phynewrites

[phynewrites]

Tomb of Light: Interlude—Helene

~A Parable~

(For context: This is a story Hettie heard as a child that is referenced in the penultimate chapter.)

There once was a girl who lived alone on a farm, a girl called Helene. Tending to her fields was backbreaking work, but she persisted. Many months passed, yet her fields remained barren, until one day she looked up at the sky.

“Where has the Sun gone?” she wondered. “Behind these clouds, it seems.” She had been so lost in her work that she had not noticed the thick layer of darkness swirling overhead.

So with a wave of her hand, the sky was wiped clean, revealing the Sun’s beam of pride.

“You’ve found me,” it praised her, “and now I will give you what you need.”

The following morning, she noticed that her crops had found the strength to grow at last, and her fields were bursting with life. Helene rejoiced, for she had found a way out of the darkness—but the dark clouds had simply moved to her neighbor’s farm instead.

And so the Sun whispered down to her, “Helene, won’t you part the clouds for me? There are still lost souls I cannot reach.”

And Helene said, “Of course! Together, we will give everyone what they need.”

ToL tag list: @outpost51 @writernopal @avrablake (please ask to be +/-)

[phynewrites]

A few of the sheep in the main flock lift their heads, flicking their ears at him. The flock is always testing him. They want Jed back, he knows it. But Jed’s not here. The farmer’s not here. It’s just Darling here, and Darling needs to meet each test with a snap and a snarl. That’s what he does tonight, too, He gets up on his feet and gives a sharp yap, then a chest-fierce bark. Most of the sheep start moving then, and Darling charges at the ones that don’t, nipping gentle at the air behind their heels. They bleat their displeasure but join the rest of the flock, heading away from the trees and back towards the farmhouse. Darling trots behind them, and Fig falls into place at his side. They’re an odd pair, but this whole thing’s gone a bit odd; a little sheep and a little dog, and a whole big world that’s fallen to bits around them. “You should be up there with the flock,” says Darling, with a flick of one ear. “I know,” says Fig. “But, uh -” He cocks his head, blinks a watery eye up at Darling. “I thought that I could walk back here instead. You know, with you!” “Safer up there.” “I mean, it’s safest down here with you. Probably. Right?” Fig offers. It’s not. It’s always safest in the group. That’s something that Darling didknow. But… It’s the middle of the day and the forest is as quiet as the farm. And he’s hungry and a bit scared himself, too, so… “Awright,” he tells Fig. “Guess you’re right about that.”

Excerpt from the 3k story piece that's up on Patreon! Darling is just doing his best, okay???

[phynewrites]

the thing is, ellen bass

[phynewrites]

“You shouldn’t have pressed,” his partner said. “I told you not to start investigating, didn’t I?” 

The detective stared, dumbfounded for the first time. His partner- not his partner anymore, was he?- smiled, pushing off the wall, striding over to the detective. 

He laughed. “As much as it annoys me, all this might’ve been worth it just to see that look.” “The- the first body,” the detective said. “Phillibert. It wasn’t about the money, was it?”

“It wasn’t about the money,” his partner confirmed. “You never really thought it was.”

“The second murder-”

“Clever touch, right?” his partner shrugged. “To be honest-” He winked when he said those words- “that one wasn’t me. Not personally. I was busy keeping a nosy little detective out of the way.” 

The detective swallowed hard. That was the night they’d been attacked in that alley together. The night his partner had helped him back home, given him a drink and tended his bloodied face and hands. They hadn’t argued about the case, for once. He thought that had meant something. 

Evidently it had. 

“When did you turn?” It wasn’t what he wanted to ask. 

His partner scoffed. “Turn. Please. There wasn’t any turn at all- I haven’t changed. I was never as optimistic as you.” 

“You wouldn’t have done this ten years ago.” 

“I didn’t have the opportunity ten years ago.” He took a few steps closer to the detective. “But I would have taken it if I had. The world is an unfair game. Sometimes you have to cheat to win.” 

[phynewrites]

unfinished business

summary: A hero wakes up to a newspaper headline proclaiming their death. They go about their day, disturbed but convinced that the article is a sham. It isn't until a few strange events happen that they begin to believe the headline was right. The hero passes through people they crash into, goes entirely unacknowledged at their local coffee shop, and is ultimately undetectable to anyone around them.

Naturally, the hero is very perturbed. Before they can return to their apartment unscathed, however, they crash into someone...

City's #1 Hero, Found Dead in Their Apartment

The hero's next breath is ragged and choked. They skim the rest of the text, heart pounding traitorously in their chest. Found alone in their apartment... Time of death confirmed to be a few minutes after midnight... They throw their phone across the room, taking brief satisfaction in the harsh sound it makes when it collides with the floor.

None of this is true. The hero sits on their bed, entirely alive and well. They know they're still alive—obviously—but this article still unsettles them. Time of death confirmed? How is that possible? They're in their apartment at this very moment, and there's no sign of anything that suggests forensic detectives were here. Most glaring of all, there is no corpse.

The hero is alive and well. They tell themselves this as they get dressed, ignoring the strange thought in the back of their mind that deems their entire lack of appetite unusual for the time of day. A few minutes later, the hero is standing outside their apartment complex, walking down the steps and heading down the street. A woman passes by, walking her dog. The hero's attention is momentarily captured by the dog, surprised by how well behaved it is. The dog doesn't even acknowledge their existence, instead just trotting along next to its owner.

