#Open Letter

[baby-dog]

have you jacked off to my blog. will you jack off to my blog. when will you jack off to my blog.

[martyr-mayhem]

An open letter from Mahmoud Khalil on March 18, 2025.

Knowing fully that this moment transcends my individual circumstances, I hope nonetheless to be free to witness the birth of my first-born child.💔

Link to letter here 👇🏻

Contact your representatives and free Mahmoud Khalil 👇🏻

[plant-ago]

An Open Letter to Dan and Phil

Dear beloved nerds,

This was originally going to be an (even longer) actual letter that I was going to give to you at the tour, but my nonprofit-employed ass can’t afford a meet and greet, so we’re doing this instead. I promise it’s not just trauma dumping— mostly, it’s about saying thank you and trying to cultivate some hope for all of us.

I’ve been a big fan since around 2014, when I was a mentally ill neurotic deeply repressed loner egg (average phannie, let's be honest). Now I’m a whole adult who got therapy and HRT and has joined the legions of transmascs with the Dan Howell haircut! What a legacy.

I’m making jokes because the thing I actually want to talk about, and the reason I decided to make this an open letter, is kind of serious. But in light of the election, I feel like I need to share this, both with you and with all the other queers in this little corner of the internet.

Here’s the gist: I’m a paralegal at a non-profit organization that works to help queer migrants get asylum. Mostly what I do is sit them down in our nasty sterile office and try to be kind, and help them get through telling me all the most terrible things that have happened to them, and then turn around and pare it all down into legalese that is digestible to the government to make the case they should get asylum.

It’s a horrible job, really, and one that shouldn’t have to exist. Some parts are plainly wonderful, like meeting so many queer people from all walks of life. But it’s also heartrending and difficult, and burnout is always looming. My horrible banal work is often literally a matter of life and death for the client, and I’m fighting a broken system for a chance at giving them the happiness and safety is owed to them by international law and, really, by any decent human standard, should never have been in question.

The thing is—and this is reason to hope—queer people really do exist everywhere, no matter how much repression and violence we face. In a tiny village in Colombia, there's a kid who’s all spit and vinegar, dresses like a boy and plays football and fights anyone who says that they can’t, who grows up wiry and gets black eyes because men still can’t handle getting their asses handed to them on the soccer field by a dyke. This client texts me at my work number sometimes to ask if I’ve eaten that day, because they wanted to check in on me. He asked me to call him by a boy’s name, recently. I don’t know that he’s told anyone else. I open every message I send him with "Hola, James."

Then there’s the sweet, babyfaced college freshman who got death threats when he was outed to his classmates back home, and whose parents kicked him out when he refused to marry a girl to protect the family's reputation, leaving him alone in a foreign country. He was couch surfing and just trying not to miss class so he could keep his student status and he was so conscientious I wanted to cry— he’s eighteen, guys. Eighteen. I’ll get him his papers or so help me fucking God I will kill for him. You know? You know. After that meeting I had to sit at my desk with my notebook and fill an entire blank page with the phrase “he’s just a kid,” over and over again, until I felt like I could breathe.

On a Friday morning recently I get up and open my laptop to interpret on a call with a soft-spoken older trans woman who's sat in the bleak phone room of the ICE detention facility because her immigration judge didn’t believe that she was really transgender. “An odor of mendacity pervades everything the respondent says,” the judge wrote in her ruling, where she determined the client wasn't "credible." To this day I’m still floored that she straight up ripped off Tennessee Williams—new frontiers in bigotry, truly. She didn’t even cite. In our meeting now, the client quietly tells us how hard it was when she came out but how happy she was the first time she wore makeup, and she'd rather stay in detention here for indeterminate years as proceedings spiral on than go back to Guatemala, where they'll kill her—boys, if I ever get within spitting distance of this fuckass judge, it is on SIGHT. Absolutely fucking ON SIGHT. For legal purposes, that was a JOKE.

So I finish the call and get up to get a snack. It’s only ten am but feel tired already because I’m angry, which is not unusual but also not something I want to hold onto, because it doesn't help anything. So I make some toast and look at my phone— two texts, which I ignore, a spam email, and, wouldn't you know it, a YouTube notification from Dan and Phil games! Jarring! That’s just sort of how life is though, isn’t it? Deathly serious and lighthearted in the same breath.

But regardless, seeing the notification makes me feel warm, so I have my toast and watch a little video of you two playing Roblox or dress up or whatever it is you do on that channel these days. I have a good giggle and I finish my toast and go back to my desk. It’s a crucial part of my diet really— the giggles, not the toast. I’m not angry anymore. I’ll be angry again, but for now my cortisol levels are manageable and I can put my head back into emails or whatever the fuck. Do you ever think about how plants make food for free out of sunlight but we sit around writing emails all day? And that’s if we’re lucky. Capitalism is hell.

