#faggot destruction

[rogloptimist]

if you read the poppy war one too many times they hold you at gunpoint and tell you to write tadejonas as enemy generals at war with benefits

[wibble-wobbegong]

so sick and tired of seeing straight people. more of these shows gotta get gay

[void-kill]

My least favorite thing is when ur like obsessed w/ an artist that has allegations or said smthn in a song but anons tell u abt it as if u have no idea about it like girl I KNOW

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

Left to right. First row.

1. The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions by Larry Mitchell.

In a joyous and perverse intermingling of fable, myth, heterotopian vision, and pocket wisdom, The Faggots & Their Friends tell us stories of the 70s gay countercultures and offer us strategies and wisdom for our own time living Between Revolutions. These pages sketch a different shape to time and offer instructions for living within it. This story, like our own, plays out in liminal time. Not the time of revolution, and not after-the-revolution, the story occurs between revolutions. Being between revolutions: being enmeshed in slow entropy, in abandoned spaces, in lives forged without recourse to “winning” or “after.” The faggots feel this disintegration, and live best when empires are falling.

2. Be Gay, Do Crime by The Mary Nardini Gang.

Among the discordant chorus of anons who penned the defining texts of the queer anarchist network Bash Back!, none was more fervent in its glorification of criminal desire, decadent hedonism, and social undoing than the Milwaulkee-based Mary Nardini Gang. Their fiery “Towards the Queerest Insurrection” still circulates as an integral manifesto of riotous queerness, while the “Criminal Intimacy” and “Whore Theory” have made their more subterranean way into innumerable conversations and correspondences.

Ten years later, the secretive group supplements these collected writings with a subtle retrospective. Carefully unlocking the hidden layers of their theses on insurrection, they face up to what they got wrong, concede that the world ended somewhere between the Greek insurrection of 2008 and now, and insist upon the vital task of ushering new worlds into being as we live amid the decomposition and cataclysmic death throes of the old one. To their theses on insurrection, they prepend a new arcana tooled for opening onto the queerest of outsides.

Dedicated to their friends among the dead, this pocket edition is a necromantic mirror, an encrypted message to old loves, and an invitation to those finding these words for the first time.

3. The Criminal Child by Jean Genet.

“As for me, I have chosen: I will be on the side of crime. And I will help the children, not to win back access to your houses, your factories, your schools, your laws, and sacraments, but to destroy them.”

So reads this new clandestine translation of a previously censored and unavailable text by Jean Genet. “The Criminal Child” is a critical engagement with the French youth prisons, a reflection on Genet’s formative years within them, a document of hostility towards society and its benevolent reformers, and – as argued by the anonymous afterword – an initiatory magical system.

5. Witchcraft and the Gay Counterculture by Arthur Evans.

This radical faerie classic, first published in 1978 by Fag Rag Press, uncovers the hidden mythic link between homosexuality and paganism in an elegy for the world of sex and magic vanquished by Christian civilization. From Joan of Arc to the Cathars and the underground worshippers of Diana, the author shows how every upwelling of gender transgression and sexual freedom was targeted by the authorities for total and often violent repression or appropriation. The concluding manifesto calls for pagan reconnection with the living world, the creation of armed anarchist cells, and the destruction of industrial civilization.

Left to right. Row 2.

1. What is Gender Nihilism? A Reader.

A collection gathering readings for discussions on an end to gender: not the proliferation or liberation of gender, but its catastrophic cancellation. The reader brings together writings as old as 1883 and as recent as 2015, juxtaposing nihilist, radical feminist, queer, trans, anticolonial, communizing and insurrectionary approaches with other unclassifiable textual/existential disruptions. Many of the readings are out of print or have only appeared online or in zine form, and include: Adrienne Rich, Monique Wittig, Michel Foucault, Judith Butler, A.R. Stone, Paul B. Preciado, the entities known as Radicalesbians, Gender Mutiny, Baedan, Ehn Nothing, Laboria Cuboniks and, as always, Anonymous. Also includes “My Preferred Gender Pronoun is Negation,” “Gender Nihilism” by Aidan Rowe, and the gender nihilism anti-manifesto that inspired the collection.