The hero continues down the street, putting the unusual behavior down to the dog's training. They suppose it could've been a service dog, too—trained to prioritize its owner and avoid outside distractions. The hero is so lost in thought that they walk directly into someone. They squint, anticipating a nasty collision, when they realize that the person has already walked past them and is now continuing to walk, entirely unbothered. The hero could've sworn they crashed into that person, but maybe not...

The hero puts these strange interactions to the back of their mind, focused on walking to their favorite local coffee shop. When they open the door, they hear the familiar ringing sound of the bell on the door and anticipate a greeting from the baristas. They're almost a regular here, and while they certainly don't expect the staff to speak with them every time, they know this time of day is typically when they have time to talk briefly. The hero waits for recognition to pass over the baristas' faces, but all they see is confusion.

"Can someone close the door?" one of them says, his eyebrows furrowed. "There's a draft coming in." The hero releases their hold on the door, letting it fall closed. The barista raises an eyebrow, clearly a bit unnerved, before returning to his work.

Whatever. None of these silly, chance occurrences matter. All the hero needs right now is coffee. They step up to the counter and ask for the drink they typically get. For several seconds, the barista just stares down at the register, tapping away. Then, he sighs and turns his back, before walking away.

The hero stares after him for a moment, before forcing themselves to take a deep breath. Their heart is positively racing, and they know they're on the verge of an answer to the dilemma at hand. The hero turns around and walks away, eyes burning as they walk past strangers and pass through them. They've almost made it to the door when they roughly collide with someone.

"Hey, watch it," the person hisses.

"Sorry-" the hero murmurs, before a more pressing question comes to mind, "You can see me?"

"No shit, Sherlock-" The woman huffs, looking at them with an annoyed gaze. The expression on her face quickly morphs into a combination of shock, fear, and wariness. "Hero?" the hero freezes. They're in civilian clothes right now, and their costume requires a mask—only a select few people know what they look like beyond the mask.

Then it clicks. The villain, their archenemy, is standing in front of them, eyes widening in disbelief as she stares at them. She looks rather disturbed, and the hero remembers that they were supposedly declared dead just hours ago. “What the hell is happening?”

“The headlines said you were dead-” The villain remarks with bewilderment. She seems to be on the verge of saying something else, before the words fail her. Her gaze flits around to the people standing around the coffee shop. Quite a few of them are staring at her with concern. It looks as if she's talking to herself, the hero realizes.

"What's going on?" The villain whispers quietly. "They can't see you."

"I think-" The hero takes a deep breath, swallows. They don't want to utter the words, because they will come with an acknowledgement of the truth of the matter. The villain waits expectantly, growing in impatience with the more time that passes. "We should go outside." They walk through the group of people blocking the door and turn down the nearest side street, which has a tranquil silence descending in the air.

They take a moment to analyze what has happened so far. The dog not registering their presence, them crashing into someone but the other person not noticing, the baristas not seeing them near the door, the barista ignoring their order, them passing through an entire group of people...

No one can see them. No one, except her.

The villain finds them moments later. Her gaze feels like it's searing their very skin. The hero takes a deep breath. They really don't want to say it. "I think I'm a ghost." They choke out. The villain doesn't say anything, but her skeptical expression says it all. "You know how it goes," the hero responds defensively, crossing their arms over their chest. "A person's soul can't move on if they have unfinished business. And-"

"And I'm your unfinished business?" The villain huffs. She seems to have accepted the idea of them being a ghost rather readily. Then again, she must've seen them quite literally walk through the patrons back at the coffee shop. "What, are you here to save me? That's cute." The villain smirks.

"I guess," the hero says, ignoring her latter remark.

"You're wasting your time," the villain maintains. She seems to be constantly surveying her surroundings, as her gaze never settles on the hero for very long.

"I think I have all the time in the world," the hero remarks, looking down at their shadowed limbs. The villain groans in frustration, looking a few moments away from tearing her hair out and ripping the hero apart limb from limb. The hero takes a step backwards.

There's a tense quiet that settles between them for an immeasurable time. The villain pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs resignedly. "Can you just go away?" She finally says, irritating crawling into her voice. "I've made it pretty fucking clear that I don't have any intentions of being a hero."

"I know," the hero acknowledges. They gave up trying to make her a hero years ago. "I'm not- I don't have control over this. I'm not trying to save you, or any of that misguided savior bullshit. I promise."

"Fine," the villain answers guardedly, after a moment of quiet scrutiny. "Well, can you try to figure out what you're here for, then?"

"I can try," the hero says. It's the best they can promise. The villain seems to recognize that, because she stares up at the sky with a long-suffering look of annoyance on her face.

"Ugh, okay, come with me," the villain offers out of nowhere. Somehow, the hero's thoughts must've shown on their face. They refuse to admit how much relief courses through them at the thought that the villain is willing to help them, that they're not in this alone. "That pathetic look on your face is annoying the hell out of me."

The villain takes them to her residence. The hero is hesitant to call it a residence, because, well... It's just a bedroom—inside a decaying building that smells of mold and death. They suddenly feel horribly self conscious for the unnecessary luxury that surrounds their own apartment.

"What?" The villain asks defensively, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Not up to your standards?"

"You don't even have a sink," the hero realizes aloud, looking around the small space. "Or a kitchen. Or a bathroom."