Anyway, there is a point I am trying to make, and it’s not really about the banal horrors of neoliberal nation-state or capitalism or even homophobia. It’s to say thank you for coming back to make silly videos together, because I love them, and you never fail to make me happy. And yeah, maybe something about the story of that scared eighteen-year-old kid at the front of my mind makes it particularly sweet to watch you two goofing off and being openly queer. It reminds me why I’m doing what I’m doing, and it gives me the strength to send another fucking email because sometimes doing “important work that I value and believe in deeply” means having to send another fucking email. And sometimes I’ll rewatch your older videos, and then come back to the more recent ones, and my heart bruises, because you remind me what I’m fighting for and why. It’s nothing grandiose, it’s just— for queer people to get to have the ability to grow into themselves and be outrageous and silly and make mistakes and to love and be loved for who they are. To have the safety and support and security that no one should ever go without. That’s all.

So I am being dead serious when I say thank you for making top-tier light entertainment, and for coming back to a job that wasn’t always kind to you, and that it does actually matter. All this talk about terrible influences and legacies has made me think that sometimes you doubt whether you do good in the world, so let me be clear: you really, really do. I kind of get the sense that in order to accept sincerity Dan needs to be beat over the head with it, so if that’s the case, consider yourself coerced, you dickhead. You matter to me, and especially in times like these, I think I speak for all of us when I say that the joy you share is a precious and treasured gift. So please accept my gratitude in return.

All my love,

Jules

(I removed or changed all identifying information in this letter to protect privacy, but the stories are real).

[squorttle-pox]

A message from an AO3 author to fanfiction readers:

If you leave a comment on my work, then I love you.

If you go through my account leaving comments on all my works and every chapter that I update, then I love you.

You will never be annoying. You will never be the exception. I will never not love someone appreciating my work.

If you leave kudos, then I love you.

If you just read my fic, and don't interact, then I love you.

If you scroll past my works and never read them, then I STILL love you.

We are a community, we love each other.

Let's stop forgetting that.

[starlight-archer]

@netflix

Greetings,

I am writing to you with hope in my heart, to implore you, from the bottom of my heart and with the utmost sincerity, to please reconsider your decision to cancel your critically acclaimed new show Dead Boy Detectives.

This show has touched a lot of people's hearts and souls, my own included. It has generated countless rave reviews, massive online buzz and an amazingly active and dedicated fan base that continues to grow.

This series has done something truly incredible and meaningful, and I think you have something remarkably special with Dead Boy Detectives. I have so many reasons why this show is worthy of your investment, faith, and more than worthy of a second season. In this letter, I will attempt to narrow it down and list a few of them.

Firstly, a fantastic foundation has already been laid down from the start with it's incredibly compelling and well-rounded characters. Each of them feels very nuanced, natural and whole in a way that succeeds in making them all widely relatable despite their distinct individuality and complex differences.

There is a rare kind of beauty to the way that these characters have all been written and then brought to life by the cast in such a genuine and heartfelt manner.

Secondly, the natural and loving way in which POC, women and queer people are represented is second to none.

You have an amazing example of a strong and powerful female lead in Crystal. She is layered and does her best to be better than she was in the past. She is realistically flawed and so resilient that it is impossible not to root for her. She is smart and empathetic, and puts in effort to understand her friends, even when they butt heads.

The fact that her powers can never truly be taken away and that she can always connect to them through herself and through the support and live of her female ancestors is a thoroughly wonderful detail that leaves you with a deep sense of hopefulness.

Niko, who is far from home and starts off all alone after losing her father, finds kinship and courage through the support of her friendships with Crystal, Edwin and Charles,and shows her unwavering strength through her continual acts of natural kindness. She is sharp and observant, and she utilises that yo be amazingly caring.

Charles' story is also incredibly relatable and meaningful. The way that he overcomes his painful history with his parents through kindness, and does this again and again, despite still dealing with so much trauma and hurt is astounding. I, and many others long to see his story at continue.

Now, Edwin and his relationship with his queer identity...

The way in which the queer representation has been handled in Dead Boy Detectives is leagues above the vast majority of other shows that share its target audience. It feels so authentic. Something which is unfortunately hard to come by, which this show pulls off spectacularly.

Edwin's personal journey with his sexuality is done with so much care and raw honesty that it is impossible not to appreciate everyone in the writers room who was responsible. George Rextrew's portrayal of Edwin in this aspect (and frankly all other aspects) was simply phenomenal. The way that he discovers more of himself through his relationships with his peers is done so incredibly well. Charles, Crystal, Niko, Monty and The Cat King all play a significant role on his self-discovery - be it directly or through showing their support - in a way that I am sure many of the queer viewers long for and relate to.

There are so, so many people who feel seen because of Dead Boy Detectives, myself among them, and that is something that is immensely and inherently valuable.

Furthermore, the realistically nuanced way in which the show depicts the characters dealing with different kinds of grief and trauma is unbelievably refreshing. To show each unique situation and natural, emotional and internal responses in a way so grounded in reality is a true achievement. One that every member of the cast and crew should be celebrated for. As someone who has experienced tremendous loss, I can confidently say that the way these things are depicted in the show is highly accurate and resonant.

