#virtue signaling is not the same thing as holding someone accountable | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

woomycritiques543 · 2 years ago

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Long Post, but honestly, I hate to have to get involved again but-

What is you people's deal over Starlatte27?!

What?

Did she eat your baby? Steal your car? Break your fucking legs?

Because she was an asshole on Tapatalk but then apologized for it a year later? Because she had some shitty anti hazbin Tumblr she no longer wants to talk about because she hates it now and wants nothing to do with many of you because of the stalking, harassment, and death threats towards her? What's so different for her past self than so many of you assholes who'd rather spend hours of your time trying to track down a kid with your "YOURE STAR!!! COME OUT SO WE CAN BULLY YOU!!!" bullshit and harassing her freinds than to actually do something productive with your goddamn lives.

What's so special- that you have to stalk this kid for three whole fucking years?! How is her past behavior "so different" than "What The Hazbin" going after Star for telling her freinds to stop posting her deleted content and lying about her dms of when she melted down because they were fucking bullying her?! How was she different than any over "Anti Hazbin" blog at the time besides talking specifically about a blog that was well known at the time?

What's so different than ShowToonz liking one of What The Hazbin's posts of people giving them a pitty party over how they treated Star and the others without Star knowing! Stabbing her in the back- instead of having any sympathy for people WhatTheHazbin, Sia, or that other fan (she forgot their name) hurt and interacting with them despite knowing of what they did to her?! A true freind doesnt support people who repeatedly abused you and your freinds as a child. Anyone with a goddamn brain would put two and two together and not treat someone that way. Yet Show still did it, and tried to deny what they did despite clearly supporting WTH and their behavior with all the "ANTI HAZBIN! STAN!" crap. Or Devil's Advocutie traumatizing Star when she was only a teenager by trying to dig up her old Twitter to deframe her, near her birthday and Star reasonably being upset when she saw that one of her freinds named "Sia" supported this person because she realized how fucking shitty this person and other "Anti Hazbin" blogs that she knew at the time were actually acting. One of them even mocking someone for wearing a fucking t-shirt just because it had a Hazbin character on it! What?! Not trying to defend Star's past actions here-

But trying to chase her with her past as an excuse to stalk and attack the girl while acting like you're "so great!" for doing the same things she did is not the way to go. It makes you worse if anything.

It wasnt just Lemon either, Star told me that the context behind this blog was that they WTH and several others were harassing a suic^dal minor over a minor convienence in the discord server Star, WTH, and they were in and talking about them behind their back even after they apologized, being incredibly rude about it, etc. WhatTheHazbin never apologized for this, let alone pulling a "Tess Tyler" (Star's words, not mine.) and trying to pull down Star and other people for their past regardless if the behavior was repeated or not while not holding themself accountable and continuing to virtue signal and harass Star and her freinds on multiple occasions after this had happened.

Star talking about what Sia did behind her back is what started the "Sia lying about Star's age" fiasco in the first place! Because of her being reasonablly- and I mean reasonably being upset over the fact that people were harassing her freinds and continuing to do so repeatedly despite Star begging them to stop! So you wanna talk to me about "harassment?" How about you talk about how you've been harassing this 20-fucking-1, since she was a minor! Some of you went further by attacking LemonCritiques and calling them "Star" to get people to attack their blog and anyone else accociated with her because you wanted to track Star down and "cancel" her for speaking out about those that harassed her mutuals that fucking badly just because she didnt want to join in on your bullying anymore.

What's so different about her that you have to stalk her for so long when she's just been trying to make a better name for herself somewhere else? Because from im seeing, who she was back then- is no different than those who are stalking her are now! Hell, I would even call how you're acting even worse because you're being nasty as all fuck by stalking some random kid, that you've never even met and calling it "holding her accountable" when it's all things she isnt even doing anymore, or things that she never even did at all!

It's creepy, ok? All of how some of you are treating Starlatte- It's creepy to stalk people! Especially if it's since she was a younger teen, all the way towards her near-20s because you refuse to accept the fact that people are going to criticize you for being an asshole or for making mistakes with your own criticisms, that your posts arent as perfect as you thought they were, that you are also someone to hold accountable when you make mistakes with what you write, that you couldn't move on fter having to face backlash for your own actions instead of it just being about Vivziepop all the time.

Chasing after a kid online to try to throw her reputation into the dirt/ruin her online life entirely, no matter how much she apolgizes, no matter how much she tries to tell you to leave her alone, over things she doesnt even do anymore because of how much you want to have "revenge!" for her speaking about how the people you idolize did something wrong (sound familiar?) isn't "online criticism"-

THIS IS STALKING! It's that simple.

Showing this account because being a NSFW blog who stalks a child and not caring about whether your content traumatizes that kid or not, and being a stalker towards said child on top of it (this is a part of WTH's group in case anyone is wondering.) just because she announced that she doesnt support your group's actions anymore and trying to virtue signal your way out of admitting to the reason that you're really upset (SIA)- all this lying and harassment is nasty as hell! Cyberbullying of any kind is never ok! Please report these kinds of people. The bullying has to stop. Holy shit!

Also what's with the repitition of "you aint slick!" is this the same person?! WHAT THE FUCK?! 😂 Why are they back?! This part is honestly kind of funny- only because they're petty enough to try to bypass a block, bring up a situation that has nothing to do with their claim as a way to virtue signal their way into trying to ruin some kid's life by endlessly stalking her (when the "they" thing was just a calm critique discussion that ended with a apology from the other party that for all I know, this person know's nothing about). At first I was kind of bluffing when I said I wanted a break from Tumblr, but now im serious- some of you people are actually fucking disgusting. Have a nice "never talk to me or my freinds ever again!" thank you!

#helluva boss #helluva critical #tw suicide mention #again with the Tess Tyler comparison but #even if I was Star it would be better to protect myself by risking being called a liar than to stalk a child for three fucking years!#GODDAMN what the fuck is wrong with some of you?!#at least Tess Tyler apologized in that movie!#while many of you are still trying to track down some random kid you've never even met and trying to ruin her life over some old drama #dont you have something better to do with your lives? YESH!

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tazwren · 4 years ago

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My two cents on the devolution of fandom spaces...

As a former mod of a fandom space and a woman of colour, I do not feel safe.

Seeing what has been done to so many in this fandom, by a particular group of white American women, in the name of moral policing is both abhorrent and demoralising. As it also is to repeatedly see the same narrative being shoved at everyone as the gospel truth.

A narrative that very conveniently either becomes about fic or has nothing to do with fic, depending on how people want to swing things. A narrative that will accuse a person of Jewish heritage of anti-Semitism, a person of colour of racism, a practising Muslim of being an Islamaphobe. A narrative that will define for you and me and all of us comprising this myriad of multitudes in the world what generational or personal trauma includes and what induces the same.

Those of you who know me, know what I’ve been dealing with the past few days & why I haven’t spoken up before now. Before I logged out a couple days ago, I saw what looked like more of the usual nonsense by the same group of people I’ve kept my distance from once their true colours were revealed. What I didn’t expect is that they would think themselves so above the norms of human decency and accountability that they would go after not one but two women of colour this time around in their rabidity. And many others who spoke up, as it turns out.

It hurts to see what these women, that I know of, have had to endure and to see the passivity of the community, save for a few voices, in sitting back and letting the circus rampage through town. It hurt when I was at the receiving end of it and it hurts now.

Why? Because it shows me a microcosm of the world that I don’t really relate to, that makes no sense to me with the values I was brought up with, and which reduces basic human decency to a commodity to be trampled upon and for you to be seen as weak for having. Because people who willingly laud you for your art / writing / wit, meet you with effusive claims of love and affection and friendship, who have no qualms in taking your help when it suits them, will throw you under the bus and let the wolves ravage you when it doesn't.

