#I may be kind of repulsed by sex given my reaction on having to do it one day

[fanofchaosandmayham]

I woke up in the middle of the night crying cause I forgot I wasn’t allo.

I was like legitimately stressed on how I was going to have to do all those bits in a allo-sexual relationship that we don’t like with the additional expectation of kids (I do not want to create children…ever)

Then I kind of woke up like:

#I know some aroaces want to have children and don’t mind doing the naughty #this is just my personal view on the matter #asexual #acespec #ace meme #ace community #and just like that it’s not my problem anymore #BEGONE XENOMORPH #I may be kind of repulsed by sex given my reaction on having to do it one day

[moiraineswife]

Refreshing as a Highstorm - A Stormlight Fic

Hey I inflicted this on my ao3 people last night and forgot about y’all! Inexcusable!! So here we are. 

DO NOT PROCEED IF U HAVE NOT READ RHYTHM OF WAR. 

you’ve read it? okay fabulous - u may proceed? 

you have not? WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE? LEAVE. NOW. 

Title: Refreshing as a Highstorm

Summary:  Set some time after Rhythm of War. Jasnah decides it's time to come out as ace to Wit, and she does so in typical Jasnah fashion. He takes it in typical Wit fashion - in stride. They're soft and I'm emotional. Everyone wins. Jasnah POV. Minor warning for mentions of past acephobia. 

Teaser: “Wit,” she said, tone brisk and firm, “We need to talk about sex.”

For a moment she saw surprise tinge his sharp features. Then he blinked and smoothed it away.

“What?” he said, his tone light, “Have I been doing it wrong all these years and no one has thought to tell me until now?”

Link: ao3

Commission Link: Have me write other cosmere characters 

Jasnah settled down on Wit’s bare chest, listening to his heartbeat. He did have a heart. The organ, at least.

That had surprised her the first time they had done this. Though in many ways Wit was deeply human, he was also alien.

There was a depth to him, a knowledge that came only from the thousands of years he had been alive, stalking her planet, and more besides.

At times that daunted her. Looking into his eyes could sometimes feel like looking into an abyss that held the weight of more knowledge than could ever be contained in all the books on Roshar.

History, history from a thousand worlds given life. And he was in her bed at this very moment peering down at her with a haze of sleepy pleasure. That gave her a little thrill of pride and excitement.

Alien and ancient or otherwise, he liked to hold her once they had finished. She had the sense that he craved the tenderness and the humanity of it, to end an act that had always seemed so primal to her with a distinctly human, civilised note.

She didn’t protest. Initially she hadn’t wanted it. It had felt like wasted time. The world was ending and she was cuddling? But, more recently, she had come to acknowledge the benefits of a little rest, of time where she was allowed to simply be. To exist, rather than fighting tooth and nail for each breath.

She suspected that was part of why Wit insisted on it. He kept doing things like that. Making excuses to feed her, or force her to take a break and step away from her work for a moment.

A part of her had balked at that at first, seeing it as a subtle way of him trying to control her. She had shut those fears down. It was not about control, it was about care. And she could let herself be cared for. Sometimes.

Wit stroked his fingers idly through her hair, unbound, pooling around her like a swath of night. Then he threaded their fingers together, deliberately choosing her safehand for the purpose.

He often did things like that, trying to entice or excite her. She worried he was beginning to see it as some sort of challenge or game she was luring him into.

She sighed.

The time had come to speak to him about this. In truth, the time had probably long ago. But, well, she was human. She could admit to a little fear.

In the chaos of everything that had happened over the last year, Wit had been a flurry of his own kind. But it was a kind that felt good rather than terrifying and she...Well she did not have an excellent history with romantic partners and she had feared to lose this.

The time had come, however, when not saying something would do more harm, so she pushed herself up, back against the headboard of the bed, drawing her dressing gown more firmly around herself.

Wit shifted lazily, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow to look at her.

“Wit,” she said, tone brisk and firm, “We need to talk about sex.”

For a moment she saw surprise tinge his sharp features. Then he blinked and smoothed it away.

“What?” he said, his tone light, “Have I been doing it wrong all these years and no one has thought to tell me until now?”

She eyed him. Each conversation was like a dance, a fight, testing, seeking, pushing one another. She enjoyed it, normally, but tonight...Tonight she just wanted to be open, and honest. No games.

“No,” she said, simply, “You were perfectly satisfactory.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her and she grimaced slightly. That..was probably not the most tactful thing she’d ever said to a partner.

Fortunately he just laughed and kissed her hand, “Jasnah, my dear, you can be wonderfully refreshing at times,” he said.

“As refreshing as a highstorm, you mean?” she said, bluntly, and he smiled again, eyes twinkling.

“Roshar would not have life without them,” he said, lightly.

She sighed again, more heavily this time, and Wit frowned slightly as she rubbed her temples. His expression shifted, and he sat up straighter.

“Jasnah?” he said, a faint note of worry tinging his words for the first time, “Is everything alright?”

“Fine,” she said, waving a vague hand, “It’s still difficult to speak about this. I’ve done it several times in the past, yet it never seems to get any easier. Particularly if one attempts to approach it with any measure of delicacy.”

“Then don’t,” he said simply, taking her hand, “Approach it like the highstorm that you are, Jasnah. I assure you I’ve survived worse.”

She took a deep breath and, not looking at him, said quietly, “I don’t need sex, Wit.”

He frowned slightly, and she braced herself for the quip.

“Don’t need it for what, my dear? For life? Technically none of us needs it, in the basest of terms. We don’t theoretically need wine, either, to survive. But to live? I consider it a necessity.”

“I don’t,” she murmured, and her voice seemed to strangle itself, becoming small.

She hated that, and forced it back to its typical tone and volume with effort as she cleared her throat and continued.

“I don’t need it to feel satisfied with life. I don’t need it to feel satisfied or fulfilled in a relationship. It is not something I have ever found myself wanting, as most other people seem to.”

She drew her knees up to her chest, holding them. A part of her recognised that she did this as a defence mechanism, that it was a very obvious tell that she felt afraid and insecure, which she hated feeling, and hated telegraphing even more. But she couldn’t help it. In that moment, not looking at him, waiting for the storm wall to hit, she needed the comfort it brought her.

Wit moved beside her, sitting up straight, facing her, and when she looked up at him she saw that his face was uncharacteristically serious. He reached out and gently took both of her hands in his. She let him, and he seemed deeply relieved by that. Far too relieved in fact.

She frowned at him as he said, in a tone she had never heard from him before, serious and direct, “Jasnah, you haven’t felt as though I’ve ever-”

“No,” she interrupted him quickly, suddenly understanding what he was worried about.

Then she gave him a flat look that clearly said, ‘do you truly think you could pressure me into doing anything like that?’

The tension in his posture broke and he laughed, then, and said, “You are truly wonderful, Jasnah. I don’t think I’ve seen such a fabulous glare for centuries now. I must study it thoroughly at a later date so as to be able to properly master it when needed.”

She smiled again, some of her own tension bleeding away, though not all.

He scooted over to sit beside her, back against the headboard, legs stretched out comfortably in front of him.

She waited for him to settle himself then said, “This isn’t a problem for you? In our relationship?”

“No,” he said, and though his tone was lighter than it had been earlier, it took on that uncharacteristic serious cast once more for her.

“You surprised me, Jasnah Kholin. You were something on this planet I never expected, and have been delightful in many ways. I won’t pretend that I haven’t enjoyed our physical diversions. But you, and indeed this budding partnership, are worth more to me than the pleasure I can derive from our bodies.”

She nodded absently, then frowned as she realised that he seemed to be perfectly content to continue with her, without question or hesitation.

She had been about to assure him that she was perfectly happy to continue having sex with him, for him. She was not repulsed by it, if she had she would certainly never have entertained it with him. But she had expected to make this point in rebuttal of his disappointment or withdrawal. And he hadn’t done either, which momentarily threw her.

She knew her worth. And she knew that her value as a partner was indeed worth more than the use someone might find for her body.

Other partners had not exactly shared that sentiment in the past.

However fond they had been of her, her disinterest in sex had always put them off. Even if they did not react initially poorly, over time they became frustrated and disappointed, as though they had secretly hoped that she might make an exception for them.

They seemed to take it as a personal slight that she didn’t think about having sex with them every waking moment.

She had never had either the time or the patience for that nonsense, and each time she had walked away without regret. But she would have been lying if she claimed that it hadn’t hurt her, hadn’t made her feel lonely, and alien, even broken, when she’d been younger.

Wit was taking this too well, and she narrowed her eyes slightly at him, trying to determine his angle.

He did not seem the type of man who would take it as a personal insult that she did not crave sex with him. He was arrogant, and he had an ego, but it was of an entirely different sort.

Still, she hadn’t expected his reaction to be, so, well, absent. He was looking at her with the same bright eyes he always did, the same thinly veiled eagerness to see what their companionship would bring, the same intensity and hunger that had simmered between them this past year.

Wit seemed to read her confusion and suspicion in her face, for he reached out and took her hand, her free hand, and squeezed it.

“You are not the first person I’ve met who feels this way, Jasnah,” he said gently. “Indeed, you are not the second, third, or fourth person, either. We would have to climb rather high up the number scale, if you wish to truly and accurately plot yourself.”

“Really?” she said, before she could stop herself.

Logically she knew that she couldn’t be the only person who felt this way. Particularly when one factored in the sheer number of people Wit had known in his life. Statistically it was highly likely that he’d met someone else like her before.

The logic, however, did not prevent the sudden rush of warm emotion at hearing, at knowing, that she was not alone.

Wit smiled at her. A different smile than any she had seen before.

This was the smile of a man who knew the importance of knowledge, the emotion it could bring when used to connect, rather than destroy.

The smile of someone who used that knowledge to bring hope and comfort to people; to bring them together, and help them Connect across realms and ages.

The smile of someone who still found simple joy in using the wealth of his vast experience to bring a simple joy to a frightened girl who had spent so long afraid that she was alone and unlovable.

He squeezed her hands and nodded. Absurdly, she felt her throat tighten, and had to raise her other hand to wipe at her eyes as she felt tears bud in them. Some instinct urged her to pull away from Wit, to not let him see her emotion, the power he had over her with the truth he had just given her.

But she was learning to fight those instincts, and so she turned to him, full on, and let him see her tears, let him see her smile, let him see what a gift he had given her today.

Wit smiled back, warm and genuine, and stayed quiet, with obvious effort, allowing her to have her moment.

A gloryspren winked into existence above her head, and for once she let it manifest in the physical realm, smiling up at it.

After a moment she pulled herself together, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes, returning to business.

“Have you ever been in a relationship with someone like me, though?” she asked him, tone direct once more.

“No,” he admitted gently, then added, with typical levity, “But I’ve never been tap dancing with a chull, either, and I’d very much like to try that as well. The ability to continue providing me with new experiences even after all this time is one of the cosmere’s greatest gifts and joys, Jasnah.”

She eyed him, judging his sincerity. Somehow, the man sitting there with a twinkle in his eye, talking about tap dancing chulls, seemed more sincere than the others who had initially told her the same, with serious tones, and sombre expressions, only to accuse her of being cold and inhuman some months later.

She eyed him again and he raised an eyebrow at her.

She sighed and admitted, “You’re taking this too well.”

A faint blush stained her cheeks at that and she turned away. It felt so vulnerable to admit that, to admit that she expected him to hurt her. More vulnerable even than it had felt to admit the thing she expected him to use as a weapon against her.

“Jasnah,” he said, quietly, “I won’t pretend that I haven’t enjoyed that aspect of our relationship. You are a beautiful, alluring woman. And for all that you have no inclination towards it yourself, rather talented."

She smirked a little at that. As with most things, she had felt that if she was going to engage in it she may as well at least attain some competence.

“But it was a means to an end, my dear. Pleasure, indeed, but also intimacy, and closeness with you. That is what I truly want.

“I’ve had plenty of sex in my life, Jasnah, I’m quite sure I can survive a few decades without it for a creature as truly incredible as yourself. You are the unique and wonderful experience Roshar has gifted me with. What a fool I would be to throw that aside for the sake of sex.”

"Others in the past have not been as...discerning," she said drily.

"Well, as you yourself are fond of noting, dearest, other people can often be idiots," he said lightly. "Sex is wonderful. A true masterstroke by the cosmere to encourage us all to keep producing children. But I'm fairly sure its lack won't be added to the list of things that have killed me any time soon."

She studied him, so sincere, so lighthearted, then said, bluntly, “I’m not asking you to become celibate for me, Wit. We can have sex again, if you wish.”

He blinked at her, digesting that, then he said curiously, “Do you enjoy it?”

There were no strings to the question. They did not do that with one another, as was openly established early on in their relationship. Questions were welcomed, by both parties, whatever their content, the intent assumed always to be genuine.

She considered the question, truly considered it.

With him, and with a few others, she had engaged in sex because her partner had desired it, and she had wanted to do something for them.

Rather as she might prepare a meal she was not altogether fond of, but which she knew was their favourite. If she prepared meals.

“Yes,” she said, finally, “It is pleasurable for me, when done correctly,” she added with a frown of irritation.

In her experience, that was certainly not always the case. Wit, for all his flaws, could never be accused of being stingy with the attention he gave her. In every aspect of their relationship.

"As I imagine it can be for most people. Though likely not as intense and consuming as it is for others, I’ve gathered. And then there’s of course the fact that-”

She broke off, actually blushing noticeably for the first time in approximately a decade.

Wit’s face split into a wide, almost wicked grin.

“Come now, Jasnah," he said, waggling a finger at him, "A highstorm does not hold back its rains, you should not hold back your insightful and unique pearls of wisdom on the human condition. Least of all in my presence. I simply won’t have it,” he said, prodding her with a finger in a spot that he knew she was ticklish.

She actually growled at him, and he stopped at once, though he did laugh as he did so. Insufferable bastard.

She sighed and said, “Sex is pleasurable, but it’s not a pleasure that I can’t achieve myself more easily, with much less mess and fuss, and a good deal less complex emotional baggage attached.”

Wit laughed again at that, loud and full, and she found herself smiling in spite of herself.

Knowing he would enjoy it, she continued, layering an analogy onto the idea.

“It’s rather like attending a feast when you’re already full. The food still tastes nice, even if you didn’t particularly want it. But wouldn’t it have been far simpler, faster, and less likely to cause a headache had you simply taken a private meal in your chambers and skipped the fuss?”

As she had hoped, that caused him to laugh harder. Wit enjoyed an apt metaphor, particularly if it was original. Or as original as it could be to someone with his life experience.

He leaned in and gently kissed her temple, “You are a true delight, Jasnah. A highstorm that invests me with such joy and wonder, even as it attempts to bludgeon me with the force of its will.”

She raised an eyebrow at him as he coaxed her back down into a more relaxed posture, the two of them lying down once more, their legs lazily entwined, his fingers in her hair again.

“Too far?” he asked, lightly, as she settled back into place.

Wit liked flowery language, in all areas of life, but particularly in complimenting her.

She'd made the mistake of telling him, flatly, that it was nauseating.

He'd spent a solid month afterwards composing the most outrageous quips and lines of flattery, which had included multiple pieces of poetry sprung on her without warning.

Finally losing patience, she had soulcast all six pages of the final one into crystal and thrown it at him.

He had laughed, and they had come to an agreement regarding a comfortable level of tolerable flirtation and flattery from him.

“You’re a faint breeze away from ending up at the bottom of a chasm,” she told him flatly.

He smiled, “You may need to think of something with more threat to it, my dear,” he said. “You know perfectly well that if a faint breeze did topple my hapless person into a chasm I’d only crawl out of it a day later far more annoying than when I’d plunged in.”

“Hm, with a tap dancing chull in tow, no doubt” she deadpanned in response, resting her head against his chest once more.

She felt the laugh vibrate through his ribs this time. It was a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one.

He sobered again a moment later and said, “I’ll need to leave again, in the next few days. There’s somewhere else I must be. Something that proves even more irresistible than your delicious tongue, my dear.”

She nodded without comment. He did this, disappearing for sometimes weeks at a time. He had done it even when he’d acted as Elhokar’s Wit, and she’d had no illusions at all that she would be able to dissuade him of it. He always came back, typically just before she truly needed him. That was enough. She'd long since given up asking where he went.

She did appreciate that he’d started giving her some warning that he was going to vanish on her, however.

“I would like to discuss this further when I return,” he said, thoughtfully, fingers still carding absently through her hair, “I understand, and appreciate, your willingness to continue experiencing the true wonders my tongue can perform in physical matters, as well as mental,” she rolled her eyes, but he pressed on, apparently without noticing, “But I would like to have an open conversation, establish some rules, some tweaks to our relationship going forwards to allow it to blossom as it may.”

She smiled against him, “That would be wise, and appreciated,” she said slowly.

It still hadn't sunk in that he was so...Accepting of this. People usually had a broad range of reactions to her. Acceptance was rarely one of them.

