#but i guess its the norm in this community now

[andy-wm]

I have thoughts about the Tiktok JK deleted

<<I realise its a few days ago now and you might be wondering 'what tiktok?' but I've been writing in snatches when I have a few minutes so it took a while. Anyway, here it is...>>

A few posts I've read have suggested JK did the silly>sexy Tiktok challenge backwards. That he did sexy>silly instead. That he was being random and funny.

I disagree.

What he did was unexpected, a little left of centre, and for the people who can read subtext, not random at all but very very clever.

I'll tell you why, (It may not be what you think) but first I need to vent about two things:

1. Give the man some credit. He knows what he's doing.

There are some who love JK but who see him as a naive innocent. He is not. He isn't a child or a himbo.

Saying he did the challenge just because it's trending, and he reversed the order of the content for a bit of a joke, is insulting to him as an artist. It would suggest he has no forethought or understanding of himself or his (global) audience, and his decisions are made on impulse with no idea of the consequences.

He's very intelligent and has plenty of experience with digital media and creating content. Besides being involved in producing complex visual narratives as part of BTS for the last ten years, he has directed and produced seven highly polished and professional GFC videos. And don't forget the MVs for Life Goes On. For the October issue of Vogue Korea he took on the role of Creative Director. That's a pretty big deal. So we can assume he knows what he's doing.

If he produces content in a particular way, it's because it enables him to communicate what he wants to communicate.

2. You may not understand the message. That doesn't mean there's nothing to understand.

A heads up to people who can't work it out... your inability to grasp meaning doesn't equate to 'no meaning exists'. Suggesting that people who recognise what he's doing are reaching or delusional is an insult to both the audience who can read this situation, and to Jungkook, who is sharing his message.

Consider a system of writing you can't decode. Lack of comprehension doesnt mean the writing is meaningless, it means you don't understand the language.

Even if you believe you understand what's being said, please recognise that context may play a role too, that it could reveal a richer and deeper message. Don't just assume the easiest (laziest) interpretation is correct.

(You may have guessed, someone suggested I was 'behaving like the cult' when I pointed out that JK's tiktok was more than being funny ... and now I'm mad 🤣)

Vent over. Now back to he topic at hand...

💜💛

What was he was really doing? And why is it not at all random?

Let's take a step back to recall what army has been saying about this...

Almost every interpretation i read suggests he reversed the order (silly>sexy becomes sexy>silly). The reason given is that his tiktok only makes sense if the order is reversed, and this idea is backed up by the caption saying "I go the other way".

But the 'reversed order' theory is based on a hereronormative perspective of what's sexy (and a stereotypical perspective of silly.)

So consider the content of his tiktok from a queer point of view...

For a man in a relationship with another man, the idea that he's with all those women is silly.

It's silly to believe he's got a girlfriend - or several. It's silly to think the womens' names in the song are relevant to him.

He posted this tiktok at a time when he's releasing music that fits the western pop norm of boy + girl, and when rumours of him dating several women at once are rife. The timing is not a coincidence and nor is the choice of background song for this.

All these assumptions and rumours are pretty silly, JK is telling us.

Now let's talk about the second part, the sexy part. Yes it may look silly on the surface, but we have seen him and Jimin make dorky faces at one another when they're flirting. It seems to be the visual equivalent of calling Jimin 'Jiminssssi'.

It's just another way they create distance and avoid 'getting caught'.

Maybe sexy for Jungkook actually is lying on the couch in your sweatpants making corny faces at your boyfriend.

Remember that he puts out 'stereotypical sexy' on command as part of his job so maybe that doesn't feel very sexy to him. Maybe that's work.

In my view (I know this is subject to interpretation) they've been together for years now. This is not the first flush of love. When you've been with a partner for a while, sex is (hopefully) more fun and less serious. Maybe it's about having the confidence to be wholly unselfconscious.

(My partner makes a Pepé Le Pew face at me when he's goofing. No, i don't know why either... 🤣🤷)

But wait, what about that caption?

What about 난반대로 간다?

My beautiful Korean friend (who sadly has zero interest or care about jikook) confirmed the literal translation:

"I go the other way"

"I take the opposite direction".

It's not "it goes the other way" or "this goes the opposite direction". He's referring specifically to HIMSELF.

Jungkook goes the other way.

But it's more than that according to my friend.

It's a bold statement:

"I don't follow the mainstream."

It reminds me of his tattoo ...

RATHER BE DEAD THAN COOL

He doesn't do things just because everyone else is doing them.

"I don't follow the mainstream."

OK. HOLD UP.

This is where it gets interesting.

Then why would he do something as mainstream as a trending tiktok challenge? Especially something as vapid as this challenge?

And why would he tell us DURING that Tiktok challenge that he DOESN'T follow the mainstream?

And then delete it.

Creating content takes time.

And we know he's a busy man.

He's about to release an album. He's doing live performances. He's prerecording for music shows. He's overseas right now... for the fourth time in a month! Does he have time for this??

And he DELETED it...

Did he just WASTE all that time?

No, he did not.

He deliberately chose to do this.

He did it knowing ARMY studies every action, every video, and every media release.

He did it knowing ARMY would already have copied the video before he took it off his profile.

He said on Stationhead that he knows ARMY has it, and is sharing and posting it. He's FINE with that.

So he took the time to create and upload that video. He wants it out there.

He just doesn't want it on HIS page. That's an important part of the story.

So lets go back to the caption.

"I take the opposite direction"

"I go the other way"

"I don't follow the mainstream."

*Said boldly* remember. It's a loud statement, captioning an otherwise pointless very mainstream trending challenge.

So if he's not referring to tiktok itself, or to uploading challenges, what could he be referring to?

...

...

There's only one thing left: Himself.

I take the opposite direction

I go the other way

I don't follow the mainstream

Essentially... I swing the other way.

There's no way a queer man would make that statement and not fully recognise the message he's sending.

As for deleting the video, I'd say he knew it was too risky to leave on his profile, being a celebrity in Korea. He's managing his brand. Deleting it also gives him plausible deniability. He can say he made an error. As I said, he's very intelligent. He knows ARMY will see it and share it. He knows that those of us with a queer eye will hear the message loud and clear.

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 And we do hear it. 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

#jeon jungguk #jikook #kookmin #국민 #jungkook

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

One of the issues with disney movies lately is some of the disney female protagonists is the adorkable personality. Which worked with Rapunzel and Anna but as time passed on, it seem to be the norm which the problem came once Wish revealed. Although despite that issues, all but Asha have reasons the way they are.

Rapunzel and Anna have been isolated from everyone with Rapunzel in the tower with only a chameleon as her friend and it didn't help that Mother Gothel is abusive to her while Anna stays in the castle with her sister being distant to her. I am not sure she is close with any of the servants since they are servants. Of course, they are socially awkward but they improve with Rapunzel having to experience social interaction in her TV series while Anna no longer has this in the sequel.

Moana is mostly serious and adventurous, which overshadows her quirkiness as only shown during her time in the ocean compared to the island as she fulfilled her duty as future chief. She has some laughable moments, but it doesn't stop her to continue her goal to saved the world and she is usually the serious of the two which the other is Maui.

Mirabel's quirkiness is the way she is because of how she isolated by her family and her village didn't pay much attention to her due to her being giftless which is why she tries her best to fit in. Her main personality is being empathetic as she helps her family with Antonio being brave enough with her favorite cousin by her side, Luisa talking about pressure that Mirabel listened, and Mirabel helping Isabel to let go of perfectionist. She can also be seen sassy like how she talks about Isabel.

Whereas Asha has no reason for the need to be quirky and awkward, she seems to be accepted by her friends, family, and the kingdom before the events of the story. She could have been an introverted, graceful woman who admired the king that she wanted to fulfilled his footsteps before realizing the truth.

Raya, Judy, Elsa, and Merida are the four disney female protagonist (not counting Pixar, I only included Merida since she is a princess) to not have that personality which is why are likable. The only issues they have is the movie itself especially Raya's movie theme being the trust message that is dangerous to followed, Zootopia's twist villain, the way Elsa is handle in the movies, and the bear curse parts.

Disney TV shows also have this issues with female protagonists, but not gonna say much since I am not sure if you know or not.

I haven’t seen like 3 of the movies listed here (Moana, Raya and the Last Dragon, and Brave) 😂 but I’ll trust that you know what you’re talking about, since I’ve seen Asha being compared to previous “adorkable” female leads like Rapunzel, Anna, Moana, and Mirabel in other Wish reviews.

The other 4 can have their quirkiness justified by being extremely sheltered and/or an outlier in their respective communities. However, this is not true of Asha, who is not only well known but also loved in Rosas—by her family, her friends, and heck, even the QUEEN.

It definitely feels like Disney got too comfortable with its formula, and in trying to please both modern audiences and older fans, they ended up pleasing no one. They’re so focused on making sequels and live action remakes now (which I guess is… easier??) 😅 I don’t know why Disney doesn’t make characters that are unique yet strong in their own ways. They’re capable of innovative characters (even if the execution of the overall stories aren’t great), as we see in Frozen and Zootopia (movies I have seen).

I did hear there was a lot of executive meddling in Wish’s production, so I wonder if this is why Asha had an unexplained quirkiness to her rather than a character that makes more sense for what she is and where she comes from. With her dad being a philosopher, I could see Asha working better as a quiet and introspective type who learns to be brave and to speak up for her own dreams and the dreams of those she loves rather than being a passive stander-by. This would actually give her a stronger character arc and growth rather than remaining static as she does in the actual movie we got 😔

#disney #disney wish #Asha #Frozen #Princess Anna #Moana #Merida #Brave #Zootopia #Judy Hopps #Rapunzel #Tangled #Raya #Raya and the Last Dragon #Mirabel Madrigal #Encanto #Elsa #notes from the writing raven

[virgo-dream]

One of Their Own 🏳️‍🌈✨

dreamling / queer joy / fluff / first kiss / 3,6k words

summary: Hob Gadling invites Dream to a meeting of the uni's queer clubs at the New Inn. Dream learns more about his own gender identity, and that he's very much in love with his best friend.

author’s note: this fic, this pairing and this fandom all mean the world to me, so I thought it was fitting to bring it back for pride month!

