. He ignored Feyre as to not rile Amarantha up even more (Come on, have you seen Amarantha? It totally makes sense) 4. He tries to get to Feyre, begging Amarantha to stop even as he is tied up, bleeding out from a stab wound to his chest that he can't heal because he has no powers - like what do you want him to do??? 4. He literally kills Amarantha the second he is able to

Also personal conspiracy detour: That music that Rhysand supposedly sent to Feyre was SO originally supposed to be Tamlin, you can't convince me otherwise. I will never not believe that this wasn't just a lazily done quick change when SJM rewrote book 1 and 2 to account for the boyfriend switcheroo. Attributing the music to Rhys makes absolutely zero sense. He's not a musical boy at all, come on! Music themes never come up with him again either! Meanwhile Tamlin played for Feyre before, is generally a musical guy COME ON! /conspiracy detour over

5. ''It's Tamlin's fault that Nesta and Elaine got turned to fae'' No. No it's not. He knew nothing about this. Ianthe did this on her own accord because Feyre told her where her sister's lived. Tamlin actually attacks (!) the King of Hybern over it (to no avail, but still).

Some people blame Tamlin for keeping Ianthe around afterwards, despite of what she did. Those people I want to refer to point number 3 in this list. Ianthe was working with Hybern. Tamlin tried to be buddies with Hybern for reasons. No, he can't just throw out Ianthe.

[writingoddess1125]

My Heart Breaks Pt. 2

Warning: Angst then Fluff

Buggy X FemReader

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Part 1

Replaced the Photo! Cause this was too perfect! Art belongs to Vamos_MK on twitter!!

You stared up at the blue sky with a tired sigh, finally you were free.. Over two fucking decades it had taken to escape and you did it God damn it!

For the last 20 years you had been imprisoned in the Impel Down- It had been awful yo say the least.. constantly you were trying to protect yourself and saw that the man who had sent you here had been extra cruel in doing so- well not you but the women who you took her place..

You still felt guilt in knowing she had died in your place.. but you couldnt help but be greatful she had wanted to die due to her cause in an accidental death. You hoped in her afterlife she was happy..

However death was definitely kinder then the prison- with monsters at every turn and trying to keep sex deprived prisoners from trying to have their way with you it had been a battle. You had scratched, fought and squeezed your way out of that hellhole.

After a changing of guards you had managed to slip out- unlike most of the prisoners in the Impel Down you had the enate abilies to swim so you did. Stealing a dingy that a negligent marine most likely left behind you made it out. Paddling like your life depended on it sway from that place, however you were in no position to cry in relief yet.

It was another 2 days of paddling before you manages to get to an island. Starving and dehydrated you snuck to the back end of the tiny island so no one saw your prison uniform. Stealing some berries and a pair of clothes from a small cottage you made it through the village, it was clear this place was poor- you blended in with the people who were just as hungry as you and with less berries then you had nabbed.

You went into a pub getting what you could afford, which was bread and cheese and a ale. You took these and stood outside to eat your meal which tasted no better then ash in your mouth.

Looking around you saw two better dressed men walk out of the pub, batting a poor boy on the back and laughing. Congratulating him for joining their merchant ship- catching your ear you finished your meal and drink quickly, following the men. Seeing a large ship with a line of young men wanting to join the ship for a better life and opportunity, so you join them.

Once you reached to the top of the ship, a old man held out a cane to your chest to keep you from moving forward.

"What do you want lady?-" The old Captian sneered at you, Glaring down at your dirty form.

"You're looking for sailors correct?" You say sharply, Taking a steady breath to still your nerves.

"What can a thing like you do on a ship? Do you even have sailing experience?" The Captian laughed in your face. You clenched your fist and glared hard at the asshole.

"Yes I have sailed since I was young- I can.. do cleaning and maintance" You lied a bit- not talking about your skills as a thief since this is just a merchant and not pirates like you were used to. The Captian stared at you for a moment before sighing with a shrug.

"Fine- Welcome to the May's Fairy Lady" He grumbled as he gestured for you to get on board. Sighing in relief as you had a way to sea and a income.

