#before some lost angry terf finds this

[philsmeatylegss]

A huge underlying view among many terfs that frustrates me beyond belief is Islamophobia. I have seen countless of posts from Terfs using the stories of abused Muslim women as an excuse to say the whole religion is oppressive and sexist. I have seen so many posts about how hijabs and burkas are oppressive and women who choose to wear them are working against women’s rights. They often imply that most of, if not all, Muslim men are violent in the name of religion. They fail to make the obvious connection between the fact that there’s a huge difference between fascist governments using Islam as an excuse to oppress women and actual Islam and Muslims. Ofc women should have the right to chose if they want to be religious, if they want to cover up, if they want to take on a submissive role. No one is denying that. The reasons those rights are taken from women, often in the Middle East (which is what terfs often reference), is the fault of the government, not the religion. Yeah, there are abusive men who will use Islam as an excuse for their actions. Just like there are Christian men who will use Christianity as an excuse for their actions. Same goes for pretty much all religions. People covering up their abuse under the guise of religion is not limited to just Islam. It happens in most religions. It’s happened pretty much since religion started.

It’s just so ignorant and out of touch and you know they have never spoken to a Muslim person. If they did, they would know Muslims are the same as Christians and Jews and atheists and so on. It’s not some evil curse. It’s a religion that mainly focuses on peace. And to demonize it, using the horrors women have faced as an excuse is just so messed up. Most people on the internet haven’t realized there’s a big difference between a religion and people using that religion as a coverup for their shitty actions. The existence of governments using Islam to persecute women is because of bad people, not Islam. Terfs just want one group of people to be declared bad so they can blame everything on them. They claim to want to protect all women, and then condemn an entire religion. They talk about horrid treatment of women and blame religion rather than the perpetrators. It’s a very common belief a lot of them hold and I never see it mentioned and it just really pisses me off.

#I haven’t gone on a terf blocking spree in a while but I just remembered one of those kinds of posts #I’m not lying when I say I have seen a lot of posts with this message #and it just makes me so mad #I was raised in a pretty much completely catholic town and I’ve always been insanely ignorant so it took me a solid four years to realize m #my close friend was Muslim #I didn’t realize it because she acted exactly the same #the only different thing was she didn’t eat meat and her family didn’t like to celebrate Halloween #that’s all I fucking knew #she was just a normal fucking person and her family was a normal fucking family #I hung out with her family when we were still friends and they were normal #and actually really kind #people #Muslims aren’t some exotic species #they are exactly the same #when not being influenced by the government #most Muslims just want a normal life just like how most Christian’s and Jews and atheists want a normal life #I just hate Islamophobia so much and I hate terfs so much and it just isn’t surprising the two overlap #before some lost angry terf finds this #no I’m not saying all terfs believe this #I’m sure there are Muslim terfs #I’m just talking about what I’ve seen when I’ve gone on blocking sprees #rae’s rambles #fuck terfs #terfs don’t touch #not terf safe #fuck radfems #tw terfs

[americannslytherinn]

i don’t miss you, i miss the misery

Ship: Werewolf!Severus Snape x Sirius Black (Hateship)

Word Count: 1372

Summary: To explain the AU a bit, James didn't save Severus from following Remus into the Shrieking Shack and Remus attacked him, but Severus managed to survive the ordeal. Dumbledore provided Severus with a safehouse after he graduated while Remus was carted off to Azkaban sometime after, and James and Sirius walk free. This fic takes place between graduating from Hogwarts and Severus returning to Hogwarts as a teacher, basically pre-James & Lily's deaths. Sirius appears on Severus' doorstep to announce Remus' capture and to seemingly apologize for treating him so horribly... one can imagine how that turns out.

🗡️NO TERFS NO BIGOTS NO PROSHITTERS🗡️

It was late autumn in the Scotland woodlands, on the cusp of winter, a thin layer of frost covering every dead leaf and frozen trail. The cold crept into Severus Snape’s cabin, even when he kept it as hot as he could stand it without burning the place down. Even upon contracting lycanthropy, his blood continued to run cold. Still, that was the only thing he felt remained the same, besides the solitude. That night in the Shrieking Shack back in Hogsmeade had upheaved his life beyond words. He didn’t know what had happened to those involved that night, and he preferred to keep it that way. Dumbledore had found him his safehouse, and he was convinced that was where he would stay for the rest of his days. It seemed not even the Death Eaters could reach him here, though he swore he had seen Lucius combing the woods some evenings.

Buried in three sweaters, his cloak, heavy pants, thermal underwear, a lengthy scarf, and two pairs of fingerless gloves, Severus tended to his fire, poking at the logs and feeling the warmth on his pale face. His muscles stilled, hair standing on end, ears prickling as he thought he heard a knock at the door- he knew he heard a knock at the door. He could smell them, too. Sweat and musk and oils on their skin, the dirt under their nails, but stronger yet, plain soap and… pomade. He was torn between throwing the door open and thrusting his wand forcefully at who he knew was out there, and simply ignoring it altogether. Unfortunately, the knocker wasn’t patient, and pounded on the door a second time, shaking it in its frame. Severus could make out a muffled yell.

“I’m knocking because I’m trying to be polite- don’t make me blast down the door, because I will, Snivellus!”

Full of rage in the blink of an eye, Severus rose from where he crouched before the fireplace and whipped his wand out of his pocket, yanking open the door. “How did you find me?” He growled.

Before him stood Sirius Black, tall, well-built, and horribly, deceitfully handsome. “I asked Dumbledore. They locked up Remus.”

Chest still heaving, Severus blinked, realizing how tired and lost Sirius looked. He kept his wand pointed at his chest, hand steady.

“Azkaban,” Severus said it aloud to confirm it for himself. “If anyone should be locked away it should be you and James Potter!”

“I know.” There was a hard glint in Sirius’ eyes and his jaw locked slightly as he admitted this. “May I come in?”

Colour rose in Severus’ face as he began to splutter in disbelief. “You- you really- after- what- who do you- Come? In??” He spat, his wand hand jerking forward almost of its own accord and angry sparks flying from the tip, missing the hem of Sirius’ travelling cloak by inches.

“May I please come in?” Sirius pleaded through gritted teeth before holding up his hands and wiggling his fingers. “It’s getting a bit nippy out now that the sun’s gone down, Snape, and I forgot my gloves.”

“The gall of the Black family knows no bounds,” Severus hissed as he reluctantly stepped aside, his eyes not wavering from Sirius for a second. “What?! What could be so important, besides telling me your so-called friend received what should’ve been your downfall, that you need to violate my home with your presence on tonight of all nights?!”

Sirius entered the cabin and closed the door behind him, pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering something… something that almost sounded apologetic. It was such an odd noise to come from the man before him that Severus faltered, lowering his wand slightly.

“What?”

“I said I’mf… sfrrfymf…” Sirius mumbled, trailing off again and refusing to look him in the eye. Severus opened the door again.

“If you’ve nothing to say, get. Out.”

“Severus, I’m sorry I goaded you into going after Remus!” Sirius barked, still not looking him in the face. A shiver ran through Severus’ body as he slowly closed the door again. His eye twitched as he stared ahead.

“You’re lying to my face.”

“I’m not! I was stupid, it was stupid, I didn’t understand--”

“You understood full well that I would be maimed if I went into that house. If I had died, my blood would’ve been on all of your hands. James and you and Remus, the whole damned lot of you.”

“I should’ve taken Remus more seriously!”

“That you should’ve, Black. You were a terrible friend amongst terrible friends.” Severus sneered, relishing in the fact he could insult Sirius in this state, yet he still did not trust that the man was entirely remorseful. It had not been that long ago that this all had happened, after all, and Sirius seemed very set in his path. So desperate to shake off the name “Black” that he did not care who he hurt along the way.

“I know,” Sirius wrung his hands. “I haven’t slept since I saw it in the papers… Remus’ sentence, I mean.”

“Did it take his wrongful imprisonment to shock you into reality, Black?” Feeling more powerful than he ever had while being in the same room as one of his tormentors, he couldn’t help himself. With a passionate thought and a subtle twitch of his wand, Sirius suddenly flew into the air, hung upside down by his ankle by an invisible force. He yelped in fear while Severus’ breathing quickened in excitement. “Do you see how it feels, now?”

Sirius struggled in the air, red in the face. “Put me down Sni- Snape! I’m trying to be nice, please, give me some credit!”

“Nice? Don’t kid yourself…” Severus spoke disgustedly as he settled into his armchair, bemusedly eying Sirius’ floating body. “You haven’t a nice bone in your entire body.”

“I could say the same for you.” Sirius’ face grew dark as he glared down at him. Suddenly, Severus was back on his feet.

“Only because you and your friends exacerbated what problems I already had! You didn’t give me a chance to be ‘nice!’ Even Lily…” He froze, choking on his own breath, eyes bulging. Silence, aside from the crackling fire, descended upon the cabin like a wake of buzzards upon a carcass as Sirius and Severus shared a long stare. For the first time that evening, Severus’ hands began to shake, and his sense of power began to diminish.

“You’re not wrong, you know,” Sirius finally spoke after a moment or two. “But really, whose fault was it that the two of you fell apart? She tried to show you kindness, expecting the same in return, but you couldn’t even handle that.”

Severus settled back down into his chair, still silent.

“Maybe we’ve both been daft this whole time.”

“Watch your head.”

“What--?”

Suddenly, Sirius came crashing back to the floor, landing on his back and knocking the air out of his lungs. Severus watched him lazily as he slowly resumed a standing position.

“I don’t accept your apology. I don’t trust you. And I certainly don’t feel like ‘bonding’ over mental instability, Black.” Severus stood once more. “In fact, I believe you’ve only come here because they carted off your boyfriend and now you’re looking for another emotional support werewolf to fill the void and, forgive the expression, lick your wounds.”

Subtly, Sirius swallowed as Severus continued. “I now ask you, as kindly as I can, to fuck off and never bother me again.”

“I suppose I can tell you then that it was Lily’s idea for me to visit you in the first place.”

Severus’ eyes blazed with fury and a loud bang filled the room, along with a flash of light and a wooshing sound that passed within seconds. When the light cleared, Sirius Black was nowhere to be seen, having clearly apparated from the scene. Instead, there was now a large, black scorch mark on the opposite wall, where Severus’ hex had missed.

“Blast it all…!” He snarled and kicked out angrily before swearing as his foot connected with his coffee table, gripping it and hopping up and down for a moment. How I hate that man.

#snirius #severus x sirius #hp fanfic #pro snape #snapedom #enemies to lovers #kind of #severus snape #sirius black #🌦️🐍.SNAPE #🟢⚪.SLYTHERIN #🔴🟡.GRYFFINDOR #🐍💬.PARSELTONGUE

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

hello! I once heard the opinion that the zutara fandom (the loudest and most toxic part of it, of course, we are not talking about normal people who just enjoy their ship) has features of cultist, sectarian thinking and organization. I haven't thought about it much, but recently a friend of mine who understands quite a lot about cults and sects and to whom I showed the most popular zutara blogs and their meta tags here, tumblr (I didn't push him on this idea, we were just chatting about fandoms) said that according to the type of thinking zutara's fandom has features of a religious cult. this thought seemed interesting to me. what do you think about it?

I'd say it's true, but it does not apply solely to Zutara, or even to the ATLA fandom.

I lost count of how many times I've seen some legit insane news here in Brazil about angry fans of some soccer team violently beating, or straight up murdering, people that were wearing the "wrong" t-shirt after a game.

Harry Potter had the weird thing with the Snape wives, and now has the current cult-like TERF bullshit JK Rowlling encourages on a daily basis.

One of my cousins is VERY into K-pop and told me some WILD shit about some idols literally have to sign contracts that forbid them from dating (or at least publicly dating) anyone because half of the marketing around their persona is "You, regular person, could totally date them!" and faced some ABSURD backlash, including death threats towards them and their partners, when they were revealed to be in a relationship.