Aside from these aspects, I am of the firm belief that timing and lack of appropriate promotion harmed the number of streams in its initial days of release. It was put out right before/during exam time from American viewers, meaning that all of the teens who might have been binge-watching, were stuck cramming for tests. Additionally, while I do think that focusing so much fantastic promotion and marketing on Tumblr was a stroke of genius, not matching that across other platforms such as X (formerly Twitter), Instagram, and TikTok was a gross oversight that significantly limited reach and harmed viewership.

All of this on consideration, please, please reconsider the cancellation. Dead Boy Detectives has so much potential and deserves a real chance to grow and succeed.

There are thousands of people who share my sentiments of devastation and disappointment, but also hope and massive amounts of love.

It is well evidenced that sharing this show has created a wonderful communuty and brought droves of people together. Drives which I am sure that you have seen sharing their sorrow, frustration, and their dedication across social media.

Saving Dead Boy Detectives is worthwhile and just makes sense at this point, especially given it's role as an extended part of your well-established hit IP The Sandman, and the current proximity to Halloween, when a show about ghosts will be so seasonally and culturally relevant.

I am begging you, alongside thousands of others to bring Dead Boy Detectives back for a Season 2. Please hear our voices and restore our faith in you as a platform.

It is not too late.

#SaveDeadBoyDetectives

Sincerely, one of countless dedicated fans.

"It's not what you did, it's what you do that matters." - Edwin Payne (to Crystal, The Case of The Devil House)

[ebi-noodle-doodles]

Is there any way to contact a ao3 writer? Because i have something to say to the writer Angelfish by Manufactory. Idk if youll ever see this but if you do then

…

“Dear Manufactory

English isnt my first nor second language! I read your beautifully crafted fanfiction that was sent and suggested by a friend. I read it at night hoping i will eventually fall asleep from eyestrain. But I was in fact instead pumped with energy & was flustered the entire night, rolling left & right in my bed. As someone who handles jewelry or in the industry of P-E-A-R-L-S, I cannot and will never unsee nor skip the thought of your beautifully crafted fic ;-; Even in the next day me and my friend were chatting about it- we even thought and giggled about the “Pearl Factory” pumping pearls “every night” (even my friend pointed out “xi you could source pearls from them”)—

anyway if theres any chance you’ll make a prequel or sequel…we are so here for it-

sincerely

internet stranger who just read your fic that is ?fortunately in the pearl industry and is dying by the minute grinning ear to ear always thinking about it”

i cannot unsee our pearls the same anymore. Its a good thing either way

[chirpyblues]

you have no idea i still write to you

why would you? how would you?

when you left me

in the wake of your dust storm

you hurried off to better places

tropical islands with beautiful sunsets

i stood here, right here

my love went from easy to heavy

what could i do? call you back?

that ship has been sailed and aborted

so i write to you, whenever i want to

i have a little notebook

sometimes i call you "dear"

and sign the letters as "yours"

somedays i write those letters

as if you're just a business deal to me

but i write, because how can i not?

the biggest grief to ever grieve

is the loss of somebody alive

i pour my heart, my tears on pages

because I just don't know any better

and well, guess what, my dear?

as it turns out i do still love you.

~ shreeya.

[ghar-more-pardesiyaa]

my favourite loser is me when i can't say things out loud and expect people to understand

[ifwebefriends]

I first started reading Dracula Daily about a week or two into May 2022 because everyone and their mom on tumblr were talking about it. Breaking the novel into smaller bite-sized pieces occurring in real time really helped me to digest it better and helped me to get a better idea of how the story was actually paced out. I got caught up on a few entries and kept up with it until around late September/early October when a lot was happening in my life and I couldn’t keep up.

I tried again this year and I also listened to the Re: Dracula podcast which helped me a lot since I’m a visual-auditory learner and I’m not the best at reading. I listened to every entry and usually read the corresponding email at the same time. The podcast was also helpful since I knew about how long it would take to get through each entry so I could plan my time around it. I had a much easier time this year reading the novel. I’m proud to say that this time around, I saw it all the way through to the end.

I’ve had a lot of fun reading and listening to Dracula, telling my loved ones about it, and talking about it with everyone here online! I’ve loved the art, memes, and discussions we all had around this old classic book. The book is so unique and compelling and it doesn’t get as much appreciation and respect as it should.

Thank you so much to Matt Kirkland and the @re-dracula team for providing such a wonderful, immersive, and well-made experience and bringing together a bunch of nerds online. I don’t think I would have ever read this book without you. And thank you to all the other readers and listeners who helped make the journey as much fun as it was. We laughed, cried, cheered, and talked together and I’m so glad that I was a part of it all. I’m sad that it’s over but I’m happy that it happened at all.

[obaewankenope]

Dear Prime Minister, 

I'm going to tell you a story. It is entirely fictitious and not at all inspired by personal experiences or specialised knowledge of disability studies or what it is to be disabled and live today. 

It is just a story.

