#I’m not even conventionally attractive I just am a woman who is available | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theshinobiway · 5 years

Note

Yes I get it now I only asked bc I know you don’t ship nejiten so I thought you shipped that bc that’s what most anti nejiten people do

Hm. I'm not exactly sure how to read into this, anon.

That being said, it seems awfully presumptuous to assume someone would follow another (highly controversial) ship because they happen to not like one opposing ship. There are plenty of other ships that oppose NejiTen, so I'm concerned as to why this one was picked. But you know what? I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.

So if you were trying to get a full opinion from me, here it is:

I do not ship NejiTen for a myriad of reasons, the majority of which being centered on Tenten's canon development which I've addressed multiple times, including here. Tenten was never interested canonically in either of her teammates, as confirmed in Konoha Gaiden.

And you know what? I love that she portrays a woman who is perfectly content being single with friends and a career--do you know how rare that is in any media, let alone an anime? Tenten also didn't need trauma or loss to "scare her away" from loving someone. She accepts that part of herself, and she is all the happier for it. I love me a strong, independent, happy Tenten.

I know it's not a popular opinion because everyone loves to ship "the girl and the hot guy" of the team together or to imagine an angsty/tragic love story between them, but it's simply not the case.

All "proofs" of this couple are fan-made. Shounen animes are very explicit when it comes to establishing a romantic interest. They had zero. (In fact, Chouji and Karui were even mentioned in the Gaiden novels.)

Any relationship with Tenten makes her OOC for me, but especially this one--Leeten had more development, but it's nowhere near as popular. Why? Because Lee, while being beloved, isn't conventionally attractive. Tenten and Neji were teammates who had complimentary abilities and "look good together." They did not have any canon romantic development, period. Now, I don't ship LeeTen either, but there's even less here to ship: They bond over being mature members of the team and training when Gai/Lee are off. It's almost like saying you should date/love your coworker/work pal because you get along--there's WAY more to a relationship than that. They had zero shared goals, zero shared motivations, and zero "promises" to each other. (In the absence of shared goals, characters with potential romance could at least promise to support one another--they didn't have that, either.)

I know it's not "fun" to have a single woman who isn't interested in her genius teammate, but Tenten is just that. For as popular as this pairing is, it likes to completely ignore what development of Tenten there actually was in the series. She's self-motivated, independent, and loves her friends more than anything. A relationship isn't part of her life and that is okay. No one complains nearly as much about Shino or Kankuro or Kakashi or Iruka for being single with zero canon interests, so why is Tenten the exception? Let my bby girl live her best life without forcing a relationship on her with the closest attractive character in proximity.

They didn't end up together or have more explicit scenes confirming their interest in one other because it simply wasn't there. They were never meant to be a pair that Kishi had in mind, and I wish that the very same shippers that make their way into my inbox to argue about a fictional pair would respect that. Enjoy the fan-made content from other creators, but recognize that it's fan-made. I enjoy romances and stories that build interesting characters and develop shared themes and arcs. Their romance does zero for adding to either character or their personal journey.

They also don't have a strong case for being romantically compatible either. Both characters are also consistently mischaracterized in fanart and fanfics by the fandom. They often become a caricature of what they actually are. Neji/Tenten are nothing like Ren/Nora (RWBY), but frankly, that's exactly how they get portrayed in their ship. I'm not on board with neglecting the actual great qualities of two amazing, unique characters for a ship. And the reason they're always OOC (Tenten especially) is because that's how they have to be portrayed to make any kind of romantic relationship work.

And the fact that I've had to mention my lack of interest in this pairing on multiple occasions is ridiculous. Its popularity does not mean anything for its place in canon, the accuracy of the fandom's analysis of their relationship, the intent of the author, or how interested I am in a potential flat romance, so go find another blog for your content and quit pestering creators that aren't interested.

Also, I ship no one with any of the members of Team Gai. I do have a soft spot for KakaGai, but that's about it.

And, as always, I'll mention again that this blog will stay free of shipping content to make it available to all lovers of Team Gai. Thanks!

#Neji #Neji hyuga #tenten #on this blog we love and respect tenten #nejiten #anti nejiten #tenten positivity #posting it in the tag because I want the message to be clear #I just want to post pictures and stories of my Team Gai babes #sigh #pumpkintalks #pumpkin talks #the shinobi way #theshinobiway

33 notes · View notes

star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 6 years

Text

Five Minutes with Tony

You surveyed your appearance in the mirror. For a change, your hair had done what you’d wanted it to. Your make-up was about as close to perfect as you were capable of managing on your own, and your little black dress was killer. You looked good. Better than good, you thought. You took a step back and cocked your head to one side and nodded. Yeah. Although on most days you couldn’t stomach what looked back from the mirror at you, tonight? Tonight you were the best version of you available.

You heard a soft knock on the door and knew it was either Nat or Steve come to meet up with you. You opened the door and looked up, entirely surprised to see Tony.

“Hey?” You smiled. Your kept your cards pretty close over the weeks since joining the payroll of the Avengers, but you couldn’t help the surge of delight over seeing Tony standing on the other side of the threshold in a tux. “You look mighty dapper, Mr. Stark.”

“I keep telling you, it’s Tony,” he laughed and offered an arm. “You look stunning, as usual, Y/N.” You laughed and shook your head.

“Tony, right. Sorry, sometimes this still doesn’t quite feel real to me,” you admitted. “And thank you. For once I think I’ll agree.”

“You’re always so hard on yourself,” he commented as you stepped into the elevator. “Why do you do that?”

You felt the burn of embarrassment under your skin and looked at the floor before looking up at him. His dark eyes were full of concern and wonder, which unsettled you a little. “I’m not exactly what you’d call a conventionally attractive woman, Tony.”

“You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen,” he argued.

“I have this theory about that. You’re a genius. So you’re seeing more than the average person. You’re seeing who I am in concert with what I look like -”

“You’re not wrong. I do see the whole picture. But Y/N, I don’t get it. You’re so confident about everything else. You destroyed your job interview, made the other candidates look like chump change. You know your value. But you can’t see that you actually are the entire package. You’re beautiful and smart, and kind, and remarkable,” he interrupted, taking your hand and squeezing it. You felt a sting of tears at the corner of your eyes, and quickly blinked.

“Tonight, Tony, I actually believe it,” you smiled. “But it’s taken me a long time to get there. And if I’m totally honest, tomorrow, I might not see it again, but tonight I did. So that’s a start.”

“I need you to say it to me again, in your own words,” he demanded, the smile he gave you wrinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

“I am clever, intelligent, witty, kind, and remarkable. And I come in some very appealing packaging,” you laughed. “Good enough?”

“Perfect,” he nodded. “Let’s go.” The elevator opened and he offered his elbow again to escort you out into the lavish party.

XxX

Natasha had found you and quickly proclaimed you stunning, with a quick kiss to either cheek and Steve even managed to muddle through a compelling compliment before Bucky slapped him on the back and winked at you.

“You’re a fine looking dame, Y/N/N,” he smiled. You laughed and leaned over to give him a hug.

“Thanks, Buck,” you grinned. “I must be wearing my confidence well tonight, you’re all commenting on it.”

“Well, you clean up pretty good, Y/N,” Steve finally found his voice again to comment. “This is a lot different than the lab coat and blue jeans we’re used to.”

“Come on, sweetheart, dance with me,” Bucky insisted, as the band started playing a song from his era. He led you out onto the dance floor and pulled you into his arms. As the song ended, Tony cut in and slipped his hand around you, resting it on your back.

“You’re having fun?” He asked, his cheek close to yours.

“I am. I didn’t think I would, but I really am,” you admitted. He turned his head to look at you and smiled. It was soft, and indulgent, and he pulled you just a little closer as he looked at you. His eyes flicked down to your lips and then, he pressed a soft kiss against your mouth.

“I think I’d really like to take you for brunch tomorrow, if that’s okay?” He asked. You nodded.

“I’d like that,” you agreed. The song ended and he led you off the dance floor and over to the bar. As you waited for your drink, you felt someone tap your shoulder. You turned around and were astonished to see your ex, Jeremy, smiling in surprise.

“Y/N! I thought that was you on the dance floor, but didn’t think it could be,” he exclaimed. “God, honey, you look incredible. You don’t look a bit different. How long has it been?”

A quick mental calculation made you cringe inwardly before you answered. “Has to be fifteen years, Jem,” you admitted, his nickname feeling natural and strange on your tongue at the same time.

“You don’t look a day older. Still good old Y/N,” he smiled. You noticed his eyes flicked down to your hand and he smiled again. “Not married yet?”

You felt a flare of embarrassment, followed quickly by anger. You’d split because Jeremy didn’t want to settle down, and you’d thought you did. He’d said during the break-up that if he did settle down, it wouldn’t be with someone like you. It had cut to the quick, at the time. He didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t fit the conventionally beautiful mold, and your hips were just too broad to make you a conventional beauty.

“I’ve been focussed on my career,” you admitted. You took in his appearance, and had to admit, he hadn’t aged well. Gone was the handsome young man who had seduced you with his ready smiles and broad shoulders, and in his place was an older man, balding with a bad combover. He wore the extra weight on his frame poorly, hiding it with a badly tailored suit. If you didn’t look any different, by comparison he was only a shadow of his former self. And he’d never been the full package, either. He’d always resented that you’d been more clever and successful when you’d been in university together.

“Well, what else is there for you, really?” He asked. “Don’t get me wrong, you haven’t aged a day, but men don’t want career-driven women they can’t show off on their arms -”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Tony turned around, his eyes narrowed. You felt like Jeremy had slapped you across the face, and were looking for an exit frantically. Tony’s hand on your back stilled you.

“Jeremy Devonson, CEO of DWI Robotics,” Jeremy introduced, offering his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

“I’m sure it is,” Tony replied, raising an eyebrow and ignoring the proffered hand. He pushed away from the bar, holding your drink out to you. “If you’ll excuse us, I need to introduce Y/N to the Secretary of State. She’s developed a new robotics protocol that Madam Secretary had expressed some interest in.”

“Oh, I -”

“Brilliant and beautiful, Devonson,” Tony cut him off. “You were an idiot to let her get away.” You followed Tony away from the bar, stopping just for a second to look back at Jeremy.

“For the record, Jem,” you started. “I am so much better off without you. So thank you. Thank you for being so superficial that I was able to discover my real value.”

As you walked away, Tony leaned over and pressed a kiss against your cheek. “I forgot to mention sassy and sexy, do you think I need to go back and remind him?”

“No,” you laughed.

“Can I revise that date request to maybe waking you up with breakfast in bed? Because I’m unnaturally turned on right now,” he teased.

79 notes · View notes

metalandmagi · 6 years

Text

October Media Madness!

It’s the last day of the month, so you know what that means! What-no not Halloween! It’s time to see how one person wasted their time this month by keeping track of all the media they consumed! And if you thought October would mean a lot of horror movies and books and TV shows...you are going to be very disappointed because I’m a fucking wimp who hates horror.

September media

Movies!

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World: Scott Pilgrim, aka the most intentionally unlikable protagonist ever, has to defeat the seven evil ex-boy...uh I mean exes of the cool girl he’s dating. Yeah, I’m super late to the Edgar Wright party, but since this movie was finally available on Netflix I figured it was time. And it’s pretty good aside from the fact that Scott is the worst. But at least he owns up to it in the end. It’s crazy over the top ridiculous, has tons of little details that film theorists love to salivate over, and Scott’s roommate Wallace is hilarious. I just wish I could hear what Michael Cera says half the time. Oh well, there’s nothing good or bad I can say about this movie that hasn’t been said before. 8/10

Coraline: Coraline Jones, an imaginative young girl with inattentive parents who has just moved into a new apartment, discovers a secret door that leads to a world where everything is better, and everyone has buttons for eyes. However, under the perfect exterior, things are more sinister than they seem. I got the urge to re-watch this because it’s freaking October, and although I don’t watch horror movies, I felt obligated to watch something at least kind of Halloween-ish. And I stand by my long held opinion that this is the all time creepiest movie marketed for children ever made. Literally everything about this movie is creepy. There’s creepy music, creepy dolls being made and following people around, creepy cats, creepy people with buttons for eyes, creepy ghosts of children, creepy children with their mouths shown shut...the list is endless. And Laika never fails to make beautifully animated stop motion. 9/10

Sierra Burgess is a Loser: The latest film in Netflix’s attempt to dominate the rom-com genre, in which an unpopular high school girl ends up texting a handsome jock while leading him to believe he is texting a gorgeous cheerleader named Veronica who also goes to her school.