I’m incredibly thankful for finding Sandman when I did. Since joining this fandom, I’ve made wonderful friends and became part of a community of bright, kind, loving and loyal queer people that I would not trade for anything. I’ve learned more about my community and about myself, and I wave my ace/agender flag proudly now. This fic was written in a moment in my life where I felt hopeless and alone. Now, things couldn’t be more different. Happy pride sandfam! 🏳️‍🌈✨

read here or on ao3

Dream doesn’t get it at first. He never really did get it, but only attributed it to the need humanity had for labels, for packing things into boxes and saying this goes here and that goes there. Sometimes, it leads to this goes to heaven and you go to hell. It seemed to be a very common one, too. He was beyond that; his name said it all, Dream was endless. Not he nor she, not man nor creature, he was all there was to be and the nothingness beyond it. Gender and sexuality need not apply.

Still, it meant so much to Hob, that he’d have dreams about it. Nightmares too, for nights on end, and even if Dream begged Hob to allow him to take them away, Hob always declined, always braving through them. “If you take them, I’ll forget how much it all means. I’ll forget why I’m still fighting.”

They sat at the New Inn one afternoon, while Hob graded papers and Dream had a cup of chamomile tea, but his eyes couldn’t help but focus on a shiny pin on Hob’s jumper shaped like a flag, the shades of pink, purple and blue a spot of proud colour in Hob’s otherwise earthy colour palette.

“It’s the bisexual pride flag.”

“Hm?” Dream’s eyes darted up to meet Hob’s, tilting his head slightly. He wasn’t sure if he should feel bad for being caught, because he wasn’t sure what he was looking at in the first place.

“The pin. I wear it for my students, but also for myself. The kids feel safer I guess, knowing they have at least one of their own in the faculty. Can’t say it doesn’t make me feel good too.”

Hob has a particular tone to his voice that makes Dream’s heart sing in tune to its melody. It’s a fuller sense of self, maybe more than Dream ever had in regards to his own identity. “…one of their own?”

“Oh, I– Sorry, those are pretty recent.” Hob straightened himself up (ha) on the chair, his lecturing posture taking over. Dream liked when he did that. He liked to hear Hob speak of things he had deep knowledge of and passion for. “This one was created in 1988 by a queer activist called Michael Page. Had the pleasure of being there when it was first unveiled, but clearly it took a long time until I was able to wear something like this out in public and not be decked by some bloody homophobe.”

It was starting to sink in.

“…I’m afraid I was not present for these developments.” Dream saw the look on Hob’s face, like he was ready to apologise. He raised a hand to stop him, waving his concern away. “As far as I can remember, queer was not a form of self identification, but only a way to shun out those outside the established norm.”

“Ah, yes. We reclaimed it, though. Or are reclaiming it. The 80s were crazy. All of them were, for me.” Hob smiled at Dream, at their shared secret and at their years of now reestablished friendship.

“I think you’re lonely.”

Could it have been….? Could he have meant…?

“What does it mean for you, then?” Dream asks in a way he hopes sounds inconspicuous, pointing at the pin. He was hesitant to ask, afraid to be getting it all wrong.

“For me? It means I love whoever I love. Man, woman, either or neither.”

The pride coming from Hob’s words filled Dream with hope, something he had not felt in a long, long time. The look in his face then shifted onto something else, something he didn’t quite understand. “…what about you? That is, if you’re okay with talking about that. I don’t want to overstep. Last thing I want is for you to walk out–”

“I won’t, Hob.” Dream knew Hob had reason for feeling that way. “I don’t believe the terminology you have could define my experience. I have laid with mortals and gods alike, and have worn many faces and names. It is beyond human comprehension.”

Hob seems to take a moment to think about what he’d just heard. Dream feels like he might have thrown too much at his human friend. “…I think I get it. But, and tell me to bugger off I’m wrong, do you prefer to be a particular way? To be with a particular sort of being?”

Dream. Didn’t have an answer.

He never thought of what he preferred. He’d never felt in need of any sort of outside validation, but. That was a lie. He needed it. He just never cared to look for it.

Hob’s smile was what broke him out of the spell of his own self doubt. “It’s okay if you don’t have an answer. It takes people a long time to get it, it took me nearly 600 years! Ah! You know what? I’ve got an idea–” He reached inside his brown messenger bag, pulling out a colourful piece of paper, handing it over to Dream. A pamphlet for a meeting. “We’re having a meeting for the uni’s LGBT clubs here at the Inn. I want this to be a safe space for the kids, and to get them to connect with other folks in the community, share their experiences. It’s tomorrow, and I’d love it if you could make it. I’m sure they would too.”

Dream took the pamphlet in hands, looking at the bright colours and bold fonts, taking in every bit of information Hob was giving him and trying to fill in the gaps of the questions he wouldn’t dare ask. After a moment, he looked up at Hob, allowing himself a small smile. “I shall be in attendance, then.”

—————

Dream stood outside the New Inn, hands tucked safely inside the pockets of his coat jacket. He watched as groups of young adults arrived, greeting each other cheerfully. The hair colours and outfits reminded him of his sister, Delirium, but they all seemed to be more in line with her previous self; delighted to be there, happy to meet their friends. A flag danced in the light summer breeze on a pole next to the window, the stripes of colours brightening up the already lively scene. A rainbow, Hob had told him the day before, was the most recognizable symbol of the queer community. It now was accompanied by stripes of light pink and blue, white, black and brown. Dream enjoyed good symbolism, and he could feel the meaning of those colours to all who were present from their daydreams alone.

He, however, still felt like an outsider. Like he wasn't really meant to be there, save for Hob's generous invite. Dream was not defined by the same standards humanity aligned itself with; in fact, he wasn't defined by anything at all. He was not an individual, but the safe arms in which those dreamers rested every night, the common thread in their hopes, in their restful slumber. It would be silly to think that he'd need to identify as one thing or another, really. He was there for Hob . Because Hob invited him. Because he wanted to know more about the everyday life of his dearest friend. Because he wanted to hear him talk, see him inspire others with his tales, wanted to hear the sound of his voice, the gentle way in which he made people feel welcome, cared for, loved, he wanted–

Dream thought it best to wait it out, at least until most people had already arrived, until he had an idea of just how many young, hopeful minds would be in the vicinity. After escaping the Burgess Manor, Dream was faced with a considerable raise in the amount of dreamers under his care. He would not admit it to anyone but himself, but at times, it became too much even for him to bear. The idea of willingly walking into a space with so many people was daunting, to say the least. So he waited, watched as the New Inn became packed with dreamers, feeling his palms dampen inside the pockets of his coat.

Taking the first step towards the door was difficult. Pushing it open was even harder. Dream stepped in, careful not to bump into anyone or to even get too close. The sound of the little bell that was supposed to announce his arrival had no effect, as it was overtaken by the sound of chatter inside the Inn. It was better that way, Dream thought. Not having Hob rush to greet him. That way he could take a moment to adjust to his surroundings, maybe even blend in, become invisible. In hindsight, his usual choice of attire did anything but blend in there. He was a dark little cloud in a sky full of bright colours, like a multi-coloured sunset on a tropical beach. And of course, every sunset had its monarch, shining brightly, commanding the attention. That, of course, was Hob.

"Hello there, kids! Glad to see most of you could make it!" The cheerful, gentle register of Hob's voice filled the room, filtered by the small but potent speaker he'd rented just for the occasion. Dream could hear his voice clearly, and it helped him tune out everything else that wasn't his beloved friend. "This is the first of hopefully many meetings of our beloved Queer Clubs here at my beloved New Inn. I want you all to know this is a safe space for you all no matter what part of the gender and sexuality spectrums you fall on. The only things I won't accept here are discrimination of any kind, and anyone that thinks Lawrence Cheney shouldn't have won season 2 of Drag Race UK. Are we clear on that one?"

Laughter filled the room, and Dream couldn't help but allow his lips a small smile. Hob truly was a marvel. How anyone could shine so brightly was beyond even the dream lord's knowledge, but he was glad to be able to bask in that glow from time to time. He wished he could do it more often.

Hob was saying other things, Dream thought. Instructions on seating arrangements, subjects to be discussed, discounts on food and drinks. All Dream could do was watch as Hob did more than just make everyone feel welcome, but inspired them with hope and joy, a gentle breeze of acceptance, the embrace of a parent, the empathy of an equal. There was much to work with here, much to inspire new dreams. Dreams of comfort and love, of community and pride.

"Dream? You in there, love?"

Hob's voice broke the spell he himself had cast over Dream, who could now see his friend's palm waving in front of his eyes. He'd become lost in thought, it seemed. Dream's nose scrunched up at the interruption, looking at Hob with his usual look of curiosity. There was still much he needed to catch up on when it came to non verbal communication. "Aye. I'm here. Have I not fully manifested my presence?"

Hob chuckled, and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. "Oh, yes. Physically, at least." Dream's brows furrowed in worry, and he was glad Hob was quick enough to notice when something had gone over his head. "Just a joke– hey, I'm glad you could make it. The kids will love meeting you."

"Meeting me? There are far too many people here for you to make introductions. Besides, I know them all, and they all know me. They just do not remember it during waking hours."

This felt like a plausible enough explanation to keep Hob from actually introducing him to everyone in attendance. But Hob was far too optimistic to be dissuaded so easily. "I'm not talking about introducing them to Morpheus. I'd like them to meet my friend, Dream."

