#femininity is weak and laughable

[maxdibert]

What do you think of snape’s fem-coding? Do you think jkr did intentionally?

I think Snape is a character who fits within what we now understand as new masculinities. He performs a form of masculinity that is not physically aggressive, not the typical self-assured alpha male, not violent or socially dominant, and doesn’t embody the conventional masculine ideals so often tied to appearance, physicality, or style.

And I don’t think Rowling did this intentionally, quite the opposite. She consistently idealises traditional masculinity. Sirius is constantly framed as the ultimate alpha male, while Harry and Ron are your stereotypical guys who love sports, don’t get girls, and aren’t into anything coded as “feminine.” Female characters who are portrayed positively often distance themselves from anything associated with traditional femininity, and teenage girls who express emotion or engage in “girly” friendships are punished by the narrative.

So I believe that the way Rowling constructed Severus wasn’t meant to be read as positive. She gave him traits that, from a patriarchal and traditional perspective, were coded as weak or even laughable in a man. The irony is that what she—and anyone deeply rooted in patriarchal norms—meant as ridicule, actually comes across as radical or even admirable to those of us who are more deconstructed or aware of how gender roles and stereotypes operate.

[ftmtfwaifu]

All I’m saying is that if you found yourself suddenly gaining weight, I think it would take you a long time to realize that while you were sleeping I fucked you full of cum.

Maybe your boobs growing bigger and bigger as the months went by would tip you off, or maybe it would be the way your hips expand, your bone structure changing to give you a defined pear shape, your growing appetite and weight gain might do it, as you find yourself craving more and more, face softening, curves growing, every part of you getting softer and softer until no matter what you do some part of you is always jiggling.

Of course, your pregnant belly would be the main show, getting heavier and heavier until you become out of breath even trying to stand up. Your stomach becomes a constant reminder of your womb, slowly but surely forcing you into an undignified waddle as the months pass by. It becomes the first thing people look at when they see you, showing off just how thoroughly you got fucked.

You would have to buy new clothes, your men’s shirts now stretch around your tits and show off your bulging stomach, while the jeans you can still squeeze yourself into suction themselves to your ass and thighs, all while jamming their seams into your pussy. None of the men’s clothes fit the way you want, and eventually none of them fit at all, finally forcing you to accept the truth and buy maternity wear. Thin, flowy, low cut necklines that show off your swollen tits and womb, with stretchy pants that highlight all of your most feminine features. 

When you finally do give birth you’ll be a curvy milf. With tits the size of your head and hips larger than your shoulders. In the delivery room the doctors and nurses will call you she without a second though, the idea that you could be anything other than a woman would be laughable. After a long and humiliating birth you’ll be marked as the mother on the birth certificate, father unknown.

And after the babies have been delivered your body has already been transformed to make way for your new life as a mother. Saggy belly, leaky tits, and thighs that rub together when you walk are only the tip of the iceberg. Your face has a soft femininity to it, with full cheeks and a developing double chin, your arms are weak, and strain the sleeves of any shirts you wear, your ass hangs behind you and when you sit down you can feel your thighs spread against the chair. 

No one will be able to confuse you for a man ever again, no matter what you try to do. 

Oh well, guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

holy shit reading this makes me so ready to be bred! i tots want a huge jiggling milf body and take care of a ton of babies! id be the sluttiest mom in the grocery store, no one would ever believe i wanted to be a guy or even looked like one! id love my massive jugs that every man that ever talks to me would try and “accidentally” touch them. while i’m trying to talk to them they’d be staring at my tits the whole time, as a girl i don’t have any opinions anyways 🥰

please send more of these anons! i love reading them~ 💕

[elainsgirl]

Whats the weirdest argument against Elain or elriel you have heard?

I think this is oen of them (I cant believe its still here after all these years): Elain doesn't belong in the Night Court because CASSIAN THOUGHT she looked bad in an unflattering black dress when the IC had to make the famously beautiful elain unflattering so Eris would focus on Nesta. There's a very clear reason cassian said elain looked unflattering, so readers could understand what the IC was up to, manipulating Eris to their wishes. Which Elain was an important part of.

Never mind it's never once even implied you have to wear black in the Night court. Rhysands first and second, Mor and Amren, dont. But GA/EL have special rules for elain! Otherwise everyone knows she will most definitely jump the bones of her favorite bat boy and he will be very very VERY happy about that. We can't have that! Need her gone!

And it's so funny that it is because of one of the scenes where Elain chooses to work for the IC that they claim she doesn't belong there. Its so backwards and ANYTHING Elain does is disregarded in favor of the words of a male. But GA/EL are entirely focused on the males so I guess it's no surprise.

They have been too locked up in their bubbles, their ridiculous ideas have moved further and further from the books and then become so ingrained. Like a house of cards built on fanon. So fragile the tiny puff of wind from turning a page in one of the actual books is enough for it to crash.

GA/EL need Elain to leave the night Court because they know she can't be kept in the same place as azriel because everyone knows elriel is canon and Elain almost climbed azriel like a tree when they were alone, while Az worshipped her like a damned goddess. With Lulu sleeping upstairs. That must have been like reading pure horror for GA/EL. I guess it makes sense they are grasping at straws. But the straws they are grasping at are laughable.

Hey anon 🫶

The whole “elain looks bad in black” arguement is so hilariously funny. That scene was clearly set up to make elain look unflattering when compared to Nesta - but antis hate the theory because they don’t believe Elain is capable of doing anything complex. They don’t want to acknowledge that Elain Archeron - the very character they call weak and boring- can pull of such a plan. That or they want to stick her to the whole “she’s a feminine girl who likes to throw balls and gardens” and not let her grow outside of that image (idk if that makes sense). Elain - who grew up as a socialite- would obviously have been taught by their mother what colours are flattering on her, the dress shape and size that suits her, which makeup would go with which look etc. She would have known she looked “washed” out in black. She would have known the dress was unflattering. Not only that, she had the twins, feyre, Mor etc all to tell her she looked terrible but no one did. The scene of Elain in Hewn, her dress specifically was described exactly as void fabric which we met in acofas with Feyre and? Elain Archeron. Besides all of that: They’d rather take Cassian’s opinion seriously instead of Elains own words. Which is kind of the point when it comes to Elains character how no one rlly takes her seriously or looks past the surface which her antis including elucien stans do. They take her character surface level when it suits them.

I’ve come across such BS takes, from Elain being a cheater, someone who self h4rms, evil, manipulater to elriel being toxic, rebounds etc but if I had to choose one for Elain and one for Elriel:

Elain: Eluciens calling Elain a cheater. When they started yapping about this, it confirmed for me that eluciens do not love Elain. Im not making the bold statement that “all eluciens hate elain” - that would be mean and immature of me. However, I am in the firm camp elucien Stans like elain but love Lucien more which is why they’re always coming up with HCs where elain is the bad guy that will grovel for Lucien.

Elriel: That Elain and Azriel’s relationship is not important and can be concluded within a paragraph as the bonus already ended elriel. This has to be the most biased take. Just because YOU do not like elriels dynamic and dismiss their scenes as unimportant doesn’t mean everyone else does. There is literally a reason why Sjm had Feyre - her main character- stare at Elriel and wonder why they’re not mates. I have seen an anti today talk about how the foreshadowing/buildup in acowar/acofas isn’t as important as acosf. That alone tells you everything you need to know. Antis will use Sjms words when it suits them and dismiss her words when it doesn’t. Also - ACOSF, where we learn that Az has moved on from Mor, is staying at H.O.W bcs of how strong he feels for elain, Nesta realising Az likes Elain, Elriel literally left off on a charged glance, Azriel being incorporated into the prison plot which we know will go to Elain etc. I think its just becoming clear that antis are grasping at straws to justify shipping Gwynriel/Elucien and “debunking” elriel.

No author ends a couple in a bonus. Sjm does not end her couples’ the way she ended elriel. I think as time is growing closer and especially now that we have an idea at which time the announcement will come - antis are rlly scrambling to proves their ships but its just looking ridiculous. When you’ve created a bubble for yourself filled with people in the same camp as you that will believe anything, it’s easier to remain in the bubble.

