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mymediamusings2 · 3 months

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Media Misogyny Tropes in True Crime by Bailey Sarian

Women offenders are uniquely represented across media. Media, including crime news media, works to emphasize certain stories, angles, and perspectives over others in order to promote a conservative agenda across media sources (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018a). Media tropes about women who have committed crimes work to control narratives about normative and nonnormative femininity (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). Women who have committed crimes are therefore presented as having transgressed laws both in crime and in gender (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). These women are presented as not having acted within the “laws of nature” (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b, p. 174). Media tropes are created as a way of controlling the narratives of these women (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). Jewkes and Linnemann (2018b) discuss how the media tropes that characterize and demonize women who have committed heinous crimes are the same ones that affect and control all women. This is part of the late modernist media landscape, where the lines between what is real and what is only an image are blurred in the quest by producers of media to create spectacles for entertainment (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018c). In YouTube true crime, real crimes are told by YouTubers as though they are simply stories, designed to entertain, gain clicks, grab viewers. Do the tropes around women offenders arise in these videos? To analyze this, I took the ten most recent videos featuring a female offender from one of the most popular true crime Youtubers, Bailey Sarian, and analyzed their content to determine if these tropes are used.

The specter of the bad wife trope is explained by Jewkes and Linnemann (2018b). The ideal wife is constructed within the patriarchy, and women must be at home, dependent on their spouse, and if appearing in public only doing so to put their husband and family first if they are to conform to the ideal wife (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). Women who kill their husbands completely revert this gendered expectation, turning it on its head (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). In Sarian’s video titled “Mommy Dearest Frames Her Daughter for Murder?! Ew. Stacey Castor”, Jewkes and Linnemann’s (2018b) trope of the bad wife is exemplified. In the video, Sarian discusses a woman who was convicted of killing two of her husbands, and talks about how after the first she took her kids to Disney with life insurance money and after the second took over her dead husband’s business. This information is not entirely relevant to the deaths of her husbands, but could be used as a frame for a bad wife, one who is financially independent from her husband after taking over what they have left behind in death.

Another important trope of Jewkes and Linnemann (2018b) is the trope of the bad mother. Being a bad mother is considered so deviant from ideals of a nurturing, caring, motherly womanhood, that cases in which women commit crimes against children capture the attention of audiences (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). The bad mother pops up in Sarian’s true crime. Sarian’s video “Mommy Dearest Frames Her Daughter for Murder?! Ew. Stacey Castor” is titled after one of the crimes committed by the woman, and even though the woman killed both of her husbands before attempting to kill her daughter, the pinnacle of the story Sarian tells of the crime is the crime she committed against her daughter. The spectacle of the bad mother in this video is designed to capture the audience's attention, with references made to the disgust we should all have for this bad mother. Sarian says during the video “I know this story’s awful and bad, but the part that’s just blowing my mind still is the fact that this is her daughter.” The woman in the story has deviated from traditional womanhood so far that the curiosity of the audience is gained and Sarian is able to hold viewers’ attention with the exhibition of it. In Sarian’s video “Murder on the Web: Catfish Gone Wrong”, the bad mother trope is alluded to when Sarian is describing the woman’s decision to meet a man she met on the internet and leave her kids with their father for a trip. Sarian says:

“She ends up just leaving the kids. Remember, she has kids? Yeah. She leaves them with Bruce for the weekend and she heads off to Reno.”

The woman leaving her kids with their father for a weekend is used to conjure up the specter of the bad mother, even though the kids are not relevant to the crime the woman later committed. The woman is a bad mother, and is portrayed as such, because she committed a crime and also happens to be a mother, a technique used in the media to double criticize women who commit heinous crimes; once for the crime, and then again for being a mother (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). The bad mother trope even extends to those who did not commit a crime, and Jewkes and Linnemann (2018b) argue that all women could be ascribed the bad mother trope. In Sarian’s video “She put his head in a bucket?! WTF is wrong with Taylor Schabusiness”, Sarian describes a mother whose son was killed in her basement. The mother did not check on her adult son because she thought he might be doing something private downstairs, and Sarian’s reaction is initially accepting of this but also casting doubt. Sarian says “I can see that- but- okay sure,” indicating an ultimate acceptance but also bringing the audience to question whether they accept it or not, whether the mother who has been victimized is a bad mother or not. In “Terrible Teen Twins or Victims? - Jas and Tas Whiteland”, Sarian discusses the public speculation surrounding the grandmother who raised the girls, saying that she might have turned the girls bad, even though no evidence is presented whatsoever. This judgment is presented as open-ended, Sarian appearing to not endorse it but also perpetuating it as part of the entertainment of her video, saying “a lot of people think that Della was like, yes, she was a mother figure, but also that she was controlling and, I don’t know, she had something against Nikki. That’s what I was reading online. I don’t, I don’t know if I believe it but, you know, it was mentioned.” Sarian creates plausible deniability for any harm caused by perpetuating the bad mother trope while simultaneously profiting off of the use of it in her video for entertainment.

The sexual deviance trope portrays women on either side of a binary: as either “promiscuous” (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b, p.177) or “frigid” (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b, p.177). This characterization serves to create an ideal woman, the saint who is a perfect mother and devoted partner, which real women cannot live up to. When women who have committed heinous crimes are portrayed in the media, they are often demonized for their crimes and then demonized again by the image created of their sexuality or sexual deviance (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). For women with a marginalized identity, such as women who are lesbians or sex workers, their identities are used to “explain” their crime, demonizing the women’s identities and using the crime to perpetuate homophobia and prejudice (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). Sarian’s video “Lezz Vampire Killer or PSYCHOPATH?! Who was Tracey Wigginton” uses the sexuality of the woman who committed the crime to create the sensational title, drawing on homophobic cultural stereotypes and utilizing the sexuality trope to capture the attention of people reading it. The woman is represented in this title especially harshly, as though her sexuality explains her criminality, simply because her sexuality threatens a heteronormative culture. In Sarian’s video “Mommy Dearest Frames Her Daughter for Murder?! Ew. Stacey Castor”, Sarian brings up a short but important reference to the woman’s sexual promiscuity, mentioning the woman has a new boyfriend after killing her two husbands and saying “she’s got beer-flavored nipples or something.” The disparaging way this is discussed, with reference to the woman’s body parts, showcases Jewkes and Linnemann’s (2018b) trope of sexual deviance. The woman isn’t just bad because of the crimes she committed; she is also to be disparaged because she is promiscuous to already have another man. Connected to a wider culture, this type of language implies the “born female criminal” (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b, p.178), who is a specter of the dangers of runaway feminism (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). In Sarian’s video “Murder on the Web: Catfish Gone Wrong”, Sarian spends time describing the flirting that the woman did online while married, saying:

“But this whole new internet world was just a total freedom for Miss Sharee, you know? She could be whoever she wanted to be. And to her, it was just an addicting, erotic free for all.”

The references to freedom while also describing in salacious detail the sexual interactions she was having online is part of the media narrative that creates the “bad girls” (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b, p.177) caricature, which implies sexual, promiscuous women become criminal, and that this is the result of runaway feminism (Jewkes & Linnemann). Sarian speculates in “Happy Wife Happy Life? - Secrets in the Suburbs” on the legitimacy of the woman’s baby, asking if the baby is her husband’s or another man’s because the woman had alleged affairs, conjuring again the specter of the promiscuous woman who is condemnable for her crime and doubly condemnable for her sexual deviance (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). Sarian spends time talking about the alleged incestuous relationship between two sisters in “Sisters, Turned Lovers, Turned Killers? Murderous Maids”. Given that the crime took place in 1933, it is not clear whether this claim is verifiable or not, but Sarian speaks about it as though it is fact, and goes into salacious detail about it. The trope of sexual deviance even extends to female victims; in “Terrible Teen Twins or Victims? - Jas and Tas Whiteland”, Sarian spends a lot of time describing how the victim of the story had an open relationship with her husband.

The physical appearance of women who commit heinous crimes is commonly analyzed by the media (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). In all media, certain gendered feminine characteristics are constructed as important to the “male gaze” (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b, p.183) and are therefore valued (or devalued) within this patriarchal framework. This is just as true for media coverage of women who commit heinous crimes (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). Sarian’s true crime videos are no different. In Sarian’s video “She put his head in a bucket?! WTF is wrong with Taylor Schabusiness”, Bailey is describing what police notice about a suspect when approaching her, before saying “and on top of that, one thing that Detective Bailey noticed was that she had on a full face of makeup, she even had a lash on.” Sarian goes on to speculate about when and why the woman was wearing makeup, wondering if the makeup was put on to commit the crime or put on in anticipation of being caught and getting a pretty mugshot. The woman’s conformity to gendered definitions of beauty within a patriarchal framework is constructed in Sarian’s video as devious, regardless of the fact that it does not have to do with the crime involved and was not a factor in the police investigation. Physical appearance is brought up in “Happy Wife Happy Life? - Secrets in the Suburbs” when Sarian describes the woman showing up in exposing attire to a business meeting, saying “when it comes to business relationships, you gotta play the game right, so kitty cat, uh, Brenda over here showing up like she’s going out for the night just wasn’t a good look, wasn’t a good reflection of this serious businessman.” The woman’s physical appearance is taken apart in this way to create an image of culpability and innate guilt (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b), with her revealing clothing worn at her husband’s business dinner framed as nonconformity within a patriarchal media framework and discussed in negative terms even though it did not have to do with the crime she later committed.

The mythical monster trope comes up in Sarian's videos as well. The mythical monster trope sees women who commit heinous crimes made into magical monsters in the public consciousness, being regarded as both human but also as witches, vampires, and other monsters in order to make their existence more manageable to the public in media representations (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). In “Was it Sacrifice or Serial Killer?? Leonarda Cianciulli”, Sarian references the woman’s connections to the occult, saying that she was a fortune-teller, matchmaker, and job recruiter. Sarian also describes how the woman’s mother put a curse on her, and then described all of the things that happened in her life that could be connected to that curse. She describes how the reasoning for her crimes was believed to be occult sacrifice. The woman is connected to the other-wordly while the other-wordly is also teased, as Sarian says:

“This made her mother, Emilia, very, very upset, to the point that she actually put a curse on Leonarda. Which to you and I doesn’t sound that scary, right? Like oh, you cursed me, darn it. Back then, during this time, look, if you were cursed, if somebody put a curse on you, that was it. It was over for you. I mean, this was serious, ok? Italians were literally cursing each other with actual witchcraft, like, pretty often, it was wild.”

Sarian conjures up the mythical monster trope, making continuous references to the woman’s curse, connections to the occult, and magical sacrifices, while also having a tongue-in-cheek response to it. In “The Deadly Diner-Anjette Lyles”, Sarian describes how the town believed the woman practiced witchcraft, saying “some of Anjette's employees, they came forward and said that they would see her in the back of the diner, surrounded by a bunch of candles and voodoo dolls, as if she was performing some kind of Satanic ritual.” The mythical monster appears in “Lezz Vampire Killer or PSYCHOPATH?! Who was Tracey Wigginton”, as Sarian includes in the background of the woman how she liked to read books about witchcraft and wear black clothing when she was a kid. Sarian talks about how the woman and her girlfriend bonded over interest in the occult and dark things, saying “they were like ‘oh my God, you love Satan? Me too, I love Satan, yay,’ you know, they just bonded over that.” Sarian talks about the woman as the leader of the crime with vampirism as the motive, saying “the friends said that they were too afraid to challenge her. I mean, she was a vampire, and they didn’t want to, like, put themselves in danger so they went along with it. But many believed that the friends actually just wanted to see Tracy in action. Is she really a vampire?” Sarian’s descriptions of the woman feed into the creation of her as a character, a vampire constructed by the media and by the public that exemplifies a deviant femininity (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). In “Terrible Teen Twins or Victims? - Jas and Tas Whiteland”, Sarian capitalizes on the mythical monsters trope by emphasizing how the girls were twins and portraying this as spooky and mystical, saying “I’ve always been fascinated personally by twins because they got something going on…. They can look at each other and it’s like oh, they just put a hex on someone, you know? Like, they’ve got superpowers.”

The mad cow trope described by Jewkes and Linnemann (2018b) appears in Bailey’s videos. While men who have committed crimes are often portrayed as agentic, women are often portrayed as “a deluded lunatic or unstable hysteric (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b, p. 194). This is a result of the media's inability to grapple with a woman committing a serious crime of her own agency, needing instead to rely on pathologized gendered traits to explain a crime, even in cases where the courts determine otherwise. Sarian’s video “She put his head in a bucket?! WTF is wrong with Taylor Schabusiness” makes frequent references to the woman’s mental health. While the woman did have previous mental health diagnoses of PTSD, ADHD, addiction, and bipolar disorder, the courts determined that she was fit for trial. Sarian makes frequent references to things the woman did while in court, pointing to them as evidence of “lunacy” for the audience to spectate and to explain the crime. Sarian describes how the woman’s father appeared in court, and that the woman said “go Bears” to him as he was walking by; Sarian describes how the woman frequently looked at the camera during the trial; Sarian describes how the woman laughed in court.

The evil manipulator trope is described by Jewkes and Linnemann (2018b) as the portrayal by the media of women who have committed a heinous crime with their male partner. These women are portrayed as the submissive woman who convinced the male to act, and that without the woman manipulating him through her wily ways, he would never have acted and the crimes would have never happened (Jewkes & Linnemann, 2018b). In “Murder on the Web: Catfish Gone Wrong”, Sarian spends a lot of time describing how a man fell head over heels in love with the woman and how the woman liked the attention she got because she was attention-seeking, only spending a short moment to clarify that the woman was also in love with the man. This storyline of a heartless woman manipulating a man into falling in love with her to do her bidding is set up because the two later worked together to kill the woman’s husband. The trope of non-agent can also happen with women who kill with a male partner. In “Would You Kill For Love? David & Catherine Birnie”, Sarian places emphasis on the fact that the woman did not commit crimes when separated from her male partner, framing her as someone who slipped under his control. However, she later flips this to the evil manipulator trope, describing one of the murders as driven by her jealousy.

There are times where Sarian does break away from these tropes, however. In breaking from the bad wife trope, Sarian describes in “Happy Wife Happy Life? - Secrets in the Suburbs” how the woman, who later murdered her husband, was tired of always moving for her husband’s job. Sarian describes this break from traditional femininity (a woman who no longer selflessly supports her husband in his employment endeavors in the public sphere) sympathetically, saying “this happened often, where Brenda was the one who would have to give up job opportunities and friends, so that they could move for Rob’s job, you know, chasing his success, and after time, I mean, I guess, you know, that gets old for some. Fair, you know?” Breaking from the mythical monsters trope, Sarian describes in the same video how the prosecution in the woman’s trial spent hours portraying the woman as a monster in the eyes of a religious jury, says that this is the reason she received the death penalty, and comments that this sentence is surprisingly harsh. Sarian says the prosecutors portrayed her as “a heartless and cold woman”, “a serial adulterer”, and “in other words, she was a sinner”. This critique of the use of the mythical monster trope in the woman’s trial shows Sarian resisting it in her retelling of the crime. Sarian’s references to the mythical monster trope with tongue-in-cheek playfulness in “Was it Sacrifice or Serial Killer?? Leonarda Cianciulli” shows her both using the trope and also resisting it. In “Lezz Vampire Killer or PSYCHOPATH?! Who was Tracey Wigginton”, though Sarian makes continuous references to the woman’s alleged vampirism, playing up the mythical monster trope to capture audience attention, she also brings the audience back to look at the woman as a human, explaining at one point that the woman only said she was a vampire to impress her friends and only knew about vampires because she read so many books. Sarian also describes with doubt the magical story, saying “so they’re telling authorities… none of them could do anything against her because they were under her ‘spell’ when the murder took place. Or maybe they were drunk.” Sarian also complicates the sexuality trope in the same video by criticizing how other media portrayed the lesbian identities of the women involved. She says “you know the media, they love a story…. Four young gay women, they were all gay, murdering a quote unquote family man, this was tabloid gold.” Even though Sarian herself capitalizes on harmful sexuality tropes, she also criticizes other media sources for doing so.

Sarian’s videos featuring women accused or convicted of a crime use every trope that Jewkes and Linnemann (2018b) describe. It can be argued that true crime YouTubers are simply regurgitating news coverage that use these tropes, and are simply presenting this already existing news coverage in a story format. But does this make it any better? The videos are used to profit off the spectacle of the crime, the cultural narratives of a conservative media, and the shock of a woman breaking both the criminal law and the expectations of normative gender presentation. Sarian’s videos both complicate and perpetuate these tropes, encouraging a critical look at them at certain points and reveling in them at others. The result is a true crime platform that is designed to engross audiences, and pushes the same age-old narratives that other media present in coverage of women offenders.

References

Jewkes, Y., & Linnemann, T. (2018a). The Construction of Crime News. In Media and crime in the U.S (pp. 63–99). SAGE.

Jewkes, Y., & Linnemann, T. (2018b). Media Misogyny: Monstrous Women (excerpt). In Media and crime in the U.S (pp. 167–197). SAGE.

Jewkes, Y., & Linnemann, T. (2018c). Theorizing Media and Crime. In Media and crime in the U.S (pp. 26–62). SAGE.

Videos analyzed:

“She put his head in a bucket?! WTF is wrong with Taylor Schabusiness”

“Mommy Dearest Frames Her Daughter for Murder?! Ew. Stacey Castor”

“Murder on the Web: Catfish Gone Wrong”

“Happy Wife Happy Life? - Secrets in the Suburbs”

“Was it Sacrifice or Serial Killer?? Leonarda Cianciulli”

“Lezz Vampire Killer or PSYCHOPATH?! Who was Tracey Wigginton”

“Terrible Teen Twins or Victims? - Jas and Tas Whiteland”

“Would You Kill For Love? David & Catherine Birnie”

“The Deadly Diner-Anjette Lyles”

“Sisters, Turned Lovers, Turned Killers? Murderous Maids”

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excusethequality · 4 months

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My 2023 in Film

Part 7: 301-End

I made it to the end! Perhaps in 2024 I should do this monthly and save myself from running this gauntlet again in a year? Probably only matters if anyone has actually been reading all this. Anyways, it was a busy year for movies. Don't think I'll reach those numbers again. In any case, welcome to the end.

Link to Part I

Link to Part II

Link to Part III

Link to Part IV

Link to Part V

Link to Part VI

301.

The Secret of Roan Inish (1994) ---Fantasy Family Drama

A young Irish girl begins to learn the magical secrets in her family's history after she is sent to live with her grandparents in a rural fishing village. [+]

302.

Boys from County Hell (2020) ---Horror Comedy

Construction workers accidentally unleash an ancient evil when they decide a highway bypass is more important than ancient traditions. [=]

303.

How to Build a Girl (2019) ---Coming-of-Age Comedy Drama

A high schooler decides she's sick of who she is and reinvents herself in order to get a job as a music critic. [--]

[while I didn't care for the movie at all, I feel compelled to point out that it is based on a fantastic novel of the same name, so please don't judge the book based on this.]