However that was better said then in reality-

To say the merchant ship was terrible as well had been an understatement- It was like the Impel Down all over again.. a group of touch starved and angry men who saw you as an easy target. Thankfully due to your skills you were able to evade any advances, during the day you would stay in the Lower Deck to avoid the men, cleaning and eating the stale bread and water you snagged not trusting the cook since he liked to Leer at you far too long.

At night you would travel to the Main Deck and clean up there and sleep till dawn or if the ship rocked a bit too hard. This had been your like for 3 months till one evening.

While mopping the floor of the deck you looked up at the dark sky, remembering the night with Buggy before that big heist. Grabbing him and kissing his suddently as a way to express your interest in him... your heart hurt at remembering his face when you saw him last at the bars of the window, Placing your bandana and kissing a kiss on the back of his hand.

Snapping you from your melancholy thoughs was a loud bang, seeing what looked like a firework shoot up right above you. Several crew mates from below deck also came up at hearing the noise, you watched the firework come directly on top of the ship before exploding in a cloud of red- It was beautiful. Your favorite shade of red too. The crew began to panic at seeing this as the cloud settled on the ship, you felt woozy and uneasy on your feet before you fell to the damp ground before darkness took you a large shadowy form of a ship came closer and you swore you heard circus music.

Groaning you felt yourself sitting up, a harsh digging from metal against your ankles and wrist. Jerking awake you saw you were seated in wooden benches in a dark room, Hearing the groaning and panic of others around you. You pulled at the chains slightly but winced at how tight they were.

Suddently bright lights turned on, You saw your crew chained up and seated next to you staring at a lowered stage. Your breath picking up as circus music started up, watching as different acts come up- it was almost exactly like how you remembered the show you went to in your childhood? Like someone recreating it from memory? People pulled out sighs to applaud which you saw the merchant nervously do.

"No No NO! It's wrong! That is not how a crowd should clap!" You heard a sharp voice say, walking onto the stage- He looked like a pirate Captian and not apart of the circus. You did see clown paint on his face and a red clown nose- which made your eyes narrow at the sight.

Your eyes focused on the grown man- Watching as he commanded the crowd with a twisted smile and yelled at the circus people. He sighed dramtically and looked in the direction of the crowd- chastising them for their lack of enthusiasm and not laughing with the cues. However the wind felt like it was knocked from your lungs.. You knew those eyes.. that blue hair expertly tucked away and real rounded red nose.

"Bugs?" You called out loud by accident- You saw his whole body freezes mid step. A twitch seemed to have shot through his system as your merchant crew mates all looked back at you with a mixture of pity and fear. You swallow a nervous lump as he did a slow turn in your direction, your face still clouded in shadows by the lack of lights in the audience section. Doing a silent hand movement his crewmates assended on you, yanking you from your restraints roughly and pulling you to the stage with little grace and tossing you at Buggy's feet. Rubbing your swore wrist you looked up at your childhood friend through your mess of hair.

"What the Hell Bugs? Shackles!? When the fuck do you use Mph!-" You were cut off as he grabbed your face hard tp pull you to your feet, his eyes wide and overly dilated like he was seeing a ghost. You actually felt afraid? His eyes seemed different and there was a unknown emotion behind them, you tried to wiggle free but he held you firmly taking his free hand and pushing the hair from your face fully at seeing your face you see it looks like all the air has been sucked from his lungs and he releases you quickly, you stumble back barely able to catch yourself as he stares at you with wide eyes.

"You're alive?..." He said in utter shock. You nod and cough a bit as you rub your sore jaw from his grasp. You open your mouth to speak but he holds a hand to you to silence you. His eyes looking more like what you remembered, that swirl of never ending emotions.

"Cabaji- Take her to be washed, fed and dressed. Leave her in my quarters" He commanded, the green man nodded heavily and grabbed you far gentler now to lead you off stage.

Just as instructed a group of people washed you up in a massive copper bath with nice hot water, dressed you in simple trousers and a tunic and quickly dropped you off with a plate on the end table of the large bedroom.