Their bubble is going to pop when Sjm announces it is in fact Elains book next.

[the-most-humble-blog]

Don’t Give Marvel Another Dime — They Think You’re a Fool with a Wallet and No Testosterone A psychosexual, biological, and mythic breakdown of why the Female Silver Surfer is a cosmically laughable insult to real storytelling (and your balls).

So let’s cut the crap.

No preamble. No soft takes. Marvel thinks you’re stupid. Not because they gender-swapped the Silver Surfer. Not even because they dressed her like a little boy in a PS3 scuba suit.

But because they honestly believe you won’t notice the slow castration of the mythos.

And worse? They think you’ll pay them to finish the job.

I. 🧠 “I Don’t Know”: The Neutering of Reed Richards

Watch the trailer. Listen. What does Reed Richards — the most brilliant man in the Marvel Universe — say over and over?

“I don’t know.”

That’s not humility. That’s intentional de-phallicization. They’ve turned Marvel’s most dangerous intellect into a neurotic cardigan who can’t lead his own team without permission from a hormonal, pregnant Sue Storm with a jawline sharper than Galactus’ helmet.

When a male hero admits weakness more than he displays will, you don’t feel empathy. You feel nothing.

No awe. No fear. No loyalty. No myth.

II. 🧬 Sue Storm: The Masculine Backbone with a Baby Kicker

Now let’s talk about this Sue Storm.

Not motherly. Not feminine. Not radiant. Just stern. Angular. Hormonal. Silent. Stoic. Pregnant. Masculine.

Because apparently, that’s what strength looks like now:

A woman pretending to be a man, while pregnant, while saving the day, while saying almost nothing. But never bleeding.

No curves. No softness. No erotic tension. Just substitute teacher energy in a tactical suit.

To the male nervous system, it registers as:

“This is someone I’d argue with on Facebook, not protect from Galactus.”

III. 🌌 Silver Surfer? Try Aluminum Paddleboarder

Let’s talk about that chromed-out nightmare.

They want you to accept that Julia Garner as Shalla-Bal is a worthy successor to Norrin Radd. Except she:

Has no physical presence

Looks like a genderless wetsuit mannequin

Has zero mythic resonance

And evokes exactly no erections or reverence

Silver Surfer — the real one — was designed to be:

A nude, cosmic, sexless-yet-masculine herald Bound by honor Radiating awe A literal slave of God flying through the void

Now? We get a flat-chested, CGI-wrapped Tumblr metaphor with all the erotic charge of a CPR dummy.

IV. ⚔️ Sexual Dimorphism Isn’t Optional — It’s the Engine of Myth

Men and women are not interchangeable. No matter how much CGI, screen time, or NPR-approved dialogue you throw at them.

Men have externalized dominance physiology

Women have internalized selection physiology

That means:

When a man stands powerfully silent, it feels mythic.

When a woman does the same — without curves, softness, or contrast — it feels off.

Your brain doesn’t say: “Wow, she’s strong.” It says: “Why is she pretending to be something she’s not?”

V. 🩸 Let’s Talk Biology, Shall We?

Real women:

Have vaginas that bleed monthly

Grow silver-dollar areolas

Carry the weight of reproduction with hormonal volatility

Possess curves, scent, and softness as evolutionary design

That’s not sexist. That’s biology.

You want a strong female character? Give me one with blood on her thighs, grief in her eyes, and a reason to fight that doesn’t sound like a TED Talk.

Instead, we get:

Flat, sterile, sterile flatness

No hips, no scent, no soul

Just Aluminum Boy in a silver wetsuit

VI. 🧠 Why Men Don’t Hear Masculine Women (We Just Imagine Them Naked)

This is the truth no one will say out loud:

When a woman talks like a man, stands like a man, postures like a man, she becomes white noise to the male nervous system.

We don’t hate it. We don’t feel threatened.

We just tune it out — and start wondering what her moans sound like.

Even if she’s a cosmic herald. Even if she’s riding the stars.

Because that’s how biological hierarchy works:

Men respect threat

Men crave contrast

Men respond to submission, not mimicry

VII. 🧬 Marvel Doesn’t Believe in Myth Anymore — Just Messaging

Every decision you see on screen now is run through this checklist:

Does this deconstruct masculinity? ✅

Does this flatten femininity into stoicism? ✅

Is this emotionally sterile enough to be “inclusive”? ✅

Does this alienate actual testosterone-carrying men? ✅✅✅

Marvel doesn’t tell stories. It runs corporate thought experiments on gender neutrality in spandex.

VIII. 🧠 This Isn’t About Gender. It’s About Mythic Castration.

The hero's journey isn’t masculine because men wrote it. It’s masculine because reality is threat-based.

You either:

Defend

Sacrifice

Lead

Or die

Now we’re being sold the lie that a flat-chested, non-bleeding herald with the sex appeal of a dialysis machine can carry the torch of cosmic mythic servitude.

Meanwhile, Reed Richards — a genius with the power to bend the laws of space — can’t answer a question without looking like he’s about to cry.

🧨 FINAL VERDICT

Don’t give Marvel another dime.

They’re not just insulting your intelligence. They’re erasing your instinct.

They’re trying to sell you:

Emotionless women as erotic

Soft men as mythic

And ideology as plot

They think you won’t notice. They think you’ll still pay.

They think you’re too domesticated to care.

Prove them wrong. Keep your money. And watch the real myths return — from men who still believe in blood, awe, and consequence.

🩸 ORGASM-TRIGGERING DISCLAIMER

This post is a work of literary critique, gender analysis, and cadence-based psychological warfare disguised as satire. Any arousal, outrage, cognitive dissonance, or desire to quote this anonymously is the result of rhythm-based entrainment, biological pattern recognition, and subconscious gender contrast triggers. You are not malfunctioning. You’re just not neutered yet.

🧠 QUOTE REBLOG PACK™

“Silver Surfer wasn’t supposed to look like a lifeguard mannequin in scuba gear.” “If Sue Storm is the strong one, we’re in a gender hellscape.” “Men don’t hate strong women. We just don’t hear them when they cosplay stoic dads.” “Herald of Galactus? She looks like a rejected PS3 game character.” “Don’t give Marvel money to finish neutering you.”

📡 CALL TO ACTION

Reblog if your instinct screamed before your words did. Reblog if you saw the trailer and felt nothing in your groin. Reblog if strength without sex is just an empty costume. Reblog if you miss myth. Reblog because someone needs to read this before they buy another ticket.

[friendloser]

Thread: Moe Is NOT Queer — and Why We MUST Gatekeep It

[This is a transcription of a Twitter thread that's been doing the rounds in my circle of the internet. I'm archiving it here as a back-up and for people that don't have Twitter-accounts.]

Disclaimer: On this Thread i will be mostly using Touhou as an example, but the things i say here can be generalized to Moe as a whole.

Let’s begin by stating the obvious: moe anime, from Touhou Project to K-on is NOT LGBTQ, it was never meant to be, and every attempt to reinterpret it as such is a distortion born of cultural illiteracy and spiritual confusion.

Moe isn’t a “safe space” for expression of queer identity. It’s the opposite: a reactionary artistic form, one that cherishes beauty, restraint, mystery, harmony, and archetypal femininity. It is a revolt against modern ugliness, not an extension of it.

Let’s take Touhou. Western fans, particularly post-2020 types with dyed hair and neopronouns, constantly reinterpret it as a lesbian paradise. This is laughable. Touhou is closer to a Shinto folk opera than a pride parade.

“Where are the men?”

Absent. By design.

But not for reasons of feminist utopia or sexual ambiguity. Their absence is a purification of the space, a deliberate focus on idealized femininity: refined, elegant, mysterious, untouched. Aesthetic, not erotic.

Touhou is not a “lesbian utopia.” It’s a spiritual landscape, one that upholds femininity as mystery and archetype. Not an alphabet-soup identity to be deconstructed and reconstructed endlessly in Discord servers.

The world of Gensokyo is governed not by gender theory, but by cosmological order. Shrine maidens, yokai, and spirits operate in a world of myth, not a projection of jewish gender discourse.

