#that is just plain erasure

[nexus-nebulae]

oh my god hearing someone say "character a is intersex" and then immediately after say "character b is a trans ally for being the doctor to tell character a they are intersex" when like. character a was not implied to be transitioning after finding this information out. like. what. that's not the same thing

[kidlightnings]

"ofc shadowheart and karlach are popular romance options, it's the straight men"

I will knock your ass out 😘

[eosofspades]

Question for you, on the subject of SPOP ships: would you have been okay with Glitradora (essentially the poly trio) being a thing, had Nate Stevenson decided he wanted to go that direction? I'm just curious as someone who loved how the Catradora arc was done in the show.

(And for the record, I understand your indifference towards both Korrasami and CaitVi--the latter will need some more seasons in the oven to really flourish, while the former is severely hampered by the constant executive interference Nickelodeon pulled on LOK during its original run.)

if glitradora were made canon i would have eaten my own face (/pos) my god the CONCEPT,,, the DRAMA,,, the DYNAMICS,,,,, that would have been my roman empire actually

also agree w everything you say here indifference is a great word for it. caitvi i actually see the potential in them i don't dislike the pairing it just rlly isn't compelling to me. i actually felt a little,,, weird about it? it felt like it came out of nowhere to me?? which i know isn't true but something about it just strikes me as Rushed idk (vi is still one of my favorite characters though)

as for korrasami i lowkey feel bad hating on it bc i KNOW how much the network screwed over the writers about it, but like,,, man i don't even see the potential in this one ahgakjsdas. i will admit though a big part of this is just the general writing of tlok i felt wasn't great so the character dynamics seem sorta weak to me. i AM glad for what they did for representation in kids' cartoons though and i'm glad ppl are having a good time shipping them. the fanart is gorgeous also

[trans-androgyne]

https:// drdevonprice.substack.com/p/a-massive-study-of-16000-participants

what do you think of this? (beyond just the fact that devon price is a tool, of course) i'm interested in hearing what you think of the actual figures

This was so unbelievably frustrating to read. Not about the results, to be clear! I am not surprised by them in the slightest. (The full article title is "A Massive Study of 16,000 Participants in 23 Countries Finds People Are More Prejudiced Against Trans Women Than Trans Men.") I've already talked at length about how trans women tend to get more overt vitriol than trans men. I just also believe that those sentiments are not the only measure of how badly a group is affected by queerphobia. The hypervisibility and public violence trans women experience is not inherently more oppressive than the erasure and private abuse trans men experience. The transphobia and sexism each group faces just manifests differently.

The frustrating thing is that Price understands that about other queer people too, but refuses to apply it to trans men. (If you are not aware, he has also written an article titled "Transmisandry Is Not Real.") It comes from this infuriating and honestly nonsensical belief that transphobes do in fact see trans people as our true genders more than our assigned ones--that they see trans women as queer (failed) women and trans men as queer (failed) men. I say that because he acknowledges that "when prompted, the average homophobic person tends to express less revulsion toward queerness in women than they do toward queerness in men," but also points out it isn't the case that queer women are "less oppressed or face less bigotry," it just means that it takes a different form.

He goes in some depth about the ways queer women experience a more insidious form of queerphobia, that marginalized women are "more likely to be ignored and erased," that their "queerness is seen instead as a flaw that can be 'fixed,' in order to restore a woman’s availability to men" as opposed to being driven out of society entirely. Does that sound familiar to you? This is literally exactly what happens to trans men and transmascs. But when discussing trans men's oppression compared to trans women's, he reframes the exact same things queer cis women experience as only privileges when it comes to us. Our invisibility "does benefit us," no caveats added. "It is always trans women who are presented as a looming threat...never trans men," we are "unnamed, untargeted, and not feared," he claims. This is only as true for us as it is for lesbians compared to gay men, but the difference between the more insidious oppression we face and the more overt one trans women do is not viewed the same way by Price. He believes that the misogyny trans women experience is because they are women, plain and simple, which means bigots must in fact see them as queer women, and distinguishes them from the way gay men are seen on that basis. As though gay men do not experience misogyny.

Price criticizes the fact that the researcher asks her questions by describing trans women as “someone who was considered male at birth who feels they are actually female and so dresses and lives as a woman,” and trans men as “someone who was considered female at birth who feels they are actually male and so dresses and lives as a man." He feels this primes them to think of trans women as males and trans men as females. As if they do not already see us that way! They see trans women as failing the male gender role and trans men as failing the female one! That is why our oppression takes the form it does! I am sorry to tell you this, but we will never, ever, ever get the full view of trans oppression if we cannot acknowledge that transphobes do not see trans women as women and trans men as men, but as our assigned genders in a failed, queer, third-sex way.

[fairuzfan]

For Liefer to pull up a Camus quote like this is quite laughable because of how the dynamics mirror each other. In the modern day, we have a status quo where Palestinians continue to be imprisoned and murdered and raped and segregated, denied basic medical care for years on end, all on their own land — while Jewish Israelis (to make distinction from Palestinians with Israeli citizenship, as many liberal zionists love to point out) suffer no consequences for anything, even if they play a direct role in the continued erasure and genocide of Palestinians. So if given a choice between suffering no consequences while benefiting from the status quo (that will not change unless the oppressed take it upon themselves to change their circumstance) and suffering consequences in the form of direct personal loss (with the strategy of forcing things to change by ennacting the same type of violence that the occupied experience on a daily basis onto the occupiers), of course someone who stands to lose nothing from the continuation of the status quo would rather the status quo continue if he has something to lose otherwise. Camus, when he said this quote, was not being righteous or overly sensitive. If anything, it shows how little he understood at the time of saying this quote. Because he didn't understand that an Algerian will suffer in both scenarios even if he (Camus) is safe, and for him to say something like this when people lived generations worth of violence for his and his family's (social) benefit is annoying and just plain offensive. Who is he, as a Frenchman born in occupied Algeria, to say what is worth justice when he only stands to lose anything in one scenario but not the other? He did not experience life as an Algerian native in French occupation. He might have observed it, growing up poor, yes, but he never LIVED it. Liefer might have observed the horror of settler colonialism, but that's nothing like experiencing it firsthand. To be the object of hatred to people who have higher status and more rights than you. It's just not his place as a person with nothing to lose if the status quo continues to comment on anything like this. What's the underlying meaning of this quote? "I'd rather others continue to suffer than myself experiencing suffering once."

