#stuck in an echo chamber where as long as not one says 'i feel insecure' then there is nothing wrong with the act of women essentially

[iceyrukia]

I honesty don't think it matters much in current times that men have influence over the beauty industry when feminists will spew repetitive commentary about 'patriarchal beauty standards' like broken records yet will perpetrate and valorize the exact same beauty standards that they critique.

Overthrowing beauty standards and getting rid of them entirely IMO is the easiest thing to "overthrow" systematically because all it takes is simply not buying beauty products and not practicing in unnecessary beauty rituals, and POOF! it can all crumble but that's not what's happening. Instead you see the most self-aware choice feminists give lip-service in support of women who don't want to be forced to wear makeup or shave or feel insecure about their looks. It's all "all women are beautiful" and "no women should be bullied for having body hair or being GNC" and they might have good intentions but at the end of the day as long as beauty is social currency for women (femininity in all forms) then that becomes a baseline for ALL women and ALL women will naturally have the incentive to try to pursue whatever is the current beauty standard. And in return those women who opt out femininity are seen as 'lesser' women who get demoted and ignored by society, and so all women, both GNC and GC who get mistreated for being women no matter what, will be inclined to at least gain something (social currency) by being 'pretty' and try to capitalize on that if they are going to be mistreated anyways.

I think it's a common misconception around choice feminists (judging by the way they tackle beauty standards) that women's insecurity are a personal self-inflicted, self-esteem problem and not one where women subconsciously know they are missing out on something (social currency) is they don't participate in it. Choice feminism somehow strangely recognized that beauty standards as systematic issue but doesn't handle it a one, in fact they go the hyper-individualistic route where every women simply needs to "be confident" (where some women's confidence comes from getting plastic surgeries to be their ideal self :/ ), and everything is solved. They focus more on individual feelings and not with the fact that beauty is more an accomplishment and experience that women are supposed to valorize in order to be successful in life, as if it's something to put on a resume.

So, as long as women participate and "gain" something from being beautiful, even if they are victims themselves of beauty standards, words and support for gender non-conforming women fall flat. When women are not valued for existing in their natural form and there is always an "improved", altered version of a women that they can be according to society (that doesn't exist for men at all), it no longer becomes a simple debate about choices and how men control women's appearances or not but one of ALWAYS feeling like your natural self as a women isn't good enough and you have to keep up with women who "choose" to do so and "gain" the most from it. Men's opinions and actions become insignificant here.

[ilikelookingatthings]

The books and movies have gross Jewish charicatures, are pro slavery and Harry Potter ultimately joins the very group Voldemort had power over to uphold blood purity. Harry Potter is a deeply flawed and unethical franchise.

I get Harry Potter has flaws. Especially fantasic beasts where because it was a movie script and not a book it was clearly not thought out in implications. And even regular harry potter has some issues. I'm not going to deny that. But I do think there ARE reasons so many kids and especially lgbtqc people are drawn to the franchise on the regular harry potter end. And felt accepted by it or became more open to accepting people due to its influence. Flawed yes. But I do think it's a bit unfair to call if completely unethical when they DO promote alot of good things.

I Also don't think the books were proslavery as it was clear slavery was bad and that point was hammered home with dobby and it did bring up its difficult to take down due to how society normalized it for so long and the mental chain of that type of systematic slavery with the houselves on the surface level not wanting to be free. I do agree she could have stuck the landing on that more thoroughly since she brought up the topic. Even if in the background. Even if a apparently shewas going for a metaphors for lady's or house wives who don't want to be free even from abusive men...it diesnt change she didn't think through that there is actual slavery people could read into the houseelves situation which is obviously how most people read it over what she was thinking while writing. and how it might be good to try to resolve that a bit more.

It was the lady's first kid series. And it was pretty clear that voldemort was basically a neonazi while grindlewald was basically wizard hitler Nd both were badguys we aren't supposed to support at all. And that most deatheaters following that pureblood retoric were just trying to feel suppiour by putting others down, insecure and trying to cover it up, blend in. Or scrabbling to side with the powerful.

It was pretta clear we are suppoused to side against that pureblood supremacy stuff against the mud blood bull.

The franchise did have some good messages.

And I don't think it's fair to dismiss the good the franchise does have by by acting like its just the negatives. Or that the worst reading is the one it was meant to be read with.

That said I do think susptious readings are useful to take her off that pedestal so people stop taking what she says verbatim since sge obviously doesn't do enough research on things which people who don't have time to research themselves and thought she was a great allie got drawing into her arguments too easily. Not realizing the lady was getting trapped in her own echo chamber.

