#this blog is teaching me to draw genitals always

[fobnsfwdoodles]

atrociously percieved by your recent Patrussy post that’s what my fucking bottom growth looks like atm (early days)

Yay!! That was the goal! I'd like for every follower of this blog to have at least one moment of looking at a feature and feeling seen

[genderconstructwww]

CommonPlace Book Reflection

After a close examination of everything we covered over the semester, one of the main topics that stood out to me is gender as a social construction. If I’m being honest, I was not clear on what social construction entails or how it influences gender at the beginning of the course. However, after the second week, I gained new insight on the topic with the help of the lecture notes I took and the annotations we were required to complete. According to the lecture slide definition, social construction is the belief that identity is not inherent within an individual group or thing but instead largely a creation of cultural, political, and historical forces. It sounds terrible, but it wasn’t until I took this class that I sat down and thought about how poorly those outer forces could influence identity and gender and how it impacts certain groups of people. I noticed several subcategories that all tie into one singular idea of gender as a social construction; gender roles, stereotypes, norms, socialization, and the concept of essentialism. Again, before completing this course, I did not have a full understanding of the word essentialism. This is the belief that things have a set of characteristics that make them what they are; in regards to gender, it means that they believe men and women are designed to have specific dispositions BECAUSE they belong to that category of people. Essentialists see biological sex as determining gender, but studies prove otherwise and show that biological makeup DOES NOT determine gender. My collection of Tumblr posts highlights gender as a social construction along with essentialism and how the two ideas tie together.

Firstly, I feel the need to explain that sex and gender ARE NOT THE SAME THINGS. This is a concept that I did not understand until I was in high school, and someone explained it to me. The two words often get intertwined, and not everyone realizes what they are talking about when using those two words. Sex is the biological makeup of a person, so it references one’s genitals. Someone is born with specific sexual chromosomes that provide them with either one of the sex organs, determining what sex you are assigned at birth. Gender, however, is the behavior and characteristics of each sex, and it is set socially and culturally, according to the lecture notes. For example, someone may be born a male but later identify as a transgender female after transitioning; although their sex assigned at birth is male, their gender identity is female. This is a big concept that many people do not understand or unfortunately refuse to understand. Still, it’s good that classes like this are explaining this to students so more younger people can grasp gender and sex differences. I included a post on my blog about the importance of knowing the difference and how it relates to our present world’s medicinal practices, according to Stanford University. 

The second post on my blog is about one of the fictional books we read and discussed this summer, titled Three Daughters of Eve by Elif Shafak. I’m not going to dive into the details about how the story went because we all read the book; however, I am going to address Peri, the main character, and how social construction and essentialism impact her as she grows up and transitions to her life as a student at Oxford University. I reposted something from another student, which is a drawing of a woman holding her own face and staring at it. I like what the student wrote because they said she is a people pleaser, and many times she puts on a mask and does what she needs to do. This is an accurate way to describe Peri because she is always doing what everyone tells her and being the person THEY want her to be, not who she wants to be herself. She even says it herself on page 72, when she writes she “understood and accepted that some daughters were born with a mission; to fulfill their fathers’ dreams” (Shafak 72). I see how social constructionism is present in her life because the Muslim beliefs her parents follow and want HER to follow tells her she needs to act one way, go to college, find a man to show off, etc. Society is constructing how they want Peri to grow up, but she faces issues with binary thinking because she doesn’t know who she wants to be or what side she wants to live on; she claims she wishes there was a third path for people like her. She’s stuck between living the way she wants to live with the people she wants to live with or following her parent’s and society’s wishes and be a good Muslim woman like she is “supposed” to. 

