#imposed gender roles as possible

[perennial-bee]

"trans people are only trans because of oppressive gender roles and if we just got rid of the gender roles nobody would be trans" might sound like a hot take, a thoughtful and compassionate take, but unfortunately it is ice cold and does not understand how being trans works at all. meet and talk to and listen to more trans people - preferably in real life - before making assertions like this, especially if you yourself are not trans.

#if this was true then explain to me why my friend is still a man even though his parents tried to raise him with as few #imposed gender roles as possible #every type of woman under the sun was thrust his way with the insistence that his sex was not a limitation #and a girl can be anything she wants and do and study anything she wants #he saw and appreciated all of that and at the end of the day his kid self was still like #'thats nice and i hear you but i'm growing up into a man. you cant fool me' #this is not every trans experience but it is not an UNcommon trans experience. so this argument just doesnt hold water #also if 'giving into your dysphoria' would have made you want to die #and accepting a gender that's in line w your bio sex makes you feel better #congratulations. you are cis #and therefore you do not get to speak to the trans experience #YOUR experience is valid. projecting your experience onto the trans community is wrong #it reads to me the same as someone who thought they were ace until they realized they weren't #concluding that therefore nobody is really ace and all ace people just *think* they are #and their hidden allosexuality can be 'cured' or jumpstarted by whatever set of circumstances triggered *your* sexuality #(knew someone irl exactly like this and it was deeply frustrating) #or thinking that gay people just need to meet the right person to be in a str8 relationship with bc YOU found someone like that #like no sorry...you're just bi #i could go on #i'm frustrated. i understand where this take comes from but it's really misinformed. you need to listen to trans ppl. start there

[annalyticall]

To be honest I think I'm starting to become so apathetic to gender that I could possibly be non-binary but at the same time I am also just apathetic enough to not care about changing my pronouns or doing anything differently about how i present to people

#long gender rant incoming but i've never not identified as a woman and I'll probably always be one #but also i don't think i identify so much as a woman that i find it to be so drastically different to being a man? #like i never identified as a man either and never will but also like. idk we're all just people man #it's the roles we impose on ourselves that makes it seem like there's such a chasm there but there's not #like sure i'm sure on some level being a woman predisposes me to behave certain ways #but i was also fortunate enough to be raised in a household where my gender didn't bar me from playing with or liking things deemed for boy #so when i gravitated towards engineering and action movies and video games i mingled a lot more with boys than i did girls #not to be a 'not like other girls' girl but just because i naturally wanted to surround myself with people of common interests #and that just kind of normalized for me sharing space and thoughts with men as an equal #and sure sometimes men in particular piss me off but mostly just the men who subscribe to the bs role they were given as a 'man' #like the ones who don't think they could possibly relate to me because I'm a woman #like fuck that. obviously. but i also find it hard to identify with movies like barbie that draw such a clear divide between genders #like i remember my biggest problem with the movie is that very rarely did it feel like the kens and barbies ever genuinely liked each other #i know that wasn't the point of the movie. it is a critique of gender roles and the patriarchy so relationships were not the focus #but i also couldn't really see myself in the barbies and i found it kinda hard to fully immerse myself in the message of it #idk. all this to say i am a woman but sometimes i wish i didn't have to make a big deal about it #oh yeah okay no wonder i'm bisexual

[pinkie-pop]

"I Must Confess, I Am Not What I Seem."

Featuring: Gender-Neutral reader, Furina, Isekaied!Reader, SAGAU, Imposter AU, Golden Blood AU

Word Count: 2.4k

Synopsis: There is a thin line that separates lies from truth, falsehoods from facts. You are a tightrope walker, it would seem.

Includes: Spoilers for 4.2, injury, religious themes

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“I am a vast ocean confined into the shape of a small and shallow puddle. I am more than you could ever know, yet less than what I am truly meant to be. Does this not answer your question?” You say, golden ichor staining your white robes.

“I…I’m afraid it does not, Your Most Honorable Righteousness,” Clorinde looks down, uncharacteristically nervous. The weight of your title sits heavily upon her tongue—a Fontainion nickname someone coined eons ago.

“Then, allow me to state this in a way you can understand,” you say, now addressing not only her but the crowd around you—everyone gathered in the dueling grounds to watch your fight, now watching with bated breath upon this new development. “I bleed because I am human. Gold because I am a God. I am paradox itself—a godly soul contained in a human vessel. Are you starting to understand now?” Whispers begin to fill the street as everyone takes in what you just said. ‘The Creator has descended to Teyvat in a human body!’ They say. ‘Is such a thing even possible?’ They ask. ‘Of course,’ comes the response. ‘It’s happening right in front of us!’ ‘What’s going to happen to Fontaine?’ says a pragmatic one. ‘Our Champion Duelist nearly killed Them! We called Them an imposter!’ You listen in on the conversations, pleased with the way the rumors spin themselves. Now that the spark has been made, the fire will come next. They’ll weave together their own tales and explanations from your words; the rumors will exaggerate and grow until you no longer need to say a word. They will answer their own questions. Your work here is done.

Truth be told, you’re bluffing about all of this. When you first came to Fontaine, you had no idea what all the talk of being a divine imposter was about. You went along with it, believing yourself to be dreaming, not caring where the tides took you. You didn’t choose to duel for your honor because you knew your blood was golden (Of course not. How could you have known?), you only wanted this dream to be over. 

The pain gave it away. This was all too real. You weren’t dreaming. You had been in real danger. The blade that pierced your chest could have gone straight into your heart, had you not leaped back in reflex. The thought makes you sick, but you do not show it. No, you have a role to play. You are no god, but if it means you won’t be hunted down or hanged for blasphemy, you are more than willing to pretend.

You cautiously raise a hand to your wound. It stings. You look down at your hand, coated in yellow. Dizziness overtakes you, and you fall to the ground.

But you do not hit the ground. Someone catches you.

And all fades to black.

•~•~•~•~•~•

When you come to, you spot familiar faces standing by your bedside. Clorinde, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Sigewinne, and Furina, too. The four pillars of Fontaine’s political system are all gathered by your bedside. The room you're in is luxurious, colored in a white and (you suspect, real) gold palette. The size and luxury of the room is imposing, reminiscent of a cathedral. You suppose this ‘Creator’ must be a big deal. You try to move, but searing pain shoots up from your wound. Right, you had already forgotten.

“Your Holiness, please be careful!” Says Sigewinne. “You don’t want to pop your stitches, do you? I'll help you sit up.”

“Many eyes watch my movements and recovery. Can I take this to mean you all have something to say?” You think you're getting the hang of talking like someone divine. You can only hope the ones around you buy it.

Neuvillette speaks first. “I am sorry to disturb you during what should be a peaceful rest, but we have some questions for you.” 

“Speak for yourself,” says Wriothesley. “I'm only here to watch over Siegewinne.”

“Oh? Is that so? I had just assumed you were just as curious about Them as the rest of us. My mistake,” says Clorinde, voice dripping with sarcasm. Wriothesley scoffs but doesn't say anything.

“You spoke of questions,” you say, redirecting the conversation. “Yet all I hear is idle chatter.” Wriothesley and Clorinde both look away. Neuvillette clears his throat, but Furina speaks first. 

“Is there…a reason you have decided to descend?” She asks, a hint of anxiety in her voice and her face painted with worry. You know what she's thinking without her even having to say anything. She's worried about the prophecy. You may as well ease her concerns.

“Must I have a reason to visit my own creations? I simply wished to see how things have changed.” Furina visibly relaxes, then, seeming to catch herself, straightens immediately. “Now that you have asked something of myself, I, too, have a query with which to exchange. Where are we?”

“Le Berceau Du Créateur—Fontaine’s largest temple and the place most appropriate for someone of your status,” says Neuvillette. You nod pensively, pretending you've heard of it.

“This is our grandest room, made specifically in the case that you were ever to visit Fontaine. I do hope it meets your preferences and standards.”

“Luxury means little to me, but this room has been made with care and dedication. That is enough.” Neuvillette relaxes ever so slightly.

Rather suddenly, Clorinde kneels in front of you. “Please, your Eminence, I cannot take it any longer. Punish me,” she says. You look at her with an expression you hope mimics apathy. Truthfully, a part of you does wish to punish her, to get some sort of sick satisfaction out of her misery, but you refrain from showing such intentions. You will not punish her. You will be a gracious and forgiving god. You will earn their respect and gratitude.

“I will do no such thing. If there is nothing else, I'd like to be alone now. I'm sure you understand,” you say, making eye contact with Clorinde. Everyone leaves, though Clorinde lingers the longest, a silent apology on her lips as she walks out the door.

•~•~•~•~•~•

You heal remarkably fast. It takes no more than a week for your injury to heal completely. Not even a scar remains. By now, word of your arrival has already spread across Tevyat, and countless letters and requests for visitation follow. You allow only the most important of guests into your temple, that is, only the “acolytes” (that is, playable characters). Truthfully, you dread each appointment. Pretending to be wise beyond your years, to ooze divinity, and to fool both mortals and Gods alike is…a lot of work, to say the least. But you have to keep up appearances. You don't want to get hurt again.

Today you have a meeting with The Seven. You can only hope that things go smoothly. 

Not much happened during the meeting, but you did ask Furina to stay a while longer. The two of you proceed to the drawing room, where tea and snacks have already been served. 

“You wanted to speak to me, Your Righteousness?” Furina asks, her cake and tea untouched, likely waiting for you to eat first. You pick up your teacup with a practiced elegance and take a sip. Furina is quick to follow your lead. Her nervous scramble to mirror your movements brings a small smile to your face. 

“Furina,” you say, putting the teacup down. She straightens in her seat, hanging off your every word.

“Yes, Your Holiness,” she says, sitting on the edge of her seat.

“Soon, you will have a day where everything seems to go wrong. It will feel like everything you’ve built up will have fallen, broken, down at your feet. Take heart, for this is not the ending you fear. Your suffering has not been for naught. When the time comes for you to sit crying on your throne, please remember these words. The prophecy will not come to pass.”

•~•~•~•~•~•

“Hey, did you hear? Everyone’s been saying that The Creator has a favorite Acolyte!”

“They do? But I thought They were impartial.”

“It seems even the Gods play favorites…” 

“It’s Focalors!”

“Who’s the lucky person?”

“Seriously? I suppose They have been staying in Fontaine a lot, but wasn’t it Fontaine that falsely charged Them in the first place?”

“I know, right? I mean, I like Lady Furina as much as the next guy but, she isn’t the most…” 

“Shh! Hey, don’t finish that thought! You don’t want to get charged with blasphemy, do you? You can’t us insult Their favorite like that!”

“So? Do you think she’ll be made a consort?”

“Hey! What did I just say? We’re not talking about this anymore. I’m not going to get beheaded for gossip.”

“They have been meeting with her more often than anyone else… I wouldn’t be surprised if there was something between them…”

•~•~•~•~•~•

“Your Holiness, may I ask why you have me visit you so often?” Furina fiddles with her hands, staring down at her lap. You look at her curiously before answering.

“I feel at ease when I am with you,” comes your reply. “We have more in common than you think.”