[touchmycoat]

kinktober: day 21

day 21: washing

y’all know lucky’s cinderella AU, so thank you @midnightluck for letting me play in your sandbox; anon who requested cinderella!AU I don’t know if this is what you wanted at all but uh, have some uniform/class/service kink 

“This is,” Ace hissed, “the royal bath.”

Even though Sabo had been conscientious enough to leave his boots at the entrance, there was still a trail of dirty footprints following him from the door. He bared his teeth at the creamy marble underneath.

“Yeah, Ace, I've noticed.”

“What are we even meant to do in here?” Ace was externalizing all the unease and distrust Sabo was choosing to keep under wraps, glancing agitatedly about and pacing around. But not pacing too far—he stuck within the perimeter of two square flagstones lining the floor, and Sabo watched as the soot gradually darkened in the shape of a rectangle. “Can we—Fuck it, let's just steal some water and get out.”

“You don't have to steal anything yoi, just bathe here,” came a familiar voice from the side door, its amusement echoing through the bath chamber. Marco came into view, dressed already for his birthday ceremony. As crown prince, there were all sorts of appearances he was expected to make on this big day, and apparently it began with this: a stiff purple coat with double-breasted gold buttons, a black leather belt cinching the waistline, a thinner one running across the torso, military stars and the family crest pinned to the chest, shimmering braided chords draped over a tricep. Trousers pressed with neat sharp lines, unflinching leather boots.

At Sabo and Ace's wide-eyed staring, he immediately held up his palms in apologetic recognition.

“It's a lot, I know.”

“Yeah,” Sabo heard himself say, “we were definitely just about to complain about how you look.”

“Cheers,” Marco acknowledged with a snort. He was quick to unravel the belts and shed the coat (Sabo may or may not have heard a soft sound of protest from Ace), then sat down on a dry bench to shed his boots. Most of his glitz laid aside though, Marco still looked every bit of the regal prince, tie done up and the collar of his shirt in perfect geometry. His bare feet stepped familiarly onto the flagstones that marked the beginning of the bathing space. “Well, in an effort to make sure nobody complains about how any of us look tonight yoi, let's get you both cleaned up. Unless...?

“No, no we'll still be going,” Ace piped up, quick to assuage Marco's concerns. He glanced down though, picking self-consciously at his servant's tunic, one that he definitely nicked from Sabo. Neither owners had ever been too precious with it (which was absolutely the point, Sabo thought, why have a shirt you couldn't even work in), and it showed. “We want to support you, y'know? But we just, I guess we're kind of...”

“Misled?” Sabo filled in with a scowl. “Why did Thatch tell us to get in the royal baths?”

“Well, it was closer I guess,” Marco blinked. “And you two are technically royalty and all—”

“Yeah,” Ace said, “but we don't really know how to—”

“—bathe?”

“Bathe here,” Sabo snapped. “Jerk.”

Along with the steam from the ever-warm bathing pool, something rigid and uncomfortable suffused the air. Marco slowly, fully took in the distraught expressions on Ace and Sabo's faces, and his smile cleared into something a little more serious.

“Ah, I see.” A self-effacing little quirk of the head and Marco was making his way to the hot water. The casual way he strolled through the palatial space (like he owned it—because he did) and rolled up his crisp shirt sleeves that somebody else ironed and starched for him only served to piss Sabo off even more. Made Sabo feel that much more insecure. “My apologies, I should've been more considerate yoi. There is a sort of specific way to do things in here.”

“Is it called getting servants to do it for you?”

“Sabo...” Ace sounded reluctantly chiding—keyword, reluctantly. He knew exactly what was going through Sabo's mind and getting Sabo's hackles up. Marco though, didn't really react, just crouched down and pulled two little wooden stools out from under the lip of the bath. He slid them nearer to Sabo and Ace, then pulled out a relatively big basin as well, with a little ladle tumbling about inside. In calm, certain motions, Marco filled the basin with water from the bath and poured in some fragrant soapy solution, giving it a quick swirl with his free hand.

Then he turned on his heel, looked right at Ace, then Sabo.

“I could call in some servants for you,” Marco said, crossing the flagstones. As he passed the stools, he set the basin down in between them. “But I get the feeling neither of you really want that.”

“Look,” Sabo sighed in exasperation, “we can just go back to the servants baths and do this, okay? Like we've always done—”

“Sure you can yoi. Or—” Pausing squarely in front of Sabo, Marco, with a meaningful look, lifted his hands to the top button of Sabo's shirt. “Allow me. My prince.”

Sabo bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. There were so many things he could say, some angry, some scoffing, all of them rejections. He drew blood instead and swallowed it with saliva. Looked instead to Ace for guidance.

