Disgraced Slut

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Disgraced Slut
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KATHERINE'S WARDROBE » 2.17 Know The Enemy
I'm
Katherine; a five hundred and forty year old bitch with sharp, sharp fangs teeth. If we must go over it again, I could rip you to shreds and do my nails at the same time.
In STL for the weekend, no full access to the internet. I may not be on much. 
waiting for replies from montereyripper & naprawxmnie on threads :) 
replies to montereyripper , @naprawxmnie, princessvanityvixen , reginam-abaddon are done. BBL LOVES :) 
Stefan wasn’t much of a morning person. He hated getting up any time before the mid-afternoon if he could avoid it, but he never could. He had a very set and specific schedule that planned out every moment of his day from dawn til dusk. It was for this reason and this alone that he woke every day before dawn. It was the only time he had alone to think, or to do anything that wasn’t required of him. 
As the second son of the king, he should never have had to do this. He had no desire to be the heir to the throne, but king Giuseppe had only two sons, and his brother had abdicated a few years before. He felt it was his duty to take on the burden of the crown when he came of age and his father stepped down. He was only seventeen, and that day was both too soon and not nearly soon enough.
He wanted to be a good king, and he was excited to try. But at the same time, he felt he hadn’t ever truly lived at all and he wasn’t sure he would ever feel like he had when his life wasn’t his own. His life belonged to the kingdom, to the people, and who was he to deny them it? But he couldn’t help it; he wanted to feel like he’d lived, even just for a while, before he gave it all up to serve his country.
He was deeply immersed in his thoughts as he left his room that morning and headed to the kitchens to steal some breakfast. It was all but deserted but for a girl he’d never seen before. He took a bread roll and smiled at her. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t think we’ve met before. Are you new to the palace?”
The sun had glared in through the kitchen windows, blinding the girl from seeing the man approaching her. Yet, she knew he was there from his voice. “Good morning to you as well,” she replied with her head bowed as she kneaded some more dough. The mixture moved throughout her fingers as she rolled it and flattened it against the table, the Petrova did not see the man’s face until she looked up. Embarrassment filled her cheeks, knowing that she was greeting the Prince in flour-covered hands and frizzed hair, and she let out a smile in attempt to hide it. “Forgive me for meeting you dressed in informal attire, your highness, but one does not come to cook in such finery.”
Katherine placed the dough down, removing her fingers from it’s glue-like substance and wiped her hands on a nearby cloth. With a quick break of eye contact from the Prince, she regained her posture and took a breath. “It is my first time in the Palace, it is absolutely breath-taking.” She continued on, her amber eyes meeting with the Salvatore’s. “The art that you have here is a wonder in itself, let alone with your perfect archways and glorious halls. It makes me wish I could see more of it…” Pausing for a moment, Katherine grabbed a tray that was besides her, moving it to her hand’s reach. She doused her hands in more powder, coating them evenly, before she started to pull the dough apart. Rolling the sections into perfect, little balls before placing them on the flat surface to be baked. She flipped a curl behind her shoulder before speaking to the man again; attempting to be of interest. “I just came for today, I did not mean to impose on the other workers, but one had begged me to come help. I suppose you are having a bigger breakfast than planned?” 
SILAS IS SAD BECAUSE STEFAN PROMISED SILAS HE WOULDN’T EAT ANYMORE HUMANS, HE WILL JUST DRINK SILAS’ BLOOD BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT GOOD DOPPELGANGERS DO.
2. your detective name (favorite color and favorite animal): Red Doberman 
3. your soap opera name (middle name and street you live on): Lynn Wingate
4. your star wars name (first three letters of last name, first two of middle name, first two of first, last three of last): BerLyJeran
5. superhero name (color of your shirt, first item to your immediate left): Black Window [haha, sounds like Black Widow]
6. goth name (black and one of your pets): Black Cat [SPIDERMAN!]