Then, with more reluctance than she ever thought she would feel doing so, she pushed herself out of his arms and stood.

“I have work that must be attended to tonight, casualty reports from the latest battle, maps I wish to review before the strategy conference in the morning,” she said, adjusting her robe.

Wit propped himself up in bed and eyed her. She knew that he thought she should sleep, that she worked herself too long, and too hard. He had warned her about the dangers of relying on Investiture to push her body beyond its natural capabilities. Indeed, she had chided several of the younger Radiants with similar warnings, and forced them to rest.

But for herself? This had been her burden to bear for almost twenty years, now. She had already given so much of herself to it, and felt that it was still not enough, that this was a piece of advice she found it difficult to take.

He opened his mouth, and she expected him to protest, to urge her to return to bed with him, perhaps with some crass quip. Instead, he said, “How can I help?”

She smiled, and asked if he would fetch her copies of the maps from the room they used for study and preparation.

He pressed a small kiss to her cheek before moving off to do as she’d requested. Watching him go, she felt a faint stir of warmth inside her. Rather like the feeling she had when drawing in Stormlight.

The world was ending. They were embroiled in the midst of a centuries long war with the destructive embodiment of hatred, bent on their capitulation and eventually destruction. But in that moment, she allowed herself to be human, to be vulnerable, and open, and flawed.

In that moment, Jasnah allowed herself to be cared for. She allowed herself to be wanted, in a way she never truly believed she could be. She allowed herself to remember why they fought, why she had given so much of herself to saving this world. She allowed herself to live, for just a moment, before she returned to the fight.

***

A/N: Look I didn’t expect this ship to happen to me either but hey! That’s just how life works in the year of or lord brandon sanderson 2020 so what can you do??????? He makes Jasnah happy and evidently that’s good enough for the rat brain. Except more fic at a later date bc I have 0 self control. 

#jasnah kholin #hoid #rhythm of war #rhythm of war spoilers #stormlight archive #jasnah/hoid #jasnah/hoid fic #i cant think of a good ship name everything sounds Bad when u smoosh #might have to go for something esoteric. i'll think abt it #for now this'll have to do #tsa #tsa fic #my fic #taryn is COMPROMISED #long post #text post tag #have at it y'all

[aromantic-official]

dumb question, but i’m aroace+while i want a qpr with a fellow aroace person, it’s occurred to me that i might not ever be able to have that and i might be willing to date. how would one go about dating/platonic dating as an aromantic? how does one set boundaries (i’m sex and kissing repulsed)? what if i get asked out romantically and want to have a platonic dating relationship? i’d prefer to date a fem or nb person (i’m a girl), how do i go about those spaces? not really guides to this lol.

That’s not dumb at all; those are very real concerns! I’m in a very similar position with similar preferences so hopefully my advice can help. This is long so it’s under a cut.

While it’s only for one specific question you asked, maybe this anecdote can help: I had a very close friend of mine confess that she had a crush on me, but was alright with us dating or remaining friends. If you do get asked out, look for these kinds of opportunities, where the person wants to be in a committed relationship with you if given the chance, but also values you deeply as a friend. I introduced her to the concept of a qpr, she agreed that sounded like a good idea to try, then we had a mix of “platonic dating”/”soft romo”/qpr thing going for a few months before we broke up (unrelated issues).

She’s a huge romantic while I don’t like that kind of thing and am repulsed by just about everything, but the key to making it work was having serious talks about our boundaries, what we valued in a relationship, and what we could comfortably do to make each other happy. If the other person values your safety and comfort, they’ll do what they can to make the relationship work, no matter their sexuality or the nature of the relationship. I’m an incredibly blunt person, so this may not work for you, but I literally counted out on my fingers and told her to her face exactly what I would not do (ex. kissing on the mouth), and what I was willing to do under certain circumstances (ex. kissing on the cheek), etc. and we talked out any issues that arose. You could do something like that a lot more casually, over text, through a list, etc. My boundaries also gradually changed and I became okay with some romantic gestures, so we’d have little confirmations and affirmations throughout the relationship to keep making sure we were both comfortable with each others’ actions and reactions.

Unfortunately, the only LGBTQ+ “space” I’ve ever been in is hanging out with friends so I don’t have any tips there. If any girls or enbies you’re friends with know you’re open to the idea of dating in general, that opens the same avenues for you as allos, like flirting or asking people out. There really should be guides to this sort of thing, you’re right, but hopefully piecing together advice from several different sources still works well enough. Hope I was able to help!

- Mod Harley

#asks #mod harley #aro relationships #qpr #long post #romance mention

[hatari-translations]

Klámstrákur - analysis

Here I am, back again with some lyric analysis!

I think that it’s valid to interpret a song to have whatever meaning it evokes for you personally - but that it’s also useful, or at least interesting, to take a close look at what the lyrics say and what they imply if taken to be a reasonably literal whole, which will probably give the best possible insight when it comes to speculating on what the original intention behind the lyrics was, whether you then choose to make that guide your personal interpretation of the song or not. In this analysis, when I speak of ‘Klemens’, I’m referring to Klemens’ character, the narrator of the song, not to actual real-life Klemens, unless otherwise stated.

Content warning for discussion of sexual assault below.

What is Klámstrákur?

“Klámstrákur” is an unreleased song by Hatari, which you should listen to if you haven’t because it’s good and features some excellent Klemens. I’ve transcribed the lyrics and translated them into English to my best ability here. As Matthías writes the lyrics for Hatari, the lyrics can be presumed to be written by him, even though Klemens performs the song. You should read the lyrics in full to follow the rest of this post!

“Klámstrákur” is a favorite among Hatari fans, largely for Klemens’ seductive, emotional vocals and the way that, during live performances, Matthías will point into the audience, often specifically at people who are recording the song on their phones, and mercilessly growl “Þú ert klámstrákur” at them, which translates to “You’re a porn boy.”

So what is it about?

Well. The lyrics aren’t super explicit about what’s going on. But we can definitely glean a few things.

Klemens is unwell

In the first verse of the song, Klemens sings about an illness that he seems to be afflicted with - he’s shivering, coughing up stuff, getting weak. Klemens at least believes that he’s dying, but the doctors he’s seen about it are dismissive.

There are a couple of possible interpretations of this. The most straightforward is that Klemens is right: he really is dying, but the doctors aren’t listening to him. This probably suggests that he’s afflicted with a life-threatening condition of some kind, but dismissed because of social stigma against his condition or who he is generally.

It’s also possible that he only believes that he’s dying, but he’s really not, and that’s why the doctors are dismissive. In this case, what the verse is getting at is not physical illness, but mental: Klemens is so miserable and traumatized that he imagines he’s dying, even though he perhaps only has a common, non-life-threatening illness. (He probably has some kind of illness; the shivering could be psychological, but the specific reference to coughing up more as opposed to just coughing more is genuinely pretty worrying.)

Klemens is mentally unwell

Even if he’s really dying of a physical illness, Klemens is clearly not okay mentally either. He describes having a weak self-image, being an anxious wreck (in Icelandic he says kvíðasjúklingur, or literally ‘anxiety patient’, though it doesn’t sound that clinical), crying, lying alone unable to sleep. Moreover, “Sometimes I lie alone / utterly lonely / tied down, insomniac / a sticky boy” is kind of ambiguous (“tied down” suggests this is while engaged in a BDSM scene, but “insomniac” kind of suggests he’s in bed and supposed to be sleeping), but it makes me imagine him kind of lying there catatonic, not even cleaning himself. All in all, he’s in a poor state, suffering anxiety/depression.

Klemens is engaged in some kind of sex work

I say this mainly because of “I’ll do anything that sells”. Given the whole ‘porn boy’ thing, he may literally mean that he’s a pornographic model, or it may be less literal. Either way it seems pretty clear he’s engaging in sexual acts for money.

Klemens has been made to do things he’s not comfortable with, but blames himself

Okay. Let’s not kid ourselves; this is my big thesis here. This is the bit I don’t really see people talking about.

Let’s take a look at these lines:

Vomiting, crying, whining

I’m a mess

Easily hurt

I’m that type, a total prude making a scene

Klemens described himself as horny and doing anything that sells earlier in the song. So what’s this “total prude making a scene” thing about? Well, to me it’s pretty clear that he tried to refuse to do something, but was then convinced - by his clients, or simply by himself - that he was being a prude, that he was making a scene about nothing. And he bought it. He thinks he’s that type, an easily hurt mess, one who’s whining. He’s fine, right? He’s a horny little guy, isn’t he? A porn boy, a bad boy? He wants this, doesn’t he? Only some kind of spoiled creature would be complaining.

I think it’s pretty well implied that the Klemens character has suffered one kind of sexual assault or another here, but has convinced himself that wasn’t what happened, that he was making a big deal out of nothing, that he deserved it. He is a traumatized victim drowning in his own self-loathing, and this is probably a large part of why he has anxiety and finds himself crying uncontrollably and unable to sleep.

Matthías thinks he’s disgusting and despicable

So who exactly is Matthías in this song? I see three main possibilities here.

The first is that Matthías represents Klemens’ abusers, who personally feel nothing but contempt for him as a sex worker. If he has a physical illness, given the rest of the song, it’s probably sexually transmitted - very possibly AIDS - and they think it makes him disgusting.

The second is that Matthías represents society as a whole. There’s a huge amount of stigma against sex work, and especially during the AIDS crisis back in the 80s, it was hugely stigmatized as well. Society considers him disgusting and refuses to see him as a human being. This would also explain the doctors, by the way; I think it’s pretty likely he is meant to have AIDS regardless of who Matthías represents.

The third possibility is that Matthías represents Klemens’ own self-loathing. He thinks he’s disgusting and repulsive, and just has a constant angry voice of judgement in his head reminding him that he’s a porn boy, despicable, a disgusting brat, the lowest of the low.

Perhaps he’s a bit of all three.

Klemens needs all of the hugs

I think I’ve made my case.

Okay, now I feel weird about being turned on by that song.

That’s a fair reaction. I think Hatari deliberately present the song in a way that’s seductive and suggestive while the lyrics are positively chilling and really anything but sexy, probably because the Klemens character has persuaded himself that this is all pretty sexy. You can appreciate the sensuality of actual-Klemens’ performance while aware that the fiction of the song describes something deeply messed up. I suspect that’s kind of the reaction that they’re going for.

To me, the song is about [x], though.

And that’s cool! Songs can be about many things at the same time, with a metaphorical layer as well as a literal layer, and even if it’s not what the author was actually thinking about while writing it, each listener brings their own experiences to the table and can find meaning in a song that the author didn’t even know was there!

But is it really about Klemens selling himself to act sexual on stage even though he doesn’t really want to?

Almost definitely not, since the song is 1) almost definitely not written by Klemens, 2) significant portions of the song don’t make any sense in that light, 3) I’m pretty sure Klámstrákur predates Hatari being famous or known for sexiness enough to feel any kind of pressure to put on a sexy show for the audience, and 4) have you seen Klemens, he really goes above and beyond what anyone would expect of him on stage, there is obviously such a thing as being in denial but if that were the case he wouldn’t be singing a very self-aware song about how much he actually hates doing this. While different interpretations of what it’s about are valid, I personally think it’s a bit tasteless to advance interpretations of what the intention behind it is that baselessly posit edgy things about the guys’ personal lives.

#hatari #klámstrákur #lyric analysis

[violetsystems]

#personal

I think life would worry me more if weird weeks consistently ended on a sour note.  As far as weird weeks go, this week was pretty strange.  Between my home and my office is still a bit of an adventure.  I live in a major city that the news always complains is shrinking.  If you were to survey the psychic war of personal space at any given time you’d see different results.   But we live in a society.  More so I live in America in a city as close to Gotham as it gets.  If you wanted to drill down to the essence of the terms, I’m about as incel as it gets.  Except I’d just tell you I’m celibate by choice.  Why I’ve chosen to refrain from intimacy for years isn’t something people really want to listen to.  Surprisingly I have lashed out at society any number of times on my commute.  Not unlike Robert Pattinson’s shirts people are often “on my dick” in the parlance of our times.  Most of this I’ve begun to realize is better to ignore than react to.  I look scary when I’m angry.  At least I see myself that way.  Twisted and scrunched up in pain.  I’m more like the hulk.  My secret is that I am always in pain.  I’m too tired from core strength training and yoga to give a fuck.  The penultimate hipster.  A smug left leaning liberal with a conscience.  I wouldn’t argue with any of those by definition.  But people who’ve come to know me here understand it’s not so simple.  The more patience you develop the more problems you are aware enough of to avoid.  I wrote a Nike survey for their training app the other day.  I described how pleased I was that it gave me the confidence to quit the gym.  A gym that I noted in the survey where I experienced constant sexual harassment and intimidation.  Ironically a summer later focusing on soccer routines in my apartment got me in better shape physically than I’ve ever been.  And yet here I am.  Lonely old man on the internet.  Lonely old handsome man on the internet.  I’m not trying to hit on anyone.  No new friends.  I write these mostly for my friends and the people I care deeply about.   The results used to be mostly apparent online.  These days it bleeds into the streets I walk daily.  Sometimes that is very hard to interpret but it’s easier when I’m open to receiving it.   People have heavy expectations on me.  This I’m fine with.  We live in a society after all.  And yet there are often times I want to lash out.  Mostly these days there are times I draw the line and set the boundaries.  I’m mad as hell and can’t take it anymore.  And my resistance to things looks far different than that of a Joker or even a Batman.  But I’m still just like you.  Often horny but never inappropriately so.  At least not in public.  That’d be fucked up.  And yet we still live in a society where men feel bothered by that very concept.  Their libidos enslaved and their expectations denied.  Who entitled these clowns to anything?  It’s called involuntary celibacy for a reason.  What makes people uncomfortable is the modern white male heterosexual’s expectation for sex.  Therein lies a problem to be engineered and solved in your life not a complete mental fucking breakdown.  This is why we can’t have nice things.  Thank you Mr. Incel.

My longest relationship lasted a decade.  It ended in a complex ball of fire where I crash landed in total ash.  There were times when it was amazing.  I don’t think I would have put so much into it at the time if it weren’t.  Never want to go back to that particular shit ever again.  But for whatever reason from there I spent a long time blaming myself.   Mostly feeling sorry for myself and drinking alone.  That evolved into drinking alone on the other side of the planet in places like Korea and Japan.  Then I definitely decided to quit drinking.  A decade later I’m pretty much a virgin again.  Whatever the fuck that means really.  It doesn’t make me any different from anybody else.  I’ve liked a girl for what seems like forever.  But it’s only been this last year where I saw myself in any sort of orbit.  If society is already so claustrophobic I often just want to be silent and alone.  People who can’t stand to be alone often hate themselves secretly.  I’ve been there.  The lowest possible place you could be for a single white heterosexual male.  I’m sure some of my audience revels in those kinds of statements.  Serves the straights right you know.  I ain’t mad at you.  Why should I be.  It’s mostly those communities that have voiced the most valuable criticisms about toxic masculinity.  And yet however good I am there’s still people out there who can’t stand to see me winning.  That’s called saving face.  And I guess the joker does it with a shit ton of clown makeup.  I do it with a daily moisturizer for oily skin.  It is true that society as a whole shares the blame.  So instead of lashing out why not just drop out of society entirely.  Or build society 2.0 the internet portal.  Society in orbit around the planet in the ISS.  You feel like you can take on the entire weight of the planet.  The joker is not Galactus.  These pieces of shit know they’re worthless and weak.  They run on reaction and pure adrenaline. They want to end with the most hurt incurred possible.  They want people to feel how bad they feel inside.  And I’ve been there.  And I realized nobody would want to share a side of my bed with that kind of attitude.  So  I slept alone night after night and thought about healing instead of suffering.  Still fucking horny.  It never ends.  Do I project that onto people?  Act gross on the internet or in public.  No.  And year after year people have grown to trust that I may not exactly be part of the problem.  Things start to feel romantic again in the strangest way possible.  What does it mean to be sexy and what does it mean to be repulsive?  I don’t think having expectations on other people is sexy at all.  You treat people like objects that way.  Objects can’t love you back.  And you lash out in pain that you can’t mature enough to see people as human first.  You become a twisted Frankenstein in the mirror.  You’ve had it up to here.  Nobody will ever love me.   Nobody has time for me.  Nobody around here anyway.  I’m glad honestly because I’m saving all my love for you.  People don’t get that.  I do.  And I see it reflected back at me in the streets.  A different kind of expectation.  A different kind of trust.  A different take on being a man.  A different kind of joke entirely.

