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dungeonpuppykai · 5 months

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|| Shackles of Love ||

Summary: Your husband Pete reads the epilogue of the book you're on and there's only one way to keep him from spoiling it for you now…

Pairing: Dark Husband!Pete Brenner | Naive Wife!You.

Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own Pete Brenner. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact.

Warning(s): Soft-dark!Pete Brenner, non-con/dub-con elements, boob play, humping, stockholm syndrome, age-gap, m!dom, f!sub, power imbalance, housewife kink, misogyny, bondage/chaining, brainwashing, choking, teeny bit of overstimulation.

Note: I contemplated whether to make this dark or not but then said what the hell?! Shorter than usual (I think) because it's been a hot minute.

MASTERLIST

"Aw, thank you, baby." Pete flashed you the million dollar smile that had charmed you so much the first time you saw it that it had directly led to this very moment.

"Honey~" you sweetly called out to your loving husband in that one tone he adored so much that he preferred you spoke to him in it all the time. "Here~" you held out the mini tray containing a chilled beer and loaded sandwich for him to snack on while he watched some old movie that you were frankly too young to know anything about.

You smiled and turned on your heels to place yourself next to him on the couch that faced the tv, feeling a tiny butterfly flutter in the base of your tummy due to how he patted the spot beside him for you to sit in that dominant way of his. The man could literally so much as breathe and have your whole stomach flip. He had you whipped.

Not much interested in the rather vintage movie, you turned to your book that you had bookmarked before leaving to make your husband a sandwich because he liked a snack or two with his movies. Your fingers hurriedly turned the pages as you found your chapter, bottom lip moving itself between your teeth in excitement. You had been perfectly engrossed in a particularly thrilling part where a plot twist was unfolding when your husband had ordered- no, requested his craving.

Why would Pete ever order you outside the bedroom? Pfft, no way. He was a very giving and kind husband who would never disrespect you!

Yes, maybe sometimes he was just a little mean during punishments but it was never not duly deserved.

It wasn't unfair. Not by a long shot. Pete worked hard for the both of you and your future family throughout the week so you could stay at home in pretty dresses and do whatever you pleased. Your only jobs were to cook, clean and take care of his husbandly needs.

And that was all!

You weren't the one who had to go out into the scary outside world and deal with all those dangerous people that lurked past the protective doors of your house! Honestly, if it weren't for Pete being such a supportive and devoted husband, you didn't know where you would be right now.

You would be cold, alone and miserable with no one to protect you. His words from training time faintly rang in your ears.

Pete was right.

He always was.

Your love was the only one who meant you no harm and could keep you safe.

Everyone else had already failed you or eventually would. Even your parents. Because seriously, what guardian is so careless as to take their child to baseball games where the ball could crack your skull open anytime! Honestly, how careless could your father be! Your mother was no different because, what kind of a woman encourages her daughter to have a career instead of teaching her the much needed and important domestic skills so she could keep her future family happy and healthy! Making you risk your precious life by letting you persue a career in law out of all!

If this wasn't the prime example of the fact that no one except for Pete truly cared about your comfort and safety, you didn't know what was.

Yes, so what if he had roofied your drink in the bar before taking you to your real home with him? He had only meant well! You had been far too headstrong and stupid a girl back then to know proper manners for someone your gender. But Pete had been very kind. Though you had fought relentlessly in the beginning and attempted to escape the premises of this house that was nothing but love and care, he forgave you for everything!

How much more wonderful could this man get?!

Your husband had smiled at every insult, laughed at every injury you had inflicted on his skin and heart, kissed away every tear you had so foolishly shed.

And then he had taught you proper wife etiquette.

Honestly, no one had ever bothered to put up with you that much.

"Honey?" Pete called out to you in a semi-distracted tone, blue eyes still trained on the tv as you stared at the pages in front of you with wide eyes as a realization washed over you. But before you could communicate your thoughts like you had been taught to do so, your husband continued. You hummed for him to go on, mind still stuck on the page. "Want to know something real funny?"

Obedience had been woven into every fiber of your existence. So you turned your head to look at him with curious eyes after making a mental note to tell him what you had realized just now later. Because Pete always came first. So you had to await your turn.

"Funny?" You tilted your head to the side, one arm looping around his arm as you perched your chin on his shoulder. "Sure, dear! I like funny…" Your nose crinkled a little as you smiled in the way he had taught you.

A devious smile spread over your husband's lips. "I read the epilogue while you were in the kitchen" it took you a few moments to realize what he was hinting at. He had done it before and the way he finally turned his head to look at you with mischief dancing in his ocean blue eyes, placing the now empty tray on the table in front of the couch, you knew he was about to do it again.

"No! You didn't!" You squealed as he laughed in the comic typical evil way, tackling you until your back was flat against the couch. "No! Please, honey! No!" You helplessly whined as you shook your head violently, tossing the book open and hurrying through the words. "I am almost at the epilogue! You cannot do this to me!"

"That's just a shame, isn't it?" The protestant kicking of your feet that rested on his back now caused a clinking sound in the air due to the thick iron cuff enclasped around one of your ankles.

"Noooo! Pleeeeease!" You pouted as his goatee gently pricked your fingertips that were pressing against his mouth in a desperate attempt to quieten him. "Honey, please! I've been a good girl!" That was the reason why you had maintained your reading privileges for three straight weeks at this point. "You're being cruel for no reason!"

"Aw. Don't you remember?" Prying your fingers off his mouth was no challenge to the older man. "Husbands can do whatever they want whenever they want…" You whined loudly as you ignored the tingle in your nether regions that his dark tone had caused, flipping the page and hurrying through the words, holding the book between your faces. "Okay, soooo… what happens is–"

"Ohmygosh you're so meeeean!" Now your free hand desperately darted to your own body before you fished out one of your boobs from the neckline of your dress. A whimper escaped from your lips when you reached for Pete's nape next before arching your back to further close the gap between your bodies. The action clasped the space of your husband's mouth shut as he hummed against your tender flesh now.

Pete had this rather mean way (that you didn't actually mind) of torturing you when you were reading sometimes. He would sneakily read from a section way ahead of where you were and then tease you with spoilers until you shoved his mouth with one of your private parts.

You faintly recalled being heavily opposed to it at one point.

But there was no other way to stop him when he was at this.

And that was alright because he was your husband who loved you and loved him.

… Right?

"Hmmm~" you softly moaned in the way he liked. His clothed dick instantly stiffened under your pussy like it always did; a confirmation that you had done the right thing. Your hips that were not as securely clad as your husband's began to slowly piston against his crotch, the dress being the only cover for your bottom since you weren't allowed underwear inside the house. Pete liked you accessible 24/7. So he could bend you whenever he pleased over any surface with no hassle.

It was the least you could do after all that he did for you.

Your legs tightened around Pete's waist as did his arms around yours. It was crazy to you how easy it was for him to handle your body however he desired since he physically looked more on the lean side. But his strength was no joke, you were nothing but a doll between his fingers.

And the reminder always made your wifey parts quiver.

"Hmmm… my perfect wife~" Pete's husky grunt caused your holes to clench around empty air as he latched onto your other boob that you had pushed out next. "Such a good slut… knows exactly what I like…" Your brows were furrowed and hands shaky, breaths hitting the paper that you struggled to both hold and read without dropping it on your face. "It's almost as if-" a loud sucking noise erupted in the air when he forcefully pulled his mouth away from your hardened nub, the feeling causing your back to arch as your hips increased their pace. "-As if you were only born so you could be my good little wife, huh baby?" His slightly rough hands were manly and strong against the soft skin of your chest, lips and teeth grazing against your sensitive skin while the goatee caused the tickles that never failed to tip you over the edge.

"B- Because I was, hubby!" You whimpered submissively as you failed all your attempts to make sense of the words in front of you. Pete had already told you why this was and he was right.

You were far too simple minded to multitask.

"What was that?" As his hips started to work against yours, the soft burn of the expensive fabric of your dress rubbing against your throbbing and leaking pussy caused tiny droplets of sweat to form on your temples. The book fell from your hands and on the ground besides the couch at last.

"I- I was only born s- so I could be your good little wife, hubby!" You cried out as you attempted to sink your nails in his shoulders but your husband beat you to it.

"That's fuckin' right…" Pete's breaths were heavy as he reached for the chain that connected to your ankle cuff and pulled it upwards. It was locked around a sturdy hook hidden under the living room couch on the other end. Long enough to allow you to move around the house to perform your wifely tasks but not an inch longer to entertain any funny or rebellious– dangerous attempts that could be made while he was out earning your bread and butter. Only Pete had the key that could unlock it.

You whined loudly when he deprived you from touching him while exposing your aching core in an even more intimate position at the same time by snaking the chain around your wrists and holding both your hands as well as your shackled ankle above your head.

The new position further distanced your pussy lips as you rubbed your swollen flesh against the soft material of his trousers now, your dress a wrinkled mess in the middle of your body.

"Mmm… I need you so bad, hubby…" You whispered out, throat dry and face twisted in need and want. "Please…"

"Do you deserve it, huh baby?" Now he laid out some of the cold chain against your throat with his free hand, lips parted and eyes dark. "Have you been a good wife for me?"

You vigorously nodded, clenching around air once more as your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he applied pressure to the makeshift leash against your windpipe, the loss of air and realization of the imbalance of power causing you to pant and hump the man harder.

Pete could do to you literally anything that he desired and you would happily let him just to please him.

That was your only priority after all; your real duty.

"You're gonna have to use your words, honey…" Your husband released your windpipe as he spoke, causing your back to arch once more to try and breathe better.

"I… I…. deserve it, hubby. I really do… I've been s- so good… I promise…" Your chest rose and fell as it glistened under the lights due to the tiny beads of sweat coating it along with Pete's saliva. "I- I deserve you~" your last word was a gasp against his lips that he finally smashed against yours, chaining down your windpipe again as he helped stimulate your worked up pussy by moving his own hips in sync to yours.

You were too close. It was dangerous. You had to break away and ask his permission if you didn't want to get punished. Cumming without Pete's permission was always followed by cruel edging that stretched on for weeks. Your husband was a master at taking you high to the point of utter dumbness only to leave you deprived and trembling at the last moment.

But you liked to kiss him so much…

That and you didn't want him to feel like you were prioritizing your pleasure over kissing him.

That would be such a selfish thing to do!

And good wives were supposed to be giving, understanding, patient and supportive.

It was a dilemma.

But as always, your knight came to your rescue and you knew you could never love him more than you did in this moment. "Cum for me and I'll consider…" It was like he could read your body and boy did you adore him for it.

Your air came back -or rather, was allowed to do so- just as fast as your vision went out when your tense insides finally bloomed open and went crashing over you the barrage of pleasure that had been building up inside of you. You moaned Pete's name along with heartfelt praises as you trembled, hips slowing down to avoid overstimulation as you blinked away the stars in your vision.

Rubbing and humping definitely had their own kinds of orgasms.

"Atta girl… That's it… Just like that…" Your husband whispered in your ear, his still clothed cock now rock hard against your worked up pussy. "Good girl…" Though he still kept a firm hold on your ankle and wrists, Pete let go of the makeshift leash to reach for your marked boobs that he began to caress. "You feel that, baby?" A soft whine pushed past the pout that formed on your lips. "This is what you do to me…" His voice was strained as he held back a moan, his stiff crotch teasing you now as he let go of your breasts to open his fly.

It was then that it suddenly occurred to you.

And though you knew from ample experience that it was never pleasant… you had to do the right thing.

You owed it to your perfect husband.

"U- Uh, honey…" You hissed out softly, trying to move your hips away from the torturous humping he was still subjecting you to. When Pete didn't respond, you tried again, only this time more timid because you knew too well how he responded to denial and rejection. "D- Darling…"

His nostrils flared as he exhaled loudly in annoyance. "What?" Your bottom lip wobbled at his snappish tone.

The man of the house did not like to be delayed when he wished to wreck his lady apart.

"I- I need to tell you s- something…" Pete gave up fiddling with the fly, looking up at you now.

"And it can't wait?" Your eyes stung when he refused to mend his tone but you told yourself it was because he wanted you so bad that he didn't want anything to come between you two.

Yes, that was it.

The truth.

Pete had told you this many times.

"I- I don't think you would like it…" Averting your gaze from his heated one and training it on his neck, you whimpered out your next words because of how his body had suddenly stiffened against yours. "I- I…" You bit your lip, already heightened heart rate refusing to slow down. Pete appreciated it when you were honest about this, you didn't understand why it was making you feel so panicked and sad.

Hopeless.

"D- Dangerous memories have been r- resurfacing again…" His tone and expression instantly changed after hearing this. They were darker but less rude now.

"Oh…" Pete stopped for a few moments to recollect himself. "F- For how long, baby?"

"D- Dunno… didn't really notice it until I remembered a whole episode from my time in court in the m- morning…" You couldn't help but whimper when you looked back up at him.

He seemed almost dumbfounded for a second before he spoke. "I see, honey…" Stopping for a few moments, Pete let go of your chains to caress your hair lovingly. "... And… What do we do when that happens, baby?" Your husband's voice was barely above a whisper as he peeked up at you with skeptical eyes.

"W- We have to go downstairs to fix it so the dangerous memories cannot form any silly ideas in my simple baby mind, hubby…" The man's worried expression changed to one of surprise.

And then the biggest smile made its way on his handsome face.

"Aren't the most perfect little girl, huh?" You couldn't help but blush and relax when he went back to being nice.

Disappointed and angry Pete was one you preferred to avoid at all costs.

"I just love you, hubby…" It came out the way the man had programmed you to say it before you gently pressed your mouth to his. "Wanna please you and make you happy…" Your husband pulled at one of your cheeks lovingly before he peppered soft kisses around your nose, making you giggle from how his goatee tickled your skin.

"So, then… shall we?" The older looked almost proud and smug as he crawled off of you and undid your ankle cuff, softly caressing the slightly red skin before he offered you a hand to sit up.

You smiled as you pushed away a rather unfamiliar stinging in your chest, focusing on the man in front of you instead as you took his hand and stood up, naively following him out of the living room and into the basement, hand in hand with your fingers intertwined.

Pete smirked to himself darkly as he turned the dial of the combination lock on the door of the basement cell before opening it for you to step in. He could still remember the time when you used to push all of your faculties to try and override the lock system somehow.

All that fight to get out only to voluntarily step in with a smile now.

You were definitely Pete's Magnum opus.

#pete brenner #pete brenner smut #pete brenner x reader #pete brenner x you #pete brenner x female reader #dark pete brenner #dark!pete brenner

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orionsangel86 · 10 months

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About the twinklify the twink? That's why I don't go full Dreamling. I have nothing against it, but they way they get twisted 90% of the times is just "uhh that not my Dream" for me. And same with all the Dark Morpheus x f/m reader. "That's not my Morpheus" and it's ok, because a) fanfiction keeps the media alive until the next piece we can get and b) fanfiction keeps people alive too, no matter what they picture. So, it's ok to feel like this, I guess.

I think that's the main takeaway from this. YKINMK after all. I'm a firm believer of "do what you want always" though of course, that doesn't mean you should be free from criticism, it just means maybe don't take criticism to heart ya know? This doesn't mean people should go onto others posts and fanfics and complain! God no! But people should be allowed to complain in their own posts - so long as anything particularly harsh isn't put in the main tags or is tagged accordingly. Like of course people aren't always gonna love everything you do, and sometimes when certain headcanons and ideas get bastardised by fanon echo chambers they become so far removed from canon that you are basically writing an OC with your fave characters face, but that's okay if it brings you joy. Just don't expect everyone to love and adore it ya know?

The problem I have with the extra twinkification of characters in ship dynamics is that I have a problem with m/m ships being twisted so far away from their canon counterparts that one party becomes obviously "feminine" and the other obviously "masculine". By which I mean one character is made extra skinny frail and delicate, submissive, virginal, pure, and always ALWAYS the bottom. The other character becomes huge and muscular and hairy and masculine, and take the role of protector and dominating and experienced and is ALWAYS the top.

Do you see what I mean? This has been prevailent in fandom culture since day 1 of course, and its a huge pet peeve of mine. I do view it as somewhat problematic because it feels like trying to fit a mlm ship into a heternormative box. Its a layered mess of misogyny and homophobia wrapped up in a fandom bow. It was worse years ago, during the SuperWhoLock days, and I will forever be grateful to Misha Collins for beefing up so much he enabled Cas to beat the effeminate twink allegations (knowing Mollins he probably came across a particularly bad fanfic or fanart and then spent several hours staring at himself in a mirror before throwing himself into an intensive gym routine).

I don't think its too prevailent in Dreamling fics, though I guess when you have a whole episode devoted to showing how Dream is pale, thin, beautiful, ethereal, completely hairless, and trapped, its easy to see why fandoms minds went to "twink" and then to "we need to find him a saviour". But I do wish the power dynamic would be a bit more balanced. Dream is no wilting flower. He is all pure lean muscle. He is no frail delicate thing. He has the body of a long distance marathon runner. He is power and self righteousness and fury and control. Yeah, he may be submissive with his lovers, but he's hardly inexperienced.