"Bathroom's down the hall," the villain answers mechanically, as if she's heard those same concerns a million times before. She doesn't acknowledge the rest of their questions and the hero takes her silence as a hint to stop asking.

Nothing very significant happens after that. The hero tries to bounce ideas off of the villain, and the villain only looks murderous about half of the time—a dramatic improvement, in the hero's eyes.

It isn't until the hero is forced to watch the villain fight that they begin to wonder if their unfinished business has something to do with the villain herself. She's currently holding her own against a superhero and his sidekick. The hero recognizes the duo, but they don't recognize the cruelty in their twisted smiles or the justice in fighting two against one. The villain is a damn good fighter, but two-against-one isn't a fair fight, and the hero is sure their presence is only distracting her further.

The sidekick lands a good hit on the villain, leaving her to crumple to the ground. The hero flinches reflexively, especially when they notice the sidekick seems to be intent on continuing to beat her down. They clench their fists and, before they can contemplate their next course of action, they're grabbing the superhero and sidekick by the napes of their necks and fiercely tugging them backwards. Neither of the two expect the sudden change in momentum and go flying back several feet. The pair exchange looks before leaving moments later, evidently searching for another, more unresponsive victim. The hero's stomach churns at the though.

The hero doesn't bother extending a hand to the villain—they know she wouldn't take it. Instead, they turn their back and pretend to be looking out at something in the distance.

"Thanks for the help," the villain scoffs sarcastically after getting to her feet. The hero turns back around and raises a single eyebrow silently, knowing damn well the villain would've been furious if they intervened. She has too much pride to admit she would've needed the help.

The hero begins to understand what the villain's life is like after that. They're not sure they like it very much, and they can't help but feel they were incredibly lucky to be a hero. Everything is completely different, from their residences and their public perception to the fights they engage in. The hero has always used the agency's regulations as a moral code to govern their actions in fights, has never beaten a villain past the brink of morality. They can't say the same for their peers—not after witnessing that pair from before and another pair a few days later deal potentially lethal blows to the villain.

It's not fair, the hero has learned. There is nothing they have done that has separated them from the villain, yet they are treated with such stark differences that it takes the hero several weeks to learn this lesson. When they finally begin to navigate the labyrinth of morality and villainy, they end up standing in a giant chasm of unease, trepidation, and revulsion. They've seen the destruction the villain has wrought, yet they've also seen her after a fight—battered, bruised, and broken. The hero has grown used to bandaging her wounds after a fight, grown used to the soul-crushing, stomach-turning feeling they get as they watch the other heroes aim to kill.

They don't know how long it takes for them to come to terms with what they're seeing. The hero supposes it was a gradual process. Now, as they stand in the dim light of the villain's residence, they feel the words crawling from their lips. "I did have unfinished business after all," they realize aloud.

"What?" The villain frowns, turning to face them. "What did you do?" At some point throughout their time together, she abandoned her skepticism and wariness. Yet, the hero can still see traces of it in her expression, her posture.

"I-" The hero tries to say. I learned from my mistakes. I took a step back and considered life from the perspective of someone besides me. I stepped into your shoes and I walked in them until the soles of my feet burned and callouses ripped into my skin. I walked until I realized that it wasn't a single thing that made you this way... A terrible series of events orchestrated by the systems that make up this world pushed you down, over and over again, until you couldn't get back up. They don't say any of this. The villain seems to hear it anyway.

"You had to die and follow me around to realize society privileges some and oppresses others?" She asks, shaking her head in disbelief. The hero feels incredibly ashamed at the veracity of her remark. "Incredible." She rolls her eyes.

"I think it's more than that," the hero says after a few seconds. It feels like much more than that—it must be. "I think... I had to learn that some people don't need to be saved. For some, that very notion is oppressive." The villain doesn't need saving.

Silence. "I underestimated you," the villain admits after a rather uncomfortable, drawn-out silence, raising her eyebrows.

"You're not the first," the hero smiles wryly. "But you may be the last." The hero breaks off, their core feeling as if it's being stitched together tightly. They chance a glance down at their limbs, only to find that their edges are starting to blur. The villain stares at them, eyes gleaming. She almost looks concerned. "I think... it's time for me to go." Sure enough, their fingers are beginning to fade into obscurity.

"Time to rest," the villain remarks lightly. For a moment, her voice sounds choked, as if she's suppressing something. The hero puts it down to their imagination. "I'll probably be joining you soon, anyway."

"Don't say that," the hero chides her. "And not if I can help it." They promise, if only to make the uncharacteristically vulnerable expression on the villain's face morph into skepticism and annoyance once more.

"Yeah, yeah," the villain rolls her eyes. She motions towards them. "Get going." She orders. Demanding and bossy as always, the hero thinks. They do as she requests and stop fighting against the unfamiliar feeling threatening to dissipate their very form. The last thing the hero sees is a slight gleam in their enemy's eyes, as if she's fighting off tears. They don't have long to dissect the sight, before they're falling into an infinite nothingness.

©2023, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain

endnotes below!

Before the hero passes on completely, they adjust their will and give their apartment to the villain. It's surely not enough to compensate for their blindness to the world's prejudices, but it's a start. They make a difference in one person's life, which is a lot to say for someone who's dead.

I really enjoyed writing this piece. It was fun.

Let me know if you all like the formatting of this piece (how the summary is first, and then the "keep reading" line is next). Usually, I just jump right into things, but I think this story has a particularly unique premise, so I wanted to make sure that there was a sufficient summary to show that. Again, let me know what you think of the "summary -> keep reading line -> story" format, though.