“We have something in common?” Asks Furina, bewildered. “What is it?” You smile at her.

“Patience, Furina. All in due time.”

•~•~•~•~•~•

“Hey, did you hear? Have you heard the news? Lady Furina is a human!”

“I hear she was placed under a curse.”

“A human?! But she’s been alive for five hundred years!”

“But why would she pretend to be a god?”

“Beats me.”

“Of course not. Why would They play favorites with her if They knew she was human?”

“What about The Creator? Do you think They knew?”

“But how could They not have known? They are the God above Gods, after all.”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you think They knew?”

•~•~•~•~•~•

“So this is what you meant,” Furina says, nibbling on a cake you had imported from Liyue. “When you said everything would work out, I mean.”

“Yes,” you reply, sipping from your teacup.

“Yes,” you say again. “It must have been so hard for you. I can only imagine the loneliness and suffering you’ve had to endure these past hundreds of years.” Furina looks to be on the verge of tears. You’ve wanted to say this to her for a long time. You allow her to lean into you as she releases five centuries worth of tears. When she finally stops, the front of your shirt is thoroughly soaked. You can't find it in yourself to mind. 

“You knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

“I must apologize for showing you something so unsightly,” she says, seemingly embarrassed. 

You tell her you don't mind, though it seems to do little to ease her worries. 

“Your Reverence, may I ask…why me?” You raise an eyebrow, prompting her to continue. “I mean, I’m nobody special. Not anymore, anyway. I’m not an Archon, I’ve quit the stage, I’m not even immortal…Why do you choose to waste your time with someone like me?”

“What? N-no, I–”

“Are you questioning my judgement?”

“I was joking, you know.”

“O-oh, I see—I mean, yes, of course you were! I was merely playing along, eheh…” 

“Furina,” you say, placing your teacup in its saucer as Furina hastens to do the same. “Do you remember what I said to you the last time we met?”

“Just as I said back then, we have more in common than you may realize.”

“Of course, you said that you felt at ease when you were with me, but I still don’t understand why…”

“We have something in common? But what could it—No, you don’t mean…?”

“I-I can’t. It can’t possibly be true, I must have lost my mind for a moment.”

“Say it.”

“Forgive me, please. I don’t know what came over me, I-I—”

“Say it.”

“Say it.” Furina pauses, seeming to mull over her options. Her movements are skittish, her voice full of anxiety as she paces back and forth, muttering words of apology and justifications.

“You’re not…our God?” Her voice is little more than a whisper. You nod at her, and she collapses onto the couch. “B-but your blood! What about your blood?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that, either. It used to be red, but it changed once I came to this world. I don’t know how or why.” Furina remains silent, seeming to mull over your words even as the world around her collapses. 

“What about the vessels? The Traveler? You controlled them, didn't you? You controlled me!”

“That was my doing, but not my power."

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.” You shrug, taking your fork to your slice of cake.

“Fake deep,” you say. “Most of what comes out of my mouth is total BS, but people nod along and act like it’s something profound because they believe I am a God.” 

“What about your speech? All the cryptic wording and allegories?”

“Wisdom isn’t something you can just fake. The people aren’t stupid, they know when they’re being fed what isn’t food.”

“And yet, here we are.” 

“And yet, they didn’t.”

“You can’t not be our God, surely the Archons would have noticed if–” Furina stands up, pacing back and fourth like a caged animal.

“But, but—!”

“Of course, you’re human! But you’re still our God! Did what you said about oceans and puddles really mean nothing at all?! Everyone said you’re an incarnation of The Creator. How can that be lies? You even said that you had lost all memories of Godhood; how can you know that it’s not true?” She raises some good points, but you know it’s nothing more than the ramblings of the desperate.You really hadn’t expected her to take it so hard. Perhaps you overestimated her. Furina throws herself back onto the couch and then sighs. She moves to sit upright and smooth out the creases in her outfit. “I suppose you would know more about this situation than I would, and I must apologize for my…outburst. You must understand, this is quite a shock to me.” You nod at her. 

“I’m sorry, Furina. But I really am human, just like you.”

“But still,” she says. “How can you be so sure?”

“Furina,” you say hesitantly, looking at her as if you were about to say something unpleasant. “The Creator…doesn't exist.”

#yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau #self aware genshin #yandere neuvillette #yandere wriothesley #yandere furina

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking Point (1/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Ghost x GN!Reader

Soap's version.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Ghost is... Ghost; taciturn, blunt, aloof, but Not An Asshole, protective, trustworthy, He's Trying ☆.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing. Ghost's part is significantly darker than Soap's (in terms of suicide ideation, not as in he's a yandere).

WORDS COUNT: 3.6k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃 Ghost role-plays (NOT SEXUAL) as the world's worst psychiatrist. Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

The sight of the dark, bulky silhouette standing in the frame does nothing to appease your worries - quite the opposite. Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be fucking Ghost. The most intimidating - not to say terrifying - man on the whole base, but also the most cryptic. 

Towering over 190cm and built like few were, even on a military base, you had recoiled despite yourself the first time you met. Every single detail regarding him was redacted - you knew because you had checked his file, consumed by curiosity -, including his own face - unvaryingly covered by a black mask adorned with a white skull. That semblance of halloween mask and an alias was all that he shared with the world. 

He dispensed his words in dribs and drabs to a handful of privileged people, which seemed limited to your supervisor, Captain Price, who was also his direct superior, and his teammates of the Task Force 141. He couldn’t have offered you more than ten syllables in the six months you’ve been there. Yet, everyone knew who he was, what he was capable of, and crowds systematically parted with his passage like the Red Sea. 

You had wisely taken the resolution to not heed the rumors about him, which ranged from hardly believable to frankly ridiculous, but you couldn’t help the knot in your stomach every time he was nearby. It wasn’t only his imposing stature that put you on edge, but mainly the fact that he was always impassive. His mask effectively hid his emotions, sure, but his voice didn’t let anything show through either. Most of the time you had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, leaving you puzzled at how to interact with him. Not that there were that many interactions to begin with, but the few that happened left you with a lasting impression.

However you were pleased with yourself after you quit agonizing over his opinion of you, focusing instead on doing your best to treat him like the other soldiers. He may not be friendly, but he never had been disrespectful either.

You stare at him in horror, a deer in the headlights, unable to emit a sound. You didn’t even have the time to fabricate a bunch of excuses to get you out of this situation.

Shit, shit, shit. What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?

“Ya good?” 

His tone is gruff, as it always is, but not hostile. The question feels like a way out of this awkward situation, a lifebelt. You cling onto it like you're lost at sea.

Maybe you can still turn this around - pretend everything is OK. He will follow the implicit rules of politeness and leave you to it.

You hasten to reply.

“Yeah, yeah, it's fine. I'm fine.”

As you finish drying your face, he steps into the room, stopping in front of your desk.

“Did you need something?”

Your voice automatically switches to “customer service” mode, and you plaster a fake smile on your face. The mental image of a puppet, strings forcing the corner of its lips to lift, comes to your mind.

Ghost doesn't respond. His eyes are searching your face like it's an encrypted message that could provide a target's position.

Your smile vacillates under his scrutiny. The examination is cold, clinical; there's no warmth nor sympathy in those brown eyes.

“Doesn't look fine to me.”

He announces the statement like a fact, voice dull, neutral. He doesn't provide sympathy, but he doesn't cast judgment either. It’s not less irritating though.

Your first instinct is to snap at him, tell him to mind his own business, ask why he even cares. You resist it. Picking quarrels will only make matters worse. You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Ghost turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced. He still recalls vividly the moment he stopped considering you like another faceless office worker amongst others and made an effort to remember your name.

He was mindlessly killing time in the break room with Gaz and Soap until you showed up at the door, a forced smile on your face, attempting to look casual but your body language betraying your nervousness. He spotted you first, the other two engaged in a lively conversation. Relief spread on your face when you saw he had noticed you, sparing you the trouble of having to call out for him, and you approached.

“Ghost, can I have a word? … in private?”

He straightened up from the wall he was leaning on and followed you wordlessly, feeling the prying stares of his teammates lingering on him. You stopped in the hallway to face him.

“You forgot to fill out the medical part in your last report.”

Fingers linked together, you were anxiously twiddling your thumbs. His eyes followed the movement unconsciously.

“I haven't.”

You frowned in uncomprehension. 

“Your medical file said-”

“I know what the medical file said,” he retorted firmly, hoping that you would understand his intention without him having to spell it out loud.

The furrow in your brows didn’t go away, quite the contrary.

“You want me to lie.”

The statement wasn’t an accusation, but a request for confirmation.

“You catch on quick.”

The sarcasm and patronization unintentionally slipped into his voice. You were just a newbie trying to do your job well, after all. However the others before you never took the trouble to confront him about this, either out of fright or negligence, and this felt like a waste of his time.

He watched you search his face for something, an explanation, a way out? You bit your lips, conflicted, before replying:

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow that you couldn’t see, crossing his arms. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. He wasn’t used to being turned down anymore, except for so few individuals, like Price or Laswell, that they could be counted on the fingers of one hand. That the first person to oppose him in so long wasn’t an uptight high ranking or a gutsy enemy, but you, an average civilian, was definitely a surprise. 

“I'm not taking that risk”, you added with a determination he didn’t expect.

“Ya wouldn’t be takin’ any. Nobody will be none the wiser.”

“That's not what I- urgh. I am not letting you go back injured on the field! I don't care if you're the ghost or whatever, you’re not invulnerable. So either you fill that damn file or I'm telling Price.”

“Oh? You'd snitch on me?”

“I'd do it to save your life, yeah.”

And with that, you shoved the papers in his chest, turned around and walked away. You had barely disappeared around the corner that he was already mentally calling himself a bloody idiot. Why had it been so tempting to provoke you? Because out of nowhere your usually bashful self showed audacity? Because you were absurdly hellbent on defending his expandable life? No matter the reason, he started to look at you differently from that day on.

Clearly you and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

He deposits the stack of files he had been holding on your bureau, but as you reach to seize them, he covers your hand with his own and leans in.

You would have stared in disbelief at his gloved hand over yours if the proximity of his face wasn’t a much more pressing matter. You can feel your face warm up and you loathe it.

“Those'll still be there tomorrow, love.”

You blink in surprise at the pet name. It's like you're a spooked horse and he's trying to soothe you with sweet nothings.

“But the paperwork-”

“Fuck the paperwork.”

Easy for him to say.

“But Price-”

“I'll deal with Price.”

“My mom's in the hospital”, you brutally admit, having run out of pretext.

You look each other in the eye for what seems forever. 

“Ye take yer coffee with three sugars, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah?”

You reply hesitantly, stunned by the ask that, a priori, has nothing to do with your wholehearted confession. How did he even know that? The words have barely left your lips that he already disappeared into the corridor. You stare in disbelief at the door, mouth agape. You poured your fucking heart out and that socially inept bastard in his goofy ass halloween costume just ditched you after wringing the truth out of you like you were an interrogated enemy soldier.

Sipping the content of your mug with the Ghost's unblinking stare fixated on you is an unsettling experience, to say the least. Seated on the chair facing your desk, legs wide open, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and gray pants, one hand holding his mug of tea, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat down. 

