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inkskinned · 8 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 month

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Like No One Does

Part 3: Take Me By The Hand

The pitiful image was burned into your mind, the statement that was such an anxiety producing point in your life. The account number that was on the top of the statement might have well been ash and dust—there was no need for it to be as mocking as it was. The bare bones of your bank account had rendered a familiar feeling of you struggling to comprehend and take care of your parent's house.

At least when you weren’t in the hospital, or when you weren’t in Danah’s house pretending like you weren’t one additional bill away from being flat broke. Your parent’s terminal sickness had already been the starting point of anxiety for you, but then to add insult to injury was your extended family’s inability to care.

If it wasn’t for the Levinson’s you would’ve been homeless at 16. You were already an orphan at 16, with no extended family who cared. And adding homelessness to your decrepit standing wouldn’t have been a far fetch. But the Levinson’s, they saved your life. Danah was your best friend, Mrs. Levinson was your second mother, Mr. Levinson your second father.

And Ari…

Ari Levinson was a stronghold you didn’t know you needed, he was a stalwart support system that you didn’t deserve but received anyway.

Maybe that’s why you were so nervous as you waited for him to pick you up. You’d accepted a job offer from him to become his new assistant/secretary, and you had quit your jobs like he wanted you to. You had completely freed yourself to be his assistant and accepted a job that paid enough for you to not just survive, but thrive. This job would give you incredible benefits and health insurance that you wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise.

Of course, Ari insisted that you required more or better clothes for this job. And you couldn’t have even pretended to argue with him because you knew it was true. You had no appropriate clothes for this job, even if you hadn’t been struggling as you were, there was a certain expectation he had. Or likely had.

“Empty bank account would be better than this.” You crumbled the paper in your hands and tossed it aside, the wrinkled and discarded statement landing somewhere in your dismal place.

With it departing you by your hand, you had turned your attention to the window on your right. You had been watching the window for Ari’s vehicle, not only not wanting to keep him waiting, but knowing that this neighbourhood wasn’t the greatest. And Ari’s didn’t deserve to spend more time in this hellhole than necessary.

“You should move in with my sister, princess. Or move in with me, I’d be a good roommate.” Ari had brought up that particular argument many times over when you would talk, and every time you would let your stubbornness get in the way.

“Danah has her dance studio, and even if she didn't, I’ll be fine.” You denied Ari and you denied Danah, as often as you could.

Your bank account may have been in the red, but at least you had paid rent, insurance, and utilities for your apartment. You might not have had any money, currently, to your name, but you had necessities in your place to eat and not go hungry. However, there was the increasing desire to want more, and that desire pushed you to accept Ari’s offer.

At the very least, you would be able to pay off your parent’s medical bills easier, you’d have good health insurance, and you could save enough to move to a new place. You could potentially afford to get a newer car that didn’t seem like it was running on it’s last rusted bolts. At the very least, this job would be able to give you more of a financial pillow.

“Princess, let’s get going!” Ari’s voice filtered from the street below, and it was a look out the thin glass that made your heart race at the sight of him.

Wearing a plain white v-neck shirt with a leather jacket and a pair of dark wash jeans, he looked like a massive yet ethereally gorgeous runway model. It was unjust how attractive Ari Levinson was, and how easy you could get irritated at him—for seemingly just being beautiful.

“Don’t make me come up there!” He had leaned against the side of his car, something sleek and black, with his arms crossed over his chest. Covering his eyes was a pair of mirrored aviators, which you wouldn’t have liked on anyone else, but on him, they looked good.

Through the thin glass you waved, once, and then stepped back. You grabbed your cheap second hand purse and your phone, on the verge of breaking and couldn’t hold a charge. Once you had your things, you slipped your shoes on and left your apartment, locking the door behind you, before you headed down the stairs.

You pushed on the main door to the building and stepped onto the sidewalk, watching him watching you from across the street. Your feet carried you with purpose, and your fingers tapped against your palm in a rhythmic dance to quell your nerves.

“Baby,” Ari spoke to you, his voice deep and husky, and his blue eyes fixated on you with wholehearted anticipation, “I was about to come up and grab you. Get in the car, hertzeleh.”