I'm not saying Liefer doesn't have a right to mourn whoever. Im not even saying he has a duty to accept the consequences he experiences. But to say something so heartless as "I prefer the safety of my own rather than justice" within the larger, nearly century worth of context, is just insensitive and really belies his true opinions of the liberation of Palestine if he's so comfortable saying this outloud with moral authority in the middle of what is an outright bloodbath of Palestinians across Palestine. It's the timing of saying something like this because to say it now of all times when the entire world ignores or even encourages the violence in Gaza but mourns the death of Israelis? An Algerian born Frenchman and Israeli are going to be mourned on an international scale... but Palestinian and Algerian natives? Their deaths are regarded as facts of life by the rest of the world.

This makes it seem like I hate Camus, but I honestly don't, but I think the way Leifer is holding this quote up at face value and as the height of reason really is annoying. People like to mention Camus' "if" in this case as proof that he's actually saying "this is not real justice so therefore I do not have to accept it," but who is he to say what is or is not justice? The point I'm getting at is the people who benefit from occupation, in this case, Camus and Liefer have no right to determine what is or is not justice, despite their personal beliefs. The occupier has no right to tell the occupied what they should do to get freed. That alone is an arrogance in assertion that is so offending — the assertion that the occupier knows how to free the occupied in what *he* considers justice and the occupied just need to do whatever the occupier tells them to do. Because whether they both like it or not, they still benefit from and are part of the occupying force, and therefore have no real reason to fight the occupation at their own expense — the occupation is a violence that they are alright with inflicting if it means they cannot lose anything or anyone.

Also the idea that liefer indirectly compares himself to Camus is a little funny to me.

[aiai0]

Bittersweet

Synopsis: you’ve hated Aizawa ever since you’ve known him, hating everything about him, especially the way he’s better at things than you. Aizawa overhears an embarrassing conversation between you and Midnighy and soughts you out to settle your differences once and for all.

Warnings: No smut or anything like that here. Arguing involved and mentions of sex only. (Short oneshot)

Aizawa x fem reader

"He just makes me so... ugh!" You complained, pacing around the staff room.

Your colleague, midnight, giggled, taking a sip of her drink.

"Please! You are so in love!" She teased, placing her cup down onto the table. You stopped in your tracks, giving her a disgusted look.

You? In love with someone so infuriating? Yeah right.

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to answer her question. Plopping down on the chair next to her, you placed your head on the table, thinking about the events from earlier.

-

Dodging one of Erasure head's kicks, you jumped up onto a light post, pointing down at him and the two other students that were teamed up to take you down.

"Give up, heroes! You'll never win against me!" You laughed, knowingly overdoing your acting role.

Aizawa rolled his eyes, clutching onto his binding cloth as he signalled for one of his students to go up to somewhere high.

Your quirk was levitation, so it would've been quite easy to just use your quirk to apprehend the students, but of course Erasure head had to show off his quirk.

You huffed, knowing that as long as you were in his sight, he'd have his quirk activated at all times.

Maybe taking him down first would be the right move for a time like this.

Taking out four kunai knifes from your belt, you threw them all at him, jumping down with them and engaging in close combat.

He was too vigilant and too prideful to let you land a hit on him, even if it would do some good for the students to learn.

The other student stepped back, knowing that if she interfered, she'd only get in his way.

"Let me take you down..! The students will learn more!" You whisper yelled at him, never ceasing your jabs and kicks.

"And let you rub it in later? Stop dreaming, (H/n)." He replied, taking hold of his cloth and binding your legs together.

You yelped as you fell forwards onto him, immediately being apprehended with your arms behind your back on the ground.

"Did you have to do that so harshly?!" You yelled, struggling under his tight grip.

"Quiet, villain." He mocked, smirking down at you as he deactivated his quirk.

-

"Oh come on, (Y/n). It can't be that bad." She said, trying to console your embarrassment.

Shooting up, you glared at her, clicking your tongue.

"At one point, I heard Bakugo point at me and laugh." You sulked, reliving the moment once again.

Midnight laughed, handing you her cup.

Taking a big gulp out of it, you gagged at the taste.

You knew midnight was a freaky woman, but no sugar in tea? That was just plain crazy.

"Look, my advice is, bang it out. Solved all my conflicts with coworkers." She smirked, reminiscing on her sexual activities.

Your jaw dropped.

"Seriously? Who did you- ew no! As attractive as he is, i'm not going to bone Aizawa!" You yelled, standing up.

You saw Midnight glance behind you, a cheeky smile stretching across her face as she stayed silent to your outburst.

Oh shit.

You heard the very same tired teacher you were complaining about clear his throat, sending shivers down your spine. How the hell did you not hear the door open?

You couldn't begin to explain how embarrassed you were. He had just heard you, someone who he knew hated him since high school, call him attractive. That's gotta be one hell of an ego boost.

"..Excuse me.." you muttered, quickly walking out of the staff room without sparing even a glance at the man.

What you had missed was the deep blush that had taken over his face.

Midnight gave him a wink, wiggling her eyebrows when she realised how flustered he was.

——

You sat in your bedroom, book in hand and headphones on.

You tried so hard to forget the incident from earlier, but every time you remembered it, you wanted to scream until your eardrums burst and your head exploded.

You huffed, unable to concentrate on your book.

"Who the hell cares if he heard? It's not like.. I like him.." you mumbled to yourself, biting your bottom lip.

You tried so desperately to convince yourself that you didn't like him. In fact, every time you were around him, you made sure to at least glare at him once. It was your way of making sure you hated him and he shared that mutual feeling.

But you knew.

You knew deep down that you actually liked him.

He was exactly your type, and you hated how he always showed off when fighting villains.

The way he tied his hair back before bed, and the way he slept shirtless when it was too hot to sleep clothed.