Hob is also in no way a macho man. He's hairy sure, but that's basically it. He actually isn't all that more muscular than Dream, he's only slightly broader, and he's not taller - I think they are the same height? Again, to stress, people can do what they want always. But please do take time to branch outside of the fandom echo chambers and refamiliarise yourself with canon once in a while. Especially when those echo chambers are leaning towards problematic dynamics like those mentioned above.

This is by no means a dig at any individuals, at any creative works I have come across or anything else of the sort. I just sometimes find the fanon echo chambers and widely accepted headcanons a bit irritating, especially when they don't fit with canon. It's fine on a small scale. I am not the person who is gonna comment "he would not fucking say that" because its mean and those posts are mean. It's when the whole fandom seems to adopt certain ideas, and suddenly any deviation from those ideas seems wrong to fandom at large. It becomes difficult to counter those ideas without suddenly being labelled a hater. Look at all the ridiculous discourse in Good Omens fandom because of how deeply far removed from the original source material the fandom took the characters over the 4 year gap between seasons? They were literally going into Neil Gaimans inbox complaining when season 2 deviated from widely accepted fanon headcanons! To the point that Neil had to clarify that what they were complaining about was never canon to begin with!!

Anyway, this post is probably controversial enough without me prattling on any further. Let me stress one last time that you can do what you want always, and everyone should be able to play in the sandbox however they want - just please check yourselves and your prejudices and do consider if the tropes you are encouraging have any harmful implications before throwing yourself into them.

#fandom problems #fandom discourse #the sandman #asks

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fueledbytakoyaki · 1 year

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Coven of Sisters Film Critique

Describe the film in general terms. What subjects does it cover? Describe the plot and setting. What issues does it raise?

- The film that I chose is "Coven of Sisters," which is a Spanish historical drama film released in 2020, directed by Pablo Agüero. It covers the subject of witchcraft and the persecution of women accused of practicing it during 17th-century in the Basque Country. I selected this film because, when I watched the trailer, I found it really interesting since I like dark movies that talk about witches. However, to my surprise, they were never really witches at all.

The film raises issues about women's oppression, misogyny, gender inequality, and abuse of power, which was very common during that time and is still happening today. We can see how men can easily dominate women because of their status. Men think they’re smarter and can do whatever they want with women because they are frail and has no fight against them.

The plot is set during the Spanish Inquisition when a group of six young women from a small fishing village were accused of witchcraft. They were arrested and taken into a small cell, where they were interrogated and tortured. Ana, the main character of the story, never loses hope; she had the plan to escape and confesses that she is the witch to prevent them from getting burned at the stake. Then she came up with exaggerated stories of their time together in the forest that made the Judge more curious about lucifer and witchcraft.

The Judge was seduced by Ana's beauty and convincing words which made him believe every detail of her stories. However, they realized that Ana was just waiting for the full moon to buy them some time to be saved by the men in their village, and right after that, the Judge announced the execution of the girls.

Regardless of the execution, the Judge wanted to witness the proof of the ritual first, so he prepared everything they needed for the satanic ritual based on the stories Ana told him. The girls each planned what they were going to do on the night of the ritual, and during that night, they used that opportunity to escape.

2. What are the major theme(s) of the film? What do you see as the main purpose of the film?

- The film's central themes emphasize women's empowerment, superstition, and belief. It highlights the patriarchal society of the 17th century and the oppression faced by women, and it also shows the role of superstition in shaping people's beliefs and actions.

Ana and her friends join forces to resist the injustice done to them by the Judge and his men. At first, the girls were blaming each other for the situation that they were in, but through the process of interrogation and torture they went through; they established an unbreakable bond.

The main purpose of this film is to show how superstition can turn into actuality when being expressed. As shown in the film these six young women were accused of being witches, and the Judge is forcing them to tell the truth about witchcraft when they don't even know what one is.

Ana was the more convincing one, so she made up exaggerated stories about their time together in the forest but twisted them with disturbing lies. Both the Judge and the girls are playing their roles while being convinced by the notion that witchcraft exists.

During the night of the satanic ritual; Ana leads the performance by singing and dancing, and they give the Judge a black mushroom that causes him to hallucinate and feel euphoric. Surprisingly the Judge was so enthralled by their performance that he began to join the girls in a circle.

At the end of the film, the girls are cornered at the cliff ready to jump together while holding on to their belief that they will fly, but deep inside, they know that they would rather choose death than be killed at the hands of these men. However, the lady singing at the back is giving them hints using their native song, "During the last full moon of autumn - high tide - and the flight of seagulls.". Learning that there's hope for their freedom, Ana, look back at the sea saying, “Let us jump together.” they jump into the ocean without hesitation, knowing they'll survive the fall.

3. Evaluate the film for quality and interest. Comment on the screenplay, acting, and the mis-en-scene, direction, production values and music. Are any literary techniques such as symbolisms and metaphors used? How were they used, and to what do these metaphors pertain?

- Firstly, the film is well written, and the acting of the cast was extremely impressive. It was compelling and made me question whether they really are performing a satanic ritual or not. The reason for that is the music, dancing, and singing were so good it gave me goosebumps, it almost felt like watching and listening to something demonic, which is really terrifying but amazing at the same time. The directors made an amazing job with everything from foreshadowing some details to the actual meaning of it is just incredible.

Some of the metaphors I noticed were how Ana kept feeding the Judges' inquisitiveness, in which his insatiable curiosity has become his own enclosed evil. The more he absorbs the lies that have been told to him, the more he becomes involved in the idea of witchcraft.

Looking back at the scene, where the Judge is enthralled by the girls singing and dancing as he joins them in the circle, the reason for that to transpire is wherein Ana hands him a black mushroom to eat, which causes him to hallucinate and have these euphoric experiences, just like how Ana kept feeding him lies regarding Lucifer and witchcraft, and these actions resulted in the Judge mirroring Lucifer.

4. Relate the film to class discussions, readings, notes or knowledge of theories.

- In terms of the theory applied in the film, it highly contains realism; the particular reason for that is how accurately they represent the real world or the specific historical events. Back in their time, in the 17th century in the Basque Country, women's accusations of witchcraft were very high, and thousands of innocent women died.

The film shows the ugly reality of the issues that have been happening, such as women's oppression being common during their time and is still happening today.

5. Summarize briefly emphasizing the strengths and weaknesses of the film.

- The way that the film "Coven of Sisters" can shift perspectives is the focal strength of the film, leaving us viewers confused, questioning whether Ana and her friends were real witches or not. However, the film's weakness is its ambiguity, which may leave some viewers unsatisfied with the ending.

Looking back at some of the scenes if we're going to pay attention closely, we can notice how the Judge ingested a black mushroom given by the girls, which contains a hallucinogenic effect on him, believing that the girls can fly.

However, based on my own interpretation, what really happened was the girls got a hint from the lady singing at the back, which actively demonstrates that they could jump into the cliff since it was a full moon, and that means it was already high tide.

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aces-to-apples · 4 years

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Your Reputation Precedes You

A response to “On Fandom Racism (and That Conlang People Are Talking About)” because lmao that cowardly bitch just hates getting feedback from people that she can’t then harass into oblivion

i.e. God I Wish I Could Use The Tag Fandom Wank Without The Titty Police Nerfing My Post

To be frank, I'm not here because I think you or any of your little cronies are going to change your minds. If the 'name' wasn't a giveaway, your group of ~likeminded individuals~ have quite the reputation for espousing ableist, antisemitic, and, yes, racist views under wafer-thin the veneer of "calling out racism." I think we both know that what you're actually doing is using the relative anonymity of the internet and progressive language to abuse, harass, and bully fans that you personally disagree with. You and your group are toxic, hateful, and utterly pathetic, using many peoples' genuine desire to avoid accidentally causing harm and twisting it into this horrid parade of submissiveness to You, The One And Only Arbiter Of Truth And Justice In Fandom. Never mind that you have derided autistic people as lacking compassion and empathy, that you've used racist colonizer dogwhistles to describe a fictional culture based heavily on real live Maori culture, that you've mocked the idea of characters having PTSD, or that vital mental health services are anything more than "talking about your feelings with friends uwu." Let's just ignore that you have ridiculed the idea of adults in positions of power exerting that power over children in harmful and abusive ways, that creating transformative fan-content that doesn't adhere to the spirit of canon or wishes of the original author garners derision and hatefulness from you, and that you've used classic abuser tactics in order to gaslight people in your orbit into behaving more submissively towards you in order to avoid more verbal abuse.

Let's toss all of that crucial context aside in favor of only what you've written here.

What you've written here is nearly 3,000 entire words based on, at best—though, admittedly, based on your previous behavior, I am actually not willing to extend to you an iota of good faith—fallacious reasoning. You posit that a constructed language, to be used by a fictional religious group located in an entirely different galaxy than our own, is othering, racist in general, and anti-Asian specifically. This appears based in several suppositions, the first being that a language unknown by the reader will, by nature, cause the reader to feel alienated from the characters and therefore less sympathetic, empathetic, and caring towards the characters. That idea is patently ridiculous and, I believe, says far more about your ability to connect to a character speaking an unfamiliar language than any kind of overarching truth about media and the human condition. New things are interesting; new things are fun; the human brain is wired from birth to be fascinated with new things, to want to take them apart, find out how they work, and enjoy both the process and the results.

The second supposition this fallacy is based upon appears to be that to move away from the blatant Orientalism of Star Wars is inherently anti-Asian. While I find it... frankly, a little bit sad that you cling so viciously to the Orientalist, appropriative roots of Star Wars as some form of genuine representation, that's really none of my business. If you feel that a Muslim-coded character bombing a temple and becoming a terrorist and a Sith, a white woman wearing Mongolian wedding garb, a species of decadent slug-like gangsters smoking out of hookahs and keeping attractive young women chained at their feet (as it were), a species of greedy money-grubbers with exaggerated features and offensively stereotypical "Asian" accents, and an indigenous people wearing modesty garb based on the Bedu people and treated by most characters as well as the narrative as mindless animals deserving of murder and genocide are appropriate representation of the many, varied, and beautiful cultures around the world upon which they were "based," then that is very much your business. Until you pull shit like this. Until you accuse other fans, who wish to move away from such offensive coding and stereotypes, of erasing Asian culture from Star Wars. Then it becomes everyone's business, especially when you are targeting a loving and enthusiastic group of fans who are pouring their hearts and souls into creating an inventive and non-appropriative alternative to canon.

Which leads into the third supposition, that a patently racist, misogynistic white man in the 1970s, and then again in the 1990s, intended his universe to be an accurate and respectful portrayal of the various cultures he stole from. I understand that for your group of toxic bullies, the term "Death of the Author" holds no real meaning, but the simple fact of the matter is that George Lucas based his white-centered space adventure on Samurai movies while removing the cultural context that gave them any meaning, because he liked the idea of swords and noble warriors in space. He based the Force and the Jedi Order on belief systems such as Taoism and Buddhism, but only on the surface, without putting any real effort into into portraying them earnestly or accurately. He consistently disrespected both characters of color and characters coded to be a certain race, ethnicity, culture, or religion, and likewise disrespected and stole from the cultures upon which he based them. He was, and continues to be, a racist white man who wrote a racist story. His universe has Orientalism baked into its every facet, and the idea that fans who wish to move away from this and interrogate and transform the text into something better than what it is are racist is not only laughable, but incredibly disingenuous and insidious.

As I said, I am not writing this to change your mind, because I truly believe that you already know that "cOnLaNgS aRe RaCiSt" is a ridiculous statement. The way you've comported yourself in fandom spaces thus far has shown to me that you are nothing more than a bully who knows that the anti-racist movement in fandom can be co-opted for your benefit. If you tout your Asian heritage and use the right language, make the "right" accusations and take advantage of white guilt and white ignorance, you can have dozens of people falling at your feet, begging for forgiveness, for absolution. And I think that gives you a thrill. So, no, none of this will change your mind because none of this is genuinely about racism—it's about power, it's about control, it's about fandom being the only space where you have some.

So I'm writing this for the creators of this wonderful conlang, which has been crafted by multiple people including people of color, who don't deserve this nonsensical vitriol, and for the fans reading this manipulative hate-fest, wondering if they really are Evil Racists because they don't participate in fandom the way you think they should.

Here it is: fandom has a lot of racism, antisemitism, misogyny, queerphobia, ableism, etc. baked into it. Unfortunately, such is the nature of living and growing up in societies and cultures that have the same. The important thing is to independently educate yourself on those issues and think critically about them—not "think critically" as in "to criticize" them, but to analyze, evaluate, pick apart, examine, and reconstruct them again in order to come to a well thought-out conclusion. Read this well-articulated attack on a group of fans who have always welcomed feedback and participation, are open about their backgrounds, their strengths and weaknesses, and wonder who is actually being genuine.

Is it the open and enthusiastic group who ask for the participation of others in this labor of love? Or is it the ringleader of a group of well-known bullies who have manipulated, gaslit, and then subsequently love-bomb people who did not simply roll over at the slightest hint of dominance? The ones who spent hours upon hours tearing apart, mocking, deriding, and falsely accusing authors of fanworks and metatextual works of various bigotries and -isms, knowing that those evaluations were spurious and meant only to cause harm, not genuine examinations of the works themselves or even presumed authorial intent. The ones who made their own, quote-unquote, community so negative and toxic that even after the departure of a large portion of them, including this author in particular, that community still has a reputation for being hateful, toxic, and full of mean-spirited harassers who will never look critically about their own behavior but only ever point fingers at others. The ones who are so very determined to cause misery wherever they go that as soon as their usual victims are no longer immediately available, they will turn on each other at the slightest hint of weakness.

This entire piece of (fan)work is misinformed at the most generous, disingenuous at the most objective, and downright spiteful when we get right into it. The creators of Dai Bendu, along with various other works, series, and fan events that these people personally dislike, have been targeted because it is so much easier to harass, bully, and use progressive language as a weapon against them, than it is to put any effort into making fandom spaces more informed, more positive, more respectful.

As someone rather eloquently put it, community is not a fucking spectator sport. You want a better community, you gotta work at it. And conversely, what you put into your community is what you'll get out of it. This author and their friends have put a lot of hate into their communities, and now they're toxic cesspools that people stay well away from, for fear of contracting some terrible form of harassment poisoning.

Congrats, Ri, you've gotten just what you wanted: adoring crowds listening to you spout your absolutely heinous personal views purely to live out some kind of power fantasy, and the rest of us staying well away, because fuck knows nothing kind, helpful, or in good faith has ever come from Virdant or her echo-chamber of petty, spiteful assholes.

No love, bad night.

P.S. Everyone actually in the Dai Bendu server knows your ass got kicked because you didn’t say shit for a full thirty days and ignored the announcement that inactive members would be culled. You ain’t cute pretending like it’s because you were ~*~Silenced~*~ after ~*~Valiantly~*~ attempting to call out racism. We see you.

#fandom bullshit #fandom racism #fandom harassment #fandom ableism #fandom antisemitism #fandom misogyny #by apples

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smylealong · 3 years

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Year in review - 2020

2020 has been a mixed bag of an year. Where on one hand it has been a raging dumpster fire with a global pandemic, lockdowns, social distancing, online schools, politics, forest fires, Karens and the general sense of ennui that the year brought. On the other hand, the year gave us all time. Time to reflect on ourselves. Time to teach ourselves new things. Time to binge watch. And boy did the streaming platforms make full use of it. Listed below are the best things I saw in 2020. (Across languages and in no specific order.) IT IS A LONG POST. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

HINDI Thappad: Dir: Anubhav Sinha. Starring: Tapasee Pannu, Pavail Gulati, Diya Mirza, Kumud Mishra and Ratna Pathak Shah. On surface level, the premise seems frivolous. After all, it was just a slap. Just. One. Slap. Yet, with that one slap, the protagonist’s neatly organized world comes apart at the seams. From there begins Amruta’s (Tapsee Pannu) journey into exploring the micro-aggressions and tiny slights that she has turned a blind eye to, for the sake of keeping peace. The film never veers into a glorification of violence nor does it get overly preachy. It is a mirror to the patriarchal society and raises pertinent questions about the things that the society as normalized. Things that shouldn’t be normalized.

Bulbbul: Dir: Anvita Dutt. Starring: Tripti Dimri, Avinash Tiwari, Rahul Bose, Parambrata Chatterjee and Paoli Dam.

Horror does not always lie in the things that go bump at night. Sometimes, horror is what society expects of you. Horror is the consequence of not fitting into the role that has been written for you. Sometimes, it is terrifying to be a woman in a male-dominated society. That is what Bulbbul explores. Wrapped in a beautiful package, Bulbbul tells the raw story of a child-bride who is punished, harshly, inhumanly, for acting her age. If you haven’t seen it yet, drop everything and watch it. It’s on Netflix.

Lootcase: Dir: Rajesh Krishnan. Starring: Kunal Khemu, Rasika Duggal, Vijay Raaz, Gajraj Rao.

This was a charming little movie that had me in splits. A story of a simple man who chances upon a bag full of money. What follows is a hilarious tale of lies, deception and comedy of errors. Kunal Khemu proves that Bollywood does not realize just how talented he is. Vijay Raaz’s deadpan comedy and Gajraj Rao’s evil smiling desperation are a delight to behold. I’m smiling even as I am writing this. This was fun!

