#frankly no one should be saying any slurs but like if you say it and you can’t reclaim it

[taliabhattwrites]

I don't think there is a significant or notable number of people who believe transmascs are not oppressed.

I feel slightly insane just having to type this out, but this is rhetoric you inevitably come across if you discuss transfeminism on Tumblr.

The mainstream, cissexist understanding of transmasculine people is the Irreversible Damage narrative (one that's old enough to show up in Transsexual Empire as well) of transmascs as "misguided little girls", "tricked" into "mutilating themselves". It is a deliberately emasculating and transphobic narrative that very explicitly centers on oppression, even if the fevered imaginings misattribute the cause. As anyone who's dealt with the gatekeeping medical establishment knows, they are far from giving away HRT or even consults with both hands, and most transfems I know have a hard enough time convincing people to take DIY T advice, leave alone "tricking" anyone into top surgery.

Arguably, the misogyny that transmasculine folks experience is the defining narrative surrounding their existence, as transmasculinity is frequently and erroneously attributed to "tomboyish women" who resent their position in the patriarchy so much they seek to transition out of it. This rhetoric is an invisiblization of transmasculinity, constructed deliberately to preserve gendered verticality, for if it were possible to "gain status" under the sexed regime, its entire basis, its ideological naturalization, would fall apart.

Honestly, the actual discussions I see are centered around whether "transmisogyny" is a term that should apply to transmascs and transfems alike. While I understand the impetus for that discussion, I feel like the assertion that transmisogyny is a specific oppression that transfems experience for our perceived abandonment of the "male sex" is often conflated with the incorrect idea that we believe transmasculine people are not oppressed at all. This is not true, and we understand, rather acutely, that our society is entirely organized around reproductive exploitation. That is, in fact, the source of transfeminine disposability!

I know I'm someone who "just got here" and there is a history here that I'm not a part of, but so much of that history is speckled with hearsay and fabrication that I can't even attempt to make sense of it. All I know is that I, in 2024, have been called a revived medieval slur for effeminate men by people who attribute certain beliefs to me based on my being a trans woman who is also a feminist, and I simply do not hold those views, nor do I know anyone who sincerely does.

If you're going to attempt to discredit a transfeminist, or transfeminism in general, then please at least do us the courtesy of responding to things we actually say and have actually argued instead of ascribing to us phantom ideologies in a frankly conspiratorial fashion. I also implore people to pay attention to how transphobic rhetoric operates out in the wider world, how actual reactionaries talk about and think of trans people, instead of fixating so hard on internecine social media clique drama that one enters an alternate reality--a phantasm, as Judith Butler would put it.

Speaking of which--do y'all have any idea how overrepresented transmascs are in trans studies and queer theory? Can we like, stop and reckon with reality-as-it-is, instead of hallucinating a transfeminine hegemony where it doesn't exist? I'm aware a lot of their output isn't particularly explicative on the material realities of transmasculine oppression despite their prominence in the academy, but that is ... not the fault of trans women, who face extremely harsh epistemic injustice even in trans studies.

The actual issue is how invisiblized transmasculine oppression is and how the epistemicide that transmasculine people face manifests as a refusal to differentiate between the misogyny all women face, reproductive exploitation in particular, and the contours of violence, erasure, and oppression directed at specifically transmasculine people.

You will notice that is a society-wide problem, motivated by a desire to erase the possibilities of transmasculinity, to the point of not even being willing to name it. You will notice that I am quite familiar with how this works, and how it's completely compatible with a materialist transfeminist framework that analyzes how our oppression is--while distinct--interlinked and stems from the same root.

I sincerely hope that whoever needs to see this post sees it, and that something productive--more productive dialogue, at least--can arise from it.

[giveityourbestshot]

and don’t get me started on hispanics. im not black, im mexican so i just… dont say it. it’s not that hard, but for some reason a lot of them do and when people confront them about it they go “oh im latino i can say it” YOU LIVE IN AMERICA. MORE IMPORTANTLY IN A BLUE STATE. YOU LEARN ABOUT CIVIL RIGHTS EACH YEAR YOU LITERALLY CANNOT BE THIS IGNORANT WITHOUT ACTUALLY JUST DOING IT ON PURPOSE

i feel like no one really talks about the way a lot of white people that grew up in majority poc communities feel like they have the right to say the n word?? like they can without dealing with consequences.. from experience, there’s always been huge controversy in my school because “this white student said the n word” “this white teacher said the n word with the hard r” 3 students and 2 teachers so far in just TWO years alone had said it. one of them didn’t even acknowledge it afterwards and denied it. it might just be the schools ive been in but like what’s going on…?????

[velvetvexations]

i feel like the sentiment of ‘human shields’ or ‘you should be able to use slurs (“theyfab” the one im thinking of) against a group that (you perceive as) your oppressors’ comes from like. a flow chart way of thinkin

it really isn’t math. certain women (as broad and vague as the group can be defined) absolutely have power over certain men sometimes. race is one of the main ones, but like, off the top of my head there’s also age, disability, and certain authority or workplace positions. i would even include as small as a community as like, a gathering of friends to whom ive just invited a new person. the new person is statistically gonna be shyer or more prone to being pushed out. of course there are always a million modifiers, a million past and future happenings that shape someone and may or may not add to their “power meter” (if such a thing is real and operates like a meter) but being any specific identity is not going to be the sole driving factor of all interactions, especially in micro communities with their own standards.

i guess what im trying to say is that the claim that one is oppressed in every situation due to their identity and therefore any bullying towards others of one identity just counts as ‘pushing the needle’ is disingenuous. it is much more comfortable to feel like the ‘beaten down person who is just lashing out against their attackers’ without realizing that those attacks do hurt because some of those people may in fact be just as powerless as you (not you, velvet!! example you)

Flowchart anon: forgor to mention, or course own identity can be impactful and everyone knows better than a stranger how they’ve been affected by their identity, but also I think it’s possible to harness power even when you don’t know it, or unfortunately don’t approach people that way

it's wild too because the slurs get explained away as being like Black people saying cracker and a White person telling a non-binary person of color you should get to call them slurs because they're like White people to them is wild on it's own but like

have you

EVER

seen a Black person go to the fucking mat on a daily basis for 'cracker' like TRFs do th**yfab?

Yes, obviously, Black people have regularly argued with disingenuous idiots about it all the time. But have you ever seen Black activists, out doing serious, important work, fiercely argue every single day against a massive horde of White people telling them not to? I'm not even saying that a Black person can necessarily say the word cracker without ten White people popping off in the replies. But how often do they get replied to? And how much of those White people are trying to get through that it sincerely hurts them, and not just claiming it's rhetorically hypocritical?

Because from the TRF perspective it feels like "no but we should get to use this insulting word for other people and if not you're literally killing us!" is like, the major discussion to be having! I've talked a lot before about how even I, someone massively triggered by things outside of intercommunity stuff, somehow manage to bring those issues up more than TRFs do with their incessant focus on the perceived transmisogyny of other trans people, but good Lord. Even if it WERE okay and justified, it's so obvious they care about their sacred right to be aggressive towards other people over literally anything that will ever actually help a single trans woman.

They're exploiting the concept of "punching up" to be mindlessly cruel to another group of marginalized people. And frankly that should be insulting on it's own. Even if you did buy into the explanation that the word was coined by trans women mad about some non-binary people scabbing for Wymyn's Warped Tour,* they're seriously saying that's the equivalent of centuries of enslavement and violent terror? Like yeah, God, remember that time some th**fabs got to watch a bunch of cis women play acoustic guitar while reciting bad poetry and I didn't? That was exactly like a burning cross in the yard warning me to not vote.

*AND IT FUCKING WASN'T

[mercuriians]

say what you want

synopsis ☆ you're forced to confront your feelings for aomine when your plans go wrong at a party.

content info — angst to fluff, some hurt/comfort, fem! reader, mutual pining (reader & aomine are both idiots), little bit suggestive at the end. also, as a WARNING, this work contains references to underage drinking so if that makes you uncomfortable then please don't read this.

word count — 3.1k words.

author's note — first full knb fic i've written!! yeahhh i got carried away so oops. wasn't really sure how to end it but i hope it's alright either way. while i was writing this fic i was listening to take a chance with me and lowkey by NIKI, so if you want to feel the vibes of the story then u should listen to those songs, they're amazing i promise. hope u guys enjoy!!

"you know, ahomine, this entire thing was your fault."

you aim for your words to be sharp, accusatory, and scathing, filled with the type of poison that conveys just how irritated you felt at the moment; they’re intended to withdraw some kind—any kind, actually, since it’s aomine you’re talking to—of guilt or acknowledgement from the boy, or at the very least a sign that yes, he was the one who deserved the blame, and every ounce of it too.

however your objective falls short, and there’s a thought that irritatingly lingers at the back of your unusually sluggish mind: that, really, you weren’t exactly free from fault either. but it isn’t like you want to admit that because even the boy next to you knows the extent of your obstinacy and pride.

it’s a shame, and it’s quite ironic too, that your words are ultimately what betray your integrity. the way they come out breathless, slightly slurred, and definitely nowhere near scathing says more than enough.

earlier, you might have drunk a bit more than you were supposed to.

but to be fair, it was kise's seventeenth birthday. knowing how passionate he became whenever the subject was about parties or having fun or legitimately just having the spotlight on himself, the celebration turned out to be rather wild, to say the least. though when you had all five—technically six—members of the miracle generation gathered in the same area, as well as some of their respective teammates, the pandemonium was likely the only thing you could even anticipate. besides the heavy stench of testosterone of course.

see, your original plan was to spend the night quietly spectating the crowd. you never really liked parties, and you never really liked all the chaos that it brought. what you did like, though, was watching that same chaos unfold before your eyes. you even prepared your childhood friend to be by your side when it all went down, with his fluffy baby blue hair and his innocent, perceptive gaze never straying too far from where number two sat contentedly, playing with a rubber ball.

"how long do you think it'll take before kagami and aomine get into a brawl?" you had mused, hiding your amused grin behind your hand as you watched the two basketball players get into an argument over what the next song would be.

all the while, you hoped that kuroko didn’t see the way your eyes dipped towards the area of skin that aomine’s shirt haphazardly left exposed.

luckily he didn’t seem to notice. either that or—this was more likely—he was kind enough not to comment.

