#othering a group of people and accusing them of invading safe spaces for your in-group can be seen as fascist

[quoigenicfromhell]

I don't think some of yall can read

[sophieinwonderland]

The hatesub r/systemscringe are being full-on transphobes again!

Reminder: a huge number of systems have alters and headmates with completely different genders and sexes from the body.

Anyone who has ever studied any type of multiplicity is aware of this fact.

And not-so-shockingly, this makes gender complicated.

Let's just see the screenshots they're angry at today.

So the body has transitioned to male but this one headmate identifies as female and identifies as a trans woman.

In another screenshot, the system says they aren't "invading trans spaces." Which is such an absurd thing to have to defend yourselves from accusations of when you're a part of a trans system.

Even if you do take the position that spaces for transwomen should be exclusionary AFAB people, one would at least expect the male headmates to be able to feel safe in the trans community without being made to feel like they're "invaders."

Unfortunately, many pluralphobes and queer exclusionists have decided the gender identity of headmates in systems is less valid than that of singlets.

This is another pretty common thing. Especially with introjects who have source memories. It's common to have memories of lives you may not have actually lived but still feel pretty real.

I did a Tumblr poll last year. About half of systems responding had at least one trans headmate with the same gender as the body's AGAB. Nearly all had cis headmates with the opposite gender of the body.

Of course, if you heard it from r/systemscringe, they must be faking being trans entirely!

And takes like this throw not just systems under the bus, but also people who are genderfluid or otherwise nonbinary as well.

And if you're thinking, "wow, that comment sounds like something truscum would say," you aren't wrong!

Here are some unrelated posts this same user has authored:

Back to r/systemscringe, most of the comments were more of the same, stopping just short of calling them transtrenders but clearly very much wanting to!

By the way, all the censors on the names of the system and alters were mine. u/superthrowawayEEE censored nothing. When a user points this out, moderator u/DizkoLites says they considered taking it down but chose not to, saying their name was common enough that it wouldn't matter.

To be fair, the mods did end up taking it down... after the system got harassed for their gender and contacted the subreddit directly.

So congrats on waiting until after the harassment to enforce your own rules!

But don't worry, you're free to make a brand new post mocking someone for their gender identity! r/systemscringe's mod team is totally cool with that! Just gotta hide the name because that's apparently the only problem here!🙄

(You know, unless they're on the mod-approved hit list. Then you can name them too no matter how much harassment they get.)

The other day, someone asked this question on the hatesub:

Here's the answer:

Stop being bigots.

Stop being ableists.

Stop spreading misinformation.

Stop mocking people for their genders.

Stop harboring truscum and parroting transphobic talking points!

Try to be decent human beings for once in your lives!

And then... well, I guess that wouldn't leave much of a subreddit would it? There's no r/systemscringe without ableism, transphobia and queer exclusionism. It's baked into the DNA of these groups.

But maybe that would be for the best.

Nothing from these cringe communities is salvageable. And nothing should be socially acceptable about groups founded on cyberbullying.

[bondsmagii]

gonna be honest, i'm really tired of people brushing off sexual harassment because somebody is autistic. I was harassed endlessly by someone who everyone thought was just harmless and autistic, who kept getting away with it because he was autistic, and I'm finding out now that he raped his younger cousin who was a child. as an autistic person can we stop acting like we don't know any better.

idk if this is directed at me re: the Chris Chan discourse, or if this is just a general rant, but for the record I totally agree with you.

in terms of Chris specifically, I'd like to reiterate once more that I'm not excusing her behaviour. I was just illustrating the difference in context. Chris is severely autistic, and as autism is a spectrum there are genuinely some people out there who cannot learn safe boundaries. in this situation, it's up to the person's caregivers to protect others from that person's behaviour. Chris's parents failed those women in that respect, and the caregivers of the person who harassed you also failed you. the reason I was pointing out the different context with Chris was not to defend her actions but rather because there were people in my inbox acting like she was an intentional predator doing it for creepy predator reasons, and not a severely autistic person who was incapable of learning otherwise and had nobody to set things right -- and because of this misconception, these anons were insinuating that Chris deserved the horrific abuse and torture I'd previously outlined. that's... just not on, imo.

in terms of a general rant, and going on from something I touched on above, I think it's important that people consider the fact that even if somebody is autistic, or mentally ill, or has a personality disorder, etc, they can still cause harm. there are people out there with these issues who do cause harm, and while some of them are genuinely incapable of understanding or preventing it, others are. some will even use their issues as an excuse. increasingly online, talking about any negative harmful behaviour in the context of any of these issues is seen as "demonising [issue]", but this uniform assumption also causes harm. if people had been more pragmatic about your concerns, they would have been capable of understanding that a person can be both a) autistic and b) dangerous, but unfortunately a lot of people see that as ableist. what is ableist is seeing somebody with a certain issue and assuming that they will act that way ("all autistic people are clueless and will harass me", for example), but being aware of the nuances is not ("some autistic people might not understand boundaries and therefore could harm me"). as soon as it became clear that the person who harassed you was in the latter group, people should have stepped in. I'm not sure why they didn't, but I know that attitudes these days often make people either reluctant to speak out for fear of being accused of ableism, or unable to speak out because they're met with attitudes like what you experienced.

it's an uncomfortable fact that a lot of people for some reason don't like to admit, but there are people out there with autism or with mental illnesses or other issues who are dangerous, and they are scary. they genuinely do not know better. acting like it's ableist to be frightened of an autistic person who cannot understand "no" invading your personal space and touching you, or that it's ableist to be frightened of a psychotic person on the subway who's raving about things and seems likely to get violent, is ridiculous. fighting ableism is not the ability to act like these things aren't happening, and to yell others down for sharing their contrary experiences. fighting ableism and avoiding being ableist yourself is the ability to understand that these things can and do happen, that some people fall on the side of spectrums where they are dangerous and they do need special care, but to understand that they are deserving of care and empathy and a safe place even if they're scary or violent or "creepy". it is unfortunate that people get hurt by this behaviour, but if more people were aware of said behaviour and less people acted like it was the height of ableism to acknowledge that sometimes people with disabilities can be dangerous or violent, there would be more in place to assist with this issue. "he's autistic; he can't help it" shouldn't mean "so we'll let him continue and turn a blind eye". it should mean "so we will remove him to a safe environment where he's unable to continue this harmful behaviour". that is the difference; that is what should have happened with the situation you described, and that is what should have happened with Chris.

I am very sorry that happened to you, and if what I was saying did seem like I was defending similar behaviour, I apologise. I hope I've managed to make myself clear, both for you and for other people who might have interpreted it in a similar way. if this was just a general rant, then yeah. I totally get it.

[athenagrantnash]

Okay this is not going to sound very coherent because I’m currently in bed trying to sleep (and am typing on my phone, which I hate doing).

But it has been brought to my attention that @protectanaflores has only been increasing their genuinely toxic behavior, and has gone so far as to call people the R slur, harassing people, and telling people to kill themselves solely for shipping buddie. And that behavior is genuinely despicable to the highest degree.

Y’all know me, and know that I am not a fan of the ship… some have even gone as far to say that I’m less of a 911/Bathena fan blog and more of an anti buddie blog (among other, less savory accusations). I say this, not to make this about me, but so that people know EXACTLY where I am coming from. I am not a buddie who is salty that paf doesn’t like my ship (which I am sure paf would accuse anybody else of if they tried to make this post). I am just somebody who hates toxicity, no matter where it is coming from.

And @protectanaflores, you should legitimately be ashamed of yourself. You accuse ANYBODY who ships buddie of being on the same level as the people I refer to as “the nasties”. You think it’s okay to threaten people, to tell them to kill themselves, to call them slurs, and then you pat yourself on the back over your sense of superiority. You invade their spaces by putting your anti bullshit in their tags and by reblogging the most innocent of posts with vile commentary.

Yes, “the nasties” of the buddie fandom are terrible people, and I have called them out on my blog many times for the way they treat real life people AND fictional characters. Check my Angry Gremlin Thoughts tag if you doubt that. And just like I call them out, I’m calling YOU out, @protectanaflores, because you are just as awful as the worst of the nasties, if not worse. YOU have let your hatred for this ship make you think it’s okay to threaten A CHILD!! A real life living, breathing, child who loves buddie because shipping them is her coping mechanism as she faces bullying in her actual life.

And instead of respecting that, you have taken her safe space and tainted it with even more cruelty and even more bullying. And all for the “crime” of liking a ship that YOU dislike. All for the “crime” of liking a ship that has a group of “nasties” that leave a sour taste in the mouths of people like me… and (unfortunately, because I hate that we have anything in common) in your mouth.

But you have taken it WAY to far. You are not on some holy crusade defending female characters and minorities. You are nothing but a completely disgusting asshole, and I am ASHAMED that we technically share similar opinions about the ship.

[gatheringbones]

hey bones I'm a femme lesbian but i feel like I'm not entirely a woman idk how to explain like i feel like a funhouse mirror version of a lady but I don't think I'm nonbinary as well bc only certain gendered terms (like queen) make me flinch from them but not others? idk what to do, do you have any recommended reading to figure this out?? i live in a v homophobic country and don't know any other lesbian irl to talk about this

I don’t necessarily want to recommend reading certain materials that would give you the definite, clear-cut, completely unambiguous example of what you’re looking for (even though Joan Nestle’s work in particular jumps out at me as having very much to say about lesbian and femme especially as their own genders) because I find myself questioning the efficacy of simply handing you a citation and saying “See? There you are in your entirety. Somebody figured it all out for you thirty years ago and it’s all in here, problem solved.” I don’t think that’s possible, frankly; I think there are still pieces of you that won’t line up exactly, especially considering the cultural differences and societal pressures you face that directly inform how you interact with gender and history and desire and presentation, and that not lining up is still going to feel lonely and uncomfortable and potentially forbidden for you.

What I would like to offer you instead, if I can scrounge the words together, is that no matter what you read, you’re going to find examples of people who had absolutely no language or theory or analysis surrounding who or what they are, and how those common those accounts are in the historical and literary record. I would point towards people from historical periods who when presented with the current definitions of what a lesbian for sure was and wasn’t, promptly said “ah, no thank you” and trailblazed into territories of gender so forbidden it barred them from taking part in wider lesbian culture as it was defined and defended at the time. People who grew up very rural, or very working class, or both, people from below the poverty line, people with different racial backgrounds; all sorts of people whose class and racial backgrounds do not remotely line up with white, upper-class, academic cis-feminism, whose language has always been inadequate at describing how much diversity of experience there is with people who choose to interact with the lesbian label. I would want to point you towards people who did it wrong, in other words, who were the thing that you feel isn’t permissible within the current language system that’s been approved for lesbianism, and who carried on being that thing despite the vocal and enthusiastic presence of a great many people who saw lesbianism as a crumbling fortress beset on all sides by tainted invaders.

Joan Nestle’s great for this, but so is Leslie Feinberg— wordlessness and ambiguity and the freedom you can find in both runs all throughout hir work, and you can find echoes of that trickster strength in all kinds of authors— Amy Fox, Audre Lorde, Sinclair Sexsmith, Tristen Taormino, Rae Spoon, Ivan Coyote. Ivan’s also who I turn to when I want to read someone who grew up in the backcountry with no theory because that’s me; I didn’t grow up in a city with visible gay people, I grew up with no electricity or running water in a shack with crazy people who were very vocal about performing violence on anyone who so much as resembled a homosexual, and I grew into a gender and sexuality shaped by my trauma and disembodiment and the kind of searing rural loneliness that only people who lived it are going to be able to empathize with. Right now I’m thinking about the story from Bushfire I read that’s set at a secret Black lesbian house party in the south where there’s so much conversation and vernacular happening and the moments of sexuality are so bewilderingly presented that you can’t tell what anybody necessarily is only that it’s wonderfully unlikely that any of this is happening at all. I’m thinking about Larry Mitchell and The Faggots and Their Friends In Between Revolutions and how much of that book has to do with intentionally fucking with categories in order to subvert patriarchal control. (“The faggots and their friends and the women who love women can keep the men off balance for a long time by subtly, but continually, changing their identities. The men who are in charge of controlling it all find it difficult always to know how many of each kind there are, and who they are. Each group can grow and shrink as the men’s changing ferociousness demands.”) I’m also thinking about Jeanne Cordova writing in anguish about having to cut the chains off of her boots because the lesbian feminist scene she was involved with said they were “male-identified” and therefore forbidden. I’m thinking about the white woman at the Womyn’s festival in Minnie Bruce Patt’s S/he who pokes one of her companions in the chest and accuses them of having “boy energy” and that they need to leave immediately, and of Leslie Feinberg turning to them and asking her to decide right then and there what gender ze is and whether or not ze should be kicked out as well. (“You turn to the angry woman and ask quietly, “What about me? Do I have male energy? Am I a woman or a man?” She pauses, taken aback, and finally says, “I don’t want to talk about each person...” You reply, “But you do want someone to decide. You want someone to judge, and us to submit to judgement. So tell me, am I a man or a woman? Tell me how you can decide? The woman falls completely silent, all of us sit silent. She does not answer. She walks away.”) I’m thinking of ambiguousness as a defense mechanism and a weapon all in one, because people do all sorts of things when presented with ambiguousness that tell you exactly who they are, and people who can co-exist with and honor ambiguousness are incredibly rare. I think that feeling like a funhouse mirror of a woman is only dangerous in spaces where ambiguity and exploration aren’t allowed, where it isn’t safe because of the presence of people who find more meaning and comfort and safety in mapped categories than they do in the lived experience of gender outlaws. I think they’re delusional and brittle and authoritarian and that Larry had them pegged exactly right. I want to invite you, if at all possible, to see your status as both incredibly common and a gift.

Will you run across something that seems to describe you word for word and fills you with joy and certainty? It’s more than possible; lesbians are a prolific bunch and the more you keep tracking down and reading the more likely you’ll come across something exactly like that. But if you don’t? if it’s a lifelong search, or more like an ongoing conversation between you and other members of your community, throughout history and person-to-person? that’s even more likely, that seems like what we’re all doing. And if you end up being your own weird thing, to the point where some For Real Lesbian points at you and shouts that you’re undermining and betraying the very concept of lesbianism? you’ve made it baby! You’re in such good company!