Raat Akeli Hai: Dir: Honey Tehran. Starring: Nawazuddin Siddiqui, Radhika Apte, Ila Arun, Shweta Tripathi, Tigmanshu Dhulia.

This was India’s answer to Knives Out. Nawazuddin Siddiqui is at his finest as the honest and frustrated (in more ways than one) police officer who finds himself attracted to the mistress of the murdered man. What follows is a tale so full of twists and turns that I could not predict where it is going. When you have Siddiqui at the helm, you are almost certain to get a good film. But when he is backed by stellar performance from the able cast, that takes the film to another level altogether.

Patal Lok: Dir: Avinash Arun and Prosit Roy. Starring: Jaideep Alhawat, Niraj Kabi, Abhishek Bannerjee, Swastika Mukherjee, Gul Panang, Ishvaak Singh.

Wow. Just. Wow. This is arguably the BEST thing that I have seen all year. On the surface this is an attempted murder case. But what it actually is, is a mirror to our society. It is a human story. A story of greed, corruption, power, violence, misogyny, depravity and true evil. It is a story of love, hope, support, kindness and humanity. It is a story of us. My hats off to the entire cast and crew for coming up with something truly special.

ENGLISH

Haunting of Bly Manor: Created by: Mike Flannagan. Starring: Victoria Pedretti, Oliver Jackson-Cohen, Amelia Eve, T’Nia Miller, Rahul Kohli.

Based on Henry Jame’s Turn of the Screw, this was a poignant tale of love, loss and pain. While it pales in comparison to its brilliant predecessor, Haunting of the Hill House, and the 1961 screen adaptation of the novel, The Innocents, Bly Manor still manages to be a worthy watch. In Mike Flannagan’s deft hands, we get to see a completely different perspective of the Haunting. I won’t say more, for spoilers, but this was definitely one of the better things I watched this year. Especially since I almost eschewed English movies/series this year. (I did watch some forgettable movies like Extraction and Mulan, but even mentioning them here feels sacrilegious.)

Korean

This year, I returned to Korean Dramas after a long time. My last Korean Drama before this year was Faith that I saw in 2014. Since Boys Over Flowers (Read Kim Bum) is my guilty pleasure watch, I decided to have it on in the background sometime in March or April this year. (Honestly, in 2020, who knows?). BOF took me to The King: Eternal Monarch. And TKEM introduced me to Woo Do Hwan who gave me some of the best times in this year. Three of his dramas feature here.

Save Me:- Dir: Kim Sung-soo. Starring: Ok Taec-yeon, Seo Yea-ji, Woo Do Hwan, Jo Sung-ha, Jo Jae-yoon.

Do you fancy a kick to your teeth? Because that is what this series is. What starts a simple story of a regular family’s struggles upon moving to a new town, quickly turns into a harrowing nightmare in which you are simply the viewer. The story delves into cults and the insidious power they hold. Through Seo Yea-ji’s brilliant performance as Im Sang-mi, we see a K drama heroine who is not a damsel in distress. She isn’t the one throwing the punches, that is done by Ok Taec-yeon and Woo Do Hwan. Still she is the one that leads the fight. If that wasn’t enough, Woo Do Hwan, plays Seok Dong-chul. Arguably one of the best male leads I have seen.

Mad Dog:- Dir: Hwang Ui-kyung Starring: Yoo Ji-tae, Woo Do Hwan, Jo Jae-joon, Ryu Hwa-young, Kim Hye-sung.

What a treat this show is! Smart protagonists pitted against equally intelligent antagonists and a taut plot that rarely sags (It does sag just a wee bit in the middle but it picks up pace very quickly). Woo Do Hwan is fantastic as the ever changing, tough to pin down, Kim Min Joon. The layers in this character! This show will keep you guessing. Every cast member is stellar and no one has a single misstep. A must watch!

My Country: Dir: Kim Jin-won Starring: Yang Se Jong, Woo Do Hwan, Kim Seol-hyun, Jang Hyuk.

This series brings a set of very complex emotions in me. Don’t get me wrong. I love the series. Its story, characterization, costumes, cinematography, acting, action scenes, OST. They are top notch. A+. But... and this is a big one, this series is also a glaring display of what happens when a writer falls in love with one of their characters. As a writer, I can say that we love all our characters. But it is very dangerous for a writer to move from simply loving the character to falling in love with the character. When that happens, the writer becomes afraid of letting that particular character make mistakes. Or glosses over their flaws. Often at the expense of the other character. Which is what happened here. The writer fell in love with Seo Hwi and Nam Seon ho paid the price. Hwi could literally assassinate people in front of Hui Jae and still be forgiven for it, while Nam Seon-ho gets demonized for trying to save Hwi by telling lies. I could go on and on about how unfair this series was to Seon-ho, but that would be a separate post altogether.

Tale of a Gumiho: Dir: Kang Shin-hyo Starring: Lee Dong Wook, Jo Bo-ah, Kim Bum.

I started this series for Kim Bum (I LOVE THE GUY). I was prepared for some cheesy, goofy fun with some good looking people. But soon, I was watching it for the story. A smart Urban Fantasy with elements of Korean Mythology, this was UF done right! This series made me do research. I am so tired of seeing the same old myths in fantasy that this came as a breath of fresh air. Intelligent protagonists who communicate well (gasp! what? That happens?). A flip-flopping anti-hero. A truly psychopathic villain and a bunch of other well-fleshed characters make for one entertaining watch. I highly recommend it.

Chinese:

K-dramas made me revive the Tumblr account that I had created sometime in 2017 and which lay dormant since then. Soon, my Tumblr feed was filled with gifs and metas of a show with pretty men. I did not pay much attention to it, till a post about Jin Ling’s Uncle made me snort. Even though I didn’t understand what it was talking about, it was still funny. Realizing that the show is on Netflix, I saw the trailer and wasn’t impressed. Then there was the length. 50 episodes! Holee-moleee. “No. I ain’t got that much time,” I said and moved on. But then, I saw a gif of a man smiling. I had never seen a smile that dazzling. There was something about that smile that made me go back and click on the first episode. And in less than ten minutes of the episode, they killed the man whose smile drew me to the show. WTF? But I had seen gifs of him. There had to be more. Then, the show began and I had no idea what was happening. I decided no smile could be worth the brain-cells I am having to expend for this. Chuck it. But people in Tumblr said, hold on. You will understand it. Episode 2, and I still wasn’t sold. I gave it till episode 5. Then, before I knew it, I finished the 50 episodes and currently reside in the rabbit hole that is The Untamed.

Dir: Zheng Weiwen and Chen Jialin Starring: Xiao Zhan, Wang Yibo, and a host of others. I can’t write the name of the entire cast, even though I want to.

PS: In case you don’t know, the man with the pretty smile is Xiao Zhan.

#2020 year in review #long post warning

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ettadunham · 4 years

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A Buffy rewatch 7x18 Dirty Girls

aka gotta have faith

We did it, guys! We made it to the last season! Also, hello if you’re new, and stumbled upon this without context. As usual, these impromptu text posts are the product of my fevered mind as I rant about the episode I just watched for an hour (okay, sometimes perhaps two). Anything goes!

And in today’s episode, our secondary villain is finally revealed made of pure misogyny, and Faith is here to make everything better.

So... Dirty Girls. We really are in the finish line of the season now.

This episode opens with two scenes that I’m not sure were intended to have the connection I made, but let’s do it anyway. In the first, we’re introduced to Caleb, a priest with extremely misogynistic views of women, who is revealed to be an agent of the First. And one who’s been pulling a lot of its strings in our world at that, like blowing up the council, or organizing the Bringers.

I guess Caleb hates humanity as a whole - he is aligning himself with the First after all -, but he directs pretty much all of that hatred onto women. He calls the Potential he picks up with his truck a ‘whore’ and ‘dirty’, and from his fantasies of his past, you get the idea that he specifically targeted young women using his authority, seduced them, and then turned it around and punished them for it.

Misogyny as a theme happens a lot on the show of course, Buffy fights the patriarchy after all. But when it comes to overt depictions of it, it’s often a bit… well, overt. You want to cheer Buffy for punching the douchebag in the face, but you’re also aware of how it’s an exaggeration of reality, made to get that fistbump reaction out of you.

And actually, that’s something that I think is worth re-examining too. A few years back, when the Supergirl TV show was about to premiere, there were a lot of discussions around this type of overt feminism. When I watched the pilot, I experienced some of these cringe moments myself. But, despite some of the many actual problems of the show and its feminism at the time, it also got me thinking.

Why? Why do I actually feel cringey about this?

And the answer that I found was that I was imagining watching the show from a perspective other than my own. Kind of like watching the 1992 Buffy movie back in the 90s with my brother made me hyperaware of its many faults, instead of giving me a chance to enjoy its culty ridiculousness.

So, while considering other perspectives can be essential in forming critical thought of your media, there’s a difference in trying to understand a minority perspective for instance, and feeling the need to put yourself in the shoes of the dominant culture, and base your opinions with that in mind.

But that’s a tangent inside a tangent.

Disregarding all that, imo the show’s most successful and impactful depictions of misogyny arguably come from characters who don’t always act like monsters. I actually like the bad guy from Reptile Boy for instance. He acts charming and nice to lure Buffy in, and only reveals his true nature, once he holds all the power.

Caleb in that sense then, is the show’s best and most horrifying example of that type of misogynistic evil.

(And yes, we could also talk about the Trio here, but trying to fold them in would be yet another tangent, and it’s time to talk about the actual episode at this point.)

Caleb says to the First that he doesn’t lie... but that’s a lie. He does lie. By wearing the symbol of authority, of someone you can confide in, he tells you that he can be trusted. And yes, there is very much a commentary here about the evil of religion and Catholicism, but the point being is that for someone in that community, Caleb’s appearance signals no threat. And Caleb uses that assumption to his advantage.

He only gradually reveals his true nature to Shannon at the beginning. First by calling her a whore. Because hat that point, he knows that he holds the power in their interaction and that he doesn’t need to pretend to be anything but the monster he is in order to lure her in. Shannon’s guard is down, and he knows that she can’t escape.

Caleb’s misogyny is disturbing because it’s still believable in all of its overtness. He does what he does because he knows that he can. He has the power, and that power reveals all of his deepest darkest thoughts with nothing to keep him in check.

And right after this scene, you get Xander’s dream. Where he dreams about two Potentials coming onto him in a threesome situation (and specifically with the two women also getting it on with each other in front of him, because I guess fetishizing lesbians is still a thing that Xander hasn’t internalized despite his best friend being one), while the rest of the girls are having some sexy pillow-fight in the other room.

So… I guess we’re pairing up scary misogyny with “”fun”” misogyny?

Of course, since this is a dream, we can argue that Xander can’t really be held responsible for it. We don’t have power over our dreams after all. It’s where our subconscious works through stuff, and that doesn’t reflect our persona wholly.

Except then the question still remains – why is this scene here? Why would someone write this scene in, especially in an episode full of these themes? When Xander wakes up, he’s immediately faced with the reality, where his role is to fix the toilets. It’s supposed to be funny. Look how powerless he actually is, compared to the girls.

But then he also gets the big speech moment in the very same episode, supporting Buffy, and then loses an eye to Caleb. How are these things connected? And if they’re not… why is that scene at the beginning there?

I mean, you could interpret Caleb removing one of Xander’s eyes as a punishment for Xander having these ‘urges’… Except Caleb’s comment before doing that doesn’t reference that. It references Xander’s speech from Potential, where he’s telling Dawn that he sees a lot by being underappreciated.

So, that’s probably not what they were going for. And it’s a stretch of an interpretation. In the end, there’s little to no reason for that scene to be there, and therefore I’m left with the impression, that the writers weren’t even aware of the misogynistic angle of Xander fetishizing all these young women in his dream. They just thought it was funny.

God, I wrote 1k workds already, and I haven’t even got to Buffy’s storyline in this.

This episode is setting up the pre-finale twist of everyone turning against Buffy, which I kinda hate. And that bleeds into my thoughts of Dirty Girls, unfortunately.

Like, I get it. Everyone kept telling Buffy that this was a trap, that it was a bad idea to bring the Potentials to confront Caleb without knowing more, and she ignored them. And that got a whole lot of them injured. At least two of them dead. It was a bad call.

On the other hand, didn’t Giles keep telling her in the last episode that she needed to make these hard decisions? That she needed to think big picture, and accept that there would be losses? And now, when he advises her against action, and she makes the damn ‘hard choice’ and ‘acts like a general’ I guess it’s still her fault, huh.

I swear, nothing Buffy ever does is good for these people. And maybe that’s the point we’re making, that leadership is lonely and hard and whatever the fuck, but I’m tired and I kinda hate it.

Buffy fucked up, yes. Okay. But instead of dealing with that, instead of having an honest conversation where we can explore these things, we just vaguely hint at how this is driving a wedge between her and the rest of the group.

Thanks, I hate it.

But hey, at least Faith’s here! The way Eliza Dushku delivers this line in particular is an absolute highlight:

SPIKE: “Not all that tension was about you. Giles was a part of a plan to kill me. For Buffy's own good.” FAITH: “Well, that makes me feel better about me… worse about Giles...kinda shaky about you.”

The show also addresses the fact that no one told Faith about what the fuck was going on. Which… is a bit of a problem, and paints each and every character on Buffy in a pretty bad light? Willow’s whole explanation about how, well, Faith was in prison and they thought she was safe there falls pretty flat (especially since Faith was in fact attacked in prison due to this), and the characters know it. More than anything, it just feels like they all forgot about Faith, and how this whole plan of the First to murder the Slayer line affects her.

And yet, to be honest, I couldn’t help but feel like it was the writers that actually forgot? Or at the very least, thought that it was inconvenient to share this information with Faith, before both shows came to a point where they could integrate her character into the story again?

Anyway, whoever you blame this on, it’s kinda bad.

Overall, Dirty Girls is still chilling and effective, and Faith is a breath of fresh air in this final stretch of the season. I’m just not a big fan of where we’re taking Buffy’s arc here before the big finale, and that shows.

Next up: Wine mom and vodka aunt fight over the kids’ love.

#buffy rewatch 2k19 #btvs talk #btvs

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bountyofbeads · 5 years

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"Trump’s disordered personality...

manifests itself in multiple ways: extreme narcissism...addiction to lying...detachment from reality...affinity for conspiracy theories...petty cheating...and his lack of empathy and sympathy."

Read the whole thing.

https://t.co/3Lq1F4TH8v

Trump Is Not Well

Accepting the reality about the president’s disordered personality is important—even essential.

SEP 9, 2019

Peter Wehner | Published September 9, 2019 | The Atlantic | Posted October 11, 2019 9:00 AM ET |

During the 2016 campaign, I received a phone call from an influential political journalist and author, who was soliciting my thoughts on Donald Trump. Trump’s rise in the Republican Party was still something of a shock, and he wanted to know the things I felt he should keep in mind as he went about the task of covering Trump.

At the top of my list: Talk to psychologists and psychiatrists about the state of Trump’s mental health, since I considered that to be the most important thing when it came to understanding him. It was Trump’s Rosetta stone.

I wasn’t shy about making the same case publicly. During a July 14, 2016, appearance on C-SPAN’s Washington Journal, for example, I responded to a pro-Trump caller who was upset that I opposed Trump despite my having been a Republican for my entire adult life and having served in the Reagan and George H. W. Bush administrations and the George W. Bush White House.

“I don’t oppose Mr. Trump because I think he’s going to lose to Hillary Clinton,” I told Ben from Purcellville, Virginia. “I think he will, but as I said, he may well win. My opposition to him is based on something completely different, which is, first, I think he is temperamentally unfit to be president. I think he’s erratic, I think he’s unprincipled, I think he’s unstable, and I think that he has a personality disorder; I think he’s obsessive. And at the end of the day, having served in the White House for seven years in three administrations and worked for three presidents, one closely, and read a lot of history, I think the main requirement for president of the United States … is temperament, and disposition … whether you have wisdom and judgment and prudence.”

That statement has been validated.

Donald Trump’s disordered personality—his unhealthy patterns of thinking, functioning, and behaving—has become the defining characteristic of his presidency. It manifests itself in multiple ways: his extreme narcissism; his addiction to lying about things large and small, including his finances and bullying and silencing those who could expose them; his detachment from reality, including denying things he said even when there is video evidence to the contrary; his affinity for conspiracy theories; his demand for total loyalty from others while showing none to others; and his self-aggrandizement and petty cheating.

It manifests itself in Trump’s impulsiveness and vindictiveness; his craving for adulation; his misogyny, predatory sexual behavior, and sexualization of his daughters; his open admiration for brutal dictators; his remorselessness; and his lack of empathy and sympathy, including attacking a family whose son died while fighting for this country, mocking a reporter with a disability, and ridiculing a former POW. (When asked about Trump’s feelings for his fellow human beings, Trump’s mentor, the notorious lawyer Roy Cohn, reportedly said, “He pisses ice water.”)

The most recent example is the president’s bizarre fixation on falsely insisting that he was correct to warn that Alabama faced a major risk from Hurricane Dorian, to the point that he doctored a hurricane map with a black Sharpie to include the state as being in the path of the storm.