As I reference essentialism, I added another post to my blog to further explain my introduction to the topic. It includes a graphic of a person surrounded by quotes like, “You are so well spoken for a….” and “Yeah, but you are born with a tolerance for…!” Although I explained it in my post, specific groups of people get these essentialistic questions all the time. Some live their life believing these stereotypes and thinking people have to look or feel one way. For example, in this class, we spoke about how most people in history thought women HAD to reproduce to continue the family line and teach their daughters womanly duties in the household. At the same time, their sons go out into the field and work. This idea followed humanity through the years, and unfortunately, many people today still expect that’s what women are going to do and the path they need to follow. Even in my life experiences, I’ve had people say things to me like, “You won’t be good at that because you’re a girl” and “Shouldn’t you be making us sandwiches?” or however it was phrased. People have been trained to think this set thing about what women can do and what men can do, and it’s moved through history and is still impacting us in present times. After this post, I included an article about why we stereotype and how to combat essentialist views.

Straying away from essentialism and getting back into social constructionism, I learned a lot about what this means from the annotations we did throughout the course. In The Treatment of Bibi Haldar by Lahiri, Bibi is considered “sick” and cannot fulfill the duties she is expected to fill as a woman. Bibi is acting like the only way she can be cured is by getting married. She's been conditioned to believe that all she has to do is find a man and her life would be set, and she is stuck thinking that she is suffering from this terrible "ailment" and is incurable. Throughout the story, Bibi is treated like an animal, and she is generally frowned upon, and in the end, she is even mistreated and raped. Stories like this show the unjust culture towards women and how men are worshipped over them and viewed as superior. Gender is seen as a social construction in this story because gender stereotypes say women are lost and useless unless she has a man by her side, just like Bibi. She was conditioned to think that that was the only way she was going to succeed in life. I thought this story was so sad and unfair, and this is only one of the many we read this semester where the female gender was stepped on and insulted. In another article we read by Kavita Ramdas titled Radical Women Embracing Tradition, she speaks about what happens when an Indian woman becomes widowed. This is a perfect example of how terribly men in some cultures impact women’s lives. The husband dies, the woman becomes a widow, and is automatically stripped of her beautiful cultural expression because of "tradition." This is all because she is no longer married; it almost seems like the tradition was formed because people believe women don't deserve their sari and bindi anymore once they aren't with a man. And on top of that, it doesn't matter who cares about it, because not even the men can save them in these horrible situations. Along with this, daughters of a very young age see these things happening and have to accept it and realize that one day that's where they will be because those are the terrible "rules about what it means to be female in this world." This is just another sad example of gender as a social construction because gender norms say that this is what has to be done. People believe that women need to have a man, and if they don’t, they are treated terribly because of the political and historical forces our society is built upon.

However, there are examples of light in this subject. I provided an example of combating stereotypes through my post about NYC police officer Aml Elsokary. She fought Muslim stereotypes by becoming a police officer and wearing her hijab prior to the 9/11 attacks when many people viewed innocent Muslim people as terrorists. In speaking about Islamic women and the veil, many non-Muslim feminists view this item of clothing as an oppressive act and epitomize Islam to be sexist. However, this is not an accurate depiction. The veil should be seen as a symbol of identity and modesty, etc. It's not correct in being a symbol of oppression contrary to popular belief across many cultures. People like Elsokary refute these ideas and risk their lives to be something others don’t think they can be. Another example of this is my 6th blog post with an article about gender norms and women’s political participation. It shows how more powerful women are stepping up into the political field and how more of them are gaining higher positions of power despite being female, which has been an issue in the past. Following this post, I included a chart about the number of women CEOs in the Fortune 500. In 2021, there are now 37 women CEOs, and in my Tumblr post, I speak about how this is inspiring and helpful for our future of equality because these women are changing the world slowly but surely. A perfect example of this inflation is another student’s post that I added to the blog. She explained that her mom worked right after she turned two months old, and in the beginning, she was one of few women in the industry; now, she is surrounded by many other successful women in the field. In terms of gender as a social construction, these examples all defy gender roles and stereotypes about what women can and can’t do. With all of the poor treatment of women due to society’s ideas, many women go over the top to combat these issues to prove women are more than equal to men.

