Before there was Team Edward and Team Jacob, it was Angel vs. Spike. A vital discourse that continues to this day, my answer has always been the leather jacketed, British, smoker and smoking hot Spike. He has better cheekbones, a more dynamic character and a proper crypt. However, there is an incredibly problematic element to rooting for Spike. He is an attempted rapist. Continue reading
Svetlana’s body could longer stand the cold; she shivered at the bus stop while fingering the cross around her neck. She’d moved to Prague from Most, away from her parents, and from their neighbours’ stares and the gossip that echoed the halls of their apartment building. She placed a hand on her swollen belly. She was pregnant, due in four weeks.
if your guts are a clenched fist
if your veins are tired of holding breath
light five candles in Black Doris plum-red Continue reading
For a long time I imagined I’d end up a job which required a white lab coat. Partly because I hate deciding what to wear to work in the morning, but mostly because I wanted to be one of those people who discovers things. Which is probably why last year I got so jazzed about Masters of Sex, the show set during a time when everyone is all GOO about sexy stuff and not really interested in female health because it’s the 50s and because most doctors are men and because penis trumps vagina. It focuses on the pioneers in the science of human sexuality, and the lengths they had to go to for women to understand and take control of their bodies and actually be seen as people for the first time in their lives. Also, Allison Janney is in it. Continue reading
Our 2am series is officially over, and we want to take the time to say a big thank you to everyone who read, contributed, commented, liked or shared our posts in the last fortnight. It was super heartening to feel all that love and support flowing through our little Scum community. If there’s any feedback you’d like to share, please feel free to leave it in the comments of this post!
And now we have some big news. Continue reading
I used to have all this hair, back when I didn’t like looking at the future, back when everything was super new and fresh like cold wind on bleeding acne. I liked to wash my hair and condition it so it would be soft and sleek, and I’d spent the day patting it and digging my fingers in and just kinda humming happily to myself. I didn’t brush my hair, so it looked like maybe I had curls. A hairdresser once told me I had fine hair, which for many years made me believe I’d go bald in my mid-twenties like my dad or my uncles or my cousins. But then we went to a wedding and all the men in the family booed me during a family photo because amongst all the sleek bald heads there was me, a weird puff of blonde hair that’s forgotten how to be blonde, a big mass of something non-descript like ‘light brown’ or ‘tan’. If I were the best friend of the protagonist in a YA dystopian novel, my hair would be described as ‘mousy’, but it would be ok because I’d be really smart and supportive. But irl I am not very smart or supportive, which is why I’m glad the world is not a YA dystopia. But my hair is mousy. Continue reading