Western fans project sexual deviance onto everything because they can no longer comprehend intimacy without eroticism, or beauty without politics. Two girls sharing tea? “Queer-coded.” A soft smile? “She/they vibes.” This is not interpretation. It’s delusion.

Moe anime in general is rooted in the Japanese sense of mono no aware, the pathos of things, and wabi-sabi, the beauty of imperfection. It expresses a metaphysical femininity, not a political identity. It’s spiritual, not sexual.

Anime especially moe is closer to classical European painting than to Western cartoons. It’s sacred. It evokes longing, not lust. Wholesomeness, not “representation.” It’s reactionary by default.

And when sexuality appears in moe, it’s restrained, longing, never lustful. Innocence is central. Vulnerability is framed not for exploitation, but for a better storytelling like in Suba Hibi.

The tragedy of modern fandoms is that they treat culture as a mirror, not a window. They want to see themselves in everything. But moe doesn’t reflect you. It escapes you. It invites you to behold something higher, something untouched by your inner confusion.

Moe is not about “exploring identities.” It’s about transcending them. It’s about ideal forms, the shy girl, the loyal friend, the elegant shrine maiden , rendered with love and restraint. That’s not liberation. That’s order.

Touhou is NOT a sandbox for queer headcanons. It is a carefully structured mythos grounded in Japanese spiritual heritage: animism, femininity as force of nature, cyclical balance. There is no room for gender ideology there it’s metaphysical vandalism.

The sodomyfication of anime is not accidental. It’s a symptom of a broader disease ✡️: the need to desacralize everything. To profane the sacred. To sexualize innocence. To erode hierarchy. To mock beauty. And above all, to destroy difference.

[This was longer than I thought it was!]

Anime, especially moe, stands against that. Its aesthetics are conservative. Not politically, but metaphysically. It clings to archetypes, to symbolism, to innocence, to the unspoken.

That’s why they must corrupt it, or else admit they never understood it.

You can be kind without being weak. You can enjoy anime without welcoming ideological invaders. You can admire beauty without letting the devourers redefine it. This isn’t “exclusionary.” It’s intelligent.

The worst sin of fandom today is cowardice. Everyone wants to be “nice.” No one wants to say what needs to be said:

Your identity isn’t relevant here.

Your interpretation isn’t sacred.

Your presence is not neutral.

You are not respected if you don’t deserve respect.

Anime is not for everyone. And that’s fine. Culture is not a democracy. Not everything needs to bend to your tastes, your trauma, or your politics. Let some things remain other. Let beauty remain untamed.

So if you feel alienated by this thread, good. You should. Because moe anime does not belong to you. It belongs to those who understand it. Who cherish it. Who protect it from ideological rot.

Final word: To love moe is to defend it. Not passively, but actively. Be intolerant of ideological vandalism. Exclude the intruders. Protect the sanctity of beauty.

Gatekeep. Gaslight. Glorify.

And if you don’t like that?

Leave.

[Some minor punctuation/formatting revisions were done; but beyond that, this is the thread in full. I hesitate to properly tag this, since I'm fairly certain any real attention on this post will get my account obliterated immediately.]

[iventshitsorrylmao]

it's not feminine rage it's just rage, if any man were transported to an alternate universe where the roles were reversed and he had to live that for either his whole life all over again or for the rest of his life, he'd be feeling the same god damn shit. hell, some men DO live through this, are we to declare what trans men feel is "feminine" cause it sure doesnt look that way to me, just gender neutral rage as a natural and understandable reaction to shittiness

"women/girls are allowed to cry, boys aren't that means we all are suffering equally" are they though? are they allowed to cry? none of my lady friends were growing up. not allowed to express fucking anything unpleasant or unsightly. boys? well, boys will be boys. that man is crying so he's obviously going through something extreme, but women? just hormones, hysteria, bitchiness, pick me, catty, bpd, weakness innate to the feminine form. post partum depression.

post partum depression is real, but a lot of the times women will describe, for example, the suffocating feeling of having their bodies torn up from the inside, being sleep deprived, isolated and given absolutely laughable "hElP" from their partner who is utilizing weaponized incompitance and then tutting about her aaaaannnnd "oh you should get treated for your post partum depression, silly woman, your problems are just mental hysterics, take this chemical lobotomy replacement- i mean pretty pill- i mean mommies helper- i mean..." like.. im sorry but sometimes a woman just has shit she deserves to be angry or hurt about. sometimes a situation she's stuck/entrapped in by wider society just sucks tbh.

[yohohonabottle]

📿 Back to the directory ⛓️ Start | << Previous || Next >> | Latest

New 'home' & a deal

The slow thudding, low ‘roor’ and huff of the ironjaw, quiet dull clatter and creak of worn wood on clay and crack of reigns are his sole companions. The damn rag covering his eyes and mouth itch, however he can’t reach to scratch at his face. The metal ropes dig into the skin and fabric of his crop-top. Soren rolls his shoulders with a huff to get the stiffness out, wincing slightly at how his back and joins pop, sore. The hard wood underneath make the movements even harder, some splinters embed deep into the skin of his upper arm and cheek. The sand in his cuts and slashes stings and itches uncomfortably.

I can’t feel my legs or arms.

Restless agitation gnaws at his mind and heart, paired with mounting frustration and humiliation at being tied up like some cammel. There’s nothing to do, other than lay down and wait. The cart jostles and his ears flatten against his skull in annoyance, jaw clenching at the dull throbbing in his temple as his head smacks against the floor. A warm wind ruffles his hair, the stench of tobacco makes Soren wrinkle his nose and pull his lips into a grimace. Very narrowly coughs--lightheadedness swirls his head and bile threatens to jump up his throat. Swallowing back hard, the warrior rolls onto his other side in a pitiful attempt to somehow… just- not be assaulted in the nose so easily by the rotten stink. His limbs feel heavy, weak.

For the fifth time a growl rumbles.

The morsel of dry bread Redhorn gave when they’d stopped for a break ten hours ago isn’t enough. It’ll be a long while ‘til the wagon stops for a break again, maybe a day or two. It’s not a surprise Redhorn and Fang throw a piece or offer a gulp of water from the rations every now and then, so their catch doesn’t die along the road or loose his impressive physique too much. A tiny bit leaning to scrawny but not falling into it. Thankfully water is given a little more frequently than food...Which isn’t much. One gulp per five hours for the whole day and then nothing for three or four days is just laughable.

His throat is parched and scratchy.

At least they let me piss…

Don’t want to think about dealing with that next to hunger and thirst.

How long has it been at this point since the cart had taken off? Two days, two more to the Eroded Enclaves. Five more until reaching the town. By now the two Claws’ voices have become white noise in the chieftain’s ears, too exhausted to strain his hearing for listening in on the chatter.

...How long has passed? Nights and days have long blended into one endless cycle of cold winds and blazing heat, dreams of returning back home and memories from childhood to the days prior to the kidnapping. And mechanically accepting food and water whenever it’s offered. The creaking of wheels stop, the wind no longer heaping sand in his hair and fur. The scent of dry, gravelly earth and clay is still present- Of the desert. Of home, albeit weaker now. It feels… cooler, not cold-- just cool. Like being inside a canyon tunnel or alcove, or more like on the other side of it. A border.

Instantly the new scent of wheat, grass and vaguely salty- soil-like water makes Soren’s ears perk up on high alert. Birds sing instead of the familiar grunting or screeching, some caw or chirp a melody or coo. And the smell of Lightbearers that gets stronger. 

—“Here the rascal is, brought from the Ashen Wastes as Boss said. Alive and in top-form.” Fang and Redhorn’s grating voices pierce the quiet, joined shortly by another that sounds pleased.

—“So this is the infamous Soren from that clan? Finally got to see Sunseek’s prodigy champion, in the flesh.”