You weren't a stalker, you just happened to need to talk to him on a particularly hot summer night.

You both lived in the 1-A dorms. You shared the class with him, and that made you want to scream even more because it felt like you were both parents to the class.

When he called them his kids, it definitely didn't help.

You were snapped out of your trance when a loud knock came from the door.

Taking off your headphones, you rushed to the door.

Swinging it open, you found Aizawa standing there, his hair tied back and his pyjamas sat baggy around his body.

You averted your gaze, not wanting to give away the fact that his messy look one hundred percent turned you on.

"I wanted to address earlier."

"Why?"

Aizawa sighed, crossing his arms. An awkward silence pursued, leaving you to switch from leaning on your legs every two seconds.

"We're colleagues and we share a class. I think we should sort out whatever issues we have between us." He said in a monotone voice, never breaking eye contact from your eyes.

You, on the other hand, couldn't help but travel from his obsidian eyes, to his smooth lips.

"Fine.. come in." You said, moving out of the way for him to come in.

"I was thinking we could do this in my office. It's a professional setting." He said, never moving from his spot.

You groaned, glaring at him. "Do you seriously have to go against everything I say?" You spat at him, taking a step forward in an attempt to look intimidating.

He, in turn, also took a step forward, crossing his arms as he replied to your rhetorical question, "I wouldn't have to if you thought things through for once."

"Maybe if you weren't such a smart-ass, I wouldn't hate you as much."

"Maybe if you weren't so rude, I'd like you."

At this point, your chests were practically touching.

You stared up at him, realising the closeness, but being too stubborn to actually back away from him.

He was exactly the same.

Your breaths mingled with each other, his eyes now travelled down to your lips, licking his in an attempt to fight off the temptation.

Before you knew it, your lips crashed against his, engaging in an aggressive, yet passionate make out.

He shut the door behind him with his leg, lifting you up and against the wall.

You wrapped your legs around him, your arms hung loosely on his shoulders.

His actions dawning on him, Aizawa quickly pulled away, dropping you and backing away. You could see the red spread across his face as he tried to figure out what he was going to say next.

“As much as I’ve wanted to do that, you’re clearly vulnerable right now.” He sighed, looking off to the side.

You nibbled on your bottom lip. As much as you wanted him to take you, you didn’t want Midnight to be the one who was right in this situation.

Taking in a deep breath, you cupped Aizawa’s cheeks, turning his face to look at you.

“I like you, Aizawa. I have ever since high school..” you confessed, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact with him. You pinched his cheeks, causing him to roll his eyes, a small smile gracing his scruffy features.

“The only reason I acted so mean, was because I didn’t want to admit just how much I actually liked you..”

The kiss he gave you was enough of a reply for you.

Maybe proving midnight right wouldn’t be so bad..

[freelancearsonist]

el chico del apartamento 512

➔ Frankie Morales x gn!Reader - 1.6k

➔ There's a rumor going around your building about the resident of apartment 512, and you're eager to investigate.

➔ Rated PG-13 for allusions to sex but otherwise just some plain old fluff and fun. post movie canon wife and kid erasure sorry, takes place in colombia, both reader and frankie speak spanish and everything is translated.

➔ this is my entry for the Selena Drabble Challenge hosted by mi esposa @fhatbhabie <3 sorry i've been sitting on this forever hehe but i hope you enjoy

Frankie barely manages to pull himself out of the slump he’s in for the first year or so after the absolute disaster in the Andes.

He misses his family, misses his friends, misses his crew–his brothers. He tries to convince himself that it’s for the best, that it’s only a matter of time before those assholes who were in cahoots with Lorea come after him–that the people he loves will be safer and happier if he’s not around them when it happens. And most of the time he can block all that sadness and pain out by throwing his whole mind and body into the earnest construction job he picks up in this new town within this new country. But it catches up to him late at night in dreams and quiet whispers of intrusive thoughts; that he’s a coward for abandoning the ones that needed him most, that he could’ve done more to make that damned mission less of a disaster. That he could’ve come out of it rich and happy if he wasn’t such a fuck-up.

He wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, an ache so deep in his chest that it feels like he’s been shot. He clutches at his sternum and tries to catch his breath but he can’t. His body wracks with sobs and he knows he’ll never be okay again.

But somehow, he ends up okay anyway. Somehow, he falls back to sleep just to repeat the cycle the next day.

There’s a rumor going around amongst your neighbors that apartment 512 is haunted.

People hear things–weird things. Screaming, crying, banging–and always at the dead of night. And everyone swears up and down that they’ve never seen the guy who supposedly lives there. The people who say they have seen him get more dramatic with their descriptions every time–toweringly tall, shoulders that could stand up to a wrecking ball, hauntingly sad eyes and gaunt face. It’s like he’s a thing of legend–a story they tell their kids to make sure they behave. “Don’t run in the halls or the guy from apartment 512 will get you.”

You figure he’s probably just some guy who works long hours and likes to watch horror movies to unwind or something–not a monster or a ghost, just misunderstood. You haven’t seen the guy yourself, but you kinda like him anyway. The building’s certainly been a lot quieter since he moved in… well, everywhere except his own apartment, at least. 

You find yourself keeping a more vigilant eye out, alert to any face in the building that doesn’t look familiar. It seems kinda silly to want to see someone you don’t know, but you’re a little nosy and a little more than curious. If there’s some truth to the rumors that have been going around by the people who claim to have seen him, you want to find out for yourself.

It’s a completely ordinary night when you notice an unfamiliar face in the mailroom, and you have to do a double take. This stranger is handsome–tall and dark with shaggy brown hair and an even shaggier patch of stubble across his jaw.

He’s just standing there, staring blankly at a row of mailboxes, looking so… foreboding. You approach slowly, cautiously; part of you thinks you should just walk away and let this man do whatever he’s doing. But there’s a large, louder part of you that approaches with curiosity. There’s just something about him that draws you in, that makes you put on your best smile and ask, “Señor? Necesitas ayuda?” (Do you need help, sir?)

He blinks slowly, heavily, and then dark brown eyes flicker towards you.

