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seventh-district · 24 days ago

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Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning.

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted sam #redacted darlin #redacted fanfic #redacted fandom #sam collins #samuel collins #redacted tank #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #one of my last Redacted posts didn't make it into the tags. which wasn't a big deal since it wasn't something important #but i spent some real time and effort on this fic so if tumblr yeets This post into the void i Will cry. and then painstakingly repost it #i've got big feelings about Sam and y'all r gonna see it whether u like it or not /lh #anyways hey this fic was unexpected. and much like Midnight Hour the production time was relatively fast thanks to the power of Fixation #i was gonna post the next chapter of Heaven in Hiding and then work on a Boothill oneshot and then maybe the [N]MbD New Year's fic #but i've been feeling Some Kinda Way lately and i guess i needed to project it onto Sam. so this fic took precedence #i humbly offer my first contribution to the Redacted fandom. pls don't attack me if they're OOC /hj #i'm out here doing my best to walk the line between canon compliance and self-indulgence #also i know that bright thing in the header image i used can't be Sirius. it's gotta be like. a planet i think? not sure which one tho #i've never even seen a planet that bright but my sky isn't all that dark so maybe they Can look that bright in some places #idk. the image description on Unsplash doesn't say. but 'planet' is in the tags so that's my guess #the only thing i've seen be that bright in the night sky 'round here is military flares. but maybe it's to do with how the photo was taken #a n y w a y s point is. the star Darlin' sees isn't That bright but the photo was too fitting not to use

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soracities · 1 year ago

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Hi! So I tried not to say anything about some anti makeup posts I saw on your blog but I need to say this. I think you're very wise and I agree it's very important for us to love ourselves as we are. But some people like myself doesn't care about 'empowering' of makeup or whatever but we just have fun with it and we just love it. I say we because I know there is a lot of people like me. Yeah, we are feeding capitalism or whatever, but world is beautiful and it's also terrible so people trying make themselves feel good, have fun, ect. I see a lot of people who don't wear makeup and i'm happy for them! I didn't wear makeup until i turned 20 i think and felt good.

One thing I wanted to add is in response of post about feminine girls. I think everything needs balance and sometimes people tend to overreact in their opinion and divide everything in black and white. Personally I never cared how women around me looked and what they were wearing. But I would like to have same treatment, and not to feel silly for wearing pink or feminine clothes.

Sorry, I don't know English very well so maybe I can't translate my idea entirely. What I'm trying to say i think everyone should do what they like and leave each other in peace.

Sorry for this essay, just wanted to share my point of view.

Hi, anon! I'm sorry for the delay in getting to this, but I appreciate you writing this (and your English was fine, don't worry)

I think the main argument of those posts (and my own feelings about this) is not about makeup on its own, or even judgement about who does and doesn't choose to wear it--what they are criticizing is a particular part of the society we live in which puts a huge emphasis on women's beauty and appearance in order to fulfill an idea of what a woman "should" be, and the role that makeup plays in that as a result. Because whether we like it or not, whether we believe in them or not, whether we feel pressured by them or not, these expectations do exist. How we personally respond to them does not change that.

I personally don't have an issue with makeup or the concept of it (in almost every culture on earth, humans have been using makeup of some kind for literally thousands of years)--but what I do have a problem with is when we treat makeup, or other traditionally "feminine" forms of expression as neutral things when they are not. A comb or a hair tie is neutral--it's just a thing. Lipstick and eyeliner are also just things, but only when they exist by themselves--and in reality they don't exist by themselves: they exist in a world where we value women on their physical appearance before we value them for anything else--lipstick and eyeliner exist to emphasise parts of your appearance, to make you look a certain way--and in a society where we put so much importance on women looking a certain way, they aren't just ordinary things you toy around with for fun. You can have fun with them, but it doesn't change their role. They can't be treated as exceptions from the world they are used in.