Remembering Katherine Pierce Week - day three: Favorite BAMF moment
→ “I have a better plan. You go fetch it, and I will try not to kill anyone in the meantime.”
There was a part of Elena that had known that Katherine was completely and utterly right. However, she had seen a good side of Katherine before, before they became some sort of mortal enemies. They had both done wrong to the other. However, Elena was adamant that there was more to the story than had met the eye. Taking a deep breath, she tilted her head to the side, shaking her head. “I had to flip the switch because you killed the only family I had left. You know how that feels. You’re still working the bitch meter over your family five hundred years later. Heaven forbid that Katherine Pierce would h ave to feel anything.”
“The difference between you and I, Elena, is that you switch it off and I deal with it .” The Petrova stated with anger in her tone of voice. “Thanks for the history lesson, but we all know that Little Gilbert is safe at home now, since everything works out for you, precious .” She crossed her arms as she stared at her mirror, studying her as she moved. “Now, are you going to talk about this ’ this is different ’ deal or are you going to waste more of my time?" 


Sex. Celebrity. Politics. With Teeth
Sex. Celebrity. Politics. With Teeth
There's no insult in the English language like "slut": hurled as abuse, it can have a devastating impact. Being designated a "slut" can be reputation-ruining; however, it can also be taken as a compliment in certain situations, as a signifier of sexual attractiveness. A "good slut" is someone fun, sex-positive, and sexy — such a Samantha! Such a Jessa from GIRLS ! Tequila shots for all my sluts! A "bad slut," on the other hand, is someone who deserves the full force of our collective scorn and disdain. What's the difference, though?
The word "slut" can be used punitively, aggressively, shamingly, chidingly, in seemingly congratulatory manner, jokingly, with complete vitriol, etc. In short, it has no real, clearly-defined meaning. It's a collection of (sometimes contradictory) connotations huddled around an empty set, its only true defining feature being a murky connection to sexual impropriety. According to the dictionary , a "slut" is "a promiscuous woman; especially: PROSTITUTE." (Definition b: "a saucy girl: MINX"). Apparently, it comes from the Norwegian word for "impure liquid," which makes sense, because we sluts are constantly stewing in a collection of impure sauces, like those of the bog from which Grendel emerged.
So, fine, we can all agree that the denotation of "slut" is "a promiscuous woman" — but what even constitutes promiscuity in our era of ever-dissolving sexual prohibitions? Casual sex hasn't been a taboo (or even a source of deep-rooted, lingering shame! Woohoo!) for a long time, now — and, yet, the designation of "slut" lingers on as something we're still permitted, if not tacitly encouraged, to call women who don't have sex the way we think they should.
Enter slutformula.com , a website I came across this morning, that was probably crafted by an angry 15-year-old who lives in the stomach of a Balrog. It claims to contain "the official Slut Formula." Through some sort of complicated algorithm (misogyny x cum-sock/I hate vaginas), the site's author alleges that they're able to calculate your "Sluticity Value." Here's a fun bit of reasoning that accompanies the calculator:
Why the Slut Formula? Why does it only apply to Women? Women can pick and choose who they sleep with while men aren't nearly as picky and must constantly prove themselves while doing the attacking (ex: typically men approach women, not the other way around). Sluticity corrupts, and absolute sluticity corrupts absolutely. With provocative female attire, strict sexual harassment laws against men, and this innate ability to control them via vagina, women are the ones who must accept this responsibility and not abuse the power... if they do they will earn such titles as slut, whore, cock gobbler, etc.
The website, obviously, is a stinking pit of troll-feces that any woman with an ounce of self-awareness would likely know better than to take seriously (case in point: in order to not be a slut at all, at age 28, you can have had, at most: 3 sex partners, 5 kissing partners, and 5 oral sex partners). However, it didn't just hop out of a void, wielding a graph that shows a "linear relationship of sex and slutdom for a female." There are unspoken assumptions and deep-seated values in our society that create an environment in which less blatantly swinish iterations of this line of thinking proliferate.