"I do not see the difference." He shouldn't say why he couldn't bear the idea of being introduced to so many people. Shouldn't burden Hob with his problems, that wouldn't exist had he just not been captured in the first place. Dream had been good at hiding his discomfort so far, and he'd continue to do so.

…well, maybe he was not so good at it. Not when Hob's eyes so clearly conveyed the worry that had just settled in his heart. It was difficult to deny Hob the truth when his warm, calloused hands took Dream's into his own so carefully, squeezing gently, as if saying you can trust me. I've got you. "It's okay if you'd rather not. I know it can be overwhelming sometimes."

"...thank you." Dream replied with a murmur. Hob gifted him with a smile. It seemed a lot could be said with just the eyes.

————

Even if Dream didn't intend on actually joining in on the conversations being held, he was glad to follow Hob along and listen to the discussions. It was amazing seeing just how bright the kids really were: they spoke of justice and equality, of inclusivity, of respect and love, of family and religion and sex and responsibility. It was a wider range of topics than he'd expected, an awareness of self he didn't think humans would ever possess, and now, he was glad to be proven wrong. He listened to their shared experiences, to the kindness in their eyes as they lifted each other up, the melody of their laughter and the bravery in their voices as they spoke of injustices they'd lived. It was fascinating, really.

What Dream was truly surprised to find was that people had, after all, an understanding of self that went beyond just physical. Hob brought him closer to a group of kids who were in a long discussion on gender identity. Some of them felt comfortable with the gender they'd been "assigned with at birth", others did not feel any affinity for it. Some of them had changed their bodies to fit with how they felt on the inside, and Dream couldn't help but feel enormous empathy for them, for the way they had to fight to exist in a body that didn't feel like a trap. It was something Dream always took for granted, until he himself felt the horror of having no agency over himself. The pain they went through to guarantee they'd have the right to live authentically. Dream's body had never been limited to an exclusive physical manifestation; he was as he felt like. Fluid , as one of the bright colour haired people had pointed out while explaining their own experience. They reminded Dream of his own sibling, Desire. Someone else brought up how they didn't particularly feel like they had a gender, and that the language surrounding it didn't particularly bother them. Agender, the girl said proudly. Dream wondered if there was any right or wrong way to declare oneself fluid or agender. Then he realised the tightness in his chest when the thought occurred to him.

"Are you alright?" Once again, Hob's voice brought him back to the Waking. Dream could now feel Hob's hand on his own again, but he wasn't sure what exactly had warranted it.

"Your hands were shaking."

Once again, Dream's physical form betrayed him. It was also clear how the conversation surrounding them had gone quiet, and more eyes than he would have liked had landed on their linked hands. He didn't like being watched. Like that.

"Oh, Mr. G, is this your boyfriend?" one of them asked, teasingly. "Would have never guessed you had a thing for goths!"

"Marissa, stop!" someone else said, poking the girl on the shoulder apprehensively. The next thing they said was soft as a whisper. "They are clearly not feeling well."

They.

Dream had never considered himself as they. But this person, whoever they were, preferred "not to assume" his gender. And the empathy displayed for his discomfort was something he wasn't expecting either. Hob seemed to be about to say something, but Dream was quicker.

"There is no need to worry for my well-being, but I thank you for your kindness." Dream allowed himself to smile once again. These children were going places, he knew it. "You may address me as he , if necessary. I would not oppose her or them either." It felt liberating to say it, and Dream didn't really know why. He did know, however, that he suddenly felt brave. "I am not Professor Gadlen's boyfriend , but I am honoured to call him my dearest, most cherished friend."

Dream looked at Hob, who seemed to be awestruck by his words. It was amusing to see him like that, and it lit something else inside him. This meeting was making Dream experience a range of feelings he'd forgotten about. He showed Hob a smile, and Hob smiled back at him, warm and gentle as ever. Their hands were still linked together. Dream had no intention of letting go. "Ah, yes. This little prick here is indeed my dearest, oldest friend. I did want them to meet you guys. I'm glad I was right about it."

When Hob said it, it made Dream's heart sing.

"...so you're fuckbuddies?"

" Marissa! "

————

After a few hours and many, many rounds of different conversations, Hob gathered the group once again, thanking them for coming and congratulating everyone on the success of their first meeting. Dream couldn't help but notice how Hob seemed unable to stop smiling. He could feel the pride and relief radiating off of his tanned skin and kind eyes. Dream wished he could have it all directed at himself, that gentleness.

Hob's boyfriend. Now that would be something.

Dream sat on the booth table behind the bar where he and Hob usually held their meetings and waited for everyone to leave. He wanted some time alone with Hob, even if just to hear what his beloved friend had to say about what he thought of the meeting, just to hear Hob's voice, the only music suited for Dream's ears.

He also had so many new feelings inside himself to explore. Those he could tend to later.

"Hey there, handsome stranger." Hob said as he sat across from Dream on the table, taking Dream's hand in his as if it was just the way they always did things. Maybe it could be. It wouldn't hurt (too much) to hope, would it? "Come here often?"

"Only when I'm in search of an epiphany." Dream couldn't bother to hide the fondness in his own voice, nor the relief he felt to have Hob's hand cradling his own again. "I am impressed, Professor Gadlen. You have gathered a group of exceptionally bright minds. It gives me hope for a better future for humanity."

"Wow Dream, that is… that is really high praise, especially coming from you." Hob seemed flushed, and Dream wondered what else he could do to cause that reaction, to see Hob shy and pretty like that again and again. "I learned a long time ago that I have to build the future I want to live in. But in all honesty… I'm more interested in the present right now."

"Oh, is that so?" Hob's optimism was infectious, it seemed. Dream too could only focus on the present moment. "I am glad to be able to share it with you."

There was a short silence shared between them after that. It was as if neither of them were ready to say whatever it was they clearly needed. Dream tried to take comfort in the feeling of Hob's hand in his, rubbing the back of Hob's hand with his thumb.

His mistake was looking up to meet Hob's eyes.

"There is much I have learned today." Dream decided he'd be the one to break the silence. He'd be the one to take the leap, because he knew Hob had made sure he'd make a safe landing. He knew that no matter what happened, no matter how much he could get hurt, he was safe. He could trust Hob with his heart, even if there was a chance that he would break it. "I often make the mistake of thinking there is nothing more to my existence than what I have already discovered. I contain all conscious minds throughout the universe, their lives, hopes and dreams. Yet, I forget that the tales of others cannot substitute one's own experience, only enlighten it."

Hob listened to Dream's words attentively. He looked anxious, but would not interrupt. Dream knew he wouldn't. He knew how much Hob cherished the moments where Dream felt ready to share something new. "Today, you have once more shown me there is much I have to learn. For that, I am grateful, Hob Gadling.”

How could Dream not fall in love with someone that treated him like he was the moon? How could the moon not love the sun?

"I'm grateful for you too, you know. The kids loved you. I'm sure I'll be getting asked about you for the rest of the semester. Maybe even longer." Hob's eyes were so fond it made Dream want to cry.

"And how would you like to answer their inquiries?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would you like to tell them of your dearest, oldest friend…" Dream leaned in, bringing Hob's hand to his own cheek. He pressed a soft kiss to Hob's palm, and watched as Hob's eyes followed his every move. There was no turning back from this. "...or would you prefer to tell them about your lover, Hob?"

For a moment, time stopped. Their eyes met, and before Dream could get anxious or regret his words, Hob was already standing and leaning over the table, locking their lips together.

Dream thought he'd heard the sound of people cheering outside one of the windows of the New Inn. Hob would certainly be getting many questions from his students come next monday.

#virgo dream writes #dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #hob gadling #dream x Hob #Morpheus x Hob #pride fic #dreamling fic #the sandman fic #remember when I used to write?

[familyabolisher]

Apologies for bringing up a topic you've already discussed at length, but I've read through your posts on "anti-intellectualism" and completely agree with you on all counts. But I'm just now curious about how you'd define the increased culture of outright rejection of critical analysis (vague though the term is) as opposed to simple disinterest. Situations like people dismissing any deep analysis of systems, media, texts etc with "It's not that deep", or hostility towards fuller and in depth responses to statements (especially on social media with the ever prevalent "not reading that"), with the result often times being that anything requiring slight effort to engage with, or that isn't entertaining is dismissed completely.

Although I understand that these are just peoples reactions on the internet, and not systemic or material issues, I'd love to know your thoughts on how that cultural behaviour and trend could be classed, if not as anti-intellectualism.

(there are obviously a huge amount of external reasons (the attention economy, media, education etc) for people to react in that way, so I'm not blaming people personally, nor do I think everyone needs to go read Hegel and become a master critical thinker, but I do think it is a trend that has some damaging effects, especially as a response to any criticism of capitalism)

talked a little about it here—i guess i would ask what you're actually seeking to accomplish with the word "define," because there's no one explanation that can neatly account for every individual rejection of the practice of critical reading, and nor should we be seeking to find one. certainly 'anti-intellectualism' doesn't cut it, so i would just reiterate the point i made in the initial piece—how people feel about critical analysis, what their base skill level in critical analysis actually is, how that skill level is articulated, what their relationship is to the work or works in question & the respect with which they are willing to treat it are all highly contingent questions which cannot be easily explained away but instead merit thorough materialist investigation. ultimately as marxists we have to be materialists; our investigations should seek these material explanations, which means interrogating normative epistemes, education & academia, how we define "literacy" & its social use + social distribution, who benefits and who winds up disadvantaged. the "anti-intellectualism" position is broad enough to be near enough useless when it comes to articulating actionable responses; i also find it cruel.

also tbqh whilst i do get impatient when people don't "want" to engage with challenging narratives in ways that i find intellectually stimulating and would rather watch marvel film #47384 or whatever, i think it's good to take a policy of, like, blocking and moving on, curating your feed, and remembering that you don't + shouldn't have access to that person's relationship to the media landscape and the sorts of analytical tools that they may well only ever have encountered in a hostile educational setting, as well as working towards showing that engagement with "difficult" works is a) possible and b) fun and worthwhile. often people's reluctance to engage with works that have a (perceived) higher entry barrier (however ethically questionable that perception might be) simply comes from the fact that they lack/believe themselves to lack the right tools for engagement, and don't want to be made to feel "stupid" by not "getting" it—they preemptively go on the 'let people enjoy things'-esque defensive to counter this. the more candidly we talk about critical practices & the more digital airtime we give to less "mainstream" work, and the more space we give people to not understand things/to ask questions/to communicate and share ideas rather than participating in the big pissing contest of who can be the most Media Literate, the closer we get to resolving these sorts of tensions, imo.