"ten minutes." kuroko had stated bluntly, answering your question. as it turns out, he wasn't far off from the mark.

so, for the first half of the party, your plan worked. you sat by the corner, languidly drinking from your cup of apple juice while you chatted with kuroko about anything that came into your mind. everything was fine, things were going well on your part, and at some point, you even sang along to the cheesy pop music that the speakers blasted.

most of all, you managed to avoid aomine.

but to put it frankly, shit hit the fan the moment the clock hit eleven. a bit surprisingly, the instigator wasn’t aomine, or takao, or even the golden birthday boy himself. no, it was sweet, exuberant momoi.

looking back on it, maybe your surprise was unreasonable. this was the same girl who could make eerily accurate predictions simply based off the statistics she collected from the court, and with you being a basketball player yourself, you knew just how scheming momoi could be when she really wanted to. that, and the fact that she happened to be another one of your childhood friends.

yeah, you probably should have realized that she was plotting something.

yet the realization never dawned on you. not when she offered you three consecutive cups of sake and claimed that “it’s to help you loosen up!”, not when she managed to pull you away from kuroko, not when she proposed the stupidly cliche spin the bottle game, and definitely not when she forced aomine to sit directly across from where you were.

after watching a few hilarious and awkward rounds, it was only inevitable for you to be the one spinning the bottle, and it was only inevitable for the damned thing to land on the one boy you were hoping to skip. and no, not because you hated him, but precisely because you simply couldn’t. it was impossible to not like aomine, even with his laziness, arrogance, perversion, and occasional playboyish tendencies. the truth was that behind every flaw of his, there were just as many positives, whether it was his obstinate loyalty or his unwavering honesty or his genuine respect for those who earned it.

so no one could blame you for the way your breath caught in your throat when aomine held your gaze and when he eventually began to make his way over. “this okay with you?” he asked nonchalantly as if this was a light, casual matter, and as if he didn’t care at all. yet, there was a slight, barely noticeable tightness in his navy gaze. had you not known him for years now, you likely wouldn’t have picked up on that small detail.

but as small as it was, really, it was anything but. and with your heart beating just a bit faster, you knew exactly why.

you nodded your head wordlessly, your lips parting, your eyes meeting his, and your message being spoken and understood through that eye contact alone. aomine leaned in, and you closed your eyes.

his lips were chapped, and his hand felt rough and calloused against your skin, but you felt a trail of fire prickling through your body anyway. quicker than you would have liked to admit, you found yourself falling deeper. you hoped, for a brief, flickering moment, that aomine felt the same. maybe, within his mind, there were thoughts of you.

swirls of past memories, like when you two would play basketball together, sweat dripping down your faces, soaking the fabric of your clothes as you focused on not letting him score; fragments of the future, like what it would be like to attend college together; and wishes for the present moment, like maybe how he wanted you to be his, just as you've wanted him to be yours since the last year of junior high.

you pulled aomine in closer, fingers digging into his collar. the logical part of your mind shrieked, voice raising in volume the longer you pressed your body against his, but you shut the thoughts out.

very, very vaguely, it occurred to you that the alcohol made your heart beat faster, made your spirit burn recklessly in a way that you hadn't known before.

for better or for worse, aomine noticed too.

and the moment you regained all sense of control, you realized that you no longer felt the weight of his body, or the warmth of his lips. bright lights flooded your vision as you opened your eyes. aomine stood a foot or two away, his shirt a bit crumpled from where you had gripped the fabric.

there was a certain kind of look on his face, but the problem was that you were unable to decipher it. this was the first time you couldn't read him.

fear settled into your bones.

had you just ruined everything between the two of you? not just the chances of ever dating him, but your friendship as well? should you have kissed him in the first place? what kind of person did he think you were now?

what had you done wrong, and why did you ever even accept those drinks from satsuki?

suddenly the room was full of too many people, and there were too many sounds and the lights were starting to blind you and damn it you couldn't even hear yourself think. in the heat of panic, you found yourself running, murmuring mindless apologies to whoever you almost crashed into.

you didn't stop until you reached kise's balcony. it was small, barely enough for three people to fit in, but the fact that you were able to taste the crisp june night air was enough.

unfortunately, it turned out that you only had a few minutes to spend alone with your thoughts. before long, the sound of the glass door sliding open disrupted the silence. you closed your eyes, praying to whatever was above that it wasn't the one person you wanted to avoid.

"wow, you really don't want to talk to me, huh?" a gruff, low voice dryly remarked. well, shit.

your eyes flew open. "i—uh, aomine," you cleared your throat hastily, "what did i.. did i say that out loud?"

"sure did," he confirmed. you heard him walking towards you before you saw him slide into the narrow space on your left. cautiously, you snuck a glance; his expression seemed to be unbothered, but knowing what happened ten minutes ago, you wouldn't risk a bet on it.

his eyes met yours. "you've been acting off," he remarked.

you refrained from rolling your eyes, like it wasn't already clear enough. "yeah, well, the sake that satsuki gave me was.. um, expired." you lied, and quite messily too. "made my stomach feel weird."

"she made me check the expiration date before her mom bought it," aomine deadpanned, and for the umpteenth time that night you wished that the floor was kind enough to swallow you whole. "and your stomach seems fine to me."

"well you wouldn't know that," you shot back, somewhat angrily. "and why did—how did satsuki even get her mom to buy alcohol in the first place?"

"her mom was the one who suggested it," aomine shrugged. despite the twinge of surprise that you felt—you weren't exactly sure if an adult was allowed to buy alcohol for seventeen-year-olds—it was quickly washed away and forgotten, overshadowed by the look that the boy suddenly gave you.

"so, are we gonna keep dodging the topic or what?"

your shoulders sagged, your arms crossing over your chest instinctively. "what is there to talk about?" you muttered.

"look, between the two of us, you're definitely the smarter one," aomine stated bluntly. "so quit actin' like you don't know what happened back there, (name)."

a heavy sigh escaped from your lips, frustration welling up within your chest all over again. you found it quite difficult to even breathe at the moment. "i don't want to do this right now," you stated. "so please just leave and we can pretend like—"

"that's the problem right there," aomine interrupts, an unprecedented twinge of emotion filling his voice. it was anger and frustration akin to yours, yes, but there was something else—something that you could reluctantly guess stemmed from a place that he'd kept hidden until now. "you keep avoiding me like i'm the damn plague or something. i didn't even do anything wrong, and if you feel like i did, then i can't do anything about it because you're not telling me shit."

and that right there brings you to the present moment, the buildup to the storm that's about to wreak havoc and tear up the land.

"you know, ahomine, this entire thing was your fault." you hiss, every ounce of your feelings pouring out without abandon. it's messy, it's unorganized, and it's raw; maybe none of it even makes sense, or maybe all of it does. you don't bother trying to wrap your head around it because there's no use in doing so.

for once, you don't think, and you let your words spill out like water from a broken faucet.

"it's your fault because you made me feel this way about you, even though you're one of the laziest, rudest, and most obnoxious people i know, not to mention that you read those perverted magazines. but you're also one of the most loyal and genuine, and i know that you would never lie. not on the court, and not outside of it, either. and that just—a-all of it frustrates and confuses me because we're polar opposites. you say whatever's on your mind, and you don't care about what people think about it. i can't do that."

you take a moment to breathe, to slow down, and to collect your scrambled train of thought. "i think that's why i don't tell you things like this. i'm probably drunk right now, but i think you want someone who's as unafraid as you are, someone who takes charge of the situation instead of being in the background. the only time i can be bold is when i play basketball. because then it's just—"

"just you, the ball, and the person in front of you," aomine finishes. surprisingly, his tone is soft, even understanding, and you look up to meet his gaze. "i know how that feels."

"it's like nothing else matters when you're on the court," you whispers, and the boy next to you nods. "all of it is simple. it's nothing like having to deal with your emotions, and having to understand them."

"you're right about that," aomine agrees. there are a few, shocking beats of silence that ensue, both of you seeming to ponder on your individual thoughts. "but, you know, the way you kissed me back there said a lot."

your face flushes pink. "yeah, i know," you mumble, turning your head away as you rest your arms against the railing. there's an uncomfortable feeling that sinks into you, just being aware that aomine knows how you've felt about him for years. you don't remember ever feeling as exposed as you do now.

"you're a good kisser," he comments somewhat offhandedly. "makes me wonder how it'll feel like to do that again in the future."

you pause.

your mouth drops open. "huh?" you stammer embarrassingly. "you can't joke about this, aomine—"

"look at me," he interrupts, softly but firmly. with hesitation swirling within your mind, you raise your head to meet his sapphire eyes. there's no trace of humor, or scorn, or sarcasm anywhere on his face, however. in fact, the seriousness exuding from his expression feels undeniably out of character.

and yet he's never looked as breathtaking as he does now.

"i hate saying this, but i think satsuki really did succeed this time." seeing the confusion on your face, aomine explains, "i tried pretending like i didn't have feelings for you either, because like you said, it feels weird. i guess ignoring them was more convenient for me, too. but, satsuki being satsuki, i guess she got bored of us being idiots and pulled this entire thing together."

"she's an orchestrator," you mutter, astonished. "wait, so, this means that you like me too—i'm not hallucinating?"

"nope, your ears are working perfectly fine." he states. "i've liked you ever since you broke my ankles and put me on my ass back at teiko."

overcome with surprise and glee—none of this feels real, still—you can't help but snort. "weren't you pissed when i did that? i mean i remember kise drooling over me, and akashi-kun giving me a compliment, but you were definitely upset." fond memories flash within your mind as you remember the sheer embarrassment and anger on a thirteen-year-old aomine's face.

"and i was, believe me," the boy chuckles. "but that was the first time a girl played against me and won. usually, they would just crowd around me and ramble about how hot i was. it was an unexpected change, but it was nice. kind of turned me on, too."

the last part almost causes you to choke on your saliva.

"such a pervert," you accuse him, a tint of pink staining your cheeks. "i don't even wanna know the thoughts that filled your head."

"i was thinking about how great of a girlfriend you'd be," aomine grins, stepping towards you. he reaches out, his hand moving to fix the strands of hair that covered your face. "and how pretty you'd look wearing my jersey."

"we can talk about that later," you swallow, looking up at him through your lashes, the party long forgotten. "right now, all you have to think about is kissing me again."

"that's easy," he retorts, his strong arms circling around your waist protectively. aomine leans down, his eyes slowly sliding shut, and his distinctive scent—cedarwood, smoke, and a hint of sweat—washes over you as his lips slot against yours.

unlike before, the kiss isn't frenzied or desperate; still, it maintains an air of passion, which both of you can clearly feel. his hands are curious, wandering and tracing areas all over your clothed body, almost as if he's trying to imprint them into his memory. they finally rest comfortably on the small of your back, with your own hands perched on his broad shoulders.

sneakily, he bites your lip, prompting a small, sharp whimper. your mouth opens invitingly, and his tongue sneaks in, swirling around your own.

when you pull away a little while later, you find yourself panting. your chest heaves with every breath, and your knees start to feel weak. "and you say i'm the good kisser," you say breathlessly, reaching up to give him one more peck.

"well i wasn't lying, was i?" he raises his brows slightly, making you giggle. "i had to stop myself from going even further."

"nobody said you had to stop," you whisper under your breath, catching him by surprise.

"trust me, i didn't want to," aomine leans down again, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "but we're both a little drunk right now."

his words bring you a renewed sense of clarity, or at least something resembling it. he's telling the truth, really; doing anything reckless under the influence of alcohol is quite far from being a good decision. "and i thought you were supposed to be a delinquent," you tease him harmlessly.

