#it's important to realize that women my age were hostile to these women

[holdupjack]

They’ll Be Much More Interested In My Wife

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Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

AU: Hollywood film stars hiding their love.

WARNING: SMUT 18+/MINORS DNI

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Third Person P.O.V:

Los Angeles California, 1958

Hermione had moved to the States in 1955, a month after her 18th birthday, She had hugged her mother and father goodbye to pursue a career in the biggest film industry in the world.

She was destined to become a star.

Her soul yearned for it.

The young girl was cast fairly quickly due to her beauty and the seemingly natural talent she had for capturing her emotions onto film.

Hermione did many movies within the last few years, having to mask her accent for most due to the 'all-American girl fantasy' the whole word was stuck on.

Then again, she understood the charm.

She had reluctantly gone on dates with many male stars, all of them being less than fruitful as they talked on and on about their successful movies and Oscar wins.

On one of the days on the set of a 'romantic' war film, she was the lead. Y/n Y/l/n walked in dressed as a secretary, her character's 'roommate'. Whom she was supposed to fight with, in the next scene.

This movie had more secret gay underlining than straight movie buffs would ever realize.

She hoped the future generations would see it and appreciate the risks the writers took.

Y/n is a beautiful woman, always smiling as she read her lines, or laughing at something one of the stagehands said.

Hermione couldn't keep her eyes off her as they waited for everyone to be ready for shooting, their eyes met from time to time as Hermione sat in her chair with her legs crossed, her thumb holding her chin as she blocked her growing smile with her index finger.

This wasn't their first encounter, not even their second, and you could tell from the way they greeted and looked at one another.

It wasn't a surprise that in the time they lived in, openly dating someone of the same sex was a death sentence, with your career and literally.

They had first met a few months into Hermione's first year as an Actress, circling each other like predators.

It was a secret hostility they shared, since Y/n had a few years on her in acting, even though they were the same age, and considered Hermione a threat to her career when it came to the chances of getting leads in movies.

Y/n had been a child star, and Hermione even grew up watching her in the family-friendly movies she saw with her parents.

Hermione found her pretty then, and even more gorgeous now.

She had known of her feelings towards women for many years now, she honestly knew it was the whole reason she detested men.

Yet, she had to keep up the act. No journalist or paper could know how she felt, so if that meant unfulfilling dates and sex, so be it.

They only had a month left with each other until this movie wrapped up for editing, and the male lead, Joesph Cotten was hitting on them relentlessly.

(A/N: actual actor back then btw, but I know him best from Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte...also no idea if he was a lady's man, so consider this satire)

The girls just gave fake giggles and thanked him for his kind words before they were called onto the stage. They took their places and waited for the director to call the scene to action. Y/n sat at a desk while Hermione stood behind a door that led into the area.

"Action!"

Hermione walked into the room and shut the door behind her, Y/n didn't look up as she pretended to sign papers, she then glared at her.

"What are you doing here?" She whispered in her very convincing American accent as Y/n looked up and had a confused look on her face.

"Pardon me?"

"You told me that you were going to stay home today" Hermione states as she walks toward the desk and peeked past her and into the window that had her boss (Joseph) sitting inside talking to an associate.

"I'm a secretary for an important general of the U.S. Army, I can't call off because you told me to Lily" Y/n replied as she stood up and walked over to a filing cabinet, opening it to a slew of blank papers inside.

Hermione loomed next to her and stared at her face in a soft panic, the corner of their eyes saw the camera slowly make its way to capture their emotions.

"Please Mary, go home after lunch." Hermione whispers as she stands closer to capture Y/n's gaze.

This movie wasn't focused on expressions like the others they had been in, instead of close up of their faces to make a statement, it was told through body movement.

Yet, the gazes shared between them told another story, a relationship between a spy and her 'roommate'.

The whole plot was that Hermione's character, Lily Sullivan, is tasked by the United States military to coax a confession out of Scott Willis (Joseph Cotten) as an enemy of the country. When in reality, "Lily" was the one selling secrets to other countries, she was covering her tracks by killing Scott. The man that was hot on her trail.

Yet, she only says goodbye to one person before she goes on the run.

Mary, her 'roommate' for many years.

They end up leaving together.

The studio said it was a friendship built on lies but was still strong after everything. While Hermione and Y/n knew what it really was.

The girls have on-screen chemistry better than most male and female actors, the papers had said it paid off that they were such good friends off-screen.

"If it bothers you that much Lily, I'll go home after lunch. May I ask why with the urgency?" Y/n asks as she shuts the filing cabinet and Hermione freezes as she pretends to think of a reason.

"I'll explain everything to you later, alright?" She replies and Y/n nods with a bit of hesitation, before ultimately verbally agreeing.

"Okay, Lily."

Y/n then walks out of frame, leaving Hermione to act as if she was thinking deeply for a few moments as the camera zooms in closer.

Her eyes just flickered up and down Y/n's body as she stood a few feet away, it took everything in Hermione to not smile and ruin this take.

Y/n didn't smile, but the glint in her eye showed her that she was enjoying their little staring contest.

"Cut! Great job everyone let's take five and do the next scene with Y/n and Joseph, then will do another take of this after!" the director yells as a bell rings for their dismissal.

A few assistants crowded around the girls as they were pulled towards their chairs for any hair or makeup fixes.

It was late into the night, and they were behind schedule due to a broken camera last week. So today everyone was forced to pull an all-nighter and come back the day after next.

Hermione loved an all-night shooting, it happened once in a blue moon, but when it did?

Y/n came home with her.

No paparazzi would be staying out late to catch them holding hands inside her car, where they could hear the giggles as she chased Y/n into her home and kept the lights off.

Where they would worship each other without fear of being caught by unwanted eyes.

Oh, Hermione loved all-nighters.

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When the set was closed and everyone had gone home for the...well it was 3 A.M, so morning. Hermione parked her car behind the studio and waited for Y/n to jump in, the walls were high around the Hollywood set buildings, and even bushes blocked anyone dumb enough to try and climb it for a rare photo.

Hermione loved it when the entire studio was almost vacant, besides the security that watched the gates. They never cared that Y/n had been coming with Hermione to set every morning, or that they left at night together too.

Everyone knew they lived close by, so in their heads, it was just carpooling with a good friend. Of course, the tabloids wouldn't see it that way during all-nighters like this. Where she didn't drop her off at home, or at times where they didn't even make it out of Hermione's garage.

She couldn't keep her hands off her all-American girlfriend, and Y/n couldn't stay away from the British Vixen.

Y/n emerged from the shadows beside the building and quickly slipped into the passenger side of Hermione's 1957 Chevy Bel Air.

"Hello my darling" the Brit whispers as she looks around for any prying eyes, then kisses her cheek softly.

"Hiya doll, did you have as much fun as I did on set?" Y/n asks as Hermione starts the car and drives off to the exit, her hands were aching to touch her like she wants to.

"Very much, but Joseph needs to back off" Hermione mutters as they turn into a small alleyway between two set buildings. The windows were down, the air softly blowing on their faces.

"Awe, still jealous that he grabbed my ass?" Y/n snickered as her girlfriend groaned softly as she thought back on the action from earlier today.

They both knew that if they wanted to get far in this world, they had to let a few hands touch them without objection.

The women could only hold back slaps to the face when this happened, and act as if it didn't bother them.

Of course, when Hermione watched their male lead grab her girlfriend's ass, it took everything in her not to stake her claim in front of everyone.

"I'm not jealous. I'm pissed" Hermione responded as they pulled up to the security guard, who smiled at them as he came up to the passenger side window.

"Get some rest Ms.Granger and Ms.Y/l/n," He says as they smile back at him as he walks towards the gate and opens it for them.

The car crept out into the street and then turned to the start of their way home. Y/n looked out towards the high-end clothing stores, their display windows dim, but you could see the shine the fashion produced.

"I'm still surprised you haven't gone shopping during our lunch breaks," Hermione says as she catches her stare, to which Y/n chuckled in response.

"No time, you know our 'breaks' are only fifteen minutes" Y/n sighed as she looked back at Hermione. They were stopped at a red light, the glow of all the street lights illuminated Hermione's face as they stared at one another.

"I've missed you as of late my love" Hermione whispers as she rests her hand on the space between them, her palm open and ready.

(A/N: this was in the days when there was no center console in between the front seats so you could literally lay someone down in the front and have a grand old time lol)

"We've seen each other almost every day for the last three months" Y/n replied as she slipped her fingers between her girlfriends. Hermione squeezed slightly and hummed in dissatisfaction at her lover's answer.

"I know, but if I had it my way, I'd hug and kiss you after every scene and performance you gave" Hermione whispers as she notices the streets are empty, no cars coming or going, or even a single person walking the lonely sidewalks.

"You just want to find every reason to touch me" Y/n whispers back as Hermione looks around them one last time before through the car in park and unbuckling herself, leaning over their intertwined hands.

"If God told me touching you was a sin, I’d go down to hell with a grin on my face" Hermione states as she kisses Y/n's neck, leaving a bright red lipstick stain in its wake.

A guilty moan slipped past Y/n's lips as her girlfriend happily nipped and kissed her sensitive skin like a hungry mosquito.

"Hermione" Y/n warns as she feels a hand land on her knee and slowly trail under her skirt. Her eyes fluttered closed and snapped open multiple times as she kept watch for any signs of life.

Hermione's fingers traced the lining of Y/n's undergarments, earning another moan as she leaned her head back.

Suddenly Hermione backed away and put the car back in drive, but her hand grasped Y/n's thigh and pulled her close enough to not raise any suspicion.

Y/n looked back up and realized a car was coming up behind them, thankfully the light turned green and they were on their way.

Hermione was now only less than an arm's length away, which worked in her favor as she hooked her fingers around the fabric covering Y/n from the greedy hands of her girlfriend.

"Hermione are you-"

"Shhh, just enjoy our extended ride home" she states as she pulls her garments away enough to slip her hand under it with less resistance.

Hermione kept her nails short, which was unusual for most actresses, but she cared about her Y/n more than nonsensical questions from the media about her defiance of social norms.

If only they knew.

Her fingers slowly circle Y/n's clit as she turned onto a back street neighborhood.

Y/n's legs spread slightly as Hermione trailed down her folds, teasingly slipping the tip of her finger inside her, and then removing it swiftly.

Hermione just chuckled as Y/n moaned softly, and looked at her with pleading eyes as they cruised down the quiet neighborhood.

"Be quiet my love, as much as I want the world to hear how good I make you feel, you have to be quiet" she whispers as trailed back up to her clit and gently pinched it. Y/n hissed and gave a glare to the side of her head, to which her girlfriend chuckled in response as she stared at the road.

The pads of her fingers seemed to apologize for her as she soothed the bundle of nerves with small circular motions.

Hermione slowly halted at the stop sign and let her eyes fall onto her beautiful co-star as she tried to bite her lips from moaning in pleasure.

"Lay your head on my lap" she whispers as she retracts her hand and lets Y/n lay down on her thighs.

Hermione could see her underwear had fallen below her knees, peaking out under the skirt, showing the beautiful purple she was wearing,

The Brit's hand snuck back under the fabric of her skirt in desperation, feeling her fingers begin to coat with her slick as she traced her folds again.

"Please Hermione" Y/n pleads in a hushed voice as she grasps the seat in agony. Hermione cooed in response as she turned onto a long narrow street, finally slipping two fingers into her lover's aching entrance.

A moan got caught in Y/n's throat as her head was thrown back in pleasure, a hand grasping Hermione's shirt so she wouldn't crack the leather of her car.

Hermione stalled her fingers and buried them deep inside of her favorite girl, watching from the corner of her eye as she squirmed under her touch.

"Fucking tease!" Y/n whispers as Hermione curls and separates her digits inside her. A soft chuckle left the woman's throat as she continued her sweet torture.

"But you feel so nice around me, can you blame my passion for you?" Hermione asks as her eyes darted around the road, feeling her cunt quiver around her fingers.

"Are you going to cum just from my motionless hand?" She teases as she curls them again, Y/n's mouth hangs open from the sensation.

"You know, if we had soundproof dressing rooms, I'd fuck you senseless during every break. No matter how short it was." Hermione admits as she begins thrusting her fingers at a slow and calculated pace.

"W-We'd never get anything done" Y/n replies between her groans, to which her girlfriend chuckled again.

"Oh my love, if you weren't so headstrong about acting, I would have moved us out to the middle of nowhere by now, so I can have you like this all the time" she whispers as the car rumbles over a pothole, causing the vibrations to stimulate Y/n for a moment.

"Oh god" She whispers as Hermione's pace speeds up slightly, quiet lewd sounds fill the space. If anyone got close enough to the open windows, they would certainly hear the heavenly noises.

Jazz played from the only lit house on the block, tons of people stood within its walls as the starlights drove by.

"Would you like to host parties if our kind is ever allowed to love freely?" Hermione asks as the curling of her fingers becomes more constant with each thrust.

Y/n tried to respond, but the curve of Hermione's palm began to rub against her clit in delicious circular motions.

"You'd be a cute little host, I'd smile proudly as you greeted our friends and introduced me as your lover" Hermione whispered as they turned onto a street that was a straight shot to their homes.

Y/n's hands grasped Hermione's forearm as the pit of her stomach began to tighten familiarly. It took everything in the woman not to dig her nails into her girlfriend's skin, knowing that the bruises would be hard to cover up with makeup.

"You're going to cum already? I was ready to drive around the block a few times" Hermione hums, but the smug and teasing tone didn't slip past Y/n's fading coherent thoughts.

The Brit quickened her pace, noticing cars she recognized all too well, that were parked around the corner to their homes. Also her hand was starting to cramp at this angle.

Fuck, why are they out here?

Paparazzi are waiting nearby, ready to pounce on the women unprovoked from the open windows. She should stop, and just ask Y/n to, loudly, ask her in for a quick drink in case any cameras were watching them.

But, Hermione was too enamored by the fact that only she could bring Y/n to this state. Feeling her body squeeze and tremble around her fingers was delightfully maddening.

Hermione continued down to Y/n's home, they had maybe less than a minute.

"Cum for me my love, we're almost to your house" Hermione whispered as her palm slapped against her clit in a frantic motion from her thrusting.

Y/n's mouth hung open as she uncontrollably dug her nails into her lover's skin. Oops.

Hermione watched from the corner of her eye as Y/n's legs shook and a generous amount of slick covered her fingers, dripping onto the fabric of Y/n's skirt.

"F-Fuck!" Y/n moaned quietly as her head pressed into her girlfriend's lap, and her back arched from the pleasure. Dots of white poked holes in her vision as she stared at the ceiling of the car.

"I think some of our 'friends' are waiting for us." Hermione commented as she reluctantly pulled away her hand and sucked them clean. So she wouldn't ruin her steering wheel...obviously.

Y/n didn't even give herself time to recompose, slipping her underwear back around her hips and sitting back up. Even after a quick session in the car, Y/n still looked as if she had just come out of makeup.

A bright red lipstick stain shined through the dark.

"Don't forget my signature on your neck" Hermione chuckled as Y/n quickly rubbed away the stain, not wanting to take any chances with the journalists.

Hermione had been right, when the headlights hit the tree line when she was turning into Y/n's driveway, two photographers were waiting for a chance at a picture of Y/n or herself bringing home a costar.

Technically it would be true, but they would just say that they two shared drinks after a long day on set. Oh to be so naïve.

The girls acted as if they didn't see them, instead as Y/n got out of the car, she asked her 'friend' in for a cocktail and to talk about some...unfinished business.

Hermione accepted and shut off her car, locking it behind her as she got out. They could hear the clicking of cameras as they walked to the front door. It took everything in the English woman to flip them off.

They slipped into the house with ease, Hermione watched Y/n lock the door and flip on the living area light. She signaled her to follow, and they instead went upstairs and stepped into her bedroom.

It was pitch black, but Hermione knew this room better than her own, so she easily made her way onto the bed.

Somewhere in the darkness, she could feel Y/n's eyes on her, Hermione then felt a hand start from her calf and trail up to between her thighs.

Goosebumps were left in its wake.

"Let me return the favor, won't you Granger?"

[wartakes]

Fighting Back in an Age of Impunity

Its the last essay of the year and the events going on in Gaza - and similar events elsewhere - had me pondering some thoughts for those who may feel powerless and like they can't do anything. It's not perfect, but its something. Full essay under the cut. Happy Holidays.

I feel like I increasingly start each of these essays with checking on folks and seeing how they’re doing following “the event” – with whatever “the event” is varying depending on what time of the year the essay is occurring in. When I first started thinking about what I may be writing for my last essay of 2023, I thought the worst event I’d have to think about was Azerbaijan’s assault on Artsakh, which resulted in over 100,000 ethnic Armenians fleeing their homes as Ilham Aliyev finally realized his genocidal dream of cleansing the region and forcing it fully into Azerbaijan by force.

Of course, then October 7th happened.

This is not to say that what happened with Artsakh should be forgotten about by any stretch of the imagination. We definitely shouldn’t forget about Armenia and Azerbaijan – especially as Azerbaijan, supported by Turkey, continues to make aggressive statements suggesting it may attack the Republic of Armenia proper in order to secure a corridor to its exclave in Nakhchivan. This is still very important and deserves our attention.

At the same time, if you’ve been following world events at all since October 7th, you kinda know what the most pressing, soul-sucking issue of the moment is. In the weeks since the attacks launched by the Gaza-based Palestinian militant groups – spearheaded by the Islamist political-military movement HAMAS, which largely controls the enclave – Israel has used that unarguable tragedy as an excuse to launch a horrific campaign of violence of its own in revenge, the sheer scale and scope of which has left the Israeli bodycount of October 7th in the dust as more and more Palestinians are killed by the Israel Defense Forces with each passing day – most of them women and children.

I originally was going to shift focus and write something entirely about what’s going on in Gaza, but I was also not sure what more I could say that would be constructive and not simply venting to avoid exploding (something I do on Twitter on a regular basis). I also didn’t want to complete leave Armenia and Azerbaijan in the dust, because I felt there were a lot of parallels between the two situations and their histories (which makes sense since Azerbaijan and Israel have such a cozy relationship, with Israel being one of Azerbaijan’s main arms suppliers in its wars against Armenia and Armenians).

In the end, I decided I wanted to write about something that is more generally going on, and that we’ve seen in Israel’s campaign against Palestinians, Azerbaijan’s campaign against Armenia and Armenians, Russia’s war against Ukraine (which Putin says isn’t ending anytime soon in case you were curious), and other acts of aggression by hostile states and armed groups in what feels like every corner of the globe these days. Everywhere you look, it seems that fascistic states and groups are taking every possible opportunity to try and conquer and kill that which they covet or hate.

We are currently living through what I conceive of as a new “Age of Impunity” in international relations, of which the current assault on Gaza is only one example – though certainly the most egregious and barbaric of the moment. Such ages are not new, and have waxed and waned throughout history, but they all have one core theme in common: during their span, we see a drastic increase in aggression by those states and groups who are determined to hammer home the Thucydidean cliche that “the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.”