Okay, this isn’t a bad movie, so let me start with the good. I appreciate the message of how you need to make yourself stand out to colleges and how high school in general is becoming a toxic competitive environment. There’s a lot of good material about living up to expectations and stereotypes, both from Sierra’s side and her partner in crime Veronica’s. And speaking of Veronica, I was completely blindsided by how much of a great character she was and how much she grew throughout the film. I also liked Sierra’s best friend and the love interest, even if they were a little generic.

That being said...I didn’t like Sierra. When main characters intentionally lead people on for no good reason (and thinking some guy you’ve just met isn’t going to text you back because you’re not “conventionally attractive” is not a good reason) it annoys the hell out of me. Not only does she lie through texting him, but she and Veronica lie to his face multiple times. She also does something really horrible to Veronica because of a misunderstanding that could have been avoided if she taken five seconds to use some common sense. She also thinks she’s above doing a simple homework assignment for her poetry class because she wants to be different. I realize she needs to stand out in order to get recommendations for college, but come on. And finally, when she’s upset about how she looks, she blames her parents because her mom is attractive??? Yes it is frustrating to have these brilliant “conventionally attractive” parents, but they always try to build her up, as opposed to Veronica’s mother who only tears her down. I DID NOT HATE HER CHARACTER, but I think she could have been portrayed better. The other major thing that bothered me is that there is the complete lack of proper conflict resolution. All the problems and hurt feelings just magically go away in order to have a happy ending. Overall, the movie’s just okay. 7/10

Howl’s Moving Castle: Sophie, an ordinary girl who gets cursed by a witch, turns into an old woman and ends up working for a wizard who steals hearts. It feels like Studio Ghibli’s version of beauty and the beast, except Howl is the beauty with a questionable personality, and Sophie is the “beast” who whips him into shape...until the second half of the movie anyway. I’d prefer to watch an entire movie of old woman Sophie interacting with the other characters rather than deal with the war aspect of the plot. Anyway, the animation is awesome, and I appreciate the English voice cast...except for the fact that no one had the good sense to use Crispin Freeman as Howl instead of just having him as Turnip-Head! I know lots of people have talked about the differences between the book and the movie, but I like how the movie portrays that even though being old is physically painful, it can also be emotionally freeing. Either way I think Sophie is a great character with a fun sense of humor! 8/10

First Man: The story of Neil Armstrong and the years leading up to the moon landing...which apparently a lot of people didn’t like? Some people are butthurt about there not being a shot of planting the flag (which if they actually saw the movie they would know the focus of the scenes on the moon were to show Armstrong dealing with wonder and grief, NOT rallying together as Americans). Some people are unhappy that an American hero can be portrayed so negatively, and some people just thought it was boring and dragged a lot…

Okay, yes, the movie is a drama that does not portray Armstrong in a glowing light, and yes there are certain scenes that go on too long. BUT I really liked this movie...and this is coming from someone who doesn’t like Ryan Gosling. It is a family drama that captures how different people respond to grief and stress set in the backdrop of the space race. I also liked learning about this period in history and the controversy around the space program in general. It was beautifully shot and had very creative music choices, which was the main reason I saw it in theaters. I came away from it awed and terrified that we basically sent these people to the moon in freaking tin cans, and that in the sixties men shunned their emotions so much that they wouldn’t hug their children before going to space! Overall, it was good in a solid way, but it did drag a bit. 7.5/10

Mama Mia: Another protagonist named Sophie is getting married and invites the three men who could each possibly be her father to the wedding. But who cares about the plot, the main purpose of the film is to show women having fun with their friends! This movie...isn’t exactly good, but it 100% knows what it wants to be and accomplishes that. It’s a wacky, ridiculous, musical romp that people only watch with their friends when they’re plastered because they want to hear ABBA songs. It’s the very definition of a guilty pleasure movie, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I will say that it’s harder for me to relate to because I don’t have friends that I act this ridiculous with, and sometimes it gets to be a bit much. Although, I have seen the Broadway musical and remember absolutely loving every minute of it...so maybe it’s just the movie overplaying it. Oh well, it’s just something fun to have on in the background or watch when you need cheering up! It’s a 9/10 for being accomplishing what it wants and a 6/10 as an actual movie.

Ant-Man and the Wasp: In this Marvel filler episode between Infinity War and Captain Marvel, Scott is under house arrest and Hope tries to get her mother out of the quantum realm. Okay, this was a fun movie with some great moments, but it definitely had its issues. For a movie called Ant-Man and the Wasp, the two did not do much fighting together...or at all until the end. It felt more like an origin to their partnership than a team up movie (and I’d rather have a Wasp and Black Widow team up movie...or all the Marvel women team up movie). It also couldn’t figure out who the villain should be. It’s like they realized half way through writing it that Ghost was way too sympathetic and cool and had to come up with a bunch of more forgettable villains. And because this was more of a hot potato rather than a heist, I didn’t think it was as fun as the first movie overall. HOWEVER I still really enjoyed the inventive action and the characters. I will always watch 2 hours of Evangeline Lilly kicking ass, and Paul Rudd being himself. And I am convinced that Marvel is using The Adventure Zone route of needing competent women to solve everyone’s problems. But the heart of the movie is really family. Hank and Hope, Scott and his daughter, and even Ghost all had very compelling stories that drew me in every time. And that post credits scene...I knew it was coming, but come on! Marvel is the only current studio who can basically do a horror movie “The End…?” in their credits now. 7.5/10

The Chronicles of Narnia-The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe: The Disney version of the classic C.S. Lewis book; come on we all know the story. Okay, I watched this for the first time in several years because I also read the book this month. And holy cow, when you see what material the movie had to work with, this is a freaking masterpiece. It takes a very simple children’s book and turns it into an epic fantasy! The score, the little details, and the setting are all perfect. All the characters are so real and fleshed out AND ACCURATELY PORTRAYED FOR THEIR AGES! All four siblings are struggling with something, and the actors do a great job considering they were actual children while making this! I am so angry that Disney let this property’s potential slip through their fingers because I truly believe that if they kept making movies like this, it could have been their Harry Potter by now. Prince Caspian was also excellent, though I don’t remember much of Dawn Treader, but I think if they put the money and effort into continuing this franchise it could have been great.

One thing I don’t appreciate about the movie is how they reduce Edmund’s mental journey. I have always especially loved Edmund as a character, and something the movie fails to mention is the fact that APPARENTLY in the book the Turkish Delight is enchanted to make whoever eats it think only of eating more and more until THEY EAT SO MUCH THAT THEY DIE?! He’s not just a greedy kid. And there’s a lot more to his time with the Witch that makes his actions easier to understand. Anyway it definitely goes down as one of the best book to movie adaptations I’ve ever seen, and it is on my very short list of movies that are better than the books. 10/10

Books!

The Chronicles of Narnia- The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis: It’s the first Narnia book; we all know the plot. I am one of the many people who had this series read to them as a kid, but it’s been like...eleven years since I actually read these books for myself. Even then I only got to The Horse and His Boy before stopping because it was boring as hell. I’ve been wanting to re-read the series all year, and with only the Disney movies in recent memory, imagine my surprise when I found out that Lewis’s writing style is absolutely bananas! I think he’s acting as some omniscient narrator, but his style is so stream of consciousness it’s hilarious! He constantly addresses the audience in these 2007 fanfiction author-esque asides. The Pevensies are the most posh, old-timey sounding British kids ever, and it’s amazing to visualize children that actually speak like this. Everything happens so quickly because it is 100% meant to be a children’s story, not this epic adventure we all associate with the movies. So...if you’ve never read it before definitely check it out just to discover how utterly wild everything is. My only real complaint is that it’s kinda sexist, and no one except for Edmund gets a character arc. Even though Susan gets a bow and Lucy gets a dagger, they’re treated like they shouldn’t be fighting because they’re girls and not...oh I don’t know...because they’re children! 7/10

The Ladies Guide to Petticoats and Piracy by Mackenzie Lee: The second installment of...idk...the “Guide” series? I talked about the first book, The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue in my May Media Madness, and this book is just as good! This series takes place in the 1700s, and while the first book follows arrogant bisexual disaster Monty, his (boy)friend Percy, and his sister Felicity through a romp across Europe, this book follows Felicity and her friends on a...let’s just say “scientific expedition” involving pirates. The less you know about the plot going in the better. And did I mention her friends include a badass Muslim pirate princess and an Elle Woods-esque dog loving naturalist? And also did I mention Felicity is CANONICALLY revealed as ARO/ACE?! It’s strongly hinted at in the first book, and in this book Mackenzi Lee basically shoves any doubt about it out the window. It’s fun, hilarious, and also heartbreaking at the same because of all the challenges each character faces because they’re ambitious women in this time period. Sometimes it feels a little heavy handed in its feminist messages, but you can’t deny it’s not accurate. I’m really only saying that because I am a woman, and the struggles are nothing I haven’t seen or read before. Anyway, this is a fantastic series that I highly recommend to anyone looking for a fun read, and it gets bonus points for including Monty and Percy being disgustingly in love together! 1000/10

Dear Evan Hansen the Novel by Val Emmich (and also Steven Levenson, Benj Pasek, and Justin Paul):

Buckle up.

I really love the Dear Evan Hansen musical (which I talked about in my August Media Madness.) The novel is almost a word for word adaptation of the musical, in which Evan, a teenager with anxiety, writes a letter to himself that is stolen by a boy who commits suicide, leading everyone to believe Evan and the boy, Connor, were best friends because they assume Connor wrote the letter to Evan. There is a lot I could say about this adaptation, but the number one thing is: I really don’t know if people who haven’t seen the musical or heard the soundtrack will like it as much. The strength of Dear Evan Hansen is mainly in its performances and its music, and while they tried to work the music in as best they could, I enjoyed the story more because I can link it back to the actors’ performances. Yes, the story is interesting and the message is important, but I honestly don’t know how much people going in blind will like the writing and how the characters are portrayed. Overall, it seemed like a well written fanfic- in a good way, not a Harry Potter and the Cursed Child way. That being said, I did really enjoy a lot of things about this book. They expanded on a lot about Evan’s relationship with his absent father and the aftermath of the big lie. They also expanded on a lot about Connor…

I honestly don’t know how I feel about Ghost Connor. Yes, I’m glad Connor shows up as a ghost in the book. What he doesn’t do is ACTUALLY INTERACT WITH EVAN...LIKE AT ALL! The best parts of the show are when Connor, as a figment of Evan’s imagination acts as a comedic buffer and his “moral center.” However, here ghost Connor exists to give snippets of Connor’s life. He barely comments on what Evan is doing at all even though he sees everything. All of Connor’s sections made me feel like the author was going through the DEH tag on AO3 and picking things to throw in. I liked his sections, but the writers really missed the more entertaining story of having Connor actually commenting about the shit Evan is doing.

So overall, I’d say watch the musical if you can find a bootleg, or at least listen to the soundtrack and then read the book. It was very enjoyable, although I think the ending dragged a bit in its quest to give more closure than the musical. 8.5/10

Bonus Manga

Shimanami Tasogare: Tasuku Kaname, a closeted boy starting his first year of high school meets a mysterious woman named Anonymous who helps him finds solace in a lounge run by other members of the LGBT+ community. This is the kind of manga that really hits and misses for me. It does a great job at portraying the struggles of a community with different sexualities and gender identities, and it has some really great characters and beautiful moments that I really think would be even better animated. But there are some character arcs that I feel are really...incomplete. It feels like the author was rushed into finishing the manga and did the best they could, but certain characters come off as major hypocrites or suddenly act like their arcs never happened. I also appreciate having an asexual character play such a big role, but the chapter where she talks about her identity as a person is just kind of...bizarre. Not to mention I barely understood what was happening for the first couple chapters because everything Anonymous says is so vague. There’s a lot I could say about this manga, but really I think it’s something everyone should read for themselves (and you’ll definitely need your tissue boxes). 8/10

TV Shows!