Before I get into that, let me talk a little bit about what has transpired over the past few days to a week, and what has been systemically taking place over perhaps the past year in this fandom.

One thing is that everyone who makes a statement about anything suddenly has people in their mentions demanding they show what gives them the right to hold that particular opinion. A critical thing people forget about fandom is that it is a place where people hide their identity for a variety of reasons, all valid, and this approach to fiction and conversations where everyone has to reveal every part of their past and identity as a means of establishing their "credentials" in order to present their views comes in direct contradiction with how fandoms operate. It violates people's rights to privacy.

The other is that there has been an increase in the voices that purportedly stand up to “speak for” the marginalised, the abused, those discriminated against and those who belong to minorities who “need to be protected / kept safe”. An admirable sentiment, to be sure. If it weren’t for the fact that none of these groups of people needed saving, speaking for or the protection of this particular group of voices.

Voices who only want to define and use these people as "model victims" to hurt other white women and establish their supremacy over both them and other POC. Voices that will present their "truth" as they see fit and sans context or present you with screenshots of snippets of conversations held in supposedly secure spaces that they have no qualms in violating in the interest of the "greater good" and claim offense / silencing if the misdemeanour is pointed out or action is taken against them, Voices that will conveniently categorize you as a "token POC" or "white adjacent" when you do not support or align with their narrative. Voices that belong to a predominantly white American group of women, whose real agenda, as is evidenced by their modus operandi, has nothing to do with real altruism or a drive for justice or indeed to right wrongs.

No, their agenda is purely power.

To hold sway over groups of followers, to shepherd them as though they are sheep who cannot think for themselves, and to set themselves up as white saviours who call out those who step out of line, or are deemed to be problematic and toxic and unsafe. To be the owners of the only "safe spaces" in fandom and to drive other groups and spaces to be boycotted or worse.

Now, I've long wondered, who indeed are these women to decide that for anyone? In a world comprising multiple cultures, religions, groups, subgroups, genders and which contains multitudes, who are these women and what gives them the right to foist their puritanical standards on everyone, very conveniently disguised as concern for the moral well being of everyone and the consumption, of all things, of fiction?

Certainly, there are many things in this world that people regard with justifiably equal dislike / horror / sadness. At the same time, there is much that is not shared, that is particular to a culture and to a person’s background. There is a multitude of perspectives that make the whole. And the white women of the United States of America have not cornered the market on what those are, or indeed even own any curatorship or censorship of the same. They cannot, because each person’s culture and background and joy and trauma is their own, as are their ways of dealing with it all.

That being said, let’s talk about their pack behaviour and the devolution I’ve witnessed on social media as basic human decency is bartered for clout.

I’m all for standing up for someone who doesn’t have a voice or a platform, or maybe afraid of repercussions to voice dissent. I’m all for being there for our fellow human beings as they face struggles of often unconscionable and unfathomable proportions. I’m all for holding people accountable for their negative behaviours as they impact the larger community.

What I am unequivocally NOT for is treating such situations as an opportunity to preach, to virtue-signal, to shame and to put on blast the alleged wrong-doers. I say alleged because that’s what most accusations are on these platforms—allegations to do with things that disturb our sense of balance or make us wrinkle our noses or that we deem bad, and therefore make the accused deserving of the full force of the community’s misbehaviour and censure.

I ask you if you were found guilty of a crime in real life—you know, the one away from your phones and keyboards—would you not have an opportunity to retain a lawyer, to plead your case in a court of law, to acquit yourself? Or, if found guilty, would you not have the opportunity for correction and rehabilitation? Yes, you say? (If you say no, then that explains the spate of state-perpetuated injustices across the USA, but that is a different matter).

Why then are people treated so abhorrently in this court of public opinion? What gives you, me, any one of us the right to judge people so vilely and with a metaphorical gun to their heads? What gives anyone the right to say you better agree with everything I say, retract everything you said and grovel for it or we will eviscerate you in public, shame you, force you to change or delete the content that offends us and still ostracise you and in some cases even threaten you with bodily harm or death, or doxx you?

Why is there no grace in how people are approached or dealt with? Whatever happened to allowing people to learn from their mistakes, where applicable, or hearing them out and giving them a chance to explain their side of something we may not fully understand?

Why is there no accountability for such behaviour on the part of the accusers?

What makes the rest of you sit back and allow this to happen? What makes you think this is in any shape or form okay to watch? Today, it is a virtual stranger at the receiving end, one you can distance yourself from quite conveniently saying Oh, she just mods a group I am in, or I only read their fics a couple times or I only followed them for their art or jokes or whatever flavour of excuse you choose. Tomorrow, it will be one of your own - or it may very well be you. And you'd better hope there's someone left to speak up for you.

The irony is you will have allowed it to happen by letting the wolf in the fold. By letting these white women manipulate you, and the community you claim to be a part of, so unapologetically, so maliciously and so unashamedly that before you can do anything about it the cancer has taken hold.

If this was happening in the world outside of social media, they would have to follow due process, to present real evidence based on facts (not based on emotions, rumours or perceptions) and would have to allow the person they are accusing to present a counter-argument, to defend themselves or be defended. Failure to do so is a miscarriage of justice and, depending on whether this is a professional or legal proceeding, they would either seriously risk their jobs or have the case thrown out of court. If not face action themselves for attempting to derail the process of justice.

Why then are they permitted to range so freely through the landscape of fandom, snarling and biting at who they please, or who displeases them?

I have no shame in saying I was at the receiving end of their behaviour for defending a friend they put on blast and I will tell you right here and now, I am a woman of colour who feels unsafe and attacked by these so-called self-appointed white saviours of your social media experience, these so-called upholders of the common morality—whatever that means—who will fight for you the evils of problematic and toxic writers who dare to have an opinion not aligned with theirs and who do not bow to their clout. Not that they care, so long as they can ignore this fact since it doesn’t fit their narrative. So long as they can ignore what has just been done to so many people in the name of cleansing the fandom.

If any one of these women were truly interested in alleviating the troubles and pains of the discriminated, the marginalized, the trauma-affected, I invite them to please come roll their sleeves up and help in the multitudes of troubles that wrack this world, not just in the backyards of their minds. My country is amidst a struggle for the basics of human life in this horrific pandemic and, prior to that, for basic constitutional rights for religious minorities. Do not patronize me and lecture me on trauma and racism and discrimination. Do not marginalise me in your attempt to pontificate and set your pearl-clutching puritanical selves above the rest, or assuage your white guilt.

A largely American audience or fanbase in this fandom is purely a function of access and interest—other cultures have vast followings for things you couldn't begin to fathom—and it doesn't mean you are entitled in any shape or form to be spokespeople for the rest of the world. We have no interest in being colonized again by white oppressors.

If you disagree with what I have said, I congratulate you on being a part of their coterie and wish you much joy in being the sheep in their fold. Kindly unfollow or block me on the way off of this post.

#fandom #fandom culture #bullying #gaslighting #gatekeeping #minorities #people of colour #real talk #toxic people #problematic behaviour #problematic authors #problematic fiction #fanfic #reylo #reylo fanfic book club #reylo fic recs #trauma #safety #accountability

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arcticdementor · 3 years ago

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The devout and observant Christian is undoubtedly aware of the precarious state of the faith in our modern world and is becoming increasingly open to out-of-the-box solutions. One such possible solution is to take a cue from our bearded Amish neighbors and form rule-based religious communities—but maybe without the horse and buggy.

A brief peak at the current state of American Christianity should disabuse anybody of the notion that this is unnecessarily drastic.