Once upon a time, there was a person. This person was healthy and as active and energetic as any other person. The world was full of endless possibilities, unfathomable opportunities, and a thousand-and-one chances. This person — let us call them Jane — grew up in an impoverished area but was happy regardless because Jane was loved by her mother. Jane grew up in a single-parent household with two older siblings, one of whom had a diagnosis of an awful disorder: ADHD.

This awful disorder meant that Jane's older sibling — let us call him Jack — was often treated by his teachers as a nuisance, a distraction, and as though he were stupid from the start of his time in academic education. Jane knew this wasn't true, however, because her brother Jack could make things with Lego™ and Meccano™ with ease. He never needed instructions, never needed help, and made the most wonderful, amazing contraptions. Jack and Jane's mum — we shall call her Hannah — worked hard to make sure Jack had access to the same education other children received. Hannah fought with the school to ensure Jack was not ignored in class and had support he was entitled to under government guidelines and law. Hannah succeeded but it was hard. Hannah always had to fight for Jack to receive the same education as everyone else. 

When Jane was old enough to attend school, Hannah expected to have to do the same because she expected the school to believe Jane to be just like her brother, Jack. 

Jane, however, was different to Jack. 

Jane loved to learn. 

Jane enjoyed learning new things and picked up new skills easily and quickly. Jane's teachers loved her. She was the teacher's pet. 

Jane was nothing like her brother Jack. 

Jane was not disabled in any way. 

But Jane often got into fights with other children. Jane would fight with her own best friend. Jane would get bored in class and interrupt or distract the other children at her table. 

Jane was very smart, her teachers all agreed, but she needed to stay focused in the classroom and not disrupt the learning of other children. 

Hannah, Jack and Jane's mum, met a man and fell in love. They got married and Jack and Jane moved to a new school. Jack went to high school, a specialist one designed for children with “learning difficulties” and physical impairments. Jane stayed in mainstream education. 

Jane went to high school and Jack finished his secondary education. While Jane learned and learned and loved every moment of it, Jack became isolated and focused his attention and energy on playing games. He made friends online and played games that rewarded his efforts with little trophies and achievements. No one mocked him for his handwriting. No one belittled him in front of other children. No one ignored him when he played his games with his friends who liked him. 

Jack tried to get employment but he struggled with instructions and routines. He tried to do his best but his best wasn't enough compared to others who could follow instructions and routines with ease. 

Jack had only his video games and his online friends. But Jack could do some physical things. He enjoyed making things. Building things. 

Jack could have become a builder. Jack would have been great at it. 

But one day Jack started feeling pain all over his body. It hurt, hurt, hurt! The pain never stopped and never really went away. Hannah took Jack to the doctor and the doctor ordered tests. 

It took a long time before Jack would get a diagnosis for his pain. Jack had Fibromyalgia. 

No one knows what causes Fibromyalgia. The doctors don't know the reason for it but some research has been done that suggests it might be connected to the immune system. 

Fibromyalgia feels like one big, bad, nasty, never-ending cold. Aches and pains and fatigue. Tiredness and stiff joints. Memory problems and trouble focusing. It never goes away. Never really stops. 

Jack couldn't work at all now. His ADHD made following instructions difficult and his Fibromyalgia made physical tasks painful and exhausting. 

Jack really only had his games and his online friends now. 

Jane, on the other hand, _thrived_ in school. She went to college from high school and was given a diagnosis of Asperger’s Syndrome — a type of Autism  — when someone finally noticed Jane struggled with social skills and understanding social cues. But Jane was smart and it showed regardless of her social skills. 

Jane was gifted.

Jane could achieve amazing things with her mind and education would ensure she would go on to have a brilliant career. 

Jane's disability was a boon to her where Jack's disabilities were a bane to him. 

Jane went to university and decided to study psychology. She was smart. She was brilliant. It would be easy. 

But Jane was smart and this was a problem because Jane had never learnt how to study like other children learnt. Jane's teachers in primary school, in high school, in college, never taught Jane how to learn because she never needed help! 

But university is not primary school, is not high school, is not college. 

University is different. 

Jane had to read research articles, studies, understand complicated methodologies and statistics. Jane had to write essays in structured formats that Jane had never learnt because she'd never needed to before. 

University is a time for young adults to discover themselves. To go out and explore. To have fun while they learn and prepare for a future in the workforce. 

Jane did not have time to discover herself. 

Jane spent almost all her time reading papers that were boring and a struggle. 

Jane would stay in her dorm room or in the library whenever she had free time and try to practice writing essays that followed the rubric. 

Jane only went out with her flatmates a handful of times because Jane had to spend all her time focused on studying and trying to develop studying skills no one had ever thought to teach her. 

Jane's mental health suffered and she had several breakdowns during her time at university. She had some counselling and her tutors were understanding but her attendance was low and it was only her essays that spared her from academic probation. 

Jane spent more time in her room and the library after that. Jane would not fail. Jane could not fail. 

Everyone said Jane was smart. 

Smart people don't fail. 

So Jane could not fail. 

Jane could not ask for help on developing studying skills. She could not ask tutors who expected so much of her for guidance when the rubric didn't make sense to Jane. 