304.

The Marvels (2023) ---Superhero Adventure

Saving the universe has just gotten a whole lot harder when Captain Marvel, Ms. Marvel, and Monica Rambeau become entangled and keep swapping places. [=]

305.

The Last Duel (2021) ---Period Drama

Two former comrades in 14th century France accept to use a duel to the death in lieu of a trial after one of them is accused of raping the other's wife. [=]

306.

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1965) ---Thriller

During the Cold War a British spy accepts a dangerous mission where allegiances are always being tested and nothing is as it seems. [=]

307.

Under the Silver Lake (2018) ---Mystery Drama

When his enigmatic neighbor disappears an out-of-work loser goes to great lengths to try and find her. [=]

308.

Captain Fantastic (2016) ---Comedy Drama

A man has been raising his kids off-the-grid in the forests of Washington. But after the death of his wife the family must journey into the real world to attend the funeral. [+]

309.

Umma (2022) ---Horror Drama

When a Korean mother immigrates to America with her newborn daughter the pain and trauma she experiences will create a cycle of trauma that threatens to reverberate down from one generation to the next. [=]

310.

Wait Until Dark (1967) ---Thriller

A gang of criminals attempt to gaslight a blind woman when they come to suspect a hidden illicit package was delivered to her by mistake. [=]

311.

Strictly Ballroom (1992) ---Dance Romance Drama comedy

A ballroom dancer determined to upset the status quo must look outside the usual pool of candidates for a partner in his intended revolution. [=]

312.

The Kid Detective (2020) ---Mystery Dark Comedy

A former kid detective finds a chance to prove his worth and make up for his greatest failure when a real murder case lands on his desk. [+]

313.

Her (2013) ---Sci-Fi Romance Drama

A man falls in love with his sentient new AI operating system. [=]

314.

Once Were Warriors (1994) ---Drama

A Maori family in New Zealand struggles to do what's best for themselves and their family in a world where poverty and generational trauma threaten to turn them all into their own worst enemies. [+]

315.

Just One of the Guys (1985) ---Comedy

A high school journalist is convinced that she isn't getting a fair shot due to her gender. In order to prove her hypothesis she disguises herself as a boy and enrolls at a neighboring school. [=]

316.

Klute (1971) ---Mystery Thriller

When the police fail to find a missing person a small-time private eye is hired to do his own investigation. His only real lead? The man's connection to a mysterious NYC sex worker. [=]

317.

Shane (1953) ---Western

A former gunslinger tries to start a new life for himself, but his desire to leave violence behind him is tested when he encounters a group of poor homesteaders who are being threatened by a ruthless cattle baron. [=]

318.

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (2022) ---Animated Comedic Fantasy Adventure

Puss in Boots has learned he is down to his last life. In order to avoid taking stock of his life and legacy he decides to undertake a desperate quest to find a magical wish to grant him another 9 lives. [+]

319.

The Skeleton Twins (2014) * ---Drama Dark Comedy

A pair of estranged twins are reunited when one of them attempts suicide. [++]

320.

Ugetsu (1953) ---Period Fantasy Drama

During Japan's Warring States period two men are desperate for different fates than the ones they were dealt. However, when they get their chances they find that perhaps their dreams come with steep prices. [+]

321.

The Blackening (2022) ---Horror Comedy

A group of black friends rent a cabin for their annual Juneteenth reunion. However, this year they have an unintended guest: a crazed murderer! [=]

322.

The Book of Henry (2017) ---Family Crime Thriller

After her genius son dies, a mother discovers his last request of her: to kill their neighbor. [--]

323.

Tenet (2020) ---Sci-Fi Action

When a CIA agent encounters a strange new technology during an extraction mission he is thrown down a rabbit hole of conspiracy, terrorism, and time travel. [-]

324.

Old Joy (2006) ---Road Trip Drama

Two old friends who've grown apart reunite to take a weekend trip to a hot spring in Oregon. [+]

325.

Forrest Gump (1994) * ---Drama Adventure

An odd man whose life has a strange habit of interweaving with American history recounts the story of his life as he waits for a bus. [+]

326.

The Lady Vanishes (1938) ---Mystery Thriller

An English tourist is returning home from a European vacation when she encounters a strange and potentially deadly mystery. After waking up from a nap on the train ride home she finds that the old woman she had befriended on the train has disappeared. What makes matters worse is that no one else on the train seems to believe that this woman ever existed in the first place. [+]

327.

The New King of Comedy (2019) ---Comedy Drama

A woman struggles to achieve her dreams of being an actor while everyone around her tries to get her to quit. [=]

328.

The Innocents (1961) ---Horror

An adaptation of Henry James' "The Turn of the Screw", about a young governess who becomes increasingly paranoid that something supernatural may be haunting the grounds of Bly Manor and threatening the welfare of the young siblings in her care. [=]

329.

Petite Maman (2021) *

See #295

330.

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007) ---Period Drama

The story of the events leading up to 19th century American outlaw Jesse James' death at the hands of Robert Ford. [+]

331.

Looking for Her (2022) ---Queer Holiday Romance

Taylor is shocked to learn that her parents have invited her and her girlfriend to Christmas for the first time since she came out to them. There's just one problem: her girlfriend and her have since broken up. There's only one solution: put out an ad for someone willing to pretend to be her ex for the weekend. [+]

332.

Merry & Gay (2022) ---Queer Holiday Romance

A broadway actor goes home to her small town for Christmas for the first time in years. Her friends and family decide this is the perfect opportunity to get her back together with her ex. [=]

333.

Single White Female (1992) ---Thriller

A woman needs to get a roommate and it all goes great until it doesn't. [=]

334.

Chocolate Babies (1996) ---Queer Drama

During the AIDS epidemic a group of queer activists in NYC take extreme measures to fight against the politicians who would rather be part of the problem then the solution. [+]

335.

Beans (2020) ---Coming-of-Age Drama

A young native girl tries to make sense of her life during the 1990 Oka Crisis that threatens to change her view of the world forever. [+]

336.

Gemini (2017) ---Mystery

The personal assistant to a Hollywood starlet must take extreme measures when an incident with her boss forces her to get to the bottom of a mystery. [-]

337.

The Bad Seed (1956) ---Horror

A mother slowly begins to suspect that her little girl might actually be evil incarnate. [+]

338.

La Haine (1995) ---Coming-of-Age Crime

After a riot in a poor French suburb 3 young men come across a gun. Now feeling empowered they spend the day attempting to open doors that used to be closed to them. [+]

339.

The Super Mario Bros. Movie (2023) ---Animated Fantasy Adventure

A brother and brother plumbing team win up getting transported to a fantastical world. Now because of reasons they are the only ones who stand in the way of a warlord's quest for love and power. [--]

340.

National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation (1989) * ---Holiday Comedy

A family man's quest to have a perfect old-fashioned family Christmas soon becomes a madman's obsession for an impossible dream when Murphy's law begins to take hold. [+]

341.

Spontaneous (2020) ---Coming-of-Age Magical Realism Rom-Com

A class of high school seniors are forced to deal with their uncertain futures earlier then they planned when they begin to inexplicably explode. [+]

342.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem (2023) *

See #156

343.

Anna and the Apocalypse (2017) * ---Holiday Coming-of-Age Musical Horror Comedy

A group of high schools try to make sense of their future in world that seems on the edge of collapse...and that was before all the friggin' zombies showed up. [+]

344.

Hogfather (2006) * ---Holiday Fantasy

It's the night before the midwinter celebration of Hogswatch on the Discworld and an assassin has just enacted a diabolical plan to kill the Hogfather. Now it's up to Death and his granddaughter Susan to find a way to save the day. [++]

345.

Sleepaway Camp II: Unhappy Campers (1988) ---Horror

Just when you thought it was safe to go back to camp the camp killings begin again. [--]

346.

Sleepaway Camp III: Teenage Wasteland (1989) ---Horror

Trying to get away from camp's history of brutal murders the camp holds a special social experiment by bringing teens from both rich and poor families and have them learn from one another through the power of camp fun. Too bad the killer is back and just so loves killin' campers. [-]

347.

Werewolves Within (2021) *

See #150

#xcusethequality

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himadrics · 8 months

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મુસ્કાન [Muskan]

(My Feminist Commentary Part - 5/5)

I was fourteen when my school had put a ban on boys and girls' playing together during the PT class. "We all like playing ખોખો [Khokho] (a national game). We are all peers. So why can't we all play together? Our school authorities are being orthodox. It is ridiculous!" I complained to my father. "You think of boys as your peers?" he asked with a smile. "Obviously! Will you come to the school to protest against the ban?" I asked. "Learn to protest on your own." he replied. After pausing for a second, he added

"It is good that you think of them as your peers. Keep up that attitude. But they might not necessarily think of you in the same way!"

Time and again, I am reminded of my father's words when the men around me crack sexist jokes, eve-tease, belittle, and catcall me because I happen to be a woman. I wish we had an option to unsubscribe from such nonsensical things that come as a part of the deal of being a woman!

Women’s condition has been improving with every generation in my family. And I have a comfortable baseline to inherit from my mother. I am also quite ambitious to make a big leap and push the baseline much further. And I have found a nice hack to do that! Instead of starting from my mother’s condition, I start from my father’s condition. Because I believe that my father has the highest amount of privilege, and he enjoys the highest amount of freedom in my family.

On a typical evening after work, one can find my father sprawling on the sofa in the living room, wearing a baniyan (one type of undershirt) and half pants, farting-burping-itching as he pleases, sipping some tea, reading the newspaper, criticizing the government and the younger generation, and enthusiastically expressing his opinions on anything and everything.

If you tell him that “You are showing too much skin”, you will either receive a hostile “How much I cover or show is none of your business” or a friendly debate on “Clothes are just a social construct :p” depending on his mood. If you tell him that “You are too opinionated!”, then he will laugh and say “Obviously!”. And if you give him unsolicited advice on how he should live his life, he will outright ask you, “What is wrong with you?” and show you the way out.

Unlike my mother, my father is quite protective of his personal space. He is definitely not brainwashed by the idea of service and being the primary caregiver of the family. If you expect him to do the dishes, then he will expect you to do the cooking in return.

So unless my period cramps remind me of my gender and my age, I like to go about my day-to-day personal business with a sense of entitlement to the world like my father. In the remaining part of this commentary, I analyze various events from my life in a chronological order that demonstrate my social conditioning, and whether it helped me or not in developing this sense of entitlement.

Let’s start with Cricket!

When I was in the elementary school, I spent most of the evenings playing street cricket with my friends. I was not particularly good at the game but I had a real bat ;). Given that my friends' other option was to play with a washing paddle, they tolerated my bad game.

Our best player was Chhaya (yes, she and my mother have the same name!), a girl who lived across the street. She was an all rounder. It was quite difficult to take her wicket when she was batting. So she would easily score more than 50 runs every time. She could easily take wickets of others when she was bowling. She could run very fast. And she never dropped catches. So obviously, she made a great fielder as well. It was hard to beat her in most of the other outdoor games as well. So let's note that from the age of five to twelve, the best player in my neighborhood was a girl.

Mummy, what is a “rape”?

I had a habit of reading the local newspaper when I was in the elementary school. One day, a strange looking word appeared in the headline. The word was “rape”, and the headline was “A five year old girl got raped”. The town was shook by the news. And my mother had to explain to me what is a rape.

A lot of things changed after that incident. I was given a new set of rules to stay safe. 1. Prefer to play in open places like street or the front-yard. 2. Never go inside a friend’s house if his/her mother is not present at home. 3. When playing indoors, always stay in a room where the mother or the grandmother is present. 4. Narrate the entire day to mom over dinner every evening.

Once I got flashed by a priest, and once a male neighbor tried to lock me in a room. I was able to report both the incidents to my parents. So let's note that I knew what was a rape, and I was taught how to stay safe when I was in the elementary school.

The washing machine

While I was not doing my homework, or playing in the street with my friends, or reading some children's book/magazine, I used to tail my mother around the house annoying her with my endless list of questions and stories about the day. All such memories include my mother doing chores in addition to entertaining me. And being the daughter in the house, it was obvious for me to join her in doing the chores.

I was little and not of much help. But I had learned that laundry in particular can be quite tiring by watching my mother do it on every single day. We did not have a washing machine so she used to wash the clothes of the entire family by hand. Washing of bed-sheets, blankets and sweaters required additional help from my father if he happened to be around or by the women in the neighborhood.

The day my mother could finally buy a washing machine was very special. She had been saving for it for months and I still remember the joy on her face when she did the first load of laundry in that machine. So I also learned that a washing machine is a quite important gadget for a woman.

A woman can run a school!

The principal of my elementary school was a woman. She did not just run the school, but she also owned it! So she was the highest authority and her word was the command. She was very punctual and quite strict.

She had an office with a big desk and a nice chair. Most of the times, she kept her office’s door open while working. So I could often see her signing on some files and conducting meetings during the recess. Except for this school, all the other academic institutions where I have studied were led by men.

કરિયાવર [Kariyavar]

(Wedding gifts for the bride from her family)

There was a house behind the school building, and we could see what is going on inside the house from the balcony of our classroom (yes, the classrooms had a balcony!).

When I was in the sixth grade, I saw a display of shiny new utensils, furniture, clothes, jewellery etc. in the front-yard of that house. The girl who lived there was getting married, and the things on display was her કરિયાવર.

I returned home with many questions for my mother that day. I started with the most important one, “When I get married, what are you going to give me in કરિયાવર?”. “Your master’s degree certificate!” she replied with a smile.

I was a bit disappointed because instead of giving me shiny things, my mother was going to make me spend ten more years in school! So let's note that the eleven year old me fancied those shiny things, and she was not thrilled about spending so many years in school.

A girl must speak

In addition to written exams, the school also took oral exams. There was a girl in my class who never spoke much. And for some reason that puzzles me till date, she refused to speak at all during the oral exams.

The teacher called her mother in order to force the girl to speak during the exam, but the girl continued refusing to speak. So the mother asked the teacher to slap the girl in order to make her speak.

First slap, she still didn’t speak. Second slap, she started crying but still didn’t speak. The mother and the teacher gave up after six slaps. The girl failed the exam and returned home with her mother for more beating. So let’s note that I might have made an extra effort at being good at speaking out of fear of getting slapped.

Sex education

In the same year, our science textbook had a chapter on the human reproduction system. However, our science teacher, a young man in his 20s, was too shy to teach that chapter to a class of six graders. When parents protested about his initial plan to skip the chapter entirely, he took help from a woman teacher.

It was a co-ed school, but for this particular lesson, boys and girls were taken to separate rooms. The male teacher delivered the lesson to the boys, and the female teacher delivered the lesson to the girls. Since I saw the teachers being shy and uncomfortable about the lesson, I also felt shy and uncomfortable. Probably the entire class felt that way and we all just wanted the whole thing to end. No one asked questions, and there was no discussion during this lesson.

However, at home, my mother explained the entire chapter to me, and I could ask her all my questions. Moreover, my father brought a medical encyclopedia, and sat down with me to read everything about the reproduction system. So, let’s note that though the school did not do a great job on the topic, my parents compensated for it. However, things like safe sex practices, consent and how to use a condom were never taught to me in schools or at home.

Periods, Religion & Superstition

During this time of my life, all my friends came from religious Hindu families. It is a common practice for Hindu women to not engage in any religious rituals during her periods. We all were told to follow this by our families. And as a result, we all refrained from participating in any kind of religious activities and entering temples when we were on our periods.

Whether we used sanitary napkins or not depended on if our families could afford sanitary napkins for their daughters. One friend of mine came from a poor family in a small village. She was not able to afford sanitary napkins and she always used a cloth. Another friend of mine, who could afford the sanitary napkins, still chose not to use them because of superstition. She was told by her mother that if an insect or a snake crawls over a woman’s menstrual blood, then the woman goes to hell. So my friend was afraid of using sanitary napkins as insects might crawl on her used sanitary napkins in the trash.

For those of us who used sanitary napkins, our options were quite limited. We had to choose from a less than six products. Tampons and menstrual cups were not available in the city. Most of us did not buy sanitary napkins on our own, and relied on our mothers to buy them for us.

Menstruation awareness

My family moved out of the town so I could attend the high-school in the city. One day a few women from an NGO visited my high-school to spread awareness about menstruation. Boys were sent home early that day and the girls were gathered in a room. The session was conducted behind closed windows and closed doors in secrecy.

Sanitary napkins were distributed at the end of the session. Most of the girls refused to take them. The ones who could not refuse, threw the napkins away before going home. So let’s note that even in the high-school, boys were excluded from the session on menstruation, and the girls were too shy to bring home sanitary napkins.

Buying sanitary napkins

We were on a school trip when one of my friends got her first period. The high-school staff with us did not carry sanitary napkins, and we also couldn’t find any sanitary napkins at the place of our visit. So I had to go to a medical store and buy some sanitary napkins for my friend. Another friend of mine joined me in this adventure for moral support. However, upon reaching the store, she bailed out on me because she felt too shy to talk to the male shopkeeper. She even refused to enter the store with me and stood far away pretending to not know me.

I went inside the store alone. “Give me some sanitary pads.” I asked the shopkeeper. He gave me a packet, I gave him the money and I left the counter. "Don't you need a black polythene bag to wrap it?” he called me back. “Why would I need it?” I asked a dumb question. “Because people always wrap it like that!” he looked uncomfortable. “Fine! Wrap it then.” I surrendered.

The friend who had got her period was hiding inside a toilet the whole time. We delivered the packet to her. “No one saw you bringing this, right? Especially the boys?.” was her first question. She was relieved to discover that the packet was wrapped in black polythene and no one else knew that she had got her period. Let's note here that this was the only time I bought sanitary napkins on my own until starting college.

Women on the Dojo

There was a karate Dojo in our new neighborhood in the city, and my brother wanted to join it. I was sent to the Dojo primarily to keep him company, and I was not thrilled about it. However, joining the Dojo added a lot of value to my teenage years. It was a traditional Dojo with well-experienced instructors who made us train rigorously. Just like cricket, I was not particularly good at Karate either. But nevertheless, I ended up reaping the physical and mental health benefits of being a Karateka who trained a couple of days in a week.

The women I got to train with at the Dojo provided me with the examples that I missed in my family. No women in my family could spare the time to do some sports on a regular basis. I trained at the same Dojo with those women for about ten years. Some of them were university students when I joined the Dojo. I got to see them graduate, start working, get married, have children etc., while still managing to continue their training. Some of these women even inspired their husbands and children to join Karate. So I even got to train with such Karate families! If it weren’t for these women, it would be hard for me to believe that a woman would find the time to do some sports despite being married and having children.

Domo arigato gozaimasu Sensei

My Sensei took a personal interest in the development of every student on the Dojo. He soon noticed that my height was increasing fine but I was not gaining much weight. So one day he talked to me about it.