—“Careful, he’s a fiesty one. Bit weakened but no less sharp.” The feminine, neigh honeyed voice laughs, waving off Fang’s warning. The grass crunches softly under the woman’s heeled boots, cloak rustling. And the clink of glass vials follows with her poised strides. The Syndicate’s appraising stare shamelessly oggling his body and clothes, face, makes the young Mauler’s hackles raise on end. A low, deeply throathy growl rumbles up from his chest, forcing himself to sit up, chains clinking with his movements. Almost topples back onto his side. The growl turns to a muffled hiss, that gets blatantly ignored as a gloved hand grasps fistful of his hair, tilting his head to the side.

—“Tsk. My lady won’t be delighted to see her new souvenir damaged...”

—“The bear didn’t go down easy. Took out half of our folks before finally caving in to Gold-eye’s terms.” —“Can confirm! I saw him crush Ranbo’s skull with that club of his! If the scrap went a lil’ longer, he would’ve kicked the bucket. It’s good Boss managed to make ‘im see reason.”

—“Doesn’t change our terms. My Lady clearly has stated the trophy not be damaged on delivery or brought dead.” The hand lets go, glides over his right ear and pauses to hold it. Soren makes another agitated noise that somewhat sounds like cussing. The hand lets go of his ear, and smacks him across the face. In retaliation he jerks forward to tackle the sorceress, however only ends up falling. His jaw clenches and pain shoots up as his chin hits the wood hard, teeth audibly snap with a ‘clack!’ at the impact. The sole of a boot presses between his shoulder-blades, accompanied by disapproving ‘tsk-tsk-tsk.’

—“More stubborn than a mule..” A curled wooden stick hooks into the chains wound around his torso. “You’ll hurt yourself if you keep this up, you know?” The sole turns to heel, pressing down hard slowly. Soren refuses to make a noise. I'll make you pay. I'll make you, and that bitch pay.

“I expect a ten percent fee as compensation for the damaged cargo. And that’s a generously low charge.”

—“Hey! It ain’t our fault the mark decided to scuffle with us instead of coming quietly! Why’re you chargin’ us? It’s the bear’s fault for getting himself banged up!”

—“Don’t care, not my problem. Shoulda tranqed him an’ be done with it.” Yeah right. Like I’d let myself be. Still, can’t argue with this point. Didn’t think a member of the Adamant Syndicates can be smart. Not that the hooded shorty was chipper about out, a small ‘tump’ as he hops down, followed by more—Stomping around the cart and Soren could almost hear his teeth gnashing together. Well this will be entertaining. A buffalo and skateboarding midget against a Syndicate sorceress, bet’s on the woman. Alsa would probably bet on Skater-shortstack.

...Alsa.. I’ll come back, just hang on.

I’ll be back home.

—“Oh you-! Redhorn—Lemmie go!”

—“You’ll pay us first with due compensations. Then we’ll pay up what we’re due. Any other issues take up to Gold-eye.” —“Hm. At least one of you is sensible.” The woman whistles and a pair of new steps walks over. “Hand our partners the fee. I’ll handle Bear-boy.” “Got it.” The jingling of metal fills the silence, however the half-bearfolk’s attention fixes on the sorceress as the boot lifts and almost chokes at his chains being pulled up by the scepter; forces himself to clumsily get up on his tied feet lest he gets strangled by the stupid collar. And the wench is doing it on purpose, makes him hobble to see if he’d resort to hopping like a rabbit. All while still being blind.

Watching the Adamant Syndicate woman lead the youngster like that, Redhorn huffs a suppressed sigh and shakes her head. Unfolding her arms, the tall and bulky Quicksand Claw lumbers towards the duo. Fang pauses counting the coins in the bag and looks up, eying his colleague in mild confusion for a second.

—“Ay Redhorn? Where ya goin’?” His fellow Claw simply raises a hand and tosses him a glance over her shoulder.

—“Hold on.”

The hooded woman pauses with the captive. Untangling the wooden staff from the poor fire-cracker, the buffalo Mauler crouches down and deftly undoes the lasso. “Easy, no kicks.” Stepping back, she waits for the champion to step out of the ropes before coiling the lasso neatly with a hand, having taken firm hold of the chain on his collar. Handing the leash over to the Lightbearer, the veteran Claw pats the boy on his shoulder. —“Behave yourself.” And there will be no more trouble. Knowing the kiddo, he’d keep being defiant as a rooster and stir up hassles for everyone, himself included. Get himself into some serious hot waters quickly if not right away.

Let’s hope his family doesn’t suffer ‘cause their brother couldn’t reconcile with his fate...

Turning and walking back, the buffalo watches from the corner of her eye as the kid—Teenager—gets loaded onto the Syndicates’ wagon and healed up by the sorceress. ..less than gently.

...Poor boy.

Redhorn returns her gaze back ahead just as Fang waves her over. ----

Glass vials softly clink, the liquids gently sloshing as a small deft hand takes them off the shelf, wiping them with a damp rag with care then places them back in place. A quiet, soft tenor lightly hums a somewhat merry tune which melds to singing, the man’s voice taking on a clear sonorous edge akin to that of a songbird as he does.

“Майка Дилбер ситно прела. Майка Дилбер ситно прела.„ “Делберино, море, малкай моме. Делберино, море, малкай моме.„

Standing on the ladder and raised on his tip-toes, the man moves on to wipe down the shelf, mindful with the potions neatly lining it up. Another busy day at long last over—Not quite, however the customer service part is. Moving down a step, he repeats the process—Take the bottles off, wipe dust off, fix up their lid (that a careless client has lifted for no reason or to sniff the potion like it’s perfume), wipe down the shelf, put the vials back in-place. One more of the high rafts and it’s a quick breeze. Fixing inventory next, then the garden and maybe stir the pot…

Somehow, time’s never enough. So many tasks to do and so little time…

The singing falls back into whistling, hopping from the ladder and leaning it on the wall, the shopkeeper pouts at the lower shelves. Again, the potions have been haphazardly placed after being taken off. Seriously! What’s so difficult about putting the vial back where it came from? It’s not advanced magic theory or rocket science! 

Quickly repeating the cleaning process as with the other shelves, he diligently arranges the vials with different-colored substances per their order. Health potions lined up in front of the other same-effect health potions, strength with strength, so on—Until all brews are as they should be. Moving to cross the room towards the counter, a loud neigh-bray sounds from outside. The snowy-haired alchemist stops in his tracks. Pinching his brows in bemusement, he looks at the front door that he’d left open in order to air the place. The clopping of hooves gets louder, clearer.

Slowly padding to the door of his shop, the lost descendant peers outside and steps out, closing the door behind his back. Right on time as the wagon pulls up, the mules braying and giving a shake of their heads. A member of the Adamant Syndicates sits at the front, holding the reigns with a cigar in his mouth. 

What’re these hooligans got to do with me now? 

The thought gets answered by an unfamiliar scent of a bear-human male halfling. A Mauler, badly wounded. His heart gives a lurch and twists. Of course the teen's name comes to him easily—The fiery chief needs no introduction, it’s all in the papers. ...And how he’s been newly acquired by Lady and Lord Crowmore. 

Those greedy warmongers…

Aren’t the servants and slaves they’d taken enough? The lives they toyed with and wasted so callously for no reason...?

Stepping closer toward the cart with brisk strides, a deep frown of displeasure, worry and irritated dread settles. The ‘lackey’ eyes the noble family’s most prized heirloom up and down with an aloof scoff. Pretty-face—Shame it ain’t a she. I can see why the thing’s got lady Camillie’s eye, fits right in with the peacocks in their yard.

—“You're Vanyo, yah?” Stop oggling me, you mutt. And get my name right! We're not on first name basis! 

Pirin crosses his arms over his chest with an unimpressed scowl.

—“Who’s askin’?” The bandit rolls his eyes and snaps back gruffly. —“Yes or no—Don’t have all day for chattin’ here.” Meanwhile at the back of the wagon, Soren’s ears have snapped up, swiveling in the voice’s direction. It’s...a breathless sigh, light and quiet, lifeless. It sends shivers down his spine, the crisp chill of the timbre. It’s not even the tone that the guy speaks with. And the smell—Just like his voice: Cold.

How can someone even smell like the night..?? 