“He’s deteriorating in plain sight,” one Republican strategist who is in frequent contact with the White House told Business Insider on Friday. Asked why the president was obsessed with Alabama instead of the states that would actually be affected by the storm, the strategist said, “You should ask a psychiatrist about that; I’m not sure I’m qualified to comment.”

We have repeatedly heard versions of that sentiment over the course of Trump’s presidency. It’s said that speculating on Trump’s mental health is inappropriate and unwise, especially for those who are not formally trained in the field of psychiatry or psychology.

That’s true, up to a point. Yes, it is best to leave it to experts to determine whether Trump satisfies the criteria for a clinical diagnosis of antisocial personality disorder, narcissistic personality disorder, some combination of both, or nothing at all.

But if a clinical diagnosis is beyond my own expertise, Trump’s psychological impairments are obvious to all who are not willfully blind. On a daily basis we see the president’s chaotic, unstable mind on display. Are we supposed to ignore that?

An analogy may be helpful here. If smoke is coming out from under the hood of your car, if you notice puddles of oil under it, if the engine is overheating and you smell burning oil, you don’t have to be a car mechanic to know that something is wrong with your car.

Accepting the reality about Trump’s disordered personality is important and even essential. For one thing, it will help us to better react to Trump’s freak show.

Even now, almost a thousand days into his presidency, the latest Trump outrage elicits shock and disbelief in people. The reaction is, “Can you believe he said that and did this?”

To which my response is, “Why are you surprised?” It’s a shock only if the assumption is that we’re dealing with a psychologically normal human being. We’re not. Trump is profoundly compromised, acting just as you would imagine a person with a disordered personality would. Many Americans haven’t yet come to terms with the fact that we elected as president a man who is deeply damaged, an emotional misfit. But it would be helpful if they did.

Among other things, it would keep us feeling less startled and disoriented, less in a state of constant agitation, less susceptible to provocations. Donald Trump thrives on creating chaos, on gaslighting us, on creating antipathy among Americans, on keeping people on edge and off balance. He wants to dominate our every waking hour. We ought not grant him that power over us.

It might also take some of the edge off the hatred many people feel for Trump. Seeing him for what he is—a terribly damaged soul, a broken man, a person with a disordered mind—should not lessen our revulsion at how Trump mistreats others, at his cruelty and dehumanizing actions. Nor should it weaken our resolve to stand up to it. It does complicate the picture just a bit, though, eliciting some pity and sorrow for Trump.

But above all, accepting the truth about Trump’s mental state will cause us to take more seriously than we have our democratic duty, which is to prevent a psychologically and morally unfit person from becoming president.

The office is too powerful, and the consequences are too dangerous, to allow a person to become president who views morality only through the prism of whether an action advances his own narrow interests, his own distorted desires, his own twisted impulses. When an individual comes to believe his interests and those of the nation he leads are one and the same, it opens the door to all sorts of moral and constitutional devilry.

Whether or not his disorders are diagnosable, the president’s psychological flaws are all too apparent. They were alarming when he took the oath of office; they are worse now. Every day Donald Trump is president is a day of disgrace. And a day of danger.

PETER WEHNER is a contributing writer at The Atlantic and a senior fellow at the Ethics and Public Policy Center. He writes widely on political, cultural, religious, and national-security issues, and he is the author of The Death of Politics: How to Heal Our Frayed Republic After Trump.

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rapeculturerealities · 6 years

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The seemingly unassailable world of the male creative genius seems to be crumbling: Roman Polanski and Bill Cosby were recently expelled from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Junot Diaz stepped down as Pulitzer Prize chair after multiple women have spoken out about his pattern of harassment; and, 10 years after David Foster Wallace’s death, Mary Karr is reminding the world of his persistent abuse and stalking. In this unique social and political moment, a previously untouchable artistic archetype has finally become something close to vulnerable.

Genius is power. It is unquantifiable, uncontainable, and like beauty, exists in the eyes of the beholder. Genius enhances access—sexual, social, economic, political. It is a collective agreement—or, in many cases, a collective lie—that grants boundless latitude to those we anoint with the title.

But genius is also an indelibly gendered currency used by men—almost always men—of means and success to purchase license. The lie of genius is inextricable from the lie of meritocracy: Culture dictates that these men have risen to fame and success because of their unstoppable genius. But now that so many geniuses stand accused of abuses of power including sexual assault and violence; and as debates about separating the art from the artist spill into every corner of media and pop culture, the aesthetic alibi that artistic genius exists unfettered by lowly considerations like morality may no longer hold up under scrutiny.

With the rise of auteur theory in the mid–20th century, film joined the ranks of other fine arts, like painting and writing, that have long cultivated the mythology of the genius. Auteur theory, originating in French film criticism, credits the director with being the chief creative force behind a production—that is, the director is the “author.” Given that film, with its expansive casts and crews, is one of the most collaborative art forms ever to have existed, the myth of a singular genius seems exceptionally flawed to begin with. But beyond the history of directors like Terrence Malick, Woody Allen, and many more using their marketable auteur status as a “business model of reflexive adoration,” auteur worship both fosters and excuses a culture of toxic masculinity. The auteur’s time-honored method of “provoking” acting out of women through surprise, fear, and trickery—though male actors have never been immune, either— is inherently abusive. Quentin Tarantino, Lars Von Trier, Alfred Hitchcock, Stanley Kubrick, and David O. Russell, among others, have been accused of different degrees of this, but the resulting suffering of their muses is imagined by a fawning fanbase as “creative differences,” rather than as misogyny and as uncompromising vision rather than violence. Allegations that Tarantino forced Uma Thurman, for instance, to disastrously perform her own driving stunt in Kill Bill: Volume 2—as she put it, part of a dehumanization “to the point of death”—is not dissimilar to Alfred Hitchcock’s torment of the actress Tippi Hedren, both dynamics masquerading as artist-muse relationships transcending common sense. As Imran Siddiquee writes of genius directors and abusive behavior: “Many of the ‘greatest’ artists in our most influential visual artform continue to be celebrated for their own obsessive, often abusive exercises of power and control.”

Daniel Day-Lewis’s temperamental dressmaker Reynolds Woodcock in 2017’s critically lauded Paul Thomas Anderson film Phantom Thread has all the makings of a genius: He is successful; he is considered a visionary by the elite; he is messy; he is twisted; and he preys on young women. Phantom Thread was a frontrunner in the Oscars race this year, along with Darkest Hour, a character study of of Winston Churchill at the dawn of Britain’s entry into World War II. Gary Oldman (alleged wife beater), won Best Actor for his role as Churchill; elsewhere at the Oscars, Kobe Bryant (charged with sexual assault in 2003) won for best animated short. Guillermo Del Toro took home the Best Director Oscar for The Shape of Water, which also won Best Picture—and while the film’s win is notable given that no film with a female protagonist has won the award in 14 years, Del Toro’s explicit supportof Roman Polanski (accused of sexual assault by five people; charged with drugging and raping a minor and then fleeing the United States to avoid sentencing) make his position as a supposedly progressive director a tenuous one at best. The Academy Awards have always been deeply entrenched in establishment capitalism and Hollywood liberal lip service, but amid the flurry of the #MeToo and #TimesUp movements, the 2018 awards offered an instructive example of what still holds primacy in the film industry: the sometimes difficult and troubled, often abusive, and always male genius.

Men like Polanski retain artistic cred and social license because gatekeepers and fans argue that their cultural contributions outweigh their individual transgressions and crimes. It is not that passive consumers of art don’t recognize that their idols may be flawed: It’s that genius is imagined as a separate faculty that exists beyond ethics and morality. Genius is unemotional and objective, elevated beyond such paltry concerns. Of course the generous leaps of imagination and apologism offered to men of genius do not apply to women and gender-nonconforming creators, so if the latter should distinguish themselves, it is not because they are genius, but it is because they are “different.”

Superlative women have always been encouraged to believe they are notable because of an inherent “difference” from other girls; this difference is what distinguishes them in creative fields dominated by white men. I once thought I had the “androgynous mind” Virginia Woolf says is necessary to creativity. Mary Wollstonecraft, in her groundbreaking 1792 treatise A Vindication Of The Rights Of Woman, wondered whether the “few extraordinary women” in history were indeed “male spirits, confined by mistake to female frames.” Even Ursula K. Le Guin, whose revolutionary fiction challenged contemporary humanity’s preoccupation with gender, said some strange stuff about her own conception of herself as a “generic he,” a “poor imitation,” and a “substitute man.”

While we know it is both reductive and essentialist to reason this way, it’s historically understandable. The cultural misogyny that underlies the archetype of the male genius has ancient roots. According to Christine Battersby’s 1989 book Gender and Genius: Towards a Feminist Aesthetics, the 19th-century reworked an “older rhetoric of sexual exclusion” from Renaissance ideas about sexual difference in the arts (which were themselves based on the ancient Greeks and Romans). But the Romantics contributed something unique to “anti-female traditions”: While emotionality and expression—traditionally “feminine” attributes—rose in prominence, women themselves were further downgraded as artistic inferiors. Notes Battersby: “The Romantic artist feels strongly and lives intensely: the authentic work of art captures the special character of his experience.” And his art became his individualistic expression.

Originality and creativity wasn’t always inherent to artistic practice. Greeks thought of art as mimetic; the poet as a prophet; painting and sculpture pretty facsimiles of the natural world. The Middle Ages similarly viewed the artist as ungod-like, simply an imitator rather than a creator. The term “masterpiece,” had less to do with terrific originality and more to do with the “piece of work produced by an apprentice who showed sufficient skill.” A master was a “trade-union leader”—and women were active in these guilds as well. “Hostility towards women in the arts only increased when the status of the artist began to be distinguished from that of the craftsman…suitable only for the most perfect (male) specimens of humanity,” writes Battersby. She dates this change to when artists began gaining patronage during the Renaissance, freeing artistic creation from religious restrictions. In other words, when a great deal of money entered into the equation, art became profitable and it suited men to push out competition.

The modern term “genius” comes from the melding of two words: “genius,” a symbol of fertility represented by a little boy, and “ingenuity,” or skill. While Renaissance women lacked genius, they were artistic inferiors because they lacked “ingenium”—according to Juan Huarte’s 1575 Examen de Ingenius, men, in the Aristotelian fashion, were hot and dry; women, cold and wet, were a “lesser man.” (Aristotle also thought women were “flower pots” and sterile—creativity and procreativity both being male attributes.) Huarte’s physiological reasoning, though widely discredited, was later referenced by Schopenhauer, whose argument that women “lack all higher mental faculties” is a good example of Romantic reworking of cultural misogyny. (It might be worth noting that Schopenhauer is a well-known touchstone of Woody Allen’s many autobiographically based neurotic male protagonists.)

Further, madness and deviance were idiosyncrasies worked into the masculine artistic template. Artists, once expected to uphold societal values, became “countercultural” around the time of Lord Byron, who was once described by an ex-lover as “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” The image of the antihero, the messy, the eccentric, the intoxicated artist persisted from the Romantic period through today. And while craziness was celebrated in the elite men, “female madness” was stigmatized. As Vox writer Tara Isabella Burton notes, the male artistic establishment begets the tortured, unruly genius sex: “That female flesh is the reward for a male job well done is not an uncommon cultural phenomenon in any field, but in the arts, that dynamic often takes on a faux-spiritual aspect.”

Even as the #MeToo movement picks up momentum, famous men who have sustained public critique in the past few months are already plotting their comebacks, with ample assistance from industry media. Tarantino, a man accused of choking Thurman and Diane Kruger for the sake of on-camera authenticity; who told Rose McGowan he used to jerk off to her; and who publicly defended Polanski, has unveiled his latest enterprise: a movie about Charles Manson. Charlie Rose has reportedly floated a comeback via a talk show in which he would interview men like Louis C.K. brought down by#MeToo—thereby facilitating their own comebacks—and Matt Lauer apparently hopes to be back on television screens as well. Despite the recent spate of high-profile falls from grace, the culture of media and art world are arranged such that neither whisper nor lawsuit will be able to fell geniuses for long.

Those who try to separate the art from the artist are setting up an illogical argument: The art was alwaysseparated, which is why these male auteurs had the the license, the support, and the cover to victimize as they did and still make more celebrated art. In the aftershocks of predatory unveilings, we have seen multitudes mourn the loss of the genius of these men. We need to now consider that we have elevated what we’ve inscribed as genius at the expense of the humanity and potential of people they silenced, erased, and preyed upon. We need to examine the destruction wrought by the archetype, and acknowledge that we have let it fuel rape culture and sexual exploitation. We need to acknowledge that genius has been a construct all along—that it may not actually exist.

#MeToo #Art #entertainment #TV #movies #Hollywood #sexism

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letterboxd · 5 years

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Action. Comedy.

“The ’90s were not kind to the genre. I think they got a little bit goofy.” —Tripper Clancy, screenwriter of Stuber.

It’s long past time the buddy-action-comedy genre made a comeback. Letterboxd’s West Coast editor Dominic Corry met the stars and creators of the new buddy throwback Stuber, which plonks a scruffy Dave Bautista into an ever-escalating R-rated scenario with Kumail Nanjiani.

Once a reliable staple of studio summer schedules, the humble buddy-action-comedy hasn’t had much of a role to play in popular culture in the last decade or so. Into this relative void comes Stuber, a loving attempt to resurrect the form, clearly made by huge fans of the genre.

Nascent global star Kumail Nanjiani, fresh off his Oscar nomination for co-writing The Big Sick with wife Emily V. Gordon, stars as a part-time Uber driver named Stu, who endures the titular nickname care of a co-worker at a sporting goods store.

Stu’s world is rocked when his car is commandeered by Vic, a grizzled LAPD detective played by Dave Bautista, the former WWE superstar who went on to steal the Guardians of the Galaxy films and reveal dramatic depth in Blade Runner 2049.

Vic is hunting a killer, but can’t drive, so Stu is dragged into an ever-escalating series of encounters across Los Angeles. Iko Uwais, Karen Gillan, Natalie Morales and Mira Sorvino round out the supporting cast.

Although Stuber proudly positions itself as following in the legacy of films like 48 Hrs., Beverly Hills Cop and Lethal Weapon, it also represents a perhaps necessary evolution of those kinds of movies, which is something we touched on recently with the film’s producers Jonathan Goldstein and John Francis Daley (who, together, wrote Spider-Man: Homecoming and directed Game Night), in addition to speaking to Nanjiani, Bautista and screenwriter Tripper Clancy at the world premiere at SXSW earlier this year.

What, if anything, about the action comedy did you feel needed to be updated in revisiting this genre? John Francis Daley (producer): As much as I love and have an affinity for action comedies in the ’80s, there is a bit of misogyny that is inherent in that genre, and that’s something that we wanted to address.

Jonathan Goldstein (producer): And also sort of a clichéd version of what masculinity means. This was an opportunity to undermine that cliché. Bautista playing the sort of Nick Nolte throwback character, and Kumail coming in to drop a grenade into that trope.

You don’t write a film like this without being a fan of action comedies. What did you learn about the genre that you maybe didn’t know before you decided to write your own? Tripper Clancy (screenwriter): I learned that it all hinges on the central relationship. At some level, all movies do, but some people [focus on]: “What are the set pieces gonna be in an action comedy? What are the funny beats gonna be?” But at the end of the day, if the relationship doesn’t work…

I think that’s why I’m drawn to Midnight Run and 48 Hrs. specifically, because those central relationships, they drive the whole movie. You can go on an adventure with those guys anywhere. So I wanted for Vic and for Stu, the two main characters, I wanted the audience [to be willing to] go on a ride anywhere with them that we took ’em.

You want to put them in weird places and you want them to learn from each other, but I think it’s hard to do, and even Beverly Hills Cop does it, but he’s kind of a lone wolf in that movie a lot of the time. Lethal Weapon is one of the all-time greats because those two guys, their relationship is what drives those movies.

We haven’t seen many of these specifically ’80s-esque action comedies in a while. Is it a genre you think has the potential to come back? TC: I hope so. I think the ’90s were not kind to the genre. I think they got a little bit goofy. And they kind of removed themselves from reality, just based on someone’s star power. But one of the things I love that the studio did on this movie is they didn’t go to the people that have done this a hundred times. For Dave, for Kumail, this is the first time they’re playing these kinds of roles, and I think there’s a freshness to that that the audience is really going to appreciate.

Yeah, action comedies got a bit family-friendly there for a while. But this is unashamedly R-rated. TC: This is R-rated. It’s very violent. There’s a lot of blood. It’s not for kids. I’ve got two kids at home, they won’t see this for about ten more years, it’s fine with me. It’s edgy, it’s got some darkness to it, so I hope people appreciate that.

Was there an action comedy that really attracted you to the genre when you were a kid? Kumail Nanjiani (Stu): I watched Midnight Run later, I didn’t watch it when I was a little kid. But that’s a movie that really to me is sort of the gold standard of this genre of movie. It’s so perfect and intimidating. I’m trying to think what other… Turner & Hooch I liked as a kid but I haven’t seen that in a while. I also liked Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot as a little kid, but haven’t seen that in a while either.

How would you say Stuber updates the classic action comedy? Dave Bautista (Vic): I don’t know if it updates it. We’re not breaking down any walls here. We’re not creating anything. It’s a new twist on it, it’s a new spin. It’s two different characters. I think what we do bring to the action comedy is a lot of heart.

