#but it ignores when these people overreached; too

[fideidefenswhore]

Do you think AB alienated her allies, sometimes?

I mean, for sure... I think the extent of that has been exaggerated by Alison W/eir, but you can definitely find examples of that. Like, Thomas Cheney, one of her relatives that she interceded for above Wolsey's protests, seemed pretty firmly in her camp. Then, by 1536 he's part of the faction that's supporting her stepdaughter.

Generally, though, imo, it's underestimated how difficult it is to maintain allies when one has power/influence, and how it's basically impossible to keep everyone happy all the time.

[radio-charlie]

Just try looking for a positive story on China any day of the week in any of the leading global media outlets. Apart from reports in January about the Lunar New Year, there will hardly be any, and these too are likely to have a negative spin. It would appear there is a confidential memo circulating within Western media groups that guides reporters and editors to ensure there cannot be any positive news arising from a country with 1.3 billion people.

Typically, the negative stories adhere to three core ideas, which inform the unspoken guidelines within these press rooms when it comes to reporting on China.

First is the belief that China is a threat to the world and that this belief must be relentlessly reinforced at every available opportunity. How and why China is a threat is never explored; such is the deep-rooted and almost religious nature of the belief. Sound arguments do not matter. The basic tenets of good journalism are ignored when it comes to a China story. There is no need to explain or give evidence of why China is a global threat.

Left ignored is the plentiful evidence that shows China is not a global threat – even if one can point to mistakes and overreach in certain areas. China has not invaded any country in decades, or imposed sanctions that have devasted the lives of millions in poor countries, unlike the West, led by the United States.

Second is that China must be linked to every possible global event that affects the West. This provides an opportunity for the West to bash China while simultaneously burnishing its own credentials as the supposed arbiters of what is right and wrong in international relations. From the pandemic to the Russia-Ukraine war to carbon emissions; from rising sea levels to the scramble for rare earths; from the building of infrastructure in Africa to the production of vaccines – there must be an angle to demonize the country and instill fear in Western nations (and beyond).

Indeed, media outlets are reverting to the “yellow peril” of the late 1800s. There is no subtle and nuanced approach to instilling fear like this. It is full-on and very often blatantly racist – but it is now acceptable for one to be racist about the Chinese in Western media, despite the fact that Black-White relations are very carefully described.

The third part of this phenomenon, which is surprisingly not challenged by liberal readers of mainstream media, is the sentiment that everything must be done – even illegal and unfair methods – to arrest the rise of China. Never mind the rights of hundreds of millions of Chinese to have a better life after a century of poverty and deprivation.

[official-megumin]

ngl being both a trans woman and intersex kinda fucking sucks.

Because you end in this intersection of both transmisogyny and heavy intersexism.

I can't really look to either the wider transfem community because intersexism is rampant there, but at the same time in intersex communities, AFAB intersex voices just seem so much loud and for AMAB intersex voices to be ignored.

I have come across two other AMAB intersex people on here, and both of them are very quiet about it, I haven't asked why. But I would guess it's because of how we're generally treated.

So even with the prominent intersex voices on here, you'll see the terms TME and TMA be condemned without nuance.

Because yea obviously they don't cover the wide spectrum that is human sex, but proveably it still is very very useful, because even in intersex spaces, transfems are smothered and not given space to talk. I have come across a lot of AFAB intersex people very in favor of AFAB people to be able to use trans fem as a label, and when it's used by specifically intersex AFAB people, I very much do not mind.

But where my opinion tends to differ, is that I do not think perisex AFAB people should use it.

I have only met one outspoken intersex woman on here, and still due to being afab. She was not barred needed access to gynocological care like I have been. So the clearly there are still differences in how we experience and interact with the world, because the world does not accept that sex isn't binary. It will latch on to the most minute differences to label us.

So with me being outwardly male, despite likely having full internal female sex organs, and developing classically female. I was still denied womanhood in ways that AFAB intersex people despite still very much being denied womanhood, don't experience.

I have many times trying to voice my opinions and feelings of overreach as an intersex trans woman, and I've always been ignored in favor of intersex people who haven't experienced being expected to be male.

And for those experiences I have been labelled a transmedicalist. Despite making it very clear that I don't care at all how you transition.

I simply want people to understand that some words have long histories that can't and shouldn't just be waved away. It can't be right that us telling you that you're overstepping boundaries and disrespecting us, is met with accusations of hate.

Just please give us space to voice our frustrations and let us talk about being stepped over, listen to us.

I just want one damn space I can feel understood and listened to in. Is that too much to ask for?

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

There were Teleri who fought for the Noldor at Alqualondë

This is 100% speculation. You've been warned.

You can't honestly expect me to believe that all the Teleri at Alqualondë were of one mind when it came to the ships. Olwë may have forgotten his kin across the Sundering Sea, but not everyone would have. There must have been some who wanted to help the Noldor protect their family. Maybe there were some who desired to cross themselves.

I don't think Olwë was the kind of person to care about their opinions, though. Not enough to put it to a vote. But let's say he did? If they did vote, either the majority didn't want to help, or the majority did wish to help, and Olwë ignored them. The specifics here doesn't matter too much.

In the end, the Noldor were denied passage. Olwë doomed the Teleri in Endórë.

I can't imagine those who disagreed with him would be terribly happy about this.

Olwë told Fëanor that he and his people would not give them the ships, give them a ride in the ships, or even teach them and help them build their own ships. A bit of an overreach and overreaction, for sure. But his people could not disobey him. Not without consequences.

So picture this: a few Teleri offered to help Fëanor steal the ships. Just because Olwë forsook their divorced kin didn't mean they would. Fëanor took them up on it; he needed sailors, and he would never reject help with his vengeful crusade. The Noldor and their Teleri conspirers snuck aboard the ships. Olwë's people attacked first.

Blood in the water.

[drabbles-mc]

Better Than Him

Angel Reyes x F!Reader

Summary: When your boyfriend bails last-minute on yet another date night, you call the first person you can think of to commiserate with.

Warnings: 18+, smut, cheating, language, alcohol

Word Count: 6.7k (oops)

A/N: Don't ask me how I ended up writing almost 7k of debauchery and filth for Angel. I don't know. I drank some wine and this happened. I feel like it should go without saying, but I'll still say it: don't cheat on your partners, y'all. It's only okay and sexy for fictional people to do. 😂😌

Angel Reyes Taglist: @buckybarneshairpullingkink @lilacyennefer @bport76 @rosieposie0624 @queenbeered @littlekittymeow @thesandbeneathmytoes @meadowofsinfulthoughts @garbinge @kelpies-shed @beardburnsupersoldiers @louisianalady @gemini0410 @frattsparty @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @amorestevens @enjoy-the-destruction @withmyteeth @winchestershiresauce @nessamc @narcolini @mijagif @choochoo284 @fanfic-n-tabulous @artemiseamoon @justazzi (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You were laying on your couch in the living room, slouched down so far that you knew it was going to give you neck issues if you stayed in that position for too much longer. Your chin was tucked against your chest by default. The television was playing in the background, the same sitcom on that you’d watched front to back more times than you could count. You weren’t even really listening to it, though. It was just white noise.

Your phone was propped up against your chest, the picture of you and your boyfriend on your home screen doing nothing but mocking you at this point. You exhaled a deep, exasperated sigh as your finger hovered over the Messages app at the bottom of your screen. It was a stupid idea, but you still opened the app. Nothing good was gonna come of it, but you still scrolled down to your text message conversation with Angel.

The last exchange between the two of you had been him inviting you to the clubhouse, and you politely blowing him off because you were going to have date night with your boyfriend. But now your boyfriend was out doing god knows what and you were lying on your couch, all dressed up with no place to go. Your heels mocked you from the floor, same with the hem of your skirt sliding farther up your leg as you crossed and uncrossed them. All the effort and for what?

Despite knowing better, you hit the call button at the top of the screen. You hit speaker on the first ring, not wanting to even put the effort forth at this point to lift and hold the phone to your ear. Sad, sure. Borderline pathetic, maybe. But you weren’t given the time to spiral into your thoughts about it too much.

“You change your mind about the party?” Not even a greeting. Just loud background conversations and Angel getting straight to the point.

“No,” you replied in the loudest mumble you could manage.

“Wait, where are you? Why…why are you calling me?”

“Because I’m bored.”

The noise on the other end of the line decreased drastically, and you could only imagine that it was because Angel stepped outside to finish the phone call. “Thought tonight was date night or whatever?”

“It was.” You hated how bummed you sounded about it.

“Oh, fuck.” He sighed and you could picture the look on his face. “He, god, he fuckin’ bail? Again?”

You groaned. “The again was not needed, Angel.”

“Neither is all his bullshit.” He paused for a beat. “C’mon, dulce, I’ve been tellin’ you for a minute that you don’t need this dude.”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” you argued, but there was no real anger in your voice. Even saying you were annoyed with him was an overreach. You knew he was right.

“What do you wanna hear then, hm?” His voice was right back to its usual slick, flirtatious tone.

You rolled your eyes and tried to ignore how much you enjoyed listening to him talk to you like that. You dragged your hand down your face, knowing that this was your last chance to be smart and get out of the conversation unscathed. But you were sick of being the smart one.

“You wanna come over?”

He laughed. “You want me to leave a party to go come and watch you mope about your shitty boyfriend?”

It got you to smile. “Yea.”

He let out another laugh and you couldn’t help but to picture the way that he was probably shaking his head, looking up at the sky knowing that he was going to say yes but he didn’t want to give you an easy time about it. He never wanted to give you an easy time about anything.

He sucked his teeth. “Fine. Be there in twenty.”

“This is why they call you Angel.”

He chuckled. “Shut up.” He paused. “I’ll see you soon.”

It wasn’t quite enough to pull you up from the inhuman angle you were laying at on the couch, but you did feel a little better knowing that you weren’t going to be spending the whole night by yourself anymore. “See you soon.”

You hadn’t moved a single inch by the time that you heard his motorcycle pulling up outside your apartment. The only thing that had changed was that now your phone was discarded on your coffee table instead of resting against your chest. You turned your head to look at the door but you made no move to get up and greet him.

The door was only halfway open, Angel wasn’t even inside the door yet and you called over, “That took longer than twenty minutes!”

Without missing a beat he pelted a bag of Sour Patch Kids at you, the candy landing just below where your chin was tucked. “Wasn’t gonna try and bring ice cream on the bike. Settled for the next best thing.” He kicked off his boots once he shut and locked your door. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Ice cream doesn’t sound terrible,” you said with a chuckle. You lifted one foot and gestured towards your kitchen. “There’s some in the freezer if you want it.”

Angel rolled his eyes as he walked over, standing alongside the couch right next to you. You looked up at him, his presence more towering than usual as your laid down while he stood. He watched as you tore the corner off the package of your candy.

