#okay jon was notably less attractive

[theiyah]

the original gang before everything went to shits

[thevoidcannotbefilled]

I am emotional, so in honor of canon confirmed love, here’s some future, no apocalypse JM. 

-----------------------------

They’re moving again. 

It’s fine. It’s just what they have to do. Neither Jon or Martin like this reality, but settling in one location too long never has any good consequences. The longest they’ve stayed in one place was six months, and well, while the little town they stayed at survived, the blood left behind stays on their minds to this day.

But they have a system. Three months maximum in each location. They try not to live out of their suitcases as much as they can. If possible, they find odd jobs to sustain them enough not to rely on their surprisingly still abundant stash saved from all those years ago. Everything else they play by ear, Jon’s good eye for anything weird, and Martin’s strange ability to attract most supernatural entities within a five mile radius. 

Their homes are never large. They’re never fancy. But they are their homes nonetheless no matter how temporary they are. After the first few moves, with only one notable exception involving Jon accidentally compelling a literal vampire landlord, they manage to find safe locations without any major complications and later on, without Basira’s help. 

It’s not the most glamorous life, but it’s theirs. They travel around the world. They meet new people, no matter how brief the encounter. New foods, new sites, new everything. And for months at a time, they can comfortably settle back in a questionably smelly apartment all their own until they move onto the next home.

They’re wanderers, holding hands in spite of the world’s darkness and trying to find a small form of happiness within the cracks between the madness. By now, the mechanics of hand holding is automatic, far from the nervous stammering from before, and far more alien without the pressure than with it. Sometimes Jon taps gently against Martin’s. Other times Martin gently traces the top of Jon’s, scarred or not, finding the movement smoothing. But they both share a language of their own in just how they hold each other’s hands. There’s a difference between a gentle squeeze of reassurance when they’re huddled too close, too many people, too much at once within yet another train and the desperate, panicked clenching at seeing a sinister face peeking out of the darkness with a sharp and hungry smile. 

Martin never gets tired of holding Jon’s hand. They’re always warm, despite how brittle he looks, and they settle in a way that feels like Jon places each finger in a precise pattern on his skin. It’s a bit dramatic, if he’s honest, but it’s so Jon and so lovely, even if it does feel like he’s being captured by a claw machine sometimes. 

Jon finds holding Martin’s hand to be like holding a cushion between each finger. Soft but firm, but gentle in a way like they’re trying to support him rather than being simply held. He feels wanted, known in the good way. He only wishes Martin’s hands weren’t so sweaty all the time. 

It’s not perfect, but neither let go.

They settle. They leave. They move on. They settle once more. Through it all, they take their moments on lumpy couches. They cough at the dust clouds from odd corners. More than once, they stop one another from yelling at yet another awful landlord, and the conversation of “Well, why don’t we just invest in our own set of safe houses?” begins again and ends once more with the issue about their awkward lack of available money. There’s huffing and sarcastic comments that sometimes bite too harshly. Sometimes they stew for days on end with a silence that neither can bare, but both too stubborn in their own ways to settle. 

But in the end, they seem to find themselves quietly talking through it all. Terse conversations side by side on the awful couches leading to quiet nights cuddling in the dark. Loud arguments ending in weary smiles as one offers the other tea in forgiveness. Quiet but passionate confessions on stiff beds, as they hold each other close, close to tears, in tears, apologizing for the new insignificant misdemeanor and wanting nothing more than to hold each other close until the idea that they couldn’t tell whose limb was whose becomes a comforting one. 

Through it all, they touch each other gently. Martin holds Jon like he’ll break if he hugs him too tight. Jon holds Martin like he’ll disappear if he lets go. Sometimes love feels fragile no matter how reinforced it is. You step out and become known, and the constant fear of it crumbling down around you becomes a terror lurking in the back of your mind, and even as you reassure yourself that you will be okay, the bad days lets that fear come to the forefront and sneer, “See, I was right.”

For Martin, the cold creeps in from time to time. Even with Jon and his warmth, it’s hard to want to feel when the pain’s so much. But he does. The cold is nothing but a comforting lie, no matter how tempting it can be. 

There are too many people who haven’t wanted him in his life. Jon tells himself for the millionth time that Martin won’t get tired of him and leave. One day he’ll believe it.  

See, trauma doesn’t heal easily. It possibly never will, and while love is helpful, it’s not a miracle worker. The bad days will still open up old wounds, and no matter how much they tell themselves they’ve moved on, their lives will always be a constant work in progress to becoming okay. That being said, that’s part of what love is. It’s working through the worst of it to make the bad days happen less and the good days even better. So even though love isn’t magic, there’s something to be said about the power of a gentle kiss on the forehead, followed by a long look in their other’s eyes as they whisper, “you’ll be okay, we’ll be okay”. 