There are a lot of really emotional beats in this, which you don’t often see with action comedies. And if you look at the [action comedy] stuff lately, The Rock has done it with Kevin Hart, it’s mostly laughs and a lot of action. But you don’t often have tear-jerking moments, and we have plenty of those in this film. There’s some great arcs in this film. Some great learning lessons in this film. The characters depend on each other and learn from each other and grow as human beings. I hope that’s what sets us apart.

Kumail Nanjiani and Dave Bautista at the world premier of ‘Stuber’.

You’ve often talked about wanting to do something new with each role. What was new about this role for you? DB: There’s the scruff. I’ve done scruffy before, but I’ve never let my hair grow out, and I’m really self-conscious about letting my hair grow out because it’s thin and the director was like “Could ya?” and I was like “Oh man!”. But I did, I grew my hair out so I would be kind of just scruffy and surly for this. But also he asked me to wear a little [fat] suit, so I’ve got a little belly. And so I kind of loved that because he really just wanted me to break away from my physicality and just depend on my acting chops. When a director sees that in me, it’s a win for me.

We loved your performance in Blade Runner 2049. DB: Oh thanks, I appreciate it. I’m working with [director] Denis [Villeneuve] again.

Yes! On Dune! DB: Dude, I’m so excited.

What a cast! DB: I know right? It’s like: how the hell am I in this movie?

‘Stuber’ is in cinemas now.

#stuber #kumail nanjiani #dave bautista #buddy movie #action #comedy #midnight run #guardians of the galaxy #the big sick #letterboxd

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cinemorg · 5 years

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Captain Marvel (2019)

Part 1:

By the standards of superhero movies, Captain Marvel is not a very good one, so I don’t think there’s much here to appreciate. It follows a similar formula to more entertaining Marvel films but it feels like an imitation. There’s little effort to explain what exactly is happening in the plot or why you should care. Maybe empires are fighting against each other? Maybe there’s terrorism? Brie Larson is supposed to be some kind of trained super weapon, but her powers are kind of unclear (vaguely Superman-like but I don’t think the audience ever learns what her weaknesses or limits are). Do we even see all of her powers in action? Hard to tell, because until the very end of the movie she’s forced to suppress them almost completely, only using them to irritate her mentor and break a jukebox. There’s a plot twist at the end where you learn that a barely present alien who seems evil because he has a Cockney accent has a surprise motivation, but by that point it’s hard to be very concerned about it.

A major draw of Disney-Marvel movies is its likable protagonists and moments of levity, but Larson has only the barest amount of natural charisma, so the sassy personality the script forces onto her falls almost completely flat. This is especially true during scenes when she’s talking down to other characters who don’t even know what’s happening, let alone have any ability to react to it with wit and poise. Her inability to control her emotions is also apparently supposed to be one of her character’s defining traits, but the only emotion she ever expresses is like...a low level of anger. More irritation, really. Actually there is very nearly no emotion shown in this film at all, except for a bizarre scene where Captain Marvel is sitting by a window with her best friend after reuniting with her after a long absence, and her friend tries to get on her case about coming back after several years away and expecting to be welcomed warmly. That...might be an ok scene if it hadn’t already been established that her absence was due to alien abduction and brainwashing. It’s not like she ran off to Tibet to find herself, or went on a years-long bender, or anything else where she might have had any agency. It’s not exactly selfish to get kidnapped. My impression was that it was a late-stage addition, maybe shoe-horned in because someone noticed this ostensibly feminist film was not otherwise going to pass the Bechdel test. In any case, it’s an eye-roller. Lots of those.

That brings us to...

Part 2:

Captain Marvel really wants you to know that it’s aware of feminism, and the way it tells you that it’s aware of feminism is by misunderstanding it so thoroughly and proudly that you absolutely cannot ignore it. It plays like it was written by an aging politician who recently heard that girls play sports now and thinks it’s a good opportunity to “connect with a younger demographic.”

Without going too much into feminist intersectionality, I will say that this movie’s most serious error is in its heavy investment in the completely outdated idea that feminism is primarily about allowing women into historically male-dominated spaces such as sports and the military. This is wrong. The goal of feminism is not to incorporate more people into our violent, hyper-competitive patriarchal social structures. The goal is to shift social paradigms to emphasize cooperation, peaceful solutions to conflict, and greater empathetic understanding in our diverse modern communities.

This is a war movie that declines to even question the value of war, only going so far as to suggest that genocide is probably wrong (bravo, very brave). Captain Marvel is 100% down with macho posturing, emotionless violence, mass destruction, and hunger for military valor. Her friends and allies seem to feel the same way, and we all get to laugh and sigh as an innocent teen girl expresses her admiration for Marvel by encouraging her to go into battle and use her superior firepower to kill as many people as possible. It’s gross, stupid, and irresponsible. Many men feel trapped, alone, hopeless, and ashamed their entire lives because this is the kind of story they’ve been told about what it means to be strong and courageous and prove their worth. It’s a crisis-level failure of our culture that we value men based on their ability to dominate their antagonists and subjugate the weak, and the very last thing we need to do is to extend that merciless mindset to women as well.

Beyond that, remember when I mentioned eye-rollers? We learn about Marvel’s struggles with misogyny largely through brief video montages of 1.) men discouraging her and making inappropriate comments in her presence (gasp!), and 2.) her as a girl literally falling down and getting back up several times throughout her youth while she races go-karts, plays baseball, and trains to be a soldier (wow!). There’s a scene where she’s beating people up and when she really gets going, Just A Girl by No Doubt starts playing. Actually there is a lot of 90s music here (nearly the only way the audience is ever reminded that the movie takes place in the 90s), but all of it is radio hits, which conveniently excludes all music by Riot Grrrl bands who were making extremely important anti-patriarchal feminist music during exactly the same era. Annette Bening plays a god-like “Supreme Intelligence” who rules over a vast interplanetary empire, and even though I think she’s supposed to be an advanced supercomputer, she seems to feel irrational human emotion and engages in pointless bullying. The plotline involving Marvel’s best friend (which has only a threadbare connection to the comics) could possibly have been constructed in a way that added diversity to the cast in a serious way, but her friend comes off more as a Magical Negro type than a fully imagined character. It’s just so much lazy, amateurish bullshit and it’s exhausting.

So uhh how wild is this movie? This is not wild. No ma’am.

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thedeadflag · 7 years

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Looking For the Magic (Pt 4)

Tentative title for Option B, the magical Witch Fic WIP one-shot I’ve been struggling to finish. I’ll be posting blocks of this with the tags #lookingforthemagic and #witchfic, in case you don’t want a few thousand words muddying up your dash. I think mobile still doesn’t use the ‘read more’ function, so I figure this would be as good a workaround for folks.

Content Warning (for the story as a whole): transphobia, cissexism, physical assault, misogyny, sexual content

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Part 4 under the cut

Anya stood in front of the slightly foggy bathroom mirror, hands on the sink, letting her body cool down a bit to where she could think straight. It wasn't as if she hadn't had sex before, but this was bigger in some ways, and it was the first time she'd had a partner who seemed as into her as she was into them. It was the first time a partner didn't look to expect her to be the so-called 'dominant' one of the two, the 'aggressor', the 'top'.

Not that she couldn't pull it off somewhat convincingly if pushed to, she had in the past, but there had always been a large part of her that wanted to be able to let go completely, and she couldn't do that when she was completely taking care of a partner in a very specific way and performing a role they needed of her. She always had to keep some part of herself hidden away. Usually a major part.

Fact was, yeah, she was a warrior. She was one of the coven's primary weapons, and she'd bash skulls and use her powers to ruin any threat she came across, but when she got back home, she wanted to let go. With her powers, her role in the coven, she always had to be this pillar of strength, and being trans, she had to be bulletproof and fierce to hold her own and keep from bringing about another referendum on her womanhood.

It was tiring. She took care of her coven every day, she protected herself every day. It shouldn't have been too much to ask for someone to want to take care of her, to protect her, even if just sometimes. It shouldn't have been so hard for people to accept that she could be strong in some less traditional ways.

Costia always said being vulnerable, truly vulnerable and open in front of someone, was a show of incredible strength. Maybe it had taken six months of therapy and a being helplessly bedridden for two weeks to bring her around to the idea, but Anya believed it. She wanted to be strong like that for someone, where she wasn't forced to show that vulnerable side of herself, but instead could willingly trust it with another. She wanted to be with someone who could handle that kind of strength from her instead of wanting her to be something she wasn't.

Clarke, as unlikely a candidate as any, seemed up to the task. She seemed to want her for her, no masks, no roles, no fetishistic shit, but Anya just wanted to be sure. Thus, the breather.

"Okay...I can do this. Clarke's apparently always been attracted to me, and was only put off because she thought I leaked her secret. And she's been nice and remorseful since we figured shit out...and I know I've always liked her, except for when she was trying to kill me and when I thought she was transphobic enough to out me. I know there's a risk, but is it wrong of me to want to give this a shot and see what comes of it?" She rambled to herself, taking a few deep breaths before shaking her head. "I hope it's not. I just want this to be okay. She likes me, I like her, and...and she already knows about me, so we're good. We're good. I can at least give this a chance. I deserve a chance at happiness."

Mind made up, Anya grabbed her things and made her way to the bedroom, brow furrowing as the sound of some sort of music met her ears from behind the closed door. Curious, Anya creaked open the door and peeked her head in, being met with the sight of Clarke sitting at the end of the densely towel-covered bed with a pile of pillows at her feet, soft tinkly nature music playing from the old speaker system.

"Clarke, may I come in?" She asked, prompting the woman at hand to shoot up from the bed, posture stiff and nervous.

"Of course, yeah, absolutely, come in!" Clarke let out at a rapid pace, her blushing clear even under the dim, candlelit conditions. "I, uh...I spruced the place up while you were gone."

Anya shot the other blonde a smile, even if it twisted a bit with her confusion as she took in the sight of spare water bottles stacked atop the dresser. "You didn't have to do that, Clarke."

"I wanted to. I know it's really fast, but I like you, and if you want to tone it down and go casual, or go slow, we can do that, too. I just...I wanted to try and make it special. Or as much as I can." Clarke explained, vocal pace slowing there at the end as the woman's gaze fell to the ground.

Anya was almost glad Clarke didn't see the utter shock she displayed at the words. "Special?" She asked, voice dropping to a whisper as she closed the distance to Clarke, enough to reach out and lift the woman's chin with the tips of her fingers. "You wanted to make it special? For me?"

It was unfathomable. Sex had never been very special for her in the past, and now it was her former nemesis taking the initiative to make their time together special. It was both absurd and heartwarming, and had Anya gravitating ever closer to the beautiful blonde before her.

Clarke let out a heavy breath and nodded, eyes still downcast and averted, even after Anya stroked a thumb across her cheek. "I don't understand it all. We go from enemies, to...something else...and my mind's been trying to figure out what you are to me, and every time I make a decision, it keeps telling me I'm wrong, that you're even more important, that I need to be closer. Until now. When I had you in my arms, I just...I knew that's exactly where I'd have to be for us to figure it out together...and I want to figure it out with you. And you deserve better than some quick screw on the couch, Anya."

Astonished, Anya stepped away from Clarke and made her way to the dresser to take in the candles. Some of them were scented, but it was lilac. She liked lilac. "And you think I deserve, what...romance?" She asked, baffled that Clarke jumped through hoops to set a mood for the both of them. It was entirely new territory for her.

"This? Not romance. It's a crude facsimile of it, but it was the best I could do in fifteen minutes with what I could find in the cabin. And the music's not romantic, but it...you know, I'll just go turn it off, actua..." Anya had been mesmerized by the other blonde's rambling up to the point where Clarke started towards the old iPod dock.

Her instincts kicked in quickly. "Clarke!" She yelled out, freezing the other woman in place. Feeling sheepish for yelling and maybe ruining the mood, Anya stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper as she moved up beside the sound system. "Please don't."

"It's just music I use when I paint. I go out and into the woods and nature, and I see so many things, and take pictures and sketches that can't capture it, I need paint. But I can't paint out in the rough, so I come home, and I use this to get back into the feeling, the memories, and...I...I'm sorry it's not more romantic." Clarke finished her rambling with a sigh, head dipping in apparent defeat, contrasting heavily with the adoration blooming in Anya's chest.

"No, don't apologize. Clarke, I love it. It reminds me of simpler times, it's soothing...and it makes you remember your passions." Anya countered, trying to lift the other blonde's spirits, because it really had been a thoughtful touch.

Clarke's head lifted slightly, enough for the woman's sparkling sapphire blue eyes to peer at her through her lashes. "I don't think I'll need to draw on any of my passions if I have you here with me." Clarke murmured, stepping into Anya's space and wrapping arms around her waist. "So what did you have to go get?"

Anya swallowed hard and nodded, shifting back to reality, where everything could potentially fuck up again. "I don't get real wet, or at least it takes time for me to get really wet, so...all the rubbing and friction...it'd start to hurt more than anything soon enough, so I got some lubes. We don't have to use them, we don't have to do anything sexual, we don't..."

"Anya, babe..." Clarke interrupted, lifting a finger to Anya's lips, silencing her. "If you're not ready, that won't change anything for me. We can still be close. We can still figure this out. But if you're ready, then I'm on board. And I'd want you comfortable, and not hurting when we're trying to feel good. I like using lube, too, so it's not a problem for me. Do I need to know anything else?"

She let her eyes slip shut, adding the slightest pressure against Clarke's finger with her lips as she let herself be at ease. Clarke was mindful, and sweet, and showed all the signs that she wanted them both to enjoy each other. That was enough for Anya to push past the last of her major inner defenses.

"I don't stretch all that much. I'm working with a bit more than seven and a half inches of depth. If you're gonna penetrate with something other than your hand...so long as you ease me in, I'm good with most sizes, and if you want it rough anywhere, I'd prefer it be anal, please." Anya spoke once Clarke's finger vacated her lips. She felt a little self-conscious, never having had anyone ask about her sexual boundaries before, even if she usually ended up giving them uninvited. It was reassuring that Clarke took the initiative. "Past that, I really like kissing, my scalp is sensitive in the best of ways, and I'm like a dog...if you play with my stomach, I'll love you forever."

Honestly, she added that last bit in mostly due to nerves and anxiety kicking in, but the way Clarke smiled afterward had Anya feeling warm and fuzzy inside.

"What about you, Clarke? I want to make sure I don't do anything that could hurt you or make you uncomfortable." She added, wanting to make sure Clarke felt included and cared for as well.

Clarke let out a faint "oh", mouth practically a perfect circle before the other blonde gave a nod. "I'm, uh, pretty easy going. Receiving anal's a no-go for me, and my breasts are too sensitive to bite, especially around my nipples. And I need to take my meds before I fall asleep...and if this goes like I think it will, I'll want to fall asleep with you in my arms when we're finished, but I need to take my meds. I put them on the nightstand, I'm set for another dose in two hours, or maybe later if need be. I know they're my responsibility, but if you could help me out?"

"Of course, Clarke." She answered immediately, knowing how important keeping to a schedule was with medication. The last thing she wanted was for Clarke to end up in distress.

"And, uh...I guess maybe Costia saw something like this coming, because I checked under the bed for Lexa's candles, and right beside them was my toy box that I lent her a month ago. Not sure how I feel about them anticipating this, but...maybe it might be interesting?" Clarke asked, teetering her weight from one leg to the next, and back, clearly a bit nervous.

Honestly, outside of some little tricks Indra taught her to make, Anya used toys pretty often. "Can we take a look?"

Clarke ducked her head slightly, blushing hard again. "I...yeah, for sure. Just don't judge me or anything, okay?"

Wanting to try and break whatever anxious haze Clarke was knee-deep in, she took hold of the underside of Clarke's chin and pressed a lingering, chaste kiss to her lips, waiting until she could feel the tension release before stepping away and moving to the large box beside the bed.

It was a decent size, and apparently for good reason as she opened it up and took in the sight of Clarke's collection. Wow...ankle spreader, flogger, restraints...someone's into bdsm...ooh, cute paddle with heart indentations... Anya mused to herself before something big and shiny caught her eye.

As soon as she realized what it was, she picked it up to get a better look at it. "Ohhhh my g...okay, so that...that, uh, it's..." Clarke sputtered out, clearly worried about what Anya might think, for whatever reason.

As if it was the first time she'd ever seen a butt plug. "It'll definitely do. The fact that it's capped by a heart-shaped gem is a little precious, but maybe it's a nice break from my more utilitarian set back home." She interjected, allowing herself another moment of studying the cute gem before meeting Clarke's eyes, smiling at the relief there. "Clarke, I'm single. I have been for some time. I told you I like anal. It's not very comfortable using my hands directly for everything, so..."

"Okay, I get it, I'm an idiot." Clarke laughed, lighting her hands in mock surrender.

"Perhaps, but a moderately enchanting one at least." Anya threw the offhanded compliment out as she went to her luggage by the door and hauled it into a free corner, pulling out her lubes. "These should do nicely. The rest can wait for later."

Oddly enough, she didn't startle when Clarke's arms wrapped around her waist from behind, the other woman having approached silently. "So...later on, if I want to use a strap-on..."