“I hope you are not falling for the zero figure nonsense that is going around.” he started. How many Rotis do you eat? Lentils? Vegetables? Fruits? Dry fruits? Milk? How much do you sleep? Do you feel fresh when you wake up? How energetic do you feel during the day? How often do you fall sick? He had a long list of questions.

Upon listening to my answers and finding them more or less satisfactory, he said, “Don’t pay attention to the nonsense you find in newspapers, magazines or TV. Girls of your age are not supposed to care about petty things like body weight. You are a martial artist, you should be caring about improving your technique and self-discipline, building strength and immunity, and staying fit and energetic. Do you understand?”. “Oss, Sensei!” I replied.

Nisha

I was assigned the official responsibility of cleaning the house just before starting the high-school. This included dusting the furniture, sweeping + moping the floor and cleaning the toilets on a day to day basis. So I used to spend an hour cleaning everyday!

When I reached the 10th grade, an important school year, my family decided to hire help to take care of the cleaning, so I can spend more time studying instead. The lady who started working at our home also brought her daughter, Nisha, who helped her in the cleaning. Nisha and I were of the same age and it was an important school year for the both of us. I often offered her to study with me while her mother was cleaning, but Nisha never accepted the offer and always chose to help her mother.

It is important to note that my family was supportive of my education and protective of my time during this particular school year. I was sent to one of the best schools in the city and also to some extra classes. I was encouraged to spend most of my remaining time at home studying. So it is no wonder that I was able to get a good score.

On the other hand, Nisha could study only during the school hours. Her family was poor and cleaning houses was their primary source of income. Nisha contributed to chores at her own house and then she also helped her mother in cleaning other people's houses. At the end of the year, Nisha also took the same exam as me, but it is simply unfair to compare her score with mine.

We both were fifteen. I came from a Brahmin family and Nisha came from an OBC family. My mother had a master's degree, and her mother had not even finished high-school. While it was obvious for me to be ambitious and aspire to become an engineer, it was unclear if Nisha would even attend a college. While I agree that our reservation system needs a revamp, but it is also important to note that the reservation system would have helped Nisha to get into a good college despite her low score. A score that decides our admission in universities without considering our backgrounds, struggles or privileges.

Red nail polish

If you want to study engineering in India, you spend most of your time during the last two years of your high-school studying Physics, Chemistry and Mathematics. It was a regular school day and I happened to have painted my nails Red. As usual I was trying extra-hard to pay attention to the Chemistry lecture (I dreaded Chemistry). I was seated on the first bench and the teacher was using my open copy of the textbook to refer to. I was holding the textbook so he noticed my nail.

“Why have you applied such nail-polish? It is so distracting!” he exclaimed in the middle of the lecture. I immediately hid my hands, and I spent the rest of the lecture feeling embarrassed. I also failed to concentrate on what he was teaching after that. The important thing to note here is that a man in his 30s was distracted by the nail polish on a teenager’s hands. Moreover, he felt the need to interrupt the entire class to tell her about it!

The swimming pool

During the time between the end of high-school and beginning of the university, my father declared that I must go and learn how to swim. So my cousin and I enrolled at the public swimming pool. There was only one woman swimming instructor and she was available for only one hour during the day. So women of the city could access the public swimming pool only during that one hour. However, men could go to the pool during the entire day except for one hour reserved for women. Men and women were not allowed to use the pool at the same time.

Before starting to take swimming lessons, I was used to wearing clothes that fully covered my legs. So it had never even occurred to me that the hair on my legs is something to be concerned about. I was having a decent amount of fun on my first day at the swimming pool until a stranger came to tell me that I should be concerned about the hair on my legs. She said, “They look bad, you should get rid of them if you are coming to the pool!”. My cousin and I had plans to watch a movie the next day, but instead we spent most of our time getting rid of the hair on our legs. So let's note here that it was not any woman from our own family who made us start removing hair from our legs, but it was a kind lady on the swimming pool who took care of it.

Half pants

By the time I entered the college, I had adapted a regime for removing body hair (and I was not enjoying it). In addition to my short swimming costume, now I had also started wearing half-pants during the summer.

My university did not impose any dress-code, so it came to me as a big surprise when a male professor spent good five minutes during his lecture to exclaim about my wearing half-pants and commenting on my legs. Once I was also interrupted while writing an important end-semester exam on a hot summer day, because another male professor found my wearing half-pants inappropriate. Their sense of authority to tell an adult woman how to dress was quite remarkable!

One more rape

They were six and it was a teenager this time. The incident happened not too far from my home and the girl was almost my age. The case was reported in the police station close to the apartment where I lived. Entire neighborhood had gathered in the streets, balconies and terraces to watch the police punish the rapists. One could feel the rage on people’s faces.

I stood on the terrace and watched as one of those faces. The police kept charging the rapists with Lathis. First round, Second round, ... and then I was no longer in a mental state to count. I saw the rapists screaming, crying and begging for mercy. I also noticed tears flowing down from my eyes.

I don’t exactly know why I was crying. Maybe the whole things was just too traumatizing to watch, or maybe I was thinking about the girl who had got raped, or maybe I was thinking about the fact that given the proximity of the place of the incident and the age of the girl, it could have been me instead of her. Let's note that the city never stayed the same for me since that day. From being a careless teenager, I became a woman who started feeling concerned about her safety.

The driving test

My family did not own a car. Upon turning eighteen, my mother taught me to drive her gear-less scooter, and my father taught me to drive his motorcycle with gears. After a couple of lessons, I applied for a driving license of two-wheeler with gears so I can drive both the vehicles available at home.

“You must be mistaken. Women can’t apply for this category.” said the man at the RTO counter. “What do you mean by women can’t?” I exclaimed. “I mean, women generally don’t. Do you even know how to ride a motorcycle?” he seemed annoyed. “How about we see that at the time of the driving test?” I was also annoyed. “Fine! We will see!” he told me with a smirk. That smirk made me angry.

When I entered the track with my father’s motorcycle for the driving test, I heard someone shouting, “Hey! Come see! A girl is giving a driving test for the motorcycle!”. There were already about 50 people near the track and many more gathered to see this spectacle. It would have been so cool if I could tell you that I showed them all what a great motorcyclist I was! But instead, I was just an eighteen year old who had taken just a couple of lessons with her father. So yes, I failed that test :p. And yes, the crowd dutifully mocked me.

After my flop show, my father found me trying to hold back my tears. “Do you want to cry? It is okay if you want to!” he said with a sympathetic smile. And like most such occasions, I decided that I was not going to cry, but I was going to get some ice-cream instead. So we got some ice-cream and we kept practicing until I got my license.

The girl on a motorcycle

I needed a personal vehicle for going to my college. I wanted to get a motorcycle because 1. Riding a motorcycle is way more fun than riding boring gear-less scooters, 2. Motorcycles give much better mileage than gear-less scooters. and 3. The price of the motorcycle was a bit less than the price of the scooter. My mother’s scooter could barely run for 25 km in 1 liter of petrol, while my father’s motorcycle could easily run up to 50 km in the same amount of petrol. I wanted to save on petrol so I could afford to watch a movie without asking for extra pocket money (in order to avoid a long lecture from my father about how TV and Cinema is an utter waste of time and money for a student).

Despite all my protests, my mother got me a scooter instead of a motorcycle. Just like high-school, she wanted to protect me from unwanted extra-attention a girl gets for riding a motorcycle on Indian roads. I still managed to ride my father’s motorcycle quite often. And I also often got harassed on the roads because I happened to be a woman riding a motorcycle. I now prefer to ride bicycles and use public transport, but it is important to note that riding a motorcycle was quite stressful for me because of my gender.

The lousy student representative

Our college had a gender cell which had appointed student representatives. The purpose of having such a body was to provide a safe environment to report and seek help against gender based discrimination and sexual assaults. The student representatives were supposed to be approachable and proactive in taking actions in such matters. However, our student representative (i.e. I) was lousy at doing her (my) job.

There was one serious incident of sexual abuse involving a student happened outside the campus. But the student refused to talk to me about the incident, and refused to seek help from the gender cell. One of my close friends got molested near the campus. She confided about the incident to me, but she also refused to report it to the gender cell. Another friend of mine was stalked by a male student for a long time inside as well as outside the campus, but she also never filled an official complaint.

Yes, as per the university guidelines, our college had a gender cell. And yes, I failed to do my part in making it functional. In fact, the only thing I managed to do was to organize a self-defense workshop and to start a Karate Dojo in the women’s hostel. I wish that I knew better, and I had more courage to somehow persuade those women to report those incidents. Let's note here that I understood it very well during my first few years at the university that such incidents happen with women more often than you realize, and women often don’t report it.

What becomes of women engineers after graduation?

On most days, I did not face much discrimination at my college. Most of the students genuinely wanted to learn and most of the professors genuinely wanted to teach. There were approximately 40 women in my batch, and we all graduated with a bachelor’s degree in engineering with a major in Computer Science. Ours was a new and developing college, so the exposure and opportunities available for these women were not even remotely comparable to that of women graduating from elite engineering schools like IITs.

As the time of graduation approached, I discovered that most of the women in my batch were open to the idea that their families are soon going to find suitable matches for them, and they might get married by the next one or two years. Most of us wanted to work and we actively searched for jobs. However, many were unwilling to move to a different city or a different state to find work. There were not enough technical jobs available in the city, so as a result, many of my us did not land a technical job despite graduating with an engineering degree. Most of us were unaware about the remote job market.

One of my best friends got married before even graduating and she deliberately chose to become a homemaker. Another girl from my batch was forced by her family to discontinue her studies and she had to leave the program. Only a few of us actively searched for a master’s program, and in the end, less than five of us enrolled for a master’s degree.

A campus with gender equality

I moved to my state’s capital city to pursue a master’s degree. I got to live as a campus resident on the beautiful green campus with peacocks and other majestic birds. I had joined this new university during one of its most important feminist movements. The women students were protesting for equality in the rules for the campus residents.

The university offered separate on-campus residences for men and women. While the men enjoyed a 24-hour access to the campus and its various amenities, the women were forced to return to their residence by midnight. So the women were protesting for an equal right to 24-hour access to the entire campus. I remember signing a petition during the very first week of my arrival. The protests had been going on for a while and the women finally won.

I remember attending the warden’s declaration, and the claps, cheers, hugs and tears that followed after that. Though I was new and I had missed most parts of the protest, I was glad to be present in that amphitheater that evening. It was the first and the only equality that I got to experience without fighting for it personally.

For the first time in my life, I was able to step out of my room without checking what time it was, without worrying about if I was wearing enough clothes, and without worrying about my safety (It was a non-public campus with big enough security staff). I could go for a walk at 2 AM in the night and meditate under a tree at 4 AM in the morning. It made me realize how much of my headspace was freed by not having to constantly worry about my safety. Let's note that I got to experience how right it feels to be treated as an equal on that campus.

Filter out the misogyny

While my sense of entitlement to gender equality was getting consolidated on the university campus, life also kept giving me reality checks about omnipresent misogyny from time to time. This helped me in developing the survival skill of filtering out the misogyny from the opportunities to learn.

Once I shared a car ride with an uncle of mine. We were going somewhere in his car and he was driving. It was a long ride and at some point he started recounting a story of him motivating a cousin of mine to work hard. "So I told him, you must work hard, specially when you are young." said my uncle. "Hmm" I nodded thinking that it was indeed some good advice. "If you don't work hard, then others would get ahead of you, even the women! Then you will have no choice but to work under a woman. So you better work hard". It was no longer good advice and I wondered what was he trying to imply by telling me this story! Obviously I felt offended and I even briefly considered abandoning the ride.

But then I had to remind myself that he had also taught me import things about personal finance (that I was not learning at school, or at home, or from friends) during the same ride. And if I stayed in the car, then I could finish listening to the audio book on finance that we were listening together. So continued my free ride and extracted some more personal finance wisdom from him by asking many questions.

But wait, Isn't it possible that he was not really teaching, but rather just mansplaining? Well, as long as I am learning something important, I don't care! When someone explains something to me that I really want to learn, I am willing to put up with their condescending tone. Does my willingness to learn from a misogynist (instead of cancelling him) makes me a bad feminist? It is debatable!

Lake Geneva

My mother took her first ever vacation this summer. We spent a lazy afternoon reading some poems and playing with the water and pebbles at the lake Geneva. There were many Swiss women around us, some were bathing in the sun, some were reading, some were sipping wine, and some were swimming. Most of them were bare-chested. It felt surreal.

There is a pond just 10 minutes of walking distance from our home in my hometown. And there is a beach just 40 minutes from our home in the city. My parents often took us there. My father and my brother would always get bare-chested before jumping in the water. My mother and I would always have all our clothes on.

It is nice that at least some parts of the world have made enough progress so that all members of a family can enjoy a swim bare-chested regardless of their gender. And I hope someday (maybe in the next 100 years?) the families of my town and my city also get to enjoy a swim like that.

Mr. know-all

We then went to visit CERN, which is located not too far from the lake Geneva. We signed up for a guided tour and I was delighted to find out that our tour guide was a young researcher working on one of the experiments at CERN. She was also a woman of color.

We were joined by a white man in his 60s, who introduced himself as a well-known chemist working at a well-known place. He also claimed to know a lot of things about particle physics. During the entire tour he tried really hard to show that he knows more than our tour guide. He interrupted her on every possible occasion. Once he even quizzed her in order to test her knowledge (despite knowing that she had a PhD).

It was quite interesting to see how our tour guide handled this gentleman. She saw no signs of frustration (maybe she was used to encountering such know-alls). She neither avoided his interruptions not entertained them. She just kept on doing her job of explaining about various experiments to the group. At some moment during the tour, she, my mother and I had an exchange of smiles mixed with some eye-rolling for the gentleman acknowledging that we all know what he is trying to do, and we all also know that she has got this.

Conclusion

I am twenty-seven years old while writing this commentary. And I like to believe that I have succeeded in developing the entitlement to being treated as an equal to men. And unlike my mother, my ambitions extend far beyond my role within my family.

My mother provided me with a great example to start with. I also grew up watching a woman MLA in my city, a woman chief minister in my state and a woman president in my country. Now I am seeing one more woman president in India. And the Indian economy is soaring under the leadership of a woman finance minister.

The headmaster of my elementary school was a woman. The head of the computer engineering department in my college was a woman. The commissioner for higher education in my state was also a woman. When I went to work in a software company, I worked under a woman manager with a team which had as many women engineers as men. I then went on to do a PhD under the guidance of a woman adviser, who is also the head of our research group.

The particular piece of software that I happen to be curious about (the Linux kernel) surely has a reputation of not having many women contributors. But then I also see carefully designed and well-executed programs (like Outreachy) to welcome new women contributors. At some conferences I happen to be the only woman in the room, but then I also see women delivering keynotes and presenting talks in the same conferences.

Recently, I have been living in Paris and traveling across Europe. So in addition to Indian women, I am also getting to know women from different countries and cultures. For the first time in my life, I am able to test my ideas far away from my home and my usual social circle in an international environment. So I am now motivated to study feminism with a global perspective with the spirit of a scholar.

I am engaging in more conversations, I am listening more, and I am paying more attention to the lives of women around me. I am also reading more, and lately, I have been motivated to write. My own feminist ideas are still evolving with time. I hope to keep writing similar commentaries after every two decades of my life in order to capture the evolution of myself as a woman. In the meantime, following my mother's footsteps, I am trying to write some fiction. So I can take creative liberty in telling the stories of the women around me.

I no longer have even the slightest amount of self-doubt that I can not do or achieve something because of my gender. I also reject the idea that I need to work harder or more just because I am a woman. When it comes to my personal relationships with the opposite gender, I refuse to take on their care-taker’s role. In conversations with the opposite gender, I know that it matters that I assert myself, I say what I have got to say, and I express my opinions as freely as they do, because women are conditioned to not behave in this way. When it comes to carnal relationships, I feel entitled to my orgasms. And when it comes to domestic partnerships, I refuse to do more than my 50% .

On most days, and as long as it is not impacting me personally, I let the eve-teasing and sexist jokes slide. When I get catcalled on the streets, I take a deep breath and I keep on walking. I am not on a mission to fix everyone and everything. I don’t preach to people that they should be a feminist. Many people in my social circle are misogynists and I patiently put up with them from time to time.

Feminism is a relatively new ideology for humanity. And I understand that it will take a long time for every women in the world to achieve the same amount of equality as that of the Swiss women on the lake Geneva. Some parts of the world are still practicing female genital mutilation, some parts of the world are denying women from their right to education, their right to work, and their right to drive. So we have a long way to go.

From the constitutional point of view, Indian women are in a relatively better position. An Indian woman has a right to education, a right to vote, a right to drive, a right to work, a right to equal pay, a right to engage in consensual sex, a right to get contraceptives, a right to abortion, a right to own businesses and properties, and a right to inherit from their parents. We have laws in place to protect women against dowry, domestic violence and rapes. We have policies in place like free education, free textbooks, free nutrition supplements and and free contraception for women. A new law also brings equality between men and women in minimum age for marriage. Many government schemes are in place to empower women in various fields like science and technology, agriculture and entrepreneurship. However, the Indian society still promotes ages old discriminatory traditions and expectations from women.

I believe that I am an equal and therefore I am. And it is a relief that my country's constitution and policy makers share this belief. But I also understand that many people in our society don't share this belief. And in that case, I don't share my life with them. Sometimes it comes at the cost of calling off a wedding and losing some friendships. But at the end of the day, it ensures that I don't get reduced to my gender by people whom I call mine.

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chloesunit4 · 8 months

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Sarah Paxton (1800-1871)

Sarah Paxton was the wife of Joseph Paxton, head gardener at Chatsworth under the 6th Duke. Intelligent and capable, she carried out his many responsibilities when he was away on business.

Sarah Paxton (née Bown, 1800–1871) was the daughter of a Matlock mill owner and a little engineer. Sarah Gregory, her aunt, worked as the housekeeper at Chatsworth. They married not long after Joseph arrived in 1827. Sarah Paxton is regarded as one of the nineteenth century's unsung heroes; in Joseph's absence, she assumed many of the responsibilities of Head Gardener and Land Agent, serving as his proxy in the garden and carrying out his written orders. This placed a great deal of burden on her. In a male-dominated Victorian culture, she was supposed to oversee the foremen, teaching them personally. She has extensive knowledge of garden plants, as well as remarkable commercial and financial management abilities. Sarah, rather than Joseph, oversaw the construction of most of Paxton's Chatsworth, and it is unlikely that Joseph would have accomplished the accomplishments he did without Sarah's brains and hard labour. The Paxton Papers, a collection of over 2000 papers including letters between Joseph and Sarah, reveal the extent of her involvement, her in-depth knowledge of horticulture, and her wide range of duties, which included arranging payments for workers, recruiting staff for the house and garden, managing tenants on the estate, and documenting significant horticultural events such as the first flowering of the Victoria Regia Lily in the UK.