“Oh!” He clears his throat and it’s like he’s coming back from an out of body experience–the color returns to his face, his eyes lose that glassy sheen, and his posture loosens a bit. He looks friendly now, sheepish even. He wrings his big hands and shifts on his feet, as if he’s been caught at a vulnerable moment. “Lo siento, estaba en la nube.” (Sorry, I was spacing out.)

“Está bien,” you tell him with your most disarming smile. “Andas buscando algo?” (It’s okay. / Are you looking for something?)

“No, solo estoy recopilando mi correo,” he rumbles before flashing you the most charming smile you’ve ever seen in your life. (No, I’m just getting my mail.)

He fishes through his pockets and finds a small silver key–and then he inserts it into the box labeled “512”.

“Tú vives en el apartamento 512?” There’s a strange air of reverence in your voice despite trying to hide it. This is the guy everyone’s been talking about, and he doesn’t seem nearly as monstrous as everyone tried to make him sound. (You live in apartment 512?)

“Uhhh… sí?” He chuckles and looks over to you, and you can see the way his brow furrows at the look of shocked surprise on your face.

You realize you’re actually gaping open-mouthed at the poor guy, and you snap your mouth closed as soon as you see the little crease between his brows deepen. Not soon enough for it to go unnoticed, though–the corner of his mouth flickers up in a pseudo-smirk, and god he’s handsome.

“No hemos tenido la oportunidad de conocernos aún.” You look up at him and give your best, winning smile as you give him your name. There’s a strange, fluttery feeling in your stomach as his dark eyes meet yours–have you mentioned how handsome he is? (We haven’t had the chance to meet yet.)

“Mucho gusto,” he says with a smile. “Soy Frankie. Supongo que vives en el edificio también?” (Nice to meet you. / I’m Frankie. I’m guessing you live in the building too?)

“Oh, sí,” you say with a slight laugh. “No soy ningún tipo de acosador, vivo en el apartamento 526.” (Oh, yes. / I promise I’m not some kind of creep, I live in apartment 526.)

And then you catch his eyes dragging along your form, not even the least bit subtle, and you try your best to be nonchalant about the way you have to lean against the wall to avoid melting into a puddle on the mailroom floor; especially when you see those full lips of his curve into a smile, and you know he’s liking what he’s seeing.

“Nah, no creo que seas un acosador,” he hums–and there’s that damned smirk again. If you don’t get out of here you’re going to start drooling. (I don’t think you’re a creep.)

He grabs two letters from his mailbox, examines the envelopes, and then unceremoniously dumps them both into the trashcan in the corner with a mumbled, “Malditas estafas por correo.” (Damn junk mail.)

“Eso es lo único que recibo ahora también,” you tell him sympathetically. (That’s all I get anymore too.)

He brushes past you slightly as he moves to the door, and you get a whiff of distinctly woody cologne that makes your heart pick up a beat. You try to act normal and go to open your own mailbox, but he stops in the narrow doorway and leans against the jam to look at you.

“Te volveremos a ver aquí?” (Will I see you around again?)

You think the rumors about him were right, at least a little bit. He’s towering and imposing–he fills the entire doorway with ease. He’s firm and broad and sturdy and big. Maybe he would be intimidating to someone else, but all you can think about is climbing him like a tree.

“Sí. Puedes verme cuando tú quieras.” (You can see me whenever you want to.)

His eyes flicker indecisively for a moment, and then he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “Qué tal viernes por la noche?” (What about Friday night?)

You try not to focus on how you want him to bite into you like that as you tell him, “Sí, eso sería perfecto.” (Yes, that would be perfect.)

“Perfecto. Te veré luego.” And then he flashes you that damned adorable boyish smile again before he retreats from the mailroom. You think he’s going to be trouble for you. (Perfect. I’ll see you then.)

The monthly building meeting is Saturday morning, and you’re glad to see Frankie’s decided to join in finally. Everyone throws curious looks his way as he walks through the room towards where you’re seated, but no one is curious or brave enough to ask who he is.

“Buenos días, querida,” he murmurs, discreetly ghosting a kiss against your cheek as he drops into the seat beside yours. There’s a hint of amusement in his eyes as they trail over your outfit: the same one you wore to dinner last night, the same one you picked up off his bedroom floor this morning and shoved on hastily to get to this meeting in time. (Good morning, dear.)

Before you get a chance to respond, your neighbor from across the hall plunks down in the seat on your other side.

“Escuchaste ese ruido anoche?” She asks, sounding more amused than annoyed. (Did you hear that noise last night?)

“Qué ruido?” You ask with a raised brow. (What noise?)

She smirks with satisfaction, like she knows something you don’t. And then she looks pointedly between you and Frankie. “Suena como si nuestro fantasma en el apartamento 512 hubiera conseguido un socio para él.” (It sounds like our ghost in apartment 512 got himself a partner.)

You nearly choke on your own tongue, but Frankie just chuckles raspily and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He learned all about the rumors from you last night over dinner, and he thinks they’re hilarious. Besides, they’ll die out soon enough anyway–he’s never slept quite as peacefully as he did last night in your arms–if he doesn’t feed them a little bit. And if feeding the rumors means keeping you moaning and groaning the way he did last night, he can’t say he minds it one bit.

➔ beta: @shakespeareanwannabe; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[cripplecharacters]

I would like to know what you think of magical aids for disablilities in a fantasy setting! Things like: A prosthetic that is enchanted to be capable of fine movements. A wheelchair that can levitate. Hearing aids that are powered by a user's innate magic. Blind people with animal familiars that have a magical connection that allows the person to see through the animals eyes. Thank you!

Hi,

I think that magical aids, in general, can be interesting! But the few options you listed point to some issues.

First of all, the blind person magically seeing - don't do this. There's no point in having a disabled character just to make them abled. Consider this post by blindbeta instead, where they go over fantasy/fictional guide animals. Your blind character shouldn't be able to see, that's just disability erasure.

The same point applies to the prosthetic - is magic just the in-universe excuse to give someone a Cool Robot Arm/Leg that is technically a prosthetic but has little in common with the real world equivalent? I recommend going through our #prosthetics tag, but the two important posts you might want to consider: this on upper limb prosthetics, and this on lower limb ones for what people with amputations actually want - and yes, there are major differences between those two kinds of prostheses outside of being different limbs.