Anya let out a low laugh and leaned into Clarke's body a little. "Please, if that's what you want, I'm happy to oblige. And don't be concerned about size, obviously...regardless of your choice, I'll be fine." She answered, holding up the steel plug in hopes of making her point from the circumference of it alone.

"Of course you will. I told you I wouldn't hurt you. I'll take good care of you." Clarke murmured, head dipping forward to plant a pair of kisses to the crook of her neck, only further searing those words into her heart, Anya deeply wanting that to be true.

The way Clarke's hands splayed out across her abs, the gentle press of the other blonde's frame into hers, the sweet kisses on her neck, it all had Anya feeling she could trust this.

That just maybe, she could be entirely free with Clarke.

Clarke was riding a bit of a high as she pressed kiss after fluttering kiss to Anya's neck and shoulders, not just to show her affection for the other woman, but to buy time to calm down a bit. Anya had taken a good long look into her little treasure chest and hadn't blinked or flinched. No, Anya just pulled out the way oversized booty-bling butt plug she'd been given as a gag gift by Octavia. And when she'd stammered out nervously, Anya had reassured her.

And that helped, but damn if she wasn't still working on getting her nerves under control. She wasn't quite sure how to handle Anya. On one hand, she'd never seen Anya so shy and soft, but on the other hand, the woman was still very certain with her words, and her body language had Clarke under the impression that the aggressive, powerful Anya was resting right beneath the surface, ready to pop out at any time.

And while that could be exciting, maybe it wasn't what she wanted tonight to be. She'd initiated so much of the pain sent Anya's way. She wanted to be the one to initiate the healing and to earn Anya's trust in recovering their connection.

Still, she had to be careful, and as much as she wanted to go overboard like she so often liked to, Clarke held that part of herself back as she brought her hands to Anya's jeans and unbuttoned them. "You good to get this started?" She asked softly, pressing another kiss to Anya's neck.

"I believe so." Anya mused openly, turning in Clarke's arms while pulling her top off. Clarke watched the woman back away and sit down on the end of the bed, hardly needing a second to pull off her jeans. Two, three seconds later, with Anya stark naked on the bed, Clarke was unashamed about the gay sweats her body was kicking into high gear.

"Goddess help me..." Clarke muttered to herself as she peeled her leggings off and threw her dress over her head and off to the side. Anya's eyes were wider as she refocused on the woman, and took that as a good sign, and maybe a cue to slow it down a wee bit for her partner's benefit, taking her time in reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra.

Clarke rolled her neck and slowly, carefully pulled her bra free, and tossed it behind her as she stepped up to Anya, standing between the woman's legs. "Care to finish the job?"

Anya was peering up at her, breaths coming out a little heavy, cheeks dusted pink, pupils dilated slightly in arousal. Once upon a time, she dreamed of Anya staring up at her, remorseful and apologetic, but this was exponentially better. Anya wanted her, and she sure as hell wanted Anya; it was all she could do to contain her gasp when she felt the brown-eyed beauty hook her thumbs under her panties.

That gasp broke out into the bedroom air when soft lips kissed her belly, Anya using the momentary distraction to slide her underwear down enough for it to drop to the floor.

"Crafty..." Clarke mused, biting back a laugh at Anya's playfulness.

Anya just began crawling backward on the bed towards the headrest. "Couldn't resist. You've got a cute tummy, Clarke Griffin."

"Shut up, I work hard on it. Just because it's not chiseled like..." She started back, only for her words to still at the sight of Anya's hand and half-lidded eyes beckoning her closer.

"You shut up. You're very kissable, Clarke. All over, I promise you." Anya murmured, eyes growing wider, hands gesturing a little more impatiently, even as a smile bloomed across her face. "Coming?"

Clarke laughed and crawled onto the bed, slowly crossing the distance. "You promise? Because this is all pretty new. Did you have a thing for me even back then, in the dark months?"

The dark months. Well, better to refer to it with a name than to just ignore it. "Clarke, I hated a lot of things, but it could never change how beautiful you are. If being around you didn't hurt so much, if your eyes weren't so cold when looking my way, I could have...anyways, I want you, Clarke. All that you'll share with me."

"You'll get me soon enough, Anya. For now, I want to share this..." Clarke noted, taking hold of the butt plug Anya picked out earlier, along with the woman's coconut oil, figuring it'd be better suited for anal than the water-based one. "Shall we begin?"

Clarke's mouth turned into the Sahara as she watched Anya's hips lift up, the woman practically folding in half as her feet rested at the sides of her head. "Ready when you are."

She fumbled a bit with the lube as she fought to get some moisture into her mouth. If grabbing a water bottle wouldn't have made her look foolish, she would have guzzled half of one back already. Clarke had not been prepared for how limber her partner was, not in the goddamn least.

Clarke was just coating the plug with oil when Anya cleared her throat, instantly capturing her attention.

"Clarke, I know I'm no stranger to this, but...please...be gentle." Anya's voiced trailed off to a mumble, but her sheer focus on the woman had her hearing every word as clear as day, leaving her confused as heck.

"I will. It's not like this is your first time, babe. But if that's what you want..." Clarke started, any additional words dying in her throat as she watched Anya's face flicker with something that looked too much like either fear or sadness for her to bear. She barely had the mind enough to cut off the lube supply before it started flooding onto the duvet.

"You promised you'd take care of me, so...it may as well be." Anya clarified after taking an agonizing few seconds to school her features, voice coming out flat and emotionless. No, distanced.

The last thing Clarke wanted was for Anya to feel she had to do that with her.

"Oh, hey, no...no, I didn't mean it like that, I just...Anya, please." She stated, cutting herself short when she realized none of her scatterbrained pleas were even registering.

Clarke set the oil and plug on the nightstand and shifted to the side of her partner, prodding Anya's legs enough for them to flop back onto the bed. She nestled up beside the woman, angling Anya's head until they were face to face. "You always intimidated me. You're so strong, in so many ways, and I honestly came in here thinking we'd be pulling some cheesy fan-fictiony thing with our tongues battling for dominance, and then that'd escalate given our histories, but like...Anya, I made a shit assumption, and that makes me a bit of an ass, but I want this to work. I feel we have something. So please, talk to me."

Anya blinked slowly and let out a quiet huff. "People always expect me to be this powerful, manly 'top'. Sometimes I'm okay enough to do that for them to an extent, if I'm desperate enough for someone to want me I suppose, but I'm never given the option to be anything other than a bunch of fetishistic stereotypes and fantasies. Just barely woman enough to count as one, and more than male enough for them to live their fantasies and shit through me. I just...I want to be free to be me. I want to be seen. People always want the dominant top they fantasize about, for me to essentially be the man they're not comfortable actually being with, so I'm the closest thing they can have and still get off to. I don't want to be some stand in for a cis dude, or the freakish masculine non-woman creature people sometimes think of me as...and it's gotten better since I had surgery, because no one can see me as a walking talking penis anymore, but...they still don't see me any different. I'm not a whole woman to them, not when they treat me like I'm male." Anya explained in heart-wrenching detail, the slightest tremor in her jaw stilling after a clear moment of focus. "They only ever want that. No one ever wants me."

Clarke was astounded with her willpower that she was able to make it through the entirety of Anya's explanation before pulling the woman into a kiss that channelled every ounce of power, every ounce of passion, every last goddamn bit of reassurance she could muster into it. The moment she shifted in position to get better leverage, Anya's legs were sweeping up and locking around her hips, pulling her down as Clarke kissed Anya into the mattress.

It wasn't fair. Even when Anya was her nemesis, she held disdain for those who pigeonholed Anya outside of womanhood, and she loathed anyone who only saw coven members as their roles, as their abilities. Anya was more than a warrior, more than her powerful body, and certainly wasn't the gross fetishistic and transmisogynstic male power fantasy wearing a woman-suit she imagined Anya's past sex partners wanted her to be. She'd be happy to take anyone who could look at Anya and fantasize about her as if she was a cis man, and throw them off a goddamn bridge in the depths of winter.

That didn't mean Clarke knew all the nooks and crannies of what made Anya who she was, at least not completely. No, she'd have to learn the hard way, by putting in the effort, by making Anya comfortable enough to show her. And damn it, she wanted nothing more in that moment.

"Goddess, Anya, I will take care of you if you let me have that honor. All I want is to be close to you, to make you feel good, and to figure out what's between us. You're safe with me." Clarke promised as soon as she pulled away, foreheads touching and noses grazing each other.

At this distance, she could see renewed faith in Anya's eyes, and felt a rush of fulfillment when the woman confirmed them. "I believe you."

Clarke took the plug and oil back in hand and waited for Anya to get back into position. "There we go, beautiful. Gonna take this nice and easy for you." She murmured as she made sure there was a nice coating of lube on the plug, and for good measure slowly pushed a nice-sized glob of it into her. "Ready?"

Anya let out an affirmative hum, and so for only the second time in her life, Clarke Griffin was inserting a butt plug. From personal experience, she knew going in too quick would just hurt, especially with something so big, so she took her time, slowly stretching Anya out minute by minute. One hand eased the plug in and out, a little deeper with each endeavor, while her other hand gently caressed Anya's hips, not wanting to waste any time she could be tactile, intermittently leaning forward to kiss the woman to help keep that connected feeling going.

She watched as Anya stretched more and more, halfway fearing it'd be too much and there'd be damage, but then all of a sudden the rest of it went in, and all that was left was a pretty red heart-shaped gem resting between Anya's ass cheeks.

"Mmmh, that's such a nice weight, holy shit." Anya let out, legs dropping back to her bed so she could roll over onto her stomach. "Oh wow, yeah, I'm gonna like this one."

Clarke was thrilled Anya was enjoying herself so much already, but her eyes were stuck on the sight of Anya's butt and how goddamn ridiculously cute it was. "Baby?" She asked hazily, gaze still fixed on that gleaming red heart peeking out ever so slightly. It took a moment for her brain to catch up enough to freak out, knowing pet names weren't exactly common so early on. Her mind was racing too fast to catch the pleased questioning hum from her partner. "Oh goddess, I...I'm sorry if I offended you, or if it's too fast, or..."

"Clarke." Anya called out firmly, cutting off all other thoughts as she turned her gaze upward, meeting Anya's as the woman peered over her shoulder. "Clarke, I'm here with you. I want you, awkwardness and all. If 'baby' is the only pet name that comes out from you tonight, I'll be all smiles. I honestly prefer it to most others I've been given, considering the circumstances."

"But it's not ideal." Clarke chimed in, catching Anya's drift that the woman was good with it, but it wasn't her top choice.

Anya rolled her eyes and tossed her hair back. "All the more preferred ones wouldn't be appropriate, we're not in love. So 'baby' will be just fine, Clarke. I'll tell you if I'm not comfortable with something...trust me to tell you, and trust that I'm good if I don't. Please don't think too hard, I accept you, quirks and all."

Clarke couldn't help but beam at Anya, thrilled at the reassurance and that familiar soft expression. Most of her past partners had balked at showing any vulnerability given her magical affinity, most held trust at arm's reach, but Anya was there offering it freely, without hesitation. Her mind kept assaulting her with a single word: Closer, closer, closer. She let that word reach her hand over to cup Anya's butt as she crawled up over the woman's body, pressing kisses up her spine along the way, cherishing the content hums escaping her partner.

"Let's get you warmed up, baby..."

Thirty minutes.

Anya wasn't entirely sure just how much time had passed since Clarke kissed her way up her back, but it had been at least thirty minutes.

She'd always been a bit of a slow starter, perhaps the fault of her meds, but no one had ever really cared before. No one had ever really made sure she was fully primed and ready to go in the past, for a number of reasons Anya didn't really care to think about. Clarke, though, was more than content to take her time and work Anya up, and it was both novel and reassuring, on top of goddamn sexy, that the other blonde was so patient.

Honestly, Anya felt like she'd halfway ascended, with Clarke nestled up at her side. From the feeling of Clarke gently rocking against her hips, to the hand that worked her nipples to crests of pleasure only to ease off the throttle with some delectable focus on her stomach, to the arm wrapped behind her neck, angling her in for kissing, Anya cherished the slow build up Clarke was working her over with.

And Anya, well, she was all too happy to guide Clarke's hips against her, and let her other hand roam wherever Clarke needed it.

At least, until Clarke's hips bucked a little erratically for the third time in less than a minute. "Clarke..." She spoke as she took in a breath, capturing the other woman's attention quickly. "My thigh, hand, or mouth? Your choice."

Clarke just grinned and pulled herself and Anya up to a seated position. "This is just me getting my engine revving too, babe, so I'll take your thigh for now. Though I could use your mouth somewhere else..."

Anya rolled her eyes and shifted Clarke halfway onto her lap so her partner was straddling her thigh. She was all too happy to oblige, bringing Clarke's right breast into her mouth as she took hold of her lover's hips, caressing and guiding them, feeling dizzy with pleasure.

In the past, it'd all been easy enough, just doing as expected and going by rote memorization on what her partners wanted, but there in that cabin, she was supremely far out of her usual position, her body was thrumming like never before, and she was increasingly intoxicated by every sound that escaped Clarke's body, by every otherworldly movement of her lover. Clarke had always been a passionate woman, but it was as if that passion overtook every fiber of her being, and it left Anya breathless with desire and anticipation.

"Oh goddess, right...right there!" Clarke moaned, arching backward to give Anya a better angle to work with, not that she wouldn't gladly suffer a neck kink to hear those words again. "C-close..."

Anya swirled her tongue around the nipple, letting her teeth graze it before she pulled away. If Clarke was going to climax, she wanted to watch it happen, watch the beautiful blonde unravel. Maybe that was selfish, but she'd make it up to Clarke soon.

"You're so beautiful..." The words escaped without her permission, but she could hardly will herself to care when a blissful smile spread across her lover's lips. Spurred on by the growing molten pit of arousal in her core, Anya reached up a hand to pull Clarke forward, close enough to kiss her, using her other hand to hold her lover by the small of her back. "Let go, darling."

All at once, Clarke's hips jumped up her thigh, Clarke let out a sharp gasp, and those sapphire eyes went wide as she'd ever seen them. Clarke's lips were on her before she could react, the woman's hips furiously grinding away at her as Clarke poured herself into Anya. She was all too happy to swallow her moans, to hold Clarke almost close enough for them to fuse; there was a fullness growing inside of her, warming her and rendering her nerves more and more electric the closer she grew to Clarke.

She'd never felt so naked and vulnerable in her life being used as an instrument of desire, but every press of lips, every stroke of her cheek, every hand that ran through her hair and pulled her close, it all told her that Clarke was the reason for it, that Clarke saw her, knew her.

That she was safe, in that moment, as Clarke's head fell back, a sharp cry escaping her mouth as her hips jolted against Anya. The climax rolled through her lover head to toe, all seizing muscles and soft cries as Anya held her close and slowly worked her through it.

It was a nurturing feeling, if Anya were to be honest, holding Clarke and aiding her through the orgasm, murmuring sweet words into her lover's ear, combing a hand through her hair, fluttering kisses against her face.

Sex had never felt like that before. Leading a partner to orgasm had never felt like that before. Her heart had never felt as full as when she felt Clarke in her arms, falling into climax and trusting her to hold her together. Her soul had never felt so light at the feeling of Clarke clinging to her like a lifeline, Anya's name the only word leaving her lover's lips for that brief minute or two.

If this was just a precursor, as Clarke asserted earlier, then Anya was entirely unprepared, but willing to have her mind blown, because if it meant more of these feelings, more closeness with Clarke, more delightful sounds and sensual touches, then she wasn't sure she'd ever leave the bed again.

"I'd almost feel...embarrassed that a...single goddamn word from you...could make me come, but..." Clarke spoke as she worked to catch her breath, Anya more than a little confused over what the beautiful blonde was going on about, but more than happy to give her time to speak her mind. "...but I swear, baby...I just really want you to call me that again. I don't care what it takes."

Anya leaned back enough to meet Clarke's gaze, trying to decipher the meaning of the woman's words. "You don't have to beg for anything with me, Clarke, but what word are...wait...'darling'?"

She watched Clarke visibly melt as the word filled the air, and knew that she couldn't deny it to her lover if she tried. "Definitely that one."

"Then it's yours, Clarke. And..." Anya started, only to remember the other thing she'd brought in her luggage that she'd considered bringing out if all went well. And despite it all being mostly foreplay so far, Anya was certain that it was right to offer her lover another option. "...and I have something for you."

Anya went to get up, but Clarke promptly threw her body weight at Anya and held her flat down on the mattress. "Easy there. I don't want you leaving this bed 'til you're satisfied. You got my motor purring, I can get whatever you need me to get."

With an amused roll of her eyes, she pointed to her luggage. "Wooden box in my luggage. Can you bring it to me?"

Clarke leaned down, meeting her in a languid kiss that had her heart soaring before her lover was rolling off the bed and striding to her luggage. Clarke didn't need long to recover it, plopping down beside her a few seconds later. "What's in it?" Her lover asked, looking at the featureless box for some way to open it.

Anya took hold of it and pressed a hidden spot on the box, unlocking it and cracking open the lid. She pulled out both items inside, the clear glass flask full of a translucent liquid, and the larger leather bag. "I was taught how to make this some time ago. I don't use it very often, but it can be wonderful. I want to share it with you."