Although there are efforts of change like this, the main thing I got out of this class is that, although we’re closer, we are still not quite at full equality of men and women. Women need to work harder to get in the same spot, explained in my second to last blog post. Because gender is a social construction, it’s difficult for women to overpower “superior” men and gain the power and authority that men have since that is unheard of in history. But, in the future, I hope none of it will matter! I don’t want to hear more stories about women being killed and raped because they are women or denied jobs because they are female. I want to hear about more women CEOs, more women cops, more powerful women contributing to our society as influential individuals who don’t let social constructionism stop them. Gender norms and stereotypes will be abolished in the future because I can see humanity getting better and better through everything we read this semester. I want to thank Dr. Richard for teaching this course this summer because I learned things about women that I did not know before and heard stories that really made me sit back and think about what it means to be a woman. Thank you.

[martymusesloveinexile]

How Not to Learn Polish - A Love in Exile Drabble

This is a little drabble I wrote for @sheepskeleton as thanks for the wonderful art of Victor that she did, which was inspired by a conversation we had. 

Being fellow history nerds, she and I have talked a lot about the historical context of Love In Exile, and one of the things we talked about was Victor’s relationship with Ignacy Hryniewiecki, who is a real historical figure and something of a Polish national hero. She pointed out to me that Victor having learned Polish from Ignacy (which Victor tells Yuuri he did in Chapter 2) was actually something of a political statement, as at the time Polish culture and language was being actively and ferociously quashed by the Russian Empire. 

Intrigued by this idea I wrote this (rather smutty) drabble for her, which almost killed her due to how terrible the initial Polish was. She has corrected all of it and I now present it to you here as an amusing perk of following the LIE blog (though you are welcome to reblog and share it). 

Be warned this is NSFW and most will be under a cut. 

“Za naszą i waszą wolność.”

He says the words like a lover’s sigh in my ear, soft and low, as his fingertip caress over my hip. But these are not a lover’s words.

I crack one eye open. “Since when have words of revolution become acceptable pillow talk?”

“Since you climbed into bed with a revolutionary,” he says with a chuckle. He nips my ear.

I wince a little. “You want to go again?”

My Kitten sighs and falls back against the bed. “No. I want to talk about something serious for once.”

I groan. “Why? We’re in bed. We just finished fucking. This isn’t the time for serious talk about revolutions and ‘the people.’ Or whatever else you want to talk about.” I roll over, draping myself over Ignacy’s chest. I trace my finger down his straight nose. “You know I’m only here because of you.”

He furrows his brows and sighs. “That’s the problem, Victor.”

I push up on my elbow and look down at him. “You never seem to think it’s a problem until after you’ve fucked me. This post-coital guilt trip you send yourself on every time you come to your senses and realize you’re lying in fine Russian sheets in a fine Russian house with a rich Russian boy is getting kind of old, Ignacy.”

With a smirk I roll over on top of him, straddling his hips and sitting up, hands firmly planted on his chest. “If you don’t want to play with me anymore, just say so.”

He grunts and looks up at me with narrowed eyes. I love his dark, serious brows, and the strong set of his jaw. His slight underbite. His dark, wavy hair.

I roll my hip teasingly and he grabs them tightly. “Dziwka,” he growls.

I narrow my eyes. “Now that, I know, is not a nice thing to call someone.” I lean down close, snapping playfully at his lips. “You say so because I’m Russian or because I like fucking you?”

He makes a thoughtful noise and rolls his hips again. “Mmm... both.”

I bite his lower lip sharply. “At least teach me some Polish if you’re going to call me dirty Polish words. Something more interesting than your battle cry against the powers of oppression, at least.”  

“Teaching you Polish of any kind would be an act of revolution in and of itself,” he murmurs, and I can feel him growing hard beneath me.

“Then it’s something we would both enjoy,” I purr into his ear.

He’s quiet for a long moment, so I draw back to look at him. He watches my face with a guarded expression. I arch an eyebrow. “Well?”

“You could get in a lot of trouble if anyone ever caught you speaking Polish. And then I could get in even more trouble for teaching you.”

I groan and roll my eyes. “For a revolutionary of the people you are so very timid, Ignacy.” I give him a smug look. “Is that why they call you Kitten?”