“You’re not even moping right,” he joked as he reached and pushed on your one knee so it knocked into the other. Neither of you made a comment about the face that it made the hem of your skirt slip up a little higher, but you noticed the way his eyes lingered a beat longer. “Supposed to be curled up in sweatpants and shit after a breakup, aren’t you?”

You tilted your head up to look at him more directly, your chin finally lifting off its resting place on your chest. “Breakup?”

“Yea. You,” he paused , brows coming together, “you broke up with him, right?” Your silence spoke volumes and he couldn’t do anything besides huff and roll his eyes at you. “Come on, you’re fuckin’ kidding me, right?”

“What?” You only sounded defensive because you knew that he was probably about to be right with whatever he was going to say.

“How many times does this guy have to blow you off and treat you like shit before you finally kick him to the curb?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you said with a shake of your head, not able to look him in the eyes as you ate one of the candies and set the package on the table next to your phone.

“Don’t be stupid,” he retorted.

“Angel!”

“What!” He held his hands out like he was begging you to get up and try something. “How else would you describe it? You’ve,” he scoffed, “you’ve called me stupid for way less.”

“Yea, but I never mean it.”

“Because I’m never being this stupid,” he shot back with a smirk.

Despite your frustration, you found yourself biting back a smile as you rolled your eyes at him. You knew he was right. You should’ve left your boyfriend a long time ago. Consistency with something that wasn’t great felt safer than not having any consistency at all, though.

“Since when are you giving out relationship advice?”

He shrugged with a laugh. “I’m not. I’m givin’ out breakup advice. Dump his ass.”

It got both of you to laugh. For a brief moment, it almost looked like Angel was about to say something else. Instead, though, he turned and headed for your kitchen to grab himself a beer, shedding his kutte along the way. You said sure when he asked if you wanted one too. Even with the television on, you could hear the clattering of the bottlecaps on the countertop. When you heard the slight scraping of the bottles being picked up, clinking against the rings on Angel’s fingers, you finally pushed yourself into a more upright position. You were still somewhat slouched back against the arm of the sofa, but you were at least at a more appropriate angle so you wouldn’t get a permanent kink in your neck.

“Here.” Angel faked like he was going to toss the open bottle to you. You knew that he wouldn’t, but you still flinched to reach and grab it just in case. You hated the laugh that it got out of him, but really you loved it. With one hand free, he tapped your knee lightly. “Quit hogging the couch.”

“It’s my couch, you know,” you said as you pulled your legs in a little closer to you, granting him the space to sit.

“Yea, and you invited me over. So now you gotta share.” He plopped down unceremoniously, immediately putting his feet up on your coffee table.

You were both tuned into the show playing on the television for a couple minutes before you asked, “How was the party?”

He looked over at you, eyebrows raised. “Could’ve shown up and found out for yourself.”

“I didn’t wanna see people,” you said before taking a sip of your beer.

“Oh? And what am I, then?’ he asked with a laugh.

“You’re Angel,” you replied with no hesitation.

He rolled his eyes but there was no denying the grin that was creeping across his face. “Shut up. Don’t gotta sweet-talk me. I’m already here.”

You both chuckled before falling back into comfortable silence. Part of you felt like you should be saying something more. After all, you did ask him to bail on the clubhouse party to come and hang out with you. But it was so comfortable with him like this. Something about knowing that he would turn his back on something like that just so he could show up and do nothing with you helped soothe your bruised ego. Your boyfriend couldn’t manage to show up for date night, but Angel could bail on an entire room full of his MC brothers and girls who would give just about anything to take him home just so he could show up and watch cheesy sitcoms with you. It stung but at the same time it felt good. You knew that that was all you really needed to know about how you should be handling your relationship, but you didn’t want to think about that. That problem would still be there tomorrow. You’d deal with it then.

In between episodes, you leaned over so you could set your beer bottle on the coffee table. As you settled back into the couch, you stretched your legs out again. You draped them across Angel’s lap, not commenting on the action as you did so. Your eyes were trained on the television, but in your peripheral you could see the way that Angel was looking at you. His eyes slowly raked up the exposed skin of your legs, along the rest of your body until he was looking at your face. He watched you for a minute, and you thought that maybe he was going to make a joke, or push your legs off him. But he didn’t.

He leaned so that he had one elbow propped against the arm of the couch, still holding his nearly-empty bottle of beer in that hand. Without looking back over at you, he brought his other hand to rest against your shin. The metal of his rings felt cool against your skin, and you flinched slightly, but you didn’t pull away or say anything to him. He felt the twitch, and rather than pulling away, he wrapped is fingers a little tighter. It wasn’t a tight grip, but it was enough to keep you from pulling away as the warmth from your skin made the metal of his rings more tolerable.

“What were you supposed to be doing tonight, anyway?” Angel asked you out of nowhere.

“Hm?” You pried your eyes away from the television screen to look at him.

“For date night. What were you guys gonna do?”

If someone else had been asking, you would assume that they were just going to rub salt in the wound. And maybe you would’ve thought the same of Angel too, because he could get like that sometimes, but there was something about the pensive look on his face that let you know that that wasn’t the case.

You shrugged as you rested your hands on your stomach. “Nothing crazy. Just dinner and then going somewhere for dancing and drinks.” You paused. “Why?”

He shrugged. “No reason.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile. Nudging his leg lightly with your foot, you said, “Nosey.”

He laughed but didn’t argue because he knew that you were right. “Can he even dance?”

“Can you?” you shot back with a curious look.

“Pfft,” he laughed, “like I’m ever gonna give you that kind of ammunition.”

You let out a hum of amusement before the conversation died off again. The controlled chaos of the TV show playing in the background was the only noise in the entirety of your apartment. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Angel to be over at your place, for it to just be the two of you. So you wondered why this time you felt like it was the first time the two of you had ever existed in a space alone together. His hand that was steadily creeping up your leg was probably a large part of the root cause, but you couldn’t afford to think about it too much. Give it too much of your mental real estate and you were going to combust.

He didn’t say anything as his fingers began to work in methodical little circles against the muscle of your leg. Never in a million years would you have guessed that Angel was the kind of guy who would voluntarily give a girl a massage, let alone be good at it, but you instantly felt more relaxed as your legs untensed against him. You made a conscious effort to ignore the other feelings bubbling in your chest as he slowly but surely worked his fingers higher up your leg. He wasn’t looking at you, so you weren’t going to look at him. Maybe if it stayed like that, you would be able to keep yourself under control.

His fingers worked through a knot at the top of your calf, and the soft moan that slipped out past your lips was completely involuntary. You immediately froze, not turning to look at him, not saying anything about the sound you’d just made. You were waiting for Angel to say something, make some slick comment, a sexual joke of some kind, but he didn’t. His fingers didn’t stop moving, though, creeping up over your knee and onto your thigh.

You didn’t know how many seconds had passed before you finally decided that it was as safe to look at him as it was ever going to be. You slowly turned your head, your eyes searching for his. You thought that he was already going to be looking at you, waiting to say something. But when you were finally looking at him head-on, his eyes didn’t meet yours. Instead, his gaze was locked onto your legs, eyes slowly raking up the exposed skin, zeroing in like he was trying to see past the fabric of your skirt. It should’ve made you uneasy, should’ve made you want to tell him to get the fuck out of your apartment, but it didn’t.

Taking a slow, deep breath, you forced your body to relax again. The tension started to ebb away, allowing you to melt back into the couch cushions and against Angel. And, if your legs parted a little farther in the process, where was the harm in that.

Even with the television playing in the background, you heard the sharp inhale that he took, his eyes still completely zeroed in on your legs. You found yourself gnawing lightly at your bottom lip, just watching him, studying his reactions to it all. You knew that you definitely shouldn’t have been getting so much enjoyment out of it, but it was too late now.

“You good, Angel?” you asked as you watched his tongue dart across his bottom lip.

He cleared his throat as he nodded, finally dragging his eyes away from your legs so that he was looking at your face. “I’m good.” He paused. “You good?”

You nodded, a satisfied smile creeping across your face before you could stop it. “I’m good.”

There was a long pause, each of you waiting for the other to say something, do something. It felt like a game of chicken but you weren’t quite sure what you were waiting for more, for him to push it farther or for him to pull away completely. Usually you could read him without much of an issue, but this time you really didn’t know what his next move was going to be, if there was going to be one at all.

Then he lifted your legs just slightly. You froze, hating the fact that you were worried that he was going to stand up and leave. You would have no right to ask him to stay, to do any of the things that were currently running through your head. You had a boyfriend for that, supposedly. But he wasn’t here. Angel was.

He didn’t get up to leave, though. Instead, he slid down a little closer to you on the couch before draping your legs over his again. You were smiling before you even knew what you were doing. His hands rested easily on your knees, fingers pressing against you lightly for a moment before sliding up onto your thighs. He applied the same pressure he had before, still not saying anything more as he kept traveling slowly further and further towards the raised hem of your skirt.

When he finally reached it, your breath got caught in your throat as you waited to see what he was going to do next. He toyed with the hem of it, sliding the smooth, black fabric between his fingers. You were expecting him to slide his hands completely underneath it, for him to push it the rest of the way up your thighs. You were still holding your breath in anticipation, studying even the slightest shifts in his expression.

So imagine your disappointment when he tugged it down, letting it rest back in its rightful place covering up the majority of your thighs. You felt a little sick to your stomach over the fact that you were disappointed by that at all, but it was too late to take the feeling back now. He didn’t take his hands off of you at least, eyes still traveling up and down your body like he was trying to put together the pieces of a puzzle.

“Angel?”

His eyes snapped up to yours. “Yea?”

“Can you keep doing that?” you asked, your tone innocent enough. “Feels good.”

He swallowed hard, seeming shaken for the first time all night. But he nodded, a wordless agreement as he let his fingers press firmly, purposefully against the skin and muscles of your thighs. Your eyes drifted shut, soaking up the sensation, letting yourself get lost in the thoughts that you most definitely shouldn’t have been having. The disappointment of your canceled date night was the furthest thing from your mind now.

You didn’t even flinch when he pushed your skirt back up. Whatever shred of decency he’d been trying to have was tossed out the window the second you asked him to keep touching you like that. He didn’t know why he was tempting fate the way he was but he was too invested now to back down.

You felt him shifting on the couch, but your brain was too deep in other thoughts to really think about what it meant. You vaguely registered the fact that he was closer to you now, able to feel the denim of his jeans against the backs of your thighs. Your eyes were still closed, unable to see the way that he was looking at you like a starved animal who had managed to find itself a good meal. His teeth were digging into his bottom lip as he tried to exercise a little self-restraint. There was so much that he wanted to say to you, do to you, but with every passing second it all felt like it was turning more and more into a sick joke.

He inhaled slowly through his nose, gearing himself up for whatever your reaction was going to be to what he did next. You’d either let him, or he was going to get caught across the cheek with a mean right hand. At this point, he was willing to take the risk because his heart was pounding inside his chest and he couldn’t walk away without knowing.