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‘A Lady Librarian’: Introducing Eugénie Sellers Strong

Librarianship and archival work are often considered female-dominated occupations nowadays. I got a part-time job at an antiquarian library when I was 21, fresh-faced and fresh out of university, and quickly became accustomed to a perfect matriarchy: our small staff was led by a formidable well-read woman who seemed to have worked there forever, supported by an all-female team except for two male employees. Back then, I was somewhat aware that my position was associated with gendered ideals about information sharing and custodianship, and that these concepts had traditionally been feminised - which is why I was astonished to find that the library had recruited its first female librarian as recently as the 1950s. It's a similar situation in Chatsworth, where I'm researching the history of the Devonshire Collection Archives and the significant contributions made by women throughout the years. The earliest known history of Cavendish-employed librarians dates back to the seventeenth century, when the philosopher Thomas Hobbes was hired to tutor his son by William Cavendish, 1st Earl of Devonshire; during his employment, Hobbes also catalogued the library at Hardwick Hall, and as such, Hardwick's earliest known library catalogue (c. 1628) is written in his hand.

Various male professors, Dukes' agents, local pastors, and even an infamous forger replaced Hobbes as librarians until 1904, when a woman called Eugénie Sellers Strong was chosen as the Duke of Devonshire's Librarian. Strong by name, Strong by nature: a very skilled classical archaeologist in her own right, Eugénie was the first woman to take up professional work in this capacity, and while serving as Librarian for just five years, she left an imprint on the Cavendish family. In this piece, I will discuss Eugénie's extraordinary life and her years at Chatsworth. After the death of the previous Librarian (and her husband), Sandford Arthur Strong, in 1904, Eugénie Sellers Strong took over as Librarian to the 8th Duke of Devonshire. Eugénie Sellers, the daughter of wine merchants, was born in London in 1860 and spent her youth in France, Italy, and Spain before enrolling in the Classical Tripos at Girton College, Cambridge in 1879. Although Eugénie was one of the first women in England to attend university (Girton being Cambridge's first women's college, established barely a decade earlier), the University refused to give degrees to female students until 1947, preventing her from graduating. Following Girton, Eugénie went on to become a renowned classics scholar, studying under German archaeologists such as Adolf Fürtwangler.

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Dorothy Boyle (née Savile), Countess of Burlington (1699-1758)

As well as being a mother to Charlotte, Marchioness of Hartington, and wife to Richard Burlington, known as 'the Architect Earl', Dorothy Boyle was an accomplished amateur painter, caricaturist, and draughtswoman.

Dorothy Savile, daughter of Mary Finch and William Savile, 2nd Marquess of Halifax, was born in 1699 and married Richard Boyle, 3rd Earl of Burlington in 1721, earning her the title Lady Burlington. Lady Dorothy was related to Chatsworth through her son-in-law William Cavendish (1720 - 1764), who married Lady Burlington's daughter Charlotte Boyle and became heir to the Burlington estates following Charlotte's death, which included Bolton Abbey and Lismore Castle. She was an adept amateur painter and draughtswoman, as well as a passionate letter writer, and the archives contain hundreds of letters she exchanged with the period's most brilliant and acknowledged painters, architects, authors, and designers, all of whom she considered friends. In 1718, when her parents died, Lady Dorothy moved to Burley to live with her grandpa, Daniel Finch, 2nd Earl of Nottingham, 7th Earl of Winchilsea. Lady Dorothy was in high demand by the country's most eligible bachelors, thanks to her large dowry and annual stipend. However, in 1721, she married 'the architect earl,' Lord Richard Burlington, who had a lower position and income than other of her suitors but shared her passion for the arts. In 1727, she was appointed Lady of the Bedchamber to Queen Caroline, a prestigious position at court that she would hold for ten years. She died in September 1758 at Chiswick House in London, aged 59.

Sir Joseph Paxton

Sir Joseph Paxton (3 August 1803 – 8 June 1865) was a visionary, described in his obituary in The Times, in June 1865, as ‘the greatest gardener of his time, the founder of a new style of architecture, and a man of genius’.

Paxton had been working as a student gardener and subsequently as a foreman in charge of the arboretum at the Horticultural Society's experimental grounds in Chiswick. The 6th Duke of Devonshire loved strolling through the grounds and conversing with Paxton. The Duke persuaded him to work as his Head Gardener at Chatsworth. Paxton sparked a strong interest in horticulture in the Duke. Together, they transformed the garden, incorporating exotic plants and massive rockeries inspired by garden visits in England and Paris, as well as a grand journey of Europe that included Switzerland, Italy, and Turkey. Paxton planned and completed the Canal Pond's Emperor Fountain (1844) as well as the Great Conservatory (1836-41), the predecessor to the Crystal Palace erected for the 1851 Great Exhibition. The Great Conservatory went vacant during World War I because it became too expensive to operate, and it was dismantled shortly after. The maze has taken its place. Paxton had left an unmistakable stamp on the landscape by the time he departed as Head Gardener in 1858, and Chatsworth's garden was recognised all over the world. The entire scope of his influence at Chatsworth may be found in the garden's history. Chatsworth served as a training ground for Paxton, and the Great Conservatory was the forerunner of possibly his greatest work in any area - the Crystal Palace, which was conceived and built for the Great Exhibition of 1851. The Crystal Palace was nearly 25 times the size of the original, and the pioneering use of homogeneous components and mass manufacture generated a scale economy that brought Paxton's design in at 28% of the cost of his nearest competitor for the contract.

Thomas Hobbes

Hobbes was born in 1588 and was taught Latin and Greek at a young age before being sent to study at Magdalen Hall, Oxford, and St John's College, Cambridge. Hobbes was employed almost immediately out of university by William Cavendish (the first Earl of Devonshire) to instruct his son. Hobbes and the Cavendish family formed a lifelong bond as a result of this.He became good friends with the 2nd Earl (accompanied him on a tour of France and Italy in 1614-15) and later tutored and became friends with the 3rd Earl, who was 29 years his younger. Hobbes' responsibilities as tutor included oversight of Hardwick Hall's library. After returning from a sojourn of ten years in Paris in 1651, Hobbes again found himself in the service of the Cavendish family at Chatsworth and Hardwick and remained there for the rest of his life. He died at Hardwick Hall.

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Lancelot Brown

Millican was the'man on the ground,' managing the land formation, drainage, and turfing, while Brown conducted inspection and advice trips. Brown's most important phase of work in his career was between 1750 and 1780, thus his Chatsworth contract was relatively early, but at a time when his style was being established. He specialised in creating rolling green slopes right up to the walls of the main House, trees carefully placed singly or in clumps, especially on hills, a perimeter belt of trees to enclose the view, carriage drives with carefully planned views, and a lake or widened river of 'natural' appearance in the middle ground. At Chatsworth, he used all of his hallmark qualities to great success. Brown ordered a tree planting operation that expanded throughout the area, covering the Stand escarpment behind the house, ornamenting the new portions of the park, and covering the horizons to the west.

James Paine's bridges and mill

Paine's two bridges, One Arch and Three Arch, were modelled after Italian precedents, such as the Roman bridge at Rimini, Italy. The main drive to the house is carried across the River Derwent by the Three Arch Bridge, which was begun in 1759 and substantially finished by 1761. The bridge was deliberately slanted to be seen from the home and oriented to create that final, spectacular vista of the house from the entry drive.One Arch Bridge, which was erected in 1759-1760, is located at the park's southern end. This coursed, squared sandstone and ashlar building is a landmark of South Park, with its single round arch reflecting beautifully in the river when the water is calm. Views of Paine's Mill may be seen from the bridge. The Mill, which was completed between 1761 and 1762, is perhaps Paine's most fascinating design for the Duke. It was built as a replacement for the earlier running mill near the house and was intended to be a focal point in the park. The simple, classical slopes of the Mill, framed by a little open woodland to the west, give the termination of views from the north and south. The Mill, which was once an ornamental functioning structure, was devastated by fallen beech trees during the big storm of 1962. Duchess Deborah stopped the mill from being demolished and ordered it preserved as a ruin, preserving its architectural value to the environment.

Reference:

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back-on-my-bullsh-again · 9 months

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no i mean im QUITE happy youre willing to chitchat about this and having a background like you mentioned is definitely a bonus point. and i understand you have life outside of social media so i dont expect fast replies or a reply at all.

answering your question, i would say…. ‘trad feminine’ maybe means having female characteristics? *typical* bio female stuff, i mean. the ability to get pregnant, to have vagina, etc. (yeah i know not everybody can or wants to be pregnant & not everybody who has a vag is a woman etc.). however almost everybody knows how a person with female characteristics or a typical woman looks like. of course its conditioned, like gender, since im sure a …say what… a 1-2 year old wouldnt know what a female is and wouldnt even give a shit about it. so back to the point, being pregnant = feminine but feminine =/= woman. one can be/have any gender, since thats just another term without concrete meaning…?

you know what. im not sure id like it if feminine/mascule would have a concrete definition. i sure as fuck dont undertsand any of this gender stuff. like, literally, nothing. why is it here, why do we need it, why does someone feel connected to it, how is it created, why cant we get rid of it, why is it meaningless…

Sorry for the delay. I had a pretty busy weekend. But I have been thinking a lot about this. And having this conversation with you has been helpful to me because I'm working on a personal project that touches on some of these things, so chatting about this is allowing me to organize my thoughts in a more coherent way.

Anyway.... I think this is where a lot of people get caught up talking past each other in discussions of what is feminine or masculine. Because, to me, what you're describing as traditionally feminine are things that I describe wholly as aspects of biological sex that exist outside of having any sort of gender expression. To describe something as feminine is to say something is expressing a gender. A feminine gender expression might mean wearing a skirt or wearing makeup (both of which are only feminine in our current understanding of gender and at previous points in history have been masculine or gender neutral). But aspects of gender expression exist outside of a person's gender or their biological sex and, because none of these categories are strict binaries, a person can have labels that to normative society appear to contradict. Which, I think, is how you and I have ended up in conflict. Because you are drawing a line that connects female to feminine. But that is an arbitrary line. There are plenty of female people who are not feminine and would have their feathers ruffled at someone referring to them as such. I'm not even talking about trans people who were assigned female at birth. My initial thought was butches. I've known plenty of butch female women who completely rejected the feminine. They did not want to be labelled feminine. So, by connecting anything female to anything feminine, there would be a coercive assignment of feminine to people who flat out reject the label.

Your line connecting pregnancy to the feminine is one that is so common in society and it is that connection that was my main source of discomfort in and around pregnancy. But nothing relating to gender, gender expression, even sex categories, actually mean anything. All of it is socially constructed. And all social constructions mean something different at various points in history and will, no doubt, mean something different in the future. So, since anything can be anything. Why must pregnancy be feminine and why must feminine be female? There's no real answer. Just like there's no real answer to any of the questions you end your ask with. Things just are how they are or they're not, depending on the angle that view them or even the way you feel that day. And I think once I personally came to grips with that, it made it easier to just vibe with my identity. It still hurts when people try to ascribe some sort of sex or gender category onto me based on their own ways of viewing those categories. But I'm no longer trying to fit myself into boxes that don't make sense.

#asks

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erickaproto · 2 years

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Week Four

Lecture

This weeks lecture focused on using metaphors and models in design. I found though this weeks lecture was engaging. I felt like for the first time in a while I gained a new perspective of how I could see the world. As someone who made studying film their life for four years in undergrad the idea of the power of a good metaphor is not lost on me. However I found that this lecture really made me consider the ubiquity of the metaphors of the everyday and how they effect my lived experience. I have always understood the idea of metaphors being culturally specific as I am an immigrant myself and many of the metaphors I heard in my home did not translate outside of it but to me they just made sense. I never considered how they may have affected how I see things like social constructs, government, moods, etc. Since watching the lecture I've become much more attuned to my language and the variance in the language between my family vs my peers. I find that there are also many metaphors that are generation specific that you can only understand if you know the specific context of something of sprung from the cultural zeitgeist. i believe we create new metaphors everyday through pop culture and of course discourse on the internet and Id be interested to see in what ways this effects the future of design.

Dan Lockton

It would be interesting to see how Dan Lockton's work in "Design and the importance of Imaginaries" would translate intergenerationally or even between communities with easy access to the internet vs those with more restriction. How would they use metaphor to describe the internet itself or connection in the modern age. My biggest question with Dan Lockton's article was how have these findings/ experiments been used to actually design new systems. Lockton spent a lot of time describing the various interventions his team has made with reconstructing and repurposing metaphors but I would be interested to see more of what products can come about from this new way of thinking about design. I do think that it offers designer more space within the research world by essentially developing new schema and a sort of imposed synesthesia

Sasha Costanza-Chock

The reading that struck a cord the most with me was Sasha Costanza-Chock's "Nothing About Us Without Us" from chapter two of Design Justice. Essentially Costanza-Chock talks about how we are in a sort of crisis in design where there is a systematic negligence where what we design is made for a very small fraction of us. Chock argues that the trends we see is business and engineering also apply to design where a large majority of those in positions of power as well as most positions generally are cis white males. Chock talks about how this error leads to a detriment for us all the company, the product, and most important the users. Chock presents various research that reports that companies tend to do better financially with more diversity on their teams (however something that i appreciate Chock noting is that financial gain is not what's most important) despite this fact many design teams rarely have racial, gender or disability representation on their teams. This effects their products and while there are many strategies that these teams employ to ameliorate this issue, many of their strategies fall short if not exacerbate the issue. Something I noted was how Chock talks about User personas which anyone who has even stepped foot in design has had more or less experience with. For Chock these interventions can actually be harmful when trying to drum up stereotypical ideas of what a user of a particular demographic should want or need from a service/product. Another intervention that sounded ridiculous but unsurprising was how some design teams in an effort to understand the needs of users of different abilities will sometimes use a wheel chair for example to understand what they believe would be the needs of those they are designing for instead of just asking. A solution that I appreciated from Chock was working with community organizers in design in order to truly understand and create design solutions that tackle the needs of the users that are the most in need.

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melokuhleluthuli · 2 years

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Factors that influence an individuals positionality

Society is a construct that molds and shapes your values, by the roles in which we play and the environments we engage in. Society has positioned itself to determine what is moral or ethical. I am at a transitional stage of my life where I am starting to find my sense of self, personality trait, moral code, belief system, my strengths, and weaknesses. We were brought up to think that everything we are taught is the bible truth and cannot be altered, I am starting to see the mistakes with that mentality and question, why should we let society define us when we can redefine ourselves as the individuals we are? In this blog, I will share all the factors that influence my positionality.

The functions and roles of men and women were defined by Zulu culture whereby the men were the heads of the households and the women assumed subordinate positions, and that was very evident in the households my parents were raised in, I agree with Sathiparsad et al. (2011) that in rural communities, the father-headed households commanded more power and respect. Making rigid rules, making decisions controlling household activities, and providing financially for the family. I has the privilege of growing up in both a rural and urban area, in the rural community of Elandskop in Pietermaritzburg is where patriarchy operated in the families and influenced family life, we were told that a woman’s job is to perform domestic chores, get married, bear and raise children and be submissive to the husband while males in the community were raised to be dominant, providers, leaders, and head of the household. I’ve seen the patriarchal system at play in at my grandparent’s household where my grandfather was working in town and my grandmother was at Elandskop raising the children, my grandfather was the provider, and my grandmother has never worked in her life. My father wanted a different life then that led by his parents and that is very evident in mu upbringing, we moved to an urban area and the household had no gender roles, my father played a significant role in raising his children with his wife working far from home, he took on the role of primary caregiver. Decisions related to the household were made by both parties. This experience has allowed me to unlearn what society and those before have taught me about the roles and importance of women in society.

Sathiparsad et al. (2011) explain that in South Africa the societies are rapidly changing, and established power relations are being challenged and there is increasing recognition that gender transformation will have benefits for men and women. However, the patriarchy still operates in some societies in South Africa and Cato crest is one of them; it affects many aspects of life, from political leadership, business management, religious institutions, economic system, and property ownership, right down to the family. When providing treatment in the Cato Crest community I must not impose my values and beliefs of how a woman should behave as some women are subjected to the patriarchal system therefore my role is to improve the client’s insight and advocate for her and not invalidate her views.

Gaede & Versteegii-Mojanaga (2011) points out that the right to health care in rural areas is compromised by several health system and socio-economic barriers. This is evident in the Cato crest community where the struggle of standing in the long queue at the clinic in the early hours of the morning just access health care which should be easily available to all. I initially feared working as a health practitioner due to the pressures that come with the job, and I feel having experienced both a humbling and privileged background I can relate to clients coming from a similar background. In all my treatment sessions or any interaction with clients, I try to put myself in their shoes and provide client-centered intervention and we feel welcomed in the Cato crest community as clients are keen to engage and accept out help and our plan of trying to uplift the community. I come from a Zulu culture and the Christian religion, but I do not impose my beliefs on my clients even if you are Zulu and you do believe in ancestors I do not judge.

I grew up in a black community and was eventually exposed to other races as I went to a multi-racial primary school and high school in a predominantly Indian community. My assumption growing up was that public hospitals or other underprivileged institutions were for non-white people and white people used private healthcare and better facilities. University is a diverse environment therefore I was exposed to other races and sexualities; I had a chance to also assess and treat clients of a different races and sexualities as mine. Mathews (2012) points out that racial and racial equality has not yet been achieved in South Africa, nor indeed in the many other parts of the world which had at some time some form of explicitly segregationist white supremacist order. In one way or another black people still experience racism be it in public areas, schools, or workplaces, however, when I am providing intervention to my clients, I do not look at the race but approach a person as an individual so that I will be ethical and not let my experiences affect intervention.

(The above picture highlights what positionality is and some of the factors that influence our positionality).

Positionality is vital because it forces us to acknowledge our power, privilege, and biases just as we are denouncing the power structures that surround our subjects (Madison 2015). This also highlights that positionality is dynamic and susceptible to change. In occupational therapy, we use a holistic approach, so why would I want my values to impede or hinder providing intervention because of a person’s skin colour, sexuality, gender, or social background, because the main aim of the intervention is to promote function and independence in occupations it is also important to consider the client’s positionality as it can have an impact in treatment. My positionality has been influenced by various social backgrounds, culture, society, and the patriarchy. At the Cato crest community, we should be looking past the client’s gender, race, or family status and treat everybody equally within and outside of intervention. We have implemented programmes that educate the community about the role of OT, maternal health, child development, and common conditions in the community. It is vital to consider one’s positionality when working at a community level as you are exposed to different situations in the community, and it is easy to judge from a point of privilege. Positionality is an important consideration when working at a community level because directly or indirectly it influences how your treatment is carried out and determining the outcome of treatment.