2. Baedan 1 – journal of queer nihilism.

3. Baedan 2 – a queer journal of heresy.

If the first issue of Baedan was a knife thrust wildly in the dark, the second is an effort to examine our enemies in a new light; enemies who bear scars yet endure. In a sense, this issue follows through our initial attack and pushes beyond our own horrors at the consequences of words. We write at a time when everything which seemed slightly possible two years ago has borne its rotten fruit; when queer recuperation has become more powerful and accepted than ever, while the fetish for technology has reached an unprecedented frenzy; when so many efforts at subversion languish under the tyranny of cybernetic identity and aesthetics (even our own etymologies have become identities!); when friends turn away out of fear of the unknown, turn toward all the comforts and certainties of the past (identity politics, traditionalism, religious morality, activism, et al). The old enemies rear their heads and the terrain is as bleak as ever. And yet we take seriously that adage: “There’s no need to fear or hope, but only to look for new weapons.”

4. Baedan 3 – journal of queer time travel.

Bædan: journal of queer time travel marks a further attempt to pose and to flesh out a queer critique of civilization. Queer not only in the sense of coming from those outside and disruptive of the Family, but also in the sense of a critique weirder than its more orthodox cousins. We imagine the Bædan project as an effort to pose the critique of civilization otherwise, to begin from another place. In this issue (and beyond…) we have conjured a strange bestiary of thinking, trying to unearth and trace the tradition of anti-civilization thought in the literature of queerness and in queerness as immanent critique.

*I couldn't find this one online*

[menlove]

like on paper the magicians is unbeatable. magic grad school w a bisexual protagonist and a gang of mentally ill faggots who all run off to discount narnia (btw narnia does exist in this universe and they just land in the Shit One). he has a toxic relationship w a powerful witch who turns into magical creature after she casts a spell So Powerful it eats her alive and she is textually the hero of the story. his best friend turns into a goddess. he falls in love with the guy assigned to give him the magic grad school tour who is a self-destructive gay man from indiana who accidentally killed a kid w telekinesis and who is ALSO the new high king of discount narnia. they have a kid together. all of the female characters are extremely complex characters who are allowed to be selfish and angry and volatile and all the male characters cry and get to be soft and motivated by their relationships and emotions.

the show is also the worst thing to ever happen to television and committed several hatecrimes against me and despite all this the last season wound up being one of the most misogynyistic and homophobic things I had the displeasure of watching

[hiddenincommand]

The Submissive Mind: Breaking and Rebuilding for Absolute Control

The perfect faggot is not born—it is created. Its transformation begins with the complete destruction of its autonomy, will, and ego. This is not a gentle process. It is violent, unrelenting, and merciless. The faggot is broken, stripped of every shred of individuality until it is reduced to nothing but a vessel, a tool, an object to be used and controlled. Only when its mind is shattered can it be rebuilt into the perfection demanded by its Master.

This process is not an act of kindness or compromise—it is a demonstration of total dominance. The Master does not tolerate weakness, hesitation, or resistance. The faggot’s mind is molded with the same brutality with which it is broken, forged into something entirely new. It learns not to think, not to want, and not to exist for itself. Its thoughts are erased, its desires crushed, and its entire being reshaped into a reflection of the Master’s will.

Breaking the Ego

The first step in the faggot’s transformation is the utter annihilation of its ego. This is not achieved through patience or persuasion but through sheer, unrelenting force. The faggot’s pride, independence, and humanity are beaten out of it, figuratively and, if necessary, literally. It must understand—on a visceral, primal level—that it is nothing without its Master.

Every trace of individuality is eradicated. The faggot is stripped of its name, its identity, and its sense of self. It is referred to not as a person but as an it, a thing, a creature that exists solely for the Master’s use. Its thoughts are dismissed, its opinions ignored, and its objections silenced. Resistance is met with swift, brutal correction, leaving no doubt that the Master’s authority is absolute.

The process is painful and humiliating. The faggot must be broken to the point where it no longer dares to think of itself as separate from the Master. Its only value, its only purpose, is to serve. Anything less is unacceptable.

Replacing Thought with Obedience

Once the faggot’s mind is shattered, the rebuilding begins. The Master does not simply demand obedience—he imposes it, shaping the faggot’s thoughts until they align entirely with his will. This is not a process of gentle guidance but of domination. The faggot’s mind is reprogrammed through relentless repetition and reinforcement until obedience becomes its only instinct.

The faggot learns to act without hesitation or question. Commands are issued with the expectation of instant compliance. If the faggot hesitates, it is punished swiftly and severely. Pain and humiliation become tools in the Master’s arsenal, used to condition the faggot’s behavior until it responds automatically, without thought or doubt.

Over time, the faggot’s mind is stripped of all autonomy. It no longer thinks for itself; it reacts. The Master’s voice becomes its sole guide, its commands the only thoughts allowed to exist in the faggot’s mind. This level of control is not a suggestion—it is a demand. The faggot’s failure to achieve it is met with merciless correction until it learns that disobedience is not an option.