You paused and looked at Ari when you were just a foot away, your neck craned to be able to look into his eyes. With his casual yet striking clothing choice and his endearing smile, it was almost impossible to understand why he was currently single. The women he had spent time with and slept with in the past had all been flings, by his account and his claims, yet none had managed to win the bachelor over.

“What does that mean?” You asked him with a soft voice, walking around the front of the vehicle to the other side and as you got into the passenger seat, you took notice of the box on the centre console.

The food distracts you from Ari not telling you what he called you, although given his track record, it must be something sweet.

“Food, sweetheart. For you.” Ari climbed into the driver’s seat and lifted the glasses from his face to set them on the dashboard. “Ma sent your favourite and I picked up coffee for you.”

“Ari, you didn’t have to.” The iced coffee sitting in the cupholder came from one of his parent’s Jewish bakeries, and it was your absolute favourite combination.

The hazelnut blend mixed with a dash of cinnamon and whipped cream was your go-to whenever you and Danah went. And as for the breakfast, you could only imagine what food Mrs. Levinson made Ari bring you.

“We have a full day ahead of us.” His cordial smile and pleasant tone were nothing new to you, nothing you hadn’t expected from him. It was only natural for Ari to be the kind of man who was firm and levelheaded, yet tough when it came to business, and a giant teddy bear when it came to family and friends.

“A full day? How long can it take to go clothes shopping?” You scoff and turn away, biting into the delicious flaky Jewish pastry. As you get a few pieces of the sugared crispy top stuck to your lips, Ari’s laugh fills the void—and his thumb brushing the pieces off sends shivers down your spine.

“Princess, your ass is mine from right now until I drop you off at your new apartment.” The sudden bombshell announcement nearly makes you choke on your food, and you find yourself sputtering to catch your breath.

You turn your head and stare at him, eyes wide and lips parted in shock. You seemed completely mind blown by this revelation, although to your shock, Ari simply cups your chin and closes your mouth.

“Buckle up, hertzeleh. I mean it.” He leans away from you and his broad shoulders touch the driver's seat, and then he winks at you. “Your sass-pot ass isn’t dying today.”

“You don’t get to slide by the fact that you said new apartment, Ari Levinson.” You set the pastry down and wipe your hands, steeling your gaze.

He’s ignorant to you, or maybe just ignoring your stare and your tone. Whatever he’s doing, it doesn’t bother him and more than that he seems to smirk. Even though he’s not looking at you, and he's slipping a pair of aviator sunglasses on, you can tell he’s rather pleased with himself.

“Ari Levinson—“

“Cut the attitude, baby girl.” His smirk only grows, and he reaches out to tap your knee. “You eat first, and then we’ll talk.”

“No, we’ll talk now.” You shift in the seat to face him more head on, as far as the buckle allows, and then you tuck your chin to your chest. “What the hell are you talking about? New apartment?”

He doesn’t answer you immediately, though you doubt he’s at a loss for words. Rather, it's all part of his ploy, of his plan to control the conversation, simply because he can. After a moment, Ari finally speaks and when he does, he tips his head, conveniently stopped at a red light.

“It’s part of the contract, sweetheart.” He flashes you a grin, one that’s convinced countless women to fall into his bed—but it just annoys you.

“I didn’t sign a contract, Ari.” You enunciate his name with force, your jaw ticking as you briefly grind your teeth. “And I don’t need a new apartment.”

“It’s part of your benefits, Y/N. You don’t need to be so stubborn all the time, little bug.” Damn him and damn the way his voice eases you, regardless of how much you want to smack him. “It’s got everything you want.”

“Oh yeah? Like what? What does this new apartment have that mine doesn’t?” You want to challenge him, you want to fight with him because if he thinks he can tell you what to do with your place…

“For one, honey….” Ari’s hand reaches for yours, and he squeezes lightly, drawing out a soft huff from you. “…no one’s been shot in the building. Or stabbed.”

You roll your eyes and almost wish you could have defended the building, but you couldn’t. Truthfully, it felt like every time you went into that place, or even near it, you were risking something. You knew it yourself that you needed a new apartment, but the fact that you couldn’t afford one was holding you back.

“Ari—“ you start to protest again, finding yourself unable to raise much of an argument when his hand touches your leg. His fingers spread above your knee as he squeezes lightly—telling you nonverbally that you don’t need to be so stubborn and let him do this for you.