TAG LIST: @lateuplight @wit-is-wisdom @greengableswriting @whump-me-all-night-long @noawhite @rekhyt-of-arcadia @the-blind-one-speaks @sufferfictionalcharacters @basically-psyduck @alexkolax @subval01 @emerald-blade @felicia609 @surplus-of-sarcasm @ilickedanenvelopeandilikedit @a-chaotic-gremlin @unknownogre @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @whatwhumpcomments @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @agayprince

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[phynewrites]

paused Arthur Christmas on a perfect reaction image

[phynewrites]

Reverting back to my notebook jotting habit by writing the next big thing while listening to Olivia Rodrigo

[phynewrites]

Pride & Justice Side Characters: Pride's Friends

In the story, Pride trips and falls into making exactly three (3) friends, and one cat. This is a post about them!

Olivia "Ollie" Clearwater

She/They | Trans Butch Lesbian | "Only motherfucker in this city who can handle me." - Pride, probably

Olivia grew up with extreme Christian fundamentalists for parents, controlled and sheltered all her life. Her only knowledge of queerness was as a one-way trip to Hell, and her knowledge of transness was non-existent. Even as deeply closeted as she was, Ollie chafed against her parents' strict upbringing, and began lashing out at an early age—and suffering the consequences.

In her attempts to free herself, even momentarily, Ollie found smoking and "the devil's music" to be particularly freeing. By thirteen, she was regularly sneaking packs of cigarettes and death metal albums into her room, and taking them with her every time she left so they wouldn't be found. Making up excuses about kids smoking at the bus stop saved her for a little while, but she knew it was only a matter of time.

Desperate, she held on until her she graduated, shipped off to college, and then her deep dive into everything forbidden began. The longer she strayed on the outskirts of what her parents found acceptable, the more she discovered. From metal, to grunge, to punk, Ollie found the queer community on her college campus and beyond, After so many years, she finally discovered herself.

Time ran out at the end of her first visit back home for the holidays. All her secrets exploded from her in a heated argument, and her parents instantly cut contact. With no money to pay tuition, Ollie had no choice but to leave her degree unfinished. And with nowhere to go, she was homeless for several years, couch-surfing with her few college friends, and sleeping on the streets.

After what felt like a lifetime of strife, she found solace in the community aid the local punk scene strung together for her. They helped her find temporary housing, work, and have a life again. Now in her early thirties, she credits them to this day for allowing her to live the rest of her life, and is active in fiercely defending it and supporting people like her.

Though Olivia does not dream of labor, she makes ends meet working retail, and spends a significant chunk of it on edibles as she attempts to quit smoking after nearly two decades.

Sofía Torres-Iglesias

She/Her | Cis Lesbian | The obligatory catgirl in every queer friend group

Sofía was born a second-generation immigrant to her Mexican parents, having a familiar childhood that many queer people might recognize—feeling different, but without the language to explain why. When she was young, she simply didn't understand why anyone would want a boyfriend in the first place. Growing older, and learning how strange it was for her to turn up her nose family members asking about her non-existent boy crushes, she bottled the feeling and tried not to think about it too much. She spent time with her friends and nodded along with all the teenage squealing about the boys from her school, and saying what people wanted to hear when asked about her own preferences.

Eventually, she found the words of her community. She sat on the knowledge for years, until coming out to her parents in a nervous rush before her quinceañera. After a lot of tears and hugging, the celebration went off without a hitch, with Sofía confident her parents supported her.

However, as time went on, it seemed clear that they supported her... insofar as they accepted her "experimenting" in this "phase." They were confused about how she could possibly be a lesbian because she loved pink, and kittens, and femininity—nothing like the marimacho they imagined queer women to be. It took Sofía a long time to establish with them how to talk about her sexuality and her community in ways that didn't make her want to scream, in addition to convincing them that she would never find "the right man" to "fix" her.

After many more years, a few messy early-twenties-relationships, Sofía was finally able to convince her parents it wasn't a phase. At last, she could breathe.

She met Ollie in her late twenties at a gay bar, and they rented the U-Haul a month later. Three years have passed, they're still together, sharing an apartment and a cat named Marbles. Sofía has a day-job tutoring kids in Spanish, but hopes to one day be able to afford to go to veterinary school.

Dante Price

They/Them | Nonbinary Asexual | Can and will quote the Divine Comedy verbatim

Dante's first canvas was always their own body. The story of their young self using finger-paints on everything except the paper was a popular anecdote of their parents, to the point where everyone at church could recite it word-for-word. This love of art continued through their childhood, from crayons to paints to their mother's make-up and it was all fine—until it suddenly wasn't.

On a dime, Dante's creativity was stifled. Their hands slapped away from eye shadow and lipstick, there was suddenly an acceptable art, and an unacceptable art. Growing up with a younger sister brought the unfairness into sharp relief—she was allowed to toy with make-up, dolls, and glitter. But Dante wasn't.

Nothing that was shoved into their hands as "proper" ever felt right. Not sports, martial arts, or any school subject sat right with them. They struggled to stay focused on anything except art, doodles getting snatched up and torn to pieces in class as punishment for their lack of attention. Later, they would be diagnosed with ADHD, years too late to save them from a miserable public school experience.

Dante drifted through life, listless and feeling destined to fail. The things they loved weren't allowed, and the things they sucked at were the only way to succeed. Stuck in the middle of an impossible situation, there was nothing they could do.