His hands slipped underneath your skirt, ghosting over the tops of your thighs. You gasped when you felt the tips of his fingers brushing against the lace of your panties, right at the juncture where your legs met your hips. That’s what got you to finally open your eyes. You lifted your head off the arm of the couch, your mouth slightly open as you looked at Angel. You could see the deep rise and fall of his chest, and he could see the way yours was doing the same.

“I can stop,” his voice had a tone that you’d never heard before and it sent a wave of shivers over your body. When you didn’t say anything in response, didn’t make any type of move to encourage or discourage him, he said, “You want me to?”

You shook your head, your voice coming out small in a way you hadn’t intended it to. “No. Don’t…don’t stop.”

With what seemed like an effortless motion, he shifted so that he was kneeling, facing you slotted between your legs. Spreading his hands over your thighs, he pulled you down so your back laid flat against the couch cushions. He pushed your skirt up, exposing your thighs and panties in the same movement. He heard the shuddered breath you let out as his hands continued to run up and down your thighs, studying you as he tried to figure out what his next move was going to be.

“What’re we doin’ here, mi dulce?” he asked, his voice low.

Your heart was about to burst out of your chest, legs already on the brink of shaking when he hadn’t even really touched you yet. “Whatever you want.”

He licked his bottom lip. “You mean that?”

You managed a nod even though your brain was completely muddled with the possibilities of what Angel wanted to do to you. “I do.”

“This,” he said slowly as his hands crept back towards your hips, “is a bad idea.”

“I know,” you admitted. “I don’t care.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, not needing anymore encouragement from you as he looped his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and started to pull them down your legs. You lifted your feet off the couch cushion, anything to make it easier for him to get them off of you faster. You were expecting him to toss them aside, but instead he tucked them into the back pocket of his jeans. Later, tomorrow, next week, whenever he thought back on whatever this was about to turn into and he was sure it was a dream, he’d have proof that it wasn’t.

Then his hands quickly ran up your shins and thighs again. This time he moved the rest of his body so that he was hovering over you, your legs loosely draping themselves around him as he set one hand on the arm of the sofa, bracing himself above you. His pupils were blown out like you’d never seen them before as his other hand gripped tighter onto your thigh.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful,” he rasped out.

It was the closest you ever got to having an orgasm just from the sound of someone’s voice. You whispered a soft, embarrassingly needy, “Fuck,” as you kept your eyes locked on his.

His hand crept from your thigh until it landed in between your legs. You gasped, biting back a whine as he trailed his fingers along your folds with a featherlight touch. Enough for you to feel him there, but not enough to get what you really wanted.

A smirk painted over his features as he applied just a little more pressure. “If you’re this wet already,” he leaned down so that his lips were right next to your ear, “I don’t know if you can really handle me, querida. I haven’t even started yet.”

The moan that came out of you wasn’t planned, but you couldn’t stop it. Your eyes fluttered for a second as his words washed over you but finally you were able to focus on him again. “Let me try.”

The smile on his face was sinful as he leaned down, attaching his lips to yours. Your hands immediately interlocked against the back of his neck, not allowing him the opportunity to pull away now that you had him. You’d thought about what it would be like to kiss Angel more than you cared to admit. It wasn’t something you were exactly proud of, but given the situation you’d put yourself in now, thoughts were the least of your worries.

He tasted like the beer he’d taken from your fridge, like the cigarette he’d probably smoked at the clubhouse before leaving to come and see you. His tongue moving against yours felt like heaven. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip as your fingers slid up and into the short hair above the nape of his neck.

While he was pulling the air from your lungs with the way he was kissing you, his fingers slid up and down your folds, slicking themselves with your wetness and teasing you for just another moment longer before he slowly slid them into you. The moan you let out was something out of Angel’s wildest, wettest dreams. He swallowed the sound eagerly as you kept your lips pressed to his.

You pulled your lips off his only so that you could say his name. It came out like a pant as you pulled him closer to you, moaning quietly into the crook of his neck. His fingers continued to work you over, rendering you an absolute mess as you clawed at his back through the fabric of his shirt.

“How’s that feel?” he murmured against your ear.

You forced your brain to work well enough to string together the words, “So fucking good.”

“How good?” He kissed right below your ear. “Better than him?”

“Angel,” your voice was somewhere between a plea and a warning.

You felt the slight vibration, the hum of his quiet laughter. “You can tell me.”

You gasped as he sped up his rhythm. “Fuck, Angel.”

“C’mon, dulce,” he coaxed, “tell me.” When you didn’t say anything, he stilled his movements, smirking at the whine you let out. “If I’m not doin’ a better job, I can just stop.”

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “You feel s—” your words faltered as he started to move again, “so fucking good.”

He kissed you hard on the lips, his mouth moving hungrily against yours in a vain attempt to distract you from the fact that he was slipping his fingers out of you. You whined against his mouth and the quick laugh he let out would’ve felt insulting if it wasn’t immediately followed by the sound of him unbuckling his jeans.

He pulled away from you, planting his feet back onto the floor just long enough to drop his jeans and boxers to the floor. You were sitting part of the way up, propping yourself on your forearms as you watched him. He was stepping out of the denim that was now in a pile at his feet when he saw you. He chuckled, shaking his head at you as he crawled back on top of you.

“Like what you see?” he asked as he pulled your legs back around his waist.

You hummed in agreement as you slid your hands up his side, your fingers easily finding their way under the ribbed fabric of his tank top. “I’d like it better if I could feel it.”

He let out a breathless laugh as he dropped his face into the crook of your neck. “You’re somethin’ else.”

“You love it,” you mumbled as you tightened your legs around him, desperate to pull him closer and into you.

“Yea,” he moaned as he finally gave in sliding into you, “I really fucking do.”

Whatever you were hoping to say, to taunt him with, instantly fell by the wayside once he was inside of you. There wasn’t a single word or coherent thought in your brain as you wound yourself as tightly around him as you could. Your legs squeezed him tighter, your arms reaching across his back so your nails could dig into him, leaving irrefutable evidence for him to look at the next day.

If you thought that the feeling of him kissing you made your head spin, this was about to send you into the next dimension. You always thought it was so cheesy when people said that it felt like someone was made just for them, but as Angel fought to thrust slowly, to make sure this lasted as long as it could, you couldn’t help but to feel like he really might’ve actually been made for you.

Your eyes were closed, just soaking up the feeling of him on top of you, inside of you, his lips and tongue trailing over your neck. If it had been possible, you would’ve dissolved right into him because of how good it all felt. The moans and whimpers he pulled out of you were ungodly, and they only served to spur him on even more.

Then you felt his teeth graze against the soft, sensitive skin of your neck. He didn’t bite down hard, so you let it go without comment, not wanting to interrupt the moment of bliss you were having if you could help it. He thrust into you harder, the moan you let out making your throat vibrate against his lips. He bit down a little harder, almost starting to suck a dark mark into the side of your neck when you pulled one hand from his back so you could plant it on his chest and push him away. Your body tried to fight you on it, but somehow you managed to win against yourself, putting just enough distance between you so that you could pull his lips back to yours.

“Angel,” you kissed him, “don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he pulled his lips away from yours and latched them back onto your neck. It felt like heaven but you knew it was going to be more trouble than it was worth if you didn’t stop him.

“Don’t, don’t leave any,” you stuttered for a moment when he changed his pace—it was almost a successful distraction, “No marks.”

You felt him chuckle against the column of your throat, the ticklish sensation of his beard against your skin. “Why not?” He kissed you. “Don’t want him knowing that someone else out there is giving you what he can’t?”

Trying to get him to show any self-control felt criminal, and also futile. “Yea, something like that.”

“No fun,” he murmured against you.

You had to laugh at that. “Really?” You carded your fingers through his hair as he pushed his hips to meet yours. “’Cause it feels like you’re having plenty of fun.”

Cupping his jaw, you pulled him back up to you and pulled his bottom lip between your teeth. Before your eyes fluttered closed, you saw the way that he relaxed, melting against you as his hands slid down to grip onto your hips. He held you steady as you continued to kiss him, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge. He must’ve felt it, too, because he quickly caught your wrists in his hands, pinning them back against the arm of the couch.

The second he pulled his lips off of yours, your phone started to vibrate against the top of the coffee table. You both stilled, Angel leaning to look over and see who was calling. He chuckled as he looked back down at you. “I can answer it, if you want.”

“Don’t,” you sounded so breathless, “Don’t you dare.”

“You don’t want him hearin’ this?” he asked as he moved his hips, pulling another moan out of you.

You shook your head in protest but you couldn’t force anymore words out. Relief coursed through you when Angel dropped his head back down, kissing you hard on the lips before moving back to your next. You knew what he was going to do now that you weren’t going to be able to stop him. At this point you didn’t even care. The moan that came out of you when he sunk his teeth into your neck again let him know that you had no real intention of making him stop. You called out his name as you came undone around him, your legs tightening for a moment before going lax, only staying looped around his waist because of how close he had himself pinned to you.

He ran his tongue over the spot on your neck where his teeth had just been, like he was trying to soothe over the sting. It was the furthest thing from your mind, though, as you slowly started to come down from your high. You felt dizzy from it all as his forehead dropped against your shoulder. All of your limbs felt like they were made of jelly as you laid there, stars behind your eyes as Angel eagerly thrust into you. His grip around your wrists tightened, almost bruising as his movements got more intense.

The reality of everything that was happening burst to the forefront of your mind, and it should’ve made you feel badly, but it didn’t. Instead, it sent a second wave of bliss over your body as you wriggled your hands out of his grasp, immediately pulling his lips to yours. He didn’t fight you on it, pushing his tongue into your mouth, moaning as he came inside of you.

He collapsed on top of you, and you could feel the racing beat of his heart as his chest laid pinned to yours. He buried his face in the crook of your neck as he tried to catch his breath. His hands wandered slowly back down to your legs, running over them, pulling warmth from them as they stayed wound around his hips. You let out a hum of contentment as he placed a few lazy kisses to your neck and what he could reach of your shoulder. If you could’ve, you would’ve laid like that all night.

After a few minutes, when both of you got your breathing and heartrates back under control, Angel slowly, carefully pulled out of you. You fought the impulse to whine, not wanting all of it to be over. But you knew that you had no right to be complaining about something being over when it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

He placed a lazy string of kisses down your neck and over your clothed chest before getting himself to sit upright. He reached for his boxers on the floor, lifting his hips up off the couch just long enough to pull them on.

You pushed yourself up just enough to lean back against the arm of the couch. You crossed one leg over the other, pushing your skirt down a little bit like it made any fucking difference at this point.

“Hey,” you lifted your chin a little, waiting for him to look at you, “you good?”

He huffed out a laugh as he shook his head, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. “I’m great.”

Your brain was still a little too muddled to be able to tell if he was being sarcastic or not. He couldn’t make it easy. “What’re you thinking right now?” You paused. “Are you mad?”