Their lives are surrounded by terrors beyond their comprehension, and they have no home to their name, but to have someone who loves you and you love back blocks all the signs that point that this life should be misery. For all of it they’re together. As they should be. As they always will as long as they are able. A promise made in a distant fog held together by their desire to not be alone, held stronger by their need to be with one another.

So yes, they’re packing again. It’s annoying to pack and sometimes they’ll have more arguments about the logistics of stealing Daisy’s safe houses. The train ride will be long, crowded, and stiff, and neither one of them will enjoy it, despite the excuse to cuddle. Later, Jon  will get hungry with an ever decreasing supply of statements, and Basira and Martin will have the hundredth argument about the two idiots giving away their location again, in a tone that feels far too familiar to be truly chastising. They’ll also probably find yet another landlord with ridiculous prices, and they’ll stop the other from saying things they will get them kicked out like that one time in Liverpool. They will see monsters and run. They will hold hands and find their smiles.

They will find another place, another home, and they will move forward.

Together.

[ohmyohpioneer]

my best friend’s brother is also on this snowy vacation queliot headcanon:

So I just got back from a snowy vacation and I was a little winedrunk on the plane and I thought (and consequently typed) a truly idiotic headcanon. 

Quentin is invited (ok bullied into but with good intentions) last minute by his friend, Margo, to come on her big annual ski trip and even though he doesn’t ski because his parents never had the money he says yes because it feels nice to be invited and, well, he likes Margo. It can’t be that bad, right?

Except that it kind of can because he didn’t realize Margo’s older brother, Eliot, is also invited (why did this not occur to him because of course he is) until Eliot steps out of the car, all regal and long legs in a crazy expensive but ok pretty cute Canada Goose parka.

And he knows Eliot. It’s not like they’ve never met before. Which is kind of the problem because Quentin inexplicably just really likes him. I mean, yeah, he’s attractive, sure, but the last time he went to one of Margo’s parties they ended up talking and laughing for, well, a long time and it was all knocking knees and shared bottles of tequila. And Quentin–

But it’s all beside the point because Margo is a good friend and Eliot is off limits and absolutely unattainable for someone at Quentin’s level. Also potentially involved with that guy Mike - who has bad hair - regardless. Just. Not anyone he should be sweating.

And ok. Eliot seems delighted - which is not a word Quentin uses with any sort of frequency - to see him and gives him a hug. A big one. Like, the kind with great arm pressure? And a shoulder sniff? Fuck, Quentin is weird. God. Why can’t he be normal?

But of course Eliot is charming and immediately they’re all in the little rented chalet with hot toddys heavy on the toddy (assuming that’s the whiskey part), and he really needs to keep himself in check.

Quentin’s only frame of reference for ski lodges or ski culture or whatever is from movies, namely romcoms, and it seems exactly right that the rented chalet is tiny and there are only a few, cosy (the rich word for cramped) rooms and he ends up sharing a room with Eliot. It’s a bunk bed because sure. And Eliot immediately claims the bottom (“I am a top in all other realms” he smirks and is that flirting or just witticism?)

Josh and Margo and Penny and Julia all immediately go to the double and triple and quintuple diamond and rhombus hills (it is all utter nonsense terminology to him and maybe this is what people feel like when he talks Fillory) but Eliot stays with him while he rents skis and insists on joining him on the bunny hill (“It’s where all of the cute instructors are. All you have to do is ask about the french fry pizza technique and Marcel, who is here for the winter from Switzerland, is buying your après aperitifs.”)

Quentin falls. A lot. But Eliot laughs and picks him up and it’s sort of okay. But cold. People like this?

They call it early because “the chalet is calling, and so is an adequately made, intensely overpriced cocktail” (Eliot, not Quentin)

Somewhere around day three, with less falls and a lot of Eliot insisting he’s ready for at least one of the lesser diamonds, he starts calling him Q.

Quentin (Q) absolutely does not blush when Eliot cheers and hugs him in a clacking frenzy of skis when he makes it down his first real hill without so much as a stumble.