One place they escaped this limbo was in Dante's Divine Comedy, obsessed with the epic poem to the point of near-encyclopedic knowledge. The journey consumed them, a trip through Hell, into Heaven, and finally finding God and the love that aligns a soul. Such a path felt impossible for them, but they clung to the possibility.

School sucked, with shit grades, few friends, and net-zero interest in dating anyone or anyone dating them. Home sucked, with an air of disappointment hanging above their parents' heads. But one day, they would escape it. That they would exit Hell, and scrape their way to Heaven.

Before they knew it, high school was over, and Dante was expected to have a plan. They went to community college, because they had to do something, and joined the GSA after reading the word "asexual" on a flier. The more meetings they attended, the more they talked about existing in the in-between, the more the rest of their life started to make sense. It felt like climbing closer to Heaven, and Dante named themself after their favorite poet, hoping beyond hope it would give them strength.

They mulled over coming out for a long time. Their parents were just now starting to feel proud of them—would this ruin it? Would they be trapped forever? Dante tested the waters by telling their sister, Aria, and cried from relief when she accepted them, said she would help.

It was... a difficult series of conversations. Their parents were confused, not understanding what "nonbinary" even meant, or how Dante could be asexual when they haven't ever dated anyone—they were just inexperienced. But they agreed to use Dante's new name and pronouns, and that was more than Dante expected. And, to help them the rest of the way along, they offered some of the resources the GSA handed out, to help them through the process.

Things got better faster than they ever expected. Much less than simply tolerating their queerness, Dante witnessed their parents switch to a more progressive church in the name of respecting it. They bought make-up again, learned how to use it like paint on a canvas, something they also found love in after so many years of getting their art torn to shreds.

Now, with a supportive community, family, and self, Dante is working toward an art degree, and basking in the light of the love that set their soul right.

Marbles

He/Him | Grey & White Tabby | No thoughts. Only treats.

Sofía's beloved cat. He has one brain cell the size of a marble that bounces around his skull. He is very spoiled and enjoys ear scratches.

[phynewrites]

How Can We Combine These Concepts to See Their Effects?

Although these are all hypothetical characters, there is significant data that backs up the concept that TikTok of these topics affect young people’s minds through different lenses.

A young boy watches a video on TikTok where Andrew Tate says, “A woman can’t go around fucking people and pretend it's the same as a man running around fucking people. It’s absolutely not the same. A man can only cheat if he loves someone else. If I have a woman I truly love, and I go out and fuck, and I come back to her, and I don’t care about her (the girl he had intercourse with who is not his partner), and I only love my girl. That’s not cheating. That’s exercise. If she even talks to a dude, that's cheating because females are emotionally invested. ” (Rapid Hustlers, 2022). This young boy may think, “Oh, he has a good point. The comments all agree,” because he watched the whole video, more of these videos will appear. Being exposed to this content, he is being molded to always think, “I get that,” or “I agree.” He may begin to show aggressive behavior towards women as he grows up due to this (James, 2023). Perhaps a girl he’s dating accuses him of cheating, and he argues it isn’t because of the content he surrounds himself with. He begins to only think of women in gendered roles. Rather than having people in his life who may tell him otherwise, he only knows people who watch the same content (Shea 2023, 15:53-16:32). He’s stuck in an echo chamber of this sexist and misogynist idea that his TikTok created because of the way the algorithm works. 

Tiktok from @tate..aikido

Perhaps that idea is too far out, and you may be thinking, “Well, that’s so extreme that never happens.” we can also take the idea more mildly.

This time, a boy or a girl watches multiple videos about video games. The first video is from a popular first-person shooter known as Call of Duty, where the people in the clip are making fun of a girl, and all of the guys are laughing (Zimmerman, 2023). The guy laughs alongside the video; he then begins to play the game, makes fun of other girls, or, more often, simply laughs and doesn’t stop it from happening (Intenta). The girl thinks the game is for guys. That she can’t play it. The guys don’t even want me to play. She thinks “first-person shooters are for guys.” Both people, in some way, think that these war games are for boys (Healey, 2016). Now that video game content is on their FYP. They see videos where attractive girls are playing games like Stardew Valley or Animal Crossing both games are often considered “cozy” and “girly” (Tonya, 2023). The girl thinks, “That’s a girl I could play that game.” Meanwhile, the guy thinks, “Hm, that attractive girl is playing that game; must mean it’s for girls.” While these people may not be thinking these directly, as they continue to watch more content fortifying this idea, their subconscious is being influenced by TikToks.

Tiktok from @cozysimespy with it's hastags that show how cozy games are related to girls often.

Maybe you can’t imagine this happening with a girl. No girl would watch this content that’s so sexist. Maybe you’re a girl who could not imagine watching Andrew Tate or you simply aren’t interested in gaming. However, the point is to show that extreme sexist content isn’t the only content that shows sexist values. Take this example.

A girl downloads TikTok and watches Charli D'Amelio lip-syncing to a video with a beauty filter on. She sees Charli as pretty, thin, and with facial features she could never have. She swipes and continues to watch more and more videos of girls with perfect skin from filters, where the comments have boys saying she’s pretty because of her looks. She begins to believe that she is doing something wrong; her skin has bumps, and she doesn’t know how to look better to get comments like that. She continues to scroll daily; she sees trends like the pigtail theory and thinks, maybe if I wear my hair like that, people will like me. Perhaps while watching, she comes across videos of “that girl,” a concept where girls engage in self-care and betterment but often incorporate a certain fashion style (Aesthetic, 2023).  To fit into the “that girl” aesthetic, she buys products so that people will see her as “that girl.” Without realizing it, she’s fallen into acting and dressing in a gendered stereotype and seeing herself through a tailored misogynist lens, all from TikTok’s algorithm. 