"even delinquents use their brain sometimes, (name)," he rolls his eyes. "besides, i'm starving right now. i wanna eat some of the onigiri that kagami made, even though he gets under my skin."

"he's a really good cook," you sigh in admiration, examining aomine's expression closely, "and he's handsome, too.."

he scowls. "watch it," the boy warns, "don't say anything you're going to regret later."

"sorry, daiki," you apologize with a grin. "it's just fun to tease you."

"whatever," aomine mutters. "tomorrow, i'll get my payback."

[getvalentined]

I posted about this on the twits, but I'm gonna do it here too because it's not like this is limited to that platform.

Since I've been seeing my least favorite shitty FF7 rumor around again, friendly reminder that there are no "legal issues" between Gackt and SE delaying anything. Sources claiming otherwise say "trust me bro" when Nomura has literally said it was just the workload.

People who claim that delays in production of anything in the Compilation are because of Gackt are parroting a rumor that's been around for over a decade, which was started by people who used it as an excuse to be racist and homophobic under the thin veneer of frustrated criticism. The majority of hatred toward the character of Genesis Rhapsodos in early fandom, and hatred toward Genesis in modern day fandom from OG Purists, stems from this same place.

Why do you think these people always assert that Genesis' very existence "ruins Sephiroth's character," but never complain about Angeal? Why do you think they have no problems with Aerith having a Jenova-infused Angeal Copy in her church for years—something that should totally change her understanding of the Crisis, but doesn't seem to in any way whatsoever—and yet anything and everything Genesis does is treated as an unforgivable retcon?

It's an excuse to say heinous, horrible things about an all-but-explicitly queer character who is modeled off a real Japanese man, and that's all it ever was, but it gets a pass because they dress it up as criticism of the franchise. Then, when they inevitably start throwing out slurs, nobody cares because "it's just Gackt—I mean Genesis, everyone knows he sucks."

Yeah, you "know" because you let a bunch of bigots tell you he should be judged more harshly than any other character in the entire series because he's not white or straight enough. Because he's based directly on a real flesh-and-blood Japanese man, and to these people that makes him deserving of hate, because people like that shouldn't exist. Because the character is all but explicitly queer (and it is even more explicit in the original language and when accounting for some key culturally-specific literary references portrayed throughout the narrative), and people like that shouldn't exist.

You "know" because you never questioned why this character specifically is the only one it's "objectively and morally correct" to hate and belittle, even though everything he's supposedly hated for applies to multiple other characters throughout the series.

The character is loathed, and the actor is blamed for everything, because some old guard fans said that's how it's supposed to be in this fandom, and if you don't engage with things that way then you don't deserve to be here.

Very cool and normal behavior!

There are very valid reasons to dislike this character, mind you, and plenty of reasons to be critical of the actor. I'm not saying otherwise. I'm saying the pervasive and frankly disgusting fandom-wide hatred stems from the same place as the continued, repeatedly disproven assertion that Gackt is to blame for everything "wrong" with the Compilation and its development: bigotry. I know this because I saw these assertions come into being in real time when Crisis Core first came out. I watched the people saying these things post the most homophobic rants on their personal accounts, I watched people I considered friends get banned from LJ communities for referring to Genesis as Gackt and referring to Gackt with racial slurs.

And I watched them come back later, promising they were better people now, armed with new claims and new arguments that allowed them to continue to be hateful trashfires without getting in trouble. As long as they weren't overt, it was okay. If they slipped up and used a slur in the comments that was mostly okay, since it wasn't in the main post. Mods might lock a thread here and there, but those people got to stay. Their "criticism" was "valid," and thus their bigotry was validated.

Those same claims and complaints are still regurgitated today, only now it's by people who aren't racist and aren't homophobic, but don't realize that their criticism is horribly unbalanced because it was all born from people who were just masking hatred.

Even worse is when these behaviors are mimicked by people claiming to like the character, because the fandom taught them that this was how you're supposed to engage with him, because it's just Gackt—Genesis (I said Genesis!) so he's a piece of shit no matter how you slice it and he deserves to be treated that way. Nobody else does, and nobody questions it, because this is just how it's done.

I'm sorry to be the one to tell people this, but if you slap a bunch of gay stereotypes onto Genesis and then have the characters around him treat him like shit because of them, while implying or outright insisting that IT'S OKAY BECAUSE IT'S GENESIS AND HE SUCKS SO IT'S FUNNY, you are following in the footsteps of bigots. If you constantly refer to the character as "Gackt" like the name itself is a pejorative, you are following in the footsteps of bigots.

No, there is no nuance here. I don't care if you allegedly came to all these conclusions on your own—you didn't and you know it—except for the fact that actually that's worse, because it means that you did some kind of deep dive in the source material and came out the other side agreeing with a bunch of racist homophobes who are still spitting bullshit after over 15 years.

Do fucking better.

[naughtybg3confessions]

(Not a confession.) I've been working out submissions for the trans day, and there was also an interesting discussion on the topic on r/okbuddybaldur, and I've been wondering - where do you think the line is drawn between 'naughty confessions' and 'fetishization'? I'm trans (transmasc-leaning NB), I have trans hcs, many of them are smutty, I find them hot, trans people ARE hot! We are! But is there a point where it just becomes fetishistic?

Related, what about stereotyping? Tall, buff transfem Karlach, or slender, pretty transmasc Astarion, for instance (which I genuinely do love, especially together). Questionable if you're ONLY going with the more stereotypical view (ie. 'Shadowheart is small and fem and definitely cis, Karlach is tall and butch and definitely trans'), or questionable at any time?

(Relatedly, this comes up in the discussion on Reddit - someone shared their frustration with always seeing Aylin as trans and Isobel as cis, and shared their frankly incredible trans Isobel headcanon.)

Not at all trying to start Disk Horse or anything, just a trans fan writing up submissions and overthinking things. Have an excellent day!

Well let me start by saying that I'm cis, and not exactly an authority on this subject. I have no magical way of knowing where all our confessions are coming from, but I do have some safeguards in place to reduce harm.

First of all, confessions that fetishize real life groups of people are strictly not allowed in our rules. It's up to my own discernment (and that of our followers) what constitutes that, but generally any use of slurs or reinforcing negative stereotypes is a clear tip off. If someone is making trans folk out to be freaks or fetishizing things about them that belittle their gender identity, that's obviously a no go. But so far, no one has said that. There was one confession sexualizing dysphoria that towed the line for me, but my gut told me the submitter was trans themselves and simply had a humiliation kink. Which they later confirmed!

Not speaking for the fandom at large, but on this blog at least it seems like all the characters are "transed" pretty much equally, from Shadowheart to Halsin. With the exception of Gortash, who seems to get the lion's share of those confessions, but that doesn't ring any alarm bells to me.

I certainly wouldn't want to disallow trans hcs for any particular character. After all, it is a fact of life that some cis women are big and tall, and so are some trans women. Should they be excluded from being found attractive just because of a few bad eggs? But I'm always happy to see more variety, thought, and creativity put into confessions overall. Y'all are certainly encouraged to break the mold around here.

I do my best to use my best judgement in moderating confessions so that everyone feels safe and welcome here. But I'm not perfect, so if anything ever slips through the cracks I won't hesitate to listen to our trans followers, remove the confession and learn from the experience. Should that ever happen, I may ask the anon to clarify their intentions as well, as sometimes people just phrase things unintentionally poorly (Hanlon's razor and all that).

Anyways, I hope that answer was satisfactory, it's an interesting and nuanced topic to be sure. And I bid thee an excellent day as well!

[olderthannetfic]

Long post coming in which I look at the alleged examples of racism the EndOTWRacism campaign cites.

I'm sympathetic to EndOTWRacism, I really am, and I think some of the things they're asking for are broadly reasonable (diversity consultant, more admin tools --though not in the time frame being asked for).

But reading through their examples of supposedly "obviously" racist works is...something.

They love to cite that transformers fic about George Floyd, but that fic had zero hits when it was found and was posted anonymously. I understand it's offensive, but frankly, there is nothing in that summary that suggests the author was being deliberately offensive, and because it's gone now, we cannot see the fic to decide for ourselves. Stitch calls the author a "known racist troll" but offers no source for this beyond a link to a completely innocuous unrelated fic.

Stitch also cites one instance of readers finding a racist fic, leaving critical comments on that fic, and then being assailed with racial slurs by the author as evidence of harassment. That's... a nonsense accusation. If you go into a space you know will upset you, post things that will upset others, and then get upset by how those others respond, you are not being harassed. I don't know what you expected to happen. You are overall correct in what you are saying, but arguing with people in the comments of a fic is not activism.

Stitch also references a Holocaust a/b/o fic and Dr. Pande's response. I don't know how you read what Pande said and come out thinking they were the good guy here. Pande was absolutely harassing that author. They posted repeated comments on that fic after they were deleted, after the author explained their reasoning. Pande didn't like this reasoning and so continued to comment. Also, the author did not want to get Pande fired. That's just a lie. The screenshot to the tweet accusing the author of this makes it extremely clear the author did not want to get Pande fired.

Stitch cites one incident without actually citing it in which someone was told by AO3 not to harass an allegedly racist author. Source needed, but based on the other examples they cite I can make an educated guess here.

Perhaps most telling of these examples is the one in which someone impersonates Stitch in the comments of a fic. Other users proceed to criticize fake Stitch. Despite no mention of race in their responses, Stitch accuses the responders of being racist. This example makes it very clear that Stitch views anyone who disagrees with them about fanfiction to be racist, regardless of whether race is brought up or not. The only way to examine race in fandom without being racist is by agreeing with Stitch.

The hockey fic example offers no evidence that things happened as stated. No screenshots, no links. If other people cannot verify what you claim, you should not be citing it in your campaign.

It is very hard to take this campaign seriously when Stitch, who I was only vaguely familiar with before this, is the primary source. They repeatedly misrepresent situations in order to fit their narrative of victimhood, lie outright when the source is right fucking there, and seek out harmful content then get upset when they are harmed.

The campaign also appears to be using Stitch's questionable methods outright. See how they discuss AO3's admittedly sloppy June 2020 post about addressing racism. This campaign argues that AO3 has not implemented any of the promised features except for blocking, which is an absurd argument if you actually read the post from AO3. Of the six stated changes, two have been implemented (comment controls and blocking), two are too nebulous to say whether they've been done (reassessing warnings and reviewing ToS), one I'm not sure about (has collection searching improved?), and one (improving admin tools) is an actionable thing that has apparently not been implemented.

Maybe they did review their ToS and archive warnings and just came to the conclusion that they were fine as they are. I have no idea, and apparently neither does this campaign.

Anyway. I find this all frustrating. There are real issues to address here, somewhere, but this campaign buries them beneath layers of bullshit. Reading through their Call to Action and FAQ multiple times feels like reading any other bullshit fandom call-out post. They cite misrepresented or non-existent sources, outright lie, and frame those they disagree with in the worst light they can.