[stuck-in-hawkins]

When He Left: Fall Semester 1989

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairing: Mike Wheeler x Will Byers

Rating: Teen

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656785/chapters/62398351

August 18th 1989

Mike’s eyes stung as he made his way back from the airport.  He turned down familiar roads. He thought he was driving back to his house but then, he ended up on Mirkwood.  He pulled over and rested his head on the steering wheel.  He didn’t want to go back home.  He didn’t want to sit in that house with his parents, who wouldn’t understand why he was crying so much.  He couldn’t explain it to them.  He didn’t want to face it.  But he so desperately wanted to talk about it.  

Lucas, Max, and Dustin were still getting settled in their dorms.  He would talk about it with them, but there was no way to reach them now.  The dorms’ only lines were shared pay phones, meaning they had to call him.  He felt like he was unraveling.  He just wanted to go someplace he could talk about it… or else he risked slipping into old habits.  

A thought dawned on him and he turned the ignition, waking the engine again.  He drove towards Indianapolis.  

_____________________

 Mike stood at the front door, he remembered how nervous Will had been the first time.  Coming to group had been such a good thing for Will.  He opened up and could talk about things he had bottled up, questions, thoughts, and topics that had been forbidden in most every other place.  The Indiana Youth Group had provided a safe space for Will and other queer teens to come together to talk and hang out.  Mike had driven Will countless times: sometimes for meetings, sometimes for events the group had arranged. Mike didn’t always stay for them, though.  He knew that group was one of the few places Will could talk about their relationship.  Mostly, he would just drop Will off, especially towards the end.

Mike couldn’t seem to move.  Doubt froze him to the stoop.  His fingers hovered over the doorbell..  He wondered if he had any right to be there.  He was straight… just also in love with his best friend.  He was confused.  What right did he have to be there?  But then, the door swung in and Chris Gonzalez stood in the frame; the man who ran the group, organized the meetings, opened up his home to lost teens.  His face was nearly always accompanied by a kind smile, like the one he was giving Mike.

“It’s good to see you again, Mike.  Come on in.”  

Mike nodded, “Nice to see you, too.” He followed behind him, still feeling awkward but thankful for the invite, it made him feel a little less like an outsider.

Everybody was putting food on their plates and sitting down.  Mike knew he should probably eat, but his stomach was so tight and gnawing on itself.  He just grabbed a roll and picked at it.  What was he even going to say?  

“Mike!”  

He turned to see Aubrey.  She didn’t give him a moment and wrapped him up in a hug.  

“Aubrey! How have you been?”

She had changed her hair to be in box braids with beads of every color, paired with bright neon shirt that read: “We are Everywhere.”

She let go, her smile shining.   “Really good!  I haven’t seen you since the picnic!  How have you been?”

“Good.  You did an incredible job organizing it.  I can’t believe how many people were there!”

She beamed, “I only organized the student chapter.”

“Well, it was a lot of fun.”  

“Thank you.  Do you want to get a seat together?”

“Sure.”  He felt such a wave of relief at not having to sit alone.  

As everybody sat down, Chris and his partner, Jeff, started out the meeting the way they always did, emphasizing the importance of confidentiality and sensitivity with the information, experiences, and stories shared in the space.  Mike listened as people began to share.  The knot in his stomach tightened and he felt like an invader.  Like a whiny child, craving attention, taking it away from people who had experienced far worse.  Someone who had been kicked out of their house and were living with a friend.  Another who couldn’t seem to break the cycle of abuse in their relationships.

What right did he have to be there?

“Mike, do you want to share?”

Mike nodded, “Umm… I… some of you probably don’t know me, but I’m Will’s friend.  I just dropped him off at the airport.  He’s going to college in San Francisco.” He looked around the room and suddenly felt his courage flee.  “I just wanted you guys to know how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for Will.  He’s been my friend for most of my life and he’s always been pretty shy around other people so I was nervous about him being out in California but he really opened up with you guys and it… it’s just a huge relief.  So, thank you.”

“It was wonderful having him here, and it’s good to see you here, too.  But you know you’re welcome here just as much, don't you?” Chris smiled.

Mike shook his head, “I…” His thoughts accused and raced around him, ‘I am a leech.’  ‘I don’t belong here.’ ‘I just would take up space.’

“Mike, if there is something else you want to talk about, it’s okay.”

How much had Will told them?  Did they know about their relationship?  Did they think he was just an asshole who used Will as a rebound?  He blinked hard.

He was trying so hard to keep it in but it was bursting forth.  He held his arm over his face.  

He tried to breathe but a sob came out instead.  “I didn’t want him to go.”  He felt Aubrey’s hand on his.  “I mean I want him to be happy.  I want him to get the job of his dreams…”  Then, it was like he’d opened the floodgates and everything came pouring out.  “I was such a selfish prick.  The whole time.  We… I know he probably told you guys but… Will and I used to.... We kissed.” And slept together and held each other.  Mike confessed, feeling shame in his cheeks, “I made it out like it was some kind of placeholder.  I knew it was temporary.  That I wouldn’t go with him to California.  So I didn’t want to give it a name.  I didn’t want to say what it actually was.  I don’t think I’m gay because I loved girls for most of my life.  I don’t know why I made an exception for him.  I don’t know how I can stop feeling this.  I don’t know how to let him go.”  He folded in on himself.  He felt embarrassed for laying himself bare like this, but it felt so good to say it.  “And I know I need to let him go, because… he’s gonna find someone else there-” and then he couldn’t talk anymore.  Aubrey had her hand on his back and he felt so weak.  

He heard Aubrey, “It’s okay, Mike.  For what it’s worth, I think you were an amazing boyfriend to Will, even if you didn’t call it that.  You’re a good friend to him.”

“I used him,” Mike whispered.

Elaine spoke from across the room.  She was transitioning to female.  In the time since Mike’s last visit, her hair had grown longer, and it was more stylized.  She seemed healthier, and he could hear her voice was changing, too. “I don’t think you used him, Mike.  You brought him here, drove him to the airport, actively encouraged him to go out there. None of that comes from someone that uses their partner.”

Chris spoke in a tone that was quiet but comforting, “Mike, the pain you are feeling right now is a kind of grief.  You are right to feel like something is ending because, in a lot of ways, your relationship with Will is going to change.  But that is not a bad thing.  You have such a strong foundation of friendship that I don’t think a thousand miles could break that.”

Mike wiped his eyes.  They stung so much from the day’s tears.  A boy from on the other side of Mike handed him a box of tissues.  

Jeff offered, “And it isn’t just one or the other.  Being straight or gay.  There is a large spectrum of sexuality that I think we are only beginning to scratch the surface of.  There are people that are attracted to one sex, both, or none at all.”  He asked, “Have you told Will about this?  About how you feel?”

Mike shook his head.  “Not really, but won’t it hurt him more to tell him now that we’re miles apart?”

Jeff answered, “I think communication is the most important thing in any relationship and will get you through most things life has to throw at you.  Burying it, hiding your feelings, hurts more in the end.”

It had felt so good and cathartic to talk with them, to let out something he’d been holding in for what felt like forever.  But their advice, while comforting, was so much harder to follow when Will was actually on the phone.  

For the first month Will was at college, Mike was like a lifeline for him.  Will called nearly every other day.  He knew Will depended on his voice to get through all the newness of the place.  Of having a roommate who didn’t understand why Will woke up in a panic at least once a week.  Of feeling overwhelmed with the load of work.  Not because the amount was especially heavy but because Will felt like nothing he made was good enough.  He was alongside people that went to high schools devoted to the arts or had been enrolled in courses since elementary school.  Mike imagined himself a lighthouse in a storm for Will.  And, if he was being honest with himself, he craved it.  It felt good to be needed.  

And so it was easier to prioritize Will’s problems, to minimize his own and not talk about his confusion.  And the longer he waited to tell Will, the more it felt awkward.  He was building up a wall.  He knew what he was doing, he just didn’t know how to stop.  Was this why it took Will so long to come out?

As the month went on, though, Will called less.  He had begun to find people in San Francisco.  The presence of the gay community was so open there.  For the first time, he saw drag queens out walking the city strips.  The Castro district became his sanctuary and he even found some people that went to his college.  Will found ways to distract himself outside of Mike.

He could feel Will pulling away.  He was opening up.  He didn’t need him as much and suddenly, confessing wasn’t such a scary thing, it might be a way to keep Will close.  But thinking like that felt so selfish.  His reason felt so selfish.  

He hadn’t been going to say anything but found himself slip one day.  “What do you think about bi people?”

Will seemed surprised, “What do you mean?”

Mike could feel his palms sweating as he held the receiver.  He’d overheard conversations from some of the gay guys in group.

‘I don’t understand how anyone could date someone bisexual.  What if he just decided he liked girls better after all? No thanks.’  ‘I got enough problems finding a guy who can commit to a relationship.  I don’t need one who can’t even pick a gender.’

Mike stumbled, “Just um… if you know anyone that is… if you think they’re just faking it… I dunno…”

Will was quiet for a second.  “June used to say something like that.  That bi guys are just gay guys that are too cowardly to admit to it.  But I think that’s bull.  Bowie is bi and he’s one of the bravest people I know.”

Mike exclaimed, “Where did you hear that Bowie is bi?!”

“One of my friends in group has been religiously recording Bowie interviews for ages.  In one of them the interviewer asked if he was bisexual and he was just like, ‘I am.’  The interviewer was like, ’Yeah, but are you really?’ And he just told her, ‘I’ve answered the question.’”  Will laughed,  “There’s a reason he’s an icon.”

Mike couldn’t find the words. Somebody that felt so close, someone that was in his box of records, was bisexual and he never knew.  Nobody talked about it.

Will continued, “I can’t pretend that I understand what it’s like.  For me, I never liked girls.  So I can’t imagine what it’s like being bi, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist or that their experiences are invalid, you know?”

Mike nodded, and barely spoke out an audible, “Yeah.”  He felt relieved but didn’t know how to get the next part out.  “I- Will?  I... I loved El.  But everything with you… none of it was pretend.”  

“I never felt like it was.”  And Mike could hear it.  There was a way Will communicated sometimes.  His heart would be in his throat and he could say so much with so little.  

Mike laid his head back on the pillow, it was barely audible, “It’s still there… I love you.”  There was a moment of fear, that he would hold Will back, that he was trying to keep a bird in a cage but then, without a moment’s hesitation-  

“I love you, Mike.”  He could hear it as full as the day in the airport.  

Mike felt his heart swell.  There was a heaviness, a weight.  It was something that they always said, but this time it was different.  This time it felt binding.  There was no ‘now’ at the end.  Nothing to tie it to the moment.  It was something that would stretch out for forever, or for as long as Mike could foresee it.  And though Mike was afraid, although he still wasn’t sure if he even believed in forever, he wanted to believe in it with every fiber of his being.

His doubt was kept at bay for the moment.  But only for that moment...

[doctorstrangeaskblog]

One thing I’ve noticed about haters is that they basically dedicate a lot of time just to spread hate, making their target’s fans sad, they often want to impose their opinion, they often misinterpret the facts, make up facts or even exaggerate on interpretation of facts, and that’s not the problem, the problem is that they want to IMPOSE their thought on people, prevent them from having fun with what they like, as if the whole world had to hate what they hate, and this is wrong, because it attacks the other’s right to like something. People have the right to hate stuff, but they cannot harm anyone else’s right with their actions (and arguments), because that way we fall into intolerance, and not just racism, sexism or homophobia, but also social exclusion against personal tastes and opinions. They also sort of invade spaces that were supposed to be fun, such as tags on Tumblr and other social media with hateful, negative and even fake posts. A good example was people blaming Benedict for Doctor Strange whitewashing, while the character in question was the Ancient One and not Stephen per se, and then they start the “Doctor Strange should be Asian” movement, with so much superficiality, because we know we can’t just change the characters’ nationality and be like “see? We’re inclusive”, because that’s just so lame. People who suffer with exclusion feel every day the problem can’t be solved with simple replacement, but with the development of good, well built characters, good stories, with cultural inclusion and all the focus the character deserves, etc. Anyway, it’s not a simple matter, and suddenly haters were blaming the entire racism of the cinema on Benedict (?) while the guy has a big importance when it comes to inclusion, donations, charity, pacifism and a lot of relevant points I won’t list here because just google it.

Anyway, haters end up carrying misinformed people into hating people who actually are doing good things out there, with great projects and charity initiatives etc. (Keanu, Capaldi, Benedict, Hiddleston...). Also, whenever a hater comes to discuss about why the person or character you admire is the worst being in the world, they often get aggressive when you start pointing out logical arguments, they end up getting emotional and coming for the personal side and forcing some interpretations (example, a lot of doctors, actors, psychologists etc. study objects, animals and people so they can work and improve their profession, like, doctors study people with disabilities, from incapacitating ones to very light ones so they can understand the matter and work more efficiently, etc, I’ve seen people turn Benedict into a monster for observing people with autism, because he more than once had to play a role in which the character had autism. If we think about it and keep acting with such hateful attitude, we’ll end up agreeing with censorship, and autistic people wouldn’t either be characters in movies or we wouldn’t get actors working on such roles, meaning the characterization would be way more limited etc. anyway, it would be bad for culture and critique in general, there would be less representation, because even if autistic authors were called, it would make it harder in occasions where that wouldn’t be possible, movies would end up exploring that subject less, etc.), this was an example, but project this into wider areas of cinema and society in general, using your personal opinion to judge people and consider them the ultimate evil, to want to make the whole world hate that person and harming anyone who disagrees with the haters, that’s really bad!