Clarke looked over the two objects as Anya set the box on the floor at the end of the bed. "What is it?" The woman asked, tugging on Anya's arm until she clambered up onto Clarke's lap.

"The liquid in the flask was made with transmutation magic." Anya started, Clarke's attention immediately shifting away from the flask and to her eyes; that form was rare, so it was understandable that Clarke was intrigued. "Essentially, it's a very minor spell, which is why I can manage it despite not having an affinity. I suppose my abilities are close enough in alignment for me to be capable. But anyways, it alters the nerves of whatever it touches."

"How so? Like does it..." Clarke started, before her eyes grew wide as saucers. "No way."

Anya just laughed, lightly bonking her forehead against Clarke's and leaving it there. "Maybe this is heavy, but I've never felt like this before, Clarke. I've never felt so cared for in this sort of thing, and...all I know is that every bit of pleasure I feel, I'd like you to feel it with me. This can help with that...but only if you want to use it. I won't ask you to, or demand you to, or anything...I'm just offering."

"Baby, at this point, I think I'd wait as long as I had to for you, so if you think this could make us feel closer, and that's what I want...and that's what you want...then of course I will. You're kinda the best, okay?" Clarke asked rhetorically, but Anya couldn't quite manage to contain her scoff.

Clarke immediately pulled her into a kiss that had her feeling weightless and had those resurfaced insecurities running for cover, loving the way Clarke's nose nuzzled against her own ever so slightly as she pulled away to approach at another angle, adoring how the pads of Clarke's fingertips would gently trail down the curve of her jaw like she was drinking her in.

"Nothing but sweet sounds and confidence, okay? You're not the only one in uncharted waters, Anya. I haven't felt comfortable being in a relationship for a long time...it's all just been one night flings, and I just...I don't get that feeling here with you." Clarke stated, eyebrows rising as if to challenge her to deny that claim.

"This doesn't feel like a one night stand. This feels...more." Anya admitted with a hard swallow, finding some confidence in the way Clarke's smile just beamed up at her.

"Then believe me when I say you're the best I've had already. I've never felt this close to someone, and goddess, at the same time I just feel like there's so much more ground to cover between us, and I want us to cross it together." Clarke said, voice shaking ever so slightly as she took Anya's hand and placed it over her heart. Anya could feel the organ thrumming wildly in Clarke's ribcage. "I'm so excited, and scared, and over the moon happy, and I'm so ready for this as long as you're here to hold my hand."

Anya leaned close and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her lover's lips, lingering there as she stroked a hand down Clarke's blushing cheek, and took Clarke's right hand with her other. "I am. I will."

"Then why don't you show me how to work this?"

As much as Clarke loved Anya's laughter, she couldn't help but keep her focus on her hand, marveling at the sensation even as she blushed from the sound that left her lips a mere few seconds ago.

"The look on your face is priceless, Clarke!" Anya added between laughs, and she honestly imagined it was, because there truly was nothing like feeling a jolt of arousal from rubbing your thumb and fingertips together.

It was one thing to imagine what it might be like, but an entirely different magnitude to feel it for real. "This is so weird. So...what did you use this for, again?"

"Mostly to ramp up quicker than usual. It can take me over half an hour to get going, normally, but with this, that time's cut down by a decent chunk. I'll put some on a finger or two, dip them in melted chocolate or maybe icing, and get to licking. But it can be nice if I'm fingering myself, too." Anya explained as she laid herself back on the bed, tugging Clarke to straddle her. This substance of hers opened the door to so many possibilities, a mass of them flooding Clarke's mind over how to use something like that.

Maybe it was a little egregious as far as a sex aid, but it did seem handy. Pun absolutely intended.

"Mmmmmn, and if I'm giving you a hand job?" Clarke asked, bringing their knit hands to her lips as she held Anya's mirthful gaze.

"Never experienced it. But I promise, you'll know how it feels when I do." Anya answered with a broad grin, bringing her leg up and using her heel to pull Clarke atop her, skin on skin. "And honestly? I've got a good feeling about it."

Clarke laughed and dipped down for a quick kiss, loving the way that Anya wrapped around her however she could. For such a fearsome warrior, she was damn adorable. "Don't let go?" She murmured as she pulled away. The tremendous warmth in Anya's eyes had her knowing her lover wouldn't fail her.

She took a deep breath, excited to get this started and to keep growing this thing between them. Carefully, she shifted to Anya's side, pressing fleeting kisses to her partner's jaw as she reached down, gave a quick glance to check her instincts, and then let her forefinger and middle finger slowly glide up Anya's slick folds.

By the time she'd neared the clitoris and rendered it exposed, Clarke was breathless, body buzzing and stunned from the sensation. Certainly a bit more sensitive than rubbing her fingers together, she'd have to get used to it. "Oh my goddess, babe..."

"Is it too much?" Anya asked, sounding worried. As if there was anything to worry about.

"Nah, not at all, just unexpected. Between this thing, and getting to feel you for the first time, I...I'm really excited, and I just need a moment." Clarke answered swiftly and with as much assurance as she could channel into her voice.

That seemed to be enough, tension leaving Anya's body. "Take your time, darling, I'm not going anywhere."

The use of the d-word only compelled Clarke to rub her thumb just around the edge of Anya's clit, cheering internally at the sight and feel of Anya's hips arching into her touch. "Maybe you're not going anywhere, but I'd really like you to come with me."

Anya's head fell back with a dull thump against the mattress, another glorious laugh escaping her lover. "That's so fucking cheesy!"

"Don't lie, you like it." Clarke shot back with a grin, giving Anya's core one more quick swipe as she gathered as much oxygen as she could. Just the sensitivity of her fingers on Anya's vulva was doing a number on her, ratcheting her arousal up notch by notch with each touch. Something told her she wouldn't be too pleased with her stamina over the next little while.

Hopefully Anya wouldn't be too embarrassed for her.

Clarke reached for the lube, applying a bit to her fingers in prep of what she knew would be an entirely new experience for her. Let it never be said Clarke Griffin was a coward.

"Clarke..." Anya's voice brought her attention to her lover, the sheer reverence making her heart tremble in her chest from the pure heat the word had cascading through her body. "I trust you."

Teeth firmly pressing against her lower lip, Clarke gave Anya a small nod and decided to go for it, plunging two fingers into Anya.

Clarke gasped alongside her lover, arching a little from the feeling of Anya's walls around her digits. For a brief moment, being engulfed in Anya, feeling very intimately and intensely every single muscle spasm against her fingers, even the hardness of the nearby butt plug, took her focus.

But just for a moment.

Clarke caught her breath, adjusted to expectations, and pulled out slowly, recalling Anya preferred a more sensual approach up front, and she was all too happy to employ that. Just feeling Anya wrap around her had Clarke wanting to be closer, as close as she could get. It was only made more fortunate, knowing that if the sensations from her hand kept up then she wouldn't be able to be upright; resting against Anya while she pleasured her was best for the both of them, and would give Anya plenty of access to her.

Clarke set a languid, steady pace, working her fingers at Anya's upper wall as her thumb rolled at the edge of her lover's clit, getting close enough to build her up, but not so much to jolt Anya towards an unexpectedly quick orgasm. She wanted to take her time, pulling Anya into a quick kiss before trailing her mouth across her jaw and down her neck, kissing and nipping and licking her way to Anya's pulse point.

Maybe it was just instinct, maybe it was that rare territorial side of herself coming out to play, maybe it was how the overwhelming pleasure from each thrust of her hand was slowly sending her into a blissful haze. Whatever the reason, some signals in her brain must have crossed because after nipping a delightful spot on Anya's neck and hearing her let out a delighted mewl, Clarke found her lips latching onto her neck and sucking for all she was worth.

The last time she'd given someone a hickey was in high school, so she could feel blood rushing to her cheeks as she hastily pulled away, words already at the tip of her tongue as her brain worked at formulating some apology. But then a hand was pressing at the back of her skull, pushing her face back into Anya's neck, a throaty whine rumbling out of her lover.

"Please...darling..." Anya spoke in gasps, her lover's hand shakily and slowly combing through her hair, adding enough pressure to let Clarke know she was wanted there, not that the words alone didn't immediately have her heart racing and body buzzing.

Clarke dipped forward the half inch to press a kiss at the base of Anya's neck, letting her lips linger as she soaked in how Anya's legs gripped her tightly. She could feel a minor tremor of pleasure run through Anya's body from her neck all the way to her toes. "Tell me what you need, baby..." She murmured, slowing the pace of her thrusts enough so that she could be sure to recognize an answer past the heady pleasure buzz and the sensation of her arousal dripping onto the toweled bed.

"More of that...more...and faster, just...mmmnh...just a bit, please..." Anya laboured, stirring those long dormant and contained urges she'd always done well to hold in check.

Quickening the pace of her thrusts was easy enough, having mostly adjusted to the feeling of Anya's magic serum. She didn't have to keep herself from a premature climax anymore, at the very least, even if she was closing in on that ledge little by little. But indulging in something she'd warded herself off of had her feeling both enticed and cautious.

"Anya...pretty sure you can't magic away a hickey." Clarke noted hesitantly, applying just enough pressure to get Anya to release the hold on her head. She needed to look Anya in the eyes for this; even if it wasn't a big thing for most, she had a hard time stopping that particular sort of instinct once she'd gained enough headway. "Baby, I just don't want to do anything you'll regret later."

Her lover immediately reached down and stilled the hand between her thighs, and if Anya didn't already have her complete attention, she certainly had it now. "I'm not ashamed of this, Clarke."

Clarke let out a huff, anxiously trying to find the right words to describe her predicament, and mostly failing at her attempts. "It's...I mean...I know you're not, it's...well, a lot of people don't like them. And I mean....I'd be marking you. And I haven't done that in forever, because...well, once I start, I have a hard time stopping, and I don't want to freak you out with all the possessive junk that comes with it, and I'm just..."

Honestly, there were at least another hundred words left in her rambling, but feeling Anya take hold of the hand that Clarke had buried between her thighs, and slowly lift it out and up, up, all the way to her lips, a breath away from Anya's mouth? That killed all those leftover words, and she doubted she'd mourn their passing.

"Darling, hush. You're over-thinking this..." Anya started, eyebrow cocking at the tiny scoff that escaped her over the assertion. "I'm serious. What, do you think I'd balk at the notion of you getting possessive over me?"

Clarke shrugged, not quite having revived her vocabulary yet. "Most people get freaked out, given my affinity and all. Last one really didn't like it, and practically threw me out."

"And I'm not that person. You need to stop second-guessing yourself, stop presuming you know what I want better than I do. Just listen to me, Clarke...I'll always let you know what I like and what I don't. And if you're comfortable being...well, possessive...with me tonight, then let's see where that goes. It's not a hard or soft limit for me." Anya clarified, the amused crinkling of her eyes just barely warning Clarke in time as Anya's soft tongue blazed a trail up her hand, sending an intense ripple of pleasure down her spine.

She was already soaked, but she could feel a fresh rush of arousal, both from the lick and the notion of Anya accepting her, not to mention the vulnerability involved. Still, she waited until she caught her breath again to make one final argument, to make sure Anya knew where she was coming from.

"I just...I guess you've been treated like an object by other partners, and I wouldn't want to do the same to you. You deserve better. You're a person. You're not something I can, you know, have or claim for myself." Clarke said, eyes half-lidded and head feeling hazy as Anya took one of her digits into her mouth, tongue swirling around it. "Goddess, if you keep doing that, I won't last long, baby."

"I don't care how long you last. One, two, twenty orgasms...whatever we feel like. I just want to spend the night with you, I want us to enjoy ourselves. So...if it makes it easier for you...as far as I'm concerned, I'm yours tonight. And you're mine. Doesn't mean you own me...just means I'm sharing myself with you. I trust you to take good care of me, darling." Anya spoke, flicking her gaze between Clarke's hand and her eyes, before settling on the latter. "And if you want to suck at my neck, if you want to say I'm yours, or any of that...I'm good with it. I'm not scared, I trust you."

Clarke gulped, heart hammering in her chest, yearning to break out and find Anya's. Ever since her affinity had been made known, everyone she'd dated had been wary and generally unwilling to be vulnerable with her. Even if she'd insist that she could only control people after casting, most still suspected that she could influence and manipulate thoughts and emotions on a more subtle level, so it was rare for anyone to be really open with her. It was why she adored her friendships with Lexa and Costia, who did trust her.

So Anya willingly opening up to her and trusting her? Wanting to share herself, even after everything they'd been through, even after experiencing firsthand what Clarke was capable of? It had her breathless and yearning to just hold onto this magnificently strong woman. Everything in her soul was screaming at her to make love to Anya, to take her to such heights where Clarke's name would be the only intelligible sound spilling from her lips, to pepper kisses across her blushing face as she came down from her final climax, to wrap her up in the afterglow and maybe carry Anya to the shower if her lover needed or requested it.

And maybe that was getting ahead of herself, but it wasn't bad to have some goals at the ready for the rest of their night.

"Then let's get back to making this a night to remember, baby."

#witchfic #lookingforthemagic #clanya #clanya fanfiction

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tonidorsay · 7 years

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Ok, Tumblr peeps... ya'll are tough and cynical, but hey...

Yeah, I know. Fuckin Boomers fuck the world, the Xers do jack but watch it, and now you gotta clean that shit up while paying fucking debts or working for one third what they made at the same job.

So you know I wrote a book. I am writing more of them. Not the boring ass trans shit book that none of ya want, but a fun book about magical girls and stuff.

Only, it isn’t all that fun all the time.

You see, the Girls are fighting the Agents of Oblivion. Oblivion is the personification of his name, and that means he’s the end of everything.

He even has five Riders, because he thinks Apocalypse is a candy ass and that other guy is distracted.

But before we get to them, we gotta uncover what’s going on.

So, let’s talk about villains for a moment.

Oppression. Be it misogyny or transphobia or racism or the rest, it is always an expression of a formula.

I express that formula directly: Anxiety/Aversion/Animus, singly or in any combination plus social power is how oppression works.

Now, social power stems from those things which act to limit or hinder individual Agency – social power is Structure.

What if all those things were demigods?

Lesser powers, their will bent towards service of their masters?

Anxiety, Aversion, and Animus are The Three. This cycle of effort to bring Oblivion through, they are the major leaders. They played a role previously, but they didn’t succeed because they served other forces.

They are partnered with The Five: Apathy, Avarice, Deceit, Privilege, and Stigma.

The Five are the ringleaders of the larger group known as The Structure.

All of them have lesser demigods working for them.

Anxiety, for example, has Humiliation, Disrespect, Inadequacy, Alienation, and Terror working for him.

Animus has Aggression, Frustration, Insecurity, Envy, and Hate. Those last two have been around a very long while – they were Known in Ancient Greece. You might recall a less flattering version of Strife, who has gone solo, from the Disney Hercules.

He’s still pissed about that. Which might be why there has been so much of him in the Disney back offices and leadership team over the last several years…

There are over 60 of these buggers on the sheet I am referencing that lays out all the ways they work and interconnect.

One of Stigma’s Lieutenants has jumped ship, though. Seems he both wised up to the fact that when Oblivion comes, they all go to, but moreso it seems his power is not as influential as it once was – he is disrepute.

You may get to know him as Alley.

Avarice is the de facto head at present, and one of the most Powerful. So powerful he may just have assumed a role as a person on Earth. And be influencing events more directly.

Any of this sounding vaguely familiar?

Feel like you are living in a world that is controlled and dominated by demigods who corrupt people with miasmas and humours?

These are the folks that the Contras are fighting. Sometimes they are easy. Lazy or distracted or overconfident. Sometimes they are hard.

But they are Gods, able to twist reality and warp things, and as the gals climb the ladder towards the Tower, they will fight more and more of them.

Sometimes they will be joined by The Party. The Party is the West Coast magical guy team.

Yes, you read that right. Magical guys. And they will be done straight. Gay, trans, one AceAro who has a dark sense of humor.

Sometimes they will be joined by the Rebels, who have been at this a lot longer, as they gained their powers when they were in their early teens. They are on the East Coast. Vermont, specifically.

Oh, I should note that two of this team are a couple, and the black gal is Justice and the other gal is Liberty, and yeah…

Trans gal on that team, too.

I absolutely promise that Nazis get punched (one gets a full missile launcher shot at him in the first book!), and there will be two occasions where the orange one gets what is coming to him. As well as his cronies.

I can also state that apparently, and over my objections, later in the series we will see giant robots and we will see Kaiju. I was trying very hard not to let that happen, but, well, you know how villains are,

Motherfuckers do not know when to give up. Specially these villains, who more often than not understand that monologuing is bad, and killing them is more fun if it hurts a lot.

ContraMagica is a 300 plus page Outline spanning at least 11 books.

It may take the form of a light novel and the conventions of the magical girl and magical idol genres, but it is a full on, hard core, old style fairy tale structured within the Hero’s journey that has given us Epic Fantasy works from Lord of the Rings to Harry Potter to Song of fire and ice and more.

Except, for once, all the lead characters are women, and both women of color and lgbt women are everywhere.

If you have ever read my what is series, you likely know I understand this stuff on the “academic” level. You probably know that I get these things better than pretty much 98% of our haters.

This is what happens when you take those things and put them into a really fun story. One that is inspired by Ghibli films and Ghost in the shell and Madoka and Yuki Yuna and the darker stuff but still brings out the light.