Does he seriously not realize how unnerving his starring is?

He exudes an aura of tranquil power; the unchallenged authority of someone who is used to being obeyed without question, combined with the nonchalance that comes with being unmatched. Even casually sprawled like this, he remains formidable.

A few minutes ago, he set down a steaming mug in front of you and a box of tissues - a delicate attention that sent a pang in your chest -, before taking a seat. The fingers of his free hand are softly taping his knee.

“Guess I won’t need to kill anyone tonight,” he declares in a detached manner.

You blink in incomprehension at that.

“But you don’t have a mission tonight…”

“Won’t have to kill anyone for makin’ ya cry,” he clarifies.

“Oh.”

What else can you possibly reply to that? The murder machine lounging in front of you has enough confirmed kills to make a sniper of legend green with envy.

“So…”, you initiate, not without uncertainty, “is this the moment where I get everything off my chest?”

“Do whatever ya want.” he placidly counters, shrugging.

It really, considerably, sounds like he doesn't care at all; but if he did, he wouldn’t be here.

You take a deep breath, staring at your desk.

“She's in the ICU. Paralyzed, intubated, put in a coma.”

Tears flood your eyes again. This time you don't try to fight them.

“I'm terrified for her. But, what's worse is…”

You swallow your saliva; blink in rapid succession - the tears sting.

“I can’t help but think the worst. About what'll become of me without her.”

Water overflows your eyes. The dam ruptures abruptly. Raw honesty spills from your lips.

“She’s all I have. Without her, I have nothing. I am nothing.”

The ensuing silence is deafening. You wonder what the hell you’re doing. There’s something about the man in front of you that, paradoxically, makes you want to confide in him. Despite his lack of warmth, he feels steady, reliable. A rock to lean on when your whole world is crumbling. Solid ground when it feels like everything is caving in around you. Like you could lay all your burdens on him and he wouldn’t even flinch under what feels like the weight of the world.

You feel awfully selfish to entertain that thought, but you doubt he'd ever give you the opportunity to return the favor. 

“Bollocks.”

His tone is surlier than before. You look up at him to be sure you heard correctly.

“What about yer job? Ye enjoy it, right?”

You scoff bitterly at that.

“It's just a temporary gig. I'll be kicked out in two months.”

“We can make it permanent.”

You shoot him an incredulous look.

“You're just saying that.”

“‘M not. Wouldn't lie just to make ye feel better. Not my style.”

A cynical chuckle escapes you before a mischievous smirk stretches your lips.

“I’m sorry big guy, when did you get nominated as the commander of the base? Cause as far as I know this is outside your jurisdiction.” 

A similar smile spreads behind his mask. He’d take your sass over your tears any day.

“I have my ways,” he replies tranquilly.

From anyone else, you’d call it bragging or bluffing. Coming from the Ghost, it doesn’t sound as anything but the truth. He stares at you intensely, as if daring you to doubt him again, or intent on proving you his integrity through gaze alone. 

You look away, your cheeks heating up.

Ghost never minded that you can’t maintain eye contact. Just like he’s not into small talk, or physical contact. He knows most people tend to take it the wrong way, interpret it as contempt, when it couldn't be further from the truth.

“Thank you, but I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’d feel like I’m manipulating you.” 

He chuckles darkly, sending a shiver crawling down your spine, one you do not know if it was born of fear entirely or attraction. 

“Oh sweetheart, you couldn’t even if you tried.” 

Another tingle. Definitely pleasant this time. You desperately busy yourself with the content of your mug, the effects of that sentence on you too intense for the solemnity of the situation. 

Your strategy proves itself fruitful until a movement at the periphery of your vision attracts your gaze. You peek without thinking, and freeze at the sight of Ghost lifting his mask above his nose to drink from his cup. One scar crosses his mouth, another departs from the corner of his lips, both ancient but deep. They don’t faze you though - truth be told, the omnipresent mask made you expect him to look like a world war one veteran, so heavily disfigured that you wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?”

He doesn’t sound even remotely annoyed, but you lower your eyes in shame all the same.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“If I didn’t wantcha to look, I wouldn’t have taken it off.”

As you need a moment to take in the implications of that sentence, he talks again.

“What's your poison?”

“Pardon?” you reply, genuinely lost.

He snorts at your exaggerated politeness.

“Coffee isn’t gonna cut it. Whataya usually take when you feel like this? Alcohol? Cigs?”

A pause.

“Sex?”

You choke and set down your mug out of fear of dropping it.

“No, no… and no.”

“Nothing?”

He sounds doubtful.

“I… cry myself to sleep?”

It makes no sense to formulate it like a question, but everything about this is surreal.

He hums, contemplative.

“You’re not making this easy.”

“What?”

“Helpin’ ya.”

You scoff, suddenly irritated.

“You could lend me one of your guns and let me blow my brains off with it. That would help.”

 “Not gonna happen,” he counters with emphatic authority that leaves no place for rebuttal. 

“Worth a shot,” you say, trying to get the last word. “Ha, shot. Get it?”

“Very funny.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, like he’s a tired parent indulging you, a tireless child.

“You just don’t have any humor.”

The words left your lips before you could consider their impact. Yes, you never heard the Ghost laugh, but maybe he has a very good reason for that. Maybe several. Maybe you’re just a fucking asshole.

“Why are colds bad criminals?” 

Your head pivots towards him so fast you fear your neck is going to snap.

“Why…?”

“Because they’re easy to catch.”

You stare at him in bewildered silence, not quite believing what just happened, before starting to laugh, first softly, then, carried away, louder and louder, bordering on hysterical. You don’t even giggle because of the joke, but because the contrast between the silliness of it and how deadpan Ghost was when enunciating it is simply too good. That, and the nerves are probably getting the better of you.

“Never had anyone laugh that much at this one before.”

You attempt to get your breath back, alternating between pants and laughs, wiping a solitary tear at the corner of your eye.

“It’s just… you… I didn’t see it coming, jeez.”

Sighing wistfully, you take in the quietude of this fleeting moment.

“This is nice.”

“I'm always nice,” grunts the lieutenant. 

You let out a good-natured scoff, then reality catches up to you.

“SHIT! What time is it!?” you shout in panic as you violently get up. “Maybe I can still catch a bus-”

You log out of your work session, turn off your PC and shove all your belongings inside your bag in record time. Ghost barely bats an eye, still like a languid cat; a very big, very dangerous cat.

“You can spend the night.”

“No I can’t!”

You push your chair under your desk and pick up your coat.

“We can make some sorry bloke sleep outside.”

“Noooo- That's horrible!”

You have no idea if he’s messing with you or not.

“Not worse than what's waiting for ‘em on the field.”

“Well, I still can’t do that.”

“Good for you that I can, then.”

You finally look at him, an half-amused smile on your lips, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Lemme guess. This is you ‘having your ways’ again, isn’t it?”

His offer is tempting. You really don’t want to be left to your own devices tonight.

He stands up and takes a step towards you while pulling his mask down and, oh, with him sitting this all time, you would have almost forgotten how much he towers over you.

“S’that a yes or a no?”

You could almost detect a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“It’s a yes, sir,” you retort while pronouncing the “sir” with as much impertinence as you can muster.

“Better keep up, then.”

And just like that, he vacates the premises, and you do have to focus to keep up because those long legs of his ain’t just for show.

As you two travel across corridors unknown to you, you wonder once again what the hell you’re doing, hanging out with this mountain of a man who’s more myth than human, and breaking the rules of a military base on a whim. Lost in thought, you don’t pay attention to the voices edging closer, and you’re completely taken aback when Ghost grabs you by the back of your shirt and drags you in a dark alcove with him. You’re so astounded, you don’t even make a sound. He takes hold of the back of your head and presses you against him to occupy as little space as possible, effectively hiding you from the men walking by. Only then you recognize Captain Price among other officers.

“Sorry ‘bout that, love,” whispers the man you’re squeezed against, barely audible, imperturbable as ever, like this is an everyday situation for him.

You don’t answer - you can’t, anyway, essentially muffled by his pecs. You should be more irked by those circumstances, but the sudden proximity set your face ablaze, therefore you’re very happy with its current concealment. 

“Price will have my head if he thinks I made you cry.”

You’re about to protest, but then you remember that one time when Soap tagged along when you were carrying a huge box back from the archives, and when Price saw you two, Soap unconcerned with empty hands, and your face almost disappearing behind the imposing cardboard, he called the sergeant a bloody useless muppet and then proceeded to call into question his ability to transport his rucksack for days. Nevermind that you were the one who insisted on carrying the crate on your own as it provided a nice workout, and that you had to bare your teeth at Soap to prevent him from taking it from you.

When the peril has walked by and Ghost releases you, you silently thank the shadows around you hiding how affected you are by this ersatz of a hug. Later, he drops you off at an unoccupied bedroom, small but including a bathroom and furnished with everything you could ever want. You say your goodbyes and your thanks at the door, and he. pats. your head. You don’t even have time to be outraged that he states he will see you tomorrow, something that sounds like a promise as much as a threat, probably in reference to the morbid fantasies you shared, and he vanishes into the shadows like a… ghost.

A/N : The real reason Ghost ran out:

He be googling “how to comfort female civilian age between 20 and **”

In the TF Group Chat (Price not included):

“We have an emergency.”

“Send as many kitten pics as possible to [Reader] … stat.”

#mine #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod fic #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost fluff #hurt/comfort #cod fluff

[dathen]

I found a soft quietude come over me. Here I am, sitting at a little oak table where in old times possibly some fair lady sat to pen, with much thought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love-letter, and writing in my diary in shorthand all that has happened since I closed it last.

This segment gives me so much joy, but is a great example of what makes Jonathan incredibly unique among similar types of horror victims in Victorian literature.

A lot of academic analysis notes Jonathan’s traditionally feminine role in the early chapters of Dracula, but chalk it up to “the horror of emasculation”—that Dracula imposing femininity on Jonathan expresses the gender role anxiety of the time and is part of how Dracula terrorizes him.

But that’s just straight-up not how the book is written. Jonathan is comforting himself with his connection to the sweet, soft ladies of old, wishing he were writing love letters to his own love far away. He soothes himself with the image as a way to escape the horrors surrounding him. He encourages himself with the comparison to Shezerade and her cleverness earlier.

It’s the difference between “Jonathan is facing horrors traditionally imposed on female characters” and “the horrors INCLUDE the connection to female characters.” That distinction is enforced by how he, on his own, finds comfort and encouragement by thinking of himself among their number.

It’s a distinction that wouldn’t be obvious from just reading a summary of the story, which in all honesty seems to be what some academic analysis is working from.

#dracula daily #jonathan harker #gothic heroine jonathan harker

[yutaleks]

was horny, had to get this out somewhere. wc: 1.7k. afab gn reader x yuuta, pegging. reader squirts. Divider by cafekitsune

There's something specific about a strapless strap-on that drives Yuuta insane.