They’re all very drunk and playing the Forehead Game, pieces of masking tape stuck to their heads, names written in disorderly Sharpie letters (person, fictional or real rules: no you are not real, yes you can talk, yes you are animated, fine yes, you are the Brave Little Toaster, you cheater) when Josh and Margo start making eyes and not-so-subtly tell each other that Margo is Jon Snow and Josh is Kylie Jenner so that they can “sneak off” (stumble out of the room making out with disturbing vigor) to do whatever it is they plan on doing (subtle)

And Penny and Julia decide to go on a starlight walk or some uber-saccharine romantic beautiful thing

And then it’s just. Quentin and Eliot. And a lot of wine. In front of a cracking fire in a moonlit chalet and they slump even further in their chairs by the mantle and they’re talking about something so inconsequential and great (“Ugh. Margo usually has flawless taste in friends but Back to the Future III?? No one with any decency is allowed to like that movie, Q.”)  and fuck Quentin is giggling and they’ve fallen to the floor (“How can you have not read any of the Harry Potter books?”) and if his head lolls just a fraction closer to Eliot’s wild curls, it’s because of some sort of scientific, magnetic pull or something.

He’s pretty sure that Eliot is leaning forward, or maybe somehow the wooden floors have slanted, or-or the world has moved and slid him closer to Eliot - his face in particular. And lips. His lips are like just molecules away, and–

Penny and Julia. Back. Snow dusted. Glowing. In love or some shit.

He accidentally calls him El. It just happens when they’re both at the breakfast table drinking coffee one morning. (“Of course you like it black, Coldwater. All tortured 50s existentialist.” “Just shut up and pass me the butter, El.”) And Eliot doesn’t correct him, just smirks and sips daintily at his coffee (no sugar, lots of milk) and nudges the butter at him.

Quentin really likes the way Eliot says Coldwater. He just. Does.

It’s Vermont during ski season so there’s a giant snow storm. 

Obviously.

All that snow has knocked the power out. It’s getting increasingly cold inside the cabin the longer they’re without heating, and Penny and Julia Do the Brave Thing and venture out to see if they can scrounge up a generator or something to make this less miserable. Margo and Josh beeline for their room without a word and that’s that, apparently.

His bunk is fucking freezing.

He can hear Eliot on the bunk under him turning and turning. He wonders if he’s any warmer.

“Q. For the love of all things unholy, could you please get down here and help me generate some body heat before I go full Ötzi the Iceman. Not that a millennia of future generations wouldn’t benefit from seeing my beauty preserved in icy mummification- but I’m not that altruistic. Oh. And please bring all of the blankets you have.”

Eliot’s bed is. Really small. Well, it’s the same size as the top bunk, but with two people on it, it’s notably less spacious. Eliot is big spooning (as a verb), and Quentin is small spooning (silently freaking out), but it is really helping to keep the chill off. The four blankets Princess and the Pea style stacked on top of them probably aren’t hurting either.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, the heat must have kicked back in - or Penny and Julia had succeeded in their quest - because Quentin wakes, sweating, pushing off cover after cover after cover and Eliot has somehow lost his shirt (and Quentin quickly loses his shit), but mostly he just lays back down and doesn’t go back to his own bunk.

He wakes up again because there are lips on his shoulder.

Not like, random, disembodied dream lips. But specific lips.

Eliot lips.

It’s still dark outside.

Quentin had kind of forgotten that feeling? That one low, low in your stomach when you wake up in bed with someone, someone who is against you and kissing your skin and you feel warm and dazed and blissed the hell out.

But he definitely remembers it now.

And he turns and they are for sure, absolutely, 100% full-on making out now and it’s really small in this bed.

Somehow Quentin loses his shirt, too (Eliot is good at somehow misplacing clothing)

“Just making sure you’re warm, Q.”

“Yeah. Taking off my shirt is definitely helping.”

They wake up in the morning and it’s hot and sticky and the opposite of Ötzi and Quentin says so. 

Eliot agrees and doubles down.

They decide to stay in the chalet for the day while Margo and Josh and Penny and Julia spend their last day on the slopes. They drink hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and Quentin hates it (the schnapps), but doesn’t tell Eliot, and Eliot loves it (burrowing into the couch with no clothes, but wool socks on, next to Quentin) but doesn’t tell Quentin.

“This hasn’t been that bad.”

[random-notes-and-jottings]

How Capitalism Drives Cancel Culture

Beware splashy corporate gestures when they leave existing power structures intact.

The delete button over a tumbrel

Story by Helen Lewis

JULY 14, 2020

GLOBAL

Tumbrels are rattling through the streets of the internet. Over the past few years, online-led social movements have deposed gropers, exposed bullies—and, sometimes, ruined the lives of the innocent. Commentators warn of “mob justice,” while activists exult in their newfound power to change the world.

