#violence on the playground

[shironezuninja]

Nope, I still need a longer nap.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

Jensen Ackles hated Misha Collins so much that he started a GoFundMe to kill him onset. They had an epic fight in a McDonald’s playground where they played Beatles music for some reason.

[sciderman]

(Idk if someone asked this already) since we’re on the topic of gender

sci what is gender to you and how do you see it in you and how you express it in your art?? (Just a young queer artist who wants some light shined upon them 🥺)

i 'unno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[aetherdecember]

Another snippet from my Flipping the Coin au. Probably won’t make it into the actual fic, but I’ve been obsessed with these two and keep finding myself writing moments like this ^^

…

Mordred was sprawled over Arthur’s chest, with his thumb tucked in his mouth, and blue eyes serious as he listened to the story with the gravity of a judge. The two of them are slumped in their favorite armchair, the red velvet blotchy from numerous spilled drinks, sticky snacks, and misguided attempts at crafts. It was too warm for a fire, but in the dim evening, with the lone table lamp for light and the window cracked open for a breath of air, it took Arthur back to countless evenings spent in another room. One built of stone and lit only by candle flame.

Aloud, Arthur read, “Because he was the king…”

Personally, it wasn’t his favorite retelling, but Mordred had seen his name on the cover and insisted on hearing it, so he had conceded. Maybe he should’ve waited until Mordred was older before telling him that there were stories about characters who shared their names, but in these last few years, the events from long ago had been so close to mind Arthur had wanted to share it. He assumed Mordred would fixate on the sword fighting and tournaments. Instead, Mordred had picked a book that started with babies being sent out to sea.

“Two by two, he carried—“

Mordred pulled his thumb out of his mouth. “Did you really do that?”

“No.” Arthur marked his spot with a finger and ruffled the thick, black curls. Still damp from the bath, they were in need of a comb. And soon, if Arthur hoped to avoid dealing with tangles. “I never did that.” Dipping his fingers to tickle the back of Mordred’s neck, he smiled as Mordred giggled and tried to escape. “I could never.”

Sitting up, Mordred’s knobby limbs found all of Arthur’s soft spots as he settled knees first on top of Arthur’s chest. “If you had to, could you?”

“Would you,” Arthur automatically corrected.

“Would I?” Mordred’s pitch went comically high. “Nooooooo! Would you!”

Arthur gave him a look, one that Mordred immediately leaned in and mimicked with a giggle. “Would I, Arthur Penn, a man far removed from the ancient past, cast a boat full of babies into the ocean? Absolutely not.”

“What if Merlin told you to?”

He’d never had to. History hadn’t played out like that. But Arthur couldn’t tell his young son that he definitely knew it hadn’t happened because he couldn’t even explain his own past and all that entailed. All Mordred knew was that his father was named after King Arthur, so that meant he’d been named after Mordred. Because they were father and son and that was how it was supposed to be. He didn’t know that in another life they hadn’t been related and that the first time Merlin met Mordred he had helped save him.

“Nope.” Arthur popped the ‘p’. Out of Mordred’s sight, he set the book on the ground. It was time for a better story anyway. “Not even then.”

“What if Merlin did it?”

“Listen, let me tell you about the—“ He almost said ‘the Mordred I knew’ but luckily stopped. Instead, he says, “—the story I heard. It took place when Uther was still king. The first time Arthur met Mordred he was only a little boy…”

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Small boys play card games on a playground in Hell's Kitchen, where only a few hours earlier on August 30, 1959, two 16-year old boys were slain in a gang attack. The victims were sitting with three other boys, all of whom were wounded, and a girl, who was unharmed, when the gang struck shortly after midnight. One victim, Robert Young, reached his apartment on the second floor of the light apartment building in the background before he fell dead. The body of the other victim, Anthony Kerzensky, was found crumpled in a hallway of the apartment building at right.

Photo: John Lindsay for the AP

[july-19th-club]

i will always be anti-kink like go ahead and defend men for having violent rape fantasies and only being able to get off by brutalizing and beating women but it's finneeeeeeee because it's ~kinky~ you sick freak

pretty narrow definition of kink what about the women who get off on brutalizing men??

[age-of-moonknight]

“Instinct,” Moon Knight (Vol. 9/2022), #22.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Artist: Alessandro Cappuccio; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[bioswear]

KYS NIER IS FOR FUCKING FAGS AAAAAAA

Buddy I am a fag.