I used some haters speech about Benedict as examples here because that’s what I’ve seen (and been attacked with) the most, because my blog is a Doctor Strange blog, anyway, but I’m talking about all the kind of haters. But understand a thing, being a hater is not the same as disliking something! Everyone has the right to dislike stuff, and people normally just stop there. People dislike something, people avoid that thing, if asked, they say they don’t like it and that’s it! People normally don’t spend hours making toxic posts about what they hate or spend hours arguing with strangers about how they should hate something! People tend to spend their time with things they like (or things they have to do), so if a hater comes to you and keeps babbling, just say you’re not interested or ignore or end the conversation, because normally these people aren’t well intentioned! Haters normally can’t be convinced, there will ALWAYS be a reason to justify their hating, while the truth probably is that they identified with a group and feel important there. Also, haters tend to spread high expectations about people, and that’s just toxic, we can’t judge someone’s entire life by something they said or did, people commit mistakes and that’s why LAW exists, if someone commits a crime, it’s up to the system to judge them, not people! When people assume that role and start writing stuff, a lot of fake news come out, and a lot of people actually believe it, and everything becomes a big hate toxic ball that hurts tons of people who had nothing to do with anything.

We do have to criticize actions we consider evil or wrong, as well as we have to think about  society and about cinema and racism etc. but we can do that with logical conversation, checking the facts in sources we can trust, we don’t have to become haters and hurt others to defend what we believe and trust every tabloid website in order to sustain our arguments, and I’m not even talking about extreme things such as racism and homophobia, I’m talking about something way more “silly” and superficial such as fandom hating, celebrity hating, ship hating etc.

To point out how it’s not normal to be a hater, let’s imagine a situation: there’s an actress or singer (etc) you like who said something really bad on TV, live, everyone saw and it’s impossible to claim it’s fake. You kind of used to like that person’s content before, but what she said really let you down, you don’t like her anymore and you’re sad. What’s your natural reaction? The reaction most people would have? Well, unfollow that person, stop reading their posts, stop listening to their music, stop recommending that person to friends, stop buying their stuff and little by little, that person would have a smaller and smaller space in your life, until you simply forget about that celebrity (they become irrelevant to you), you just avoid their stuff, you don’t even notice them anymore, you have other interests now and that’s it, things barely changed for you, you’re just indifferent. Now, what does a hater does? They create a page (or fill their social page) of stuff with hate against their target, they spend hours reading about how terrible that person is, they talk to that person’s fans to tell them they have to stop liking that celebrity, they invade all the tags of series, songs, movies (anything) the celebrity is in and spam it with negative things, such as “it’s a terrible singer” or “they should have  cast another actor”, anyway, anything really negative that would induce the fans to either quit having fun or start hating the celebrity as well, and that’s just soooo sad and toxic, because spamming a safe, fun environment like that can be considered imposing and even aggressive depending of the content they’re posting, that’s why social media websites often ban accounts that spam tags or other users.

Anyway, haters who spread fake news or aggressive thoughts or accusations often forget they actually could be sued by the celebrity/singer/actor/writer they’re hating on, that’s where personal opinion differs from being a little authoritarian offensive aggressive person. I can totally say “I don’t like that singer because they did X” or because “their song is bad” or “I don’t like their style”, however, we cannot accuse people of stuff they didn’t do, things they didn’t say or even write they thought something or said something they didn’t, because then we’re invading their space, and they have the legal argument to sue you. Normally celebrities don’t lose their time suing small silly haters on social media, however, if a hater writes something offensive about them, including false accusations, they totally CAN sue the hater, or report them so their account gets closed anyway. Haters often forget that some of their actions are criminal, cyber bullying is crime, false accusations and humiliations can be interpreted as injury, and that can be serious, specially if the person being offended is going a hard phase or suffers from psychiatric disorders, the consequences could be way worse for who’s suffering the stalking.

Something that’s very common is Benedict haters taking pics of him and making photoshops making fun of his appearance (they FIND) and making fun of his name. Benedict kind of seems to be okay with that during interviews, considering a lot of his fans also do that, but still, imagine people taking pics of you, making an offensive edit and spreading it in the tags about you or tags about the things you do and like, HOLY CRAP THAT WOULD BE HELL, I WOULD HATE THAT! I WOULD SUE! And not only the celebrity has to endure that as well as all the fans have to scroll past the sooo many hateful posts which are contributing to NOTHING at all. The only ones happy with all that are the little noisy hater communities, who keep spreading all the offensive things, being rude to people and satisfying their ego, because they often feel way superior to the people they hate (and the fans, and anyone else because they feel they have the right to impose their thoughts). Hate tags do exist, and fans normally won’t visit them because they don’t want to read hate, but even so, haters get expansive and spread all their hate to healthy tags as well, and that becomes toxic. That’s why hate posts and spams are really close in many Guidelines of social media, and such posts CAN BE REPORTED, because they kind of break the “behave online, respect people and don’t harm other people” guideline.

In conclusion, if you’re a victim of a hater(s), don’t quit what you like, just report and block the haters. If it turns into stalking, keep reporting, call the police if you feel threatened, cyber bullying is CRIME, and spamming people is considered a bad attitude on most social media. Preserve your well being! Don’t lose your time discussing with fanatic haters, they won’t listen to you. (If someone hates an actor/singer etc. because they are misinformed, they tend to be like “really? I didn’t know it was a lie. I’ll check it out” when you first tell them /or comment on how the information they’re sharing is fake. Misinformed people normally don’t want to impose their thought, normally they’re just confused or lost, and most of them won’t attack you).

If you’re a hater, please, stop that and if you feel you need, go search psychiatric help, because what you’re doing probably is hurting someone, and hate doesn’t make good at all, not to you, not to anyone. You’re free to have your personal group where you hate on stuff together, of course, but try to be careful to not hurt people or to be toxic to others. Some stuff you hate mean the world to other people, so respect their view just like they respect yours.

Just reminding this text isn’t about extreme things such as racism, homophobia, sexism etc. this text isn’t about that. (Wanting to kill someone because of their gender or color isn’t accepted in our society, it’s crime, and I’m not talking about this here.).

That’s it. Stay away from haters, they will try to make you feel bad for not listening to them , they will accuse you of being authoritarian for blocking them, but no, you don’t have to listen to them, you don’t have to spend you time listening to their hate, you have the right to preserve yourself and ignore them, that’s why the function “block and report” exist and you have the right to use them.

[alienaesthetical]

Ah, the 90s- a decade of questionable fashion choices, dial-up internet, and shape-shift-enabled teens with depression.

Some of you may remember Animorphs as those wacky adventures with kids who could change into animals. Others might remember it as the series of books featuring kids who watched an alien be cannibalized in front of them, going on to fight a cult, attempt suicide, commit genocide, and attain PTSD.

In all truth, my memories of it were completely vague, with what images I could remember mostly based off of one of the extended universe novels, Andalite Chronicles. Having completed a reread of the series a few months ago, however, I was able to put together my own thoughts.

So, which was it; Tragedy or Comedy? Why do people remember it differently? Let's answer the former question first. Spoiler warning, by the way.

Animorphs was co-written by K.A. Applegate, and her husband, Michael Grant- both of which are still successful writers. The story starts in the spring of 1997, local teens, Jake, Rachel, Cassie, Marco, and Tobias, exist as a clique in a way- each representing the awkwardness of the 90s in different ways. Jockey Jake has an awful haircut, Gymnast Rachel, initially, is the living embodiment of gender roles enforced in the 90s, Horse Girl Cassie experiences discrimination multiple times throughout the series due to her skin color, Marco is the groups token funny guy who has too much flirting energy, and Tobias, the local victim of literally the entire series. Seriously, this kid does NOT get a break. The entire group is just overtly 90s and it's honestly quite awkward and sometimes humorous how enforced these roles are from the start. Anyways.

The group of friends are heading home from the mall, and decide to take the shortcut through a construction zone- (and yes, I realize how many stories begin with taking sketchy shortcuts.)

As they proceed through the construction zone, a ship descends on them, its doors opening to reveal a dying Andalite named Elfangor. What's an Andalite? Breaking it down to the essentials, a four eyes, blue furred deer with a scorpion tale and a nose that should probably be censored.

Elfangor, who speaks telepathically, tells the kids about the battle for earth- an invasive species known as the Yeerks have already integrated themselves into society, and pose a threat to the entire galaxy. Yeerks are basically slugs that slither into your ear and take over your body- while you remain 100% aware, most likely crying in a corner.

While the kids are skeptical, they don't fight him on it, and agree to help. Elfangor gives them a cube called the Escafil Device- a cube that grants those who possess it the ability to shape-shift into any animal they touch. He warns them, though, that staying in morph for more than two hours will result in being trapped in that body forever. After all six are holding the cube together, more ships arrive.

The kids go to hide as one of the descending ships opens, revealing another Andalite- this one, however, is being controlled by a yeerk named Visser Three- the only yeerk to have ever possessed an Andalite. He proceeds to morph into a creature from another world, and vores Elfangor.

The kids are heard crying by one of the alien guards, and a chase begins- though the kids manage to escape without being seen. They go on to have nightmares about what they just saw. Jake is woken up by Tobias the next day, who claims he managed to turn into his cat. Jake, hearing this, touches his own dog, acquires his DNA, and morphs into him- much to his own surprise.

Later, the group meets up at Cassie's barn, which also acts as a rehabilitation center for animals, thanks to Cassie's parents being vets for a local wildlife amusement park. They discuss what to do, and while trying to forget everything was an option, decide to fight back against the Yeerks. Now knowing the basis of the plot, you can see how this story could be seen as a lighthearted adventure full of shenanigans- but as the books continued to come out, the story grew darker.

Jake's brother, Tom, is revealed to be a high status controller- a person under control of a yeerk. Jake now has a personal stake in this battle, and begins to take it more seriously. Jake goes on to find out that The Sharing, an after-school program dedicated to helping kids fighting loneliness and depression, is actual a cover for the Yeerks, who use the society as a cult that recruits said kids into their ranks- which is how Tom fell into their hands.

Jake and the others decide to infiltrate a yeerk pool- a place where Yeerks go to feed on Kadrona Rays, which is what the sun on their home planet exerted. They find an entrance within their school, and break a handful of people out, only for all but one to be recaptured, or murdered. In addition to this failure, the kids notice that Tobias is also missing.

Tobias would later escape only to inform the group that he had been in hawk morph for a bit too long, and was now stuck in that form forever. All of this happens in the first book alone. Perhaps you're starting to see how it could be interpreted as a darker story, but you're not quite convinced. So, let's talk about what happens it the other sixty four books.

In book three, Tobias attempts suicide, trying to slam himself hard enough into glass that it would kill him. Marco, however, throws a baseball just in time for him to fly safely through the glass.

In book four, Marco discovers that his mother, previously thought to have drowned years ago, is Visser One, the highest commanding yeerk outside the council.

In book five, Elfangors younger brother, Aximili, is discovered, weak, leagues under the ocean, having crashed there the same night Elfangor died.

Still expecting this story to be happy in the end? Gonna kill that delusion right now.

Thanks to having dead parents, Tobias had been physically and emotionally abused by his aunt and uncle for years, the two trading him off to one another throughout the year. However, Tobias discovers his birth mother to still be alive, living with blindness and amnesia. His birth father, however, was Elfangor, making him Ax's nephew.

Closer to the end of the series, the group recruits disabled kids into their ranks, promising them that their wounds and illnesses would heal after their first morph- which, for some, was true. Others would still have to deal with with their disabilities- but not for long, as all seventeen disabled kids were slaughtered, as part of a distraction plan.

In the climax of the last book, Rachel murders Tom, only for her to be killed herself moments after, while Jake commits genocide by releasing a large majority of the earth populace of Yeerks into space, killing them instantly.

The result? The war ends! Yay! Happy ending! Not quite! Jake suffers from PTSD, going on to experience flashbacks in the last half of the book. Tobias escapes life as much as he can, retreating to a natural reserve to live out the last of his days. Rachel, well, Rachel dead. Cassie and Marco live... surprisingly decent lives, both going off to do things close to what they wanted to do. Cassie works in a newly established division of the government that helps relocate aliens, while Marco is essentially a movie star.

So yeah, Animorphs definitely wasn't as lighthearted and happy-go-lucky as some may remember- of course, the story did have huge moments were it screamed "WE'RE KIDS, WE ARE GOOFY 90s KIDDOS," such as the book about Oatmeal being used as a weapon, or that time they convinced Visser Three that the only way to remove the smell of skunk was by bathing in grape juice instead of tomato juice.

To remember the series as either one or the other, however, completely defeats the purpose of the books.

Animorphs, in the end, was a story about kids who were forced to grow up faster than they should have, due to the mistakes of those older than them. Kids who wanted to go skating or eat at McDonald's, but instead had to take a weekend to recover from being entrapped and physically tortured. Kids who thought they knew what right and wrong were, but ended up doing everything they said they never would do, just to win. It's a story about kids- what they should be, against what conflict makes them become.

It's also about how adults like to control kids, even if they think they're free. Elfangor started this by giving them the responsibility of ending a war. It continued with the Elimist, a godlike being who would come in throughout the story to make sure the kids did exactly what they were supposed to do, instead of doing what they wanted to do. Visser One, the yeerk who discovered Earth, gave the responsibility of invading it to Visser Three, instead of handling herself due to personal engagements that happened.

What begins as another nineties adventure of five kids of varying backgrounds, ends as a reminder of what happens when adults put too much pressure on children, and the consequences of forced growth. The kids, once gathering at malls to hang, or attending school, become so separated from their reality that escaping humanism seemed like the happiest possible path (tobias), that letting yourself die was better than returning to a war-less land (rachel), making regrettable choices at such a young age resulting in PTSD, constant flashbacks to times of immense danger and death, a complete separation from the present. (jake)

Leaving children to suffer the consequences of a war not belonging to them resulted in more tragedy than necessary. Forcing kids to make grown up decisions before they've even entered high school only gives them depression, anxiety, and dissociation from reality.

Thinking younger generations can handle the repercussions of your actions, thus making it not your problem, brings the end of youth and innocence.

Millennial humor is often looked on as "dark and depressed," and those Millennials, now in the work force, are accused of bringing the end of many businesses and morals held previously by older generations.

Gen Z is viewed as completely nihilist, having even darker humor, with many having a complete separation from the reality they live in. They're viewed as lazy and brainwashed by entertainment media, when in truth, more happiness can be found in books, games, and television than in their own lives, and it is a daily experience for many of them to wake up in a world that is dull and dystopian compared to the wonders of fictional universes.