His expression darkens at that and I feel his hands tighten on my hips, nails biting my toned flesh. “Your really think me timid?”

I hiss softly, shifting, which rubs my genitals against his. “I’m giving you the opportunity to teach me dirty Polish words for our pillow talk, and all you can think about is who I’m going to tell about it.” I roll my hips, feeling him side against me. “Who would I tell, Kitten? You’re the only Pole I engage in dirty pillow talk with.”

“I don’t know who else you are sleeping with. You might find it amusing to try it out on one of them.” His voice is becoming a little strained as I move slowly atop him.

“I know you think my head is full of the frivolous thoughts of the privileged, but I do have some sense as well as a strong desire for self-preservation.” I lean forward, planting one hand on his chest and reaching to stroke my finger down his brow to the tip of nose again. “Or is it that you don’t trust me? I come to your meetings. I listen to your rhetoric. You think I’m some wolf in sheep’s clothing among your little group?”

He smirks and slides his hands under my thighs, lifting me a little. “Our ‘little group’ is going to change the world. And, no, I don’t think you are a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I think you are apathetic. Which is potentially more dangerous still.”

He lifts me and I lift my hips, poised just above him. “Well? Are we going to do this or not?” I raise my eyebrows and look down at him.

He stares back at me for a moment and then with a faint smirk, murmurs, “Weź go. Powoli.”

I grin, delighted, and while I don’t understand the words, I understand the tone, and know exactly what he wants. I lower my hips slowly, furrowing my brows as he pushes easily inside of me. We have, after all, been in bed together the better part of the afternoon.

I seat myself on him slowly, holding his dark gaze as I settle fully into his lap. “And now?”

“Porusz biodrami.” His hands push and pull on my hips, guiding them back and forth in a circular motion.

I let a little moan escape my lips as I move with him. Sex is not unlike dancing in some ways. It’s all just varying degrees of performance, playing to your audience. I know what my Kitten likes: slow at first and always escalating to something rough, a true fucking.

He never lets me take him. I think he feels Poland has been fucked enough by Russia. He’s probably not wrong. But if he gets off on roughing up my rich little Russian ass, I have no complaints. When we are together I want only to please him. I don’t care about the politics of it the way he does.

“Teach me how to ask you what you want,” I murmur, my eyes hooded as I look down at him.

His brows raise a little at that and he smirks. “You can say... ‘Lubisz to?’ or ‘Jak mogę cię zadowolić?’” He grins and pushes his hips firmly upwards. “Yes. I like that one. Jak mogę cię zadowolić?”

I groan softly and arch my back, tipping my head back, repeating the words to the best of my ability. I feel him throb inside of me and I grin, amused that it excites him so much.

“Szybciej,” he growls and then bucks upwards, yanking on my hips. I gasp and bite my lower lip, leaning forward again to plant my hands on his chest, giving me leverage to move more forcefully. I stare down at him, flushed and softly panting.

“Like this?”

“Mmmm. Właśnie tak.”

I grin, pleased that he seems to be enjoying our little language lesson. After a few moments he grasps my hips tightly and pulls my down flush to him, grinding up into me. I groan and bite my lower lip, fingers curling on his chest.

“Mmm, you look so beautiful, Vitya,” he purrs. It is all part of my performance for him. Whatever keeps him happy and coming back to my bed. “Tell me, ‘tak mi dobrze.’”  

I hiss through my teeth and repeat the words. He groans softly and then reaches up to grab my hair, pulling my head back as he sits up suddenly, shifting me in his lap. My hands move to his shoulders, gripping them tightly as he leaves a mark on my neck.

“Say you want more,” he he murmurs against my pale skin.

“H-how?” I pant.

“Mocniej.”

I drag my fingers up the back of his neck and push them into his hair, moaning the words as I arch my back and rock my hips. This time he grabs my waist and before I know it, he’s yanked me right off balance and onto my back, rising between my legs on his knees. He pushes deep inside me and I mewl almost petulantly.