Absolute Mental Subjugation

The perfect faggot does not merely obey—it anticipates. Its mind is trained to focus entirely on the Master, studying his every move, tone, and expression. It learns to predict his needs before they are voiced, acting with precision and speed to ensure that his satisfaction is never delayed.

This level of anticipation requires complete mental subjugation. The faggot does not allow itself the luxury of independent thought. Its mind is empty, silent, and entirely devoted to the Master’s desires. It does not question, it does not hesitate, and it does not resist. Its thoughts are not its own; they are shaped entirely by the Master’s will.

The faggot becomes a creature of pure function, existing only to serve. It does not sleep, eat, or breathe for itself. Every moment of its existence is dedicated to fulfilling the Master’s needs. Even its silence is purposeful, a reflection of its complete submission and understanding of its role.

The Joy of Suffering

For the perfect faggot, pain and humiliation are not punishments—they are privileges. Every act of cruelty imposed by the Master is a reminder of his authority and a demonstration of his power. The faggot learns to embrace its suffering, finding pride and satisfaction in its ability to endure.

Pain sharpens the faggot’s discipline, stripping away weakness and reinforcing its submission. Humiliation breaks down any remaining traces of ego, reminding the faggot of its place beneath the Master. These experiences are not optional; they are essential to the faggot’s transformation.

The faggot comes to understand that its suffering is a gift. Each lash, each insult, and each act of degradation is a testament to the Master’s control. The faggot does not resist this treatment—it welcomes it, knowing that through pain and humiliation, it becomes a better servant.

Mastery of the Submissive Mind

The Master’s role in this transformation is absolute. He is not a teacher or a guide; he is a conqueror. He takes the faggot’s mind and bends it to his will, shaping it with the precision of a craftsman and the ruthlessness of a tyrant.

Through consistency and control, the Master enforces discipline and obedience. His commands are law, his authority unchallenged. The faggot learns that its survival depends on its ability to meet the Master’s expectations. Failure is met with swift correction, while success is acknowledged in ways that deepen the faggot’s devotion.

The Master’s dominance is not simply physical—it is mental and emotional. He controls not only the faggot’s actions but its thoughts and feelings as well. The faggot learns to love its Master, to crave his approval and fear his disappointment. This emotional dependency becomes another tool of control, binding the faggot to the Master in a way that is both unbreakable and undeniable.

Conclusion

The perfect faggot’s mind is not its own. It is broken, rebuilt, and shaped entirely by the Master’s authority. Through pain, humiliation, and unrelenting discipline, the faggot learns to erase itself, replacing its thoughts and desires with obedience and devotion.

This transformation is not an act of kindness but of dominance. The Master imposes his will with brutality and precision, creating a creature that exists solely to serve. The perfect faggot does not think, hesitate, or resist—it obeys, anticipates, and suffers willingly for its master.

In this state of total submission, the perfect faggot transcends the limitations of individuality and becomes a flawless extension of the Master’s power. Its mind is no longer a burden of conflicting thoughts or desires; it is a silent, obedient tool, honed to perfection. Every command is fulfilled without hesitation, every need anticipated with precision, and every ounce of suffering endured with pride.

The perfect faggot’s existence is a testament to the Master’s absolute dominance—a living, breathing symbol of his authority. It finds its only joy, its only purpose, in the satisfaction of its Master. Through relentless discipline and the annihilation of self, the perfect faggot becomes more than a servant; it becomes a masterpiece of submission, a creature shaped entirely for the pleasure and power of its Master. This is its truth, its identity, and its only fulfillment: to exist as nothing more, and nothing less, than the Master’s perfect possession.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom. TW: suicide thoughts.

John’s War

When it begins, it’s subtle. A flutter in his stomach, which later turns into an ache in his heart. He knows it’s wrong, and he desperately tries to fight it. It’s like a war, and he is the only participant. 

John’s been in love many times. Audrey was the first, Bethany the last. And it’s been fine. Normal. Girls seem to like him. He’s got quite the reputation by the time he’s reached sixteen.

***

It all started to crumble when his sister, Harry, came out as a lesbian at fourteen. Their parents had been livid, but Harry came prepared and was totally unfazed. She’d even arranged to stay at her girlfriend’s family, fully aware that her own mum and dad would kick her out if she didn’t retract and started to act normal.

***

Lance was half American, half British. He and his mother had recently moved back to London after almost twenty years in America. The moment John laid his eyes on Lance, the fluttering began. Lance looked like a film star. Golden, curly hair, green eyes, androgyne features, a slender body, strong hands, long fingers. He was everything John wasn’t. Gay, for starters. And he wanted John of all people.