America’s traditional Mainline Protestant denominations are bleeding out so quickly they will likely be gone within 20 years. That is not my prediction, but their own. The ELCA (the main Lutheran branch) projects they’ll only have 16,000 worshippers by 2041; the PCUSA (the main Presbyterian branch) lost almost 40% of their members in the last decade, causing one analyst to note, “At its current rate of shrinkage the PC(USA) will not exist in about 20 years;” and data for the Episcopal Church shows the same 20-year timeline until the denomination runs out of people in the pews.

More conservative denominations used to chuckle at these headlines and say, “If only they preached the Gospel instead of liberal activism, they’d be growing like us.” But they don’t say that anymore. The Southern Baptist Convention, the largest of the Evangelical churches, has lost 14% of their members since 2006; the Methodists are losing members while in the middle of a brutal split; and for Catholics, according to Bishop Robert Barron while speaking at the 2019 bishops’ annual conference, “Half the kids that we baptized and confirmed in the last 30 years are now ex-Catholics or unaffiliated.”

There is one major exception, though: the Amish—a mustard seed that is growing into a large tree in front of our eyes. The Amish arrived in the United States shortly after their founder, Jakob Ammann, split with the Mennonites in 1693 for being too lax on enforcing their communal rules, as laid out in the Dordrecht Confession of Faith. For the next 200 years, the Amish were just a few eccentric families in Pennsylvania that spoke an archaic Swiss German. By 1920, these few families had grown to 5,000 people and since then have doubled about every 15 to 20 years, including between 2000 and 2020 when they doubled to 351,000.

Unless something changes drastically within their culture, this doubling is projected to continue. One demographer, Lyman Stone, showed that at their current rate of growth, they will easily make up a majority of the United States in 200 years. This means the current moment may mark the halfway point between them arriving as a small band of friends and their inheriting the most powerful nation on the planet. They may seem like a backwards remnant of the past, but in reality, they will almost certainly play a major role in the future. This will become more evident after they soon dwarf more well-known churches like the Episcopalians and Lutherans.

…

So, when virtually all other Christian groups are seeing plummeting, or at best stagnant, numbers, why are the Amish seeing growth like this? The answers people typically give are that they have a very high birth rate and an over 90% retention rate. But that’s like saying someone is wealthy because they made a lot of money and then saved most of it. It begs the question—how? How do they have such large families—with 6 or 7 children per woman—while the country at large has a below-replacement rate of 1.6 children? And how are they able to keep all those children within their communities?

I believe it all comes down to one thing—the Code—or as the Amish call it, the Ordnung.

The Amish Ordnung is different in each community, but if it strays too far, other communities will no longer associate with that community; so there are limits. While outside observers will just see strict rules about hats and beards and technology use, the Amish see the glue that holds them together as a people.

It’s very important to realize that each rule is chosen as a group and with the goal of strengthening individual virtue (especially humility), family and community ties, and their faith.

As an example, most Amish communities don’t allow phones in their homes, but it’s not because they think phones are inherently evil and ban them completely. They often have shared phone booths at the end of the street to use when necessary and at their places of work. They just don’t have phones in the home because they believe it will take away from the purposes of a home—things like family bonding, chores, and recreation. Nobody who has sat in a room of family and friends all silently swiping at their phones can tell me their concern isn’t warranted.

…

The success of this model was discussed by Eric Kaufmann, a political-demography scholar at the University of London, in his provocative 2010 book, Shall the Religious Inherit the Earth?: Demography and Politics in the Twenty-first Century. Kaufmann noted the growth of groups like the Amish and the Haredi Jews (often called the Ultra-Orthodox) and attributed it to their birth rates and strong communities. Haredi Jews, for example, who also live by strict community codes, were only a few percentage points of the Israeli schools in 1960 but are now about a third of students, and he predicts they will very soon eclipse secular Jews. Haredi growth in Brooklyn, New York, is seeing similar growth, with high birth rates and retention.

…

Laurence R. Iannaccone’s 1994 study “Why Strict Churches Are Strong,” which has been frequently cited and confirmed since, gives more detail on the success of certain community codes.

Iannaconne found that groups can be strict on items as long as they provide a “close substitute.” Think, for example, of banning social media but then providing a lot of new in-person social opportunities to make up for that sacrifice.

“Strictness works,” he says, but the rules can’t be so strict they make people miserable and drive them away, or as Iannaconne says, “Arbitrary strictness will fail just as surely as excessive strictness.” The rules do have to be strong enough, though, to keep “free-riders” from claiming the benefits of the community without participating. He called these rules “costly signals,” like the sacrifices the Amish make by limiting their clothing styles and technology use. A person would be very unlikely to go through all of those costly steps for community benefits they could get more easily elsewhere. By eliminating free-riders—whose “mere presence dilutes a group’s resources, reducing the average level of participation, enthusiasm, energy, and the like”—they see the reverse, very high levels of participation, enthusiasm, and energy.

It’s not just Amish and Haredi Jews that have seen success with following a community code beyond the laws of the state—think of the monastics who survived in far-flung places relying on The Rule of St. Benedict; knights that followed the Codes of Chivalry; bands of cowboys on the American frontier who stuck close to the Code of the West, which gave detailed guidance on passing strangers on the trail, when to tip your hat, and with which hand you should hold your whiskey; and the tribes along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border who have followed the Pashtunwali code since pre-Islamic times.

…

Modern Christians interested in starting a rule-based community would need to create some real benefits that are harder to come by in society at large. I’d suggest the basic benefits of a traditional community (help with childcare and schooling, coherent customs on dating and marriage, providing purpose and companionship to the elderly, cultural celebrations and gatherings, friendship, and assistance during hardship) would be plenty.

Then, they could agree together on some basic rules that are costly enough to separate the serious from the free-riders while not being arbitrary or unnecessarily strict. Targeting the rules toward areas that are particular downfalls for modern Americans (promiscuity, pornography, social media, screen-addiction, substance abuse) would be a good start. Agreeing to forego these in this time and culture would almost certainly be a costly enough signal.

Also, many of the rules should take into account issues like abuse of power, cults of personality, convenient personal revelations from God, sexual abuse, and a host of other issues inherent to tight-knit communities (and larger ones for that matter). The ability for a trusted leader to turn out to be an evil psychopath should never be underestimated, so rules should take that likelihood as a given and guard against it. The Amish, for example, draw straws to choose their leaders to avoid jockeying for power.

One last consideration is to what extent “walling yourself off from the modern world,” as Kaufmann said, is appropriate. Kaufmann said that was the best strategy for growth, but growth is not the only thing to weigh. There are also things like loving your neighbors, having an influence on the greater culture, and not stifling curiosity and creativity. Some walls are necessary, like between a teen boy and pornographic websites or between a child and an activist teacher, but a balance between walls and open spaces should be carefully pursued as a group. For example, language is used as a wall for the Amish (who speak Pennsylvania Dutch) and the Haredi Jews (who largely speak Yiddish), but that would likely be a step too far for most communities, as would their highly-detailed clothing restrictions.

…

Out-of-the-box? Sure. But with the exponential growth of the Amish and similar rule-based communities (and our own failure to find a workable model for modern Christian life) it may be a paradigm to consider. Even without our participation, it will certainly be how a fair amount of future Christians will live.

#david larson #crisis magazine #amish #maybe the amish are right #haredim

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sarcastic-pasta-games · 4 years ago

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To those who have expressed love and support in these last two days, I am deeply thankful for your kind words and I have taken these to heart. I really appreciate the vote of confidence not only that someone who was once as awful as me could change but also that I am trusted enough to change. While I will be stepping back in many ways, the support and kind words I have received led me to change my mind about leaving Glitch in the System for Chapter 2 and instead take extra time to focus on myself while focusing on the game.