But there is a new rub to this tale as old as time. Now, in an age of an increasingly interconnected world via the internet and social media and smart phones and etc., aggressors are not just seeking to prove that might is right, but to gaslight us constantly as they do it, doggedly endeavoring to convince us that this state of affairs is not simply the glib, bleak reality that is allowed to persist in international relations, but is actually good and right and just and fair that those of us that dare question their narrative are insane and sick and even criminal for believing otherwise. To try and add further legitimacy or distance themselves from the acts of information warfare, such aggressors often enlist third parties as well who are aligned to them either ideologically or financially (i.e. they’re paid to).

This combination of consequence free mass violence combined with an aggressive campaign to make you feel insane for not thinking its actually good is enough to make anyone with a moral compass feel actually insane, or to feel incredibly depressed and distraught over it all. Its so easy to feel completely and totally powerless from events such as Gaza and more, boiling over inside with a sense of impotent rage, especially when it seems that all that a key set of individuals and governments would need to do to stop it all – or at least less the impact – is show a modicum of backbone and a slight bit of effort to go along with it, but they don’t.

However, it is important for us all to understand against this backdrop of slaughter, that we are not powerless – not completely. There are limits on our power as “normal” people, absolutely; but we are not totally powerless, and the longer we go on thinking that the longer this Age of Impunity will last – to say nothing of other negative states of affairs we’d rather not stick around. There are actions that we as people can take to try and effect better outcomes. These actions are often indirect, focusing on applying pressure in various forms on those who can actually do something or who can otherwise force someone else to do something, but are none the less impactful and not to be disregarded.

To the end of helping folks not feel powerless in the face of impunity and aggression and giving them a concept through which they can push back on aggression and fascism and authoritarianism worldwide, I’ve crafted an approach of my own. The approach I’ve conceived of is extremely simple, straightforward, broad, long-term and almost certainly incomplete – but a start. So, if the gifts you’re looking to get this holiday season are a shred of hope, a sense of purpose, a modicum of agency, and the ability to actually make an impact upon ongoing global events, let’s open up Santa’s big bag of toys and see what’s inside for all the good little guys, gals, and non-binary pals out there. Ho ho ho.

BLUF: “Don’t Shut Up”

I already warned you that my plan is pretty simple. What I haven’t warned you is that this plan, in a nutshell, may make some people roll their eyes and go “yeah, right, whatever” (or something more impolite), so consider yourself warned of that now.

So, the plan? Don’t shut up. Ok, obviously this is going to need more expounding upon.

To build upon “don’t shut up” in more detail, the plan is simply to not give up voicing your opposition to the unjustifiable acts of aggression going on throughout the world – whoever it is that is undertaking them, whenever they occur, and wherever they occur. This opposition can come in various forms, be it protests and various other forms of activism and civil disobedience, both physical and virtual, but it really can be boiled down to those three words: don’t shut up. Keep talking – shouting, rather – about what’s going on and don’t let people forget what’s going on.

Not to get defensive right off the bat, but I am anticipating some people reading this feeling a bit disappointed, dismissive (maybe to the point of eye-rolling), or frustrated with this simple approach. So I want to take a little time to push back gently before we get more into the nuts and bolts. I’m going to try and not go on for too long with this because I wrote this earlier and fully made half of the essay me being defensive so be thankful I went back to make this part shorter.

First, to those saying “that’s it?” I would say, ‘yes’; but with the caveat that while its a simple answer, its also a simple problem (which I will get into more detail about later). To those saying “that won’t work,” I would say “based on what?” I feel the problem with that strain of preemptive defeatism, dismissiveness, and doomerism are a uniquely American-centric perspective that is focused only on our own experiences – and also, a very recent and limited view of them. All you need to do is look to the rest of the world to see instances where mass movements that refused to be silenced and maintained pressure accomplished the ousting of various dictators and autocrats (I picked relatively recent examples here, but you can look even further back). I know we’re all tired and demoralized and depressed (hence why I’m writing this), but all you need do is widen the aperture a bit and look beyond our shores to see that things are not as hopeless as they seem. That doesn’t mean that there are quick and easy solutions (something else I’ll get into – we’re in this for the long haul), but again, that doesn’t mean that we are powerless and that our actions mean nothing.

Ok, I got my defensive preemptive pushback on doomerism out of the way and I did it in two paragraphs instead of a page and a half. You’re welcome. So let’s actually get into the nuts and bolts.

Using the potential criticism of “that’s it?” as a starting off point, I will concede again that t his is a very simple approach. But, I would also assert that the activity that this approach is crafted to counter is actually fairly simple in its own right when you think about it. It makes sense that a relatively simple problem demands a relatively simple answer (note that just because the idea is simple doesn’t mean the execution will be quick or easy, but we’ll get to that).

Regardless of the approach or the medium through which they are attempting it, in the information sphere, the ultimate goal of an aggressor to is to silence criticism and to boost its own narratives and supporters. If aggressors can’t coerce or cajole you to their side, they’ll settle for getting you to shut up by whatever means are at their disposal – which is just as good to them; it doesn’t matter if they don’t actually have a lot of popular support at home or abroad, but as long as they can silence dissent and criticism and keep their narrative as the main one, they can just keep on doing what they’re doing.

This can take multiple different forms: drowning you out with torrents of useless, twisted, or outright false information, intimidating you through hostility and harassment, depressing you by making you feel weak and powerless and convincing you that there is absolutely nothing that can stop them (potentially giving you a genuine mental breakdown through their gaslighting), and mental and emotional exhaustion from some or all of what was previously described, just to name a few different methods. These methods may be utilized by the aggressors themselves, or through various allies, partners, and proxies – be they other states and organizations various individuals who are consciously or unconsciously boosting the aggressor’s narratives and attacking the aggressor’s detractors. But the end goal of all of these methods remains the same in every case, but in different guises: to shut you up. If the aggressor’s goal is that simple, it make sense that our response doesn’t need to be that complicated either: deny them their objective by simply refusing to be silenced and, in fact, continuously increasing that pressure.

If information is a domain in warfare, it is probably appropriate to think of your role in it not as a soldier in the army of a peer competitors in a high-end conventional fight. Rather, you should think of yourself as a fighter in an insurgent army, and as this information warfare as an insurgency or rebellion or an uprising rather than the information equivalent of a conventional war (at least not at this stage; we have a few more stages of Mao’s guide to get through first in this analogy). If you conceive of it that way, it can make your task seem even more daunting, but then it also can reveal the inherent advantages that we have in our approach and the challenges it creates for an aggressor trying to manage information.

The Cognitive Insurgency of Attrition

I’ve talked about insurgency and counter-insurgency in the physical domains of warfare before at great length, with my main takeaway being that counter-insurgency is almost always a losing game for whoever is acting as the COIN force. Unless they are prepared to make significant political concessions, they are likely to never win; the best they can ever hope for is to not lose – which will require constant fighting and expenditure of resources of all kinds, indefinitely (something that few countries, even reasonably prosperous and powerful ones, can hope to keep up).

Recalling that takeaway, your advantage and the disadvantage of the aggressor becomes clearer. When I said earlier that really all you have to do is not shut up, I really meant it, because as long as you and others refuse to be gaslit and continue to speak out against particular aggression and injustices, the aggressor is failing at the primary objective they have regarding you. As long as you exist and continue to act and speak out, they will continue to have to expend time and resources to try and counter you. The struggle with the aggressor becomes a battle of wills, and by simply continuing to exist and refusing to be silenced, you are wearing them down in a war of attrition. The more they are worn down, the more likely they are to make mistakes and to show more of their true colors, and the full extent of the horror becomes harder and harder for more and more actors (be they people, organizations, states, and etc.) to ignore and turn a blind eye to, and the pressure mounts to take actual action.

This whole approach and the idea of not shutting up and not giving up is closely tied to another idea, which is that “bullying works” (another thing I originally had in a section unto itself, for another peek behind the curtain, but decided it wasn’t dissimilar enough to separate out). As you refuse to be silenced and continue to speak out and apply pressure, one form of that pressure, is in effect, “bullying.” Basically, making sure that those who are either taking part in various acts of aggression or who are facilitating it or supporting indirectly won’t get a moments peace in their lives as long as they continue to do so. They need to be shown that people will not forget what’s going on and will not go away and will be reminding those who are carrying out out aggression or supporting it at every possible opportunity and be making their lives very difficult for as long as it takes and for as much as it takes until change for the better occurs. Remember kids: bullying by punching down (figuratively), is bad; but bullying by punching up (again, figuratively), is not only good, but necessary for a healthy society!

The inherent downside to this overall approach, of course, is that it is a long-term one. This is not a single battle, but a broader campaign in the wider war against aggression and authoritarianism and fascism. This in its own right may be discouraging to some, but also a bitter pill that must be swallowed. To be perfectly clear: this is not me saying that we shouldn’t bother trying to apply pressure and affect change on issues in the short term. To use our primary example of Gaza once more, we should absolutely be trying in the short term to bring more pressure to bear to bring about a lasting ceasefire and greater humanitarian relief and more in Palestine. However, we’d be deluding ourselves if we believed any action we take right now would suddenly and decisively end the occupation and fundamentally change the political status quo in Palestine in the short term.

As discouraging as this reality can be, it should not dissuade us from taking action, but compel us to gear up for the long fight. Much as the right is willing and able to do with its policy goals at home and abroad, we need to undertake more generational and multi-generational efforts to achieve our aims in all areas – especially when it comes to foreign policy and international relations. Like an actual insurgent force fighting an occupying army or authoritarian regime, we must take a long-term view. This long-term view may encompass short term surges and bursts of activity to achieve specific, tangible, secondary and tertiary goals (like a ceasefire, humanitarian aid, or what have you), but its primary goals and planning must be fundamentally protracted in nature.

Even if you understand, agree with, and accept the protracted nature of this approach, that doesn’t mean it can’t still be demoralizing in the short term. However, there are reasons to be optimistic, because if you look around you can see the signs that this approach is already bearing fruit. In the case of Gaza, you can see signs that the dedication to not “shutting up” about the plight of the Palestinian people on the receiving end of Israel’s military campaign in how the Israeli government and its supporters are either becoming more deranged in their defensiveness for their actions, with some Israeli government officials being increasingly mask off about their genocidal intentions towards Palestinians and their homes, as well as increasingly dismissive towards ideas such as the two-state solution – which governments like that of the United States continue to cling to. We also see this in the reaction of some states supportive of Israel, such as the United Kingdom, where now former-Home Secretary Suella Braverman labeled all pro-Palestinian protesters in the country as “hate marchers” (and was fired from her post not long after that).

In other cases, where governments and groups supporting Israel haven’t gone fully deranged, its becoming increasingly difficult for them to look the other way in the face of Israel’s mask-off violence and aggression. Even as US President Joe Biden continues to stand by Israel doggedly and assert its right to “defend itself”, the administration has internally squirmed at Israeli actions (as well as the potential for escalation). While the administration continues to fruitlessly try and have it both ways (which is fundamentally impossible and only wastes time as more civilians die), the fact that they’re even attempting to do that rather than continue to support Israel wholeheartedly shows that the pressure is mounting. This is born out by polls in the United States that show that support for Palestinians is rising. If aggressors and those running support for them are lashing out or are becoming more desperate in their attempts to control the narrative or silence opposition or even have a leg to stand on in their support, those are signs that the pressure that countless regular people are bringing to bear with their humanity is having an impact. Don’t give up now.

I am once again asking you not to give in to despair

We can’t stop everything going on in the world on our own as individuals, that’s true. And posting alone also won’t stop anything – that’s also true (as much as a lot of us wish it would – or convinced ourselves it will). But we are absolutely not powerless, and we must avoid falling into that trap, or the aggressors win right off the bat.

You are fighting in one particular campaign in a much wider war against aggression and fascism and authoritarianism the world over. There are other fronts that exist now and there will be more in the future – both physical, and virtual. But combat of various sorts (literal and figurative) will be required on all of them in order to achieve successes. It is a collective effort; we are are all in this together, in numerous different ways. To crib a line from the trade union anthem Solidarity Forever: “yet what force on earth is weaker than the feeble strength of one, but the union makes us strong.”

The broader struggle against fascism and aggression will be a long war, and all likelihood, it will likely never end in an absolute victory, and only be one in a series of wars and struggles to come (again, both figurative and literal). As I’ve always said in my writing, part of the reason I’m sure people like me will still have a job even in a better world is because there will always be authoritarian aggressors of some kind who can convince others to fight and die for them in service of their rancid ideology and hatred (hence why I say a “better world” and not a “perfect” one). But even if we there will always be another enemy around the corner in some shape or form, we can set ourselves up to be stronger, smarter, more united, more compassionate, and better prepared for the additional struggles and wars ahead.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that everything I just talked about isn’t exclusively for responding to acts of aggression abroad, but is perfectly applicable at home as well. The approach that I’ve laid out can be applied to fascist aggressors of the domestic political variety, just as much as they can be applied to aggressor states and groups overseas engaging in armed aggression. In the United States in particular, we face an ever increasing war from within. Even if the political crisis in the United States doesn’t escalate to the level of a full scale civil war (something that I certainly don’t want, that I imagine most sane people don’t want, and something we should all work to avoid), we still find ourselves in an American Years of Lead situation at bare minimum that will very likely only get worse as we approach the 2024 election. Again, we can see some promising signs that these approaches are actually working, from the progressive gains that have been made in recent off-year elections on matters such as abortion, legalization of marijuana, and other progressive causes – many of which have been in response to right-wing forces doubling down on their extreme positions in desperation as normal people increasingly point out and deride their “sicko” behavior and refuse to let it go unanswered.

However, as heartening as these victories are, polling shows that the 2024 election is looking increasingly fraught, and nothing should be taken for granted in the eleven months that remain before election day 2024 – especially as former-President Donald Trump has been perfectly blunt about what his plans are if he makes it back into the White House (to say nothing of the coterie of other sickos and chuds that he will put into positions of power in his administration if he wins). While far from the only tool at your disposal, the approach I have laid out previously for pushing back on the narratives of fascism, authoritarianism and aggression abroad may very well make a real difference in the rhetorical and political battles against those same insidious forces at home. Keep that in mind on the road to November 5th, 2024 (or, if you live outside the United States, to road to whatever political battles you have to face in the near future).

We live in particularly bleak times in general, there’s no arguing that. This current Age of Impunity we find ourselves in has no shortage of dictators, tyrants, and fascists who are eager to take advantage of global instability and shifting geopolitics to take things they’ve long coveted, settle scores and seek revenge, and carry out a laundry list of other heinous acts. But even in those acts of aggression, we can find hope. For example, in Myanmar, a diverse coalition of varied ethnic groups – spearheaded by young people – are pushing the fascist junta back on its heels in that country’s civil war. While their battle is far from over, the progress they’ve made in recent weeks since launching a new offensive against the junta has been remarkable. Wherever we can, we need to grab onto examples of maintaining persistence, applying pressure, and not giving up hope – whether its on literal battlefields, or political and ideological ones. We need to take the progress and victories where we can, to remind us why we’re doing any of this at all: because we believe a better world is not only possible, but necessary and inevitable. It is on that note, I leave you on this last essay of 2023. I’ll be back with another by mid-March at the absolute latest for the first essay of 2024 (God only knows what I’ll be writing about by then, but we’ll see where Mr. Bones’ Wild Ride takes us all). For those of you who are celebrating, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy Holiday Season, and also a Happy New Year to you all. Please, wherever and whenever you’re able, even while you all try to keep up the struggle, try to find some time to rest and be kind to yourself because we all need that. See you in 2024. Stay safe.

[dizzying-fever]

Fragrance Destinations

More than any other aspect of the five senses, smell has the power to evoke memories and transport us back to times, places and feelings that have otherwise been long-since forgotten. 

While conceptualizing what I wanted this project to be and what I wanted it to cover, my mind kept going back to the settings within Severance and what those settings might smell like. Inspired by fragrance houses like Demeter and Replica, I wanted to create fictitious scents that were just as intentional in their composition as the settings and their imagery in Severance. 

Within Ling Ma’s Severance, the location of where the novel takes place is important as it works not only to shape the story and add ambiance, but to add context to the main character, Candace’s, behavior as well. Severance follows Candace, a Chinese-American immigrant that moved to the United States at a very young age, who, without much to center herself in asides from needing to do well and needing to make use of herself (per her mother’s direction), grounds herself in materialism and gains a sense of identity in what she can and cannot afford. Throughout the novel, readers may come to understand her as ungrounded. At the beginning of the novel, with both her parents being deceased, a major disconnect between her and her family in China sustained by distance and a language barrier, a career that she desperately wants to move out of in favor for a more artsy job, and a romantic life that straddles the line between complicated and unfulfilling, Candace does not have much commitment to anyone. It is not until towards the end of the novel where Candace learns of her pregnancy that she realizes that being rootless is not sustainable for her or her unborn child - especially as New York City grows more and more hostile by the day as Shen Fever continues to impact infrastructure and the people who maintain it.  

Published in 2018, Severance provides commentary not only on modern work culture (and particularly how young women must navigate through it) but, even more contemporarily, the impact of a widespread, global outbreak parallels with the COVID-19 pandemic seen in 2020. 

Throughout the novel, many different themes are explored including American culture, nostalgia, complex family dynamics, belonging, motherhood, labor, exploitation and consumer culture/consumerism. Severance’s commentary on consumerism, particularly from Candace’s perspective, interests me. To her, consumption is used as a way to signal belonging, to secure comfort and even to connect with the deceased and no other product replicates this phenomenon quite like fragrance. The way that fragrance is sold and especially how it is marketed tempts consumers with what is otherwise a fantasy - to gain access to these lofty, inaccessible spaces and experiences through purchase. Similarly, fragrance also works to provide a sense of comfort as well as trigger memories and bring about strong emotions.  

My project aims to explore that connection between fragrance, memory and the ability that consumers have to be briefly transported to spaces of fantasy and intrigue through these thoughtfully curated, fictional fragrances based on the settings and events within the novel Severance. Throughout my blog, I will also accompany these fragrance profiles with reblogged songs and images to provide added color to the fragrances I am creating.

Original posts can be easily accessed through the dedicated tag #original post.

[plannedparenthood]

Thank You, RBG

We are heartbroken. Supreme Court Justice and gender equality hero Ruth Bader Ginsburg died on Friday, Sept. 18. Her death is a painful loss for our country. She was a fierce and unapologetic warrior for equality, and her achievements are endless. As we mourn we’re also embracing our gratitude for her service to our country.

Cherishing RBG’s Legacy

Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg committed her life to protecting the rights, freedoms, and health of people across the country — in particular women, communities of color, and others whose voices too often go unheard. She was a true trailblazer who inspired millions of girls and women to fight through sexism and discrimination to make American a better place to work, to live, and to love. 

Her powerful words over the years, including her razor-sharp dissents, helped push our nation toward freedom and opportunity for all. Her spirit, values, and words will be deeply missed.

A Modern Revolutionary

Some revolutionaries shook up a society with anger burning and guns blazing. Others studied hard, knocked down an unfair system one peg at a time, and spoke truth to power while wearing a lace collar. That was Ruth Bader Ginsburg. 