Both groups are right, and wrong. Because the best way to see the firings, outings, and online denunciations grouped together as “cancel culture,” is not through a social lens, but an economic one.

Take the fall of the film producer Harvey Weinstein, which seems inevitable in hindsight—everyone knew he was a sex pest! There were even jokes about it on 30 Rock! But it took The New York Times months of reporting to ready its first story for publishing; the newspaper was taking on someone with deep pockets and a history of intimidating critics into silence. Then the story went off like a hand grenade. Suddenly, the mood—and the economic incentives—shifted. People who had been afraid of Weinstein were instead afraid of being taken down alongside him.

The removal of Weinstein from his company, and his subsequent conviction for rape, is a good outcome. But the mechanism it revealed is more morally ambiguous: The court of public opinion was the only forum left after workplace protections and the judicial system had failed. The writer Jon Schwarz once described the “iron law of institutions,” under which people with seniority inside an institution care more about preserving their power within the institution than they do about the power of the institution as a whole. That self-preservation instinct also operates when private companies—institutions built on maximizing shareholder value, or other capitalist principles—struggle to acclimatize to life in a world where many consumers vocally support social-justice causes. Progressive values are now a powerful branding tool.

But that is, by and large, all they are. And that leads to what I call the “iron law of woke capitalism”: Brands will gravitate toward low-cost, high-noise signals as a substitute for genuine reform, to ensure their survival. (I’m not using the word woke here in a sneering, pejorative sense, but to highlight that the original definition of wokeness is incompatible with capitalism. Also, I’m not taking credit for the coinage: The writer Ross Douthat got there first.) In fact, let’s go further: Those with power inside institutions love splashy progressive gestures—solemn, monochrome social media posts deploring racism; appointing their first woman to the board; firing low-level employees who attract online fury—because they help preserve their power. Those at the top—who are disproportionately white, male, wealthy and highly educated—are not being asked to give up anything themselves.

Perhaps the most egregious example of this is the random firings of individuals, some of whose infractions are minor, and some of whom are entirely innocent of any bad behavior. In the first group goes the graphic designer Sue Schafer, outed by The Washington Post for attending a party in ironic blackface—a tone-deaf attempt to mock Megyn Kelly for not seeing what was wrong with blackface. Schafer, a private individual, was confronted at the party over the costume, went home in tears, and apologized to the hosts the next day. When the Post ran a story naming her, she was fired. New York magazine found numerous Post reporters unwilling to defend the decision to run the story—and plenty of unease that the article seemed more interested in exonerating the Post than fighting racism. Even less understandable is the case of Niel Golightly, communications chief at the aircraft company Boeing, who stepped down over a 33-year-old article arguing that women should not serve in the military. When Barack Obama, a notably progressive president, only changed his mind on gay marriage in the 2010s, how many Americans’ views from 1987 would hold up to scrutiny by today’s standards? This mechanism is not, as it is sometimes presented, a long-overdue settling of scores by underrepresented voices. It is a reflexive jerk of the knee by the powerful; a demonstration of institutions’ unwillingness to tolerate any controversy, whether those complaining are liberal or conservative. Another case where the punishment does not fit the offense is that of the police detective Florissa Fuentes, who reposted a picture from her niece taken at a Black Lives Matter protest. One of those pictured held a sign reading who do we call when the murderer wear the badge. Another sign, according to the Times, “implied that people should shoot back at the police.” Fuentes, a 30-year-old single mother to three children, deleted the post and apologized, but was fired nonetheless.

In the second group, the blameless, lies Emmanuel Cafferty, a truck driver who appears to have been tricked into making an “okay” symbol by a driver he cut off at a traffic light. The inevitable viral video claimed that this was a deliberate use of the symbol as a white-power gesture, and he was promptly fired. Cafferty is a working-class man in his 40s from San Diego. The loss of his job hit him hard enough that he saw a counselor. “A man can learn from making a mistake,” he told my colleague Yascha Mounk. “But what am I supposed to learn from this? It’s like I was struck by lightning.”

The phrase is haunting—not being racist is not going to save you if the lightning strikes. Nor is the fact that your comments lie decades in the past, or that they have been misinterpreted by bad-faith actors, or that you didn’t make them. The ground—your life—is scorched just the same.