Ace's expression was... strange. On one hand there was the daring, beautiful rejection of protocol he's always worn so well, sitting right underneath the day's dirt and soot. There was the matching tension in his knuckles, the anger to demolish the extravagance and lavishness that surrounded them that Sabo found so resonant.

But at the same time there was the helpless softness in his eyes for Marco, the bone-deep certainty that whatever unpleasantness scorched at their nerves, Marco wasn't the enemy here. Furthermore, there was the speculative angle in the tilt of his chin, an allured curiosity for what Marco was offering here.

Drinking all that in, Sabo made his decision. He lifted his chin, and let the curl of his lips go haughty.

“Go on then,” he said, throat bared so vulnerably to Marco. Marco the Crown Prince, the legendary top warrior of his father's kingdom, whom Sabo has seen fight in Impel Down and knew lived up to the legend. Marco, who's left all the medals and epaulettes hanging by the side door and offered to serve. “Attend us.”

A smile bloomed on Marco's face, so gracious and genuine that Sabo had to look away, heart pounding condemningly loud. Even as children, it was this precise smile that changed Sabo's life. Even after crawling through rosebush thorns, pinpricks scoring through his expensive shirt and across his skin, Marco's only ever had that smile for him.

He said you were pretty.

Sabo gritted his teeth when his side with all the scars became exposed to the swirling bathhouse steam. Marco's hands didn't linger on them though—didn't linger anywhere. He drew off Sabo's shirt with professional ease then started unbuttoning Sabo's pants. He didn't let the trousers fall, instead guided them down like they weren't frayed and stained with age and grime. His own trousers—the expensive ones, thick and pressed—kneeled right onto the damp floor tiles.

“You—” But Sabo shut himself up, because why would he protest? They were just pants for crying out loud, and it's not like Marco harvested and weaved and sewed them himself. And it was just water; a bit of sun will get the dark stains now around the knees right out. There really was no need to protest.

Marco smiled at him again like he was kind, gathering Sabo's shirt, trousers, and undergarments over the crook of one arm (those dirty clothes smearing immediately across the neat white fold of his shirt cuff). Standing up with nary a blink at the state of his own pants (nor at what removing Sabo's pants had revealed, which Sabo was absolutely not disappointed by), Marco now turned to Ace, who had waited patiently for his turn with the pink-cheeked, almost-smile of someone who's figured out his role in the script.

“You'll wash us both by yourself?” Ace asked, with only a hint of tentativeness, as Marco undid his buttons. “That's not enough hands to go around, is it? I'll go cold from the waiting.”

“I'll do my best yoi,” Marco replied. Now that Sabo was watching from relative distance, he could see how thoroughly Marco was actually enjoying this; it was visible not only in his face, but also in every gliding gesture, every curved posture. It was like Marco luxuriated in his servitude. He went to his knees again, and Ace was fully and gloriously nude. “Please, sit down.”

Eyes fixed on each other in both solidarity and hazy arousal, Sabo and Ace drifted forward to the stools Marco had pulled out earlier, and sat. The lines of demarcation in the bathhouse, Sabo could see now, were subtle; the flagstones marked out the space where the actual washing could be done, and the thin grooves carved across the flooring drained the water out to a corner. Things brought out to the flagstones were meant to get wet, carved out of heavy dark woods, and fine with a bit of dirt (unlike say, the polished cream marble that lined the entrance).

Shelves of powders, soaps, and bottles lined one side of the room, and that was where Marco went to fetch an array of items. He also grabbed a long flat legged plank that seemed the perfect height for sitting on, before piling on it thick fluffy towels of several different sizes and coming back over.

“Who's first?” he asked.

“Sabo,” Ace said, at the same time Sabo demanded, “Ace.”

“Sabo goes first,” Ace insisted, cupping some water and absently splashing it onto his own legs. “You'll never guess it but his hair's actually blond underneath all that soot.”

“Yeah, but your face is actually—”

“Sounds good to me yoi,” Marco interrupted cheerily, setting everything in his arms down on the floor. Sabo quickly scrambled, turning so that he faced Ace and pulling Ace's whole stool closer.

“Fine then, I'll get Ace while you're at it,” he insisted, desperate for something to do with his hands so he wasn't just stuck like a useless doll while Marco rinsed him off. This was stupid, but it'd be fine. They'll get the dirt off, none of it will get on things it wasn't meant to get on, and they'll be done in minutes. Just like normal. “C'mon then, gimme a sponge and your back.”

“Ah,” Marco made an apologetic sound, suddenly in Sabo's ear, “I'm afraid that's not how things are done here.” His torso against Sabo's back was a different kind of heat than the impersonal steam of the bathwater. A hand smoothed up the front of his neck and bared his throat. “Here yoi. Close your eyes.”