Arrested Development: “The story of a wealthy family who lost everything and the one son who had no choice but to keep them all together.” Aka Ron Howard narrates the shenanigans of the worst people you’ll ever see. Yes, I finally got around to watching this, and yes the first three seasons are hilarious. It’s got the same beats as a soap opera (twins, adoption, losing limbs in seal attacks), but in a sitcom format it’s genius. The fourth and fifth (or at least what there is of the fifth) are just nothing special in my opinion. I thought the fourth season was structured terribly, and once the family starts getting into politics the show tries to be a form of satire that just doesn’t work for it. Plus I live with a family of Trump supporters; so it’s not as funny when you have to live with the racist people the show is making fun of who take all the “wall” stuff seriously. 8/10

Documental: A Japanese...social experiment/documentary/game show type thing on Amazon Prime wherein 10 comedians all get locked in a room together and attempt to make each other laugh without laughing themselves. The twist is each of them contribute 1 million yen to play, and the winner gets the pot of 10 million yen. In the first season, the show is more interesting as a social experiment than it is funny. You’ll like it if you like Japanese comedy. But the thing about Japanese comedy is...well, just picture an episode of Osomatsu-san, with all the disgusting and bizarre shit they do, and then picture real people. Though I do love seeing the faces everyone makes when they’re trying not to laugh! HOWEVER, the second season is so much better. I was laughing so much every episode that it hardly felt like the same show. They also changed the format a little so there would definitely be a winner at the end of the time. There’s still gross weird shit, but it’s a much better season. I give season 1 a 6/10 and season 2 an 8.5/10

Over the Garden Wall: In case you’ve been skipping the entire season of autumn since 2014, OTGW is a 10 episode miniseries that aired on Cartoon Network detailing the journey of two brothers Wirt and Greg who are lost in a mysterious wood called “The Unknown.” But really the whole thing is like a stuck in Purgatory story. It’s one of those shows that goes from adorable and funny to dark as fuck real quick. I think it’s impossible to go through the fall season without watching this at least once. This is another one of those things where there’s nothing I can say about it that hasn’t already been said. The atmosphere is perfect for Halloween, the characters are great (Elijah Wood voices Wirt, and it’s the best), and there are so many hidden clues that after it aired we all demanded a Gravity Falls crossover…

I could go on. This show is perfect except for the unnecessarily silly school teacher episode...and fact that it goes by too fast...and also the fact that now I know Elijah Wood has an adorable singing voice, and I’m salty that he didn’t really sing in Lord of the Rings. This is the atmospheric “watch it once a year” type of show that we desperately need more of...it doesn’t have to be the same characters or even have the same messages, but dang it Cartoon Network you can’t just give us this masterpiece and walk away!!! 10/10

Yuri On Ice: Yes, the figure skating anime. This is Tumblr so I doubt I need to post the summary of the show, but I do talk about it in my Hufflepuff Anime recommendations post. Since I couldn’t watch the Yuri On Ice marathon (which was coincidentally held on my birthday!) I decided to have my own dang marathon. There’s just so much to love about this anime: the music, the animation, the characters, the diversity, the humor, and the accuracy to the sport. But I think the main reason I love this show so much is because, as someone who watches a lot of sports anime, I really appreciate this show doing something different and focusing on ADULTS WHO ACTUALLY RELY ON THE SPORT AS A CAREER and using drama that way instead of the main source of angst being “we have to win the match for our senpai!” This is one of those shows you can watch a million times and still find new things to love! 10/10

Podcasts!

I don’t know why I made a separate section for this, since I only listened to one.

Hey Riddle Riddle: A podcast with three hosts that go talk about riddles and puzzles (aka puzzies and riddies) and role play various ridiculous answers to them. I started listening to it because Justin McElroy was on an episode, and it was pretty funny. The podcast is interesting and entertaining, except for the fact that sometimes their role playing and improve can go on for too long, and they don’t know when to let a joke die. Also one of the co-hosts is really annoying, but the other two make up for it. 8/10

Honorable Mentions

Camp Camp released a Halloween episode called Arrival of the Torso Takers and I watched it...probably four times...I don’t have a problem.

Some shows I watch on actual television came back this fall! Bob’s Burgers, Crazy Ex Girlfriend, Fresh Off the Boat, Speechless, Modern Family (yes I still watch that), and The Good Place!

I don’t know if this was a leak or what, but there’s a new My Little Pony christmas Hearthswarming special, and guys...I thought it was pretty great. Say what you want about this show, but it knows how to do holiday episodes. Anyone who has been a fan for a long time or even fans who have fallen off the show will probably love it. It’s very sweet and never went in the direction I thought it would.

And last but not least, shout out to all the anime coming out this fall...there’s just...so much to watch...please help...

#media madness #long post #hey riddle riddle #yuri on ice #otgw #documental #arrested development #shimanami tasogare #dear evan hansen #the ladies guide to petticoats and piracy #the chronicles of narnia #the lion the witch and the wardrobe #ant man and the wasp #first man #mama mia #sierra burgess is a loser #scott pilgrim vs the world #howls moving castle #coraline

2 notes · View notes

fflopp-culture · 3 years

Text

This season of too hot to handle was, unfortunately, perfect

August 7, 2021

I remember how I felt when I pressed play on the first season of too hot to handle: desperate, embarrassed, like I had hit rock bottom. The show, which was released on netflix about a month into the pandemic, was mostly a last resort. Having watched everything else under the sun, including the equally awful and entertaining Tiger King, along with the objectively superior dating show Love Is Blind, Too Hot To Handle was simply a last resort.

The premise, for those who are unaware (I envy you), is a bunch of hot people who are relationship-phobic, hookup-prone players, have the chance to win $100,000—but only if they refrain from any sort of sexual activity, which includes kissing and “self gratification.” Me, a woman in her early twenties who identifies as a 6 at best, could not connect to a single single on the show. But I binge watched the whole thing in a day flat.

There were many things about season one of the show that irked my nerves—the many annoying contestants, the even more annoying off-screen narrator who would say things like “girl, I’m gonna need a bigger glass of wine for this,” and just the simple fact that these people were so self-centered and horny that they would cost their fellow contestants tens of thousands of dollars for seemingly meaningless sex. Of course, the whole point of the show is to force these people to deal with their issues and find meaningful relationships. Some of them sort of do, but it’s unclear if any of the season one couples are still together.

So here I am, on the night of Wednesday, June 23, 2021. I have just finished watching the second season of True Detective and am craving mindless television. And what appears at the top of my netflix page, like a sign from god? The new season of Too Hot To Handle. I briefly debate with myself whether to watch, knowing that it is the definition of trash TV. I am not where I was when I watched the first season, desperate for television at the start of the pandemic. I’m a year older, a year wiser, possibly a more mature person (probably not, though). This debate lasts about 5 seconds before I decide to watch, knowing full well I will finish all the available episodes in one sitting.

I’ll tell you, my expectations were low. I thought, this is going to be the exactly same thing as the first season. I’m going to be annoyed at the narrator, I’m going to be rolling my eyes at the idiocy of these very conventionally attractive people. I’m going to wish my last two brain cells could pull themselves together and force me to read a book.

And while, yes, I did still feel all those things, I will admit that I thoroughly enjoyed, and was at times even engrossed in, Too Hot To Handle 2. The contestants this season were more two-dimensional. The drama felt more real. The women felt more relatable. People said I love you to each other at the end of the season!! There were Carly and Chase, who hit it off from the bat, but were sidetracked by their inability to remain loyal. Carly kissed someone else on a dare, Chase was flirting with other contestants. Their pseudo break up was messy and emotional, with Carly telling Chase that he never made her feel good about herself.

Then, in a group therapy exercise, the two let out their feelings to each other while the other person is gagged so that they can’t respond. And then, after all that, they seemingly became friends? Chase and Carly both end up with contestants brought on later in the show, both of whom are seemingly better for them than they were for each other.

There’s also Melinda and Marvin. The former is a model from Brooklyn who is outspoken and loves to play games to try to get Marvin’s attention and affection. She kisses another guy in response to Marvin flirting with another girl, and then there is a fight, and then she sleeps in the other guy’s bed, topless. Marvin, the flirty Parisian, seems totally fed up with her antics. I think to myself, there is no way these two people can go through enough character development in the handful of weeks at the retreat to end up together.

But to my surprise, I am proven wrong. At the end of the show, Melinda and Marvin actually seem to have the strongest relationship. They make their relationship official via a verbal “do you want to be my girlfriend” proposal on a date on a yacht. They tell each other they love each other. They sort of make plans to visit each other in their respective cities. They’re seemingly still together.

There’s also Emily and Cam, two Brits who are together from the beginning to the end, despite some rocky roads along the way. Emily stays true to Cam through the whole thing, but when a new contestant, Christina, picks Cam to go on a date, he tells her that he and Emily aren’t that serious, and nearly kisses her (and probably would have if not for those pesky rules!!). Emily, who tells Cam she is hurt and upset, actually befriends Christina, in one of my favorite tropes—get back at the guy who wronged you by hanging out with the woman he wronged you with. Emily ignores him for a couple days, but the two reconcile, and despite a close call with another new contestant asking Cam to shower with her (he almost does but restrains himself), as well as Cam having doubts that he’s ready for a relationship, the two end up together, also officially becoming boyfriend and girlfriend.

The women really carry the show. They’re all open with their feelings, looking to better themselves and find love. There’s one women-only group therapy sesh where they all talk about the past relationships that caused them to be commitment phobic—many of them were cheated on or abandoned or just treated like dirt. There are tears shed. There is visible growth happening before our very eyes. It’s kind of beautiful?

Which is why it’s disappointing to see a man win the prize fund. In a twist ending, only one of the contestants will win the money, which has been depleted to $55,000 after all the rule breaks. It’s between Carly, Cam, and Marvin, and the rest of the contestants have to vote for who they think should win. It ends up being Marvin, which is fine—gives him and Melinda some good airfare dollars. And I do think he had some positive growth throughout the season. But I feel that his flirtatiousness and player vibes at the beginning were more a result of Melinda’s games than of his general ingrained behavior.

Alas, this season of Too Hot To Handle was unfortunately perfect. There were great twists, emotional breakups and makeups, and more realistic relationships built than the previous season provided. I hate to admit it, I really do. My brain feels like it has completely turned to mush and I am incapable of any sort of academic thought anymore. But hey, over a year of Covid has made me realize that that might just be my reality, and if so, I can’t wait for season three.

1 note · View note

trashkweeen-blog · 6 years

Text

Drinking and Dating - Brandi Glanville

As I was gearing up to read this book, and gathering my deeply intellectual thoughts on the 17 chihuahuas in a human suit that is Brandi Glanville, I was like, oh good, I love Brandi. Sweet pizza-throwing Brandi. She spills the tea, this should be good in a trainwreck sort of way.

I mean, I have to say that I was squarely in the Brandi camp for a moment in time - a Dream Team fan, if you will. She really won me over at Game Night. You know, that desperate attempt by Dana to be part of the show. Ugh, Dana. Dana was like The Silence from Doctor Who. Not because she was silent - oh no, if she was within shouting distance you’d hear about her sunglasses and how much they cost. No, because the second you turn around, your memory of her is completely wiped. I had to google both her actual name and the name Kim kept calling her because she couldn’t remember Dana’s name either (it was Pam).

Anyways. Game Night at Pam’s was not a cute look for Kim and Kyle Richards, or as I like to think of them, Baby Jane and Blanche Hudson in the lead up to the accident that will eventually leave Kyle bound in a chair while Kim feeds her rats and writes letters to daddy. You may remember Game Night as the night when Kim hobbled in super late, took her trenta coffee cup filled with mashed up pills into the bathroom, and proceeded to do her hair and makeup, with Kyle intermittently popping in to both tell her she’s being weird, and to be weird.

You may also remember Game Night as the night when Brandi accused Kim of doing crystal meth in the bathroom, and then Kim and Kyle hid Brandi’s crutches so she couldn’t stand up or walk. I’m citing this as exhibit 1 in Kim’s latent Baby Jane persona, just waiting in the wings.

Point is, Kim and Kyle were pacing the room like lunatics, pointing their withered fingers at Brandi, and calling her such chill things as “slut pig”. Poor Brandi, NEW TO THIS GROUP, and being called a pig by the witch character from that Nightmare VHS board game from the 90s:

youtube

(shit, do you guys remember that?)