Jane could only rely on researching things herself on the Internet and advice from friends she made online who helped her create a rudimentary set of studying skills and essay structures. 

Because Jane had always been told she was smart and smart people don't ask teachers for help. 

Smart people don't struggle in class. 

Jane's disability meant she was smart. It wasn't a real disability. No one treated her like she was disabled. 

Why would they? 

Jane was smart, after all. 

Eventually, Jane succeeded in completing her undergraduate degree. She succeeded. 

But Jane had never had any time to work because she spent all her time trying to learn things everyone else already knew. Jane had a degree but no work experience. 

And then Jane was encouraged to apply for a masters because the additional support she'd had assigned by the university said she would be great at it. 

Because Jane liked learning and she liked sharing what she learnt, so Jane had been writing a little paper in her spare time about disability in popular media. 

This little paper gained her admittance to the masters course on disability studies at her university. This little paper became her dissertation for that masters course. 

Jane thrived in this course because the material interested her. She travelled from home for the class and enjoyed her time learning. She engaged with the material and understood it. 

The studying skills she'd scrapped together during her undergraduate degree made everything much, much easier. 

But Jane lived at home while doing her masters. With her disabled brother and her mum. Her mum, who worried about her disabled brother and asked Jane to look after him for her. 

Jane's mum worried so much that Jane spent what free time she had helping her mum and taking care of the things her mum struggled with. 

Hannah had divorced her husband because he cheated on her. This meant Hannah — Jack and Jane's mum — was again a single parent. Jack lived with Hannah because he couldn't live alone for long. He needed too much help.

Hannah needed help too. Her health was declining, her divorce making her depressed. Jane's mum needed her. 

So Jane split her time between her masters degree and caring for her family. 

Jane had no time to get a job, to have a career. How could she, when there was so much and Jane had too little time because she had to manage so many responsibilities already? 

Jane's disability was easy to miss because she was smart. 

But a disability is still a disability.

Hannah struggled with depression and Jane had to look after her mum too after she graduated with her masters degree. 

Jane had no time at all to look for a job. Jane had no time to do things that made her happy. 

Jane had a mother and brother to look after and care for. 

Jane's disability wasn't really a disability. It didn't stop her cooking or cleaning. She could follow instructions. She could focus on things that were important. 

Sensory overload. Struggling to understand what she felt in the moment. Difficulties understanding paperwork without additional information and context. 

These weren't real disabilities. 

Not compared to ADHD, Fibromyalgia, and Depression. 

Jane was smart. Smart people don't struggle. 

Smart people aren't disabled. 

Not really.

But then… Then Jane started feeling pain. More pain than she was used to. More pain than she'd been accustomed to for years. 

Jane's pain increased and Jane had to go to the doctor. The doctor who spent a little time asking Jane questions before diagnosing her with Fibromyalgia. 

When Jack had gone to the doctor, they'd sent him for scans and done blood tests and examinations before the doctor had declared Jack had Fibromyalgia. 

When Jane went, the doctor checked her joints, asked if she was hypermobile and handed her a diagnosis. 

Jane had more than one disability now. Jane was just like her brother Jack. 

But Jane couldn't stop doing things. Someone had to clean. Someone had to cook. Someone had to do what needed to be done. So Jane kept on going, even with the pain, even with the exhaustion, even with how it caused her to be bed bound sometimes. Because Jane was needed.

Hannah went to the doctor and had some tests done because Hannah was in pain too. The doctor did blood tests and sent her for a scan. The doctor diagnosed Hannah with Fibromyalgia too. 

Then Hannah was diagnosed with COPD. A breathing problem. Her lungs would fill with fluid. Her health was poor. 

Jane couldn't leave her mum because her mum needed someone to care for her. 

Jack and Jane's older sibling — let us call him Jed — was ten years older than Jane and had moved out when Jack was in high school. Jed could not look after Hannah. Jed had his own life, his own family. 

Jane was alone. 

Jane was smart. 

Jane was in pain. 

But Jane was younger. She was the child with the degrees. Hannah had faith in Jane. Jack was used to Jane. 

Jane never applied for disability benefits. She applied for Universal Credit and struggled to follow the expectations she had to agree to in order to have some income. 

Jane spent most of her time looking after her mum, her brother, and cooking and cleaning. Jane's online friends were worried about her. 

Jane was in pain too. 

Jane was disabled too. 

But Jane was the only one there who could do what needed to be done. Jane had all the expectations of a childhood of being called gifted, of being told she was smart and not really disabled. 

Jane forced herself everyday to keep on going no matter how bad the pain got.

Hannah applied for disability benefits. Jane filled out the paperwork. Jane knew that Hannah would receive it for her COPD, her Fibromyalgia, her Depression. Just like Jack received it for his ADHD and Fibromyalgia.

But Jane would be refused, she knew, because the disability assessment was flawed. 

Jane had learnt about it in her masters course. About the biopsychosocial model. 

How the disability assessment didn't really assess those three things and mostly focused on the biological aspect of disability. How it looked at the psychological and social aspects from the perspective of employment and not quality of life. 