You didn't really notice until the second time you had him laying on his back, knees clinging to your sides, and head turned away from you, his face pathetically buried in his pillow with only the red tip of his left ear and the reddened splotches on his neck bared to you. The first time you ever fucked him lasted a good whole three minutes before he was a mess of sweat and cum, but this second time at least he had enough restraint to last a little longer.

But paired with his newfound vigor for lasting longer than the length of a pop song was the fact that this time you could whole-heartedly study him. No longer was he on his knees and elbows, eyes screwed shut and body trembling like a wet dog in the breeze as you pushed yourself into his virgin hole; Instead, this time, you got to watch his reactions: a first-class ticket to the many faces you didn't think your boyfriend could possibly make.

The first was one of surprise: impossibly blue eyes widened and kiss-bitten, sore lips parted as you shimmied up the bed, your five-inch fuscia-colored silicone penis jutted out in his direction like an ominous warning. It's not that he was afraid (because, holy shit, that first time you touched his prostate was the first time he swore he saw God), but perhaps the vulnerability of the whole thing made his skeleton want to push its way out from under his flesh.

What if he came too quickly again? How embarrassing would that be.

And though he never subscribed to the ultra-masculine, rigid gender roles thought to be imposed upon most heterosexual relationships (I mean, you're fucking him in the ass for crying out loud), there was still some unconditioning that was happening in his mind; it was taking a bit of getting used to, to tell himself that it's okay to want this. While most porn in the vein of being penetrated had way too much aggression and leather for his taste, something about seeing you in this position, and the intimacy of being the one penetrated... well, the thought had him rock hard, frankly. He wanted it so badly he'd sit there spreading his legs for you any day of the week.

Which brought him then to his second set of endearing expressions. As your hips touched the back of his thighs, you produced a cute little remote, the color of which was matching with the strap-on. During your first time, you were easier on him--you'd used a more traditional strap-on, a silicone dildo placed into a harness which wrapped around your pelvis. It was simple, flesh-colored and barren of any fancy vibrational modes (pulsation? really?). So when you'd lightly tossed the remote with little warning, and giggled in an endearing way as he scrambled to catch it in his palms, you smiled at his expression of confusion.

"You can make it vibrate," you'd told him as you squeezed lube onto your fingertips.

"For me?" He blinked, voice too innocent for a guy who'd just had three of your fingers knuckle-deep in his ass.

"Either one of us."

He gasped a little bit at that, as if the possibility of making yours vibrate had never even occurred to him. His eyes followed, up and down, as you pumped the silicone shaft with a closed lubricated fist, not unlike what someone would do with an actual penis. Your level of command over yourself was intimidating, though he wouldn't tell you that.

As you grabbed the back of his thighs and adjusted your positions, Yuuta could barely even look at the remote, too entranced by the sight of you. With no straps hugging your sides, if it weren't for the pink color of the silicone, it'd almost feel real... something about that made the back of his neck sweat.

"Ready for me?"

He nodded twice before his expression of confusion, innocence, morphed into one of absolute desperation. And you hadn't even pushed in more than the tip.

"hah," he panted as you rocked your hips into him. You gave him an inch, and tugged it away, like the rise and ebb of ocean waves. "m-more,"

"Yuu-"

With eyes trained on your pelvis, mind swimming with thoughts about how much closer he felt to you without straps in the way, he'd reached out for your forearms, mumbling some pathetic verbiage that barely could count as a whimper. All you could make out was "closer" before the overachiever lifted his hips just slightly off the mattress. You'd notice his lust as you prepped him but his eyes took on a ravenous quality as he took in the image of you, silicone cock and no straps to be seen, fucking into him so confidently.

"okay, okay," you cooed as you leaned down, thighs pushing his own back until he had folded himself up. Leaning down, a new expression of his emerged: lids half-closed, pupils so watery and warbling you'd think he were crying. He outright begged to kiss you, as the last of the silicone cock was pushed into him by your merciful thrusts. How sweet you were, kissing and swallowing at every moan as his strong, toned arms wrapped around your shoulders, begging for more skin-to-skin.

Had he forgotten the remote entirely? You wondered.

When you were finally inside him, fully to the hilt of your strap, you felt the ridges of its base against your clit, and Yuuta outright shivered at the deep moan that left your lips. It was at that moment that he remembered the remote, the second button on it dedicated to the clitoral stimulator. Would you like that? He'd do anything you liked.

So as you pinned down his knees, lifting away just enough to get into a comfortable thrusting position, Yuuta found the remote that he had so carelessly discarded just on the pillow beside his face. A smearing of blush, just the faintest hint of pink, settled across his cheekbones as he watched you pull out and push back into him; from this angle, he couldn't even see the strap. It fooled him into this sense that he was being impaled on your cock.

Fuck, he already needed to cum at the thought.

He slammed one of the buttons without looking at which one, his face turned away to hide his weakening resolve. He thought he had pressed the button to stimulate your clit, or perhaps even the bulb inside of you; but to your chagrin, he had pressed the vibrating mode of the cock that was currently five inches deep inside of him.

"Ah!" he immediately yelped, having never felt a sensation like that before. The reddening of his skin worsened as you giggled at his helplessness, splotches of affection blooming from his jawline to his sternum. A particularly pointed thrust from you did nothing to help the matter.

"Yuuta, baby," you gave his knee a pinch, to which he turned just enough away from the pillow for it to count as a reply. "Want me to stop?"

"No!" he quipped, embarrassingly quickly and just as embarrassingly loud. "N-no, please,"

"You're so cute."

He retaliated with a press of another button. This one, the vibrator inside of you. Your hips stuttered, a labored breath leaving your lips as you paused your movements. With both ends of the strap-on vibrating inside of you both, suddenly Yuuta was so grateful you'd switched from the previous, simple strap. What an incredible feat of technology, he thought for a moment, watching how endearingly you gritted your teeth, attempting to keep your composure.

Perhaps Yuuta's next expression, one that looked to you as if he'd discovered teasing for the very first time, made your stomach flip on its side. Yuuta pressed the button once more, upping your vibrator. He could be a little cheeky when he wanted to be.

"The clit one," your voice, strained, asked him as you slammed into his backside. Each thrust into him had the ridged side of the strap nudging against your swollen, neglected clit. It was you, begging for relief, that spurred him to press the button.

"Oh, fuck,"

what a lovely sound to hear. Yuuta, with cock twitching against his navel, shut his eyes and babbled pleas into the space between your bodies. He pressed buttons on the remote at random, upping the intensity of each piece of the strap until he wriggled against the sheets, body convulsing with the need to cum. Vaguely he could hear you coming apart, a low, sexy moan rolling off your tongue as your grip on the back of his thighs turned painful. He didn't care; fuck he didn't care at all when he was seconds away from coming all over your dick.

Which he did, with an unceremonious sound that perhaps resembled an animal dying. You didn't remember it, fucking yourself on the base of the strap to chase your own high, which had been building slowly pre-clit vibrator. Smashing your hips against that thing felt so good that, as you watched the last drops of Yuuta's cum lodge themselves between the dark, incredibly sexy hairs of his happy trail, you gave yourself one of the strongest orgasms you'd ever felt in your life, juices squirting all over the silicone like it had been you who ejaculated all over it and not him. Or perhaps it was both of you--Yuuta loved to think so.

"PleaseturnthatthingoffYuuta," you begged, overstimulation taking hold as your body plopped down on top of his own. He fumbled with the remote for what felt like forever, though it was probably a few seconds. But in the world of overstimulation the few seconds had you whimpering and begging against his chest, clawing like a wounded animal; which, perhaps if he had not just emptied the entire contents of his ballsack all over himself, would have spurred on a different version of that night's events.

But that, he would leave for another night.

With a relieved, blissful look he kissed the crown of your head, all vibrational modes off and a delightful mix of fluids rubbed between the two of you. Of all the looks he gave you, you think that satisfied smile served him best.

#yuuta x reader #yuta Okkotsu x reader #cw.pegging #I just needed to get this out v.v #ill count this as my bday fic its still my bday somewhere LKAJHSLD #writing tag

[dresshistorynerd]

Borderline begging you to not erase the gender non conformity of historical women by applying contemporary lenses of gender roles to them. Gender non conforming women existed then and still exist now. Wearing “men’s clothing” does not make me less of a woman and it’s incredibly insulting to see people in 2024 call women “they” and “he” because they wrote extensively about the misogyny they faced on a daily basis and chose to address and protect against by disguising their female form. Clothing does not a gender make—social roles do. Let’s respect historical women by referring to them correctly—not assuming what they would like to be called these days when we have long since dismissed European invert theory.

I'm assuming you are referring to that historical binder post and specifically this part:

Westner was also buried in men's clothing by their own request.

Firstly, I didn't call Ella Westner "he", not sure why you are implying that. I haven't read much about Westner, but I did try to look quickly if we have any record or second hand information of them talking or writing about their gender. I didn't find it, so I don't know what would be the correct way to refer to them. I referred to them with "them" since that is the pronoun in English language when you don't know someone's gender. By all means if you have any evidence to share how they liked to be referred, do share.

This is for all intents and purposes the same ask I got after my Julie d'Aubigny post so I'm going to link my response here (and the answer to the follow up ask) instead of rehashing the same points all over again. But I will rehash couple of main points since it seems they bear repeating. Firstly, I'm not talking about you, you are not Elle Westner and you have just as little access to her mind as I do. I don't have to assume your gender, you said you're a woman, and certainly I believe nothing you do makes you less of a woman. But I can't ask Elle Westner can I? For most historical people, I think it's fair to assume their gender to be the one assigned to them, but if there is evidence that might suggest otherwise, we should not assume. Of course we should neither assume it's not their assigned gender, it's entirely possible it is, but the possibility should not be discarded that their gender is different.

It's a little silly tbh to say I'm erasing gender non-comforming historical women, when literally in the same paragraph I mention how it was quite common for queer *women* to dress in masculine clothing. This is literally what I wrote:

Queer women and trans masc people, who dressed in masculine clothing, (which was pretty common) also sometimes bound their chests, but unsurprisingly that was not exactly celebrated like drag performances were, so there weren't binders made for queer people specifically.

(I admit I didn't mention the "mannish" feminists, who dressed masculinely, but they rarely bound their chests, and like many of them were queer also.)

What I will not do (even if you borderline beg) is to erase trans masc and non-binary people from history. Assuming all historical queer and gnc people were their assigned gender without extensive evidence to the contrary (for some people no amount of evidence is ever enough) effectively erases all trans and non-binary people from history, since the way gender was talked about, understood and allowed to express, was often so different from our current understanding and usually erased from historical evidence. That is in fact imposing our understanding of gender to historical people. Yes some women did cross-dress in order to escape misogyny, but that's certainly not the only reason people cross-dressed. Especially since many of them, those who couldn't or didn't try to pass, faced even more misogyny for cross-dressing, but they did it anyway because they had other reasons to cross-dress. The reason why cross-dressing can be evidence of queer gender identity (though of course as said, there are other possible reasons) especially in 19th century, is because in their culture the understanding of gender was heavily tied to gender expression. Even today, when gender and gender expression are seem much more as separate things, if you see a person who looks like a woman, but is dressed in men's clothing, you shouldn't immediately dismiss the possibility that they might not be a woman. Yes, they might be a woman who for one reason or another likes to dress in masculine clothing, or they might not be.