As a cane user, I would enjoy a magical cane that can fit into my pocket when I need it to, or one that I could summon out of thin air when my leg or back decide to make me barely able to walk when I'm out. But to be honest, I'm rather boring and to me, it's important that these fantasy/sci-fi equivalents don't turn a cane unusable in other ways. Prime example, canes with those awful "doorknob" handles... that takes me out of the story more than a teleporting cane. Or those canes with swords hidden in them (opinions heavily differ here, me personally I'm not a fan), like structural stability of the thing aside, if I'm using the cane then I'm definitely not in a condition where I could swing a sword, lol…

A cane that doesn't need changing the damn tip so often, or self-cleans every time I step into something gross would be great too. Or maybe one that is harmless to the user but bites people who touch it without asking!

mod Sasza

I don’t love the idea of a wheelchair that can levitate. Why should disabled people have to change our aids rather than the world becoming more accessible. Don’t get me wrong! There are still fun things you can do with wheelchairs in fantasy. For example a wheelchair with a spell that makes terrain (grass rocks etc.) a typical wheelchair would have trouble navigating flat. A power-chair that doesn’t use a battery but some other form of magic etc. I would challenge you to get creative and think outside of just levitation!

Mod Patch

I love the thought of magic aids. I agree with Sasza of the aspect of aids automatically cleaning themselves or having parts that you don't have to replace constantly. I know for me wiping down my wheelchair was always a hassle and the rubber handles on my breaks wore down constantly (my dog ate them one time) and were very hard to use with wrist that easily subluxed.

Aids that are battery powered running on magic or some other fantasy power source as a sorta battery would be so cool. A Port that magically accesses/de-accesses itself at the person's will? Oxygen Cannulas that never need changing/change themselves? A VP Shunt automatically adjusting its pressures to what the person needs? So many endless things you can do with them!

Mod Virus

I’m not entirely sure what is meant by hearing aids powered by innate magic. If that means never having to deal with replacing the batteries, sign me up! If it means anything other than that, I want more information on what exactly it entails.

Magic aids that function the same as not having a disability at all are erasure, plain and simple.

Mod Rock

[devildomwriter]

Satan’s Halloween Duty

Every Halloween night Satan has an important duty to fulfill and the unfortunate few who provoke him will learn why he is the demon of wrath. Hopefully this year no one is stupid enough to try and sacrifice a cat.

1.5K words

CW: Violence, cursing, animal sacrifice, decapitation, knives, evil people getting what’s coming to them

When he wasn’t being forced to attend Diavolo’s luxurious birthday parties, Satan had more urgent business on Halloween night.

All October Satan had his eyes trained on the human world, one story after another appeared in the news—another black cat mutilated, strung up, or sacrificed—it made his blood boil.

Halloween night was when most cats fell victim to disillusioned humans trying to gain favor from demons. Cats weren’t the only victims, but they mattered most to Satan. He found it unfathomable how someone could so brutally harm such a wonderful, elusive, and adorable creature.

Every Halloween night, Satan lived up to his legends in the eyes of humans—a cruel and murderous being of hell. But this is only what they made him. He had no choice, every time he sensed someone attempt a summoning ritual he cleared his mind and focused on it, allowing him to see the humans from above. He never responded, not unless he found what he was looking for—a cat killer.

With all the wrath of hell, green flames appear around the group of foolish humans. Some laugh, some gasp, some freeze in fear, but most don’t expect what happens next—brutal, agonizing, drawn-out death.

Sometimes Satan has the clarity to question them first, maybe the cat was already dead, a beloved pet perhaps. But his silver tongue gets the truth out every time. They’re just murderers, plain and simple. Satan doesn’t detest human murderers, however…

That Halloween night was no different from the last much to his dismay. It didn’t seem to matter how many humans he punished, they didn’t seem to get the memo. Then again he didn’t leave anyone alive to warn the others, but by doing this he could weed everyone out faster. Why should they be warned? If they have the capacity to kill a cat they should simply die without time to rethink their choices.

Satan shivered as he felt the magic of a summoning ritual. Using his influence as a lord of the Devildom, he’d forbidden lesser demons to answer summoning and required noble demons to report to him if they’d observed any wrongdoing, this is how he normally got to the humans first.

He rolled his eyes and cleared his mind, taking deep breaths to focus on the first summoning of the night.

“Do you really think this’ll work?” The girl asked her friends in a hushed voice.

They’d gathered deep in the forest near town. The five of them fully believed in God and the devil, and they believed it was better to make friends with the dark. The dark didn’t require chaste, conservative devotion, the kind many couldn’t commit to. They’d rather sell their souls for money and fame. They wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences until they died and many didn’t realize selling their souls meant eternal torture, not erasure.

That October each of them had decided they’d go through with the ritual they’d seen online. It was obscure and could only be found in deep corners of the internet. It was a ritual to summon a demon to do their bidding—each would be granted a wish—the bigger the ask, the bigger the sacrifice. Unwilling to sacrifice a human, especially one so close to them, they decided on simpler wishes. Better grades in college, better luck in their dating life, the usual things.

Loud hisses could be heard from the black cat struggling under the fist of the largest man in the group, pinning the cat to the ground by its throat.

The tattooed girl looked away, not wanting to witness the animal’s pain but not doing anything to stop it.

“Brittany, shut up. Of course, it’s gonna work,” the slim man spat and Brittany rolled her eyes and handed him the knife.

“Guys just get it over with!” The tattooed girl whined and the large man laughed at her.

“It’s just a fucking cat, Molly.”

The other men laughed with him, Brittany rolled her eyes again and nudged the large man, “Matt come on, we don’t have all night.”

Matt huffed and nodded his head to the slim man who clutched the knife and smiled. He stepped on the cat and Matt let go allowing the man to stab the cat in the back.

It let out a screech that didn’t sound natural and they began to laugh.