And so here a troubled Conan sits on his throne seemingly without a queen.  What does he do?  Wage war on the struggles he was built upon?  Search for peace?  Go back to being a Barbarian and a thief probably.  That’s what I’d do.  Politics these days is the closest thing to dark sorcery.  And Conan hates dark sorcery.  I’m the one walking around in the streets being called a witch.  My only witchcraft has been inclusiveness.  And that includes me.  I’m as sexually frustrated as anybody else out there.  Frustration isn’t exactly sexy in all cases.  Just do something about it.  And what men mostly do with it has been ugly.  You’d think with so much failure out there it’d be easy to see the successes.  Male frustration is something people have grown to actually fear with good reason.  Systemic racism, homophobia, transphobia, religious intolerance, controlling behavior and whatever else you want to throw onto the heaping trash pile of toxic white male American Heterosexual identity in 2019.  I’m supposed to tell you I’m different.  Trust me babe.  If I know anything about America and the English language people love to talk about what they do.  How they’d build that time machine and save Anne Frank.  Sometime after brunch or expensive coffee.  The mind fuck is you have to do something about it.  And it’s more likely for me to solve the problem of toxic masculinity for myself and thrive than to just talk about it.  Solve it for the world when the world doesn’t listen.  I’ve been talking about it on the internet lonely for years.  Now people won’t stop hassling me in the streets.  I’m surrounded by an army of Pink backpacks at all times.  Cloistered together like bandits in the morning.  Some sort of tribal reaction to an assault on the very fabric of society.  You wake up one day and realize you are on the other side of the movement.  You didn’t expect to be but you deserve it.  And instead of lashing out you’ve worked to build a society that includes you.  That understands your frustrations and appreciates how you work to perfect them.  I’ve spat at the ground more times than anybody knows this summer.  I’m crying as I write this.  And I know it won’t get any better if I act like a child and kick over the sandcastles we all built together.  And yet society doesn’t stop fucking with you.  Nobody is happy.  Nobody goes out and takes life by the throat gently.  If they do they’re pathological, sociopathic and gross about it.  There’s no Crom above to judge them.  And the rich get richer.  And the scandals get deeper.  And people run around with shirts that I made from the trash and try to sell me guitars under the el tracks by my house.  Sounds like a great place to plant a garden or raise a family.  Maybe one day we can take a family picture in the joker face paint.  Let’s just hope our child doesn’t get expelled from public school because of it.  At least then I won’t be an incel. For now everybody else in the parlance of our times.  “Stay off my dick.” <3 Tim

[nymphgirlsofskyrim]

Version 2.0 Update Info

I am currently working on a new version of NGoS that will be ready in roughly a month or so.  I had originally planned on releasing this in March, but my schedule became too crowded and I didn't have as much time to devote to it as I had hoped.

The new update has numerous bug fixes, as well as new content and a few new features.

Bug Fixes

Bug Fixes are pretty numerous, mostly small stuff, but here are some examples

I defined a nymph specific skeleton to conclusively resolve feet deformity issues caused by having an out-of-date XPMSE skeleton

Fixed a lot of mismapped texture paths on meshes that caused them to show up solid purple.

A few meshes had the normal maps generated upside down.  This is because OpenGL and Direct3D have different conventions for lighting direction, openGL is Y+ for up whereas Direct3D is Y- for up.  On some of the older textures I generated normals for I accidentally baked them with the OpenGL directions.  This causes areas that should look recessed to actually stick out.  The most noticeable example of this is Kayellie’s Sword.  The Glyphs on her sword are supposed to be engravings, but they actually look like they are protruding in most lighting.

Bodyslide generated body meshes had the wrong .tri file specified so it wouldn’t work with in game uunp morphs

The followers were not correctly using some of the Nymph Racial abilities which applied their effects through perks.  This affected all of the followers to some degree (they didn’t get the default Nymph iron/steel protection) but it affected Kayellie and Mystra more, since they weren’t getting the Blended Nymph protection either.  Mystra is a lot sturdier now that both of those are working (as she should be!)

Synne’s Flames of Sin was not correctly scaling.  

This also includes the bug fixes from the hotfix updates I posted back in January, so you will only need to download 1 file.  There are a few other minor bugs I have fixed, and I intend to go through and examine each and every part of this before I release the update to make sure I didn't miss anything.

New Features

As for new features, the biggest one is that I am adding “Ultimate Abilities” to each follower.  

These are powers that they can only use once they are level 50 or higher, and these abilities are either a super powerful spell that can only be used once every 10 minutes, or a permanent upgrade to their basic fighting style.  

These abilities have very elaborate shaders that I have put a lot of work into, special audioFX, and a voiceline that each follower will say when they cast it.

Right now I have two of these completed, Yulia and Synne.  I will make another post to showcase these as well as give updates as I complete the other 4 follower ultimates.

The other big feature I am adding is preset placement.  A lot of people were asking for this, as well as Nymph world encounters, so I ended up creating a kind of scavenger hunt with the Nymph presets.

There are 22 in total, randomly scattered all over Skyrim.  There are more presets than this, but several of them ended up becoming crew members of the new follower, who I will get to next.

There are a variety of locations you can find them in, ranging from caves, ponds, rural inns to big city taverns, and they are placed according to their subtype.

You are most likely to find a Blended Nymph at a small Rural Inn, such as “Old Hroldan Inn”

The best place to find a Night Nymph is a major city, as you might expect.  They are part of the normal populace, but fortunately the perception-altering magic of the Night Nymph doesn't work on the Dragonborn, so you should be able to spot them easily.

While the two previous subtypes generally stay dressed and live discreetly alongside humans, the other three subtypes are encountered naked in the Wilderness, in typical Nymph form.

Most of time you can find a Wood Nymph at a glen or grove, just like you would find a spriggan.  Good thing Nymphii get along with spriggans!

The easiest place to find a Desert Nymph is in a Grotto type cave.  Frequently they get in territory disputes with the local bears or horkers, but wildlife aren’t a match for the warrior prowess of your average Desert Nymph.

Since there are no jungles in Skyrim, and the few swamplands tend to be shallow and lack sufficient foliage to suit a Beast Nymph, most of them live in caves.  

There are a couple Khajiit Nymphii that have claimed abandoned housing due to the particularly appealing treasures within: one has discovered a shack full of fish, while the other has found a house full of mice.

Each of these 22 Nymphii has been given a distinct class, combat-style, and spell-list, along with appropriate class-perks and the same leveling perks that the Nymph Followers possess.  I tried to make each one of them unique, and they run the range of magic, stealth, and different styles of combat, so that none of them is quite the same.  A few even have unique powers, but they will be harder to find!

New Content

The big addition is the inclusion of Nai’Yari, the new Desert Nymph Follower.  I have described her already in other posts, so I won’t go into a whole lot of detail here.  

The biggest thing I have to add is that I have made her crewmates into potential followers as well, and given them unique equipment and a special ability.

Currently she has 2 crew members that are camped out with her in Skyrim, a Desert Nymph and a Blended Nymph, but I am planning on adding at least one more, possibly two, a Bretoniic Nymph (!!!) and a Nord woman.

Besides the new follower I have already shown on this blog, I am also in the process of finishing up the lore updates that I have been working on.  

This is pretty extensive, and I don’t think I will be able to include it all with this update.  For now, here’s a teaser of some of the tidbits that have come up in questions I have received.

Nymphii have a mating selection process that is based almost 100% on some innate ability to sense the compatibility of any mortal's "magical essence" with the Nymph’s own magical composition.  

Most Nymph subtypes have almost no interest in status, wealth, power, or any other kind of social advantages or material resources.  A prince or a pauper makes very little difference to her.

The Nymph, like any humanoid creature, will obviously have some sense of aesthetics.  However, since all Nymphii are inhumanly beautiful, regardless of the father’s appearance, this is not a major factor in her selection process.  Whether a man is handsome or ugly is only relevant if they have equally compatible “Magical Essence.”

The result is that the Nymph may display strong preferences for one person over another that make very little sense, and her preferences may often seem incomprehensible to mortals.  

For example, a Nymph may show an irresistible attraction to the one-eyed beggar of solitude, and be completely disinterested or even repulsed by the wealthy, charming, and handsome nobleman.

Two males of the same race can still have hugely different patterns of essence.  

A Desert Nymph, whose composition generally favors Redguards, can be highly compatible with the essence of one Redguard man but may be totally incompatible with the essence of another.  

Every mortal has a unique pattern of “Magical Essence” that a Nymph can intuitively read.  Call this perception something like "Magical Pheromones" if that helps to explain it.  

This pattern of “Magical Essence” is usually something only a Nymph can sense, though it may be possible to "read" a person's essence with powerful divination magic.  

Every Nymph can perceive this essence this upon reaching maturity.  It is part of the basic reproductive behavior of every subtype, even the Blended Nymph, for whom selection is not quite so necessary. 

“Magical Essence" is contained primarily within mortal reproductive cells, male and female.  Similar to how a Succubus obtains whatever it is that keeps her alive from semen, the Nymph requires the "Magical Essence" housed within functional humanoid reproductive cells in order to reproduce, which she eventually uses to start an arcane catalytic reaction that generates a new Nymph.

She can gather “Magical Essence” from both men and women, but due to the great difference in number of cells produced (billions of sperm vs. a single ova), it is almost impossible for her to obtain enough essence from a woman to reproduce.  Her strong preference for males as mates is based on this fact, rather than on any anatomical reason.

Human males possess significantly more essence per cell to account for their shorter lifespans, and this helps to account for why Nymphii generally do not prefer Mer over Human except by specific Nymph subtype.

An egg will have thousands of times the quantity of essence per cell, but this is rarely enough to make a difference.

The only situation in which she might obtain enough essence from a woman would be a relationship with a Mer woman that persists for more than five centuries.  It is not impossible, but very nearly so.

It is next to impossible for a Nymph to get pregnant the first time she has sex with any given person.

Most Nymphii are aware of this fact, and it contributes somewhat to the “promiscuous” reputation that the Nymph species has.

They are also generally immune to most sexually transmitted diseases that affect mortals, though with the exception of the Wood Nymph, they are not immune to magical diseases. 

There may be a few diseases that only affect the Nymph which are carried by mortals...

Basically, there is very little risk or consequence for the Nymph if she chooses to indulge her desires.

The genes of the male are totally and completely irrelevant in terms of the composition of the new Nymph: she does NOT reproduce through genetic inheritance.

The “Nymph Generating Reaction” proceeds more quickly based on the amount of "Magical Essence" that she can use as building blocks: the more times she has had sex with the same person, the shorter her pregnancy will be.  

A Nymph could conceive with a mate she has only slept with a few dozen times, but her resulting pregnancy will last decades.  

Comparably, a Nymph who has been in a relationship with a Human man for his entire lifespan may have a pregnancy that lasts only a few weeks.

The building blocks of different individuals are wholly incompatible with each other and cannot be used to fuel the same reaction; each person has a unique variant of "essence" and she cannot further this reaction by sleeping with many different people.

A Nymph might be quite promiscuous normally, but once she has taken a mate she thus has a very strong incentive to be monogamous.

The essence of incompatible mates does not necessarily disrupt the reaction, but it does not provide any benefit either.  Since a Nymph pursuing reproduction is always engaging in a deliberate and conscious decision, it does not make much sense for her to sustain an interest in other mates until after she has conceived.

There’s a lot more, but that’s part of what I consider the “essential” basics of Nymph reproduction, and it should help you get an idea of the life-cycle and motivations of the Nymph.

That’s all so far.  I hope you look forward to it!

#Skyrim #Skyrim Race #Skyrim Mod #Skyrim Followers #Nymph Race #Nymph Followers #Nymph Mod #Nymph Girls of Skyrim #Lore-friendly #Background lore

[scriptlgbt]

I have a character who is trans, and I want to make sure I write him properly and as a real person without succumbing to stereotypes. So I was wondering if any of you would be willing to make a list of the most common and/or incorrect stereotypes about trans people? I know it's a lot to ask, and I totally understand if you don't have the time. But you don't know if you don't ask, right? Thanks!!

After a fruitless attempt to find a list for you I have come to conclusion that I’m just gonna have to write one myself… so please forgive me for the disorganised mess this is going to be, I’ve been digging around the internet grabbing whatever I can find. I’ll link to articles whenever I can, and some of these tropes don’t have names yet or have been named by me and the other mods. Also some are beliefs but people apply them to trans characters too. Lets go!

Notes: I’m going to add FIM (fine in moderation) to the ends of tropes that are perfectly fine, but are overused (given the very small amount of transgender representation, these tropes became big problems very quickly but aren’t harmful individually - or at least some parts aren’t)

Bury Your Gays/Punish Your Gays - (here gay is used as an umbrella term for any characters in the community) this trope is where LGBT+ characters are killed or punished and given no chance of a positive future for simply being in the LGBT+ community

Trans Tribulations - this is basically where characters are miserable because they are dealing and facing others transphobia or misconceptions or their own gender dysphoria (FIM)

Forcibly Outed and The Great Trans Reveal - this is where either another character forcibly outs a trans character to others, or when their transness is found out without their consent/forced consent (for example: someone walks in on a trans person while they’re changing to see them wearing a binder or possible even nude, or when a character is injured and when trying to save them others they find out they’re trans.)

Villainous Trans or Gender Non-Conforming Folks (link contains sensitive material) - this is pretty self explanatory, it’s villains who are either coded or explicitly trans and their transness is large part of why they are villainous (and often “creepy”). They’re often made to be predatory and violent

Trans Folks As Victims / Tragically Trans (same link as above) -  those poor tragic trans folk who are ostracised, brutally murdered, and forced into poverty/sex work but screw doing anything to actually help them! (this appears a lot in crime dramas)

Not Truly People - when trans/nb characters aren’t treated as real people or are treated as caricatures or objects

Cis Is Better - the belief that being cis is better than being trans/nb so trans/nb folks all obviously want to be cis

Trans Since Childhood - the belief that all trans folk have known they were trans since childhood/got the opportunity to transition at a young age (FIM, some trans people do know since childhood but not all. Some people are figuring this out in their 60s, they deserve as much respect and representation as young trans folk)

Trans = Gay - trans people aren’t really trans they’re just gay and have internalised homophobia! (sarcasm)

The Knowledgeable Ally - this cis ally knows everything to do with trans folk, in fact they know even more about being trans than trans folk do! They kindly share their bottomless knowledge and are always there to correct trans folk. In stories these brave heroes are often at hand to take transmen by the hand and tell them how terrible it is to ace bandage and give them a binder (that despite them not measuring them fits perfectly) and show them a better way to be trans (people should absolutely not use ace bandages to bind but it’s the patronising nature in which this is done that is the problem)

Trans = Gross / Trans Is Misleading - the “I was gonna get with this hot chick but then it turned out she had a penis and I started puking!” thing, apparently it’s supposed to be funny?

TRIGGER WARNING FOR NEXT TROPE

Predatory Trans Women / Invading Trans Women / Trans Women Are Predatory Men (straight or gay) - the belief/ rhetoric that trans women are straight men who want to invade lesbian spaces to to rape cis lesbians ( and to turn them straight). Or that trans women are gay men who want to rape straight men

END

Delicate Trans Boy - the “trans boy are soft and delicate” or “boys-light” thing, it’s basically where people infantilize and fetishise trans guys. (FIM - other than the infantilizing and fetishising thing, don’t do that). These characters frequently can do no wrong or their wrong doings are glossed over/ignored

Trans Guys Are Either Super Masculine or Super Feminine - no in between (FIM - this may be because of societal pressures, please do explore)

Trans Women Are Either Super Feminine or Super Masculine - no in between (FIM - this may be because of societal pressures, please do explore)

Transmen look extra feminine / Transwomen look extra masculine - this is done to establish their non-cisness/show how abnormal trans people are, transmen are all super curvy and soft and all transwomen are all very tall and very hairy ect. This is separate to the above tropes because this is usually used when fetishising trans people and is often done to other trans people from the “normal” cis people

Only Skinny White People Are Trans/NB - our media pretty much only includes trans/nb folks as skinny white, androgynous or hyper masc/fem people. This is beginning to change, but slowly

All Trans Women Are Overly Sexual - a side affect of the Predatory Trans Women trope (this is most likely linked to A Man Is Always Eager and the misconception trans women are men) as well as the fetishisation of trans women

All Trans Men Aren’t Sexual / Are Asexual - it’s an extension of the Delicate Trans Boy trope (most likely linked to the All Women Are Prudes (don’t want to or have interested in sex)) (FIM, there are asexual/non sexual trans men)

Trans Women As Sex Workers (link contain sensitive material) - the most common occupation for trans women in media is sex work, it’s heavily linked to the fetishisation of trans women and to Trans Folks As Victims

Easy Sex Change - the myth that transitioning is one quick surgery away when in reality it can take years, several surgeries, and HRT (assuming the person wants/can transition medically)

Trauma Made Me Trans - the idea that people are trans because of a trauma they’ve suffered, or because they didn’t get enough attention when they were young

My Parents Wanted A Boy/Girl So I Became One - when characters are trans because their parents wanted a kid of another gender and the character wanted to make them happy

“Trans” For Love - when a gay character pretends to be of another gender (sometimes even transitioning) so they can be openly affectionate/love their partner, or when a character pretends to be of another gender (sometimes even transitioning) so their love interest will be attracted to them. (if I’d seen this only once it would have been to many, but no, I’ve had to see it multiple times. do not.)