You say I shouldn't "apply contemporary lenses of gender roles" to historical queer people, but also that I should in this historical context dismiss sexual inversion theory, which was specifically a Victorian lens (shrouded in scientific essentialist terms) to look at queerness. Sexual inversion theory is not biologically true of course, like it was proposed, but really none of our sexuality and gender categories are. Because while there probably is some biological explanations for our feelings of attraction and towards our bodies (which we haven't really found yet), how we built gender and sexuality categories around those feelings is entirely cultural. So while sexual inversion theory is not relevant today, it is still relevant to understand the historical context, since it was an attempt to explain scientifically their cultural construction of gender and sexuality. And of course the flaw with all these cultural categories is that they can not contain and represent the whole breath of human feelings, and will always leave people out in their explanations, which is obviously true with sexual inversion theory (but also for example our identity based model). But the societal understanding of these things also shape how we understand and frame our own feelings.

So briefly, in 19th century queer identities were emerging (not seen as just behavior anymore) and first queer communities were formed. In the texts of Victorian queer writers the understanding of sexuality, expression and gender are all very fluid. Edward Carpenter (a Victorian gay communist) notably wrote about "the intermediate sex" and "transitional men and women" which he understood as a sort of third gender category. Basically his understanding of queerness was conceptually similar to sexual inversion theory, but he came from a non-medicalizing and queer liberation angle (though like his writings were not entirely free of internalized queerphobia but still very revolutionary for his time). He wrote about this third gender category as a sort of spectrum that goes from feminine men interested in men, and masculine women interested in women, to cross-dressing people and people living as opposite gender. Today we might see these ends of the spectrum as more or less gnc gay men and women and trans men and women, which to him were more or less extreme expressions of the same phenomena. This also aligns with broader Victorian understanding of gender and sexuality, as gnc queer people were generally seen as a separate gender category, often, especially in case of queer men and trans fems, called fairies. As said, certainly not all Victorian queer people would have agreed or felt represented by these ideas, but this does give us some understanding how at least some of the queer and gnc people might have understood their gender.

Maybe I will need to make a full post about how I think gender should be handled and studied in history, so I can just link it to when I inevitably get yet another one of these.

#i did end up writing more than i intended #and rehashing most of the same points as in the previous answer :') #queer history #history #victorian era #anon #answers

[lilacsupernova]

A post- postmodernist world of gender?

And at the turn of the millennium, something occurred with the term gender: it stopped wandering around, froze and turned to stone. Suddenly it was no longer a system to be subverted, but an individual identity – no longer a cultural construct, no longer even something people do. At that point, gender became something a person is, an eternal inner essence beyond culture and power structures, even beyond genitalia. Now, gender is said to be something innate that no society on earth can change. We are being told that gender emanates from within us and only we ourselves can know is truth – list your pronouns and I will know who you are! Once you discover your gender, there is no turning back and no doubt - this is the real you. You 'are' woman, man, non-binary, trans or agender and have therefore always been so.

This is a giant step away from queer theory. In fact, postmodernism and queer theory seem rather outdated. They were merely stepping stones that abolished the notion of material sex, whose ruins the new-fangled essentialism then built on. The grand narrative now returns, claiming to own the truth about gender. Cue the cliche's about pink/blue, dolls/weapons, makeup/machines, passive/active.

This ideological shift from sex, to sex/gender, to gender, to gender/sex, represents a shift from metaphysics to dialectical materialism to postmodernism to postmodern essentialism. However, seamless the change might appear, it is important to not that in gender identity theory, we are dealing with an idea that diverges significantly from queer theory in its basic tenets. Whereas queer theory saw everything as discourse and nothing as real, gender identity theory in fact sees gender as very real and innate. Whereas queer theory was engaged in a constant, parodic, satirical subverting of gender, gender identity establishes that the discovery of ones true gender is a final verdict – and a deadly serious matter. Whereas [Judith] Butler postulated gender was an external system, imposing itself on us through interpellation, making us succumb, gender identity theory sees gender as a truth coming from the inside.

This postmodern essentialism is strange indeed, a biological determinism without biology, where the idea of becoming who you want to be is combined with the belief in gendered souls. Yet this is the only possibility for patriarchy to return inside neoliberalism. This way, one maintains notions of individual liberty at the same time as strict rules on gender return with a full blast. (Patriarchy also returns outside the neoliberal paradigm, with a conservative backlash on abortion rights and a clamping down on female sexuality, but this current is unable to fully penetrate ideologically progressive societies and circles.) Biological determinism of old was monolithic and fateful: born in a woman's body, you were told your brain was unfit for higher office. There was no escape. Anyone trying to break boundaries would hit their head against a wall. As opposed to that, biological determinism of today, gender identity-style, is fragmented: body and soul are said to each have a sex of their own. Thus, an escape route is inbuilt: anyone who feels their gender role is too narrow is given the opportunity to change and find a 'truer' self. Both determinisms juxtapose gender and sex, but in reverse order: sex determines gender versus gender determines sex.

– Kajsa Ekis Ekman (2023) On the Meaning of Sex: Thoughts on the New Definition of Woman, pp. 93-4.

#kajsa ekis ekman #on the meaning of sex #feminism #gender #postmodernism #queer theory #biological reality #lilac posts

[communistkenobi]

in Whipping Girl, Serano grapples with "nature vs nurture" "biology vs society" and so on, and she seems to fall into a sort of centrism where both models are wrong (or rather, only partially correct). her argument is that on the one hand, gender is very obviously socially mediated and (re)produced, and on the other, there is something within people that precedes the social and determines our comfort level with the gender roles we must perform in our lives - she calls this subconscious sex, this thing that everyone has, including cis people, but in trans people it produces this feeling that we are not living our gendered life correctly, that there is some disconnect deep down, that our assigned gender is dissatisfying in some intangible way that can only be resolved via transition. and this subconscious sex is maybe biological or maybe psychological, but it's something that can remain unmoved by the gendered social pressures we are forced to navigate, and therefore there is something "true," or at least compelling, about a partially biological conception of gender. It's not classical gender essentialism but rather a retraction of the essential element of gender away from our genitals and into our brains.

and i find this nature vs nurture dichotomy she explores extremely frustrating. first, for the obvious fact that it assumes a very limited experience set for trans people (a lifelong struggle with gender dysphoria that begins in childhood and culminates in a binarist transition from "one sex to the other"). this model is correct for some people, but it is also the model that medical and psychiatric institutions rely on when "diagnosing" us as "real" transgender people, excluding the possibility of exiting the binary altogether, of rejecting it outright, or of even experiencing the binary in different ways.

two, I don't actually think gender essentialists are making biological claims about sex and gender when they talk about the inherent differences between men and women, because the scientific consensus on the biological components of sex are far more complex than genitals = gender, a fact that has no bearing on reactionary beliefs about gender and sex. Gender essentialists are making political claims using the rhetoric of the biological, the natural. These people have political platforms and goals that are not even remotely restricted to the realm of biology - gender segregated bathrooms and change rooms as well as sports and competitive games, banning transition care for trans people, the violent enforcement of patriarchal & white supremacist western gender norms, the attendant political beliefs about the criminalization of sex work, and frequently, the banning of abortion - these are claims about the built environment, about entertainment & play, about medical care, about labour, about law and the role of the state in producing gender. What is "biological" to transphobes & homophobes is what is natural and unchanging, but paradoxically must also be violently imposed upon people in every sphere of their life in order to be maintained. You see conservatives do this all the time - they talk about natural law, about the rule of man, "survival of the fittest" being used to gleefully explain social murder, "natural differences in men and women", biological claims about racial superiority, and so on. These are not biological claims because these claims do not bear out empirically, they are claims using the authority of tradition cloaked in the authority of biology. "It's always been this way" is not about biology, it is a call to return to a mythical past, a past closer to the imagined "natural state" of human beings prior to the intrusion of "society" and its attendant degenerate tendencies that corrupt "pure" human beings (almost invariably articulated as antisemitic conspiracies about who "orchestrates" this societal degeneracy). They use biological rhetoric because of the supposed apolitical, objective, empirical nature of the natural sciences - they refer not to the epistemic discipline of biology but to the claim of objective authority conferred upon biology. biology cannot be countered with the social because it is outside the social. "facts don't care about your feelings" is a dead meme phrase by this point, but it is probably the perfect distillation of these peoples' worldviews. They are correct not because their beliefs are empirically proven, but because their beliefs provide a rationalisation for the world they want to build. It is the modern version of the divine right of kings. There is nothing "biological" about any of these discussions other than the fact that they argue about how human bodies can or should be used - which, if that's our standard for biological, then everything is biological.

Are trans people biologically their gender? I think we need to reject the premise of this question. It is conceding too much ground; it pivots the discussion to "proving" transness in laboratories, to arguing about our genitals or our chromosomes instead of health care or housing or labour or public space. It accepts as valid the rhetorical sleight of hand that bigots do where they mean "unchangeable" when they say "biological" - something that nobody believes anyway unless you want to also object to like, the sterilization of medical equipment or heart surgery. We circumvent and alter biology every day. Reactionaries do not care about biology even a little bit and we do not need to humour them by pretending otherwise. We have scientific understandings of gender that do not adopt a biological lens because that lens is unequipped to deal with what is going on in front of us.

I'm sympathetic to Serano's desire to locate an origin for the dysphoria a lot of trans people feel, particularly because it allows us to more easily justify our existence. I'm also sympathetic to the fact that when she wrote this book, the public discourse on trans people was very different from what it is today; she's not even close to the first person to engage with this nature v nurture debate because it's the debate all trans people are at some point forced to reckon with. but ultimately I think this conception of transness is both politically a non-starter and a concession to our enemies that we do not need to give

#whipping girl #even old new york was once new amsterdam

[fozmeadows]

on the outing of kit connor

can I just - 

the reason coming out is a thing - the whole reason we have a CONCEPT of coming out - are heteronormative social defaults. we live in a culture that assumes everyone is straight: that teaches us to assume, not only that everyone else is straight, but that we are straight, and which overwhelmingly, depending on context and location, either treats queerness as something external to the norm, something invisible and shameful, or something downright evil. and so we have a situation where, when you are queer in whatever way, coming out is never a one-and-done situation, because even if you’ve come out a hundred times in your life, strangers will continue to assume you’re cis and straight unless you tell them otherwise - which it may not always be safe to do, because of homophobia and transphobia. so out people, despite being out in whatever way, can still exist in this constant state of semi-closetedness, not because they want to, but because of the refusal of others to entertain the reality of their existence as a human default, rather than as a specialised exception to the norm. straightness and cisness can always be Assumed, says this logic, but queerness must be Proven: otherwise it cannot possibly exist.  

all this being so, when you demand that a real, human person discloses their sexuality to you before they’re ready? when you forcibly out someone? you’re contributing to the same heteronormative social defaults whose dominance you’re ostensibly using to justify Why Visible Queerness Matters, because what you’re really demanding is certainty, and the emphasis on certainty IS THE WHOLE GODDAMN PROBLEM. what you’re saying is, “I assume that everyone is straight until or unless they expressly confirm otherwise, because that’s the Correct Assumption. assuming that someone is queer, therefore, would be Incorrect, even if they’re signaling solidarity with and support for the queer community - even if they’re signaling queerness in other ways - because queerness isn’t allowed any ambiguity. I must be Certain of who is queer and who is Not, because it’s Wrong to assume a person isn’t straight” and I just.