Obedience came easier than Sabo would've liked, but what else was he supposed to do, with Marco's face right over his? He heard a soft clunk, a glug of water—then he felt the water, a guided stream being poured over his hair. The overflow stopped just short of his forehead and trickled down the backs of his ears. Marco's arm touched gently against the scar on Sabo's face as he began carding his fingers through Sabo's tresses, getting them thoroughly soaked. The rushing splashes filled Sabo's ears, and his lips fell helplessly parted, drinking in the steam.

Marco refilled the water scoop. Repeated.

An echoed, low murmuring vibrated in the air, against Sabo's skin, but he didn't even bother to parse the words, so utterly enraptured by this sensation. He liked the soft brush of Marco's clothes on his back. He liked the soothing drag of water, and Marco's nails softly scratching across his scalp. He liked the new fragrance that's just appeared, wafting to his nose.

“Keep your eyes closed yoi,” Marco rumbled, all sonorous tenor and an echoic chest, and it still took Sabo a few moments to understand there was meaning in the phonemes. It's not like he was planning on opening his eyes anyways. “I'm putting in the shampoo.”

“What's that scent?” Ace asked, knee knocking comfortingly into Sabo's.

“Night jasmine. Seemed fitting.” Marco's fingers methodically kneaded a gelatinous paste through Sabo's hair, until suds coated every strand. There was a pattern to his motions, and Sabo's eyes fluttered open when Marco's thumb started rubbing soothing circles across his hairline. The disobeisance was out of trepidation; Marco would reach his scar this rate.

And reach it he did, swiping excesses of water and soap off the uneven skin without a single stutter in his motions. Sabo didn't want to meet Marco's eyes, but couldn't allow his own eyes to close either, not when he felt so fucking vulnerable—he stared up at the ceiling instead, that smooth dome of stone slabs, and worked on not letting those threatening tears condense on his eyelashes.

(He failed, when Marco finished washing clean the back of his ears and leaned forward, brushing just the gentlest kiss over the point on Sabo's forehead where the scar tissue began. Twin tears fell from the corners of Sabo's eyes and all three of them pretended it was just bathwater.)

“May I wash your face?” Marco asked quietly, and he looked prepared for Sabo to say no. So Sabo said no. Sabo wasn't quite ready to be completely cracked open yet. “Let me get your back then, yoi.”

There were still scars there, but at least Sabo wouldn't be in danger of seeing Marco's face (and whatever enticingly reverent expression Marco'd wear) every time he opened his eyes. He would see Ace instead, but Ace was—Ace was safe. Ace had seen Sabo's jagged edges and then chipped himself apart to match. For Ace, Sabo could fall to any pieces that he needed.

He scrubbed at his own face with the flat pads of his fingers, eager to sud up, rub the grime off into balls of dead flesh, splash the whole mess away. Except Ace was playing into a role as well, moving Sabo's hands away to wash at Sabo's cheeks in much gentler little circles. When Sabo glared, he just grinned and used a soapy hand to swipe Sabo's eyelids down.

“You put all that powder on my face, I wash all the dirt off yours. Seems fair,” Ace laughed, scrubbing up to the temples.

Marco started on Sabo's back at the same time. First came the blanket of water to wet everything down. Then there was a soft but textured flannel drawing determined swipes over the planes of Sabo's muscles, leaving soapy streaks in their wake. Another scoop of water. Soapy hands this time, the controlled drag of thumbs over the backs of Sabo's shoulders, finding spongey muscle with corded, tense tendons underneath, aligning the lengths and the pressures and pushing—

“—ah—!”

At the same moment of the instinctive flinch forward, Sabo also jerked his entire torso back, desperate for more of that amazing pressure. If his eyes had been open, Sabo was sure they would've rolled back in his head. Marco's grip, having slipped from the initial jerk, doubled back down, twin bars of beautiful force getting stronger and stronger and stronger until Sabo truly felt squeezed dry—

—and then abruptly released. Breath tumbled out of Sabo in a long unsteady stream, and his spine curled forward like a rubber band released. A whine escaped his throat.

“Good, yoi?”

“I'm pretty sure he'd say yes if he could,” Ace replied with both amusement and awe. “I'm gonna rinse your face now Sabo.”

He accepted the wash of water down his face without any squirming. Ace patted a dry towel encouragingly over his face. It all felt so dangerously indulgent.

“Your back is still quite tense,” Marco commented, thumbs tracing down the twin strips of muscle lining Sabo's spine. “A soak will do you good, yoi.”

And perhaps it was all the tension released from that one good prolonged squeeze, perhaps Sabo just felt like it was high time he got some control back in the situation, but the words left his mouth before he could think too much of them:

“Is that anyway to speak to your prince?”