Love Heals Dysphoria - (the trans version of Love Heal All) It can help some people but doesn’t eradicate dysphoria (unfortunately) 

Born In The Wrong Body (narrative) - I don’t have enough space here so here’s a short article explaining the problems with this and a quick quote for those who don’t want to read it “I am not trapped by my body. I am trapped by your beliefs. And I want to reclaim this body from those who want it to breathe and be fed by their dogmas”

Trans = No Body Confidence - when trans characters have absolutely no body or confidence in their appearance what so ever. This is often used with The Knowledgeable Ally and Love Heals Dysphoria, in this scenario the trans character is filled with self hate and lacks any kind of confidence what so ever until their cis friend decides to take pity on them and helps them over come all their confidence/trans related problems (in a very patronising way)

“Required” Medical Transition - the belief that trans people need to undergo surgery/surgeries and HRT in order to be trans or to be their gender. This and it’s problems are very heavily linked to Born In The Wrong Body and Cis Is Better. Here’s an article which covers this and a quick quote “mainstream discourse has viewed cis-gender embodiment as superior and ‘correct’ […] it is as if you are not done until your body looks like a cis-gender body!”

All About Trans - this is where the whole story is focused around being trans, sub-plots included (while there is a place for trans centric stories, there’s more to us and our lives than just being trans). Or when a trans characters whole narrative/development is centred on them being trans

Trans Folk Must (Want To) Adhere To Gender Rolls - no one must adhere to gender roles, trans folk aren’t exceptions 

Old Friend, New Gender - while this trope seems innocent enough it’s often coupled with Trans = Gross / Trans Is Misleading. This is typically played out with a cis male who meets this strangely familiar super model looking women who he’s interested in, only to find out she used to be one of his old (”male”) friends. From here we go one of two ways, first the “omg she’s actually a man” repulsion where we’re supposed to find it funny/gross that he was attracted to trans women. And the second is where he has the same reaction but this time, it’s still played for jokes but, there’s a blatant message of acceptance/tolerance and he stops being attracted/interested to her but he accepts her as a women and as his old friend (this is typically handled terribly) 

This is a fairly sizeable list, but by no means a comprehensive one. 

Please do reblog and add trans/nb tropes and trends as well as links to lists by others!

If you have any questions or would like us to further elaborate on any of these tropes or any other trans/nb tropes, please send us an ask (when the ask box is open).

- Mod Emery

#anonymous #trans #tropes #long #mod emery #thanks mod Al for helping name tropes #rape mention

[anxious-vigil]

Misunderstandings (Pt 5/5)

Summary: Virgil needs someone to help him through panic attacks, and Logan seems to be the perfect solution. However when he approaches the other side, assumptions are made and soon he’s left alone and confused, trying to track down Logic just to ask him where things went wrong. Romantic identity angst fic with like a paragraph of crack at the very end. I’ve since realised it’s also heavily inspired by Platonic by @randomslasher so you should go read that as well if you haven’t already. On Ao3 here

Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of panic attacks, mentions of self harm, discussions of sexual/romantic identity, some aro-phobic language, lots of arguing and self-deprecation

Pairings: Analogical, background Royality

Chapter 5

Anxiety sits on top of his desk, face pressed against the glass of his window. He doesn't know how long he's been there but he's seen the sun rise and his legs are stiff. A bird with a forked tail flits across his vision. It's deathly quiet, so he can clearly hear slow steps approaching his room accompanied by the clinking of plates. Nowadays Patton tends to bring him breakfast if he misses it so when the knock comes, he waves a hand to click the lock open. “Just... leave it on the bed or something, Pat.” he whispers hoarsely. Crying and yelling have both taken their toll on his voice and he doesn't want to talk anymore than he has to. A soft thud signals the tray being set down and the door shuts gently. He sighs, hating that Pat has to step out of his way like this, he knows how much he makes the older trait worry.

Logan shuts the door and turns to study Virgil carefully. The skin beneath his eyes is badly bruised, his wounds are clearly untreated and he's wearing his old hoodie like a physical weight. He doesn't look like he's moved from his solitary position anytime recently. It nowhere resembles a good situation. Logan clears his throat and Virgil jumps, turning to look at him with wide, frightened eyes and a complexion that shouldn't be naturally grey. He lowers himself slowly to sit cross-legged on the floor as if taming a spooked animal. The logical facet sighs, knowing the only place to start repairing this relationship was at the beginning, difficult as it may be for him.

“Five years ago,” he starts carefully, tracking Virgil's expressions, “Patton and Roman decided they wanted to try being in a romantic relationship.” He sees understanding bloom in Virgil's eyes but he's going to tell this story in all it's sordid details. There will be no more misunderstandings through his fault if he can help it. “At the time, they were also both attracted to me and so decided a triad would be best for everyone involved. I was confused by the whole notion of romantic attraction and told them so. I attempted to inform them of an identity I'd found through research, aromanticism and explained I thought it fitted me and so would prefer not to join them on their venture into the unknown. They didn't really understand, and felt rejected.

As I was not yet sure in myself and did not want to damage their feelings, they managed to persuade me that I needed to try out a romantic relationship rather than dismiss it out of hand. It seemed... logical to explore before settling on a label, and yet, it didn't feel right, but I decided to go along with the others, thinking my emotions were irrational. Those 89 days...,” he pauses, searching for words, “...weren't... good? Patton and Roman were perfect gentlemen but I couldn't seem to be happy. I didn't understand either the grand gestures or the quiet signals and so couldn't reciprocate. Whenever I tried to, to make them happy, it tended to fall flat in a way I couldn't comprehend. According to Roman, it was missing a 'special spark'.” he laughs. “Whatever that is. When they tried to include me on dates, I felt uncomfortable and out of place. I... I hated it.” Anxiety watches him with quiet dismay in his eyes, he's never seen the logical side so emotional. “It came to a head when Patton and Roman decided it was time to add a sexual nature to the relationship. I'd been letting their expertise lead until that point but the idea of sex repulsed me and by then I'd realised it wasn't sustainable to force myself to be someone I wasn't, in pursuit of something I didn't even want, all to try not to upset them.”

He's stopped watching Virgil's reactions now, too caught up in memories. “I left the relationship. They found it difficult to comprehend my reasoning and for a time assumed I didn't enjoy their company at all. I confronted them 27 days after leaving and managed to partially restore our platonic bond. Although they still struggle, they do their best to be supportive. Well... they did.” He blinks back tears. “Please understand I'm not trying to pass off blame, I am entirely without excuse, but I would like to explain. When they saw you trying to cultivate a friendship with me, they assumed a romantic attraction. They presumed you would 'fix' me and our team of four would become two couples. You came to ask me star-gazing the day after Patton gave me the 'shovel talk'.” He looks up to see Virgil sitting cross-legged a few feet away. “Is that the correct usage?” Logan receives a slow nod and takes it as permission to push forward with his side of the story.

“With Patton and Roman telling me you were interested and my lack of understanding on the subject, I assumed they were correct.” He huffs a breath of frustration, removing his glasses to scrub at his eyes. “Stupid, I know, given they'd gotten me completely wrong, to trust their judgement but hindsight really is 20:20, I guess.” A pale hand settles on his. “When you came to me, I'd been stressing over how to break the news to you. I thought I'd done well but you kept coming back and I was terrified of another situation where if I gave an inch, I'd end up trapped because they... you didn't- wouldn't... because you wouldn't understand my needs as much as I didn't understand yours. So I ran and I hid and I was a coward.” Self-loathing shines through his voice and the hand tightens it's grip on his.

“I should have done better by you Virgil, especially given I know what it feels like to have someone get it so completely wrong. I... I want to do better by you, find out what you need as a person, to be the one you come to for comfort, to understand you. The others place so much stock in romantic bonds, I'd...oh.” his eyes blow wide in realisation. “I'd forgotten what platonic attraction felt like.” He says slowly. He feels understanding hit him like a physical blow as he reanalyses his own thoughts and actions over the past years, seeing himself drift away from Patton and Roman, uncomfortable with their excessive affection. “I've been... lonely.” He blinks and watches a tear land on their clasped hands. “I want to be your friend.” Logan whispers. “I don't know if you can ever trust me again. I know it's not the logical choice given how I acted, and I know I landed a lot of information on you just now, pity or some sort of sense of duty isn't exactly the best place to start any relationship, and we're both suffering from some trauma, rationally you should-” Hands cup his face and he looks up into Virgil's half-smile.

“Anxiety isn't rational and if you're willing to put in the work, I am too.” The other half of his smile pulls up. “Can I have my hug now?” Logan pulls him forward desperately, landing Virgil in his lap, wrapping his arms around as much of the other as he can. Neither sides says anything about the sobs that shake them both as they drink in each others presence. They don't talk until they've managed to rearrange into a more comfortable position some time later, Logan leaning against the door, Virgil sideways in his lap, leaning on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. “What now?” Virgil murmurs. “I'd like to clean your wounds, and you should eat something, and then-” “No, uh, I mean, us?” Logan frowned in thought. “Well, I'd want to start of as friends first, as in any good partnership, but eventually, I mean, I'm friends with Patton, but with you, the label...” “It's not quite right.” “Yes, exactly. Already, you're not just a friend to me. I'd like a word that fully encompasses how important you are to me.” He blushes and leans in to kiss the top of Virgil's head to hide his face but sees the clotted blood and rests his hand there instead, frowning slightly. “Queer-platonic.” Virgil blurts quickly, like it's a plaster he needs to rip off. “Could you repeat that, please?” “Uh, queer-platonic. I, um, found it when I was googling aromanticism on tumblr-” “Googling... on tumblr?” “Shut up.” “Ok, but I'm judging you.” Virgil snickers. “Whatever. It's different things to different people, some kiss, some don't, some have sex, some don't, some are open, some aren't, but basically it's saying this is my life partner in whatever way we choose, and it's special without being romantic. Uh, could we... , um, could that be...our label?” Virgil's nervousness is at once both endearing and a reminder to treat him carefully. Logan strokes over Virgil's cheekbone. “It sounds perfect. We can choose what we want it to be when we get there.” Virgil smiles tiredly, his expression so much more open than usual. “Lookin' forward to it.”

(Some time later)

“Where's your first aid kit?” “Above the sink in the bathroom, through that door.... Logan, what's this?” “That's your breakfast, is it not obvious?” “Darling, precisely none of these are breakfast foods.” “It should not matter what food you eat at what time so long as it has the right balance of nutrients.” “I'm kind of scared to ask what you had for your breakfast.” “Leftover pasta with kale and I added strawberry yoghurt for dairy.” “Not all at...?” “It doesn't matter how in enters your body, Virgil. It all gets mixed up with hydrochloric acid anyway.” “Eww. No kissing. I've decided, kissing is off the table. I'm not going near a mouth that's had yoghurt and kale in it at the same time.” “Humph. I have found the antiseptic wipes, pass me your arm.” “So, go on, explain my breakfast to me, oh cleverest one.” “Well, you have a yoghurt for dairy and broccoli for vitamins-” “Raw.” “Cooking drains the vitamins, stop squirming.” “It stings.” “You are what I believe Roman would call an 'edge-lord', I'm sure you can handle it. There is a ham and egg sandwich for protein and carbohydrates.” “Ok, but I'm sure the leftover pizza doesn't fit into a well-balanced meal.” “It's your favourite.” “Aw, you risked Patton's wrath to seize the forbidden pizza for me. You do love me.” “Yes, that is an accurate statement.” “Stop it, you'll make me blush and I don't have my foundation on. Wait.... is that.... an entire cucumber?” “Ah, yes, that's your drink.” “....” “I, uh, can't figure out Roman's fancy coffee machine and we've run out of juice.” “Water, Logan, water. Or even tea, I guess.” “I was stressed and I panicked.” “And grabbed a cucumber?” “It's 96% water?” “I thought you were logical!” “I am the literal personification of Logic! However I will admit I am not always entirely rational. Come into the light, I want to do your face next.” “Hang on, I'm thirsty.” Virgil snagged the cucumber with his now clean left arm and wandered after his favourite person, making a show of snapping off the end and gnawing at the flesh.

AN: The fandom: Logan eats books

Me: oh, you haven’t heard?

#my writing #misunderstandings p5 #analogical #sanders sides #sanders sides fics #virgil sanders #logan sanders #angst

[pamphletstoinspire]

What Is Pornography - Part 5 - THE STRUGGLE WITH PORN - Part 23

23. I will never be able to regain my spouse’s trust after sneaking around with porn.

When you stood before your family, slipped that ring on your spouse’s finger, and told her you would “forsake all others”, I doubt there was some small print written somewhere that read: “Except when I want to sneak off to masturbate before digital prostitutes.”

Deep down, despite all the excuses, this is not the kind of husband or wife any of us wants to be. Do you want to be the kind of person who loves someone for the rest of your life, gladly sacrificing yourself for the good of that person experiencing an intimate personal and sexual bond? Or do you want to be the person who sneaks off late at night to have an intimate encounter with your computer? Which one of these sounds closer to the wedding vows you spoke and the person you wish to become?

Still, when a spouse discovers that her husband or his wife has been sneaking around watching porn, it can feel absolutely devastating. It is a traumatic discovery in the truest sense of the word. When dealing with a husband’s sexual betrayal, approximately 70 percent of wives fit the criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder, often manifesting symptoms of fear, depression, anxiety, obsessive thinking, insomnia, hyper-vigilance, and nightmares.

Spouses in this situation often begin to doubt themselves, caught in the immense insecurity of feeling the need to compete with a world of fantasy. Not surprisingly, these spouses often feel angry, lonely, exhausted, and in deep despair. Is it possible to regain the trust of a spouse who feels so hurt?

In his book Partners: Healing from His Addiction, Dr. Doug Weiss uses a key phrase over and over: believe behavior. If you want your spouse to begin trusting you again, you must demonstrate trustworthy behaviors. Talk is cheap, and in the case of a partner who has been sneaking around watching porn for a long time, talk is even cheaper. Making promises or stating mere words of reassurance cannot rebuild trust. New behavior can.

I want to outline seven vital steps for rebuilding trust. For the sake of simplicity, I’ll assume that the offending party is a husband who is attempting to regain his wife’s trust, but the same steps equally apply to a woman attempting to regain her husband’s trust.

1. Fully acknowledge the wrong.

It is vital for your wife to hear from you a clear, humble, honest admission of wrong. Don’t just acknowledge the action: “I have been looking at pornography.” Acknowledge the nature of the action: “I have wronged you by my selfishness, lust, and deception.”

Also acknowledge that you don’t fully understand just how badly you’ve hurt your wife and that you agree that her mistrust of you is warranted: “I know I have crippled your trust in me, and I don’t blame you. Still, I won’t pretend to understand how difficult this is for you, but I want to understand it better.” Promise to listen to her — uninterrupted and without being defensive — then follow through with that promise, no matter how painful it is to hear her words.

2. Never shift the blame.

Acknowledge that, although there may be underlying reasons why you have been obsessed with porn, you take full responsibility for your actions. Perhaps you were exposed to porn at a young age, or perhaps you think your parents could have given you a much better sex education. Perhaps you feel as if your habit has spiraled out of control into an addiction and you need professional help. These are fine things to share with your wife, but don’t ever treat them as excuses. Your wife needs to hear you take full ownership of the problem.

It is also common for a woman to feel as if the problem is at least partially hers. If she had only been sexier or less of a nag, maybe you wouldn’t have gone down this path of fantasy and deception. You must remind your wife that this is a lie.

Tell her that porn is cleverly edited, high-octane sex, and no woman can (or should) compete with this. Women everywhere are told that they need to be younger, prettier, and bustier. The last person a woman should hear this message from is her husband. In the arms of her husband, she should feel beautiful — because she is.

3. Purge all access points to porn.

Do everything in your power to close off access to porn. Just as important, let your wife know what you are doing to close access.

Many husbands are tempted, especially after a while, to feel as if all the safeguards are a bit childish and over the top. Don’t think this way. It probably took you years to build up your porn habit. Don’t be a fool and think it will go away in days or weeks. It takes a mature man to acknowledge where he is weak.

By closing off all the access points (and potential access points), you will show your wife exactly what she needs to see: that you love her more than your iPhone, more than unmonitored time online, more than your route to work that passes the adult bookstore, more than your private e-mail account, more than your secluded life, where no one knows the real you or the real temptations you face.

4. Encourage your wife to seek advice and help.

Though you are the one with the problem, your problem has spilled over into your wife’s life. Encourage her to talk to someone else about her feelings of hurt, betrayal, and confusion. Resist the urge you might feel to save your precious reputation by telling her to keep your porn problem a total secret. This only discourages your wife from getting outside help.

