The thing is, I need to believe that I can be loved for something other than the way I look. That I can be admired and respected for my ability. That I have value regardless of how I conform to societal expectations of how a woman should look. That I deserve friendship and romantic love because of who I am as a person even if I am ugly.
Men get these messages ALL THE TIME. All of the stories where someone has to learn to look past appearances at the inner beauty of a person, it’s a guy with the scars and the deformities. Women learn to love the monster with a heart of gold. The monster is never female. It never works in reverse.
Brienne of Tarth is ugly. She’s not just unconventional or out of fashion. She’s big and scarred and her nose is crooked and she’s missing teeth and people actually recoil when they see her. And she is one of the most lovable and heroic characters in ASOIAF. She has the most beautiful soul. And everyone who actually gets to know her, truly know her, grows to admire and respect her, and in one particular case, to love her.
This is why I fight people who want to insist, based on the tv show, that Brienne is pretty. No. No no no no. You are not taking this one away from me. Brienne is ugly. She starts out ugly, and in the course of the books she gets a chunk of her face ripped out just to underline the point. The actress who plays her on the show is beautiful, but Brienne of Tarth is ugly.
Brienne is ugly, AND she is deserving of love. And she’s kind and brave and the best swordsman in Westeros and so fucking Good it kills me. She is all of those things. She gets to be the truest knight in the entire story. She gets a love story with Jaime Lannister that’s all about looking past the surface* and building a deep bond of respect and trust with the last person either would ever expect. In the books at least, she is how we explore what it means to be a hero.
Brienne is an ugly, courageous, fascinating, loveable woman who’s beautiful on the inside and deserves the entire world. I need to believe that’s possible. For every dudebro who dismisses her importance to the story or discards even the possibility of Brienne as a serious love interest I love her even more. She’s one of my favorite characters of all time (for even more reasons than I’ve listed here) and I dearly hope the story will do her justice in the end.
*this is exactly why the subplot on the show with Tormund creeping on her pisses me off. The subtext flies right in the face of what’s wonderful about Brienne as a character and just blatantly presents as an admirable good that some guy can objectify her based on her looks, rather than taking the trouble to actually get to know and appreciate her as a person. Fuck that right in the eye. I’d take Hyle Hunt from the books over that nonsense, and Ser Hyle is objectively The Worst.
Apparently the words on colossus’s shirt is
a Quranic verse which states that “Muslims should not take the Jews and
Christians as their allies/friends”. Indonesian translation of the verse
states that “Muslims should not appoint the Jews and Christians as
I initially made a comment on reddit because I didn’t believe it was true but I looked it
up and its true, Syef even confirmed it on his Facebook page. Though some are saying he deleted those comments.
Their are screenshots
of it on the reddit page.
I can’t believe the artist used X-Men of all books to include this message.
This is sickening. Like, actually sickening.
On a X-Men comic where the team leader is Jewish.
I can only hope Marvel and their editors didn’t know his views or realize what the numbers mean . Now I wonder if his other works have this shit on them
He’s using the X-Men to promote his hate. It’s not an in-joke, filler,
or humor. It’s damaging to the characters/story once people find out.
It’s not even like a bad guy is wearing the shirt, it’s Colossus.
You can argue that 212 could be a coincidence. Just like you can’t
jump to the conclusion of an artist/writer being a Neo Nazi because they
Even so, if it was only the 212 it would just mean the artist support
a rally in his homeland. But the QS 5:51? That’s awful. I may not be
Indonesian or Muslim, but it really irritates me that a hateful message
is being ‘cheekily’ sneaked in an X-men book as a fan of their message
of tolerance. Marvel should fire the artist for this.
So, I’m a bit of a nerd. I admit it. When I first got into this sugaring thing several years ago, I was lost. I stumbled around, was taken advantage of several times, I had lots of dates blow up in my face (pun intended). And I really got nothing out of it. So, this second time around, I wanted to make sure I didn’t waste my time.
My solution? READ
I purchased lots of books (on my Kindle) on sugar babying (if that’s a verb). Taylor B. Jones’s book. The Liedra Lawson book (even though it’s now laughably dated). The Ho Tactics book (personal favorite). Among others. I read this shit out of these last summer and go back to them frequently.
And one of my favorite tips from all of them, specifically Taylor’s book, is automated responses.
Before, I used to spend so much damn time answering messages and talking all about myself when most men would NEVER put that much effort into responding to me. It was exhausting! It made searching for a sugar daddy even more of a job than it already felt like. I was not having it. So, I came up with a system.
1) On my profile, I specifically state that men must a) tell me their name, b) must share their private photos with me before requesting mine, c) must state why they think we’d be a good match based on my profile. If they do not do all three, I simply send back a message stating “Hi __blank___. Please see my profile for tips on messaging me and requesting my private photos. Thank you and have a happy __whateverdayitis___.” That is #AutomatedResponse1.
2) When they do follow instructions –Keep in mind, those that don’t, will NOT get a response from me. If they won’t take the time to do three simple things, I know they won’t take the time to be good SDs. Very easy way to weed out fakes! –anyway, I respond with a more lengthy automated message. A) I tell them thank you for their message. B) I write something person from their profile that caught my attention. C) Then I ask 5 questions that I expect them to answer. My questions are i) what are they looking for in a relationship/how many arrangements have they had? ii) what’s they’re relationship status. iii) why did they want a sugar baby in the first place iv) what are their likes -sports, movies, food, etc.. And v) what is their budget for an arrangement. After all, if their budget is too low, then I don’t want to waste anyone’s time here.
Also note, those men who don’t want to answer question 5 about budgets, have always consistently ended up screwing me over. So now, if they don’t answer or say “Let’s talk about it in person”, I write them off. Fuck anyone who won’t take the time to answer my questions, number one. And number two, if they don’t have a budget in mind or don’t want to tell you what it is, they don’t have one. They just want to fuck you for free. Which I’m not about.