His ears twitch, twice, then move back slightly- unease, very mild inquisitiveness, confusion. There’s also wood that he’s only vaguely heard about from Merlin while the magister stayed with him and the tribe—Fir, Oak, Cedar and Pine. Also flowers, sweet and like honey, or what the Magister would call an Edelweiss. ..and bat. 

Why drag me to a night-jinni? What is a phantom even doing here?

Huffing a tired wary sigh, the short potions-maker relents and mutters a ‘Yes.’, earning himself a curt nod. Letting go of the reigns, the ruffian hops down and struts around to the cart’s back. Grabbing the captive by the chain on his collar, he gives it a rough tug with a click as though steering a horse. Soren lets out a muffled noise of agitation, trying to tell the scoundrel off or grit ‘Don’t click at me! I’m not a camel!’ and stands up on his feet with a slight wobble. —“Come on, Bear—Move it!” Another tug on the chain, his ears pin back in annoyance. I’m moving you scum! Claws digging into the wood to keep steady, he stalks down the ramp and onto the ground. “Atta boy.” A hand grips onto the shackles around his body, forcing the tall warrior to walk then halt.

—“Don’t ask why Boss told us to send this whelp to ya.” Whelp?!? I’m not a whelp!! “Oh shut it.” Another hard yank on his collar, nearly causing the Mauler to choke on it. Furious, the bearfolk jerks against his binds, which gets him a kick to the gut. A low pained hiss slips from under the rag, doubling over with a grimace. “Best guess is the Crows thought you got bored and need a playmate or some shit.” Pirin’s expression turns indignant, shooting the man an incredulous, scandalized glare that gets brushed off with a shrug, shoving the chain into his hands.

Getting back on the wagon and picking up the reigns, the thug looks down at the two with a rugged smirk of smug sneer.

—“All I know is those guys pay good coin for the catch.” Cracking the whip, he gives the reigns a harsh crack, making the mules bray and break into a run, the cart drives off—Leaving the vampire with his ‘gift’.

[brazenautomaton]

it hasn't been covered up from all empirical science, just not for lack of trying. erin pizzey very famously pointed it out soon after opening the first women's shelter, which made feminists hate her and threaten her and protest her for the rest of her life. feminists do everything in their power to cover it up and then declare what they haven't covered up just doesn't count and only evil incels believe it.

here's a detailed and well cited paper about the subject by Murray Straus. Straus was, like most MRAs, a feminist until he started actually looking at men, at which point he was excommunicated, denounced, slandered, and harassed. he shows the evidence and the process by which feminists conceal it so don't even try to go "wow with all this evidence I guess that means feminists aren't trying to cover it up," there's plenty of examples of the seven methods he identifies: intentionally avoid obtaining evidence, conceal evidence when it is obtained, cherrypick research citations, lie about what the data indicates and hope nobody looks at the details in the rest of the paper, block the publication of research, deny the funding of research, and harass and threaten people who do the research.

why in the world would right wing projects care about concealing the evidence of gender symmetry? how does that make the slightest bit of sense? the most evil and cruel and stereotypically sexist right winger doesn't care about male victims and doesn't expect anyone else to either. to them, the idea of a male victim deserving sympathy is laughable on its face, the idea that seeing a male victim would inspire anything but contempt is laughable on its face. it is nonsensical in their worldview to conceal evidence of gender symmetry because it cannot possibly threaten anything they do or believe. they, just like feminists, despise weak men and enjoy their suffering. all that being a DV victim shows is that a man is weak and contemptible. masculinity is not like femininity, it does not need to be protected as a whole, because men are disposable and can simply be discarded from masculinity when shown to be weak. in sexism, most men are not real men, and non-real men do not matter.

also, right wingers control zero percent of the research and organization about domestic violence while feminists control one hundred percent of the research and organization about domestic violence. what fucking step of the process would the evil right wingers intervene to conceal this evidence? the studies they don't participate in, the journals they don't publish, the review boards they're not on, the organizations and bureaus they're not members of, the feminists they have no social influence over, the public events they don't attend?

Sometimes I do wonder if men actually get sexually assaulted and abused at a similar rate that women do but a lot of them just don’t know that’s what’s happening to them

[maxdibert]

Jk mocked the girls for liking girls’ stuff? And divination is a girls subject? Not a hate q i genuinely dont know

Yes, J.K. Rowling does mock girls for liking traditionally "girly" things, and the way Divination is portrayed in the series is a clear example of how she reinforces gendered stereotypes.

First, let’s establish that there are no inherently "girls’ things" or "boys’ things"—those are social constructs reinforced through culture and media. Activities, subjects, and interests are gendered based on historical and cultural biases, not any inherent difference in ability or preference.

Now, in the books, Divination is depicted as a frivolous, unreliable subject, associated primarily with women. Professor Trelawney is portrayed as an eccentric, dramatic, and incompetent woman whom most characters—particularly Harry, Ron, and even McGonagall—mock. Lavender and Parvati, two of the few explicitly feminine-coded girls in the series, are shown to adore Divination, which further cements the idea that it is a "silly" subject. Compare this to more "serious" subjects like Transfiguration, Potions, or Defense Against the Dark Arts, which are taught by men (or McGonagall, who is depicted as strict, rational, and unlike "typical" women). The underlying message is that things associated with femininity are less valuable and worthy of ridicule.

Beyond Divination, there’s a pattern of dismissing and mocking things that are coded as "girly." Ginny, for example, is embarrassed for having a crush on Harry in CoS, as if romantic feelings—often associated with femininity—are something to grow out of. Hermione, despite being a well-developed character, is at her most ridiculed when she shows interest in emotions or beauty (e.g., her relationship with Krum, the Yule Ball, or her emotional reactions to Ron). The books consistently position more "traditionally feminine" behaviors as weaknesses or sources of humor.

This kind of messaging reinforces harmful stereotypes. When a book aimed at children presents "girly" interests as trivial or laughable, it teaches young readers—especially girls—that their passions and identities are less valid if they align with traditionally feminine things. It upholds the idea that to be taken seriously, one must reject femininity, which is a deeply ingrained misogynistic belief.

So yes, Rowling does engage in this kind of gendered mockery. It might not be intentional, but intent doesn’t negate impact.

[anotherpinkmandolin]

If men want girls and women to stop dressing "masculine" and wear cute dresses and skirts like it's the fifties every day, then maybe they shouldn't have spent the last hundred years making fun of little girls for being girls and doing girl things and denigrating everything remotely feminine as being weak, humiliating, and laughable. Maybe they shouldn't have spent every girls childhood trying to make her feel unworthy of real respect like the boys got because she does girly things to the point that most girls no matter how fem or masc they are normally, at least have a phase of rejecting femininity as aggressively as possible just in a desperate bid to get boys to LISTEN to her and treat her like a human. Maybe men shouldn't have let that actually work, and reinforce over and over that the only way a woman can ever be treated as a threat or taken seriously by most men is to be a bit masculine. Reinforcing over and over that the only way to make men listen instead of dismiss and ogle is to be masculine enough to start turning them off.

[hannahsheppardsblog]

Korolkovaite, Inga. “115 Pointlessly Gendered Products That We Can’t Believe Exist.” Bored Panda, 20 Feb. 2018, www.boredpanda.com/pointlessly-gendered-products-women-men/. [Accessed 5 Mar. 2024.]

this article brings to light some advertising and genderising of everyday objects which should be realistically available to anybody. For example toothpaste 'for men' as if people dont both have the same teeth.

it has a comical approach because it identitfies what products are distinctly 'only for men' and how typically feminine products have been poorly redesigned for men. for example milkshake cartons which have been redesigned to see extreme sports on the front to make it more 'masculine' which is just laughable.

an occuring theme is the products being 'mansized' as if they are too big for a typical woman and trying to make a product appeal more to a man by making it bigger.

it has made me think about how many products have been gendered or marketed towards a certain gender which doesnt need to be is actually a product for anyone.

so many things marketed towards women tend to be pink and bright with soft and patronising language like 'girly girl' or floral imagery and words with connotations suggesting women are weak and helpless in comaparison to male targeted products which use strong and powerful language potentially with the intention of reiterating the expectation for men to be strong.