Often those hurt by their spouse’s porn use don’t want or feel that they need any help, but since your problem caused your wife great trauma, let her know that no one should have to face that kind of trauma alone. Encourage her to speak to a good friend or a counselor. There are counselors trained to help spouses of sex and porn addicts (called APSATS, the Association of Partners of Sex Addicts Trauma Specialists).

5. Be incredibly patient with her.

If you’ve been secretly hooked on porn for a long time, when the secret finally comes out, it can feel paradoxically frightening and relieving all at the same time. For you, the secrecy or the resistance to change has been an enormous burden, but now things look brighter and more hopeful — nowhere to go but up.

This is often not how the offended spouses feel. The revelation of your secret or the burden of carrying your secret has been crushing. Trust has been shattered. The world as your wife knows it now seems unreal to her. She might be questioning everything she ever believed about her marriage and about you.

Be patient. Don’t expect her to “be over this” because the secret is out or because you have made vows to change.

And don’t push sexual intimacy with your wife soon after divulging your secret either. Spouses vary in their responses when it comes to discovering that their husbands have a porn problem. Your wife may find the idea of sex with you repulsive, wondering whether you are just using her as a warm body as you replay pornographic scenes in your mind. Or she might be the opposite: sex might help to reassure her that things are still okay. Either response is very natural.

Whatever her reaction, you should pursue romance with your wife in nonsexual ways. Porn unfortunately trains us to desire sex without emotional engagement, to approach sex with a consumer mentality. To counteract this, you should pursue emotional engagement with your wife and let sex be the overflow. Show nonsexual physical affection — cuddle, hug, kiss. Be vulnerable: have heart-to-heart conversations about your memories, dreams, and hopes. Spend quality time together. Find ways to serve her. Surprise her with romantic gestures.

6. Become accountable for your technology use.

Most people who have a dysfunctional relationship with porn also have a dysfunctional relationship with technology. You might have the mentality: “What I do online is my own business, no one else’s. It is my time.” This has enabled you to create a private world of fantasy.

This mentality needs to change. One of the best ways to do this — it has helped me and countless others—is to use accountability software. Unlike filtering software that is typically used for kids and blocks adult websites, accountability software doesn’t block anything. It lets you go wherever you want. But every week or so, an Internet report is e-mailed to someone of your choosing (such as a friend, mentor, spouse, or counselor).

This reporting has great benefits. For one, just the knowledge that someone will likely see a record of all the questionable places you’ve been online is enough to nip temptation in the bud for a lot of guys. Second, if you do slip up and watch porn, you’ve already made your confession to others: they already know the dirty details, so there’s no option to hide or to minimize things. This keeps you honest. Third, it really shows the people who love you how serious you are about changing. It tells them, “My life is open to you. I don’t want any more secrets.”

Although there are a few accountability-oriented programs out there, the only one really worth its salt is Covenant Eyes. After testing some of these programs, I found that this is the one that consistently works the best.

7. Seek man-to-man accountability.

The word “accountability” might leave a bad taste in your mouth. That’s okay; it used to leave a bad taste in mine as well.

The best definition of accountability I can give you is this: giving permission to someone you trust to remind you of the person you really want to be. Yes, accountability involves sharing your faults and struggles with someone, but admitting those struggles aloud should always be followed by a reminder of what you are fighting for and the kind of man you hope to become. Having this mentality in mind will keep accountability from degenerating into demoralizing condemnation or a surface relationship in which you put on a smile and say everything is just fine.

Ideally, good accountability friendships should be man-to-man (or woman-to-woman, as the case may be). Someone of the same sex is more likely to be able to see through your pretenses and help you to get to the bottom of things.

Should your wife be your accountability partner? In one sense, yes. In another sense, no.

It is easy for men who have had a secret porn life to develop a secret “recovery life”. Don’t do this. Don’t cut your wife out of the process. Yes, some things are best kept secret if you are in a professional recovery program. If you are in a support group, keep the identity of other members a secret (they don’t call those groups “Anonymous” for no reason). Also, don’t feel pressured to give a play-by-play of every detail you’ve confessed or said aloud to a counselor, a support group, or a minister. You can share these things if you want, but those settings are safe places for you to vent your sloppy, uncensored, and often confused thoughts, and they should be kept safe for you.

Still, as you make your plan for becoming a new man, make sure your wife knows the important details. If she is ever to trust you again, she needs to know what you intend to do and needs to see you doing it. Tell her what your porn “triggers” (tempting scenarios) have been in the past and how you plan to deal with them in the future. Tell her about the books you are reading. Tell her about the advice your minister, mentor, or counselor is giving you and how you are following that advice. Tell her who is holding you accountable. Liberally share the details of your plan for recovery so that she can see you living out the plan.

All the same, while your wife needs to know the details of your recovery, don’t make her your confessor — your sole confidant as you are taking steps to quit. Lean on others to do the heavy lifting of bearing your burdens, confessions, and difficult questions. Your wife should see you pursuing these kinds of friendships with men who can lend you solid personal and practical advice.

The healing of your marriage is possible. I know because I’ve seen many couples recover from the damage caused by porn. Pornography addiction thrives in the darkness of secrecy; it cannot survive in the light of accountability.

#what is pornography

[math-is-magic]

Necessary Conversations

So, I wrote a thing, then realized today was the start of Asexuality Awareness Week, and thought it was too Apropos to not post here.

Fandom- Naruto (Dreaming of Sunshine)

Rating - G-T

Pairing - Sasuke/Shikako (OC), though anyone who hasn’t read Dreaming of Sunshine can probably get away with just imagining this as an Ace Sakura or something if they wanted.

Tags - Emotional Conversations, Asexuality, Asexual Characters, Sex Repulsion, QPPs, Happy Endings

Necessary Conversations 

It’s an otherwise normal Nara family dinner night when it hits Sasuke that he can’t put his feelings off any longer.

Shikako’s parents still welcome him to those, no matter how crowded the table is starting to get, with Kino and Temari and now little Shikadai. Sasuke is discreetly watching Shikamaru try and fail to get Shikadai to eat his mush, trying to decide if he should help or if he should just stay out of it, when the topic turns towards preparations for an upcoming Nara clan holiday.

Shikako excitedly joins in with the conversation, but she never gets so engrossed as to miss that Sasuke doesn’t speak up at all. She shoots him a questioning look, but he shakes his head. This isn’t the time or place for it.

The thing is, Sasuke is a member of the Nara’s family, but even so, he knows that this does not concern him. Like Temari, he’s not a true-born Nara — technically, he’s not even married in, no matter how close of a bond he shares with Shikako. At best, he’s unofficially adopted.

Regardless, the fact remains; this may be his family, but this is not his clan.

For the first time in a long time, Sasuke looks around the table at all of his loved ones, and feels alone.

The Uchiha clan has a holiday coming up too, he realizes. How long has it been, since he had been able to properly celebrate that? And what will happen, when he’s gone? There would be no one left to honor his ancestors, to continue their rituals, to maintain their traditions.

His teammates would come with him, he’s sure, if he asked them to celebrate with him. They would learn his clan’s traditions and perform them them with him.

But, there it was again. With him. For him.

But would they - could they - continue them after he passed? What would happen to his clan’s legacy then?

Shikako notices his pensiveness during dinner, but after that initial look, she decides to wait patiently until they get home to ask about it. She sees the way Sasuke shuts down when the discussion turns to clan matters, and there is an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach that she knew what this was about.

So, she doesn’t say anything as they walk home, hand-in-hand. She gives him a look, worried and knowing, once the door closes behind them, but doesn’t press when he shakes his head again.

This is… delicate, something he’s been putting off for too long now, and Sasuke wants to make sure he does this right. Knowing Shikako, he probably won’t get another shot. By the end of this, he’s going to have to make a choice between two things he’s not sure he can live without.

He’s a coward, he knows, waiting until they get into bed, waiting until she’s as vulnerable as she ever gets, physically. But, saying this will make him vulnerable, and he will take any advantage he can. He is a shinobi after all.

And, if this means he can hold her in his arms like this one last time… well, shinobi are selfish too. Especially Uchiha shinobi.

Shikako gently rests her head on his chest, pulling him even closer than normal. I know what you’re doing, she’s saying, and I’ll allow it.

I love you, he wants to say back, but can’t. Sasuke can feel the bitterness in the smile this unspoken thought brings him.

Everyone else calls what they do dating, no matter how many times they’ve told everyone that they weren’t.

To be honest, Sasuke wishes this is what dating was. He loves falling asleep next to Kako every night. He loves making her breakfast, and getting dinner in return. He loves spending the bulk of his days with his best friend and closest confidant. If this was dating, that would mean this could be marriage too, and he could keep her forever, just like this.

But he’s pretty sure, when people say that they’re dating, that they would expect “more” from their relationship. Things neither he nor Kako seem particularly interested in.

Sasuke loves Shikako with all his heart, but he isn’t in love with her. He wants her, not all the things that would come with dating her.

Except one.

“I miss my clan,” Sasuke says in a hoarse whisper. And, dang it, that’s not how he wanted to start this. He had been practicing his speech in his head, and it’s already ruined.

It wouldn’t have mattered, to Shikako, even if he had started off on what he felt was a better foot. She’s been waiting for this moment for a long time, and now that the inevitable is here she would prefer to keep this as direct as possible.

“I know,” she finally says, trying to prompt when he doesn’t continue.

Sasuke looks down at her in surprise. She sighs and leans back, putting as much space between herself and him as his grip will allow.

He already misses that comfortable contact.

“I’m not surprised, Sasuke. I’ve always known how much you love children, and that you want to bring back your clan. This...” she waved her hand, encompassing the space between them, “whatever it is we have isn’t something the others understand. They only understand ‘romance,’ and ‘marriage’ and — and ‘heirs.’” She turns her head, staring up at the ceiling so she can only see his reactions from the barest corner of her eye.  “It’s… it’s okay. I’ll move out, and we’ll make it clear that we’re not a thing like that. Publicly. This doesn’t have to change anything else between us. I’ll always care about you so, so much.”

The resignation in her voice pains him to the core.

Shikako doesn’t give up. It’s one of the things he loves and hates most about her. Pain, death, the end of the goddamn world? Shikako has stared them all down, pushing forward until there was nothing else she could do, no matter what it cost her.

The only time she didn’t, the only time she ever gave up, was when—

She had no hope.

Was the possibility of a future with him truly so daunting? More so than the apocalypse?

But that made no sense. If Shikako knew this was pointless because of her own feelings, she wouldn’t be resigned, she would be firm. Decisive. That means she believes the problem is with him.

Couldn’t she see that he was trying? That he wanted to find a solution? Why was she giving up on him? On them?

“So that’s it then?” he mutters. “You’re giving up, just like that? Konoha’s most brilliant mind can’t see even a hint of another possibility?”

“Do we have another choice?” she shoots back. Isn’t that why he having this conversation with her? Instead of just going out and dealing with it? Why do this to them, if she wasn’t in the way? Doesn’t he know she would have suggested a solution if she had one? “You want a family. And you can’t find someone to start a family with if everyone already thinks you’re starting a family with me.”

“But that’s the whole point!” Why didn’t she understand this? “I do want to start a family with you.”

She stiffens in his arms. He holds her a little tighter, afraid she’s going to run. Afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop her if she did.

But he’s said it, now, and he can’t let her leave until he finishes. After that… he’ll deal with it when they get to it.

But Shikako beats him to it.

“You know I don’t — I don’t want that. I-I don’t want to do that with you. With anyone. I can’t be your wife like that, Sasuke. I can’t give you children.”

Shikako waits, bitterly, for him to understand. To realize that she can’t do it, and give up on her. Or, perhaps, for him to accuse her of being difficult. To try to change her, like Shika and the Nara, and everyone outside of Team Seven always has.

“I know that,” Sasuke reassures her. “Of course I know that.”

Shikako has practically wilted in his arms, and Sasuke doesn’t know what to say to make it better. He doesn’t ever want Shikako to regret the love she’s given him so freely. She should never sound like she’s failing him for something she’s always been clear she couldn’t do.

He needs to be clear on that point. He knows, and this is not her fault, but he needs to vocalize his dilemma, at least once. Needs to know that every possibility has been explored before he has to start deciding which pieces of his heart to cut.

He shifts, closing the space she had put between them and regaining that contact he so craved. She doesn’t pull away again.

“I love what we have, Kako. I don’t want it to change, and I know you don’t either. But, it’s not all that I want.”

She’s still, for a moment. Then, so softly he almost misses it, he feels her give a slight nod of acknowledgement.

“Then what is it you want, Sasuke? Exactly.” Is there really a compromise to be made here? she can’t quite bring herself to ask. Or do you still not understand what I’m saying?

Sasuke takes a deep breath and then he bares his heart to the only person in years who has ever held enough of it to break it.

“It’s just. In my dreams, we’re exactly as we are now. Except, in the mornings, when we wake up, instead of just making breakfast for two, we have a full table. There’s a little boy with Nara earrings practicing his Grand Fireball in the yard. Or a little girl, with Sharingan eyes, and an explosive touch, and her mother’s kind smile. Sometimes both, and maybe a whole brood beyond that, causing trouble enough to drive Sensei to drink, even though no one can prove it was them, because they’re too much like us to get caught. But, always at least one.

“And sometimes, I want them so bad it hurts. Because I want you, and I want them, and you have never wanted them. And I don’t know how to have you all.”

Sasuke sounds heartbroken, and Shikako wants to swoop in and fix it, like she usually does. But.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her ribs shuddering against his. “But I can’t. I can’t.”

“I know,” he whispers back, pressing a soft kiss into her hair. “You’ve never like children. Not the really young ones. And it’s not fair of me to ask that of you. I just. I needed to make sure. To have you say it to me directly that you’re not interested in raising children—”

“No. You’re wrong.”

“...I’m wrong?”

Shikako sighs. She sits up, and he sits up with her, holding her in a hug beneath his chin. She stares at her hands as they twist nervously in the sheets. He waits, quietly, for her to continue, desperately trying to squash the flutter of hope that had risen in his chest at her denial.

“It’s not... that I don’t want children for their own sake. I’ve seen, with Kino, and Shikadai, that I can learn to connect with them. That they’re not so awful, and that I even rather like them once they start to speak. And now that everything’s over, that it feels safe to actually plan for the future…. Maybe. If you told me more about them, the ones that are so real to you, from your dreams. If you made them real to me too. I could see us raising a kid like that.”

As teammates, she can’t say, because that is the part that always trips her up. That that would be the ideal way for her to spend her life. As partners with him, in the most basic sense of the word.

But teammates don’t raise children together. They jointly train students, at best. No, it’s spouses who raise children together. Who give each other everything she’s given Sasuke, and then some.

But she can’t give him more, and she knows, no matter how much he says he wants her now, that he’ll realize one day that he wants more, and that she’s never going to change her mind and give it to him and he might grow to resent it. She can’t let him settle like that.

“I don’t…” She pauses, reconsidering her words. “I think I could help you raise a child. It’s just that I can’t have your child. I can’t do that. Not even with you.” She has to stop, to take a breath. She knows her voice is going to shake if she says more, is going to give her away, but it’s important to say. The most important, maybe. “Not even for you.”

Sasuke feels a slight dampness where her face is buried in his shirt. She’s tearing up, his brave, strong teammate who doesn’t cry even when faced with the end of the world. Her cheeks are flushed, and she won’t meet his eye. She’s embarrassed, he realizes.

Pieces click into place in his mind, and Sasuke finally understands exactly what her biggest problem with starting a family with him is. And it’s so much smaller of a thing than he expected; it seems so ridiculous that they’ve hurt themselves this much over it.

He can’t help himself; he huffs out a small laugh.

“Oh, is that all?”

“Don’t you dare make fun of me, Sasuke!” She pushes back against his chest, meeting Sasuke’s eyes for the first time since he had confessed. “Everyone knows it’s not some small thing. If we were married, there are certain expectations to be met. And everyone wants that! And they’re unhappy when they don’t get it! But not — I don’t, okay? I know that it’s weird, and not normal, but I never have. And that’s not going to change no matter how much I care about you!”

And yes, those are definitely tears, and they’re all, each and everyone his fault. She has been clear. But obviously, he hasn’t been.

Sasuke reaches out with one hand to cup her face, wiping away her tears with his thumb.

“Is that what the problem is? Not just children, but that you thought I was waiting on you to give me more?”

She nods, leaning her face further into his palm.

After the war, Sasuke had been Shikako’s rock. She had long made a habit out of breaking into his room at night and snuggling in close to him when she couldn’t sleep. But after the war, it became a nightly ritual, and slowly, more of her things had migrated to the Uchiha compound than had remained at home. And then, as their peers began to pair off and marry, it had started to feel like Sasuke was her only confidant. She had clung to him even tighter. She knew what it looked like, from the outside. What everyone assumed about them.