References:

[Image] https://engineerinclusion.com/what-is-positionality/

Gaede, B. M., & Versteeg-Mojanaga, M. (2011). The state of the right to health in rural South Africa. Retrieved from https://www.researchgate.net/publication/326635665_The_state_of_the_right_to_health_in_rural_South_Africa

Madison, D. S. (2005). Critical ethnography: Method, ethics, and performance. SAGE Publications, Inc., https://www.doi.org/10.4135/9781452233826

Matthews S. (2012) White Anti-Racism in Post-Apartheid South Africa, Politikon, 39:2, 171-188, doi: 10.1080/02589346.2012.683938

Sathiparsad R., Taylor M., Dlamini S. (2008) Patriarchy and family life: Alternative views of male youth in rural South Africa, Agenda, 22:76, 4-16. Retrieved from https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/10130950.2008.9674925

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baeddel · 3 years

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Please. Please can you tell me what a baeddel is and why people (terfs?) used it in a derogatory manner on this website for a hot minute but now no one ever uses it at all

you asked for it, fucker

[2k words; philology and drama]

baeddel is an Old English word. i have no idea where it actually occurs in the Old English written corpus, but it occurs in a few placenames. its diminuitive form, baedling, is much better documented. it appears in the (untranslated) Canons of Theodore, a penitential handbook, a sort of guidebook for priests offering advice on what penances should be recommended for which sins. in a passage devoted to sexual transgressions it gives the penances suggested for a man who sleeps with a woman, a man who sleeps with another man, and then a man who sleeps with a baedling. so you have this construction of a baedling as something other than a man or a woman. and then it gives the penance for a baedling who sleeps with another baedling (a ludicrous one-year fast). then, by way of an explaination, Theodore delivers us one of the most enigmatic phrases in the Old English corpus: "for she is soft, like an adulturess."

the -ling suffix in baedling is masculine. but Theodore uses feminine pronouns and suffixes to describe baedlings. as we said, it's also used separately from male and female. but it's also used separately from their words for intersex and it never appears in this context. all of this means that you have this word that denotes a subject who is, as Christopher Monk put it, "of problematic gender." interested historians have typically interpreted it as referring to some category of homosexual male, such as Wayne R. Dines in his two-volume Encyclopedia of Homosexuality who discusses it in the context of an Old English glossary which works a bit like an Old English-Latin dictionary, giving Old English words and their Latin counterparts. the Latin words the Anglo-Saxon lexicographer chose to correspond with baedling were effeminatus and mollis, and Lang concludes that it refers to an "effeminate homosexual" (pg 60, Anglo Saxon). this same glossary gives as an Old English synonym the word waepenwifstere which literally means "woman with a penis," and which Dines gives the approximate translation (hold on tight) male wife.

R. D. Fulk, a philologist and medievalist, made a separate analysis of the term in his study on the Canons of Theodore 'Male Homoeroticism in the Old English Canons of Theodore', collected in Sex and Sexuality in Medieval England, 2004. he analysed it as a 'sexual category' (sexual as in sexuality), owing to the context of sexual transgressions in the Canons. he decides that it refers to a man who bottoms in sexual relationships with another man. i don't have the article on hand so i'm not sure what his reasoning was, but this seems obviously inadequate given what we know from the glossary described by Dines. Latin has a word for bottom, pathica, and the lexicographer did not use this in their translation, preferring words that emphasized the baedling's femininity like effeminatus, and doesn't address the sexual context at all. Dines, however, only reading this glossary, seems to decide that it refers to a type of male homosexual too hastily, considering the Canons explicitly treat them separately. both Dines and Fulk immediately reduce the baedling to a subcategory of homosexual when neither of the sources to hand actually do so themselves.

by now it should be obvious why, seven or so years ago, we interpreted it as an equivalent to trans woman. I mean come on - a woman with a penis! these days I tend to add a bit of a caution to this understanding, which is that trans woman is the translation of baedling which seems most adequate to us, just as baedling was the translation of effeminatus that seemed most adequate to our lexicographer. but the term cannot translate perfectly; its sense was derived from some minimal context; a legal context, a doctrinal context, and so forth... the way Anglo-Saxons understood sex/gender is complicated but it has been argued that they had a 'one sex model' and didn't regard men and women as biologically separate types, which is obviously quite different from the sexual model accepted today; in any case they didn't have access to the karyotype and so on. the basic categories they used to understand gender and sexuality were different from ours. in particular, Hirschfield et al. should be understood as a particularly revolutionary moment in the genealogy of transsexuality; the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft essentially invented the concept of the 'sex change', the 'transition', conceived as a biological passage from one sex to the other. even in other contexts where (forgive me) #girlslikeus changed their bodies in some way, like the castration of the priestesses of Cybele, or those belonging to the various historical societies which we believe used premarin for feminization [disputed; see this post], there is no record that they were ever considered men at any stage or had some kind of male biology that preceded their 'gender identity.' the concept of the trans woman requires the minimal context of the coercive assignment at birth and its subsequent (civil and bio-technological) rejection. i have never encountered evidence that this has ever been true in any previous society. nonetheless, these societies still had gendered relations, and essentially wherever we find these gendered relations we also find some subject which is omitted or for whom it has been necessary to note exceptions. what is of chief interest to us is not so much that there was such a subject here or there in history (and whatever propagandistic uses this fact might have), but understanding why these regularities exist.

a very parsimonious explanation is that gender is a biological reality, and there is some particular biological subject which a whole host of words have been conjured to denote. if this were the case then we would expect that, no matter what gender/sexual system we encounter in a given society, it will inevitably find some linguistic expression. if, like me, you find this idea revolting, then you should busy yourself trying to come up with an alternative explanation which is not just plausible, but more plausible. my best guesses are outside the scope of this answer...

anyway, all of this must be very interesting to the five or six people invested in the confluence of philology and gender studies. but why on earth did it become so widely used, in so many strange and unusual contexts, in the 2010s? we're very sorry, but yes, it's our fault. you see apart from all of this, there is also a little piece of information which goes along with the word baeddel, which is that it's the root of the Modern English word bad. by way of, no less, the word baedan, 'to defile'. how this defiled historical subject came to bear responsibility for everything bad to English-speakers doesn't seem to be known from linguistic evidence. however, it makes for a very pithy little remark on transmisogyny. my dear friend [REDACTED] made a playful little post making this point and, good Lord, had we only known...

it went like this. its such a funny little idea that we all start changing our urls to include the word baeddel. in those days it was common to make puns with your url (we always did halloween and christmas ones); i was baeddelaire, a play on the French poet Baudelaire. while we all still had these urls a series of events which everyone would like to forget happened, and we became Enemies of Everyone in the Whole World. because of the url thing people started to call us "the baeddels." then there was "a cult" called "the baeddels" and so forth. this cult had various infamies attatched to it and a constellation of indefensible political positions. ultimately we faced a metric fucking shit ton of harassment, including, for some of my friends, really serious and bad irl harassment that had long-term bad awful consequences relating to stable housing and physical safety and i basically never want to talk about that part of my life ever again. and i never have to, because i've come to realize that for most people, when they use the word baeddel, they don't know about that stuff. it doesn't mean that anymore.

so what does it mean? you'll see it in a few contexts. TERFs do use it, as you guessed. i am not quite sure what they really mean by it and how it differs from other TERF barbs. i think being a baeddel invovles being politically active or at least having a political consciousness, but in a way thats distinct from just any 'TRA' or trans activist. so perhaps 'militant' trans women, but perhaps also just any trans woman with any opinions at all. how this was transmitted from tumblr/west coast tranny drama to TERF vocabulary i have no idea. but you will also find - or, could have found a few years ago - i would say 'copycat' groups who didn't know us or what we believed but heard the rumours, and established their own (generously) organizations (usually facebook groups) dedicated to putting those principles into practice. they considered themselves trans lesbian separatists and did things like doxx and harass trans women who dated cafabs. if you don't know about this, yes, there really were such groups. they mostly collapsed and disappeared because they were evildoers who based their ideology on a caricature. i knew a black trans woman who was treated very badly by one of these groups, for predictable reasons. so long-time readers: if you see people talking about their bad experiences with 'baeddels', you can't necessarily relate it to the 2014 context and assume they're carrying around old baggage. there are other dreams in the nightmare.

the most common way you'll see it today, in my experience, is in this form: people will say that it was a "slur" for trans women. they might bring up that it's the root of the word bad, and they might even think that you shouldn't use the word bad because of it, or that you shouldn't use the word baeddel because it's a slur. all of this is a silly game of internet telephone and not worth addressing. except to say that it's by no means clear that baeddel, or baedling, were slurs, or even insulting at all. while Theodore doesn't provide us with a description of how we can have sex with a baedling without sinning, and it may be the case that any sexual relations with a baedling was considered sinful, sexuality-based transgressions were not taken all that seriously in those days. there was a period where homosexuality within the Church was almost sanctioned, and it wasn't until much later that homosexuality became so harshly proscribed, to the extent that it was thought to represent a threat to society, etc. and as i mentioned, there are places in England named after baedlings. there is a little parish near Kent which is called Badlesmere, Baeddel's Lake, which was recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Domesday Book (as having a lord, a handful of villagers and a few slaves; perhaps only one or two households). it's not unheard of, but i just don't know very many places called Faggot Town or some such. it's possible that baedlings had some role in Anglo-Saxon society which we are not aware of; it could even have been a prestigious one, as it was in other societies. there is just no evidence other than a couple of passing references in the literature and we'll probably never have a complete picture.

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ramzawrites · 3 years

Note

Just a day with MICHAEL and wine aunt y/n?

Babysitter Y/N Is On The Case

Pairings: none

Characters included: Ranboo, Tubbo, Michael, Fundy, Philza

Warnings: While this is Gender Neutral, Reader refers to themself as Aunt/ gets referred to as aunt by others

Series: a request drabble!

Summary: Y/N was asked to play babysitter for Michael so of course who would they be if they didn’t bring some toys with them or tell him some funny stories about his parents.

Words count: 3103

Authors Note: I’m sorry I wasn’t sure what kind of pronouns you wanted me to use so I stuck to Gender Neutral but Reader still gets referred to as Aunt.

I also was really excited to write it but lost steam halfway through, I apologize but it did help me get back into writing after being stuck with studying so much! So thanks for that!

Ranboo was sitting on the ground. Busy watching Michael draw with crayons on scraps of paper. He was currently making his own rendition of a family portrait and Ranboo couldn’t help but be amused with the way he drew him, Ranboo, and his best friend Tubbo.

He was tall, sure, but seeing how Michael drew clouds right next to his face was for some reason quite comical to him.

Tubbo was pacing the room up and down. His thoughts lingering on something else. Foolish was currently building their new home, a mansion to be exact, and he needed their help to map some stuff out.

At first the two wanted to bring Michael with them but Foolish brought up that a construction site might not be the safest place for a toddler. So, the two had to find a babysitter. It would be the first time they entrusted someone else with their adopted child and it made both of them nervous to say the least.

This place didn’t have the best track record when it came to important things like that and yet they still found someone who they felt like they could trust.

It was none other than Y/N.

Y/N did help the two numerous times. They were always there when trouble arose and they made their best effort to help the two through it. Both Tubbo and Ranboo felt close enough to them to even consider them family.

Ranboo mentioned this off handedly the day Y/N first met Michael and they looked shocked but also as if they were about to melt right then and there. It was this reaction that reaffirmed to them that, yes, they could trust Y/N.

A knock made Tubbo finally stop pacing and instead he practically sprinted down towards to the front door. Ranboo wanted to roll his eyes towards Tubbo’s agitated state but he felt similar. He just had more experience on how to hide it.

When Tubbo finally opened the door he was met by a smiling Y/N. They were holding a small bag in their hands as they gave Tubbo a short hug as a greeting.

“Hello, Tubbo! Babysitter Y/N is here and ready to take care of my little nephew Michael.”

A bit overwhelmed Tubbo let them in and closed the door, shutting away the cold winter air “Nephew?”

“Well you two told me that I’m somewhat like family to you, so, that would make Michael my nephew, definitely not grandson. So nephew.”

Tubbo just stared at Y/N for a short moment “I- I guess?”

Frankly he was a bit confused with how enthusiastic Y/N seemed to be about this whole situation. On one hand it was proof to him that Y/N did indeed take this somewhat serious and on the other hand this seems like it could somehow spell trouble.

Shaking off his confusion Tubbo began making his way up back into Michael’s room, closely followed by Y/N.

“Ranboo! How are you!” Y/N greeted the Enderman Hybrid as they softly put down the bag.

Michael looked up from his drawing and let out a happy squeak as soon as he noticed Y/N. He slowly got up and stumbled his way towards them and effectively hugged their leg as a greeting.

Y/N giggled as they slowly knelt down and put one hand on his head, ruffling through his bristle like hair “Hello, Sweetie. I’m happy to see you as well.”

“So, um, we need to go then. We made some extra food and put it to the side. Please don’t give Michael too much cookies or too much from the cake. He likes to-“ Ranboo begun to ramble off but Y/N interrupted him.

“Don’t worry, Ranboo. You won’t be gone for weeks. It’s only a day, probably even just a few hours. Nothing will happen to him. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Okay, but don’t let anyone else close to him, okay? Especially not Fundy. He has threatened him before!” Tubbo added.

Y/N put their hand above their heart “I hereby swear that I will protect little Michael with my life and make sure no harm will come to him while you two deal with your own business. Now, go.”

They were now physically pushing the two towards the stairs.

“You are awfully forceful today.” Ranboo noted, now worried after all that they chose Y/N as the babysitter.

Even so the two begun making their way down away from Michael’s room, all the while Y/N would continue push and poke them towards the door.

They scoffed “I’m not being forceful I’m helping you guys out. Besides, do you want to let poor Foolish waiting?”

“Alright, Alright! We are going! But should anything bad happen to Michael… Just saying, I have extra nukes.”

“Tubbo!”

But Y/N just rolled their eyes “I know. Don’t worry. Really. You guys have been good to me so I want to repay your kindness. Besides I have gotten quite attached to the little gremlin as well.”

Finally the two seemed to relax and grabbed their jackets as they walked out of the door. Y/N waved them goodbye and softly closed the door once they couldn’t see them anymore.

Now with the two parents gone Y/N made their way back to Michael, not wanting him to be alone for too long.

Back in his room Y/N found Michael staring out the window, probably watched as his parents left the home without him. Usually at least one person would stay behind so it must have been a surprise for him to see both of his parents leave at the same time.

He let out a few sad squeaks as he desperately tried to jump around, hoping he could somehow find his parents again if he just took a better look.

“Hey, it’s fine. They’ll come back and while they are gone I’m taking care of you, alright?” Y/N begun speaking, hoping he would turn his attention towards them instead the outside but he ignored them.

Y/N stepped closer, sitting down on the ground next to him while he was standing on the tip of his hooves, holding on to the corner of the windows with his hands.

Carefully Y/N stretched out a hand to Michael’s shoulder in order to gain his attention this way and it seemed to work. He let go off the window and instead twisted around to look his babysitter in the face. Both his eyes wide and glossy. Michael seemed to be close to tears.

“They will be back soon I promise, alright? In the meantime we can hang out!”

He still seemed to be close to tears and sad squeaks where still leaving his mouth so Y/N decided then and there it was time for their special weapon.

As Y/N got back up they held their hand out for Michael who slowly put his hand into theirs. Together they walked towards the brown bag Y/N brought with them.

An almost mischievous smile made it’s way on their face as Y/N opened up the bag in a way that Michael could look inside.

His expression immediately lightened up. The gloss seemed to disappear and instead he looked like he was in awe. He took his hand out of Y/N’s and moved it inside the bag only to stop and look Y/N into their eyes. Obviously asking for permission.

Ranboo and Tubbo really did a good job when it came to teaching Michael manners apparently which surprised Y/N a tiny bit. For some reason they suspected that Ranboo played a bigger role in this than Tubbo though.

Y/N nodded “Go ahead. I got them for you after all.”

Excited Michael almost dove into the bag as he got the little toys out. They were just simple wooden toys like horses, people and the like but still hard to come by around in this place. He sprayed them out on the ground only to take a closer look at the figures that seemed to represent certain people.

There were four of them. One looking like Ranboo, Tubbo, Michael and of course one looked like Y/N. They had to admit part why they did this was to bribe Michael but only a tiny bit. He was adorable and they did get kind of attached to this young Pigling as well so giving him gifts like that was only natural, right?

He grabbed all four of them and hugged them close to his chest, his gaze once again on Y/N’s face with a pleading expression.

“Yeah, they are yours! Just remember who got you them.” It felt like their heart was swelling up in their chest as they watched Michael hugging the piece that looked like them.

To Y/N’s sudden surprise Michael softly put the wooden dolls down, got up only to crash back into Y/N, hugging their body with his tiny arms. His previous sad squeaks exchanged by happy grunts.

“Alright. You want to play a bit? Read something? Or would you want me to tell you stories about your parents? Don’t get me wrong they are amazing but they are also idiots.”

Curious Michael looked back up which gave Y/N the chance to boop him on his little snout “Embarrassing stories about your parents it is then.” Which resulted in Michael to let out a sequence of grunts that mirrored a giggle.

Michael moved back away from Y/N and sat down on the ground. Grabbing the figure that represented Y/N as well as a brown horse.

“What could I tell you about... There is so much. Oh, if I tell you about that I think both Tubbo and Ranboo will kill me. Then again. You can keep a secret right?”

Without hesitation Michael nodded enthusiastically as he continued to play around with his new toys.

“Let’s start then.”

For the next hour or so Y/N begun telling stories about Ranboo and Tubbo. At first they only wanted to tell him about the little embarrassing things they did but it soon turned into a bit of a nostalgia trip for them. Briefly talking about how L’Manberg started, Tubbo’s presidency, Ranboo’s first day in the SMP and all the hijinks in between.

They made sure to let out the bad parts and mainly concentrated on the funny bits and pieces in between all the stressful situations and wars they have been through. That was something they didn’t feel like they had the right to talk about. Not without talking with Ranboo and Tubbo about it.

During all of that Michael was patiently listening though he was still rolling around on the ground playing with his new toys. Whenever Y/N thought he might not be listening anymore he let out a few squeaks urging them to keep on going.

The two new parents probably have never talked much with Michael about what they have been up to before they adopted him. To them there was a lot of pain connected to their past so instead they tried to work on their future instead. A future that involved Michael and hopefully a happier one.

For Y/N it wasn’t that different to be honest. They were right there at the beginning of it after all but when it came to the two parents they could tell Michael probably better than they themselves about the funny little bits in their past.

The time went on and at some point Y/N stopped telling stories and instead joined Michael in him playing with his new toys. He was also very adamant about the fact that Y/N used the Y/N-Doll while they played out scenarios like fighting off zombies.

It has already been after mid-day when Y/N came over to babysit so it didn’t take long for the sun to slowly set, soon the world turned dark.

When Tubbo and Ranboo first talked with them about Y/N babysitting they also made sure to tell them that once the sun is down it’s bed time for Michael which was a rule Y/N tried to follow at first.

“It’s bed time Michael. You can play later with the dolls but this is one of the rules your parents set up for me.”