Anything, no matter how mundane, can be used by some disturbed people to excuse/encourage awful behavior. It's usually a result of desperate, lonely people needing to find ANYTHING that makes them feel like they belong, are part of a group, of a community, to the point that they shut off from anything else and become obsessed. That kind of thing has always existed, but BOY, has the internet made it sooooooooooo much worse.

I mean, seriously, just look at the things the "extreme" zutara fans do.

Creating whole conspiracies to justify why their was totally canon until some evil authority screwed it over, lying about anything and everything that happened both in canon and in the making of the show, even going as far as creating fake "evidence" of some huge power struggle between Bryke and other writers (mainly Ehasz).

Harrassing, bullying, doxxing and threatening anyone that has a different opinion, and justifying their actions with "Oh, but the people were doing this to ship Kataang/Maiko, which means they're all raging mysogynists, rape apologists, and 100% against interracial relationships."

The constant claims of "Bryke are creepy pedos because they only pushed Kataang because they are attracted to Katara, a cartoon character, and thus are attracted to real-life 14-year-olds! That's even the real reason why Aang is bald! To look like one of them!" that are not only ridiculous but could EASILY lead to a lawsuit, and ignores the fact that Zutara, like any popular ship, has tons of smut of it even though both characters are underage - make it make sense!

And, of course, the classic "This bad behavior people accused some of us of is completely false! I didn't see it, so it didn't happen! Nobody here would do that! Never one of us! Must have been one of them, the evil fans of kataang/maiko/(insert any ship for either Zuko or Katara here)!"

Some of the bad apples in the Zutara fandom are just entitled assholes, but I'm also pretty sure that some of these people legit need to see a mental health professional. There's being passionate about a ship and being upset that it didn't happen, and then there's being downright delusional.

And before anyone tries to pull the ableism card on me: I've been through this shit. Thankfully I've never reached the point of ever harming anyone in any way, but I was a mentally ill child/teenager that just latched onto the media I liked, and it made it my whole life.

I had full on panic attacks because the power went out and I couldn't watch my favorite TV show, and I'd cry for DAYS when something bad happened to my favorite characters. I legit started showing signs of depression because one of my favorite bands had broken up, to the point that my parents were really fucking scared. I got FURIOUS at an annoying classmate in school who talked shit about my favorite singer, to the point that I legit had to get away from them as fast as humanly possible because I was three seconds away from starting a physical fight - again, all because a random kid whose opinion on literally anything else wouldn't have meant a damn thing to me.

That is not being passionate. That is not being a loyal fan. That is a clear sign that something is VERY wrong and that you need some help FAST. See a therapist, deal with whatever it is that is pushing you to act like that, THEN engage in fandom stuff as much as you want. But don't ever make this your whole personality.

#anti zutara #mental health #personal

[genderkoolaid]

Are we sharing examples or transandrophobia? I want to share especially as an autistic trans man and how that intersect. Tw for like mentions of r@pe but no detail. These specific incidents actually run through my mind almost constantly. I came out for the FIRST time when I was 16: -people refused to use the name I had chosen despite me pointing out that's stupid because out cis male friend had changed his name just because he didn't like it and all I was doing was dropping one letter

-my best friend told me that if I slept with a girl who thought I was a "real" man and after she found out I was trans I would have been a rapist for consensually going down on a girl who "thought I was a real man"

-I had a random girl in my class "ask if my ex bf knew I really had a dick" when I said I was trans

-my parents said "no matter what, you'll always be our little girl"

So, I went back into the closet for the most part. I went by She/They and was always like "im not a girl" but people pretty much brushed me off and I didn't pursue transition bc I was afraid of how people would treat me. I came out AGAIN at 21, this time really putting my foot down that I AM MALE.

-My aunt started to refer to my info dumping as "mansplaining" so I stopped sharing my interests with her

-People began to actively misgender me, whereas before some people would at least try to use they as well as she, I only get called she now and never they

-I started to get harassed in public for holding my partner's hand even tho we're both trans

-People really go out of their way to gender me now. "When I was a girl" nobody ever ma'amed me. NEVER, ever.

-People like to assume I'm mentally ill for being trans or that someone must have pushed me to be trans. Their pea brains implode when I say actually I really struggled to come out in the face of everyone telling me not to and I'm trans because I realized I'd die from trying to harm myself if I didn't accept who I already am

-I got sent a lot of death threats and rape threats. A lot. Mostly online, of course, but it really took me aback the negative reaction I had from the WLW spaces I was in when I said I was leaving because, well, I'm not a woman. Crypto terfs, man.

-My uncle said to me, and I quote "Keep this trans shit away from your grandmother, she has enough to deal with" I asked him what he expected me to do when I grew facial hair and muscles and lost my tits. He didn't answer, he probably didn't care.

-My aunt, who claimed to be the most accepting, still misgenders me and acts personally offended when I tell her she's not progressive for doing the bare minimum to show me respect, and not even consistently.

-My aunt ALSO told me I was the reason SHE wasnt getting HRT for her early menopause because "T is gonna make you angry and I don't want to be around that" (T made me calmer and less likely to EXPRESS my anger, actually. I have to find different ways to let it out now bc I kinda just CANT feel angry or sad the same way anymore)

-None of my family has called me to ask me how I'm doing since i came out. They all kinda avoid talking to me, but won't say it, I've noticed though.

-My partner's mom told me she wanted me to go to therapy. I said I'd go for my PTSD as it was causing problems between her and I, she said "No, I want you to go for 'this'" Meaning, she wanted me to go to therapy for being trans. My partner got upset at this and said that absolutely would not be happening because being trans isnt a mental illness

-cis people look at me in TERROR when they misgender me, like they're waiting for me to freak out at them or physically assault them. It actually really hurts my feelings tbh, out of everything those moments sting the most. People I don't even know very well assuming the worst of me for being trans.

Idk just the pure hatred people have towards transmascs and then for people withing our own communities to act like these things don't happen on the daily and don't drive us to have among the highest suicide rates out of any other demographic... It hurts. It really hurts, I want to cry over it and then still this little voice in my head, the voice THEY put there, says to me "Boys don't cry. if you show the slightest sign that these things hurt you, they won't take you seriously"

Thank you for sharing your experiences.

#m. #ask box #experiences with transandrophobia #rape tw

[mr-smith-stories]

Mr. Smith #8: CVS Pharmacy

After getting fired (again) from Great Adventure, Mr. Smith and his friends landed a job at CVS Pharmacy. Mr. Smith stood at the counter, trying to decide how to help his first customer.

“What was it you needed again?” Mr. Smith asked the man.

“I have a prescription for some anti- depressants, I’ve been feeling sort of down lately,” The man said.

“No, no. I know what you need,” Mr. Smith pulled out an open, half finished bag of cough drops and handed them to his customer. “Cough drops always make me feel better when I’m sad. They work for Simon and Philip, too.”

The man looked confused. “How will this help me with my depression?”

“What’s depression?” Asked Mr. Smith.

“You don’t know what depression is and you’re working at a pharmacy?” Asked the customer.

Philip came out from the back room. “I’m the manager. Is there a problem here?!” He asked.

“I’m trying to get some medications here, and he’s trying to give me a half empty bag of cough drops!” The customer explained.

Philip took the cough drops and inspected them. “Hm, these look alright to me. This certainly helps me with my depression. It should work for you too.”

The man stormed off in an angry huff, the door slamming behind him. Amy and Susan appeared from the back. “I don’t get why he’s mad. I LOVE cough drops,” Amy said.

“People get mad at me sometimes too,” Susan said. “When I was in high school the teacher got mad at me for cheating on all my tests. It was annoy-ing.”

“That IS annoying!” Amy exclaimed. “People get mad at me here for losing their prescriptions within five minutes of giving them to me!”

“Oh my God, that’s annoying too!” Susan exclaimed. They high fived each other.

Simon then came back from the bathroom where he’d clearly been crying. “What’s wrong?” Asked Amy.

“I keep getting lost on the way from the bathroom to the front of the store, and it’s really scary!” Simon explained. “This is the tenth time it’s happened today!”

“You’re weird, the store has like five rooms total, and we’ve only been working for two hours.” Susan said, and Simon burst into tears.

“I’m going to go cry some more in the bathroom if I can find it!” Simon sobbed, running out of the room.

The door chimed, and two teenagers walked in. Mr. Smith gasped. “Leo and Richard! My arch nemeses! How dare you come to my terf AGAIN!”

“Oh Jesus,” swore Leo. “How is it you’re always wherever we go?”

“YOU’RE wherever I go!” Mr. Smith yelled. “The bane of my existence! The teenage gay geniuses! Why can’t you be stupid so I don’t have to feel insecure?!”

“We’d just like to pick up a prescription,” Leo said.

“Can you handle that, Mr. Smith? Just one prescription and we’re gone,” Ritchie said.

“I just need some allergy medications. I have a bit of a cold,” Leo explained. Leo sneezed and then took out a tissue, wiping his nose and throwing it in a nearby trash bin. “I’m hoping to feel better before my psychology test at the end of the week.”

Mr. Smith scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Ok,” He said.

“That’s it?” Asked Leo. “No, “I don’t like you!” or “I refuse to help someone smarter than me!” You’re going to actually help us?”

“Ye-s.” Mr. Smith said. “I’ll be back.” Mr. Smith came back a few minutes later with anti- depressants. “These should do the trick.”

“These are anti- depressants,” Leo said upon seeing the name of the drugs.

“You’ll feel better by your test,” Said Philip.

“But I don’t have depression,” Leo said shortly.

“Well, I always feel better after taking those.”

“You have depression?” Asked Leo.

“No, I just like taking them after I sneak them out of the pharmacy,” Philip said.

“We steal drugs from here too,” Said Amy.

“I used to steal drugs in high school,” Susan said. “But they were my drug dealer’s, not from a pharmacy.”

“Me too!” Amy exclaimed, and they high fived each other.

“Please just give me cold medications,” Leo said. “I’m really sick.”

“Yes, please stop wasting our time,” Ritchie said. “Just give Leo his medications or I’ll talk to your manager.”

“I’m the manger here,” Philip said, stepping forward.

“Are mangers smart?” Asked Mr. Smith.

“Ideally,” Said Leo.

“Then I’M the manager here,” Mr. Smith said, stepping forward.

“No, Mr. Smith, you’re too stupid to be the manager,” Said Philip. “I’M the manager here.”

The door chimed, and in came a medium height brown haired boy. “Oh!” Exclaimed Leo. “Hi Alex!” Leo sneezed.

“Hey,” Ritchie nodded to his friend.

“Hello, Leo and Ritchie,” Said Alex. “I just came to pick up my testosterone pills.”

“What’s testosterone?” Asked Mr. Smith. “Is it a cough medicine?”

“No,” Alex said. “It’s to help give me more masculine traits through hormonal treatment.”

“Those were a lot of big words,” Philip said.

“So you’re transgender?” Asked Amy. “You’re transitioning to male?”

“Wait,” Mr. Smith said. “You’re transgender? That makes no sense. You can’t be anything but what you’re born,”

“But your name is Petunia,” Said Ritchie.

“Yeah,” Said Leo. “You’re criticisizing Alex for not being your idea of a man, but you have a woman’s name!” Leo sneezed again.

“Your name is Petunia?” Alex laughed. “That’s embarrassing!”

“Shut up, devil spawn!” Mr. Smith yelled, pounding his fist on the counter.

The manager finally came out from the back. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh thank God,” Said Leo. “Are you the manager?”

“I’M the manager,” Philip said.

“No, I am!” Mr. Smith interjected.

Simon finally returned from the bathroom, wiping tears from his eyes. “I thought he was the manager!” He pointed to the manager.

“You two are most certainly NOT managers. Yes, I am the manager. What seems to be the problem here?” Asked the manager.

“I need allergy medications, and Alex needs testosterone pills,” Leo explained. “They keep refusing to help us.”