[stares directly into the camera] really. really! who is it, I wonder, who taught you that it’s wrong to assume people aren’t straight? who told you that it’s potentially insulting to be thought of as queer, but NEVER insulting to be assumed straight? what social norms, I ask, imparted the idea that thinking of someone as queer is “imposing sexuality” on them (negative), whereas thinking of them as straight is Perfectly Normal? do you think, perhaps, that continually assuming everyone is straight to the point where you demand a public, notarised Admission Of Queerness to be exempted from that assumption maybe serves to further entrench the idea of Straight As Default, thereby creating a more hostile and less accepting environment for queer people? has it occurred to you that, if you respond with derision and hostility to anyone who (for instance) plays with gender presentation through fashion, evokes a queer aesthetic or otherwise says Fuck You to presenting as cishet without expressly confirming their queerness, you are making it HARDER for queer people to exist safely in public, to say nothing of shoring up toxic, shitty gender binaries for cishet people?

does the entertainment industry have a historical problem re: casting straight people in queer roles and praising their performances while simultaneously refusing to cast queer people in those roles because “it wouldn’t be acting”? YES. is this some homophobic bullshit? YES. does hollywood, despite its supposed status as a liberal bastion, still have a huge fucking problem with homophobia and treating out actors and other out creatives like shit? YES. 

is any of this improved by forcing queer actors to out themselves, the better to feel comforted that a FICTIONAL queer person isn’t being “disrespected” by a real human actor, or whatever the fuck other justification you’d care to run with? NO. NO IT FUCKING ISN’T. 

does forcing people to out themselves increase the lack of safety queer people feel and experience within an already homophobic industry? IT SURE FUCKING DOES. 

all of you go to your godamned rooms and think about what you’ve done

#kit connor #homophobia #outing #coming out #hollywood #straightness #cishet defaults

[peachymilkandcream]

Hi can you do a head canon of Levi and the dynamic between him and his kids and would it be different depending on gender.

Levi and His Kids Headcanons

(A/N: Goodness golly my inbox is full up! Thanks for all the requests/questions guys, I'll try and get to them as soon as I can but I was gone all day yesterday and most of today. [Although I did get to see Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and I don't care what anyone says it was gooood])

WARNING: yandere themes, yandere behaviour, referenced noncon/dubcon, emotional abuse, manipulation, misogyny, etc.

===========================================

How Levi Would Treat His Sons ->

All of his kids would be his pride and joy but there's something special about the boys.

They are his legacy, years from now the Ackerman name will be carried on by them and he'll be an old man surrounded by generations of Ackerman.

All of them will be carbon copies of their father, from their views on women, to being soldiers, to their rough exteriors, all of it. Their father is their hero, he is the ultimate role model to look up to.

They're given rigorous training from a young age, none of his boys will be "crybabies" or wimps that others pick on, they will be strong and able to defend themselves.

On the other hand they're spoiled, anything they want they get. He will give them the world and then some, tearing it apart if he has to to make them happy.

They will come to love and respect their father but only love their mother. Since she's a woman they are inclined to treat her with affection since she did them the courtesy of birthing them, but respect is for men and men alone. (Levi teaching his boys great stuff huh?)

He'll have his boys remind Evelyn when she steps out of line to respect Levi since he's her husband and serve as an extra set of eyes.

Each boy will add to their reputation and do something great on their own to have their father's respect and praise. He wants them to prove to him that they are truly talented and not because of his money.

How Levi Would Treat His Daughters ->

Contrary to popular belief but while he imposes his ideas of women onto his sons he would tell them and his daughter that she's an exception. Something in him would be enraged at the idea of an Ackerman by blood being treated the way he treats his own wife. (Deep down he knows how he treats her is wrong, he just doesn't give a flying fuck)

His daughter would be no different than his sons, trained up from a young age to be just like him, although with slightly less expectations, he has a bit of a soft spot for his girl/girls.

If his daughter wanted to get married he would carefully examine whoever she was interested in and would point out all of his flaws to her, if she still wanted to go through with it, (Unless it was a serious serious flaw that even he was like "fuck no" to, then he would scare the guy off) he would pay for the elaborate wedding.

Mostly he would encourage her not to get married, Levi is toxically traditional but he cares more about his name, and wants his own bloodline to have as many Ackermans as possible, why would he continue another prick's family name?

Levi understands that as a girl she'll be closer to her mother, and he doesn't mind all that much. There are a lot of woman topics he will talk about if need be but would rather not, not because he's uncomfortable by it but because it's unsanitary and gross.

Levi really does his kids, but his wife he'll always love more.

#break me slowly #levi x oc #attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #yandere levi #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi x reader

[butchgtow]

Gender refers to the legal institutes, societal roles, and expectations enforced on the sexes to automate exploitability. Reforming gender in its entirety while preserving any contemporary cultures as they currently exist is not possible.

Abolishing these roles and expectations, however, is.

Reforming the legal institutes imposed on the sexes to instead promote universal design, however, is.

#queer theory #gender #universal design #radical feminist community #mine

[haggishlyhagging]

Two quotes I read today. Written 50 years apart but discussing the same phenomenon of female oppression.

The first is an excerpt of Kate Millett’s masterful takedown of Freud’s conclusions (which were foundational to much of the USA’s mid-20th century backlash to feminist advances) in her work Sexual Politics:

The three most distinguishing traits of female personality, were, in Freud's view, passivity, masochism, and narcissism. Even here, one can see a certain merit in the Freudian paradigm taken as pure description. The position of women in patriarchy is such that they are expected to be passive, to suffer, and to be sexual objects; it is unquestionable that they are, with varying degrees of success, socialized into such roles. This is not however what Freud had in mind. Nor had he any intention of describing social circumstances. Instead, he believed that the elaborate cultural construction we call "femininity" was largely organic, e.g., identical with, or clearly related to, femaleness. He therefore proceeded to define femininity as constitutional passivity, masochism, and narcissism. . . .

In convincing himself that the three traits of femininity were in fact constitutional and biologically destined, Freud had made it possible to prescribe them and for his followers to attempt to enforce them, perpetuating a condition which originates in oppressive social circumstances. To observe a group rendered passive, stolid in their suffering, forced into trivial vanity to please their superordinates, and, after summarizing these effects of long subordination, chose to conclude they were inevitable, and then commence to prescribe them as health, realism, and maturity, is actually a fairly blatant kind of Social Darwinism. As a manner of dealing with deprived groups, it is hardly new, but it has rarely been so successful as Freudianism has been in dealing with women.

The second quote is from Yagmur Uygarkizi’s piece “‘Feminism Allowed You to Speak’: Reinforcing Intergenerational Feminist Solidarity Against Sophisticated Attacks” which was published in the anthology Spinning And Weaving: Radical Feminism for the 21st Century. Uygarkizi is here discussing the foundational tenets of queer theory and its attendant postmodern analyses of women as socially-constructed entities:

Finally, and most importantly, sex roles are no longer imposed but ingrained: gender becomes an identity. If you as a woman are foolish enough to abide by the stereotypes that constrain you, then that's your problem: you could have just identified your way out of it. This is the message the disparaging "cis women" expression hides.

We are witnessing an essentialisation of our oppression: what men do to us is who we are apparently. If they rape us, we are the rape. If they veil us, we are the veil. If they stereotype us, we are the stereotype. One can sense a hint of victim-blaming here: just like a woman in prostitution/pornography might feel that she is only good at that, queer theory rehashes that yes, that is very true. Instead of taking material biological reality as the basis of an identity, socially constructed practices are taken as accurate indicators of someone's identity. What this means is that any criticism of those practices becomes a criticism of the person. Whorephobia. Islamophobia. Transphobia. The basis of the discrimination shifts from the female sex to the sex-based discrimination itself.

The link between Freudianism and postmodern queer theory is a simple one: women exist to be oppressed. We have simply shifted from it being seen as a natural phenomenon, based on the material reality of sex, to a chosen one based on the psycho-social assumptions based around personal identity.

#female oppression #kate millett #Yagmur Uygarkizi #freudianism #postmodernism #queer theory

[sistervirtue]

okay look okay picking the microphone up holding it close listen to me okay kendou itsuka is an assertive, pragmatic go-getter who was able to take the leadership of her class as class prez and in tetsutetsus words "prevented everyone from being pulled in to monomas orbit". despite this, we also see her disguise self-deprecation in the form of that pragmatism, and it almost always comes in the form of comparison to other women, especially yaoyorozu. this is not from a hatred of yaomomo or other women or even the idea of traditionally feminine things; rather it is revealed to us in the beauty pageant chapter of the light novels that kendou struggles with the fact she does not personally identify with traditional femininity (and finds gender conventions "obnoxious" in general)-- and fears that it makes her unsuitable or incapable of navigating spaces with other women she seeks companionship with. she's confident enough to know she doesn't want to compromise herself, but she's unable to stop that self doubt from leaking out, especially when its in such a way that she feels she's lifting up someone she deeply admires, like yaomomo, whom she also spends time in the beauty pageant thinking of and thinking about how she would be perfectly suited to the event. we almost never see her take this sort of burden on when it comes to interacting with men: when she fights with tetsutetsu, her take is "he's dumb, but that's honestly kinda fine!", and we know how she felt about mustard and his gun. thats because while kendou is self conscience about something that exists within a broader cultural context, she doesn't even really care about whether or not men see her as "properly feminine"-- what she cares about is the opinion of other girls, like when she gets flustered when they talk about her being a good potential boyfriend, or as we see in JTA, her wanting to go head to head with yaomomo to prove herself as a worthy peer. she really has no malice or even resentment for yaomomo, it's just that heroism is the field on which they both meet on, and kendou is excited to share that activity and wants to impress someone she deeply admires.

for yaomomo, we know that she's pretty assured in her internal self identity: yaomomo always knows who she is and stays true to that, and never seems to struggle to place herself in a broader social context when it comes to inherent qualities: where she views her own defects is in terms of actions, like a failure to lead or to keep up in power scaling with her cohorts. to her, those things are always something she can fix if she keeps trying, but where she falters is asserting her right to continue trying even if it means possibly even potentially imposing on another person. and she first gets a taste of moving past that with her exam with todoroki, which then pushes her to have the confidence she needs to accept kendous challenge in the JTA; because she viewed kendou as someone admirable and who could take leadership roles with ease, and wanted to prove herself worthy of the friendship kendou has offered. again: heroism is their neutral ground, and both of them have similar ideas of chivalry and honor that make combat a mutually enjoyable and enriching experience. momo says that she "doesnt want kendou to see her pathetic" because she values her judgement and wants to show how she, too, has improved.

anyway. i think what im getting at is that kendou is very comfortable being assertive (External) but not as comfortable in her own skin (internal) and yaomomo is someone comfortable in her own skin (internal) but not as comfortable being assertive (external) and both of them admire what the other has and have a vested interest in sharing their mutual progress by comparing their skills in relevant areas . and also because theyre lesbians i think

#kendou itsuka #sorry the momo part isnt as long im not a yaomomologist . momo fans help #but like. like . listen #kendoumomo

[vital-information]

“Le Moyne confessed that he didn’t know the spiritual significance of the work being performed by the Timucuan hermaphrodites…Administering to the needs of the dead, bringing the transition between the living and the afterlife, was a spiritually significant task that was vital to maintaining balance and harmony in Indigenous societies.