I’ve learned a lot with these automated questions. A guy might seem really nice and then as soon as I send this message, he’ll call me all sorts of names simply for trying to get some basic info from him. Or likewise, a guy will seem on the cheap side but when he answers, will pleasantly surprise me with his ideal arrangement budget. It’s a quick way to get info. I keep these questions in a Google Doc and simply copy and paste them into messages and change only subtle things, depending on what I read in my POTs profile.
I’ve found this really helps streamline the process of messaging guys back and getting as much info with the minimal amount of effort. Please feel free to take my questions! Remember, if he won’t answer the questions, he’s not worth your time!
Things I’ll never tire of:
• pads being called “feminine napkins”
• shaving commercials for women where their legs are completely hairless before the razor even touches them
• paper towel commercials where the father bursts through the door with his son, tracking mud everywhere and breaking something, and the mother smiles fondly and cleans by herself
• kids’ protein shake commercials where the six year old refuses to eat his dinner and the mother smiles fondly and?? replaces his dinner?? with a drink??
• shoe commercials where a bunch of women are screaming hysterically and thus making me associate that company with agonizing shrieks
• cake toppers where the bride is dragging the groom because nothing says love and devotion like hatred and regret. these people are going into marriage expecting and even enjoying the idea that they’re not happy.
• bumper stickers that insult the person behind you because for some reason you really want to file all that paperwork when some inevitable idiot rear ends you out of spite
• when teachers divide girls and boys during class discussion, generalizing their opinions by gender, so that they basically discourage anyone from entering the conversation with the goal of understanding each other. now you have spoken for people you never asked the opinion of, as well as made sure that guys feel it’s okay to dismiss the perspective of women and vice versa. education = ignorance after all
Warnings: Reader is a young single mom. Sad conversation(?) and i guess a little (just a little) bit of smut…
Notes: Here it is the 3 part, i hope you like it! Sorry for not posting it Saturday, i had to finish some details that took more time than i imagined. The girl in the gif is Paige from Scorpion, and she’s a waitress but unfortunately, the gif don’t show her uniform. -Sigh- Anyways, i will probably post the requests next week, because i’m having tests in my school. -Sigh-(Again). Wish me luck…
“She was crazy, man, I’m telling you!” Misha said talking about one fan that went in his photo Op. This was the last day of convention in that city, and in the morning, they would have to travel to another one. Everybody was laughing while they were in Cliff’s car to go to a restaurant.
“Okay guys, but we still need to decide where we’re going.” Cliff said and immediately, something came up in Jensen’s mind.
“What about that pasta restaurant that (Y/n) also told us about yesterday?” He suggested and everybody, expect for Misha, smirked. “What?” Jensen asked when he saw the clever smile on everyone’s faces. “You’re like fucking teenagers!"
"Nobody told me this story!” Misha argued and Jensen rolled his eyes, he felt like he was back in college.
“(Y/N) was this fan that we met yesterday, she has a daughter, and we offered her to stay in the backstage because the little girl was sleepy and grumpy. Jensen was totally crushing on her.” Jared explained making Jensen roll his eyes again.
“Hmmm.” Misha said with a giant smirk making everyone laugh.
“So we’re going to the pasta one?” Cliff asked and they all nodded. This night, only Misha, Cliff, Gen, Jared and Jensen decided to go have dinner outside of the hotel, everybody else was tired and didn’t want to come.
“Be good to your nonna okay, Tom? I love you.” Gen said in the phone to her little son, who stayed with Gen’s mom for the weekend. “Okay, I will pass it to him.” She said looking at Jared. “He wants to talk to you.” She said giving the phone to her husband.
“Talking about kids, you and Vicky are trying again, right Misha?” Cliff asked to Misha when they got out of the car, entering the cozy restaurant.
“Yeah… Vicky is pretty excited about having another kid.” He said smiling and Jensen suddenly felt dislocated. This wasn’t the first time he felt this. Everyone talking about their children and well… everyone having someone to make kids with. He was the one who always wanted kids. He usually didn’t fell like this, but when a situation like that happened, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking. He hadn’t had anything serious with someone since his last girlfriend cheated on him. Nothing he wanted to remember.
“What do you want J?” Jared asked when they all were already in the table, with the menu in their hands.
“I think I’ll go to with the spaghetti.” He said and Jared nodded calling for a waitress, apparently everyone had already chosen it and he hadn’t even noticed. They talked about random stuff when waited for the food.
“I will go to the bathroom again.” Gen said seeming a little annoyed while getting up. “I hate this part of pregnancy.” She said and everybody laughed.
“I’m excited for the next convention, it is going to be really big.” Jared said looking at some fan messages in his phone and all men agreed.
“C'mon, lets take a picture.” Misha said taking his phone out of the pocket. They smiled and Gen arrived seconds later after the photo was taken.
“You won’t believe what just happened!” She said excited and Jensen frowned, she was looking specifically at him. “I was getting out of the bathroom and I found (Y/N)!” She said smiling and Jensen felt his heart beat faster. What the fuck? “Apparently she’s a waitress here.”
“(Y/N) as in ‘the fan Jensen was crushing on’?” Misha asked before Jensen could even open his mouth.
“In the flesh.” Gen said. “Coincidence? I don’t think so."
"C'mon guys.” Jensen said with a small laugh seeing his friends open smirks and malicious faces. “She was the one who suggested this place, is it really that surprising that she works here?” He said not really believing his words.
“Yeah, actually.” Jared said “I will look for her, and maybe, this time, our dumb friend here will have the courage to ask for her number.” Jared continued messing with Jensen, who just rolled his eyes.
“Oh don’t worry, I already called her.” Gen said smiling. “She said that she needed to finish serving a table and then she would come here to say hi.” She said when the orders arrived.
They quickly changed the subject, but Jensen started to get anxious. He really wanted to see you again, like, really. He cursed himself the entire day for not getting your number last night. He was single, he had the right to ask a beautiful girl out, didn’t he? Jared noticed how his friend was a little off all day long, and he mentally swore that he would find a way to get in contact with you, for Jensen. But now he wouldn’t need to, you were there! This certainly was not a coincidence.