She got two mottoes from her mother, Celia Bader (who marched for women’s suffrage): 

“Be independent,” take care of yourself without being financially beholden to a man, and

“Be a lady,” don't allow emotions like anger to be so consuming they get in your way.

When Ruth Bader Ginsburg saw anything repugnant — like systemic discrimination — she would get straight to work. It wasn’t easy. Over decades, Ruth Bader Ginsburg faced a slew of indignities. But she harnessed courage and resolve to strategically break down America’s sexist, unethical laws and institutions. 

To honor the Notorious RBG, we’ve collected our seven favorite facts about her life and her legacy.

7) RBG was defiant in the face of entrenched sexism in college and law school.

Most colleges didn’t accept women in the 1950s, and Ruth Bader was one of the first to break the gender barrier. At Cornell University, she was sexually harassed by a professor, who offered answers to a test in exchange for sex. She confronted him: “I went to his office and I said, ‘How dare you? How dare you do this?’ And that was the end of that.” 

At Harvard Law School, she and the eight other women in her class of more than 500 students were ogled, ignored in the classroom, excluded from the library, and asked by the dean how they could possibly justify taking a seat away from a man. But that hostile environment didn’t stop her. 

She fought it with brain power and superhuman physical endurance. She was so obsessed with the law that she’d regularly stay up until dawn studying. Well into her 80s, she retained her reputation for working until 3 a.m. and living on just two hours of sleep. 

While she was kicking butt at the top of her classes, she was also taking care of her young daughter and sick husband. Martin (Marty) Ginsburg contracted testicular cancer and had extensive radiation therapy, which kept him from going to his own law school classes. So, RBG organized his friends to attend his classes, worked through their notes with Marty, and typed up Marty’s papers — all while doing her own schoolwork on top of it. 

She tied for first in her class from Columbia Law School in 1959. She also was the first person to become a member of both the prestigious Harvard Law Review, and the Columbia Law Review — one of many of her unprecedented feats. She proved to those elite schools that a woman could succeed.

6) RBG showed the world what a partnership looks like in a husband-wife relationship.

Ruth Bader met Marty Ginsburg while they were both at Cornell University, and they forged an equal partnership from the beginning. He learned to cook so she didn’t have to. Later, he lobbied for her seats on the Court of Appeals in D.C. and on the Supreme Court. And he gave up his law firm in New York to follow her to Washington — a shocking move at the time. 

Here’s how she put it at her 1993 Senate confirmation hearing:

“I surely would not be in this room today without the determined efforts of men and women who kept dreams of equal citizenship alive. I have had the great good fortune to share life with a partner truly extraordinary for his generation. A man who believed at age 18 when we met that a woman’s work, whether at home or on the job, is as important as a man’s. I became a lawyer when women were not wanted by most members of the legal profession. I became a lawyer because Marty supported that choice unreservedly.”

5.) RBG won a whopping five cases before the Supreme Court — and they all advanced the Constitutional protection of equal rights for all Americans.

As smart and accomplished as Ruth Bader Ginsburg was, no law firm would hire her after she graduated from law school. Law firms slammed the door in her face time after time because they only hired men. She realized that “being a woman was an impediment.”

As Ginsburg navigated the legal working world in the 1960s, she saw how thousands of state and federal laws were treating women as second-class citizens. At that time, most states’ laws allowed employment termination for pregnancy, and let banks deny credit to women without a male co-signer. The Supreme Court had rejected every challenge to laws that treated women worse than men.

All this gender discrimination fueled Ginsburg’s drive for social justice. In the early 1970s, she followed the strategy of NAACP civil rights lawyer and Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall, who helped dismantle Jim Crow laws case by case over many years — leading to Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, which outlawed racial segregation in schools in 1954. Like Marshall, Ginsburg centered her arguments on the 14th Amendment to the Constitution, which says all persons should be treated equally under the law.

Throughout the ‘70s, Ginsburg led the ACLU’s Women's Rights Project, for which she argued and won five landmark gender equality cases before the Supreme Court. As she said in the 2018 documentary RBG: "I knew that I was speaking to men who didn't think there was such a thing as gender-based discrimination, and my job was to tell them it really exists.”

These cases set the foundation for the country’s laws against sex discrimination, and helped eliminate being male as the criteria for employment, pay, and benefits:

Two cases in 1975 and 1979 established the requirement that women serve on juries, recognizing that they should enjoy both the benefits and the responsibilities of our judicial system.

“The vaunted woman's privilege viewed against history's backdrop simply reflects and perpetuates a certain way of thinking about women. Women traditionally were deemed lesser citizens.”

—Ruth Bader Ginsburg, arguing before the Supreme Court (Duren v. Missouri, 1979)

An employment benefits case in 1973 required the U.S. military to equally distribute family-based benefits for service members regardless of sex.

“In asking the Court to declare sex a suspect criterion, we urge a position forcibly stated in 1837 by Sara Grimke, noted abolitionist and advocate of equal rights for men and women. She said, ‘I ask no favor for my sex. All I ask of our brethren is that they take their feet off our necks.'”

— Ruth Bader Ginsburg, arguing before the Supreme Court (Frontiero v. Richardson, 1973)

Two cases in 1974 and 1975 threw out gender-based distinctions in survivors’ benefits, granting widowers the same benefits as widows. RBG argued that while giving widows special treatment sounded nice, it wasn’t. Withholding benefits to widowers devalued the work of their deceased wives.

“A gender line...helps to keep women not on a pedestal, but in a cage.”

—Ruth Bader Ginsburg, arguing before the Supreme Court (Weinberger v. Wiesenfeld, 1975)

4) At her confirmation hearings, RBG openly declared that abortion access is a Constitutional right.

At her 1993 Supreme Court confirmation hearings, Ruth Bader Ginsburg showed what it looks like to uphold constitutional rights. Unlike recent Supreme Court nominees, she affirmatively declared the Constitutional right to safe, legal abortion. When Sen. Hank Brown (R-CO) grilled her about her views on abortion, she declared:

“But you asked me about my thinking about equal protection versus individual autonomy, and my answer to you is it's both. This is something central to a woman's life, to her dignity. It's a decision that she must make for herself. And when Government controls that decision for her, she's being treated as less than a fully adult human responsible for her own choices.”

3) RBG wrote the historic decision ruling that state-funded schools must admit women.

In 1996, Justice Ginsburg wrote the Supreme Court’s majority opinion in United States v. Virginia, which ruled that the Virginia Military Institute’s men-only admission policy violated the 14th Amendment’s equal protection clause. Justice Ginsburg destroyed the Institute’s argument that its program wasn’t suitable for women. Instead, she wrote that:

“[G]eneralizations about ‘the way women are,’ estimates of what is appropriate for most women, no longer justify denying opportunity to women whose talent and capacity place them outside the average description.”

The school has admitted women since then, and — as Justice Ginsburg predicted — they have made the school proud.

2) RBG’s dissent from the majority in Lilly Ledbetter’s case led to the passage a fair pay law.

In 2007, Justice Ginsburg dissented in the ruling against Lilly Ledbetter — a tire factory employee who learned, decades into her tenure, that she was being paid much less than men in the exact same supervisory role: She was making $3,727 per month, while her male counterparts were making between $4,286 and $5,236 per month. However, she lost the case because the Civil Rights Act had a statute of limitations for reporting on discrimination. 

In her scathing dissent, Justice Ginsburg wrote that gender discrimination can be hidden for a long time and “the ball is in Congress’s court” to change the rule. In 2009, Barack Obama signed the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, which extended the Civil Rights Act’s statute of limitations and guarantees women equal pay for equal work.

1.) RBG put the smack down on TRAP laws in Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt. 

In the landmark Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt case in 2016, the Supreme Court — including Justice Ginsburg — ruled that two abortion restrictions in Texas were unconstitutional because they would shut down most clinics in the state and cause Texans an “undue burden” on access to safe, legal abortion. The case exposed the lie that anti-abortion politicians have been peddling for years: that it’s somehow “safer” when the state imposes medically unnecessary, onerous targeted restrictions against abortion providers (TRAP) laws. 

In her concurring opinion to the majority, Justice Ginsburg wrote:

“Given those realities [that keep abortion access out of reach], it is beyond rational belief that H.B. 2 could genuinely protect the health of women, and certain that the law ‘would simply make it more difficult for them to obtain abortions’... When a State severely limits access to safe and legal procedures, women in desperate circumstances may resort to unlicensed rogue practitioners... at great risk to their health and safety.”

With this historic decision, the Court reaffirmed the constitutional right to access legal abortion. This decision was a triumph for abortion access. And when one of the restrictions that Ginsburg helped strike down came up in another lawsuit this year, Ginsburg again helped lead the Court to protecting abortion access in a major Supreme Court victory for reproductive rights.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg rose for all of us. How will we work together to rise for her?

From day one, Justice Ginsburg recognized our constitutional right to control our bodies and our destinies. That is a legacy that cannot and must not depart with her. 

Justice Ginsburg stood up for us. Now it’s our turn. 

Follow Planned Parenthood at facebook.com/PlannedParenthood and twitter.com/PPFA to stay updated on how to get involved. Together, we will rise. 

By Miriam at PPFA

[wickwrites]

Wonder Egg Priority Episode 4: Boys’ and Girls’ Suicides Do Mean Different Things (But Not in the Way the Mannequins Want You to Think!)

So, let’s talk about this for a second. After I got over my initial knee-jerk reaction, I realized I wasn’t sure how to make sense of exactly what the mannequins were arguing for here. So let me rephrase their statements to make the argumentative structure more explicit: Because men are goal-oriented and women are not, because women are emotion-oriented and men are not, and because women are impulsive and easily influenced by others’ voices and men are not, boys’ and girls’ suicides mean different things – girls are more easily “tempted” by death, and therefore, more likely to require saving when they inevitably regret their suicide. While Wonder Egg Priority, so far, seems to agree with the vague version of the mannequins’ conclusion, namely that boys’ and girl’s suicides mean different things, it refutes the gender-essentialist logic through which that conclusion was derived.

The mannequins choose a decidedly gender essentialist approach in explaining the difference between girls’ and boy’s suicides; they argue that the suicides are different because of some immutable characteristic of their mental hard wiring (in this case, impulsivity, emotionality, and influenceability). Obviously, this is a load of bull, and Wonder Egg Priority knows it. The mannequins are not exactly characters we’re supposed to trust, seeing that they’re running a business that is literally based on letting these kids put themselves in mortal danger. As faceless adult men, they parrot and possibly represent the systems that force these girls to continue to be subjected to physical and emotional trauma (it’s probably more complicated than this, but four episodes in, it’s hard to say more). So, we’re probably supposed to take what they say with great skepticism. Also, the director, Shin Wakabayashi, has recently said that in response to these lines, Neiru was originally going to object, “When it comes to their brains, boys and girls are also the same,” (which unfortunately is not exactly true and is somewhat of an oversimplification, but the sentiment is there). While that line ultimately did not make it in, Neiru does reply with a confused and somewhat indignant, “What?!”, a reaction that gets the message across.  Neiru is not a fan of gender essentialism, and as a (more) sympathetic character, we’re supposed to agree with her.

That is, the differences between boys and girls is not something inherent to their biology or character, but something constructed by culture and experience. This rejection of gender-essentialism is apparent in Wonder Egg Priority’s narrative, which takes a more sociocultural perspective on the difference between boys’ and girls’ suicides. It says, well of course boys’ and and girl’s suicides don’t mean the same thing, that’s the whole reason why we’re delving into the experiences specific to being a girl (cis or trans) or AFAB in this world – to show you how girls’ suicides are influenced by systems of oppression perpetuated by those in power (ie. the adult, in this specific anime).

And all the suicides we’ve seen up until now tie into that somehow. For instance, Koito is bullied by her female classmates who think that Sawaki is giving her special treatment. This is a narrative that comes up over and over again, in real life as well: that if a young girl is being given attention from an older man, then it’s her fault – that she must want it, or at least enjoy it somehow, and that it signifies a virtue (eg. maturity or beauty) on her part. And if Koito is actually being given such treatment by Sawaki, an adult man in a position of power over her, that is incredibly predatory. 

And we all know that child sexual abuse is something that overwhelmingly affects girls, with one out of nine experiencing it before the age of 18, as opposed to one out of 53 boys (Finkelhor et al., 2014). Regardless of whether Sawaki was actually abusing Koito or if the students only thought that he was, Koito’s trauma is ultimately the result of this romanticized “love between a young girl and adult man, but not because the man is predatory, but because the girl has some enviable virtue that makes her desirable” narrative. Similarly, in episode 2, Minami’s suicide is driven by ideas related to discipline and body image in sports, which while not necessarily specific to female and AFAB athletes, is framed in an AFAB-specific way. For instance, take the pressure on Minami to “maintain her figure”. Certainly, male athletes also face a similar pressure, but we know that AFAB and (cis and trans) female bodies are subject to closer scrutiny and criticism. We know that young girls are more likely to suffer from eating disorders. And Wonder Egg Priority situates Minami’s experience as decidedly “about” AFAB experience when her coach accuses her change of figure due to her period as a character failing on her part.

 Likewise, episode 3 delves into suicides related to “stan” culture, this fervent dedication to celebrities that is overwhelmingly associated to teenage girls. And Miwa’s story, in episode 4, explicitly shows how society responds to sexual assault. When Miwa does have the courage to speak up about her assault, she’s instantly reprimanded by basically everyone around her. Her father is fired because her abuser was an executive of his company. Her mother asks her why she couldn’t just bear with it, telling her that her abuser chose her because she was cute, as if that’s supposed to make her feel better about it. Wonder Egg Priority shows that this sort of abuse is a systemic problem, a set of rules and norms deeply engrained in a society and upheld by all adults, regardless of gender, social status, or closeness (to the victim). Wonder Egg Priority says that, yes, girls’ and boys’ suicides have different meanings, but it’s not due to some inherent difference between the two, but the hostile environment in which these girls grow up. Girls are not more easily “tempted” by death, they just have more societal bullshit to deal with.

But Wonder Egg Priority goes further than just showcasing how girls’ (and AFAB) experiences are shaped by sociocultural factors. The story also disproves the supposedly dichotomous characteristics that the mannequins use to differentiate girls and boys (i.e. influenceability/independence, impulsivity/deliberation, emotion-orientation/goal-orientation). If the mannequins are indeed correct, and that girls are just influenceable, impulsive, and emotional, you’d expect the girls in the story to be to be like such too. Except, they aren’t. Rather, they’re a mix of both/all characteristics. This show says that, certainly, girls can be suggestible, but they’re also capable of thinking for themselves. For instance, when Momoe asserts her own identity as a girl at the end of episode four, she rejects the words of those around her who insisted that she isn’t a girl. If she were as suggestible as the mannequins believe her to be, that would never have happened – she would have just continued believing that she wasn’t girl “enough”. But, she doesn’t because she is equally capable of making her own judgements. Likewise, Wonder Egg Priority shows that girls can be impulsive, but they can also be deliberate and pre-mediating. When Miwa tricks her Wonder Killer into groping her to create an opening for Momoe to defeat it, she’s not doing it out of impulse – it’s a pre-mediated and deliberate choice unto a goal. And Wonder Egg Priority continues, girls can be equally emotion oriented and goal oriented. Sure, the main girls are fighting because they have the goal of bringing their loved ones back to life, but those goals are motivated by a large range of emotions, from guilt to anger, grief, compassion, and love. 

Being emotion-driven doesn’t mean you’re not goal-driven, and vice versa. In fact, in this case, being emotional drives these girls toward their goals. In other words, none of these traits that the mannequins listed are either “girl traits” or “boy traits”. Being one does not mean you can’t be the other, even if they seem dichotomous at first. Wonder Egg Priority’s diverse cast of multi-dimensional female characters allows it to undermine the mannequins’ conceptualization of gendered roles, refuting the idea that these (or any) character traits should be consider gendered at all.

As an underdeveloped side thought, I think Wonder Egg Priority’s blurring of gendered roles is also well-reflected in its style. There’s been a lot of talk about whether Wonder Egg Priority constitutes a magical girl series, and I think that’s an interesting question deserving of its own essay. Certainly, it does follow the basic formula of the magical girl story: a teenage heroine ensemble wielding magical weapons saves the day. But it also throws out a lot of the conventions you’d expect of a magical girl story – both aesthetically and narratively. Aesthetically, it’s probably missing the component that most would consider the thing that makes an anime a magical girl anime: the full body transformation sequence, complete with the sparkles and the costume and all that. Narratively, the girls are also not really magical girl protagonist material – they’ve got a fair share of flaws, have done some pretty awful things (looking at Kawai in particular; I still love you though), and aren’t exactly the endlessly self-sacrificing heroines you’d expect from a typical magical girl story. On the other hand, the anime also borrows a lot from shonen battle anime. We get these dynamic, well choreographed action sequences full of horror and gore, the focus on the importance of camaraderie between allies (or “nakama”, as shonen anime would call it) exemplified through all the bonding between the main girls during their downtime, and in the necessary co-operation to bring down the Wonder Killers. That said, this anime is not a shonen; the characters, types of conflicts, and themes are quite different from those that you’d find in a typical shonen. The bleeding together of the shonen genre and the magical girl genre, at the very least (and I say this because I think it does way more than just that), reflects Wonder Egg Priority’s interest in rebelling against conventional narratives about girlhood and gender.

[pheita]

Dimensional Tides Part 12

The next part of the ball. Yeah, things are getting interesting now.

Tagging @ashen-crest @adie-dee @abalonetea @cometkov @contes-de-rheio @kainablue @chris-the-dragonslayer @viskafrer @vivian-is-writing

"Mis, come here." Only barely could Miada keep from stumbling as Sykova pulled her close. She hadn't seen him this exuberant in months. Without thinking about it, she let herself fall against his upper body. She just had to move her hands further down to bring him down to her level so she could kiss him. Sykova rested his forehead on hers as their lips parted. "We'll have time for that later, sinda," he whispered with a grin. "And what if I don't have patience, sindam?" It was a euphoric feeling that arose in Miada when she saw how Sykova reacted to it. She was sure that he was very happy to wear wider pants right now. "Miada, Sykova; aren't you forgetting something?" Orshez was just about to burst out laughing on the spot.