“I’ve always liked what we’ve had. But after the war, Ino said you looked at me like Sai looks at her, and that I better tell her when we made it official. And I could brush that off, once. But then Sakura said she was jealous. And mom and dad started making comments. And Shikamaru started glaring at you again. And everyone just. Seemed so sure. Even when I told them otherwise.”

But even as people talked about them more, Sasuke had never pushed her further. He had been so patient with her, and slowly she stopped feeling like she was leading him on, like she was keeping something from him, every time someone made that assumption again. She had started to think that maybe he didn’t want that from her either. That he could be happy with just this. She let herself get selfish, hoping that Sasuke’s dreams to revive his clan would somehow work themselves out without her having to give her place up.

“And now you���re finally admitting it, and when I tell you I can’t, you don’t believe me either! You think it’s funny, that I’m overreacting—”

Shikako’s voice is getting higher, her words are coming too fast. Sasuke shushes her, cutting through the rising panic.

“Shhh, Shikako. I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you. It was just. A bitter laugh. At myself. For causing us so much trouble. When I said I want what we have now, I meant it. I don’t want more, except maybe some of the legal paperwork and rings...”

“Everyone always wants more—”

“I don’t. Really.”

Shikako wants to believe that. Wants to believe that he truly doesn’t want — need, the others sometimes said — more. But she know’s it’s not possible, because—

“You want a family. Kids. You want them so much it hurts.”

And there they were again. The sticking point. An impasse. Shikako wanted a partner. Sasuke would expect a wife.

“Yeah, and if I knew how to skip all the messy steps in between loving you, and raising a child, I would. Because I want to keep you - keep this - too.”

Sasuke relaxes slightly, and he feels Shikako uncurl a little in his arms.

“...You would?”

“I would.” He runs his other hand through her loose hair from root to tip, soft and soothing the way she likes best. “Kako, all I’ve ever wanted from you is for you to hold my heart — and,” he adds, to help ease the stress of being so emotionally vulnerable, “maybe, occasionally, my spare kunai.”

She smiles, snorting. “Lazy,” she murmurs, leaning back into his chest and holding him close.

“And maybe it doesn’t fix the problem,” he continues, “but it feels like it gives us a chance. Somehow, simple biology seems so much less daunting an obstacle than your feelings were.”

“It is,” Shikako says.

Sasuke freezes.

“...What?”

“It is,” She repeats. “Less of an obstacle. Than changing my mind.”

Sasuke blinks at her. She just shrugs.

“I’m pretty sure all of the science has been figured out on that front, actually. It might take some tweaking to do it more ethically, but I could probably steal the basics, at least, from the snake’s old notes. Tsunade never took away my access, after all the work I did stopping his creations during the war. It shouldn’t be hard to jury rig his cloning advancements into reproductive technology. I’d just need psych and medical oversight, probably, to get the go ahead. I’m sure Sakura and Ino would oblige.  If… if you’re okay considering something like that.”

Shikako glances up at her unmoving partner, suddenly afraid she had horrified him by bringing Orochimaru into something most people want to be good and pure and precious.

“...Sasuke?”

Sasuke realizes his arms have gone slack around while he was lost in thought, and he quickly holds her close again.

“Sorry, sorry. I just. I got distracted. By the bit where you said it wasn’t a big deal to completely subvert human biology. Like it might actually be possible to get everything we want.”

Oh, Shikako thinks. Not horrified. Hopeful. She smiles.

Sasuke’s voice doesn’t quaver on that last sentence. It doesn’t. Because that stupid hope is fluttering more strongly than ever and—

“I’m very confident it’s possible,” she assures him. “It’s going to be, like, so much paperwork though.” Shikako makes a face at the thought.

“I’ll help you,” Sasuke promises immediately. “You focus on bending the laws of nature, and I’ll fill out all those scary forms for you about it, okay?”

“Deal,” she agrees quickly. She and Sasuke have always worked well as a team. Together they could do this too.

Shikako lays her head back on Sasuke’s chest, and he curls his fingers back into her hair, and they lay back down, just feeling each other breathe.

“Sasuke?” Shikako asks, quietly, when it becomes clear neither of their hearts will be settling down anytime soon, after the rush of those revelations. “Will you tell me more about them? The kids you see? Will you make them real for me?”

XxXxX

Omake: "If you get me a ring, it better do something cool, like hide a poisoned pin or something." "Of course, Dear. I'd never get you anything less." "You know, we're going to have to come up with a better story for Ino. She's going to pout that you didn't ask me right." "Well, we can re-stage this next week, after I find you your murderous ring. I'll make sure it's demonstrably romantic enough to keep her off your back." "You're the best. See, this is why I keep you around." "And I'm grateful to be here." --- Omake 2: "Kako, what are all of these seals on our daughter's back?" "Oh, I just inked a few protections I thought up. Alerts if she starts crying. Barrier seals if someone tries to touch her with negative intent. Anchoring seals so no one can take her where she's not supposed to go. Explosives, because every woman needs them. Stuff like that. You know. Normal parenting things."

#naruto #dreaming of sunshine #asexual #fanfic #my fanfic #sasuke #shikako

[sinesalvatorem]

Taking Me On A Date: A Comprehensive Guide

(As comprehensive as I can make a Tumblr post I wrote on the spur of the moment, that is. I will try to update over time with more info and links. You can also use this as general advice on interacting with me.)

I recently got into some conversations about how and why someone might want to take me on a date. As such, I’ve decided to write up in one place as much as I can figure out about what I’d want out of a date and what other people should expect from me.

What I Like:

I am bisexual, and am happy to go on dates with people of any gender/sex. I lean androphilic, which means I’m into a cluster of traits that tend to be correlated with maleness. I find testosterone-influenced features and masculine gender presentation and stuff to be sexy. However, they’re just part of what I find attractive, and I can be attracted to people with very little of either.

I’m someone with a mostly-male body (I haven’t been on HRT very long) and a very feminine personality / presentation / behaviour set. I can be reasonably described as a transgirl, though these days I’m somewhat confused by what being trans means. However, the important thing to note is that in any situation with gender roles I will almost certainly be most comfortable and happy in the female one.

This means that, among other things, I’d like you to take the initiative as much as possible. Suggest what we do, place an order on my behalf (after consulting me, ofc), escalate things yourself, etc. If things are going well, I would very much like it if you tried to kiss me (or asked to kiss me, if you prefer). [How to tell if I want to be kissed] If I really like you but I have to take the initiative to go anywhere, I will have a hard time, because doing so is very out of sync with my personality. I can and will do it if it’s clear that we both want it and you aren’t moving, but be aware that this is vastly dispreferred.

I also really like being complimented. You can be as shallow or silly or dramatic as you want, and I won’t interpret your compliments as fake or be repulsed by them. For more on how I perceive (and use) complements, see here.

I usually enjoy physical contact. In general, leaning against me, resting your hand on my leg, putting your arm around me, etc are all very nice. If for some reason they aren’t, I’ll pull away and say something to that effect. However, this is rare. Overall, err on the side of touching me, if you would like to. Kissing is as described above. If making out (ie: sustained, enthusiastic kissing) ensues, you can grope to your heart’s content.

Going on a date with you does not necessarily mean I would like to sleep with you, nor do I assume that everyone who goes on a date with me would like to sleep with me. However, it is a possibility. What I like sexually is an essay in itself but, luckily, an essay I’ve already written. You can read the guide to my sexual preferences here or browse my NSFW blog here.

What I Dislike:

Please do not issue direct commands to me for any reason. For anything you would command me to do, you should just ask me to do it instead. Seriously. Using the imperative with me ends very badly. Please consider this a hard limit.

I don’t like being talked down to. Don’t get me wrong - I like learning about things. However, talking to me like I’m too dumb to get what you mean, or saying things to the effect of “Oh, of course you wouldn’t know this”, will generally annoy me quite a bit. I like feeling like I’m learning something collaboratively with someone else, rather than providing them with an opportunity to feel superior.

Relatedly, I don’t like getting into heated arguments on dates. Especially if it’s in a public venue. I’m OK with arguing in a general sense, but it kind of counteracts the date experience. Here I can’t say I’m perfect - I might very well make the comment that leads to the argument. However, if I notice that this has happened and point it out, I would very much appreciate it if you were willing to set the argument aside for another time.

If I state a boundary in advance, please DO NOT approach it in the expectation that I will stop you at the right time. I encourage you to verbally ask what to do about something that seems like an edge case, but do not give the impression in your actions that you’re going to violate the boundary because you expect me to enforce it myself.

For an example taken from a Less Wrong thread:

Person 1: The other week I was making out and cuddling with a girl, and we'd already explicitly negotiated that we wouldn't be having sex. So at some point we were spooning, and I asked "Can I touch your breasts?". She hesitated, so I said, "Ah, that's a no, don't worry". She was obviously relieved, and we continued without any problems. This sort of thing only comes up a small minority of the time, but when it does I think it's actually pretty important to verbalise things. So I'm wondering whether you have a different system, or just never find yourself needing to check in with someone that directly?

Person 2: With the breasts, no, I wouldn't explicitly ask in that way. Hands go on body, hands caress slowly toward breasts. Pay attention to response. Another way is to look where you intend the hands to go, and go there. Perhaps a comment on the breasts first.

Person 1:  For me it really depends on my model of what I think they want. Like, assume I'm pretty sure that there'll be a line somewhere. Obviously, the right thing to do isn't just "escalate until they give an explicit 'no' (either verbally, or by moving my hand away)". But even if you just proceed cautiously and keep gauging their response, they're likely to spend a lot of the time thinking about when/whether you're going to push past where they're comfortable, and steeling themselves to give that no when it happens. Especially with girls, most will have had more than a few negative experiences with pushy guys.

What person 1 did is an example of what I’m in favour of. What person 2 did would freak me out. Person 1′s response perfectly illustrates why. I frankly do not have the mental energy to keep track of how close you’re coming to overstepping my boundaries so I can enforce them. If you want to go further, please use words first.

(Note that I’m not saying that what Person 2 did is in any way Universally Bad. It probably works fine for some people. However, it does not work for me. I am writing this guide in advance specifically because what works for one person may not work for another, and I want to clarify where I stand.)

How To Communicate With Me:

When speaking to me, there is basically no need to worry whether what you’re saying to me is too private/TMI/unwanted/etc. I have no “Woah! Too much information!” reaction to speak of. If you’d like to tell me something, I’d like to know it, because I am infinitely curious about everyone. I am always in favour of deepening knowledge. (However, I will generally try to track how I speak to you to ensure I’m not stepping over any of the usual boundaries. This is me asymmetrically giving you permission to disregard that for me.)

I am somewhat guess culture in that I can’t clearly communicate my preferences one-on-one in-the-moment. (Which is why it’s so much easier to just write up this Tumblr post in advance.) Here is a very detailed explanation of what’s going on with my communication style. In case you TL;DR (though it’s only 2 pages), the important bits to note are:

I encourage people to ask me whenever they want something from me, because communication needs to happen somehow. If you can hedge it by giving me an obvious acceptable out (“but I know it’s far away…”, “but if you’re too busy…”, etc), that would be great, because it would feel 100% safe, but you don’t have to.

If you give me an out and I don’t take it, but I do raise an objection, assume that’s my true objection and you can troubleshoot it. If you don’t give me an out and I raise an objection, it may be my way of grasping for an escape clause. In that case, only troubleshoot to the first level, and back off if I keep giving excuses. If I start trying to pull out my hair, you probably broke me.

I view going on a date as exploratory. I want to learn how much I like you and how well we get along. I can usually tell pretty quickly how well I like someone from the cues I pick up in interaction. By the end of a first date, there’s a ~80% chance that I know whether I’m into you. However, if I’m unsure, I’ll lean toward trying another time. You can definitely ask about scheduling a second date right after the first one, and you can call me back as soon as you want. Rules about how long you need to wait are silly IMO.

I hate talking on the phone or via email. Instant messaging through Tumblr or Facebook is preferred, and SMS is OK. Even so, I am sometimes bad at keeping in touch with people online, even if I like them a lot and/or can consistently meet them in person. More details here.

I am OK with you being as explicit (or crass) as you want about the degree to which you’re into me from the get-go. This could be “You’re OK to hang out with” or “You are what gives the universe meaning” or anything inbetween. Yes, I’m completely aware of how weird that is in a first date context. No, I don’t particularly care that it is. (I will probably avoid being weird, though, because not everyone is as weirdness-tolerant as I am.)

After the date, if you invite me to go back to your house, I will assume that this is a polite way of asking to sleep with me, because this is how that’s generally used. (You can also directly ask me if I want to have sex with you but, if you’re looking for a polite way to ask, this is ideal.) If you ask me to head back to your place and I don’t want to sleep with you, I’ll decline, which works well enough if what you were actually asking was whether I wanted to sleep with you.

However, it’s possible that you want to invite me to hang out at your house for non-sexual reasons! And then my declining would be unfortunate if I actually did want to hang out more! In that case, you can say you want me to go home with you “for non-sexual reasons”. In that case, I won’t assume that you definitely don’t want to sleep with me, but I will assume that you won’t be disappointed if I decide not to. If you don’t want to sleep with me, or you do want to while also wanting me to visit for other reasons, this is the way to ask.

Logistics:

I live in the San Francisco Bay Area so, if you also live there, you can go out with me now. If not, you may be able to go out with me if/when I visit your city in the future.

To the greatest degree possible, I want you to plan it. Of course I want you to consult me on what I want and to ask if I approve of the place/time before we go but, the more you take over the planning, the more I’ll enjoy it. From The Art of Charm:

If you want the girl to like you and enjoy herself on the date, then you’ve got to take control every step of the way.  Deciding what to do, where to go, how long it will take – all that logistical stuff – it’s all up to you.

The ability to lead is something all women find attractive in a guy.  And by taking on this burden of responsibility, it means that the girl you’re out with doesn’t have to worry about these things.  She can just relax, go with the flow, and enjoy herself and the time you’re spending together.

Frankly, the claim that “all women” find this attractive is false. However, I find this attractive in people, so I won’t deny that this is good advice about me. Specifically, the thing about it relaxing your date would be super true of me, and I will definitely enjoy my time with you a lot more if I can focus on you instead of on logistics.

Getting around will require me using the train system unless you want to pick me up yourself or pay for an Uber/Lyft for me. I can’t drive and I have a vendetta against buses. As such, I would appreciate it if we met up somewhere near a Caltrain or BART station.

I try to be very clear on whether I’m going to show up to something. If I cancel, I try to say so as far in advance as possible, and I also like to form plans at least two days in advance (preferably 3-5). I also try to confirm via messaging whether we’re definitely getting together on the day of the meeting, so the other person can back out. I am sometimes late due to the vagueries of the train system (or annoyingly early, because I almost always leave home early), but so far I’ve never flaked on my dates without saying anything. I would strongly encourage you to likewise tell me in advance if it isn’t going to work out - doubly so if I make the 5½ hour roundtrip to Berkeley (which I’m willing to do if we actually meet).

If things involve money, I would greatly appreciate it if you paid. This is because I’m broke (am recent immigrant who is new to the jerb-thiefing). However, don’t worry about me being an expensive date - you can openly optimise for thrift and I’ll be down with it. I also try to order things from the cheaper end of the menu. I disapprove of spending other people’s money as much as I disapprove of spending my own.

If going out involves getting food, we’ll need to discuss my very complicated and kind of restrictive diet. Just bringing that up in advance.

See Also:

Guides on how to go on dates that I approve of (for giving good advice on how to go out with me) are this Reddit post, this article from The Art of Charm, these two WikiHow pieces (Article 1 & Article 2), and this guide from Instructables. Rescripting Sex by Cliff Pervocracy is also relevant.

My OkCupid dating profile and match questions, and my face and voice.

My Tumblr profile, my description of how to message me online, my post asking to meet up with people in the Bay, and my general social skills advice.