Jane knew that the disability assessment asked how long a person could focus on something like a TV show and applied the answer to everything a person might focus on. Like working in an office. 

The disability assessment, Jane knew, did not account for engagement or context. It did not look at the why a person might be able to focus on a TV show easily but struggle with focusing on a work task. 

Jane knew this. 

This was why Jane did not apply for disability benefits herself even though she was entitled to them. 

Because Jane knew. 

Because Jane was smart.

And smart people aren't disabled.

Society believes disabled people are stupid. The disability assessment assumes intellectual incapacity. Any indication that someone isn't “stupid” is taken to mean they can work but just don't want to. 

The disability assessment is flawed because it asks the person answering to respond with how they feel on their worst days. The disability assessment is flawed because when the in-person assessment occurs, they are asked to do things that they may be able to do that day because it's not one of their worst days. 

The disability assessment is flawed because it is designed with the assumption that anyone applying is lying about their disability. 

The disability assessment is flawed because it demands the person applying to prove their disability over and over and doesn't allow for context or account for how people always try to look their best regardless of how they feel in the moment. 

The disability assessment is flawed because it forces people to perform their disabilities during the in-person assessment and it's known that people have to do this so when someone is assessed who isn't performing but is actually that severely affected by their disabilities, that person is still treated like they're exaggerating. 

Jane has had to argue for Jack's disability benefits before. She has had to argue for Hannah’s disability benefits before. Jane has used the knowledge she gained from her masters degree to ensure her mother and brother have the benefits and support they need and deserve. 

But Jane cannot do the same for herself because Jane is smart and the disability assessment does not account for intelligence and disability except by how it assumes disabled equals stupid. 

Jane has accepted this. She has accepted that her only source of income is Universal Credit. Jane has accepted this and she lives every day worrying that she will be forced to try and work in careers she cannot physically manage in order to have some income while she cares for her mother and brother full-time. 

But then Jane hears about the government and possible changes to welfare and that disability benefits are the focus. 

And Jane is angry, Mister Starmer. 

Jane is so, so angry. 

Because Jane is smart and she knows the changes aren't for helping disabled people live better. Jane is smart so she knows the changes are about forcing people to work longer hours, take jobs they cannot physically endure and still manage a household, try and gain employment in a job market that demands excessive experience and eschews untrained applicants. 

Jane is smart and she knows that the government wants to save money by politely killing disabled people. 

Because disabled people are a drain on the welfare system. 

Because disabled people are stupid. 

Stupid people aren't useful.

But Jane isn't stupid. Jane is smart. 

Jane is disabled and smart. 

Jane knows that the best way to help disabled people try and work is to help them live better lives. 

Jane knows the best way to improve the economy isn't to cut welfare and subtly hide the deaths of thousands of disabled people. 

Jane knows that the best way to help an economy is to encourage growth and investment and Jane knows that the easiest way for a government to do that is to cut taxes for the wealthy and let the poorest, most vulnerable suffer quietly for it. 

Because disabled people are vulnerable. 

Disabled people are poor. 

Disabled people can be ignored because their voices are the voices of the stupid.

What worth does a stupid person have compared to a smart person? 

But Jane is smart and knows something that the government doesn't seem to care to. Jane is smart and knows something you should care to, Mister Starmer. 

Jane knows that disabled people are not stupid. 

Jane knows this because Jane is disabled too and Jane has never been stupid. 

Jane knows this because her brother, Jack, is disabled too and Jack is not stupid. 

Being good in school doesn't make someone smart. Being quick and able to follow instructions doesn't make someone smart. 

Those things make people ideal labourers. Those things make people good at working in structured environments, following orders, not arguing back or challenging things. 

Those things make people compliant. 

Those things make people obedient. 

But Jane is smart and Jane is smart because she asks why when told things. 

Jane is smart because she questions. 

Jane knows that a society is truly great when it values its least economically  capable members because that society understands their human value.

Mister Starmer. 

Is our society great? 

Or is it merely one that chooses the easiest solution that turns a profit fastest instead of one that makes the truly hard choice to value its people first? 

What is a society if not its people, Mister Starmer? 

I believe you to be a good man. I believe you to be a strong man. I believe you to be a committed man. 

But I also believe you to be a man who has never struggled to fight to live in the ways Jane has. I believe you to be a man who believes he has but you are a man who has never faced starvation. 

You are not a man who feared fire poured through your letterbox in the night. 

You are not a man who had to defend yourself, alone, outnumbered, because someone took offence to your brothers impulsive words.

You are a good man, Mister Starmer. But can you say you are a man who knows disability and the disability assessment process when you have not had to battle it like Jane just so her mother and brother can live?

Jane has hopes and dreams, Mister Starmer. She wishes to work in a career that she knows she will excel at. She wishes she had not been called gifted all her life. She wishes she had been able to work just like her friends. She wishes she could work now but knows she cannot because her own body is limited in how much it can manage and a mother, a brother, and a home is already overwhelming. 

Jane is not an exception. Jane is not unique. There are many disabled people in our country. Many who need help to live. Many who suffered from covid while working on the front lines. Many who have had their careers stripped from them by circumstance. 