"Young again, you would have to be," Sykova's father commented with a smirk. Abruptly, Sykova straightened up again. Miada was pulled along by him as he walked back to the group. "Miada, this is my father, Zefika Onell." It wasn't clear which Miada thought was cuter: How Sykova was excited to introduce her to his father, or how proud he sounded doing it. Zefika bowed slightly. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, though the further circumstances are not so joyous." Sympathetically, Orshez placed a hand on Zefika's shoulder. "You could not know what was happening in this family, nor could you know to which family his mother belonged. My friend in the archives looked at the family trees and found that the women in Sykova's family were specifically looking for the men in whose families this gift was also found. You are both victims in this mess." Father and son nodded thoughtfully. "I guess that's true. We can only put an end to all the pain and take a closer look soon," Zefika confessed with a sadness in his voice. Questioningly, Miada looked at Sykova, who only shook his head slightly. "All the more important that we act quickly. The old council couldn't bring themselves to do anything, perhaps because they felt it was something for the new council to deal with. The unfathomable darkness alone knows what drove them to wait." It was Fenor who had spoken up. Of course, he had somehow figured out what Sykova's family was all about and that they had to be stopped. "You speak with wisdom beyond your years, my young friend. As soon as the council meets for the first time tomorrow at noon, I will make sure we address this debacle first thing." Zefika straightened his clothes as he spoke, but then leaned a little toward Sykova. "But we were actually about you telling me what your research is doing." "Most of the work at present is actually done by Miada and Fenor," Sykova explained meekly. "Well, Miada-bibiga, maybe you can enlighten me a little?" Smirking, Miada placed herself between father and son, reaching out with one hand to Sykova. "Currently, we are busy assigning the recurring frequencies that have been recorded in the last decades to dimensions. The theory that each dimension has its own frequency was confirmed a few days ago." "This is wonderful news. That means if we decide to dissolve the barrier, we can selectively defend against dimensions?" asked Zefika, slightly excited. Something about his question bothered Miada, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fenor looking thoughtful as well. "Defending yourself is a stretch, Councilor," Orshez took over in the cautious tone Miada had known from an early age, and knew he had become equally skeptical. Zefika still blinked slightly in agitation. A moment later, realization dawned on him. "Oh, no, don't get me wrong. My thought is that we can preserve the barrier for hostile dimensions and friendly ones come through. My hope is that we can resume exchanges between cultures as it was before the interdimensional war. I'm a historian and anthropologist, but I also know that not everyone is sympathetic to us." Gesticulating wildly, Zefika tried to put his hope into words. Bayeen chuckled softly, probably because it reminded them all of Casimerin a few days ago when they finally figured out that each frequency stood for a dimension. Still, a sinking feeling remained at Zefika's question. Miada made a mental note to talk to Orshez about it as soon as she could. "Council member, a moment, please?" A smaller group approached them and from the sighs of Orshez and Zefika, they meant long annoying conversations. "I hope we can continue this soon," Zefika said goodbye and walked towards the group.

[aestheticaxolotl]

V.I.L.E Headcanons

- Graham “Crackle” Calloway grew up in the poorer slims of Sydnee Australia where his parents struggled on a day to day basis to provide food for their 4 kids, Graham, being the oldest son felt the absolute need to help his parents provide for his three younger siblings. Doubling down in school, and getting the best grades he could (B’s and low A’s) and then diving into work as soon as he got out. -Graham started with small odd jobs until he got a part time gig with a rather cranky old electrician who had no love for anyone in his life. But he took Graham on as an apprentice because the stupid kid wouldn’t leave him alone. To his chagrin, the kid took to the job like a house on fire. This became important when he joine V.I.L.E -Tigress came from a troubled home to say the least. Her mom was an alcoholic and her dad was a blue-collared working class man who would gamble and chase after his dreams while squandering all the families money She resented her parents for these reasons and acted out as much as she possibly could, whether by robbing small stores or beating up younger kids on the play ground

-She started out trying to make a quick buck to help her momma pay the bills, not because she was showing kindness to her mom, but because the land lord had threatened to kick them out one too many times, and kept making lewd comments and suggestions that even Tigress would not allow her mother to take.

-El Topo’s story isn’t the happiest, seeing as his mother moved into America when he was very young, unable to afford to bring her husband and son with her at the time. Of course, El Topo’s father was not keen on being left behind and took his 12 year old son, attempting to smuggle him into America. Sadly, this would not end well seeing as El Topo’s father was shot and killed, and he was placed in foster care, unable to contact his mother.

-El Topo got out of the Foster care system when he was 18 and was homeless for a long time. He lived on the streets in Georgia, the last place his mom was having known working. He did everything he could to find his mom and was devastated to learn that his mother had moved to New York, remarried and had a daughter.

-Le Chevre’s mother died giving birth to him in Paris, France. His father being left alone to raise their one and only son, they had married young and had a baby younger, leaving the young father devastated and entirely loving of his young son. Le Chevre’s young life was full of music and love. His father worked as a caretaker in a French Theater, working up with the lights and the set pieces.    -Young Le Chevre wasn’t as fascinated with the acting as he was with being high up and above the actors, it gave him a feeling of power and meaning while his father proposed that he take lessons to play instruments for the plays. HE did for about a week to please his hard working father, but took the gold star in thievery. To this day he still leaves large amounts of money on his’s father’s doorsteps as thanks for such a wonderful upbriging.

-Dash Harber grew up with a love of fashion and the stylistic life of the rich and famous. His parents, both very wealthy and distant from him, showered their son with gifts and money for doing nothing but existing. His parents ended up sending him away at the age of 15 (At his request) to his aunt “Cookie Booker” so that he could have a better, proper upbringing. 

-Through his ‘Aunt Cookie’, he met the Dear Countess Cleo, who he took a major liking to the Countess, having a childhood crush on her. Cleo found the young gentlemen quiet endearing and took him under her wing, giving him the life he had know that he’d desired at a very young age. This came to bit him in the but when he started working for V.I.L.E. His parent identifying him during a caper and he had to go into hiding for quite a while. (His parents minds were wiped after this incident, as far as they are concerned now, they never had kids).

-Paperstar’s mother was a prostitute in Japan, and gave birth to her from an unknown father. Paperstar was devoted to her mother, even if she was not devoted to her daughter. She was usually there when her mother brought a man home, covering her ears when ever, what her mother called ‘Business work’, started.

-Young Paperstar started stealing from the men who her mother brought home when she was seven, doing this for many years before one man noticed and turned both Paperstar and her mother into the police. This enraged her mother and she disowned Paperstar, leaving the girl alone and vengeful, only wanting to look out for herself. (She might have killed her mom too, I’m still thinking on that one)

-Mimebomb was born in Ireland with their twin brother. When they were young their parents moved them to France. This is where they saw their first ever Mime, their mother had stopped at a shop and 3 year old Mimebomb had wandered off and stopped to watched a man with paint on his face act on a street corner. They realized they were lost and the Mime just... Scooped them up to help them find their mom and twin brother. This REALLY enforced in them that Mimes weren’t scary or freaky. (Their WHOLE family disagrees to this to this day)

-Spoiler, Mimebomb grew obsessed with Mimes and this really worried their parents. They sent him to a Psychologist, one Professor Maelstrom who was doing freelance work. Maelstrom found the phenomena rather interesting and kept track of Mimebomb for a very long time, it was Maelstrom who brought Mimebomb to V.I.L.E and showed them what their true calling was.

-Boris and Vlad.... I don’t have much for them but what I do have is rather... Boris and Vlad grew up in a very unwelcoming community. Russia at the time was very hostile towards outsiders and while their parents (They are not related, family friends in my eyes) had both of them in Russia, they were still not well accepted by their community, often bullied and beaten bloody by other kids, who forced them to clean up the mess after they finished beating them.

-This horrible childhood instilled a rather off form of PTSD and OCD in both of them that leads them to see every mess that a V.I.L.E operative made was something they had to clean up. Somehow, it was their fault and they had to fix and clean and pretend nothing ever happened.

-Cookie Booker is the Aunt of Dash Haber, she ADORES her Nephew and spoiled him rotten when he was a child, basically taking him in when he asked her too. She took great care to raise him the best she could, never having been able to have children herself, an event that let to her husband leaving her and marrying another woman.

-Cookie was also the woman who introduced Countess Cleo to Professor Maelstorm, a very monumental occasion in V.I.L.E history.

-Neal the Eel was just Neal as a kid. His mom and dad were performers in a Circus, a Magician and his Assistant. He used to adore the circus and wanted to be part of it as a contortionist/escape artist. He was bullied for his hypermobility ( similar to double-jointedness, but if it is progressively more serious it can create more problems for someone.) Causing him to end up resenting his upbringing and parents.

When Neal was 16 he began to break IN to prisons and then BREAK BACK OUT with a TON of the criminals inside. This quickly put him on V.I.L.E’s radar and they decided that they really wanted to recruit him. They made the offer and he vowed that he would never be seen as a joke like he was with the circus.

-MooseBoy was not the brightest kid in school, often picked on for being slow or stupid when he was really just a friendly kid with dyslexia. He almost flunked out of school and would have if not for this dorky looking kid who called himself “Otter”. Thus, a tense and rather abusive friendship formed.

-Otterman was the only reason that Mooseboy was able to graduate Highschool. They were a team, he was the brains (Still is) and Mooseboy the brawn (Still is). HE hated the fact that he was smaller and weaker and really took it out on his partner. Their first crime together was breaking into the school and stealing the principal’s desk on a dare.

-Spinkick and his half sister Flytrap have the same father, and different mothers. Their father lived a double life with his paramours only six miles from one and other. This affair was discovered by their moms and the two women ended up murdering their children’s father and then (unironically) falling in love with each other.

-Flytrap and Spinkick’s mothers moved in and the two kids were forced to get along, they ended up really caring about each other and watching each other’s backs and defending each other in school. Their mother’s never got caught by the way, just think about that.

-The Troll never had friends as a kid and met all his good good friends online, including Player (Plot twist?). Player and Troll got along like peanut butter and jelly, becoming a tag team in learning to hack and work with the internet system. The Troll became invested in trying to figure out how to lock down security systems like banks or Jail facilities (Seeing as his father was put in jail for robbing a back and killing a man who tried to stop him).

-This took Player aback and he began to back away from his friendship with The Troll. This didn’t matter to The Troll, he managed to shut down the security system where his father was being kept. This ends sadly due to the fact that his father doesn’t escape, but ends up dying in the break out. This caused him to draw back from people and remain in his room for a very long time.

Thanks for reading my ramble about V.I.L.E Operatives, I’ll be posting one for the Faculty soon!

[queenboudicaa]

From Graham Linehan from The Glinner Update grahamlinehan@substack.com

Played The Fool

Sue Donym

Sep 16

I remember my college days studying journalism, which don't seem so long ago, but actually are now, and as a young eighteen year old, a friend gives me something she says explains gender. It is Judith Butler's Gender Trouble. I have heard of this book. People treat it like The Bible. I eagerly open the book and attempt to read it.

I cannot make heads or tails of it. I conclude I simply am not smart enough or well-read enough to understand the religious revelation. I make it to page sixty before giving up, the constant mentions of ‘Althusserian’ and ‘structuralist’ and ‘reifying’ finally defeating me. I don’t feel like any of the book has actually managed to lodge itself in my head.

I give the book back to my friend, and then I pretend to everyone around me that I have read the book. No one figures me out.

When I get older, I realize they all did the same thing.

In my senior year, I win election to student government. I am to represent ‘LGBT’ people. I am proud. I am unaware I am now standing on a cliff, the ground beneath me slowly breaking. I bury my head in the sand as my position becomes increasingly precarious.

I meet with faculty during the first semester. I read through a policy. Suddenly ‘LGBT’ has morphed. It’s ‘LGBTQI+’. I don’t know what the Q and I stand for, let alone that seemingly erroneous plus sign. I am supposed to be the expert, and all these middle-aged people are looking at me to explain the youth speak which is even bedeviling I, the putative youth. I muddle through, using this surprise new acronym, and then I Google it surreptitiously in the meeting. It means ‘Queer’ and ‘Intersex’, and the plus sign appears to be decorative in nature. I wonder what the Q covers that ‘LGBT’ doesn’t, let alone the God-damned plus sign, and I wonder why ‘intersex’ needs to be included at all.

They talk enthusiastically about how everyone has a gender. There are women with penises, men with vaginas. Gender is understood to be how you feel inside. I contort my mind around this way of thinking as best I can. A man is someone who behaves like a man, and a woman is someone who behaves like a woman. That is the working definition you have, even though you paper over it with phrases like ‘identifies as.’

I don’t think about. You can’t. You are told this is how it is, how it has always been, to think otherwise is actually you replicating the kyriarchy, over and over and over again, and you nod and accept it, because you are given this set of facts and told to nod. Pseudoscience justifies it. People talk about ‘brain scans’ and ‘the wrong bodymap’, and ‘indigenous genders’. It’s all conjectural bullshit, but everyone goes along with it.

When I can’t perform the cognitive contortions, I simply don’t acknowledge contradicting evidence. To do so would be to jump off a cliff into an abyss. It is a reflexive thing, unconscious, and its origins lie in the instinct for self-preservation.

Everyone goes along with it. I am a coward, so I accept it and move on. I am twenty two years old, and I don’t know any better, and I want to trust the organizations that say they hold my best interests at heart.

Part of my role on student government was providing student-based pastoral care in my college’s LGBT center. By the time I get there, it’s morphed into the LGBTQI+ Center. I consider myself even-keeled and well-adjusted, perfect to help ‘my people’.

Many of the people that come see me have fairly normal problems. I speak to lecturers about not being homophobic, meet with faculty about LGBTQI issues, and sit through interminably boring student government meetings full of bloviating Young Democrats self-assured about their future self-importance. Increasingly, more people come to speak to me about trans issues. Walking through the center one day, someone assumes I am a ‘pre-hormones trans man’. When I correct them, and say I am a butch lesbian, they suddenly become hostile. I don’t know why, but I feel offended to my very bones about being assumed to be a man.

More and more of my fellow butches suddenly start declaring themselves to ‘truly be men.’ I don’t think about this. You’re not supposed to think about it, or question them, just accept and affirm and acknowledge and adulate their new found authenticity. I get a new package of fliers from an LGBT charity, open them up, and suddenly find that I, simply defined as ‘butch’ (forget the lesbian!) am now supposedly ‘trans’ and under the ‘trans umbrella.’ I call this ridiculous, and loudly.

Someone pulls me aside to ask why I’m being so transphobic.

I meet with a charity group. They have this young woman on staff who declares herself ‘non-binary’ and uses ‘they/them’ pronouns. She does not strike me as gay, and her entire purview of ‘LGBT’ seems to forget the first three letters. She assumes that I am a trans man. When I tell her I am a lesbian, she asks ‘are you sure? Maybe you’ll change your mind’. She then starts talking to me about her boyfriend.

I wonder why this straight girl with dyed hair is telling me what to do on gay issues. What gives her the right?

At the end of the meeting, someone I know from the charity group tells me that ‘Aiden’ is upset I forgot her pronouns. I hadn’t realized. I tell him that this dyed hair fag hag told me I’ll change my mind about being a lesbian. He says that doesn’t excuse messing up Aiden’s pronouns.

The next time I meet Aiden, she keeps calling me ‘he’. She gets upset when I get angry with her.

My student body president sends me a please explain email the next day about upsetting Aiden.

One day in the center, in walks a man in a dress. That’s what I thought in my unfiltered thoughts, before the cognitive dissonance kicks in. But the Aiden experience has taught me a lesson to not speak up. The man uses ~the magical pronouns~, ‘she/her’ and this means he is a woman. He dresses like a prostitute downtown and declares he’s a lesbian.

He says he is a trans woman. But Chloe is different from all the trans women I had met before. They would call themselves ‘gay men gone too far’, tell you hilarious stories, wingman for me at the bar, argue about ‘when Madonna went bad’, arguments that turned into handbag duels at dawn. Many of them were older, and many of them had stories about surviving in a homophobic world, surviving AIDS, dangerous johns, and the joy they felt now, that gay rights had gone somewhere. This man was very different to them.

My hair stands up on the back of my neck every time I deal with ‘Chloe’. It requires conscious effort to make sure I don’t mess up his pronouns, because my brain says that’s ‘a fucking man’, but my cognitive dissonance around the situation and my sense of self-preservation knows that if I don’t call this man a woman I will be in for it. I have seen the results - ‘Chloe’, all six feet of ‘Chloe’, screaming at a fellow trans woman, Clara, half his size, for saying ‘you’re a man honey’. Chloe himself came to me demanding I ban her from the space. I refused.

Clara stops coming into the center. I ask her why, and she says ‘those flipping transvestites, they’re not us.’ Clara never comes back to the center.

None of this thinking about Chloe’s pronouns is conscious. I feel guilty every time my thoughts use the ‘wrong pronouns’. My head is tied up in knots - not something freshman me would have considered, turning up to the center with the goal of getting laid, now trying to smile and put up with this man.

He makes every conversation in there uncomfortable. We relax when he is gone and only homosexuals are in the room.

Suddenly, my straight friends start asking if I’d ‘sleep with a trans woman’. I try laughing this off. One friend gets very insistent, and when I tell him that I wouldn’t consider someone with a dick, he starts wondering if my preferences are ‘rooted in bigotry’. I ask him if he’d sleep with a trans woman. He tells me that no, he’d prefer a woman who can have his children.

I smile and nod, and when the conversation ends, walk out of the room as fast as I can.

Chloe tells us at length about their sexual proclivities. Bondage and leather and ‘being a dom’. Chloe tells us about his lack of luck on lesbian dating apps. I keep to myself that I had ended up setting a height filter to filter out ‘the trannies.’ Nor do I tell him that me and a group of women had made fun of men like him on lesbian dating apps, swapping screenshots and Silence Of The Lambs jokes.

Soon there are more Chloes and fewer women. They all start talking about radical communism, about ‘sex work is work’, ‘cultural appropriation’, and about ‘TERFs’ and how hideous they are. One of them expounds to me at length why I shouldn’t read any feminist works from the seventies, because they hated trans women, and I wouldn’t want to hate trans women, wouldn’t I?

They all behave the same way. I keep getting reports about the Chloes harassing people in the center, particularly young lesbian women. Then there is an influx of ‘Aidens’, straight women declaring themselves to really be gay men. One of them tells me I am ‘appropriating the culture of trans men.’

One day I am in the center, and I look out the glass window of my office. There are a dozen people sitting in the common room of the center, talking animatedly. I realize none of them are lesbian or gay in the actual sense of the word. I feel uncomfortable, but I cannot articulate why I feel such discomfort.

One of the Chloes knocks on my door. This one wears a pink tube top and a pencil skirt. I am strongly reminded of Buffalo Bill. He asks me out for coffee. I decline. He asks why, as I am single. I say that I am busy that day. He tries asking for another day. I say I am playing club football that day. He keeps trying to cajole me. Eventually I dispense with the politeness and tell him I am not interested in him. He shouts at me that I am transphobic and leaves.

A few hours later, my phone blows up. His friends are calling me transphobic for not being interested in him. It’s just one date, they say. One little coffee. You might like it. You don’t know. Your last girlfriend dressed the same. You need to unlearn your genital preferences.

I think to myself my last girlfriend was a foot shorter and had a vagina, but I don’t say anything. I ignore the messages. He is allowed boundaries. I am not.

I am sitting in a class. It’s on sexual histories, a class I took to broaden my horizons from my journalism degree. I try not to think of the student loan I’ll be incurring from taking it.

Strangely enough, it is perhaps the first blow to the self-imposed contortions of my thoughts. The professor starts his lecture by pronouncing that sexual orientation is, in fact, a social construct. He explains that the word ‘homosexuality’ did not exist until the 19th century, and thus, homosexuals are a creation of repressive Victorian sexuality. I find this theory strange. I had grown up in the ‘born this way’ era, to be sure, but my homosexuality seemed biological, instinctual, basal to my very way of being. A powerful attraction to women came to me as naturally as breathing, or seeing, or farting inappropriately on the second date. Yet here was this man telling me, that in fact, my perceptions were merely constructs based on my surroundings.