I wanted to be fully honest with you because it would have been wrong for me to claim I was stepping down only to change my mind and not tell you the truth.

Something else I want to point out while I am here is that Glitch in the System has, for almost its entire development process, had a theme of redemption. Throughout the process of making it, I noticed people on the team growing as people and witnessed that change in myself as well. I realized that the people we were going into the game barely resemble those we are now. I wanted to create a game that affirmed the change in other people and was a comfort to those who have made mistakes from which they feel they could never recover. And due to the internet’s toxic habit of assuming that we are all static and unchanging as human beings, this message has been needed now more than ever. Jack himself has said some offensive things early in the channel that he would never say now because he has grown, and I’m sure every one of you has espoused an opinion or done things you regret. If we hold onto the belief that we cannot change or that a person’s mistake defines them, we lose our humanity. If we demand restitution rather than forgiving others, we hang onto hatred and poison ourselves.

Some people came to me with decisions they too regretted, including criminal histories. I was shocked to learn of them because I simply did not see that person when I spoke to them. I will not be revealing anyone’s secrets, but it was comforting to know that I am not the only person who has made such terrible mistakes, nor am I the only person who has ever changed from having prejudice or evil beliefs.

Before I do much more in the game, I would like to make a promise, which you may hold me accountable for, to offer forgiveness to those I have held grudges toward in the past. The issues are personal, but I have decided to contact them and offer my apologies for my anger and my forgiveness for the wrongs done to me. This is something I should have done long ago, and though I may not trust many of them until they earn it back, it is the least I can do. You will have to take my word for it because I do not plan to virtue signal by recording the conversations, but I take my promises seriously.

To those I have wronged, I also would be willing to have a mature, private conversation with you to personally own up to my mistakes and apologize. The reason I will not make this public is because there are people with legitimate grievances against me who want revenge for my actions and have no interest in forgiveness. I have enough self respect not to drag myself through the mud in order to placate someone who will refuse forgiveness. While I am guilty of numerous things and do not defend my actions, these matters should have been made private. I would have deserved such a callout when these events happened, but I resolved to turn over a new leaf this year and continue with my growth from last year. If I do not give myself a chance, I do not truly forgive myself. And if the game’s theme is redemption, earning back your trust is a high priority of mine, which I cannot do from the shadows.

To those who remain angry at me, you have every right to be angry. I will never tell you to stop being angry or even necessarily to forgive me right away. But as someone who has harbored anger and unforgiveness, as someone who has been on the other side of situation trying to ruin the reputation of someone based on my legitimate grievances, I ask that you please consider what it is you want from me. If it is revenge, you will not get it. If it is my humiliation, you have achieved it. If it is turning the public against me, I am secure in knowing that those who are willing to give me a second chance and forgive me are the people for whom I am making this game.

But if you do hate me with the ferocity I have seen over the last few days, please evaluate the kind of person you want to be. Do you want to be the kind of person who demands revenge and continues to hate or do you want to change as well? You are valuable and worthy of love. You have the potential for great things, and it would break my heart to see you squander it by staying angry. If I am to offer myself a second chance and if those who have offered me support are willing, I am more than willing to offer the same to you. I do not hate you or hold any ill will toward you. I wish you the best, and thank you for keeping me accountable. I will do everything in my power to make sure the version of me you knew is dead and I hope that you too are able to grow a little more each and every day.

Chapter 2 Part 1 will be released on schedule and I look forward to seeing everyone enjoy it. To those who have offered me their kind words and support, thank you. Your forgiveness is touching and I hope to be as forgiving and affirming as you one day.

-Katie

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eelsfeelgross · 4 years ago

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Conclusions: Trans Activism v. Radical Feminism, a first-hand account

This is current stance after a lot of direct investigation on both radfems online and trans activists online. No group is judged based on the observations, rhetoric, or propaganda of any outside group, but from my own first-hand observations in combination with objective knowable facts such as actions known to be committed in public record by the likes of criminals or celebrities. However, the bulk of this is based on what I have seen, what I know to be true because it’s been done before my own eyes. While my conclusion may lack information on the more nitpicked aspects of things, I believe their overall impressions still hold true with the amount of experience I’ve had. Keep in mind: this is not my only account. I have dipped into the radfem community before, each time from a different perspective, at a different time, and with open eyes ready to receive whatever I was given. The same is true of the trans community.

Trans Activism

I want to make clear that these conclusions were mainly drawn from my direct experience with the trans community from within. I am not relying on critics of the trans ideology to tell me any of this, though they often echo the same concerns and observations.

The trans community has a serious problem with misogyny, homophobia, and sex denial. They employ magical thinking and emotional pleas to justify their conclusions and commit to arguments of definition that are ultimately lacking substance. However, while lacking rational, they are abundant with emotional reasoning and can be incredibly powerful rhetorical tools in convincing others to believe them without the necessary evidence of anything claimed.

This is especially prevalent when discussing sexual biology and sexual orientation. They consider self-harm to be the fault of other people, even in adults, and use this as a manipulation tactic to make it seem as if they’re being killed at higher rates than their general demographics. This plays hand in hand with the appropriation of statistics around things like racial violence or violence against sex workers to make it appear trans people, particularly white heterosexual (attracted to the opposite sex) trans women from the middle class of Amerca who aren’t victims of prostitution, are under much more persecution than their lived experiences actually reflects.

This has grown into a political ideology not dissimilar to a religion, but without the usual trappings we associate with a religious group. It requires blind faith in the concept of gender and the “life saving” virtues of expensive hormone treatments and plastic surgeries without proper regard for the risks and consequences of these procedures. Challenging the dogma or asking critical questions is considered a sin itself, even when done with excessive caution for other’s feelings. Violence towards known dissenting groups is considered not just ok, but admirable. Expressions of this desire for violence against the out-group is seen as virtuous to the point that doing it too much will be taken as virtue signalling rather than a sign of deep-seeded anger issues as it would for any other situation. Self-identity is their belief system, and public shame are their tools of punishment to control those within the belief system. Due to sex denial, females suffer especially in this paradigm no matter how they identify or what presentations they choose.

However,

Radical Feminism

Once again, I want to make clear that these conclusions were mainly drawn from my direct experience with the radfem community from within. I am not relying on critics of the radical feminist ideology to tell me any of this, though they may echo similar observations.

Radical feminism, as it exists today in action and not in theories from the 1990s, has a huge problem with transphobia, homophobia, and racism. The focus has shifted almost entirely from protecting women to attacking trans women, understandable on some level but counter-productive to all but the individual ego. There is a preoccupation with what women are “allowed” to do, rather than whether their actions and the consequences of those actions actually benefit the cause of anti-sexism. People feel entitled to be nasty, hurtful and even downright transphobic and homophobic if it means hurting their “enemies” somehow. I’m not sure if they fail to see the big picture or have just given up on caring, but it makes all their pleas for compassion and an end to the trans community’s homophobia seem pretty disingenuous.

This focus on “women deserve more as reparations”, when self-applied to the individual, does nothing to combat sexism as these self serving actions often do little to stop sexism and everything to benefit the individual currently existing within a sexist system. It totally ignores the vital role women play in perpetrating sexism through the generations, from mother to daughter or sister or sister or peer to peer through an intricate web of social pressures.Its not totally ignored mind you, but it is conveniently unaddressed whenever addressing it would prevent them from acting aggressive and toxic toward someone else. However others in the community who aren’t personally benefitting from this at the time will notice, thus leading to endless pointless arguments as the egos clash.