He chuckled, a smile starting to curl the ends of his lips as he replayed everything that had just happened. “Fuck no.” He looked over at you, studying your face for a moment before asking, “How messy is this gonna get?”

“What?”

He motioned back and forth between the two of you. “This. Was this a one-time thing? You gonna finally break up with this dude? What’s the deal?”

And just like that, you came crashing down from your high. You dropped your head back against the armrest, staring up at the ceiling as you thought about your answer to his question. “I don’t know.” You dragged your hands down your face. “I know how awful that is.”

“Look,” he reached over, resting one hand on your knee, drumming his fingers, “I don’t give a shit about this guy, or hurting his feelings.” He saw the way you laughed at that. “I don’t. He wants to fuck things up with you? I’ll let him.” He paused, a shit-eating smirk taking over his face as he said, “And I’ll keep fuckin’ you while he’s doing it.”

“Angel!” you chastised him with a laugh.

“I’m serious.” He leaned down, grabbing his jeans so he could start to pull those on too. “I don’t give a fuck about him. But I’ve been tellin’ you, you’re wasting your time.”

“So, what, you think I should just leave him and be with you?”

Angel shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I mean, you should,” he laughed, “but I didn’t say that. Him being a waste of your time has nothing to do with me.”

“Really?” You laughed. “This feels like it has a lot to do with you.”

“Yea, ‘cause I was inside you like, two fuckin’ minutes ago,” he said with a laugh. He stood up, pulling his jeans up and buckling his belt back into place. “You gotta make that choice. I’ll be here, no matter what you end up doing, but,” he raked his fingers back through his hair, “this is your mess to figure out.”

“Why’d you come over, then?”

He shrugged. “I like you. You knew that, though.”

Your voice was quieter than you thought it was going to be as you said, “I know.”

He was about to go grab his boots when he saw the look on your face. “Want me to stay?”

You thought about it for a long moment before finally shaking your head. “I’ll be good. You know, when my legs start working again.”

Angel laughed and shook his head as went to grab his kutte and put his boots back on. You watched him, unable to wipe the smile off your face, or shake the jittery feeling still coursing through your body. You knew that you should feel guilty, and maybe you would in the morning. Or maybe you wouldn’t. It was all a mistake but it certainly didn’t feel like one yet.

He walked back over, standing beside the sofa like he had when he first got to your house. “You sure you’re gonna be good if I go?”

You looked up at him and nodded. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the company.”

He smirked. “If that’s what you wanna call it.”

You rolled your eyes but you could feel your face getting warm. “Goodnight, Angel.”

He laughed, leaning down and kissing you on the forehead. “Night.” He walked back to the door. He was halfway through it when he turned and looked back over his shoulder at you, a smile on his face as he said, “Don’t forget to cover up that hickey.”

You laughed, shaking your head at him as he pulled the door shut behind him. Once again it was just the noise of the television filling your apartment. Reaching up, you lightly pressed your fingers against where Angel’s mark was, already thinking of the best way to cover it up.

[beevean]

And isn't this a telling line.

I know why Lenore says this. It's very clear, and it weighs on her, that she is seen as the weak link of the Styria council. The others keep her around because of her diplomatic skills, but they don't really respect her as a person: we even see the others constantly making fun of her behind her back (Carmilla mocks her for her penchant for caring about animals, Striga implies that Lenore is saccharinely romantic, Morana accuses her of "being off with the fairies"), and if she has really eavesdropped Striga's proposal to hire mercenaries, surely she has heard them dismissing her strategy of "adopting" Hector, which might have been the reason she rushed things with the ring. So yes, her sentiment is understandable: her own friends don't seem to care about her, so she leans on Hector, the only one in the castle who listens to her woes like she's a person and not just a problem-solver.

This is, as per usual with Lenore, highly hypocritical on her part, because she too keeps Hector around but doesn't care about him as a person.

The common conception is that, by S4, Lenore stopped treating Hector like an animal and started to see him as a person, and this is why, only six weeks after effectively raping him into slavery, Hector is so chill with her and even does his best to protect her regardless of his own life. The two have off-screen organically grown to care about each other, perhaps bonding about their positions as the unfavorites: this is what Hector choosing to be with Lenore even after cutting off the ring symbolizes, that he's no longer bound to her by force but sincerely.

But think back on their two major scenes in S4 before the turning point of episode 6.

What are they about? Ignoring the stupid dick jokes, what is the function of both scenes?

Lenore venting about her issues. About how she feels pushed to the side, how she feels useless, how she doesn't see a place for herself in the world Carmilla wants to build, how Carmilla is overreaching which worries Lenore because they'll lose the stability she has worked for, how Carmilla might have lied to her. She even reveals her tragic childhood out of nowhere lmao.

Do you notice what it's missing?

Hector.

Oh, he's physically present. He sasses back because we need to establish them as a couple, but he also asks genuine questions to Lenore ("Are they sidelining you?"), and wants to listen to her. He even attempts a little connection with his "Just like Dracula lied to me," showing empathy.

But do you see Lenore ever asking about how Hector's doing? You know, since she raped a slave ring into his hand and now he's trapped in a castle he didn't want to be in, working for people who have at best ignored him and worst have hurt him in all sorts of ways?

How about asking if he's enjoying the castle? How about asking what is he doing when not working? I'm not even demanding she'd do something as outrageous as asking him if the ring is hurting or expressing any regret that it has to be between them when they get along so well, just fucking be invested in the guy the story is trying so hard to convince me that you care about! Hector has empathy for her, but it sure isn't reciprocated!

It becomes all the more egregious when you remember that Lenore did ask about Hector's desires and life at some point. When she had to manipulate him in S3! Do you realize how utterly scummy this looks? Much like her losing any sign of sexual interest in him once he got out of his cell and gained a shred of attitude, it really looks like Lenore only pretended to be attracted to him physically and mentally to get something out of him, but now that she has managed to trap him and got a good dicking, she won't bother to put in the effort!

Yes, learning about Lenore's inner turmoil is important to establish the rest of the subplot: the sisters losing faith in Carmilla, Lenore being so devastated by Hector's scheming that she'd rather kill herself, all the good stuff. But I think the priority should have been, you know, the victim here.

Well, we know how Lenore reacted the only time Hector expressed any resentment over his condition...

You know this was coming 🙂 the clip I linked may have conveniently cut this exchange, but I, unlike the fandom, am not ignoring this little part.

I want you to take a good, hard look at Lenore's expression, and tell me that she feels any remorse for what she has done. At best, she believes he's just whining for no good reason - why would he, when he lives in a nice castle, gets to do what he likes, and even got good pussy? Oh, silly Hector, joking around like that. At worst, she looks offended to be called out like that, because he's breaking the nice façade they have going on. And considering that the ring is objectively a failure because it barely does what it was meant to do, this only gives credit to my interpretation that she's pissy that her master plan didn't work as she imagined and only made things worse. It's not about how Hector feels, it's about her pride in her skills.

This line is, conceptually, a continuation of this sentiment:

"You're not a real person, Hector. Stop complaining, and be thankful for what I give you. You can stand there looking pretty, like a good boy, and do nice things for me, but you're not allowed to express yourself: you'll make me look bad."

Tell me again how much she changed after the timeskip?

(and no, I don't believe Lenore was lying in this scene to play tough with the others. As much as I like the idea of her pretending to be evil to "fit in" a group of cruel vampires, this giddy, dehumanizing behavior is supported in other scenes where no one is around. There is, instead, enough proof to support the theory that Lenore resorted to forcing the ring on Hector instead of continuing with her manipulations because she got offended that Striga underestimated her methods, again fitting with her touchiness over being seen as "weak" or soft. It's about, once again, her pride.)

As the cherry on top, the line I quoted at the very beginning? Directly follows this. Lenore dismisses her rape of Hector, Hector concedes the point and urges her to keep talking about her woes, and she thanks him for wanting to listen to her. The very same thing she vehemently refused to do for him. Lenore angrily shuts down Hector when he tries to express himself in a way that would make her feel bad, but rewards him with appreciation when he acquiesces and makes her feel cared for. If this isn't an encapsulation of their dynamic, I don't know what is.

So let's move on before I spontaneously combust, because I'm not done! Because there's also her suicide! Or, to be more precise, her verbal suicide note.

TvTropes phrases her as killing herself out of guilt:

I would love to see how they came to this interpretation, considering Lenore makes it all about, guess what? Herself:

I don't see any "I'm sorry for what I put you through. I believe your life will be better off without me keeping you chained here." Now that would show "severe guilt", not a shitty "welp, things have happened". No, she sounds so damn flippant no wonder her fans see this as an OOC decision. But even in the best interpretation I can give, she killed herself out of her abject failure at keeping the council together, and because Hector, who was also responsible for taking her queen life away from her (not that she points it out), made her realize that this is all her existence will amount to, even long after he and Isaac will be dead (which is why the latter shouldn't even factor into her choice: in the grand scheme of things that she has just finished talking about, he doesn't matter, he's going to die in 40 years or so).

Hector is nowhere near her thoughts, except for a quick "I'm sorry I can't be here to help you through… whatever comes next", appended there like an afterthought, but still expressing the sentiment that Lenore would rather leave Hector alone because she feels too sorry for herself to even bear sticking around for a few more decades, which are nothing for a centuries-old vampire.

By the way, what concerns her about her vampiric power is not that she'll cause harm to people, but that she'll always crave more power and end up losing her mind like Carmilla, which means her existence will inevitably lead to feeling miserable. It's all about her, again.

Back to the point, that very line, that overly dismissing non-apology, shows how little Lenore is concerned about Hector's feelings: he wanted to be with her, even after cutting the finger where she forced the slave ring on him, really you couldn't have a purer declaration of love - and her response is basically "well I don't, bye". Girl even says, verbatim, that Carmilla's desire for power "ruined her life", as if Hector had been living in paradise ever since Carmilla barged her way into his life while looking for power. Isaac, of all people, had the decency to ask about how Hector's faring without a finger, while she, the very reason Hector had to mutilate himself, doesn't, because she's too busy drinking her sorrows away, because only her sorrows matter - when Hector cut off his finger, her main reaction was despair that she lost power over him and Isaac was now free to kill Carmilla. It's really hard to feel sorry for her suicidal intentions when she sounds and behaves so dismissively, and her suicide feels less like dictated by despair and more like she's running away from the consequences of her actions or, worse, from a few decades of a less than comfortable life.

And I'm supposed to be touched that she decides to look at Hector rather than the sun? It rings hollow, like many emotional moments in the show when it wants to wring tears out of you without putting in the necessary effort to build the necessary context - but unlike Dracula's "I'm killing my boy", which is simply less effective due to lack of concrete proof that he used to be a good father to Alucard, Lenore's final act feels like an active mockery after everything I pointed out.