#ask

[gargusscp]

Sandy

Conceptual exploration drabble based on @zal-cryptid's upcoming Misfits in Toyland comic. How far can we extend the ideas of toys and play? Let's find out.

*****************************************************************

What’s in a grain of sand?

History, for one.  What once stood as a great solid mass worn from itself by the attritions of wind or water over ungodly ages, broken into millions and billions and trillions of component parts.  To most who walk these shifting tracts, there is no evidence once here stood an outcrop, a plateau, a cliff; merely now a different texture to the ground beneath their feet, beneath consideration unless a grain sticks somewhere unwanted.  The studied mind, however, one familiar with erosive sciences and larger distributive patterns, they might discern the rough nature of what once was from a grain.  Not on its lonesome, not divorced from its context, definitely never a fully accurate picture, but a near-microscopic grain of sand still betrays its origin to some degree.  Shape, texture, hardness, size, solvency, all these properties in comparison against its neighbors.  Such a tale to be told, the shadow of a mountain hidden in part within something measuring less than a millimeter.

And with a history, why not a mind?  No such thing as zero to God, as the man said, and in total accumulation even a pinch of sand between fingers amounts to an awful lot of near-but-not-quite zeroes.  Interrogate one grain properly, and so many pieces of the story appear.  Do the same with the next, and the next, and the next, there manifest more hints, further clues.  Now gather a group in one palm, consider their collective quality, walk a dozen paces down the beach, take another scoop, compare them.  And then another, and another, and another.  Slowly the picture grows, definition sharpening, details clarifying, fogged vision swimming less violently with each focal adjustment.

Now, a similar exercise with the typical mind’s home in a brain.  Poke at one neuron, followed by its neighbor, and carry on in the established pattern.  A few memories here, behavior patterns there, governing rules for a particular internal system down that way.  Scrape some gray matter away, presume some futuristic means of examining its contents and function without inflicting damage by said removal, and it is very much a kind with the grain of sand.  Molded and reshaped by years of electrical impulses and chemical uptakes and releases, communicating with its fellows in a plasticine dance of formation and adaptation.  Carbon mastered into a deliberate shape, made wet and conductive and warm, housing joys and rages and despairs untold.

Why not silica as carbon? Why not a grain of sand as a neuron?  Why not a beach as a mind?  It is, after all, your best guess for what you are.

You cannot rightly say you think about these matters very often.  All told, you don’t think much at all.  Most hours, you simply are, a distributed mass of silicate uncountable, unfeeling, unthinking, unaware.  Or at least, unaware in the moment.  When consciousness does come, you find the experiences of the sand somewhat accessible in memory, recollections of a late night’s chilled gale, or a particularly forceful crashing wave, the patter of bird’s talons and occasionally something like stalking hooves.  To some extent, you must exist when you cannot think, experiencing the world in a strange dreamless sleep, logging experience in a manner more actively retrievable than garbled dreaming interpretation of outside stimuli in more normative REM cycles.

Either way, these are not the thoughts of a mind with nothing but time on its side.  You process ideas and inquisitive lines quite quickly, thank goodness, but active thought and awareness only come in fits and starts.  Sometimes a scant few minutes, on average an hour or so. Even with the seconds so precious, however, it is always helpful to start by organizing and relitigating this particular track.  In an existence alien as this, time spent considering the possibilities in a single grain and the oddity of your life grounds you in a most comforting way.  Even if you are ground, after a fashion.  Grounds need their grounding in self-awareness too, you know.

It is good to indulge whatever thoughts come along.  You suspect Descartes might disagree with your supposition that thought does not necessarily imply existence, but old Descartes never had to work out his philosophy for only a few irregularly scattered moments while also being a beach, now did he?  Object example there: random bout of pettiness against a centuries-dead thinker.  Feels nice to let those thoughts flow, like sand kicked about by the breeze or lapped by the waves.  Once, long ago, you tried forcing your thoughts down particular avenues, clinging to questions like, “What the fuck is happening?” or “What am I?  Who am I?  Where am I,” loops of, “Oh my God, no, oh my God, no, oh my God, no, oh my God, no!”  Painfully stiff and limiting, those.  A touch of grounding exercises for a moment or so, and then onto free forms.  So much better.

The sun seems nice to you this day.  Somewhat wan, as if hidden behind a thin cloud layer, yet sufficiently penetrative to warm the atmosphere much as it can in these frigid environs.  The waves bite hard as ever, alas.  Had you the mobility and inclination, you’d not risk even their shallows.  On some distant stretch of shore, you can sense the winds blow harder than one might find tolerable.  Here, at the locus point, they are relatively still.

Now, who’s out today?  Who stirs your sands?

In their usual spot, the trod of two have settled to pile the rough start to a sandcastle.  Perhaps a crude sculpture, or mayhaps a humble mound.   Their constructive efforts vary so from day to day - at this instant, you can feel a larger set of fingers scooping at your surface with greater vigor than the smaller, nimbler pair, but early goings rarely indicate their final intentions.  At the least, their activities seemingly focus on collection rather than digging, so there is little chance either will bury their fellow today.

There is digging some feet further away, however, the familiar scrape of uncoordinated hands pawing away a shallow hole.  If previous experiences hold, soon a small weight will be deposited within, the hands’ owner will sit upon the sand, adjust the weight some, and then remain still for some hours. These you might lose in the stillness, consistent unmoving presences being difficult to focus upon, though you expect some small chance footsteps will wander from the first site to this, followed by a sprinkling of grains atop and around the weight, and then uncoordinated scuffing before the approaching feet retreat with a quicker step.  Such happenings are not uncommon.

Down by the water’s edge, where awareness of the sands that are you blurs against the sands that are not, a soft, broad nub draws aimless patterns.  Grains of yourself stick to this far readier than the others, regardless whether they be damp or dry.  If the figure responsible for these whorls and swoops so quickly erased by the tides finds such accumulations irksome, the rhythmic kicking of their feet and slapping of their opposite palm belies no bother.  You already anticipate the pad of larger, softer feet rushing in to drag this figure up to less wave-besotted heights. For now, the hands of the rescuer merely content themselves at your backshore, seemingly preoccupied with the shuffle and count of... pebbles? Yes, that seems right.

One typical visitor, the tiny feet with a dragging ringlet about them, is not here today.  While you only truly detect them when they stand far from the others and kick about in something like a brief, private dance, you feel some disappointment at their absence.  Thankfully, it passes quickly, as it always must and does.  The others provide so much stimulation on their own.

So the seconds and minutes and hours pass.  A longer visit, then, perhaps the gathering making a whole day on your shores. Indeed you do lose feeling on the unsteady one and their weight until their brief business with the larger builder, and indeed the body in the surf is dragged away only to totter back and resume their doodling before the seafoam several times over.  As happens about half the time, the smaller hands’ instincts win over the larger, and you feel the contours of a castle rise above your surface, holes poked for windows and something you can only presume is a stick serving as flag jammed in the apex.  These expected repetitions on established patterns are just so delightful as the rare breaks.

The feet which plod to rescue the doodler eventually drag them only a little ways from the waves, to a wet but not actively drenched height, and begin tracings in their own hand, purposeful strokes diagramming something too complicated to understand through the lessened yet still present haze.  The weight’s companion drags it a little closer, and spends some minutes flecking individual grains which linger from the earlier assault.  The castle is not scattered to the wind with a sudden, forceful kick, but remains standing as hands mismatched in size rest upon your surface, shifting and occasionally squeezing in a manner indicative they now hold one another.  At one point, you swear there is the impression of a dainty step at the furthest extreme you can sense, before the presence is gone, leaving only the lightest footprint.

You do wonder from time to time about the prints these visitors leave in their wake.  Difficult to judge though scale and weight remain in this amorphous existence, rough estimation of such rules out their identity as adults.  They do not sink and disperse near so large a surface area as even the lightest full-grown frame.  Children, then, only they seem too light and small for even this hypothesis.  Birds, crabs, seaside mammals, insects, all ruled out, for they march and hop and scuttle across your expanse when your mind goes away, leaving all manner of traces to observe and contemplate on waking, and (excepting the scribblings) the actions of your visitors are too purposeful for wildlife besides.  Quite perplexing.

Especially in view of the one answer you’ve entertained as reasonably possible, best backed by evidence. Every now and again, one or the other will flop bodily upon the sands, splay their limbs wide, and make something like a sand angel.  On these occasions, you sense them fully as possible - the immersion for burial in the sand results in too too much wriggling for clarity - and by all instances compared and categorized, you can only describe the basic shape in combination with the shallow treads and small profiles as one belonging to a doll.  A wide variety of dolls, true, occasionally something larger and floppier suggestive of a stuffed animal, but dolls all the same.

Toys.  Ambulatory toys visiting the beach of you, summoning you from slumber for the duration of their visit.  The mind would reject the notion as lunatic, were the mind not itself the amalgamated thoughts of dispersed silica.  The mind has rejected the notion, regarding it as some manner of horrid fever dream, then a manner of ironic hell, and then a simple fact of life, no more remarkable than the sloughing waves and pecking birds and shining sun.  Your suppositions on the similarities between your mind as it is now and the gray matter which powers the animal engine already turn on postulations of quantities unknown to science at present.  What are living toys but an unexamined aspect of the tapestry yet cataloged by any beyond you?