“I’LL help you then. Mr. Smith, you and your friends are all fired!” The manager said. Simon and Philip burst into tears as they always did when they were fired, and Susan and Amy both scoffed, “That’s so annoying!” Mr. Smith pouted and stamped his foot. The manager gave the three boys their medications, and they left the store as Mr. Smith began to have a temper tantrum, knocking medications off the shelves until finally security escorted them all out.

Fin.

***

#cvs pharmacy #mr. smith #relentless mr. smith #leo and ritchie #alex #amy and susan #philip and simon #fictional gay couple #fiction #silly story #parodies #funny story #original story #that awkward moment when you and your friend both impersonate your boss to look smart… in front of your boss #when you go to the pharmacy to get anti depressants but the guy at the counter doesn’t know what depression is #poor leo just wants his cold medicine but mr. smith insists on being chaotic evil #gay #cute gay couple

[caker-baker]

Hi!! I hope your having a wonderful day or night! I was wondering if you could do another part to the speedster and telepath? No worries if you can’t!

Tracking a hero who theoretically ran faster than a bullet was proving difficult, especially when there was no longer a customized mental hold on said hero.

The villain didn’t give up, though, and they wouldn’t now, but their attention was being pulled away.

Normally, the villain would have put aside any crimes to find their hero, but this was also a matter of pride. Their intel told of some new villain, someone in their city, their terf.

They were ready, their mind warded to the brim if the other villain happened to be a telepath, and most other defenses didn’t stand against the villain’s mental strength.

Except super speed, apparently. They thought bitterly.

The villain wasn’t proud of their little tantrum a few months ago, but it gave them some perspective - how much they need the hero.

They had a contingency plan now, albeit a somewhat weak one. The villain had never been outsmarted like that before, even if it wasn’t so much about outsmarting, and more of the villain’s cuff going faulty.

Then the hero phasing through the cuff.

And predicting the villain’s moves.

And managing to avoid the villain’s mental grasp.

Maybe the hero was a tad more quick than the villain gave them credit for, quick in more ways than one.

With rolled up sleeves and an outfit they didn’t mind dirtying, the villain entered the supposed base of operations for this other villain, some run-of-the-mill dilapidated factory building, just outside the city.

It was a well educated guess, their intel could be wrong, but it looked too calm, something similar to when the villain just started.

“Hello.” The villain drawled in a mocking tone. “Surely you knew I was coming, wherever you are.”

The darkness wasn’t an issue, the villain could just extend a mental reach, what was an issue was the lack of thought to take hold of. There was just nothing.

“Hm.” The villain was resigned, and already back to focusing on the hero.

That’s when it hit them, this - this nothing felt a lot like something else.

“Hero?” The villain asked.

The answer was clear when the villain was knocked onto their back by a seemingly invisible force.

“Of course. You made it away from me once with knowledge of my telepathy, so why wouldn’t they send you back?” The villain stood and dusted themselves off. “Was the intel wrong as well? No new villains I need to take care of?”

All the questions were rhetorical, they both knew that, just like they both knew they were only building up to the inevitable.

The hero stopped. “You’ve...you’ve been quiet.”

Immediately the villain knew something was wrong, but they could play around this for as long as necessary.

“Yes, my plans have been otherwise put on hold until a certain pet finds it’s way back home.”

The two began a slow circle around each other.

“Why,” the hero staggered to the side, the villain raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just freeze me then?”

“Something’s different about you.” The villain acknowledged, almost sing-song “Since you’ve so kindly locked me out of that pretty head, I’ll have to figure it out the old fashioned way.”

With that, the hero zipped around, the villain very narrowly dodging their attacks. Once or twice, the hero would stumble again, slowing them down.

After another trip, the villain figured out the hero’s pattern: left to right, side to side. Knowing that, it was easy for the villain to shoot out their hand and snag the hero back by their collar.

They figured if the hero could phase through objects touching them, phasing through the villain would be no problem, hence grabbing the hero’s collar. The hero could always, however, phase through their own uniform, but the villain doubted they would want to be shirtless.

“Are you really so,” the hero stopped and panted, as strange as that was. “So hurt?” The words were supposed to be mocking, but the hero’s tiredness made it less so.

“Hurt? No, pet. This is all a matter of pride.” The villain didn’t hesitate, not wanting to give the hero a chance to run.

With their free hand, the villain placed their fingers on the hero’s temple, and plunged.

The villain could still vaguely sense what was happening in the outside world, but the hero’s mind was much more occupying.

It was chaotic.

The villain could feel any and all of the hero’s piece of mind torn to shreds, not gone, but broken. Then there were the surface level thoughts: Stop it. Get out of my head. You aren’t supposed to know how.

The villain went deeper.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts.

Memories began to bubble up, memories the hero very much wanted to stay hidden.

“It’ll be ok,” a whitecoat promised. “It’s just so they can’t control you.”

The villain felt the hero’s pain as something sharp and quick took them over, felt the hero’s mind synch up with something not their own, felt barriers upon barriers, layers of pressure too heavy for one head.

Almost as if someone dragged them out, the villain was forced out of the now angry teared hero’s mind.

“Hero,” the villain spoke low and soft. “I want to help you, but I need you copoorate”

“No. No.” The hero tried to pull away, but the villain held fast.

“They tried to make your mind as fast as the rest of you, so fast I couldn’t touch it.” The villain snapped. “They did it poorly. It will kill you unless I find a way to undo that. Let me find a way to undo that.”

The hero wasn’t as frantic anymore, but their face was still red and tired, the occasional tear slipping down their cheek.

“I’m not going back with you, I don’t want to be under anyone’s control.”

The villain buckled after a swift kick to their shins, the hero released from their grasp.

“You-” they growled. “Stay still.”

“Screw you.” The hero said from somewhere in the building, too fast for the villain to tell.

“Was I really that bad to you?” Asked the villain, eyes searching frantically for a stumbling hero. “It doesn’t have to be compulsion, pet, it doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be, just come back with me, let me fix whatever happened.” Contingency plan be damned.

The hero tripped over their own feet, tired and sweating.

“How often do you tire like that?” The villain asked, slowly walking to the hero. “You know it’s not normal, I know it’s not normal, so why pretend it is?”

This time around, the hero was predicatable, and before they could move, the villain tackled, pinning the hero on the ground.

With one hand on the hero’s head, the villain mustered all the command they could.

“Sleep.”

And the hero did, suddenly out like a light.

Truth be told, it probably wouldn’t take that much to put the hero to sleep, they were already exhausted.

“I promise, pet, I’m not trying to hurt you.” The villain whispered, before taking the plunge again.

They didn’t know if it would hurt the hero, going through their unconscious mind. This was something they had only done twice, both times were out of necessity, somewhat like this now.

There was the whitecoat again, whispering soothing words to the hero as something took root in the base of their neck.

Go back. The others urged the hero. You know how to finally beat villain.

The villain felt the hero’s humming head, the heaviness sinking in deeper. Wide eyed, the villain left the hero’s mind to flip them onto their stomach.

It was hardly noticeable at first, but the villain was good with gadgets, good at knowing what to look for.

The chip at the base of the hero’s neck was killing them slowly as it worked. Rewriting a prefrontal cortex through the spinal cord was horribly stupid, and something even the villain couldn’t do.

The villain needed total silence and a cleanlier place of work if they were going to detach the chip from the hero’s spine. And that’s just what they would get.

.

Every so often while working on the hero, the villain seriously questioned who the good guys were.

They didn’t delude themselves into thinking they were a good person, the villain knew they weren’t, but they wouldn’t try and rewrite someone on a mental level like this.

What the villain did was gentle, what the other heroes did was sloppy. The villain just urged the hero to stay, they didn’t try and force them to change completely.

It wasn’t right to do that to a fellow hero.

When the hero woke up, they would be angry, angry at the villain for taking them back, angry they had lost, but hopefully themselves again, that’s what mattered.

The villain watched the hero intently, wondering what their anger could afford them, and considering the fluttering eyelids, the villain would soon find out.

“Please don’t move too fast, pet. As hard as that is for you.”

The hero didn’t heed any warnings, a hand flying up to the base of their neck, legs already planted on the ground.

“Just hear me out!” The villain had raised their voice over the hero clattering throughout the small room.

The hero continued to zip about, almost to the door, but the villain was standing in front of it.

Now they were face to face.

“While I have no doubt in your abilities and think you could match your frequency with mine easily, I also don’t believe phasing through me and the door is a risk you want to take.”

The room was otherwise unhelpful to the hero, no windows, and there was no telling they would come through somewhere safe if they tried a wall.

“Surely you don’t expect me to be civil.” The hero spat.

“Well, I was hoping you would take into consideration that I saved your life.” The villain knew they were guilt tripping the hero, but they really needed to hero to comply, which they did.

Now sitting, the hero didn’t bother to look the villain in the eyes.

“Your hero friends,” The villain began, sitting opposite the hero. “Sent you to fight someone viewed as a psychopath, armed only with experimental technology and super speed.”

“Are you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“A psychopath.” The hero explained. “I never asked in the time we were together.”

“No.” The villain said slowly. “And that isn’t the point. You don’t want to get to the point, because then you would be forced to admit your hero friends are bad people.”

“Don’t read my-”

“I didn’t. I don’t need to anyway, you have confirmed my suspicions.”

“No!” The hero protested. “You’re just twisting around the situation!”

The villain tilted their head up. “Am I?”

At that, the hero stayed silent.

“I’m not going to make you stay, pet.” The villain said, much to the shock of them both. “I just have a favor to ask.”

The hero’s eyes narrowed. “And that would be?”

“Stay away from your hero friends, just a couple of days.”

There was silence, and for a second, the villain was worried the hero wouldn’t agree, but their thoughts told a different story.

“That’s all?”

“Scout’s honor.” The villain held up a hand in a mock pledge.

It was difficult for the hero to stifle a laugh. “For some reason, I can’t imagine you as a happy camper.”

“Ah,” the villain grinned. “Well, a budding telepath rooming with more loud children, you know how these things go.”

The hero stood again. “Will you be unlocking the door?”

“If I must.”

Then the villain was alone. “Goodbye, pet.” They whispered.

It was unfortunate the hero didn’t seem too angry at the other heroes, it would have made going after their reckless friends easier. Still, they didn’t need the hero’s approval, they would be doing it one way or another.

The new mental track was still in place, so the villain knew if the hero went back on their word to see those apparent friends.

Yes, it would all be a choice this time around, but the options would grow slim.

.

A note: I hope you are having a wonderful day or night too.

#hero #heroine #heroes #villain #villains #villainess #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #requested #part three #I’m sorry #I had no clue where this was going #I still don’t #thank you for requesting though

[trashno0dle]

Okay so last night I came up with a Harry Potter AU - and honestly I actually hyped myself with it. But here we go- 

Set in the movies. Ginny-centric (I'm only just starting to get back into Harry Potter now for some reason, honestly I don't like to think about the books and the terf bitch who wrote them so let's just ignore that)

Basically Ginny's a lesbian. Yeah that's right, fuck Harry and let my girl get with Hermione. And that's exactly what she does in this AU. And instead of being tossed aside after Chamber of Secrets and brought back as a love interest for your typical hetero couple plotline during round about Half Blood Prince Ginny confesses her feelings towards Hermione. And Hermione being the bi queen she is says "lmao fuck Ron" and gets with his sister instead. The two had unresolved feelings for one another anyway, and I'm adding a lot more depth into this later on but yeah.

Then Deathly Hallows comes along. And then Ginny's lost when she finds out her girlfriend has disappeared along with her brother and his best friend. Hogwarts is hell. Death Eaters all over the castle, Slytherin reigns supreme. And Snape isn't taking any bullshit off anyone. And instead of backing down like she would have done, instead of quacking in the very presence of him Ginny steps up to defend her fellow students and their pride. She's leads the revolution of Gryffindor's in a fight against their superiors, she doesn't back down because unlike canon Ginny she's not there just for the sake of getting in a dumb hetero relationship with Harry (Harry and Ginny shippers don't @ me no hate towards the ship just complete hate towards she who must not be named for writing it the way she did) there's a lot more background to her character shining through here, how despite being under the influence of Tom Riddle she's never fully forgiven herself for what she did back in her first year, she's hurt, scared and lonely just as she was back then. And she knows Hermione hasn't abandoned her, she never would, but as the months draw on she starts losing hope. But never entirely. Ginny's scared, hurt and angry - angry about the way she and others are being treated. Her behaviour winds up getting her punished because revolution doesn't come without a price. 