The cat died in agony, in shock at what had happened to it, broken and full of stab wounds, it was then kicked aside and hit a tree as the friends had collected enough of its blood.

That’s when they began to chant and Satan felt the shiver down his spine.

The first ritual of the night and he’d already found scum. The earth around Satan shook from the might of his anger and his brothers glanced his way and gave him ample space as Satan answered the call and allowed the humans to summon him.

Appearing as green fire, Satan appeared before the shocked friends.

“Holy shit!” The slim man laughed in shock. Molly screamed in horror, not believing the ritual would work and the others grinned but froze in awe.

“Fuck…holy fuck…” Matt muttered. “Joey, where the fuck did you find this spell?” He asked the slim man but his eyes widened as he felt fire around his neck.

Joey, Molly, Brittany, and their quieter friend, Kyle, stared in shock.

“What?” Matt tried to say more but everything blurred and instantly he was gone, his head slowly fell from his neck and Molly let out a blood-curdling scream.

Instantly Molly tried to run but was unsuccessful. Satan wouldn’t accept that, there would be no mercy for anyone remotely responsible for a cat’s brutal death.

Satan made it so that Molly couldn’t flee, with a motion of his hands, Molly’s feet were cleanly severed from her ankles and she fell on her face, moaning in pain, not yet realizing he feet were gone.

Brittany stood up quickly and vomited. “Wh-Why!?” She gasped.

Satan was in no mood to answer. He glared at her and she felt a shock of electrifying pain surge through her body and she let out a gargled scream. She convulsed on the forest floor and blood began leaking from the corners of her mouth.

“Oh my God!” Joey cried in horror as his girlfriend’s eyes rolled back in her head.

Kyle watched everything without reacting and met Satan’s eyes through the bright green flames. He spoke plainly, loud enough that Joey heard him over the screams of his friends.

“I offer their souls to you,” he said and set down the butcher’s knife that had been hidden in his hoodie pocket.

“Kyle, what the fuck! You sick fuck! You planned this, didn’t you? You fucking—“ Satan had heard enough and snapped his fingers. Joey’s tongue was pulled by an invisible force from Joey’s mouth slow enough to draw out as much pain as possible.

Kyle grinned wickedly, believing he was safe.

“Your soul is already mine,” Satan growled in his deepest demonic voice. Kyle, who hadn’t reacted until now turned pale and a cold sweat dripped down his temples.

“Huh—“ was all he managed to say before Satan’s magic pinned him to a tree and set it ablaze. He minimized the amount of smoke so Kyle wouldn’t die of suffocation too soon to experience the true agony of his flesh melting and falling from his bones.

Joey was still writhing and hyperventilating, clinging to Brittany. Satan nodded his head and with that, Brittany’s blood completely left her body fountaining from her mouth, raining down blood on the two survivors.

“What the fuck! What the fuck!” Molly screamed before her jaw was pulled from her head and her tongue hung loose where the mouth should’ve been. She collapsed in terror as she began to die slowly, becoming colder as her body grew wet from the blood spilling out of her.

That just left Joey. Satan was angriest with him. Joey had been the one to hold the knife and stab the cat. Joey had been the one to break the cat’s bones. Joey had been the one to kick the cat’s mutilated body aside.

“You,” Satan spoke. Joey, without a tongue, could not answer. He could only stare up in horror, knowing what awaited him was worse than death.

“What you’ve done to that cat you will receive tenfold. Once your pathetic life has ended your soul will receive the same punishment in the deepest layer of hell.”

Satan held true to his promise.

There was nothing left of Joey when he was done but chunks of his corpse splattered around the woods. In Satan’s palm was the dim light of the five souls he’d so kindly been offered, only he could hear their agonized screams as their souls received torture worse than he’d inflicted and it would remain that way for all of existence.

As Satan finally took a deep breath he felt a shiver run up his spine and grimaced. “Great, another one…” and he vanished to observe the next group. Hopefully, they weren’t stupid enough to sacrifice a cat lest they learn why Satan is the demon of wrath.

[nizar-dreams]

As amazing as Fantastic Beast is with all of the interesting creatures and additional lore, I loathe the take on the American Magical World. And not because American pride (‘Merica🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🦅) but because that might work in New York, but that social structure sure as fuck don’t work the farther west you get.

Each state is different, it gives them their charms, and each state also has… drumroll please 🥁🥁🥁🥁

NATIVE AMERICANS!!! Yes the people who’ve been on these lands since before the first of the 13 colonies even existed!!!

Can you imagine Magical America? The creatures who lived alongside tribes? The giant forests? Hell, the other sentient beings like the centaurs, goblins, elves, etc.? Imagine:

The great Rivers and Lakes guarded by the merfolk and swimming with the great salmons, occasionally assisting the tribes along their borders so they all may share what the waters have to offer them

The great Plains and Forests with centaur tribes being mighty and powerful, guardians of the lands and occasionally allying with the human tribes

Elves that are still short but mighty and healthy and who get mistaken for native children when they live alongside human tribes

Goblins living deep in the caves of mountains, living happily with little human interaction besides for trading for safe passages and materials.

Imagine the werewolves loving their inner wolves and having their own tribes and living peacefully in their homes.

Imagine that, for thousands, and hundreds of years they lived in peace, occasionally waring against themselves but things happen of course but they way the magic and earth had never been so healthy as it was. Gods imagine Yellowstone or the Grand Canyon? Or the Mojave Desert? The great basins, the plateaus…

And then, when the Europeans started claiming the land that the magical beings fought to protect the lands they have lived on for centuries, the creatures of the forest hiding the remnants of their great lands from human eyes and hands, protecting the magic that slowly dies as the land gets destroyed and the magical beings who called those lands home started to die and could no longer protect the land.

That they tried to cling and hide and fight for their homes with whatever they could, but when the magical Europeans got involved it just went to hell for the magical beings.

The Native Reservations, National Parks/Lands, and deep into the mountains, are some of the few places that magical creatures can live in relative peace. The centaurs are not as many, and the elves either live on the reservations or the forests. The goblins are not like their European kin, but they are not the same as they were, now instead of trade for safe passage it is trade for protection of human materials or trading for goblin creations. The merfolk have perished in most lakes and rivers where humans have polluted or hunted their food to extinction. The magical creatures who once lived on the land are either hunted down for sport or for being declared born of hell.