I implore anyone reading this to examine the campaign's posts and look closely at their sources. Decide for yourself what is going on here, don't just take the campaign's word for it.

--

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

All the stars are shining bloody red

Next chapter

a/n a fever dream of an idea but when it hits you it does. This is a song I suggest you play for reference. So enjoy this little something something. ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

summary: just what happens when an innocent night at the pleasure house leads to something much bigger, making two lost soles collide.

warning: suggestive content, pleasure house, mention of sexual interactions, nudity, alcohol.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"You bunch are no fun", Mor huffed over her fifth glass of wine. She's been trying to drag the whole family to the pleasure house at the side of Velaris ever since her wild night out with Emerie. And don't get me wrong, it was something they used to do. Some nights at Rita's were even wilder than what any pleasure house could provide, and yet the hesitation lingered.

"I have a set of breasts to look at already", Cassian slurred, his hand reaching for Nesta's chest, but she swiftly slapped his fingers away, glaring at him. "You are not getting the point", Mor sighed. "I'm not dragging you there for a gang bang or to look for someone to drag into your bed", she was perfectly aware that everyone in the family had settled. Solid relationships all around. Well, except for Azriel. Yet that was a whole different story. So Azriel, for that matter, might take full advantage of the place while at it.

"Quite frankly, I doubt anyone who goes there on a Tuesday night is there for a fuck", Mor swirls the red substance in her glass, earning a nod from Emerie, "It's like nothing I've seen before", the female breathed. "We've been trying to figure out what and how they do it, but...", and they had returned with big eyes, disbelief, and satisfaction lingering all over. Did it fuel others' curiosity? Yes. Just to be honest, no one believed it could be anything that could beat one of the sultry numbers in Rita's.

"Fine", Rhys states after silence falls, "Let's go, get this done and over with". Both Nesta and Feyre jump up, going straight for Mor, squealing in excitement. "Darling, if you were that desperate, you should have said", the high lord crossed his arms over his chest with a smirk, but Feyre only shrugged, "We would have gone with or without you boys, sorry". Cassian lets out a grumble as he too gets up from the comfy sofa, "If my head and nuts ain't blown away by the end of this...", Everyone chuckles, even Nesta has a smirk on her face. It's Azriel who has a tight frown on his, however. "Prepare for disappointment, brother", the shadow singer says, downing his glass of whiskey swiftly. "If you'll be a grumpy ass, don't bother going, Azriel", Mor stated firmly. Azriel knew that no one could come between her and her night. That was a well tested fact. He felt Elain reaching for his hand, and a part of him wanted to drop it because it just didn't feel right tonight. But he didn't, because being the only one without someone to return home to was painful enough.

When they finally got there the place was jam-packed. Azriel unleashed his shadows. Doing a quick safety check never hurts. After all, the whole family was here. So he had to make sure there was no harm around the corner. To his surprise, his shadows recognized a lot of noble members of Velaris. Scratch that there were day court and autumn males here. The back table was occupied by Helion. "Rhys", Azriel said directly through his high lord's mental shields. Azriel could tell that Rhys too had clocked on to the fact that this was attracting too much attention. Attention they didn't know was brewing here. "Listen around; count the names", The order was clear enough, so Azriel did just that. How long did Mor knew about all of this and said nothing? Fucking Mor, Azriel grumbled in his head.

Just before Azriel could unleash yet another set of his shadows, the place fell into complete darkness. Some squeals of surprise echoed around the room, followed by laughter and murmuring. The cool mist started streaming from the platform right in front of the tables. The first sounds of the music silenced everyone. A huge moon light up the place, dashing the yellow gleam all over, and the silhouettes of what Azriel assumed were the females who performed here come into view.

"You are so beautiful to me", the most velvet voice sang out, and Azriel's heart stopped for a second. His whole attention was now on the stage. The black fabrics fall from the ceiling, and bodies dressed in deep satin lingerie twist around them. Ahs and ohs fall from the people watching, but Azriel's eyes are not leaving the figure in the middle. "You are so beautiful to me. Can't you see?", it lulls. The anticipation of seeing the face behind the voice was so intense that it nearly drove Azriel out of his seat. He's so lost in it that voice he doesn't even notice that the female is the one twirling her hands and sending ripples of mist to swirl around almost everyone in the room. The gleam caresses people's faces, twirling their hair.

"You're everything I hoped for", nor does Azriel feel the same mist crawling up his arms. Slowly. Soothingly. "You're everything I need". His breath hitches in his throat as he feels the softest fingers touching his jaw. "You are so beautiful timo me" Because the smallest of stars start falling across the room, and it's enough to cast a spell of light over your face. The deep blue eyes looking straight at him. The deepest blue he had ever seen, and what a blue it was. And your hair is so wavy and long. Ocean green dances there. Hints of the deep purple of the waves But are you looking at him? Is that your finger touching him? There's no one else in the room. Azriel sees no one all of a sudden. It's just you and him. And you're singing. Singing so beautifully that he's ready to rip his heart out of his chest and serve it on a platter for you.

And then it all ends with the booming sound of music. His eyes follow your twirling body, dancing among the other females. One minute you're there, and then you're gone. Azriel jumps up from his chair before his vision becomes clear again, and he's back in the room full of people. The fact that he had just jumped up like that made a wave of embarrassment wash over him. He turns his head to the side, where Elain is pressing tissues to her dress, and sees a fallen glass right by the edge of the table. He must have knocked it over.

"Yep, I came internally", Cassian states and that's when Azriel's eyes fall over his family. Everyone's eyes are hazy. As if all they had done all night was smoke hallucinogenic herbs. It's Rhys, though, whose eyes are sharp as he catches Azriel's gaze. "Fucking told you", Mor is leaning against her hand, looking at the stage longingly. "Fucking told you". 

Get them out and back to the house. Meet me here in twenty. Back door. No weapons. Rhysand's voice pierces Azriel's mind, and all he can do is nod before his high lord turns to his mate. Brushing a strand of hair from her face. He leans in to kiss her, and Azriel quickly lowers his eyes. And then Rhys is up. His darkness wrapped tightly around him as he moved through the crowd.

Azriel winnows back to the pleasure house after what feels like a good long while. Making sure everyone was safe and sound was harder than he had imagined. Rhys is not by the backside. But his shadows quickly informed him of the path to the basement steps. Basement. A shiver ripples down his back, but he still steps forward until he can hear Rhy's voice loud and clear.

"We paid our taxes", a female voice rings out. Azriel can't see her yet, but from her tone, he's sure that she's smiling. "You and I both know it's not about the money", Rhys says calmly as Azriel slips through the shadows on the back wall.

"I'm glad to see you here finally, though", the lady purrs, her long gray hair twisted into a big braid, resting neatly against her chest. "I thought you were too ashamed". Azriel can feel a wave of tension rising in the room. "Myriam, don't push my buttons", Rhys warns her, but she only smirks. "Or what? You'll get me close?" Azriel is about to step into the room, but Rhys mentally tells him off. "Where's the girl?", he pushes, but Myriam continues as if she hadn't even heard him, "You do know that any other court will welcome me and my girls with open arms?".

Azriel lets his shadows swirl through the cracks in the room. Trying to scan through the rooms behind the lady's back. But he doesn't get far. Most of them are so deeply drenched in magic that Azriel doesn't recognize. The shadow singer frowns, watching his shadows struggle. Leaping away from the door as if whatever that was there hurt them.

Rhys lets out a deep sigh, "You're right," and Azriel's head jerks to his high lord instantly. What the hell was Rhys agreeing to all of a sudden? "I apologize, but you have to understand that I wasn't informed that we had such beauty in my city", Rhys steps closer to the table. Reaching for the bottle placed there. "I'm a jealous man; what can I say", he states, refilling Myriam's glass before taking a swing straight from the bottle himself. "Rhys, you know I'm willing to share. But it was you who dismissed me the first time", the woman says, and now Azriel's head is turning once again. First time? Dismissed her? What in the love of a mother was going on here?

"It's late now, but let's set a date for a meeting. I want to revisit this", Rhys says, smiling at Myriam, and she instantly returns the smirk. Hand reaching to play with the collar of Rhysand's shirt, "I knew that you would come to your senses", lifting her glass closer to her lips she settles on watched Rhys for a moment, "Just remember that I'm the one who has the wining card here".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

All acotar writing taglist: @brekkershadowsinger @cityofidek @baebeepeach @lucyysthings @hideing @urfavbrunettebish @historygeekqueen @marina468 @courtofjurdan @bubybubsters

[vexic929]

Blue Streak

Chapter 4

Warnings: none

Chapter 1: link

Chapter 3: link

'...can't read my, can't read my, no he can't read my Poker Face...'

Poker Face wasn't Malcolm's morning alarm so, waking up to the song was confusing and unexpected to say the least. Even more perplexing was the sound of two unfamiliar voices - a man and a woman, he assumed - talking to his left. He focused on the voices after a moment, hoping for answers without having to open his eyes yet.

"He likes this song." The man commented.

"How could you possibly know that?" The woman asked, sounding vaguely exasperated

"Checked his Facebook. I mean, he can hear everything, right?"

Well, they weren't talking about him at least, unless maybe they'd gotten him confused with Barry - Malcolm was more of a rock music fan than the top 40s. The more feminine voice rattled off something about auditory functions but Malcolm had returned his attention to trying to place either voice. Even as the man's voice wandered closer, singing along, he couldn't identify it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a panicked gasp that was very distinctly Barry's to his left and he finally opened his eyes to see what was happening.

"Oh- my god-" The man jumped about a foot as he turned around, full attention on the opposite side of the room.

"Where am I?" Barry slurred and Malcolm assumed he was just as disoriented as Malcolm felt as he pushed himself to a sitting position. The woman - a doctor, he assumed...were they in a hospital? - rushed forward and shone a flashlight into his eyes as Barry winced and groaned.

"Dr. Wells, get down to the Cortex, like, right now." The man - not a doctor or at least not in scrubs, Malcolm noted - said into some sort of pager before joining the woman next to Barry.

Then, his brain caught up. Dr. Wells? As in the Dr. Wells? He tuned back in to the conversation to hear the man say next, "relax. Everything's okay, man. You're at S.T.A.R. Labs."

Barry echoed him, still sounding groggy and out-of-it, but Malcolm's mind was racing. S.T.A.R. Labs? Dr. Wells? What the hell was happening?

The man continued, "I'm Cisco Ramon. She's Caitlin- Dr. Snow."

"I need you to urinate in this." Dr. Snow instructed with such matter-of-fact urgency that Malcolm nearly laughed. He pushed himself up to sit, watching Barry climb out of bed and pull away from the two of them agitatedly, wondering how long it would take any of them to notice he'd woken up too.

"What's going on?" Barry demanded.

"You were struck by lightning, dude." Cisco answered and Malcolm felt worry surge through him even though Barry seemed fine as he turned and caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby monitor.