It is strange that “cancel culture” has become a project of the left, which spent the 20th century fighting against capricious firings of “troublesome” employees. A lack of due process does not become a moral good just because you sometimes agree with its targets. We all, I hope, want to see sexism, racism, and other forms of discrimination decrease. But we should be aware of the economic incentives here, particularly given the speed of social media, which can send a video viral, and see onlookers demand a response, before the basic facts have been established. Afraid of the reputational damage that can be incurred in minutes, companies are behaving in ways that range from thoughtless and uncaring to sadistic. For Cafferty’s employer, what’s one random truck driver versus the PR bump of being able to cut off a bad news cycle by saying you’ve fired your “white-supremacist employee”?

Let’s look at another example of how woke capitalism operates. In the aftermath of George Floyd’s death, and the protests that followed, White Fragility, a 2018 book by Robin DiAngelo, returned to the top of The New York Times’s paperback-nonfiction chart. The author is white, and her book is for white people, encouraging them to think about what it’s like to be white. So the American book-buying public’s single biggest response to the Black Lives Matter movement was … to buy a book about whiteness written by a white person.

This is worse than mere navel-gazing; it’s synthetic activism. It risks making readers feel full of piety and righteousness without having actually done anything. Buying a book on white fragility improves the lives of the most marginalized far less than, say, donating to a voting-rights charity or volunteering at a food bank. It’s pure hobbyism.

Why is DiAngelo’s book so popular? Again, look at economics. White Fragility is a staple of formal diversity training, in universities from London to Iowa, and at publications including Britain’s right-wing Telegraph newspaper, as well as The Atlantic. The client list on DiAngelo’s website includes giant corporations such as Amazon and Unilever; nonprofits such as the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, the Hollywood Writers Guild, and the YMCA; as well as institutions and governmental bodies such as Seattle Public Schools, the City of Oakland, and the Metropolitan Council of Minneapolis.

In the United States, diversity training is worth $8 billion a year, according to Iris Bohnet, a public-policy professor at Harvard’s Kennedy School. And yet, after studying programs in both the U.S. and post-conflict countries such as Rwanda, she concluded, “sadly enough, I did not find a single study that found that diversity training in fact leads to more diversity.” Part of the problem is that although those delivering them are undoubtedly well-meaning, the training programs are typically no more scientifically grounded than previous management-course favorites, such as Myers-Briggs personality classifications. “Implicit-bias tests” are controversial, and the claim that they can predict real-world behavior, never mind reduce bias, is shaky. A large-scale analysis of research in the sector found that “changes in implicit measures are possible, but those changes do not necessarily translate into changes in explicit measures or behavior.” Yet metrics-obsessed companies love these forms of training. When the British Labour leader, Keir Starmer, caused offense by referring to Black Lives Matter as a “moment” rather than a movement, he announced that he would undergo implicit-bias training. It is an approach that sees bias as a moral flaw among individuals, rather than a product of systems. It encourages personal repentance, rather than institutional reform. Bohnet suggested other methods to increase diversity, such as removing ages and photographs from job applications, and reviewing the language used for advertisements. (Men are more likely to see themselves as “assertive,” she argued.) Here is another option for big companies: Put your money into paying all junior staff enough for them to live in the big city where the company is based, without needing help from their parents. That would increase the company’s diversity. Hell, get your staff to read White Fragility on their own time and give your office cleaners a pay raise.

This, however, would break the iron law of woke capitalism—better to have something you can point to and say “Aren’t we progressive?” than to think about the real problem. Diversity training offers the minimum possible disruption to your power structures: Don’t change the board; just get your existing employees to sit through a seminar.

If this is a moment for power structures to be challenged, and old orthodoxies to be overturned, then understanding the difference between economic radicalism and social radicalism is vital. These could also be described as the difference between identity and class. That is not to dismiss the former: Many groups face discrimination on both measures. Women might not be hired because “Math isn’t for girls” or because an employer doesn’t want to pay for maternity leave. An employer may not see the worth of a minority applicant, because they don’t speak the way the interviewer expects, or that applicant might be a second-generation immigrant whose parents can’t subsidize them through several years of earning less than a living wage.

All this I’ve learned from feminism, where the contrast between economic and social radicalism is very apparent. Equal pay is economically radical. Hiring a female or minority CEO for the first time is socially radical. Diversity training is socially radical, at best. Providing social-housing tenants with homes not covered in flammable cladding is economically radical. Changing the name of a building at a university is socially radical; improving on its 5 percent enrollment rate for Black students—perhaps by smashing up the crazy system of legacy admissions—would be economically radical.

In my book Difficult Women, I wrote that the only question I want to ask big companies who claim to be “empowering the female leaders of the future” is this one: Do you have on-site child care? You can have all the summits and power breakfasts that you want, but unless you address the real problems holding working parents back, then it’s all window dressing.