“Say it again, Vitya.”

“Mocniej, kotku.”

Ignacy grins. And now is when he really starts to fuck me, hooking my knees over his shoulders. All I can do is grip the bed sheets and let him have his way. Not that I find it unpleasant in the least. There is no more room now for words. Not in Russian. Not in Polish. Not in any other language known between the two of us. There are only sounds. Grunts and groans and cries and whimpers.

Until we both come. He inside me, and I across my pale belly, leaving white on white. He huffs and pants and then hunches over to lick it off my skin.

Flushed and breathless I stroke my fingers through his dark hair. “Who is acting like a dziwka now?”

He snickers at that and I shiver a little to feel his hot, wet tongue laving near my navel.When he’s done cleaning me like an animal, he sits up and grunts, flopping down onto the bed next to me again. “You always entice me into the most ridiculous things.”

I smile at him sedately. “What? You didn’t enjoy our language lesson? I did.”

Ignacy smirks. “I should teach you real Polish. Not just how to tell someone to fuck you.”

I laugh. “Be my guest. I think you will find me a very attentive pupil to all of your lessons.” My eyes hood and I reach over to cup his face, drawing it towards mine, intent on kissing him.

He sighs. “What am I going to do with you, Vitya?”

“Why must you do anything with me? I like you in my bed. You like to be here. It doesn’t need to be more serious or complicated than that,” I murmur as I try to catch his lips with mine.

“No. It is never more serious. You aren’t serious about anything.”

I giggle at that, amused by his stoicism. Finally I manage to bring our lips together, wrapping my arms around his neck and opening my mouth. He kisses me deeply, and I enjoy the weight and warmth of his body against mine.

When our lips part he murmurs wryly, “You are a distraction and a bad influence. What do you have to say to that?”  

I grin and lightly scratch my fingers over his upper back before quipping, “Vive la révolution.”   

[automaticmoons]

their heads sprinkled with roses and sharp blades girls embark at daybreak with their strength like coarse rope and hoisted sails girls sing along their fierce litany after all the battles girls with their callous hands and their smiles that pull all the torturers down raucous girls o raging iridescent women they burst in laughter o my friend my miraculous lover you were here this morning in the red sky you were standing near my bed in the middle of Paris surrounded by the sea you're standing here with your knife between your teeth, with your very alive tan golden body stained with sludge blood ripe fruits and murk and a thousand of other broken things you're standing with your fallow breasts in the street like a high great magnificent hoodlum and my body still wears the glowing mark of your bite right there underneath my something happens in the girls' eyes at night at the forge they raise their swords up and the night comes boundless scarlet anarchist sheer night after all those battles your harsh and sad song remains your marauding song and I wish you would pass it along to me I will she said solemnly I will teach you my marauding song and also my war song against those who crush and exhaust and wear our bodies out near the forge I'll teach you how to carve acuter, straighter, sharper arrows I'll show you how to fly our kites and I'll tell you the story of the never-sinking ship they said we were harpies and fragile beings we were rejected molested killed exploited wasted without even a duel all in making us temples and sacred objects to them we have been decorations embellishments machines we have been used as selling arguments and we have been genitals inspiring their poor metaphors ornaments that talk ornaments that ensure the continuation of your descent we were said mothers we were said whores we were said that this body we never wanted this body we vomitted and wanted to destroy this body they forced upon us was beautiful for men was beautiful because of men we were said terrifying and poisonous we were abducted from ourselves but we always have roared and destroyed everything we have rebuilt our own citadels we are the raging and negating women raging women are crude and boisterous raging women draw the knives out and raging women love each other and I look at you in the middle of Paris and in the middle of the sea and you've thrown your clothes over your shoulder and you're leaving for the forge after all those battles. Rest a while, I beg you put some ice on your wounds I hope tonight I can meet you in the feeble light of this café near the flowers and the high trees in the park and I hope I'll take your hand and you'll take mine and you'll hold it tight

automaticmoons, translation of Les femmes emportent la nuit sur leurs épaules on my poetry blog