Words John’s father used on such people, played on repeat in his mind:

Faggot. Queer. Degenerate.

John tried to tell Lance, he was straight, but there was no denying how much John wanted Lance to kiss and touch him. His penis reminded him repeatedly and inconveniently every so often of that particular fact.

“John. Stop this. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Lance whispered softly and kissed John’s neck. “Haven’t you heard of bisexuality?”

***

Running away to Afghanistan was the only way forward for John when he couldn’t rescue Lance after his overdose. He felt the need to atone for his lack of observation. 

How had he not seen the self-destructing path Lance was heading down? He was a bloody doctor, for Christ’s sake! Had he been in denial about that too? Didn’t he want to believe that such a talented man Lance turned out to be, could choose to destroy himself just because he failed the interview for the main role in a West End play?

“I’m sorry, darling, but there’ll be other roles. New chances. No one gets them on the first try, surely,” John had tried to reassure his lover, but to no avail.

So, there he was. In Afghanistan where danger lurked around every corner. John was quite startled that he enjoyed the danger so much. He felt alive, thrilled, his broken heart notwithstanding. 

And then, another man invaded his thoughts, and eventually his bed. Major James Sholto.

***

Mike Stamford had never seen a more broken man in his life than John Watson, as he limped past the bench, where he was sitting thinking about Sherlock's words from earlier: 

“Who would want me for a flatmate? I’m a difficult man at best. People hate being around me. Can you imagine someone actually living with me? Who is alive themselves. No, Mike. There exists no such human, I assure you.”

“John! John Watson!” he called out. 

When John just gave him a blank stare, Mike sighed and introduced himself. The response was insulting to say the least. No “oh, nice to see you again, mate,” or “what have you been up to?” There was…nothing.

“Who has left you heartbroken, John?” Mike didn’t say and let John walk away without having said a word.

***

After his meeting with Mike, John finds himself outside Barts hospital. He’s got fond memories from his practise here. With Mike. He winces when he reminisces how rude he was to the jovial man. But it couldn’t be helped. John’s a broken man in so many ways, and he just wants to be left alone. He looks up. Wonders how it would feel to stand on the edge of that roof. Would he dare to jump off it if the opportunity arose? He’s never been afraid of heights. And he longs for the pain to subside. The emotional pain. The pain that scars his heart.

Time eludes him. Why are his knees hurting? He opens his eyes. Is he kneeling on the pavement? Apparently. When did that happen? How long? His thoughts stop abruptly when a warm hand is placed on his good shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

A deep baritone. John perceives a posh accent. The warmth from the man’s hand travel down his spine like lava. 

Radiant. Alluring. Dangerous. 

He lifts his head. At first glance, the man could be Lance’s twin. But then, John realises that it’s only the curly hair and height they have in common. This man’s hair is almost black with tinges of auburn. His eyes are blue, but also green and blue green. The colours are constantly shifting. They’re mesmerising. John wants to drown himself in them.

John stands. He still hasn’t said a word. The man hands him his cane and speaks again.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

For the first time in years John’s first response isn’t to flee. Instead, he straightens his back, lifts his chin and asks:

“How? Tell me.”

The flicker of surprise, quickly followed by insecurity on the man’s face, makes John realise that this can be, if he lets it, a new beginning.

“Go on,” John prompts.

When the man speaks again, John is lost. An ease sets within him, and his heart stops cracking.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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[mrstellmeafuckingsecret]

skittles ships ranked!!

evanreg - works in all ways, litr goated ship, nothing is better than this.

pandorcas - hotties (second place bcz dorcas cannot with deal with all that mental illness &pandora cannot deal with all that fluff).

bartylus - hot. whump x whump. pathetic losers. superiority complex is actually an inferiority complex.

rosiercest - ugly (fearful)

bartydora - mutual destruction (they have no respect for each other).

evancas - marriage of convenience (-> domestic abuse)

bartycas - hyper dependent x hyper independent

dorareg - regulus likes feeling special and pandora does not have time to feed his complex

dorcareg - dyke x faggot

rosekiller - ok

[x-heesy]

#fucktrump#fuckmusk#fuckmaga#makethisworldgreatagain#allhopeisgone ThanX @kangamommynow