“(Y/N)!” Jared said suddenly looking behind Jensen, who slowly turned around and sighed upon seeing you smiling and being hugged by Jared and Cliff. You were in the restaurant uniform, with a high ponytail. Jensen stood up smiling and hesitated for a moment before pulling you in for a hug.
Of course, you just melted in his arms. You just couldn’t believe you got to see all those guys again, especially Jensen. You were really scared for a second, thinking this could be a dream. This was probably the best thing that ever happened to you. After Lottie.
“We don’t know each other, but I have already heard a lot about you.” Misha said opening his arms to you, and you started to fangirl again, you didn’t see him yesterday, which was a shame because he was one of your favorite characters.
“Heard a lot about me…?” You said with a small laugh after separating from him, not really paying much attention to this. You had just hugged the cast again, and Misha Collins for the first time, so you were still a little awed.
“After all, we came here because of your suggestion.” Jensen said with a smile before his friends could open their big mouths to say that Jensen couldn’t stop thinking about you.
“And are you guys enjoying it?” You said seeing that they were still eating they orders, smiling when they nodded and started to praise the place. “I’m glad then! Hm…I will let you guys eat, it was a pleasure to see you guys again.” You said waving a goodbye and turning around. Jensen didn’t even see his friends’ faces before getting up and holding your arm to stop you. You turned around a little confused, but felt your heart explode when you saw that it was Jensen.
“What time does your shift end?” He asked and you raised your eyebrows.
“In an hour and a half.” You answered and he smiled softly. “Why?”
“If you don’t mind, I would like to wait for you, and maybe we can talk for a bit.” He said and your world simply stopped. Wait, what? Jensen Ackles was asking you out? Really? You?
“Hm… Yeah, I would like that.” You said still a little lost and finding it hard to process what just happened. He smiled like he was relieved and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling too.
“Great, then I will be in the table waiting for you.” He said and you nodded. He came back to the table, and to his surprise, nobody asked anything or even stopped what they were talking about when he sat again. Good for him. Dinner ended surprisingly fast, after lots of talking and laughing. The restaurant was practically empty by now, and although Jensen said that they could go rest, Misha decided to stay and wait for you with him. Jared and Gen had to go because Gen was starting to get nauseous, another symptom of pregnancy she hated, and Cliff took them to the hotel.
“So she has a 3 year old daughter?” Misha asked. When the others left, he wanted to know more about the girl that made his friend finally ask a girl out again. Jensen was a little, hm…how could he put it? Traumatized after his last serious relationship.
“Yeah, she’s the cutest thing.” Jensen answered with a smile. But before they could continue, you got out of the kitchen, stopping in front of their table. You changed the uniform for your normal clothes, and even though you were just in dark jeans and a blue shirt, Jensen thought you were beautiful.
Cliché? Maybe. Whatever.
“Hey.” Jensen said smiling, getting up. “You’re ready to go?” He asked and you nodded with a smile.
“Okay guys, i will take an uber to the hotel, you want a ride somewhere?” Misha asked while he unlocked his phone and you twisted your lip.
“My house is literaly behind the restaurant.” You said already a little scared that Jensen would want to cancel the ‘date’. Every guy that you dated in the past was gone the minute they learned you had a daughter. Okay, Jensen already knew about Lottie, but you couldn’t avoid that feeling. “And I have to go home, because Lottie is staying with my neighbor, and she’s crying… I just have to put her in bed and then we can talk. Is that okay?” You asked a little anxious and Jensen smiled.
“Definitely.” He said and you sighed, relieved. “Let’s go?”
“Well, I hope you have fun, my uber arrived.” Misha said waving and heading in a different direction. You and Jensen turned to each other, smiling as he extended his arm to you. You twined you arm with his and started walking away from the restaurant and in the direction of your apartment.
“You didn’t mention that you worked in the restaurant.” Jensen said looking at you with a small smile, and you were trying your best to act normal and ignore the fact that Jensen Ackles was going to your house.
“It didn’t really matter yesterday.” You said struggling and continued. “I mean, I didn’t actually think that you would go to the second restaurant suggestion I gave you.”
“Why wouldn’t I? We loved that sushi one yesterday, and I don’t even like sushi” He said and you opened your mouth in indignation.
“What? Sushi is the best food ever!” You cried opening the door to the little building you lived in. It had just four floors and two apartments each.
“Oh… I didn’t think it was that close to your house” he said when you entered the lobby.
“I told you.” You said with a smile while clicking the number '2’ in the elevator. "But really, how can you not like sushi?“ You asked and he laughed struggling.
"I guess I don’t like eating things that are alive.” He joked and you giggled rolling your eyes. The elevator stopped in your floor, and he followed you to your neighbor’s door.
“This is just gonna take one second.” You said and he nodded, you knocked on the door and after a few seconds Mrs. Alba appeared, a sweet old woman that took care of Lottie when you couldn’t. Mostly just after seven o'clock, the time she arrived from her work at her flower shop.
“Hey (Y/N)! And…. Well, I’ve never seen you around.” She said with a smile to Jensen, that copied her action.
“I’m Jensen, I’m (Y/N)’s….” He hesitated a second, looking at you and you twisted your lip not knowing what to say. What could you possibly say? He’s my favorite actor? “Friend.”
“Oh, pleasure to meet you.” She said shaking his hand and turning to you. “Lottie is already sleeping, she got tired.”
“Oh….” You said and Jensen noticed how your face fell. He imagined how it must be hard for you, working so hard that you couldn’t even put your 3 year old daughter in bed.
And he was completely right.
“Okay, I will get her.” You said entering the house with Jensen behind you.
“You want me to carry her?” He asked when you stopped in front of the sofa she was sleeping in, hugging a teddy bear.