Along with anti-racism and anti-sexism efforts, LGBTQ politics suffers a similar confusion between economic and social radicalism. The arrival of Pride month brings the annual argument about how it should be a “protest, not a parade.” The violence and victimization of the Stonewall-riot era risk being forgotten in today’s “branded holiday,” where big banks and clothing manufacturers fly the rainbow flag to boost their corporate image. In Britain and the U.S., these corporate sponsors want a depoliticized party—a generic celebration of love and acceptance—without tough questions about their views on particular domestic laws and policies, or their involvement in countries with poor records on LGBTQ rights. Some activists in Britain have tried to get Pride marches to stop allowing the arms company BAE to be a sponsor, given its arms sales to Saudi Arabia, an explicitly homophobic and sexist state. When Amazon sponsored last year’s PinkNews Awards, the former Doctor Who screenwriter Russell T. Davies used his lifetime-achievement-award acceptance speech to tell the retailer to “pay your fucking taxes.” That’s economic radicalism.

Activists regularly challenge criticisms of “cancel culture” by saying: “Come on, we’re just some people with Twitter accounts, up against governments and corporate behemoths.” But when you look at the economic incentives, almost always, the capitalist imperative is to yield to activist pressure. Just a bit. Enough to get them off your back. Companies caught in the scorching light of a social-media outcry are ike politicians caught lying or cheating, who promise a “judge-led inquiry”: They want to do something, anything, to appear as if they are taking the problem seriously—until the spotlight moves on.

Some defenestrations are brilliant, and long overdue. Weinstein’s removal from a position of power was undoubtedly a good thing. But the firing of Emmanuel Cafferty was not. For activists, the danger lies in the cheap sugar rush of tokenistic cancellations. Real institutional change is hard; like politics, it is the “slow boring of hard boards.” Persuading a company to toss someone overboard for PR points risks a victory that is no victory at all. The pitchforks go down, but the corporate culture remains the same. The survivors sigh in relief. The institution goes on.

If you care about progressive causes, then woke capitalism is not your friend. It is actively impeding the cause, siphoning off energy, and deluding us into thinking that change is happening faster and deeper than it really is. When people talk about the “excesses of the left”—a phenomenon that blights the electoral prospects of progressive parties by alienating swing voters—in many cases they’re talking about the jumpy overreactions of corporations that aren’t left-wing at all.

Remember the iron law of woke institutions: For those looking to preserve their power, it makes sense to do the minimum amount of social radicalism necessary to survive … and no economic radicalism at all. The latter is where activists need to apply their pressure.

[janiedean]

I'm the anon who said you don't glorify obesity. Look I don't know anything about that ship y'all keep referring to and I don't know who "Hunk" is or whatever, I'm talking in general terms. I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT SHIPPING OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT just to clarify. I think it's wrong that people glorify being skinny but I don't think glorifying obesity is any better (I'm talking about more than overweight - ACTUALLY OBESE)

I’m probably not explaining myself properly but I think people should be able to ship whatever they want, the shipping was never my point. I just think the way people on the internet have been going on like “Fat women are goddesses!!! Real women have curves!!! If you don’t agree you’re fatphobic!!!” is wrong. I have been hospitalized twice for anorexia, I know how being skinny is glorified but I don’t think switching it around so it becomes “being obese is totally awesome and if you say otherwise you’re a horrible fatphobe” is any better. I’m sorry for sending you so many messages, I’ll stop now.

okay so GIVEN THAT WE ALREADY CLARIFIED OURSELVES ON THE MISUNDERSTANDING: the problem is that we were actually talking about shipping XD and the other anon decided it had to be about health but like the problem in general is that as usual (on tumblr and I guess in the US because it’s mostly US beauty standards I’m seeing thrown around) is that there’s no middle way in anything. I mean, like:

body shaming is a thing. in general. the problem is that fatshaming is, like, a thing that is more culturally spread than the contrary even if in some countries (ie italy) there’s this concept that if you’re skinnier than a size 42 (I guess it’s like an S or small M) you’re omg so unhealthy please EAT SOME PUT MEAT ON YOUR BONES WHY DO U HATE GOOD FOOD, but it’s more of an older generation thing. like, I’ve had problems with weight bc when I was in freaking elementary school people would go like ‘omg you’re so fat’ at me and I thought I was and then I looked at some pictures years later and I was like ‘… wtf I was perfectly fine what the hell’ and there’s a general implication that fat/overweight = unhealthy when it’s not necessarily the case.