Tiktok from selfcareelovebyl showing the "That Girl" aesthetic

SOURCES

Adile (@misshoxha). Tiktok, November 9, 2023. https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8aT8Dyu/

𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 (@selfcareelovebyl). Tiktok, July 5, 2023. https://www.tiktok.com/@selfcareelovebyl/video/7252443187858509062?_r=1&_t=8i76HWHm8HW

Charli (@charlix_rares_). Tiktok, June 12, 2023. https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8mYbgdt/

“Gender Stereotypes and Discrimination in Gaming.” INTENTA, September 15, 2022. https://intenta.digital/perspectives/gaming-gender-stereotypes-discrimination/.

Healey, Gareth. “Proving Grounds: Performing Masculine Identities in Call of Duty: Black Ops.” Game Studies 16, no. 2 (December 2016). https://gamestudies.org/1602/articles/healey.

Ionescu, Claudiu Gabriel, and Monica Licu. “Are TikTok Algorithms Influencing Users’ Self-Perceived Identities and Personal Values? A Mini Review.” Social Sciences 12, no. 8 (2023): 465. https://doi.org/10.3390/socsci12080465.

James, Will. “Andrew Tate: A Case Study on the Effects of Online Influencers on Students’ Education.” Define the Line, February 20, 2023. https://www.mcgill.ca/definetheline/article/andrew-tate-case-study-effects-online-influencers-students-education.

Matt Shea, “The Dangerous Rise of Andrew Tate,” VICE, YouTube, Jan 13, 2023, documentary, 15:53-16:32, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nj1JSlKzHtc&t=949s.

Rapid Hustlers (@tate..aikido). TikTok, May 24, 2022. https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8acrXNA/.

Tonya (@cozysimespy). TikTok, May 30, 2023. https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8mYFpY5/

Zimmerman, Jenna (@jenna_zimmerman). Tiktok, August 30, 2023. https://www.tiktok.com/@jenna_zimmerman/video/7273237915218562346?_r=1&_t=8i75HMv5Dpq

[phynewrites]

Fey Wishes 1

Though Yorie considered herself an adventurous fairy, she had never known the term genie before her trip to this life-stealing desert: she would have never met a genie back overseas.

No genie was available to grant wishes back in the safebubble: wishes were made instead at wells. Once, one hidden near Yorie’s forest entrusted her a wish: a gold coin that glimmered in sunlight. The coin still made her smile in the desert: she could sit among the mirages, holding her wish to ponder the way it gleamed.

As she sunk into the hot, fine dunes, she heard a cough.

“Are you going to wish for something or not?”

Yorie turned to see what was there. There lay, half-buried, a tarnished oil lamp in the local style. A unique treasure that would make her the praise of all the fey! Emerging from it was a pinched-faced neon man who’d spoken to her.

She held her coin to her chest. “I have my wish! I won’t give it to you.”

The man approached, bringing his eyes close to her gold. “Is that the only wish you have? You can wish anything from me, and I’ll grant you it.”

Yorie wished, in her darkest mind, for the attention that all her travels would bring, but she couldn’t know too many things: she couldn’t know who this man was or if his kind too weaponized words. Regardless, if she gave her wish, then she could no longer wish it, by the rules of fey magic.

“I like all my wishes. I won’t part with them.” Yorie rose shakily from the slippery dune to pursue the half-hidden treasure she’d spotted when she’d looked for the man’s voice.

He reappeared above the lamp with a muted pop, studying her.

“Do you have claim over that lamp?” she asked.

“You wish for my lamp?”

His. Yorie pouted at the man’s words. Then he claimed the lamp?

She tapped a finger against her side. “Do you have proof of your claim on the lamp?”

The man gestured downward, where spectral chains showed themselves a moment, grasping his arms and legs and coiling around the lamp. “It can be yours, but you must say I wish for your lamp.”

Yorie captured the chains in her memory and laughed nervously. The recent image soon gave out to noticing a flabbergasted look that the man was wearing, a look that had her cackling. “Do you have claim over the lamp, or does the lamp have claim over you?”

“Funny. Regardless, it is my lamp. Why was I summoned from it if you’re not going to make a wish?”

“You think I summoned you?”

Yorie wouldn’t have known to summon the man from the lamp, though she would have done so accidentally regardless.

“Do you see anyone else around?” The man tilted his head toward their stretch of barren land. Beyond them, only the desert showed any presence with the soft roar of its wind.

Yorie flapped to the lamp. Midair, she collected in her wings that blowing sand that could almost be dismissed as a minor irritation. She wasn’t airborne long. She landed and examined the tarnished metal.

What sort of metal lay trapped beneath the sand? Copper? Bronze? Not the iron that would burn her in any case. She prodded the tiny scratches that clouded the engravings. “You say you were summoned from your lamp,” she said, “yet there is no summoner and no proof that it’s yours. Proof now, or it’s mine.”

“Don’t you think the chains are proof? They’re my magic binding my lamp to me. Well then, another display of my power for the doubter!” The man gestured across their dunes, which burst with grass.