Then the fateful day comes when the golden trio returns. And Hermione immediately rushes into Ginny's arms. Ginny's so unbelievably relieved that her girlfriend, her brother, and her friend are all safe. Hermione asks how Ginny was hurt due to her girlfriend having a few new marks and scars and Ginny tells her how terrible Hogwarts has become. Ginny admits she thought for a moment that Hermione ditched her, but she never fully lost hope that she'd return. Part of her had almost believed she was dead. The two girlfriends share a heartfelt moment and they share a passionate kiss, not before Ron bursts in, uncomfortable at first before he tells them that Harry is confronting Snape. It's there they witness Snape's defeat. And then when news comes out that Voldemort and the Death Eaters are moving against Hogwarts the school prepares for battle. 

Instead of Hermione and Ron going down to the chamber it's Hermione and Ginny. Ginny facing her trauma once more. There's a brief moment of Ginny breaking down but Hermione reassures her it was never her fault and it's all in the past. We never got to see Ginny talk about what happened in her first year because it was just brushed aside like it never happened and her facing absolutely no fear or anxiety towards it is unrealistic and we deserved a little more insight to how Ginny handled it. Anyway, the two get the basilisk fang and Ginny leaves, looking back once more before putting her past behind her once and for all. And so the battle goes on as normal. Harry "dying" and all. Y'know for this AU I won't make Draco an asshole and I'll give him a shot at redemption. He doesn't join the Death Eaters side and he's relieved when Harry stands against Voldemort once again. Drarry? Hmm- up to interpretation I guess.

And when Bellatrix corners Ginny it's not Molly but Hermione who steps in, facing her trauma as well, slightly bitter about the torture Bellatrix puts her through. So you can expect a, “not my girlfriend you bitch!” As Hermione and the crazy bitch duel, thus resulting in Bellatrix's demise. No regret here folks, that crazy bitch deserved it alright. And so Harry kills Voldemort and the Death Eaters flee. I was debating whether or not Fred should still die or not and I didn't want to differate from canon as much as I already have, unfortunately Fred dies during the battle as usual. The Weasley family grieves, each of them distraught. George is destroyed by the loss of his twin brother. Hermione watches from the side with Harry as the Weasley family embrace one another.

About 6 months later Ginny finishes up her last year at Hogwarts, moves in a nice house on the outskirts of London with Hermione and the two live together like that for a couple of years before finally getting engaged, getting a cat (because all wlw couples need cats) no more Voldemort, no more drama, just them. And that's all Ginny really needs. 

Oh, and they also adopt a kid too. Felicia Granger-Weasley who's a trans girl who just so happens to be Harry and Draco's nonbinary kid Robin's best friend. Because trans women are women, trans men are men and you better fucking respect nonbinary people's identities and pronouns or Ginny and Hermione are going to come bust your kneecaps.

Yes. I wrote this much just to explain my AU where nothing really changes except Ginny's badass and a lesbian, Hermione's bi, they're a couple, Harry and Draco are also a couple at this point and Ron's a lonely little shit.

Point is it's better than what lord terfemort made up in the end and I think my versions better if I do say so myself. I know that's bold of me to say but at this point who cares :/ ekshskshsks

#harry potter #harry potter au #ginny weasley #hermione granger #hermione x ginny #ginny x hermione #alternate universe #ron weasley #draco malfoy #drarry

[thechangeling]

Your heartbeat is disguised as mine.

This is a platonic oneshot between my OC Janessa Williams and Kit Herondale. Full disclosure, I am a nonbinary person writing about a binary Trans woman. I pulled all of the information for constructing Nessie's background and character profile from other peoples stories both fictional and real. If I have spread misinformation of any kind or written anything that members of the community find offensive, please let me know! I will fix it immediately. Also I'm a useless Demisexual so sometimes I blur the lines between romantic and platonic too much, but hopefully this reads as platonic. Enjoy!

Janessa Williams was in trouble.

It wasn't like this was an uncommon occurrence. Nessie had spent the majority of her life weaving in and out of dangerous situations, but in her defense it usually wasn't her fault.

Kids picking on her when she was younger because she was wearing "girls clothes." Angry people yelling obscenities at her while she was walking home and men threatening to beat her up in the middle of crowded places when she was still transitioning and looked more "obvious" according to some people. Whatever the fuck that meant. And Nessie knew it probably would have been even worse if she hadn't been white.

She relished in the fact that now she was a vampire she was essentially invincible. Like many other people, becoming a downworlder was a source of safety. Which is why it was so painful to hear shadowhunters talk about how "tragic" the creation of vampires and werewolves was.

There were girls whispering behind her back in high school. Just trying to go to the bathroom without there being some sort of public debate amongst her teachers and principal was also a factor.

Jenessa was certainly no stranger to conflict or adversity. But this? This was something else entirely.

Before she had died. Nessie had actually made a decent connection with other members of her community. Even making casual acquaintances was comforting. The queer community overall could be a bit of a shit show at times. With exclusionists, TERFs and biphobes rampaging about. But getting the chance to talk to other trans people was incredible. Especially Bi trans people like herself. But despite that she still felt as though something was missing.

Janessa still felt distant and isolated despite the fact that she now had everything she wanted. It was like a dark black cloud had plagued her for all of her teenage years. Depression. It wasn't just due to being in the closet or not being able to be her true self. It was just there. Corrupting her brain and dragging her down into despair.

It was that same despair that had lead to her death. And when she was reborn as a member of the undead, at first she hadn't exactly been grateful. But in time she had found her footing. Music, therapy, a new community of downworlders who were diverse, powerful and brilliant. She moved from LA to basically all over with her band. All of these things helped Janessa re shape herself and her new life into something better. Something stronger.

But yet she still felt a little isolated at times. A little incomplete. Like she was waiting for something.

Fuck that sounded so pathetic. But it was true. Or at least it was true until a wayward mess of a shadowhunter had wandered into the bar Nessie and her band played regular gigs at, looking for information on a particular downworlder.

Janessa was not pleased. She knew she needed to get this asshole far away from her and her people.

Kit certainly had other ideas. It would not be the last time they disagreed on something.

But she had noticed something that day. Something in his eyes. That same lost look of despair she recognized in herself. This of course hadn't stopped her from calling him an angelic, inbred, self righteous asshole and he had thrown his head back and laughed.

Despite Nessie's better judgement, she had decided to trust him that day. He had complemented her t shirt which said "In my defense, I was provoked" and her leather jacket which had the trans symbol on the back with the Bisexual flag as the background.

So she had helped Kit with his mission that day, which turned out to be pretty harmless, which then led to hanging out at the park after dark and eating fast food on the balcony of Ciernworth. He asked her questions about her life and her unlife. He asked the questions that she usually got about hormones and discovering her gender identity, and less common questions about becoming a vampire. She in turn asked him questions about his past and his coming out. Her fate was sealed that day. Janessa just didnt want to admit it.

And now, several weeks later that shadowhunter she had chosen to trust was currently sobbing into her arms.

"Kit it's gonna be ok alright? Just take some deep breaths" Janessa cooed. She was running one of her hands through his blond curls, and another along his back attempting to soothe him.

Kit gasped for air against his sobs as he pressed his forehead closer to her neck. "I mean-. Nessie I just-" he gasped, unable to properly get the words out.

Janessa shook her head. "Shhh no it's ok" she reassured him. "Take your time."

It broke her heart to see Kit like this but all she could do was focus on helping him. Not once did it occur to Nessie that she currently had a live human being pressed up against her, viens full of rushing blood.

She rubbed his shoulders. Kit sighed and began to speak in a more calm tone. "It's just that when I gave Magnus the necklace to give to- you know to him, it brought all of those old feelings rushing back you know?"

Janessa sighed. Him was Tiberius Blackthorn. The boy that Kit was hopelessly in love with. The boy that had broken his heart.

Janessa was most certainly not a fan. Anyone who made her friend cry was instantly on her shit list. Nessie was more then a little protective of Kit but she couldn't help it. He was always getting himself into trouble. Like the other day, dealing with the Devon Vampire Clan which Nessie was kind of a part of now that she was living in Devon temporarily. Kit was picking her up from a meeting so they could get Midnight snacks and play video games at her place.

The Devon Clan was really not happy to see a Shadowhunter. They antagonized her over trusting one of the nephilum. They called her a traitor to her own people. Janessa personally thought they were being a little overly dramatic. It led to a fight that most definitely put the accords in jeopardy.

Janessa also discovered that day that she and Kit fought beautifully together. Almost like Parabatai.

Whoah. Where the fuck did that come from.

Janessa heard a light snore from below her. Kit had fallen asleep in her lap. She snorted fondly. The emotional labour of crying must have tired him out. She didn't really blame him for that. As Nessie stared down at him, this shadowhunter who had become so significant to her, she wondered if this was going to end badly for her.

She could hear the words of hundreds of downworlders echoing in her head, including her own. Shadowhunters can't be trusted. Shadowhunters are selfish. Shadowhunters hate downworlders. They don't believe we're worthy of life so why should we be nice to them? Fuck them all.

And all of that was what she firmly believed.

Kit snored again.

Well for the most part.

It wasn't like she was in love with him. That much she knew. The thought of kissing Kit or dating him or anything like that made her quesy. But the idea of holding him while he cried, or laughing at his jokes, or even staying here watching his chest rise and fall and relishing in the fact that yes, he is alive, that sounded perfect.

Janessa scooped her arms under Kit's body and pulled him up off of the floor. "Come on Kit-Kat" she muttered. "Let's get you to bed."

Kit moaned in protest but didn't try to fight her as she pulled him over to her bed. Nessie could only hope that Kit had told his parents where he would be. Kit smiled sleepily at her and opened his eyes.

"You're my best friend you know?" He murmered.

Janessa swallowed down a sob. "Really?" She asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "I've never had a best friend before."

Kit closed his eyes. He was probably nodding off again. "Me neither" he whispered. He probably didnt want to count Ty considering all of the romantic angst.

And in that moment Janessa made a choice. She made the decision to lay down next to him and relax. She made the decision to forgive him for things that were out of his control.

She leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. "You're my best friend too ok?" She said softly.

And when she saw the slightest of smiles appear on his face, Janessa made another decision as well.

She let herself love him.

Your heartbeat is disguised as mine.

My lullaby.

The song I used for this fic is Always be together by Little Mix.

#tda #the dark artifices #kit herondale #twp #the wicked powers #tsc #my oc #kaitlin'swriting

[aetla]

1) i know i haven’t been here the last couple of weeks. I KNOW. i know i know i know. and i’m sorry for the people waiting for replies and i’m sorry for the people waiting for plotting and i’m sorry for all the lovely people who have reached out in concern who have been met with silence in my end. 

i was vague in my last post, but just so everyone’s clear: i lost a parent to covid-19 a couple of months ago. i lost her before the government even told me i should be worried about something like that. i lost her two hours before i even got to see her again after a quick trip to nyc. i lost her and the details of her death / post death are Not Pretty and They Can Be Triggering, so i won’t go into it, but it haunts me. and it scares me. and i miss her so fucking much. 

i also recently lost an aunt to an ongoing condition she was born with. just like my mom, she has left behind two children (and just like my mom: one of them a minor), and i am grieving her loss as well. i’m grieving the loss of a cousin back in november. i’m grieving my grandma’s cancer diagnosis. i’m struggling with the loss of my job and the fear that my other mother, a healthcare provider, might be next on my list of people to lose. 

i’m trying the best i can to be here and be present, but it’s hard. and i know that some of you know what that’s like. and i know that some of you know intimately what that’s like because you’ve also lost loved ones to a pandemic many countries weren’t prepared for. i am so sorry for your loss, and i thank you for the love you’ve been sending my way.