“No, it’s okay.” You said a little surprised and in love with how sweet he was. “If you can hold my purse…”
He immediately took it out of your arm, watching you gently lifting Lottie and putting her in your arms, her head on your shoulder.
“Thank you so much, good night Mrs. Alba” You said and after a “no problem, good night.”, you got out of her apartment.
“Make yourself at home, I will just put Lottie in her room.” You said when you entered your apartment, disappearing into a corridor. He put your purse in the sofa and looked around. It wasn’t big, but it was wide and cozy. It was a nice place to live. After a few minutes you came back without Lottie and you smiled at each other.
“She’s okay?” He asked pointing at the corridor and you nodded entering your open kitchen.
“Yeah, she’s a heavy sleeper. Lucky me.” You said with a little laugh and he laughed too. “Wine?” You asked lifting a bottle.
“Course.” You put the wine in two glasses, extending one to him, and you two went to sit on your balcony. You two started to talk about everything and anything, and after a while, he seemed like an old friend and not your favorite actor, who by fate’s weird ways was in your house on a Saturday night. He told you so many things about his life, his career, his fears, cravings, and well…
“I really though she was the one. All my friends were getting married… Hell, Genevieve was already pregnant. I wanted that, you know?” He said talking his last girlfriend and you nodded. “I wanted a family with her, and she just… Cheated. Except from the long distance, nothing was wrong in our relationship."
"But shouldn’t you be relieved for not having started a family with her? Imagine how hard it would’ve been going through a break up with kids, how hard it would’ve been if you were married.” You said and he gave a small relieved laugh.
“Yeah, I always think about this. I was blind with…. I think it was pure lust. I was in a rush, because all my friends were starting their families and I wasn’t. I was in love with the idea, not with her.” He said seriously. “She wasn’t a good person. I thank god for not having proposed.”
“You did right Jensen.” You said squeezing his hand, which was already too close of yours. “I made this mistake once.” You said referring to the fact that you had Lottie with a despicable man. “And I learned that this stuff… No matter how old you are, just do it with someone you are one hundred percent sure you want to spend the rest of your life with, someone you know won’t let you down.” You said and your looks connected and this time, he was the one who squeezed your hand.
“You didn’t talk about that part of your life, and I understand if you don’t want to. I don’t know what happened, but I just wanted to tell you… You’re fucking amazing.” He said so intensely that you didn’t doubt his words for even a second. “You didn’t have any support, and raised a kid at the age of nineteen.” He said what you had already told him and you opened a shy smile, making him smile more. “You’re amazing.” He repeated, this time in a lower voice, and suddenly your faces were just inches apart. His hand was on your cheek, and the glasses of wine were left forgotten in the little table.
You took a deep breath before he gently pulled your face and glued your lips together. The kiss started slow and you were just… Exploring each other. But after minutes, with no warning, the kiss started to grow hotter, and before you knew it you were sitting on his lap, your hands on his scruff. His large hands were squeezing your thighs, and his teeth bitting your lower lip. You could feel the bulge in his pants brushing in your center and when his right hand entered your shirt and squeezed your breast, you couldn’t help the moan. He started to kiss your neck and you began to do circular movements with your hips, making him moan. He was about to lift your shirt when you suddenly backed away with a concentrated face.
He frowned and you looked at him and sighed, leaving him more confused than ever.
“Three…” You started. “Two…”
“Mommy!” A little voice screamed somewhere inside the house, and you two gave a small laugh with the interruption.
“I didn’t listen to anything!” He said a little surprised and you struggled, giving him one last chaste kiss before getting up.
“It’s my job listen to her steps.” You said smiling before entering the house. He smiled when he thought about what had just happened, but frowned when he looked at the sky and saw the…sun? He quickly got his phone and saw that it was already five in the morning. Fuck. His flight was at 8.
He entered the apartment, seeing Lottie lying on the sofa watching a cartoon and you in the kitchen with a baby bottle in your hands.
“(Y/N), I didn’t realize it was already morning, my flight leaves in a few hours…” Jensen said to you and you gave him a yellow smile.
“Yeah, of course.” You said putting the bottle in the sink and going in the direction of the door.
“I wish I could stay for a few more days.” He said, a little guilty that he was leaving that way. You told him about the lame excuses the guys gave you to leave because of your daughter. He surely wasn’t doing that. But he knew you were thinking that about him. “(Y/N)…”
“Thank you for tonight, Jensen. I had a lot of fun.” You said opening the door, not even looking at his face. He sighed and squeezed your hand.
“Me too. I have your number now, I will call you.” He said stepping out of your apartment, remembering a moment in the night when you got each other’s number. “I mean it.” And for the first time in a long time, he really meant it. You weren’t just a one night stand for him. He didn’t want you to be just a one night stand.
You smiled, still not believing his words. Could he blame you? This was what always happened to you. For god’s sake, he was a millionaire actor, of course he wouldn’t be different. You were the fan of the night.
At least you thought so.
“Take care.” And with that, you closed the door. And for a weird and undeniably cliche reason, he went to the hotel with his heart small and the thought that he really didn’t want to leave your small and cozy apartment. He really didn’t want to leave you.
I never fit in with the other girls. I
have vague memories of wearing dresses and tights to daycare, but my
mother tells me that around age 2 she showed me a dress to wear that
day and I said, “No Mom, black jeans,” and never looked back. I
did have a dollhouse, but my favorite game was one I called Godzilla
Meets the Dollhouse People, where the family would adopt a baby
Godzilla that would grow up to either eat them or protect them,
depending on the mood I was in. My hair was long, but it was wild
and untamed. I played with both girls and boys, but usually in
pretend games I would pretend to be a boy. I would sometimes get
teased by other kids, called a boy pretending to be a girl because no
real girl would dress the way I did. I knew the teasing would stop
if I conformed, but that wasn’t worth it to me, so I endured.
Basically, I was a classic tomboy.
It wasn’t until I got a little older
that I started to really feel uncomfortable with being a girl. I was
introverted and spent a lot of time online where it was all “no
girls on the internet” this and “get back in the kitchen” that.