"Lightning...gave me abs?" Barry asked sounding mystified and Malcolm stifled a laugh, leaning forward to see if he could see the alleged abs - he'd believe that when he saw it.

"Your muscles should be atrophied but instead they're in a chronic and unexplained state of cellular regeneration-" The doctor started, speaking quickly and sounding absolutely fascinated.

"C'mere," Cisco said, tugging Barry to sit again. "You were in a coma."

"For how long?" Malcolm blurted at the same time as Barry, no longer content with staying silent and observing. Had they both been in comas? That seemed...just statistically unlikely, frankly.

"Nine months." A new voice said, and Malcolm ignored the startled expressions Barry, Cisco, and Dr. Snow were giving him in favor of locating the person.

Dr. Wells wheeled into the room and Malcolm furrowed his brow, taking in the man's state. Apparently they hadn't been the only ones injured, unless Malcolm's memory was spotty and Dr. Wells had always been in a wheelchair. He was pretty sure he hadn't, though.

"Dr. Snow, if you would, please set up a wheelchair for Malcolm to use. I'd like to take a short walk and talk to both of our patients if they're up for it. We have a lot to discuss."

Dr. Snow nodded and quickly set about retrieving a wheelchair for Malcolm and S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirts for them both. Barry, still trying to process the shocking revelation, looked at his brother with a mix of relief and confusion.

"You okay?" Barry asked, brow furrowed with worry.

Malcolm took a deep breath, his mind racing to catch up with everything that had happened, and shrugged. "I think so. I mean, I feel fine."

Barry immediately crossed to help Malcolm into the wheelchair as Dr. Snow rolled it to the bedside but Malcolm brushed off the assistance. "I told you, I'm fine, Barr."

Barry hesitated before backing off and letting Malcolm shift himself to the edge of the bed and into the chair. It was a shitty, standard public use chair that made Malcolm wish he had his own, especially as Dr. Wells gestured for them to follow and wheeled himself out with his fancy, electric, custom S.T.A.R. Labs chair. God, this was going to be a pain.

As Dr. Wells led them down the hallway, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a clinical glow, Malcolm and Barry couldn't help but exchange glances, both struggling to wrap their heads around the surreal situation they found themselves in.

Dr. Wells spoke as they moved, "S.T.A.R. Labs has not been operational since FEMA categorized us as a class four hazardous location. 17 people died that night. Many more were injured, myself amongst them."

Malcolm gaped as they rounded a corner and the worst of the damage was revealed - a hole like a giant, angry maw through every floor from the basement where the particle accelerator was housed to the very highest point of the ceiling.

"Jeeze..." Barry muttered, leaning against the rail as he took it all in.

"What happened?" Malcolm asked, turning in his chair to face Dr. Wells. It was almost unsettling with the man's bright blue eyes actually at eye level. The man seemed as though he could stare straight into Malcolm's soul.

Dr. Wells sighed. "Nine months ago, the particle accelerator went online exactly as planned; for 45 minutes, I had achieved my life's dream. And then...there was an anomaly. The electron volts became unmeasurable, the ring under us popped," Dr. Wells gestured as he explained. "Energy from that detonation was thrown into the sky and that, in turn, seeded a storm cloud..."

"That created a lightning bolt that struck me." Barry finished and Dr. Wells nodded.

"That's right; you and Malcolm as well. Two separate lightning bolts struck two different locations miles apart and happened to find the both of you, it's statistically unheard of to say the least. I was recovering myself when I heard about the both of you."

Malcolm opened his mouth to ask a question but Dr. Wells continued, gesturing for them both to follow him back.

"The hospital was undergoing unexplainable power outages every time either of you would go into cardiac arrest - which was actually a misdiagnosis because you see, neither of you were flatlining. Your heartbeats were moving too fast for the EKG to register. Now, I'm not the most popular person in town these days but Detective West and his daughter gave me permission to bring you both here, where we were able to stabilize you."

"Iris?" Barry asked. Malcolm was pretty sure that wasn't the most pressing part of anything Dr. Wells had said.

"Iris, yes." Dr. Wells confirmed with an amused smile. "She came to see you quite often."

"She talks a lot." Dr. Snow commented.

"Also, she's hot," Cisco added and Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"I need to go." Barry said abruptly and Dr. Snow looked scandalized.

"No, you can't!" She insisted and Dr. Wells nodded in agreement. "Now that you're awake, we need to do more tests. You're still going through changes, there's so much that we don't know!"

"I'm fine. Really, I feel normal." Barry said, exchanging a glance with Malcolm, silently asking if he wanted to come with.

Malcolm took a moment, feeling torn. He knew if he stayed, they'd poke and prod at him, chasing answers. The feeling was too close to the helplessness he remembered from before, the surgeries and scans he'd endured that without a choice, all promising to "fix" him after that night when their lives had been completely shattered. But how the hell could they both really be okay after all that?

"My chair's probably at Joe's," Malcolm started, patting the shitty wheelchair's arm for emphasis. "Why don't you grab it and bring it back for me?" There, that seemed like a decent compromise, maybe Drs. Snow and Wells would feel better about that.

Barry gave Malcolm a thumbs up and made his way out of S.T.A.R. Labs and Malcolm settled back in the flimsy, uncomfortable chair. This definitely ranked as one of the weirder ways he'd woken up.

[ao3sbatfamily]

Got any good parent bruce and stephanie fic suggestions?

smol steph!

'Never Get You Right' by audreycritter

Author: @audreycritter

“I’m fine,” Bruce managed to say. His insides were not, not at all, but it felt more like pain than dying. “I’m enroute to the Cave. I have a guest.”

“I’m Stephanie,” she said to the speakers. “Batman rescued me and now he’s bleeding on my pajamas.”

“Sir,” Alfred said sharply, and then, in a much kinder tone: “Good evening, Miss Stephanie.”

“It’s only small knife laceration,” Bruce tried to protest, but his words were slurred. He looked down and hell, but that was a lot of blood. A lot more than he was expecting. “Oh. There’s a, uh…towel…in the…” he gestured limply with one hand.

“Hey, I guess we’re rescuing each other, huh?” Stephanie said cheerfully, just a slight tremor underneath the surface.

Also this

'hit 'em up style' by TheResurrectionist

Author: @frownyalfred

“I really was shocked by what was being put out by menstrual product giants,” Wayne said in an interview with The Daily Planet on Monday afternoon. “I wanted to buy something safe and healthy for my daughter, and, frankly, I’m disappointed that it was so difficult to do so.”

Wayne shared that the WE line of menstrual products feature zero single use plastics, and eliminated several harmful components, such as polyethylene, commonly used by its competitors. 

“People deserve to know what they’re putting in their bodies,” Wayne added, “and they should be able to find out how that’s affecting the environment.” 

Initial reactions to the line’s release were largely positive, quelling investors’ fears as WE stock surged Monday morning with news of the release. WE’s line, dubbed “Steph’s”, can be found at any major retailer starting Friday.

[x-v4mp3y3lin3r-x]

One thing you MUST know about me is that I have no problem at all being the loud annoying politically correct leftist who tells you to stop using slurs. I don't care that you "didn't know" either, frankly, because to ME what that says is that you're not spending nearly enough time listening to communities outside of your own.

One thing I'm particularly really not cool with is people who try to claim that "r*tard" or "sp*stic" aren't slurs because people still use them casually. Despite the fact that MANY people (yes, including non-disabled people) have known these words are derogatory since the early at least 2000s.

There's 2 articles I want to link here as proof, from 03 and 04 respectively, but unfortunately both of them involve white people comparing these words to the n word, so I don't feel comfortable linking them. I do think those articles are fantastic examples of the way it was normal for white people to use the n word in the 2000s, but no rational* person would argue that it wasn't a slur, or that white people didn't know it was offensive. The fact of the matter is, "well it was normal to say, back when I learned that word" is never an appropriate response to somebody telling you not to use a pejorative.

*I know that irrational, racist people argue that it's okay. That's kind of my whole point here. You can choose to stop being ignorant and change your ways, or you can choose to double down and be a bigot. Unfortunately some people choose the latter.

Like, it's fine that you didn't know a word was a slur! So don't go around justifying your use of it. You can just stop using the word and move on. But a lot of people refuse to do that because being informed of their ignorance hurts their feelings. You to accept that your feelings SHOULD be hurt! You realistically should be kind of ashamed that you've never spoken to an Inuk person or researched Inuit culture at all, so you didn't know that the e word is a slur. You should be kind of ashamed that you don't know any disabled people and therefore didn't know not to say "sp*z".

That is kind of embarrassing, but you personally have to shoulder that embarrassment and keep it fucking moving. YOU'RE the problem when you dig your heels in the sand an double down on the ignorance.

And I think a lot of people get a little too lenient with the whole "it's okay, they didn't know!" shit. That's part of the problem!! It's a genuine issue that a lot of us live in our own little bubbles and refuse to acknowledge people with lives unlike our own. It's a genuine issue that these are always framed as "us vs. them" issues, when it shouldn't be "us vs. them", we should be fostering communication between cultures!

I've just been thinking about this a lot.

[red-riding-wood]

OC: Charlotte Griffin

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: Charlotte Griffin, on a quest to emerge from her family's dark shadow, becomes a spy in a gang war that puts her loyalties and desires into question as she grows closer to the man who is meant to be her enemy.

WARNINGS for whole story: eventual explicit sexual content and references, explicit violence and gore, mentions of physical abuse, language, ethnic slurs (mainly because of Alfie)

I couldn’t take my eyes off of the blood stains on his desk.

Thumbs twiddling in my lap, I finally tore my gaze from the crimson that had speckled and seeped into the wood. I dragged it across some nearby papers that had their edges marked red, furling over as if poisoned by the mark of death. It couldn’t have been more than an hour old.

I swallowed a ball in my throat and looked to the two guards who stood, rigid, at the wall. I didn’t recognise one of them. A bead of sweat pricked at his brow and there was a gleam of fear in his bright eyes.

“Perhaps I should come back another time.” My words pierced the silence like a knife, yet the men scarcely acknowledged my presence.

“He said you’d insisted to meet with him immediately, Miss Griffin.”

My lip curled slightly at the use of that wretched name. “I know, but I’m not exactly seeing him right now, am I? I’m sitting here talking to you. Which, frankly, is a waste of my time.” Pointedly, I added, “And it’s Charlotte.”

The larger, more collected guard – I believe I had once heard Luca refer to him as “Stefano” – dug his pocket watch from his waistcoat. He checked the time, snapped it shut, and said, “He should be here any minute.”

I tapped my forefinger restlessly against the lace of my gloves, attempting to ease the growing knot of anxiety in my gut.

“Where is Luca?” I asked them.

“I cannot say,” Stefano said.

“And why can’t you say?”

At that, I noticed the younger, unfamiliar guard glance to the blood on the desk. My head tilted slightly in intrigue but my gut clenched with dread. Though neither of them answered me, the man’s gaze told me everything I needed to know.