Marco's beat of pause felt, against all odds, delighted.

“My apologies for overstepping,” another hesitation, like he was testing some waters he couldn't wait to leap headfirst into, “your highness.”

And—what the hell was Sabo actually playing at? Wasn't he the first and most enthusiastic shirker of crowns and titles? The moniker that tasted so genuinely bad in his parent's joke of a court—why did it seem so tempting here? Like a thick-petaled flower set on a dinner plate, meant for décor but inviting teeth. Like the soap that smelled so sweet but should sting his tongue so bitterly. And yet—

“Turn around Sabo,” Ace said, voice so hot with intention. “Let Marco wash your feet.”

[nerd-who-writes]

Stars of Love

Chapter 3- Part 1

Note: Ilúvatar is the god of the gods in Middle Earth. Nienna and Estë are less powerful godesses. Ilúvatar created them both.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Tauriel showed you back to your room before walking through twisting corridors toward the throne room. Never before had she gone directly to her king for answers, she didn't know if he would even consider her question. 

The way you had spoken in the trees moved her. Tauriel hadn't realized she'd been searching for freedom until you said it. Freedom from her pain, her loss, her own mind. She constantly asked herself what might have happened if she'd  moved faster, been stronger, if she'd been able to save Fili. She trained, every day harder than the last to make sure it could never happen again. Training took her mind off everything, letting her instincts take over. But every night, she had to return to her empty bed and stare at the ceiling until she could fall asleep. 

The floors shone underfoot. If elves didn't walk so quietly, they would be heard a mile away in those halls, their footsteps echoing through the cavernous space. Tauriel counted her steps and focused on her breathing. She desperately needed to know the question in her soul. She was afraid Thranduil would turn her away, say she was an ignorant child. He saw through her, she knew it. 

Tauriel waited a moment outside. If she didn't ask now, she never would. She entered quietly and stood before the throne. "My King." Her voice bounced off the floors, ceiling, and walls, though it was little more than a whisper. 

"Tauriel." Thranduil looked down at her. His crown stood tall on his head, reminding Tauriel of poisoned spikes. Despite his magesty, he looked tired. Worn; defeated, even. "Why are you here? It is late."

Thranduil kept odd hours, sometimes falling asleep in the throne room. He spent little time in his chambers, instead pacing outdoors. In truth, he feared facing an empty room, a room where once his wife slept with him. A room where his son played as a todler. A room he had all to himself, for they were gone. 

"I wish to ask you a question." Tauriel's hands shook, so she hid them behind her back. 

"Ask, then." He stared at her, right through her to the bone. He peeled back every layer, every insecurity. It could not be said that he had ever been kind to her, belittling her often. He had given up on that endeavor, but she still remembered the few times he had shown her praise, and how she thirsted for it like water.

Tauriel took a deep breath. "How did you know you loved your queen?"

The air in the room disappeared, whistling out of the hall, taking her breath with it. Sound seemed non existant; Tauriel could have heard a breadcrumb drop. Thranduil stood slowly, cape sliding from his lap onto the floor. He descended the steps from his throne to Tauriel, leaning down so their faces were inches apart. 

"Why do you ask me this?" He hissed. Anger lit his eyes like fire, just as Tauriel knew it would. 

Tauriel could not answer him, instead rolling her shoulders back to stand tall. 

Thranduil stepped back, and something in him changed. "You know what love is, Tauriel. I do not need to tell you."

"Please!" Tauriel's voice cracked. 

Thranduil only stared back at her. He then sighed, his posture drooping, and ran his hands over his face. He feared for Tauriel. He did not want her to suffer another loss. It pained him to see her this way, in love with another mortal.  He could not deny the human made her happy. He watched the way she lit up when the girl was around, how she changed from her regular sorrow. 

"She spoke to me tonight," Tauriel pressed, "in a way I have never known. It was poetry and truth combined! She spoke openly with nothing to hide. I want that; I want that openness with someone."Tauriel's face contorted as she battled feelings she didn't understand. 

Again, Thranduil sighed. "When she walked passed, she was the only thing I could see. She stole my breath, turned my tongue to lead, put rustling leaves where my stomach should have been. She shone like stars..." he trailed off, memory paining him. "Does she do it to you? Will it be worth it when she dies?"

Tears slipped passed Tauriel's long eyelashes, over her cheeks, dropping 

from her chin to the pristine floor. "Was it worth it for you?"

Thranduil stared at her, pity in his eyes, but understanding there also. "Every moment."