As Yorie looked at the resulting hills, she saw lush green, green, and more green like what surrounded her neighboring human villages. She could almost be with the other fairies with a tale that would give her the spotlight, a new lamp to prove it happened.

A new lamp, which was whose? Could her desired object truly be claimed as the man’s?

Yorie feigned a yawn. “I see only green. I prefer something with a little more color.”

She wafted fairy dust in the air and grew her forest’s trees thick on the man’s grassy hills. Though more greenery appeared, the forest brought trees to mix their brown bark into the scenery and hold colorful birds. They varied Yorie’s landscape too with refined leaves of precious metals.

She waited for the man’s reaction.

He gave very little. If anything, he was marked confused at Yorie’s magic by his barely-twitching lips and minute squints.

The reaction predicted whatever start that Yorie’s fey diplomacy could have with this strange being. Her question remained unanswered though after his latest magic display: had he beaten her to a claim on the friend-seeking lamp? She spread her dust atop her want in a motion that finally had her rubbing the lamp itself. Her dust sent her two sensations: that pleasant tingle of her magic, which had been rubbing the lamp for some time already; and the lamp’s empty, unclaimed feeling.

“I claim this!” she said, raising her wings at the man. “It’s mine!”

“That’s not how it works,” he said. “You have to say I wish for your lamp.”

Distantly, Yorie could hear a voice in her memories scolding her for offending magical entities. When had she last received any notice from that voice though? Besides, she held to the fey law that property must be magically claimed.

Yorie swirled her dust around the lamp and made it flash. She’d claimed it! Hers! Giggling, she passed the treetops, her wish coin in one hand and her lamp in the other.

The forest crumbled to dune beneath her. She lost track of its genie for a while.

Fey Wishes 2 > (Coming Soon)

[phynewrites]

Prologue of new False Gods

I made a new prologue for False Gods version 3, now with more morally grey characters. tw for mention of murders and bit of a narcissistic woman

” Beatrix Rhinannon Jones- “The Judge was like a god, looking at Beatrix with his stern look, all the manlike mercy missing after all the deeds only devil could love. There was no neutrality in him, which was bad for a judge of your own trial, which could become a death penalty, if her cards could go very wrong. Still, she felt very weird. She should feel ashamed that this old man responsible of her faith, but only thing she could feel was indifference. She could not bother to care. “-You and your associates named Aurora Four are charged with 37 counts of armed robbery, 4 charges of murder and one count of arson. How do you plead?”

Beatrix looked around. Even tough the man had talked about Aurora Four, she was the only one in the stand, the others somewhere else, either still being detained and grilled later, or they had put all the blame on her. Maybe it was all karma now, all the most loyal people around her had now betrayed her and she was now all alone, with only a lawyer on her side. She needed to be cautious in everything she did or said, or at least should do so, if only she cared enough.

Beatrix stood up in her chair, all the cameras around her flashing, trying to get the best picture to make them famous and rich, like they did before all the mess she was in. They were prey animals cosplaying as predators, cannibalising on the real predators of the world, the rich and famous, the scum of the world to many, which felt ironic thought as Beatrix had been a poster girl of the people for many years. Beatrix smiled to the cameras, and winked one that was in the best angle towards her. Her lawyer next to her tried to push Beatrix down desperately down, but Beatrix held firm. “I plead… guilty. I confess to- “Beatrix smiled at the cameras. Her band better grateful to everything. She gets the glory, and they get freedom. “-everything. Everyone that happened. Every murder, every gun shot. Everything.”

All the cameras started flashing like wanting to give a stroke to someone. she could already see the headlines. Instead of about the famous rock band Aurora Four’s trial, it would be about Beatrix Jones, and how she was the brains behind everything. She would finally become the one thing she had always wanted. She had always wanted this ending. Always.

She would be written to the history books. She just needed someone to sell the story to.

[phynewrites]

cutlery

glinting metal splits me into ribbons.

the cutting board bears my old bloodstains,

just as my skin marinates with the scars you sprinkled onto it.

there's a horrible aroma wafting through the stale kitchen air,

breathing remorse and repugnance.

smoke rises from the scalding hot pan

and my every exhale adds fuel to the roaring flames.

i've grown to welcome the heat,

to welcome the firm press of your lips that hides a sharp, cheek-splitting grin.

i've learned that your masterful touch will always incite both apprehension and anticipation within me,

because, while the pain is all-consuming,

it never lasts.

my misgivings slip down the drain in soapy water,

and you render me eternal once more.

©2023, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved.

-> prompt from @nosebleedclub's November prompts (Nov. 22).

[phynewrites]

Hopping in and reviving this picrew tag game because why not lol

Usually I go for an all pink but I thought sprinkling a little cosmos would be a more appropriate theme for me if I were to become a member of the fae

Gently tagging (no pressure) @the-golden-comet @sableglass @inseasofgreen @davycoquette @bookish-karina + open tag for anyone who wants to join

I'm writing and need a fun distraction so let's do a fun picrew tag game!! If you get tagged make this picrew of yourself as Fae and tag other people! 💗

Tagging: @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @historiaxvanserra @fieldofdaisiies @azrielscrown @readychilledwine @azsazz @leafsandstarlight @andrigyn

[phynewrites]

Fish in the Sea

I actually wrote this for my school paper, but I realized the student body at my college was the wrong audience, so maybe it'll find the right audience here

-

As more and more of my friends, family, and acquaintances get engaged and married, I’m reminded what an unskilled fisher I am. I’ve heard there are plenty of fish in the sea, but I’m not in the sea: I’m upstream in a river where paddles haven’t been invented yet.