Maybe you hear me talk about girl power and you think, oh fuck no, not more of this live and peace and kindness crap.

Well, this isn’t that kind of girl power.

When you get a moment, go out and do some research. Seriously. Go out and find twenty five characteristics that define what the fuck Girl power really if. Broaden your search into the power of the feminine, too.

It will take effort. Because the vast majority of it is either Terf shit that stops at three things or religious shit that stops at five or a bled of both that says smile bitch and say thank you when he pulls out.

Sorry, that doesn’t do shit for me.

But there is value in womanhood, in the bonds of it and the aspects of it that need not be opposite of or complementary to masculinity.

And toxic masculinity is rampant, as well.

I had to figure that out. I had to dive into it and go beyond the silly shit and let me tell ya, I got 40 elements of Girl Power.

That change things in a subversive way that you know I love.

That is the power of these gals.

But wait!

Even after all of that, and I know ya’ll are like “yawn, yeah, whatevs”, there are a couple more things…

Each of these gals has five romantic aspects to them. Over the course of the novels, they will explore these, from crushes to the two separate romantic leads for each on, to the person who keeps making stuff hard, and to the friend who is there for them.

Yeah, even the Ace lead. She’s Ace, but she’s not Aro. But she has more going on, and what you might think is her basis for being Ace ain’t it.

And then, of course, these women are not whole people. The Contras don’t have the happy background of your usual Magical girl. All of them had lives that sucked, lives that hurt and broke and pushed them.

Remember, again, I am both a sociologist and a psychologist. These gals have issues. And I am just starting to explore them. For instance, there is a moment mentioned in book one where Lark, who is easily the baddest black magical girl I know, with her everyday goth look and her Victorian plus maid powered gear and her snakes and Houdon force and old brujha, is accosted by guys on Campus and is pretty much unable to respond and it falls to the Latina gal to come in and scare them off.

Why would she be that way? Why did Tally spend forty plus years waiting for mr right, and what happened that she might do it again?

These are gals with issues you will recognize.

This is ContraMagica. It isn’t going to be PreCure or Sailor Moon (neither of which I have seen more than two episodes of, btw, lol).

It is everything I have in me – all of it – poured out for you, but cleverly disguised as a kick ass magical girl superhero women’s story hidden in the YA field.

That is all of it. If you still go meh, well, I at least tried, lol.

But tell people about this. Let them know that I have five years or less locked down of my life to tell this massive story, and if I am lucky, maybe make a bit (seriously, a buck a book is what most authors make on trade paperbacks retail, so it takes like everyone to make an HP).

It isn’t great art. Not war and peace.

But i like to think it’s a going to be a great read.

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tchaikovskaya · 7 years

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RE the Obama post: I see what you're saying but... he's not president of the world/MENA, he was president of the US? Under social contract theory don't individual governments have mostly a responsibility to their own country? So I think it would make sense that's what he cares about (and make sense for that to be how he's evaluated). And if U.S. interests conflict with best interest of people in other countries, Obama looks after his people and foreign governments look after their citizenry. No?

i mean yes from a political science/realist paradigm of international conflict theory perspective that is in fact his job, but the question is whether you accept or reject that whole concept.... especially when the man (and political party) in question posits himself as the Defender of Freedom For All regardless of religion/race/class/nationality/gender/orientation/etc and then turns around and indiscriminately drones civilians who are guilty of the crime of existing in the wrong fucking country

the point of the original post (which wasn’t eloquently worded or anything bc it was more of a thinking-out-loud type of post that i never expected to get more than like 15 notes) was that you cannot pretend that you are against racism, against homophobia, against misogyny, against classism, etc etc etc if the only inequality and/or injustice you care about is within your own society, and that society’s power is built on the exploitation and oppression of those very same marginalized groups, but on a global scale instead of a national scale.

(for the record this is why fascists are invariably very nationalistic, and why leftists see nationalism as one of their largest stumbling blocks, because nationalism as a concept binds people together according to their culture/citizenship and makes those people most harmed by these oppressive forces sympathize with their oppressors instead of the oppressed people in other countries, because it makes them think of the world in terms of whatever is good for America [insert any other country] as a political state being good for them as Americans [insert any other nationality]. but thats not necessarily true because such a small group of very powerful elites ever really see much of that benefit. if anything, the most good that comes from american dominance on the international stage, in terms of the average person’s benefit, is the level of security [from the aggression of other nations, at least, bc y’know police brutality and poverty are very much threats to security] in our day-to-day lives we are able to enjoy. but that security comes at the expense of real, observable suffering across the world)

i feel like thats still not very clear/kinda rambly/im not even reading what im writing bc nobodys paying me for this shit so i Just Dont Care Enough about it to put a tremendous amount of effort to write this argument tbh, so maybe an illustrative example will help!

during the general election season a few months ago, i saw some story floating around facebook about how hillary clinton met with this young girl from yemen who had lived through tremendous political and social upheaval, and had escaped her life as a child bride. clinton wanted to know if they could get her to the united states, pay for her education here, etc. that’s a feel-good story, right? a larger-than-life political figure going out of her way to try to improve the life of a girl who has endured tremendous hardship in a country most westerners don’t even stop to think about, if they even know it exists at all? well, not really. why not? because hillary clinton, as barack obama’s secretary of state, was instrumental in the conflict in yemen that created such horrendous circumstances for this young girl, through the US government’s alliance with the government of Saudi Arabia. yes, lets get her to the united states or some other western country so that she can receive a quality education without living every day of her life in fear. how noble a suggestion! but that completely ignores WHY her home country is in such a terrible state, WHY she is unsafe there, WHY she was deprived of the right to grow up and have a healthy childhood because she was born within the wrong borders by no fault of her own.

ask yourself why this girl’s life would have mattered more to the american government if her parents were american. ask yourself if that’s fair. ask yourself why it’s okay for thousands of other girls to be left in those very same circumstances, except they were never lucky enough to claw their way out, because they never had the good fortune of catching a powerful politician’s attention on an individual level and making that politician aware of the direct, immediate suffering their actions caused.

if your answer is “it’s okay because the US government has something to gain from it, and not everybody can win” then i can understand the rationale behind that (intellectually, at least), but don’t you EVER make yourself out to be some sort of “great defender of disadvantaged peoples,” because if your empathy ends at your country’s borders, you either have a pretty fundamental misunderstanding of the “privilege politics” you’re so invested in, or an extremely fucking twisted understanding of justice

#Anonymous

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beesandbooks1 · 4 years

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Discussion: Female Fantasy Authors

Hello book bees and welcome to another discussion post! For this post, I will be discussing the differences in reading fantasy books by male authors and fantasy books by female authors. To keep things simple, I will mostly be considering the divide in gender representation. I will discuss intersectionality in a later section, and may reference representation of BIPOC and LGBT+ people but today I will not be diving in depth into those topics. Additionally, when it comes to intersectionality and the discussion of BIPOC authors and characters I am a white person, so it is important that you listen to BIPOC writers and what they say on the topic over what I may say.

CW: This post will feature discussions of sexual assault, rape, misogyny, homophobia, racism, and other sensitive topics. I will be including further content warnings where appropriate, but please be aware that these topics come up and read with caution.

If you’d rather read this post on my blog, follow this link! Also, feel free to comment, on my blog or in the tags, with your thoughts on this topic!

Problems I have with Male Fantasy

I do enjoy fantasy books written by men, and I have read plenty of them. But there are a lot of problems that often crop up. This isn’t exclusive to fantasy, of course, but I’m focusing on fantasy in particular because this is something that actually led me to abandon the genre for a few years. Something about fantasy settings can bring out the worst in male authors, as though the presence of fantasy elements gives them liberty to introduce sexist and horrible plotlines for their female characters (if they have any).

The first issue I usually have with a male written fantasy book is the lack of female characters, or at least the lack of good female characters. A lot of the generic high fantasy produced by men imitates Tolkien’s gender ratios without the payoff of the female characters that are present in that seminal work of the genre. Nine times out of ten when reading a fantasy novel by a male author, I find that I can count the amount of female characters on one hand. I also find that those characters fall into archetypes such as the damsel in distress, are victims of sexual assault (something I’ll come back to in a bit), or are irredeemably evil in a way that is intimately tied up in their gender. It’s frustrating to read entire books and series in which all of the representatives of my gender are boring, annoying, or otherwise flat.

CW for following paragraph: Sexual assault, rape, abuse

The second problem I have is that the worst and most graphic depictions of rape and sexual assault I have ever read have been in male-written fantasy novels. I don’t know exactly what causes this to happen, but I have definitely noticed a pattern that male-written fantasy seems to often portray the worst in men. To give credit where credit is due, the authors generally make it clear that the rape and sexual assault is bad. Revenge and punishment is often had, and the male heroes and protagonists don’t partake in sexual assault. However, the descriptions are still there, and often with zero content warnings. I’m privileged that these descriptions while uncomfortable are not strong triggers for me and I am able to read and process them without detriment to my mental health. However, I often skip these descriptions and DNF these books because of them. I have experienced enough threats, misogyny, and sexual harassment that I have no need to read about those experiences in fantasy–a genre that I consider an escape from the ills of real life. There is not and never has been a plot purpose to the inclusion of such graphic depictions of rape and sexual assault. And yet, rape, sexual assault, and sexual abuse in relationships are often used by male authors to explain a character’s personality. These are used as character backstory to either demonstrate how good and moral a character that opposed these actions is, or to demonstrate how horribly abused a character was (usually female, but not always), or to demonstrate what a monster an antagonist is. While including characters who are rapists is one thing, including graphic depictions of their crimes is an entirely unnecessary other thing.

I find that fantasy novels by men are also often less well rounded and yet lauded as better than female authors’ works. Women write some incredibly unique fantasy worlds with interesting and surprising twists and turns, and yet are passed over for awards and recognition in favor of male authors whose stories are predictable at best. This is not to say that every fantasy novel by a man is poorly written and unimaginative, but to point out the discrepancy that exists in recognition and famous names. The gender gap in fantasy has led to a variety of tactics and techniques to promote female authors. The most commonly known one is the use of initials instead of full names because of the demonstrated bias that readers have against picking up a fantasy novel with a woman’s name on the cover. Different worldviews and experiences lead to different writing styles, worlds, and plotlines. It’s time that the voices of women writers in fantasy were bolstered.

“Strong” Female Characters

I am hardly the first to point this out, but male authors (and some female authors, to be fair) tend to write what are supposed to be strong female characters that just…aren’t. A good example of this not in the fantasy genre is the way Joss Whedon writes Black Widow in the Marvel universe. In Whedon’s writing of her, she is considered strong and badass but only so long as she conforms to a certain ideal of feminine and mourns the fact that she cannot have children. Female characters written like this–supposedly strong but ultimately weak when stripped of their fighting prowess–are frustrating to read. You see this a lot in fantasy where a female character is constantly touted as the best fighter, or the strongest mage, but is stripped of her power as soon as the main male protagonist with his lack of experience and lack of talent bests her in battle (usually only because of sexual tension).

There are a lot of tropes and characteristics of this type of female character in fantasy. Usually, she is bitter and mean due to some trauma in her past that either isn’t all that traumatic (reinforcing the idea that women are hysterical) or is all that traumatic but she isn’t given the character development to move past her grief unless of course the main male protagonist offers her love and affection. If she is a skilled warrior, she learned so by being trained against expectations of women usually by her father or brother(s) and is constantly underestimated by others despite also having a reputation as a warrior. She fought and clawed her way to where she is and she disdains all women who didn’t do the same, isolating her from literally everyone because the men don’t respect her either.

Yes, there are women in the real world who did claw their way up to the top of male dominated fields, and there are women who did that to the exclusion and isolation of their peers of all genders. However, there are a lot of women who use their positions of power to bolster other women and help others and have a lot of friends, family, and coworkers that like and respect them. It doesn’t make a female character strong to be a loner who hates everyone and is equally hated for their nonconformity. In fact, it creates an unrealistic expectation for young and impressionable readers that in order to be powerful and strong you need to be alone.

Experience: Reading a Female Fantasy Author

I have at various points found myself reading a good fantasy book and then looking up the author to discover they were a woman. It’s no surprise to me, considering my lack of patience for overhyped male authors, that my favorite authors are almost always women and my favorite books inevitably written by women. The experience of reading fantasy from a female author is one I enjoy immensely. I find the characters more diverse, well rounded, and respected. I find the plot focuses less on imposing trauma and pain on people and more about the hope that rises up in a dark fantasy world. The villains have more interesting motivations, or at least are more interesting people to read about, and the worlds are explored more. A lot of the fantasy written by men that floods the cheaper shelves of bookstores and the free ebook world is self fulfillment in the form of a fantasy world, largely based in the author’s preferred fantasy world of choice and pursuing the traditional adventure and romance plot the author aspired to have when younger.

There’s also not a lot of respect for female fantasy authors as compared to their male counterparts. I had a creative writing professor in college who disparaged any popular series written by a woman but was unable to see that he didn’t feel the same about works by men. This bias is everyone from writing professors to literary scholars to publishers to literary agents and even down to authors and readers themselves. While I simply don’t have the time to really delve into the facts and figures about gender bias in the fantasy genre in this blog post, I can cite my experiences as writer and reader. In that same professor’s class I worked on a fantasy project with a group of four other women and one man. Guess whose parts of the project the professor praised most? Guess whose parts the professor though worthwhile despite his strong bias against fantasy writing? Male fantasy writers are more respected for going against the masculine grain to write still highly masculine stories but in a fantasy setting. Female fantasy writers are considered just another one of the pack of wildly delusional women.

There is a lot of room to be creative in fantasy. If you want to see just how nuts people can get, look up anecdote threads on any social media site for Dungeons and Dragons tales. Everyone who’s played had a crazy idea that somehow worked during a campaign. The same can often be true of fantasy stories, because ultimately if there’s dragons and magic and whatnot then the limit is only your imagination! And yet. Women who write diverse worlds in which racism (fantasy or otherwise) never existed, or world where women have always been in charge, or worlds where gender doesn’t even exist are often criticized for having created unrealistic worlds because apparently despite fantasy being what it is we still have to include all the pain and trauma of the real world.

Intersectionality

Intersectionality was coined by Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw, a black feminist scholar, to describe the experiences of black women within the framework of feminism. Historically and still today, discussions of feminism and the experiences of women worldwide tend to focus by default on the experiences of white women. Crenshaw thus introduced intersectionality as a framework with which to understand that the experiences of a black woman can be significantly different than those of a white woman due to the multi-faceted nature of the discrimination against people of color, black people in certain countries such as the United States, and black women specifically who face many levels of oppression within the frameworks of whiteness, wealth, sexism, etc.

Intersectionality is often used by feminist and queer scholars to describe the social stratification that needs to be considered when discussing oppression and privilege. This stratification considers a variety of factors from sexuality to gender presentation, education and wealth, to race and skin color. This framework considers that looking at different women’s experiences requires an understanding of the different factors at play in each one.

The reason I am including a brief discussion of intersectionality is that this conversation has largely lumped all women together in the face of fantasy writing. But it’s important to understand that even within the texts of female fantasy authors, there can be factors of racism, colorism, internalized misogyny, privilege of wealth and education, homophobia, and transphobia. I’ve read one fantasy author’s entire body of work–almost thirty novels–and she has never featured a gay or trans character. I’ve read other female fantasy authors who despite best efforts represent racist tropes in their attempts to include diverse characters without sensitivity readers. As a white woman, it is my responsibility to understand my privilege in seeing myself in fantasy writing which should be some of the most diverse in fiction but frankly isn’t.

As a queer woman I can speak to the under representation of queer characters in fantasy. Often times, queer characters are sidekicks and side characters that are just there for the representation points. A lot of fantasy writers (some female but most male) argue that the inclusion of queer characters in a high or epic fantasy setting based weirdly on incorrect assumptions about medieval Europe is unrealistic. If you’ve got dragons, though, you can include a gay person. Or five. Or fifty. Heck, I wrote a fantasy novel for NaNoWriMo one year that featured exactly zero male characters and only one straight woman! And it still made sense because the whole time they were dealing with a dragon, and magic, and witches.

The point I have briefly wandered away from is that fantasy authors tend to present diversity in fantasy elements but don’t seem to ponder presenting real diversity. Using fantasy racism as a metaphor for real racism is a tired trope often poorly done by white authors without a full understanding of what the very real effects of long term racism and racial oppression are like. Including queer characters in your story only for them to still fear discrimination and violence isn’t new or gritty or interesting or diverse, it’s tired and harmful.

Conclusion

There’s been a lot to chew through in this post. Admittedly, this topic is probably better discussed in literary theory journals and by more seasoned scholars, but a lot of those journals are also behind academic paywalls and filled with academic jargon that isn’t always easily accessible to readers. I’ve discussed these topics before in academic settings and in personal conversations, so I feel comfortable transitioning some of the ideas I’m accustomed to discussing to talking about the differences I have observed in my experience reading fantasy novels. I do think that people in the bookish communities are aware of gender gaps and intersectionality, and that there’s interest in promoting more diverse authors in our favorite literary genres.

How about you book bees, what are you thoughts on this topic? Please feel free to share in the comments!

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