These generations are expected by previous ones to pick up what they left for them- to prepare meals with the scraps of meat so carelessly dripping out of their mouths and onto the floor. To end wars they've started. To fix the economies they themselves ruined. To be able to open the Burger King the day after a customer is murdered before them.

Responsibilities created by previous generations that are viewed too troublesome to deal with themselves are being pushed onto our generations, with the belief that our generations can take these responsibilities without so much as a grimace. However, just because one thinks others can handle issues, doesn't mean that they should have to. 

Animorphs has an ending. It is not a happy one. It is not an awful one. It is happy for the ones who did not have to endure the war others left for them. If it awful for the ones forced to handle situations pushed on them by adults who thought the problem best be left with the future.

The problem may have been fixed, but an entire generation of people were left to suffer because those in charge refused to handle it themselves, and chose instead to leave it to someone else.

[four-loose-screws]

FE4 Suzuki Novelization Translation - Chapter 3 Part 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations - Ko-fi

———————————

Chapter 3 - The Millitary Campaign in Isaach

Part 2

Meanwhile, the Isaachian court was facing its own crisis, because King Mananan knew nothing about the attack on Darna until after it had happened.

And he knew that Grannvale wouldn't overlook an assault on one of its allied cities.

He ordered Trent, the leader of Rivough, to come to the castle and explain himself.

However, Trent, afraid for his safety, did not respond.

And so, King Mananan, leading his large army, marched to Rivough, and surrounded the castle. 

But the castle gates were shut tight, and its defenses fortified.

Mananan rode up to the castle gate on his horse by himself, and yelled, "I have not come to fight, only to get an explanation from your leader! However, if he does not answer me, and you keep these gates shut, then I will have no choice but to attack! Please, listen to me! I will wait three days. Anyone who leaves during that time will be spared, no matter their crimes. After that, I will kill everyone left, even the women and children. Think carefully before you accuse me of bluffing. Is it worth sacrificing the lives of your innocent families? Even if it's just the women and children, get out of the castle!"

He was within their bowmen's range, but none of them tried to attack him.

That night, the gate opened, and a group of women and children walked out. Though the king’s army had enough space to invade, not one person moved.

-

On the morning of the second day, Mananan rode up to the castle again, this time with one of the women.

After he repeated his conditions, she said, "This is Ete! I’m safe, and so are the others, just like King Mananan promised. Please trust him."

That night, the castle gate opened again, and a large group of men came forward to surrender.

-

On the morning of the third day, Mananan rode up to the castle yet again, this time with one of the men.

"Today is the last day! You no longer have enough men to defend yourselves when we attack! I swear to you again that anyone who leaves by the end of the day tomorrow will be safe, no matter their crimes! But at sunrise, I will kill every last person left inside!" While he was speaking, Mananan noticed a man appear atop the castle wall, and draw an arrow. 

'That's him! That's Trent!' He realized, but still did not move, and continued to speak. "Everyone, think carefully! What are you really going to die for? Is it for your family? Your country? Your honor? Or is it for the greed and whims of your leader?"

Trent shot an arrow shot straight at the gap between his eyes.

In the blink of an eye, Mananan unsheathed Balmung, the Holy Sword of Isaach's royal family. The arrow hit the blade, split into two pieces, and dropped to the ground."Did you see that, everyone? This is the power of Balmung! Do not throw your lives away so easily!" He said, turned his horse around, and returned to his army.

That day, from noon onwards, several men came out and surrendered, one-by-one.

Mananan asked one of them how many people were left inside, and he said that it was only Trent, his family, and a few mages.

That evening, he approached the castle yet again, and said, "Trent! Come out and listen to me!"

He waited for a moment, and just as he was about to repeat himself, Trent appeared atop the castle wall.

"What is it, King Mananan!?"

"Trent, you too are a respected leader of Isaach. I have no interest in tarnishing your family's reputation. Leave this castle tonight. I swear it on Crusader Od's legacy that I will spare your lives."

There was a long pause before Trent responded. "I thank you, King Mananan. Please take care of my family."

The castle gate opened, and about twenty people, a mix of men and women, stepped out.

Mananan took everyone back to where his army was stationed. Afterwards, he had Mariccle confirm who exactly was among the group. Trent, his wife, and his three children were missing.

-

The next day, Mananan led his soldiers up to the castle entrance, and opened the gate.

Upon walking inside, he saw Trent lying dead in front of the main building, with a sword sticking out of his chest. The corpses of his wife and three children were inside the building.

There was no questioning that it was a murder-suicide case.

"Find the mages." Mananan ordered, his expression grim.

However, the mages were nowhere to be found.

He found Trent's advisor, and asked about them.

The advisor said there had been three in total, and they'd begun working for Trent roughly one year ago.

However, he and the others in the castle hadn't seen them much, so he didn't know any details.

"They weren't members of the Loptyrian Cult, were they?" Mananan wondered.

"Now that you mention it, they might have been. I saw one of them carrying a black tome one day."

"What did Trent say before the attack on Darna?"

"That the mages had received a message from the gods. That if we attacked Darna, it would eventually lead to Grannvale's downfall."

'The mages must have deceived him.' Mananan thought.

He propped up Trent's body, and, as if the man was still alive, said, "Trent, no matter the reason for your actions, what you have done has triggered the fall of Isaach. You will pay for your sins with your life." Then, he sliced Trent's head off.

He wrapped the exposed neck in a cloth, ordered for Trent and his family to be given a proper burial, and called in the royal family's fortune teller, Gala.

She'd served his father before him, and been with him for twenty-five years, so she was already very old.

While her body had become old and frail, and her eyes had gone blind, her tongue was still as sharp as ever.

She entered the room with a guide, turned towards Mananan even though she could not see, and said, "Hold your horses, I'm comin'. They told me you needed me for something?"

"Yes, I want you to do a divination."

"I was well aware of that. That's all you ever ask me for. I know you don't wanna see this old, wrinkled face when you don't have to."

"That's not true at all…"

"It's fine. You should know not to take this old bag of bones too seriously. Now give me some time to get ready." She said, then sat cross-legged on the floor, and pulled out some incense burners and sticks from her bag.

"Somebody light these incense sticks and put them in the holders, then get out. We're gonna be talking about Isaach's deepest secrets here." 

Once smoke was rising from all of the sticks, her guide left the room.

While the scent from the incense was faint at first, it became stronger and stronger, until it filled the room.

After some time, Gala's body suddenly began to shake.

The convulsions grew and grew in intensity. Just when it seemed like her body could not take any more, she stiffened and froze.

"Mananan, you plan to go to Darna and apologize to Grannvale, do you not?" Gala's voice was deeper, stronger, and clearly that of a man's.

Though he'd witnessed this scene time and time again, that only made it all the stranger to Mananan. "I do."

"If you go, then you will die."

"Are you telling me not to go?"

There was a long pause. "Even if you don't go, you will die. And not just you. Prince Mariccle will also die. Many of Isaach's citizens will die. Isaach may fall."

"Will Grannvale attack us?"

"Yes. An army of unfathomable size will attack. They will pillage… destroy… and kill…"

"Is there no way to save Isaach?"

Again, there was a long pause.

"Your grandson Shanan will be the one to do it. If you can prolong his life, he will rebuild Isaach."

"And how can I make sure he survives?"

"He must leave Isaach."

"Where should he go?"

"…" Gala's expression hardened.

"Answer me! Where should he go!?"

"The… country… of…"

"The country of what!?"

The…country… of…forests… and… lakes…"

"The country of forests and lakes?"

Gala nodded while gasping for air and beginning to shake again.

"Where is that?"

"…"

Mananan grabbed her shoulders in a futile attempt to stop the convulsions. "Tell me!? What country is it!?"

Gala was clearly trying her best. "V… Ver…" Was all she managed to say before her head suddenly slumped, and the convulsions stopped.

When Mananan took his hands off of her shoulders, she collapsed on the floor and stopped moving.

After serving the Isaachian royal family for three generations, she had given her life to warn the king of Isaach's own end.

[blacklistzine-blog]

Meet the Mods

Name: Mix

Pronouns: They/Them

Age: 23

What is my experience with zines/leadership positions in general?

I’ve moderated/am moderating several other zines, and among the current zines are Please, Bokuto-san Zine, Aite Zine, and My Love, My Life Zine. I’m acting in a head moderator capacity for PBS and Aite, and for all my zine projects I have a specialization in finances, audits, and budgets as a result of my job.

I’ve worked as a bookkeeper/night auditor for a profitable restaurant/sports bar since Spring of 2014 and, on any given night I work, I handle and balance between $20,000-$25,000 (sometimes more, depending on how busy that audit day was). Through past work with zines, I’ve established relationships with manufacturers and I’m familiar with leading/organizing large groups of people. Some of my most recent experience with this, outside of zines, is through my University’s marching band, where I’ve been Student Leadership (Personnel Manager, Uniform Manager, and Section Leader) for three years and in charge of working with groups of people to help a 150 person band reach its goals.

Why am I heading this zine?

For a fairly well-written explanation regarding censorship that I support, you can click the link [Here]. For my personal opinions, keep reading. (Content warning for references to past sexual trauma, nothing explicit)

(Following section under Read More for length)

I grew up— and still live— in a conservative, rural area (I’m poor). There are many things I love about where I live. It’s quiet, it’s peaceful, I can see the stars and the Milky Way at night, and the full moon hanging over the mountains and illuminating the valley is so ethereal that it still makes it hard to breathe, even after almost 16 years of living here.

That being said, there are many other aspects of this area that I hate, and among them is the idea that some topics are inappropriate and thus not to be discussed, not to be brought up, not to be considered at all. My high school never offered a comprehensive sex education. I was never taught how to use a condom, or what types of birth control existed. In our Musical Theater class, the one (openly) gay kid in our school wanted to play the role of the heroine in a melodrama that maybe 30 people would attend, but was told he couldn’t because “some of the student’s parents wouldn’t like it”. Our theater department as a whole was stuck using musicals from the 50s (and then only select ones) because our schoolboard wouldn’t approve anything else as “appropriate” for high school students to perform. At one point, I wasn’t even allowed to say “Pour the wine” when performing a piece for an assignment because it wasn’t “appropriate” for a high school student to discuss alcohol, even when playing a character in a skit. I did competitive speech and debate, and my senior year I wanted to do an original oratory about gay marriage (then not legalized in my state) and the LGBT+ Community as a whole, but my coach told me that “judges wouldn’t like it,” so I backed down and got myself stuck with an Oratory that was dispassionate and lackluster.

I’m not campaigning that we should be talking about sex around five year olds, or showing porn in schools, but to try to police content, especially when its creators have been very clear in tagging that content with appropriate warnings and ratings, is abhorrent to me. Let me make my stance crystal clear: Censorship is a conservative agenda to police minds and thoughts, and to disengage critical thinking. Censorship breeds Authoritarianism and I refuse to live my life afraid of the hammer of a new age McCarthyism.

We don’t purchase tickets for an R-Rated horror film only to stand up in the middle of the film and start accusing its viewers and/or director as being murderers or serial killers. My mother loves Silence of the Lambs, but she is not a cannibal. I enjoy Pretty Woman, but I am not a sex worker, and I’m sure as hell not a billionaire (my student loans wouldn’t be quite so pressing if I were). Humans have a natural curiosity about the world in which we live, and other worlds in which we do not, and it is physically (and sometimes morally) impossible to actually experience every story, every sensation, every perspective that creative media allows us to.

Sometimes the stories are dark, but humans have dark thoughts, that’s inescapable. No one wants to have a serial killer after them, but every year hundreds of thousands of people sit down to watch Halloween or Friday the 13th or Nightmare on Elm Street because we want to experience the rush and the adrenaline and the question of “What happens next?” in a controlled environment where we are, ultimately, safe.

Sometimes stories don’t have any deep meaning, and exist only to make the audience feel some sort of emotion, be it fear, sadness, happiness, humor, or anger. Sometimes stories involve sexual, physical, or mental abuse, and sometimes stories don’t have happy endings. Sometimes dark stories are created as outlets, or mediums, for the pain and suffering a creator has gone through.

If you are an audience member who has gone through some form of trauma or abuse in your life, and you don’t want to engage with these stories then that’s okay. If you are an audience member who has gone through some form of trauma or abuse in your life and you do want to engage with these stories, then that’s also okay. How you choose to process trauma is your prerogative, and no one else’s.

I am a victim of Child Sexual Assault, and my assaulter was a member of my family who was trusted to babysit me for the night. I was four years old. He never faced any legal consequences for his action, and my family hushed it up and swept it under the rug. To this day, I’ve convinced my family that I don’t remember this happening to me— that I was too young and the memory didn’t stick— but I remember. I remember, and I am 23 years old now, but I am still not ready to tell my story in detail. I’m not ready to tell my story, but I don’t want my story trapped inside my head, and I’m not the only person in the world who feels like this— far from it.

Maybe some creative media involving sensitive topics is just porn, pure and simple, and— well— so what? Porn exists, and it’s never going to stop existing. The Sex Industry is home to the oldest professions in the world and people have been trying to stamp out the sex industry for thousands of years on account of its obscenity. However, they’ve never been successful, and they never will, because, while Asexual individuals absolutely exist (I should know, I’m on the Ace Spectrum), the majority of humans have sex and enjoy it.

However, there is too large a percentage of creative media intended (and marked for) adult audiences that isn’t just about sex, and to ban one is to ban the other— to open people and creators up to questions of “artistic quality” and “social relevance” that are subjective to the individual and can never be anything but.

Stories, artwork, film, literature— they’re all ideas, not actions, and when we try to censor ideas or behave like they have the same weight as an action, we have allowed Authoritarianism to rise, and critical thinking and engagement with media to fall by the wayside.

This is the reason I choose to work on Blacklist, and why I’m determined to see this through. I don’t want to live in a world where ideas are policed, and where adult spaces that have been marked as such are invaded and told they shouldn’t exist. No one deserves to be told their story isn’t okay to tell.