Besides, there is pleasantry in their presence, a comforting familiarity of the like upon the like.  You cannot strictly feel as a nervous system would process and report stimulation, merely sense depressions and removals and shiftings of your grains, extrapolating the shape and mass and basic texture from context clues.  Despite this, when the pair who build sandcastles gather and mold you for a parapet, when the clumsy hands take on surprising gentleness flicking stray grains from their fellow, when soft, near-formless limbs almost form a “D” seconds before the surf crests, you come ever so close to truly, legitimately feeling the molded plastic warmed by weak midday sun, the slight tingle of an electronic under battery power, stitchings of corduroy and terrycloth.  They are a diverse lot, in composition and interest, and you experience a stronger spark of life than any you have known beneath their idle play.

Actually… would that not be something?  They and theirs are the ones who summon your conscious mind to whatever forefront you possess.  Always toys, always engaged in diversions and amusements and games. Playing in the sand, as it were.  Could very well be they uintentionally make you real when they play, and when they finish and retreat to whatever homes they have beyond the beach, you sink and sleep.  You had not thought of such until now.  Something to think on, when next the time comes round.

For indeed, you sense from their stirring today’s visit draws to an end.  The plush drawers toddle from the shoreline, the last grains are flecked from the weight as it is lifted from its hole, the air around the castle whooshes in a telltale giveaway someone aimed one last attempted kick towards its walls.  So it goes, so it goes.  You hope they drew some pleasure from this visit in equal measure to your own.  If there is anything a stretch of beach must keep in mind, it is appreciation of what experiences one gains within the necessary impermanence of things.

This last thought threatens a scatter of questions in your mind at so late an hour, an annoying instinct likely triggered by pointed awareness of approaching dark and quiet.  From whence do these toyfolk hail, your mind babbles.  Are they mere animate playthings, or does something human lurk in their hollow and stuffed heads, as it must for you?  The verbosity and scientific curiosity of your own thoughts does not escape you, however malformed or incorrect certain details might prove, so while you cannot actively recall any time when you held a shape other than this, you feel strongly at times there must have been some period when you stood humanoid.  Why this transformation?  Was there some sin to deserve this, some request to deeper understand the earth itself, a mere dream of humanity by some sand with an overactive imagination? Are they similarly cursed, their souls befouled regardless your innocent interactions? Is there any way to manipulate your sands, let them know you are here, speak with someone, finally talk after who knows how many ages' silence?  Who what when where why how pounding and drumming and hammering and…

…and gone.  As the man said, the secret is in letting go.  Should a thought trouble or hurt, allow its passing and move on to the next.  And the next, and the next, and the next, like firing neurons or counting grains on an endless beach. Health in stillness, tranquility in silence…

Maybe... on next wakings... think about the wind... and whether its touch counts... as play...

They are nearly gone now, your time of rest in void almost upon you.  Normally, by this stage, you have shrunk back to a single grain, lingered for a moment, and then been no more.  Something tethers you longer than expected.  Through a tiring, diminishing mind, clouded and craving rest, you cast out in your final seconds, seeking some cause.  This is no painful thought, just a last little thing before…

Ah.  There.  Funny, that.  One of the dolls.  A single grain of sand.  Caught in their shoe.  Rocking about after too many scrapes against plastic, as she tries to shake it loose.  This, too, must be play of a kind.

What’s in a grain of sand?  What’s a grain of sand in?  Hah.

There it goes.  And now… goodb

.  .   .         . .  . . . .  .  . . . .        . . . . .    .  . .    . .  .   .     .  .  .     . .. ….  . . .… …….. .. .. ..  .. . . . . . . . . . . . .  . . . ...... .. . .. . . . . ..... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ...

#Misfits in Toyland #Drabble #Random drabbles #Fanfic

[aromantic-diaries]

IDK if this is an unpopular take, and idk if its because I just have a lot of bad experiences with allo-norms and has constantly see how it hurts friendships and devalues them, but I'd love aro/ace's POV on this: I feel it would be more useful to label relationships by boundaries rather than a binary of romantic vs platonic. Friends can live together, raise kids together, have sex. Doesn’t mean they have romantic attraction necessarily. (And when romantic attraction is described as just a "stronger" form of platonic attraction like 99% of the time, it’s not helpful either - it bugs me when people say stuff like 'romance/sex is just an intimate friendship' which no. it really isn't IMO.) Categorizing feelings is difficult but people have to be so obsessed with “am I in love” they can’t focus instead on “what do I want my future with this person to be like” It should be more common for people outside of aro/ace spaces or even queer spaces to challenge traditional ideas of romantic vs platonic relationships even.

People really only hurt themselves and perpetuate toxic ideals by limiting themselves like that.

Like I’ve seen people be like “I cherish and value this friend above all else but I’m not attracted to them” and I want to shake them and be like “you don’t have to belittle your friendships because of allonormativity!!! You can value a friend that way!!! It’s ok!!!!”

But some people would tell them “you’re just in denial of your romantic feelings” and I want to shake them up too.

I could go into how romance/allonormativity is toxic in itself too but I don't wanna ramble too much; I guess I just have a lot of frustrations with allo-ism as a normalised concept and how, I feel it can be more toxic then not but I don't want to let my own bad experiences with it bring down others. This isn't to say ace/aro ppl are superior of course, like i said i think relationships should be determined by boundaries rather then binary.

This is a really interesting take and I actually agree with you on this. The idea that romance is the absolute highest form of love is restrictive for alloromantic people just as much as it is for aros.

I don't believe in the relationship hierarchy, especially when it's based on the type of love you feel for someone rather than yknow, trust, the level of intimacy or how strong your bond is. The type of love shouldn't be what determines how close you are with someone and placing romance above everything and putting up a border for when it's no longer "just friends" and is now romance is bullshit from both straight and queer perspectives. I personally hate the idea that two friends can't possibly be close without it crossing into the romance territory cause it's such a narrow view of how relationships work. Me and my best friend for example are very close, to the point where we consider ourselves to be like brothers and we have no romantic feelings for eachother, yet people still kind of assume we Must be "more than friends". As for stuff like friends with benefits, it shouldn't be so outlandish to consider that friends might have sex and still be friends without entering a romantic relationships. Especially in the queer community where sleeping with friends is considered pretty commonplace.

All in all, yeah, this is something to think about. It's kind of mind poisoning to view relationships as forming a hierarchy and it shouldn't be an aro-exclusive thing to deconstruct that idea

#anon #mail time

[clonerightsagenda]

Author's notes for Sick aka I ramble about my complex Disability Feelings

When you're sick, especially given the dominance of the medical model of disability, it's easy to view your body as a separate adversary, and this scenario takes it to the extreme of completely removing yourself from your body. I've talked before on this blog about my complicated feelings on magic disability cures - I don't like them in fiction; I'd like one myself in real life - and this is me contemplating 'what if'?

I do not like being sick. It is painful, time-consuming, expensive, and frequently embarrassing. I wish it had not happened to me. But being disabled is now a major part of my identity and experience - it's probably the first label I would list when thinking about the different facets that impact my life. Being disabled has made me more aware of disability justice issues and changed the way I relate to and rely on other people. In some ways that sucks - it's progressively taken over what I eat, where I work, where I live (which I also take to the extreme in this story with ambiguously literal possession) - but in other ways, I think the disability community often has a much better worldview than mainstream America. I'm glad I've become more aware of some of those perspectives and issues. And because disability has shaped so much of my life for the past... six? years, for good and for ill, it's hard for me to conceive of what my life would be like without it. How would I think about myself? What would I do? This is my new normal, like it or not. I don't remember what it's like to make a fist painlessly.

An added wrinkle is that autoimmunity is my body Trying Its Best. I make a lot of jokes about my body trying to kill me because that's how it shakes out (please, little guys in my blood, stop eating my bones) but autoimmunity is a trauma response. My body got clobbered by so many outside poisons that it can't recognize what a real threat is anymore. It's trying to protect me and doing a terrible job. It's another place where you can look at your body as an external adversary versus a system that your mind is also a part of. But also no matter how you look at it, I am still sick.

There's also some stuff in the piece about the helplessness that comes from being sick which (surprise!) I also have mixed feelings about. Because it sucks not having control over your body! I want to be supervising that shit. But also... I don't know how common this is, but there is a weird kind of comfort in being tucked in bed with someone else taking care of me. I even find going into surgery oddly relaxing because for a while my life will be someone else's problem.

At the same time I also worry that I'm using disability as an excuse. Am I begging off attending something because I really am tired or worried about exposure/overwork or do I just not want to go?

Finally we have Aro Angst because that's always on my mind. And it's extra on my mind in the context of disability because what if I get to the point where I can't take care of myself anymore? I don't have a romantic partner to help me or to provide health insurance if I can't work. I live near my parents and have passed up job opportunities that would take me further away. Most specifically for this story, even I find myself sometimes falling into the trap of assuming the ultimate endstate of closeness/intimacy would be romantic/sexual bc of cultural conditioning. It's annoying! So the character (Dani, I named her Danielle in a reference to the Daniel/the cooler Daniel meme) is still seeking the community, care, and closeness she experienced as part of the disabled community, and the messier weirder intimacy of feeling connected to her own body, but she's struggling with interpreting that through cultural norms of amatonormativity. Sometimes 'I want to be inside you/I want you inside me' is, shockingly, not a sex thing. Hence, toxic nonhorny clone makeouts. I guess???

Side note: I've mentioned this wrt pieces I've written with aromanticism that follow a similar pattern of taking something I am at least not too consciously dramatic about and making the MC a pathetic wet cat about it. I guess they are serving the purpose of Everyman in a medieval morality play here. They are crash test dummies I am flinging at walls to count the cracks. Not great character writing but that's not what this is about rn.