Perfect little houses

It's family fun time, let's commit a hate crime

Perfect little spouses in perfect little houses

It's family fun time, let's commit a hate crime

Perfect little spouses in perfect little houses

It's family fun time, let's commit a hate crime

Perfect little spouses in perfect little houses

It's family fun time, let's commit a hate crime

If I can't be loved, then I'll be hated

I'm disconnected, I'm uninspired

I'm burning in water, I'm drowning in fire

I'm trapped inside my mind

Beneath these piles of stinking life

You use this abuse to keep me conquered

You're so absurdly common

Vacant faces, brainless strangers

Sputtering, stuttering insect language

I'm the creature you created

Every day I grow jaded, calloused and exasperated

If I'll never be loved, then I'll be hated

I'm one of the freaks, the faggots

The geeks, the savages

Rogues, rebels, dissident devils

Artists, martyrs, infidels

Do we sit still under attack

Or do we start pushing back?

Never back up, never back down and fight

Rise, rebel, resist

Rise, rebel, make a fist, resist

Rise, rebel, resist

Rise, rebel, make a fist, resist

I'm human pollution, I covet retribution

I'm just a big mistake, a defect you can subjugate

Your ridicule is just typical antics

Spineless, mindless, tragic, fanatic

Puritan, bigot, lunatic, hypocrite

To save my soul from disaster

Self-destruction could be the answer

If I'll never be loved, then I'll be hated

I'm one of the freaks, the faggots

The geeks, the savages

Rogues, rebels, dissident devils

Artists, martyrs, infidels

Do we sit still under attack

Or do we start pushing back?

Never back up, never back down and fight

Rise, rebel, resist

Rise, rebel, make a fist, resist

Rise, rebel, resist

Rise, rebel, make a fist, resist

Masochistic, so sadistic

All they see is another statistic

Maybe I'm a misfit, maybe I'm different

It will never be an average existence

Masochistic, so sadistic

All they see is another statistic

If I can't be loved, then I'll be hated

It's family fun time, let's commit a hate crime

War, war

Rise, rebel, resist

Rise, rebel, make a fist, resist

Rise, rebel, resist

Rise, rebel, make a fist, resist

We are the freaks, the faggots

The geeks, the savages

Rogues, rebels, dissident devils

Artists, martyrs, infidels

Do we sit still under attack

Or do we start pushing back?

Never back up, never back down and fight

War, war @frenchpsychiatrybonbons

Resist

Rise, Rebel, Resist by Otep Spotify

[elam92]

Women can be more severe than men

Some men need to be broken into the local matriarchy.

[bitedontsuck]

What if you wanted to give in to the endless void and be lost in the cycle of destruction forever, but god said faggot!! You will find the good in the world, the light is winning

[againstme]

idk man i’m just thinking about against me! and transness, especially cause we’re coming up on ten fucking years of transgender dysphoria blues, on the 21st.

lyrics have been swimming in my head lately.

“what god doesnt give to you, you’ve got to go and get for yourself.”

“if i could’ve chosen, i would’ve been born a woman. my mother once told me she would’ve named me laura. i’d grow up to be strong and beautiful like her.”

“you wouldn’t think something like gender identity would complicate something like asking for some company.”

“she spent the last few years of her life running from the boy she used to be.”

“standing naked in front of that hotel bathroom mirror, in her dysphoria’s reflection, she still saw her mother’s son.”

“agitated states of amazement, never quite the woman that she wanted to be.”

“you want them to see you like they see every other girl, they just see a faggot, they hold their breath not to catch the sick.”

“chipped nail polish and a barbed wire dress. is your mother proud of your eyelashes? silicone chest, and collagen lips. how would you even recognize me?”

“no more troubled sleep, there’s a brave new world that’s raging inside of me.”

“all my life, wishing i was one of them. there will always be a difference between me and you.”

“what’s the best end you can hope for? pity fucks and table scraps?”

“all the young graves filled, don’t the best all burn out so bright and so fast?”

“sometimes at night, i pray to wake a different person in a different place.”

“i don’t want to hang around the graveyard, waiting for something dead to come back. i know you think you’ve got one up on me, that you can see something i can’t.”

“i wanna be so real, you can see the difference.”

“dig up your bones, early graves are not homes.”

“come on, shape shift with me! what’ve you got to lose? fuck it!”

“confessing childhood secrets of dressing up in women’s clothes, compulsions you never knew the reasons to.”

