An online lie that I’m getting tired of because it’s so deeply rooted in the fandom now that a lot of people don’t know this is fake, is “Araki meant for Jolyne to be in a lesbian relationship, but the editors hated it and he had to turn Anasui into a man”, because that’s not true either, there isn’t a single source for this. Araki deserves a lot of credit, but not this one.
I would’ve loved if Araki wanted to make Jolyne a lesbian, I want a shonen series with a lesbian main character so bad, and I know there can be a kind of comfort when you know a creator wanted to put explicit lgbtq+ content in for characters you like, but it doesn’t help anyone to spread this misinformation :’) Cuz it’s just… not true.
Araki made Anasui’s decisions himself, and wanted Anasui to be very androgynous, which is very neat and deserves credit instead imo. Araki has always been about androgyny in his later works and I fucking adore it cuz man it feels comfortable, at least in my personal opinion, if you’re not overly set on your own visual gender expression yourself.
I dunno, Araki has made some dumb decisions and some great decisions, I think his design choices are mostly awesome and can be appreciated without having to make up a backstory :’) It’d be one thing if it was just a popular theory, but it’s being presented as a hard fact, and I don’t know. I dont’ see the point…
if ur reading this, my queue ran out ! please be patient with me while I get it filled again !!! I’ve started my school year and need to get everything in order jwbdksbfkdn
The Piano would have been a perfect movie if only Harvey Keitel’s character had been a woman: discuss.
you are correct, I’ve seen this movie twice and the first time I felt oddly empty about it, while the second time (quite recently) I was determined to feel… more (and to otherwise analyse why I felt so detached from it emotionally) and I just… I couldn’t…
so I chalked it up to “this movie isn’t for me” but now you’ve posited this and!!!!
the forbidden love of between two characters who struggle to name and accept that love??? who have to create intricate rituals in order to rationalise that love???? I mean?????
and then what we talked about in terms of the kind of women we wish we’d see more of and it really is this gender-flipped harvey keitel – and a lot of the weirder dubious consent stuff that’s really all about language building would take on a whole other dimension if between two women, the whole language that this movie is trying to sell to me (that I don’t see/get moved by, despite the gorgeous camera and the actors) would become so much more vibrant
also, considering the lead character is mute, there could be some interesting metaphor around being unable to speak this unknown love language, and the other character, being butch and more self-aware maybe, would meet the character halfway through signing
(and of course, there’s the other obvious thing that turned me off, which was the elective mutism of the lead, vs just… having a character who’s mute and hiring an actor for that. I understand the ending is about her re/learning to speak and that an original ending was her drowning with her piano for real, but both of them feel like a hollow choice to me, compared to the idea that the other character could learn to sign and feel that connection… but I think that ties into a queer version of this story – what kind of respect are we portraying here? what kind of gallantry, what kind of other life?)
Over time, the Daddy & babygirl dynamic can be almost hypnotic, an ingrained Pavlovian conditioning that renders one or both parties almost instinctively slipping into the roles that they enjoy together. Someone close to me called it being ‘little’, a frame of mind that she would slip into whenever the right attitude was applied towards her. It was something incredibly vulnerable, but at the same time, in the right hands, incredibly safe. More than most other D/s I’ve engaged in, having that in the palm of my hand was a moment that was simultaneously highly privileged and extremely intoxicating.
The thing is, over time, these demeanours and attitudes become easier to slip into, and can be sustained for far longer. I suppose there’s a worry that, over time, they might start to become the primary for that person. I’m speculating, but it feels logical.
Would that be such a bad thing? There’s the threat that, should the relationship end for any reason, you’d be left with this huge part of you that’s not fit for the outside world. There’s the worry that it might become too familiar for the Dominant to control, and he could unwittingly abuse it once the realisation of quite how vulnerable you are like that slips from his mind.
On the other hand, it feels like, with the right people, it could be one of the most rewarding relationships possible between two people. You’ve just got to figure out whether it’s worth that risk.