Brandi, with the fearlessness of an Amazon warrior queen, looked up, unblinking, unflinching, and calmly said, “Bring it, bitch, color me slut”. And Kim and Kyle were shook. I live for anyone who shakes Kyle.

I also really loved when Lisa Vanderpump demanded an olive branch from her, and Brandi legit yanked a branch off of one of LVP’s trees, handed it to her, and then said, “what do you want me to do, eat your pussy?” Iconic.

Admittedly, Brandi lost me a little by Season 5, when she developed a super co-dependent relationship with Kim, where they each made it a fun hobby to enable the other’s worst behaviour. Brandi decided she was gonna replace Kyle, which like, unless you’ve endured years of Big Kathy pushing you into show biz and gold digging bad marriages, then no, you can’t. You don’t have the range.

But i was intrigued nonetheless, eager enough to dig into Brandi’s second book, which I read out of chronological order for the very academic reason that it was available first at the library.

And it started off pretty strong. Brandi lovingly told us about the HPV her cheating trash ass ex husband gave her, called Leann Rimes a cunt, shaded her album sales, blamed Adrienne Maloof for her own shitty marriage, and called bullshit on the concept of scorned ex wives. Overall, great shit. Loved it. I was like yesssssss preach through a lot of it.

Then Brandi delved into her dating advice, and girl, she was feeling her Carrie Bradshaw oats at every turn. I could basically picture her, smoking at her window, wearing a tutu, and gazing forlornly at the Chair that Aiden Made™. Which, like, all the Aiden apologists in the world need to get over. Aiden was trash. He tried to force Carrie into a boring ass engagement, pulling her away from interesting parties with porn producers, so she could like, watch him eat fried chicken in his gross underwear at 10pm????

The only good thing Aiden ever did was keep Carrie home when she could have been out making comments like this to her friends. A real service to her friends, who had to pretend to laugh at her idiotic jokes because she always got them tickets to cool stuff.

Aaaaanyways. Brandi Glanville is no Carrie Bradshaw, and if she were, I’d really prefer if she’d been the Carrie Bradshaw whose computer crashes before she learns how to backup her writing.

Drinking and Dating is a combination of bad dating advice, very personal child custody beef with her ex husband (yeah, I know his name, I just don’t care enough to type it, he sucks), and blind items about the “celebrities” she’s banged.

Apparently, she wanted to list these celebrities by name, and her publishers wouldn’t let her, for fear of being sued. And honestly, Brandi being sued is not a saga I want to watch. She was personally outraged enough when her Celebrity Big Brother alliance member Keshia Knight wanted to leave the house in order to BREASTFEED HER INFANT, so I don’t wanna know how ugly Brandi gets when she’s got, like, actual problems.

So, first things first, here’s some bad dating advice from Brandi Glanville:

pick up guys at Home Depot! Apparently, it is filled with “manly men” who want to turn women into housewives. If you roam the electrical aisle, you can “have your pick of Home Depot’s most eligible bachelors”. I hate this so much, I can’t even fully articulate it. This is by far the worst dating advice I have ever heard, and I read Class with the Countess.

If a guy has a criminal record, but also a private jet, only the latter fact is important. Like, if the assault charges and restraining order have been dropped, and he tells you his ex girlfriend was batshit crazy, it’s safe to assume everything’s kosher here, and you can proceed to fly around on his jet, where no one can hear you scream.

dump a guy if his idea of an epic party is at Brendan Fraser’s condo. I AM SORRY BUT if I had the chance to party at Brendan Fraser’s condo, I would skip my own father’s funeral. Like, yeah he’s kinda fat and weird now, but if you close your eyes, imagine him at his peak, and make him say “George love Ursula”, you could probably still come while he lazily rails you. And you owe it to your thirsty 1997 self.

But, I guess if you’re at a point in your life where relationship advice from Brandi Glanville seems appealing, it’s too late for me to reach you. Have fun at Home Depot.

I’m skipping the parts about whether Brandi’s trash ass ex husband is boycotting her relationship with her children by not letting them bring nice clothes to her house and whatever else. Cause it’s too dark, and I’m not here to contribute to the psychotic breaks any real housewives children may have when they start comprehending their parents’ exploits.

What I will talk about is the series of dating stories Brandi “coyly” relates, using cute little pseudonyms for her bang buddies. Yeah, you could comb through the 2010-2011 NBA season team roster stats to figure out who the 6′11″ suitor was, but like, who cares honestly? If it wasn’t even interesting enough for the paps, it’s not interesting enough to sleuth for.

The only one that caught my attention really, was the mid 90s TV star who was out with his more conventionally attractive co-star at the time. I do believe this to be David Schwimmer and Matt LeBlanc, so do with that what you will. (But I will say that if I had to fuck anyone from the core Friends group, it would be Ross. If we’re going outside the core group, it’s gotta be Paolo for some of that patented “meaningless animal sex”.)

Overall, this book was a fucking labor to get through; it was rough. I downloaded the audiobook so that I could listen to it while walking to work and on the treadmill, and yeah, that kinda made it easier to digest, but it also meant I had to listen to Brandi’s dog whistle of a voice for several hours.

I can’t decide what was more irritating about this book, the 7,000 hashtags used throughout, or the mind-numbing minutia of things like what grocery store Brandi prefers and why. (PS, remember when Ramona Singer thought minutia was a Yiddish word, and was probably visualizing it spelled “menusha”? Bless.)

Given the choice, I’d rather go to the Van Kempens’ housewarming party, where they didn’t serve food even though it was at 8pm, than read another chapter of Brandi’s tales.

Quick Stats:

Pages: 242

Did it need to be that many pages?: Ugh, absolutely not. There were times I zoned out during the audiobook, or just got up to pee and stopped listening for a few minutes, and I feel I did not miss anything.

Did it change my mind about the housewife?: Honestly, it made me hate her more, but that could be because listening to Brandi Glanville’s voice for several hours straight is a form of torture used at Guantanamo.

Real-ass book rating: 📖/5. This book was awful. It was so terrible. It had no structure, and was just a series of long, unedited, pointless stories, punctuated with bad hashtags.

Junk food book rating: 💎/5. Idk, like if you wanna hear about how Brandi banged an unnamed NBA player in a car in an alley, or how she had to sleep off her wine at some unnamed actor’s house because she couldn’t get her breathalyzer ignition to start in her car after she banged him, I guess the book is like somewhat amusing. But if you’ve ever listened to a middle aged woman complain about her kids’ stepmom for any length of time, you know it’s not worth it.

5 notes · View notes

rpbetter · 3 years

Note

As a female I get tired of seeing psa post about /It's important to treat female muses with respect/ or /Female muses deserve better treatment!!/ it's this constant thing I get slapped in the face by mutuals who reblogs that once in a blue moon, but ignore male muses or treat them like shit. I'm sorry to come off as sexist, I wish people would look out for male muses too and those who are gay since they get the short end of the stick and not appreciated. Don't get me wrong it's important to respect all muses regardless of their gender, but these post are coming off as quite feminist and Tumblr is known for being a man hater. I feel really bad for saying all of this.. I'm sorry for this rant, RPbetter. I just need to let it off my chest.

It's all good, Anon! I did tell y'all you could do exactly this!

I know, as in, I can actually feel the hackles of the RPC rising preemptively, this is going to rub people the very, very wrong way...so, I'm asking you to at least try to put that on hold and consider some things about this as a different view from what you've experienced before you get angry with Anon or myself.

Because I think the issue with this, and all PSA's that are especially full of delineation like these are, is that it isn't going to be everyone's experience in the RPC.

We tend to feel like the RPC is our little corner, or for some of you, vast empire. Sometimes, an overlap of both - our little area we have cultivated with our mutuals, our preferred resource blogs, all the blogs that branch off from us and the larger RPC specific fandom community we're a part of. I mean, I know my fandom is huge, my highly cultivated homestead within it is tiny.

I also interact with people from equally huge RPC fandoms. So, between the two, I see some major differences. The differences in some of the minuscule RPC corners I have people in can be even more extreme.

Example?

I have a mutual who is open to crossovers and spends time in three bigger fandoms with their muse. The muse is highly desirable in the fandom they come from, had no issue adapting and being desirable in the second big one, but in the third, it was quite different. Same approach that worked out wonderfully everywhere else did not work in this third fandom because the muse...is female in a male and gay ship predominant fandom. So, while this mutual never experienced trouble getting/keeping interaction and respectful treatment of their muse/themselves everywhere else, they suddenly got slapped with it there. It's often a problem of specific fandoms and their material.

Another example?

Myself.

My main muse is everything that the more hateful PSA's of this sort say is the desirable muse that unfairly gets all the attention and respect: extremely well-known main character, conventionally attractive, male, white, young, and the way he presents in canon, you can play with HCs about him being not being cishet pretty easily. Highly shippable muse that can be made even more so without messing with canon much, if at all.

So, you'd think that I would never have any trouble getting interactions, ships that I want, plots I want, and good treatment of my muse (I mean by other muns, other muns not being total assholes about my muse, what happens between muses, when it isn't directly due to the mun's attitude, is different), right? I don't.

Don't get me wrong, I have the interactions I want, they're perfect. I have the writing partners I always wanted, the best ships, stunning plots, but that's entirely because I am OC and crossover friendly. I'm open to accepting writing partners based purely on the writing. My own fandom does not like my muse, outside of one specific version anyway, the canon ship is not supported, the popular fanon ship is likely to get you a callout in the RPC.

In my fandom, the female muses do get more respect and attention for the most part. It's one of those fandoms pretty into...well, fandom as an act of activism. That's not to say, before anyone loses it on me, that creating or picking up a female muse is doing it for woke points. Just that there is a rather open prerogative in my fandom to create/choose muses based on the idea of "representation" and "fixing canon." If you have one that is like mine, you're automatically assumed to be a lot of really shitty things. Getting called a school shooter, love that for me.

The whole "respect female muses or die" take isn't necessary there, it's the take. Doesn't stop it from coming around weekly, though, so I do feel you on this, Anon.

Furthermore, I'd personally prefer it if we'd all consider getting back to the take of just respecting muse choices and writing, period. People are always going to have preferences, in one place it might align with your own, in another it doesn't. That's perfectly alright and does not mean anything horrible about those people unless they're actively being horrible with it!

Preferring female muses doesn't mean you're a radfem, preferring (or just having even one) a f/m ship does not mean this or that you're homophobic either, nor does it make a bi/pan muse suddenly heterosexual and "bad representation/you're just saying they're bi and that's gross." Just means those are the ships that developed.

Preferring male muses doesn't mean you're "part of the problem" or "taking the easy way," and having or preferring a queer ship does not mean you're a "nasty fujoshi." It also doesn't invalidate what someone has established about their muse's sexuality, a bi/pan muse isn't Gay Now because their primary ship is m/m.

And that's to say nothing of how weird, and often at least mildly offensive, all of this is to both muns and muses that are not on the gender binary. You should probably consider that before you keep implying to a mun that the muse they've established as not cis is exactly that.

Or, that writing a female muse might be impossible for some muns for more reasons than just preference, a thing that is valid enough on its own. A decent number of muns in the RPC are also not cis, this may be the only safe place for them to drop being gendered as they were assigned at birth, it might even trigger dysphoria for them to write a female muse. I know that I am incredibly uncomfortable writing female muses. It's a little ridiculous to keep dropping the implication to outright demand that everyone needs to do their part in filling the female muse quota in the RPC or they're misogynists and/or phobes.

My experience, and I am not alone in it, has been getting plenty of shit for having male muses only, always assumed to be cisgender and often heterosexual. Plenty of shit for not writing the canon as cishet, too...and plenty more for my main ships being with female characters because they're the ones that worked out and stuck around.

No one is lying when they say that there are places where their male muses and queer ships are not looked on positively.

The thing is, I also witness female muses being treated like shit, yes!

And I will say, that treatment is so much worse if the muse is also an OC, has a canon f/m ship they'd like to write or just to write a ship with a canon if they're an OC, or they're certain types of female muses. Because the demands do not stop at being female. You also have to write a Strong Female Character to be of interest, and she had better be available to shipping and smut while not presenting as too sexually open. It's become an impossible obstacle course.

I see it on the dash, I see absolutely valid complaints, and the majority of my friends write female muses. I'm very aware of the problems they've faced, bias against them does exist!

Example of this?