And the humiliating part of it all is the audience of people—all in possession of their very own fish—standing on the shore, shouting such hilariously conflicting advice, I start to question if what I hold in my hand is really a fishing rod. “You need to cast your line farther,” a classmate calls to me before going back to kiss her fish’s glittery scales. “No, you need to reel the fish in faster!” a friend yells, squeezing her fish like a stuffed animal. “You have to become friends with the fish first!” my grandmother cuts in, delicately holding her fish’s fin.

Easy for them to say. They caught several fish (good and bad) and threw them back until they finally found the right one. 

Meanwhile, I lean over to catch a fish with my bare hands and end up gifting myself a rush of cortisol as I tip the boat over completely. 

“Oh, it’ll happen for you soon!” a cousin lovingly shouts as I cough up water. “Just maybe use different bait next time!”

Am I really supposed to believe that twirling my hair, batting my eyes, and biting my lower lip will convince the fish to jump right out of the water and into my boat? Perhaps if I were in this mythical sea full of fish I always hear about, they would. But the sprinkling of fish in my stream could care less about any lure I possess, for even if I think a fish has bitten and I try to reel it in, my hook comes up empty. 

Of course, the kind of fish you catch depends on the person you are, and everyone builds their lures and boats differently. But when you haven’t caught a single thing, you start to wonder if you’re secreting some sort of toxic chemical that wards the fish away. After all, humans have been successfully fishing for thousands of years. Without it, humanity wouldn’t have made it this far. Every culture invests serious time in this activity, and even though they might encounter some fish with whiskers from time to time, they all eventually succeed. If they don’t, they get rooted out by natural selection.

I cast many a longing look around to find this sea. I have a hunch that the sea is at the end of the river. Funnily enough, when people mention the sea, they never mention how to get there.

There have been times where I abandoned the fishing rod, and sat in my boat, pouting with my nose so far up in the air, I can’t even see the water at all, only the sky.

But by far the most infuriating comment from those on the shore, is those that say their fish magically appeared on the hook when they weren’t even trying to catch anything. But how do you get a fish on your hook without your fishing rod in your hand? 

I’m not sure. 

Maybe it’s the kind of thing that only makes sense when you’re in the sea. So, before I rededicate myself to hair-twirling to avoid natural selection…does anybody have a paddle?

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

[phynewrites]

Amaris & Virgil - The reveal (not finished)

Taglist: @vite-poh, @theoracleofgiana @writeblr-of-my-own, @mfpipecat, @the-mindless , @eldritchx

THIS IS NOT DONE BUT I DON'T CARE

The fallen angel locked the door to their flower shop and flipped the wooden sign over before heading to the register to count the gains. Virgil had taken everything out of the charity jar and putting it into an envelope.

They wondered how Amaris was doing. It was quiet from the shop next door. Usually, Amaris would be blasting heavy rock music at this time, but there was nothing. The angel went to the back employee place and into the tattoo artist's shop. They had a door where the two could go between their business, which became more often than they originally thought.

Virgil found themself into Amaris' office. This wasn't normal and was much different than Virgil was used to. What was going on?

That's when the ground began to shake and shift around. Virgil could see gears moving before everything stopped, and they walked out Amaris' office into a place they hadn't seen before.

"How much will this be?" Amaris sat on a stool as a person remained stretched on out a bed, lying on their stomach. The person's skin was red… like most demons. The tattoo appeared to be of some hellish symbol, and Virgil remained quiet, watching as they did not want to interrupt the session.

"Only 3 bucks due to the discount." The sound of the pen as Amaris masterfully moved the pen across the demon's skin. It wasn't long before the demon had noticed Virgil. They began to hiss before Amaris pushed them back down onto the bed. Virgil remained unaware if Amaris was aware of their presence or not. But it seemed that no matter what, Virgil was found out possibly by smell. Virgil began to slip back into Amaris' office, trying to find a way back to their shop. Then the pen stopped.

The fallen angel was attacked in a second, their head meeting Amaris' wooden table, nearly going through the thick wood. The angel couldn't see their attacker, but it wasn't long before their head had gone through the table, splitting it in half. Looking up, Virgil's vision was blurry, yet they could make out two bodies fighting, one more dominant than the other. The conflict didn't last long, and before long, Virgil found themself unconscious.

[phynewrites]

PINK - WRITEBLR ASK GAME

ROSE - Is your main character right?

WATERMELON - Is your antagonist right?

BLUSH - What is the best compliment on your writing you have ever received?

FUSCIA - What colour would your book's cover be and why?

CORAL - Which setting of your creation would you most wish to live in?

CANDY - How much money would you have to receive to never write again?

FLAMINGO - What animal is your main character most like? What animal is your antagonist most like?

MAGENTA - Are you a good writer?

BUBBLEGUM - What is your favourite genre to write? Is it also your favourite genre to read?

SALMON - How much research do you do for your writing?

PEACH - If you couldn't write books, what would you write instead (shows, movies, games, etc)?

LIPS - Do you prefer fluff or smut?

BARBIE - What differences would there be if your WIP became a movie?

PETAL - Do you have pretty pose?

BERRY - What is the best part of editing your book?