He just put his arms in front of his chest and huffed out an annoyed grunt, still holding on to the toys.

Y/N smirked “Man, you sure are lucky that cool auntie Y/N is here. Let’s move bed time another hour or two but if your parents come home soon you have to get in bed asap?”

Once again Michael was enthusiastically nodding.

When Tubbo and Ranboo did finally came home again they heard a ton of noise coming from upstairs as the door fell shut. They were tired from the visit to the mansion since it took longer than expected. Foolish took the chance with them there to properly map out all the rooms. And with properly map out it really meant thoroughly.

He was so happy to see them since apparently having to build all this while having to guess how to build the rooms was a stressful endeavor. So, as much as they missed Michael and worried for him, they felt the need to stay and help out Foolish as much as possible.

He really seemed to be on the edge of losing his mind.

Though now they were curious why in the world they heard a rumbling from upstairs and Tubbo, determined as he is, climbed up the ladder as fast as he could.

Though all he saw in the room were toys strewn around, Michael in his bed with his eyes closed, clearly taking in deep breaths as if he was just running around while Y/N sat next to the bed with a book open upside down in their hand.

Ranboo was now joining the group as well, his expression showing his confusion to this situation.

“Ah, uh, hey! How was the day with Foolish? As you can see I got the kid some toys, I hope that is alright.”

“Michael?” Tubbo asked and to Y/N’s detriment his ears twitched for a moment and he clearly squinted his eyes even closer shut.

Now Tubbo turned to Y/N with his hands on both of his sides, his eyebrows turned down into a frown “Y/N!”

“We told you he had a strict bed time!” Ranboo chimed in.

Y/N set the book down and got up “Yes, you are right. I should have listened. I am sorry. He was just so happy with the toys! Anyways, I have to go now as well. Hope you guys aren’t too angry with me since babysitting him was a ton of fun. If you need my help again don’t hesitate to ask me.”

And with that they made their way out of the house. Ignoring the call outs from the two. Effectively fleeing.

While they were not thrilled that Y/N let him stay up way past his bedtime nothing really bad happened to him hence why in the end they had to admit that Y/N was a good choice for a babysitter.

So whenever the need for a babysitter arose they still asked Y/N to fill that role.

Of course whenever they appeared they would bring in more presents. Either more toys or things like books and building blocks. Over time Michael seemed to be mostly interested in the little dolls that depicted actual people from the SMP so Y/N made sure to at least bring always one little doll over whenever they visited him.

Telling him fun little stories about them and who they were. At some point this turned into their favorite little tradition with the Piglin kid.

This seemed to also be the same case for Michael judging by one little instance.

They were visiting Michael once again, this time carrying a Ghostbur-Doll with them only to meet Philza and Fundy at Tubbo’s and Ranboo’s place. They were all deep in a discussion concerning Michael which Y/N used to sneakily hand him his new toy which he happily put next to his others.

Both Philza and Fundy have visited Michael a few times already as far as Y/N knew but not as often as they themself did.

“Oh, good that you are here, Y/N. I ‘ve been wondering something.” Fundy suddenly approached them, missing the subtle gift exchange just beforehand.

Y/N raised one of their eyebrows, somehow sensing trouble from him “Hey, Fundy. Hello Philza, Tubbo, Ranboo. Sorry that I’m late? Didn’t expect to see Fundy and Phil here.”

Ranboo scratched the back of his neck nervously “Yeah, we didn’t as well. It just kind of happened.”

“I get that. Either way it’s nice to see them. What is it that you were wondering about Fundy?” Y/N turned back to the Fox Hybrid at the last part.

He had a mischievous smile on his face which didn’t seem to only worry Y/N but the other residents in the room as well “You have not been the only one visiting Michael from time to time, so we have to settle one thing. Who is the better aunt or uncle.”

“Just ask him then.” Philza threw in, sounding somehow tired of Fundy already.

This seemed to pull Michaels attention back towards the adults. Ignoring his new toy for now but still holding on to it.

Y/N didn’t want to show it but a satisfied smile appeared on their face. They had it on good authority what Michael would probably go for.

Fundy knelt down on the ground, so Y/N followed suit.

“Hey little guy. Uncle Fundy has been wondering who you like more. The super cool fox dude? Or the boring Y/N?”

Normally Y/N would have said something against it but instead they just rolled their eyes and made sure to put on a soft smile for Michael. No words were needed.

When Michael looked at bit unsure on what to do Tubbo let out a weary sigh, probably tired of Fundy’s hijinks “Go ahead Michael. Don’t worry no one will get mad it is just a question.”

“You- You don’t need to answer if you don’t want to.” Ranboo tried to further calm Michael’s worry down but before he even properly ended the sentence the kid was already on the move.

Without even hesitating he ran into Y/N arms. Y/N put their arms softly around him and ruffled through his hair “Yeah! Suck it Fundy! I’m the better one! Hah!”

“Y/N!” both Tubbo and Ranboo exclaimed angrily at the same time but Y/N just continued to snicker as Fundy got back up and begun sulking in a corner. Philza was of course busy laughing.

There was no way that Fundy even stood a chance against Y/N from the very beginning.

“This was unfair! They clearly bribed him! Look at all the toys he got from them!” Fundy exclaimed angrily.

“All is fair in love or war, Fundy.” Philza reminded him between him laughing.

1K notes · View notes

yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

together | myg

pairing: min yoongi x singlemother!reader

genre: fluff, very soft fluff, domesticity

words: 5, 007

summary: min yoongi is a good man but even a better father ... figure

“Baby … what did we say about boundaries?” You crouch down to reach Jihoon’s eye level and the mini you—as said by your friends—simply ignores your oncoming lecture by staring at his feet.

“Limits …” He mumbles softly and all you want to do is hug him and tell him he can do no wrong but motherhood is tough despite all the online blogs telling you that they’re with you. You loved your baby, you really did—but God decided to fuck with you by making him the reflection of yourself when you were younger and you heard nightmarish stories from your parents from when you were growing up.

You run your hand over his hair soothingly because as much as he was like you, he was still only two years old and his own person, fluff and bread arms. You knew not to restrain him with furrowed brows or raised voices but instead with the patience your parents always taught you to have and the compassion that you wished you were naturally blessed with. But life had a funny way of taking away things from you.

Well—your ex-husband was never really taken from you—he left you, and instead of feeling shambled and distraught you were made of such resolve that you merely blinked when he packed his bags after he said he was cheating on you. The only sweat you broke was realising that Jihoon was only three months old when his dad left without sparing him another glance.

But your baby grew up and so did you. Your job at office paid well enough for you to live comfortably with Jihoon and hire nannies to look after him whenever you couldn’t; even though you tried your best to always be with him so he wouldn’t grow up resenting an absent mother. But you worried like anyone else would because while your friends and family would say you were doing an impeccable job, your self-sabotaging tendencies nagged at yourself by saying that he needed a male figure in his life.

He mumbles a soft apology, so respectful with his big eyes and you smile at him. You knew he meant no harm when storming into your office and scrambling off with important documents because he was still impressionable and curious about nearly everything. Your heart dropped when you realised your reports were pretty much incoherent with the way he doodled over them but you knew not to blame him.

“Forgiven Hoon.” You kiss his forehead.

His eyes turn into tiny slits with his toothless smile and your heart clenches at the little human you created and love dearly.

“Love you mama.” He plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek before waddling off to his playpen where his toys are laid neatly. If there was anything he inherited from you; it’d be your meticulous tendencies.

You sigh, leaning into the wall of your kitchen as you watch Jihoon with fond eyes as he plays with his dolls and figurines, dressing them in dresses and pants just like how you taught him that gender had no look and that everyone was different. Obviously, explaining the concept of social constructs to a two-year-old is not a conversation any parent would have with their child but you believed that these fundamental core values of humanity were important to his growth into his toddler stages and eventually adulthood.

“I can’t believe you squeezed that cutie out of your vagina.” Taehyung snorts, sneaking up behind you and you don’t flinch because you’re way too used to his unwanted comments and sudden appearances.

“I am 90% cute so it’s only right that my child inherits that from me.” You retort, eyes still trained on your baby boy.

Taehyung looks over at Jihoon who directs a mini-play of a loving family, and your heart is still sad at the prospect of his adolescent years only being with you.

“You know … hyung is asking about you,” Taehyung says and you immediately still in your position, hands freezing in your pockets because you know exactly who he’s referring too and you weren’t exactly ready for that conversation, especially with your older brother.

“He says he misses Hoonie.”

You sigh, turning your head to face your older brother and you can only muster enough emotion to look fine with his statement but you simply looked constipated with the way your face scrunches up.

“We’ve been busy …” You mutter.

“Jihoon is two-years-old and the only thing he’s busy with is trying not to give you a heart attack every time he nearly runs into the wall and you literally work from home now that your boss is some progressive liberal that tries a new system every two days,” Taehyung says dryly, pinning you with a deadpan.

“Stop offending me by insulting my son!” You whine.

“That’s my nephew too.” He rolls his eyes as you punch him in the shoulder.

“That has a name and it’s Jihoon you bitch.”

“Mama said beech?” Jihoon tilts his head in a curious manner and your expression morphs into one of mortification as Taehyung cackles in response.

“Stop. Laughing.” You hiss but it’s no use because your brother has never once listened to anything you had to say throughout the last twenty-nine years of your life.

“You—” Your snide is cut short by rapt knocks on your door, and you see Taehyung’s grin widen. You know that look intimately because it’s the expression he wears before he pisses you off or embarrasses you.

“He’s here!” He sounds delighted as he skips towards the door. You want to pull his back by his collar to ask him what the fuck he was talking about but he’s quick with his hands and the door is open. Your mouth falls and you nearly get whiplash with the way that you stare at your guest.

“Y-Yoongi.” He was possibly the last person you wanted to see and you had no idea what he was doing at your apartment at night on a weekday.

Then you see Taehyung’s pleased expression and put two-and-two together.

“___, hey. Taehyung said you needed help with Hoon tonight?” He offers a tilt of his lips because Yoongi was not an expressive man by any means. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a good heart; that was far from the truth of the enigma that was Min Yoongi.

He was a good person and an even better friend. Although the two of you had tip-toed on the line between friends to something more than that, he never explicitly said anything about his interests to you. And you didn’t want to pressure him by saying anything because even though he was in his thirties and still very much single with a stable job as a surgeon at the top hospital, a two-year-old son is rarely what a man that appealing ever wants when looking for a relationship.

That was why you stopped replying to his texts or inviting him over to hang out with Jihoon anymore because Jihoon adored him so much and your poor heart couldn’t bear to see the two boys interact without an ugly flower called hope bloom in your chest. He only ever knew who you were because he and Taehyung were co-workers and probably only tolerated you by association.

You loved Jihoon and wanted the best for him. Even if that was Min Yoongi—you needed to protect your heart too.

“I did?” You tilt your head and Yoongi automatically notices the habit that you and Jihoon share. Taehyung is somehow next to you already and you know that because he stomps on your foot and shoots you a glare when you hiss.

“I did.” You cough.

“Mama?” Jihoon peeks his head through the divider between the kitchen and the common area, and his eyes immediately light up when he sees Yoongi hovering by the entrance.

“Yoongi!” He squeals as he speeds as fast as he can with his little feet towards the man in his scrubs who shoots your son with his gummy smile.

“Hey, buddy.” He picks your son up effortlessly and you know you’re staring but you rarely ever see men who are this patient let alone this good with children.

“Close your lips,” Taehyung whispers into your ear.

“I’m—that’s not what was happening …” You mumble, a blush appearing on your cheeks as you look away from the hugs and kisses that Yoongi gives Jihoon.

“I meant your other ones.” Your brother says dryly.

“Kim Taehyung—!” Your arms are already reaching for his neck to strangle him but Yoongi calling your name snaps you out of your anger.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?”

Your head snaps to Yoongi who now has Jihoon on his hip while he plays with the material of his scrubs. You hate how your heart flutters at the domesticity of the question and how Yoongi looks so much like a father to your son and a husband in your home.

You realise the dangerous daydream you’re falling into and shake your head to snap out of it before you hurt yourself even more.

“Us? No, we haven’t. Tae and I were planning to order in at our favourite place.” You tell Yoongi with a small smile.

You see the hint of a frown marring on his face but it goes as quick as it comes as he stalks towards you.

“Actually—” Taehyung cuts in before Yoongi can say anything, “—I have a … thing.”

He points his thumb towards the door and you curse him in your head so much that you hoped sibling telepathy was a thing so he could hear what you felt about him right now.

“You … do?” Yoongi asks.

Taehyung shrugs, as ambiguous as ever before ruffling Jihoon’s hair and offering a fist bump and a kiss before he approaches your door.

“Taehyung—” You grit.

“Bye, buddy! Yoongi.” He acknowledges the two other boys but not you and you know it’s because while Taehyung loved to annoy you, he knew you were a handful and quite literally the spawn of satan when you were angry and you weren’t just angry but livid.

“Get back here—!” And he’s gone before you know it, and even Jihoon mumbles a soft bye Tae samchon after he’s gone.

You sigh, resting your head against the frame of the door that was now shut in your face, stuck in your own house with the man that you’ve been helplessly pining over that looks way too at home with the way Jihoon plays with the softness of his black hair.

You turn around, closing your eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

When you open them, Yoongi has an eyebrow raised, placing Jihoon on his high-chair. And you don’t know why you found that act so hot but you couldn’t even set your own son down into that chair without him making a fuss but he only giggled cheekily when Yoongi did so.

“What for?”

He doesn’t sound angry, just genuinely confused. You purse your lips and walk towards Jihoon who was simply babbling to himself and grab a cloth to wipe at the appearance of a new stain on his shirt which you suspect he got from his playtime earlier, and you internally groaned at the fact that he probably found some food and decided that it would be a good addition to his play family.

“I know it’s really busy at the hospital this time around and Taehyung basically scammed you here … with us.” You fiddle with your fingers after you pick up a toy on the floor and pass it to Jihoon to keep him occupied as you have a much more … adult-esque conversation with Yoongi. While you made it clear to Jihoon that he didn’t necessarily have a father in his life because you owed him that much, you tried to steer far from conflict and turmoil so he wouldn’t have to grow up knowing only the lows of life.

Yoongi just … stares. And it’s unnerving because you could barely read the man in general and he was looking at you with a blank expression that only causes your anxiety to settle further into your bones. You’re thinking of about a million different ways to apologise or to spontaneously combust so you could save yourself from the scrutiny of Yoongi’s eyes. But before you can say anything and embarrass yourself, even more, he speaks.

“Do you think I don’t enjoy spending time with the two of you?” He frowns, and that’s the most expressive you’ve seen him throughout your entire friendship with the man. The fact that the first time he’s ever shown any explicit emotion around you is one of … disappointment … only makes you realise how far out of his league you were.

“N-No!” You shake your head, flustered at his tone. When you look at him, his face is much softer; a type of expression that shows longing but you aren’t quite sure why it’s there.

“It’s just … you’re busy, Yoongi. You’re a hotshot doctor at the best private healthcare facility in the city and you’re here spending the last night before the weekend with some pathetic single mom who still—by the way—can’t decide on how to brush my teeth just because it doesn’t feel right.”

Yoongi blinks at you, then he looks over at Jihoon and you’re confused for a second because it seems like he’s dismissing your mini ramble, but instead, he reaches out to Jihoon’s hand and bends down so he can look Jihoon straight in the eye.

“Hey, bud?” He calls out to Jihoon and your son looks at Yoongi with all the stars in his eyes.

Your heart softens at the interaction and notices how the way Jihoon doesn’t pull away when Yoongi reaches out to carry him in his arms again.

“Yoongi!” He squeals, squeezing the man’s cheeks between his chubby fingers and you can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm and the way that Yoongi resembles a cat.

“I need to ask you something.” He whispers as if it were only the two of the room and you stand on the opposite of them with your arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

Your son bobs his head up and down in agreement as he waits for Yoongi to ask him his question.

“Yoongi …” You trail off but he pays you no mind.

“Do you love your mama?” The question surprises you and your mouth opens and closes, and your emotions are all over the place because the question makes you feel nearly inadequate. The way that he asks the question prompts you to wonder if it seemed like what you were doing for Jihoon just wasn’t enough.

“What is this even about?” You snap, eyes narrowed at Yoongi but he still ignores you.

Jihoon nods his cute little head eagerly without a moment of hesitation after Yoongi asks his … what you would say—preposterous question.

“I love mama with all my heart. She’s the best!” Jihoon giggles into Yoongi’s shirt as he leans his head against his chest. You don’t know why his words make you choke up when he tells you he loves you every day but the reassurance that your son does indeed love you makes you feel like you can do anything. It was also probably the fact that you noticed Yoongi smiling fondly between the two of you.

“Do you think she’s pathetic, Hoonie?” He throws your words to your son and you scowl at Yoongi who is still keeping his act of ignoring you very much alive.

“Pathedic?” Jihoon tilts his head again and you almost coo at the slight lisp he has when he asks.

Yoongi chuckles warmly and offers you a small smile as if to tell you that you’d see soon enough before repeating himself to your son.

“Bad.” Yoongi settles.

Jihoon gasps in his tiny little way and frowns, looking over at you with a cute crumpled expression that makes your heart swell even more. The urge to hold your son increases tremendously but you were still confused and curious as to what Yoongi was getting at.

“No no no! Mama is the best, didn’t you hear?” Jihoon squabbles.

You bite your lip to refrain from smiling so wide and choke back the tears that well up.

“Mama always cooks yummy food and never yells at me! I always see other mama’s yelling at their babies but mama … mama loves me too, right?” He rambles off and you sniffle.

“Love you a lot, Hoon.” You say from a distance and Jihoon is satisfied with your answer.

You turn to look at Yoongi and sigh.

“What is this about, Yoongi?” You sound stern and he acknowledges that. He knows the situation is much more serious than what he perceives but he can’t help but observe how the furrow of your brows resembles a squirrel. The comparison makes him want to laugh because you were so cute even when you were angry.

“I have one more question.” He tells you.

You don’t say anything but watch the way he leans in closer to Jihoon with eyes more serious than you’ve seen before.

“You want to see mama happy?” Yoongi whispers so softly that you almost miss it.

Jihoon nods.

“Of course. Mama always makes me happy. But she looks … lonely.” Jihoon frowns a little and you can’t help but have a tear fall. Your baby boy was young but observant and had a heart of pure gold. You didn’t need anyone but Jihoon but—

“What do you think if she gave you a papa?” Yoongi asks and the question stills your entire body. You don’t even see the way Jihoon lights up at the proposition and you also miss the way Yoongi looks over at you once to gauge your reaction.

“Will you be my papa Yoongi?” The question is what snaps you out of your reverie to realise the situation you were in and the allusion of Jihoon’s question.

“Jihoon! You can’t just—say sorry.” You squeak but Jihoon doesn’t pay you any mind because his attention is all on Yoongi who is smiling as wide as he possibly can.