2) that being said, my next post is not going to be IC, either. it’s going to be personal, angry, and probably rambly, but i won’t feel good until i post it. in case you follow me and don’t know, i am a mixed race woman who primarily identifies as black and latine. i know exactly what i look like to white people and nonblack poc. i know exactly what kind of fear a body like mine has when a cop walks by. i’m also mentally ill. i’m also queer. i have suffered child abuse, domestic violence, and toxic romantic (and platonic) relationships. i have done sex work, and i will do it again. i am a strong ally and a safe space for ALL historically marginalized groups. you will find a safe space in me if we cannot share a struggle because while i might not know your struggle, i know you shouldn’t have to go through it, and you definitely shouldn’t have to go through it alone. 

i am not a safe space for SWERFs, TERFs, anti-SJW, people who think slavery was over “100 years ago” either in america or elsewhere, people who use their identity as a marginalized individual to commit violence toward black people and black bodies, people who say “american is so regressive with their race problems” while talking shit about romani people out the side of their mouth, people who conflate the experience of being east asian in america (or anywhere really bc fuck colorism) with being south or southeast asian and overlook the damning statistics that show we can’t treat brown bodies of any ethnicity with care, people who regularly forget what land they’re standing on -- and no, this isn’t america specific -- because the indigenous populations of so many countries across the globe have seen their land stolen, colonized, and given back to them in piecemeal only to be taken again, etc etc etc.

i am ALSO not a safe space for people who weaponise a DNI list, especially against women of color, and that (along with some other things) is going to be contained in the next post.

#parental death / #covid 19 / #covid-19 / #coronavirus / #family death / #death / #personal / #just to note: i'm not the kind of person who checks to see if people have unfollowed me for anything. #if you can't jive with anything in this post or the next post and feel your dash would be better with me off it #please softblock / unfollow me. #i acknowledge; accept; and fight for your ability to curate the dash that makes you happiest

[laraslandlockedblues]

I have something I’ve been thinking about, especially now that I’m back over on Twitter (admittedly with a new account than I’d had before) and have been trying to reconcile how I utilize different platforms and why.

Long rambles so I’ll be sure to tag this long post and put under a read more.

TL;DR - I essentially traumatized myself for a political group doing research after the 2016 election, and while I thought I could handle it I found out I could not. I walked away from politics and at the same time discovered that fandom/fanfic writing was alive and well and I lost myself into writing for DA. I literally did actively avoid politics through tumblr and fandom because it was what I needed to heal. It’s why I’ve been such a shitty ally, and while I know that doesn’t excuse my inaction and silence, it hopefully explains why I hid behind privilege and often didn’t speak up. However, moving forward, that will be different.

I can no longer stay silent.

Almost four years ago, after crying my eyes out on election night, I became part of a group that was trying to decide what the fuck we could do moving forward. We all took up roles and duties we were suited for, and at the start mine was to delve into research. I was good at it, and at the time I assured them that I was able to read things that could make your skin crawl and walk away unscathed. It was a skill we needed.

And so, I set to work. I dove into the world of pro-Trumpers, the alt-right, the radicalization of young white men through the internet, and I worked on learning. I would spend my days reading reddit, 4chan, wherever I could find them gathering and sharing their ideas and plans. I took notes. I studied their lexicon and wrote it down. I figured out how they dog whistled and what terms they used around “normies” to try to bring them into the alt-right. I studied how they were trying to “red pill” people. I studied the way they actively were trying to push the Overton Window so that their ideas could be enacted further down the road.

For weeks this was all I did.

At first I was fueled by my rage and disbelief at the election, and I was hopeful we could figure it out soon and overcome. As time went on, though, I lost that hope. I couldn’t walk away from the research unscathed. I carried it around with me, crying over what I was reading, what I was discovering. The depths of hatred in people shook me to my core, as well as the realization that I had been blind to it and even a part of it at one point. 

I was raised by conservatives who admire Ayn Rand, after all. It took me living out on my own and speaking to people from all walks of life that I finally began to shed both religion and my formerly held political views. Two of my closest friends are the children of illegal immigrants. They were the first of their families to graduate from college. Going to their graduation party (as well as others for their families) changed my whole world. Being the only white, English speaker in a room was exactly the kind of experience a lot of people in our country need to have.

And now I was having to research people who actively hated some of the best people I’ve ever met, and also actively worked to never be in the sort of situations I had found had changed me so completely as a person.

I gave up. I sank into such a deep depression I took to drinking more, drinking so that I could sleep instead of staying up until 5am, until I had to go seek a counselor. I was in a red state, in military healthcare, and my counselor only saw the symptoms and side effects of my depression, not the cause. I didn’t feel safe telling her that I was thoroughly depressed because of what I saw happening to my country. Because of the election.

So instead I was treated as an alcoholic, as if that was not a symptom and was in fact the main cause (don’t @ me, I know it makes it worse. But it was not the cause.)

Then I discovered Mass Effect for the first time. And I replayed Dragon Age. I fell in love with Garrus and once more with Alistair and Fenris and Cullen. Late at night, a little tipsy and wishing Garrus had had more of a romance, I googled him and discovered Ao3. And I began devouring fic. And then I had an idea for my own (Goose Bumps).

The rest is well-documented history, here.

I sought refuge in fandom and fanfic. I sought refuge in telling stories. I admittedly used some problematic tropes when I first started out, so enthralled by just finally *writing* again that I didn’t pay attention to how I was consuming the media. I hadn’t written in so long, having hit writer’s block with a mystery I’d been working on (inspired by the “sundown” town I had to visit in-laws in in Illinois), and the act of just writing anything was so liberating for me I gave little thought to anything else.

Never mind the fact that my first real interaction with someone in fandom led to me being manipulated, gaslit, and abused. We’ll gloss over that part.

But these things all compiled into a me who was no longer vocal when I saw things that were more than just concerning and needed to be addressed. I ignored things that made me angry. I saw mutuals sharing important political messages and my heart would start racing and I would log out for the day. I couldn’t see the content without having an adverse reaction to it. I also didn’t want to make myself a target by saying anything - after all, I had written fics and been targeted by an abuser simply for that. What sort of reaction would I get if I helped to call out problematic art and artists?

I was frozen by fear.

I let myself be silent. I let myself take refuge in my privilege as a white cis woman. I let myself only write and block anyone who was racist/sexist/ableist/terfs/you name it. I blocked and moved on.

Because I could.

I had that luxury.

I am no longer frozen by my fear. I am now emboldened by it. I understand wanting to seek refuge in fandom. I do. If moving forward me being political here on this platform causes you distress and you have to unfollow me, trust me.

I get it.

But I can no longer allow my silence to enable those who seek to cause harm. I can no longer stay silent in the face of what is happening in the world, in my country, in my backyard - in my fandom.

This is not in response to anything more than my determination to be better than I was. For three years I’ve allowed myself to seek shelter, while not allowing others the same decency or courtesy by creating a safe space free of racism or other harmful ideologies. I’m not the only one who deserves to seek shelter in fandom. White women are not the only ones who deserve to seek shelter in fandom.

If those statements seem radical or uncomfortable to you, feel free to show yourself the door.

This is not an attempt to explain away my past (in)actions. I don’t need pats on the back. I don’t need reaffirmation. These thoughts have just been circling in my head now that I’ve finally reconnected with that group and have been politically active on Twitter and my personal Facebook again. This blog is still mostly fandom and shitposts. But I also want to be better in how I participate here, instead of keeping it just to my Twitter.

Racists, TERFs, homophobes, sexists, fascists (yes, you’re a fascist if you’re “anti-antifa” get fucked), nazis, etc - none of your like are welcome here. My art is not for you.

#long post #personal #needed to ramble this out of my system #tw racism #tw alt-right #i'm determined to be better #and i will no longer be silent #this is not an excuse #i just needed to conquer my own trauma and now even if it still causes me distress #i have to act #tw: alcholism #tw: alchohol mention #forgot those two

[timeclonemike]

The War of the Words, Part 5: Counterstrike

Previous installments of this essay have repeated the point that the tactics used by nazis, terfs, and other varieties of bigot are those adopted by a force with a numerical and strategic disadvantage when facing a larger and stronger opponent, among other things. This may have given the impression that these types will eventually just die out. While I believe that this is true in the long term, it is demonstrably true that they can still do considerable damage in the short term, so this is unfortunately not the kind of problem that will solve itself. Action must be taken to undermine them at every possible juncture. This is especially true given that the current, semi-covert “secret agent” / muddy-the-waters approach was adopted because previous open displays of aggression were not getting the results they wanted. It is entirely possible that a shift in strategy will occur again and allow them to make more headway than they presently are.

Any given strategy employed by the nazis and terfs and racists has one or more potential counter-strategies, but simply waiting to recognize a specific type of propaganda or psychological manipulation or social engineering method puts everyone else on the defensive - by the time the problem is recognized and understood, it has already been effective for some time and may allow for a certain amount of momentum. Also, rapidly shifting strategies can lead to the defensive side lagging behind or being overwhelmed, which is one of the potential advantages of the “increase the signal to noise ratio when it comes to dog whistles” approach mentioned previously.

Therefore, as the old saying goes, the best defense is a good offense. The best chances of combating these ideologies involves going after them directly, rather than trying to play damage control after the fact (although that is also important.) And to do this most effectively requires a certain level of understanding of the psychology (and pathology) of the kinds of minds that are most amenable to fascism and radical exclusionism and racism.

The most important point worth considering is what I have taken to calling the Fascism Paradox. Fascism derives its name from the Fasces, a symbol that was adopted during the days of the Roman Empire and then appropriated by authoritarian political movements in the early twentieth century. It consists of a bundle of rods tied together, incorporating a handle and axe head, and the symbolism is pretty straightforward; a single stick might break, but a bundle of them together is much more robust. The obvious idea behind it is that many people united in a single cause and goal can accomplish what an individual cannot, which is why it was adopted by so many governmental offices and magistrates before the early twentieth century.

The titular paradox is that the Fasces symbolizes strength despite being an admission of weakness. The whole point of tying the rods together is because an individual rod is inadequate to the task at hand. Likewise, most authoritarian displays of power revolve around numbers; large military parades, massive rally crowds, mobs of angry young men wearing polo shirts and carrying lawn torches. The power of symbolism, and the attraction they hold, is a door that swings both ways; those who are attracted to the idea of fascism are those who are individually weak, and can only achieve strength and power by proxy, as part of a larger group.

Given that knowledge, the obvious counter is to strip away the protections of the group itself. After the Unite the Right rally, quite a large number of participants were identified by photographic evidence where they did nothing to conceal their identities, and the social consequences were considerable. These individual people were not part of a larger, dangerous force; they were people with names and addresses and once people could pair them with the faces in the photographs, it was basically open season. This technically wasn’t even doxxing; nobody can realistically make a claim to privacy when they are in a  public space, much less when they are deliberately drawing attention to themselves. (The lessons learned from this are implicit in the “secret police” tactics used by unidentified federal agents in Portland as of this writing.)

If this sounds like a roundabout way of saying “Divide And Conquer”, it’s because there’s another element to the paradox. A bundle of sticks may be stronger than any individual stick, but the strength of said bundle is still limited by the strength of the individual sticks. For an object lesson in why this is important, compare breaking a single uncooked spaghetti noodle with an entire package of uncooked spaghetti. The whole package technically puts up more resistance, but the difference is marginal in comparison to the forces involved. So it is with fascism and the people who are enticed by it; because their attraction to the group and the cause is motivated (subconsciously or not) by an attempt to mitigate personal weaknesses, the group itself inherits all off these weaknesses. This is especially true when it comes to the subject of morale and courage under fire; each individual in the group is relying on the group as a whole, and they take their cues from each other, so as soon as one person falters everyone around them starts to hold back. The result is a chain reaction of hesitation and lost momentum. (This can be seen in real time when watching videos of right wing protests fighting with counter-protest groups, and can also be seen in recordings of police and riot cops against protestors when a charge doesn’t immediately turn into a rout.)