Writing partners who have both male and female muses experiencing, repeatedly, their male muses being picked over the female muses, and their emotionally softer or less sexually available female muses being chosen dead last. The writing is great, these muses are well-done and interesting, easy to interact with, but they'll get told on the blogs for the male muses that they're only interested in them, the other mun having missed that this is the same mun behind both muses.

And it always comes down to wanting to ship m/m. Even when the muse is established as being heterosexual, they'll just keep trying to push it into happening with their male muse. If your male muse is heterosexual, that is like a violent act against the whole RPC.

So, that's also absolutely not a lie either, it does happen, it is a problem. It's valid to be upset about this!

In my opinion and experience, these are both significant problems predicated upon the same, overall issues:

not respecting choices and preferences equally

performative activism in fictional communities

requiring personal information as justification in order to respect choices/preferences as valid and not problematic

not being interested in writing for its own sake and characters for their own sake, but rather, what they say about oneself/in validation and display of one's ideals and/or personhood

not understanding that just because a character is x, y, or z does not, actually, make them interesting or a good character, let alone to everyone

So, I really think the answer here isn't saying that there is a single problem with muse gender across the board, everywhere and without variables, and demanding that people "respect," a thing that actually translates into "you must accept all of x as writing partners no matter your interest in them or viability, as writing partners" all of any one type of muse. I think that's just weirdly pressuring and remaining at a distance from the incredibly simple answer of accepting that people have preferences that do not always benefit you, that you might even find offensive, but that's a right they have.

It's okay if you're not interested in the conventionally attractive, canon male muse, even if someone has HC'ed him as queer. It's okay if you're not interested in the Strong Woman female OC, even if someone has given her other labels of significance. It's okay if you're not interested in someone's well-developed, well-written female OC or canon, someone's male OC or canon, or someone's proudly genderless creature. (Again, don't come at me folks, I literally call myself that, it's a joke based on the way people who do not ascribe to the gender binary can be treated/viewed by others who do, thanks!)

Your likes and dislikes are okay! Even if they're "not inclusive," yes. So long as you're not being a fucking bigot, you're alright. It isn't anyone's job here to be correct the ills of reality in their fiction, let's just all start focusing less on the fine details and more on respecting each other regardless of whether individual preferences benefit us or not.

Forcing people to interact based on guilting or shaming them is the opposite of the answer. Always. And just because it is one extreme in your RPC area does not mean it's like this in everyone else's. I'm genuinely sorry that anyone has experienced negative things based on such ridiculous factors, but please, be sure you're not turning around and doing the same shit to someone else.

Going to repeat:

Forcing people to interact based on guilting or shaming them is the opposite of the answer. Always.

#answered #anonymous #vent ask #female muses #rp problems #rp advice

0 notes

trhu · 4 years

Text

For the Love of an Unworthy White Man

In October 2018, I finally saw Miss Saigon, after deliberately boycotting it for almost thirty years. When it first opened in 1989, between the tired rehashing of Puccini’s Madama Butterfly and the yellowface casting controversy over Jonathan Pryce as the Engineer, there was nothing about this show that appealed to me, especially when I had already seen M. Butterfly, David Henry Hwang’s groundbreaking, Tony-winning play that turned the submissive Asian woman trope on its head. M. Butterfly literally changed my life at a time when I was just learning to navigate being an Asian woman in white America, and everything I read about Miss Saigon seemed to be in direct opposition to the lessons I learned from M. Butterfly: resist stereotypes, claim your heritage proudly, never let a man control the direction of your life. So, despite my love of Broadway musical extravaganzas, and my hunger to see Asian performers onstage, I never went to see this blockbuster hit. Whenever a production of Miss Saigon rolled into the Bay Area, people who knew how I loved theatre would ask if I was going to see it, and I’d have to explain once again why I found the basic premise of the story offensive and refused to support it. I got the distinct impression that a lot of people were internally rolling their eyes at my futile protest, but I didn’t care. It was a matter of principle. Until now. So...what changed my mind? Well, first and foremost, Soft Power. That was the Asian American musical extravaganza I’d been waiting for. David Henry Hwang’s absurdist semi-experimental comedy--about Hillary Clinton’s influence on a Chinese entertainment mogul that cast Asian American actors in whiteface and stands American cultural hegemony on its head--had me laughing and crying like nothing else I’ve ever experienced in my life. It was incredibly uplifting--especially in Trump’s America--to see so many Asian faces on the stage, dancing and singing, poking fun at clueless, self-important, white Americans, subverting stereotypes and challenging expectations. That was in July. Then, I saw Two Mile Hollow by Leah Nanako Winkler at the Ferocious Lotus. And Straight White Men by Young Jean Lee, the first play by an Asian American woman ever produced on Broadway. And then To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before on Netflix. And finally, Crazy Rich Asians on the big screen in August. In one glorious and unprecedented summer, I saw more Asian American representation on stage and screen than I had in my whole previous American life. Because I had always watched Chinese films and television shows, I had thought I was OK on the representation front, but really, it’s a totally different experience. Seeing Asian American representation, finally, fed my soul in a way that I hadn’t realized I needed, like I was starving and didn’t even know it until I feasted on all these wonderful stories about people like me. So when I was offered free tickets to Miss Saigon, I was surprised to not feel the visceral anger that had always bubbled up when this show came to town. I decided to go see it, in order to understand it better, and in the hopes that this new revival would have addressed some of the more problematic parts of the story. Also, the tickets had already been paid for, so why not? I wasn’t supporting the production, they already had the money. To be fair, I didn’t hate it, I just didn’t like it. I did try to look for positives: the set was well designed and efficient; the big helicopter scene was pretty epic, as promised; the whole flashback to the fall of Saigon was powerfully choreographed, and once again, I loved seeing so many Asian faces on stage. The kid who played Tam was adorably cute, too. He melted my grumpy heart a lot, for sure. But that story! It was agonizing to watch it unfold, yet again, knowing that the Asian woman we’d been coerced into sympathizing with was going to negate herself, disappear conveniently, so everyone else would get to have everything they wanted. It’s the lesson this world has been forcing down my throat for my entire life, and I’m tired of puking it back up in their faces. And that doesn’t even begin to address all the other tired old tropes: desperate Asian prostitutes clinging to American johns as their only chance at a better life; smarmy, abusive pimps-of-color who are still, somehow, the most practical and clear-eyed counselor for our heroine; conflicted, guilt-ridden white saviors confronted with the limits of their power and privilege. I’d seen it all before, so many times, and it was exhausting to sit through yet another iteration of this sad, incomplete, stereotypical story. Even worse, sitting there in the audience next to my white American husband, I felt embarrassed. I imagined the other playgoers--mostly older, mostly white--seeing us and thinking, “Oh how nice for them. What a lucky girl that one is, unlike poor Kim, to have won her white knight in the end.” If you think I’m being melodramatic, I assure you, I’m not. I’ve encountered that condescending attitude from way too many people--including members of my own family--for three decades now. Because my husband is a conventionally handsome white man from a wealthy family, a ridiculous lot of people assume that he ‘rescued’ me, or ‘lifted me up,’ or was somehow my ticket to a ‘better’ life by conferring upon me proximal access to his privilege and power. They see his love and commitment as an asset that I’m fortunate to have added to my portfolio, as if our relationship was an investment and I’m getting a higher return than he is. The implication, of course, is that he doesn’t gain as much from being with me as I do from being with him, because I don’t bring anything as systemically powerful as white male privilege and hereditary wealth to the table. Instead, his love for me is viewed as beneficent, charitable, a gift I should be eternally grateful for, and so many people are puzzled that I am not. In short, they think he is better than me, because he is white, he is a man, and he has money. What they don’t see, or acknowledge, or recognize as valuable, is the emotional strength and intellectual clarity that I possess, and the very traits that my husband fell in love with, back when he was a troubled young man. What they cannot grasp--because these stories are rarely told, which is why I’m telling it, now--is that in reality, I rescued him from an empty, directionless life of dead-end work and weekend debauchery, and earning my love is what gives his life meaning. When we met (in 1989, the same year Miss Saigon premiered in the West End, the same year I saw M. Butterfly for the first time), my husband was a twenty-three year old college dropout, working construction, drinking to excess, without a plan for the future or hope for a meaningful life. Sure, he came from a comfortably affluent family, but you’d never have known it from the way that he lived. He had rejected most of the trappings of privilege that he was born into, as well as its conventional, materialistic values, but had not yet formulated a coherent set of values for himself or discovered a purpose in life. He also espoused some really off-putting political views, half-jokingly idolized horrible, evil men like Richard Nixon and Charles Manson, and was prone to loud, obnoxious rants about things he clearly didn’t understand. I found nothing remotely attractive about him in our first few encounters. For his part, he didn’t even notice me for the first eight months we were in each others’ social orbit. It wasn’t until we were thrown together in a booth at La Rondalla that he even remembered me for the first time. But for whatever reason--and in thirty years, l still haven’t gotten a clear answer about his reasons, introspection is not his strong suit--that night he decided that I was what he needed in his life, and he set about wooing me despite my initial rejection of his advances. I did not take his courtship seriously at first. The trajectories of our lives were not in sync, and I had no intention of deviating from my goals. So far as I could tell, he had no goals, and I was reluctant to engage with someone who seemed so lost and unclear on his purpose in life. He was, quite simply, not worthy of my time or attention. Luckily for him, he made his move at a time when I was bored, waiting for my life to start--I was taking a gap year, working as a bike messenger in San Francisco, and had just been accepted to my dream college, with four months to kill before heading off to Berkeley--so I agreed to go out with him, figuring it would be a summer fling that would end when I went to Cal. Much to my surprise and consternation, by the time school started, we were in love. This was not what I’d expected, and I tried, repeatedly, to break up with him during my freshman year, to no avail. Every time I worked up the courage to break his heart, I felt terrible and took him back a few days later. I hadn’t counted on that. I’d never been in love before. One thing I’ve learned over the years...assuming there’s nothing fundamentally repulsive about them, it’s really hard to not love someone back who loves you wholeheartedly, without reservation. Chemistry is a mysterious thing, not always logical or rational, and what happens between two people can be hard to understand from outside the relationship. Even though I loved him, it was not easy to live with him. The trollish, aggro behavior that initially turned me off took a long time to for him to unlearn. He was often blind to his own privilege, and harbored deep insecurities that he refused to address. It took years to convince him to seek help, to confront his demons, to become a better man, and it was exhausting to be the constant voice of reason in the household, holding everything together because he hadn’t figured his shit out, yet. Over many years, he did slowly work through most of his issues, ultimately winning me over with his unwavering commitment and devotion, and most importantly, his willingness to change and grow in order to keep me in his life. After over three decades together, through many turbulent times, we’ve finally arrived at a relatively calm harbor in our relationship. It took a long time--a lot longer than I could have ever imagined when I first agreed to go out with him--but he has become worthy of my love. But this isn’t what most people see when they see us. What they see is a tall, handsome, successful, wealthy white man and the lucky immigrant Chinese girl who had the good fortune to snag him, lifting herself and their children into affluence in one generation. What they refuse to consider is the simple fact that falling in love with me, and working hard to become a man worthy of my love is the best thing my husband has done with his life. What they expect to see is 150 years of western imperialism in China played out in human form. What they don’t see is who we really are. Anyone who actually knows us, who understands the dynamics of our relationship, knows better. While my husband’s status and wealth is infinitely helpful in maintaining our materially comfortable lifestyle, and there is no question that he is a loving husband and father who works hard to provide for us, the entire construct of our lives is built upon my deep reserves of emotional strength, confidence, and resilience. I hold everything together, sometimes through sheer strength of will, fighting his self-destructive neuroses every step of the way. I suspect this is true in a lot of long-lasting relationships, but women are conditioned not to let people know this, lest it makes their man look weak. It’s time for strong women to break the silence, to stop hiding their strength in order to make men look stronger. Not too long ago, someone whom I’ve never met, who doesn’t know us and only knew that his wife was Asian, asked him, “Does your wife even speak English?” When he reported this exchange to me, laughing at the absurdity of other people’s assumptions about us, he was very surprised that I was furious that he thought it was funny. To him, and many other people, the fact that I am highly English proficient should take the sting out of these insulting assumptions about my language abilities. What they don’t understand is that the real assumption, the true insult, is that I am fundamentally less than he is, and there’s nothing fucking funny about that.