Seated in a massive bed you look down at the hot plate set before you, your manners thrown out the window as you tucked in. Having been far too long since you had a hot filling meal-

Without thinking you rapidly start eating it, it tasted like heaven enough for tears to well in your eyes as you ate. Before long the plate was gone- and you felt nauseous, yout mistake of eating too quickly and food you hadn't experienced in 20 years. You scrambled up to the nearest trashcan and began to vomit- so hard you didn't hear the door open. Only when a gentle hand touched your back which made you flitch and turn around to see Buggy, his eyes wide at your reaction before your body lurches and you vomited again. Buggy held your hair back this time as you vomited into the poor trashcan.

"Sorry... it's been a while since I got a hot meal" You admitted, spitting the taste of bile away from your lips as you sat back.

"It really is you" Buggy said in disbelief still, Getting down on his knees next to you as he looked over you. How you looked so unhealthy and weak- even after being cleaned he could see that abuse had done its work on you.

"Dear Gods... What happened to you?..." Buggy voice finally cracked, his hand reaching out and cupping your cheek his thumb running over the heavy bags under your eyes and the new scars that had set on your face.

"...I survived" You say softly, Leaning into his warm touch feeling tears begin to fall. In seconds Buggy held you tightly in his arms, your face pressed against his chest as ragged sobs left you, maybe it was finally being free from both jail and the hardships on that awful merchant ship but feeling Buggy's arms around you holding you close just finally released that emotional valve and you cried.. Harder then you had in your entire life into his chest.

You felt his hands smooth over your messy hair and rock you side to side as you sobbed against him. You tried to speak but sobbing nonsense was all that left you and was mumbled through Buggy's shirt.

After almost an hour of crying against Buggy you had worn yourself out, sniffling against him as he gently pulled back to look at your reddened face. His own makeup having dripped away from his red eyes- clearly he had been crying too while holding you.

He wiped your face with his gloved hand and laid kisses on your forehead to comfort you.

"You never have to just survive again... I-Im sorry (Y/N) I couldn't save you" His voice cracked at that, you shook your head.

"I-It would have been impossible. You two would have been killed..." You say with a sniffling tone, trying to control your tone and keep from crying again. Buggy asked what had happened, as you told him the story of your escape, prison time, the pain you had suffered and how you'd escaped to be hired by those merchants. He listened dead silent the whole time his hands rubbing circles in your arms to comfort you. However you saw the rage in his eyes at the pain you'd gone through.

Once done explaining yourself he nodded at this, like he was trying to find the words to explain but couldn't. Instead just giving a bitter chuckle at this, shaking his head in anger. He reached up and took off his hat with a angry sigh and tossed it aside. Your eyes catching the bandana underneath and reaching a hand out to touch the fabric.

"You kept that?.. after all these years?" You whispered confused, the anger on his face leaving as he heard this and left your touch. Reaching up and gently pulling off the old bandana for you to see.

"Of course- you gave it to me... W-When you... left. I was destroyed" He admitted, you stared at him with tears starting to fall from you again.

"I couldn't look at myself in the mirror without seeing the face that had let you down.. so I changed- I smiled for you, wore your favorite red and became Buggy the Clown"

He said with a chuckle and gestured to himself. You bit your lip to keep from crying more, he wiped your tears away with a shaky breath.

"You did that for me? Why?" You whispered, he stared at you silently before having a nervous smile.

"I love you"

His words made your heart skip- like that spark of life from when you were 15 had hit you again. Your eyes met his, he also seemed taken aback by his admittance.

"You love me?" You questioned, seeing him nervously mess with his gloves. He always did have little nervous tics like this whenever he was in a odd position, however peeling off one of his gloves to dig his nail into his palm he nodded. You reached forward and took his hand into your own to keep him from harming his hand further.

"Well I'd hope so after giving you my first kiss on that little boat"

You both giggled at this. You rubbing your thumb on his naked palm, seeing the deep scars that covered his hands- like he had dug his nails into them so many times that his palms was covered in smiley faces.

"Of course, didn't hurt it was my first kiss too" He chuckled but you winked at him.

"Don't lie, I remember the story of you and Shanks running on deck and your guys mouth smashing together. That counted" Buggy shiffered in disgust at the memory and wrinkled his face which made you laugh.

"That doesn't count!" He protest which earned more laughter from you, he smiled widely at this.

