cringe emporium

hang it in the louvre

"but you know me, i'm lazy, so." "i don't know that side of you at all."

"is that what we are going to do? relax?" "i hope so. i would like to relax with you. for once."

"because you like to be bad." "hey, that's not what this is. you and me. maybe it was at first but, not now, and not for a long time."

to the point where it even usurps other peoples interpretations of ilya before he gets the chance to internalize them -

"but, you hate him." "no. i mean, i get that. but no. i love him."

Shane talking too much because he realizes that Ilya isn't talking at all and he needs to fill the silence and make sure Ilya knows that Shane isn't holding it against him.

Shane double triple checking that the backup meds are in Ilya's carry-on before they go on a Western Conference road trip. He doesn't nag Ilya about it, but when they get to the airport Ilya starts rifling through everything, thinking he forgot them, when Shane reaches into the front pocket and shows him the orange bottle is right there. Not that they couldn't get them, but Shane wants Ilya to avoid stress as much as possible.

Shane notices that Ilya is able to work fine through his episodes, but that hockey tires him out more. He suggests a quiet day at home with Anya in between home games, saying that he actually needs the downtime. Maybe many couch blowjobs can cure depression.

Ilya goes through the phase where he doesn't want to take his medicine because it's fucking with his libido. He throws one of these at Shane- "Your choice, you can leave me because I can't fuck you or you can leave me because I'm a miserable fuck" and Shane loses it because in his mind nothing, nothing, could make him leave Ilya, this is it for him, and yet Ilya continues to think that one inciting event will result in Shane abandoning him. Shane slams the fridge/oven door/barbell or whatever he's holding back into place and says "If you think I'm such a shallow asshole maybe I should draw up divorce papers for you" and then it becomes this theater of Shane opening his laptop to email their lawyer and Ilya starts crawling on the ground begging for Shane to forgive him and crying and Shane has to reckon with how his reaction made this worse but he's only human too and can only take so much when Ilya starts hurling this stuff at him. Shane apologizes too. Ilya takes his medicine the next day in front of Shane while he shaves in the bathroom mirror.

"I'm not your babysitter, Ilya, you have to want to feel better, this is your life" except Shane does hide all the pills in the house sometimes, putting them in his gym bag and keeping them in the car when things are rough. One day while Ilya is chopping vegetables he realizes that he doesn't really know how to hide all the knives. They have a big set, bought during happy times because they really enjoy cooking together, but now Shane is looking at them like they could be the end of his life.

Shane knowing a depressive state is coming on because Ilya directs all his responses to Anya.

Happy times when Ilya is evened out, so so happy and making everyone laugh and being the captain that Shane knows Ilya wants to be, and feeling guilty that Shane's come to dread the come-down from such a high.

Shane's desperate phone call with Galina of all people when Ilya disappears for like twelve hours in his Porsche. He's white knuckling not calling the police because he knows it'll leak and everyone will know and there's nothing they can do anyway. Galina talks him through it, keeps him calm, and Shane wonders if this is what therapy is like.

The relief Shane feels when Ilya says he thinks this is the right dose of medicine. He can't help but love it when Ilya holds him so tight, like Shane alone tethers him to the Earth. He can't help but love that Ilya needs him so much.

'get out. you know you shouldn't be here. it's been six months-'

'wow. six months already. guess time flies when you're having fun'

'this is your idea of fun, is it? getting kicked out of clubs and tattooing my name on your ass while you were drunk?'

'who told you that? every time i fucked one of your teammates i told them to keep that a secret'

'my teammates kept your secret just fine. your teammates, however-'

'ah, you could not get off with my team unless you were talking about my ass. i am flattered, hollander'

'i couldn't get off at all, actually. whole team had this sad vibe to it. it's hard to be sexy when you haven't made the playoffs since hockey was invented'

'the sad vibe was because they missed me. you see, i was busy marrying sveta in las vegas'

'i know. it was before our divorce officially came through. i've reported you for bigamy and they're gonna revoke your citizenship'

'jesus christ shane'

'sorry was that too much'

'no, is fine. i will hide from immigration with these nice people i have formed a throuple with. you might know them, they are called yuna and david-'

And if you also hadn't heard of her go read this because uhh... Holy Shit

This story sounds like it could have been a brilliant exploration of gender and warfare and violence but instead it was attacked by people who didn't know how to confront a story that made them uncomfortable, and the author faced horrible consequences.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

When the detail that the writer was a trans woman (and a specific one people knew) had filtered into common knowledge, the consensus of the vocal detractors was that she had done Nazi actions equivalent to being a Nazi that hurt every trans woman, and it was their responsibility to terrorize her. When she ended up suicidal and swore off writing, that was viewed as a great victory against an enemy of trans women. (Not dissimilar from people harassing Jewish actress Aya Cash for portraying a Nazi on The Boys.)

Also, people like to single out N.K. Jemisin for participating, but she was pretty much doing what people expect of an ally: following the leading voices of the relevant minority, repeating their messages, and using her social capital to boost theirs. The problem was the trans women leading the mob. I find the presence of trans woman author Alexandra Erin more objectionable because she was run off Tumblr for being into vore and bondage and because she liked a post from a black submissive woman showing off a collar, which was framed as her wanting to enslave black people, so you would think she'd be sympathetic to a trans woman author stigmatized for being into edgy humor. Instead, she likened the story to firing randomly in the air and hoping only bad people would be hurt, when it should be clear innocents would likely be hurt, making the whole endeavor harmful. (Like being open about liking controversial fetishes on Tumblr?)

Edgy humor sets off mainstream leftists like Daleks sighting an enemy.

Like, how many times can we see a marginalized creator get torn to bloody shreds by other marginalized people and well intended “Allies” who never actually looked at the evidence themselves and just went off what “the affected group” was saying? The queer experience is subjective as hell, and I can’t imagine any other marginalized experience is different. Maybe we should stop mob harassing people for making something without looking at the thing ourselves.

Because there was little biographical information available about its author, the debate hinged on one question: Who was Isabel Fall? And that question ate her alive. When she emerged from the hospital a few weeks later, the world had moved on, but she was still scarred by what had happened. She decided on something drastic: She would no longer be Isabel Fall. As a trans woman early in transition, Fall had the option of retreating to the relative safety of her legal, masculine identity. That’s what she did, staying out of the limelight and growing ever more frustrated by what had happened to her. She bristles when I ask her in an email if she’s stopped transitioning, but it’s the only phrase I can think of to describe how the situation appears. Isabel Fall was on a path to becoming herself, and then she wasn’t — and all because she published a short story. And then her life fell apart.

...

After she checked out of the hospital, Isabel Fall ceased to be Isabel Fall. “I had a few other stories in the works on similar themes, and I withdrew them; that is the most concrete thing I can say that I stopped doing,” Fall says. “More abstractly, more emotionally, I have stopped trying to believe I am a woman or to work towards womanness. If other people want to put markings on my gender-sphere and decide what I am, fine, let them. It’s not worth fighting.”

That makes me so fucking angry every time I think about it that I want to spit or cry.

I have not been the subject of the level of intense, sudden, overwhelming attention that she has; I have been the target of a lower-volume, sustained campaign, and there is a reason that I call it "the acid fire hose." That shit will strip the fucking flesh from your bones.

So yeah. Of course indie authors flinch.