[florisbaratheons]

It's so weird. They stripped her of all of her agency. They made her clueless and dumb and weak, while in return making Rhaenyra so ridiculously overpowered it's laughable. And there's a huge difference between this and how a character like Sansa is done. Sansa is a feminine character, she is not a fighter, so she uses her wits and her observation skills to survive in the cruel world. They couldn't even give Alicent that.

There was a very clear shift between the writing of Alicent in S2 that I don’t think anyone mentions. Alicent is obviously an antagonist in the writers’ eyes but they don’t write her for the audience to hate or even be mad at. To an extent, I can understand that. Instead, they write her to be mocked, literally, every action she takes is meant for her to be made fun of by the audience and even some characters. As a writer, I genuinely can’t imagine hating a character I’M WRITING so much that this is what I chose to do. It doesn't just weaken your character, it also reflects weirdly on you as a writer for having beef with YOUR characters.

[manlarp]

Ever notice that the trans movement started out "all trans people are great" and has moved to "trans women matter over trans men, male nonbinary matters more than female nonbinary". I wonder when/why the movement started to actively suppress the issues of female trans people and elevate male trans people. Thoughts?

It's tied directly into that awful branch of liberal feminism which has been brewing for quite a few years: 'men deserve love too!'

This kind of statement believes men, these days, are at a disadvantage. Why?

Men aren't able to wear makeup or feminine clothing without being laughed at.

Men don't feel able to cry because it's perceived as weak.

Men don't feel able to ask for support.

The male suicide rate is high.

Male or 'AMAB' non-binary people aren't as visible.

Male or 'AMAB' trans women are more visible, and are mocked more ruthlessly.

Unfortunately, liberal feminism never goes the extra mile to investigate why any of this is happening.

Let's investigate.

"Men aren't able to wear makeup or feminine clothing without being laughed at."

That's because wearing makeup and 'feminine' clothing is laughable. It's a silly, childish performance that looks ridiculous on anyone, but particularly on men, because we haven't been conditioned to expect or even prefer them to present in this way.

That being said, it's not nice to mock the way someone chooses to dress. When they are being mocked, it's because they are perceived as gay. So what men experience when they are laughed at for wearing makeup or a dress is actually just homophobia. It's not misandry or sexism or whatever. It's plain old homophobia (which is bullshit anyway, seeing as gay men are stereotyped as 'feminine' just because they like men.)

Also, who is the biggest perpetrator of homophobia? We know some women definitely uphold patriarchy by only pursuing men who are 6'7" and full of muscle, but who is responsible for the majority of homophobic violence? I'll let you answer that one for yourself.

"Men don't feel able to cry because it's perceived as weak."

Of course something traditionally attributed to women is perceived as weak. There is nothing wrong with crying. Women are biologically predisposed to crying more, but it is men who have taken this natural human emotional response and turned it into something to be scorned and belittled.

"Men don't feel able to ask for support."

See above. Men are the ones who make it hard to reach out, because they police each other's masculinity. Asking for help is deemed, to them, a submissive, feminine action. That's why they avoid it. They don't want to be seen as women.

I also don't know where the idea that all women need to do is ask and they immediately receive comes from. Perhaps the fact that we're already perceived as teetering on hysteria, it's easy for doctors to believe we need extra support...? Even though males are more likely to get diagnosed as neurodivergent and have their health problems taken seriously, as well as more funding going into researching their health, yeah, it's definitely women who have it easy.

"The male suicide rate is high."

And the female suicide rate is lower because women are selfless, persevering beings who value their family and friends more than their own lives. Women almost always choose to keep living, even if it's unbearable, because they have responsibilities to their family. They even choose methods of suicide which are cleaner and less emotionally distressing for whomever finds them (and this is why their suicide attempts are less likely to succeed). Men, on the other hand, will do things like crash a plane full of people as a suicide attempt, or shoot themselves in the head, spraying blood all over the bathroom wall for their four year old child to come and discover.

"Male or 'AMAB' non-binary people aren't as visible."

Because males are more likely to be comfortable with their gender and the roles assigned to them. Why? Those gender roles are less demanding, less oppressive, more encouraging, and more freeing. There's a reason most non binary people are female, and that's because young girls are doing anything to escape the expectations placed on their sex.

"Male or 'AMAB' trans women are more visible, and are mocked more ruthlessly."

Once again, this is linked to the idea that being seen as a woman is the worst thing a man can imagine. Of course they hate it when a member of their own sex 'betrays' them and rejects the wonderful gift of masculinity. [sarcasm]

Often, trans women are more visible because they have embraced a lifestyle and personality which draws attention. Trans men often prefer to go under the radar and fit in, as their female socialisation demands.

So when you notice this narrative of "trans women matter over trans men, male nonbinary matters more than female nonbinary", it can be attributed to the chokehold liberal feminism currently has over western society. All of its ideology stems from these shallow, one-dimensional, cursory glances at men and women and the roles they perform, and what it concludes is this: being a woman is empowering and sexy. Being a man is really tough.

What they fail to acknowledge is the unimaginable scale of the oppression still faced by women across the entire globe, from catcalling to FGM, from sex trafficking to school dress codes, from sexist air conditioning to the pay gap, from rape and domestic violence to pink for girls and blue for boys.

That's where radical feminism comes in.

[the-snadger]

I am having transgender thoughts on how young girls grow up in an environment that constantly shouts about how being feminine is laughable and weak while simultaneously encouraging them and praising them for being feminine. My dad used to tell me I was very feminine and then didn’t understand when I took it like an insult.

You hear things like “girly” being used negatively all your life and then you’re told to be more like a girl? What kind of awful twisted message is that? “Yeah girls are so weak and femininity is stupid and frivolous” paired with “why don’t you want to be more feminine?”

Do they hear themselves?

[jspark3000]

Tumblr saved my life. Tumblr nearly killed me.

I’ve been on Tumblr since 2010. The people of Tumblr have saved my life multiple times. No kidding. In the worst of my depression, this place was a safe haven and a gentle stream of encouragement.

A lot has changed. I’ve continued to meet wonderful people, but it seems I kept meeting worse individuals too. Worse. And worse. My inbox became increasingly deranged, some who destroyed my mental health. One, in fact, brought me close to the edge of suicide for months. If you’re reading this: you know who you are.

Tumblr in the last few years no longer feels as safe as it was. In fact, on its worst days it’s as bad as *shudders* Facebook.

I don’t mean that it was a simple disagreement. That’s fine. I don’t mean healthy debate or snarky banter. Those are good. I mean racial slurs, threats, long reblogs with carefully articulated bigotry, abusive dynamics, gaslighting (not the way everyone keeps misusing this word—“You said a mean thing, that’s gaslighting”—but I mean really crazy-making reality-bending pathology), and cult-like manipulation. Gone is the humility, safety, and encouragement, except for the rare few. Compassion here is mostly now the exception.

I’m not entirely sure what happened. The election? Polarization? Backlash against people of color? Anger that my faith has evolved? More insular echo chambers? Easier to hide our faces here? Am I just that easy to beat up online? Or maybe you just stopped liking me altogether. I can live with that. But a compassionate space replaced by cruelty? That’s not something I was ready for.

I’ve changed too. I’ve worked at the hospital now for six years. I’ve seen so much suffering. I’ve seen hundreds, if not thousands of people die, sometimes in the worst way possible. I lost my faith once and got it back, and it came back different than before. I am more cynical than I was. I am also more hopeful than I was. I’ve seen the worst of people. The best of people. Times when God seemed absolutely absent. Other times I was sure God was breathing in my lungs.

But one thing I know: I am 100% for the wounded, hurting, and grieving. No question. I am 100% against anyone and anything that would take away from those who have already lost so much. And in the eyes of some, I guess this makes me “soft.” Weak. A liberal. A Marxist. Unrealistic. Emotional. Hysterical. Or just a “feminine f___ng ch*nk.” Working now at the hospital has apparently made me too soft for a place like Tumblr.