(at least Lenore asks Hector "What will you do?" before sunning herself. This is the most interest she has ever shown in him as a person. Right before killing herself, something she knows will cause him grief, and after, as I mentioned, confirming she's not willing to support him anyway. peak romance)

So let's recap. How does Lenore show care for Hector? He keeps him in nice living conditions, as she promised: he can walk all around the castle, wear fancy clothes, do the work he likes, talk with other people, he's doing perfectly fine. She relies on him for emotional support, showing a modicum of trust. She's concerned for his safety: she "protects" him from Carmilla's ire at his stalling, and most noticeably she chooses to go to him and attempt to flee together instead of going to Carmilla when Isaac storms the castle. And that's it.

He's her pet. After all this time, Hector is still her damn pet: just because she doesn't call him "good boy" while on a leash anymore, doesn't mean the attitude has changed. Sure, you make sure your dog has all the comforts it needs, you might vent to it when you come home from a grueling day at work, and you make sure it doesn't run into traffic, but it's not like you're particularly interested in your dog's opinions or its life, right?

Everything, and I do mean everything Lenore does, ever since being introduced, screams of deep self-centeredness and lack of empathy. She only cares about herself, what she's going through, her status, her objectives, being respected, and most importantly having the upper hand in any situation. And she will trample over anything to get what she wants, and she will fold when she doesn't. I have shown more than enough proof of this. Her supposed "love for animals" is a mask to look, or feel, better than she is: and she will outright ignore any proof she is not as good as she believes to be.

tl;dr: Lenore is still loving Hector like a vampire would. I said it many times, but it bears repeating.

I genuinely love this line. I have quoted it many times. It is a very good interpretation of the way predators and abusers love, which is what vampires are. And I understand that the show didn't have the time to elaborate on this, but through Lenore, it could have given us so much food for thought.

Is Lenore really the kindest she could be? She took pity on Hector when he was dragged in the castle, she found a way to make him useful (in theory) despite her sisters' skepticism therefore allowing him to live, she kept her word when she promised him a comfortable life (and hopefully forgot about her promise to use him as a sex slave, the story conveniently ignores it), she relies on him for emotional support, and in the end she actively shows that he wants him to be safe from any harm. For someone like Hector, used to nothing but pain and rejection, these crumbs would look like a feast. But is this love? Do they even care about each other as people, or are they only each other's emotional crutches? Can you ask for more? Could Lenore do more? Are all the cruel, humiliating actions she took in S3 justifiable or understandable or forgivable due to her nature? Is she self-centered because she's a vampire, and therefore all she did is really her best love language, and this is why Hector, who has a similar love language shown in him reanimating dead animals to bind them to him through magic, never held all her previous abuse against her; or is she self-centered as a person, a flaw she never overcame, and Hector should seek the love he craves from someone else? Or, better yet, stop craving love, since it only made him suffer?

How human can she truly be? If she's nothing more than a vampire, then yes, what she did to Hector can only be read through the lens of a different species loving in a different way, but that would reduce her to the level of an unintelligent animal unable to rise above her instincts, and it would mean her efforts to be better than her species were for nothing. If she is more than a vampire like she so desperately wants to be, committing to the human values of pacifism and diplomacy that her kind scoffs at, then her behavior is as human as a toxic human can be, and condemnable.

Even better, Dracula of all people refutes Carmilla's claim. Carmilla herself mocked Dracula because he did what no vampire does with their human lover: he let Lisa free to go as she pleased, instead of turning her into a vampire or chaining her to the castle. Carmilla, used to men who take things from women, saw it as proof he didn't actually care about his "pet", but we as humans see it as genuine respect. Sure, after Lisa's death Dracula's brand of love is even more destructive than normal and his very plan of destroying mankind is disrespecting her memory, but not only the two had natural mutual chemistry when they just met, Dracula effectively loves like a human would. A severely unhinged human, but still, he never expresses the idea that he saw Lisa as his property. In this sense, Lenore doesn't go beyond the limits of her own species.

The show doesn't need to give us precise answers, but these questions do fit the general themes of the story, and they should have been hinted at.

But instead, we are meant to take Lenore's "goodness" at face value, with zero conflict. We know this, because Hector barely expresses himself in S4.

There is a noticeable lack of internal turmoil in him, and with all the screentime he got, most notably the montage in S4E2, he could have shown it. Imagine if he had developed the tic of fiddling with the ring: after six weeks, he still can't get used to this foreign object stuck on his finger (this would also be foreshadowing for his decision to cut it). Imagine if, in the library, we had a scene of him glimpsing outside, and then glancing at the ring, implying that he feels the desire to escape but knowing that he's trapped. Imagine a scene where, while bantering, he reaches for Lenore with his ringed hand, the scene putting an uncomfortable focus on it. Sure, they might be sassing and bantering and exchanging dick jokes, but it's an awkward, fragile façade, a warm genuine relationship all but made impossible by Lenore's past callousness.

Instead, the season politely removes any reminder that Hector has been living as a glorified slave after being intimately betrayed and dehumanized by someone he had grown to care about. Aside from not even forcing him to obey orders, the ring only briefly activates when he forges a Night Creature, and it looks like it hurts, but Hector doesn't linger on it because he has to take care of the creature: he doesn't express any sort of emotion over the fact that the sisters have taken even this one pleasure from him. And, as I said in the first part, he never speaks about himself with Lenore, because she's the only one who matters. There is no on-screen struggle to reconcile the Lenore who chooses to talk to him over her sisters, which indicates a moderate amount of intimacy, and the Lenore who smirked at his agony when she betrayed him mid-sex. In fact, the one time he even dares to challenge Lenore for the cruel way she "solved his problem", he gets told more or less "you got your dick hard and wet so you have no right to complain," and he quietly relents to allow her to finish her sad vent - and as an extra kick in the balls, he is appreciated for giving her the chance to keep complaining. This is what passes as ship tease! How isn't this enough proof that he, as a person, has never mattered, not just for Lenore but the story as a whole?

This one gesture is the closest time he gets to show inner turmoil, and it's still framed as character development for Lenore's sake, not his. That stump is the symbol of all the hardships Hector went through: he is giving Lenore the freedom that she herself took from him, that he had to regain by mutilating himself. Does he show any sign of being torn over this irony? No. This is nothing more than a romantic gesture. Hector grew more than Lenore did, but only enough for the show to paint her in the best light.

After all, unlike Isaac who was able to articulate how much he has come to appreciate life and how he's willing to live fully because he is a person worth living for himself, when Hector is asked what he wants, his answer is "I want to be left alone with Lenore" while looking with guilt and concern at his still bleeding stump. Hector's only desire is to soothe Lenore's hurt feelings like he has been doing ever since she raped him into a position of pet. This could have been painted as the depressing sign that Hector still hasn't grown from his instinct to crawl back towards the people who hurt him, or even as the result of his past tortures making him lose his will to live, and being confused on what to do with his life now that Isaac is giving him a second chance. But his emotions don't matter. This is meant to be seen as the proof that he loves Lenore so much, he wants her even without the binding of the ring.

A light criticism I have often read about Lenector in S4 is that they should have shown mending their relationship after Lenore's "scheme" (which is a nice word for what she did). My question is, why? Why can't it be treated like the Moral Event Horizon it is? Lenore doesn't show any sign that she was coerced into it or reluctant, and as I have proven there is zero regret in her actions and words. Lenore was a complacent part of the council, an important part even, and the sentiment she expresses in S4 is not "wow I did some fucked up shit for my sisters' sake" but "this plan is starting to feel inconvenient to me". Her kindness is hollow, and if Hector forgave her and slotted her in his category of "good people", it's only because his standards for basic decency are below hell, something that the show never addresses or lets him grow out of, only mocks him for.

To prove my point, there was the easiest compromise between "Hector setting the castle on fire and smashing Carmilla's and Lenore's skull with his hammer", which would have been cathartic but overall a sign of negative development, and him blithely loving his abuser: make him leave. Make him grow from a manchild hidden from the world to a brave man willing to face the world. Make him spare Lenore's life as appreciation for how she took care of him when no one would, but decide that he deserves better than what a vampire can give him.

But no, he isn't even granted this much dignity: his last shot in the entire series is him standing heartbroken next to Lenore's remains, stuck in the same castle Lenore forced him in, with no plans to build himself a better life (only writing a book about "his mistakes", which just feels spiteful at this point - he regrets his stupidity more than Isaac regrets the blood of innocents on his hands), with nothing left in his life isaac and whatever tentative friendship they could build doesn't count because hector routinely forgets about his existence because he only wanted to be with Lenore and he couldn't even have that. Fucking Dracula got a much more saccharine ending than he deserved.

But narrative cruelty aside, Hector's entire character revolves around Lenore, who in turn revolves around herself.

This is a profound narrative failure, from multiple angles. This is why I say that Hector effectively stops being a character in S3: his emotions and desires no longer matter unless it's for torture porn or painting him as stupid. This is why I cannot take seriously his big badass "redeeming" moment in S4E6, on top of him regressing morally and effectively only aiding Isaac who has hogged all the spotlight: he may have become smarter, but he doesn't have any significant character development. This is why I don't see the poignancy of him forgiving Lenore for taking advantage of him in the worst way she could have, or of him letting her go when she chooses death over him: it only looks like the same lack of spine that has fucked him over ever since his introduction (he could have trapped Lenore out of cruel mercy, but it's clear that it's just good-hearted mercy). This is why I don't see Lenore as a "good", nuanced person who went through character development and should have ended the story marrying Hector: she has depth (shown too little too late, but it's there), but it's completely negative depth, because the more I look inside her, the viler she gets.

And this could have been great! We could have had such a gripping story about the intricacies of abuse, how it's not just a man beating a woman, but yes it's made also of good parts, your abuser can still do good to you and you still deserve better than those scraps. Lenore and Hector's relationship could have been an intriguing discussion on morality, or the lack thereof, about the nuances of abuse and "kindness", the torn mixed feelings between anger and attachment, how being "human" doesn't mean being "good". In a well written story, Lenector would be one hell of a toxic, co-dependent relationship, built on necessity, shared misery, lies, mistrust, mutual harm, power games, and the eventual realization that they can only thrive if kept apart - if Lenore can even thrive, as a cursed undead doomed to only bring misery to the world and herself.

But S4 needed to be fluffy because S3 was the edgiest shit a 14 yo could write, and in its desperate attempt to write Lenector as yet another sassy cute couple like every straight couple in NFCV, the squandered potential and eagerness to forget about all the uncomfortable parts of their story in S3 becomes actively offensive, and I will never, ever understand what everyone sees in them, to the point that the arguments that Lenore is actually a good loving person honestly worry me.

There is a good story here, with a good villain and complex psychology. It's not the story presented on-screen, which is simplified, dishonest, and disgusting.

[velvetvexations]

Radical feminism wouldn't even be good if it were pointed entirely at cis men. The fact that it overreaches as much as it does is just the sheer depth of how bad it is.

That sounds a lot like ignoring trans women who want and get SRS, too.