[madefate-a]

you fight a war at home. 

she never fucking knows where anyone is. 

there might be something funny about the fact that it takes being relegated to a series of ancient ass tunnels and encampments the size of a single room to make the world feel way too large, but camila soltero’s going to wait until the shitstorm’s over to laugh about it, and then by god she will. when she finds lucas and adam and shit, even shiro apparently, and they’re sitting on the roof of the garrison like they’re seventeen again and drinking shitty beer and looking at skies that aren’t clouded over by endless, endless, endless purple alien UFOs. 

but right now, the sky is clouded over with endless purple alien UFOs and if she keeps getting distracted by the way things are definitely going to work just fine in the end she’s going to turn into that overconfident fucker that gets himself blown up three quarters of the way through the action movie. camila’s smarter than that. she’s a goddamn rocket scientist, basically. so she keeps her mouth shut and her breathing slowed down and has had the safety off her gun for the last fifteen minutes because she’s not going to get herself killed following a safety protocol. 

she takes a second to feel vindicated that she waited for the rain for this particular mission. every footfall that’s not her own is telegraphed by the thin reservoir of water that’s built up along the belly of the passage and now she can wait out behind a rusted over train car as she triangulates the relative position of whoever the hell it is that’s in with her by the way the uneven splashes echo from the water to the walls. 

uneven. so -- not a droid. camila’s not sure if that’s better or worse. droids have a nasty habit of sending out those distress beacon things when they’re demolished and she’s not willing to give up this particular passage, not when it’s proven to be closer to safe than most of the others. but it’s also kind of easier fighting an enemy that can’t really think for itself and also doesn’t bleed when you kill it. --- a decision on the margin if there ever was one, and not hers to make. 

--- yeah, they’re coming her way. 

( she doesn’t mean to count off her friends again. but she’s already doing it as she breathes in time with each uneven splash -- lucas was in switzerland when the particle barrier went up, which is far from the garrison and far from camila who was almost at the research facility on the pacific coast. adam was home -- not home, home. garrison home. shiro is fucking alive somewhere up in a solar system far, far away. keith’s with him. moira, kennedy, ryuu. garrison, hopefully. dad -- home -- ) 

shoot first and run. before the last footstep falls camila’s up with two rounds locked dead on where the alien head should be -- maybe a foot up from her own, approximating what would be critical mass on a human. she doesn’t wait to hear the body hit the ground before she’s running, but then she’s stopping because she doesn’t hear the body. what she hears is two shells hitting the water and a voice echoing off the walls, ❛ jesus christ, ❜ and camila knows that voice and camila stops. 

❛ --- moira ? ❜ 

because it is moira, taking a knee in the barely flooded tunnel, shorter than camila and full heads shorter than the aliens and you know what? thank god for small miracles. blowing off the head of one of her best friends wouldn’t make for a banner day. ( ha -- ha. ) 

moira is looking up at her now, glaring, accusatory. 

❛ -- you tried to shoot my head off, ❜ she accuses. glaring. -- fair. 

❛ well, ❜ camila says, breathing heavy, her pointer finger resting on the guard instead of the trigger. the safety’s still off. ❛ I thought you were an alien. ❜ 

❛ yeah, because I look like an alien. ❜ 

they stare at each other for a few long moments, then moira is surging to her feet and camila is running to her and with her free hand she throws an arm around her shoulders and okay, maybe her throat is burning and okay, maybe she feels moira shaking a little bit. adrenalin can do that to you -- but camila kind of understands that there are some things that shake you more than a near miss between a bullet and your brain. 

like getting a little proof, physical, that someone you love is alive. 

it lasts, what, a second? before they pull apart. camila’s armed hand remains perfectly tensed, and moira looks ready to run at a moment’s notice, even with her usually perfectly coiffed braids pulled hastily behind her head and fraying with flyaways. camila’s a little entranced by all of it. 

❛ you’re alive, ❜ moira breathes. camila remembers for a flashbulb second the first time they ran a simulation together, moira’s quiet determination behind the simulator’s controls and how camila decided to trust her directions. how they landed successfully and had lunch together after. she doesn’t mean to, but she updates her mental list. ( moira, supply tunnels, middle of nowhere. ) 

❛ basically, ❜ camila replies. ❛ what are you doing here? ❜ 

❛ scouting -- enemy troops, supplies, survivors. ❜ 

❛ there’s a bunch of us -- fighting the good fight, saving who we can pluck out of the ranks when the aliens aren’t looking. ❜ 

❛ galra, ❜ moira says, like it matters. but then, that’s moira. 

❛ sure. ❜ she doesn’t plan on remembering galra when purple aliens works just as well -- it’s not like it really matters who they are when they’re invading her planet, y’know ? camila feels the ticking clock of it all like a second heartbeat, and when she looks at moira’s face, she sees it there, too. ❛ we only have enough rations this way for who we’ve got camped out -- all civilians. if you guys have a database or something I’ll give you the names. ❜ 

moira’s expression twitches. camila knows what that means. ( when you’re fighting imminent planet-wide destruction -- well, something has to fall through the cracks. ) 

❛ or not, ❜ she adds to save moira the trouble of having to explain something that’s not her fault. ❛ bear southeast and try those tunnels -- I haven’t scouted them. I don’t know if they’re safe, but you’ll have a better chance at finding something. ❜

❛ okay. ❜ moira’s voice is heavy. their time is up. but it’s still silent in the tunnel and neither of them leave. ❛ -- come back with me. ❜ 

the conviction in moira’s tone makes camila’s throat burn for a hot second before she soldiers right through a surge of emotion she can’t afford. 

❛ -- I have to check back with the group. ❜ 

❛ I’ll come with you. ❜ 

❛ they need information. we have to plan. ❜ 

❛ I’ll wait. ❜ 

( she is struck, in that moment, with the sensation of playfully grabbing onto the end of moira’s hoodie when she’s sixteen and laughing about how she doesn’t want her friend to leave so soon, but her knuckles are pearlier white than they should be and she doesn’t want her friend to leave. ) 

her throat sticks. 

❛ --- -- we’ve managed to save a few people. a handful -- every so often we can get one or two away from those marches in and out of the camps. they’re as safe as they can be. and there’s -- a lot more out there. ❜ 

moira doesn’t take a second to hesitate before throwing both of her arms around camila’s neck and camila breathes in sweat and clinging rainwater and still, despite everything, that same something flowery clinging to moira’s hair. 

❛ then tell me what you need. I’ll get it to you. ❜ 

practically speaking, they need plenty -- food, water, safety. the garrison’s particle barrier. a canon big and bright enough to blast through the enemy in the skies. home, whatever and wherever that is. 

❛ weapons that work, ❜ she whispers, rough and quick. ❛ anything you have that puts a dent in the drones that you can spare. and -- if you can get any information on where everyone is -- anything. ❜ 

it feels as frivolous as it does fundamentally important. camila doesn’t chastise herself for needing to know, not if they want to go on living once they survive all of this. 

❛ okay, ❜ moira says and pulls back and camila doesn’t grab the edge of her jacket but she hopes, for a split second, that one day she’ll be able to hold her hand and laugh about how much moira doesn’t need to leave so fast. 

( she sees moira once more before the tunnels grow too patrolled to risk. she gets a few blasters and a few more shells for her gun because why not. she gets a report that lucas last checked in months ago at a safehouse in europe but hasn’t been heard of since. no sign of shirogane and the kids that launched themselves into space. no word on adam. 

camila clings to her list and fights and survives. ) 

[kurohfic]

Title: Toxic Chocolate Pairing: Ot3! Kuroh/Shiro/Neko (could be interpreted as platonic if that is your preference!) Rating: K Summary: Shiro thinks Valentine’s day traditions are pretty neat, Kuroh thinks they are stupid. Neko thinks they are  absolutely delicious! Aka Hakumaitou celebrate Valentine’s day! A/N: Written for K-Project Rare Pair Week! Please enjoy :D The prompt for this submission was Holidays! (I always appreciate feedback) Link to Ao3 (x)

There was this funny kind of look on her face as the date approached. The various marketing teams initiated by the Gold Clan took advantage of a consumer driven society by spreading posters, advertising new flavors, and invading every store, from the corner supermarkets to the bustling shopping malls in the center of the city.

Valentine’s Day was looming, and with it the rest -- the color pink, the aroma of roses and cocoa powder, hopeful glances, and broken hearts.

For the members of the Silver Clan, Valentine’s Day did not live up to the expected hype for various reasons.

Seeing as Shiro had spent a majority of his everlasting lifespan in isolation, he found within himself an appreciation for the intentions behind it, but nothing much more beyond that. The candy sweet reminders did not strike any deep sense of motivation within, seeing as he’d long since fallen out of the tradition of exchange. Back in his grounded days there had never been much interaction with people his age beyond his sister’s company. Despite their rather cunning and mischievious presentation there was not much time for amorous interaction, between the chaos of the war and their groundbreaking research. It had never seemed lonely so long as Clauida was at his side, then after… Then after, Shiro was more prone to observation than participation.

Even though his experience with the holiday was slightly fresher, Kuroh found that the customes reaped every Feburary were little more than a pestering headache. In the village where he’d lived with Ichigen Miwa, there’d been a shortage of eligible bachelors, in fact many of the residence were already married and starting their own families. However, through the periphery of his youth he’d spotted the occasional woman nervously delivering a package of homemade goods, an offering to their local celebrity, who always accepted with a gracious smile, without any sense of obligation to future courtship.

Kuroh himself had never noticed the toll of time, or the fact that he’d grown into one of those rare bachelors until his 16th year when a girl, the niece of their local grocer and new to the neighborhood, shoved a misshapen parsal into his hands. The burnt smell within had wafted through his nostrils in an instant. He’d stared with great shock as the girl bolted immediately afterward, and Master Ichigen had chuckled softly once they’d cleared earshot. His hand landed reassuringly upon his pupil’s shoulder. Kuroh had not derived much pleasure from the experience as a whole, not entirely fond of sweets himself, or the awkward exchanges faced thereafter whenever they were in need of fresh fruits and vegetables.

The outlier of the group thrived in Neko. Growing up as a cat she had little opportunity for the festive give and take of Valentine’s Day. As a gorgeous young woman who loved snacks, she found this to be one of the greatest shortcomings of her generally exciting lifestyle. She did not care much about the romance associated with the holiday, she was not lonely anymore with her Shiro, and Kurosuke to keep her company. However, she certainly saw the appeal, people proving their interest by providing delicious snacks, with no serious commitment upon the acceptance of the treat.

As a new student at Ashinaka High School, Valentine’s Day sailed by with another festival. Kukuri claimed that instead of swapping cookies and tainting the educational environment with unwarranted declarations of love, the high school would direct that energy towards paper mache, costumes, and art! Neko had noticed with much amusement that this claim did not sway several of the boys from edging around the territory, throwing hopeful glances in their direction, until finally a pack, lead by Mishina, swarmed the unsuspecting girl with gifts and cards. It was a highly amusing transgression until Neko realized that not a single boy in the jumble had meant to gain her attention.

“It’s probably because you’re so new!” Kukuri had attempted to consol once she’d vanquished the so called disturbance. “Don’t worry, I’m sure next Valentine's Day you’ll get plenty of sweets!”

After she’d accepted the hypothesis, and regained her prior enthusiasm, Neko had bounced home to see if perhaps the two boys who knew her best had prepared anything in her honor. And there it was, that funny look on her face, curious when Shiro returned to the apartment after a long day of lectures, plopping a tiny package on their coffee table before retreating to relax on the bed.

“What is it, Shiro?” Neko asked, the enthusiasm rich in her voice as she bounded to examine the parcel.

“Just a little gift from one of my students,” he sighed in explanation rolling his stiff shoulders back, and relishing the pull of the stretch.

“From a student?” it was Kuroh piping in, there was a disapproving look on his face, as he leaned out from the kitchen, apron in place, and something that looked a lot like flower spread across his nose.

“Yummy!” Neko cawed as she unwrapped the gift revealing a decorated box of chocolates to her curious stare.

“You can have it if you like,” Shiro replied, smiling at the young woman before turning his attention to Kuroh, still looming in the doorframe. “Don’t worry, Kuroh, it’s nothing lecherous, she brought them in for everyone, the other students too.”

“And you accepted?” the disapproval still clear in Kuroh’s voice.

Shiro replied with a quiet smile, “There’s nothing wrong with a little holiday spirit.”

“Yeah!” Neko agreed, licking her lips as she scarfed down three of the chocolates immediately, popping one after the other, mushing them together in her mouth as one chocolatey glob. They were obviously store bought, but it was better than nothing. Though he did not appear entirely convinced, Kuroh at least seemed to be moving on from the impropriety of accepting a Valentines day gift from a student. The accusation in his expression was morphing into something closer to exasperation. He’d turned his attention to Neko now.

“You’ll ruin your appetite.”

“Neko is tired of fish!” she announced with exaggerated resistance. At this proclamation both men stared at her with individual interpretations of doubt.

“In that case I’ll stop cooking it for you,” Kuroh challenged. He’d taken up the role of chef without complaints, it was a part of his nature, he enjoyed the task of caretaker, the thoughtfulness that was prescribed to every meal. The sated looks of his two friends were yet another inspiration. He kept this much to himself as he stared Neko down. He loved to cook for people who appreciated his efforts, but Neko’s spoiled and unwieldy attitude often drove him to the edge of his patience. He could see the panic swarming in her eyes as she measured his bluff, not sure if it was safe to resist with dinner on the line.

“No!” she backpedaled. “I’m tired of fish because it’s Valentines Day! And on Valentines Day you’re supposed to eat chocolates and cake!”

“On Valentines Day you’re supposed to embarrass yourself and and confess sordid intentions, not fall into the vapid trap set up by commercial companies. Besides,” he leveled her with a challenging glare. “Chocolate is toxic for cats.”

“Stupid, Kurosuke!” Neko spat back, at the end of her argument. After aggressively shoving the final chocolate into her mouth, she leapt towards the bed where Shiro sat observing the altercation with a look of fond exasperation.

He pet Neko’s hair comfortingly, sitting back to brace against the wall.

“I think Valentines Day is about putting your heart on the line. Telling the one you fancy how you truly feel, for better or for worse.” He smiled then, “Of course it’s hard to experience it in full from an airship, so I’m no expert, but it sounds nice… In theory.”