I think sometimes people assume that being anti-makeup is the same as being anti-women-who-wear-makeup, which misses the point (and also suggests a very dangerous idea which I think, sometimes, is why people respond so angrily to these criticisms: because if we believe that being anti-makeup = being anti-women, then therefore makeup = womanhood, and this is simply not true). Whether you wear these things just for fun and to enjoy yourself isn't what is being talked about because these criticisms are not about you on a personal level: they are about looking at a society that is as image-obsessed as ours, and asking why makeup has the role that it has when 1) it is almost exclusively aimed at women--women who, as a group, have been historically marginalised, and whose value, historically, has almost always been measured in terms of their beauty before anything else and 2) the makeup that is emphasized, the trends and styles that come and go, are often not so much about self-expression (if they were, people would be freely wearing all sorts of wild colours and styles: when we talk about "makeup culture" it's not the same kind of makeup used in the goth, punk, or alt scenes for example where makeup plays a very different role) but almost always about achieving or aspiring towards a type of beauty that is valued or expected: to make you look younger, to make your eyes brighter or larger, to make your lips bigger or sexier, your cheekbones more prominent etc--again, on their own, these things may not be a big deal, but they exist in a world where having these looks means you are valued in a certain way as a woman. And when this exists in our kind of world, where the power dynamics we have automatically mean women's perceived power is through beauty, and where we insist so much on women being a particular kind of beautiful (and this starts in childhood) we have to ask and investigate WHY that is--why this type of beauty and not another? why (almost only) women? who benefits from this? who suffers as a result?

The argument of "not all women" wear makeup for empowerment misses the point of these criticism, because it is focusing on a person's individual choices in a way that suggests our choices can define the world we live in, and they can't. We are deeply social animals. Therefore, how we appear to each other and to ourselves is a socially influenced phenomenon. This applies for race, for sexuality, and for gender. How women are perceived at large, in different social structures, is a social phenomenon influenced by the societies we exist in and the values of those societies. These criticisms are about the society we make those choices in and how that can affect us. For you, makeup may be something fun and enjoyable and that's fine. I'm not saying that's untrue or that people don't feel this way or that you are wrong for feeling this way. It's also not saying that you are brain-washed or oppressing yourself for it. But it doesn't change the world we live in. Someone feeling perfectly happy to go out with makeup or without makeup, and feeling no pressure to do either, is great--but it doesn't mean there aren't a lot of women who do feel pressured into wearing it, and that pressure is a social one. It doesn't change the inequality that exists between how women's physical appearances are judged compared to men's. It doesn't change the fact that almost every childhood story most kids hear (that aren't about animals) have a "beautiful princess" (and very little else is said about her except that she is beautiful) and a "brave" knight/prince/king/whichever: the princess (or maiden or whatever young woman) is defined by how she looks; the male in the story by how he acts.

It also doesn't change the fact that so many young girls grow up hearing the women around them criticize various parts of their bodies and that they carry this into their lives. It doesn't change the fact that we expect (in Western countries at least) for women to have criticisms about their appearance and they are "stuck-up" or "full of themselves" if they don't. It doesn't change the fact that magazines photos, red carpet photos, films, tv shows etc., feature actresses who are beautiful in a way that is absolutely above and beyond exceptional (and who either have had work done cosmetically, or are wealthy enough to be able to afford to look the way they do through top-class makeup artists, personal trainers etc) but who we think are within the "normal" range of beauty because faces like theirs are all that we see--how many famous actors / entertainers can you name who look like they could be someone's random uncle, or "just some guy" (writing this, I can think of 5). Now how many actresses, equally famous, can you think of that are the same? Very, very, very few.

The point of those posts, and why I feel so strongly about this, is that we have a deeply skewed view of beauty when it comes to women, because, as a society, we place so much on how they look in such a way that it is not, and was never meant to be, achievable: therefore anything that contributes to how women look, that markets itself in the way that the makeup industry does in this day and age, needs to be questioned and looked at in relation to that. No one is saying don't wear eyeliner or blush--what they are trying to say is that we need to be aware of the kind of world eyeliner and blush exists in, what their particular functions as eyeliner and blush do in the world that they exist in, that we exist in, and how this does impact the view we have on makeup as a result. Your personal enjoyment may be true to you and others, but this doesn't change the role of female beauty in the world because, again, our personal choices don't define the world in this way. Often, it's the other way around. And we cannot deny this fact because, while it may not affect you negatively, it does affect others.