This hypocrisy undermines all attempts at broadening their reach to a new generation of women. Similarly, this toxic attitude undermines all opportunity for organization and real activism which requires a certain level of tolerance and the ability to give basic respect to those you don’t like or agree with. All those who do not tolerate such behavior will simply assume radical feminism must be a hate movement because all they see is vitriol and toxicity, no matter how justified the perpetrator feels about it or the underlying motivators. They will not take the time to read theory because they’ve already seen the practice and they have the sense to know it’s bad. Then when these newcomers see this bad behavior for what it is, they’re belittled or deprived of their agency for their decision to turn away from your movement, called things like “handmaidens” and accused of being either selfishly misogynistic or plainly brainwashed, driving them ever further away. The refusal to take responsibility for your own image and the consequences of your behavior under some false impression of ideological purity justifying it only further cements this takeaway outsiders have.

The most egregious example that comes to mind is the “queers” issue. Radfems are adamant about queer being slur, and they’re right. I myself grew up having queer flung at me by violent straight men and I’m not even that old. I feel no joy in the sanitation and generalization of the term. That is not reclamation, that is erasure and appropriation of pain. Most radfems agree on this wholeheartedly. That is, until you decide to spell it “kweer” and start flinging it at trans people who fit a particular homophobic stereotype: strange appearances, unorthodox body modifications like piercing and colored hair, unwashed, perverted to the point of being predatory, self important children who are just playing pretend to be different. All these qualities call back to the stereotype of queers, gays, and it is deeply intrenched in homophobia going back generations. And yet, while radfems would condemn the trans community for the appropriation of queer and its homophobic implications, they have no problem employing it as a slur when it suits their own toxic impulses.

Some even seem to believe that misspelling the word or being homosexual themselves absolves this. It does not. Anybody without the blinders of radfem internal rhetoric will quickly see past this nonsense. If the trans community came back and started calling radfems “diques” and associating the term with severely lesbophobic stereotypes like being unwashed or too ugly to get a man or any of the other countless stereotypes around the slur “dyke”, radfems would be rightly livid. Making a point to only target straight radfems with this insult would not make it any different. But addressing these kinds of hypocritical positions has become a taboo within the radfem community, yet another spark to relight the fires of senseless infighting.

This is the worst example I’ve personally seen, but it is not the only one. There’s also the tendency for radfems, desperate for others who are gender critical to connect with, to make alliances with right wing conservatives despite their racism and homophobia simply because they’re also transphobic but for completely different reasons. And also a tendency to be much more forgiving of misogyny coming from these new “allies” that will glady destroy you too once trans people are out of the way. But I will not labor my point any further by bringing up everything all at once. Regardless, for those who harp on and on about getting to the root of the problem, the moment anyone suggests you try getting to the root of your own problems, taking accountability and making changes, all that self-righteous posturing seems to go out the window just like it does in the trans community. You’ve become a reflection of what you hate in an attempt to combat it, and it will be the death of your movement if you don’t make a serious effort to reform these behaviors and distance yourself from those who employ these forms of rhetoric.

It’s a harsh fact, but the world at large does not care what you deserve, just like sexual biology doesn’t care about your personal feelings about your sex. It just doesn’t. That’s why patriarchy exists in the first place. It is your job as a social movement to use your words and actions to convince them to care. That is what the trans community has managed to do successfully, in my opinion often for the wrong reasons but successfully nonetheless, but such things do not stroke the ego of the individual radfem and therefore simply doesn’t happen in an organized, ideology-wide manner. Small islands of rational stand isolated in a sea of this pointless vitriol, and alone they are hopeless against the attacks against radical feminism born from the trans community and their sex denial that leads to egregious misogyny.

Conclusion

When it comes to the underlying theory, the ideological core, I find that radical feminism has the best chance of growing to become a social movement for genuinely good change in the world, particularly for women and women-loving-women specifically. Trans ideology, in my opinion, is inherently flawed as its core tenants require faith in what one cannot prove and a rejection of science that doesn’t support said faith.

Trans ideology as it exists in 2020 is more akin to religion than science, and has proven its capability to do harm through its use of magical thinking and distorted points of view that constantly shift and change to make space for the core trans ideology to be “correct”. Core ideas such as: sex is either fake or less relevant than gender, that gender is an objective fact of the human psyche, that others failing to fix your own poor mental health are responsible for your harm or death, that transition is always a good idea if someone wants it and no gatekeeping should be performed regarding using plastic surgery to treat mental discomforts, and so on. Remove all these ideas, and the whole thing falls apart.

Meanwhile, removing the toxicity of the radfem community as it exists now will not destroy its underlying core beliefs. Its just that the current people who advertise themselves as radfems and take up that mantle do not actually follow the core ideology of their own movement when it doesn’t benefit them. It has been infiltrated and run amok with bad faith actors who abuse the movement for personal gain, whether they are aware of it or not. And with their combination of being excessively vocal and lacking any shame for their misdeeds, more and more are drawn into their toxic games to the point that the ones who actually speak to the spirit of the core theory get drowned out or attacked to the point none will associate with them openly. The ones who actually know the theory and practice it end up effectively shunned from a community that widely hasn’t even read the theory and thinks hating trans people and thinking pussy = superior makes them a radfem. And thus, by allowing this, that is what radical feminism has become in practice. No amount of appealing to that core philosophy will matter if the actual people don’t apply that theory properly.

So my conclusion? Radical feminism has the greatest potential for good, but it is grossly unrealized and will remain that way without radical internal changes. However, if anyone is equipped to get to the root of the problem and make a radical change it should be radfems. Or at least, the good faith radfems who aren’t abusing the movement, of which I’m convinced have become the minority of radfems in the present day. Perhaps it is time for feminism to once again branch off, not to try returning to the 2nd wave but to set the stage for a true 4th wave as many have talked about. A 4th wave that is based on the foundations set by 2nd wave feminist thinkers, but forward thinking, self-critiquing, and not limited by the hangups of the last wave. I guess only time will tell what radfems value more: their egos in attachment to the idea of identifying as a radfem, or the effective dis-empowerment of patriarchy through organized effort at the expense of satisfying your personal vendettas against all men.

#radfem #radical feminism #trans activism #terf safe #terfs do touch #guilt tripping or baseless accusations = ignored #who am i kidding nobody is going to read this #nuance is dead and im wasting my time #RIP feminism i guess

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doopcafe · 4 years ago

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Star Wars TCW: A Distant Echo (7x02)

Summary: The Banal Batch and Anakin find a borgified Echo.

Comments: Is the clone base on this planet the same as the one in Rebels: Out of Darkness? Did they just copy the model from Rebels, or...?

Anakin is Zoom chatting with his “wife” in the officer’s barracks as Rex stands guard outside. First, there’s a bit of tolerable interaction here between Anakin/Padme, albeit with awkward pacing. Second, it’s clear that Rex knows what Anakin is doing and is specifically on guard for Prequel!Wan who, third, shows up and stupidly bickers with Rex outside as Anakin takes his sweet time finishing the call, knowing full well Rex is there sweating balls over the predicament that Anakin has placed him in. This is all in line with Anakin’s character, so the consistency is at least... predictable.

Prequel!Wan says, “I hope you at least told Padme I said hello,” afterwards, which... I might be an idiot, but clearly Prequel!Wan knows Anakin is holding secret conversations with Padme. I mean, they all have to know at this point, right?

Anyways, back to the “plot,” The Banal Batch and Anakin fly to Skako Minor where they expect to find Echo and someone says, “We are approaching Skako Minor, it looks to be a difficult landing.”

But then they just, like, safely land without complication. Like Techno just sets the ship down.