I stirred as I heard the slow, steady footfalls outside the door, and a knob turning. My palms felt clammy beneath the lace of my gloves and I swallowed as I turned my head slightly to glimpse the darkly clad man in my peripheral. The two guards were ushered out behind him, door shutting woefully in the silence.

“I was beginning to think you’d hired another spy,” I said dryly as Luca came to stand beside me, facing his desk. I couldn’t but help but think back to his meeting with Polly with a bitter pang in my chest at my words.

Luca didn’t say anything, his expression veiled by his rakishly tilted hat. Instead, he slipped a pair of black leather gloves from his fingers. My gut tightened as I noticed that they were covered in blood.

The gloves were slapped across the crimson speckled portion of the desk, and only now did he turn to me, leaning against the structure with the heels of his hands. Long fingers curled over, pinky rubbing slightly at the dampened wooden grain. His black overcoat stretched behind him. He hadn’t removed it, nor his hat.

Green eyes darted to mine, and his jaw clenched around his toothpick. The movements he made were sometimes sharp, frustration blending with his usual languidness. It was as if he were volatile, as if there were something simmering beneath his flesh and, ready to explode at any moment.

Luca’s mouth quirked, for a brief moment, into a tense smile, though in his eyes I could read nothing but murder.

“What were you doing following me last night, mia piccola spia?”

His nickname for me, which was typically woven as if it were a spell, now was uttered as if it tasted bitter on his tongue. My heart clenched in my chest, and I met that dangerous gaze as the rate of it sped, threatening to burst from my ribs. I inhaled deeply, forcing myself to keep my breaths steady.

“I was following Polly Gray,” I said. “She’d been acting peculiar that day. I was only doing my job and decided to follow her for the rest of it.”

“Hm.” His jaw worked against the pick, and he didn’t seem to blink as he stared me down. My flesh boiled under that stare, my palms only growing clammier and my head turning almost light from the shallow breaths I was suppressing.

“You don’t believe me, Luca?” I said, the slightest waver pervading my tone.

His eyes darted away, and he removed the toothpick from his lip, slowly, paying it its usual reverence before he snapped it in two. Conjoined by the slightest thread, the two wooden pieces fell to the floor beside his shoe. His inhale was deep as he brought his hand up to run along the faint stubble of his face.

Luca’s sigh was expelled into the poignant tension between us, and something dark flared in the light green of his eyes as his gaze settled on me again.

“Why were you dancing with one of my men?”

I tilted my head slightly in confusion when confronted with the odd question. And I narrowed my eyes at him, studying the way his pinky now thrummed against the grain of the desk.

“Hm?” he urged, index beginning to circle the hollow of his cheekbone as he rested his jaw in his hand.

“I used him as cover,” I said, though my curiosity bled into my tone. I was still studying each of his micro-movements. “I didn’t know he was one of your men at the time.”

“I see,” Luca said, seemingly disappointed or perhaps even dismissive of my words.

I glanced again to the traces of red beneath his fingertips, and I asked,

“Why is there blood on your desk?”

“Charlotte. Piccola spia.” His other hand settled back on the edge of the desk, and his weight leaned forward slightly. That tense smile tugged frighteningly, wickedly, at the corner of his lip. “If I ever see you dancing with one of my men again, you will not enjoy the consequences.”

My heart quickened in my chest. But I quirked my brow. “What sort of consequences?”

His pinky stilled where it had thrummed against the bloodied wood. “Would you like to find out?”

I looked from the intensity in his stare to the brittle pieces of the toothpick on the ground. I thought about how he had handled it with an almost delicate care yet snapped it as if it were the most fragile thing. And I thought, for one moment, maybe I did. Maybe I wanted to be paid such reverence by the same hand. And maybe, in some dark pocket of my soul that the light scarcely found, I wanted to be snapped in two.

But then my eyes wandered back to the bloodied gloves, and the red of the desk, and I decided that it was much too dangerous to nudge at such a mysterious threat. Even if I did find myself excited when I played with fire.

“And what does it matter to you whom I dance with?” I asked. I wanted to draw attention back to the subject, for I couldn’t help but wonder if it was for the same reason I desperately wanted to know what he had done with Polly.

Luca shifted his jaw, and leaned back, but said nothing for a long while. And then,

“I want you to keep a close eye on Polly. I want you to report to me anything you can find on her. Is that understood?”

Annoyance shot beneath my skin in a hot flash, and I couldn’t hold back the flame that darted to my throat.

“Why were you meeting with her?” I demanded.

“Why do you want to know?”

I swallowed, and said, “Perhaps I’m curious who you dance with.”

“And you expect me to trust you with that kind of information, piccola spia?”

“I’ve trusted you with more,” I pointed out, remembering the last time we’d spoken, when I’d confided in him about my brother. Shared things I had never spoken to anyone before.

“How is the investigation coming?” I asked, for I had also trusted him with finding my brother’s killer. And I had heard nothing.

Luca scoffed, and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re trying to talk to me about the fuckin’ investigation right now?”

“I have the right to know.”

“And I have the right to discharge you from your services at any moment.”

I couldn’t say that didn’t sting. It pierced straight through the dark of my soul and seized the bright of my heart.

“But you don’t want another spy,” I reminded him, though the part of my soul that had been pierced bled into my words, pleaded to be reassured that I wasn’t being replaced.

“Get out.”

“Get out?” I huffed, not bothering to ease the swell of my aching chest with each ragged breath.

Luca’s eyes left me, and he called for his guards. Within a moment, they were by my side.

“Escort this spia outside,” he ordered them. And then, with a glance to me, he said, “She has work to do.”

I mustered my most vitriolic glare as I stood, reluctantly but with a grace.

“As do you, Luca,” I pointed out, before Stefano’s arm was linking through mine and pulling me away.

“I can walk on my own,” I said to the guard, loosening my arm from his grasp and sweeping my coat around my shoulders as I followed, wedged between the two, to the door.

Every particle in the air seemed to depressurise once I had left Luca’s hotel room, and I stifled a sigh of relief. Looking to the new face again, I said,

“I haven’t seen you around yet. Are you a new hire?”

The young man glanced at Stefano as if for permission, but Stefano’s gaze was fixed firmly ahead. Bright eyes settled back on me, and he noticeably gulped.

“You don’t have to be afraid to tell me things,” I told him. “If I’m getting anyone in trouble here it certainly wouldn’t be you.” Despite his indifference, I cast a bitter glance to Stefano before drawing my attention back to the younger guard.

There was a hint of skepticism in his eyes that I found most amusing.

“Well, Miss – “

“It’s Charlotte.”

“Right, Charlotte.” He cleared his throat nervously. “The last guard’s employment was abruptly terminated. I’m the new hire.”

A shiver ran through me as I recalled the fresh blood splattered across Luca’s desk, staining his gloves. The way his last thread of calm seemed to hang by a very thin wire.

And the fear I had just seen in the new hire’s eyes when I’d assured him he wouldn’t be in any trouble for speaking to me.

And so, I made the rest of our trip in silence, because I knew exactly whose blood it had been.

---

The only reason I had accepted Thomas’ invitation to oversee the training for the boxing tournament was that I knew Aberama Gold to be there with his son, who would be competing against Alfie’s nephew. And, while there wasn’t anything particularly important to my mission about the Gypsy leader himself, I had noticed that he’d been spending whatever time he could with Polly. From a distance, the two seemed to love to hate each other, but to a keener eye, one could detect the faintest desperation between them – one who was acquainted all too well with such a pull.

While Thomas had to take a call, I ventured to where the Gypsy leader was leaning his elbows along the rope of one of the boxing rings.

And while fighting for sport had never interested me, I had been observing Aberama’s son. His build was slight, unusually so for a fighter, I imagined, and especially so if he were standing in the same room as Alfie’s nephew. But, in the time I had spent here, I’d seen him put every single one of his opponents on the floor. Even I had to admit it was impressive.

“He’s quite the fighter,” I remarked, coming to stand beside Aberama.

“’Course he is. He’s got Gypsy blood in him. Doesn’t matter his size. Bonnie’s got his father’s strength and his mother’s temper,” the man replied with a smirk playing at his lips, a twinkle in his eyes, and he scrutinised me in a brief moment before he dropped his elbows from the rope. “Surprised to see you here. Seems you’ve always somewhere to be.”

“I am surprised to see you here, as well, Mr. Gold. It’s admirable to see a father so devoted to his son and his ambitions.”

Again, he eyed me, smirk still playing at his lip but his gaze narrowing only slightly. I kept my expression neutral and my body relaxed, all the while letting my own gaze dart across whatever I could read of him – the way his head tilted slightly in suspicion or perhaps confusion, the way his smirk seemed to hook in place, the way he stood hunched slightly as if prepared to pounce. I’d heard that his gang were savages, and I half expected him to draw a weapon on me.

“It’s only what a father should do,” he replied at last, his demeanor seeming to relax slightly. But his words stung.

I fixed my gaze back on the ring, half in an act of casualness, half in an attempt to hide any longing that may have darted through my eyes, and delicately curled a few lace-clad fingers around one of the ropes. “That Miss Gray, she’s worried sick for her boy,” I said. “I can see why she might be looking for someone to bring the family together.”

In my peripheral, he became animated at that, stepping forward, cocking his head. I could tell I’d sufficiently captured his attention, perhaps taken him aback.

“She’s looking for a husband?” he said, a falter in his tone.

“It was merely an observation,” I told him, and cast him a seemingly innocent glance. “You two seem to spend a lot of time together.”

“I wasn’t aware I was an object of such keen observation.” A bitter wariness wove itself back into his tone, and his elbows rested beside mine on the rope, the wool of his overcoat bunching at shoulders teased by long, free locks of mousy hair. “You want information,” he stated, the smirk long gone from his features. “Polly told me you’re a spy.”

I was in now. There was no going back.

“Really?” I said, still feigning an affable indifference. “What else has she said about me?”

“I’m not that easily tricked. If you want information, we make a deal.”

My back straightened as I stepped back from the rope, and he mirrored my action. “What is it you want?” I asked, tone lowering.

“That’s a question with many answers. But I can think of something. Your father is Marcus Griffin, if I’m not mistaken?”

I stiffened. “He was, yes.”

“I hear he has quite the treasury. I’ve long thought about nicking one of his heirlooms, but there’s something that has been misplaced from my own family. An amulet, enchanted with good luck by my mother. It was offered to him as a gift for safe passageway in London, but I think I’d make much better use of it in the fight against the Changrettas than he would wasting its potential in some display case.”

I knew the amulet Aberama was referring to. A citrine gem encased in gold. Expensive. Blessed. Kept locked away not in a display case, but a safe in his own private quarters. Though I had never known my father to believe Gypsy superstitions, something had made him hold onto it all of these years.

“Any business conducted that involves my family is off the table,” I said firmly. “Name anything belonging to anyone else, and I can find someone to thieve it. But I will not tangle myself in cut threads.”