~

You woke up with no idea of the time. You walked through the palace, trying to find someone to direct you to breakfast. Your feet led you to the path outside. You found yourself in the morning light, cutting through the trees and banishing the fog. The world was less dreary in the morning, and sleep clouded your brain. The events of the last day felt like a dream. A good dream, with the most beautiful person you had ever seen. You wondered what Tauriel looked like in pale morning light. 

Tauriel was wondering the same thing about you- how sun rays might fall across your face- as she nearly walked into you coming around a corner. Tauriel got the answer to her musings- you looked angelic. The thought made Tauriel blush. 

"How are you?" She managed to ask. The sun fell on your face like water droplets, rays streaming over your body. Tauriel felt as though she were looking through a lense to a different world, a world of light. 

"Mmmnn," you answered, rubbing your eyes. "Sleepy. How 'bout you?"

"I'm alright. Probably more sober than you." Tauriel laughed, and so did you. Tauriel's brain again wandered to the thought of you as an angel, your bedhead as your halo. She wanted nothing more than to run her hands through your hair. 

Tauriel was beautiful. Her hair shone like fire in the morning and her skin glowed. You wished you could capture the image forever. You tried dedicating every detail to memory. "I- I supose you have to work today, don't you?" You stammered, rubbing your neck with one hand. 

"Yes, I do." It frustrated Tauriel that she couldn't spend the day with you; watch you and listen to your fearless honesty. 

"I'll be back for dinner, and this time I won't make you dance. Perhaps Meludir will be able to show you around, he works at night, and he's young enough he doesn't need sleep." The words hurt coming out of her mouth. She remembered your eyes upon first entering the halls, your wonder so real she could touch it.

"Yeah." You looked at your shoes. It would be an understatement to say you were disappointed. You would join the damn gaurd if it meant spending time with Tauriel. "You ever kill any giant spiders out there?" You tried changing the conversation. 

"Always. They are nasty creatures, but they can't beat my bow. Or my sword. And you? What did you do in Gondor?" Tauriel was glad for the change in conversation. 

"Interestingly enough, I was a teacher's assistant. I helped teach kids to read and write. I know- I don't seem like the type." You gave a nervous laugh. You loved those kids, and their teacher had once been yours when you were small. The poor woman needed help during another pregnancy, and you stuck with helping her for years. 

"You really don't."  Tauriel looked amused. You gazed at each other for a while, just to look at one another. 

"You have to go, don't you." It wasn't a question. You knew she had to leave. 

"Yes."

"Good luck." You tried to look happier than you felt. Women of Gondor gave their husbands tokens for luck that they wore to battle. You wanted to give such a thing to Tauriel, though you had nothing on you. 

"I can show you to breakfast-" You interrupted her, deciding your token would have to be something a bit different. Quickly and shamelessly, you stepped towards her. 

You kissed her. Just like that. Neither of your brains registered what was happening. You tilted your head down, puting one hand on the small of her back. It was, well, wet. But she tasted like honey and strawberries, and her lips were soft. To you, it was good. 

Tauriel had no idea what to do. She stood there, body stiff at first touch, but she was soon glad you were holding her. If you hadn't been, she might have fallen. Her face mimicked her hair in redness, and her brain screamed at her. She formed no coherent thought on what was happening, other than that you still smelled like the forest because you hadn't bathed. Probably not the best thought to have during a kiss. 

"Wha- I-" Tauriel didn't know what to say when you broke apart. She didn't think things would move that fast. 

"Sorry," you mumbled. You worried instantly that you had done the wrong thing, that the feeling wasn't returned. 

Tauriel stood stock still for a moment. She then  put both hands in your hair, forcing your head down to her level to kiss you. She curled her fingers through your locks, her chest tight and the kiss desperate. She knew it was probably sloppy, but she also knew she probably didn't care. 

You kissed for a while, unexperienced and sloppy. Still, it was the best kiss you were ever going to get, because it meant she felt the same. It was morning, and you were bathed in gold, and your brain was being woken up to the electric shock of your body pressed against another person's. You knew early morning kisses would be your favorite, because they would forever remind you of this moment. 

"Now, this is much more delicious than breakfast," you breathed. 