[robotpussy]

when people respond to hearing your experience with racism as "oh they're just jealous of you cause you're sexy and they're boring and white" is so fucking infuriating because portraying racism as a petty little thing that exists out of jealousy because that's not the fucking reason why racism exists

[starlooove]

Yes I hate riverdale and everyone on it but also if sweetpea Toni and fangs had their own spin-off show I’d be tuned tf in

[shimmerbeasts]

SPOTIFY WRAPPED - 58 - Mel / Silco or Sevika?

Spotify Wrapped||Accepting.

Song: Denn ich bin der Meister by ASP.

The water had turned murky red from the spilt blood. Silco had made sure that the cuts with Vander's blade were shallow and non-lethal. They lacerated the man's face, shoulders and upper arms. Ran had forced him on his knees, making his feet struggle on the uneven slope of the Pilt's shore. They were hardly standing in deep waters and yet Silco could smell the traitor's fear. Sevika stood a few feet away from them on the dry shore, not needing to get her pants wet. In her muscular arms rested the incriminating evidence of this man's dealings with Piltover.

Silco did not bother inspecting the evidence. Instead, his heterochromatic eyes focussed on the knife, he was holding above his head. It tilted ever so slightly as he inspected the blade. Blood had sullied most of it, but there were still a few patches of clean metal, reflecting his gaze of ice and fire back upon him. Chuckling to himself, Silco turned his face to look down at the water. As murky as it was, his reflection still trembled in the bloody flood.

Silco then peered down at the man, kneeling in front of him. The traitor looked up at him, beads of sweat sticking to his forehead and brows. His Adam's apple bobbed frantically as he swallowed, his breath raspy, expecting the death blow to come at any minute. As a gang leader, Silco usually delegated the duties of killing someone in his way to somebody else. So if you had actually caught his ire and fury enough, that he felt the need to make an example out of you personally, it was terrifying.

His voice was normally a smooth, soft whisper, barely a rill as it lulled you to sleep. Now, however, it gained a sharp authoritative tone, cold and chilling like ice, which cracked and groaned underneath your weight, ready to break at any second. It was just enough that you could tell your impending doom was coming and yet it never gave enough way for you to fully prepare for his wrath. For even a doomed man would learn one final lesson.

"When people look at the Pilt, they always believe that its most dangerous place is its depth where it is dark and cold", Silco spoke, "After all, this is where creatures like sharks live and not even the giant river otters can dive down into their domain. What they fail to factor into this equation, is the truth that the most dangerous place of this river is not its inky depth, but the very surface of the water itself."

Silco set his face against the man, voice dropping into an icicle, which lodged itself into your throat. "The surface of the water blinds, little boy. You cannot see what comes from the inky depths, nor can you see what might strike from above at any time. Controlling the surface of the water means controlling the very border and nexus, where two worlds meet. Only a fool would assume that they stay separate forever."

The man whimpered and tugged at Ran's arm, however, they refused to let go. His whimper turned into earnest sobbing as Silco turned around and sauntered out of the river. He sounded like a man on death's row, who had just been read his last rights. It was a far cry from the arrogant, self-assured whistleblower, they had interrogated a couple of hours ago.

As Silco stepped out of the water and shook his shoes to help them dry, he could make out Mel Merdarda walking across the bridge and heading his way. That was right. He and the councillor had arranged another friendly get-together for today. With the current business at hand, it must have slipped his mind. Feeling Sevika's gaze upon him, he briefly nodded in Mel's direction.

Sevika headed over towards Mel and stepped in her path, tactfully obscuring some of her view. She gave the councillor a polite nod and friendly smile, a greeting among kindred people as she spoke: "The boss is working right now. You might wanna wait a couple seconds before you approach him."

Her words had overpowered the snapping of Silco's fingers and his next spoken words. However, even so, it could do little to overpower the ghastly sounds, which followed soon after. From shrill screams and abrupt gargling to pleas for mercy, which were abruptly cut off by more gurgling and the heavy sounds of a body trashing in the water. These struggles were only accompanied by heavy breathing, growing and a strange muffled sound of something pulling and squelching. No matter how much Mel Merdarda might attempt to peek, Sevika always shifted to block her line of sight.

Silco finally stopped beside them. Only then did Sevika step aside to reveal a larger puddle of red on the Pilt's waves. It quickly diluted from the river's flow, though not without adding a strange crimson bloom as if something was sinking downwards.

Ran loomed behind him. The woman seemed to have doubled or tripled in size, easily becoming as tall as Sevika, if not a few inches more. Their pale skin was streaked with purple veins, straining to contain the Shimmer, pumping through her system. A haunted, barely quenched hunger stare cut through the silence. Ran's eyes were glowing cyan and their half-open mouth had a coating of purple and reddish spit around it. Ran's breathing was ragged and they gnashed their teeth in irregular intervals.