the problem is that when it comes to body positivity there is like literally zero distinction between curvy, overweight, fat and obese which are not the same thing, and there is zero distinction between body positivity and promote a healthy lifestyle. I mean, according to US standards someone who’s fat would be… like… normal here? a size M is seen as perfectly regular stuff but from what I see of US sizes, M is like OMG I’M FAT already, which… like. here it’s maybe curvy. also being some 3/4kgs overweight never killed anyone. but since I see ZERO DISTINCTION here, it’s all thrown in the same bag and it’s the exact same for people who have 3 kgs more than average, 10, 25, 50 or freaking 200. which is obviously not the same.

also, there is the complete lack of realizing what it means to be healthy and to not be thin. like, as has been said already it’s absolutely not a guarantee that being thin or skinny means that you’re healthy (I had a friend who used to be chubby, then got sick with a freaking chronic disease and came out of it with a body that ended up finding her a job as a fashion model but SHE STILL WAS HEALTHIER BEFORE THE FREAKING CHRONIC DISEASE), I’ve struggled with my extra kgs all my damned life and whenever I go on vacation with friends that are thinner than me but move around less or don’t go to the gym and the likes I am the one who can walk for longer or gets tired less and I have better blood tests than my father who’s at his ideal weight and takes five pills for a bunch of different stuff. some people are just heavier as a body type but if it’s their body and it’s not due to shitty eating or lack of exercise or whatever then they’re not unhealthy. obviously severely obese people who can’t walk for more than twenty minutes without feeling like fainting aren’t in that category but like never mind that for a moment, the problem is that your size doesn’t automatically mean unhealthy and having 20 extra kgs on you makes you fat maybe but not freaking obese.

THEN, on body positivity: there is a healthy difference between NOT BEING A JERK and spreading awareness re healthy habits. like, society/media and the likes shouldn’t promote being thin, they should promote being healthy ie eating well and exercising, not THIN = HEALTHY. as stated you can be healthy without being thin. (or, as the character we were talking about that you weren’t referencing, you can be mostly muscle and have some chub over it and THAT’S NOT BEING OBESE XD at the same time, if someone is overweight or obese or whatever for any reason whatsoever you can’t go at them and tell them omg go lose some weight you loser THAT’S HORRIBLE. I mean, there’s a difference between saying that one should try to be as healthy as possible and go like OMG YOU’RE FAT YOU’RE HORRIBLE. if body positivity means not shaming someone else for their body then go the fuck for it. the problem is that then according to people saying ‘okay but if you can’t walk to the supermarket and back without feeling short of breath and you might get heart diseases maybe you should consider dropping some extra weight for your own benefit’ is fatphobic which… lolno. not everyone is fat because of bad habits and they shouldn’t have people making them feel bad even if they are but assuming that the above sentence (especially when doctors recommend you to do more exercise) is inherently fatphobic imo is ridiculous. if my doctor tells me I should lose some weight then I’m gonna consider it and I’m not gonna feel like he’s *phobic*, if someone goes like ‘omg you’re so fat you’ll never find a guy who wants you’, that is fatphobic. like, THERE’S A DIFFERENCE. (at the same time people who are skinny/thinner than average shouldn’t get told all the time OMG PUT SOME MEAT ON THAT SKELETON REAL WOMEN HAVE CURVES like fuck’s sake respect all body types. being a real woman has zero to do with how much meat you have on you.) what should be glorified is be healthy and be happy with whatever body type you have as long as it doesn’t cause you problems and at that point nicely try to make those problems right while you’re encouraged without shaming anyone in the process. (which also means: gdi don’t put other people down if they’re trying to gain weight or lose it, ffs.)