[shiraglassman]

Review: A Closed and Common Orbit (AI finds herself, a family, & a future) - also features major bigender character

A Closed and Common Orbit by Becky Chambers is a science fiction novel of such literary quality yet such approachable prose, characters, and relationships that I honestly feel like it’s one of the best books I’ve ever read. I don’t say this lightly. I loved the previous book in the series, A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet (my review), and consider it a solid rec, but this one surpasses it by adding some really powerful themes and messaging to the already cool worldbuilding and cozy interactions. The book focuses on the convergence of two storylines, an AI who lives with some discomfort in an illegal human-looking body, and a flashback timeline to the childhood of the human tech who’s taken her into her family. The human woman grew up as a slave child in a factory on what is probably Earth, but she escapes and makes a life for herself thanks to her own inner strength and the love and compassion of another character. The major themes of this book, besides the obvious platonic love and “found-family” gloriousness that its predecessor did so well but this one even more intensely, include bodily autonomy, consent, and respect without objectification. One main character, after all, is an artificial intelligence. What’s that like for her? How can she deal with being stuck in a human-looking body instead of living in the walls as a ship’s computer? She didn’t choose this — not freely (she was pressured into it as a result of events at the end of the previous book.) How can she gain more control over herself when there are shackles programmed into her brain? How can she get her friends to treat her fully as autonomous–they’re doing their best, but you know the drill with allies. Sometimes allyship can be asymptotic. There’s a scene where she’s candid with a new friend that their response to her seems unduly focused on her unusual status. They agree to modify the situation by agreeing that she can ask them as many questions as she wants about them, too, and she adds that it would be nice to answer some questions that aren’t about being a computer. The human woman’s story is one of resilience and persistence in the face of the worst. It’s easier to digest than it might have been, since from the beginning of the book we see that as an adult she’s living comfortably with loved ones. One sees echoes of Jane Eyre’s time in the orphanage, both in the name “Jane” (which she changes as an adult) and in the fact that there’s another little girl whose friendship very much reminded me of Helen Burns. One also really feels the state of mind of both the human and android protagonists through the author’s use of language. The android overwhelmingly thinks of anything her physical body does as being done by “the kit” — i.e. “the kit smiled.” It’s not her, in some fundamental way. This is important and ends up being meaningful. And the human’s language too — when she’s a slave child in the factory, her language is limited to the language she would have known. “She taught Jane about something called music, which was a weird bunch of sounds that had no point but made things feel a little better.” As she grows the reader watches her use of language grow, too. But the heavy is mixed with light. Chambers’ space world is colorful and exciting, populated by a variety of alien cultures that coexist in diverse splendor on the present-day’s port planet. When the AI character eats or drinks, her programming replaces her missing senses of taste and smell with beautiful images that correspond with the flavors she’s supposed to be experiencing, so that she’s able to enjoy them hedonically like her friends are. You know how in the real world, tattoo artists have a rule about not serving you if you’re under the influence? One of the major supporting characters in this book–the bigender character Tak, who uses he or she pronouns that change from scene to scene–does ink for a living, and they make an exception to this rule — Aandrisks, a species of sentient reptilians. Why? Because Aandrisks shed their scales, so even if you sober up and realize “Oh, shit, who the hell is Larry?” you only have to live with it for a few weeks. I love that this series has the kind of worldbuilding that thinks of these things. Plus, you have details like, when faced with the mockcusation that another bartender has him beat for fastest in the port, a minor character tosses off “He’s got tentacles. That’s hardly fair.” Or a bar serving a certain alcoholic drink that’s described as being made from Whatever we could grow this year, plus water. At one point, an alien responds with alarm to the human main character crying happy tears, to which she replies: “Humans do this when–when we’re feeling a lot of things.” His shocked response: “You leak?” This is a Space Book that’s mostly about how characters feel about themselves, about life, and their relationships with each other. Instead of wars between alien species — which are referenced as history, so it’s not like this is a war-free universe — we see injustice on a more personal level, and we witness battles against loneliness, alienation, insecurity, and loss instead, with plenty of warm fuzzies to smooth the journey. This genre, I like it. Another. These stories may take you to some dark places, some more distressing and some merely a little sad in a familiar way, but Orbit delivers on a happy ending that’s both complete enough to be satisfying and messy enough to feel realistic. And if you’re anything like me, that happy ending will feel so meaningful because you’ll want it for them so badly as a result of the currents of the book.. Incidentally — this is more of a spinoff than a sequel to Long Way because it’s about characters who are barely present in the earlier book and not a continuation of the earlier book’s MC’s story.

[jodhiifromthe503]

All my life I been the rag doll

Hoping I could take y’all

Outback and jigsaw

The whole pack

And get tall

As the Eiffel Tower

Have bitches on my dick like I’m Austin Powers

Devour the flower

Hop in the Uber and reroute her

I’m the sickest lyricist

My fits imprints the devils wits

And tints my Van Gogh hints

But I snap back

And slap that

Knife of my limp wrist ya!

Bitch!