0 notes

gaiatheorist · 7 years

Text

Pretty vacant.

Monday, 3am. I ‘should’ be typing up the four pages of carefully categorised and expanded notes for the PIP tribunal, but the ‘limbo’ of DWP instructing the tribunal panel to decline my request for a hearing, and the demonstrable unreliability of the Welfare Rights Advocate are impeding my motivation. I know, I’ll have a look at the news, I don’t have to check in at the Job Centre until mid-morning. (Which, with my completely knackered sleep-pattern will feel like evening, I hope I’m not too ‘verbally disinhibited.’)

I’ve just deleted a long, waffly, part-finished blog I started yesterday, reflecting on the similarities and differences between ‘my’ experience as an adolescent, and the furore whipped up by Jamie Oliver’s terminology about his daughter’s Instagram use. ‘Backlash ensues’ keeps popping up occasionally on my Twitter ‘trending’ panel, which makes me either nose-snort, or shake my head. Backlash does indeed ensue, The Internet, and I’m now over-expanding that line of thought, due to the increasing number of news articles I see that are essentially words sandwiched around quotes from Twitter or Facebook.

My assessment of the Oliver/Instagram thing? Some adolescents crave attention and affirmation, some don’t. Some of the ones who do count ‘likes’ will post photographs which are deliberately provocative, some won’t understand why they’re copying a particular ‘look’, and end up imitating an unlikely duck/dachshund hybrid that’s accidentally become wedged in a plumbing fitting. I have nieces aged about 9 and 12, I daren’t look on their Facebook pages, because I’d feel compelled to ask their Mother or Father to monitor them more closely. (They shouldn’t even BE on Facebook at that age!) Jamie Oliver’s terminology was awful, but impactive. He’s a celebrity chef, not a Designated Safeguarding Lead, he’ll no more know the correct legal-compliant phrases than I’d know how to make a perfect souffle. (Yes, it did take me ages to think of something I’ve never tried to cook.)

I thought I’d finished being moderately grumpy about the aesthetic-approval angle, wedged in this weird world where women want to be ‘pretty’, but not so pretty that builders can’t help wolf-whistling. Nope, a quick flick through Facebook this morning, and I have a few fully-grown women ‘friends’ who only EVER upload new profile and background photos. If I see another ‘Swit swoo’ comment, I will frisbee this knackered Chromebook out of the window. We’re 40-ish, not 14. “Frogmella Biscuit-Tin updated their profile picture” in the activity bar thing. I don’t care, but, at least if they’re doing that, they’re not doing the ‘Like and share to win a year’s supply of goats!’ data-mining nonsense. I think I last changed my profile picture in 2013, and I haven’t used a photo of myself for years. I ought to stop looking at Fakebook, but I’m still obsessively checking my ‘on this day’, to remind myself how far I’ve come. (Bin-reminders, and the lurgy on three different years ‘on this day’ today, oh, and the ex’s band, I ought to have invoiced him for the publicity.)

I’ll get my personal whinge out of the way, I don’t like-whore NOT because I’m not conventionally attractive, and worry I might not clock up as many ‘likes’ as Frogmella. I choose not to fish for compliments because I am more than the sum of my parts, I have two eyes, a mouth, a nose, and some hair, most people do, it’s just meat no-one eats. (Ew, that unpleasant sensation when you realise you have a hair in your mouth, and have to NOT start maniacally licking your own jumper and such, like a bad cat.)

My stompy-rage wasn’t quite triggered by the ‘swit swoo’ Facebook-nonsense, so I didn’t throw one of my mega-tantrums about the type of woman who sulks if you don’t notice their hair-do, or that they’ve started using a face-crayon a hemi-demi-semi fraction of a shade darker than the one they were using last week. I flicked through the BBC headlines, and then looked at The Guardian, it’s what I do at 3am, rather than bother insomniac/different time-zone Twitter. Dear Gods, the Mariella Frostrup advice column. “My husband has sex with me, but never says I look nice.” Where to even begin with that? Well, the letter writer begins with a list of her husband’s positive attributes, NONE of which are in any way, shape, or form descriptive of his physical attractiveness to her. A grown woman, complaining that her life-partner is perfect in many ways, but doesn’t say she looks ‘nice.’ (Maybe she doesn’t look ‘nice’, maybe she’s a moose?) Mariella points out that him still doing the sex to her is an indication that he still finds her attractive, I’m not even going into the comments-section, because I’ll be tempted to type “GROW UP, YOU’RE NOT 14!”

Why, some-women? WHY must some-women insist on being ‘told’ that they’re attractive? It’s ‘pics, or it never happened’, but on a massively worrying emotional level. These needy-women are Part Of The Problem, getting up at the crack of dawn to iron their hair, and colour in their faces, I know I’m the oddball here, I don’t even iron my clothes, and I deliberately avoid social interaction where-ever I’m able, because I am SHIT at compliments. In part, that’s the trained-British thing, “Smashing blouse!”, “Oh, this old thing, I’ve had it ages, I LOVE your cardigan!” ad infinitum, until it’s time to go home, and you’ve done no work at all because you were busy back-and-forth-ing with how you ADORE what they’ve done with that paperclip. In part, it’s the “What do you want?” element from my dysfunctional development. Part of it is my warped sense of humour. “Have you done something different with your hair?” usually generates the response of “Yes, I’ve combed it.”, and “You look nice today!” means I have to bite-back “Did I look like I’d crawled out of a bin yesterday?”, and switch-substitute “You ALWAYS look nice.”, which is probably just as bad.

I wash every day, and I dress for practicality not provocation. I do have sexual desires, but I don’t feel the need to display my wares to all and sundry for validation. The children that Jamie Oliver was wittering on about, with their ‘luscious’ and ‘porno’ aesthetics didn’t pull that ‘look’ out of thin air, they were influenced by others that ‘that’ was desirable. I’m going to go out on a limb here, and speculate that those women-children might well have mothers who do the filtered-pout-with-shopped-on-doggy-ears on social media, these ‘looks’ don’t spring out of a vacuum. That shit, along with the “Who’s sexy?” nonsense-babble that some women are STILL sausage-roll-crumb-blethering at their pram-contents on public transport is Part Of The Problem. I KNOW that construction site workers have free will, and independent thought, but they also have social conditioning, and, if you’re going to wiggle past them in leggings and a crop-top, with 3 inches of make-up on in the day-time, you’re Part Of The Problem. They choose whether to wolf-whistle, but YOU choose whether to display yourself as ‘available.’

I have very little influence in this sphere. I deliberately don’t compliment people on aesthetics, with the exception of a very specific set of circumstances, if I tell you that you’re beautiful, that’s because you’re SO awesomely attractive that you’ve captivated me, deal with it. I’m not ‘pretty’, I’ve had various conversations recently where people have said that, decades ago, I was ‘stunning’, ‘mesmerising’, and very much in the ‘would’ category. Much good that does me now, gravity has not been kind, and my physical body isn’t so much a temple as a ruin now. Decades ago, I had ‘all the gear, and no idea’, now, the gear has slipped somewhat, but I know how to work it. More-so, I know how my mind works, so I’m not returning the obvious play of “You fancied me then, what am I now, chopped liver?” I’m not ‘pretty’, and I accept that, what I accept more is that I’m not vacuous-vacant enough to need validation.

1 note · View note

palaveritas-blog · 7 years

Text

Woman in Space

I spent a week on Maui as a solo traveler (for most of the time, anyway. Friends were staying nearby, and I rendezvoused with them a few times.)

Traveling alone isn’t a sad thing, and doesn’t usually bother me until I encounter the fences our society erects against women who are alone. The Puritans, suspicious of women who lived and went alone, used to mollify their fear of unaccompanied women by exiling them to the outskirts of villages, and perhaps accusing them of witchcraft, and horrifically executing them.

Today, people still deal with the “problem” of women alone in their space by hiding or ignoring them. Restaurants aggressively try to hide you, either pointing you to the bar, or seating you in the very back by the kitchen. If you’re lucky, they’ll ask you first if you’d like to be seated in the bar; but most of the time, they’ll just direct you there without asking. Waitstaff from certain cultures will utterly ignore a woman seated alone, perhaps infected by the latent assumption that she’s a prostitute, or that no respectable woman could be in an eating establishment unaccompanied by a man and children. The frosty reception is amplified when the woman is fat, older, or not conventionally attractive. Couples and families with children are served first, even if they came in after you did. I even found a diner in Oregon who seated families with children first, making me wait until the lobby had been emptied of these more important customers. I asked the hostess why people who’d come in after me were seated first. She shrugged. “We’re a family-friendly place,” she said. “Children get cranky when they get hungry. We want to make sure they get fed soon. Don’t you?” Ah yes. How dare I, lone woman, insist on being served before the children. I gave her menu back and walked out.

On flights, I’ll sometimes be asked if I can change seats, because a couple or family neglected to book their own adjoining seats ahead of time, and now want to make it my problem. “No, I need to sit here, by the window,” I’ve lied in the past. “I’ll get nauseous if I don’t sit by the window.” The flight attendant usually backs off when I mention nausea. I don’t get sick. But I do prefer a window seat, which is why I book one in advance. Larger parties should take the trouble to do the same, instead of expecting me to yield--once again--to their sense of entitlement. I don’t yield. It shocks the parties who’ve demanded that I move. People have come to expect that a lone woman yield to them; they still hold to unexamined tribal hierarchies: the child-producing members of the tribe are entitled to have their needs met first, and the old maids are expected to help fulfill those needs. You can watch as people almost comically fail to process it when one of the old maids simply says “No. No, I’m not going to do that. No, you can’t have my share. No, I’m not going to give this up for you.”

Excursions offer their own barriers. “We need a minimum of two people,” several private boat charters told me. I’d have to pay for two people to charter a private snorkel boat. I went on a large-group snorkel cruise to Molokini, where I struggled to find a seat. Larger parties blocked off seats with their towels and bags. I finally moved someone’s backpack to sit down, and a couple who wanted that bench glared at me the entire time. “Why doesn’t she yield to us? Do we have to say something? Doesn’t she know that as a couple, we’re more important than some lone, middle-aged woman? Look at her, thinking she deserves that seat while we stand.” I didn’t yield. The “camera guy,” who putters around the boat in SCUBA gear while we’re anchored at Molokini, and takes pictures of passengers to sell to them later, takes zero pictures of me. Only families and couples are captured.

I get to my favorite beach early in the morning. I find a perfect spot in the shade, and set up my chair. Few other people are there; a few older folks are exercise-walking the length of the beach. By 10:30 a.m., the beach is filling up. A family arrives, multiple children yet the woman’s pregnant again, unfurling their blanket less than a foot from my chair. I look like I’m part of their group, but they don’t greet me or ask, “Hey, do you mind if we sit over here?” It’s like I’m not even there. There’s no concept of “personal space” when you’re a woman alone. Your personal space is considered a lending library, to be checked out and used when people with more power and privilege need it.

From the beach, I move on to lunch and shopping at an open-air mall. I’m again directed to the bar without an inquiry into my seating preference; “No,” I say. “A booth please. In the main dining room.” I browse shops. Shop employees follow me intently and suspiciously with their eyes, but say nothing. I’m the demographic likely to shoplift--alone, quiet, focused, unencumbered by kids. When larger parties enter, the employees are chirpy and friendly. The larger parties buy nothing, but I buy a small painting I like. They’re still friendlier to the mom and grandma with kids.

Walking down the street, larger parties walk three or four abreast, blocking the entire sidewalk. I used to yield to this when I was young; I used to walk around them, even if I had to enter the street or walk in the gutter. In London once, I had an unpleasant time dragging my suitcase into a rainy gutter, where it tipped over, because three women who were walking abreast wouldn’t make way. That was many years ago; I wasn’t 30 yet. Now, I bust right through parties who don’t yield enough sidewalk to me. I knocked a shopping bag out of a young Asian woman’s hand one time on Pine St., after she and her friends walked in a solid wall formation and wouldn’t yield a path for me on the sidewalk. I plowed right through them like they weren’t even there, and I didn’t turn around or apologize. I don’t walk in the gutter for people anymore. I’ll walk right through any party who acts like a lone woman isn’t enough to move for. In the airport, I plowed through a party who was blocking the entire walkway to the restrooms. I yanked my rolling laptop case right through them, running over some feet. Two women with giant mega-strollers were blocking the front door at Trader Joe’s, talking, oblivious to anyone trying to get in. I kicked the wheel of the stroller so it would move over, and put my arm out to push aside one of the women. I didn’t even look at them. There was gasping. Too bad. Next time, get out of my way. I no longer give people generous advances in respect. There’s no credit available here. You’ll get the same respect that you show me, and not a bit more. I’m not interested in your approval. If you show me no respect, you’ll get no respect in return.