now, the problem with shipping: the thing is - and I swear to god I don’t wanna sound like a sjw now but I hope the previous essay has made clear how I feel in general on this issue - that, in my experience, fat/overweight characters especially if they’re male are seen as… either the laughing stock of the group or the harmless nerd or anyway never as sexual objects. every damned time I ship something where a guy is overweight/fat (notable exceptions jacob and queenie from fantastic beasts which tbh really was a nice surprise for the part where the fat guy who’s also a sweetheart hooks up with the bombshell and it’s THE BEST ROMANCE OF ALL good go you man) right as rain there’s rarely fic for it least of all porn, and even if there is someone will go around saying the fat character isn’t attractive or deserving of getting some. when I say ‘sam tarly syndrome’ I mean ‘fat/overweight guy is a sweetheart who has a lot of nice ships they could be in but they get thoroughly ignored or if it happens in canon fandom lols at it’. I mean, I basically had to start the jon/sam tag on my own (if you see the fics at the beginning it’s honestly sad to see TEN of mine all after the other), once on a kinkmeme I was like ‘okay doing it’ at a pwp prompt and I got as an answer OMG I WAS HOPING YOU’D SEE THIS NO ONE ELSE IN THIS FANDOM WRITES PORN FOR THESE TWO and whenever people discuss canon sex scenes…. the only one in the book that always gets lol-ed at is sam and gilly’s in spite of the fact that okay, it’s badly written, but ALL of the sex scenes in asoiaf except one are badly written. it’s not worse than the average. but sam getting some because a relatively hot girl wants him and the sex - omg! - actually being somewhat not vanilla is seen as… like… OMG HAHAHAHAHA I CAN’T BELIEVE HE’S GETTING SOME OMG HOW EMBARRASSING as if this guy being overweight means he can’t be seen as a palatable partner when it comes to having a sex life. same as the other anon being like ‘omg hunk (the person we were referring) is fat and unhealthy so he’s not good enough for the other person’ is… exactly the same. I mean, this hunk character is admittedly the one person in that bunch I’d actually date irl same as sam is the one character from asoiaf I’d date irl the others are completely out of the question, but since they’re *fat* naaaaah? and guess what sam/WHOEVER is a lot less popular than ships which make a lot less sense but are two hot characters stashed together bc they’re hot. (jaime/sansa has like 300+ fics and jon/sam is still under 100 but okay sure tell me it’s because it makes no sense. lol no. and being that the only porn around for those two was written by me and maybe two/three other people says all.)

at that point then people go like ‘well but it’s because they’re unhealthy’ and that is when it becomes ridiculous. because going with the above problem re fatshaming being a thing that happens on a societal level, it becomes IF YOU’RE FAT YOU’RE NOT SEXUALLY DESIRABLE AND NO ONE SHOULD WANT YOU BECAUSE OF YOUR UNHEALTHY WEIGHT, which mixes stuff that doesn’t even go together with being sexually desirable which is something inherently personal. as in: if someone who’s unhealthily fat for whichever reason has a significant other who loves them and their body guess what THEY HAVE A RIGHT TO HAVE A SEXUAL LIFE AND TO BANG PEOPLE/GET BANGED TO THEIR PLEASURE. because when it comes to preferences in the bedroom or loving a person, size can be a thing - some people have certain body shapes preferences and so on - or it cannot be a thing at all and anyway it doesn’t matter when it comes to your right to be seen as desirable/being desirable. people of all sizes can be desirable or sexy or definitely sexually available regardless of the size - like everyone is freaking allowed to be sexually desirable even if they don’t conform to whichever is the beauty canon around.

and given that I personally got told more than once also by admittedly well-meaning people that they wouldn’t ever consider seeing me as desirable because I was overweight or not as thin as other hot person around our class or even better, the aforementioned friend who turned out to be a fashion model using that as some coping mechanism (as in, she didn’t like being sick obv. but since she had come out of it with a scorching hot physique while I had then undiagnosed pcos so I was struggling with weight all the damned time and I was healthy otherwise... er let’s say that she used to tell me stuff like ‘ah well look at you and look at me instead how much better looking I am’ which obviously was in order to make herself feel better about her illness but sure as hell didn’t help me feeling good about myself), I’m honestly fucking tired of this whole trend in shipping where overweight/fat people don’t get any from their hot best friends with whom they’re absolutely shippable but the hot friends get shipped instead with the most improbable hot people that happens in 90% of fandoms I run into. because it’s just a reflection of how irl if you’re overweight a lot of the time people will say that your weight puts you out of the goddamned dating field and everyone deserves to be in there, damn it, regardless of their size. it has nothing to do with being healthy or unhealthy. and saying shit like ‘omg X is fat they’re not good enough for Y’ is really fucking old already. 

 tldr: I hope I made clear why I got pissed at the other anon and what I think of the whole matter. obviously no one has to glorify being *unhealthy* (extreme obesity and anorexia are both unhealthy) and no one needs to put other groups down while doing it (looking at you n*icki m*inaj - like sorry but according to my standards she’s thin, having a nice ass doesn’t make you *fat* or curvy, and going like FUCK ALL THOSE SKINNY BITCHES is the exact contrary of body positivity tbh). but at the same time everyone deserves to be seen as sexually desirable and it’s bullshit that the current narrative depicts being overweight as something undesirable. both in society and in fandom.

/peace