I absolutely agree with you because I don't care how other women around me choose to dress or express themselves, either--that's their freedom to wear what they want and enjoy themselves and I want them to have that freedom. But my view is not the world's view, and it's certainly not the view of a lot of other people, either. I don't care if another woman loves pink and wearing skirts and dresses--but, like makeup, pink, skirts, and dresses, are not neutral things either. They're tied to a particular image of 'femininity' which means they are tied to a particular way of "being a woman" in this world. I'm not saying, at all, that it's wrong to wear these things. But I'm saying we can't treat them as though these are choices as simple as choosing what kind of socks to wear, because they aren't. They are choices that have baggage. If a woman is seen as being silly, childish, or treated unequally because she enjoys cute tops and ribbons and sundresses, that's not because we are demonizing her choices, or because being anti-makeup is being anti-woman (again, it is absolutely not): it's because we as a society demonize women for any choice. That isn't because of anti-makeup stances--that's because of sexism.

You mentioned that you want to be treated the same as anyone else for wearing feminine clothes--but the fear that you wouldn't be isn't because of the discussions critiquing makeup and other traditionally "feminine" things--it's because we live in a society where women are constantly defined by how they appear on the outside, and no amount of our personal choices will make this untrue. Whether you are a girly-girl or a tomboy, you'll always be judged. And, in reality, when women follow certain beauty standards they do get treated better--but this doesn't mean much in a society where the standards are so high you can never reach them, and where the basic regard for women is so low to begin with (not to mention the hypocrisy that exists within those standards). This is what all those criticisms towards makeup and "empowerment" are about: it's about interrogating a society that is built on this kind of logic and asking why we should insist on leaving it as it is when it does so much damage. It's saying that that if we want everyone to truly feel free in how they choose to present themselves we have to go deeper than just defining freedom by these choices on their own, and look at the environment those choices are made in. And that involves some deeply uncomfortable but necessary conversations.

Also, and I think this important to remember, views on makeup and the social place of makeup will also depend on culture and where you are, and the beauty expectations you grew up with. And when it comes to the internet, and given American dominance online, a lot of these posts criticizing makeup and the way makeup is being used to sell an idea that wearing it is "empowering" to the woman (which is basically saying: you are MORE of a woman when you wear it; you are stronger and more powerful because, in our society, beauty is portrayed as a form of power: it tells you, you can battle the inequality women face by embracing the role beauty plays in our lives but it doesn't tell you this emphasis on beauty is part of that inequality), are based on the way makeup is portrayed in mostly English-speaking Western countries. My views are shaped by what I grew up seeing, and while a full face of makeup (concealer, primer, foundation, mascara, highlighter, contour, blush, brow tint, brow gel etc) may not be daily practice or even embraced in a place like France or maybe other places in mainland Europe (but that doesn't mean they don't have their own expectations of feminine beauty), they are daily practice in places like the US and Britain, and this is what most of those posts and criticisms are responding to.

We can argue as much as we want about makeup, but when you grow up in a society where women feel the need to put on makeup before going to the gym there is something seriously wrong. Embracing makeup and enjoying makeup is one thing, but it cannot be a neutral thing when so much of it is about looking like you're not wearing makeup at all, or when we assume a woman is better qualified for a job or more professional when she wears it. It cannot be a neutral thing when a singer like Alicia Keys goes makeup-free for a red carpet event and it causes a stir online because people think she looks sick (what she looks like is normal--I would argue above normal--but wearing makeup to cover up "flaws" is so normal now that we genuinely don't know what normal skin is supposed to look like because the beauty of these celebrities is part of their appeal: they are something to aspire to). It is absolutely very normal for me, where I am, to see young girls with fake lashes and filled in brows: it's not every girl I pass, but it is enough. I'm not saying they are miserable, or brain-washed, or should be judged. I can believe that for them it's something enjoyable--but how am I supposed to see something like that and not be aware of the kind of celebrities and makeup tutorials that are everywhere on TikTok and YouTube, and that they are seeing everyday? How am I not supposed to have doubts when people tell me "it's their choice!" when the choices being offered are so limited and focused on one thing?