It was European chauvinism, Christianity, and the superficiality of Laudonnière and Le Mount’s observations that imposed a marginalized status on the Timicuan hermaphrodites. That the people Laudonnière and Le Moyne described possessed physical strength, performed labor associated with women, and took on ceremonial roles similar to priests suggests that hermaphrodites occupied an important position in the Timucuan kinship system. As people who internally and externally embodied the qualities of both men and women, the people Laudonnière and Le Moyne labeled hermaphrodites were likely viewed by their peers as possessing spiritual knowledge of immense power.

…

European sources close off possibilities for gender roles and identities that transcended the male-female binary which was solidifying in European culture. Across a range of literary genres, European writers conflated hermaphrodites, sodomites, eunuchs, and cross-dressers. They did this to highlight what they saw as abnormalities in Native American societies. Two other labels that received increasing use during the late sixteenth century were “catamite” and “berdache.” These terms have a long history dating back to the ancient world. In Ancient Greek and Roman society, a catamite was a “kept boy,” the intimate companion of an adult male in a pederastic relationship. By the late sixteenth century, Europeans used this term as a slur. Similarly, the ancient Arabic bardaj or barah evolved into the Spanish terms bardaxa and bardaje, and the French berdache. Collectively these words referred to a “kept boy,” slave, or sodomite. Whether uttered by civil or church authorities, all of these terms carried negative connotations in European cultures.

The Latina Pueblo poet and activist Paula Gunn Allen lamented the use of these labels and their imposition onto Native American cultures. Looking back over the history of European colonialism in North America, Allen identified European notions of patriarchy and Christianity as the root cause of these developments. Europeans combined gender, sexual, and racial ideologies to justify invasion, the territorial dispossession of indigenous communities, and genocide. For Allen, feminist approaches to Native history and culture offered a path to “ameliorating the effects of patriarchal colonialism, enabling many of the tribes to reclaim their ancient gynarchical, egalitarian, and sacred traditions.”

Allen, who identified as a lesbian and lamented the “devaluation of lesbian and gay tribal members as leaders, shamans, healers, or ritual participants,” advanced an unapologetically Indigenous perspective on North American history. It’s a historical consciousness that helps us appreciate the enduring impact that labels like “hermaphrodite” had (and have) on the collective psyche of Native American communities”

— Gregory D. Smithers, Reclaiming Two-Spirits: Sexuality, Spiritual Renewal, & Sovereignty in Native America

#queer history #two spirit #colonialism #reservation dogs

[cas-50-28-2]

There Are 4 Genders

Note: like any good essay on gender, this post contains discussion of rape, transphobia, and racism.

What Is Gender

Gender is axis of power and oppression, like class. Unlike class, which is one's relation to production and labour, what gender fundamentally is is much less clear. Is it another form of division of labour? A feeling? An essential and fixed aspect of one's soul that is determined by God? I think gender is fundamentally about one's position within/relative to the household. This is what makes it different from class: you can easily talk about the class of a household [1] (e.g. rich family, low-income household) but talking about the gender of a household is nonsensical - the gender is contained inside of it.

When we view gender as arising from the conditions of the household, we can begin doing actual analysis. In this analysis, I will say things like "women are meek and obedient," which obviously sounds very bad, so let me clarify what I mean. I am not saying everyone who uses the label of "woman" is meek and obedient, or that they should be, or that they're not women if they're assertive and oppositional. I'm not really trying to talk about people at all - I'm talking about the cultural archetype of womanhood, about Woman and not actual women. I do, however, mean to imply that differing from that archetype does make one less of a woman. There's no single aspect of deviation from Woman that disqualifies one from womanhood, but it all adds up - if you're loud and assertive and tall and don't wear makeup and have stubble, you are not really going to be treated as a woman in public. As someone who's been a freshly-out transfem in that position, I think we do a disservice to people in that spot by insisting that womanhood is just about whether or not you identify with it - you know that you're being seen and treated as a man. Gender is something like a social role, a social position, a performance - and as such it cannot be done alone. Other people need to be willing to go along with your gender in order for you to be able to do it (and vice-versa can try to impose a gender onto you). If your friends don't treat you as you ask to be treated then they're shitty friends, but for strangers you will need to align yourself to these archetypes. Going off of this, I want to define a narrative-ish structure, with 4 roles, that I think gives a clearer understanding of gender in the US than the traditional 2-gender model. Also, like the 2-gender model, changing your role or escaping entirely is possible.

The Genders

I want to frame the genders through a storybook metaphor. The first three are familiar (and taken loosely from the Karpman drama triangle): the Prince, the Princess, and the Monster. Monsters are a threat to Princesses, who therefore need a brave and strong Prince to protect them. In return, the Princess tends to the Prince's wounds, and probably does his housework and stuff. In general, Princesses trade their autonomy for protection. You've seen this structure a million times: it's the damsel in distress; it's Link, Zelda, and Ganon; it's every Disney princess movie before 1995; it's The Birth of a Nation. My addition to this is the fourth gender, the Treasure (also sometimes referred to as Trash). The Prince gets the Treasure as his reward for slaying the Monster. Princesses are rescued, Treasure is merely taken. Treasure is to be defended only to the extent it's convient, the Prince has no moral duties to the Treasure like he does to the Princess. Treasure is something to be used (mostly by the Prince but sometimes also by the Princess) and then discarded when it has outlived its usefulness. The name is rather ironic, because Treasure is not in fact treasured.

So how does this fairytale relate to the household? In Hortense Spillers' absolutely excellent essay "Mama's Baby, Papa's Maybe: An American Grammar Book," she presents an analysis of the gender that enslaved black women experienced. Although slave communities certainly developed kinship groups, i.e. households, these did not resemble the white households with the Mother and Father - and these black women certainly did not receive the "benefits of a patriarchilized female gender." Spillers describes this as a "degendering" of black women, but I wanted to interpret it differently, as the assignment and not the removal of a gender. So these four genders represent, roughly, the white man who owns the plantation, his white wife, the male slaves he fears an uprising from, and the female slaves he both works and rapes. In 2024 these relations have decreased in intensity, but are absolutely still there, and I hope this model captures the essence of that relation that has managed to survive until present day. However, I think this model is also applicable outside just white-black gender relations, and I'll give examples as I go over the genders in individual detail.

The Prince

The Prince is very close to the 2-gender notion of "man," and is usually a "he." The Prince is sort of the default, the "unmarked" category, the protagonist and therefore the least interesting. The expectations on Princes are just to slay Monsters and protect Princesses. However, the choice of Prince defines which household it is we're talking about. Since we're defining gender relative to households, different households in different cultures can assign the different genders to the same individual (more on this when we get to Monsters). The clearest examples of Princes in a given society are going to be the high-class men. The Prince is the Family Man, the Gentleman, etc.

The Princess

The Princess is, correspondingly, close to the 2-gender "woman," and is usually "she." However, if we view the autonomy-for-protection trade as the essence of Princesshood, then children are also Princesses in our culture. And like for Princes, the clearest examples of Princesses are high-class women - in the US in the 60s, for example, housewives are "more Princess" than working women. Princesses are proper victims - they are the people who have claim to "innocence", and any wrong against them must be punished. The Princess is the Proper Lady, the Good Wife and the Good Mother.

The Monster

The Monster is the dangerous Other. I like "Monster" as a term specifically because of its gender ambiguity - there's many male monsters in fiction, but also the notion of (and theory about) the "monstrous feminine," e.g. witches. Monsters can be aiming to kill, or kidnap, or rape, or more nebulously "corrupt" Princesses - they're Monsters all the same. Monsters can also pose a threat to the Prince or not, but it's not particularly relevant either way.

"Monstering" is classically done along race lines - Black "superpredators," Latin American immigrants "bringing crime," Yellow Peril, or the recent false accusation against Hamas of mass rape. However, it works with any type of foreign-ness/Other-ness/outside threat even without race, as in the anti-German WW1 poster above. Monstering is also used at home, e.g. against queerness - the constant accusations of pedophilia against queer people of all stripes, the "predatory lesbian," and the gay and trans panic legal defenses (which are some of the most revealing examples of what Monstering really is - an accusation in order to justify unlimited violence). The Monstrous feminine is understood in this framework as women who refuse to be Princesses or Treasure, and are therefore called witches, baby-killers, etc. Finally, I feel like I'm seeing an increase in placing mad people as Monsters - we know racism and homophobia are bad now, so tiktok instead embraces the dark triad and the view that there are certain types of people - narcissists, psychopaths, BPDemons, etc. - who are inherently dangerous and evil, who are Monsters. There are no longer any visual markers of Monstrosity - it could be anyone, so watch out, stay scared, and keep doing all that shit about marking your car so human traffickers don't target you.

The Treasure

The Treasure is the Other defanged and brought into the household to be used - a human with no rights, who others owe no duties to. The pronoun for Treasure is "it." I get the alternate name "Trash" from Porpentine Charity Heartscape's Hot Allostatic Load. She describes Trash as "the hyper-marginalized among the marginalized, the Omelas kids, the marked for death." Morphodyke on tumblr (screenshot for non-tumblrinas) describes the Trashing of transfems as "a systematic pattern of abuse applied to a small sacrificial portion of the population to create a class of women with no claim to community or personhood, who will never be defended or avenged, who can be safely sunk into the attrition of patriarchy's darker desires." Trash is the most materially straightforward gender - it is made up of people who are so marginalized - so close to social death or so unable to independently get the physical resources needed for survival - that they have no choice but to do whatever more-privileged people (i.e. Princes and Princesses) ask of them.

Unlike Monster, Treasure is an actual role people play, and generally with some level of awareness that that's what they are. The Treasure is part of the household - as a slave, a servant, a whore. Nobody is afraid of Treasure. A Treasure can never be considered a "victim" either - it was not innocent to begin with; when something bad happens to it, it had no right to expect better. The gendered expectation of Treasure is complete, unconditional meekness and obedience, and any deviation is harshly punished. This punishment includes both straightforward social & physical violence, but also, in the extreme, Monstering the Treasure, i.e. turning them into the type of Monster who is a Monster everywhere. This is the only place a Treasure "has left to fall," but it's quite a long fall, and so the Treasure endures its harsh role in order to avoid that fall.