A wry vestige of his previous smirk did peel at his lip, and he studied me as he said, “For someone who claims to no longer be a Griffin, you do seem to possess your father’s resolve.” His eyes were shadowed by the lip of his tall, brown hat, but even in their dark opals I could detect the glimmer of pride. Like Luca, he was using my family against me.

I swallowed against a knotted throat, and ignored the sting in my chest. The sooner we could stop discussing my father, the better.

“What you see is made, Mr. Gold, not born of any blood,” I told him, returning his gaze with an intensity I hadn’t been quite sure I'd possessed until that moment.

Threads of tension wove and built between us as we stared one another down, until footsteps landed leisurely against the flooring and a familiar presence materialised between us.

“What seems to be the fuss over ‘ere?” Thomas asked.

I turned my attention to the Blinders leader, and said, “I was asking Mr. Gold for lessons in shooting. You know I don’t typically like getting my hands dirty, Mr. Shelby, but I thought that I should be better able to defend myself in times like these.” I ignored the unease that darted beneath my flesh as I looked back to Aberama, who was eyeing me silently yet with a growing smirk and a great deal of intrigue. “We are having difficulty finding terms we agree upon for this arrangement.”

Thomas pulled a cigarette from his engraved silver case and ran the filter along his lip a few times before deciding to light it and take a puff. He hadn’t even paid Aberama the respect yet of an acknowledgment. Instead, his attention was fully on me. “You want to learn to shoot, Charlotte? You should’ve come to me for that.”

Now, Thomas turned to the man opposite of me, seeming to size him up with a rake of that piercing gaze. “You’ll be taking them from me, free of charge,” he added. “And I would like to remind Mr. Gold that nothing here is for sale.”

A vitriol warning emerged in shadowed eyes as Aberama returned his stare.

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby,” I said, and the Blinder blew another puff of smoke before turning back to me.

“I’ll be outside,” Thomas said. “We’re leaving in two minutes.” And without so much as another word or glance, he was gone, his presence only indicated by the echo of his shoes against the floor.  

“What an interesting development, Miss Griffin.” Satisfaction glimmered in dark opals. “I was under the impression you reported solely to Mr. Shelby. If I heard right, it seems you don’t want him to know about this investigation into Polly.”

“It’s hardly an investigation, Mr. Gold. Just harmless research.” I resisted the urge to play with the bow around my neck as that unease seemed to claw at my flesh.

“That you’re willing to steal for.”

“I have very disposable assets,” I pointed out.

“Indeed. So it shouldn’t be a problem for you to make sure that amulet ends up in my hands.”

“I made myself clear, Mr. Gold. It is off the table.”

With Thomas gone, he stepped close enough so that I could smell the wood smoke and fir needles on his jacket. “Not if you want to keep your ‘research’ secret,” he said, and I swallowed again against a knot laced now with the faint trace of bile. “I will take the amulet. Free of charge.” He winked at me. “And you will not pry about myself or Polly again. And I will not tell your employer that you just lied to his face.”

My blood boiled, and my gaze hardened, but I said nothing. I couldn’t say anything, because he had me cornered like an animal. Only, if I bit back, he would put me down. End me. Ruin my fresh start.

I swallowed my aching pride and bid him a tense farewell before leaving to meet Thomas at the car.

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[biologusputrifier777-blog]

Many Tumblr users are Arch Conservatives in their mindset

I have frequently encountered Tumblr users who are reactionaries, and this is frankly not uncommon. In general, we live in a reactionary era and many workers are divorced from their movement, but what I have encountered on this site frequently goes beyond the base ignorance that the capitalist class inflicts upon the proletariat. Namely, a mindset that is defined by two factors, One, a single-minded focus on making one's own position in Capital as comfortable as possible at the expense of all else, and two, an overwhelming belief that the inevitable self-emancipation of the working class represents some biblical apocalypse. That last part has two meanings, as those who spew it often hurl it as a slur against the real movement, claiming that Communists are simply religious fanatics who seek some mythical purification of the world. The second meaning is less complex, they imagine the means by which the self-emancipation will occur, class war, as an outright apocalyptically violent event. This feeds into their first delusion, allowing them to further slander the real movement by claiming that the imagined pseudo-christian fanatic communist who has done nothing but trade in the bible for "some leftist book" craves an orgy of violence and murder, allowing them to relive the liberal glory days of the red scare and cold war.

The first one is simple, the activism proposed by the average Tumblr liberal represents not an attack on Capital, but an attempt to carve out a place within Capital. It is often very 1st wave feminist in its approach, focused less on empowering the whole of the working class, and more on allowing members of their group to become part of high society and function more freely within the Capitalist status quo. This manifests on Tumblr in a few ways, feminists who prickle at mentions of misandry (ie mostly just mfers figuring out how the capitalist system exploits masc proletariats), trans femmes who wax poetically of the inherent moral superiority they have gained through their transition and brave fight against the gender binary (Lexi if you see this just know that I am 100% talking about you) and god knows how many liberal feminists whose toxic ideas about the superiority of women over le evil, predatory men have morphed into the outright fascism of Terfism. Of course, while the examples I highlighted are pretty fucked up, in most cases I sympathize with this desire, and this part of the post is not the one where I am calling out everyone who acts like this as arch-reactionaries. Trans people should be able to secure steadier employment, black people should not face hiring discrimination, etc. This is not even in and of itself a bad mindset, it is simply the prereq for a bad mindset, but I will point out some of the flaws with it. The push for Black Capitalism failed to secure liberation for African Americans, and businesses such as "Your Black Muslim Bakery" have proven that you can't just fix the impacts capitalism has on marginalized groups by ensuring the existence of capitalists from within those groups. Secondly, on the more political side, Feminism has shown how even the most historically progressive liberal movement, one aimed at the liberation of women from bondage, can go on to become a reactionary tool of the capitalist state and even complicit in its abuses of women. For more on that, read "In an Abusive State" by K. Bumiller. But on the whole, this mindset alone, while inferior to a revolutionary mindset, which I highly suggest you cultivate (This reading list has worked wonders for me and I would suggest giving it a shot), isn't any more reactionary than the mindset of just wanting a job that lets you buy a house, which is to say barely reactionary at all.

On the other hand, the second thing we will be talking about is so reactionary that if you altered the words a bit you could slot it into Mein Kampf's section about "godless eastern bolshevism" and not change the meaning much. Namely, the idea that revolution serves some function as a biblical apocalypse that vile, bloodthirsty communists want to do out of a sick desire to purify the world with blood. To these truly, staggering titans of intellect, Class war is both impossible and undesirable, and if it were to happen, it would only serve to destroy the world, kill untold millions, and put some imagined dictator on the throne. I'm sure that many of you reading this have seen that godawful post with a pornographic depiction of kids dying because power to a hospital got cut, trying to scare readers into thinking that class war is bad because people might suffer as a result. After all, Capitalism is famous for how rarely it kills sick kids. Regardless, it's rather stupid to engage with this on the terms of the reactionary. I will not attempt to philosophically prove that morally speaking, class war is justified, moralism is counterproductive if material reality itself informs and guides your views about the world. Namely, Class war is not some imagined future, it's actually happened. The Paris Commune and the 1918 World revolutions happened. The desire for and the belief that a successful self-emancipation of the proletariat could exist is not driven by mysticism, it's driven by actual historical evidence at this point, backed up by scientific study, and kept relevant by the fact that the needs of the working class are not being met. The people who spout the "Revolution = Revelations" myth are simply refusing to engage with reality or the needs of the working class, and instead take refuge in an imagined world in which their enemies are simply morally bad and desire the end of the world by virtue of them being morally bad. The fact that dissenters from outside their camp disagree with this is simply proof of their fanaticism. In this sense, these goobers are the very model of an idealist.

Secondly, these people ironically enough, are very much hypocrites, as they often are the ones who most plainly view the revolution in apocalyptic terms. They will hue and cry about the millions of people who will certainly die if the class war is started. Who will feed us (they do not seem to understand that the workers would have seized the farms if the revolution is successful), who will give us power (they seem to not understand that the workers would seize the means of producing power), and etc. The fact that the violence will likely flow from the state trying to suppress the workers (as it already does), is also disregarded, the communist is blamed because they suggested the revolution, as if that alone is what willed violence into the world. No, we must accept the status quo and work within it to create non violent change! The non violence of a status quo in which 9 million people die each year of hunger must be preserved. The status quo under which half the worlds population does not have access to quality healthcare, in which half a million people die a year in imperialist wars, in which almost 2 million die of easily curable diseases, and in which billions are exploited every day until they die in lives made barren and empty by the crushing demands of Capital. But no, we must never think of revolution, it's violent and could kill people!

It's deeply stupid, born of sheer ignorance and comfort. They care only that the deaths that might occur in a class war would happen within their earshot, and it does not matter that it would be to end the system that currently kills over 10 million people a year in the pursuit of profits, if that class war would force them to give up their comfort. That they imagine the turmoil such change would bring as an apocalyptic orgy of violence and project it onto evil communists who clearly must desire it not for legitimate change or a better world, but simply wanting to kill lots of people for no reason other than some abstract lack of morality renders them arch conservatives of the highest order, and a flock which McCarthy himself would be proud to shepherd.

[secondgenerationnerd]

I just don’t think they can be as badass as Lian and Mari. They come from two badass super families and Milagro is just one of the few thousand GL and irey can run super fast

Right, so I again am assuming you’re coming from a good place. So I’m going to explain from my perspective why I think they’re badasses.

In terms of Comic Milagro, you’re right, we don’t know much about her. Hell, she’s not even a lantern as far as I’m aware. However. In my cannon, she became a lantern at 10 years old. She was forced into this life, but that gives her a clarity to point out the bullshit Legacy heroes don’t notice.

Like someone calling her friend a slur in front of a group of adults that have done nothing to protect said friend. She’ll take the ‘disciplinary action’ for breaking the asshole’s nose.

She might be one of many GL, but her ring is not the only thing she does as a hero. She learned how to fix essentially all the iconic vehicles driven by various league members and assisted in the redesign of multiple hero uniforms. More than that, and yes this is very important, she is a latina girl. Yes, we have Jessica Cruz, but think of how little kids look up to teenagers. She comes from a normal family. But she’s a hero. She. Is. A. Hero. And she doesn’t look like me, I’m a white girl, I can find heroes that look me, but not everyone has that luxury. Think about the shot in the Blue Beetle Trailer of the little boy seeing Jaime. It. Matters.

I, personally, designed her character to break the stereotype of how “Badass Women” should look. Not sure what I mean? Look at any action movie, superhero show/movie, etc and tell me how the Heroines are dressed. How many are in a tank top/plain shirt, leather jacket, jeans, and some kind of boot (combat or low heeled)? How many have that Pretty Woman moment of “look how nice I clean up which everyone will comment on”? Her femininity, her love of fashion and knitting and telenovelas and all the other feminine things are things I never see “Badass women do.”