It seemed strange to me. Someone from the class, notorious for asking questions, puts his hands up and asks about the Romans - you see, he is a student of the classics, and he remarks that the Romans knew of homosexuals. The professor gravely informs in that in fact the Romans were aware of a ‘behavior’, and that as ‘homosexual’ as a word did not exist at the time, there were no homosexuals. Only behaviors, that we codify and understand on a cultural basis.

This made less sense to me than before. It made even less sense to me when someone else asks about trans people. The professor remarks that ‘trans people have always existed’.

Yet homosexuals were invented by the first sexologists, rather than through self-definition? We had to have heterosexuals invent us, as other, first?

I am sitting with some gay friends, and one of them complains about the focus on trans issues when we still don’t have same-sex marriage federally yet. We talk about our disappearing spaces, and I voice that sometimes I am the only lesbian out of thirty people sitting in the LGBTQI+ student center (it had been renamed). I think of it in terms of getting laid - because suddenly all the ‘lesbians’ in the center had penises. It happened so quickly that it was easy to notice. I went to a lesbian group, and it was a sausage fest I made up an excuse to leave. The Chloes moved in, and the lesbians instantly left. I feel constantly uncomfortable, watched, stared at, envied. The Chloes all talk about their genitalia and violent pornography at length, in public, and it makes me feel gross and dirty, and I start to dislike most of them.

I post on my Tinder that I’m not into penis. I log in the next day to find out my account has been banned. Tinder never gives me a straight answer as to why I was banned.

I finish out my term on student government. I don’t run again. I’m a senior. I finish my degree and hurry off to the real world. One of the Chloes takes my place as ‘LGBTQI+ students representative’.

It is the one who tried getting me to go out on a date with him. He makes me feel uncomfortable throughout the whole handover.

I am upset, because he will destroy everything I worked for.

I go to the gay bar with some friends. But when we go, we feel like the only homosexuals in the whole god-damn bar. It’s full of people with dyed hair. A man in a dress tries grinding on me, and when I turn around and tell him no, he calls me ‘transphobic towards trans femmes’. When I declare I am a butch lesbian, people ask if I am a ‘TERF’. I don’t know what a ‘TERF’ is, other than ‘terfs’ are bad. I have been told terfs are bad, so it has to be true right? I don’t want to be a bad person.

I try going to other gay events, and suddenly I am outnumbered. Me, a few older lesbians, and some gay men huddle in a corner of spaces we once proudly called our own, as the Chloes and the Aidens declare it their own - and even worse, that they are just the same as us. It is unnerving, and they no longer feel like safe spaces for me. Gradually, we all stop going. There were no more gay people in the gay space.

I have a lesbian friend. She tells me excitedly about a first date. She meets them in a quirky coffee shop. It is a trans woman twice her size. When she tells the trans woman that she’s not interested, they lose it at her in the coffee shop, calling her a transphobic bigot and screaming and shouting and threatening to hit her.

She tells me, because she knows I don’t tell people things. But she cannot say anything in public. She’ll be transphobic. So she keeps it to herself, and this man gets to continue preying on women who think they’re safe, catfishing, coercing and abusing them.

To say otherwise gets you labelled a terf. And terfs are bad. Why are terfs bad? Don’t ask. Just accept that terfs are bad. Terfs hurt trans women, and you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?

Eventually, my friend hears of her date doing it to someone else. She writes a call out post, saying that you shouldn’t hide important facts about yourself on dating sites. She gets called a terf for saying that ‘lesbians don’t have dicks’, and being verbally abused in public was the rational response of an oppressed person to oppression. It’s a scarlet letter, and she is branded with it. I am a coward and I do not speak up in public. I hate myself. I am thinking of my personal prospects, and not my friend, and not my people. Because if I speak up, I can kiss the career I dream about goodbye. I fear that scarlet letter being branded on my forehead.

I tell my friend in private that I support her. But I daren’t say that in public.

I daren’t ask questions.

One day, I am aimlessly browsing the internet at work. I have written enough copy to cover my ass for the next few weeks. I wait until my boss leaves for the afternoon, and wait out the rest of the day mindlessly scrolling. I see a post in an LGBTQI+ students group on Facebook I’ve forgotten to leave. It’s a troll post, which is apparently ‘terf rhetoric’. The link is still there, and the comments are blowing up, united in performative outrage.

I click the link . I find myself laughing at the description of ‘men in dresses’. To these ‘terfs’, a man has a penis, and a woman has a vagina. Anyone saying otherwise is a damned fool. It seems such an easy way to think about it. I mean, what is a woman, anyway? It doesn’t seem evil, wicked or bad. It seems… sensible.

Finding out more about this new way of thinking becomes addicting. I keep my scrolling through it on my phone. I have always had a fondness for reading people being harshly critical about anything, and now I have an endless source of it, articulating things I knew instinctually but could never find the words to verbalize, could never find the courage to verbalize. I wonder if I am being radicalized - images of ISIS radicalizing fighters over the internet run through my head. But everything seems to make so much sense. I am no longer contorting my thoughts around the desires of others, but thinking freely, observationally, openly, fearlessly.

It felt like my mind had freed itself from chains, chains placed upon it all those years ago, when that naïve eighteen year old who wanted to get laid tried reading Gender Trouble.

The gunk on my mind slowly unclogged. My way of thinking suddenly changed. I was no longer denying what my eyes saw in front of me. No, now I saw things as they were. There was no more contorting my way of thought. For the first time in a long time, I felt clear-headed.

One of the links I clicked in my flurry was a link to Dr. Ray Blanchard’s paper on ‘autogynephilia’. I read it, and finally, I had an explanation. Homosexual transsexuals. And ‘autogynephiles.’ The two types of his famous and controversial typology.

‘Autogynephiles’ - men who had a sexual fetish for ‘being a woman’, a fetish for an alter-ego female self, a fetish for our bodies, our minds, our souls, our experiences. All reduced to jerk-off fodder for some blockhead man.

It explained why they were so desperate for lesbians to date them. They needed us for validating their sexual fetish. Our lives and experiences, our spaces, our dating apps, our culture, our media, our websites, every breath we took, as far as they were concerned, needed to be focused on validating them. Because otherwise, the fantasy was ruined! This straight man would not be able to jerk off over ‘being a lesbian!’. We were not people, we were non-player-characters in their video game. Actresses in pornography, extras in a film where they were the protagonist, and we were off script. We weren’t fully-formed people, with our own desires, we were things, objects, film props.

The entire gay movement, from the lesbians to the gays, to the homosexual transsexuals, reduced to nothing props in some straight man’s sexual fantasy. That’s all we were to them, ultimately.

And I was expected to go along with it?! We were all expected to go along with it?

Not only that, I had gone along with it. I had advocated for this.

What had I done?

Every moment you come close, every moment you start thinking something isn’t right, you start feeling a little foolish.

Of course this is fine. Everyone is telling me so. The media, the public, the people around you. No one voices concerns. When you have them, you don’t say anything, because no one else is, and because you are a coward.

You feel a little foolish because this is foolish. Saying some women have penises is foolish. You know it is foolish, from the minute that idiot phrase leaves your mouth, to the minute it dances across your tongue, to the minute your nerves send the signal to your larynx to make the required movements to produce the very sounds. But, you think, you are no fool.

You are no fool, you think, when someone says ‘biological women have XY chromosomes’, or that it’s okay for a man on the college track team to identify as a woman and take a place on the woman’s track team. You know that’s not right. But everyone else is going along with it, and you are no fool, and you shouldn’t feel foolish, because everyone says this is the right thing to do, the right side of history, doing right by an oppressed minority, so you go along with it.

You are frightened of realizing you are a fool. So too, is everyone around you. No one likes being played the fool, no one likes realizing they were sold a pack of lives as a naïve eighteen year old looking for other gay people. And no one plays you for a fool. And thus the dance continues, everyone one too frightened to admit that, perhaps, we are all fools, believing in something physically impossible, no different to the bible-banging megachurch attendee, with our owns chants, our own magic words, ritual knowledge, and ability to be born again. We are smart. We liberal. We are on the right side of history. We couldn’t be believing in something that isn’t scientifically backed. We’re smarter than that. We’re not fools.

And when it finally gets too much, and you drift over to the cliff’s edge, the cliff that you can see the bottom of, the cliff you know you can’t come back from, you pull away. Because to go over it would to be to admit that you’ve been played the fool. No one likes that feeling, the shame, the embarrassment, the horror, the fear. What lies over that cliff is exile, a scarlet letter, fear and hatred and nasty women who just want trans women dead.

What lies beyond that cliff is a realization that you have been used. You have been used by something greater than yourself, to push medication on children. You have been used by straight men to participate in their sexual fetish without your consent. Your entire community, rendered a jerk-off prop for some straight man over night, and you were told that objecting was ‘transphobic’. You have been used to spread homophobia beyond your comprehension, to take part in the destruction of your own community, and you were told this was right and good.

To realize this, to acknowledge it, to move on and try and forge something better, that takes true strength of character. To realize this, to deny it, and obfuscate what you are doing, that I can understand. I too, was once a coward. I too, did not want to believe what my eyes told me was sitting in front of me. That cliff is scary, and to jump off it seemingly lies nothing but social death.

But eventually something pushes you over, without your consent. You realize you have been played the fool, because finally, something so gratuitous occurs that you must. Even the greatest cowards will eventually be blown off the cliff. The music will stop, and the dance will end, and you will finally feel the shame, the embarrassment, the horror, the fear, the guilt.

Because no one likes being played for a fool.

Perhaps, then, it is best to get this over and done with now, while you still have dignity to defend.

Some details have been changed to protect the identities of those concerned.

[slowly-writing]

Almost Lost You

Jennifer Jareau x Reader

Word count: 2.3K

Requested by: n/a

Warnings: canon typical violence

This case was stumping the entire team. The dump sites had seemingly no correlation, so Ried’s geographical profile was out the window. The MO was all over the place which made it hard to nail down a profile on the unsub. The only thing that proved these murders were connected was the flowers the unsub was leaving in the victim’s hand, and even with that you were beginning to question it all.

“Does anyone else feel like their brain is melting?” JJ groans and you feel inclined to agree.

“Your brain can’t actually melt. You could boil the water in your brain but the fatty tissues that make up the majority of it are harder to break down,” Spencer says and you smile, at least his facts are always consistent.

“That’s not what she means, Spence. It’s a metaphor. She means she’s tired of getting nowhere with the case and she feels like all the work is physically hurting her,” you explain and he nods in understanding, looking at JJ whose head is now laying on the table of the conference room the three of you have hunkered down in.

“Did you know it’s actually proven that fresh air can increase productivity and reduce stress?” Spencer pipes up again and you chuckle as you rise from your seat, grabbing JJ’s shoulders and coaxing her up.

“Good call doc. I think I’m gonna take her outside for a bit before she puts that brain melting theory to the test. You take a break too, alright? Even geniuses have a breaking point,” you wait until he agrees to stop for a bit to lead JJ outside.

“It just feels so messy. Like there’s no way to get through it all,” JJ has tears in her eyes as she looks up at you and your heart breaks at her obvious frustration. You often wonder how JJ got into a field like this, so painful and gruesome. She has such a tender heart, if you had met her outside of work you would’ve guessed she was a teacher, maybe a social worker, but certainly not a profiler whose job was to hunt down some of the worst people the world had to offer.

“I know it feels like this will never end, but it will. I promise it will, because we’re not going anywhere until we catch this creep. Hotch and Emily are interviewing the victim’s families again as we speak and Morgan and Rossi are at the crime scenes. They will all get us some more to work on and eventually we’ll nail this guy.”

“You promise?” JJ’s voice is soft and you can’t resist the urge to pull her into your arms, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“I do. Are you ready to go back in?” JJ nods and you pull away, “then let’s go crack this case.”

xxxxx

“Rose Allen, Jessica Phillips, and Sara Parker have been found dead. Now I don’t know about you guys but I sure as hell don’t want a fourth name added to that list,” Morgan snaps, slamming his hand on the table. You all look up from your notes at the outburst, and none of you blame him. JJ grabs your hand under the table and it calms you both as tensions rise in the room.

“What do you think we’re doing here? None of us want this to go on. We’re trying our best,” Emily knuckles are turning white as she clenches her first.

“Okay let’s all calm down. If we all put our head together then we can crack this. So, the women disappear from their daily routines, they are gone for a week before being found in various locations with different causes of death. What does that tell us?” Hotch starts the discussion and everyone settles in to work.

“He’s obviously stalking them. He knows their routines and is able to grab them without anybody seeing,” Rossi is the first to join in and you nod along.

“And the manner of the killing isn’t important to him, as long as they die. With victim number one we have strangulation, then stabbing, and last dehydration. He doesn’t care how they die as long as he can see them suffer,” your brow is furrowed as you think out loud.

“The flowers obviously mean a lot to him, right? It’s the only consistency,” Emily jumps in and everyone voices their agreement.

“They’re yellow roses. Those symbolize friendship, maybe these women told him they just wanted to be friends?” JJ says and you think she’s onto something until Spencer speaks up.

“Historically yellow roses have a different meaning. Now they are known to symbolize friendship but they actually used to stand for infidelity or unfaithfulness. He could’ve had a childhood trauma involving an unfaithful individual that still haunts him,” Hotch perks up as Reid finishes.

“Rose and Jessica’s family members said they were having relationship troubles, Sara’s family didn’t have much to say, but with how hostile her fiancé was, I’d bet my career that their relationship was rocky,” the analysis makes sense, at least it’s a start.

“Okay, so we have an unsub targeting people whose relationships are failing. Considering he targeted the girls I’d guess they were the ones who were unfaithful, who would know if they were?” Rossi asks and you all think through the list.

“If it was me I’d only tell my closest friends,” you say and try not to wince at the way JJ’s head snaps to face you. “I’m speaking hypothetically of course. I’ve never cheated so I don’t know what it’s like in that situation. I can only make an educated guess on the thoughts and feelings the victims were having in the moment,” you stare ahead as you say it, nobody knows you and JJ are together, and this is not how you want them to find out. “That was a poor choice of words,” you say and Emily raises an eyebrow at you.

“Ignoring y/n’s over explanation of how she’s never cheated on anyone,” Emily says slowly and you avoid eye contact. “None of these women shared friends. Garcia couldn’t even find evidence that they knew each other, let alone had the same confidants.”

“When Will and I went through all that we went to a relationship counselor. Is it possible they saw the same one?” JJ asks and Garcia pipes up for the first time.

“I can have that answer in just a few moments,” the sound of a keyboard can be heard through the computer, “aha! According to their credit card records they all saw Dr. Damien who is a well renowned relationship counselor in the area. She was, however, out of state for a conference when Rose and Jessica’s bodies were found and did not return until after Sara was reported missing.”

“It could still be someone in her office. Receptionist, coworker, hell even a janitor,” Morgan seems as desperate as you all feel.

“I have a receptionist who was working during all three intake appointments, Jacob Daniels and-oh gosh-At age 8 his father murdered his mother, in the trial he claimed it was because she was cheating with the neighbor who denied the allegations. Regardless there was no family and Jacob bounced around the foster system until he aged out five years ago. Three months ago he landed a job in Dr. Damien’s office and within a month and a half the first murder was commited,” Garcia relays the information, her eyes wide.

“That would be the stressor. Hearing about the failing relationships was too much for Daniels and he snapped. Garcia, do you have an address?” Hotch asks as you all stand, grabbing your gear.

“Like you even have to ask. Be safe my lovelies,” Garcia tells you all as she ends the call.

xxxxx

“Jacob Daniels FBI! Open up!” Hotch yells as he bangs on the door. You hear a crash inside and Morgan takes that as his cue to kick open the door. You’re the first inside and Daniels freezes when he sees the guns trained on him. He may be damaged, but he knows he can’t outrun a bullet. Instead he grabs a knife and points it towards you.

“Stay back!” He yells and you raise your hands, holstering your gun before speaking.

“I just want to talk, Jacob. Can we do that?” you ask and you can see him shaking as he looks between you, Morgan, Hotch, and Ried. Everyone else is still en route.

“They needed to die,” Jacob starts and you blink in surprise as he jumps straight into it.

“Why?” he focuses more on you, relaxing despite the three guns still pointed at him. You inch forward as he begins to talk.

“They didn’t know how to love. No woman knows how to love!” He yells.

“Now that’s not a fair statement, plenty of women know what love is,” you say and you can hear the other team calling their ETA through the comms, but you’re hoping to have this wrapped up before the three minutes it will take them to get here are up.

“Do you? Know how to love? Do you have someone?” Jacob’s voice is soft, almost a whisper as he desperately tries to prove himself wrong. You’re only a few feet away now, and he’s slowly lowering the knife. If you can just get a few inches closer you can grab it.

“I do. She is the most important person in my life.” Out of the corner of your eye you can see the confusion on your team’s faces but you don’t have time to focus on them right now. “I can’t tell you why someone would cheat on the love of their life, but I can tell you I never would. A few bad people isn’t a reason to give up on love or life. They hurt people, but they didn’t hurt you Jacob,” his head snaps up and you quickly realize that was the wrong thing to say. He lunges for you and before anyone can get a shot off he has your back pressed to his chest and his knife to your throat.

“Woah calm down man!” Morgan yells, his panic alerting the rest of the team that this just went south.

“Let her go, Jacob,” Hotch’s words inform the team that he has you, the only female in the room. He doesn’t waver though, ever the calm one in the storm. You can hear the tires of the other SUV squealing to a stop outside. Lucky for you so can Daniels and you use his distraction to slam your eyebrow into his ribs. His grip on you loosens and you’re able to take him down. Morgan takes over, cuffing him as you feel a body slam into yours. JJ throws her arms around your neck and you wrap one arm around her waist, the other cradling her head as you let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m okay,” you tell her and she lets out a shaky breath before pulling away from you completely.

“You idiot!” she yells slapping your shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?��� your hand goes to the place she just smacked, though it didn't hurt much.

“Why would you get so close to him! He could’ve killed you!” She slaps your other shoulder and you groan.

“But he didn’t. I thought I could disarm him, but it's okay now. So can we just agree it was a dumb move and stop hitting me please?” you ask and JJ pulls you into a hug again. You wanna laugh at her conflicting emotions, but you know how scared she is.

“I almost lost you,” she whispers and you sigh.

“You didn’t. I know it was scary, but I’m okay.”

“I could hear the whole thing.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise that I’m okay. You didn’t lose me,” you tell her and she nods, pulling away again. The bubble the two of you have been in is popped as you both turn to see the whole team staring at you, Morgan apparently having passed Daniels off to local officers to make sure you were okay.

“How long has this been going on?” Morgan asks and you look to JJ.

“Six months?” you ask her and she nods. You turn back to the team and nod, “yeah, six months.”

“How did we not notice?” Rossi asks and you laugh.

“I was thinking the same thing. Some profilers you are,” JJ teases them but they all seem to be in too much shock to register it.

“So when you went on that rant about not cheating…” Emily trails off and you roll your eyes.