#tragic backstory #how to speak alison #moderate social competence with alison #dating #is this nsfw? #long post cw #food cw

[asagimeta]

Am I the only one who feels like queer acceptance has taken a step back in television? Or at the very least in sitcoms? Because I just... I think about the really popular sitcoms from the 90s and early 2000s vs now and it feels weirdly reversed? Freinds actually had regularly recurring lesbians who were not fetishized plus several gay charectors who came and went, including Chandler's dad who was gay AND a drag queen, Roseanne had regular gay charectors, a regular bisexual, and even introduced the concept of an older gay woman plus several of gay, lesbian, and bi charectors along the way, even Golden Girls had recurring queer themes including a recurring charector who was most likely trans or at the absolute least someone with a non-binary gender

And ofcourse there are the Big Guns like Ellen and Willl & Grace

None of the LGBTQ+ charectors in these shows were fetishized or bashed or criticized or used as jokes, at the very MOST Roseanne questioned Nancy's flip-flopping sexuality for a time because Nancy herself didn't know how to define what she was, and Sophia was seen as being clearly uncomfortable with her son being feminine and wile this was used as a punchline through parts of the show it was actually resolved in a DEEPLY respectfull and emotional way (I can't speak for Will & Grace because I actually never saw it but it's pretty clear that it represented decently from what I know of it)

Hell, even Seinfeld- wich never brought in any lasting or recurring queer charectors- handled the subject of non-straight sexualities with a level of respect that I don't see handled in current shows, noteably by saying "Not that there's anything wrong with that" whenever Jerry or George was suggested as being gay and even with Jerry questioning why someone didn't think he was romantically involved with a gay freind at one point, versus the severe "OH MY GOD NO NO NO NO" reaction presented in alot of modern sitcoms today

Then you have today's sitcoms wich have a running theme of queer-baiting as a joke without actually having many, if any at all, queer charectors

Admittedly I don't watch many modern sitcoms because I don't appreciate the brand of humor but I've seen a few and none of them seem to have or respect queer charectors

The Big Bang Theory has an asexual as a main charector who is largely sex-repulsed wich is GREAT... but that's it, and any hints of homosexual interaction on the show is always a punchline, from one time when Sheldon accidentally got a guy's phone number when he was trying to get a date for Penny to- ugh- the constant queer-baiting of Raj and Howard, and the even more constant feminization and very stereotyped "effiminate gay" behavior of Raj only to be constantly told he's straight, even now that Howard is married there's still the very frequent baiting of Raj and Howard being in love with eachother played as a punchline, Raj being feminine is always played as a punchline, and it's all done pretty disrespectfully... TBBT has alot of problems with representation and what it considers humor (my biggest constantly comes from the way Howard treats women and how women are usually portrayed as the wrong-doers in the situation) but that's another story, for a show that's constantly hailed as being "this generation's Freinds" it's pretty sad how massively different the queer rep is

Mike & Molly has two recurring gay charectors wich is fair, not great but fair, M&M has a pretty small cast of recurring charectors- though the size of the mains is pretty much the same as any sitcom- but once again we have the issue of baiting with Mike and Carl- especially with Carl, who does it much, much more than Mike does, and I'm not saying that the older sitcoms like Freinds never had baiting moments (Chandler is a pretty prime example, episodes like The Nap Partners are a good example too) but the difference is that Freinds actually had several queer charectors AND when they *did* make sexuality a punchline it wasn't frequent and wasn't usually that offensive, M&M however only has very very occassional  ACTUAL gay representation and the joke of Carl acting romantic with men is played up really often

How I Met Your Mother is not something I really watched alot of, but I caught probably most of the episodes one summer when I had it on as background noise and I don't recall any recurring queer charectors from it, they didn't bait to my knowledge- wich is good in a basic decency kind of way- but I don't recall there being any queer charectors that stuck around- if any at all

As I said, I don't watch alot of sitcoms, and I do acknowledge that there are some like The Real O'Neals (wich was just cancelled) that don't fit this bill- though weather or not their representation was considered respectfull I guess is something only someone who's seen the show could say- but I can't think of any others that come to mind wich have presented a queer charector in their advertising and I just... find that so weird....

It's often been said that we're starting to slide back in terms of progression, with things like political crap going out of control, hate crimes escalating, and representation being either stagnant or even going down... and I just find it so weird that twenty years ago queer representation it sitcoms was actually not bad, shows like Roseanne and Freinds presented it as a very normal part of society- regardless of using sexuality as a punchline or not- and shows like Ellen and The Golden Girls went a step above by making a point of showing acceptance of queer people in a more dramatic tone, but these days you're lucky to see a queer person in the background of a popular sitcom or avoid sexuality being used as a big joke

Ofcourse there are parts of TV where representation is getting better- RuPaul's Drag Race is more popular and mainstream than ever and continues to pile up awards, shows like How To Get Away With Murder have a decent number of queer charectors and makes it VERY well known that anyone could get their gay on at any given time wile also bringing up legitimate queer issues (outside of the usual homophobia) like safe sex, depicting aspects of the relationship other than just flirting and sex, and discrimination within the queer community, you have shows like Supergirl wich depict a main relationship- one of only TWO main relationships at that- as a queer couple who both had very different exepriences as queer people and who have fights about small things and cuddle and cry and you know... do the exact same stuff that the straight couples do, and the hugely popular mainstream shows like The Walking Dead and Once Upon A Time even have queer charectors now- there may not be many of them and they may often get shafted to the side but TWD in particular has introduced a total of six, if I remember correctly, and as the most popular show currently on TV that's actually a pretty huge deal, Hannibal has several queer charectors including BOTH mains who are not "gay men" but "men who are gay"- the story revolves around a cannibalistic serial killer who just so happens to have romantic attraction to the male detective and vice versa, wich is incredible really, hell even cartoons are starting to get with the program, Paranorman introduced the first openly gay charector in a kid's movie a few years ago and Ever After High had an ON-SCREEN KISS between two girls who are largely hinted to be "destined" for eachother, so progression IS out there and growing- thank God- but sitcoms seem to be oddly left out of this and I have no idea why

It's weird, is all I'm saying

#other #lgbtq

[tracey1302]

Episode 602 - The Man in the Basement (aka #becauseIloveyou)

Woke up this morning and opened Tumblr.

First reaction.

Then...

Now I’m just at...

I know what you’re all thinking. Bloody sadist. How can you be so happy when the last scene of last night’s episode was possibly the most heartbreaking in Homeland’s history?

Answer: Because she loves him.

And we can see it. Now more than ever before. There’s no Jonas sex in between where she’s chatting some bs about going to a cabin. There’s no Saul on the sidelines, waiting for his answers. This is just the two of them.

We’ve even got the NYT on our side with this one...

“If there ever was a time for an “I love you” on “Homeland,” it was tonight.“You saved me.”“Yes.”“Why?”“Why? … Why?”

Thanks Judith Warner. I love you too. Obvs, more on this later.

So let’s begin...

I’d like to talk about this...thanks to wthomeland for the gif.

Not only do we have this gorgeous scene to come... they’re just spoiling us now.... but it’s the last shot in the credits. Homeland underlining their relationship/closeness/intimacy is absolutely 100% central to this season and to Carrie’s development. The running narrative through the credits is always about Carrie. ‘I missed something once...’ ‘Who’s after me?’ etc etc. Now it’s Quinn, saying ‘You saved me. Why?’ Can I get an OTP?

That’s not to mention that the whole shot looks like a darker version of the Titanic poster with Quinn/Carrie posed as Jack and Rose.

Just me? Okay, moving on...

Quinn is listening to some random anti-Communist rant on the radio that seemed like it was preaching the end of times. I can only assume that was what was behind Quinn’s random quest for canned food....

Little Frannie Mathison (bless her, what a sweetheart) is listening in, stating, ‘There’s a man in the basement.’ I actually thought it was kind of sweet that Carrie told Frannie that they had Quinn staying with them. And a lovely reminder from Carrie to all the audience that the two of them had met before, and that she liked him...ahhh 412. Those were the days.

‘Frannie took a shine to you.’ Oh that episode. THAT scene. Sigh.

Anyway, Carrie drops off Frannie with some friend and then goes to try and give Quinn his meds. I thought it was quite interesting to see that the door was locked. Presumably it can be locked from both sides? Quinn couldn’t get through last time because she didn’t want him up there (for obvious reasons from his antics the previous day) and now she can’t get back down? They will create these obstacles to their relationship moving forward.

She tries to get in to help.

And Quinn throws the mug.

Thanks Quinn. Real helpful. So Carrie asks Max to keep watch, or as Quinn later states, to ‘babysit’ him.

Freaking love Max, by the way. So glad to see him back.

I thought it was interesting that Max was brought into this episode because for me, it highlighted a couple of things.

1) How lonely Carrie really is. There aren’t that many people she can call on in case of emergency anymore. Saul, let’s not go there. Maggie... god knows where she is, probs still in Washington. Quinn... that completes our circle of friends.

2) How insightful Max is. Max knew Quinn before, which you sort of forget because their little tag team was so long ago. And I thought this scene was really touching.

Max says ‘He’s got this strange thing about you which isn’t helping.’

Carrie gets upset and says desperately, ‘I’m trying!’

It was a really weird but touching scene. It’s hard to read. I couldn’t tell whether he was just telling her the depth of Quinn’s depression, in case she didn’t already know. Or whether he was perhaps saying that she needed to do more to try and help him.

What is this thing that Quinn’s got with Carrie? 

The orderlies at the hospital mentioned that he gets agitated when she’s around. At the beginning of this episode, he just rejects her help and throws a mug at her.

I still obviously stand by the fact that he’s so proud that he doesn’t want her to see him like this but I also think he just genuinely doesn’t understand why she cares so much about him and why she’s helping him. He genuinely thinks he’s worthless. Now more so than ever before. Even before trashcan land in 505 - or was it 506? I forget because I try to block out Season Five wherever possible.

I also wonder, but I hope I’m wrong, it’s just a thought so don’t pounce on it. Perhaps Quinn, even in his current state, senses some guilt within Carrie and wonders why. Given the last scene and it’s poignancy, this isn’t a big thing, but it could come up. Who knows?

So her care frustrates him, even angers him. But then Max, bless him, asks him outright as to why he’s being such a dick to her? And he can’t really answer. He’s just angry at the world.

I also thought it was really sweet that every time the phone rang at work and it was Max, Carrie is asking after Quinn. So beautiful.

Yes, you’re getting Jeremy again.

Another thing I thought was quite interesting in this episode, which does play into my analysis of the final scene between Carrie and Quinn, is the conversation between Carrie and Saul.

Saul outright asks Carrie if she’s been working with Pres-Elect Keane. Which she has, so he was on the money there. But it was his... threat, that kind of disgusted me. When he says that it wouldn’t ‘play right’ if it was uncovered that she had been working with Keane. I thought this was way out of line and sort of...inhuman... even for Saul. But Carrie’s repulsed reaction to it shows show much she’s changed from this.

You see, Saul is such a company man now that the sanctity of human life seems to mean nothing to him. Just the fact that he came all the way down to Carrie’s place of work to effectively say, ‘I’ve sniffed you out. Don’t do it again,’ in a semi-threatening sort of way, just shows how flippant he is about everything, including people’s lives and livelihood. This is what the CIA appears to do to people, including Saul, including Quinn. And Carrie wants out. Or at least a changed paradigm...

Furthermore, is anyone else pissed that Saul hasn’t asked how Quinn is? He must know that Carrie is taking care of him, he’s in the CIA, for god’s sake.

Anyway, let’s come to the crux of it.... the scene. So Max is gone, and Carrie tentatively goes down to see Quinn. I thought the fact that he asked how her day was, was really sweet. He really carefully says the words, so as not to get them wrong.

She answers as Carrie would to old Quinn. That made me smile.

And then he asks what happened to him? This bit of the scene made me think that memory loss has been a thing. She goes back to two separate points in time before landing on the story that Quinn wants her to tell.

‘What happened to me...before this?’

I thought it was really heartbreaking how he gestures towards his body.

Carrie is incredulous that he doesn’t know what’s happened to him.

We are also quite surprised. We’ve watched that video as many times as Carrie has. If not more. Sara @hellyeahomeland said it best when she highlighted that there’s so much about this situation that we know, and Quinn doesn’t. We feel like we shouldn’t know if Quinn doesn’t. It feels intrusive and wrong.

Quinn tells us that he hadn’t wanted to watch it, until now.

This is heartbreaking and a huge step forward for Quinn. And very telling that he’s ready to take this step, but only if Carrie is with him. He doesn’t say this, but I would wager this is what he means. He’s finally got to a place where he is more settled (he looks more settled) and this is because of her. It took Max to call him on it but hey, he got there. He is now realising that he can rely on her, he can lean on her a little and it’s okay for him to do that. He doesn’t need to be so proud.

So we get ready to watch it again. I also loved Carrie’s moment of hesitancy and then he touches her, gently, to tell her it’s okay to play it. To tell her that he’s okay. That he’s ready.

This moment in itself is huge. Quinn finally confronts what has happened to him. He watches it and sees what everyone else has seen. His very public capture and torture at the hands of terrorists. The whole world has seen him throw up, wet himself and convulse as a result of the sarin.

Carrie tells him she ‘must have watched it a hundred times trying to find you.’ 

Carrie’s words here are so gentle, but she’s trying to tell him how much she deeply deeply cares about him. She also makes this whole thing about them and their relationship. I don’t mean romantic relationship (as obviously they weren’t involved at the time) but it’s all about her, trying to get to him. 

‘Those tiles. They are what led me to you.’

Her phrasing here. Me to you. Underlying sentiment, ‘Please believe I was doing everything that I possibly could to get to you.’

Furthermore, Carrie shares something that we actually didn’t know. Quinn flatlined in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. He was dead for three whole minutes. She chokes as though these were the longest minutes of her life. Which they obviously were.

‘You saved me. Why?’

Cue Tracey choking a sob over her brew.

‘Why?’

As I mentioned before, there are a few layers to this question from Quinn’s side... let’s unpack them.

1) Quinn doesn’t think his life is worth saving. He hasn’t cared much about his life since he got back from Syria. It all ended.... partly because he thought Carrie was rejecting him and partly because he had far too many intimacy issues to confront a possible relationship with her. So he ran away.

But especially now. He is brain damaged, paralysed down one side and heavily medicated. A shadow of his former self.

2) Quinn doesn’t understand why Carrie cares so much about him. What I would really like to know is how much Quinn remembers. 

Does he remember 412?

This may seem like a daft question, but given, as I say, Carrie recalls two explanations from the recent past before landing on what he wants to talk about, I think it needs asking.

Given the way he looks at her here...

I’m going for yes, he does remember. But a girl’s gotta ask.

In which case, how can he not know the answer before her response? Yes, two, three years have passed, but is he so far gone that he doesn’t understand why Carrie could possibly think to save his life?

Carrie is so mortified that he even asks, she says ‘Why’ twice!

I am sobbing at this point, FYI.

I feel like part of this answer, but not the juicy bit, which I’ll come onto.. is that she’s so horrified about his lack of care for his own life. This plays into what I brought up in the scene with Saul. She’s mortified that this is what the CIA does to people. Saving someone’s life is a no brainer. Especially someone you care about. Why is he even asking the question?

And then there’s the crux of it.

Why?

Because I love you.

How can you not know that?

Because you saved my life so many times and I never thanked you.

Because you call me on my bullshit, even when I don’t want you to

Because you came to see me in the hospital.

Because you protected my identity in Berlin, risking your own life to do so.

Because you told me how important my child was when I didn’t even know.

Because you made me believe that a life outside the CIA was possible.

Because you were my friend when I had none.

Because you believed me when no-one else did.

Because you said I was your light.

Because you loved me.

The letter hangs so heavy over this scene, I feel like it should be engraved on the wallpaper. But she can’t tell him that she knows that. And I don’t think he’s ready to hear ‘Because I love you.’ But she does do this.

She touches his heart. And that tells us everything we need to know.

Including Quinn, who appears to be fighting back the tears... it’s dawning on him that things have definitely changed in his relationship with Carrie. He doesn’t know the extent of it yet. But things have changed... they are deeper... and I think he might just be understanding how Carrie feels about him.

He’s starting to love again.. to feel feelings again.. meaning is coming back into his life. It’s so damn beautiful I could start crying all over again. This is a big deal for the Quinn of S5 and of S6.

And here’s the thing. I know I said in my review last week that I thought Carrie was confused about how she felt about Quinn. I don’t think she is now. The relationship is still very, very complicated, as I’ll discuss in a minute. But I think the fact that Quinn asked her the question, directly, carefully, honestly, made her confront a lot of feelings outright. I feel like everything crystallises for her in this scene, which is why she cries so deeply. Not that she suddenly realises how she feels about him right NOW, but nobody has asked her that before. No-one has asked her why she saved him, why she’s taking care of him.

And she can’t even answer it because it’s like she’s being stabbed in the heart by someone she loves. How can you even ask me that? How can you not know?

And to all those who say this scene is about guilt...I think we’d be silly to think she doesn’t feel guilty/complicit for what’s happened to Quinn. That is one reason she’s so upset, but it’s very small in the scope of the scene.

Because the scene isn’t about waking him up. What Carrie actually discusses is finding him, him flatlining in the ambulance and being gone for three whole minutes. What she is bringing up is this....

How she felt when she thought she’d lost him. How she doesn’t want to be without him. This is what she’s talking about. Saul doesn’t even come into it. The terrorists’ target has nothing to do with this. Waking him up has nothing to do with this.

But here’s the thing, folks. The further down this road they go, the more questions Quinn may ask. The more questions he asks, the more Carrie tells him. The more she tells him, the more he finds out. And pretty much Carrie’s worst nightmare right now (or later in the Season) is Quinn finding out that she and Saul woke him up and were pretty much responsible for his hemorrhage. 

Because that means keeping Quinn alive was about the mission. It wasn’t about what he means to her. And Quinn consequently might think that the relationship they’ve built from 602 onwards was about guilt, and not about love. 

