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leiawritesstories · 2 years

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Instruct Me

WHO Is This? Part 2 ;))))

For Rowan Week, day 7: Aelin admiring Rowan

the people have spoken and i hope this delivers hehe. happy happy birthday Emma @thegreyj!!!!!!!

Word count: 4.4k (oops)

Warnings: language, suggestive jokes, Rowan in leggings, smut. NSFW and definitely not for kids.

Enjoy!

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Rowan was most definitely out of his depth.

He sat in his truck and breathed deeply, gathering every scrap of willpower he could find to convince himself to stop worrying and get out of the car already. He'd made it this far--it would be a damn shame to turn around now, when he was parked in the lot of Caraverre Studio, fifteen minutes before the eight o'clock class.

The eight o'clock Pilates class that Aelin Galathynius taught.

Gods above, he was like a high school kid with a crush.

Exhaling slowly, Rowan opened his door and swung himself out, closing the door firmly before he could second-guess his decision and locking up the truck so he wouldn't just climb back in anyway. He tucked his car keys into his pocket, allowed himself exactly twelve seconds to stress the hell out about going into what would probably be a roomful of women who would stare at his ass, and walked across the parking lot, each step feeling more final than the last.

The green-eyed brunette woman at the front desk glanced up and smiled brightly, a faintly wicked spark glinting in her eyes. "Hi there!"

"Hey," Rowan said slowly, awkwardly.

She raised a manicured brow. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, um, Aelin told me you take drop-ins for classes and I was hoping there was a spot at the 8 o'clock Pilates?"

The woman tapped on her iPad. "You must be Rowan."

Rowan blinked, stunned. "How--"

"Aelin's told us all about the bigshot hockey player who's on the alumni board with her," the woman laughed. "Nice to meet you, Rowan. I'm Lysandra."

"Leave it to Aelin," he snorted, grinning, set at ease by Lysandra's friendliness. "My cousin Sellene comes here all the time, she wanted me to tell you that y'all are amazing."

"Thank you," Lysandra beamed. "I should have known--you look so similar to her." She slid a clipboard with a form and a pen across the desk. "We do have a few spots left for the 8 o'clock, I just need you to fill out this form and pay the $10 drop-in fee."

"Perfect." Rowan quickly filled in the information on the form, signed, and handed Lysandra the form and his credit card. She swiped the card and handed it back.

"Studio C tonight. Go all the way down the hall, all the studios are labeled and the doors to C should be open." She waved. "Enjoy the class!"

"Thanks." Rowan followed where she'd pointed him, heading off down the hall until, as promised, he reached Studio C.

And just as he'd expected, he was the only guy there.

Shit.

Aelin arrived at Caraverre at exactly seven-forty, a good ten minutes earlier than she typically got there, but she wanted to have a little extra time to prepare for that night's class. Lys had texted her that there were a few more beginners signed up for the class, and she knew that Rowan might be dropping in, so she just wanted to make sure her planned workout wasn't going to be too much.

And no, the bright red, sculpting set she was wearing was definitely not because of the possibility of Rowan's presence.

Not at all.

After the, er, dreams she'd had--dreams in which every strong inch of his chiseled body was pressed to hers--well, teasing him was the least she could do.

She unrolled her mat at the front of the studio and set up the big basket of equipment, making sure she had a few spare mats for anyone who didn't have one. Around the room, as usual, she set up the electric candles, casting the space in soft warm light. As the people came in, she greeted all of them, recognizing a handful of women who regularly came to her classes as well as a few newbies.

By seven fifty-five, fourteen of the fifteen people who were scheduled to be there had arrived and settled themselves in the studio, low hums of conversation flickering around the space.

At seven fifty-eight exactly, Rowan Whitethorn walked through the doors.

And every female gaze in the room flicked straight to his unfairly sculpted body.

"Hey," he said nervously, uncertainty flashing across his handsome face as he flicked a wary gaze around the room.