Ah, then a series of seriously stupid things happen. The group is attacked by these flying creatures, so Anakin drops his lightsaber and Tech(no?), uh, directs the fire of the sniper by saying some numbers. Sniper guy hooks one with a grappling hook from like, a kilometer away, which Rex uses to grab onto the creature that’s flying away with Anakin...

Ah, what was the plan here? Rex starts shooting the creature that’s carrying him, which is the equivalent of setting off explosives in an airplane you’re riding in. If you succeed at killing the creature, then you both fall to your deaths? It’s okay, because Rex has read the script ahead of time and unhooks his rope to drop to a ledge right outside the native’s village where he can call in their location and bring in help for Anakin.

If the goal was to find where Anakin was being taken, why not just like, I dunno, follow in your perfectly intact ship? Through the perfectly clear skies of this planet? Or just home in on Anakin’s signal from his communicator?

Whatever, it turns out this was a pointless scene for drama because they all just show up in this village anyways and immediately rescue Anakin from the aliens, who have conveniently placed a perfectly shaped, round boulder outside their outpost for the purpose of being used against them for such a purpose.

Tech has a universal translator built into his head set which allows him to Google Translate anything the aliens say. Okay. Okay, that makes sense. But then, in the opposite direction, it translates English into the aliens language and... Tech just speaks it to them? What the hell? I’m going to just assume there’s like, a microphone and speaker inside his helmet that’s actually recording and translating his speech, but, I don’t know anymore.

Also, my PhD in engineering *pushes up nerd glasses* tells me that “latency issue with the frequency” is nonsense. Does he mean phase shift? Why doesn’t he just say “phase shift?” If he does mean phase shift, then why can’t he just account for it? Even if it’s dynamic and/or time-varying, I would think technology from another galaxy a long time ago would be able to handle that?

Er, anyways, Rex is confronted about the validity of their mission—while balls deep in that mission—and he defends the mission by declaring that he “knows” Echo is still alive because he recognized Echo’s voice in the transmission from last episode. Ah... they’re clones? They’re all clones? They all have an identical voice?

Anyways, the natives help them get to the Techno Union’s city thing where they break into a room at the base of the giant pillar that holds it up. Anakin orders Crosshair, the sniper, to “check it out.” He does so, and sarcastically says, “yah, it’s a lift,” to which Anakin responds, “well, we already knew that,” in like an annoyed voice. If you already knew it was a lift, (a) why did you order him to check it out, (b) why did you order Crosshair, the sniper, to recon a room?, and (c) why didn’t you, an invincible “Jedi” do it yourself? By the way, you may have noticed that, by virtue of being a sniper, the Crosshair’s primary weapon is a seven-foot-long rifle poorly suited for clearing a room.

Anyways, let me end this “review.” In the lift, Anakin is attempting to explain the importance of stealth, when the doors open, there’s guards, and the Banal Batch storm out, shooting everything. They keep trying to track Echo’s signal, but it gets lost, so they split up, Wat Tambor (?) traps most of them with a bunch of droids, fighting happens (not gonna lie, I skipped over it) and... they find Echo who... LOL... has robot legs...

Honestly, “droids get shot apart by invulnerable clones” is sooooo f—ing boring to watch.

In conclusion, Echo’s alive because “no one’s every really gone.”

My enjoyment: 1/5

#pie211-tcw #tcw #the clone wars #star wars

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oh-boleyn · 5 years ago

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jane / infamy

words: 6216, one shot, language: english

anne / jane / katherine / catherine

as I said on my ao3, this might be my last one shot in a while (I’m really struggling with college right now, like in this moment I should be doing two assigments which... clearly I’m not doing), but still I hope you all enjoy this piece of garbage of story!

TW: canon, Jane being mean? probably more swearing that what is expected from a jane one shot

the commentary between scenes are things I got from internet about Jane Seymour

Remembered for: being the only wife to provide Henry with a son and male heir.

(…)

Jane Seymour was relieved.

The light is brighter, and her dizziness is starting to fade.

No more pain or ache in her lower body, and she feels quite better than in a long time. Her arms are longing to hold her baby, dear Edward, who has just secured her the position of queen.

She opens her eyes, but instead of finding her chambers, she is in a strange looking room, with Anne Boleyn and Catherine of Aragon. Jane wants to cry, knowing immediately what it meant. She is dead, there is no other way to turn it around. She died and was found guilty of her sins, was it her hell? Being with the other two queens? God punishment for seducing a married man?

They all stare at each other, not knowing how to proceed.

(…)

Virtue and common good sense.

(…)

The new house is nothing like what she was used to, and sharing a room with both Catherines wasn’t exactly in her dreams.

She had less problems with accepting Catherine rather than Anne, after all, with the last the relationship had been more than rocky, but Catherine probably wasn’t Jane’s biggest fan either. Even after the older queen’s death, Jane had always tried her best with Mary, attempting to help her image, trying to reconcile with the religion.

Parr wasn’t bad, but she was quite closed. They weren’t acquaintances in their past lives, but that didn’t mean Catherine would introduce herself and invite her to grab a snack or something. It was hard to think about her, how connected both were but how apart too. The most she would talk was about history, or science, or another thing Jane couldn’t bring herself to truly understand and would be left just nodding along.

(…)

When she died, he actually sunk into depression, officially mourning her for two years before marrying again.

(…)

Looking for a job is not an easy task, it’s not like she ever had to do that before. Her kinsman secured her a good place as the lady of the queen, and even when the court became hostile and fell apart, she managed to still have her place.

But now jobs required so much, not just her needlework and knowing how to perform the arts —whatever arts you want that to mean. Modern positions searched for way too many qualities she doesn’t have.

When Catherine offers the idea of doing a show, she says yes out of desperation of not knowing how to do anything else, not even how get the oven to work. Once it goes out of her mouth, she truly wishes the rest of the queens don’t notice how needy she is of the opportunity.

(…)

By that account, she was practically a saint!

(…)

Opening night was stressful to say the least. There are at least a hundred pairs of eyes on her, and her song – her song! While everyone clapped along Aragon’s and Boleyn’s, her part was different, way out of the upbeat modern pop style.

She couldn’t even have a fun, upbeat song.

It’s not like she didn’t want to, Jane tried so hard to add comic relief to her story, trying puns and obnoxious screaming. But her song was slow, more of a ballad instead of the pop-rock songs the show featured. And, to top it, she was the only one who talked about understanding Henry, about loving him, staying by his side.

Of fucking course, she had to be the sweet woman who just happened to love a horrible man.

(…)

Jane was Henry’s true love.

(…)

It is hard to fill her place, her own shoes she left behind when she died.

Jane Seymour, known because she was the one he truly loved. The one he asked to be painted years after she died, instead of just letting her rest in peace. Jane, the dutiful wife, the one who had the son he so desperately wanted.

And the audience loved it, they loved to see the dutiful mother, the one who can’t stop talking about her son. They cheered, they heard everything they always knew.

Because she wasn’t an interesting character in the story, she was just another woman there to obey the orders of the king.

She wishes she was known for something else, but that’s not her life. Of course, playing another character would be fun, being the temptress, the evil stepmother, the fun one, someone people actually cared about. Instead, she was the tedious, boring perfect wife. Reduced to her uterus capacity, and ability to shut her mouth.

(…)

I assure you she is as gentle a lady as ever I knew, and as fair a Queen as any in Christendom.

(…)

“Good morning, Katherine.” Jane says.

The teenager enters the kitchen with heavy steps, still not quite awake from the night of sleep.

“Morning.” She replies, voice small.

“Would you like something to eat?”

“Do you know how to cook?” Katherine retorts, a smug look on her face. “Don’t worry, I will buy something. Maybe cheesecake? Or apple pie?”