#kat writes #chronic illness blogging

[fyrets]

I know this is a PB blog that has been very VERY open about their support of the project, so it would be uncouth to say anything negative about it but I'm thinking about how extremely unprecedented PB is in.. a way that isn't necessarily bad but, weirdly off-putting when thinking about it.

this got long so under the cut it goes

PB is the most funded petsim on Kickstarter. It raised over $80,000. That's an incredible achievement, and they absolutely deserve it! But that already puts it in an incredibly unprecedented position. Petsims using crowdfunding platforms for their projects is already pretty uncommon all things considered, at least historically in the grand scheme of things where most are just passion projects made in the spare time of a handful of people. many of them manage to stick around through the sheer force of will a dedicated userbase can bring, but most stay pretty small and more completely fade into obscurity. And that's fine, y'know? A little sad for the ones that go dark, but it is what it is.

But ever since FR's success I think a lot of people have almost forgotten that a petsim becoming a smash hit isn't the norm, or at least they don't realize just how uncommon it is and how much work goes into making something as successful as FR past the KS stage. probably the most notable examples are Dappervolk (the previous holder of the "most funded petsim" title) and Lorwolf (most recent KS funded game that is quite derivative of FR to launch).

Now Dappervolk is a bit of an outlier by virtue of it being a pretty different game to the typical petsim and it being more of an avatar game but yeah yeah yeah everyone around me at the time called it a petsim so I'm counting it. It's pretty well known that it had a very strong start with a pretty big playerbase during beta and launch, but people lost interest rather quickly for a lot of reasons. I'm admittedly out of the loop for those reasonings (my reason for dumping DV was I Just Forgor) but from what I've heard it was a combination of the gacha system, heavy grind, and some paywalled monthly content. Now I have heard that it has gotten better recently, but I wouldn't know myself and it still hasn't recovered the numbers it once had.

Lorwolf is a much more relevant point of comparison both because of recency (fully launched earlier this year) and it operates a lot more like FR in many aspects like having limited color slots, a wheel of pre-selected colors, and a bunch of other little stuff, making it a more direct competitor to FR. I didn't find out about LW until after the beta period but I was managed to sign up for the "Early Access" it had, and it was pretty good! Spirits were very high and though the full launch got delayed, when it came around it made a big impact. Much like DV did in its launch, lots of people rushed to cross-site trade their FR stuff for LW, indicating a lot of confidence for the game and its future. Unfortunately, things aren't looking good now 6 months out from full launch. There is a lot to consider when assessing how we've gotten to this point of very low morale, but I guess the biggest thing would be the community having to deal with feelings of being unheard and abandoned as a result of very inexperienced developers. I genuinely hope things turn up sometime soon, but I'm not sure for how long I can keep that hope.

So what am I getting at with all of this? Am I expecting PB to fall a similar fate of having a very big beta and launch only to bleed players months later as a result of people either realizing the game doesn't suit their playstyle or because the game is seemingly abandoned with radio silence from devs? No! I have a lot of hope for PB to deliver a game that has something for everyone, and based on how well they've handled communication along with knowing so far I doubt we would be left in the dark. Despite my hope though, the odds are stacked against PB having the same level of success as FR.

But what if it does manage it? What if PB manages to be a smash hit and it stays a smash hit? What lessons will the people who hope to make their own games take from it? Will their takeaway be that this game was successful because it made the most money ever (and got additional investment!)? Or will people try to see what commonalities it and FR had and try to do the same? Will we see more projects try and fail to achieve success? Or will they manage to crack some kind of code and join the ranks of giants? Just what sort of impact will PB have?

#long post #meow.txt #idk if this makes any sense i've just been thinking about this since. well since the ks campaign ended actually. #and its been stewing more considering lorwolf's.. situation. #like i hope we eat well! i definitely do! but man. what will this mean for future projects #only good things i hope.

[annebrontesrequiem]

Can you do more takes about May Welland?

I would love to! Though I should warn you I don't have my copy of the Age of Innocence on me right now, so I'll probably missing one or two things I thought of while reading it.

I guess the first take is that I think Newland is an incredibly unreliable narrator. I realize that Wharton was certainly criticizing the life of American high society, and that May Welland is not meant to be a perfect character. I daresay she's not supposed to be that particularly likeable either (though she is my favorite character amongst the lot of them). But I think Wharton also turns her critique against Newland, and the way that May is treated is a pretty good indicator of it.

Newland thinks that May is innocent, so much so that he becomes annoyed with her by the end of it. He constantly uses May's conventionality as a way of justifying his infatuation with Ellen. But he never actually tries to make May smarter, though he claims to want to improve her at the beginning of the book. He never communicates his wants to her, never really asks what she might want out of the marriage. He blames her for things that he saw in her when they were courting and still dragged her to the aisle.

I believe May's character indicates that she would not be unhappy in a different marriage. She is after all a product of New York Society. She fights for Newland after it the question of their courtship has been cemented, and then of course after their married. But by then any breaking would be incredibly scandalous - something May realizes while Newland does not, cause he's an idiot. I don't think May needs Newland, regardless of the way Newland may think himself so superior to her. And I think in this Newland's egotism and weakness is revealed. He pretends to be above New York Society, when he is as much a part of it as May, even if he's playing a different part. Something that he realizes at the very end. So yeah, May is critical to understanding that Newland Archer is not your friend, and is not in fact as smart as he think she is.

I also think that May is smarter than Ellen, and I think in some ways she's more interesting, more compelling. Not that Ellen doesn't have her dramatic plots points, her husband, her affair, her strangeness. Ellen is beyond the pale, and that makes her interesting. But is May Welland not interesting in her own right?

Moreever, is she not much more complicated, more morally grey even. May Welland is unafraid to manipulate the situation when it benefits her. We see this plainly when she tells Ellen she's pregnant before she's really sure. And like, I love that for her but that's also a little evil. It's easy to see May in her sereneness as a victim of the situation and an angel. But she is an active player in this drama, albeit more behind the scenes. She knows Society and its norms are on her side. She exploits that. Ellen pretends, to me, to be really upset about May. Ellen may indeed feel guilty over the whole thing. But her motives are painfully obvious. And she follows through on her desires in a very open, straightforward way. It is because of this that she, for all purposes, loses. And May wins. And May does not win through goodness. May wins through an act of extreme cynicism. And is there no better reflection of New York high society than this?

I'm sure there's more but this post is already so long. I always love talking about May Welland, and I hope you enjoyed my thoughts!!

#asks #escailyyy #the age of innocence #classic literature #may welland #edith wharton

[rosyrosethorns]

It was the first time Alameda Slim had shown off his yodeling and its strange hypnotic effect on cattle to little Madi, and the starry-eyed look she gave him as she applauded his talent was enough to communicate how impressed she was. “Oh my god… Slim,” she softly gasped as she got up from her seat and hurriedly approached him; wringing her hands together… “That—That was probably the most… incredible thing I’ve ever seen…!”

There was a warm smile on the large man’s face as he bowed slightly; tipping his hat with a chuckle. “You’re sweeter than a ripe strawberry in June, darlin’~ Don’t remember the last time I’ve heard such high praise of my talent~”

The compliment made Madi’s face flush as red as the berry in his comparison just now; a sheepish smile on her own face as her eyes shifted out of shy impulse. She was hesitant to say it out loud, but she wasn’t used to compliments like that either…

“… But then…” The girl’s smile faded as she made this inquiry… “Why do you use it the way you do…?”

“Ahh. Believe me, sweetheart; I didn’t always make my earnings like this.” Slim’s voice lowered as he turned to the map on the wall of his lair, approaching it with both hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve worked for some of the most highstandin’ ranches out here in the West, and yet every last one of ‘em had the nerve to shun me. Stealin’ them ranch-owned bovine with my siren song and sellin’ em for cold cash—well, the whole foundation of it is built on revenge against them high-nosed ranch owners.”

… There was a momentary silence before Slim turned back to the girl with a softer look in his eyes. Madi’s own expression communicated a feeling of empathy and some pain from her own memories of similar rejection; her eyes averted to the ground as she twiddled her fingers.

“I… I’m sorry. I know how it feels… to not be appreciated for your work,” Madi timidly replied. “It’s a struggle sometimes outside of my house. I guess it’s… part of the reason why I don’t really have any friends.”

Empathetic responses were a rarity for Slim to experience directly, so he was slightly taken aback at first. But a slight smile soon crossed his lips as he approached the girl. “Well, darlin’, ain’t no disrespect comin’ to you from here~ ‘Specially knowin’ more women get enough disrespect already~”

“I know, I—I don’t understand the bias,” the girl sighed as she adjusted her glasses; eyes averted to the ground. “Mom and dad treat everyone in our household equally—boy or girl, white or not… I only knew about society norms ahead of time because of them talking about it with me… Apparently, I’m… too tomboyish for a lot of guys from what I learnt over time… They find it weird how I love… reading and casual writing… I’ve even had other women pick on me for my passions…”

… To her surprise, a large hand gently took hold of her chin as Slim tilted her head upwards.