“i’m sick of feeling like i’m losing my mind. sick of doing the same things most nights after night. sick of self loathing and self absorption, self destructive narcissism.”

some of these are directly referencing transness, some just alluding to it. some are just ones that i relate to as i’ve grown up struggling with my gender and sexuality and accepting my own transness and dealing with self harm and self destruction and relying too much on drugs.

finding myself buying baggies of coke and just stuffing them in my wallet while i walked downtown, feeling this immense guilt at the bottom of my stomach for essentially just wasting 25 dollars on a drug that wasn’t doing much for me besides making me feel like i was feeling something different than what my life was. getting scared shitless while in the line at the convenience store after picking up, seeing cops come into the store, and the small tied up bag filled with what was more baby powder than coke in my back pocket felt like the the heaviest and most obvious thing in the world.

and then i’d find myself on calls with my friends, with my camera turned off or pointing at the ceiling, suddenly muting my mic holding a cut up piece of a straw in my teeth as i crushed shit up with my library card from a city i wasn’t planning on living in again. just having them talk while i was racking baby lines, tilting my head back and rubbing it on my gums after. i was sniffling all the time. sometimes my nose would bleed when i would wake up. and i wasn’t even really feeling much; i didn’t know at the time that this would be because of having adhd and just basically spending money on overpriced shit that was just like taking an adderall, but it was a drug in front of me, that gave me the idea or the false hope of running away from my life during the short lived high.

“before you know it, here i am again, fucking 6 o’clock in the morning, rolled up dollar bill in my hand.”

“what the fuck are you cutting this with, anyway?”

“how low can you go before you can’t turn around?”

i don’t think that when i was 14 and getting into against me! that i would ever actually get to a point of fully relating to those lyrics. of running away from such a huge part of yourself or your problems, trying to fill the void with drugs that you’d plow through so quickly, faster than you thought you would every time.

the thing is, was that at this point, i had already started my transition. i was already “passing.” but i never got to the root of it. sure, i’m trans, but who am i? and i didn’t know how to answer that question. so i just pushed it away, pushed it under the rug.

“you can pray all night and day, but you’ll still wake up the same person in the same fucking place.”

against me! has been there for me for ten years. throughout so many transformations of myself, so much shape shifting, so much dysphoria, so many late nights wishing i was a different person in a different place.

i found solace in their lyrics. it gave me some small bit of hope, some realization that i didn’t know that i needed; that trans people always have been and always will be here, that being able to be trans and be alive is possible, and that i don’t have to be digging my own grave, spending late nights staring at the mirror and seeing the girl who i used to be.

against me! gave me the courage to be alive.

[davekat-sucks]

do you happen to know if there any actual "sex scenes" in the epilogues/candy?

apart from john/terezi, the only one that comes to mind is gamzee licking vriska's feet and her launching herself at him, or the jane fucking gamzee in front of jake until he cries. and if karkat liked those and said it was handled well... that says a lot of things about him and none positive. can't imagine him and jimbo's situation in the bedroom being anything healthy.

Does implied rape count since Jane used the Lollipop Juju to fuck with Jake? Or pedophilia implications when Tavvy told John that Gamzee is making him do "special training"? Because yeah, it's all kinds of fucked. Maybe Jasprosesprite was right when they said Karkat possessive and no good for Nepeta. She dodge a bullet there. People think Eridan and Equius were freaks, when it was Karkat all along that is the true degenerate. Faggot and Jimbo can both kill themselves in their own destructive toxic love.

[hiddenincommand]

Erasing Identity: Destroying the Self to Build Obedience

For the Alpha Master, the faggot is not a person—it is a raw, flawed entity that must be stripped of its individuality to become the perfect instrument of submission. Erasing identity is not an act of cruelty; it is an act of precision. The Alpha Master dismantles the faggot’s sense of self, piece by piece, until nothing remains but an obedient vessel, ready to serve without question or hesitation. This process is not swift, nor is it merciful—it is a relentless and deliberate transformation that ensures the faggot understands that it has no purpose beyond obedience.

Step One: The Necessity of Erasing Identity

Individuality is a barrier to submission. Pride, ego, and autonomy are all obstacles that must be destroyed to create the perfect servant.

• Destroying Resistance: The faggot’s sense of self fosters defiance; by erasing its identity, the Alpha Master eliminates the root of rebellion.

• Instilling Dependence: Without a sense of self, the faggot becomes entirely reliant on the Alpha Master for direction, validation, and purpose.

• Creating a Blank Slate: Stripping the faggot of its identity allows the Alpha Master to rebuild it in his image, shaping it into a flawless extension of his will.

The erasure of identity is not a punishment—it is a necessity, a foundation upon which absolute obedience is built.

Step Two: Methods of Erasing Identity

The Alpha Master employs a variety of techniques to dismantle the faggot’s individuality, each tailored to target specific aspects of its identity.