“Only if your mom says yes, Hoonie. If only she knew how much I liked her.” He tells Jihoon but he’s looking at you. Your eyes are wide at the confession and your hands fall limp by your side; not knowing how to respond to Yoongi’s sudden confession.

It wasn’t anything spectacular, and it didn’t cause butterflies to erupt like it was in the movies but the confession was so wholeheartedly Yoongi that you felt so … comfortable. A surprising yet welcoming emotion.

Jihoon looks over to you but you’re looking at Yoongi who looks at you with soft eyes.

“Say yes mama!”

Yoongi stands up from his position to walk over to your frozen state until your hands rest on his chest unconsciously. He looks down at you as his arms wrap around your waist to pull you flush against his body. You blush and avoid his stare when he tries to catch your eyes. You know Jihoon is watching and that makes you feel all the more flustered. It was like you were back in high school and you were ‘canoodling’ behind your parents’ backs.

“Y-Yoongi …” You try to push him away but he reaches his hands to wrap them around your own.

“I’m sorry but you can’t run away from me this time ___.” He teases.

You flush and look away.

“I wasn’t … running …” You mutter.

He chuckles and shakes his head that you feel strands of his hair against your forehead when he leans in closer to connect your forehead with his own.

“Okay.” He agrees. He doesn’t put up a fight and you hate how even when you’re the one that’s flustered he can make you feel … safe. Calm.

“I like you, dumbass. I would go as far to say that I’m in love with you but I know how scared you get so let’s settle for the baby steps first, yeah?” He says so casually that your eyes bulge out of your eye sockets comically.

“You c-can’t just …” You blubber, “Say that!”

Yoongi scoffs.

“I like you Kim ___.”

You punch him in the chest but he doesn’t even flinch.

“No you don’t …” You whisper.

You don’t look at him but you can feel his frown.

“And who are you to tell me how I feel?”

You sigh.

“Yoongi … I don’t know if you heard what I said earlier but you’re … you … and I’m just some other girl that you know because of Taehyung and I’m a mother of a two-year-old. You could literally be with anyone you wanted and I just … you don’t like me. You just—can’t.” You exasperate.

He frowns at you, forcing your chin up to look at him with his index finger. You burn even redder at how close you were.

“I love you. I love Jihoon. And you need to get out of your pretty little head because I don’t want to be with anyone but you. I don’t know where you’re getting this weird picture of me being with anyone I want because I don’t want anyone. I want this—I want in, in this little family.”

You feel yourself choke up, and Yoongi notices so he holds you closer until your head is against his chest.

“I’m emotionally constipated half the time I interact with anyone but you just … you make me feel alive and things that I generally don’t feel on a daily basis. You and Hoon are the only things that keep me going with all the surgeries and stuff. I’m in love with you and it’s all your fault and Hoonie wants you to be happy as much as I do—so please: stop running.”

“Why are you running mama?” Jihoon asks and you remember your son is watching it all.

You flush but don’t move from Yoongi’s grasp. He thinks of this as a step forward because all you do is turn your head to look at Jihoon and offer him a smile through your tears.

You and Yoongi hear Jihoon’s whine and you see him reach his arms towards you as a gesture for you to carry him.

“Mama why are you crying!” He cries.

You feel Yoongi release you and you immediately reach out to Jihoon like it was second nature because it was. Jihoon was the only thing that kept you going when people would give you odd stares as a single mother especially when you were starting to look into preschools for your son. All the superiors would question your legitimacy and income when you were earning more than the average working man. You were always very particular about who you allowed into Jihoon’s life because he was young and got attached easily. But Yoongi made it so … easy. Just like he was that missing piece in both your and Jihoon’s lives.

“I’m okay bubs.” You kiss Jihoon on his cheeks as you hold back your tears.

“Don’t cry, mama.” Jihoon frowns and puts his thumbs between your furrowed brows just like you would always do when he was starting to sulk. You chuckle and hold your son closer to your chest, feeling all the more comforted.

“I’m serious about this ___ …” Yoongi steps closer to you and wraps an arm around you and Jihoon and the action feels so utterly domestic. You feel safe and content within his grasp.

“Yoongi …” You look up at him through your eyelashes and Yoongi has always been entranced with your beauty. It was never just about how beautiful you looked when you were a mother to Jihoon but the energy you carried around you was contagious and he’s immediately lightened up in your presence. He was patient with you because he knew you were serious about Jihoon and that he was your number one priority.

“No, please … listen to me ___.” He cups your cheeks while Jihoon is looking between the two of you with keen interest.

“I know you’re scared because of Jihoon and that’s valid. But I don’t want you to think that you’re not enough for me for superficial reasons because the truth is I probably won’t ever be enough for you and you’re here being the woman of my dreams. I respect your decision if you aren’t ready for a relationship and I won’t push you but I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere just because we aren’t together because I rather have you next to me as a friend than lose out on you forever.”

You had always been a crybaby and Taehyung was probably the reason why you cried all the time as children since he always had been the more rambunctious one between the two of you while you were far timider. But Yoongi knew that under all the times you shed tears because you were touched is a strong-willed woman that could withstand nearly anything in this world if it were for her son.

“And I know that I’m not over my head thinking this but … you want me too and it’s okay if you do but you don’t want a relationship. I respect you as a person, a woman and the mother of Jihoon. I just don’t want you to push me away.” He whispers so softly when he looks into your eyes.

“Mama …” Jihoon whines and you look down at him for a moment when he gives you a glare that doesn’t look so intimidating because of his bread cheeks.

“Yoongi is fun! Can he be our daddy?” You know his choice of words didn’t necessarily entail that context for you in particular but you blush anyway because he was just two. Yoongi senses your flustered state but squeezes your cheeks in between his hands and you feel coddled. It was a new feeling, one that was almost unfamiliar with how long you’ve been deprived of a significant other’s touch.

“I—Yoongi … I really don’t know what to say …” You mumble.

Yoongi smiles at you, comforting and homey all at once because Yoongi was a lot of things but never pushy.

“You don’t have to say anything. I don’t know if you realised this but I’m basically Hoon’s dad whether you like it or not because he and I spend more time together than I do with my colleagues at work and I work overtime all the time.” He teases.

“Jihoon really adores you.” You agree, biting on your lip as your mind races for the hundredth time this hour.

You liked Yoongi. You really did—and somewhere along the way, like turned into something more … dangerous. A territory that you usually reserved for Jihoon because you only had the capacity to care for one boy in your life but Yoongi smuggled his way into your heart and here he was causing a hurricane in your stomach.

The words he spoke were so truthful and genuine that you can’t help but believe that against all odds in the universe, Yoongi has somehow chosen you. You were the one that was afraid. He has always chosen you. That enough is shown when he makes his way after tiring shifts just to lay on your couch and play with Jihoon in times where all he could do was babble incoherent words. He chose you when he made surprise visits with the homemade stew that you knew he knew your son and you loved. He chose you when he invited you and Jihoon to spend Chuseok together because you mentioned just spending it with your son than with your family. His parents adored you and were even more taken with Jihoon.

He has always chosen you but now it was your turn.

“I love you.”

You say those words without much further thought because you’ve always felt it. Three words have never felt so safe on your tongue to utter into the atmosphere and you feel the same after the truth is out there. You always knew how you felt and you knew that Yoongi was smart to observe your feelings too, which was why when you finally said it he just looked … content. Happy—like he was in a place that was so familiar and comforting that he didn’t need to react any differently.

“I want—I want to be with you.” You clear your throat, “If you’ll have me.”

You look so shy and young—because you were. But you had that childlike innocence that he’s only ever had the pleasure to see when you would play fight with Jihoon. He feels his chest swell with pride knowing that he was the reason you looked like that and felt the way you did.

“Hmm … should I?” He leaned in closer until his breath was on your cheek.

You knew he was teasing you but you still can’t meet his eyes, and Jihoon simply giggles at the way Yoongi squeezes him between your chests in a way so comforting that Jihoon feels like it’s a warm hug from a blanket.

“Don’t tease …” You grumble.

Yoongi runs his hand through your hair and pulls your head closer to his to give you a gentle kiss on the lips. It was nothing seductive or implicative but so Yoongi. A kiss to show you he wanted this and that he felt whatever flurry of emotions you felt. A kiss like he was coming home.

He pulls away and you see Jihoon frowning between the two of your through your redness and shock.

“I wanna’ kiss too!” He whines, and you and Yoongi both look at your son with the stars in your eyes, then lock eyes with each other; and you do what comes naturally next.

You both kiss your son on the cheeks.

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definitelynotkatesblog · 3 years

Text

Home Sweet Home

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/ GN! Reader

Category: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Hotch returns unexpectedly from being away and causes a tough time for Reader.

A/N: I got to write this little piece for our Discord server’s fic swap! I was lucky enough to have @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff as my person!

This fic is gender neutral and written in second person POV for an easier self-insert experience!

Content warnings: Cursing, bit of angst, hurt/comfort, a lil kiss at the end

W.C: 3.5k

———————————

The moment he stepped in the room, the air escaped your lungs and everything froze.

“Seven months ago I made a decision…”

The rest of his words refused to register in your mind. All you could focus on was him.

He was back home, safe. His eyes were tired, his hair a bit longer than he normally kept it, and he’d grown a beard. He’d never been one for facial hair. He had a subscription service that delivered sustainable razors and blades to his home like clockwork so he never ran out and never ran the risk of coming to work with stubble. He hated looking ‘unkempt’. Who was the man standing in the room, still speaking? How long had it been since he’d shaved?

You felt the tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision.

Months had passed. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t shaved. He hadn’t emailed, or Skyped. Or shaved. He hadn’t shaved. And he hadn’t called.

The dramatic gasp from your beloved technical analyst stole the air from the room and pulled you from your thoughts.

“Oh! Sir! You’re back! With a beard? Welcome back!”

You blinked a few times to clear the tears in your eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Your eyes flicked from Hotch, to the team, and back to Hotch before everything got blurry again. The next thing you saw was the ceiling before your eyes slid shut. At least in this darkness, nothing hurt.

“Make some room! Back up!” Hotch’s voice came through the fuzzy edges of your mind. The familiar feeling of Hotch’s warm, calloused hands on the side of your face. “Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

You shook your head ‘no’, willing the situation to be different when your eyes opened than when they’d shut.

“Clear the room,” he ordered. The sound of footsteps retreating filled, then emptied the room.

Slowly, your eyes dared open, taking in the sight of a very concerned and bearded Hotch hovering over you.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice slightly less urgent this time.

You nodded and tried to sit up, pushing his hands off of when they tried to help you to your feet.

He stood with you slowly, his eyes never leaving your face. When you were finally upright, you crossed your arms and stared him down. His face softened as his gaze fell to his feet, unable to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry-” he started softly.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “Nice beard.” If he tried saying anything else, it was to the empty room as you stormed out.

Glances from your peripheral confirmed what you already knew from the pounding in your chest. Pacing his office like a caged lion, Hotch was stealing looks from between the blinds covering his office windows. The last daring glance had your eyes locked, the intensity burning through the glass and across the bullpen area. You tore your head away and willed your eyes to focus on the file in front of you that had been untouched for the past few hours.

You took a deep breath and decided a cup of coffee might help matters. Without daring a look in his direction, you stormed over to the small kitchenette and pulled a mug from the crowded cupboard. As you turned to face the counter, perhaps the most trying sight of all bestowed your own two eyes.

An empty coffee pot.

A dramatic sigh fell from your lips as you set about putting on a fresh pot. Measuring the water, leveling the scoops of whole sale purchased, generic brand grounds with a shake of the wrist, and clicking the button who’s label had been rubbed clean off from years of use and thousands of cups of coffee made.

Luckily, you’d memorized the locations and functions of the buttons years ago and could make a pot with your eyes closed. The familiarity made you smile. You watched as the brownish liquid started to sputter into the glass below it, a slow drip forming and the smell of caffeine and a slight char filled the air.

The coffee itself wasn’t good, but you’d taken a liking to it over the past few months in particular. The long nights and early mornings spent playing catch up on paperwork between cases required caffeine. Then, the late night Skype calls that could only happen at random hours of the night did too, and that shit coffee became sweet nectar. You never risked missing a call.

Even though the coffee was shit, it was what you sipped on between hushed whispers and longing looks through the static filled webcam conversations. You were never quite sure if it was the coffee or the love that warmed your heart, but you’d never questioned it.

Until the calls stopped coming. And the coffee tasted bad again.

“The coffee overseas puts this stuff to shame,” a rough voice from behind you said, bringing you back from your trip down memory lane.

You chose not to move. Not to acknowledge the man behind you. Instead, you pulled the now full pot off the burner and filled your cup, leaving only a small amount of room for cream.

“Are you still using the vanilla creamer?” he tried again.

You pursed your lips and turned to face him. He immediately stood straighter, his eyes slightly widened and hopeful, awaiting your response. Your eyes narrowed as they searched his, no words willing to form in response.

After a moment, his eyes fell and he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

His voice dropped before he spoke again. “I wanted to come check on you. See how you’re feeling,” he explained to the floor.

Your eyes still hadn’t left his face. Your heart started pounding, a million words suddenly bubbling behind your lips. The months of anger, confusion, hurt, love, and pain threatened to flood the small kitchen you occupied without a life jacket in sight. The burning in your nose spread to your eyes and made its way to form a vise grip on your throat.

“How I’m feeling?” you asked slowly, the venom dropping from your tongue.

He wouldn’t look at you.

The heaving of your chest and ringing in your ears was warning enough this was not the time or place to share your honest thoughts with the man across from you.

“It’s a little late for that, wouldn’t you say?” The mug in your hand threatened to crack under the pressure in the small kitchenett-e. As his mouth opened the slightest bit, preparing to offer a response, it made the wise decision to close again.

You excused yourself curtly, skirting past him and out of the suddenly too-small room and back to the comfort of your desk, silently hoping the floor full of profilers would mind their own damn business for once.

——

“Hey, Hotch has some questions about the Wakeland case,” JJ said, approaching your desk.

“Yeah, sure he does.”

That stopped her in her tracks. She took a step back to catch your eye. “Hey,” she said softly.

You shot her an annoyed look. You wanted to be mad at her, too, but that was hard. She knew what it was to be shipped away overseas and have limited contact with her loved ones. Any attempt to complain to her would end up as sympathetic nods and constructive advice and a sensible perspective on the issue. Which was, frankly, not what you were in the mood for.

“Sorry,” you offered with a tight smile. “I just thought I was pretty thorough in my notes already.”

She gave a small smile in return, watching you stand and walk towards Hotch’s office.

You didn’t bother knocking before you entered, opting to set the tone of the conversation before it began.

Hotch’s eyes shot up at the intrusion, his hands still holding the case file. “I appreciate knocking,” he said sternly.

“Noted,” you quipped, crossing your arms.

Silence hung in the air as you both waited for the other to speak. When the feeling of him staring caused the burning to reach your neck and cheeks, you cleared your throat.

“JJ said you had questions about the Wakeland case,” you prompted.

He stared a moment longer before he spoke again. “Yes, but those can wait.”

You arched a brow. He closed the folder in front of him, folding his hands and resting them on top.

“I understand that my being back has been stressful for you,” he began cooly. You scoffed and shifted your weight to the other foot. He paused for a moment, then continued. “However, your frustration with me appears to be interfering with your conduct in the office, and that I can’t have.”

You willed your lips to remain shut, the words on the other side of them guaranteeing a one way ticket to the unemployment office.

You took a slow, deep breath before you brought your eyes to his. Where you thought you’d find a stoic, cold gaze was a soft, longing look that penetrated your defense. Still, you spoke cooly and evenly.

“I apologize for my misconduct. I understand that personal feelings do not belong in a professional work environment, and concerning the two with one another would be a stupid, selfish move to make. I can assure you it will not happen again.”

His head shook almost imperceptibly, the vein in his forehead made visible by the grinding of his jaw. He still wouldn’t speak. His eyes bore into yours, slowly chipping away at the defense you’d scrambled to build. Now was not the time to break. Now was not the time to show him just how much you’d missed him, and how badly it hurt to have missed him for so long. And now was certainly not the time to let tears illuminate the bags under your eyes from the late nights standing guard by the phone in case it rang and he was on the other end.

“Is there anything else?” you asked, your voice barely audible to your own ears.

You willed the tears forming in your eyes not to fall, and the heaving of your chest to remain at bay until you were safely out of his office.

He stood and crossed the room, stopping mere inches away from your face. You hadn’t been this close to him in months and the proximity was intoxicating. He still smelled familiar, despite not having been home, or in this time zone, for so long. The warmth radiating off of his chest fanned the flame burning in your lungs.

“I am sorry. I am so, so, so sorry.” His hand reached out towards your arm, but froze when your eyes flew to it, stopping it in its path. He slowly withdrew it, bringing it back to a fist at his side. Your lip found its way between your teeth as you processed his words.

When he began again, his voice was low and rushed, like if he didn’t get the words out in time you might not hear them. Your eyes remained on the spot on your arm where he’d almost touched you. “I know this wasn’t easy for you, me being gone. I didn’t know it would be for so long, and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you anything. I wanted to, believe me, but I couldn’t.” He stopped for a moment and the fist at his side fell open, his fingers flexed for a moment.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Your eyes flew to his and narrowed. His brows furrowed and his mouth fell open slightly, unsure if it was best to continue or not. “Is there anything else?” You almost didn’t recognize the cold voice as your own.

He took a step back, and you knew instantly he was attempting to profile you and the situation at hand. The logical side of your brain was telling your feet to move- to get the hell out from under his gaze. The more time he spent analyzing the way your heart was pounding and your bottom lip was beginning to quiver, the worse the odds of you making it out of his office in one piece became.

But even still, the burning in your chest and aching in your fingertips to reach out to him refused to subside. The compromise left your feet glued in place, begging for him to make the next move and decide your fate for you. “It must have been hard. To be here alone. To have your thoughts with nothing but idle time to fuel their worries.”

Your eyes slid shut. If you were going to listen, seeing him too would be too much.

“I thought about you constantly. I wondered how you were doing. I wondered if you were-”

There was that damn question again. How are you doing?

If there had only been a way to find out. Had there only been some way to get in contact with someone to answer those questions. To quell the anxious thoughts.

You laughed once, the burning in your throat from the tears turning into fire instead, fueling your words. “You could have fucking called. You could have called. You should have called!”

Your sudden exclamation caught him off guard, his hands backing up defensively.

“You wanted to know how I was, Aaron?” you snapped, “Let me tell you.”

“I was sick to my fucking stomach each and every day not knowing if you were okay. I had no way of knowing if you were blown to bits or boarding the next plane home.” The tears had started to flow, but you couldn’t stop. “For months, I had to put a face on and lie to my own team about being okay. These people trusted me with their lives and I couldn’t even trust them with the truth about how I was doing.” Your words came between broken sobs, and tears blurred your vision. “It was exhausting! I would go home and lay in bed with my phone on the loudest volume, my laptop open, and pager under my pillow just in case you called! And you didn’t!”