There are a million factors that goes into who the patriarchy rewards and who it punishes, but desirability is one of them, yes, and the trans men who are considered "desirable" to cishet men are often put in severe danger by that fact.

Access to healthcare can vary a lot here. Certainly though, the queer community in general has something of a problem with this. I was really annoyed when people started making a big deal about how queer tourists couldn't go ride some new roller coaster in Saudi Arabia. Like, yeah, that's the issue, queer Westerners with the money to circumnavigate the globe every time a new amusement park ride comes out being denied their zoom-zooms.

that's me!

[froggy-1988]

Hate Speech Laws - Rowling

Oh, J.K.Rowling is actually doing something right - in a wrong way but...

The new hate speech laws in Scotland were pushed through to give the police extra powers, under it people can accuse you of spreading 'hate' even if the conversation happens in your own home. The majority of people do not support it, as many see it as taking away too much freedom but it was pushed through parliament anyways.

Even ignoring the ideological issue - it was pushed through fast, with little training for the police how to enforce it, and no extra police resources given to deal with the vast influx of 'hate speech crimes' - now, yes, I admit some of this might get horrible people of the Internet but a whole lot of people are just going to start reporting neighbors, teachers ect ... Who have annoyed them. It is extremely open to abuse. The online reporting forms allow you to anonymously make a report.

So far - in no surprises whatsoever the Scottish police themselves were reported to be breaking the new laws over language they used to describe working class white men (thank you Scotland's Indian alliance for fighting that one) and had to remove parts of their website. And the current Scottish leader has had thousands of hate speech reports against him for a speech he gave about how there were too many white people in power in Scotland (diversity is important but Scotland is still a white majority country, as is the UK, and the top three politicians in the UK are of south East Asian background - when south East Asians make up 2% of the country - which isn't a problem until you start complaining that too many white people are in power when actually based on breaking down the racial percentages of the UK there is becoming an underrepresentation- basically, he rubbed people up the wrong way) .

Anyways in comes Rowling, happily and blatantly breaking the laws on day one and calling the police to just arrest her - how is this a good move - well, she has a world wide audience and is drawing attention to this badly written and easily abused law. The police only have two options, arrest her and have a full very public trial putting every sentence of this new law under the microscope in a way it simply cannot stand up to.

2) Don't arrest her, proving the law cannot be enforced and hence is useless. Also if then arresting anybody else upon it they have the defense that the law is not being equally applied as - look at J.K.Rowling.

So basically - Rowling is calling out the Scottish government on this one. Is increasing scrutiny and awareness of what is a badly thought out and easily open to abuse law.

Obviously, hate speech on the Internet is an issue. Something should be done about it, and yes - people in the UK are arrested for making serious threats against people online, but this law is seen as many to be an overreach that give too much power to the police.

[clinically-obssessed]

A New Interpretation of the Puzzle Pieces Song

It's been over a year since I actually watched the episode the Puzzle Pieces song comes from, but it came up on my Spotify yesterday, and listening to it again I realized just how messed up it is. I think the song is foreshadowing Roman's break from the group in a big way. Though on a surface level it seems like it reinforces the group's friendship and helps them talk through their problems, a closer reading reveals the cracks beneath the facade and how Roman in particular is being ignored.

To begin with, the song is started off by Roman, who is responding directly to the conflict between himself and Logan. The lyrics are related clearly to the immediate situation before them, and Logan's initial interjection ("Another song? Really?") demonstrates that the conflict between them has not yet been resolved (which is, of course, the purpose of the song). However, Patton and Virgil immediately jump in and start talking about their own problems, distracting from the original conflict and drawing all of the attention to themselves. After each of their verses, Roman gives a spoken expression of pity, showing that the two have successfully deflected the attention to themselves. I'm sure you guys have met those people who have to make every problem pertain to them somehow. If you ever talk about something you've dealt with, they'll start talking about how they had to go through something even worse. That's the vibe I'm getting from this song's structure.

Next, we come to Roman's part, which he prefaces by asking permission to join in. It's his song; he started it to address his own conflict, and the others have completely taken over and made it about them. He then tries (albiet in a tactless manner) to express his frustration with the group "not getting" him, likely a response to the fact that they've commandeered his song and paid little attention to what he was trying to say. Thomas, Virgil, and Patton then start psychoanalyzing him. They blame his feelings on the fact that he is feeling "low" rather than entertaining the possibility that they could be at fault too. This, of course, only serves to exacerbate Roman's frustration. This, too, can be understood more clearly when you think about your own life. Have you ever gotten into an argument with someone and, rather than respond to what you are actually saying, they just start talking about you as a person? We've all met armchair psychologists, and they can be really annoying because they never seem to listen. That's what's going on with Virgil, Patton, and Thomas - they have already decided that Roman's attitudes toward them are a result of some deeper psychological state and not because of their own failure to listen to him.

Finally, I want to address three passive-aggressive remarks from the trio of terror which highlight their devaluation of Roman.

"In almost any case, we embrace you" - The way "almost" is emphasized in this sentence draws attention to the fact that the group's acceptance is conditional, and there are exceptions. If someone said this to me, my first thought would be "almost any case? What does that mean?" Of course, in real life, almost every relationship will be conditional (would you still be friends with someone if they murdered your family?), but you wouldn't feel the need to emphasize that unless you wanted them to watch their behavior. Roman hasn't done anything seriously worthy of scorn, so they mustn't be too concerned with him violating those conditions, unless either they have much more strict & overreaching requirements of Roman than they are suggesting or they simply want him to believe he should not speak out about his feelings.

"No one hates you" - "Not hate" and love are two very different things. It reminds me of when people say "Yeah, I can tolerate your sexuality, but don't do it around me." It has that connotation of grudging pseudo-acceptance. Yeah, Roman, we think you're an annoying sad-sack, but at least we don't hate you.

"Everybody has flaws, but with no you at all, I'm incomplete" - The phrasing of this is ambiguous. Is "everybody" referring to Roman or Thomas? I think the most obvious interpretation is that "everybody has flaws" refers to Roman's supposed negative emotions, but the second half of the sentence is referring to Thomas on the whole, which implies that "everybody" could also be referring to Thomas. If read this way, it seems like a real backhanded compliment, as he is essentially calling Roman a flaw. It's how you'd expect him to talk about the Dark Sides.

Now, this more cynical reading of the song is clearly not the interpretation most people (myself included) would have on the first listen. Someone who disagrees with this interpretation could argue that the song really is supposed to be uplifting and resolve some of the tension between the characters. There are a few major points of objection that I anticipate:

The song is not Roman's specifically and was always intended to be about all of the characters. The strongest evidence for this is that at the end of Roman's first verse, he states that "we lash out at our loved ones / disregarding our bond's sanctity", a line which suggests that the song's overall topic is about friendship and working through emotions that may challenge it. Read in this light, it is practically an invitation for the others to chime in with their own verses pertaining to that topic. However, I would point to the centrality of Logan's objections to and within the song (as Logan's conflict with Roman was the original thing that triggered it) as evidence that really it is supposed to be about the direct conflict between Roman and Logan. Furthermore, the fact that Roman is the only character who asks permission to sing is a deliberate detail that demonstrates his own feelings of ostracism, even though he is the one who started singing in the first place.

The other characters are right about the reason behind Roman's lashing out. After all, the beginning verse of the song frames the issue as one that is about "lashing out at loved ones" because "the problems at play are not all plain to see," which encourages a more psychological reading of Roman & Logan's conflict. When he objects to their characterization of his actions as a consequence of his sadness, he responds with typical tough guy responses because he is trying to save face. With that being said, I am still inclined to see it as a way for the others to avoid admitting wrongdoing and sweep his feelings under the rug. It is undoubtedly true that Roman said what he did because he feels bad, but the reason he feels bad is not obscure at all because he says it outright - it is because he feels like the others don't get him. Rather than engage seriously with this point, however, the others immediately become defensive. Though he formulated it in a way that comes across as arrogant ("I'm just too fab for you fools"), what he said is not a grave insult. The other three deliberately focus on the first part rather than his real point ("I feel like you don't get me"). Furthermore, the initial statement that the problems at play are not all plain to see may not refer to the fact that they are not clear to Roman himself, but rather that the rest of the group fails to see them.

The three "passive aggressive" statements are being read uncharitably and are simply responses to what they perceive to be Roman's issue. The others seem to believe that Roman thinks they are out to get him, and that is why they say that they embrace him and no one hates him. The flaw being referred to in the final quote is Roman's flaw of being overly paranoid, and the second part of the lyric is intended to reinforce that Roman is still part of the group. At best, though, this still demonstrates that the others are not listening to Roman. His issue is not that he thinks they hate him, it's that he feels misunderstood, and Virgil, Patton, and Thomas seem to have overreacted. The inclusion of "almost" is still weird. The line could easily have been "No matter what you say, we embrace you" or "No matter what the case, we embrace you." The qualifier of "almost" did not have to feature at all, but the delivery of that lyric places so much emphasis on that particular word.

To sum it all up, I think the song "Puzzle Pieces" is foreshadowing a greater conflict between Roman and the rest of the group, perhaps even suggesting that he will duck out. Though it has a seemingly innocent and wholesome theme about friendship and acceptance, a closer look reveals that these are being used to cover up the flaws within the dynamic and avoid seriously confronting Roman's feelings.

[icaruskeyartist]

Experimenting with a writing style for TMA AU... tempted to tag pillowspace for opinions but. No, I'll hold off cause this doesn't have DCA or Charlie in it and that feels like an overreach.

You are haunted. 

You don’t remember when you first realized the pillow on the unused side of your bed is an offering to whatever it is that’s made its home in you. Maybe it has always lived inside you and you only became aware when you didn’t stay dead. 

The human body is made up of trillions of microscopic lives, dying and being born again and again. Perhaps you’re haunted by all the cells that lived as you. Did they die with you? Did they return when the paramedics restarted your heart? Or had they been completely oblivious to the end they so narrowly avoided? 

Regardless, you are haunted. 

It comes in the quiet moments. You remove your prosthetic to sleep, but you can still feel the way your ankle pops in protest as you tuck yourself under the blankets. You forget to put your chair back in the shower and fall because you expected to put your weight on two feet instead of the one. You’d gone into urgent care after that incident and gotten three stitches hidden in the tangled curls of your hairline. There’s a scar there now, and you’d joked about cracking your egg again. 

There are days you find yourself staring at the escalators, grateful that Bonnie is too large, too heavy to take them. If he questions why you switch sides and take his hand in the elevator, he doesn’t ask. 

You were inspired to apply as a handler because of your prosthetic. It’d been created by someone who used to work for FazCo, your doctor had explained. Something meant to mimic human movement more closely, be more comfortable for your body. You’re not sure your body agrees. It always hurts though, so maybe the metal means nothing. Or maybe it’s haunted too. 