“Why not a chocolate cake.” Jane offers, getting the water off of the stove, almost burning herself in the process.

“Do you like chocolate cake?” The younger asks, “I would have pinned you as a vanilla kind of person.”

Jane feels judged. The smile on Katherine’s face just says it all.

“I prefer it, but never mind.” The teenager finishes.

(…)

Here lies Jane, a phoenix / Who died in giving another phoenix birth.

(…)

They move into a new house.

The moment Jane enters her new room, she knows it will take at least two months to get it completely clean. There are spiderwebs, and the white walls look more of a light grey. She makes mental notes to buy bleach, and other cleaning supplies.

At least her bed is clean, but she makes sure it doesn’t touch any wall for the sake of it not getting dirty.

(…)

Jane Seymour was a kind woman too, a better person than Anne.

(…)

“Are we coming to the bar tonight?” Anna asks.

Cleves is nothing less than an interesting character to say the least. They never got to meet in their past lives, but the woman knew her son. She even lived long enough to see him dead.

“I’m not sure,” Jane replies, “I don’t think that Boleyn is going to want me there.”

“But I would want you there.” The fourth queen says easily. “If it’s your decision, that’s alright, but I would like you to come.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

(…)

Her ladies-in-waiting and her maids were held to a strict code of behavior and insisted that they “serve God and be virtuous”.

(…)

The people, and society as a whole has changed.

Feminism is a common term, and women can –almost, to a certain point– hold the same power as men do.

Still, Jane feels more judged than ever. In her past life it was easy, if she did exactly what she was told, nobody would question her. She was bound to serve and obey, and planned to let everyone know about it. Unlike Anne, she was not going to take her chances. She couldn’t say that it brings her happiness, but it gave her peace of mind.

Nobody would contradict the orders of their king.

Nowadays it is different. People talk about freedom, about being able to own yourself, your body, your choices. Nonetheless, they talk about her. Judged her for saying good things about Henry in her speech, for loving him when it was her only choice.

It was her choice to keep her hair long, not like Anna’s. Her choice to wear make-up, to prefer dresses rather than pants. To talk about her son, to own her past. The public sometimes hated her for it, for her decisions, calling them a part of patriarchy leftover from the century in which she used to live.

They hate that she reduces herself to it, to being a mother, to fill what was expected of her, but that is still the only thing they know about her.

(…)

Jane herself was known for her quiet and soothing manner.

(…)

She sometimes sees it; the way Aragon and Boleyn are mothers.

Sometimes it is just a word, a name. Something totally irrelevant that snaps them into it, into caring in a way only mothers do. The way they treat Katherine, or how they look at a little kid on the street. How they talk to the younger fans of the show.

Jane feels like she doesn’t have it. She doesn’t care about babies and kids. Doesn’t have an attachment to them, to the idea of being a mother. If someone handed her a baby she would probably freeze and don’t know how to proceed.

Was it justice? Did she die so Edward wouldn’t have to put through with her as a mother?

Jane thinks she was just not born for that, to have a kid, to care for them. There were women who had maternal instincts, but she didn’t. Instead, when having to tend for Katherine, she grew overwhelmed, not having a clue of what to do next.

(…)

We will never know if Jane sought the king’s favor or was a frightened pawn of her family and the king’s desire.

(…)

“Would you like to go to brunch tomorrow?” Aragon asks one day.

It’s Saturday night, which means she is totally exhausted after a two show day, but still, she nods. Slowly, Aragon and Jane had started to rebuild the good relationship they once had. Both of them holding so much respect for the other.

“Have you seen Kat?” Parr interrupts Jane’s thoughts.

“She was here just a minute ago.” Aragon says, looking around.

“Well, Anne is looking for her and there’s no trace of where she could be.” The survivor explains quickly.

“Let’s look for her.” The first queen concludes, taking action.

They pass fans, excusing themselves, still taking a few pictures just for the sake of fulfilling the stagedoor the queens always did. Once they are out, a cold breeze hits their faces. Walking through the streets seems dangerous, but luckily enough Kat is near, curled up in herself. They signal to Anne and Anna to quickly come with them.

“Kitty, can you hear me?” Anne is fast to get on her knees, getting to be at the same height as Katherine.

“We should take her inside,” Jane states, “it’s not safe here.”

“Outside air can help, Jane.” Boleyn snaps at her. “Kat?”

She wishes she could be mad at her, but at the same time the second queen is just trying to do the best for her cousin. She acts almost instinctive, as if anyone would do that. The way she stays near her, but without invading personal space amazes Jane, even if that decision makes sense. She would’ve tried to pull the younger girl closer, thinking about it makes it seem like not such a good idea, the immediate response to fight or flight after a panic attack wouldn’t help.

“I’m okay.” Her voice is small. “Can we go home?”

Jane nods, and starts walking behind her towards the car. It comes as a surprise the fact that Katherine rides with them, instead of Anne and Anna as she usually does, but they don’t say a thing. She maintains her eyes on the girl, worried about her.

Once they arrive, Katherine is the first to get into the house, leaving the other two queens alone.

“I’m worried about her, should we try to have a talk?” Jane asks, Catherine denies with her head.

“No, we have to just make her trust us,” she says easily, “once she does, if needed she will come to us. Confrontation is mostly not the way to go with teenagers.”

“How do you know that?”

Aragon smiles.

(…)

She was the only one of his wives to be buried next to him.

(…)

If Jane said that she never wanted to be queen, it would be a lie.

The idea always sounded appealing. Who wouldn’t want to be one? Even in a modern context, girls still pretended to be queens, to live in the prettiest castles. Being queen came with power, not nearly as much as men had, but still a fair amount. The chance to change things, to have opinions. Not counting how good it could be to the family, to secure a future.

Jane would be lying if she ever said that becoming a queen was not something she longed for. But she didn’t want Anne to suffer such a horrible death, no matter if it was or wasn’t fair.

(She used to think that another kind of death wouldn’t be as bad, to die for natural causes would just be God’s will, and to have a divorce would be the Man’s will.

Now she thinks every ending is horrible until proven different.)

In this life she kept quiet about it, knowing how she might have interfered in what Henry ultimately did to Anne. She preferred to not talk about her time as queen, how he threatened her with the same fate her predecessor suffered.

She once thinks about boarding the subject with Parr. She saw that the writer went through the same, a warrant order for her head that was never finished, and the painful death after a childbirth. Still, she doesn’t do so, knowing that her and the survivor are not the same.

Catherine Parr was smart, got her way because of her words. Jane Seymour was just the ignorant fool who kept quiet to please the man.

(…)

The ladies in waiting were expected to wear a belt of pearls with at least 120 pearls in them, and if they didn’t, they weren’t allowed to appear before her.

(…)

“Did you bring something for the cold?” Jane interrogates.

“Yeah, my pink sweater, I left it in the dressing room.” Katherine explains.

“Okay, I will look for it, finish taking your makeup off.” She orders.

The third queen stops staring at the queen, instead looking around. Finding the piece of clothing, she reaches out for it, but winces for a moment when the younger talks.

“Jane, just stop it, okay?” Katherine asks.

“It’s cold, put on a coat or something more, you will catch a cold.” She tried to give the teenager her pink sweater, but all she got was rejection.

“Just don’t. Stop acting as if I’m a child.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise, after all, Katherine usually snapped at her.

“You are nineteen.” Jane indicated, anger bubbling up in her voice.

“I am like almost five hundred years old.” There was bitterness in the statement. “Nobody cared about me being eighteen when the king beheaded me. They didn’t even care when I was younger, why now?”

“Because I care about you.” The words come out before she can really think about it.