Languidly, Silco pulled out a cigar and held it against his lips. Sevika rummaged in her pockets and pulled out a lighter. As she watched the older man puff at his cigar, enjoying those first few inhales of the smoke, the deputy slipped a bit in the background, letting Silco give Mel his undivided attention. He wore a potent, watchful, yet predatory and sly expression on his face as Silco recounted: "The second greatest pleasure in life is watching pride fall. The greatest pleasure? Delivering that blow."

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[arcadian-vampire]

Having siblings is fun bc you can make so many trades. Just exchanged some fruit snacks for a Ring Pop (tm)

[nambywamby]

what i wouldn't give for one good longform slice of life-y roy sibling childhood fanfic

[luckyladylily]

So a few months ago there was the discourse about would you rather meet a man or a bear in the woods. I didn't want to touch it while the discourse was hot and everyone dug in hard because those are not good conditions for nuance, but I waited until today, June 1st, for a specific reason.

I'm not going to take a position in the bear vs man debate because I don't think it matters. What is really being asked here is how afraid are you of men? Specifically, unexpected men who are, perhaps, strange.

People have a lot of very real fear of men that comes from a lot of very real places. Back when I was first transitioning in 2015 and 2016, I decided to start presenting as a woman in public even though I did not pass in the slightest.

I live in a red state. I knew other trans women who had been attacked by men, raped by men. I knew I was taking a risk by putting myself out there. I was the only visibly trans person in the area of campus I frequented, and people made sure I never forgot that. Most were harmless enough and the worst I got from them was curious stares. Others were more aggressive, even the occasional threat. I had to avoid public bathrooms, of course, and always be aware of my surroundings.

I know how frightening it is to be alone at night while a pair of men are following behind you and not knowing if they are just going in the same direction or if they want to start something - made all the worse for the constant low level threat I had been living under for over a year by just being visibly trans in a place where many are openly hostile to queer people. You have to remember, this was at the height of the first wave of bathroom law discussions, a lot of people were very angry about trans women in particular. My daily life was terrifying at times. I was never the subject of direct violence, but I knew trans women who had been.

I want you to keep all that in mind.

So man or bear is really the question "how afraid of men are you?", and the question that logically follows is "What if there was a strange man at night in a deserted parking lot?" or "What if you were alone in an elevator with a man?" or "What if you met a strange man in the woman's bathroom?"

My state recently passed an anti trans bathroom bill. The rhetoric they used was about protecting women and children from "strange men", aka trans women.

Conservatives hijack fear for their bigoted agenda.

When I first started presenting as a woman the campus apartment complex was designed for young families. The buildings were in a large square with playgrounds in the center, and there were often children playing. I quickly noticed that when I took my daughter out to play, often several children would immediately stop what they were doing and run back inside. It didn't take me long to confirm that the parents were so afraid of "the strange man who wears skirts" that their children were under strict instructions to literally run away as soon as they saw me.

"How afraid are you of a strange man being near your children?"

I mentioned above that I had to avoid public bathrooms. This was not because of men. It was because of women who were so afraid of random men that they might get violent or call someone like the police to be violent for them if I ever accidentally presented myself in a way that could be interpreted as threatening, when my mere presence could be seen as a threat. If I was in the library studying and I realized that it was just me and one other woman I would get up and leave because she might decide that stranger danger was happening.

Your fear is real. Your fear might even come from lived experiences. None of that prevents the fact that your fear can be violent. Women's fear of men is one of the driving forces of transmisogyny because it is so easy to hijack. And it isn't just trans women. Other trans people experience this, and other queer people too. Racial minorities, homeless people, neurodivergent people, disabled people.

When you uncritically engage with questions like man or bear, when you uncritically validate a culture of reactive fear, you are paving the way for conservatives and bigots to push their agenda. And that is why I waited until pride month. You cannot engage and contribute to the culture of reactive fear without contributing to queerphobia of all varieties. The sensationalist culture of reactive fear is a serious queer issue, and everyone just forgot that for a week as they argued over man or bear. I'm not saying that "man" is the right answer. I am saying that uncritically engaging with such obvious click bait trading on reactive fear is a problem. Everyone fucked up.

It is not a moral failing to experience fear, but it is a moral responsibility to keep a handle on that fear and know how it might harm others.

[immanentise]

After a long lotta soul searching and psychoanalysing, I've concluded that I currently feel best about being he/him agender afab (& am likeee 65-35 fem-masc for presentation atm) which feels like a parody of tumblr users going too far with labels. And yet.

Like I can show you my working out here, and yeah, I think therapy might be helpful for me to get a more stable sense of self, but it's what I feel works best for me at the moment.

Now how do I integrate this self-discovery into the way I speak French....