Femininity and Badassery are not part of a dichotomy.

Miss Iris Anne West II’s family is full of scientists and reporters. Frankly more badass than either the Bats or the Arrows because they don’t have a huge fortune to fall back on. Her Great Uncle was hit by lightning. Her father gave himself powers at 12 years old (give or take) by recreating the experiment of said Great Uncle. Her family has created and destroyed and changed so many timelines. Their rogues have one of the strictest codes of honor compared to every other Villian. In the old Justice League Cartoon, Wally didn’t even have to fight his bad guy! Just told him to go to jail after having a conversation about the guy being off his meds and why it’s important he take them.

And circling back—Her family being full of reporters and scientists gives her both highly inquisitive mind and the skills to answer her questions. Knowing the difference between The Truth and The Story was drilled into her from birth. The Story is what everyone says happened in order to make the facts fit nice and neat. The Truth is what actually happened, regardless of it being “neat”. Do you know how hard it can be to hold thag belief when the rest of the world demands conformity?

“Irey can run super fast” you’re right. That is the basis of her powers, but not the entirety of them. According to her Prime Earth and New Earth Wiki pages, the full breath of her powers include:

Speed Force Conduit

Accelerated Healing, including Toxic Immunities

Enhanced Senses

Phasing

Speedforce Aura

Superhuman Duribility

Superhuman Stamina

Superhuman Reflexes

Superhuman Agility

Vortex Creations

Dimension Travel

Electrokensis

Molecular Acceleration

Telekekisis, which she often uses to pull her brother towards her.

In Prime Earth, the current run of the character, she is also noted to become the most power speedster in the world.

Again, I assume you ask this in good faith, so I will ask you a good faith question as well—Why did you only ask me about the Omega girls? By your own logic, Damian and Jon are more badass than Colin and Jai, but you only asked me about the girls.

[happy-ramm]

Hi!

First of all: Thank you very much, I really appreciate all of your input on the current rammstein situation and I’d totally say I agree!

The situation is fucked.

I just want to add some of my thoughts about all of this, if that’s ok:

Let’s start with: I hate it here.

I hate what this debate does to the bigger image of the band: they are in the process of becoming a tool to express hate towards women and the general idea of feminism. There are misogynists, fans of this red pill ideology ‘defending’ Till by simply calling the women who came forward with allegations slurs. And there are fanaccounts sharing these videos like “go watch it, big recommendation” … you’re like ten seconds in and the dude in the video calls a woman “bitch”/“hoe” because he has ‘evidence’ that she might be lying? Shut up, Sherlock and maybe let some professional investigator do their job?

Who do they think they’re helping with that? It’s ridiculous, really embarrassing and not helpful at all imho.

This antifa-incident now also gives a lot of rather right winged people (Nazis lol) the opportunity to slide in the comment section of posts about it and spread hate of the political left as a whole and force their ideas of “the lefts being the new facists” on everyone. This connection is also very nice for all those journalists out there who love discussing rammstein as nazis! And also veeeery nice for the current political situation in Germany! much wow. I’m so done. (Also quick advice to all the activists out there: if you feel like vandalism, maybe rather write ‘no stage for Nazis’ on some buildings that are owned by ‘Alternative für Deutschland’?)

(These right winged accounts also really often show their homophobia - which I find quite ironic given the fact that rammstein eg waved pride flags in poland and their guitarists kissing on stage like every concert now but ok)

Id def consider myself somewhere on the spectrum of the political left and I also think that one can (and should) read rammsteins appearance in their political songs in this context.

My point being: there are now a lot of people interested in rammstein who seem to actually have nothing in common with their world view? It just makes me really uncomfortable and I hope that once this is over they’ll loose their interest in the band again.

I’ve been to three rammstein concerts and one of Lindemanns shows - until now everything was ok and we met some nice people. (Even tho the Lindemann Show was a rather weird, unique experience in general but that’s sth different) .. all in all I’d say my (female passing) friends and I were having a good time and everything was ok.

But with all of this, with the chance that the amount of these kinds of really bad people being interested in rammstein and as a result maybe also attending the concerts is growing - I might be afraid of going to another one (if there will be another tour?) and no, not because of Till Lindemann.

Sorry for the late repsonse Anon! I was moving house!

In general, though, I share a lot of your concerns. Situations such as this one are tricky because what is ultimately the dealings between two people and their own feelings/experiences of the matter gets submitted to the greater public for their judgement. Politics, laws, personal morals and agendas all get dumped in one big pot to boil over and eventually fester. It is all very confusing...and then out pops something nasty. In this case, the misogynistic right wing.

Frankly, I am not surprised that the right-wing has found a little nest within the Rammstein fandom. I do not say that because I believe Rammstein harbours any sympathies with that ideology - I like you firmly believe them to be a left-leaning band - but simply because people's media literacy skills are in general....ah, how to say this politely?....ah yes, they are fuckin' shit.

Rammstein is a band that rewards those willing to look deeper; those who love satire and those who simply have a good sense of humour. Unfortunately, they also appeal to those who really like when things go BANG.

Now, I also like when things go bang, don't get me wrong - pure sensation can never be underrated in terms of art. However, its a matter of aesthetics versus text. A reasonable person would conclude that these can't be separated: their interaction, whether it be complimentary or contrasting, creates the meaning. In the case of Rammstein, however, there exists a neat line, formed due to the language barrier between the band and the general audience.

This barrier has benefitted Rammstein - I believe they would not have gotten so far if their content was in English, for instance, but it means there are too many who only see "the picture".

The hardness. The hypermasculinity. The violence. The sexual imagery. The stoicism. The evocation of fascism. And all without the crucial framing of the lyrics.

Even when the satire should be self-evident, many miss the cue. Take Links 234 as an example: a song which functions as a politically rally for the left, specifically against the right, and was constructed in response to a reactionary media who sought controversy and not understanding, has ended up as a right-wing marching song in many minds.

It is very frustrating

Even more frustrating is deciding how to deal with this....

Argue with every idiot you see on the internet? Now, that's a Sisyphean task.

Leave the fandom altogether? Well, that feels like a different kind of defeat.

Realistically speaking, there is no silver bullet. One decides what is best for themselves. Personally, I feel no fear participating in the fandom as a queer AFAB person. Reality is different from the online spaces and I have never felt uncomfortable at their concerts, and when online, the block button is a blessing. I have no idea how this recent controversy is going to change the demographic of the Rammstein fandom, but I know I ain't going to fuckin budge to leave space for some Nazi twat. All I can say is, I hope this situation is resolved quickly, and I hope all Nazis die in a fuckin' fire.

That is all.

[onewomancitadel]

I was thinking recently about what sort of warnings for sexual content I should put on something I'm going to post and it made me rethink the expectations of tagging for sexually explicit content. I find the tag 'dubcon' almost universally offensive because it's sexual assault/rape or it isn't. There is no 'grey area', particularly and especially in, say - this was an example that cropped up to my mind - magical scenarios.

The point of a magical scenario ('fuck or die') is to force the characters to admit what they really want. It's not literally analogous to a real-life situation. It's a tool of the genre. They both really want it and it literally requires magical forces to make them have sex. If you are taking it as a literal mechanic, if, say, it's true and romantic love and not a problematic relationship you're depicting, the characters would achieve any means possible to not rape their love interests. Like I don't know how to convey exactly how offensive the idea is of taking the magical scenario, construing it as dubcon, and then writing that as a lovey-dovey wholesome romance. It's fucking insane. It's not fucking dubcon. In that case, just straight up admit what it is if they cannot plausibly and fully consent!

I especially hate inebriated characters tagged dubcon because nobody's really in agreement about if a tipsy/sober character sex constitutes dubcon or not because it's an awkward conversation in real life which is complicated by the fact that alcohol is working as a narrative lubricant. If both characters are inebriated/drunk that's probably less a grey area, but we all know someone who is black out drunk, slurring etc. is not in a position to have sex and whether or not there is sex taking place, I'd be concerned about a friend or a love interest who was black out drunk/slurring/loss of coordination etc. It's not just a question of consent but caring for those around you. It's not just strict romance mechanics.

Like, either say it is rape or it isn't. Stake some actual ground. The reality is that rape is a terrifying idea and it's not a word people like thinking about; the archetypal idea of rape is forcible, violent sex, and that's basically it. You don't use the word and people are alright talking about it, both in the sense of victimhood and in active battery.

What's incensing to me is that dubcon does not have any equivalent in real life. It really doesn't, and I'm sorry to talk about such a brutal topic but it really, really doesn't. There are plenty of scenarios no one wants to call rape. There is no way that 'dubcon' as a concept can hold up legally or morally. It completely neuters the ability to disambiguate between sex and rape. If you accept that there are circumstances where you can reasonably argue that consent is blurred then you effectively neuter the defense to talk about rape in a meaningful way.

It is so patently absurd I can only hope that it's just a logical consequence of the phenomenon of overtagging for the most bizarre things. The reality is that in overcorrecting with 'dubcon' you are now tagging for potentially much more violent content than it is (is it rape?) which thereby makes so many sexual dynamics in storytelling murky. Is it rape if they both really want it but one of them thinks the other doesn't and is trying to get them to stop? I've seen this type of thing tagged dubcon.

To circle back to romance, excluding darkfic (I mean, even use of dubcon there is absurd), I never ever ever ever want my characters in a situation where they have plausibly sexually assaulted/raped their love interest. It's true love. They would rather die than do that. You have to actually consider the implications of what dubcon actually means.

I get that there is probably some defense of dubcon - and it's uncomfortable to consider the fact that one may not enjoy dubcon but enjoy reading about rape - but frankly I think it doesn't speak to a feminist 'overcorrection', I think what it actually speaks to is the prevailing discomfort surrounding the topic of rape and the self-awareness of it being an uncomfortable topic that people are starting to talk more about, but without any of the actual determination and grit to confront what it really is and what that really constitutes for sexual politics and, well, tagging shit on your AO3 fic.

To be completely straightforward the politics of forcing people to tag for potentially problematic content has a) obviously backfired, and b) is rooted in crybully fandom policing and control; it's not something practised in published literature as it is and reading is where you have the most consent and control over something you're participating in even without warnings. You choose to imagine the things that you are reading. Yes, I'm aware the common refrain of protecting 'problematic' fic and darker literature is that it's 'tagged for', but I don't think that's the first or last justification for its existence. The practice of tagging (in my eyes) has more to do with classifying what a fic is, not to serviceably cover every conceivable potential trigger.

That, to me, this practice of overtagging and more specifically 'dubious consent' actually has extreme feminist implications is maddening to me. Because it's not about feminism or safe spaces or looking after people. Not at all.

The irony is that critiquing this is what would incur accusations of anti-feminism or somesuch nonsense, which is obviously the problem rooted in adopting feminism as merely an Internet aesthetic and as a corporate image. But I think it should be patently clear that the implications of dubcon has on the concept of sex, rape and consent have not been thought through.