"Hey, Rowan," Aelin smiled, walking over to his side. "Don't mind the ladies," she murmured, leading him to a relatively quiet place in the studio. "Having a man here is almost exotic."

He snorted quietly. "You say that like I'm a treat, Aelin."

"For the eyes, you are," she smirked, flashing him a wink.

Good lord, he was wearing very tight pants. Yes, and shorts over the top, but they were running shorts, dammit. He could not be having this...reaction to her. Not now.

But gods burn him, that red ensemble of hers did bad, bad things to his tenuous self-control.

"Not you too," he groaned, pleading.

She chuckled. "Don't worry about me, Whitethorn. It's our dear Maeve who's got her eyes on you." She tilted her head to the left, indicating the petite, salt-and-pepper-haired older woman wearing leggings and a loose, short-sleeved shirt who sat comfortably on her mat, her dark eyes trained on Rowan.

"Gods burn me," Rowan muttered. "She reminds me of my gran, she does."

Aelin snickered. "She's a lovely woman, but she firmly believes that I'm turning into a crazy cat lady and she's tried to set me up with every man who's ever come to one of my classes."

Rowan chuckled. "Seems like a lovely lady."

"She is," Aelin grinned, "she just adores to meddle, though." She glanced at Rowan's mat. "You're gonna want to grab a set of weights and a booty band from the basket." After checking his equipment, she nodded. "Good. Don't look so terrified, Whitethorn, you're going to be fine."

"I hope so," he mumbled, more to himself than to her as she headed back to the front of the room.

"Good evening, everyone!" Aelin settled herself into a comfortable seated position. "My name is Aelin and I teach Pilates and barre here ad Caraverre. Welcome! Tonight's class is going to be focused primarily on stretching and stability, and it's very beginner-friendly, I promise." She smiled. "For those of you who are familiar with Pilates, please feel free to modify the exercises if you need a higher difficulty. And, as always, honor your body and don't do anything that makes you feel pain."

Rowan followed Aelin's instructions, her husky, smooth voice guiding him and the rest of the class to lie down flat, and breathed deeply, focusing his attention on his breath. To his surprise, he found her instructions precise and clear and easy to follow, and he found himself much more capable than he'd thought he would be at coaxing his body into the stretches she demonstrated.

"Stand with your feet about shoulder width apart," Aelin instructed. "Good, good! Now, step your right foot out into a wide side lunge, and lean your weight towards the right leg." She demonstrated, lunging sideways, enjoying the stretch in her left leg.

And thoroughly enjoying the way Rowan's eyes trained on the lines of her body.

Standing back up, she walked slowly around the studio, offering her instructions to the students. Good--make the stretch a little deeper--keep your back straight--less weight on the left foot--looks good. When she came to Rowan, she flicked her eye over his form, nodding. "Looks good, Mr. Alternate Captain."

"Stop it," he mumbled, flushing a little.

She smirked and turned around in front of him, demonstrating how to shift weight to the other leg. This was totally normal for her--demonstrating the next move wherever she was in the room, whether on her own mat or somewhere else.

And if Rowan had a prime view of her ass as she demonstrated, well, wasn't that a funny coincidence?

Rowan was going to combust. Right here, right now. Actually burst into flames and die.

It took every ounce of his willpower to think of sad puppies and roadkill and other such boner-killing things to prevent himself from looking like an absolute creep. But in his defense, Aelin's tiny little smirk meant that she'd done that on purpose. Demonstrated the stretch right in front of his face on purpose.

She was trying to kill him, he was sure of it.

It was almost as if she knew that he dreamed of her. That in his dreams, she was as bare as the day she was born, her softly tanned skin soft and smooth beneath his wandering hands. That in his godsdamned dreams, the moans that left her lips were sweeter than the loveliest melody ever composed.

As she made her way around the studio, Aelin paused next to Rowan, placing her hand onto his side and nudging his weight farther over his left leg. "The stretch will feel better if you aren't so planted on your supporting leg," she explained softly.