I didn’t have the words for it at the time, but I hated how my body
was both an object of desire and something to be scrutinized in every
detail. I was called ugly because I didn’t style my hair or wear
tight constricting clothes, but if I did do those things I would have
been called a vapid slut. This was around the time my dysphoria
began to manifest. I don’t know if I can separate whatever internal
feelings I had about my body from the feelings brought on by external
criticisms. Just by existing I attracted unwanted attention, even
when I hid everything I could under my biggest hoodie. Even female
pronouns felt grating on my ears—that “sh” sound symbolized my
status as an object. It wasn’t just a classification, it was a
command. “SH”e. Sshh. Sit down and shut up, like a good girl.
It didn’t occur to me at the time that other girls also felt
pressured to be something they aren’t, it seemed to come easily to
them. Clearly, the problem was with me, for not being like the other
girls. So I made an effort that lasted maybe a year or two. I
thought maybe, if I tried hard enough to force myself into the mold,
I could learn to be okay with it.
I was 17 when I first learned about
being transgender. It felt like all the pieces suddenly clicked into
place. This was why I couldn’t act like a girl should—I wasn’t a
girl in the first place. This was why I liked “boy things” and
felt so uncomfortable with my female body. I met every criteria in
the diagnosis, it just made sense. I don’t think it’s a coincidence
that my parents were going through their divorce at the same time.
That’s not the subject of this story so I won’t go too much into it,
but that’s hard for any kid to deal with. My life was being flipped
in all directions and I wanted to escape and start over. I moved
with my mom when she left, to a town I’d never lived in before.
Nobody there knew me, so I could introduce myself as a boy rather
than have to come out to people I already knew. I started to meet
other people like me. Back then the trans community was a lot
smaller, but everyone was very supportive. I was starting to feel
like I actually belonged somewhere and could be myself. I started
seeing a therapist, who agreed that my noncompliance with traditional
gender roles meant that I was actually male. At 20 I started taking
testosterone, and it seemed like my life was on its way to being
where I wanted it to be.
All was well for a few years. My
family accepted me and I passed well enough that nobody knew unless I
told them. I went stealth and decided that once I had gotten surgery
I would put my trans status behind me, thinking of it just as a
strange chapter of my life. I listened to all the trans positivity
messages out there saying “trans men are real men,” and did my
best to convince myself that was true. Of course I knew that no
amount of modification would actually make me male, and that I would
always have a connection to women that cis men do not have. But that
wasn’t the point; the point was to say words that make people feel
In the years since I came out and now,
there have been a lot of discussions in trans theory that eroded my
sense of belonging in the community. We always said from the
beginning that gender is a social construct and how you dress doesn’t
define what you are, but at the same time we uphold these stereotypes
to such a degree that anyone who doesn’t conform 100% to their
assigned role is considered trans. The hypocrisy took a few years to
sink in, but once it did I couldn’t un-see it. I never liked the
concept of the cotton ceiling—for the uninformed this refers to
people not wanting to sleep with trans people whose genitalia doesn’t
match their orientation. Maybe I’m taking a radical stance here, but
nobody is obligated to sleep with anyone they don’t want to, and
trying to guilt them or call them transphobic for that is honestly
creepy. More and more people began speaking out against the
medicalization of transness and gatekeeping the community. But
instead of criticizing how the diagnostic criteria for being trans
focuses on liking the “wrong” toys or clothes (which if we’re
going with the gender is a social construct narrative, is a valid
criticism), people wanted to drop dysphoria as a necessary symptom,
meaning that being trans just meant not conforming to gender roles,
which aren’t important in the first place, but they are when we say
they are. The logic felt so strained and unjustified, and I started
to wonder how nobody else saw the doublethink going on. But I had
one point that I held on to, that being brain sex. That was my
justification for my feelings, I had a male brain in a female body.
Sure, I couldn’t prove it, but it felt that way and that’s what
Well, then more brain studies started
coming out. There was a study on brain plasticity, meaning the brain
changes shape or function depending on external circumstances—so a
woman who’s been living in that role her whole life would have a
“woman’s brain,” but that was due to the life she lived, not how
she was born. Last year, another study came out essentially proving
that brain sex does not exist, because there is no single trait or
list of traits that determines if a brain is male or female. I
consider myself a scientific person, so when irrefutable proof that
contradicts my beliefs is staring me in the face, my only option is
to change my beliefs. Aside from that, there is a lot of evidence
showing that transition usually does not reduce depression or
suicidal ideation. But honestly I don’t need a study to tell me
that, I could see it in my own life and in the lives of other trans
people I knew. So I began to wonder, what actually makes me trans?
If it’s not the way I dress, not something in the brain, and not
dysphoria, what is it? My soul or spirit or whatever? Spare me
that, I’m an atheist. I deal with facts and proof, not things that
feel good to think about but don’t stand up to critical thought. My
search for answers led me to gender critical feminism, which I was
apprehensive about but I needed to understand. I began to read the
forbidden texts of radical feminism where they spell woman with a Y,
but I couldn’t speak to any of my trans friends about it because they
were critical of transition which made them Bad People, and me a Bad
Person for even being curious about what they had to say. I was
surprised to see that there were a lot of similarities to what I had
already been taught. Gender is a social construct, I know that.
Female gender roles hurt female people while male gender roles
benefit male people, that’s obvious. The biggest difference was that
the ideology I was already in approached the problem of gender by
creating more categories, while radical feminism advocated for
abolishing the categories entirely. What a concept, treating people
the same regardless of what organs they’re born with and not
assigning things like colors or behaviors to one organ set or the
other—of course the trans community advocates for this too, or
claims to, but gender abolition actually seemed like the logical
conclusion of that line of thought. I realized that I hadn’t needed
to transition to become the person I wanted to be, that my dysphoria
was more due to the way I was treated for the crime of being born
female than anything else, and indeed, that I now had regrets. I
still felt dysphoric, but it seemed like transitioning would never
solve that. Even if I changed everything I could, I would still be
fixated on the things that I can’t. I wanted to go back but felt
like I couldn’t, because I’d forever have an altered voice and facial
hair. I just knew I couldn’t keep acting like this was sound logic
when I knew it wasn’t. I knew I couldn’t live like this anymore.