It briefly crossed your mind that the glass in his office wasn’t sound proof, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You finally had the responsible party in front of you and there was no stopping the words from coming.

Your hands flew to cover your eyes, the pressure of your palms digging into the hollow sockets offering a strange sense of relief.

“No. You know what? No. I’m not doing this right now.” The words were more for yourself than him, but they worked all the same.

“Let me explain. Please,” he tried, speaking gently, like you were an unstable unsub wielding a knife. That only served to piss you off even more. His arm dared reach towards you again, seeking contact.

“No!” Your shoulder jerked away from his touch as your other hand came up to point an accusatory finger in his face. “You don’t get to talk me down. The time for talking was months ago. You fucked up, Aaron.”

The use of an expletive so close to his name was never something he was a fan of, and you knew that. His raised brow fell to its familiar stern position and his mouth set in a hard line.

“If I could have contacted you, I would have. When we moved bases, our access to phones and internet became nearly nonexistent.” Albeit logical, his reasoning only served to further enrage you.

You opened your mouth to speak again, he silenced you with his hands firmly gripping both shoulders, not tentatively seeking permission this time. “I’m sorry. You have every right to be upset with me. I understand that you might need time away-”

This time it was your turn to cut him off. “But I don’t, Aaron. I don’t need time away from you. I missed you. I needed you,” you whispered between sniffles.

His grip on your shoulders and the stern look on his face both softened. “I missed you too,” he said.

Your eyes fell as the harshness around your words fell away, revealing the pain they bore instead.

“I missed you, and I hated you, and the only person I wanted to talk to about it was worlds away,” you whispered.

His arms came around you and brought you to his chest, tucking you into the crook of his neck as he rested a stubbly cheek atop your head. A fresh set of tears formed, spilling from your cheeks and staining the button up he wore open.

And you let him hold you for a while. For how long, you couldn’t be sure. It felt so right to finally be in his arms. To know that he was safe. To know that he wanted to be here with you as much as you wanted him to be.

When your breathing had evened out again, he pulled you away from his chest and held your face in his hands.

“I will never leave you again,” he said. He spoke it like a promise. One you knew better than to believe in this line of work, anyway.

You gave him a small half- smile and shrugged. “If you do, at least send me a smoke signal. Something, anything.”

He laughed, which was a rare occurrence, but a delightful one nonetheless. Each shoulder shake seemed to take a weight off of him, the worries fell away as he brought his eyes back to yours. A small giggle escaped your lips too, the emotional rollercoaster of the day deeming no other reaction worthy. Memories of nights spent awake, waiting by the phone seemed close to forgotten. The anxious pit that had permanently resided in your stomach disappeared, and your laughter became celebratory.

When your mutual fit of giggles finally subsided, his eyes landed on your lips. “I missed you,” he breathed.

Your hand came to rest on his wrist, rubbing quick circles across it as his hold on your jaw became more insistent. His hands began pulling you towards him, inching your faces closer together. In a split second of self-awareness, you pulled your face away.

“Aaron-” you started, motioning towards the door. The blinds were closed, but you were still at work.

His eyes didn’t leave your face, his hands finding their place again, turning your face back to his moments before your lips met. “I don’t care,” he whispered, his lips just barely brushing yours, “I missed you. And I love you, and I don’t care who knows it,” he finished.

The soft gasp that escaped your lips served as all the invitation he needed to seal your lips together, stealing the rest of the breath from your lungs.

His hands worked themselves from your face to your sides, pulling you impossibly close. The kiss was soft and unrushed, his hands firm but strong. Your hands found themselves at the nape of his neck, intertwining in the new length found there. He kissed you breathless, until all the cracks in your heart were filled, and the hurt and anger of the past few months was replaced with warmth.

When you finally broke away, he didn’t let you go far. He rested his forehead against yours, keeping his grip on you firm, still. “I love you,” he whispered. You nodded against him, not yet ready for that moment to pass. “I love you,” he said again. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued. “I knew before I left, but I didn’t tell you. I knew from the first time I asked you to dinner and you said no because your show was on. I knew the moment you insisted on only ever taking your coffee with that vanilla creamer. I knew from the first time I kissed you,” his eyes opened and bore into yours. “And being away from you, and not being able to talk to you or tell you was unbearable. I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” His head shook as he spoke, like he was shaking away a bad memory.

You bit your lip to stop new tears from forming, and pulled your head away so you could look him in the eye. Your hand came up to cup his cheek, and he nuzzled into your palm.

“I love you, Aaron,” you whispered. The light in his eyes mirrored yours as the smile spread across your face. You ran your thumb across his cheek, admiring the feeling. “I could get used to this.” He hummed and smiled, pulling you back under his chin and wrapping his arms around you.

“So, did you actually have questions about the case? Or..” you asked, starting to pull away.

His body shook with a laugh as he closed the small gap you’d created, placing scratchy, bearded kisses on your face.

——

Let’s talk about it!

#crimnal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner #hotch fluff #hotch x y/n #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort

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aureostuff · 3 years

Text

Anger Issues

Brothers with an MC who has anger issues, cusses like a sailor and is also very strong, but is very supportive and caring.

Gender Neutral Reader

Lucifer

He can get quite annoyed with you at times since your outbursts tend to lead you to breaking anything within a five kilometer radius, and that includes his brothers.

He’ll have to lock you up in your room to prevent anything else from breaking.

Sometimes when you get REALLY angry at him, you’ll end up swearing at him so fucking hard that Satan would literally be cheering you on.

“Lucifer you motherfucking son of a bitch where the FUCK is my Limited-Edition Vinyl Box Set?!” “MC, what did you just call me?”

This man will not accept being called a ‘motherfucking son of a bitch’, remember he’s the avatar of pride. He will not take your insult well. It also turns out that he accidentally broke it.

Though you insulted him that badly over your broken Vinyl box set, you still care for him as usual. Scolding him for having a shitty work and sleep schedule. Insisting that he could get more work done rested well. (though you’d prefer if he worked less and spent more time with you)

Mammon

Is fucking scared of you, but also fucking in love with you. He’d even sacrifice the things he’s bought that were so fucking expensive, for you to use it as a stress reliever.

Story time, when Mammon tried to escape Levi and use you as a sacrifice. You’d literally grab his jackets collar, and said to him. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Are you that scared of some scrawny-ass bitch?”

Sadly, he managed to get away.

There are cute moments between you two at times. Like how you are literally helping him get over his immense fear of Lucifer and telling him to ‘man up’ and you also encourage him to stand up to the people who bully him, like a real man.

“Listen here Mammon, you gotta stop letting your lil’ brothers bullying you. You are literally the second strongest, act like it! You’ve gotta stop acting like a pussy!”

All I can say is you’re making progress, just very slowly.

Leviathan

Remember how I said that you called Levi a ‘scrawny-ass bitch’? He was very offended by that, but couldn’t help but accept it as the truth since he is what you’d call a ‘Slim-Jim’

He’ll yell at you, saying that was offensive. And he couldn’t help it since he was a disgusting shut-in Otaku.

“Who the fuck told you you could degrade yourself huh? I see nothing wrong with how you are you fucking dumbass!”

He’ll be crying tears of gratitude, but he’ll quickly wipe them away and get down to business to defeat, the Huns.

He’ll invite you to play video games with him (specifically games like Super Smash Demons) just to see your angered reaction when he wins. He’ll find it amusing and scary at the same time. It was funny to watch the loser rage when you won. And it was scary because unlike the times when he watched the losers rage, the loser, was RIGHT beside him, and could literally put him in the hospital.

Whenever he calls himself a gross disgusting otaku, etc. you will literally smack him and swear at him very heavily, yelling at him to stop calling himself that.

Satan

You think the avatar of wrath, ANGER INCARNATE, would get along with you, A LITERAL TICKING TIME BOMB THAT’S ABOUT TO EXPLODE. Well you are sorely mistaken.

You guys would literally be the best the best of buddies. No doubt about that. You both would go to libraries (and proceed to get kicked out because of how loud you are), go to art museums to admire art. (and proceed to get kicked out because you’re being too loud and disturbing the other people who are trying to admire the art).

He’ll vent to you about his daddy issues problems with Lucifer. And you’ll gladly help him vent out all his pent up anger. “Listen here Satan. The best way to vent your anger is through violence, so if you don’t want to beat somebody to a bloody pulp, now’s your chance to do so.” when you told him that he was like: dude wtf is wrong with you. Then you told him that he could just use a punching bag.

So yay! He can let out all his anger AND get ripped! Nice. He can use his (soon to arrive) muscles to crack Lucifer’s head open, yipee!!!

Though sometimes you get angry at Satan and vice versa. You two’ll get into fights and the room you two were fighting will be absolutely DEMOLISHED. Satan would be in demon form- no joke, he will be in his fucking demon form.

You will both be incredibly bloody and beat up, that the brothers wont be able to recognize you. Apart from those ‘small’ fights, you both are very good friends and always look out for each other.

Asmodeus

He’ll be telling you that being that angry will make you look like an old person, ew!

Honestly in my opinion, he’ll be the person you’ll complain about your (small) problems to the most. He’ll be painting your nails and you’ll be like: “Dude, Beel ate the fucking food I ordered from Akudonalds! I was fucking starving and Beel just had to come along and eat it.” “I get what you mean darling, one time Beel ate the limited edition perfume I had bought and was going to use on my date with this hot succubus.”

Whenever he’ll take a pic with you, you’ll always look angry or be mid-shout in said pic.

The replies on that photo would fall into one of three categories: a. They’re mainly focusing on Asmo, b. They would be laughing at your face or c. They’d be asking on who the fuck you were.

Asmo would reply to one of the comments in category c telling them: “He’s my significant other ofc~~”

You could always sense whenever he was feeling insecure, so being the good friend you are, you pull up a chair, and have a talk with Asmo.

Beelzebub

Your strong? Well now you’re Beelzebub’s gym buddy yayyyyyy.

Ninety percent of gym equipment is broken since you get a bit too angry, and Lucifer is going to give you one heck of a scolding.

Beel will eat your food (he’s the avatar of gluttony, what’d you expect), then you’d literally be throwing hands with this giant.

“BEELZEBUUUUUUUUUUUB, HOW DARE YOU EAT THE FOOD I’VE BEEN WAITING TO ARRIVE FOR A LITERAL FUCKING HOUR.”

He’ll feel sorry and try to make it up to you, he’ll give you food, more food, even more food. Till there’s a mountain of his stash of food (plus the food from the fridge) right outside your door, he would literally wait outside your door, starving, as he’s waiting for you to go outside.

When you do go outside, you’ll spot Beel, hugging his knees, most likely asleep. You’ll sigh and grab some of the food on the pile and made your way towards the man. You grabbed him by his hair, lifting his head up. Beel would yawn and blink twice, then he’ll see your face. “MC... I’m sorry about your food...” you sighed. “Don’t worry about it Beel, now eat this shit. I know you’re hungry.”

Belphegor

When he tried to kill you, your first thoughts were: Aight, time to kick this guy in the family jewels

And that you did.

Though you still died, so your efforts were all in vain, and then you came back to life. You literally charged at him and pinned him to the ground, shouting profanities as the brothers tried to get you off of him.

Honestly, you guys really wouldn’t get along that well. If he’s going to try to sleep, one way or another you’re going to stroll in arguing with one of his brothers. You were yelling loudly and swearing a bit too much that it caused Belphie to wake up, which in itself is an impossible achievement since Belphegor could literally sleep through an entire building construction even if it was all happening right beside him.

He’d be pissed that you woke him up, and then you’d forget your previous argument and focus on the one you currently having with the Avatar of Sloth.

He’ll be very happy when he sees you have fights with Lucifer, because nobody in their right mind would dare shout curse words and punch him in the gut, apart from him and Satan of course. When Lucifer locks you up in your room, he’ll make an attempt to help you escape your prison if he’s feeling generous.

#obey me #obey me x reader #swd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons

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spices-and-cherries · 3 years

Text

Faster Than a Kitten on Parade (Benoit Blanc x Reader)

Okay, not to toot my own horn, but this is actually kind of good? Like I’m kinda proud of myself... I spent a large amount of time trying to figure out southern accents and their corresponding regions that I kinda gave up and said Mississippi. Louisiana is another safe bet? Anyway, to all Bostonians reading this, I’m sorry. I wrote what I wrote for the sake of plot.

I did not reference race, gender, sexuality, or physical appearance. If I missed something, please let me know so I can change it!

Warnings: brief description of near car accident and reckless driving

***This is pure fluff with not even a hint of angst***

Every day you take the bus to and from work. While it’s thankfully a straight shot from where you live, Boston’s public transportation leaves much to be desired. The buses rarely run on time, the traffic is miserable, and in the winter it’s living hell. Snowy, cold, wet... It makes you wonder what made you think of moving away from your hometown to this. Was the career move really worth it? Yes.

But that doesn’t mean that your commute lacks any perks. The bus stop you wait at in the morning is right outside a coffee shop, people keep to themselves (unless there’s a game coming up), and it provides you with the time you need to reflect on the day. Most of all, however, is the new guy.

One of the things that comes with riding the same bus everyday is that you tend to ride with the same people as well. So of course your curiosity is piqued when you first saw him. Everything about him seemed so different from the usual folk you see walking around Boston: kind, gentlemanly, smart...

That being said, you have yet to actually meet him...

Normally, that would be completely fine, but you have to admit something’s going on when a fellow commuter has continued to make your day more than several days in a row. Was it his smile? The way he holds himself? That time he gave up his seat for an older lady? Is it just because he’s so clearly not from Boston?

You’ve been trying to build up enough confidence to actually say something - literally anything - but you always chicken out. The first time it was because he was reading a book and you didn’t want to disturb him. The second was because he was standing barely a foot away from your seat and you blanked because that ass. The third and fourth (and admittedly fifth) time ended in a similar fashion.

That is until one glorious and blessed day.

It was snowing hard, but as usual, the city chugged along without a care. So, you had left your apartment with several layers of sweaters and more handwarmers than you could count (That’s a lie. You were carrying ten.). The bus was unusually full and by the time his stop came around, there weren’t a lot of seats left.

Did you forget to breath when you watched him look at the seat next to you?

Were your hands getting sweaty even though that shouldn’t be possible considering the temperature?

Was your heart running faster than a kitten on parade?

Yes, yes, and yes.

“May I take this seat?” His accent somehow prevented you from speaking so you just nodded and smiled. “Thank you kindly.” You shift slightly to give him some space and to try and get rid of sudden spike in adrenaline that his unexpected (and totally welcomed) accent caused...

You watch him out of the corner of your eye, trying really hard to not look weird or creepy. He has on this grey pea coat and a deep maroon colored scarf. His blue suit pants stretch just a tad over what looked to be some muscle. And his aftershave...is amazing to say the least. But all these fine details aren’t what really catch your eye. For what ever reason, this man has no gloves on. His finger tips are turning purple! Hurriedly, you look in your work bag for one of your spare handwarmers. You find it at the bottom, still in it’s packaging.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you don’t have gloves...” You hand it to him. He looks at you with surprise.

“Oh, no...! I couldn’t possibly...” His voice sounds like honey...

“I insist. I buy so many, I won’t miss one.” You push it into his hands.

“That’s mighty kind of you.” He smiles again. It’s very soft. Like marshmallow clouds kind of soft.

“Oh, not at all!” And in that moment, you did something very daring: you introduced yourself. “Um, I’m (Y/N) (L/N), by the way.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mx. (L/N). I’m Benoit Blanc, but please, call me Blanc.” He offers to shake your hand and you take it. You can feel how cold his hands are through your gloves, but it barely even registers. You’re far too busy trying to memorize his name.

Benoit Blanc.

“Is that French?” Oh. My. God. Really?

“Yes.” He chuckled a little. One side of his mouth went up, scrunching that side of his face. It was a hella cute scrunching. “On my father’s side. Immigrated several generations back.”

“I was gonna say that you don’t really look French...”

“I take after my mother.”

“Ah. That explains it.” You smile, genuinely amused. “Sothen, where are you really from then?”

“A small town in Mississippi. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

“Yeah, probably not.” You nod slightly. “I bet that it’s super different than here.”

“Heh, yeah it is.” Mr. Blanc holds the handwarmer up for a second as emphasis.

“I, uh, I’m from (hometown) - (region) - so I know where you’re coming from. Boston sure is something else, isn’t it?”

“Never have I ever - and I mean ever - been in a town as - as - as unique unto itself as Boston!” A few people look up. You don’t care. You had no idea that a man of his age could look so cute. “Apologies.” He lowers the volume of his voice - not that he really needed to. “Now, comin’ from the South, I’ve had my fair share of human nature, but the drivers here are a whole ‘nother species. It’s like the jungle out there.”

“Did you ever make the mistake of taking a taxi when you first came here?”

“Much to my chagrin, yes, yes I have.” He shakes his head disapprovingly, but you can see a little twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “Not too long ago, in fact. The man was speakin’ on the phone and nearly drove us off a bridge... Nearly had a conniption of the heart.”

“That is pretty bad. In my first ride I was this close-” You bring up your thumb and pointer finger, the pads barely a millimeter apart. “-to getting run over by a cement truck because the driver ran a red light. He got mad at me too ‘cause I didn’t tip him.”

“Good lord, that is quite the experience...” His brow furrowed slightly.

“I saw my life go past my eyes.” You say dramatically. “But hey, that’s Boston.” You sigh heavily. “Anyway, how long have you lived in the city?”

“Jus’ a couple of months.” Aha. Just around the time he first started taking the bus... “Yourself?”

“A couple of years. I feel more and more like a true Bostonian every day that passes.” You chuckle. “The plus side though, is that I can show you where all the good food is. I can be your personal tour guide!” It takes a couple of milliseconds for your brain to register what you had just said. “Well, if you’d like that... The offer, uh, stands?” What are you talking about?

“I think I jus’ might take you up on that, if you wouldn’t mind.” This man. Bless this beautiful man. God, that smile. “That bein’ said, I do believe this is my stop.”

“Already? Time flies when you’re having fun.” You smile.

“Yes it does. It was a pleasure meetin’ you, Mx. (L/N),” He stands up. “And thank you very much for your kindness.” He waves the handwarmer a little.

“You can call me (Y/N) and you are very welcome.”

“Then call me Benoit, if you please. Now you have yourself a good day.” He smiles, waves a little, and hurries off the bus. And just like that, your whole year has just been made.

Did you pass your stop a while ago?

Were you smiling like an absolute idiot anyway?

Was your heart running faster than a kitten on parade?

Yes, yes, and yes.

I hope you all like this! I had so much fun writing it and it just flowed out of me. Side note, the title is inspired by Trixie Mattel’s song, Gold. She’s a country singer, but it’s actually good, so check it out! If you have any constructive criticism or requests, please let me know! I am also a big fan of comments - they make my week every time! See you all in the next one! - Simpy

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