Last week, Jezebel staff was discussing a recent psychological study that finds that college students who have meaningless sex (which is defined here as "sex with someone the respondent had known for less than a week") are more likely to exhibit "psychological distress." As lead researcher Dr. Melina M. Bersamin told Business Insider , "casual sex was negatively associated with well-being and positively associated with psychological distress." The idea that casual sex isn't always emotionally or physically fulfilling is, obviously, neither shocking nor new. But if casual sex is supposed to be the millennial's playground (no one steal this phrase and use it to name your nightclub because I am having it trademarked), shouldn't we at least be cool with it? Why does it cause us so much distress?
Looking to the lifestyles of twenty-somethings as an indication of what's broken or wrong with our…
The general consensus was that casual sex isn't necessarily easy to be casual about. It involves navigating a veritable minefield of pleasure, expectations, desire, miscommunications, muddled emotions, fun!! (let's not forget), but also of judgment and shame. Taking up the Mantle of Sluticity is not always a simple task, because it's caked with centuries worth of fears and myths and horrible assumptions re: sexually active women. So how does one even go about being successful at casual sex without experiencing emotional consequences? What makes The Perfect Slut?
To be clear, here's a handy list of how to be the Right Amount of Slutty:
The concept is bullshit for a lot of reasons — mostly because it causes women to worry that they're not behaving properly, according to a set of criteria that are both insane and lacking logic or any form of coherence.
Personally, I have always been a terrible slut. In my time at college, the only thing I was worse at than being a cool and fun slut was probably not falling asleep during that CogSci lecture I took by accident. This is because, during my time at college, I was growing up and starting to realize what kind of person I wanted to be. That's a fraught process, and one that almost necessarily involves a lot of insecurity and self-consciousness. A time of great uncertainty about one's own identity, it turns out, is not a ideal time to try and be a fun and carefree casual sexer — I realized this the hard way (i.e., crying under a strobe light at a party while eating a bag of Tostito's).
Having however much sex you want, with people you may or may not know very well, should be enjoyable, it should be easy, and it should never make you second-guess yourself. In other words, it requires that you're comfortable with who you are and what you want, and capable of communicating both of those things. It requires you to have reached a certain level of self-actualization and self-assurance. I wasn't there yet, so I sucked at being casually promiscuous. I projected my anxieties about myself as a person onto the "relationships" I was having, and it put me in a state of mild psychological distress.
What's even more baffling about the Slut Conundrum is that "psychological distress" is caused by pressure on both sides. Yes, negative stereotypes about women who have too much sex abound, but so, too, do stereotypes about women who don't have enough sex. Having had sex with far too few people at a certain age is seen as shameful — maybe in a different way than having had too much sex with too many people is, but it's a real pressure nonetheless. In environments where hooking up casually is the norm, there's a tacit pressure to fit in with one's peers. But when we're not given the right tools — either through a general unwillingness to have frank discussions about sexuality, or through a lack of self-possessed sexual female role models in the media, or through something else entirely — the very desire to "keep up" can be depressing and emotionally draining.
There's a line every woman must walk with her sexual identity. The old, strict, prohibitions around sex have been replaced with a set of nebulous demarcations: yes, you should have premarital sex; you should even have casual sex if you want! But there are certain ways you have to do it and certain patterns of behavior that are acceptable, otherwise you are gross and sad. It's a different type of sexual policing, but it strongly impacts the way we see the world, the way in which we think sex should happen, and what we think should happen afterwards.
I don't think that anyone can pinpoint the fine line between what's perceived as "healthy, sexual woman behavior" and "big slut behavior" (or, conversely, between what's seen as "healthy, sexy woman" and "sad prude"). And that's because it does not really exist. It's just an arbitrary distinction that allows us to malign women as freely — and illogically — as we please.

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