Rowan's jaw twitched at the twinge of old pain in his left leg, the injury from years ago that made him hesitant to stretch too deeply.

Aelin, of course, noticed. "You alright?"

He nodded.

She raised her brows, unconvinced. "Honor your body, Rowan."

"Damn catchphrases," he grumbled, but allowed her to help guide him into a less strenuous stretch. "Thank you."

She patted his shoulder, her hand lingering on the tanned skin and muscle exposed by his tank top. "I'm a certified instructor, Whitethorn. Trust me when I tell you that I don't want you injured."

"Right, always stretch to be safe," he muttered, half to himself.

A wide, wicked grin flashed across her face. "All the better to warm up your old muscles, darling."

That did it.

Rowan was in deep, deep shit.

Aelin could barely keep herself from smirking with glee as she led the Pilates class into a series of bridge holds, booty bands looped around the upper thighs for extra resistance. As she lifted her lower body off the mat, explaining how to properly lift and lower the body so as to engage the targeted muscles, she couldn't help but admire the way Rowan's toned legs and ass flexed and clenched as he followed her directions.

Those Spandex leggings did marvelous, marvelous things for the imagination, they did.

"Lift...and lower," she instructed, keeping her voice level and calm, guiding the class. "Good, good! Lift...and lower. Make sure your back is flat against the mat when you come down, and if it's not, just take your time! Remember, form is far more important than the number of repetitions. Lift...and lower. Good!"

Sliding the band off her legs, Aelin stood and circled the studio, still directing the set of bridges. "All right, good! Now lift!" A longer pause this time. "And lower slowly, as slowly as you can. Good!" She returned to her mat and laid down, settling herself onto her side. "Now, turn slowly onto your left side, keep that band around your legs, we're going to do some leg lifts."

She demonstrated how to position the legs, bent at an angle and slightly in front of the body. "Now lift your top leg up, keeping the heels together, just like this." She showed the froglike leg lift, knowing full well that Rowan's attention shot right to the borderline seductive crook of her legs as she lifted her top leg. "Remember, honor your body and don't lift any farther than you're comfortable doing." She looked around at the class. "Good, good! Really good!"

Rising, she directed the class through a slow set of leg lifts, adjusting form as she walked. She tossed Rowan a sly wink when she approached him, smirking down at him. "Nice leg work, Whitethorn. Bet the ladies love it."

His face went the most delightful shade of embarrassed as he coughed, struggling for words. "Aelin," he wheezed, cheeks flaring bright red.

She just winked. "Okay, everyone, turn onto your other side and repeat the same exercise! Slowly now, we're focusing on stability, not reps. Ready?"

After the more demanding part of the workout, Aelin guided the class through a series of cooldown stretches, staying on her own mat and just talking through the motions. And smothering her evil smirk when she noticed Rowan's attention drawn directly to the swell of her breasts through her sports bra when she leant forwards, explaining the stretch. "Remember, only go as far as you can and hold, your muscles will loosen up after a bit of time and you may be able to stretch farther."

She had to clamp her lips together to keep from giggling when she noticed how many of the ladies' gazes flicked over to Rowan's ass as she guided the class into a folded-over stretch. One that deliberately placed everyone's ass up in the air.

But it was such a good stretch for tight backs and hamstrings.

"And that's the class!" she announced, grinning at the fifteen people as she slowly rolled her head up, comfortably seated on her mat. "Thank you all so much for coming!"

Murmurs of thanks rippled around the room as people slowly got up and rolled up their mats, placing equipment back in the basket. Aelin stood at the doorway and said good night to everyone, smiling and laughing and making her goodbyes.

Rowan was the last person lingering in the studio, waiting until all the ladies had left before he strolled up to her and leaned against the doorframe, eyes bright with mischief and something...darker.

"What did you think?" she asked, genuinely curious.

He rolled his neck, considering. "I actually really enjoyed it," he admitted.

"I'm glad," she beamed. "Really, Rowan. I hardly get guys in Pilates classes, it's just so much more marketed to women."