“Well… I, for one, admire a woman with passions~” he crooned. “Tell me, darlin’: whaddya desire the most in life?~”

Although hesitant to say for a moment, those dark eyes of his hypnotized her as easily as those cattle were by his skilled yodeling just minutes before…

“I… um… Well, I—I’ve been saving myself for… a wealthy man who won’t treat me like a trophy wife… and—and having a little place with him where… I can raise some cats and rabbits…”

A soft chuckle escaped Slim’s mouth in response as he took her hand; leaning down to place a tender kiss on her knuckles as his next sentence made her heart leap with joy:

“Madilyn, sweetheart, I just might be able to arrange all of that~”

#alameda slim #self insert x canon #mdni

[666prophet]

Fallout S1:E7 - The Radio

This one is okay. It showed more of the Vault-Tec(pre-bombs) and The Ghoul. Did feel like Lucy and Maximus were just kinda there. Not really adding to or involved in what was going on. Its another flashback heavy one. Which is getting to the point where it feels like they are trying to make two shows at once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Spoilers and Deep Dive ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok so how exactly does this guy have NCR Ranger gear? Let alone two sets. I also have to complain about the mismatching. He has what seems to be Desert Ranger armor but then Veteran Ranger helmets. Veteran Rangers are the elites of the NCR Rangers, its pretty uncommon stuff. So its we really want to drive home that The Ghoul is a cannibal. Also seems that the modus operandi of The Ghoul is to bait people into getting into a duel/fight. Ok so Miss Williams is very good orator. I would agree she isn't a communist. She is left leaning and against crony capitalism. Though given the general time period this is set in, it would make sense that Communism would be used to describe what she believes. But she really comes off as trying to get revenge mainly and doing the "right" thing is secondary.

Whelp this is very on brand for Vault-Tec. That explains why these gulpers look different from the east coast ones. Alright so they know what happened in Vault 4, but seem to have been trying to atone for the history of it. I like that narrative. It also highlights how still Lucy has no idea and is blind to the facts. All because she thinks that experiments are the exception and not the rule with the vaults.

We couldn't even do rain effects, we opted for very bad clearly CGI rain. YEAH FUCKING RIGHT! There is no way you are even hobbling on a foot that is that fucked up. Like I get it, in the games you can move on crippled limbs. That being said this show really seems to be very choosy on how accurate is wants to adhere to the games. Also if that dog dies there will be hell to pay Thaddeus.

Ok well, I guess the residents of Vault 4 really aren't bad guys. And kudos for giving the fusion core back. So now you're telling me that they are falling for each other. This whole relationship dynamic feels more like two naive teenagers. Its weird feeling, very forced for the plot/story. At this point it also seems like the whole point of having power armor was just for the promo material. They park this power armor 90% of the time.

So Thaddeus' plan it to limp his ass to a radio station? I'm sure you would have seen a closer radio tower. WAIT. Chicken fucker is a side character, not just a one off bit 😑. So did he make some homebrew stimpak? Also that comment of not needing to worry about rads is a bit foreboding.

NORM! DID YOU POISON THEM? That face from Betty kinda makes me feel like she had something to do with it an not Norm. So its interesting some of the people sent off and who got to stay. To Chets credit, he's not wrong. The vaults were for people who were rich enough or well connected enough to get into them.

Yay, CX404 is rescued. This is another one of those made up for the show devices. Never existed in the games or anything close to it. Obviously Coop is torn between trusting his wife and not trusting Vault-Tec. I think it's shown off very well. Well I retract the previous Dogmeat thing from before. I guess they were just waiting to make the reference until now.

That head has got to stink to an unholy level. First Titus now Thaddeus. Since when did the BoS become so shit? Like in the games they aren't nearly this bad. Wait did he get the Hancock(FO4) treatment by the serum chicken fucker guy? Great plan except there is a difference between a head that has been decaying for a few weeks, verses one that has been decaying for months or longer. I still feel like this relationship is being forced.

That confirms that Vault 31 is still active and following whatever directive/experiment Vault-Tec put in place. Its also reinforced by the fact that the door leading from Vault 33 to Vault 31 has no controls to open in from the Vault 33 side. So it can only be opened from the inside. So just by the sound it has to be a machine. I would say Robobrain or some version of a Mister Handy, but that area is too small to conceal either one. I doubt they are going with a President John Henry Eden(FO3) thing.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

I can appreciate that we are trying to move along the plot in a way that sort of brings the intertwined stories together into one. I feel conflicted though because like the last episode where Lucy and Maximus were just kind of around and didn't have any major thing going on. This one was more of a case of The Ghoul was just there. Now sure it was A LOT of flashback stuff but still. It feels like there are all these stories being told narratively at once and you are fighting to give them each time.

Final Score - 7/10

#prophet speaks #fallout #fallout tv series #episode 7 #the radio

[fatasskitkat]

so i'm wondering if any other feedees/gainers/whatever label you ascribe to yourself have had this same thought-process. have any of y'all wanted to make irl friends w/ people in the community so that you could go out to eat w/o fear of judgement by the peers you're eating with? to be able to revel fully in the joy of eating and the shared experience of group dining sans scrutiny?

heavier topics & expounding on the above under the cut. tw: ed discussion, mental health, fat phobia

i think for me this train-of-thought originates largely from a fat-phobic standpoint; when i was south of chubby (read: anywhere from when i was a beanpole post high school to being actually properly active & in shape in my early-mid 20s) i'd have issues eating out with others, whereas eating alone would give me no such issue. now that i type it out, probably a combination of restrictive e.d. tied with self-image/esteem issues, married with fat-phobic conditioning.

these days i don't give a shit. i've done, and am still working on, my own shadow-work on my psyche (and working through a variety of anti-depressants + dosages helps too). now we get to the crux of the post.

sure yeah from a horny reptile brain perspective it'd be cool to be encouraged to gorge oneself to bursting by a group of friendly kinksters, but i'm more talking about from the not-horned up side of things. just to be able to let loose amongst peers who also revel in the pure enjoyment of food (or the vicarious satisfaction from FAs watching/indulging the more exuberant of peeps), without the toxic societal norm of being a fat-phobic shithead rearing its ugly head.

i guess this would fall under the purview of soft-feedism, but also under dismantling of toxic social norms? yearning for irl friends who're into feedism and also not shitheads? idk.

anyway this has been a rambly stream of consciousness, but i wanted to posit the question(s) in the intro paragraph because i'd like to hear some perspectives from other feedists/feedism-adjacent peeps. i would not be surprised in the slightest if this has been discussed to death already, buuuuut this is my dosh gang blarg and i'm allowed to post my own privately-public (or publicly-private?) journals.

thanks for coming to my ted talk, i give u a smooch :*

#theysomfter #blaggin' #feel free to rb if it suits ya #feedism.

[girlfromthecrypt]

Find The Word Tag!

Another tag game I very gladly participated in! This was super fun, even though I had to kinda pull a cop out on the last word. They weren't easy to find! Anyhow, thank you @mthollowell-writes for tagging me, I really appreciate it. Here goes.

My words: Music, Steam, Rain, Ponder, Wish

The ponder-one is sorta spicy so be warned lol. I'm drawing from both my novel WIPs, Fucked Up Fairytale and Sootfingers.

Music (snippet from Sootfingers): There was quite a crowd present that evening, and Sootfingers had to squeeze past several people conversing in their own small groups until he finally plopped down on an empty bar stool right by the counter. For a couple minutes, he stayed still in his seat, listening to the music and chatter around him, trying to acclimate to the bustle.

Steam (from Fucked Up Fairytale): Following my brother around the house, I found that our aunt had spread a blanket on the grass for us to sit on, three plates and cups sitting around a steaming pot in the middle. She motioned for us to join her, already having begun to tuck into her portion of meat and veggies. She seemed to be in a good mood, her mild frustration with us from before having let up. Her smile was as bright as the midday sun, and she asked Caleb about school as we ate.

Rain (Fucked Up Fairytale): Nature had reclaimed the structure, plants sprouting from every crack and cranny. Stinging nettles and dandelions lined the ruin’s perimeter and fungi grew in its shady corners, moistened by recent rainfall. Where there was meant to be a gate, a gaping maw stared back at us, and the third wall had been reduced to a single row of bricks lying lonely on the ground.

Ponder (Fucked Up Fairytale): And then a tiny ray of light stole its way into the chaos of racing thoughts. The white-haired man appeared before my inner eye. It’s likely not the norm to fantasize about someone you’ve only met once, but seeing as I had already cast out prior feelings of shame, I set them aside once more. 

“You can watch me sleep. I might ask you inside, though. And then what will you do?”

Permitting myself to ponder this question, I closed my eyes again. This time, I remained asleep.

Wish (from Sootfingers): "I want results, you know? Not some wishy-washy feel good crap. I don't want someone holding my hands and telling me "she still loves you", I don't want some kind of empathic impression; I want to hear a fucking voice, or see a face, I want something I can actually believe in without doing mental gymnastics."

It was only when those words had already left her lips that she realized how much fury she'd let escape her.

And that's it from me! I guess I can make up words for ppl now.

Your words: Creaking, Strength, Dread, Harbor, Lips

Please, everyone who feels compelled to participate, go right ahead. I am literally so uncertain when it comes to interacting with the community lol but Imma tag @rehnwriter @keysandopenmind @a-crows-corner @fayeiswriting @written-in-mold hope that's okay, no pressure

#writeblr #writeblr tag games #find the word tag #find the word game #writers on tumblr #original fiction #original writing #original character #oc #horror writing #creative writing #writer things #novel wip #wip snippet #my writing #my words #amwriting

[sapphos-darlings]

i think i might be both lesbian and ftm (definitely homosexual, female, dysphoric, have considered transition for years and think it genuinely may help - its just putting the pieces together that gives me hesitation). im single, have dated a few other trans men when i identified differently, but ive never tried to date in the lesbian community. im trying to figure out how it would, i guess, work if i did transition? my current plan of "meet women & transmascs looking to date women or transmascs, tell them im a transmasc lesbian immediately, hope they understand what i mean and also mutual attraction is there" seems honest but possibly unlikely to work. am i missing something, or is it just a hard path im considering? i know one of the mods previously lived as a trans man so i was hoping you might have some experience or advice to share

Your identity, while it will sound wildly conflicting by the book, is actually not at all out there or anywhere near as rare as you'd believe. People are rarely black and white or fit into neat boxes, and transmasculine people have a long history with homosexual women. There have been, and continue to be today, butch lesbians who are taking testosterone or who have had mastectomies, and who go by male pronouns. Gender dysphoria and breaking the rules of our gendered society, in both gay and lesbian communities, has always been so prevalent that this cross-gender expression is rightfully part of our recognised cultural heritage, and one of the most rooted stereotypes associated with us. Even with the rise of transgender people's own, clearly separate rights movement, there is much more overlap in reality than these easy to identify labels would let you believe.