When he looked up, Kuroh was staring at him with an indecipherable expression on his face, and Neko, on the other side of him, was grinning, her interest renewed once more.

“And to eat cake with them if all goes well!” she amended. “And if not, steal their cake and then there is more for you anyway!”

“You’re relentless,” Kuroh sighed.

“And you’re still making fish for dinner, right?”

Shiro laughed, Neko smiled, pleased with Shiro’s amusement, and Kuroh pivoted back into the kitchen to finish cooking up their supper.

It was the next evening, the evening after Valentines Day, as they closed off their meal, and Shiro raised his hands to offer the usual thanks when Kuroh cut him off.

“I made dessert for tonight,” he announced in a firm voice though his eyes avoided the startled expressions of both of his companions.

“Dessert?” Shiro parroted, as Neko blinked appraisingly.

“You know,” Kuroh shrugged, eyeing the young woman between them. “Since you made such a big deal over it yesterday…”

Her reaction was immediate.

“Yay! Thank you, Kurosuke! Sweet dessert, you do like Valentine’s Day after all!” Neko exclaimed. She’d leaped once more in total disregard of personal space to wrap her arms tight around his slender frame. It was far easier to get a hold of him when he was seated and closer to her own height. As he’d suffered the indignities of Neko’s closeness on many occasions in the past, he’d more or less grown used to the treatment. Inexplicably, the color of his cheeks deepened to a light pink, as he wriggled out of her grasp.

“I don’t like Valentine’s Day,” he grunted, already retreating towards the kitchen. “But you obviously put meaning into it…”

As he trailed off Neko and Shiro exchanged jolly smiles. “Thank you, Kuroh!” Shrio called after him.

It turned out that Kuroh had baked a fresh fruit tart, that despite not having any chocolate still tasted incredible. Shiro demanded seconds following his initial slice, and Neko thirds, so that none of the cake remained by the end of the sitting.

“Wow, Kuroh,” Shiro sat back at last, patting his deliciously full stomach. “It was decedent!”

“It was nothing,” he replied softly, gathering the plates in preparation of the clean up.

However, his hand was pinned to the table before he could rise to his feet. Neko was at his side again, staring at him with her mixed match eyes and that suspicious little grin.

“The sweet dessert was yummy, Kurosuke. But cake only covers part of the process.”

Before any reply could be formulated, or the meaning behind that look could dawn on him, the hold around Kuroh’s hand tightened and a pair of smooth lips pecked lightly against the side of his cheek.

“Yes, Kuroh,” it was Shiro’s voice floating into his ear. He too was suddenly closer than anticipated. An odd intoxication flooded Kuroh’s mind as if it had been wine instead of cake. The skin where Neko’s lips had landed still blazed in an echo of her kiss.

“Thank you for the sweets,” Shiro’s voice was a whisper curling around his ear. Then, a second pair of lips pressed slower to the opposite side of his face.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” they said in near unison, sandwiching their baker between two warm bodies, and delaying the process of his chores. Kuroh, to his credit, loosened his grip slightly around the sullied plates, and let himself be held for the moment.

“You idiots,” he murmured sweetly as they smiled against his cheeks.

[lagrin9a]

Draugr 02 - The High Prophet

   Well, what do you know? There was a road all the way out here, which gave Llew two more obstacles to deal with. For one, he had to find a new spot to relax in. And two, who were these people?    At a safe distance, tucked within the brush and foliage, Llew found a procession of dark-robed individuals. Healers, he assumed upon first glance, but upon further inspection, he not only realized the cut of their garments were different, but he found that their robes were far too dark to be that of Healers. Raelah often described their robes as a light purple, which appeared as a light shade to him. Llew scanned each and every member, bowing their heads beneath their hoods and uttering a song-like chant in unison. Then he reached something that made him freeze, as though he were locking eyes with a viper. The figure at the head of the procession darkened the space around him, carrying a hefty scent of decay that Llew could feel from his hiding spot. He dawned robes that appeared more ornate than the others, complete with trimming, a light stole around his shoulders, and a silver pendant. The figure bore a staff adorned with feral gwythaint feathers and topped with a lamb skull, which seemed to drain all energy around it. Llew felt the organ in his chest tremble as he focused on the leader who guided the head of the train. Every fiber of his muscle and bone begged him to run in the opposite direction, but his intrigue bade him to stay put.    One by one, the procession disappeared down the path as it winded between the trees. When the last one vanished out of sight, Llew breathed again. He slumped down and praised the gods he hadn’t been seen. When he was confident that he was alone again, Llew approached the small path. It was far too narrow and overgrown for anyone to use regularly. Perhaps this procession was a fluke. He sighed in relief, knowing that his chances of ever been seen via this road were low.    Llew was ready to return to his favorite river spot, but hesitated. He peered down the road with numerous questions invading his mind. Who were they? Why were they traveling down this road and not the main one? How come he had never seen men like them before? And what was the story with their leader?    The logical part of Llew’s mind nagged him, Don’t! You remember what happened yesterday. If you really care about Raelah and Ronan, you’ll return to the river, and come home before dusk like you promised.    Llew turned his head in the directed of his place of comfort. He could just go about his day, never mention it to Raelah or Ronan, and all would be fine in the world. But he looked down the path that these strange men disappeared through. He had to know. With the organ in his chest fluttering, begging him to return to his place of safety, he disobeyed and proceeded down the path.

   The village was robust as usual, which meant Llew had go about this carefully. Llew stuck close to the boulders and sparse trees after breaking the safety of the tree line. He steered clear of the main road that led into town, seeing as it was the most populated spot outside the main gate. Llew waited behind a ledge as the guard who swept the parameters made his rounds. He dashed for the fence once the coast was clear and slipped through his usual gap between the posts. Upon finding himself within the back alleyways of the village he praised himself for his stealth. Now to avoid getting caught during his investigation.    Over the years of sneaking in and out of the village, Llew had become skilled at climbing, jumping, and lurking in the shadows. He knew most blind spots of the town like the back of his hand, and the roof top of the cobbler’s shop was his best shot. After crawling over some crates to reach the roof’s ledge, he edged up to the peak which gave him the perfect view of the trade square. The dark-robed figures dotted the square and all corners of the village, causing the greatest commotion he had seen in years.    In the center of the square, perched atop a crate, one of the robed figures boomed, “The gods you praise are false! They want to lead you to a life of sin and damnation, so that their true master, the Seven Eyed Goat can devour you in Hell! Turn now from your sins, and embrace the All Mighty Savior! He is the one true way to Eternal Life. And the time is neigh! Repent for your sins, your wrong doings and embrace the love of the Savior!”    The people gathered at his feet shook their heads in disapproval. But one protested, “If all gods are false, then why are you acknowledging the Seven Eyed Goat?”    Another added. “The Seven Eyed Goat doesn’t want to eat people. Just because he’s prone to madness doesn’t make him evil.”    The preacher interrupted, “The servants of the Seven Eyed Goat deny and hate the Truth!”    This proceeded to riel them up into a screaming match.    The other members of this strange group split up into pairs, and appeared to converse with villagers who clearly didn’t want to listen. Llew could see the blacksmith getting increasingly annoyed at a man who refused to leave him alone, and continued to talk his ear off. Another dark-robed man scolded and yelled obscenities to a group of women, accusing of them of being temptresses. And to Llew’s surprise, some villagers actually sat down and listened to the words spilling from the mouths of these men.    Llew had seen enough. He slid off the roof top, navigating his feet onto the crate tops as to avoid crashing and drawing attention. As he did, he heard voices bickering nearby. Llew took extra care to be quiet, but the men’s conversation picked up his ears.    “Why must we waste our time with this? Can’t we just promise them riches, and then have them mindlessly join us?”    “No. Those who love this world and all it has to offer, will be damned with this world when judgement day comes. Life eternal and fear of the Savior is what will save his children. Besides, Magg, if you hate serving so much, you can wait outside the village and wash our feet later.”    Llew froze… Did that man just refer to the other one as Magg?... Well, who knows. There could be a dozen Maggs in Prydain. It couldn’t possibly be that Magg.    “Absolutely not! If I have to look at one more pair of dirty feet, I’ll kill myself! I wasn’t made to wander dirt roads or live in this squalor. I just want eternal life!”    “That’s the price you have to pay for eternal life… Or you could just return to Mona, face judgement from House Llyr, but then you will face judgement from the Savior as well.”    Mona? House Llyr? Maybe it was that Magg.    Llew dared to peak around the corner to satisfy his curiosity. Two men barred the shade of the alleyway from the light of the square. A tall bald man, built of pure muscle towered over a scrawny, lean one, with dark disheveled hair that tried desperately to appear groomed. As the tall man shifted slightly, Llew stole a better look at the smaller one’s face. The haughty, arrogant features that would have once been prided as beauty, were disrupted by four jagged gashes over his right eye and cheek.    And the cat chased Magg, and to this day, no one knows where he went, Raelah’s words echoed in Llew’s head.    Llew’s mouth dropped at what he saw. This was the Magg. The Magg from Raelah’s story. And with these hateful men. He needed to tell somebody. He needed to warn somebody. A wanted criminal was hiding in their midst… But he couldn’t. If Llew went ahead and reported this criminal, everyone would be more concerned about the monster terrorizing their village than this wanted man. Llew was at a loss. What could he do? He couldn’t just let this monster in human skin roam free. Raelah. He could return home and tell Raelah. She’d be a little miffed about his escapade into town. But he could tell her. She could go into town, and report Magg! Yes! That would work!    But in the split second of Llew’s scheming, the scarred criminal who faced in his direction made eye contact with him. Llew froze in place. The man’s lips twisted into a cruel grin.    “What’ve we here? A little rat in the alley?”    The big man rotated once Magg acknowledged their unwelcomed guest and glowered at Llew. Everything in Llew’s being told him to run, but he couldn’t budge. Before he knew it, the man shadowed him, staring him down with conviction. At the last minute, Llew’s muscles finally obeyed, but it was too late. The man’s grip seized Llew by the back of the neck and hoisted him off his feet. Llew wriggled and squirmed, which resulted in the man tightening his grasp, causing a jolt of shock to course through him.    “Now, now. Don’t go running off on us just yet,” Magg taunted as he neared the struggling creature. When they were face to face, Magg winced in disgust. “My, you’re an ugly one. No wonder you hide in the shadows. And yet, something is so familiar about you.”    Like a spider creeping to a fly caught in its nest, his hand delicately reached up and traced Llew’s horns. “Hm. What magnificent antlers. They’re almost regal… like a king’s,” Magg snidely remarked. “I wonder, would others find them as regal and magnificent as I do? Or will they run in terror at the abomination holding them.”    Magg’s hand trailed from Llew’s horns to his mouth, where he proceeded to clamp his hand on either side of his upper jaw, peeling back the lips on the left side of his face and pinching the fangs. Magg licked his lips as an idea pleasured him. “It would be a shame if I screamed, and all those people would flock to the shadows here. Then, what would happen to you? I do wonder.”    “Magg, that’s enough,” a bold voiced commanded from the entrance to the alleyway.    Magg peeled around to face the figure, and shrunk. “Oh, um, Grimgower. I was just… uh… teaching this young man a lesson. Didn’t want people to know a certain somebody turned over a new leaf, and was trying to start a new life.”    It was their leader. The strange figure from the head of the procession. If seeing the man on the path from a distance was like locking eyes with a viper, seeing him eye to eye was like confronting a bear. Llew could only tremble in the strong man’s grasp.    “Huel. You can drop him,” the man named Grimgower commanded.    “Yes, High Prophet,” the strong man corresponded, bowing his head.    Llew landed on the pavement with a thud. As he rubbed the back of his neck which bruised, Grimgower approached him. Llew tried to scramble to his feet as fear overtook him.    “Wait! It’s alright. I don’t wish to harm you,” Grimgower knelt to his level and placed a gentle hand on Llew’s arm as he recoiled. Upon contact, Llew felt a sudden sense of calm, as though he were seated next to the fireplace in the midst of a rainy afternoon. Or as though he were bundled in layers of blankets while a great blizzard raged outside. Llew eased, and made eye contact with the man before him. The left half of the man’s face was bandaged, but the other half was young, sophisticated, and full of deep understanding. “I just wish to talk.”    After Llew eased, the High Prophet helped him to his feet.    “I apologize for my disciples’ rather hostile treatment towards you. While they have repented and made strides to turn from their sinful ways, their former selves strive to reclaim them, and they slip back into sin, as do most of us.”    “Hey! I –,”    “Shhh,” Huel interrupted Magg, retaining his stony composure. Grimgower glanced back over his shoulder with a disapproving frown, before returning his attention to Llew and continued. “I should introduce myself. I am Grimgower, the High Prophet of the Savior and founder of the Cult of the Resurrection. Now, are you the young man who spotted us on our way over here?”    Llew jolted. How did he know? He didn’t think anyone had spotted him. But judging by the questioning looks on Huel and Magg’s faces, only their leader was aware of Llew’s presence.    Llew reluctantly nodded. “Yes.”    “Tell me, young man, what is your name?”    “Llew.”    “Ah. So it’s Llew. I can see you are teeming with questions, which is probably why you followed us here. Am I correct?’    “Yes.”    Grimgower gave a warm smile. “Fear not. I hope to answer all of your questions. But something tells me you’re not supposed to be here, and you don’t want other villagers to see you. May I suggest a more private place?”    Llew met the man’s gaze and smiled.