This paradox also comes into play with another peculiar psychological characteristic: Being disgusted or enraged by compassion. Compassion directed towards weakness can serve as a reminder of said weakness, or an admission, or symbolize a loss or negation of strength; the human mind is very complex and this can get rationalized and justified many different ways, but it all comes back to a central idea; that they can’t or don’t have what they want more than anything. This is another reason why these groups turn on each other at the drop of a hat, because displaying compassion for, or receiving compassion from another, is an insult in a culture where strength is prized: “I’m helping you because you’re weak and you need my help / pity / support.”

(In a world, and especially a year, where the hits keep coming and they don’t stop coming like some sort of Fae contract involving a Smash Mouth song, this attitude is even less healthy than it normally is.)

The sense of personal weakness at the heart of the paradox can take multiple forms, not just physical strength. Financial stability, social leverage, political authority, health and wellness, even good looks can all qualify. What matters is it’s something that a person wants and does not have. This by itself is the origin of most conspiracy theories; some other nation or ethnic group or political party is hoarding or stealing all the food or medicine or political power, and if they weren’t, things would be different. The conspiracy theory angle is so complicated it requires its own essay to explore in full, so for the purposes of brevity and clarity we will leave that unaddressed for now; all we need to focus on is the idea that these people want something that they can’t have. The “can’t have” part especially plays into the idea of radicalization and recruitment. Somebody who wants to be physically strong can work out and get swole, and can measure their progress over time in terms of sets and reps. As a matter of fact, they have to in order to determine what exercises are working for them. How much they can lift and for how long and with what body parts will vary greatly depending on factors like genetics, environment, childhood and adult nutrition, but what matters is that it can be quantified and measured and progress can be seen.

But fascists, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, fascism-susceptible people, are in a different situation. As much as they glorify, praise, and fetishize strength and power, what really drives them is their weakness. No matter how ripped they may be and how much they can bench, it’s never enough; they will always be afraid and insecure and there is always the possibility, if not the certainty, of somebody stronger. It’s the difference between wanting to be strong and wanting to not be weak. This also applies to knowledge, to social acumen, to power and influence. So long as they are unable or unwilling to confront the root cause of what drives them - to admit their weakness in whatever form they find intolerable - they can’t come to terms with it psychologically, never mind take action to correct it practically.

This leads directly to the next strategy for dealing with fascists; mockery and ridicule. The insecurity and weakness that drives fascism is bone deep and borders on the universal, and this is why so many alt-right insults are disparaging terms referring to a perceived lack of strength or fortitude or power. Trying to use those specific terms against them is about as effective as children on a playground going “I’m rubber, you’re glue” but individual insults and derogatory remarks are not what’s important; the underlying insecurity is. Simply not treating them with the deference and respect they desire is itself a potent starting point, and from there any number of comedic possibilities present themselves. Autocratic and authoritarian regimes are notorious about cracking down on dissent for this reason even more than an attempt to keep the citizenry from being agitated; just look at Vladimir Putin’s heavy handed retaliation against Russia’s internet access when somebody photoshopped heavy makeup onto his face. Wannabe dictators with no power can’t remove the object of their ridicule and it eats them alive from the inside out.

The final aspect of this counter attack strategy has to do with enemy morale and opposition. As stated in previous parts of the essay, a number of fascists and crypto-fascists abandoned the cause and ideology when they decided it was less stressful to stop being one. In other words, leave the door open for somebody to switch sides. Consider an analogy where Fascism is an island; some people will burn all their bridges in pursuit of the ideology, but others might not; if other people burn those bridges, the result is the same and they end up trapped on Fascism Island anyway, so they have nothing to lose by doubling down. A number of people on and off Tumblr have discussed this topic and the problems with what is called “essentialist” thinking long before this essay was written; there is a nearly decade old TED Talk by a DJ called Jay Smooth who suggested we start thinking of bias and prejudice the same way we think about hygiene like brushing our teeth, that prejudice is something people do as opposed to an inescapable part of their character.

It’s worth keeping in mind that this may be interpreted as weakness by the fascist or fascists in question and this may prompt them to redouble their attacks or attempt to “play” the person giving them an out in order to get information or undermine their confidence or even try to recruit them into the fascist cause; it’s also worth keeping in mind that it is impractical and unrealistic to expect everyone to adopt this approach. Some people have lost too much personally, and some people are too close to the ideological or physical front lines to even consider letting their guard down. Not everyone can be Reverend Wade Watts.

#The War of the Words #On the Shoulders of Windmills

[theexistentiallyqueer]

"but he murdered people”

This is a post about Goro Akechi, murder, its aftermath, trauma, and two things that are in real short fucking supply around here: critical thinking and empathy.

Listen, I’m a veteran of the Dragon Age fandom. If you want to talk about toxic fandoms, they’re your Bible. As far as your Judas Iscariots and Nebuchadnezzars go, I was one of them. I’ve seen it, I’ve done it, and I’m done with it. It’s exhausting to carry that much rage inside of you, to live it actively every second of every day, and to inflict it on other people and laugh about it. So I’ve been disengaged, largely, for a few years. 

And now I’m in the Persona 5 fandom and find myself enthusiastically appreciating Goro Akechi, because who doesn’t love complex, morally flawed, ambiguously gay-coded characters? Shit, maybe you’re not on board, but I’ll sign right up. I’m a relative newcomer, despite being a longtime Persona fan and playing P5 around when it came out, because I didn’t engage with the fandom then. I jumped back in with the Royal announcement and absolutely saturated myself in this vibrant fan space. Invested in the idea of Akechi being explored as a fully fleshed-out character, I find myself following Goroboys. Which is great! Because so far, they’re all great! Nicest bunch of people you could ever hope to meet!

Except there’s Discourse. There’s always been Discourse, I find, but this is my first exposure to it in this fandom. This weekend was my first week of seeing Goro antis active, seeing people I follow, people I like and appreciate and some I considering genuine friends, actively attacked and harassed because they like a fictional teenage character who killed some other fictional people in a fictional world where you, playing as the main character, have the ability to perform a metaphysical lobotomy on people who literally can’t consent. Here I thought the only people who hated Akechi were white cishet men who saw his rage against a parent and said, “Nah, too bitchy for me,” because they’re too afraid to look in a mirror and see Masayoshi Shido’s fascist, misogynistic mug staring back. 

Are you awake yet? Have I woken you up to the fact that Persona 5′s premise is a wish-fulfillment fantasy of “what if I could make the person who took advantage of me when I was a teenager apologize in front of the entire world by using an alternate fantasy dimension to completely violate their brain”?

I see my friends saying, “Wow, it’s amazing how people who hate Akechi can’t leave people who like Akechi alone,” and within an hour they have replies saying MURDER IS MURDER as if they know what murder actually is.

We’re about to get real personal up in here because maybe, only then, will some of you people take the hint that your behavior borders on actively bullying other people on the internet over a fictional character.

Ready? Here goes.

Murder is your mom picking you up from summer camp three weeks after your ninth birthday, driving you to your grandparents’ house, and telling you that when daddy was at work today, someone tried to steal the money, and they had a gun. Daddy was brave and Daddy died.

Murder is blacking out when you’re nine years old and coming to to yourself two houses away on a neighbor’s swing set with crickets chirping in your ears and the crushing reality of never seeing your father again turning your brain into static.

Murder is asking your mother if she asked for the death penalty, and your mother telling you, in a pleading voice, that she didn’t because he was mentally ill and it didn’t feel right. Murder is feeling angry afterwards because you feel like something was taken away from you, and something should be exchanged for that. Because that’s how fairness works, right? If you steal candy from the store, you have to give up your allowance for the next five months.

Murder is realizing you’re an atheist at fourteen and driving past the cemetery where your father’s remains are interred, and having the gut-punching, soul-suffocating realization of what never ever ever actually means. Murder is building an internal cosmology where forever means my atoms and yours, creating new life in perpetuity as the comfort you drag out of the west’s cold, uncaring atheism that never found its own poetry.

Murder is your first two years in college, when you discover social justice and realize the world is bigger than your own life experiences, and that violence at the bottom is a reactionary symptom against violence at the top. Murder is understanding the fact that the man who killed your father was himself a victim of a racist, ableist, capitalist society with a morally bankrupt healthcare system, and that every single one of those things is in and of itself is more hateful than the act of your father bleeding out in the parking lot, in the ambulance, on the operating table.

Murder is your mother confessing to you in college that your father was physically abusive of her and that she had threatened him, only weeks before he was killed, that she would leave and take her daughters with her if he didn’t change. Murder is knowing that your father ran after an armed robber because he was raised by a Sicilian father in a household overflowing with toxic masculinity, and what killed your father wasn’t a man with a gun: what killed your father was the patriarchy whispering in his ear, This theft emasculates you. 

Murder is looking your own mother in the eye and telling her that one day you want to visit the man who killed your father and open your heart to him, because all you can think is, He didn’t plan this. He can’t have wanted this. What must it feel like to kill someone without intending to and then have to live with that for the rest of your life with no one to help you? Murder is the sound of betrayal in your mother’s voice when she responds, disbelieving.

Murder is spending years wanting to at least write to him, and then forgetting, and then going back, because you are a fluid, impermanent, imperfect person with your own flaws and failures and mental issues that hold you back from being the paragon you want to be. Murder is throwing yourself into the left and embracing prison abolition so hard it hurts, because you know that if the state can lock up someone who doesn’t “matter,” the state can lock up anyone. 

Murder is throwing away or selling every childhood thing you ever possessed because you are not by nature a sentimental person, but never giving up that doll you were gifted, the doll you coveted and wanted more than anything else, three weeks before your father was shot and killed. You have no pictures, no mementos, no nothing, but she sits at the top of your bookshelf to this day, a weighty child goddess, the symbol of your torn and labyrinthine childhood.

Murder is having to see a bunch of petty-ass people using actual trauma that real life people have experienced and continue to experience to directly and repeatedly harass your friends online (and yourself, indirectly, by tagging their hateful shit) because you and your friends like a fictional fucking character who, by nature of being fictional, did not actually murder any real existing people.

Murder is building your entire identity around how you sympathize, deeply, with the person who killed your own father, because that takes hard work and deep empathy and the ability to see past a lot of bullshit just to get to that point, and having some fuck-ass anons act like none of that matters because there is (apparently, I must assume) some omnipotent god of justice saying “Fuck you and everything you’ve been through” that apparently only these bullies can hear.

Murder is seeing fandom moralizers talk about murder like they understand it. Like they’ve read this, plus the last ten-plus paragraphs, and decided they know best anyway because mommy and daddy always told them Criminals Are Bad and walked wide-eyed and innocent into a social network overrun with TERFs, exclusionists, and a rotten segment of the political left that acts like some extras straight out of The Crucible.

I have never once been triggered by anything relating to my father’s murder. I cried at the Resurrection Stone scene in The Deathly Hallows, I cried when I completed when I completed the DA2 DLC Legacy after the end of act 2. When I see a parent die, I have an emotional reaction, because it’s familiar.

But the Akechi antis who all say “but he killed people!”, The Akechi antis who say “murder is still murder”?

The murder of my father is still murder. The man who killed him, his murderer, is still regardless a human being, the man who killed him deserves sympathy and compassion and understanding and respect and, above all, a chance.

I am a living example of what’s left behind when someone is murdered. You can walk into the mausoleum where my father is interred, face his headstone, and let the earth open up beneath you and drop you into hell.

So most sincerely, from someone who lost their father to gun violence, to armed robbery, to murder: Stop fucking using our lived experiences as your justification to harass and bully people online for committing the Grave Moral Sin of just liking a video game character.

Between the fact that the American government is keeping real people in concentration camps and a bunch of strangers on the internet liking a twiggy teenage anime boy who used a fantasy world to kill people who don’t exist, which one is actually important to deserve your moral outrage?