So I made an anonymous blog. No ties
to my real identity, just a place for me to vent about my feelings.
Shortly after, I stopped taking hormones and canceled my future
appointments with the therapist I was seeing to get approval for top
surgery. I got in contact with other people who had realized that we
needed to break the chains of gender, rather than add more colors of
chains—some with a history of transition, some not. Blogging about
my experience has only made it more clear to me that gender theory
has become dogmatic. I get insults and threats from anonymous
posters for talking about my own experiences, even if I don’t say
anything against anybody else. I’ve been called a self-hating trans
man in denial, brainwashed by the radical feminist cult. I’ve been
asked sarcastically why I hate trans people, as if being critical of
the way power structures affect the way people think means that I
hate individuals or want harm to come to them (I don’t.) I’ve even
been accused of being a shill making up my whole story just to
undermine the trans community. It’s a lot to deal with, but I can’t
disable comments because I also get people coming to me for advice or
just to vent, people who either share my experience or are just
questioning mainstream gender theory but are afraid to tell people
they know. I’m happy to be there for someone who needs a sympathetic
ear, but it’s also upsetting that we have to talk about these things
in secret. Detransition might not be common (yet—I honestly
believe that a lot of young people who identify as trans now won’t
within a few years), but it is an important part of the experience
that anyone considering transition should take into account. I want
to reiterate that I completely fit the narrative of a trans childhood
and am formally diagnosed, I didn’t just get into it because it’s
cool and trendy to be androgynous and have a dyed undercut. And yet,
I still realized it wasn’t right for me. The same thing could happen
to anyone in transition, especially if they are willing to critically
examine their ideology instead of blindly accepting it.
Detransitioned people deserve a voice in the community instead of
being no-platformed the way we are now. We used to be just like you,
and you could easily become like us.
I only recently came out to my family
and friends about detransitioning (via Facebook, since it’s easier to
write one post than to tell everyone individually.) It took several
months for me to work up the courage—Coming out once is hard
enough, and I worked so hard for everything I had achieved. It felt
like throwing away a lot of effort, and I was worried that retracting
my identity would make me look crazy (or at least uncommitted) and
alienate my trans friends. I was finally inspired to speak up by a
friend (who shall remain anonymous) saying that she was also going
back to living as a woman, and getting a lot of positive and
supportive response, including from mutual friends. When I did
finally make the post I had been dreading for ages, it was
uneventful. I called both my parents and they didn’t care as long as
I was happy, and life immediately resumed. Not a lot has changed,
and I don’t expect it to. I’m keeping my wardrobe because I like my
clothes and clothes don’t define gender anyway, so I can wear
whatever I want. I’m not going back to my birth name because I never
liked it (sorry Mom and Dad!) and the name I chose for myself has
become part of my identity, and is fairly neutral. People still
assume that I’m a man because of my appearance, and that’s probably
just something I’ll have to live with—I’m certainly not the only
woman who does, even among women who have never transitioned. It’s
still a struggle to be okay with myself, but I feel more authentic
now than when I was relying on external things to validate my
identity. It feels like I’m actually accepting me for me, rather
than try and modify myself to chase an impossible end. Right now I’m
just taking things a day at a time and focusing on taking care of
this body, feeding it well and staying physically active to feel at
home in it.
If you’re reading this and you’re
family or a friend, thank you. If you’re reading this and you think
I’m a violent transphobe, I can’t stop you, but I hope you understand
that my viewpoint is not an outsider’s opinion, it comes from an
intimate understanding of the trans community. If you’re reading
this and questioning your own transition, I’m here to tell you that
it’s never too late. Some detransitioners I know were on hormones
longer than me, or had surgery, and still reclaimed themselves. Our
community is here for you, and we’re all just trying to heal.
I’ve seen way too many people criticize Colossal for having some kind of straw-man feminist agenda and having a message that “women are perfect and men are evil.”
First of all, being feminist isn’t a legitimate criticism of a film. Second, that’s not what feminism is. Third, it’s not even accurate. The movie depicts its protagonist as a struggling alcoholic with pretty detrimental character flaws. She isn’t perfect, that’s the entire point of the movie.
The fact that people are seeing Colossal as devious “feminist propaganda” just because it isn’t overtly male-centric kind of speaks to the fact that most of this fandom is a boy’s club with no room for female input. (Not the Kaiju Krew of course, we are the elite.) Hating a film because you see it as feminist seems like a pretty good indicator of sexism. Colossal isn’t particularly good, but it’s not the straw-man feminist caricature people are making it out to be.
[NOTE: THE FOLLOWING IS AN OVEREXAGGERATION. PLEASE DO NOT
WORRY OR TAKE HOW I SAY THINGS 100% SERIOUSLY. THIS MOVIE HAS NOT ACTUALLY MADE ME SUICIDAL.]
This is it. The Emoji Movie. A film I and the
rest of the world have been dreading. Today I have finally seen this
film, and… it has drained me of all will to live. This is it; I
can’t live in this world any longer after having seen this movie.
This has to be my last review, because I can no longer live in a
world where this movie exists.
Is it because it’s so abysmally bad as all the reviews said?
Is it truly the worst animated film ever made, an utterly soulless
cash grab of a movie? What could drive me to my death like this?
The fact that… I just… even after seeing it, I just
can’t muster up the absolutely vitriolic hatred everyone else seems
to have for it. It’s not even bad. It’s not even good. It’s
just… meh. This movie is meh. And after getting so hyped up to see
the worst animated film ever, this is… disappointing.
Heart-breakingly, soul-crushingly disappointing.