When I think we can say, for definite now, that it is about love.

And the only thing that could rescue this situation, should it present itself? 

The letter. Carrie tells Quinn she read the letter.

I’m not sure that this is where it will go, we’re only at 602... but it’s possible.

But right now, I think we should lay back and look at this...

And look forward to some seriously cute Quinn and Frannie bonding. It’s gonna be a good season for us folks.

Over and out.

#homeland #carrie x quinn #602 #maninthebasement #quarrie

[aro-aceplace]

We got a two part ask about gynecology appointments, but since it’s a sensitive subject, I’m putting it all under a readmore.

TW for medical, sex talk, sexual assault, sexual abuse, doctors

(1/2) Hi sorry if this isn't the right place to ask but do you know if it's normal for ace people to get super freaked out by gynecologist appointments? I just had my first gynecology appointment and I was so terrified and I was shaking so hard the whole time that the dr didn't believe that I'd never been sexually assaulted/abused. In the past I've thought that I was sexually abused as a child and just have no memory of it, and that's why sex things freak me out so much and why I don't remember 

(2/2) much of my childhood but rationally I know that there are probably other reasons and it most likely didn’t ever happen. Also, I somewhat recently figured out I’m ace. I’m trying not to freak myself out over this again so I wanted to ask if you know if this is a normal reaction for ace people? Like do other ace people get this freaked out by doctors/gynecologists looking at/touching them? Sorry if this isn’t the right place to ask, I’m just really scared and trying not to freak out. Thanks                      

Hi anon.

First off, I’m sorry that this was such a terrifying experience for you. And while it’s not generall what this blog talks about, I’ll try my best to give you an answer that may help.

I’m 23 and in possession of the relevant body parts and so should have had at least three exams by now according to those “general medical guidelines” but have had zero. I am however, incredibly freaked out by the prospect of an exam. Even just thinking about this topic makes me anxious. For me I know it’s a combination of sensory issues related to being autistic, dysphoria, and not liking my sense of personal space violated due to years of physical abuse and the ptsd. I was sexually abused as a kid, but for me it’s not a factor in why an exam freaks me out.

My doctor actually asked me if I was comfortable getting an exam or not, and when I said I wasn’t,that was the end of it. She told me though that it’s very very common for the exams to cause some kind of anxiety for people. It’s just a rather uncomfortable situation to be in, regardless of whether you are ace or not. There’s a reason you can easily find articles about what to expect during your appointment and ways to prepare and feel more at ease. It’s a rather private matter that not everyone is comfortable with.

Being ace could also factor into it. Sex repulsion could make you more uncomfortable with the whole ordeal. Not being accustomed to anyone having anything to do with those body parts could make it strange and uncomfortable.

Some people also just naturally have a greater sense of personal space than others and are less comfortable with certain things.

Another factor could have been your doctor. If you were not told what to expect, and if your doctor didn’t make sure you were comfortable with everything that was going on, it would make an already unfamiliar and uncomfortable situation worse. If you were actively wanting to stop and were not given the option, that is easily a very violated feeling.

So no, Anon, it’s not unusual at all for people to be anxious about exams, and anything that contributes to it being a negative experience could easily have explained your reaction. And it doesn’t mean you had to have been sexually abused.

- Mod Os

#/ #// #/// #//// #///// #sex tw #genital tw #abuse tw #medical tw #os says stuff

[ihfsttinuf]

Screw It, I’m Making a Webcomic

So, as I made it abundantly clear on Twitter mere moments ago, I have a real honest-to-Glob New Year’s Resolution for 2017.

I am going to create a webcomic.

I am going to write a sequential art narrative which I will draw and provide various artistic accoutrements to and post it on the Internet. This is going to happen by the end of this year. I am doing this.

Perhaps this sudden outburst and declaration of artistic intent seems a bit out of left field, both in its overtones of grandiosity and relative lack of context given what most of you guys know about me. So let me provide some of that much needed context, both to show you why I am doing this and what I am really saying, which is probably even more ambitious (and maybe pretentious) than you think it is.

I’ve been writing weird little stories and drawing accompanying illustrations for them since I was a wean, as most of us did at that age, but since that point I’ve never really stopped. At a very young age I encountered not only excellent children’s books ranging from the charming and heartwarming to the downright mind-bending—Peter Sís and Henrik Drescher were big in my household—but also illustrated works whose contents and subtext were far too old for me yet entranced me nonetheless, particularly the works of the great New England illustrator and satirist Edward Gorey. By the age of six or seven, I had memorised “The Gashlycrumb Tinies” and would recite it with morbid glee to anyone who would ask (or didn’t). I discovered books through Gorey’s cover illustrations, first accidentally discovering the alternate history genre through his work on Joan Aiken’s Dido Twite series, and was only drawn deeper into John Bellairs’ junior Gothics when I discovered that Gorey had provided the frontispiece and dust jacket to every one of the entries in the series he’d written up to his death—which I mourned, with a mix of vague incomprehension, sorrow, and creeping disappointment. I was eight at the time.

Parallel to this, I spent a lot of time at my town’s local art centre, which provided free classes in all sorts of artistic endeavours. I took most to theatre and improv in particular—I was a wee ham; now I am a large ham—but what stuck with me was drawing and, to a lesser extent, animation. As I fixated on Gorey’s superficial techniques and aesthetics, the simple sunken eyes and odd little triangular noses, I’d also more subtly acquired his less obvious techniques: The way he used cross-hatching and simple, intense linework to suggest different textures entranced me, and indeed still does. I am told that a very strict art teacher, who I thought disliked me and of whom I was somewhat afraid, freely admitted that a sketch I’d done of a horned figure playing a flute on a rooftop by the light of the moon had taken her breath away.

Which is not to say that I was, or am, some prodigy of form, or that I lacked for more prosaic influences. The former, I will get to, but the latter is best expressed in the fact that a recurring scene which I have since revised and transfigured many, many times began life as... well, thinly veiled Darkwing Duck fanfiction, minus the duck part, given a sound twist of Lovecraft’s “The Statement of Randolph Carter”. I was maybe eleven or so at the time.

It was in one of these classes that this weird little scene deep beneath a ruined graveyard was born. It was also there that I made plans for an elaborate series of beast fables, set in a world quite unlike our own.

It is perhaps worth noting that one of the handful of these early sketches which sticks in y mind to this day was a tale of two young male lizards falling in love only to be torn apart by a disapproving society. Even at an age when I was functionally unaware of homosexuality and bemused or outright repulsed by what I knew of sex, a queer romance was perhaps the most emotionally intense thing that I had conceived of up to that point. But I digress.

The setting in question and certain characters in it would perennially re-emerge in my other writing, which I was quite certain would be my career path throughout late elementary and middle school. In seventh grade, I was part of an experimental programme where middle and high school students were allowed to enrol in a creative writing course at a nearby university. Only two students wound up attending: Myself, and a classmate of mine who had skipped a grade and would later become known in my high school as something of a mad and insufferable genius. (We got on pretty well.) After several semesters of studying poetry and short fiction, there was a presentation. One of the selections I made for my reading was a list-poem, from the perspective of an older character trying to live day by day with the memory of his deceased wife hanging over him, with the distinction that the final entry was a reminder to keep his claws neatly filed.

It was around that time that I began to come under the influence of Thomas Ligotti, and it was with this exposure to the refiner’s fire of such elegant horror—the kind that brought the same sort of visions into my mind that Gorey brought to the page—that I realised what form my true opus should take, at least in plot. I took it with me into high school, and beyond into the wilderness of these past six-and-a-half years of confusion. The polestar of this mad endeavour formed here.

I had been thinking a lot about epic high fantasy at the time—I was eleven when The Return of the King hit theatres, and I had read enough in the genre and in styles adjacent to it to be aware of the tropes—and it occurred to me that the moral framework and cosmology of a lot of such works rang a bit hollow to me, not because right and wrong did not exist, as certainly people do good and bad things to one another all the time, but because there was always this sense of certainty that the side one was meant to root for was indubitably in the right and some great objective force of Good deemed it so, blessing their struggle against a force similarly ordained by some great objective Evil. It was that last dimension which particularly irked me. It felt reassuring in the most painfully reductive and philosophically trite way possible. And so often the battles were so... literal. I never much cared for war films to begin with, and by putting such struggles in a fantastical framework, you subtracted the one thing that made war films kind of neat: The recognition that these were people doing the fighting and the killing. Not symbols, people.

Very middle school analysis, yes, and unfair to some things I quite enjoy, Tolkien included, but the ultimate conclusions were the important part.

Which is where Ligotti comes in. Much has been made of his non-fiction opus The Conspiracy Against the Human Race, but in terms of his philosophy and its influence on my thinking at the time, I’d rather stick to his fiction, as that was what I was reading and that is what made me. In brief, Ligotti is not a reassuring writer. The universe of his stories reflects his views of our own, which are, in essence, a wholesale rejection of the commonly held notion that human consciousness and life in general are good things that we should all be even remotely enthused about, instead proposing that the very idea that we are aware of ourselves and that we should think of ourselves as individuals for whom some higher power might just be watching out is more likely an obscene and sadistic joke on that hypothetical power’s part or else, more likely, a horrible accident. His stories are filled with personal totems and surreal motifs, the fates of his characters determined by blind chance or the detached malicious prankstery of a party with whom they cannot bargain or reason, the sadistic frenzies of Poe’s maniacal villain-protagonists writ large, often on a cosmic scale. There is the feel of a nightmare and yet also of the sleepless hours after, alone in the dark, thinking, where wakefulness and dream bleed between one another and all the world is a nightmare to which the hells of sleep might well be preferable.

If I’ve lost you, well, I’m sorry; but you and I probably have something to talk about if your first reaction to all this was, “I’ve certainly had *those* days.”

And if you’ve had enough of those days, the rest probably follows easily enough.

Wouldn’t it be interesting, I thought, if one took that quest narrative key to so many epic fantasies, and put it through a world where the rules of the game were so utterly reversed? If our well-meaning hero—of course, as in Tolkien, basically some poor backwater schmo, by no means stupid nor necessarily naïve but very, *very* far from the classical man of virtue—were to bear with him some artefact of power that could, perhaps by its very existence, rend the veil of normalcy that should keep all of the sane and happy citizens of this world from confronting what writhes beneath all that they see, what might he choose to do with it, particularly if he were, say, by some inexplicable invisible bond, *tied* to it?

Now, what makes a fitting antagonist for such a tale? What sort of character provides the ideal foil for a kind-hearted soul confronted with all the horrors of what may be in a neat little package? Rather than some cosmic sadist intent on throwing us all under the bus, why not something a bit scarier: Another kind-hearted soul. Someone who has seen behind the veil their whole life. Someone who has seen the truth and the agony of this world and seeks nothing less than perfect closure

And there it was.

And then it began to get complicated.

For every character that I created to flesh out the story, another came into being, and I wanted to know more about them. A side-plot salvaged from some other silly project merged seamlessly into the new whole, and suddenly there were whole new plots, full of new characters with motives that I wanted to understand. Characters grew, changed, lightened and darkened as my thoughts steeped. Exposure to other writers through classes and forums and variably disastrous shared writing projects made me realise what I did and did not know, what I could and could not do.

It was also in high school that I began taking music seriously, first toying around in Garageband and singing in the school choir and then as part of a band with several close friends. I wrote a lot of poetry, and I sang a bit, so we had lyrics; I still drew sometimes, so we had art when we needed it, although we rarely needed it. I was always ambitious with my lyrics: One of our most successful songs was structured to simulate one character murdering another during a snowstorm in a glade where they had played and hidden as a child. Morbid character studies were common; I was always taking grim little vacations in people’s heads, my own or otherwise. Informed by my middle school studies of haibun and my lyrical adventures, my prose grew more experimental, collapsing into poems or switching into strange persons and tenses. My mind was full of images, yet where to go with them?

My path to sequential art was an odd and rocky one. As mentioned, I loved picture books and illustrated stories as a child, and while I failed to touch upon them earlier (mea culpa!), Calvin and Hobbes and The Far Side were pretty important in their own right. I even attempted to create something of a running series at around the time I was in that poetry programme, mainly for the amusement of myself and a very affable art teacher who found the premise amusing. It was only a year or two later that I would read Doom Patrol—the first superhero comic that I would ever admit to liking, and still one of the chosen few—and realise that Grant Morrison, the bastard, had stolen my idea before I’d even been born: Of killing one’s own imaginary friend, only to be tormented by their vengeful spectre years after the fact at the least appropriate of times.

But the comic idea sort of fell by the wayside for the longest time, for the simple reason that I am, to my own mind, an atrocious draughtsman. I cannot reproduce figures to save my life. Hilarious, seeing as I can draw you a teeming alien cityscape, or a perfectly detailed mosquito in flames, but in terms of doing the same thing twice, I’ve spent years hanging my head in shame and self-loathing.

The secret is, though, not that I couldn’t learn this, but that for such a long time, pride had kept me from allowing myself to be bad at things until I was good. As someone to whom a lot of fairly complex ideas just come naturally, someone who just absorbs information like a souped-up Dyson vacuum, the idea of having to draw the same damned thing ten thousand times just to get decent at drawing that same damned thing was a horrifying prospect. It still is.

I got pushed into it. My own fictions put a knife to my throat and told me, “This is what needs to happen.” But it took two different interconnected experiences to understand how, both courtesy of my boyfriend being a huge dork.

The first was his recommendation that I read LAMEZINE 02, at that time the latest salvo from the wonderfully deranged comic artist Cate Wurtz, then going by the moniker Partydog; the second was his use of a Bec Noir avatar on a forum we’re both on, which got me to finally bite the bullet and read Homestuck.

Wurtz’ Lamezone comics are a trip. Her art style is by most technical standards fairly primitive, but it’s a very *refined* jankiness, part and parcel to her overall embrace of scuzzy punk ‘zine aesthetics, immediately recognisable and all-around immediate. Her approach to story and tone is just the same, at once surreal and ridiculous and incredibly emotionally potent, ranging in tone from giddy B-movie absurdity to crushing Carver-esque sorrow, composed of as many little side-stories that flesh out what sort of world these characters live in as of its “meat” and all the better for it. The way that her comics are often framed only adds to the ambience: DVD menus of hit TV series that never existed, tales from the everyday lives of people living on the precipice of madness (and/or suburban Kansas), the wild Lynchian adventures of a man who talks to the spirit of the good ol’ USA through Twitter while traipsing through other people’s comics and the comment sections on furry porn sites. She was even working on a video game at one point about a woman trying to battle her way through deformed iterations of her past selves while maintaining a sufficient ganja supply. I have no idea if that’s still happening. It looked awesome.

Homestuck has already had much said about it, so I’ll keep it brief. Comparisons to Pynchon are not unwarranted. It takes the hypertextual potential of the webcomic to the next level, and is longer than many novel series. The art is, quite intentionally, all over the place, and uses collage surprisingly effectively. The story is a beautiful mess that is, fundamentally, about the process of storytelling and how “things that happen” become “stories” in the first place. It’s very oblique about this, and generally quite funny.

And so I looked to the story I was writing.

I looked at the multiple plotlines growing out of one another, intersecting, snakes devouring their tails, thematic parallels on parallels, spirals of mental imagery with bits of torn wallpaper making the fabric of waistcoats and cathedrals made out of lines of scripture and trees bearing watches like fruit, and I went: “This should be a comic! A hypercomic, in fact, McLuhan-style! This should be a wondrous blend of visuals and text and...

“I...

“I can’t draw. Fuck me. I should stick to prose, like a good loser. Get rejected that way instead.”

So I waffled. For months. And then for years.

But you know what?

I’m done waffling.

Limitation is power in its own right. Ever since I learned of Oulipo in that long-ago three-person poetry class, I’ve been fascinated with the idea of innovation through defining what you cannot do, or what you must do, no matter what. Of forcing yourself to start from a set place or end at one, no ifs, ands or buts.

I am limited. Within that, I am omnipotent.

I am going to draw this comic. I am going to write it and I am going to draw it even if it starts out looking like total shit and the process drives me half-insane. If things that I love, in sequential art but also in music and painting and writing and animation and all sorts of other forms, can make a perceived deficit into a key strength, I can do it, too. Even if I can’t be a classical master, I can be the best at that crazy thing I do.

I guess this is also my grandiose way of saying “fuck last year,” where I made so much progress that felt so thwarted by external circumstances and my own failings, and where so much went wrong for so many of us. So I’m embracing this year as a year of progress. Even if everything else sucks, I’ll be running up that hill.

And just so there’s no mistaking it, I will still be making music and probably writing at least a smidgen of prose fiction and poetry on the side. In the former category, I might even start a band.

Oh, wait. We’re not doing half-measures any more.

I’m starting a band, too.

Tell your friends.

Happy 2017, everyone, and have a lovely rest of your night.

#Writings #my artwork #New Year's resolutions #important #rant #so many words my laird #DOING THE ART #comics #so many tags