“Did seriously none of you notice how she was looking at me? I thought I was gonna be the next murder victim!” They all laugh and JJ looks at you.

“You ever cheat on me and you will be,” she says simply with her arm wrapped around your waist and a smile on her face.

“How do you say such aggressive things but look so cute doing it?” you ask, wrapping your arm around her shoulder and placing a kiss on the top of her head. “But I would never cheat on you, my love. I’d have to be an idiot to risk losing you. There’s nobody in the world I’d rather be with.”

“As cute as this is, I’m ready to get out of here,” Morgan teases and you roll your eyes.

“Let’s finish up here and we can talk more on the way home,” Hotch says and you all nod.

“And we know Garcia is gonna want all the details, I wouldn’t mind them either, so drinks when we get back?” Emily offers and you agree.

“Sounds like a plan.”

tag list: (let me know if you want to be added or taken off)

@rvgrsbrns @rororo06 @prizmix-and-friends @worlds-in-words @im-salt-but-not-salty @5aftermidnight @riotmaximoff

Criminal Minds tag list: @reidingandwriting

[mrswalkers-blog]

Falling in love with you

Chapter 14 - The Storm

Book: The Royal Romance AU ( Drake x MC & Liam x Olivia)

What it’s about: This is an AU that happens two years after Riley weds  Drake. Drake has lost his memory of last 2 years due to an accident. He  doesn’t remember meeting Riley who is pregnant with their first child.  Unaware of this fact and not able to cope with the strange new life he  has woken up to , he flees Cordonia.

Liam marries Olivia for  purely political purposes. Olivia on the other hand marries him because  she is madly in love with him. But after two years on marriage and  unable to produce an heir and unable to get Liam to love her, she asks  for a divorce.

A/N: I recent watched two amazing web-series that left me hanging for next season. “People got to start finishing their story” I thought. And I should be the one to start. I have left you waiting and I am sorry for that. Here is the latest Chapter. Story is no where near end.

Summary of last Chapter : One and a Half Years Back : Regina explains Liam that not producing an heir in due time can cause chaos in Monarchy. She also hints that Olivia must consult a doctor. Olivia overhears this conversation and decides to consult a doctor. The doctor informs her that her ovary was damaged - during the fight with Anton. She was also suffering from a condition that was making it nearly impossible for her to conceive.

Now: Liam meets Drake at a ranch in USA. They talk and Liam clears that whatever happened was in past. and Riley was just a friend to him now. Liam also confirms that Riley was pregnant with Drake’s child. Drake decides to return with Liam.

Warnings: 13 + PLEASE NOTE: Past chapters links are available in my bio.Please Re-blog, Comment or at least hit like if you like this series.

One Year Back: Olivia stood in the balcony facing the private royal garden lush with thousands of flowers in all possible colors. Chirping of birds had filled the morning sky. A soft breeze were playing gently with her red locks. 

It was a beautiful and peaceful morning, but her thoughts could not have been further away from it. Her thoughts were like a tornado causing complete havoc inside her. Standing in silence, with a stoic face, alone in the beautiful balcony of the grand palace, was the queen of Cordonia. The women envied by every other woman in Cordonia herself was feeling frustrated, tormented, empty, unworthy. Her entire life was flashing in front of her eyes - her parents who neglected her when she was a child, who were killed, who turned out to be traitors. She was left alone, rejected and frowned upon by everyone except Liam. She was just a child when she was made duchess of Lythikos. But she was a fighter. She had proven herself to be worthy of the title. It was not her fault that her parents were traitor. But everyone treated her differently. A child inherits not only the legacy of their parents but also their reputation - good or bad. She had learned at a very young age that one can gain respect in only two ways - love or fear. If they cannot love her, they need to fear her.

And she didn't care if no one loved her. She only needed love from one man, her husband - the King - Liam Rhys. He cared for her, he trusted her, liked her. But didn't love her.

A sad smile spread on her lips as she thought about the love of her life. It had been a year of their married life. And it seemed that the initial charm of their marriage was already dying down. The sex was becoming less frequent, and Liam seemed constantly busy in his work. She knew Liam had made it very clear that their marriage was a political one. Their first anniversary was a political affair too. They had a grand ball organized on their first marriage anniversary. Royal families of all neighboring countries had attended. The legendary party had been in news for days. But for Liam it was only a reason to meet the dignitaries of neighboring countries. A chance to make allies and strengthen the existing ties. 

Her hands tightened on the railing. Was it too much to expect a small gift from him on the anniversary? Or just a loving kiss or a hug? maybe a few words saying what she meant to him?

She had hoped he would eventually fall in love with her. She was doing everything she could - taking care of his every need like a good lover, guiding and helping him in all state matters like a good queen, pleasing him in bed.... she was draining herself out - but all her efforts were going to a barren land. Not yielding any fruit. same way as her barren womb.

Would producing an heir change his feelings towards her? Or she would again be left aching for him? And would she even be able to produce an heir? Questions violently gyrated inside her like a tornado. It had been six months since the doctors appointment and even after taking the medicines regularly, there was no result. Maybe she was barren, empty, unworthy. She looked down the balcony. Will this agony end if she just take a leap? Her eyes were fixed at the land 20 feet below her.

“Liv” - Liam called out to her. Olivia felt as if she woke up from a trance. She turned and saw Liam standing at the door. She ran to him and wrapped him in a tight hug, burring her head in his neck.

Liam gently wrapped her in a hug,”Are you okay?” he asked. She just nodded without lifting her head. “You seemed lost there” he asked again.

She didn’t reply. But gently pulled away. She started to walk away from him, but Liam grabbed her by her wrist. “Something is bothering you, Liv” he asked, “dont want to share it with me?”  

“There is nothing, really.” Olivia said looking in his eyes. Her gaze as fierce as ever. But Liam could see the pain covered behind the strong exterior. He however decided it is best to let go of topic. 

“Liv, I was thinking that we should visit Lythikos for this weekend.” He was glad that he came up with the idea, because he saw a spark in her eyes as soon as she heard Lythikos. Her entire body relaxed and a smile spread on her face.

“Lythikos?” she asked.

“Yes, you haven't been to Lythikos since our wedding, and we can spend some time together. “ he suggested.

The two thing she loved - Lythikos and Liam - together for a weekend, what more could she ask for. “That’s brilliant idea” the scarlet duchess beamed - for a fraction of a second Liam saw the innocence of the young Olivia on the duchesses’ face.

“ I am going to make the arrangements” she kissed Liam on his cheek and rushed out, Liam chuckled looking at her. He was really glad he could make her forget about whatever was bothering her, even if for just some time.

---

Now

“They will be here any minute” Hana told Riley.

“He should have been here an hour ago.” Riley said firmly. “Press is waiting. We need to make a statement.” she walked out of the parlor of the hotel where the press conference was organized. Hana had already received a call from Liam informing that they have landed in Valtoria about two hours ago. He should have reached the press conference an hour ago, but there was no sign of him. Riley had continued with her schedule as if not caring about his arrival. But Hana knew that every news of Drake had effected her deeply. The last month had not been easy for Riley and Hana was not sure if Drake’s presence would mean for Riley.    

Hana looked at her pleadingly. “Please wait for five minutes?”

“Even if he reaches here in five minutes, do you think he will be able to solve all problems?” Riley asked, “He is not Drake anymore, accept that.” She said and strode towards the press conference room.

She opened the room and took her place on the dais on the stage. She felt her heart beating fast in her chest. You can do it - She reassured herself. It was not new for her to face press for some controversy. But this was the first time Drake was not by her side. A simple lip curl on Drake’s face when she would look at him for support used to increase her confidence ten fold.  

As she had sensed, the press had noted Duke’s absence. A murmur was going around the room that was hard to miss. Cameras started flashing. Riley raised a hand to silence the reporters. “Thank you for coming” She smiled at them confidently.

“I am here to let the land owners know that we have heard their concerns ” She knew she needs to be on point, and not let media control the narrative.” I want them to know that we are with them. We value them. We will not do any injustice with them. We have made sure that all land owners  gets same area of land that they are donating or ...”

“Would you say they are donating? land owners feel like you are snatching the lands from them” a reporter interrupted her.

Riley stammered for a moment, but took a deep breath and continued,”The Dam is being built for the betterment of entire duchy. In fact, it will also benefit neighboring duchy. We need some land to create reservoir. We have planned the location so that it benefits the most...”

“But it was Sir Drake’s plan. Where is he? Shouldn’t he be answering us?” Another reporter interrupted her. This was the first time reporters were interrupting her. She hadn't expected such hostile behavior.

Riley felt her throat choke up. She took a sip from the water from the glass placed in front of her, and said,” He is away for an important work...”

“Is it true that he is away since a month?”  another reporter asked. “Are you pregnant?” a voice asked from another corner. “Are you two separated?” another question was fired at her from somewhere else.

Soon all the reporters started firing questions from all directions to her. She found her voice choked up in her throat. She raised her hand to ask them to stop , but the situation was already out of hand.  Hana ran to front and took a mic to ask the reporters to calm down. Their questions had now been replaced by a strange murmur discussing the rumors they had heard.A wave of panic rushed over Riley. The media hadn't been her friend last month and she had realized it long before today. But today the reality was staring her in her face. And she was proving to be weak.  Suddenly the room fell silent. Riley looked up to see all eyes fixed to the door behind her.

She turned to see Drake entering the room. He had dressed up in a suit. His long hair gelled and combed neatly. He walked confidently to the stage  Her heart started beating hard in her chest. She felt an urge to run to him and wrap him in a hug, to kiss him, feel his warmth. But she sat froze looking at him, gripping the chair to prevent herself from acting on the urge. Their eyes met for a brief moment. As soon as their eyes meet, Drake looked down, hesitant to meet her gaze. Within a fraction of second, he caught himself and fixed his eyes on the swarm of reporters and photographers who all had stood up by now.

Cameras were flashing all around. Capturing each movement of Drake. He was prepared for this. He strode to the desk with confidence. He adjusted his suit before taking a seat next to Riley. He gestured to the reporters to settle down.

“I understand that there are many questions that you need answers for.” He began calmly. He was trying his best to stay stoic and confident, but Riley saw his feet shaking below the table. She knew how hard this could be for him. Instinctively she placed a hand on his knee. Drake turned to look at her. This small gesture was enough for him to boost his confidence. He smiled thankfully at her. She gave a reassuring smile in return before gently moving her hand back.

“However, today we dont want to answer any questions. There are few things that needs to be said.” Drake returned his focus back to the crowd in front of them. He made sure his voice is firm and calm. Liam had made him practice this a hundred times in the flight back. “First, Riley will complete what she has to say” He looked at his beautiful wife sitting next to him. Riley nodded to him and started addressing the crowd before her. She explained the reporters how they are going to address the issues before them. No one interrupted her now. They seemed least interested in the land owners protest. They were here to know about Drake. And now when he was here, they didn't had many questions left.

Riley completed her speech with confidence. Drake looked at her through the entire speech mesmerized by her. They way she spoke with confidence and compassion, addressing all concerns of land owners one by one, made Drake look at her with new found respect. 

“I assure you that we are going to discuss the concerns with each individual landowner to make sure that none of them face any kind of injustice. “ She  said concluding her speech.”We have always stood by our people and will continue to do so. Thank you. I believe that you will continue to put your trust in us.” Riley had decided that as soon as she delivered the speech, she would leave. As she didn't want to answer any further questions. Her eyes met with Drake’s before she stood up to leave. But Drake immediately stood up to stop her, wrapping an arm around her waist.”Just a min,” he smiled looking at the reporters. “We have an important announcement to make”. 

This sudden gesture of Drake again caused a turmoil inside of Riley.

“We are so happy to announce this....” Drake smiled proudly,” we are expecting a baby.” He gently placed his hand on her belly. Riley felt her body tearing apart. Half of her body wanted to run away from him, but half of her wanted him to envelop in his arms. She realized her shocked face is being photographed from all angles. She forced a smile and posed for the cameras. She knew this was going on the covers of all news papers and magazines tomorrow and in an hour on all social media. By now, she had mastered the art of disguising all her emotions in front of media. 

“Thank you everyone” Drake waved to everyone. And gently escorted Riley away. Riley walked beside him wordlessly to the car. As soon as they sat in car, Riley shifted to side , keeping a distance between her and Drake. Drake too couldn't muster the courage to talk to her in front of the driver or the security.

---

After a very silent drive, Drake and Riley reached their estate with Hana. As soon as the car stopped, Riley stepped out of the car and stormed inside. Drake and Hana ran after her.

“Riley, please wait” Hana called out to Riley. But she didn't stop.

“Riley, please listen to me.” Drake called out to her. Riley stopped and turned to look at him. Tears running down her face.

“Don’t you think it is a little too late to talk?” she said clenching her teeth.

“Riley , please calm down” Hana ran to her to place a hand on her shoulder.

“I understand your anger. I am sorry Riley. I really..” Drake took a tentative step towards her.

“Oh! so now you are sorry?” Riley’s could not control her anger any longer,”And what? You expect me to forgive you?.”  She took two steps towards Drake as if challenging him.

“Drake, please. Lets talk later.” Hana pleaded. Drake read the fear in Hana’s eyes.

“Yes, I guess we should talk later.” he said.

“No,” Riley said, her body shaking in anger,”You said you wanted to talk. so talk. I am listening.” Tears kept streaming down her red eyes, but she didn’t bother wiping them away. “Tell me why did you left? Without a word.”

“Riley, I am really sorry, please calm down.” he tentatively took steps towards her. Riley raised her hand to stop him. “Don’t come near me.”  Riley took a step away from him stumbling a little. “How dare you come back as if nothing happened? Announce my pregnancy? Without even consenting with me...”

Riley paused, as if to compose herself.

“Riley....” Drake started to say something, but realized that Riley was loosing her balance. “Riley!” he shouted before rushing to catch her just in time before she fell. 

A panic washed over as he saw her lying unconscious in his arms. “Riley!”,

Hana rushed to kneel down beside Drake. “Hana, bring some water.” Hana nodded and rushed to get some water.

“Riley”, Drake patted her cheek repeatedly to wake her up. “Please wake up!” he pleaded.

---

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Pixelberry.

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[oss-crime]

Chapter 2-Project “Ma” –Eve–; Scene 5

Original Sin Story: Crime, pages 48-56

Before they arrived at the village, Adam asked only once, “So you…were the ‘Witch of the Forest’ after all?”

After Eve replied shortly that she was, he didn’t ask anything further.

Naturally, he likely wasn’t going to just let that slide. This simply wasn’t the place for him to pry deeper on that…She was sure that’s all it was.

In actuality, Eve wasn’t that afraid of having her true identity outed at this point. Adam and the others had said that they didn’t intend to harm the “Witch of the Forest”, and over the last several days she had become certain that they were people deserving of her trust.

Rather, if it truly meant that she could become queen, she was deeply honored by it. Only…that was assuming she could get permission from her adoptive father. Eve hadn’t wanted to reveal her identity if it meant going against his wishes, should he not want her to.

But she couldn’t help being found out now. As for how she’d persuade her adoptive father later…That might have been something Adam needed to do, as well as Eve’s role.

Whatever the case, first they needed to make sure that he was alright.

--As they left the forest and saw the buildings of Nemu village, she was forced to conclude that the situation was much more grave than she’d thought.

Houses all over were on fire. Surrounding them all were not villagers, but unfamiliar men clad in red costumes.

“Those…aren’t soldiers of the white army.” Adam paled. “They’re red devotees…The henchmen of the ‘Witch of Merrigod’.”

Eve remembered that name.

As she recalled, Seth had said it the first time he and Adam had come to the village.

“Is she also an ‘Ma’ candidate?”

Adam nodded at Eve’s question. “It would be more accurate to say she was. She certainly has powerful magical ability, but more than that…She’s far too cruel. The institute and the senate ultimately concluded that she would be unsuited to being queen.”

The moment they stopped the carriage just inside the villager’s entrance, they were surrounded by the “red devotees”.

Eve quickly got down from the carriage, spoon ready in hand instead of a staff.

“Where are the people of the village!?”

The men made no move to reply, simply gazing upon Eve with vacant expressions.

“…If you won’t tell me…”

Eve started to put magic into the spoon. These people unsettled her, but she was so agitated that she couldn’t bring herself to care about that.

She didn’t want to just kill people recklessly…But at the very least it was clear that they were threatening the village.

At that moment, the group of men split in two.

Walking between them up to the front, wearing clothing just as red as theirs—was a woman.

“Oh my…You got back a lot sooner than I expected,” she uttered, her posture calm.

She had an adult air about her, but in age she seemed to be somewhat younger than Eve.

“I guess those white army troops weren’t up to snuff…They might be ‘Salem Inheritors’ but I guess they’re just robbers after all.”

Maybe she was the leader of this red-dyed group…This “Witch of Merrigod”.

“Are you an ally of those robbers?”

Eve glared at the Witch of Merrigod.

“Me? You mean did I come to plunder this village? This smelly pauper village? Ha ha, that’s funny.”

“Then why are you…”

“There’s a lot of reasons. Starting from the least important—” The Witch of Merrigod looked over at Adam, still sitting in the carriage. “—This is payback on the Institute for making a fool of me.”

Adam replied to that, his expression twisting, “Payback? We were the ones who got off worse back then.”

“You eggheads shouldn’t have come up to Merrigod Plateau so casually.”

“Oh yes. We’re all regretting that…The others from where they are in the afterlife.”

Though Adam displayed an outspoken hostility towards her, he made no move to get down from the carriage.

It was clear…Adam was afraid of her.

But Eve wasn’t.

They called her the Witch of Merrigod. She must have strong magic too.

But that didn’t mean she had any intention of just backing down.

I must protect the village…Protect everyone…

Yes, she couldn’t see any of the villagers anywhere, including the village chief.

Their homes continued to burn, but there were no corpses of the people who lived in them lying around.

The only possibilities that she could think of…Maybe they all ran off before Eve and Adam arrived…Or else they were being held prisoner somewhere.

“Where is everyone?”

This time Eve posed her question from earlier to the Witch of Merrigod.

“Are you worried about your father and the others? Ha ha…Then go see for yourself.”

The Witch of Merrigod pointed further into the village—in the direction of the village chief’s house.

Eve couldn’t help but feel anxious at that.

She was letting her see the other villagers quite easily. Which must mean—

Adam finally got down from the carriage, and stood by Eve.

“…Let’s go together.”

His expression was stiff. He too must have thought up the worst case scenario.

After sharing a nod, the both of them started to sprint in the direction of the village chief’s house.

The Witch of Merrigod and her devotees showed no sign that they intended to stop them.

She just continued to smirk.

.

--The fate that had befallen Raiou Zvezda, village chief of Nemu.

It became clear the moment that they arrived before the house.

“This can’t…”

Eve was at a loss for words.

Her kindhearted adoptive father had been crucified on a large cross that had been erected in the garden.

There was no light in his eyes, and his exposed, naked body was covered in wounds.

Anyone could tell that he was already dead.

And standing around that cross—were the men of the village.

They didn’t look to be restrained or anything like that.