"I see why all the team trainers want us to do something with more stretching," he chuckled. "God, it's like I'm discovering muscles I never knew I had."

She smirked. "That tends to happen with Pilates and yoga and other, slower workouts. I remember when I took my first Pilates class, I had to take a few minutes before I could put my shoes on."

His soft laugh echoed through the studio, a low joyous rumble she wanted to capture in a jar and keep forever. "I'm pretty sure I'll be feeling it in the morning."

"Not the only thing you feel in the morning," she smirked, unable to help herself.

Instantly, Rowan's eyes flared, that suppressed darkness in their depths rising up. "What exactly are you implying, Aelin?"

Gods burn her, the way this man said her name. "Why don't you use that little brain of yours and think about it, Rowan?"

He stepped closer to her, bracing one forearm on the doorframe, right beside her head, drawing her gaze up into his. Hell, she hadn't realized how much of a height difference there was between them. Or how much that height difference turned her on.

"I think," he purred, brazenly curling his free hand around her hip, "that you've had too much fun instructing me tonight, Aelin Galathynius."

"Hmmm," she purred, daintily placing her fingertips against his toned chest, a smirk curling the corners of her full lips, "and what makes you think that, Rowan Whitethorn?"

In response, he tipped his head down, pausing when he was no more than a hairsbreadth away from her tantalizing lips, his own wicked grin unfurling at her tiny, shuddering sigh of yearning. "Someone couldn't keep her hands off me," he hummed, slipping just a fraction closer, the heat of his body pressing into hers.

A shiver danced down her spine. "At least I wasn't afraid to make a move," she smirked, taunting him.

To her complete and utter delight, it worked.

Rowan closed the barely-there gap between them, pressing his lips to hers, his kiss soft and tentative at first but quickly deepening when Aelin rolled up onto her tiptoes and looped her arms around his neck, threading her fingers into his soft hair.

Gods, this must be what heaven was like--six-foot-three and toned as hell, with a tattoo straight out of her fantasies licking up the length of one arm.

A muted whoop broke through their reverie, making them jump apart and whirl around to find Lysandra standing a few paces away, beaming like a child on Christmas and clapping. "I win!"

"Dammit," Aelin grumbled, laughing through her pretended grouchiness. "Really, Lys?"

"You're the one snogging the man you've been crushing on in public," Lys smirked.

Aelin rolled her eyes. "Fair enough. Now shoo, Lys."

"Love you too!" Lysandra called over her shoulder as she headed off. "It's my night to lock up, so go home, lovebirds!"

"You're the worst!"

Lys just giggled. "I'll expect details tomorrow, babes!"

"Gods," Aelin fake-grumbled, chuckling as she grabbed her rolled-up mat and slung it over her shoulder. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this from her."

"Oh, but you'll have stories to tell," Rowan promised, smirking darkly at her.

She arched one blonde brow. "Awful big talk, Whitethorn."

His smirk grew, curling lazily across his face as he trailed his eyes down her body. "And I can back it up, too." He slipped his hand into hers, linking their fingers, and walked beside her out into the parking lot.

Where he promptly pressed her up against the side of his truck and kissed her deeply, pressing his body flush with hers. She groaned into his kiss, her lips opening to his tongue, and yanked him closer, delicately slipping her hands beneath his thin tank top to slide up his torso, his chest, feeling his heartbeat thundering under her palms.

"Gods," he groaned, panting, pulling away only to kiss down her jaw, her neck, "gods, Aelin!"

Head tilting back, she moaned softly, her grasp on reality swiftly slipping away under this gorgeous man's ministrations. "Rowan," she panted, a half-coherent thought breaking through the fog of desire clouding her senses, "home."

He stepped back. "Where?"

She caught her breath, the coolness of the night air helping to clear her head. "I live fairly close..."

"Your place, then." His eyes glittered. "I don't need to waste any more time, love."

The pet name warmed her to her core. "Right, you can just follow me, I'm not leaving my car here."