So, what is the story here? Well, Ralph is a villain who feels out
of pl- uh, sorry, Emmet is a LEGO man who wants to conform but ju-
oh, um, pardon. Joy is an emotion who… okay, you get the idea. This
film is nothing but a bald-faced, shameless ripoff of the plots of a
dozen better films. The “Be yourself” message, the hero who wants
to conform but learns to love being expressive, the journey to find
oneself… it has been done to death, and done a billion times
better. This movie is just every animated cliché ever. Fuck, the
whole trailer revealed the entire plot and story arc in two minutes.
deathbycoldopen replied to your post: Dear Yuri on Ice fic writers, I just want to say… That’s great! I do kind of wonder about the trend in yoi fic where Yuuri is referred to as a “boy” and viktor is referred to as a “man”. Obviously there’s an age difference, but 23 is old enough that I’d comfortably call him a man. Which leaves me with the reminder of infantilizing poc by white americans (particularly calling black americans boy). As someone affected more directly by that kind of thing, does that bother you at all? (sorry for the rambly message)
I cannot speak for all Asian-Americans, or even Asian-American men. Please take this as my personal opinion of the kind of stuff that bothers me. And I apologize in advance for being kind of wordy, but I have LOTS of thoughts and they’re very complicated, so it’s hard for me to put them all down.
I have kind of a hierarchy for things that bother me, ranging from “super-racist, holy crap do NOT do this” to “argh” to “sigh.” I encounter “argh” and “sigh” level stuff all the time, everywhere. YOI fandom is no exception.
Super-racist stuff in fandom I will nope out of. Won’t read, won’t like, won’t recommend, will silently grit my teeth at all the positive comments. Argh and sigh? If the fic is otherwise redeeming, I’ll keep going, and sometimes I will even love it.
Super-racist stuff, IMO, is almost never okay; there’s just almost no way to present a character in which it makes sense, and so unless you’re an insider (in the case of writing a Yuuri that speaks imperfect English, that means a Japanese person from Japan who has gone to an English-speaking country and experienced racism for the way you spoke) you probably don’t have the experience to know how to write that well, and your dominant culture has probably given you an idea of how you think that feels for the person who is speaking that is absolutely counter to how it actually feels internally.
Stuff that isn’t at that level–the “argh” and “sigh” level–is harder to classify, and there are fewer hard and fast rules as to whether I argh or sigh. There are things I can say bother me, but someone will handle it so well that I’ll love it unreservedly.
Again, what follows relates to my personal tolerance–other people (including Asians) will not be bothered at all by things that really grate at me. On the other hand, there are things I can tolerate, that will really hurt other people.
Things that hit somewhere between “argh” and “sigh” level for me include: desexualization of Yuuri, making Yuuri a lot less competent than he canonically is, saying that Yuuri has a tiny dick, treating Yuuri as having less agency and being incredibly dependent on others to function, treating Phichit as an adjunct to Yuuri without his own wants and wishes, and… a lot of other stuff. YOI fandom isn’t perfect; it just mostly avoids super-racist.
These things can be quite complicated–there’s a real difference between writing an Asian character who is a complex, wholly functional human being, who is ace, or who has a small dick, or who has difficulty making choices–and writing a caricature where those same things feel like ugly, painful racial stereotypes. I don’t want to suggest categorical rules in these categories.
(You can already see why this is so complicated–“small dick” is both an Asian stereotype and an insult born of shitty toxic masculinity. Men can have small and/or no dicks and still be men, and be sexy and lovable and good lovers. Likewise, Asian men can have big dicks, small dicks, or no dicks at all. Dick isn’t indicative of anything at all, and in a fic that recognizes that, I do not mind. I do mind when the fic unconsciously accepts as a given that bigger dick=better, and Yuuri is tiny.)
I think it would fall into the “super-racist, don’t do this unless you’re black and can process how this hurts and how to alleviate that hurt” to call an African-American character “boy.” I don’t think there’s a context in which a non-black person can use that word, applied to a black person, in fiction and not get tangled up in the history of that word applied to that person. (There’s a giant asterisk here about portraying racism in fiction that I’m not going to get into because it’s so massive.)
But Yuuri is not African-American, and the characters are not American, and I don’t think it carries that same context. That means that it depends heavily on how it’s handled.
In terms of Yuuri being called a boy, in my mind, this depends on a lot of factors that depend on who’s doing it and what the context is. I feel like friends saying, “Yeah, boy!” to each other isn’t a big deal. The word “boy”–in addition to the specific usage for African-Americans–can sometimes signify friendship (“that’s my boy!”) or queerness or a number of other things other than “young man.” I’ve had Victor call Yuuri a boy–as in “I don’t kiss boys who don’t cry over dogs”–and in that case, Victor is clearly assigning himself as being in the same classification as Yuuri, and that doesn’t personally bother me (obviously, or I wouldn’t have done it). It also wouldn’t bother me to have Yakov calling Yuuri a boy–Yakov is seventy, so both Yuuri and Victor are absolute CHILDREN to him. It probably would bother me if Yakov thought of Victor as a man and Yuuri as a boy, though. It’s more likely to be the reverse–Yakov has known Victor since he was a literal boy, and he met Yuuri as a man.
You didn’t suggest this, but I would also personally be leary of claiming that because “boy” is a slur used to put African-Americans in their place, it should not ever be used to describe Asian-Americans. I personally try not to disclaim ownership over the specific types of racism experienced by black people. Asians are (mostly) not insiders to the incredibly harmful use of “boy” in this case, and representing that it harms them equally implies that they would have the ability to call African-Americans “boy” as insiders, and…no. No. We don’t, we can’t, that’s not okay.
Asians experience racism, but it is not the same kind of racism that black people experience. As Asians can often be guilty of anti-black prejudice, I think it’s especially important to not coopt the African-American experience.
This is a very long response to your question, and I already know I’m glossing over some points as it is, so my apologies both for the length and incompleteness of the answer. These are my personal opinions and not everyone will agree with me, but here you are.