You’ll die eventually; fascism won’t kill itself.

#persona #persona 5 #p5 #goro akechi #if you tell me you're sorry for my loss i'll literally hunt you down and eat you #this one goes out to the goroboys #pour one out kids #real tired of having a bunch of dungeon dwellers insinuate that i #a person who has experienced firsthand the trauma of losing a loved one to murder #am apparently delusional for liking a character who murdered people #you people probably all think tony stark is the best avenger #you probably watched the game of thrones finale and thought dany going mad queen was good writing #you probably think ''split'' is a good horror movie #you probably thought lala land should have won the oscar #you probably like ed sheeran #this is rebloggable fyi

[billnye4potus]

It’s 4 am and I have work in six hours but I can’t sleep because I was hit with a very sudden realization that made me very angry and now I’m gonna rant. Usually I’d go to my personal blog to rant but I haven’t used that blog in months and this is more of a personal blog than that one ever was. So if you don’t wanna hear my dumb angry rant about being gay then don’t read it or whatever.

Okay here we go. I came out six years ago. Big deal. Whatever. Doesn’t actually matter. Here’s what fucking matters.

I am so sick and tired of the toxicity in a good chunk of the lesbian community. I’m so fucking tired of appearances and validity being controlled. It’s such bullshit. Here’s why this anger suddenly struck me.

I’ve never been super feminine. Even as a kid, I dressed in my brother’s hand-me-downs because they were comfortable and practical. Before I came out, I cut my hair. My hair had been down to my waist for YEARS, but I decided to cut it into a pixie cut. No big deal. I got shit for it from classmates because middle school is dumb as fuck but it didn’t matter. I liked it. I was 11 then. I’m 19 now. 8 years of short hair. Hell, I’ve even buzzed it all off like three times. In the past year or two I’ve contemplating growing my hair out. Apparently there’s a fucking problem with that. I personally dress either androgynous or butch. Most of the time. It’s what I find comfortable. Dressing like that makes me happy. So I earned the label of “Butch” back in high school. Cool. Whatever. I didn’t mind.

Now I fucking mind. I mind because other lesbians take it upon themselves to dictate how I dress or do my hair. News flash, assholes: I also like to occasionally wear dresses and makeup and heels. I look fuckin bangin in heels. But, ever since I came out, I’ve avoided doing that for the most part. Because I’ve been told that I can’t dress like that. I either have to be full femme or full butch.

I’ve hated my appearance for YEARS. At first I thought it was because I gained weight, but then I lost that weight and still hated my reflection. Then I thought maybe it was just my depression. Nope. Not that either.

It’s my hair. I don’t like how I look with short hair anymore. I used to, but I don’t know. My hair is finally growing out and the longer it gets the less I hate looking in the mirror. 90% of my issues with my appearance are my fucking hair. Because I’ve been told I have to keep it short to uphold some bullshit fucking stereotype. 

I’ve avoided wearing dresses outside of formal events because it’s been drilled into my head to uphold some bullshit fucking stereotype. Because other lesbians think it’s okay to control others and how they want to look.

Fuck that. Fuck anyone like that.

I’m so goddamn tired of trying to please this community. 

I looked in the mirror an hour ago and liked who I saw for the first time in I don’t know how long. Because my hair is getting longer. And I fucking like how it looks.

So here’s a not so friendly reminder to anyone who thinks they can dictate how anyone decides to dress or whatever: Fuck you. Your opinion doesn’t fucking matter. You’re part of the problem in this community. So fuck you.

And here’s a friendly reminder to those who have been victimized for wanting to step out of stereotypes: You’re valid. Be whoever the fuck you want. Dress however you want. You wanna wear a suit one day and a skirt the next? Fucking do it. No one can stop you. You’re so valid and I love you and I will fight tooth and fucking nail to defend you.

If this rant offends you, I really don’t care. It shouldn’t. It’s not offensive in any way. My defense of those victimized by other women controlling their appearance is what all of us should be doing.

Oh, and in case I somehow have any TERFs following me, this rant is in support of trans women who go through the same thing. Trans women are women and if you think otherwise go fucking unfollow me. Block me. Don’t interact with me in the slightest.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to bed. But in the morning I’m gonna wear pretty jewelry to work and maybe do my hair up all pretty. Because fuck you.

#i'm so pissed right now #s rambles #s rambles A LOT #syd says fuck a lot #i might delete this later who knows #i just really needed to rant #will i get angry asks over this? maybe #do i care? nope #if you send an angry ask i won't give you the pleasure of a response #if youre off anon and you send an angry ask i WILL block you #okay rant over

[rosalesbeausderholle]

i think about language a lot too. eps now as it's so easy to get angry and lash out. i see ppl using slurs or talking about bodies in horrific/cruel ways and it's ridiculous. but i do do use 'tim' for t-lesbians. bc theyre literally trans identified men. an entire male %100 absolutely. in fact i just say men/male tbh. ive just gotten to that point it's too much for me to even indulge bc it's crazy. but usually i use 'them' or names if i can esp w females

And that's your prerogative and like, you do you, but I don't like the way it's used. Even for trans women. I've seen people say "these aren't trans men anymore these are tifs now" when disagreeing with certain trans people on a topic that had nothing to do with transness at all, in a "I somewhat respected them before but not anymore and I'm gonna denote that with this language" way when again, their opinion had nothing with transness, so why would respect for the fact that they identify like that be conditional on whether or not they agree with you on an unrelated opinion?

I also think words like that do people who criticize the modern trans movement no favours at all. Like we need to look like the sane party people, we need to look like we've got something valuable to say. The way things are now, when people hear "terfs are horrible and hate trans people" and they go check out any average radfem blog, it'd look to them like yes, radfems do hate trans people, because as you said, it's all about saying disgusting things about the bodies of people who've transitioned, you also have people going "they're all fetishists" "they're all insane and delusional" or treating them like poor victim children who cannot ever make any rational choice for themselves, you also have had in the past certain bloggers whose thing was to find the personal pictures of trans teens/young adults in order to bully them, and in the worst cases you have people using, not slurs but words that sound incredibly insulting, and in others you have people actually using slurs. The critical theory gets lost under all that, whether we want it to or not. And many people, esp people WITHIN trans activism who, and radblr seems to forget sometimes tbh, are the people who get the worst of the manipulative and abusive dynamics of the community, can't see the good along with the cruelty, especially when it comes to cruelty against people like them.

(Also just in general I don't think it's good to become so jaded and angry that you end up hating a whole group of people and blaming all of them for the actions of some tbh like not healthy overall, nor rational, like it's not just about image for me at least, I refuse to let the world turn me into a cruel person despite how easy it'd be)

Add to that that the radfem community as it is now doesn't seem to have a project forward or anything like that, that it's often even apathetic to the idea that anything CAN be done against patriarchy, that people on this community, much as they like to pretend otherwise ALSO can't handle disagreement just like trans activists can't because any little disagreement immediately turns into a huge fight, that any talk of "sisterhood" seems to be conditional on a lot of things and things like the racism, the support of collaborating with the right wing, the ableism, the lesbian vs bi fights which are the dumbest things and I'll be honest, we don't look attractive at all. I wouldn't have listened to radfem ideas if this was what I had seen when I found a "terf" blog all those years ago.

I believe we need to build bridges among all female people (yes, even ones involved in trans activism!) to fight for female liberation as a whole, I believe that in order to do that we need to act with baseline respect for each other and each other's experiences, at least at the very least, and that would also foster healthier community dynamics as a whole, which is the entire root of the problem with trans activism, that it acts like a cult right? Well, let's not be that.

[glassc0ffin]

Feedback

hee hoo i wrote a tma fic in the form of frankies statement to the institute

words: 2245

warnings: none, except for phil collins and thrown staples

pairing: oc (frankie james)/jonathan sims

[[MORE]]

FRANKIE JAMES:

-That a tape recorder? It's so cute! We've been trying to get one for the station, just so we can say we have one - y'know, to impress the hipsters - but they're well out of my budget. How did you get one?

ARCHIVIST:

I - Uh, it was here when I got the job, it was my predecessor's.

JAMES:

Wow, well, I'm jealous. [GIGGLES] A little tempted for thievery…

ARCHIVIST:

...Right. Would you like to begin your statement?

JAMES:

Oh, yeah, of course.

ARCHIVIST:

Alright. Statement of Frank James, radio DJ at -

JAMES:

Frankie. 

ARCHIVIST:

[PAUSE] Frankie James, radio DJ at Tranzishon Rock, London, regarding…?

JAMES:

Uh, a series of...obscene phone calls from an unknown person. 

ARCHIVIST:

Recorded direct from subject by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of The Magnus Institute, 21st of September, 2019. Statement begins.

JAMES:

Ah, so, okay. [SIGHS]

ARCHIVIST:

...Are you alright?

JAMES:

Yeah, I just… [SIGHS] I have a hard time...getting words out. I'm not...articulate.

ARCHIVIST:

Would I be able to help?

JAMES:

How would you? It's in my head.

ARCHIVIST:

[SIGHS] You'd be surprised. [PAUSES] When did it start? The phone calls.

JAMES: 

On my show. I have a radio show at Tranzishon, late nights, 7 till 10, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Towards the end of the show, from 9 till 10, we do a requests hour. Listeners call, or text, or tweet, or send a carrier pigeon, to ask us to play songs. The last one is only if they're fancy.

ARCHIVIST:

[SNORTS]

JAMES:

[PAUSES]

ARCHIVIST:

[PAUSES] Sorry. You were saying?

JAMES:

[LAUGHS FAINTLY, A LITTLE BREATHLESS] Ah, yeah, erm… [AMUSED] I can't quite remember where I was…

ARCHIVIST:

The requests hour?

JAMES:

Yes! Okay, so, er, I was announcing the requests hour, reading out our phone number and the twitter account, and as soon as I had finished reading the phone number, we got a call. I- We've got a small team of techies - well, two - that handle incoming calls, texts, tweets, whatever. One, Paul, looked up from the switchboard at me and put me through to the listener, and I did my usual spiel. Y'know: [RADIO VOICE] You're listening to Frankie at Tranzishon rock, dear listener, what's your request?

[NORMAL VOICE] And they didn't say anything. There was dead air for a couple of seconds, then as I began to say 'Anybody there?' my headphones are blown out by the sudden high volume. The person on the other end must have been right up on the mic, because there was an immense amount of feedback and white noise. I'm sort of thankful for that, 'cause it nearly covered up what they had to say.

[PAUSES] [DEEP BREATH] I... don't want to repeat what they said. Suffice to say, the techies had some lightning speed reaction time when they cut off the line. There was more dead air as I tried to recover from the shock, I think I made a joke about them wanting the number for Babestation instead.

ARCHIVIST:

[LAUGHS]

JAMES:

[PAUSES] [LAUGHS, WEAKLY] Yeah… Ah, so, w-we banned that number so they wouldn't call again, and I ended the show with Pretty Fly (For a White Guy) by The Offspring. Because I cope with bad experiences by burying them with humour. 

[UNDER HIS BREATH] Give it to me, baby. [EVEN QUIETER] Uh huh, uh huh. 

[COUGHS]

Uh. Anyway. I went home, had my day off, and went back into work the next night and tried to forget about what happened. And for the most part, I did. The first 2 hours passed without incident, and then when I announced the requests hour, I joked about the caller the other day. My techies looked at each other nervously as I laughed. I gave them a questioning look, but said nothing. I'd ask them after the show. I read the number and twitter and waited for the requests to roll in. Again, we had another phone call straight away. I said my spiel, and my heart was in my throat as I waited for the caller to speak. I looked at my techies. Sheena, my other tech, shrugged at me. I sighed, about to give them a signal to cut them off and answer someone else when the feedback returned, louder and more harsh this time. I threw my headphones onto the desk in front of me, but I still heard the words spilling out of them.