Now imagine Ilvermorny, created by a mother who wanted her children to learn magic, and turned into a way for tribes to take shelter and teach their ways as well as learn other ways for magic. The school cropping up in the midst of Magical Americas downfall becomes a place that the few tribes not driven out of their home learn different form of magic while creating a foundation for Native American magic to survive and be taught in the school. Imagine multiple sister schools (because America is too big for there ti be only one school) to the original Ilvermorny being created to teach, to embrace and preserve a culture they refuse to let be erased.

Years later and it is a core course that gets taught, and keeps a part of a culture alive that was on the bring of complete erasure.

Imagine that when African slaves started appearing and become enslave, those who escaped and found themselves at Ilvermorny schools, they started teaching their magics as well. Then as more minorities started to appear in America, so did the lessons in certain Ilvermorny schools where these minorities were prevalent.

America is a cauldron full of magical cultures being mixed, and Ilvermorny is the first to openly teach different magical cultures. The southern schools involve more Mexican, Spaniard, some French, and African magical courses, while the north is more French. The east coast is more influenced by British magics, while the west coast is influenced by the Spaniard, Chinese, and Russian.

They all had their own mix and all have the main course shared by the people who lived their first, but magical america is sooo much more more fascinating and so young still! There is still so much that I can’t possibly cover without a month of research! And we haven’t even reached the southern hemisphere!

Fantastic Beast is great, but it’s missing the uniqueness and complexity of America. And I can only dip a finger into the endless possibilities of the magical American world.

[blackgirlsuperherorants]

A lot of discourse about Francesca and Michaela. But I just hope that Bridgerton isn't about to do bi-erasure.

A lot of the times in media when there's a woman in a heterosexual relationship who then meets a woman she becomes romantically or sexually interested in, it's always about her discovering she's actually a lesbian. Which, I guess, is fine. But I just wish that sometimes she could just be bisexual and it doesn't have to be about not actually liking her former male partner.

Like, John is lovely and their relationship is lovely. She should actually be in love with him. And then actually be in love with Michaela. But it looks like they're setting it up to be her marrying John because she was supposed to marry a man and he was the most tolerable, but she's really secretly gay. I just want a character to be bi. Without it being about them being a slut/having multiple partners of various genders just to prove it. Just plain old, boring, everyday bi. Which is what Francesca will be if they don't make it that she was never actually happy with John.

[nofomogirl]

What we know and don't know after Good Omens S2

Honestly, it's mostly what we don't know.

This was originally meant to be an intro to Before the Beginning (part 1.5.) - a post in my series of posts discussing what we learn from the opening scene of S2 - but I've decided to make it its own thing after all.

I just enjoy reminding myself and others what we know for sure and what is just a theory or a headcanon. So here I go.

#1 The Fall

I've already written about the Fall shortly after S2 aired: Implications of Metatron's offer

My points still stand, except now that I think about it I might have put too much stock in Metatron's words. I think they prove less than I was willing to believe back then, as it's not difficult to imagine they might have all been a bluff.

In short: we don't know what the Fall is and how it actually works.

All that we know is that it happened once, and in the process, part of the angels were transformed and became demons.

The rest is just a long list of questions.

#2 Crowley's Fall

We're not much wiser when it comes to the circumstances of one specific Anthony J. Crowley's Fall.

Let's look at the very few facts we have:

In S1 Crowley claims that "he didn't really fall, he just sauntered vaguely downwards", "he only ever asked questions [and] it was all it took to be a demon", and "he didn't mean to fall, he just hung around the wrong people".

Neil Gaiman suggested more than once that Crowley isn't the most reliable narrator when it comes to his own Fall, and while he's not as bad as Heaven believes, he's also not as good as he thinks.

In Job's minisode, when Aziraphale is on the brink of questioning God's sense of justice ("Yes. But..."), Crowley tells him that was how it started for him too.

We learned from Furfur that Crowley actively took part in the dubious battle on the plains of Heaven just before the Fall.

In the finale, Metatron isn't the slightest bit surprised Crowley didn't take his offer and comments he "always did want to go his own way. Always asking damn fool questions too."

What does it all tell us? Nothing specific, except that perhaps we were a bit too quick to take Crowley's word that he hasn't done anything that would warrant any kind of punishment.

Questioning God's way of doing things was just how it STARTED for him. Asking damn fool questions was something he did TOO.

In short - we have no idea what really happened.

#3 Memory erasure

It's one of those popular headcanons that have been around at least since S1 and got canonically confirmed in S2.

We now know it's something that exists.

And that's where our knowledge ends.

Everything we really saw in the show was Gabriel getting sentenced to having his memories of being Gabriel removed. Then he very quickly moved his whole self to the fly to save it and we don't actually get to see what the result would be if Heaven did it. Would he be the same returned-to-factory-settings goofball or would he be given some memories to fill the blank spaces?

Is it actually possible to plant false memories in someone's head or can you only delete them?

Are memories really erased or just made inaccessible? Gabriel could still force himself to access some of his old memories. Was it because that's how it works and everybody could do it theoretically or was it because the memory-erasing procedure wasn't performed properly in his case?

We know it can be done remotely, but what is the range?

How precise and selective can it be? Gabriel was meant to forget everything. Perhaps that's the only way and you cannot pick and choose what one remembers or not.

We do not know.

#4 Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship

In S2 we have learned that they knew each other before the Fall. But all we saw was one meeting that appeared to be the first one to boot, judging by the fact that Aziraphale introduced himself.

We don't really know if they met again after that, how well they got to know each other, and how close they became.

It's not impossible, that when Aziraphale insists he knew the angel Crowley was, he's not even right about that...

#5 Aziraphale's and Crowley's memories

Last but not least, whatever Aziraphale and Crowley knew initially and whatever events they were part of or witnessed, we have no way of knowing what memories they've kept AND if they're even aware one or both of them might be missing something.