But just like the “Red Devotees”, they wore vacant expressions, and, without giving any indication that they were going to let the village chief down from that cross, they just…stood there.

Adam stopped Eve as she tried to walk closer to them.

“Don’t. They’re not themselves.”

“How!? I don’t understand!” Tears flowed from Eve’s eyes. “My father was the most powerful sorcerer in the village! He wouldn’t lose to anyone…The white army never attacked because they were afraid of him! So how could they…so easily…”

“…This’ll be hard to say, but…” Adam hesitated for a moment, but then he continued, marshalling his strength, “It probably…wasn’t the Witch of Merrigod and her henchmen who attacked the village chief directly.”

“…!?”

“It was those villagers standing around him. The village chief likely hadn’t been able to bring himself to use his magic on people that he knew.”

“That can’t…That’s impossible! No one would ever hurt my father—”

“That is the power that the Witch of Merrigod—that Meta Salmhofer has. She…can change members of the opposite sex into her puppets using the power of an ‘Inheritor of Gilles’.”

“…”

“One of Meta’s aims must have been the village chief’s life…Though I don’t know why.”

“…That woman…Because of her, my father…”

“Whatever happened, we should get out of the village for now.”

But Eve shook her head, crying. “No! That woman…I won’t forgive her.”

She tightly gripped the spoon in her hand.

“Eve…You must realize that if you were to fight against Meta—The villagers that she’s controlling would come to stop you.”

“…”

“Would you…be willing to shoot lightning at your friends?”

“…”

She could never.

Adam gently embraced Eve’s shoulders.

“First we should reconvene with Gammon. Then we’ll figure out what to—”

--Boom!

An explosion suddenly rang out from the entrance to the village.

“…What!?”

In response to Eve’s confusion, Adam seemed to immediately guess what the source of the noise was.

“That’s—the sound of the heavy artillery of the larger model carriages. It’s the reinforcements from the capital!”

--Adam’s prediction had been correct.

The main unit of the peacekeeping force that had been dispatched from the capital for combat against the white army had arrived at Nemu village with impeccable timing.

Their main aim had been to rendezvous with Gammon, who had been in the village, but as they happened to come across the area being attacked by the red devotees, they simply switched their purpose to suppressing them, instead.

The result—Either because they concluded they were hopelessly outnumbered, or because they had already achieved their goal, the Witch of Merrigod and her cohorts quickly fled.

But as this also resulted in the village men who were the primary residents of this place being driven off as well, the only ones left in the village of Nemu were Adam and Eve.

After the village had been secured, the army put out the fires on its homes.

And then, inside a small cattle pen in the deepest part of the village…they discovered the corpses of all the village’s women.

.

At Adam’s invitation, Eve ended up riding along to the Twelve Royal Capitals on one of the heavy military carriages.

She had no reason to refuse.

She had already lost any place she could return to.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[sartorialadventure]

(Head to the link above for bigger versions of these photos!)

^Belinda Qaqamba Ka-Fassie, a post-graduate student in education at Stellenbosch University, wears a dress that resembles the white blanket typically worn at a male circumcision. Her headpiece and beaded stick, both handmade, are traditionally part of a bride's ensemble. The 24-year-old designs her dresses, often choosing local fabrics. (photo by Lee-Ann Olwage)

When Belinda Qaqamba Ka-Fassie dresses in drag, she doesn't typically go for on the sequins and feather boas worn by performers on RuPaul's Drag Race. A post-graduate student of education at Stellenbosch University in Cape Town, South Africa, Ka-Fassie might put on a dress that resembles the white blanket typically worn by boys at a traditional male circumcision ritual, called ulwaluko, and she might add a multi-colored headpiece and beaded stick, both handmade and used by brides.

It's a very deliberate choice made by black drag queens from townships who are celebrating their roots and challenging dress codes for men and women through their traditional apparel. "We cannot separate our queerness from our Xhosaness," says Ka-Fassie, a drag queen and activist.

^Mthulic Vee Vuma, a 21-year-old studying public management at West Coast College, wears traditional Xhosa clothing and jewelry in front of a shack in Khayelitsha. "The meaning of the clothing I am wearing is to love and accept our culture," Vuma says. Her family initially struggled to accept her as a trans woman, believing it was a curse, but she says they now give her total support. (phoo by Lee-Ann Olwage)

Yet even as they embrace their culture, township drag queens outside of Cape Town, as in other parts of the world, face grave risks. They must often suppress their queer identity in their communities for their safety — traveling into the city for pageants and parties, then de-dragging before they go home.

The limbo they live exists even in the terminology for their identity. There is no word to describe queerness in Xhosa, the indigenous language widely spoken in South Africa. The words that do exist are often insulting to the queer community, describing sexual behavior and denying queer people dignity. "When I came out to my family, I couldn't find the appropriate word in Xhosa to explain my queerness," Ka-Fassie says.

^Belinda Qaqamba Ka-Fassie poses at a community space where women cook and sell meat. She started drag as an escape from oppression she felt at Stellenbosch University for being "black, Xhosa, poor, queer and effeminate." "It is through pageantry and performance that I became more inclined with my queerness and how boundless expression should be," she says. "Drag became the therapist I never had." (phoo by Lee-Ann Olwage)

#BlackDragMagic is the name of a photo project in collaboration with Ka-Fassie – a series of portraits showing how drag can be an art form in Africa that differs from mainstream aesthetics in the West.

All of the portraits were taken on a single afternoon in August, with a pickup truck serving as a makeup station and changing room. The subjects — queer, black, gender-nonconforming and trans — were photographed throughout the township of Khayelitsha, which means "new home" in Xhosa. The township is located on the Cape Flats, about 15 miles southeast of Cape Town.

^Shakira Mabika, 24, emigrated to South Africa from Zimbabwe, where the former president "has referred to people like me as 'pigs' and un-African." She asked to be photographed by dilapidated shacks where pigs were kept behind a fence. "I moved to Cape Town in search for a space where I could live my truth," she says. But she says she has faced transphobia and still hasn't found a job. (photo by Lee-Ann Olwage)

The girls walked down the streets that day in a group, proudly and unapologetically. "I carry my African-ness and my queerness on my sleeve because it is who I am," says Mandisi Dolle Phika, one of the photo subjects.

^Mandisi Dolle Phika, 27, asked to be photographed by a church, an important place to her family but a place where she says she has faced anti-queer bias. At Catholic school, she remembers, "I once overheard a conversation where it was said I have a 'gay-demon.'" Now studying LGBTQI political leadership, she believes in "a colorful God" that "celebrates diversity in all its manifestations." (photo by Lee-Ann Olwage)

Discrimination is a part of everyday life for queer people in the townships, especially at taxi stands, churches and schools. In the Western Cape alone, a 2016 survey of 112 LGBT participants age 16 to 24 by Love Not Hate, a national campaign addressing anti-gay hate crimes, found that about two-thirds of LGBT people between the ages of 16 to 24 reported experiencing discrimination at school. Reliable statistics are rare, because queer people in townships often choose not to report harassment or violence out of fears for their safety and distrust of local law enforcement.

^ Unathi Ferguson, left, was outed by a teacher in 11th grade but eventually saw the moment as a chance to "embark on a journey to sanity and complete acceptance [about] who I was." Shakira Mabika, right, emigrated from Zimbabwe to South Africa in 2013. Olwage says the women told her they had forged "a newfound sisterhood." (photo by Lee-Ann Olwage)

Black queer people here, as in many other parts of the world, also struggle to be understood by their health care system. Some studies have found that LGBT patients have been subjected to discrimination, with health care providers refusing them care or doling out moral judgment. Long lines of people waiting for free treatment at clinics or state hospitals in impoverished areas can lead to a lack of privacy for patients. As a result, many avoid medical care or receive poor care.

But the picture doesn't have to be bleak. "Living in a township has taught me to be strong and strive. I have dealt with the stigma and hate, and now am stronger," said Liyana Arianna Madikizela, a 17-year-old who posed for photographs.

^Liyana Arianna Madikizela, 17, is a drag artist from the township of Kayamandi. She poses near a string of drying clothes to challenge traditional gender roles. "I realized I was different when I didn't want to do the stereotypical manly duties," she says. "I was always keen to do house duties such as washing dishes, doing the laundry, cleaning the house and cooking." (photo by Lee-Ann Olwage)

Madikizela embodies the strength and resilience the drag queens have shown in the face of injustice and oppression. "I want to become the role model I never saw in the streets of Kayamandi," she said. "Someone who is unapologetically gender non-conforming and who navigates their lives against all the hostile odds of living in the township."

Lee-Ann Olwage is a South Africa-based photographer. Sasha Ingber is a Washington, D.C., freelance writer. Belinda Qaqamba Ka-Fassie, a drag artist and advocate, collaborated with Olwage on this project.

[rotationalsymmetry]

Thinking about the twitter "villain of the week" phenomenon and call outs that turn into dogpiles. Imagine you're with your family or some other large group for a holiday dinner. Everyone's eaten and you're back in the kitchen washing dishes, with someone else drying. Suddenly, the person drying the dishes notices you missed a spot on one of the plates. Now, people who aren't assholes (and even quite a lot of assholes for that matter) will just be "oh, you missed a spot" and hand it back to you to clean up. Because missing a spot when you're washing dishes is normal and no big deal. So you say "oops" or something and fix it and all's good. But maybe it doesn't go like that. Maybe they go "tsk, (your name) is being so irresponsible, they can't even do something as simple as washing a plate" and then suddenly your entire family show up with a list of everything you've ever done wrong since age 5. That would be utter bullshit, right? That would be emphatically not accountability, right? That would be your family deciding to make your life miserable just so they could feel superior or whatever, right? (That would be abuse, or at least something very close to abuse, since y'know it's important to name things what they are.) (I mean...a lot of people do the "let's talk about 20 different things you've done wrong at one go" thing without it being abuse per se...but it sure as fuck isn't functional.) (And no, the degree of the offense doesn't really affect things. If you, say, abandoned your terminally ill spouse to run off with the affair partner you'd been cheating on them with for the entirety of your marriage, that would be really bad, and it still wouldn't make sense for your family to all get together to tell you what a terrible person you are while bringing up things you did ages ago and so on. The focus should always be on making it better, not on painting the offender as a shitty person. No matter how big the offense. Figuring out who's going to take care of the ill spouse, not determining the exact level of assholery of the abandoning spouse and whether everyone should have known from one thing they said 15 years ago, right? There can be consequences, like not inviting especially nasty people to future events, without engagement.)

So, at one point I joined this one group on Facebook, when I was relatively new to social media. I mean, I'd been on FB for ages, but I'd just been following what my friends posted, I hadn't joined any groups specifically to engage with people that I didn't already know over shared interests. (A very different FB experience.) This group was nominally about being bisexual, but an awful lot of the posts (several a week) involved someone innocuously equating genitals to gender, or some other language thing that ignores the existence of trans people. (This was before I ID'd as nonbinary, but on a personal level that sort of thing still doesn't bug me. I recognize it bugs other people, and it is reasonable for people who do care about this to want other people to alter the language they use.) I'm not talking blatantly hostile stuff like calling trans women men. I'm talking the things that people who grew up being told there's boys and girls and you can tell which is which by looking at them, just do because they haven't yet adjusted their worldview yet. Intent isn't the same as impact, but there is a difference between an innocent mistake and outright hostility. And there'd be literally dozens of people making the exact same callout. And because there were so many responses, everybody in the group would see the post, because that's how FB's algorithm works. And then this would happen again the next day and a couple days after that. And I (being new to this sort of thing) was just like, wtf? Wouldn't it make more sense to set things up so that the mods have to approve posts so they can quietly shut those down and privately tell the posters what rewrites they have to make? Or at least shut down those posts as soon as a mod catches them, or make one callout and shut down replies so it doesn't turn into this snowball that you can't miss? If the problem is this is hurtful to trans people, why intensify that hurt by making sure every trans person in the group ends up seeing the post?

I eventually left.

I imagine people had good intentions, or at least thought they did. That "educating people" this way was the important thing. But thing is, mostly it teaches people that that behavior is OK, that behavior that recall I've already explicitly described as verbal abuse or at least as something very close to verbal abuse, and that's a terrible lesson. This is not how decent human beings interact with other human beings. In similar groups I've also seen one person make a brief call out and the called out person say "oh, I didn't realize, I'll (edit the post, or whatever)" and that's it, and that's entirely different, you know? A single low-key call out, not the entire group piling on. Which is why I don't really like the term "call out culture", because sometimes people have cultures around making call-outs that are actually healthy and reasonable and not abusive, that are much healthier than the cultural default of "if you bring it up, you're the one making trouble," and it really should be normalized for people to do small low-key "hey, you missed a spot" checks without it turning into "I don't have a racist bone in my body". If the person doing the dishes goes "I am a perfect dish-washer and therefore that plate is clean, and how dare you say I don't know how to wash dishes right", that's also a problem. But I do think we should have a way to distinguish between normalizing saying "you missed a spot" about social justice language, and normalizing everybody within a mile radius jumping on and amplifying the message and bringing the person's past behavior into it and also literally telling the person who missed a spot that they're a terrible person.

Especially since, y'know, follow the money? Social media companies financially benefit from those pile-ons. They encourage them. It's in their business model. It's "engagement." If you're cynical about corporations in general or social media companies in particular (and if you're on tumblr, you probably are)...then part of that should be recognizing when social media companies are manipulating people into being more assholeish than they would be on their own. Even when, especially when, it's done in the name of social justice.

[mikkeneko]

Got tagged by @ushauz to do Ten Favorite Characters. This post will probably take me a couple sessions to put together, so expect lateness.

As always I am stuck on the scope of the question. Ten favorite! What does that even mean. Ten I thought were the most interesting? The most enjoyable? Characters from comfort series I read a lot, or only read once but really stuck with me? Through the years? Recently? I guess I can just pick the first ten who come to mind.

1. Ista dy Chalion from the Curse of Chalion/Paladin of Souls books. People like to talk a lot about how there should be more middle-aged matron action/adventure/fantasy heroes, well, here’s one. We meet her, at the start of the books, in a very bad place -- she had a stint as a Chosen One god-avatar in her teenage years which absolutely wrecked her life, and she never recovers from it. (Although even in the midst of her Noble Tragedy, she never loses sight of the fact that her nobility does  afford her a certain amount of privilege that other women will never have.)

Over the course of the second book she is  finally able to move on and recover from it. She starts the book as a crushingly depressed/nervous wreck of a powerless widow, and ends it as a demon-eating sorceress-paladin of a bastard god, with a sexy illegitimate trophy twink on her arm to boot. (I very much doubt that she and Illvin would ever be able to marry, all things considered, but one of the important things she learned -- as a woman whose entire social life had formerly revolved around chastity and propriety -- was to stop letting that bother her.) And she does it all without ever letting you forget that she is a highborn noble lady.

2. Wei Wuxian from The Untamed. Given how much of my mental real estate he’s taking up recently, I surrendered to the inevitable and gave him a spot on the list. I outlined a lot of the reasons I like him so much in this post, but aside from all of that there’s the fact that good (or at least good-hearted) characters who use ‘dark’ powers are magnetically appealing to me.

3, 4, 5. I almost feel like Fai Fluorite (from Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles) Anders (from Dragon Age) and Caleb Widogast (from Critical Role) should all have to share a spot on my list given that they all follow the basic formula of being the Traumatized Cat-Loving Magic Man. It’s not quite  that simple -- they all have pretty distinct stories that go in different directions -- but I sort of feel like... I spent 369,149 words explaining why I love Anders, I don’t think I can do it again but tiny.

6. Homura Akemi from Puella Magi Madoka Magica gets a spot on this list, I think, and a spot in my heart. I don’t talk much about the series because I don’t have a lot of original things to say, but I was just reminded of this show recently and how good it was and how good she  was -- my brilliant, brave, determinator of a girl with a love as vast as the ocean. And sure, maybe she was willing to burn down the world for the sake of that love, but I sort of feel like that puts her in good company on this list.

7. I’ll go ahead and put Geralt of Rivia (from The Witcher, games and Netflix) on here; I dunno if he’d still make the list 10 years down the line, but I’ve spent a lot of time in 2019-2020 mooning over how great he is, so might as well. He’s not as firmly dead center My Type as some of the others, but he certainly fits the criteria of Unfairly Attractive, Extremely Traumatized, Surprisingly Sassy, and Tragically Good-Hearted. The good-heartedness is key! He could be as pretty and traumatized and witty as he likes but if he were fundamentally an asshole, I would not care about him.

8. Ciaphas Cain (of Warhammer 40k.) In a landscape of published fiction where heroic action characters all tend to follow very similar beats, the debonair, devious and cowardly Ciaphas Cain stands out in a way that really wormed its way into my heart. His books do tend to be a little formulaic, but sometimes that’s just what you need. And the best part about reading the entire series in one go is getting a sense of the shape of the man behind  his constant façade of self-deprecation and realizing that as much as he demurs being the brave and kind hero that his misleading reputation paints him as, he is actually pretty damn heroic on his own measures -- he cares about people, even the people under his command who he properly should be thinking of as disposable pawns, he’s way  more tolerant of (non-hostile) xenos than 99% of his countrymen, he moves time and time again to block harm and do good in a way that goes beyond his pretty flimsy excuses of ‘well I had to do it to maintain my reputation.’ 

The main reason he’s so convinced that he’s not a real hero is that he’s been raised in a (lbr, openly fascist) empire so steeped in propaganda of glory and sacrifice that is literally impossible to live up to (since the number one tenet is dying gloriously for the Emperor.) He led an entire caravan of people from the heart of bombed-out, occupied territory in a refugee march that ended up liberating the entire damn planet, he did that,  and while he would never have survived without a healthy dose of luck it was still his leadership and skill  that took full advantage of that luck. The Imperium of Man, frankly, doesn’t deserve Ciaphas Cain.

9. Raoden and Kaladin (of Elantris  and The Stormlight Archives) both share a slot as Brandon Sanderson protagonists who occupy pretty much the same narrative role: they have lost everything, been socially and physically rejected pretty much down to the dust, tossed into a role of waiting for death to come for them in a variety of cruel forms; and instead of giving in to despair they both say no.  they both say, I do not accept this for me, and I will not accept this for them either,  and they both gather fellow outcasts around them and build themselves a kingdom out of mud and scraps. Yeah, it’s a trope he uses a lot, but it’s a trope I like. (And, come to think of it, a category that Wei Wuxian and Ciaphas Cain both fall under as well. Hm.)

10.  Skywise (of Elfquest.) Honestly, at this late date I doubt I could muster an essay explaining why he is the Best Elf. All I can tell you was that this series was super duper  important to me when I was a teen, and he was my favorite character from that series. He loved to explore, he loved new knowledge and the sky and the stars, and he loved his friends and family a whole lot.

That’s that! Hmm, who to tag? @cygnahime, @cerusee, @araglas1989, @drowningbydegrees , @jaggedcliffs, @fairandfatalasfair, @fledgling-witch, @overthinkingfeathers, if you have not already done it and are interested!

[melias-cimitiere]

MINORITY REPORT

People who are interested in being honest, true to themselves and to others, eager to learn truth about things (scientific, historical, etc) and acquire knowledge, please keep reading. Everyone else, carry on with your daily activities; this article will clearly not impact on you in any positive way.