[SWALLOWS] Y'know that scene in Silence of the Lambs? Where Lecter asks Clarice to repeat what that other inmate had said to her? Y'know - [SOUTHERN AMERICAN ACCENT] 'He said, I can smell your cunt.'

ARCHIVIST:

Good lord.

JAMES:

Yeah. It was a bit like that. There was a lot more...squelching with mine, though. Ugh. The techs cut the call, as I knew they would. I was more than a little pissed off. I started playing a song someone had tweeted and turned off my mic, turning to my techies. I asked them, why didn't you ban them like you said you would last time? Sheena said she did, that she guessed they were using a payphone or something to harass us. Paul tentatively asked if we should inform the police, and I told him to F off. We've had no help from coppers in the past when we had Nazis and TERFs flooding our lines calling us all sorts of shit, why would they help now? Cops avoid gays like the plague unless its for propaganda. So, Paul backed down. 

Before the song ended, I quickly mentioned that maybe we shouldn't take calls anymore, just texts and tweets. I didn't want it to come to that, not really. I ended the show again with a song from a small local band, earning me a shoutout on their twitter. That felt good, at least.

I went home, picking up a 6-pack of Stella on the way. I wanted to make sure I slept that night. As I sat on the tube, a good 20 minute journey to my flat, my phone began to ring. At that moment, it didn't strike me that it shouldn't have been able to get any reception underground, yet there it was, ringing in my hand. I was more annoyed at it interrupting my music, but I answered anyway. It was the same fucking caller. I couldn't hit the 'disconnect' button fast enough. But I still heard what he said. [LAUGHS SHAKILY] At least the guy has some imagination. Never the same thing twice. [VOICE BREAKS, STUTTERING] I looked around the tube to see if anyone would be witnessing my quickly approaching panic attack, and finding no-one in the compartment with me, I broke down. The next 15 minutes passed with a blur, and then I reached my station, tears stopping as fast as they had came. 

I stepped off the tube and started walking in the direction towards my flat, and my phone started ringing again. My breath caught in my chest as I froze on the pavement, phone vibrating away in my pocket. I picked it up, screen lit up and facing toward the ground. Slowly, I turned it up, half shutting my eyes, as if the person on the other end wouldn't be able to see me if I couldn't see the phone. [SIGHS] Stupid. It was my mum's phone number. I answered, talked with her for a little bit - she lives a ways away, I don't get to see her a lot - and said goodnight when I got to my flat. I got blackout and passed out on my couch when I got in. Yeah, I know I'm a lightweight. When I woke up at 12pm, my TV was still on, replaying the DVD menu for Black Christmas - the 1974 version. I guess in my Stella-crazed state I was desperate to watch it again.

The entire day, I left my phone switched off. My boss won't be too pleased with me, especially after 2 shows of mine had very explicit profanity, thanks to our mystery caller, but I didn't care. 

[PAUSES]

Listen, I-I know, alright? I know it sounds stupid, I know I probably sound like a pearl-clutching housewife, how scandalous that I'm terrified of a few dirty phonecalls, but...you didn't hear them. You wouldn't want to hear them. Paul, Sheena, and I certainly didn't. At least they only heard them at the station…

Thankfully, on the Friday, we had decided not to do requests hour. Yeah, a few listeners would be upset, but the more loyal listeners would understand when one person ruins it for everyone else. We just settled for the last hour of the show to be requests from Paul and Sheena. Strangely enlightening, but I don't wish to hear any more Phil Collins than is necessary. And with Paul, he seems to think 10 songs is necessary. It isn't.

ARCHIVIST:

[OFFENDED] What's wrong with Phil Collins?

JAMES:

Apart from the fact that we're a punk rock station?

ARCHIVIST:

Fair enough. You were saying?

JAMES:

Okay, so, ah… I was on my way home again, and had all but forgotten the mystery caller. We'd figured it had just been some weirdo that got bored of us cutting him off. But as I was walking from the tube station from my flat, I heard that ear-splitting feedback again. Doubling over in pain, I reached up to pull my headphones off, only to find that I had left them at the radio station. I pressed my fists to my ears, crumpling to the ground as the whine of someone being too close to a microphone pierced my eardrums. I felt something cold trickle out of my ear. I didn't have to check my hand to guess that it was blood. I hyperventilated as I lay on the ground. Something was shouting, screaming at me, screeching slurs and threats of what it wanted to do to me, what it will do to me. I remember vomiting, and then blacking out as the overlapping cacophony reached a fever pitch.

I woke up not too far from where I had passed out, £10 and a phone lighter. It was probably some homeless guy who took them, and honestly, I'm not too bothered. I'm more angry no-one took me to a doctor or something. I think, the last thing I saw before I passed out was someone standing in the distance. Staring. Yeah, it could have been some rando, but the image stuck with me.

They were silhouetted against the bright signs of the takeaways on the street behind them, hands stretching too far down, a little too tall. I might have been delusional or in the throes of oxygen deprivation or something, but I swear I saw it smile as I lost consciousness. 

I haven't been back to my flat. I've been staying with Sheena for the past couple of days. She's alright, but I can tell she wants me out. She doesn't want what's happening to me to happen to her. 

ARCHIVIST:

Statement ends. ...Are you alright?

JAMES:

[SNIFFS] Er, I - Uh, I should be, in a bit. Thanks for, uh...I don't know. Listening?

ARCHIVIST:

It's my job. 

JAMES:

Is that it then? What happens now?

ARCHIVIST:

We'll get in contact with you if we find anything out.

JAMES:

Oh! Then, you'll probably need this then. [SCRIBBLING]

ARCHIVIST:

[SHOCKED NOISE] Wh- What are you doing?

JAMES:

Giving you my phone number, what's it look like?

ARCHIVIST:

Well, I'm sure you can give it to me on paper, not my hand! And didn't you say your phone was stolen?

JAMES:

[SCRIBBLING STOPS] Oh. Yeah. Well, if I ever get it back, then. You know where to call.

ARCHIVIST:

R-Right. Goodbye, Mr. James.

JAMES:

Frankie.

ARCHIVIST:

...Goodbye, Frankie.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST:

Mr. James -- Frankie's behaviour was certainly... strange during our conversation. He kept looking at me, pausing and then quickly looking away again, having to restart his sentence whenever he did so. Maybe he realised that he had virtually no evidence to back up his testimony. The only witnesses we have are this Sheena and Paul, and they can only back up the instances of the phone calls happening at the radio station, not anywhere else. Conveniently, Frankie does not appear to record his mobile phone calls, so we have no evidence the phone call on the tube happened. Assuming it even could happen.

Furthermore, his constant stuttering only made me think he was making the whole thing up. Maybe he just wants a story for his show. He --

TIM:

Knock, knock. Was that Frankie James?

ARCHIVIST:

Yes, i-it was -- Tim, saying 'Knock, knock' is not a good substitute for knocking. 

TIM:

Did I hear you saying that he was making it up because he was stuttering?

ARCHIVIST:

Well, yes. It's a common tell for lying.

TIM:

It's a common tell for a huge goddamn crush.

ARCHIVIST:

What?

TIM:

Oh, come on. You didn't notice?

ARCHIVIST:

No, n-no, I didn't.

TIM:

Jon, he was the colour of a tomato. He wrote his phone number on your hand! Look, he even drew a heart, for god's sake.

ARCHIVIST:

[MUTTERING] Hmm, yes, I suppose it does look like a heart… No, don't be ridiculous, Tim.

TIM:

[IN A SING-SONG VOICE] Jon has got a boyfriend, Jon has got a boyfriend!

ARCHIVIST:

Are you twelve?! Get out! [SOMETHING CLATTERS ON THE GROUND]

TIM:

Ow! Stop throwing staples at me!

[CRASHING SOUND]

[CLICK]

#fics #my writing #frankie #📖 #owo i love him..

[make-more-noise]

FEMINISM - THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM - Julie Burchill "Until January 2013, I’d never thought much about transsexuals. If pushed, I’d have said I felt vaguely sorry for them, as I do white people who pretend to be black or my teenage self when I pretended to be Jewish. It’s unfortunate to be confused about what you are once you’re past adolescence. And then they went after my friend. I don’t mind anyone having a pop at me. I’ve enjoyed copious fame and fortune from dishing it out, and not being able to take it would make me a sissy and a hypocrite. Also, kinkily, I enjoy a bit of verbal abuse, finding it bracing in the manner of a cold swim. But my weak spot has always been people picking on my mates; when that happens, I see red. Ironically, the piece that the angry trans-mob took exception to was part of a compilation about Female Anger, in which my friend mentioned that are women are sick and tired of being told to aspire to impossible ideals in all areas of their lives, one of which was achieving ‘the body of a Brazilian transsexual.’ I was exchanging some bitchy quips on Facebook about the ensuing Twitter brouhaha while getting ready to go out when an Observer commissioning editor asked me - BEGGED ME! - to fashion them swiftly into a piece. When I said they were just for my friends entertainment and that I was busy, I was offered twice my usual word rate. I’m only human! I dashed off a quick piece, in which intemperate language such as *bed-wetters in bad wigs* may have been used. But I was by now an Angry Female - my mate was getting death threats and the police had been called in. I went out and thought no more of it. I awoke on Sunday morning to a right old rumpus in the small and self-important world of the media. Some Lib-Dem MP with delusions of adequacy was calling for me to be sacked from the Observer; this would have been difficult because I had no contract with them even though I wrote for them regularly - a situation which, the editor John Mulholland was soon murmuring comfortingly on the phone, would continue. Within 24 hours the column had been expunged from the Guardian/Observer website and I was never hired by the Observer again. Luckily, I was richer and tougher than all the bed-wetters (bad-wigged or otherwise) who both pilloried me and lost their nerve when it came to hiring me and survived my Wilderness Years pretty well, writing only for the bold and unbowed Spectator and Spiked until the Telegraph hired me last year. Looking back, I see that I was the first person to be demonised by the allegedly liberal, free-thinking Establishment who have continued to crumble in the face of the surreal demands of the Call-Me-Madam mad-men; in academia, in psychiatry, in medicine and now, most bizarrely, in the case of the Canadian beauticians being prosecuted for refusing to wax the scrotum of a repulsive cross-dresser. Whereas misogyny was historically Right-wing, it’s now hysterically Left-wing. We see it best in those vile cry-bullies the Woke Bros, who have found a fresh’n’funky way to hate women without seeming like sexist dinosaurs. There’s a really good way to justify hitting women if you’re a Woke Bro - just call them TERFs and punching them becomes a brave anti-fascist action instead of the default setting of every cowardly wanker who would never dare to hit a man. 62% of women at university have experienced sexual assault, 56% by known perpetrators - a lot of them will be Woke Bros. Women report being choked by male sexual partners - ‘Breath-Play’ to give it its innocent-sounding sex-name - to an extraordinary extent; that’ll be those Woke Bros who feel no guilt about watching porn because, hey, sex work is work like any other kind. (Except when it comes to their sisters.) Pornography-using men who call themselves feminists are so monumentally dumb that they probably delude themselves that the reason why the average age of death for a female performer is 37 is because they die of pleasure - having all those orgasms! An astonishing number of the showbiz sleazes called out in MeToo identified as feminists - Woke Bros to a man. But most of all, you’ll find them taking the side of female impersonators against born females. The Woke War Against Women is well and truly under way and the Woke Witch Trials have started. So I’m extraordinarily pleased that I called out the poisonousness of the New Misogyny right from the start - and to be financially supporting this event by MAKE MORE NOISE. I’ve said it before - but I knew I was right. What a fascinating time to be a feminist!" What are your thoughts? We'd love to hear what you have to say! Want to come and see women speak about feminism's elephant in the room? Come to Manchester this Saturday. https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/feminism-the-elephant-in-the-room-tickets-64496743496

#feminist #feminism #radical feminism #radical feminist #make more noise #radfem #other radfems #radical #radfems #radfems interact #julie birchill #activism #manchester #the elephant in the room #gender #gender critical #gendercritical #gender criticism #terfs #terf safe #terfsafe #radblr #terfblr #terfs DO interact