The drive home was a hazy blur of shock and elation and disbelief, paired with the steady throbbing in her core. Aelin parked in her driveway and locked up her car, waiting by the front door for Rowan to hop out of his truck, lock up, and stride over to her, wasting absolutely no time in wrapping one thickly muscled arm around her waist and kissing her long and slow, not caring that they were on her front porch and anyone could see them.

"Inside," Aelin managed to gasp, fumbling for her key and unlocking the door. Rowan hoisted her effortlessly into his arms and carried her into her house, hands wandering the moment he set her back down on her feet.

"Fuck," he rasped, toying with the band of her sports bra. "You're so damn gorgeous, Ae."

"You're one to talk, handsome" she hummed, boldly surveying his chiseled frame, her wicked gaze not missing the tent in his shorts. "Looks like I'm not the only one who had fun at the studio."

"Wicked woman," he chuckled, sweeping her into his arms again, his large hands cupping her ass. Before he could give in to the temptation of kissing her flushed skin, though, he looked into her eyes. "Are you sure about this?"

She cupped her hands around his jaw. "Lys is right, Rowan, I've had a crush on you for far longer than I'm ever going to admit." A soft kiss to his temple. "I'm absolutely sure. I need you, Ro."

"Thank all the gods," he rumbled, nipping softly at her collarbone. "I--I've had a crush on you for years, too."

"Look at us idiots," she laughed, "both--oh gods, Rowan!" Her mirth shifted into a moan as he slid one hand between her thighs, feeling the warmth pooled there.

"So you did enjoy teasing me," he purred into her ear, his heated breath fanning against her skin.

"So much," she gasped. "Ah, fuck, Ro!"

"I need you," he panted, so close to just damning it all to hell and taking her right there, first times be damned.

She slipped out of his arms, took his hand, and led him upstairs and into the master bedroom, where she peeled off her leggings and sports bra and stood before him wearing only a scrap of lace that could barely be called panties. "You have me."

Rowan all but ripped his tank top off, eyes fixed onto the absolute beauty that was Aelin Galathynius standing near-bare in front of him. The leggings were a bit trickier, but soon enough, he stood bare before her, endlessly thrilled at the way her gaze tracked down his body, darkening as she looked.

"Fuck me," she whispered, her voice low and throaty. "You're so damn beautiful, Ro." Her lips, slightly swollen from his kisses, dropped ever so slightly open at the sight of him standing hard and proud and ready for her, at the whole of him bared to her.

"That's the idea," he chuckled darkly, striding to her, tilting her chin up to meet her brilliant turquoise eyes. "But first..." He played with the waistband of her lacy little panties. "These need to go."

With one quick rip, the offending garment laid on the floor. Aelin barely had time to gasp before Rowan was on her, his lips and touch everywhere she craved it, his body hard and warm and tantalizing against hers. Almost before she knew it, he was laying her down on her bed, a look near reverence in his desire-darkened eyes.

"Tell me if you need me to stop," he whispered into her ear, just about making her cry with sheer overwhelming emotion.

But she settled on a long, low moan as he splayed one hand between her breasts, alternating rough and soft touches, teasing her nipples into hard, eager peaks, and trailed the other hand through her soaked pussy, his thumb landing squarely on her clit. "Fuck, Rowan!"

"That's it, love," he rumbled, "say my name." Gods burn him, she was dripping against his hand, her slick eager core welcoming him as he slipped one finger gently into her heat, groaning thickly at the way she gripped him. "Fuck, you feel amazing."

"Don't stop," she begged, so wound up and ready for him. "Please, R, don't stop."

"Such pretty manners," he smirked, adding another finger. "You like that, Ae?" He took her frantic, wordless nod as assent and sped up the pace of his fingers, leaning down to tug one deliciously peaked breast into his mouth, needing to feel her coming undone for him before he would let himself enter her. She moaned breathily, a jumble of curses and pleas and his name leaving her lips.

"Close, Rowan, so close!"

"Come for me, love."