There has been a growing concern during the last few years that people have a tendency to “save the tree and burn the forest”; this is a mentality of gross generalizations, over-simplistic attitudes towards right and wrong, and superficial ideological bubbles that do not take into account reality. When historical truth is no longer convenient, when people forget the right use of words and terms and come up with the trendy, politically correct speech while disregarding the established definitions, then watch out: Big Brother is about (the 1984 George Orwell concept).

Minorities’ rights

There is a large number of people who tend to be sympathetic towards any groups, just because they are labelled as a minority. Instead of examining what they stand for and who they truly are (given a historical perspective), they moralize on their behalf and fiercely try to protect them, with a simplistic and gullible attitude. Let’s try and ask some basic questions:

Are their rights more/less important than anyone else’s?

We should be talking about human rights, and not minorities’ rights. If these groups are human groups, then they have some rights; these rights are protected by United Nations and various Constitutions, and political assemblies worldwide, and any proven violation is condemned. Why should any human group have more (or less) rights than any other group?

Are the minorities always correct?

Of course not. Whoever believes this tends to be extremely naïve. For example, amidst the minorities hide some rather loathsome groups (or individuals), such as Nazis, KKK, international terrorists (like Isil/Isis/Daesh, Al-Qaeda etc). And what about the minority groups of suicide cults, slavery rings, drug-dealers, “black market” merchants (of weapons, substances, toxins, organs etc)? What about serial killers or pedophiles? As you can see, membership in a minority group doesn’t automatically make you correct in all things. 

Issue of historical guilt

What is trendy or fashionable doesn’t make it necessarily better or right. Nowadays it is not trendy or fashionable to expose certain historical facts because certain groups feel discomfort. This is not new; in fact, it has been an issue with history and with science since the very beginning. When Galileo showed the Earth is round and spins around itself, it caused certain “waves”; people even demanded his death. We still have the Flat Earth Society despite scientific evidence of the contrary. With regards to history and warfare, you will not find any parties that are not guilty. In fact, nearly every nation in the world has committed atrocities, vandalism, slavery, aggressive occupation and its army/warriors raping innocent victims etc. In the history of Mankind there are very few true innocents. 

If we do not acknowledge such occurrences as inherent in human nature and as potential threats for everyone, we are doomed to repeat them in the future. Fascism and Nazism is not only a German thing; Slavery isn’t just a “white thing”; Colonialism isn’t just a British thing. We need to address the issues, recognize and study what makes these happen, and confront them. We must all stand united against this, and not devolve into group mentality and us against the others. We need to challenge our own mindset and free ourselves from pre-conceived ideas. Minorities get overly sensitive when people criticize certain behaviors or the past. And yet, how can one hope to be free from prejudice, when one refuses to see the truth, opting to be part of the herd? 

What is Racism?

“Prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism directed against a person or people on the basis of their membership of a particular racial or ethnic group, typically one that is a minority or marginalized.”

“The belief that different races possess distinct characteristics, abilities, or qualities, especially so as to distinguish them as inferior or superior to one another.”

[Oxford Dictionary]

“policies, behaviours, rules, etc. that result in a continued unfair advantage to some people and unfair or harmful treatment of others based on race”.

Also:

“harmful or unfair things that people say, do, or think based on the belief that their own race makes them more intelligent, good, moral, etc. than people of other races”.

[Cambridge University]

So as you can see, racism doesn’t have to do with minorities specifically. Minority groups can also be racist to majority groups, or some nations/people claim to be superior or “God’s chosen” while this is blatantly racist and, by definition, a harmful and unfair behavior. On a final note, just because certain groups have been persecuted historically, this doesn’t justify them to persecute others while claiming to be victims of racism, as this would be hypocrisy.

What is Discrimination? How is it different to Prejudice?

1. “The unjust or prejudicial treatment of different categories of people, especially on the grounds of race, age, sex, or disability.”

2. “Recognition and understanding of the difference between one thing and another”.

Usually people tend to forget the second definition, and over time, discrimination becomes something negative. What about, “a discriminative mind is a mark of wisdom?” Should you not pick and choose according to preference? Are all things the same? Obviously not. Prejudice, on the other hand, is always negative. It is wrong in so many ways to be prejudiced against people of any group; this doesn’t just apply to minorities. However, that doesn’t mean that a person cannot choose what he/she prefers. Preference is an act of freedom. 

Some groups seem to imply that if a person says that he/she is heterosexual, that it means that they are homophobic. I hate prejudice; I support equal rights. I also fully support the second definition of discrimination; I do this all the time. I choose what I like to eat, where to hang out and who to have sex with. I have specific gender preferences; my choices don’t make me phobic of the other minority groups (another wrong use of the word phobic, meaning fear of something. Not wanting to have sex with specific types of peoples doesn’t mean I fear them, it simply means that I don’t like it and I prefer something else). I also choose what to read, what to reject, what kinds of music or movies to watch and so on. I’m sure you do all that too. So remember to use the words correctly.

What is antisemitism?

Semitic groups have been known to spread to a vast region in the Eastern Mediterranean all the way down to the Persian Gulf. Examples are: the Canaanites, the Akkadians, the Babylonians, and the Chaldeans that settled the Mesopotamian South where the Euphrates empties into the Gulf (from the tribe Kaldu – a Semitic tribe from the Amorites), the Jebusites, the Jewish tribes, the Arameans, and many more. So to pick just one of them and say it is the only Semitic group is doing disservice to the rest and is also appropriating people’s ethnic background. 

Also, just because several of these groups were historically persecuted (Jews, Palestinians, small minorities in Iraq and Syria, etc) doesn’t give them immunity from blame when they are the ones committing crimes of racism or persecution. It has become a common thing in certain places from the Levant that one cannot bring about anything in discussion relating history or politics, from fear of offending their sensibilities. This has to stop. People should be freely discussing their opinions, and with the right evidence, they should be able to accept new data. Believing that people from minorities have indemnity from scrutiny is a naïve and socially dangerous stance.

Stereotyping and Reverse Pendulum Mentality

Protect battered mothers / women (but not battered fathers / men?)

Protect raped females (but what about raped males?)

Protect a specific group of a certain ethnic background while turning a blind eye towards other groups of different backgrounds whose rights are violated.

A child goes first (but what about elderly, mentally ill etc which are categories often neglected?)

Homophobic is a bad thing (and not heterophobic?)

A group or groups of different gender definitions must be protected (but shouldn’t all people’s choices on this matter be protected, no matter what?)

It is common, when society realizes that the rights of a certain minority have been violated (ie in the case of persecution, slavery, racist hostility and even killings because of that like the pogroms against Jews and other races), that society goes overboard and through overprotecting, refuse even the slightest of blame, even in documented cases. And yet, there have been plenty of people belonging to minority groups who were guilty of various crimes, including slavery, discrimination or collaborating with the enemy (and all these have been documented also). Minorities can easily become oppressors and they have done so, from ancient to modern times, as any student of history can testify.

Politically correct

We need to see some definitions of this; in the past, I used to pay a lot of notice and try to accommodate to that standard. Not so much now, and I will explain why.

“The avoidance of forms of expression or action that are perceived to exclude, marginalize, or insult groups of people who are socially disadvantaged or discriminated against.” [Oxford dictionary]

“Conforming to a belief that language and practices which could offend political sensibilities (as in matters of sex or race) should be eliminated” [Merriam-Webster]

“Someone who is politically correct believes that language and actions that could be offensive to others, especially those relating to sex and race, should be avoided.” [Cambridge University]

So look again the above definitions and note the words ‘perceived’ in the first, ‘conforming to a belief’ in the second, and ‘believes’ in the third. All these are subjective, thus arbitrary. If one wishes to be well-behaved, then by all means, one should take into account the sensibilities of others over various issues. However, in matters of spirituality, philosophy, history or science, one should care more about the objective truth and less about how people feel about certain aspects of the truth.

     Examples include some of the following:

How many people died in a genocide (numbers differ according to which side you ask);

Is a certain behavior sign/symptom of mental illness (again, the psychiatrists will often tell a different story compared to members of various groups);

Are all people equal? (This often gets mistranslated as an inflammatory comment, aiming to annoy others meaning that they don’t deserve equal opportunities and rights. I am talking about people being equal in skills, IQ, innate abilities etc. Anyone who believes they are equal, must believe in that the humans are a race of robots coming from the same factory and production line.)

Thought Police vs Right to Free Speech

Seeking to prevent possible injustices before they even occur… seems pro-active and good, doesn’t it? Has anyone watched the film, Minority Report? If no, watch it. What about, Fahrenheit 451? Another excellent film (a bit old but a masterpiece). Do you believe in freedom? Can you say what you think without fear? Ask yourself if you should double-guess yourself every time you need to say or write something. People around you are a varied lot; many will not agree with what you say or do. Should you be made to feel intimidated by that? I don’t think so. You have a right to believe what you want and also your freedom of speech is safeguarded by the constitution.

Cultural Appropriation

A touchy subject for a lot of people. “Closed religions”? Kabbalah, deities, voodoo, Hindu beliefs, Native Indian spirit animals etc… the list goes on and on. Are we serious here? I mean, who makes these things up? Wake up people! There is NO closed religion. If a spiritual person or a person with respect approaches a concept or a deity/spirit and that deity/spirit accepts them, then it’s not up to the people to judge badly and condemn this approach! I can (and do) use whatever I want; my judgement is all I need, and that makes me a free man. Please, do not bend to such criticism; learn to think for yourselves. Learn, and experience things directly, if possible. You are born Free, like me. Do not bend to slave mentalities.

Constitutional Rights

Lastly, a bit of the obvious. Surely you are aware that any constitution of a country where there’s democracy and not a totalitarian regime safeguards certain freedoms. One of them is the right to think, speak, write and believe freely. Read up on your rights! Don’t take for granted what other people want you to believe; research yourself and then put them in their place. Protect those rights. People died to establish and to protect them in the past; now you got the ball, it’s your call.

[superbadassnatural]

So Close yet so Far

Summary: Since Y/N and Dean were kids they wanted to join the Men of Letters Organization. Years went by and they trained and studied together. Now it’s finally the time to take the trials. Square filled: Dystopia!Au Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 1,873 Warnings: show level of violence, mention of blood, mention of killing A/N: for the sake of this story, Men of Letters are nice and nothing like the ones on the show. Also, Dean and Y/N are in their early twenties. This story was inspired by this prompt (it contains spoilers so I highly recommend you to open it after you’ve read this.) This was written for @spntfwbingo. Hope y’all enjoy.

(x)

Many generations ago, society was divided into three castes: Regulars, Hunters, and Men of Letters. Most of the population belonged to Regulars. They were ordinary people who lived normal lives. Hunters dedicated their lives to kill those who lurked into the shadows. Men of Letters were the elite. The most powerful people belonged there. They were similar to hunters, but they had more resources, more knowledge, and the most important: power. They even had the greatest life insurance. They were rich and most people wanted to become one of them.

Regulars knew about the existence of supernatural creatures, but still, they led their normal lives. They could attend self-defense classes ministered by hunters. Whilst hunters solved cases all over the country, Men of Letters did it world wide.

People were either born or entered into one of the classes. In order to ascend to any of the higher castes, you were supposed to take some tests and if you were qualified you’d become a member.

Your parents were hunters and they taught you everything they knew, but you wanted more. You wanted to ascend.

When you turned sixteen, you had your first official case. You and your parents hit the road to Alabama for a werewolf hunt. Though you had been joining them on quick salt and burns since you were fourteen. At eighteen, you went on your first solo hunt.

Back when you and your best friend Dean were kids, you made a promise to become members of the Men of Letters.  Both of you spent your entire childhood and adolescence planning on becoming part of the upper, elite class. You’ve been training together for a long time. Wrestling, sparring around, running in the park. Every now and then you’d go to a shooting range and practice even more. You have learned everything there is to learn about demons, monsters, and entities. You and Dean were ready for the tests.

“If you keep punching like this you’re gonna fail that test, sweetheart,” Dean teased.

It only made you angry. You lunged at him, sweeping him off his feet and his into back. He landed with a loud thud. His eyes clamping at the impact.

“Who’s gonna fail now, huh?” you smirked, pinning him to the ground.

You were only able to grab one of his wrists and before you knew it he hovered over you. Dean pinned you down, holding both of your hands above your head.

“You,” his lips curled into a smirk.

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you love me,” he leaned, pecking your lips.

“Argh, we’re disgusting,” you grumbled, wiping the sweat off your forehead.

“We could always go upstairs and take a shower,” he shrugged, sitting beside you.

“Yeah, but I promised my mom I’d be home by seven.”

“We have what? Fifteen, twenty minutes? We could make it quick,” he said, his voice carrying malice only it could carry.

“Since when do we take a quick shower?” you giggled.

“You’re right,” his lips pursed. “But if you go home and shower alone you’ll be wasting more water,” he tried to reason.

“You’re so full of crap,” a chuckle escaped your lips as you stood up, he doing the same.

“I’m worried about the environment,” he raised his hands. “Ya know, save water, shower with me,” he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I really have to go,” you half-smiled. “Last time I got home really late and now they are making me pay for it. ‘Sides my mom said she wanted to talk to me about something.”

“Okay,” he sighed, walking you to the door and pressing his lips to your temple. “Let me know when you get home. Drive safe.”

“Will do,” you pecked his lips and headed out of his house.

You were taking things a little slower now. The trials were next week and you couldn’t wear yourselves out. You already knew those three days of tests would be exhausting for both of you. You remember when your brother applied to become a member of Men of Letters. He was so tired during those tests. They made it difficult for only the best hunters to be qualified.

You and Dean had registered at the beginning of the year. You were finally old enough to apply. They had very few vacancies for your age range. Only fifteen for women and twelve for men. The trials weren’t easy either.

The first trial was on Monday, you had to race the women your age that had applied to become a member. The second was on Wednesday, you had to attend an exam about lore and all the creatures you hunted. The last one was Saturday, you had to fight against a female member around your age for about five minutes. You were evaluated in each of them. The better your results the more points you get. The ones who surpass their minimum score are in. If more than fifteen girls manage to do that, then the ones with the highests punctuations get to join the organization.

Erstwhile, in the last test you had to kill your opponent — who was competing for a spot in the order too. They decided to change it and now you only had to fight a member and show your abilities. If you get knocked out, you don’t punctuate. Your brother explained to you how this trial works. The more times you manage to hit your opponent, the more you score. The more you get hit, the more points you lose. If you knock out your opponent, you get the highest punctuation. It was, in fact, a violent test, but no one dies because of it anymore.

Days flew by and when you realized you were racing over thirty girls on Monday. You didn’t know exactly your placing, but you were among the first eight at least. On Wednesday, you took the time to finish the exam. You went through all the questions twice and in the end, you were really confident about your answers. Saturday arrived sooner than you were expecting. You were nervous. You knew you weren’t the strongest girl in town so there was a chance of you having to fight a girl stronger than you. It ended up the girl was just as strong as you. You managed to knock her out after three minutes.

“Hey you,” you answered your phone later that day.

“Hey,” Dean smiled. “How’d it go?”

“I did it! I knocked her out,” you beamed.

“That’s awesome,” you could hear how happy he was for you. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, me too,” you admitted. “How’d it go with you?”

“It wasn’t easy, but I think I did well.”

“Dean,” you scolded. “What are you not telling me?”

“The guy was bigger than me,” he sighed. “And stronger. I didn’t knock him out, but I didn’t get knocked out either. Let’s just say we both got out with some bruises.”

“That’s unfair!” you exclaimed. “You shouldn’t have to fight someone bigger than you. That’s not-“

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he interrupted you. “Monsters won’t care if I’m shorter than them or not. It was a fair fight.”

“I don’t like that,” you pouted. “Are you hurt?”

“Nah, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? Do you want me to stop by and take care of you? You know I love taking care of you.”

“I know you do,” he chuckled. “You don’t have to, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” you yawned. “I’m gonna have to call it a night. I’m really tired.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I love you, Dean.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he hung up the phone.

Dean placed his phone on the nightstand before getting up and heading towards the bathroom. He took a look at his face in the mirror. His left cheek had a small cut and the right one had a purple stain. He lifted his shirt over his head, throwing it into the hamper. Purple welts were scattered over his abdomen. Dean didn’t want you to see him like this. He knew he had disappointed you. He was disappointed in himself.

Dean could swear he saw the guy’s eyes full of hatred. The man wanted to hurt him. Dean wasn’t stupid. He fought with the same hostility. Both of them wound up hurt. Whilst Dean spat blood in the ring, the guy had blood coming out of his nose. He wasn’t sure if he had won that fight.

He got rid of his clothes and stepped into the shower in hopes the water would wash away all his shame. In hopes it would heal all his bruises.

Five days passed and you grew nervous with each passing hour. You would get the letter at any given moment. You were trying so hard not to bite your nails or tap your feet but it was nearly impossible.

A knock on the door made you jump from your seat.

“Mail for Y/N Y/L/N,” the man held out an envelope as you opened the door.

“Thanks,” you took it from him and signed where you needed to.

Your trembling hands held the white envelope. An Aquarian Star on the bottom left. Your fingers traced the symbol. Taking a deep breath, you dialed Dean.

“Hey!” You beamed.

“Hey, you.”

“Did you get your letter?”

“Yeah, it came in this morning. D’you get yours?”

“I did,” you nearly exclaimed. “You didn’t open, right?”

“Of course not. I’m waiting for you.”

“Great,” you smiled. “Meet me at our spot in fifteen.”

“Okey-dokey,” he said, hanging up.

You got in your car in no time and drove to yours and Dean’s spot. You haven’t seen him since before the trials. Both of you caught up in hunts and work.

As you parked, you saw him leaned against his beloved impala. His lips curled into a smile once he laid his eyes on you.

“Argh, I’m so nervous,” you said before pecking his lips.

“Me too,” babbled.

“Okay,” you drew a deep breath. “We are doing this.”

He nodded. Both of you with the envelopes in hands. You opened it and unfolded the letter. Eyes searching for the words you were eager to read.

“Dear Ms. Y/L/N,” you read out loud with wide eyes, barely able to hide the excitement in your voice. “We are pleased to inform you that you have been admitted to the Man of Letter Organization,” you squealed, jumping into Dean’s arms. Your legs wrapped around his waist.

Dean held you in his arms as you kept on reading the rest of the letter. He unfolded his with one hand. He stared blankly at the paper, his lips parted open as he read the words to himself.

Dear Mr. Winchester,

We regret to inform you that you were not selected to join the Men of Letters Organization. You came in eighteenth place in the final rank. Thank you for your application. We strongly suggest you reapply next year. 

Sincerely, Andrea Thompson. Human Resources Representative.

“Dean?” he could barely hear your voice calling for him. The blood had vanished from his face. Dean didn’t have it in him to tell you the news. “Dean, how’d you do?”

I really enjoyed writing this one! What did you think of it? You can share your thoughts with me via reply, reblog or ask!

Dean Sweethearts:

@maya-craziness @akshi8278 @herfalsegod