After a minute of silence, he speaks, like what he says would be the final nail in the coffin. “It’s in the Lexington, sweetheart.”

And you suppose it is. The Lexington was a building you’d always wanted to live in, a place inside the city that seemed to be so improper. The building itself was brick and mortar, but there were these marble-esque pillars that stood outside the front entrance. They were like guards over the building, and it had given it such an aged yet fresh feel to the place.

The apartments inside were just as beautiful as the exterior with rich dark hardwood floors, private balconies that overlooked the park. Each apartment had onsite laundry, which would’ve been a selling point on its own; however, the bathroom would’ve been your convincer.

You’d seen pictures of the bathrooms on the rental site, and you’d been amazed from the beginning. Each apartment had a large two-person soaker tub with clawfoot details and had a seamless view to the outside world. The window let in natural light that made the whole room seem otherworldly. It was a big draw to why you’d only wished to live there, meanwhile the causality of being unable to always boiled down to money.

The rent alone was more than you’d make in 6 months, and it never seemed to be in the realm of possibilities for you. The Lexington was always unreachable, it felt as far from you as the castle you’d dreamed of as a child. It was a noble or even tender dream, but it was never within any realm of reality.

“Ari, you can’t just get me an apartment, or pay for an entire new wardrobe. Or…” you wanted to continue listing off reasons why he didn’t have to spend all this money on you, or why he didn’t have to put in the effort.

You were a grown woman, and he was your best friend’s brother. He didn’t owe you anything, and you weren’t going to take advantage of his time or money. You knew the entire Levinson family was generous, they’d taken you in when you had nothing, when you had nowhere to go. But that was over now, yes Ari had offered you a job, but he didn’t owe you more.

The job was enough. The job would make you capable of paying off the debts from your parents' hospital bills and funerals. You’d be able to pay it off on your own, you didn’t need him to do anything for you.

“Ketzeleh,” he squeezes your knee again, briefly splitting his attention between the road and yourself, “I’m not asking, I’m telling.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.” It slips from your mouth before you can stop it, the irrevocable sentence unable to be retracted. You feel stupid for a minute, like a fool for saying what you had. At least until you hear Ari’s deep rumble, the husky laugh that fills any minute slip of silence.

“Ari, I mean it, I’m not sleeping with you.” You cross your arms over your chest, your lips pressed firmly together. “I’m not going to be one of those girls that falls into your bed.”

“Of course not, baby.” He removes his hand from your knee and rests it on your cheek. “You’re too strong for that, right?”

You roll your eyes and smack his hand away, huffing poignantly. You retain the silence and draw your attention back toward the pastry Ari’s mother sent for you. It remained half-unfinished during the conversation, and you pick it up again to finish it. You shift away from him back to your original position and sink your teeth into the flaky dessert, ripping a piece off.

Ari has leagues of women falling at his feet. He’s Boston’s most eligible bachelor, and no one woman has been able to hold him down. Although they’ve tried, all he seems to want to do is sleep around and have everything be temporary. You’d seen some of the women he’s messed around with, all of them beautiful and striking and modelesque.

You, on the other hand, had few relationships. You didn’t have an opportunity to have relationships, not when you were made an orphan. Not when you were saddled with a suffocating amount of debt that you had to pay off.

“Ketzeleh, look at me.” Ari had finally stopped the car, parking in a private and gated lot for a series of expensive boutiques he was taking you to. “Ketzeleh…”

You raised your head and looked his way, your eyes searching his blues. He had unbuckled and turned to face you, the car still running and the faint sound of the radio in the background. Once you had faced him, Ari had reached out and brushed a piece of the fine sugar from the pastry off your cheek. His thumb grazed your skin and his eyes were solely on you. His voice was quieter than expected yet no less husky.

“You don’t need to ask, you don’t need to feel like this is an IOU situation. This is a gift, there is nothing you have to pay back.” His husky Boston accent had drawn an illicit shiver down your spine as he slowly leaned in and kissed your forehead. The moment was tender, and you were easily distracted by the feel of his plush lips on your skin.

It felt like you were 16 again, sitting in your dark room with nothing but candlelight. It was as if Ari were comforting you again, whispering to you that everything would be okay. You felt like that 16-year-old, scared and frightened for the future.

“You’re okay,” one hand wove into your hair at your nape while the other cupped your cheek, “you’ll be okay.”

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