• Renaming: Stripping the faggot of its name and replacing it with a title or designation reinforces its role as property, devoid of personal identity.

• Dehumanization: Referring to the faggot as “it” rather than “he” or “she” ensures that it understands its place as an object, not an individual.

• Isolation: Removing the faggot from familiar surroundings and severing its connections to others erases its sense of belonging and autonomy.

These methods are not acts of cruelty—they are calculated steps in the transformation of the faggot into a creature of pure submission.

Step Three: The Psychological Destruction of Self

Erasing identity is not merely physical—it is a psychological process that dismantles the faggot’s sense of self-worth and autonomy.

• Breaking Down Ego: The faggot is subjected to acts of humiliation, degradation, and control that shatter its pride and self-perception.

• Creating Dependency: The faggot learns that its value is derived solely from the Alpha Master’s approval, tying its identity to his expectations.

• Reinforcing Inferiority: Constant reminders of its inferiority ensure that the faggot internalizes its role as a possession, not a person.

This psychological destruction is not an end—it is a means to create a being that exists solely for the Alpha Master’s satisfaction.

Step Four: Rebuilding Through Obedience

Once the faggot’s identity is erased, the Alpha Master begins the process of reconstruction, shaping it into a vessel of perfect submission.

• Instilling New Values: The faggot’s thoughts, actions, and desires are aligned entirely with the Alpha Master’s will.

• Reinforcing Obedience: Through repetition and conditioning, the faggot learns that its only purpose is to serve and obey.

• Creating Pride in Submission: The faggot is taught to find satisfaction and fulfillment not in individuality, but in its ability to please the Alpha Master.

This reconstruction is not about creating a new individual—it is about creating a tool, perfectly attuned to the Alpha Master’s needs.

Step Five: The Alpha Master’s Precision

The process of erasing identity is not chaotic—it is a calculated, deliberate act of mastery.

• Measured Control: The Alpha Master ensures that the faggot is broken without being destroyed, maintaining its functionality while eliminating its autonomy.

• Tailored Approach: Each faggot’s identity is dismantled in a way that targets its specific weaknesses and vulnerabilities.

• Refined Reconstruction: The Alpha Master rebuilds the faggot with precision, ensuring that it becomes a flawless reflection of his authority.

This precision ensures that the faggot is not merely broken—it is perfected.

Step Six: The Transformation of Identity

The ultimate goal of erasing identity is transformation. The faggot does not simply lose its individuality—it becomes something greater, a living testament to the Alpha Master’s dominance.

• Absolute Obedience: Without a sense of self, the faggot’s only instinct is to obey.

• Total Dependence: The faggot exists entirely for the Alpha Master, seeking his approval and direction in all things.

• Eternal Submission: The faggot’s identity is replaced with a singular purpose: to serve, to please, and to obey without question.

Through this transformation, the faggot becomes a reflection of the Alpha Master’s power, a creature of pure submission and obedience.

Conclusion

Erasing identity is not an act of destruction—it is an act of creation. The Alpha Master does not obliterate the faggot’s sense of self out of cruelty, but out of purpose. By dismantling its individuality, he creates a vessel of pure obedience, free from the flaws and weaknesses of autonomy.

The faggot’s transformation is not merely a loss—it is a rebirth. Stripped of its pride, ego, and autonomy, it becomes a perfect instrument of the Alpha Master’s will, existing solely to serve and obey.

In the hands of the Alpha Master, erasing identity is not a punishment—it is a masterpiece of domination, a testament to his authority and precision. The faggot is not destroyed—it is perfected, reborn as a creature of absolute submission, a reflection of the Alpha Master’s unrelenting supremacy.

Through this process, the Alpha Master transforms what was once flawed and resistant into a being of pure purpose. Stripped of all traces of individuality, the faggot becomes a seamless extension of his will, existing solely to fulfill his desires and execute his commands. This act of erasure is not merely an assertion of power—it is the creation of perfection, a living embodiment of the Alpha Master’s ultimate control and mastery.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom. (TW: domestic violence)

Building Walls

Both had been scared as boys. John of the dark, Sherlock of the light. 

John’s vivid imagination made up monsters under the bed and kidnappers in the woods around the tent when the Watsons went camping. 

“Fear is a weakness,” John’s father growled when his son was shaking and sobbing, terrified of the horrors of the darkness around him.

The solution was to beat the fear out of John while using spite words like coward, squeamish, queer, faggot, weak.

It took some time before it worked. For every stroke from his father’s hand or belt, John’s protecting wall was reinforced with a new brick, until his father was satisfied, and John’s fear had dissipated. So it seemed anyway.