No, I don’t think I’m better than this place. Maybe Tumblr never got worse (though I think it did). Maybe seeing so much death turned me into a bunch of nerve endings. I did go soft. And when you see death as much as I do, you realize there are so few places in the world that are safe for grief. Tumblr has little idea what to do with it. It can make grief either fashionable or laughable. Trendy or trigger material. But not tangible. Not divine. Not human. Grief even fits on Instagram. Not here. Not when you can reblog someone and gif them and say “lol.”

The online space is weird. It’s real life and it isn’t. Many times it felt real for me. I know, I shouldn’t take it seriously. But the compassion was real. And unfortunately, the hurt was real too.

These days I post a lot less. But even in the little that I post, it is clear this community is not safe. I never thought I’d ever say that Instagram and Twitter, of all places, are safer than here. But they are. Tumblr, for me, has become a tantrum competition. A speed race for snark. Not the fun kind of snark. Snark that isn’t very clever, but aggressively filled with incel/Reddit/4chan rage. No dialogue. Just dirt.

I will probably keep posting here. And answering my inbox sometimes. And replying with snark of my own. But what this all once was: it will never be again. Not a safe life-giving community. Just a place where I can put my posts. An old storage room that used to be home.

I have a daughter now. She is beginning to crawl. She can almost say “dad” (she probably isn’t, but it sounds just like it, and it makes my heart stop). I always think about the sorts of places she will find life. Or places that will take life from her. Most places do some of both. I hope she finds a place that gives more life than it takes. But some people choose to stay in a hard place because they want to change things from the inside. Maybe she’ll have the strength that I didn’t. She can make change from the inside. She can be the type of person to bring life to a place that has the potential to be good.

I saw Tumblr like that once. Even for years. But I guess I’m too old, too tired, too worn down for that sort of thing now. I have aged out of this place. This place grew past me. I gave it what I could. And I’m glad I did. I’m grateful for Tumblr. It was a place that made me alive. Do I sound dramatic? I guess dramatic is exactly what I loved about this place. I could be myself here. Once I could do that. Others cheered me on. I cheered them on. I loved to see a land of voices vibrant and free. That time is gone. I will always cherish that time. Thank you for all that it meant. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you, if nothing else, than for memories.

— J.S.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

To the summit in a skirt: Lucy Walker, pioneering Victorian Alpine mountaineer

The stories of women just weren’t written, so people tend to think they didn’t happen. There have always been women who have had the courage to step out into the unknown, and that’s what Lucy Walker did. The fortitude, the bravery, the commitment to the goal - women’s power was not invented yesterday.

- Rebecca A. Brown, Women on High: Pioneers of Mountaineering

Leaving behind a quiet life of croquet and cream teas, Lucy Walker became one of Britain’s finest early Alpine mountain climbers. Her climbing career spanned some 21 years, totalling 90 or so different summits, many being first ascents by a woman. Walker was the first woman to summit the Matterhorn and the Eiger - in a billowing Victorian dress no less - but she nearly vanished from history. 

Her story as a female pioneering mountaineer has always inspired me in my mountaineering sojourns to the Alps and other mountainous places. During my time in the army flying combat helicopters I enjoyed free weekends that did come my way to take off to the Alps with like minded friends and climb together. 

Mountains are so special; they have such magic to them. Maybe it is the fact they are can be so dangerous or maybe it is because they make us feel so small. Even if you don’t even climb them they call to you.You might find that all the problems in your life dissolve when you are around them or that life slows down a bit. All that I can tell you is that after spending time surrounded by them or climbing them you will feel the urge to come back.

Climbing a mountain is the furthest thing from easy. Long stretches of constant vertical climbing can be the most exhausting and hardest thing you do. Not only the physical difficulties but also the mental difficulties will also test you. Exposed and tricky climbing and route finding can get the best of your mental abilities.

The classic quote that tells you “not to look at the whole mountain take it one piece at a time” is something you will come to understand. You will learn to never give up; to know that the reward will be worth the work it takes.

Lucy Walker possessed great strength, endurance and determination and was an inspiration, especially for other women climbers. Indeed she paved the way for a wave of other - largely forgotten - women mountaineers to test the limits of their own mental and physical strength and courage against not only some of the hardest mountains to climb but also some the harshest social strictures against women seeking adventure.

Born in Liverpool in 1836, Lucy Walker was a British woman widely credited as being the first female alpine mountaineer. But this 19th century alpinist left behind no diaries, newspaper interviews, or personal accounts of any kind. And yet her presence haunts the annals of early mountaineering like a persistent ghost. Her serene, inscrutable face stares out from among men in Victorian-era expedition photos, and she lurks in a doorway in a renowned engraving of top 19th century alpinists - all male except for her. In journals, male climbers describe sightings of Walker briefly drying her sodden clothes at a hut or moving fast through deep snow and the astonishment of villagers after she became the first woman to climb the Eiger.

On Lucy Walker’s first trip to the Alps in 1858, she – unlike many people – was not content to remain in the valley but accompanied her brother and father into the high mountains. Whereas today climbers use cable cars or trains for the first part of an expedition, in the 19th century, several hours of steep walking was required. Lucy wanted to climb and at the sight of the Alps she began her life time obesession with mountain climbing.

Walker would go on to become one of the first and most prolific female mountaineers of the 19th century. Over the course of her 21-year career in the Alps, starting in 1858, Walker undertook 98 expeditions, including 28 successful attempts on 4,000-meter peaks. She holds first female ascents on 16 summits, including Monte Rosa, the Strahlhorn, and the Grand Combin, and a first ascent for either sex on the Balmhorn, which she completed in 1864.

But it was perhaps the Matterhorn ascent that gained her the most fame. The Matterhorn was regarded as the most desirable trophy by both men and women mountaineers. Lucy Walker was not the only woman whose dream it was to reach the peak. Various women attempted the ascent, most notably Meta Brevoort (1825-1876), a New Yorker who had settled in England. Just like Miss Walker, Meta was making a name for herself in the mountaineering world in the late 1860s. In 1869, Meta undertook her first attempt to climb the Matterhorn and, approaching from the Italian side, reached an altitude of just under 4,000 metres before being forced to turn back due to severe weather conditions.

Two years later, however, Meta Brevoort decided to give it another go, setting out for Zermatt with the aim of attempting another ascent. Lucy Walker was already in Zermatt though and, on receiving word of Ms Breevort’s intentions, quickly assembled her own group in order to begin her ascent of the Matterhorn, a feat that would make her the most famous female mountaineer of the era.

Long before dawn on July 21, 1871, Walker woke up in a hut on the northeastern flank of the legendary mountain, surrounded by men. She wore her favorite long dress and hobnail boots as she, her father, their guide, and several other climbers set off on snowy slopes in the flickering gloom of candle lanterns.

The mountaineers were probably nervously aware that six years earlier, four men from the first expedition to stand on top of this 14,692-foot spire on the Swiss-Italian border fell and perished on their descent. But Lucy Walker was determined that the American Meta Brevoort would not be the first woman to reach the summit. Walker fully intended to beat her to it.

As the sky brightened and smoke rose from breakfast fires in the village of Zermatt far below, the climbers ascended a skinny, ice-encrusted ridge with heart-palpitating exposure. One mindless step could have sent them plunging a thousand feet down to the valley below. But by midmorning, with willful determination and agreeable weather, they reached the summit. A tableau of rocky pinnacles, meadows, forests, streams, and villages unfurled in every direction - and Walker was the first woman ever to see it all from that iconic perch.

Meta Brevoort arrived just after Lucy‘s achievement to receive the shocking news that she had missed her chance to win the ultimate trophy. That very evening, the two women met each other in Zermatt. What Meta really felt on this occasion is anyone’s guess but contemporary sources state that “there were congratulations” – noblesse oblige.

This would be the only occasion that the two most prominent female Alpinists of the era would meet, somewhat unusual considering that they came from a similar background. Lucy Walker came from a wealthy merchant family in Liverpool and Meta Brevoort from a family of Dutch immigrants who made a fortune in New York as property owners.

Contrary to the strict notions of Victorian society, both women were outgoing and cheerful characters with a lively spirit. According to her obituary, Lucy was known for her “warmth, humour and buoyant personality” while, according to chronicler Cicely Williams, Meta stood out for her “astounding vitality and her exception gift of living life to the full”.