   After the four men snuck out of the village, the High Prophet led them to the edge of the forest, where they had established a small encampment. There, more disciples gathered, lost in the pages of hefty tomes, and deep in prayer with amulets clutched between their palms. Upon entering, Llew drew the attention of the disciples, many of which gave him cold, unwelcoming stares. Llew shrunk back, staying in close proximity of Grimgower.    “Don’t mind them. Many of them still cling to fear like your fellow townsmen. But their enlightenment has taught them not to pass judgement, for only the Savior can do that,” Grimgower explained, offering a sliver of confidence to the timid young man.    At the edge of the camp, Grimgower and Llew situated themselves around a small fire with a tea kettle perched on top. The High Prophet ordered the giant and spidery man to fetch them some cups and biscuits, leaving the pair alone.    “Tell me, who is this Llew?” Grimgower inquired.    Llew gave a puzzled look, before realizing what he was asking.    “Well, I live on a farm. We farm potatoes, and my friend usually takes them into town every weekend. I live with the farmer and his daughter, and we all help each other on the farm.”    “Any relation?” Grimgower raised a brow.    Llew shook his head. “My mother left me as soon as I was born. She worked as a farm hand to Ronan… the farmer, to repay him for taking her in when she was injured. In the middle of the night, she just left with no explanation. She just left me and took the only horse the farmer had.”    “I see,” Grimgower nodded. “And the father?”    Llew shrugged. “Never knew him. Ronan hasn’t told me this directly, but he theorizes my mother made love to a demon, and practiced witchcraft.” To this, Grimgower chuckled.    Llew tilted his head. “What’s so funny?”    “There’s no such thing as witchcraft. Believe me. I would know as a former warlock,” Grimgower smiled.    “Well fine then,” Llew crossed his arms, and raised a brow. “Now it’s my turn to ask. Who is Grimgower?”    Grimgower halted, and his smile fell. “You wish to know?”    Llew nodded with conviction.    A smirk peeled onto Grimgower’s lips. “Grimgower was once the name of a powerful warlock. The High Warlock of Demonology, to be exact.” Llew tilted his head.    “You probably are unfamiliar with the Magical Orders of Prydain, not that it would concern a farmer. But in short, I was a man who delved neck deep into what commoners call witchcraft.”    Llew sat up, retaining a gasp as to not appear rude.    “It was my dabbling in this art that was my undoing. A potential bride once remarked that the demons I had enslaved appeared starved and lonely. Instead of receiving it as a useful warning, I took that remark as an insult… I should have listened to her warning. The next time I summoned them attacked me, feeling betrayed at their maltreatment by my hands, and that was the end of Grimgower.”    He made full eye contact with Llew. “There was nothing, just an endless void… But from that void came a voice… ‘Grimgower, I am not finished with you. I have chosen you to do my will and bring me glory. Serve me, and not even the chains of death can hold you’. I accepted this being’s offer. And when I awoke, I was a new man. No longer was I Grimgower the High Warlock of Demonology. From that day forth, I would be Grimgower, the High Prophet of the Savior… And that’s why I’ve allowed men like our dear, Magg here, to join our discipleship,” Grimgower grinned, gesturing towards Magg, as he handed him his cup.    “… Uh. Why yes! I’m a new man! Better than ever!” the man snapped. “A completely different man. Absolutely… No need for suspicion. None at all!” Llew caught Huel scowling and rolling his eyes at his fellow disciple.    “And what about you?” Llew questioned the giant man.    “Isn’t it obvious? I smashed skulls in. It’s the way of the Northmen,” Huel grumbled out.    “Yes. Many of these men have sinned greatly, and thus have been rejected by the world. However, the Savior and I have offered these men a home, a chance to become anew. And it is this reason that they share the gospel. Have you heard the gospel, Llew?”    Llew’s brow furrowed. “I may have caught a glimpse of it back in town, but other than that, no.”    Grimgower smiled. “I will tell it to you, then. But first, I must ask you, where do you will go when you die?”    Llew pondered for a bit. “Ronan say that when you’re dead, you’re dead. But Raelah says that when you die, you go to the Summer Isles if you’ve served the gods well… But you don’t believe in the gods, do you?”    Grimgower frowned. “The Gods of the Great Pantheon are false, and instead want to lead you astray. There is only one true God who is perfect and created everything in our existence. He even took special time and effort into creating you.”    Llew recoiled at this.    “What’s wrong? You suddenly seem deeply offended by what I just said.”    “Yes. I am,” Llew’s fisted clenched.    “Care to explain why?”    “If he took special time and effort into creating me, then why do I look like this,” Llew snapped, gesturing at his features. “Why do I have to keep myself hidden from the world, so that people don’t come after me and my family? Why does a little girl scream in terror upon seeing me in the alleys? Why do I look like a monster?”    “You aren’t a monster, Llew,” Grimgower answered. “The false gods they worship have lied to them, ordering them to shun you or anyone who comes from God. Your case is quite similar to that of the Savior, and many of his chosen.”    Llew picked up his head.    The High Prophet continued. “As I had said, we believe in a God who is perfect and has everything planned. But the false god, the Seven Eyed Goat, hated our God, and wanted to overthrow Him. So he, and his servants, the other false gods, made us imperfect through sin. Sin is anything that displeases God. And anything short of perfection is punishable by death. However, the God sent a Savior, who would not only save us of our sin, but bring us to Eternal Life. But, the false gods hated and feared the Savior, so they imprisoned him, where he has suffered for our sins ever since. But, Llew, this is where you come in, and why you are so special.”    Llew perked up in question, which bade the High Prophet to continue.    “The people of this world reject you, because God has chosen you specifically, just as He has chosen me and His disciples here. You see, it was written that the Savior would return one day, and break from His prison. But it would be by the help of one who is rejected by the world. One who the false gods hate and have his own people shun. One whose design mocks the Seven Eyed Goat. And you, Llew, I believe are that Chosen One.”    Llew leaned back. “Wait. You’re saying I’m some Chosen One who can bring back this Savior, and I’m like this because this God you’re talking about designed me specifically this way?”    “Exactly,” Grimgower nodded.    “And that’s why you brought me all the way out here? So you can tell me this?”    Grimgower nodded again.    “Little do you know, we have been searching for you this entire time. And Llew, my dear boy, I believe this meeting was no accident.”    Llew stood up and paced around. “T-that can’t be. I’m just a deformed guy who farms potatoes. I hide because my mother performed witchcraft.”    “You hide because the false gods have convinced your loved ones that you are a monster.”    Llew shook his head. That’s not true. It couldn’t be. Raelah didn’t see him as a monster. Ronan didn’t either, and kept him in hiding so that no one would hurt him… Unless Ronan did see him as a monster, and just didn’t want to tell him directly. Maybe that’s why he wanted so much control over him. Because in reality, he was special. Perhaps that’s why he never wanted him to be seen… and to be home before dusk…    It’s dusk!!!!    Llew bolted up. “Oh no! I have to go right now. Ronan’s going to be furious.”    “Wait, Llew,” Grimgower called out.    “I’m very sorry, High Prophet. Thank you for the tea, and sharing your gospel, but I really have to get going,” Llew scrambled.    “Llew, please think over what I told you. If you decide that perhaps you are the Chosen One, please meet us in our place of worship, tonight. It’s just down the path where you first found us.”    “Right. I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you again.”    Llew rushed away from the encampment, and back into the forest.

[femvulvaphile]

let’s break that weird shit down, then

“We’ve been here since the beginning. I know your hate group, your little Nazi sub-sect, has this lie you like to spread that we suddenly spring into being from whole cloth in the 1970s, but that fighting all through history? WE’VE. BEEN THERE. FOR ALL OF IT.” cool but that’s literally not what I said. transwomen’s and women’s fights are inherently different. Sex-based oppression doesn’t DIRECTLY affect transwomen: you will never be shunned for menstruating, you will never be afraid of having your prepubescent vulva mutilated for the sick pleasure of a men five times your age, you will never be afraid of being impregnated against your will, or of miscarriage of a wanted child, or of all the pregnancy and birth complications who are still killing women all over the world. you will never know what it’s like to have men catcall and grope you when you’re nine years old just because your boobs already began to grow.   

"The demonization of trans women is a relatively recent invention in the grand scheme of human history and it is one that you have helped re-surge into the modern world.” that’s bullshit. the “demonization” you’re talking about can refer to one of two things: either the conservative view that transwomen are “deviant men” (which I definitely agree is shitty), or the radical feminist view that transwomen retain their male socialization and so, as a group, can represent danger to women (which is backed up by research, btw, and the amount of “receipts” in the form of news reports of transwomen hurting and murdering cis women AND in the unending threats and harassment that radfems receive online and irl).

"The idea of ASAB and tying it to gender in some inviolate and unchangeable way is something colonizing white people brought to this country, and others they invaded.” cool but that’s bullshit? pretty much every culture on earth has a history of identifying biological sex and applying sociological roles to them. that’s not a white invention, that’s not the fruit of colonialism. the concept of “gender” as behaviors and roles based on reproductive function has existed for as long as people have existed. some cultures have stricter rules about them, others are more loose. some cultures refuse to acknowledge non-conforming people as their “original gender”, and then you have things like two-spirit or hijras.

"Whether you realize it or not, and…let’s be honest, you probably do, your actions, your hate group, is just a laser-guided subsection of what fascism and white supremacy stands for.” wtf tho. fascists and white supremacists and nazi want a “pure” world without “lesser” groups, like black people, jewish people, homosexuals, gnc people. how is female-only radical feminism the same? are you aware that plenty of radical feminists are woc themselves, and even jewish? are you aware that the vast majority of people you’d call “terfs” aren’t even american, or english speakers? we literally just want men to stop fucking murdering us.

“Without colonization, without white supremacy, your argument, your constant, hammering on “male” as if to conjure some demon from the word, would mean nothing.” male violence has been a reality in human history. it’s not a theory, it’s not up to debate. it’s a fact. you know it is, according to your original post talking about men posing the most danger to transwomen. women all over the world are victims of men. it doesn’t change whether we talk about it, or use the words male, men, amab.

"I don’t mean that in the rhetorical sense, I mean literally, your words would not have a cogent basis without that.” again, bullshit. male violence is everywhere, in every culture, in every part of the world, regardless of how much contact with europen colonization the culture has had. japanese men are violent, russian men are violent, french men are violent, english men are violent, american men are violent, cuban men are violent, argentinian men are violent, brazilian men are violent. nazis didn’t invent misogyny.

“How fucking dare you invoke my dead sisters, how fucking dare you bring up that most of us getting murdered are PoC, while peddling Nazi approved propaganda.” uh. it’s “nazi approved propaganda” to say that women face violence from men and therefore need safe spaces from them? and I brought up the groups that murdered transwomen belong to because YOUR GROUP likes using them, using your so-called dead sisters, as argument points, as proof that a white middle class educated men with a dress and lipstick is somehow more oppressed than any woman on earth.

“Meanwhile, asshole,” oh cool name calling when I wrote a relatively calm and non-offensive post. “I was talking about SHARED SPACES. LGBT focused communities, the ones you are perpetually try to focus trans lesbians out of because you view us as the worst of what you already consider the worst.” yeah, maybe we wouldn’t need to do that if “lesbian” transwomen could stop demanding so much from women, or if they’d stop claiming protagonism when they don’t even experience SAME-SEX ATTRACTION, which historically has been, you know, the entire defining poing for “lgbt” people.

“You didn’t even notice it, did you? You were just launching into Pre-Written Terf Rhetoric #5 without so much as reading what I actually. Fucking. Said.” dude, you’re calling me a nazi literally just because I said women deserve female-only spaces and transwomen should create their own safe spaces away from men instead of demanding entry and protection from women.

"Your insistence that we’re “straight men” only serves to try and push us out of those communities as well." you have more in common with straight men than with lesbians, tho. you don’t experience same-sex attraction, you’re not female, you can impregnate a female lesbian (depending on transition specifics, but let’s be honest: the big problem is the transwomen who claim “there’s no need to need to transition bc my dick is a woman’s dick”), if you’re not “passing” you don’t need to fear homophobic violence from strangers.

“Jesus fuck, like did you even notice that was the fucking point? Like your shoving us aside as non-women is already fucked up but that wasn’t even the point of this particular post.” the point of your post was vilifying women who question the notion that “transwomen are exactly the same as women”. the point of your post was putting the blame on women, “terfs”, for what men do.

"The idea that men view us as also men is so beyond laughable I can’t even properly convey it.” they view you as “DEFECTIVE” men. they definitely don’t view you as women. men are violent towards you as a result of toxic masculinity - a non-conforming male is a threat to their notion of rigid male-female roles. the violence towards you is closer in motivation to the violence towards gay men, rather than the one towards women.

"But I’m just going to say: You don’t live our lives. You don’t live our experiences.” yes. just like you don’t live the lives of women. which is exactly why I said transwomen do deserve safe spaces, but not by invading female-only safe spaces.

"If you don’t know how wrong you are it’s because you’re incapable of treating our words as anything but the words of the target of your hate and thus discarded.” you’re lumping me in with nazis (I’m a latina gender-non-conforming lesbian, I’d be raped and killed by actual nazis faster than you could type “op is a terf”), refusing to actually ACKNOWLEDGE the things I said, bringing up way more arguments than the ones on your original post, and then blaming me for not being able to read your mind.

“The power you hold is that you have been aligning yourself with right-wing christian groups,” bullshit. again: women can’t even get men to stop raping us. how exactly do you think we have any power, any voice, over THE most misogynistic men on the planet?

"the power you hold is that your ilk has been speaking to audiences wherever they can find them in academia for decades,” again, bullshit. women have been in academia for, like, two years, in comparison to how long men have been dominating every public and private space.

"the power you hold is that you went into the communities that might have helped us stay alive and sowed false accusations to turn others against us,” b u l l s h i t. YOU came into OUT communities demanding we treat you as equals, when we are observably NOT equals. sex-based oppression doesn’t affect transwomen the same way it does women. men’s violence is distinctly different based on your sex.

"the power you hold is in helping, insidiously, to uphold the institutional biases that keep us marginalized, alone, and dying.” the same can be said of modern trans rights activists, tho. you’re all contributing to the strengthening of gender as a hierarchy - and not because you need to conform to survive. no, your original message (the one we can still hear from drag queens and transvestites from stonewall, for instance, that your kind likes to claim as “transwomen”) has been corrupted to the point where people look at a feminine gay boy and tell him he must be trans, he must transition, he must be a woman because he likes makeup and is attracted to men. your kind tells parents of vulnerable children that their little boys and girls will KILL THEMSELVES if they don’t take hormones as soon as possible. your group tells lesbians they need to suck dick to be proper lesbians. your group supports (and breeds) more murderers, rapists, and pedophiles than radical feminism could. your group tells women of color, lesbians, survivors of all sorts of male violence, that they’re the problem. you tell us we’re even worse than men. you tell us to die, you threaten us with rape, with baseball bats. you punch sixty year old women who dare take a picture of people trying to silence women. you rape and murder a twelve year old girl. you rape and forcibly impregnate a female trans person, and then brag about it. you support rapists and pedophiles being housed in women’s prison because of their “gender feels”. 

you tell women to shut up about their own experiences. you tell women they’re not the “right kind” of women. you tell women they’re not woman “enough”. you tell them to sacirfice themselves for yet another male.