Examples of Treasure are less straightforward than for other genders - survival sex workers and black women are the only groups that comes to mind as near-uniformly Treasure, and for the latter it's becoming less and less universal as the economic position of black people in the US improves. Many trans women are Treasure, and in general the more axes someone is marginalized along, the more likely they are to be Treasure - a poor disabled black trans lesbian is almost certainly going to be Treasure, even if none of those categories on their own are more than 50% Treasure. Another factor is the degree to which someone is the odd one out, the potential outcast, within their community - the only person of color or gay kid in a small town (or highschool). Also, as Monsters are associated with madness, so is Treasure with "mental illness" - the "broken" person who directs it all inward, who has no self-worth [2], who accepts whatever their partner does because they've been told nobody else could ever love them.

Pairs

I think terms in a system are best defined by their contrast with other terms, so here's a rundown through all the pairs and their differences and relations.

Prince-Princess

This relationship is the most well-tread ground. Most white feminist theory and praxis is focused on the dynamics between Princes and Princesses, and trying to improve the lot of Princesses. This has worked to the extent that the dramatic protector-protected dynamic I described above seems hyperbolic when compared to real relationships in 2024. Still, I focus on that specific aspect, protector-protected, because I think it is at the heart of the "contract" of heterosexual relationships. The idea of a strong woman who can protect herself is getting more and more popular, but even still I have yet to see a man in real life or fiction say he wants a wife who can protect him. This notion of victimhood and protection is what animates the entire narrative.

One aspect of this protection that I want to stress is that it is specifically protection from Monsters. While we now (hopefully) think of the wifebeater as a type of Monster disguised as a Prince, that is a very recent change brought about by feminist activism, and it still remains a fact that abusers are not social outcasts or psychopaths, but perfectly normal and well-adjusted Princes. The historical definition of rape provides the clearest example of this: the notion that a husband can rape his wife, i.e. that marital rape is rape, is very new. When your grandparents got married, your grandfather having sex with your grandmother against her will would not have been considered "rape" or any other type of legal or social crime[3]. Rape has been considered a crime historically not because it is nonconsensual sex - that is allowed for the Prince! - but because it is a Monster taking what should belong to the Prince. Rape is something exclusively done by Monsters to Princesses.

Prince-Monster

In the types of wars, the narrative that "the enemy is coming to take our gold and rape our Princesses" was often quite true, as wartime sexual violence was quite common historically (the word "rape" was originally a synonym for "pillage"). However, this narrative would be true on both sides of the war. In Greek society, the Greeks would be Princes and the Trojans were Monsters, and vice versa in Troy. And both sides would be using rape as a weapon of war, but from e.g. the Greek standpoint, the Trojan women were Treasure, and so nothing a Greek/Prince did to them would demean his Princely honor in any way. However, the same behavior from the Trojans/Monsters towards the Princesses of Greece was exactly what justified calling them Monsters. The difference between Princes and Monsters is not in what acts of violence they commit, but who they are violent towards[4].

Prince-Treasure

As we have established, Princes may do whatever they want to Treasure, and suffer no consequences for it. The only thing I have to add is how it can make a Treasure come to function as a sort of "laboratory." Treasure has a body like that of a Prince or Princess, but it doesn't have the rights they do, it isn't owed any dignity. Therefore, questions/experiments which would be too rude or violative for a Prince to ask/do to a Princess may be answered on Treasure. This applies to both adolescents learning about sexuality and to adults working in biology labs. For the latter, think of Josef Mengele or Henrietta Lacks.

Princess-Monster

The Monster aims to take or corrupt the Princess - Princesses are always victims, and Monsters are always perpetrators. This is the social fiction woven by gender, and has no relation to what people who are Monsters actually do to people who are Princesses. Rather, the justice systems built on the narrative of protecting Princesses from Monsters are social systems enabling Princesses to persecute Monsters. The archetypical example of this is the murder of Emmett Till - a single Princess's accusation of whistling "justified" the torture and murder of a 14-year-old boy. White women's tears - i.e. Princesses' tears - should be considered an offensive and not a defensive weapon (although not one that can be turned against Princes).

Princess-Treasure

The difference between Princesses and Treasure is rather similar to the classic Madonna-whore divide, the good wife vs the whore on the side. This can lead to the Madonna-whore complex when combined with the societal view of sex as "violation" or "dirtying" - Princes are only allowed to inflict violence upon Treasure, not on Princesses, and so if sex is a kind of violence then the Prince will only be able to get it up for Treasure and not for his lovely Princess wife. Even if not to the point of a "complex," the Prince will always have sides of himself that he only shows to Treasure, because he needs to charm the Princess, to be nice to her, to treat her right. Only with a Treasure can he vent his "darker desires," and act without pretense or restraint.

Transitioning from Treasure to Princess is possible, and I think it can be one thing what people can mean when they say they find femininity empowering. In the two-gender model, this makes no sense, as femininity = woman = disempowered gender. But with four genders, Princesses are genuinely more powerful than Treasure - they have rights and powers that Treasure does not. To transition from Treasure to Princess is to assert that you have worth and to demand rights, dignity, and respect. Therefore, if being feminine lets someone move from Treasure to Princess, then their femininity is empowering them. And I think femininity is a part of that Treasure-to-Princess transition, e.g. becoming a "proper lady" instead of a "tramp," or trans women being able to pass.

The relationship between a Princess and a Treasure in the same household is the most interesting and novel part of this entire model. In "Mama's Baby, Papa's Maybe," Spillers analyzes a section from the autobiographical slave narrative Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, by Harriet Jacobs (writing under the pseudonym Linda Brent). During the section in question, Jacobs is regularly being raped by her "master," which arouses the jealousy of his wife. That wife then proceeds to rape Jacobs herself (probably, anything in this book about sex is highly subtextual because it was published in 1861). To quote Spillers' analysis at length (emphasis mine):

If the testimony of Linda Brent/Harriet Jacobs is to be believed, the official mistresses of slavery's "masters" constitute a privileged class of the tormented, if such contradiction can be entertained [Brent 29-35]. Linda Brent/Harriet Jacobs recounts in the course of her narrative scenes from a "psychodrama," opposing herself and "Mrs. Flint," in what we have come to consider the classic alignment between captive woman and free. Suspecting that her husband, Dr. Flint, has sexual designs on the young Linda (and the doctor is nearly humorously incompetent at it, according to the story line), Mrs. Flint assumes the role of a perambulatory nightmare who visits the captive woman in the spirit of a veiled seduction. ... Mrs. Flint enacts a male alibi and prosthetic motion that is mobilized at night, at the material place of the dream work. In both male and female instances, the subject attempts to inculcate his or her will into the vulnerable, supine body. Though this is barely hinted on the surface of the text, we might say that Brent, between the lines of her narrative, demarcates a sexuality that is neuter-bound, inasmuch as it represents an open vulnerability to a gigantic sexualized repertoire that may be alternately expressed as male/female. Since the gendered female exists for the male, we might suggest that the ungendered female—in an amazing stroke of pansexual potential—might be invaded/raided by another woman or man.

In the terminology of this essay, that final line would be "Since the Princess exists for the Prince, we might suggest that the Treasure—in an amazing stroke of pansexual potential—might be invaded/raided by a Princess or Prince." In short, Princesses can and do "use" Treasure like a Prince would: to vent frustrations, to use as a laboratory, to express "darker desires." A lot of things people ascribe to "the weak finding someone weaker to pick on" is Princess-on-Treasure violence. There is also a unique form of violence that only Princesses can do to Treasure - they can turn the Treasure into a Monster. Princess tears can be weaponized against both Monsters and Treasure, and Princesses can gain social capital by doing so: every time a Princess makes an accusation she emphasizes her own perpetual innocence and victimhood. By doing so she is conforming to the expectations of her gender, and is rewarded for that.

Monster-Treasure

As mentioned above, the boundary between Monsters and Treasure is the most fluid of the six pairs. The type of Trashing abuse described in Hot Allostatic Load (false accusations of rape) is a method of turning a Treasure into a Monster, and therefore justifying any possible violence as punishment (in the case of HAL, the specific punishment is exile). People who are "Monstered" in this manner are not like the Monsters of symmetric warfare, who are Princes in their own realms: they are Monsters everywhere, accepted nowhere, part of no household. This is just about the only position worse than Treasure, and so the threat of being sent there is the ultimate weapon for Princes and Princesses to discipline Treasure with.

As far as the actual relationship between Monsters and Treasure goes, it could be just about anything depending on the particular people or groups in question. It's not really of any concern to Princes or Princesses (except maybe to make some "look how these savages treat their women" anti-Monster propaganda), and so it's not constrained by this model. In the symmetric warfare example, the prisoners of war one side takes as Treasure from the Monsters they slay would be Princesses in the society where those Monsters are Princes. Or in a more "inter-imperialist" type of war, both the Princes and the Monsters could be fighting over who gets to own the same group of people as Treasure. Or there could be no relation at all - there aren't really any social forces determining what the relationship between a CPC member in Xi'an and a trans woman in Nebraska would be. This is not an exhaustive list, and there's even the possibility that both the Monster and Treasure in question belong to a society which doesn't fit the 4-gender model at all.

Conclusions

Unlike other models of gender, which aim to present something everyone can see themselves in, this is a model that everyone should be trying to get the hell out of. I'm a gender abolitionist - I think that doing something "because I'm a man/woman/Prince/etc." is silly and bad-faith; I think that we should raise all children the same way and that doing so will eliminate gender; I think we should end the practice of sex assignment at birth (or at any time). This model's pessimistic view of genders certainly reflects that, but I hope that you also find it helps explain your experiences a bit better. And of course, abolishing a system requires organizing within its categories (we do not end capitalism by just not identifying as proletarians).

Aiding that organizing was another main goal of this model - specifically, I think it explains the problem where feminism became dominated by rich white women and started catering towards their problems: "women" is not a single coherent gender, and the "women's liberation movement" was in fact a Treasure-Princess alliance. This alliance, like all alliances between distinct groups, fell apart once its parties had finished accomplishing their shared goals, and then the more powerful group turned on the weaker one. Alliances aren't inherently bad, and I think there's still a future for Treasure-Princess alliances, but Treasure organizers must make these alliances consciously, and be aware of the risks.

footnotes

This is not to say that class is homogenous within a household. For example, while a feudal lord's manor is certainly a lordly household, the majority of its inhabitants are going to be low-class servants.

Materialist Antipsychiatry Moment: rather than viewing this lack of self-worth as some internal illness/pathology/lack, we can see that for Treasure it is an accurate assessment of their social reality: they do in fact have no social worth. The Treasure-mental illness relation is cyclical: mental illness further marginalizes the Treasure, and being treated as Treasure makes them more "ill."

Unless they lived in the USSR, which criminalized marital rape within 5 years of its establishment - common communism W. You can play a ""fun"" game by checking on wikipedia to see when marital rape was criminalized where you live - it's probably shockingly recent

Of course Monsters are not actually violent in all cases, especially when they're an internal minority. In fact, symmetrical warfare is basically the only case where the accusations happen to be true. Still, the subject of the fabricated violence matters more than the content.

Special thanks to Jez and Nat for helping me think all of this through!

this post is also on the web at https://pi.alla.loan/gender/4genders.html for easy sharing with non-tumblrinas

#transmisogyny #feminism #misogynoir #cas-50-28-2 original #transfeminism