Walker’s other great accomplishment - amongst the many she already had achieved -  was the Eiger. Mountaineers down the ages to the present will say hands down that it is the most dangerous of all Alpine mountains.

The Nordwand, or north face, of this peak in the Bernese Alps in Switzerland is an objective legendary among mountaineers for its danger. Reaching nearly 6000 feet, it is the longest north face in the Alps. Though it was first climbed in 1938, the north face of the Eiger continues to challenge climbers of all abilities with both its technical difficulties and the heavy rockfall that rakes the face. The difficulty and hazards have earned the Eiger’s north face the nickname Mordwand, or Murder Wall. Lucy Walker didn’t climb the north face but she did climb it all the same. Nothing daunted her.

At 10.15 am on 25 July,  1864, a group of 11 people arranged themselves gingerly on the narrow arête of the Eiger’s summit, and “proceeded to howl [themselves] hoarse” in celebration of their achievement. The merriment was more raucous than usual because 28-year-old Lucy had just become the first woman to climb the mountain.

Poor visibility, ice and difficult route-finding threatened to defeat them, but as fellow climber Adolphus Moore noted, in a typical example of middle-class Victorian pride:  “A repugnance to abandoning an undertaking once commenced…appears to be naturally inherent in the breasts of Britons, male and female alike.” When the party arrived back in the village, Moore noted that “the astonishment amongst the people, collected at the inn, at a lady having performed such an unusual feat, was immense and entertaining.”

Lucy Walker was the person that made women visible in the Alps for the first time. She was the first woman to ascend most of the major alpine summits and crushed through the glass ceiling, making it easier for women to follow. And yet the details of Walker’s life remain largely unknown.

At the time, women were expected to stay out of the public eye, avoid celebrating their accomplishments, and conform to narrow notions of femininity that prized meekness and subservience. While newspapers glorified male exploits in the mountains, they often ignored or satirized women who climbed, painting them as weak and unfit—or sometimes just laughable eccentrics. Women mountaineers of the 19th century generally underplayed their accomplishments in letters and books so as not to appear unfeminine and risk ridicule. Many did not write about their expeditions at all. Walker might have kept quiet about her climbing so that she could continue doing it in peace, but she also didn’t let the inevitable jibes discourage her.

“In those far-off mid-Victorian days, when it was even considered ‘fast’ for a young lady to ride in a hansom, Miss Walker’s wonderful feats in the mountains did not pass without a certain amount of criticism, which her keen sense of humor made her appreciate as much as anyone,” wrote Frederick Gardiner, a friend and mountaineer who climbed alongside Walker up the Matterhorn, in an obituary in the Alpine Journal in 1917.

Over the course of her climbing career, Walker proved herself a model of both skill and endurance, climbing mostly with her father and brother and possibly, as some scholars have suggested, outperforming them. She ascended the tallest technical peaks in Europe, braved spectacular exposure with unreliable ropes, and pioneered long, difficult routes through the high cols. According to friends who wrote about her, Walker was witty and lively and had a penchant for hydrating with champagne.

She also went to great lengths to avoid offending delicate Victorian sensibilities and gender roles—at least until out of sight. While climbing, Walker would walk out of villages looking every bit the proper lady and then stash her petticoat behind a rock. Like a chameleon, she transformed from an elite athlete in the Alps to a prim Victorian Englishwoman at home in Liverpool, where her family ran a lead-dealing business. Walker tended to the family house; kept up with her needlework; read widely in French, German, and Italian; and hosted parties. (She chose not to marry, however, which would have been unusual at the time.) There are no records of her ever scaling a British peak or even partaking in any exercise more taxing than croquet.

Perhaps because she didn’t brazenly challenge social norms, Lucy Walker’s activities in the mountains were occasionally feted. International newspapers covered her Matterhorn climb, and the satirical English magazine Punch even published a poem celebrating her fortitude.

“No glacier can baffle, no precipice balk her,” it read. “No peak rise above her, however sublime. Give three cheers for intrepid Miss Walker. I say, my boys, doesn’t she know how to climb!”

Clare Roche, a historian on 19th-century women’s mountaineering, argued that this recognition likely encouraged other women to be more adventurous in the Alps. Katherine Richardson, Margaret Jackson, and Emily Hornby, three of the best women mountaineers of the late 19th century, started climbing within a couple years of Walker’s Matterhorn ascent. Meta Brevoort was also inspired by her example, according to her nephew and climbing partner.

Even before that time, however, Walker was far from the only woman in the peaks. After examining historic führerbücher, books in which guides kept client testimonials, Roche discovered that from about the mid-1860s, women ventured into the mountains on technical expeditions in much greater numbers than previously thought. In the second half of the 19th century, women completed nearly 60 first ascents on Europe’s high peaks and more than 100 first female ascents. These include Brevoort’s first winter ascent of the Jungfrau in 1874 and Margaret Anne Jackson’s first ascent of the east face of Weissmies in 1876.

Letters suggest that while there were rivalries, women climbers also formed a sort of sisterhood in the mountains and helped each other out, Roche says. Even though women weren’t allowed to file papers in the Alpine Journal until 1889 and were excluded from the Alpine Club until 1974, some of their male counterparts welcomed them in the high country. These wild areas afforded rare freedom in a time of stifling social constraints. In coed expeditions, women climbed and slept alongside men, a practice that would have been unthinkable in the valleys and cities. In the late 1800s, women even led men on expeditions without guides, which had been customary earlier in the century.

In later life Lucy continued to walk in the Alps and meet with friends, including Melchoir Andregg, who was the foremost Swiss mountain guide of his time and is still revered today. When asked why she had never married, her typically direct reply was: “I love mountains and Melchoir and Melchoir already has a wife!”

Walker continued to climb until her mid-forties, when a doctor advised her to stop for health reasons that are now unknown. She continued to walk in the Alps long after her climbing career and acted as a mentor to younger climbers, encouraging them to write about their experiences. Although Lucy was an extremely capable mountaineer, she was never allowed to join the male-only Alpine Club in London but did become the second president of the Ladies’ Alpine Club in which she was involved in the founding in 1907. 

Most Victorian doctors advised gentlewomen to refrain from any strenuous exercise; the demands of mountaineering went way beyond strenuous. It is a measure of Lucy’s character that she clearly ignored medical diktats. She was an educated woman, spoke several languages, knew her own mind and was not prepared to conform to any convention if it meant restricting her mountaineering.

In the Alps, she regularly climbed for more than 14 hours a day, tackled some of the most difficult summits and slept in barns high in the mountains, often close by the men in the party. Home life in Liverpool could not have been more different. There she played croquet, entertained and led the respectable life expected of a Victorian lady.

Even on the mountains, she was keen to maintain a feminine appearance whenever possible, always wearing skirts, but removing her crinoline once outside the village. Dresses were arranged so they could be shortened easily on steep or rocky slopes. Trousers didn’t become popular with women until the 1890s, long after Lucy’s climbing was over. She later said how envious she was of the easier conditions women experienced in the early years of the 20th century.

Although Lucy wrote nothing about her climbing, others did, noting her penchant for champagne – a common tipple among mountaineers, especially those who made unprecedented climbs. Lucy would get through several bottles during the course of an expedition. She became a renowned personality in the Alps whom everyone wanted to meet because, as famous mountaineer Edward Whymper, claimed, “no candidate for election in the Alpine club… ever submitted a list of qualifications at all approaching the list of Miss Walker.” 

Lucy Walker died, in September 1917, at 81. But in the century since her death, Walker has nearly vanished from the public record. How many other women quietly pulled off great feats of athleticism but fell through the cracks of history without so much as a whisper? Walker at least lives on in the words of those who knew her.

“Her energies were immense and she was a bold, inveterate and able sightseer,” wrote mountaineer Charles Pilkington in the Alpine Journal after Walker died. “We were often roused by her from our laziness and taken to some point of view or interesting place, which but for her insistence, we might have missed. Traveling in her company was always enlightened by her great vivacity.”