So it’s been a week. A week of hunting down wild pictures, sedating them with a quick draft, before applying a little textual twist and releasing them back into the wild. A week of peppering this torrent of images with the odd thought, here and there.
I tried Tumblr a while back, as a means of sharing music with people, but I didn’t get it, back then. I didn’t realise that this isn’t a one way street, a soapbox to stand on and decree your taste down onto people.
It can be that, certainly, but it’s useless if you ignore all the other soapboxes, all the other decrees and allow them to inform your own torrent of information, shaping little bits and pieces from here and there into a patchwork that you then pass onto those who are interested. You’re not making a perfect silk gown, here. Rather something a little more hodge-podge, a little more higgeldy piggeldy.
So this time I think I’m doing it properly. I’ve got a good sixty odd people I’m following, and more than anything else it’s letting me save the time to trawl through the internet looking for pictures that interest me. Instead, they’re presented to me prepackaged. There’s a flicker of guilt in the lack of effort, but you can’t deny the efficiency of the assembly line.
More importantly, though, I’d love to know what you, my dear followers (all twelve of you lovely people), think so far. I know it’s only been a week, and we’ve barely had a chance to get to know one another, but I’ve got a good feeling about us. There’s a chemistry here, a shared interest, and there’s been grand romances written about less.
Pop a note in my ask box, if you like. Or you can email me at:
mytrousersrolled [at] gmail [dot] com
And if you’d like to recommend me to your Tumblr friends, that’d be just swell.
There’s a belief, usually from those outside of the D/s scene, that the relationship between a Dominant and a submissive is a parasitic one. The word sounds unpleasant, for sure, but, at least in this context, it merely means that one half of the relationship sustains the other, but that sustenance isn’t mutually required. One needs the other, and the other just accepts that need.
This is dangerous for a few reasons, but primarily I find that it feeds the ego of the Dominant in an unhealthy way. The power they have is a gift, rather than a right, something that is on loan, in a very real sense. The submissive has the power to take it away, just as you have the power to surrender it when you no longer wish to be in control of that person.
Both parties are indulging the other. The submissive is getting the control over them that they crave, and the Dominant is being provided with the control that they, too, crave. This isn’t parasitic, in any way. What we have here, girls and boys, is symbiosis.
Which brings me to expectation. In a very real sense, a submissive is expected to disappoint, especially in the early stages of a relationship. There’s a very strong temptation as a Dominant to ladle on the rules, establish a great deal of fundamentals that will, in the long run, cement the relationship between the two of you.
Of course, this can be overwhelming to the submissive. It’s almost meant to be, cause a slip so that you can provide that same fundamentals in the basis of punishment and correction. Herein, however, lies the rub.
Dominants aren’t infallible. They’ll probably make just as many mistakes as the submissive, early on, and they can have far greater ramifications on the dynamic between the pair. Because there’s that expectation that a submissive will get into trouble occasionally, when a Dominant screws up, they’re showing a chink in their armour, they’re not being who they’re supposed to be.
I’m hyperbolising for effect, but there is certainly a very real expectation placed upon the Dominant, that they have it all figured out and they know exactly what they’re going to be doing from one moment to the next. And, after a while, that can certainly become the case, once the protocols and habits have been firmly established.
But early on? Early on there are going to be some hiccups, and thankfully most submissives have the perseverance to overlook them, and for that I am eternally grateful.
Of all the depraved, dirty, and disgusting names I call girls, ‘Whore’ is the one that can stick in the throat.
It’s not that I dislike the word; far from it. I enjoy it’s close phonetic relation to ‘hole’, with the added attraction of the delicious curves of a ‘w’ to prefix it. There’s also the connotations, the allure of the working girl life, tied into the mild humiliation aspect that working girls are as close as you can come to consensual non-consent. They don’t want to fuck these men, not sexually, at least. And there’s an attraction in that.