I never wore makeup as a teenager and I still don't, but a lot of that is because I grew up surrounded by people who just didn't. Makeup was never portrayed as anything bad or forbidden (and I don't see it like that either)--it was just this thing that, for me growing up, was never made to be a necessity not even for special occasions. I saw airbrushed photos and magazines all around me, for sure, and I definitely felt the beauty pressure and the body pressure (for example, I definitely felt my confidence would be better if I wore concealer to deal with my uneven skintone, and I felt this for years). But I also know that, growing up, I saw both sides. No makeup was the default I saw at home, while makeup was the default I saw outside. And that does play a part, not just in the choices you make, but in the choices that you feel you are allowed to make. No makeup was an option for me because it was what I saw everyday, even with my own insecurities; but if you do not see that as an option around you (and I know for most girls my age, where I grew up, it probably wasn't) then how can we fully argue that the decision you make is a real choice?

If I wanted to wear a cute skirt outside, for example, and decided to shave my legs--that isn't a real choice. And it cannot ever be a real choice, no matter how much I say "this is for me" or "I prefer it like this" because going out in public with hairy legs and going out in public with shaved legs will cause two completely different reactions. How can I separate what I think is "my choice" from a choice I make because I want to avoid the negative looks and comments? And how can I argue that choosing to shave is a freely made choice when the alternative has such negativity? If you feel pressured into choosing one thing over another, that's not a choice. Does this make sense?

This is how I feel about makeup most of the time, and what I want more than anything else is for us to be able to have a conversation about why we make the choices we do beyond saying "it makes me feel good" and ending the conversation there. Again, I'm not saying people need to stop wearing makeup or stop finding enjoyment in wearing it, but I think we tend to get so focused on our own feelings about this and forget that there is a bigger picture and this picture is a deeply unequal one. That is what this conversation is about. I hope this explains some things, anon, and if I misinterpreted anything please feel free to message me again. x

#i think in essence what i'm trying to say is that #some things are true in a microcosm but you cannot make a universal application for them bc the microcosm isn't representative of the whole #and it is dangerous to assume that it is or that it can be bc you're erasing the bigger picture when you do that #it would be like a poc saying they never felt the pressure of skin-lightening creams which is amazing but it doesnt change the fact that a #whole industry exists selling skin-lightening products BECAUSE there is a demand for them and that demand exists BECAUSE there is an #expectation that they SHOULD be used and this is because there is a belief that lighter skin = more beautiful. regardless of how messed up #and damaging that logic is that doesn't mean it doesn't exist in the world #and therefore those industries exist to maintain that belief because that belief is what drives their purpose and their profits #and we are doing no favours to the countless poc who DO feel pressured to subject their skins to these products or who come away with #a deeply damaged sense of self-worth (not to mention the internalised racism that's behind these beliefs) bc of constantly being told they #are less than for being darker than a paper bag which is RIDICULOUS #saying its all down to choice is not far off from saying you can CHOOSE to not be affected by the pressure but like....that's just not true #you can't choose to not be the recipient of colorism any more than you can choose to not be the recipient of sexism. and its putting a huge #amount of pressure and responsibility for an individual to just not be affected by deeply ingrained societal pressures and expectations whe #what we SHOULD be doing is actually tackling those expectations and pressures instead #they are leaving these systems intact to continue the damage that they do by making everything about what you as an individual think and #believe but while we all ARE individuals we dont live in separate bubbles. we are part of and IN this world together. and it acts on us as #much as we act on it. but like.....i think i've gone on enough already #ask #anonymous

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