You haven’t worked since before the accident. It feels like a lifetime ago (and once again you find yourself wondering how many lifetimes ago was it for your cells. You heard once that the human body regenerates entirely every seven years, but when you looked it up the answer was mixed. It’s been many many lifetimes for your skin). You had to learn how to walk with crutches and metal pins, with different legs, before you got the one you use now. The pins in your remaining leg ache when your cold. And you’re always cold, except when you’re curled up face the empty pillow, wondering who sleeps with you. 

You’d tried dating again, a few times. You’re a flirt, and you’re genuine, and people like that about you. They don’t like your jokes or the fact you set aside a portion of your meal for your ancestors. You explain why you do it—it’s a sign of respect and you like to share. They don’t really care. 

You talk less about death and ghosts, but it feels like you’re ignoring those who came before. You remember walking through Chinatown with Mother, her explaining the shrines she remembers from home, her face distant and sad. You didn’t know why she’d married your father. You like to pretend you still don’t know. 

There’s a shrine in your apartment. It’s tucked in the corner and you wonder sometimes if praying is meant to be a conversation. You don’t change though. Maybe your ancestors like your jokes and questions. Maybe they hate it, but you’re the only daughter of an only daughter. They don’t have many options. 

Will someone talk to you when you die for the last time? 

Your therapist questions if this obsession is healthy, but your first love was the werewolf on the cover of one of Mother’s books and you picked a job on a whim, not really thinking through how much walking you’d have to do or how many escalators there can be in one building. How looking at them makes the leg that’s no longer there spark with pain. You squeeze Bonnie’s hand tight, and he squeezes back, silently reassuring. 

You like talking with Bonnie. He doesn’t make you feel weird for loving bugs and flirting and being genuine and sharing food with ghosts. Sometimes you think he’s haunted too. But there’s never time to ask. And if you ask, what if that changes things for the worse? So you don’t, but you wind up going down a wikipedia rabbit hole about rabbits and AI and where metal comes from. You see a moth and catch it to show Bonnie before releasing it outside. 

Lunar moths don’t have mouths or a digestive system. You don’t tell Bonnie that. When you’ve told people that before, they become incredibly sad and miss that the moth has already gone through a transformation once. And you like making Bonnie happy. 

You like making people happy. You wish your jokes were funnier. Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with death you would be liked more. 

But you can’t help it. Your body is haunted. And most of the time you’re fairly certain it’s you doing the haunting. 

[amrv-5]

Hiiii Parker, for the writing meme, from S2G2 chapter 19, because I absolutely love Hawkeye’s inner monologue in this section:

He wondered what things were like over in the USSR. What they had thought of the war, during. Had it been just as roundly ignored except for, he figured, a few nervous mothers? Angry fathers? Heartbroken widows? Was there, even now, some Soviet doctor sprawled across his lover’s lap, sinking into despair, disgusted by the actions of his nation’s military, of every military, distrustful of its government, losing hope in humanity, pulling now only for the person-to-person good that could be accomplished outside of any sort of grander organization—was its citizenry as largely ambivalent to the war as the United States’ had been? Did that, too, upset him, this imaginary healer?

So much loss and destruction, and all for a piece of land approximately the size of Nebraska.

A childish thought: why couldn’t everybody just get along, and be nice? Damn the geopolitical complexities, the social nuances, the ideological impasses. Couldn’t everybody just sit the hell down and shut up and break bread? Would it be so terribly hard to just let everybody alone—except when they needed help?

BJ shifted his weight, his hand still moving in gentle circles over Hawkeye’s torso.

Hawkeye prepared to be pushed away, sinking into mild despondency.

Something grazed his lips, and he opened his eyes.

BJ was holding a strawberry to his mouth, expression soft.

Hawkeye closed his eyes, chest aching. Who was he kidding—the bad was so unbearable precisely because there was good in the world, and beauty, and light. Because people could be very, very kind, because, at the best of times, and even, dare he believe it, most times, everybody in the world was constantly engaged in minute acts of caretaking.

He opened his mouth. The strawberry was good. Sweet, ripe, tasting of summer.

BJ’s thumb brushed the curve of his lower lip before his hand withdrew.

And before he could spend too long focusing on the mechanics by which somebody obtained fresh strawberries in February, what massive logistics were involved, the ridiculous and shameful decadence of having ripe fruit available every day of the year while people elsewhere starved, there was another strawberry at his mouth.

Aghhhhhhh LISA HELLO!!!!!!! This is one of my favorite sections of the whole damned piece I’m so thrilled you picked it out:

OKAY AHHHHH I’m still. AHHHHHH about this being picked omg. Okay this is going to get so long I’m so sorry.

Okay, so, blow-by-blow, right off the bat we’ve got an invocation of the USSR and the shadow of nuclear proliferation, the anxiety of which (not sure if this is obvious? It might be so buried in implication it’s only clear after I say it outright) creeps throughout the background of S2G2. But I also tried to flip that and here have Hawkeye framing the war as a crime of government, and law-of-large-numbers himself into empathizing with a potential doctor from the “other” side who, after all, he has far more in common with than an American general.

But the ‘crime of government’ framing turns out to be too simplistic, actually, because Hawkeye half-indicts the citizenry of each country for their perceived apathy. It’s hard to see significant suffering and realize that your society has not just ignored it but in many ways actually profited from it, and appears entirely unwilling to do anything to prevent similar future tragedies. That’s insane-making, and another recurrent S2G2 Hawk-thought—is it really insane to be devastated by devastating realities?

And from there we hit maybe my most controversial Hawkeye characterization, which is that I agree with Alan Alda when he said Hawkeye isn’t actually an extremely politically (American) liberal character. By that I mean that I primarily see Hawkeye as a proponent of autonomy, and concerned with government overreach (he was drafted, after all), rather than a capital-D Democrat. He avoids the libertarian label, though, by being pretty clearly anti-capitalist, pro-education, and also by advocating for helping others in need while disavowing his government. Does this make him, like, an anarchist? I don’t really know, I’m not a poli-sci guy. He just thinks that people should be allowed to read or watch or wear or do with their own bodies whatever they want, so long as it isn’t hurting anybody.

Anyway, as readers know he’s been on a long, complex, and largely silent spiral this chapter. It’s a lot of heady stuff, reflecting on reflections of his despair, very internal work, and this is the final car of an exhausting freight train of thought.

Which is why we’ve got BJ to draw Hawkeye out of his head and back to the physical. He’s a grounding presence here, holding Hawkeye in his lap, touching him gently, literally feeding him.

At which point Hawkeye gets a reflection on the central catch of his despair, and why he can’t make himself entirely give up on humanity, even when it would be easier to do so: People can be so good.

The phrasing of his realization, by the way, is a big-time homage to the Ross Gay essayette “The sanctity of trains” from The Book of Delights, which basically changed my life via radio (I might write about this someday, or not, it’s not very interesting) and which anyway everybody should go read instantly:

“...I suppose I could spend time theorizing how it is that people are not bad to each other, but that's really not the point. The point is that in almost every instance of our lives — our social lives — we are, if we pay attention, in the midst of an almost constant, if subtle, caretaking. Holding doors open, offering elbows at crosswalks, letting someone else go first, helping with the heavy bags, reaching what's too high or what's been dropped, pulling someone back to their feet, stopping at the car wreck, at the struck dog, the alternating merge, also known as the zipper — this caretaking is our default mode, and it's always a lie that convinces us to act or believe otherwise — always.”

The rest of this is Hawkeye noticing the caretaking, letting himself accept it, allowing himself to just focus on feeling physically okay, the pleasure of being held and having something nice to eat. These are pretty obviously central themes in a lot of my work—the continuing unsolvedness of the big questions, the lingering suspicion of the validity of despair, and then tentatively finding contentment in just being an embodied animal. Not apathy, not naivety, but intentionally allowing oneself to find moments of peace because it is necessary for survival.

+Bonus my clear affection for food/feeding as love, because I’m incapable of keeping that from infiltrating everything I write yaaay. It's just so shatteringly romantic to me. Ugh. Anyway. THANK YOU SORRY THIS IS SO LONG

[bulldyke-rider]

I don’t understand why you continuously say anything about bi women when you know you’re gonna have people yelling at you for a full week about it. It’s like you are willingly walking into a bear trap at this point. And it’s mostly things that are not your business. You allow yourself to make generalizing, overreaching statement about a group of women you don’t belong to, a life and experiences you’ve never had. There’s a double standard that the lesbian experience is something bisexuals can’t understand (which is true) but it never seems to be understood that lesbians can’t understand the bisexual experience and talking about it like you get it 100% based on an outside perspective looking in is gonna leave you making assumptions that are ignorant and insulting, even if that wasn’t your intention. That’s why bisexuals get so angry when we are generalized and our lives are spoken of as if they aren’t as complex as your life. You speak about bisexuals like we are too braindead to understand our own lives. It feels like you are watching us from a distance like animals at a zoo and making observations with the way you speak. You believe you have authority on the subject of bisexuality and bi people when you don’t. That why people don’t like you and get mad you open your mouth about bisexuals for the hundredth time.

Again, a lot of the things you're saying don't make sense given the context, so my next post is gonna be about bi women having lower reading comprehension.

[superborb]

The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity, by David Graeber and David Wengrow

This 700 page tome is an attempt to change the narrative of how humans organize themselves and therefore implicitly critique the rigidity of our society now. Overall, I learned a LOT from the book; the details of many of the societies, historical and indigenous, were new to me and it was organized in a novel way. From lirazel's rec, which actually details the arguments the book makes. The main flaw is that while it's fun to read takedowns, the book often tilts into defensive territory and too much ink is spilled on this. It reads like a series of university lectures, which is far too repetitive for a book. And yet despite this, sometimes their own hypotheses were very much citation needed, when they overreached. A collection of interesting tidbits: - Many cultures made seasonal changes of social structure; the variations in the seasonal changes are also huge. For example, European carnival, when social structures are turned upside down. - "Scholars and professional researchers, on the other hand, have to actually make a considerable effort to remain so ignorant" lol - A great deal of space is devoted to hammering the point home that it was Native American ideas of democracy and free thinking that started the Enlightenment, and it was not brought over from Europe with the guns and germs etc. (This was a very important point! It was repeated a LOT.) (Also, our ideas of more indulgent child rearing originate there too.) - Ancient Greeks considered elections not democratic and an aristocratic mode (sortition was the democratic choice)-- and this carried through for Medieval Europe as well. - There was a long period of time when people explored farming (on the flood plains ofc), while still hunting/foraging. Farming was originally a method of last resort, to get food out of less productive land. - The process of schismogenesis, when neighboring groups start defining themselves in opposition to each other. - The authors posit the basic freedoms are to move, to disobey, to rearrange social ties. "To move" is the most basic one, from which the others derive; obviously has implications for our current society. - The space in between the famous dynasties and empires is when people were probably least oppressed etc, and more work should be devoted to that. - Humans always CHOOSE how their communities are shaped deliberately. Anyway, I learned a lot from the book, but I feel like it could have used some tightening. I also am not necessarily completely convinced of all the presented evidence, BUT I think the points it makes are valuable nonetheless. On the scale of popsci books, it's on the pop side, very much a brief survey, but is not annoyingly so.