And she did, climaxing around his fingers, her face scrunching and then relaxing in utter bliss as her body rocked. He worked her through it, pulling away to slide his tongue across his glistening fingers, moaning lowly at the taste of her.

"Delicious," he purred hotly, lowering his lips down to hers. "Taste yourself, love." And he kissed her, possessive, claiming, making her taste the essence of herself on his tongue. His hips jerked involuntarily as she wrapped her wicked hand around him, pumping too slowly for the way his blood raced, craving her.

"You like that?" she murmured, her tiny smirk proving that she knew very well he liked it.

He grunted a curse and plucked her hand away from him. "Keep doing that and I won't last long enough to have you screaming my name, love." He ghosted a kiss against her throat. "And I will have you screaming for me."

Her whole body shuddered at his promise, fresh arousal pooling in her core. "Yes please," she breathed, pressing a kiss to his strong jawline.

"As you wish," he murmured, locking his eyes onto hers as he lined himself up and slid slowly into her, both of them moaning at the sensation. He rocked his hips slowly, easing into the heavenly tightness of her until his hips bumped against hers. "Hi," he breathed, tenderly brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face.

"Hi," she breathed, her hips subtly rocking upwards into him. He smiled at her, stroking across her face as he withdrew, only to plunge back into her, drawing a sharp moan from her lips. "Ohhhh, oh gods!"

"Not gods," he panted, his thrusts rattling her whole world, "just me." He could feel himself on the verge of breaking, even so soon after entering her--she was perfect. So perfect. His pace sped up, growing almost frantic, and she met him thrust for thrust, gripping his shoulders and raising herself up to lean her forehead into his. Their breaths mingled in the sex-tinged haze of the bedroom as he pounded into her, gasping praises and curses and chants of her name.

"Rowan," she pleaded, desperate, writhing beneath him. "Please, gods, Rowan, I'm so close!"

"Then come for me," he ordered, slipping his hand between their bodies to flick her clit, the last touch of pleasure she needed to tumble into ecstasy, yelling his name as she shattered around him.

He groaned her name into the crook of her neck as he followed, just barely remembering to pull out and spill himself all over her thighs and lower abdomen. Gods, but the sight of her covered in his orgasm did terrible things to his self-control. Her chest heaved as she came down from the blissful high, tugging him down to sprawl atop her as he stilled.

"Mmmmph," he mumbled, something resembling sanity telling him he needed to get up and get a washcloth. "Need to clean you up."

"And a gentleman too," she murmured, allowing him to get up--a little unsteadily--and go into her bathroom to grab a warm washcloth and clean her up. "Mmm, I got really lucky."

His laugh rumbled through her room. "You are incredible, Ae," he whispered, sliding back into bed and curling around her.

She settled comfortable into his embrace, tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder. "No, you are."

He didn't have time to protest before she was asleep, her breathing deep and rhythmic.

Well, then.

He'd tell her how he felt in the morning.

~~~

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#my writing #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #fluff #and sexy times #rowaelin smut #and lots of naughty jokes #rowan week #rowan week fic #happy birthday emma #love you emma #smutty smut smut #gonna bleach my eyes now

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inkskinned · 9 months

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what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.

#warm up #writeblr #this one has bothered me for a bit #any time a woman does something even passingly annoying we treat it like a fucking crime #hey man. women are allowed to be annoying. everyone forever is allowed to be passingly annoying #as long as they aren't hurting anyone/thing #like u wanna know something? i find it super annoying that men don't wear seatbelts #why arent there thousands of comments on driving videos thats just like : men try not to die in a car crash challenge #''this briefly annoyed me''. okay??????? AND????????????????? go get ur self a cookie and calm down about it #ur not entitled to control other ppl's experiences and emotions just so u can maintain ur own peace #if being briefly annoyed ruins ur whole day! you! need! therapy!!!!#men try not to become immediately angry about nothing challenge: level impossible #ps author is nonbinary. we didn't even get into the gender presentation thing #the fact men think it's SEXY that my voice is on the lower end....

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