Dude on Twitter says:
‘I was having sex with my girlfriend when she started her period. I dumped that bitch immediately’
Dear Nameless Dummy on Twitter
You’re the reason my daughter cried funeral tears when she started her period,
The sudden grief all young girls feel after the matriculation from childhood
And the induction into a reality that they’re gonna have to negotiate you and your disdain for what a woman’s body can do
Herein begins an anatomy lesson infused with feminist politics because I hate you:
There is a thing… Called a uterus…
It sheds itself every twenty-eight days or so-
Or in my case every twenty-three days, I’ve always been a rule-breaker
That’s the anatomy part,
The feminist politics part
Is that women know how to let things go,
How to let a dying thing leave the body,
How to become new
How to regenerate
How to wax and wane, not unlike the moon and tides-
Both of which influence how you behave,
Women have vaginas that can speak to each other,
By this I mean
When we’re with our friends, our sisters, our mothers
Our menstrual cycles will actually sync the fuck up.
My own cervix is mad influential,
Everybody I love knows how to bleed with me,
Hold onto that, there’s a metaphor in it.
But when your mother carried you
The ocean in her belly is what made you buoyant, made you possible
You had it under your tongue when you burst through her skin,
Wet and panting from the heat of her body;
The body whose machinery you now mock on social media,
That body wrapped you in everything that was miraculous about it
And sung you lullabies laced in platelets-
Without which you wouldn’t have no Twitter account at all, motherfucker
See it’s possible that we know the world better because of the blood that visits some of us.
It interrupts our favourite white skirts
And shows at dinner parties unannounced
Blood will do that, period.
It will come when you are not prepared for it,
Blood does that, period.
Blood is the biggest siren and we understand that blood misbehaves,
It does not wait for a hand signal
Or a welcome sign above the door.
And when you deal in blood over and over again like we do,
When it keeps returning to you
Well, that makes you a warrior
And while all good generals know not to discuss battle plans with the enemy
Let me say this to you, Dummy on Twitter:
If there’s any balance in the universe at all
You’re gonna be blessed with daughters.
'Blessed’. Etymologically 'blessed’ means 'to make bleed’,
See, now it’s a lesson in linguistics.
In other words: blood speaks
That’s the message, stay with me
See your daughters’re gonna teach you what all men must one day come to know,
That women, made of moonlight, magic, and macabre
Will make you know the blood.
We’re gonna get it all over the sheets and car seats
We’re gonna do that
We’re gonna introduce you to our insides, period.
And if you are as unprepared as we sometimes are
It’ll get all over you and leave a forever stain.
So to my daughter,
Should any fool mishandle the wild geography of your body,
How it rides a red-running current
Like any good wolf or witch just bleed, Boo.
Give that blood a biblical name
Something of stone and mortar,
Name it after Eve’s first rebellion in that garden
Name it after the last little girl to have her genitals mutilated in Kinshasa-
That was this morning.
Give it as many syllables as there are unreported rape cases,
Name the blood something holy,
Something in hieroglyphs
Something that sounds like the end of the world.
Name it for the roar between your legs and the women who will not be nameless,
Hear, just bleed anyhow
Spill your impossible scripture all over the good furniture
Bleed and bleed and bleed
On everything he loves, period.
Prompt 66: Would love to read a canon divergent fic that explores what Peeta says about “a lot of guys liking Katniss”. This could cover a lot of tropes: no games, arranged marriage, friends to lovers, or this would have happened anyway. Would love to see Katniss more open to her feelings and the possibility of love. Would love to see how Peeta would win Katniss over with more than just Gale as competition. [submitted by Anonymous]
Note: A work in progress (multichapter).
Summary: The war ended when Katniss and Peeta were 16 years old. A couple of years have passed since the rebellion. Life in District 12 has changed quite a lot. Without the threat of hunger, the Reaping or death, Katniss and Peeta have become friends. Is there hope for something more?
I want you to know how beautiful you are. Don’t laugh. Don’t be embarrassed. Men can be beautiful, too.
You’re a prince. You’re a king. You’re a warrior. You deserve great things. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to be spoiled. You deserve to feel special. Because you are…you’re amazing. You’re talented. You’re gorgeous. You’re one of a kind.
Your smile is perfect. Your eyes are pretty. Your body is perfect. Don’t ever compare yourself to anyone else, you are perfect just the way you are. Don’t ever change. The world needs you to be who you are.
You’ve been hurt. You’ve been scared. You’ve felt insecure. You’ve hated yourself. But you’ve never been allowed to show it…
It’s okay to cry, you need to let it out. It’s okay to be scared when you hear that loud noise at 3am. It’s okay to wish you looked like someone else. It doesn’t make you any less of a man. It doesn’t make you “gay.” It means you’re human.
But just remember that you’re already perfect. You’re already gorgeous. You look great today! You look beautiful everyday. Love yourself. Respect yourself. You’re amazing, and don’t you ever forget that! ♥
Hey, are the embroidered tops T'Challa wears throughout the BP called the "Dashiki"? I read designer Wale Oyejide's Okay Africa interview but they call it "wardrobe", "pieces" etc but not the specific name. A search for "Dashiki" brings up another style of tops. I've seen the kind T'Challa wears called "tunic tops", "Kurta" (long) or "Kurti" (short) in South Asia and the Middle East. Searching for "Embroider Kurti" brings closest results. What's the specific name for the tops T'Challa wears 😅?
Note - I tagged on a “men” to all my searches because otherwise, it was all women in Google Images 😅. ]
Sorry but we also don’t know much about the fashion! But for the tops worn by T’Challa in press conference, Black Panther has collaborated with Ikiré Jones, which you can see from the tweet. Wale Oyejide mentioned they drew “inspiration from Africa but shaped by European tailoring”.[x] But there’s also another costume designer Ruth E. Carter, who mentioned she drew inspiration from different ethnic groups in Africa. I think Dashiki would be more of an appropriate term for the type of clothing, but I won’t presume to know. If any followers know about it, please let us know!