Last summer, I visited a famous waterfall that’s usually mobbed by tourists. I got there around 7:30 a.m., though, and was the first one there. I find that early mornings of tourism are much more rewarding and pleasant for a lone woman traveler. I sat and enjoyed the fountain’s roar and rainbow-shot mist in the fountain’s green, cool alcove for some time before a young couple arrived. “Could you take our picture?” they asked, extending their phone to me. “No,” I said, returning my gaze to the waterfall, treating them with the same indifference they’d show me if they didn’t want something out of me. They hovered there a few seconds in disbelief. The woman gaped. “You can’t just take our picture?” she sputtered. I shook my head, and waved them away with my hand without looking at them. The man with her steered her away before she could scold me for not doing her bidding, mumbling, “We’re sorry to bother you.” I’m not here for you. I’m here for myself. If I were with a partner and kids, you would never presume to bother me; you would think I was too busy, too important to accost. Guess what: I am too busy, and too important to accost. Solo women are not free labor for you. We are not here to make your trip more special.

I’m on a flight to Dallas, for a business trip. The woman across the aisle from me wants to go to the lavatory, but has a toddler with her. She reaches out and pokes my shoulder while I’m reading. “Hey, would you mind watching my kid while I go to the bathroom?” She didn’t ask the man sitting on the other side of the toddler; she looked around for the nearest woman. It doesn’t matter if you’re a complete stranger as long as you have tits, apparently. “Take the toddler with you,” I responded coldly. “I’m not here to babysit for you.” “OK whatever!” she spat, with bitter laughter. “Obviously you don’t have kids!” No, I don’t. I didn’t want them, and chose not to burden myself and the rest of the planet with them. I am not designated drop-in childcare for you just because I’m a woman. Just because I’m a woman alone doesn’t mean I’m waiting here for some stranger to assign me unpaid labor.

I went to church for some ten years, when I still believed in that bullshit. There were two developmentally disabled parishioners there, and I noticed something over the years: married parishioners speak to older single women and the disabled parishioners the same way: with condescension, with commingled pity and revulsion, with stiffly forced tolerance, with icy smiles. There’s the same pained smile, the same wearied, impatient disappointment if their targets answer the question, “how are you?” with anything but the word, “fine”. The disabled parishioners were valued for their free labor, and nothing else; the same with the church’s ineligible “old maids.” Childcare, coffee service, kitchen cleanup, Altar Guild, photocopying...that is the realm of the spinster at church. She is never a thought leader of any kind; she is never assisted. She carries 10-gallon buckets of baptismal font water to the sink to empty by herself, while the important marrieds glad-hand and chit-chat in the narthex, ignoring her. She stays until midnight cleaning up after Maundy Thursday service, because the more important families “have school the next morning, you understand.” She’s invited to events where she can work and donate, but her labor and money are all that interest church leadership.

A member of the Vestry who typically ignored me approached me once after services. She is going to ask me to volunteer to do work, I said to myself. Sure enough, she said, her eyes glittering with artificial warmth, “A little bird told me you’d be interested in volunteering in the daycare!” “Your little bird was misinformed!” I chirped, borrowing the same insincere gleam, and walking away from her. It was like that for years: marrieds don’t acknowledge you unless they need some work done. I volunteered to cook and serve at The Lord’s Supper, a weekly dinner for the poor of the community. At the end of each evening, after all the diners had left, and all the cleanup was finished, the two married couples who volunteered with me would go to a nearby pub for drinks and snacks. I was never invited. All social events were for families and couples.

As it turns out, Jesus didn’t give a shit about me giving up my Saturdays to clean communion wine stains out of tablecloths or count out wafers or scrape candle wax off floors. Jesus did not bring me a husband or even so much as a friend with benefits; he didn’t give a rat’s ass about my prayers. 2.2 billion fools all over the world pray to Jesus, but just like his followers really only seem to hear your voice if you’re male, married, or have kids, he really only hears the voices of a couple million or so whom he happens to know well already. He just keeps on doing the usual: blessing the same people over and over again, the white, able-bodied, attractive, and rich. I left his house and his people. I don’t do free labor for anyone but my closest friends and family anymore.

Wow, what a bitch, some of you are thinking. You could just be a little nicer to people. You could just try to be less adversarial, and not assume that people are intentionally ignoring you or relegating you to a lower class. Oh, but I did that, and yes, they are. For more than 20 years, I did that. Volunteering to be the candlelighter at weddings, and decorate the reception hall, and serve nuts and coffee at receptions, because that was the highest post I’d ever be allowed: never asked to be a bridesmaid, and destined never to be the bride. Volunteering to arrange flowers and hem veils and bridesmaid’s dresses. Volunteering as a babysitter for friends as they started to have kids. Volunteering at church. Buying literally thousands of dollars worth of wedding and baby and child birthday gifts; even flying to other states to attend the birthday parties of one-year-olds. Making cake toppers for the weddings of smug couples who would later tell me it seemed like I was “spinning my wheels” and “still in a holding pattern” because I wasn’t married and child-burdened myself.

And then I noticed something. No matter what I did, no matter how much care or trouble or elegance or expense or patience or brilliance I put into whatever I offered, it just wasn’t good enough. For ten years or so, I’d get a new invitation at least once a month to a child’s birthday party...from people who couldn’t ever be bothered to remember when my own birthday was. I was laid off from work for several months about 15 years ago, and when I told people at church about this, and asked if I could send them my resume for open jobs in their companies, no one would even let me email them my resume. The wife of one who declined to look at my resume for an open position at his company (for which I was well-qualified, actually) ran into me while I was working the church copy machine. She casually mentioned to me that it was too bad I wasn’t having much luck finding a job, but said that was probably because people in my profession were “a dime a dozen.” So I hustled on my own, and got hired at another company within four months of being laid off. So much for the welcoming arms of the church community; when you’re a single woman over 30, “community” is something you pay into for others, not something you’re allowed to draw from. For the coupled-up, it’s natural to accept the labor and works of a solo woman, but it’s somehow too awkward, expensive, and troublesome to return those efforts in kind.

That time I served nuts and coffee at a friend’s wedding reception, I remember one moment about it vividly. A college classmate of my friend’s and mine chatted when she came over to the coffee table. Seeing that I was slacking off at my volunteer duty by chatting with an acquaintance, the groom’s aunt surged up to the table. She jerked back the lid of a silver coffee pot and shoved the pot at my nose, nearly splashing my face with coffee. “This coffee pot is almost empty. Perhaps you could do as you were asked, and make sure there’s enough coffee and nuts?” She slammed the pot back onto the table and stalked off, relaxing the muscles in her face from the contemptuous rage reserved for undefended, unknown young women to the festive felicity she saved for her nephew’s friends and family. My acquaintance slunk away, embarrassed by the incident. I felt guilty. I’d been letting my friends down! I walked back to the kitchen and started a new pot of coffee immediately.

Today, I’d have a different and far less obsequious response. Well, today, I wouldn’t volunteer for such duty at all. “Thanks, but I’m busy. I think you can hire people to do this,” I would respond, knowing now what I didn’t know then: solo women who do favors for marrieds and families are not rewarded, with respect, with equal labor in kind, or with greater intimacy with the friends they serve. Today, I do favors for myself, and I reward myself.

7 notes · View notes

feminibibi · 4 years

Text

Oh boy. Well, as a man, I’ll tell you my male privilege.

My odds of being hired for a job, when competing against female applicants, are probably skewed in my favor. The more prestigious the job, the larger the odds are skewed.

I can be confident in the fact that my co-workers won’t think that I was hired/promoted because of my sex - despite the fact that it’s probably true.

If I ever am promoted when a woman of my peers is better suited for the job, it is because of my sex.

If i ever fail at my job or career, it won’t be seen as a blacklist against my sex’s capabilities.

I am far less likely to face sexual harassment than my female peers.

If I do the same task as a woman, and if the measurement is at all subjective, chances are people will think I did a better job.

If I am a teen or an adult, and I stay out of prison, my odds of getting raped are relatively low.

On average, I’m taught that walking alone after dark by myself is less than dangerous than it is for my female peers.

If I choose not to have children, my masculinity will not be questioned.

If I do have children but I do not provide primary care for them, my masculinity will not be questioned.

If I have children and I do care for them, I’ll be praised even if my care is only marginally competent.

If I have children and a career, no one will think I’m selfish for not staying at home.

If I seek political office, my relationship with my children or who I deem to take care of them will more often not be scrutinized by the press.

My elected representatives are mostly people of my own sex. The more prestigious the position, the more this is true.

When i seek out “the person in charge", it is likely that they will be someone of my own sex. The higher the position, the more often this is true.

As a child, chances are I am encouraged to be more active and outgoing than my sisters.

As a child, I could choose from an almost infinite variety of children’s media featuring positive, active, non-stereotyped heroes of my own sex. I never had to look for it; male protagonists were (and are) the default.

As a child, chances are I got more teacher attention than girls who raised their hands just as often.

If my day, week or year is going badly, I need not ask of each negative episode or situation whether or not it has sexist overtones. (Nobody’s going to ask if I’m upset because I’m menstruating.)

I can turn on the television or glance at the front page of the newspaper and see people of my own sex widely represented.

If I’m careless with my financial affairs it won’t be attributed to my sex.

If I’m careless with my driving it won’t be attributed to my sex.

I can speak in public to a large group without putting my sex on trial.

Even if I sleep with a lot of women, there is little to no chance that I will be seriously labeled a “slut,” nor is there any male counterpart to “slut-bashing.”

I do not have to worry about the message my wardrobe sends about my sexual availability.

My clothing is typically less expensive and better-constructed than women’s clothing for the same social status. While I have fewer options, my clothes will probably fit better than a woman’s without tailoring.

The grooming regimen expected of me is relatively cheap and consumes little time.

If I buy a new car, chances are I’ll be offered a better price than a woman buying the same car. The same goes for other expensive merchandise.

If I’m not conventionally attractive, the disadvantages are relatively small and easy to ignore.

I can be loud with no fear of being called a shrew. I can be aggressive with no fear of being called a bitch.

I can ask for legal protection from violence that happens mostly to men without being seen as a selfish special interest, since that kind of violence is called “crime” and is a general social concern. (Violence that happens mostly to women is usually called “domestic violence” or “acquaintance rape,” and is seen as a special interest issue.)

I can be confident that the ordinary language of day-to-day existence will always include my sex. “All men are created equal,” mailman, chairman, freshman, he.

My ability to make important decisions and my capability in general will never be questioned depending on what time of the month it is.

I will never be expected to change my name upon marriage or questioned if I don’t change my name.

The decision to hire me will not be based on assumptions about whether or not I might choose to have a family sometime soon.

Every major religion in the world is led primarily by people of my own sex. Even God, in most major religions, is pictured as male.

Most major religions argue that I should be the head of my household, while my wife and children should be subservient to me.

If I have a wife or live-in girlfriend, chances are we’ll divide up household chores so that she does most of the labor, and in particular the most repetitive and unrewarding tasks.

If I have children with my girlfriend or wife, I can expect her to do most of the basic childcare such as changing diapers and feeding.

If I have children with my wife or girlfriend, and it turns out that one of us needs to make career sacrifices to raise the kids, chances are we’ll both assume the career sacrificed should be hers.

Assuming I am heterosexual, magazines, billboards, television, movies, pornography, and virtually all of media is filled with images of scantily-clad women intended to appeal to me sexually. Such images of men exist, but are rarer.

In general, I am under much less pressure to be thin than my female counterparts are. If I am over-weight, I probably suffer fewer social and economic consequences for being fat than over-weight women do.

If I am heterosexual, it’s incredibly unlikely that I’ll ever be beaten up by a spouse or lover.

Complete strangers generally do not walk up to me on the street and tell me to “smile.”