There may be important things that only one of them remembers but since I doubt they've ever compared notes, he operates under the wrong assumption that the other is aware of it too.

Anything is possible, really.

I've seen many convincing theories regarding all of the above and plenty of delightful headcanons. I'm just listing it to keep in mind all the questions remain open.

[sabo-torao]

casting two south asian actors to play the royals of ARABASTA is plain and simple MENA erasure btw. just saying

[elialys]

the way people just ignore the fact that Dale romantically loves Helen, or plain ignore Helen in general, im just, the audacity, the bi erasure

[luxuriant-starlight]

A lot of people on my dash are talking about how Biden is still better than Trump because at least it’s ONLY the Israel issue that’s a problem and to that I say two things:

1. He’s really not that better than Trump on a lot of issues. Under his presidency, nothing in my life has improved, and in fact he lost my ability to get an abortion if necessary and has done nothing to codify Roe. Not to mention he’s failed to accomplish several of his most appealing policy decisions.

2. The “little” issue with Palestine that we’re “glazing over” here is a fucking genocide. I don’t give a shit how effective a person is or was at economic policy or furthering gay rights if they’re also simultaneously participating in the ethnic cleansing of millions of innocents, and have the blood of hundreds of thousands of children on their hands. I don’t want my children to look at me in 20 years and ask me why I voted for Biden, who participated in the attempted erasure of the Palestinian people.

Like if you think that the genocide of the Palestinian people is a minor issue I should ignore for the greater good or simply because Trump also believes in it, please unfollow me lol. It is not a minor issue. I will not vote for Biden or Trump or anyone who is participating in the genocide of Palestinians (or any other people for that matter), plain and simple.

And like, this isn’t to say that I’m not going to vote at all (just not for Trump or Biden. I still feel that it’s important to get out there and vote, especially in your state and local elections guys, because those are going to directly impact your day-to-day more than you can possibly imagine, so please vote), but this Vote Blue No Matter Who shit is so tired. Give me blue candidates who actually do shit to better my life and the lives of others and don’t participate in genocide, and then we’ll talk.

[lethxia]

mic headcanons. tw for graphic language. maybe self-harm. definitely self hatred. //

hizashi doesn’t deal well with silence. this sticks with him for all thirty one and counting years of his life.

it’s not hard to tell given his disposition, but it’s really not like that. not as shallow as “it’s like he can’t fucking stay quiet—” “jesus christ, yamada, give it a rest,” “youd be easier to like if you just /shut up/.”

if only it were surface-level.

if only it didnt cut as deep.

hes /made/ of sound, born with it, his heartbeat his adrenaline the hum of blood in his veins and his quirk. his voice. all he amounts to, some days.

he learns a simple fact at age three, seven, sixteen, twenty two—that is to say, he internalises this lesson like a set of beliefs to live by, every single time he /slips/.

calling them that is cruel. a slip up, an honest mistake, whatever. too casual for what he actually does.

what doesn’t change is that he learns he carries destruction like a shadow. this fact is plain, clean-cut. obvious, to anyone’s who’s looking.

(and everyone is. blood on his hands. his algebra homework sullied by red, and his ears—he can’t hear. his teachers. his classmates. his friends—/not anymore/. everybody. looking at him. fear and anger evident in their eyes.)

(and he’s scared, he’s /so scared/, but what do you do when the cause for fear is yourself? when it lives within you? when the only way to absolve yourself of that responsibility falls just short of taking a knife to your own throat and letting the damage pour out?)

it’s his nature, he thinks, ears still ringing from the aftershock ten years too late. he hurts people. just his /nature./

he hates it.

standing in the rain, he thinks, absurdly, that he should’ve died here. wishes that it was him instead, pinned down by shards of concrete.

as if he could ever be beautiful enough to immortalise.

as if he believed the destruction wouldn’t follow him here. the first time he’d been given the tools to control his quirk, control himself, instead of scraping together some semblance of it with bloody, bare hands.

as if he was ever worth the cost it takes for existence.

hizashi stands there in the rain, age sixteen. he doesn’t want to leave. he does, anyways, because like all things leading up to this moment, he doesn’t have a choice.

silence follows him for the next few months. it kills him a little, more and more until one day he’s shaking, staring up at the ceiling and aizawa is bleeding from the ears, a trickle of blood running down his chin.

/shit,/ he thinks, throat sore. not like aizawa can hear him.

(but he hasn’t felt alive in so long, and like this, the oxygen in his lungs and panic singing in his skull, it’s like silence can never touch him again.

and he hates himself for it all over again. )

so he learns, relearns, tries again and again to accommodate both silence and his own quirk.

silence, because people die without it. his quirk, because he’s nothing without it.

another type of death. (maybe it’s a fair trade, his life for others. he knows what his pick is.)

he’s thirty now, the oldest he ever has been, his hair his style his rocking dj persona, everything so carefully cultivated to project the image of “harmless”. he’s proud of it. wears it like clothing, like a noose around his neck, like a muzzle. he’s proud of all he’s achieved.

but it always goes something like this.

the lights are off. it’s quiet, entirely silent, save for his own breathing. (god, when will that stop—)

he’s crying. he can’t feel his jaw from how hard he’s clenching it /shut./ his hand over his own mouth, cutting off breathing.

he’s thirty, for gods sake, and he hasn’t “slipped” for a decade, but—

but—

(aizawa, in the hospital bed. his skin almost as pale as the sheets. the doctor saying that it’s unsure if erasure is intact.)

jesus christ.

he squeezes his eyes shut.

silence. ten minutes of it. just ten minutes. enough for him to unpack all of that and shove it back /down/. he feels the youngest he’s ever been.

he drags aizawa out to the sports festival, after that. its easy, undemanding, to play up his persona and smile for the audience like he doesn’t have the ability to kill them all with one word. aizawa doesn’t flinch at his volume. he tells himself that this is contentment.

he drags aizawa out to the sports festival, after that. its easy, undemanding, to play up his persona and smile for the audience like he doesn’t have the ability to kill them all with one word. aizawa doesn’t flinch at his volume. he tells himself that this is contentment.

he doesn’t do well with silence. it’s trained into him all the same.