I am really killing this

Ain’t no one as real as this

I’m taking all the smoke

Inhale

And take another hit

Breathing fire

Getting higher than Molly Fontaine

More black magic that Black Sabbath

And David Blaine

think I’m insecure

Insane

Like I’m Bruce Wayne

Living double lives

Snorting Cocaine

With John Wayne

In the ghost train

Ya me and Cal Calloway

Going to St. James Infirmary

There ain’t no mother fucking cure for me, ya

Bardo Daze

Playing out the ways

In which Houdini slip from the chains

Til he run out of days

Ya, my anatomy’s grey

I want retribution for every casualty

Of frontal lobotomy

Orchiectomy

There ain’t no next of kin for me

I’m floating further out to sea

The fountain from which it springs

And I dive deep

But found no peace

No skeleton keys

Just a black screen

And a dream of Annabelle Lee ya

Take this take this just how you please

I got all the shit talk that a girl needs

Ya, I’m gonna be the next one that a girl reads

Ya, I bring the dopamine to the dope fiends

Weave the dreams

You scroll the screen of my screams ya

Same day, I’m gonna sign a record deal

I don’t care how it’s gonna make you feel

With your imaginary friends

You play pretend

and try to scare me

I’ve seen shit that will make your hair turn white

They double dog dare

Know I’m about that life

My bark as bad as my bite

I chew out of spite

Bad batch

You go back to her

Bitch

I go back to black

(Back to black) echo*

I keep pulling that rabbit from hat

Eat the head off a bat

I’m a trap in the trap and there’s no coming back

So I guess that I’m trapped

But if you sell Heroin or if you sell Crack

I throw you out the window and then you go splat

Ya

Y’all didn’t think I could spit

Y’all didn’t think I could rap

Y’all didn’t think that I’d make a come back

Y’all didn’t think I would come to your house with a bat

(Black on black) echo*

I gave to fucks

In December

Then I fucked him up

Left him something to remember

They like Jodhii

Shut the fuck up

No

I don’t really want no friends

Those just means to an end

But

Where in the world is Carmen

Doin hood rat shit with her best friend

Slut

Suicide pact til the night ends

I hope Nietzsche don’t mind

I don’t rewind

I’m trembling and that’s fine

Look out the blinds

Shit is fucked

But we’re probably fine

America’s gone back in time

Go us locked in echo chambers

Locked in our mind

With our own “kind”

Fine, ya

Empty the clip

Another round for my sis

Ya, the revolution was a lie

But time does not exist

Climate changes

But history don’t

It jus rearranges

Red handed

Stuck to the pages

Misery love companies

Corporate philosophies

Casualties, anomalies

Leave nothing to mystery

So

FUCKABEES

Fuckabees, fuckabees, fuck with me ya

Little bitty witty biddy pretty jodhii cozy wozy wavy baby fuck you pay me

Later shady you don’t phase me

Slim chance i’m hesitating

I don’t care how long it takes me

To break free

y’all fuckin hate me

Cuz I’m a queen

Fem de la phem

Faded like Phaedra

In my tangerine dream

I’m a spit fire

Snort some yayo off the dash

Clap back with the whip with the backlash

Ya I feel lighter

Light as a feather

Whatever the weather

Numb

I’ve come to kill ya

I’ma make it feel all better

I’ma make it feel all better, better, better, better

Damn, homie

In high school you was the man homie

What the fuck happened to you?

Damn homie

You used to be a fuck boy

Ya

Now they fucking you?

I ain’t your homie

You didn’t know me

I’ve been livin lonely

And I was hella confused

Ya

I was really abused

I was stuck in a loop

I’ve been grinding my teeth

And I been haunted by you

Ya

Haunted like the Ink Spots

That come out like ink blots

In the form of deep thoughts

Ya I say please stop

But the wires crossed

Now I’m botched

Tried to kick rocks

But I’ve stopped

Now you can shit talk all you want!

Ya

You ain’t safe on my block bitch

I’m a pretty girl and I still got a cock bitch

If that’s a punch line

Lace it with fentanyl

Me at my worst is better than the best of y’all

All you’ll ever be is somebody that knew

Jodhii!

Your ma said you were special

I hope that makes you feel

Cozy!

I been stuck in the rain

Now the weakest link in my chain

Can’t hold back the pain

I’ve been lost in my brain

Figured out the whole game

Maybe someday I’ll taste the fame

Flip it

And take it straight to the bank

No where is safe

Reach out and touch faith

Amazing grace saved face

So I took her place

At the table

Of this fable

And if Cain killed Abel

For the love of the father

Than I don’t wanna be a martyr, son, or a daughter

But if I am a mother

I’ll love her

Adore her

Won’t give her up to the slaughter

Feed her from the fountain

And filter the water

I don’t know what I deserve

But I know who I serve

And if you need someone to lean on

Just say the word

But if I die too young then

FUCK

GAME OVER