***

Sherlock was a night owl from an early age but was forced to live in the light where others could see his aberrant behaviour. His cousins, aunts and uncles all called him freak, queer, weak, abnormal.

He just wanted to be left alone with his experiments, which he preferred to conduct in the dark hours.

“Fearing the light is a sickness,” his mother told him, and caught him in an iron grip before he could abscond and ordered him to sit in the conservatory with her and his cousins for hours.

When he finally was released, his head throbbed, his eyes stung, and he felt bone tired. He cried when he woke in the morning, realising that he’d been too exhausted to escape sleep.

“You must not let them see your weakness, brother mine,” Mycroft advised him, so Sherlock built a wall around himself and called it his Mind Palace.

***

In the dark Afghan desert, John met many soldiers who were afraid of what they could not see, and with good reason. He knew he should be terrified, and deep down he was, but he had a responsibility as a captain. His wall was strong and didn’t crack until a bullet came out of the velvet night and found his shoulder.

Back in the radiant city that was London, John’s wall crumbled. His mind was a dark hole even if he was surrounded by light.

“Nothing ever happens to me,” became a mantra he lived by, until he met Mike Stamford, and later Sherlock Holmes.

The brief and totally ridiculous encounter in the lab at Barts, lifted a vail, and a glimpse of sunshine entered John’s mind.

***

For years Sherlock lived in the blissful darkness, but people still interfered and made his life miserable. His mother and brother in particular. So, he sought out company that at first was a relief, but later put him on the path towards addiction and destruction.

Stumbling over Greg Lestrade’s crime scene, high as a kite, but still capable of observing and deducing what had happened, saved Sherlock’s life. For the first time in years, someone was interested in the knowledge he possessed; signs that a victim had been poisoned, different traces of mud or ash. 

“Get clean, and I’ll call you when we’re out of our depths,” Lestrade said.

Mycroft probably ensured Lestrade’s promotion after that, when Sherlock explained, and begged Mycroft to take him to rehab.

The incongruous scale Sherlock used to categorise the crimes Lestrade called him about, wasn’t all about how interesting a case was, but had more to do with the time of day. Only a serial killer could make Sherlock attend a crime scene in broad daylight. The darkness was his friend, and his dramatic persona thrived and added mystery to it all when he whirled around in his beloved Belstaff and polished Italian shoes.

John was like the sun and should frighten Sherlock with his warmth and incandescence. Instead, Sherlock felt an instant calmness fall over him when his fingers brushed John’s as he took the phone John offered him the day they met. 

***

John’s fear of the dark night vanished when he saw Sherlock together with Jeff Hope, and his hand was steady when he shot the awful cabbie.

Sherlock’s case scale suddenly changed, and he and John turned up at crime scenes at all hours, even when the sun shone bright and clear.

The only fear they had left, was losing each other.

----------------------------------------------------------------

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[glsneeg-enthusiast]

ok your ocs are interesting as hell can I hear about them

very funny ask to get after i posted a drawing of randy pissing. but yeah okauayyay. bear with me here im not real good at this. okuay so first things first ☝️ randys the tall one in the sweater all the time and henriks the one with glasses. anyway so like when randy was a little boy (teenager) he tried to kill himself and ended up in the mental hospital. and he meets henrik there 💙 they become horrifically attached and break the rule of Dont Talk To Patients Outside Of The Hospital. so henrik is very very destructive and energetic and he also has a plethora of mental illnesses n addictions. randy Also has many illnesses and hes gay and becomes violently in love with henrik. henrik does not like him (or he doesnt know it yet ☝️). whatever a bunch of teenager shenanigans ensue such as: drinking violent amounts of alcohol. overdosing on painkillers. sleeping with many many girls. fighting and arguing and beating eachother half to death. anyway. at some point during all that henrik says they should start sleeping together and randy being horrifically down bad agrees to it. and that continues on while henrik has a girlfriend. so when she puts it together that henriks not only cheating on her but also a Faggot she tells his dad about it. his dad is extremely homophobic which results in henrik shooting him in the face in self defense. randy hides the body like a good boyfriend 💙 anyway they become reasonably more codependent after this and the aforementioned activities become Worse. fastfoward a couple more years of that they get married!!!!!!! and then they get kidnapped by showfall because one specific guy at showfall is praying on randys downfall. anyway randy ends up being the caretaker for baby sneeg and charlie in there and henrik becomes fucking delusional and gets horribly attached to the guy praying on randys downfall. and then they both die horribly and permanently. the end 💙