During the pandemic we clapped for our NHS. 

During the pandemic we thanked front-line workers. 

During the pandemic we relied on retail workers and delivery men and labourers. 

These are some of those who are in receipt of disability benefits that have suffered and continue to suffer for the sake of others who benefitted from their sacrifice. 

Are we a great society if the government would punish them for their sacrifice by taking from them what little money the disability assessment gives them each month? At most they receive less than £800. In a single year they receive, at most, £9,000. A newly certified nurse in the NHS would earn just under £30,000 a year, Mister Starmer. The same for a retail worker. 

Why would you take from them what little they receive from the disability benefit to try and save a bit of money? Why would you not tax the richest members of our society? Why would you not enforce payment of taxes owed by corporations? 

Why must the welfare system be the thing that is targeted when the government talks of saving money? 

Have disabled people not suffered enough already? Must disabled people slowly starve and waste away with less and less income each time the government announces a spending review or change in investment? 

A society is measured not by how much power it has, not by how wealth it possesses, not by how much investment it has, but by how it treats the weakest and poorest amongst it.

I would like to call our society ‘great’, Mister Starmer. I believe you wish to do so too. 

Regards,

“Jane”

[girlactionfigure]

To mark the anniversary of Hamas' attack on Israel, Bill attempts to educate young Americans about the Middle East.

[saywhat-politics]

My Open Letter to Elon Musk

By Marc Elias

Elon Musk recently posted on his site that another lawyer and I are “undermining civilization.” He goes on to ask if we suffered childhood trauma and concludes by suggesting we are suffering from “generational trauma.” This is my response.

[callmebliss]

To the lovely old woman to whom I just delivered groceries in your shady condo complex:

Thank you for the sandwich baggie chock full of ice cubes. It was sweet, thoughtful, considerate – any word, really, that indicates basic human kindness. I enjoy the DoorDash deliveries I do, for the most part, and I know that it helps a lot of folks when I do the grocery deliveries in particular.

It is wonderful to be recognized as a fellow human being with potential need, and deserving of care.

I am going to put all this ice in my cup, for my lukewarm beverage over it, and cry a little bit as I sip a cold, cold beverage on the way to my next pick up.

Truly, thank you.

[noturlondonboy]

An open letter to Kevin Fiege

Note: please do not take this too seriously chat, I was assigned with writing an open letter for my English class, and I decided I needed to diss on Kevin to my English professor for a little while.

————

Dear Kevin Fiegi, (I know I spelled your name wrong, it is intentional.)

I’d just like to start off with a very sincere screw you. And if this wasn’t a school assignment that my professor is going to read, I would be using some choosier words.

Second, kindly go to Hell. Emily, my apologies. Moving on.

Let’s start with one of the most glaringly obvious problems you created and let happen in the MCU- the confusing and unnecessary death of Natalia Alianova Romanova, otherwise known as Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow.

I can understand Natasha insisting that she be the one to sacrifice herself instead of Clint- it fits her character archetype and offers a solid way for her character to die with dignity. If it weren’t such a stupid idea to kill her off in the first place.

Might I offer an alternative to keeping one of the arguably most important characters in the Marvel Universe dead in the cinematic adaptations? Did we even think about Tony Stark bringing her back with the Infinity Gauntlet when he revived half the world’s population? Did we consider at all that maybe when Steve Rogers made the (horrible) decision to stay behind in the 40’s, he could have warned the team about the dangers in Endgame? Maybe he could have prevented the Snap in the first place.

Maybe, maybe, maybe… so many options, and yet, here we are, onto Phase 5 of the MCU and Natasha Romanoff-less.

More on Steve in a second.

Natasha’s death felt unnecessary, shallow, and forced in order to create a narrative with enough drama and angst to soothe the most particular crowds. While we already had very few strong, main female characters, the loss of the Black Widow only adds the problematic misogyny in the MCU. This is aided by the fact that we received only one Black Widow movie (after she had canonically died, mind you) and have three Iron Man movies, four Thor movies, and three Captain America movies with a fourth on the way.

I’m sensing a pattern here, Kevin. A pattern I do not like.

If we wanted to stay on the topic related to misogyny, we could talk about Wanda Maximoff, and the injustice served to her character in Dr. Strange and the Multiverse of Madness. The show Wandavision gave us a beautiful narrative of how Wanda reacted to her immeasurable grief, and wove together an exciting story that provided us with intriguing lore and storyline options. However, in the absolute dookie bomb of Multiverse of Madness, almost every single point of conflict and character development that Wanda experienced was completely trashed and ignored in favor of turning her into a villain for the sake of villainy.

A terrible reason, by the way. Literally what the hell. Kevin. I am so incredibly upset with you.

Back to Steve Rogers, as promised.