"Sooo if both of us are still interested, Would you like to continue what should have been?" You asked, giving him a blushing smile which he returned. A big Goofy grin on his face-

"Well, let's get you healthier first. What about a dinner date?" He suggested, almost giddy and you could see that same boy you once knew under that makeup again.

"Sounds perfect"

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[letterful]

i wish i could say i'm surprised, but again - that's the specifically american (as in: deeply individualistic in a pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps kind of way, as well as blind to any kind of class analysis) brand of radical feminism (well - "radical feminism", really) for you. and, for some reason, their targets are almost always other women - usually the ones they don't personally identify with and/or perceive to be beneath them. annoying and cruel, the lot of them.

[catsonja]

If anyone genuine does hate Trans Men I will not ever accept that and it's not part of what I mean when I talk about Transfeminism and Institutional Hierarchy of Transphobia in Society. Trans Men need protecting the same way all Trans people do (Trans Women, Nonbinary people, Trans men, etc.) We just also have to talk about Transmisogyny bc it harms Trans Girls in a very targeted and specific way. We are simply begging to be listened to about our own experiences, instead of everyone else's cruel narratives.

[walks-the-ages]

let's play a game.

Biological Essentialism/Determinism can be summed up as, in the most simplified way, "what you are born as intrinsically determines your behavior and destiny".

"Gender Essentialism" uses the exact same framework but with a thin veneer of "trans inclusivity" slapped on top, to say that while your biology does not determine who you are, your gender identity does. Even before you realize you are trans or come out of the closet.

Under the framework of "Gender Essentialism" you're viewed as being X gender and somehow getting all of those 'benefits' from society even before you realize or come out as X gender.

So, some examples:

W is a member of a sentient Fantasy Race who is created to be Ontologically Evil. W being born into this Fantasy Race means that W is destined to be Evil and cruel no matter what and W and the rest of W's race will never ever be able to change their Evil ways.

X is assigned Female at birth. X is expected to be subservient, loyal to a single husband, and want to have children. X is expected to want these things from an early age and can and will be ostracized if X expressed any disinterest in these things or opposite behavior to the things expected of X's gender. (not wanting kids, not being interested in men, etc)

Y is assigned Male at birth. Y is expected to be fierce, strong, and to father many strong sons. Y is expected to want these things from an early age and can and will be ostracized if Y expresses any disinterest in these things or opposite behavior to the things expected of Y's gender. (being physically weak, not minding having daughters instead of sons, not being interested in women, etc)

Z is born into a strict caste system, and is born in the lowest caste. Z is expected to spend Z's whole life serving those 'better' than Z without recompense or complaint, with *no* possible avenue to advance in society due to the caste system.

This is inspired both by the wave of trans inclusive radical feminists who say that

"because trans men are of course men, that means they are inherently evil and oppressive and part of the patriarchy that seeks to tear trans women down."

and also because I've seen too many fantasy and scifi series way too comfortable with making Ontologically Evil Species and strictly enforced Caste Systems where everything is fine and dandy and everyone's happy with their lot in life as long as the ones with a caste system are the

"Beautiful, Pure and Good Elves, because as we all know, Happy Slaves aren't really Slaves, right? And if the Ruler has the Divine Right of Kings and all the little people think that's good, that makes it good, right?" (sarcasm).

If you've ever considering giving your fantasy or scifi race as 'caste' system that determins who does what based on their lineage or their body type and its apparently 'good and natural and everyone loves being their caste and wouldn't have it any other way'

....have you considered that Caste Systems have always been used as tools of oppression and discrimination and this is something real people face, and that we should not be writing "good caste systems" from the comfort of Western Society and perhaps consider the harm in romanticing these very real frameworks of systemic oppression?

Anyways, both in literature and real life:

do you agree that Biological Essentialism, Biological Determinism, and yes, "Trans-Inslusive Gender Essentialism" are ever correct and a good framework for viewing other people?

Or do you agree that this is an absolutely bullshit way to view individuals and that all it does is uphold systems of oppression, especially when it comes to queer people, people of color, disabled people, intersex people and more?

anyways just gonna leave you with this gif.

[ID: a gif from Pokemon the Movie 2000, showing Mew and Mewtwo floating over a battlefield, with Mewtwo having the realization "I see now that the circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant. It is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are." End ID]