[mealvaan]

Friable

Don’t ring him.

Vahri'a rolls the linkpearl between his fingers for the umpteenth time that day. The sunset filtering through the tent flaps hits it for a moment — and then fades to nothing once more, hidden under the crook of his thumb. There is a resounding mantra in his head.

Don’t ring him.

One has to be strategic when it comes to machinations of the heart. Most would compare such sentiments to a dance, where two people move in efforts to compliment one another, flawlessly adjust to each other’s pace. 

No, Vahri'a considers his love an art of war. To read his opponent’s moves, to pre-empt and to adapt, to avoid being the first one to fall at all costs. He is a benevolent, reasonable general — the moment the other surrenders, he will do so in turn. Until then, love is a tug of war where the rope is constantly taut if not threatening to fray. 

As the man’s gift of a linkpearl was just that — a gift — it was also a bold move. Like moving his Queen across the board. What is a little gesture to most means the world in his friend’s furtive language. Contained in this linkpearl are the hands of an ever-ticking chronometer and the key to his house. 

Don’t ring him.

Metaphorically, of course. Gods, he shouldn’t get ahead of himself.

For this linkpearl is a delicate thing. The potential it holds is encased in a shell of glass. For every sentiment he can deliver in it — every little indication of his persistent care — he overreaches and opens his flank to attack with all of its vulnerabilities. His penchant for control, his obsessive reminders, his need for companionship as a crutch lest he keels over without it. His friend, with his sharp, piercing gaze, would see it from a malm away. If he left that weak spot for the taking, who’s saying what his opponent would do? 

Perhaps surrender in the best interest of everlasting peace between their two nations?

Don’t ring him.

Ignoring this linkpearl would be a grave mistake, too. For he wouldn’t want to seem uninterested, as if that line of aetherial communication between them is entangled with dozens of other paramours. To spurn the offer of something so personal would snuff out the light whatever the man was trying to tell him, if not take away the kindling entirely.

If there is anything behind that gesture, that is. It wouldn’t be the first time he followed his speculation into a world beyond. 

Vahri'a collapses backward into his bedroll, staring upwards at the warm-toned cloth of the tent canopy, billowing in the breeze. Though he attempts to push the focus of his gaze past the linkpearl, it always drags itself back, kicking and screaming.

Don’t ring him.

But Menphina above does he want to ring him. For all of his worldly worries, there is something larger than this mock battle that looms over the both of them. What if he’s in danger? Their star is a tumultuous one on the cusp of collapse, every sun a little bit dimmer. How much would he curse himself if he had the opportunity to save him from something terrible and didn’t — all because he was playing a game of cat and mouse with himself?

Much more than he repeats this incessant mantra. That’s for certain.

Don’t ring him.

Vahri'a sits up, taking one last look at the linkpearl. White is a rare hue to choose. Everyone knows it’ll be a dull, splotched brass if you manage to get enough dirt on it, if not a salmon pink should blood be your close colleague instead. But it suits someone like his friend — always willing to get his hands dirty, but hold himself as if his robes are spotless.

His friend whose expression is cast in porcelain and speaks little. Yet Vahri'a can see the warmth of a hearth glowing from within that typically opaque material, and he can sense words blossoming from each of his silent gestures. His friend who manages to stand tall and proud despite the burdens he puts on his shoulders. His friend who reminds him of himself, but a version he doesn’t hate. Rather, a version that feels familiar like home, that doesn’t feel framed in the red curtains of a stage but rather basks in an inexplicable familiarity. His friend that he wants to be himself around.

Don’t ring him.

Vahri'a slips the linkpearl into his pocket.

The mantra goes silent.

And as Vahri'a’s fingers deftly reach for the linkpearl, discarded for not a second, it realizes its mistake. The fences around Vahri'a are frigid and cold, encased in the oft-forgotten aspect of the Lover’s all-encompassing ice. But the house that’s built within it is merely made of snow. It’s a friable thing, melting to the touch of anything warm, unable to resist the beckoning licks of flame. Inevitably, the linkpearl feels snug returned to the corner of his ear. With it in, he can’t hear that mantra at all.

“Akhira'a? Hey, it’s Vahri'a. Sorry to ring. I just felt like I should.”

[carolinemillerbooks]

New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/humans-too-clever-by-half/

Humans, Too Clever By Half

The Heritage Foundation believes it knows what’s good for America.  That’s why I paused to read Kevin D. Robert’s Forward to its latest manifesto, Project 2025. Should Donald Trump be elected our President in November, Robert’s introduction to the document summarizes the changes to expect to the political system. The plan focuses on two aspects of government: 1) the Washington Establishment— administrative bureaucracy that promulgates rules to implement legislative action; and 2) the relationship between bureaucrats and cultural elites. For some, the Washington Establishment, otherwise known as the Administration, may evoke unhappy memories of encounters with the IRS, Social Security, or a parochial school board. As a former legislator for a local government, I can attest to the horrors of bureaucratic overreach. One incident occurred years ago when I drafted an ordinance proposing to support our struggling school district with a grant to provide nursing staff in the middle schools.  About to leave for a conference, I left the measure for fine-tuning in the hands of an administrator before boarding my train. In theory, the ordinance was non-controversial. A school nurse would take student temperatures if necessary, call a parent when one of their offspring suffered a tummy ache, or slap bandages on bloodied knees. Benign objectives like these left me unprepared upon my return to find my staff looking frazzled as if they’d spent the week scrubbing dirty shirt collars at a cheap laundry.  They clustered around me to complain that some bureaucrat had added birth control counseling to the list of nursing duties.  When voters got wind of it, there were public calls for my hanging. True, teen pregnancy was on the rise, so the idea had merit.  But, I hadn’t proposed it. Therein lies the difference between a pensioned bureaucrat and a politician. The latter knows to anticipate uprisings.  Sadder but wiser, I never left an unfinished legislative proposal in the hands of an administrator again. Given my experience, when I read that Project 2025’s intention was to boil D. C. bureaucrats in hot sauce, I felt a shiver of fellow feeling.  I also agreed that government belonged to the people and so each of us must have the freedom to pursue the good for ourselves and those entrusted to our care. ( Forward, pg. 3) Of course, everyone knows the devil lies in the details.  The manifesto went on to define freedom as our God-given right to restore the family as the centerpiece of American life and protect our children.” Reading the words, I grew cautious, particularly as I was also exhorted to defend our nation’s border and to agree that the building blocks of a healthy society were  Marriage. Family. Work. Church. School. (Forward, pgs. 3-4.)  My patience broke when I reached the part about educators and public librarians being classified as registered sex offenders if they displayed books concerning sexual identity. (Forward, pg. 5)  On the matter of the cultural elite, I haven’t the space here to address the issue. I pause only to observe that despite his Ph.d, Robert strikes me as an ignorant man. Johannes Guttenberg was a member of the cultural elite when he invented the printing press. That device brought knowledge to the rich and poor alike.  What Guttenberg hadn’t anticipated was that his press would also crank out a lot of Ph.d drivel.  Of course, one man’s drivel can pass for wisdom to like minds. The Heritage Foundation is an ultra-conservative think tank, so Robert’s opinions didn’t surprise me. Rather, I read the document in full not for enlightenment but to unearth my biases.     Failing to know ourselves can become a source of laughter.  The other day, for example, I joined a table of fellow retirees who’d gathered for morning coffee.  As I pulled out a chair, I overheard one woman’s remark about another who was absent. “She thinks everyone is stupid but herself.”  I pretended not to hear but inwardly smiled.  Several studies have shown that most of us think we are superior to others.     In 1999, Justice Kruger and David Dunning published one of these reports, known, unsurprisingly, as the Kruger-Dunning effect.  The psychologists affirmed that we all think well of our intelligence. What amazed them was that those who held themselves in the highest esteem were often the least capable. Donald Trump’s boast that “Only I can do this” comes to mind.       illusory superiority, which is how social scientists reference the condition, has shadings. Not all of us imagine we are geniuses, but like the children of Lake Wobegon, we do consider ourselves to be above average.  Admittedly, the opinion plays havoc with the Bell Curve, but it also plays havoc with the planet.  Paleontologist Donald Johanson also noted our smugness when he wrote that as a species, we are overly focused on ourselves. (“Q&A,” by Nancy Perry Graham, AARP Bulletin, May 2024, pg. 33.)  History makes it difficult to disagree.  Self-absorption is why we have given little thought to the changes we’ve imposed on our habitat, changes like deforestation and urbanization, that threaten biodiversity and ourselves.     A honey bee understands the hives’s dependence upon the environment.  We humans, though all above average, don’t seem to make the connection.  Like Robert, many of us scoff at the idea of interconnection.  Words like Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion appear to them to be no more than far-left political propaganda. The bee knows better.  DEI is natural law.   I think it odd that a species whose members claim to be smarter than all others should be unable to foresee its extinction.  Certainly, Nature isn’t to blame. She gave us the gift of language. What remains to be seen is if we are smart enough to read what we have written.  If not, then one day DEI will be seen as a misspelling of DIE.

[syndesinae]

Wait, but how do you phrase things to get through to the first kind of people? In that post about politics irl vs on tumblr

"military spending is out of control" -> "It's flat out ridiculous we're bankrolling a war we got nothing to do with when we supposedly can't even afford to house our own, or protect our kids, or care for the disabled vets that are rotting out on our own damn streets."

"but i'm not a liberal/democrat, i'm a leftist!" -> "don't get me started on politics. you've got the buzzwords factory party, and that corporate shill that's brainwashed real hardworking americans into thinking he's on our side when really he fucks us harder every day. it's embarrassing what that man has done to the GOP."

"public transit is a necessary social safety net. the problem is car centric society" -> "yeah, the electric car fad is driving me crazy, too. i mean, you see politicians dressed in designer this and that and not a cent goes towards good old fashioned city planning that's actually for the people. the death of the street car, the railroad worker, and american innovation is just a sign of the times, i guess. big auto has brainwashed everyone to all but fear walking and make everyone believe this new way of life is the only way."

"of course the vaccine is safe/vaccine anxiety conspiracies are ignorant and dangerous" -> "i dunno about that population control stuff. i think it's the feds trying to keep us from protecting ourselves so we stay sick. that's the real control grab, keeping us weak and out of work."

"bills preventing trans healthcare for youth are harmful" -> "as if it's the damn government's business what parents decide to do with their own children's treatment. it's a federal power-hungry overreach is what it is."

"no human is illegal" -> "they want us to be so worried about families just looking for work. well, i'm not worried about it. there's so many damn jobs unfilled these days. what i'm worried about is the rip-off big bosses who wouldn't know hard work if it bit them in the ass squeezing every cent they can out of me while i'm busting my ass to provide for my wife."