Steve in himself is an incredibly in-depth character that absolutely lives up to the hype. He’s Captain-freaking-America. His actions are purposeful, his morals and strong and set in doing what is right, not what is expected. *cough cough* When Steve decided to stay in the 40’s when returning the Infinity Stones, he disrupted several important plot points. In Agent Carter, Peggy Carter moves on from Steve when he’s lost to the ice and finds love and peace and happiness with someone else. Steve ultimately steals back her affection from that life she had built for herself, and the importance she completed in her life with that man.

Have you ever watched Agent Carter, Kevin? Have you read any of the comics that you’re adapting for the screen? Have you seen the movies? The shows? Do you understand the plot lines you’re supposedly in charge of?

Secondly, we cannot forget about Bucky Barnes, even though Steve most certainly did. Remember Bucky, Kevin? Remember Steve’s best and closest friend? The man he promised to always stick with, “to the end of the line”?

No, Kevin. Clearly, you do not remember. Steve absconding Bucky was entirely out of character and makes no sense. What are we even doing here?

Thank you, but no thank you, Kevin. Please hand the MCU reigns over to someone who actually cares about the characters and what the fans want (in a reasonable sense.)

-London, aka the one you should hand them to.

[miiju86]

United Women for Women’s Rights Campaign - An Open Letter to UN Women

*** SIGN & SHARE THE LETTER ***

UN Women has abandoned their mission to advocate for girls’ and women’s rights and equality. Join our United Women for Women’s Rights campaign: sign on to our open letter and let UN Women know that vilifying women who know that men are not women is incompatible with protecting girls’ and women’s rights.

We demand that UN Women reinstate its original mission: “the UN organization delivering programmes, policies and standards that uphold women’s human rights and ensure that every woman and girl lives up to her full potential.”

Key Points:

=> The ideological notion of “gender identity” is antithetical to diversity. It cements harmful and misogynistic stereotypes for women and men, girls and boys, that women’s rights organizations have been fighting for decades. Gender identity ideology celebrates men for ‘performing’ womanhood, an insult to women globally. Gender identity ideology pushes lesbian and gay teenagers to attempt “sex-change” surgeries, rather than celebrating their sexual orientation. This is the opposite of a human rights stance.

=> LGBTQI force-teams lesbians and gays with a group who are not gay. Gender identity ideology erases lesbians by pushing them to accept men as sexual partners. There is no ‘community’ in forcing people to accept heterosexuals who want to pretend to be someone they aren’t.

=> The false appeal to health care, with references to the reproductive health of women and people with differences in sexual development (“intersex”), actually covers up the violation of the ethics of care, the promotion of hatred towards one’s own body, the submission to physical alterations carried out by a pharmaceutical and medical industry guided by profit and a lack of commitment to well-being and self-acceptance.

********************

Please sign and share the letter to help make a change.

Thank you so much! 💜

[olliewrites-stuff]

An Open Letter to Hera, Queen of the Gods

Hera.

I've re-written this note countless times,

And this is the best I have so far...

I was angry at first -

An uncontrollable rage

Burned its way through my dark veins

At your betrayal.

You were meant to be my hero...

And you were

For a while;

A strong, independent queen of the gods?

The protector of women?

The deity of marriage,

Childbirth,

And fertility?

You were a strong woman

Unafraid of her femininity -

You were my idol.

My younger,

Terrified,

Gay and genderqueer self

Saw you as hope -

That one day I too would be able to

Embrace my femininity,

Despite everything that made me want to

Renounce it

Because I just didn't

'fit in.'

You sit high on that pedestal

Within Greek mythology.

O Queen of the Gods,

O Goddess and protector of women,

Of marriage,

Of childbirth,

Of family,

O how the world sits rapt at your feet...

O Hera,

Doth thine throne of lies

Adequately support such an undeserving,

Holy,

Rear?

You flaunt the title of

'Goddess of Women'

With a sparkling smile,

As a gruesome history

Of unearned punishment and torture -

Cast by you onto those you

Supposedly protect -

Is hidden away.

Out of sight, out of mind,

Right?

O Hera,

O Goddess of ...

Victim Blamers,

Tell me how much longer

You are going to play the facade

Of protector,

When you have such a contrasting history

Painting a gruesome portrait on

The wall behind you?

I will admit that Zeus

Did not treat you fairly as his bride -

Ever the inconsiderate immortal being,

He spat on the marriage you held sacred

And slept with various others

Without your consent.

Having heard the stories of Zeus and his...

Adventures...

I am horrified at his history of

Taking

T a k i n g

T A K I N G

from others -

Rarely seeking their consent -

And acknowledge that,

As his bride,

You faced an unyielding world of hurt

As he broke your trust

Time and time again.

... I do not,

However,

Pardon you for your crimes against those

You supposedly seek to protect.

Io,

Alcmena,

Semele,

Callisto -

A handful of the many innocent women

(and future children)

You tortured mercilessly

For situations in which

They emerged as victims and survivors.

Zeus may have been

The Tyrant

Of Greek mythology,

But you took the crown as

The Brute.

... I realise that my mortal words

Could not possibly impact your ethereal self.

I realise that this message is no more than

Words on a page,

But

You now have one less blind admirer,

And that has to be enough for me.

Sincerely,

Ollie

© O.M.A