Sexual harassment on the street virtually never happens to me. I do not need to plot my movements through public space in order to avoid being sexually harassed, or to mitigate sexual harassment.

On average, I am not interrupted by women as often as women are interrupted by men.

On average, I will have the privilege of not knowing about my male privilege.

And lastly, I am taken as a more credible feminist than my female peers, despite the fact that the feminist movement is supposed to be liberating to the other sex. This is male privilege.

0 notes

iris-writes-things · 6 years

Text

Crazy, Millennial Love Story chapter 10

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut!

This chapter contains a lot of text messages, so for formatting reasons I recommend you read this chapter on AO3!

Keith's photography business is officially coming off the ground and things are finally looking up. But when a mysterious new client tells him about Allura's dark past, Keith gets second thoughts about setting Shiro up with her.

Chapter 10 of ? Ongoing 2362 words Modern/romance

Anonymous

Hello Keith! I recently came across your account, and I was wondering if I could hire you for a shoot in the financial district some time this week. I can pay you an hourly rate of 50 dollars, and an additional 500 for the photos. When would you be available?

(Received 9.53 AM)

Oops! Sorry for the late reply 😅 I think if we’d have to hurry too much if we go now. Limited daylight and all. How about tomorrow at noon? Where would you like to meet up?

(Sent 2.12 PM)

Tomorrow at noon sounds great! You’ve done a shoot for Allura before, right? Shall we meet in front of the Altea Infrastructure building?

(received 2.13 PM)

Yeah, that’s good for me. See you there!

(Sent 2.34 PM)

(Read 2.35 PM)

Keith tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for his new client to show up, watching the hustle and bustle of men and women in suits rushing from their office buildings to quickly get lunch and return to their cubicle as fast as humanly possible. He’d made sure to show up half an hour early, in case they showed up early, but that was forty-five minutes ago! He let out a deep sigh. He didn’t even know their name… nor their gender… nor what they look like. Even their phone number was listed as anonymous!

His heart sank into his shoes. He had no idea who he was supposed to meet up with! What if it was some creep?! Come to think of it, Shiro had insisted he tag along to his very first job as a model, maybe Keith should have insisted his roommate return the favor, but you know, hindsight is always 20/20. He’d just have to deal with whomever the fuck showed up.

The buzzing of his phone snapped him out of his train of thought. He fumbled it out of his pocket with nervous, trembling fingers.

Allura

Look up.

(Received 12.13)

And so he did. Up five floors was Allura waving at him from the window. He chuckled and waved back.

“What are you doing here?!” She called down to him.

“Waiting for a new client! They’re probably gonna be here soon!” He shouted back up.

“Good luck! I have to go now, my board meeting is about to start, but I’ve got my fingers crossed for you!” She said, showing off her crossed fingers from the open window.

“Thanks!” Keith laughed out loud, looking back in front of him as Allura closed up the window she had just leaned out of.

“Sorry I’m late!”

Keith’s eyes darted to the source of the sound. Approaching him was a man, tall, tanned skin with his platinum blond hair tied in a messy, yet effortlessly beautiful bun. He was gorgeous in much the same way Allura was. Not Keith’s type, but conventionally very attractive.

“Friend of yours?” The stranger asked, pointing up at the widow of the board room.

Keith gazed up, barely processing what was going on. “Uh… Oh, yeah! Allura has pretty much kickstarted my career as a photographer. She’s pretty great.”

“If you say so.” The man shrugged. “Ah, I’m afraid I haven’t properly introduced myself yet.” He said, holding his hand out for Keith to shake. “I’m Lotor. I do much of the same thing Allura does as a social influencer, but I tend to lean more towards modeling.”

Lotor… The name rang a bell to Keith, but he wasn’t sure where to place it. Keith looked at his hand, tilting his head slightly as he pushed his doubts to the back of his mind, shaking the man’s hand. “Keith. Nice meeting you. So, where did you wanna get your pictures taken?”

“I was hoping to do something a little grittier than your last shoot. I know a nice abandoned warehouse near the harbor that hasn’t been turned into a trendy office building yet, so I was hoping we could take the pictures there?”

Abandoned warehouse? That didn’t sound suspicious at all. “I, uh, I’m not sure… I didn’t bring my lighting rig for that, and I don’t have a car to haul it all the way to the harbor… I don’t know if it’s gonna work.” Keith stammered, scratching his face as he pulled this weak excuse out of his ass.

“Oh, don’t worry! The roof has more holes than a wheel of swiss cheese. You should be good with the lighting.” Lotor reassured happily in a sing-song kind of tone.

Shit. “Okay, sure. If you wanna, why not.” Keith gave in, laughing nervously.

***

As it turned out, Lotor’s intent wasn’t nearly as malicious as Keith was afraid it would be. He would even go as far as to say that working with the was actually quite pleasant. He clearly had a vision of what he wanted the pictures to look like, and had no problems with being posed and directed.

"You know, I actually used to date Allura." Lotor spoke up as he sat down on a wooden pallet he had just used to pose on.

Keith lowered his camera, allowing it to hang around his neck. "Really? How'd that go?" He asked curiously.

Lotor bit his lip, glancing away. “You know… Dating someone like her isn’t all everyone makes it out to be… Her way of life can be demanding. Hell, she can be demanding. Pushy, even. And that’s keeping her work as a social influencer out of it! She’d take me on dates, and only afterwards I would find out she only took me out because she was getting paid to advertise the place! I’ve… I’ve done a lot of things that I’m not proud of… That I’m uncomfortable with… Just because she wanted those likes.”

“Yeah… That sounds pretty shitty.” Keith sighed as he sat down next to him. “But if you hated that lifestyle so much when she did it, why are you still doing it now?” He asked, maybe a little harshly. Sure, he felt for Lotor. Nothing is worse than a partner who pushes you too far. Keith knew that from his own experience. But why keep doing it after breaking up with them? Besides, Keith had seen the way Allura works. She didn’t seem to be anything like the way Lotor described her.

“Because I’m doing it on my own terms now. It’s different…” Lotor mumbled, hollow eyes staring at the dusty concrete floor, tracing one of the cracks with the point of his shoe in boredom. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t use the following I gained during my time with Allura to earn the money I needed get my own place, but those are the only ties to her I have left.”

“I’m sorry, man… I didn’t know.” Keith said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder in an attempt to cheer him up.

“I can’t blame you. A lot of people don’t know.” He sighed. “The new guy that seems to be romancing her. This ‘Shiro’... You know him, right?” Lotor asked, turning to Keith.

“Yeah. He’s, uh, he’s my roommate. And, like, my best friend.” Keith admitted, feeling his shoulders slump.

“Oh… I’m so sorry you had to find out this way…” Lotor whispered, carefully wrapping his arm around Keith’s shoulders. “Just, you know, do me a favor and look after him, okay? I mean, it’s been years since I dated her, so it’s perfectly possible that she’s a changed woman, but there’s no way for me to know for sure. I’d hate for your friend to get hurt.”

“I will. I promise.”

***

It was 5 PM by the time Keith returned to his and Shiro’s studio apartment. “I’m home!” He called, tossing his keys to the kitchen table, only to be greeted by the sound of a running shower. Pouting, he walked up to the bathroom door and pounded on it with all his might. chuckling at the shrill shriek it earned him from Shiro. “I said I’m home!”

“I heard you the first time!” Shiro called back.

“Then answer me.” Keith told him sternly, even though there was nothing stern about the look on his face as he smiled fondly. “What are you washing your ass for anyway?”

“Allura got a press screener for a movie you and I have been stoked about for like half a year, so she invited me to come watch it tonight.” Shiro said through the door, shutting off the shower.

“Wait, hold on, Allura got a press screener for Revengers: Infinite Altercation?! You have to tell me all about it when you come back! Or could you, you know, borrow it from her?”

“Can’t. Technically, I’m not even supposed to be watching it with her, so I gotta be all hush-hush about it.”

“Okay, fine…” Keith said, rolling his eyes. “But you’re still coming to see it with me when it comes out in theaters.”

“That’s a promise I can keep.” Shiro said, smiling as he stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his waist.

There was no way Shiro would have just stepped out like this mere months ago, Keith thought to himself. Allura had done good things for both of them, but Shiro’s newfound confidence had to be at the very top of the list. It was hard to imagine that the Allura he knew could ever be like the Allura Lotor had apparently dated, but that didn’t stop Keith’s heart from sinking at the thought that the very same could happen to Shiro. It could be mirrors and smoke. It could be a slow descent that neither of them could see coming. He swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat, pushing the thought to the back of his mind and forced a smile. “You better.”

“What are you doing tonight?” Shiro asked curiously, disappearing into his bedroom to get dressed.

“Just editing the photos, I guess. Probably pigging out on potato chips and getting drunk when I’m done.”

“Sounds like a solid night.” Shiro chuckled as he emerged from his room, fully dressed. He gave Keith a firm pat on the back. “Don’t wait up for me, okay?”

“I won’t.” Keith smiled, but it wasn’t genuine. He watched Shiro like a hawk as he made a move to leave the apartment, panic creeping up on him. Finally, he snapped, taking hold of Shiro’s wrist. “Be… Be careful, okay? Call me if there’s anything wrong… Hell, if you’re uncomfortable, call me. Okay? Be safe.”

Shiro smiled and pulled the smaller man into a hug. “I will, I promise.” He whispered before pulling back. “I know it’s hard to see your little man grow up, but I’m not leaving the nest just yet.” Shiro joked, wearing the broadest, brightest smile on his face. A rare treat, even for Keith, even though it was becoming more and more common.

“Come on, man, can’t a bro be worried about a bro?” Keith asked, laughing nervously as he went along with the joke. Had he been that obvious?

“It’s okay, enough joking for now.” Shiro said before taking a deep breath, keeping himself from laughing any more. “I’ll be safe, I promise. I’ll be back in the morning, so seriously, don’t wait up for me, okay?” He said, squeezing Keith’s shoulder reassuringly.

“Okay…” Keith mumbled, breath hitching as he watched Shiro leave.

What if Allura really wasn’t who they thought she was?

***

When Lotor returned home, his apartment was completely shrouded in darkness. Nobody had apparently bothered to turn any of the lights on. He sighed as he turned on the lights in the hallway and made his way to his living room, which was completely dark as well, the only light in the room coming from his television and Ezor’s cell phone.

All three of his friends were sprawled over the couch, tangled up in each other, half watching whatever trashy tv show was on. They hissed, squinting when he turned on the light fixture that hung right above them. “Ladies.” Lotor greeted, a fond smile gracing his features.

They hummed in acknowledgement, boredom evident in every last bit of their being.

“So, how’d it go?” Ezor asked as she threw her phone to the salon table.

“It went well, thank you very much. The seeds of doubt are planted, and I got some very pretty pictures out of it, too. Double win for me.” Lotor smiled proudly, showing the already edited photos that had arrived in his inbox mere minutes ago. “If all goes according to plan, all we have to do is wait.”

“Man, I hate this. You could’ve just let me beat up the new guy and tell him to stay the fuck away from her. Much quicker, that way.” The largest of his friends, Zethrid, asked as she sat up, knocking the two other girls off of her with a yelp.

“Yes, it would be quicker, but I doubt it would be more effective. Besides, beating up a nerdy, gay photographer isn’t a good look for you. It would prompt immediate retaliation and I can’t risk that.” He said sternly, prompting the large woman to groan in frustration.

“Sorry to rain on your parade, Lotor, but the same plan didn’t work for the last three of Allura’s friends. What makes you think it will work this time?” Axca asked, leaning over the back of the couch.

“Because he has trust issues, and we have leverage.” Lotor smirked as he sat down on the couch between Ezor and Axca. “I didn’t tell him Allura would turn on him, I told him Allura would turn on his best friend. If I can get him to mistrust Allura and break their friendship from the inside, he might be able to convince his friend to no longer pursue Allura. Either that, or his relationship with his best friend will crumble along with his relationship with Allura, leaving him all alone. Whatever happens, the fallout will be interesting to watch.”

“That… Actually sounds like it might work.” Axca admitted.

He nodded in agreement. “Now all we have to do is sit back and relax.”

#fanfic #voltron: legendary defender #shallura #vld keith #vld lotor #okay I know those tags don't make a whole lot of sense but Keith and Lotor are the main CHARACTERS in this chapter #while Shallura is still the main FOCUS

0 notes