You, as an individual, do not have to be "lesbian" or "ftm" or "female" or "male" or "man" or "woman" in any particular way. It's up to you to express yourself, not your categories; while people instinctively assume that a label will cover all that you are, this is never the case for a person. We are so much more than these aspects of our identity.

And yes, the opposite is still true: there are gay men who date transgender women, and gay women who date transgender men. I follow plenty of trans channels to date as it's both relevant to my life now and to my history before and remains an interest, and some of these channels are for partners of trans people. One of the most common topics brought up is how to match one's identity label to the seemingly out-of-bounds relationship that is happening now, and seeing so many of them, and the unique situations of the people behind them, you come to realise that a label is not a natural fit for people, it's just something we make up to find community.

Further... beyond just exclusively gay people, we bisexuals are also here, we are plentiful, and we are absolutely wonderful. Not all of us, of course, are open to dating gender diverse people - but many others are, and we're typically quite relaxed when it comes to label complications simply because they don't challenge how we're expected to be dating, which is often a source of distress for both exclusively heterosexual and exclusively homosexual people when confronted with a relationship that isn't quite what the handbook said it would be.

Lastly, yes, you are choosing the hard path. That's just how things are, universally, for transitioned and transitioning people, and for lesbians, and for anybody else who is not the norm in our society. There are fewer of us, we are less understood, and we have fewer people whose attraction will naturally match with us either because it isn't how they're wired or because they've never brushed up with the idea beyond a hypotethical concept. However, this doesn't mean you're doomed by any means. Just using myself as an example: I'm truly a mess when it comes to gender, both trans and not trans at the same time and which label applies to me more depends entirely on the subject and the alignment of the stars, and though it's taken its sweet time coming, I've now been in a relationship with a wonderful nonbinary/gender diverse partner for well over a year. While they may not always understand the fine details of how my identity works, that can't really be expected of anybody, even somebody using the same label as I hypotethically might. I don't understand how theirs does all of the time, either - I'd say more than they don't get mine, as my struggles are largely of the transsexual variety, more about the body than expression, and theirs are more of the gender variety, where their identity and inner perception of self reign superior to the matters of the meat. But we don't have to be fully up to date on any of that: what we have in common is much more relevant to our everyday life than the fine details of the things we don't, and at the end of the day, what we have is a gay relationship, which - while it comes with its own struggles and difficulties - still allows for an amazing variety of self-expression in gender and identity both, even within this simple overarching label and state of existing in the world.

Whatever you choose, you'll find people you match up with, and in the end, it's better to be happy with yourself than unhappy with somebody else.

#mod sade #ask #gender identity #gender expression #wlw #lgbt

[waywardvamp]

So...what even is a wendigo?

Thanks in advance :)

Hello, kind stranger.

According to the lore presented in Supernatural 1x02, a Wendigo is:

"Wendigo" is a Cree Indian word. It means "evil that devours." They're hundreds of years old. Each was once a man, sometimes an Indian or other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter.[...]During some harsh Winter, a person finds themself starving, cut off from supplies or help -- becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp. Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities -- speed, strength, immortality. If you eat enough of it, over years, you become this less-than-human thing. You're always hungry.”— Sam and Dean describe the Wendigos

But I am guessing that is not the kind of answer you are looking for when asking an anthropologist about a creature, is it? So let's dig deeper. But, beforehand, let's lay a few ground rules about the interactions in this post: everything explained here is seen through the lense of academic agnosticism. I am aware that several communities belive in the existence of wendigos and, as such, eveyone should be respectful. But respect doesn't equal an incapacity for discussion. And yes, I am fully aware that some people prefer the name of this creature to be censored on online discussion in order not to attract the creature, but I won't do so as I find word censorship to be innefectual in communication.

Now, let's lay down a term that is going to be very useful in this answer: cultural syndrome. A cultural syndrome is, as defined in the realm of medical anthropology, a psychosomatic syndrome that affects the member of an specific culture. Most cultures have this kind of syndromes. Hispanics and Mediterraneans on this audience (and many others) will be able to identify, for example, the evil eye. Or maybe the Italian tarantela. I also need to aknowledge here that I am in no way an expert in medical anthropology and my knowledge of this syndrome is nowhere near that of some of my colleges, so I want to recommend to anyone interested in the topic to do further reading and I am more than willing to give you a list of academic publications you can consult.

And now that we have this few ground rules (I am sorry, kind stranger, this is so long already), let's talk about Wendigo Psychosis.

Wendigo Psychosis is a cultural syndrome that affects the members of Algonquian cultures. But... What is it exactly? Well, in their culture the Wendigo is an spirit. One capable of possesing people (specially men), driving them to an insatiable hunger that eventually end up in cannibalistic desires. Now, and I need you to hear me out very carefully here: people affected by Wendigo Psychosis very rarely end up hurting someone. The person affected is aware of their condition and looks for the help of their culture's ritual and medical expert in order to be cured of the condition. Sometimes, this people end up commiting suicide to avoid harming others. As you can see, the fact that a disorder is cultural, doesn't make it "fake" in any way as people online tend to claim.

Wendigo psychosis often appears in periods were hunger is exacerbated.

As many cultural syndromes do, Wendigo Psychosis makes the person engage in what we call taboo behavious, which entail the breaking of cultural norms and boundaries (in the case of Wendigo psychosis, greed is one of those behaviours).

Now... What has media done with this creature and this syndrome? Well, it has turned it on its head, which many have rightfully called... Mishandling and misappropiation. Media like Supernatural and the horror game Until Dawn make cannibalism the first step instead of the last. In this media is the act of commiting cannibalism which turns the person into a monster (usually survival cannibalism. Yes, there are many forms of cannibalism and I will talk about that some other day if someone is interested). This media take the cultural syndrome and dehumanize it. But that is nothing new, as western cultures have been treating people who engage in cannibalism and both irredeemable and subhuman for centuries (while ignoring their own ritual and medical cannibalism, but that is a story for another day).

Supernatural and Until Dawn turn the victim into the monster.

And now I reiterate my apologies for any mistakes made and encourage anyone with further knowledge to, please, talk. I am eager to learn more on this topic.

I also apologise for any spelling mistakes.

#supernatural #spn #until dawn #wendigo psychosis #wendigo #d responds #long post #cultural anthropology #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 1x02

[variousqueerthings]

I think glen or glenda is elevated through time and context -- 

the time being that this is a good insight into how people were talking about trans identities at the time. it’s framed through a psychiatrist talking about transvestites, it’s got a lot of pathologisation, it uses old words for intersex, it’s Very Very Insistent That Transvestites Are Not Homosexuals. you can see the cracks in how transness is talked about, because then it’s also trying to use a sliding scale from “people who actually use an alter ego and just need some good psychiatry to be fixed” to “extreme cases of transvestites” who are actually heterosexual women -- the way it’s depicted is that this other character enjoyed doing housework early in life and was then “revealed” to be intersex... 

it also contains a segment that is racist, but carries within it an idea of almost understanding something about gender outside of western norms (it deals with “men in other cultures who wear colourful masks and makeup in order to attract women” and it is as you can probably glean from this description very unfortunate in wording and framing)

between that racist segment and the discussions of intersex as a “form”? of transness and the pathologisation of transness as a whole, it’s very easy to draw threads from western-medical ideologies about gender to todays politics, including and especially limitations that come from appropriation of intersex lives and non-white-western culture, and especially how these were furthered through the (white, male) medical communities of the time being considered the sole “experts” about how one should talk about trans people and gender and sex as a whole. no wonder we’re so muddled now! there’s a lot of damage to untangle!

historically I think very important to be learning about, because one can see how ideals about “woman” and “man” were very racialised and also very much about “correcting what was wrong” (whether what was wrong was in fact some past trauma that was being dealt with through crossdressing, or what was wrong was your body)

the neat thing I think is that it did take pains to stress that not everybody would want gender affirming surgery, which was increasingly not a popular idea in the medical community, because above all they really wanted this to be a “fixable problem” type deal, where someone would be corrected into the opposite sex and then take on all the acceptable roles of that sex (using sex here because I am mocking the idea of the innate biological desire of women to do housework as a way of being able to tell that someone is a legitimate trans woman)

-

the context is the personal part of the story about “glen/glenda” played by ed wood, who of course was a transvestite and so you can’t help but see the script (also by ed wood) as akin to “different from the others” -- if more exploitation film in style -- a plea for tolerance that’s using medical language as a form of authentication

there’s real gold nuggets in this movie, especially in its depiction of what we now would call transphobia as ill-fitting in the modern society of 1953 (sigh)

least strong moment was that it ended with “glen” transferring the “glenda” persona into (his?) now-wife, barbara, on advice from the psychiatrist (yeah, it’s just as messy as it sounds) and the movie in this case affirming that good ol’ heteronormativity would fix “him” (literally calling barbara his mother, sister, wife, and glenda, so she no longer gets to be barbara I guess? it was very odd, and came a bit outta nowhere)

most strong moment was bela lugosi using his magic powers to poof someone’s gender, thank you bela, we owe you!

also was personally into the choice of bela lugosi, even if he wasn’t always used uh... in ways that made sense. they were clearly trying to imbue horror tropes into what is definitely not a horror movie, at one point invoking frankenstein (yaay, susan stryker), but where he really worked was in the marrying of the ideas of horror-that-is-non-acceptance with the... I guess magic? magic-that-is-horror-but-good of gender affirming surgery? 

gender-as-horror-society-as-horror-intolerance-as-horror -- it wasn’t always done perfectly, but it was very neat to see it

#glen or glenda #im watching queer movies #im watching movies #long post #im watching glen or glenda #queer cinema #queer history