“And yes, before you even start, I’m blocking you. I don’t debate Nazis or Nazi bootlicks.” still nowhere near being a nazi, but alright.

bonus:

“also do they just have a terf blog name generator somewhere, i swear all terf blogs read like a bunch of synonyms for vagina and spellings of rad and possibly a wolf reference or phile or fetishist, all put in a random name generator” that’s hilarious to men because I literally saved this url after I seeing an asshole claim that lesbians aren’t allowed to call themselves lesbians if they don’t suck dick, and that they’re actually vagina fetishists. the person used -phile on something, I can’t recall what, and I immediately thought “hmm, yes. I love vulvas. I’m a vulvaphile. A female vulvaphile.” 

[badbadmovies-blog1]

Attack of the Crab Monsters - Director Roger Corman; 1957: Looks Like We Got The Dynamite by Mistake

I’ve seen countless bad movies by this point in my life, and none has ever taken the place in my heart that this film has. Attack of the Crab Monsters is the absolute cream of its particular crop; this is the pinnacle of poor quality cinema. Attack of the Crab Monsters is a bad movie you can clearly tell a number of people spent plenty of time on; the special effects are shaky, the dialogue poor and the concept ridiculous. This movie fails at being a quality movie, but it succeeds in being highly entertaining in every possible aspect.

This is a movie both produced and directed by Roger Corman (what a shock), and it bears all the hallmarks of what make movies by the acclaimed master of cheap cinema so enjoyable. Far from modern bad movies like hastily produced Adam Sandler comedies and formulaic romcoms, movies by Corman continue to be so loveable because you get the sense that the people involved seriously enjoyed themselves in the production. It would be disingenuous to claim that a Corman film like Dinoshark is any less of a crash grab than Adam Sandler’s amazing flop Jack & Jill, but Jack & Jill feels like more of a soulless cash grab. Corman produced 35 movies between his first film in 1954 and 1960 alone, and Attack lands squarely in between Not of This Earth and The Undead. Corman, if you’re curious, is still alive and very much still making films; his IMDB roster currently has him at 415 producing credits and 56 directing credits. He currently turns out CGI X vs. Y monster movies for SYFY channel’s in house movie studio. If Roger Corman sounds like a familiar name to you but you don’t spend your weekends taking in the cinematic equivalent of potato chips, it’s probably because Corman was the man behind the so-terrible-it-never-got-released 1994 film The Fantastic Four, which received some renewed publicity and interest a few years ago when the Fantastic Four movie series was rebooted.

Roger Corman and his…special set of skills rose to prominence at exactly the moment Hollywood was getting into radiation based monster horror. With the world gripped by fear of the atomic bomb, Hollywood began turning out dozens of quickly and cheaply made films about radiation and atomic bombs bringing about the end of the world one way or another. The fact that Corman managed to time his emergence into filmmaking so perfectly with this trend is honestly nothing short of divine providence. The plots of these movies are all fairly samey: an atomic test is undertaken in a location thought to be safe and either awakens, angers, or creates a monster (The most famous of these is, of course, Godzilla). Either the monster invades civilization or a small group of scientists, nearly always including exactly one woman, is sent to investigate. The plots begin to diverge here, but they almost always re-synchronize with each other at the end with a quick, timely lesson or quip about the folly of humanity or the power of nature or the danger of science or something passingly similar.

“I’m not so sure you are right Monsieur Quinlan…maybe their bodies are gone, but who can tell of their souls, eh?”

So says the comically fake French accented Jules Deveroux (played by the very American Mel Welles, a frequent actor in Roger Corman’s films) in the first of many amazing lines. What this movie lacks in anything resembling finesse, it makes up for in quotability. The basic outline of the film is as follows: a group of scientists has been sent to a remote island near the Bikini Atoll to study the effects of nuclear testing on the plant and animal life after the previous group of scientists disappeared without a trace.

One of the men assisting in bringing supplies to shore falls off his small boat into the water, and we get our first glimpse of the monster: a large, extremely poorly constructed eye. The fellow who’s fallen off the boat isn’t long for this world. He’s flailing, you get about 2 seconds of paper mache crab, and then the poor dude’s headless corpse is being drug from the water (it’s not a convincing corpse either). So we’re 4 minutes in and already we have our first body. A German man with a fake accent as bad as the Frenchman’s asks why the whole atmosphere of the island feels wrong. Another character notes that there’s “no animal noises of any kind”. Ooooh, spoopy. The camera takes a moment to linger, completely silently (there is no score in this moment), on the confused faces of the German and one of his partners. The movie really wants to make sure you know: this is spooky. It wants you to know so badly it’s going to beat you over the head with it.

As our large and almost completely indistinguishable cast of people who are definitely going to die are unpacking their supplies into their lodgings and scientific lab on this deserted island, which is, of course, an improbably nicely appointed mid century suburban home, random guy #3 moving crates speaks not only my favorite line in this movie, but my favorite line from any movie ever: “Looks like we got the dynamite by mistake”. That about sets the tone.

From this point the movie rolls on in pretty much exactly the same way you’d expect: people start disappearing, disasters start happening, and worrying discoveries start getting made. The menace ends up being, of course, very large, very irradiated crabs. The crabs themselves appear to be paper mache and are hilarious in appearance, clearly somewhat sloppily made.

This is seriously what the crabs look like.

There’s a whole lot of bad dialogue and a whole lot of technobabble. The best bit of the latter has to be the scene where the scientists discover the titular crab monsters are non-solid and objects pass right through them; this gets explained as the crab’s “atoms being too far apart” so that they’re more space than matter. The crowning glory of this film both in concept and execution was the choice to make the crabs telepathic, hyper intelligent, and able to absorb the minds, personalities, and therefore voices of the people they consume, meaning that the crabs are able to communicate with the characters while impersonating the ghosts of their dead friends. The crabs eventually consume the Frenchman, and all this together means the characters are eventually running from a non-solid giant killer crab that’s speaking to them in a bad fake French accent.

I’ve seen actors accused of chewing on the scenery but I have to wonder if an entire movie has ever been accused of it. This whole film spends its time cutting its teeth on the poorly constructed sets around it, making a very audible racket in the process. And my god is it good. Attack suffers from every technical problem imaginable, from bad dialogue to poor SFX to questionable set design to bad acting, and it’s the most fun it’s possible to have watching a film. You will laugh hysterically watching this movie. I recommend taking this one on with a group of like minded friends – Attack of the Crab Monsters is so much more fun together.

[sweetandsavageautistic]

I'm Fuming Right Now

(TW: mentions of rape, emotional manipulation, swearing, mentions of suicide, depression, guilt tripping, a general wave of unbridled rage.) So I'm sitting outside an open classroom and some students are demonstrating scenarios pertaining to rape culture and I realized; that's something they need to teach us in school, but especially in social skills classes. I mean, I think I was taught it in Health class, they definitely at least told us about different methods of safe sex, but some kids might go to schools where that shit isn't taught. But this shit could be especially scary for autistics like myself. In high school, we have to go to these social skills classes and academic skills classes and some have to do vocational work. They might never learn about this shit. We never learned social skills pertaining to parties in high school. And if they don't know the signs that maybe someone who's talking to them has an alterior motive, they're gonna be traumatized, like any NT, except NTs have the chance to learn this shit. Some autistics miss out on it. I know some autistics who are highly social and yet are on the "moderately autistic" side and they would probably attend clubs and parties and dances. But they aren't gonna know how to tell if someone is thinking of taking advantage of them. In fact, the program, now that I think about it, is shit for high schoolers. My social skills classes never taught me how to respond when someone tries to flirt with you, never taught me anything more than really what I'd been learning since elementary school; unexpected and expected behavior, body language, how to respond to bullying, how to keep a conversation going, etc,. I mean, don't get me wrong. Learning that stuff is very important, but it was the same year after year after year. Even when my social skills classes became social/academic communication, that gave us even less opportunities to learn things to keep our mental health from deteriorating or to keep ourselves protected from being raped, since schools refuse to tell people to JUST NOT RAPE, like how to read if you're in an abusive relationship and how to get out of it or if a friend is being manipulative or emotionally abusive or how to know if someone is being honest or not. I didn't learn the signs of an abusive SO/friend until I was in Sociology class last semester. By that time, the damage that the girl had done was, well, done. They teach us how to keep our friendships, but not how to cut them off. They teach us about how to tell if we're invading someone's personal space, but not how to tell if someone is being clingy or controlling. They teach us how to tell basic facial expressions, but they don't teach us how to read someone's eyes, which say more than their words and face as a whole. They teach us how to be polite, but they don't teach us how to confront an abusive SO/friend. They teach us when it's okay to tell a white lie, but not when someone is trying to make us feel guilty. The message is very subtle, but it's there; they tell us that if our friends are angry at us, it's our fault because we fucked up again. They set us up to be taken advantage of. They tell us that every social mishap is our fault, simply because we're autistic. And that fills me with rage. I had an emotionally manipulative friend for about 2 years. She would put words into my mouth that I never said. Some conversations I had with her over texting ended up in tears and panic attacks on my side. She tried to keep me from a friend we shared. She kept telling me that I wasn't making any progress with my depression. If said "friend" ever finds this post: DID YOU HONESTLY EXPECT ME TO MAKE ANY DAMN PROGRESS TOWARDS RECOVERING FROM MY DEPRESSION WHEN YOU KEPT GUILT-TRIPPING ME, TRYING TO KEEP ME FROM KT AND NEVER APOLOGIZING WHEN I HAD TOLD YOU THAT WHAT YOU HAD SAID TO ME HURT ME? I TOLD YOU THAT I DIDN'T FEEL INCLUDED IN CONVERSATIONS EVEN WHEN I TRIED TO PARTICIPATE IN THEM AND YOU DIDN'T DO SHIT TO CHANGE THAT EVEN WHEN YOU SAID YOU WOULD. YOU PLACED IT ON MY SHOULDERS AND GAVE ME THE SUBTLE MESSAGE THAT I WASN'T TRYING HARD ENOUGH. HOW THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT ME TO TRY WHEN YOU KEPT IGNORING ME? AND YOU CALLED ME SELF-ABSORBED? LOOK WHO'S TALKING. ALL YOU CARED ABOUT IS WHETHER YOU HAD KT ALL TO YOURSELF OR NOT. YOU COMPLETELY MINIMIZED ANY PROBLEM THAT I HAD. YOU NEVER EVEN TRIED TO UNDERSTAND MY PERSPECTIVE. IT'S BECAUSE OF THE SHIT YOU PUT ME THROUGH THAT I STILL HAVE TRUST ISSUES DESPITE HAVING AN AMAZING FRIEND GROUP IN COLLEGE. WHEN YOU ASKED ME IF I HAD APPLIED TO A COLLEGE I HAD ACCEPTED TO BECAUSE KT HAD GOTTEN ACCEPTED THERE, I SPECIFICALLY TOLD YOU THAT I DIDN'T REMEMBER WHY I APPLIED AND YOU COMPLETELY DISREGARDED THAT. YOU CHERRYPICKED WHATEVER I SAID TO MAKE ME SEEM LIKE I WAS MANIPULATING YOU. YOU KEPT ACCUSING ME OF APPLYING THERE BECAUSE KT GOT ACCEPTED THERE. YOU MADE ME FEEL LIKE I COULDN'T VOICE MY OWN THOUGHTS TO YOU WITHOUT YOU BLOWING THE WHOLE THING OUT OF PROPORTION WHEN THAT'S A BASIC FUCKING PART OF A FRIENDSHIP; BEING ABLE TO TALK TO THEIR FRIENDS ABOUT WHAT'S UPSETTING YOU. DID I ACTUALLY MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU AT ALL? WAS IT BECAUSE OF WHO I WAS AS A PERSON OR BECAUSE I WAS SOMEONE ELSE YOU WANTED TO CONTROL. AND NOW TO ADDRESS BOTH YOU AND KT; I DON'T CARE HOW CLOSE YOU TWO ARE. I DON'T ACCEPT BEING THE THIRD WHEEL. THE REST OF YOUR FRIENDS AREN'T THERE WHEN YOU CAN'T HANG OUT WITH EACH OTHER. NOW TO ADDRESS JUST NOT KT AGAIN; THE WORLD DOESN'T REVOLVE AROUND YOU. MAYBE YOU WERE GOING THROUGH SOME EMOTIONAL TROUBLES, AND I'M SORRY YOU WERE, BUT THAT WAS NEVER EVER AN EXCUSE TO MAKE ME YOUR PERSONAL VERBAL PUNCHING BAG. YOU WORSENED MY DEPRESSION. YOU MADE ME FEEL LIKE ABSOLUTE SHIT. YOU PATRONIZED ME AND MADE ME FEEL WEAK, SO THAT I WOULDN'T LEAVE THE FRIENDSHIP UNTIL ENOUGH DAMAGE HAD BEEN DONE. I GAVE YOU TOO MANY SECOND CHANCES BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU WOULD CHANGE, BUT CLEARLY THAT ISN'T, NOR WILL PROBABLY EVER BE THE CASE. I SHOULD'VE CUT THE "FRIENDSHIP" WITH YOU A LONG TIME AGO. If you see this and attempt to retaliate or play the victim to gain pity, you're only proving my point that you're emotionally manipulative. I hope you're happy with what you did to me. Now that that part of the rant is done with: Anyway, thanks to the shitty social skills program in high school, I never learned those signs. Yes, I've harbored anger from it. Yes, it still affects me a bit. But no, I'm not afraid to talk about it. Because there could be another autistic who is going through or will go through a similar situation. I wrote the signs down in my Sociology notebook. When I get back to my dorm, I'll post them here.