No, the problem for me is merely that it’s factually incorrect. Whoever I’m saying it to isn’t a whore, and, at least for as long as I’m interested in them, won’t be. It seems like an odd problem to have, because they’re unlikely to be sexually promiscuous enough to be a slut, and I’d rather hope they don’t have the personality of a bitch or a cunt.
However, those terms are colloquial at best, their definitions subjective and ambiguous. One person’s slut is another’s prude, and I’m sure almost every girl has been called a bitch at some point in their lives, just as men can encounter bastard or wanker, (so long as you’re in England. I’d imagine the American equivalents would be asshole and douche, but that might be just an ill-informed impression from television).
Whore is a different story, for the most part. Instead, this is a clear definition; it might well be a somewhat ‘unprofessional’ term for the profession, but it’s a clear one. A whore is someone who accepts money in return for providing sex.
And yet I still use it. Why? Because using an incorrect definition for a word is the only way you’re going to change it. I like whore. I want to reclaim it for my own. I want a definition that isn’t hoarded by the working girl, the prostitute, the harlot. I want to be able to use it incorrectly, precisely, and have it have the power of slut and bitch and cunt.
I’ve yet to meet a submissive who wasn’t conflicted. Who didn’t have the twin pull of the attraction of that surrender of control, against the idea that this was somehow wrong, and that they should, for whatever reason, feel guilty for indulging themselves.
It’s oh so easy to throw an accusing finger at society, to damn it all to hell and sigh, throw treatment of women, treatment of sexual liberalism, and even a spattering of religion in there, and call it done. That it’s just all of these things creating a great big brick wall that’s between you and theoretical liberation, shackles to be cast aside so you can properly enjoy yourself.
I’m afraid I don’t think it’s that simple. While I won’t argue that society has no role (it’s got a rather large bill to foot), it’s not the be all and end all. The thing is, there is something here that’s not quite right. We’re not meant to enjoy the things we enjoy, on a fundamental level. It’s only down to our neurosis, and the way that we’ve evolved to think and feel, that even make something like this remotely attractive.
To put it a little more frankly, it’s a freak event, a glitch in the system. If we didn’t have the endorphins that flooded our systems when we received pain, or the partner of that, the rush of power and dominance at inflicting that pain, of knowing that you’re in control, we wouldn’t entertain it for a moment. It’s an unintended consequence, in a history of unintended beneficial consequences that makes up evolution.
At least, that explains the physical side of D/s. Or goes a way, anyway. The rest is a little more… sticky.
It’s sticky because it’s not even remotely as clear cut as that. Pain is a negative thing. That’s a pretty well established fact. It’s only through exceptions to that rule that we can feel good about it. Submission, though? That profound expression of love and control? There’s no playbook for that, either way. There’s a few precedents, though, and they’re pretty damning. The 50s housewife, serfs in medieval Europe. All that bullshit. And I say bullshit because to equate those things, even for a second, to what goes on between Dominant and submissive is a rude disservice.
But that’s what your mind does, and that’s where all that guilt bubbles up from. You don’t want to be put in those boxes, alongside those groups, because you don’t want to experience the negative stigma those groups experienced. That’s a pretty reasonable desire. From my side, I don’t want to feed into those negative connotations just as much as you don’t want to receive them, and there’s just as much guilt flying around on the Dominant side, I assure you. It’s bad being the victim, but if you’ve got a conscience, being the aggressor is far worse.
I want to state now that these are not concerns that we need to entertain. You’re not a 50s housewife, and I’m not a 50s husband. You are no serf, and I am no feudal lord. Consent flies between us thick and strong, and, more importantly, so does affection, care, and love. It’s about polarising attitudes that already exist between us. Amplifying our very personhood. And it’s those people, and personalities, that we love so much. Amplifying them can only be a good thing, can only increase the things we love about one another.
So don’t feel bad. Don’t be conflicted. Just toss your neurosis and anxieties out of the window, because we really don’t need them.
Oh, and you might as well toss your clothes out too. You won’t need them either.