Did she really? Cared for the younger?

Of course, she didn’t want harm to come to her, but then again also not to any of all the strangers she knew in this life. Nonetheless there is something about Katherine, an innocence, a broken past. Jane wanted to take care of the girl, to help her through whatever she was going through.

“You shouldn’t.”

It comes out almost aggressive, like a threat. The queen who died of natural causes doesn’t know how to feel about it.

(…)

She learned pretty quickly that it was best to stay out of religion and politics, and instead focused her energy on domestic issues.

(…)

Jane doesn’t break like Katherine, but she still does.

The way Katherine breaks suddenly, they can all point at that moment and say that is when she started changing. Harming herself in not obvious ways, drinking more caffeine than what she should, sleeping less, eating the unhealthiest food she can find. They notice, but their own egos and need to not gossip in order to not be the catty bitches fighting against each other like history has painted stop them from acting as a group.

Instead, the way Jane breaks is slowly, anger destroying her. Consuming every inch of her, growing and taking parts of her life.

It starts as a bitter, indignant feeling when she is left to cook or help cleaning up, but it quickly grows. Gets infuriating, maddening when people call her good . She is not, she might have been in another life, but not in this one. She was not innocent, but rather had a fair amount of guilt. It evolves to be hostile when she realizes that nothing will change it.

Jane Seymour, the mother figure who not only failed at being educated and staying alive, but also failed at having maternal instincts. The good queen, who did nothing but harm. The mother of the king, a king who died young and so did she.

She hates herself for it.

(…)

Her ladies-in-waiting and her maids were held to a strict code of behavior and insisted that they “serve God and be virtuous”.

(…)

She tries to self-isolate, to take a step away.

It doesn’t help, instead the anger comes back stronger each time, and she hates it. Jane hates how violent the feeling can be, how abrasive. She controls herself as she had always done, but it doesn’t make it any better, a resentment towards her fellow queens growing.

Seymour was not a jealous woman, not in her past life and not in this one. She didn’t want to be like the other queens knowing that there were so many things wrong in their lives. It was not about it.

It was about making a mistake, and how she never got to commit those. Jane couldn’t regret anything in her life without someone telling her that “she had it easy”, after all, she was the one he “truly loved”. Even when her problems were addressed, it always came before a way to minimize it, or worse, blame her for them.

The queens knew that it was none of their faults, but people still pinned them against each other, choosing favourites, giving each other a role. And she couldn’t say a word, because hers was good.

It didn’t matter what she truly wanted, or what her opinions about it were, because their mind was made up.

Why change something that is not broken? Why get mad over a good thing? What was better, being a bitch or a saint ?

Jane thinks that being the villain of the story would be easier, liberating. Heroes are just too unreal to exist, but pushing the narrative meant forgetting her own flaws, thoughts, problems.

But who cared?

All they ever wanted was a devoted woman.

(…)

Jane curbed her tongue and accepted her place as the dutiful wife.

(…)

"Can you stop being such a stuck-up child and act mature for a fucking moment?" The third queen asks, becoming irritable, "I just fucking asked you to do one thing. One fucking thing. You are not a toddler, stop throwing a fit!"

It turns out, living up to five hundred years of expectations become harder the angrier you get. The worse the feeling of burning grows, the worse it hurts inside. Jane refuses to let it slide, to let it show, but Anne is not making it any easier.

"Go off, Janey," the green queen laughs, "or chill out, it's not that deep."

"Except, it is." She demands. "I asked you to please do one thing, and it's not the first time. I ask you, you do it for a week, and then forget about it. Are you taking me for an idiot?"

"Honestly? No," she replies easily, "I just don't care enough."

They stay watching each other for a moment.

It brings back memories, but their roles are reversed. In another timeline Jane would be childish, not caring enough, or maybe caring so, so much, about the locket and chain around her neck. Anne would watch her with such a fury in her eyes, and the blonde would internally laugh.

She regrets it. Jane hadn’t seen it coming. The dreadful ending.

“But I know you do; I will try to change it.” Anne answers, her voice just above a whisper.

A soft: “Thank you” it’s all Jane can say.

“You’re welcome, darling .” A playful smirk passes through her lips.

“Bloody idiot.”

“I know.”

Boleyn gives her a sincere smile.

Maybe sometimes yelling is useful.

(…)

It is also true that she was not as sharp or witty as Anne Boleyn.

(…)

It doesn’t last long. Before she knows it, the show must keep going.

Jane smiles, sings her song, sings about Edward. Edward, her Edward. Her brother too, was named Edward. He died. Her brother too, was Thomas. Thomas who did so much wrong. Thomas who apparently loved Parr. Thomas who got sentenced to death.

Thomas and Edward. Thomas. Edward.

She doesn’t realize how much panic creeps in until she is alone in her room crying. An unexpected feeling of grief for the family she once had, as much grief as hate and resentment towards them. Horrible atrocious acts made just for the sake of it.

The Internet says that her son, her little baby, luckily died young.

They talk about luck, something good. And even as much as she wants to believe that her kid won’t ever be a threat, she knows his father. Henry was atrocious, ruthless. Growing under his influence was probably not the ideal childhood. If only she hadn’t died.

Her skin aches, and she has to ground herself controlling her breathing.

Was it possible that every man in her old life was terrible?

(…)

She never seemed to cause drama or do anything without her husband’s permission, and she managed to maintain her carefully crafted image of being virtuous, loyal and obedient.

(…)

“Jane, can we talk?” Aragon questions, knocking on the door.

The blonde nods, slowly looking up.

“What’s going on?” The divorcee asks, rather bluntly. “You stopped coming out of your room, and when you do, it’s just to fight. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m good. Great even.” She smiles.

“Do you think I’m a fool?”

Bloody hell.

Jane doesn’t want to hold this conversation, knowing that she has all the cards to lose it. But at the same time, she wishes to reach out, to explain what is going on. To say that she doesn’t know how to be angry, how to defy someone, how to speak up. All she knows is shouting, crying and hiding her real emotions.

She must conceal what she feels, to not let it show. The less she thinks, the less she feels, the less danger it represents. Jane can’t be the next one. If what happened to Aragon was an awful experience, where she couldn’t see her daughter or talk to her for the last years of her entire life, and Anne’s death was way worse, what is left for her? Torture worse than death.

“ Bonita, breathe with me.” Aragon commands, sitting a hand on Jane’s shoulder in an attempt to ground her. “Jane, breath in. Hold. Breath out.”

“Go away, Catherine, please . ” The queen begs.

“No. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you here, please .”

“I just want to help.” Catherine says, trying to get closer.

“Why don’t you try and help yourself first? I know I’m dumb, but even I can notice what you do, Catherine.” Her voice becomes steady. “Why are you so obsessed with fixing people? Is this because you couldn’t fix Mary from the monster she became?”

The venom in her words acts quickly, Catherine’s face changing in a few moments. First a pained expression, then developing hurt. She stands up from the bed, and Jane rage rises.

“Why can’t you just keep for yourself, Aragon?” She expels the name. “Is that because you don’t know us? Is this a trick? I know you loved him, is this your way to check us as competition? Or just because you want to see which one of us can take the blame for what happened with baby Mary?”

Catherine stays silent. Humble and loyal after all.

“I told you I wanted you gone.” Jane finishes.

“And I told you, you need help. You should seek it before it becomes too late.”

(…)

Jane’s son Edward was at best a useless boy-king, and at worst a divisive religious extremist who disinherited his sisters.

(…)

Maybe no other queen truly understands her.

Or maybe she doesn’t understand the others.

How Anne talks about her beheading makes it sound like a celebration, a great day everyone was looking forward. She talks about how people cheered, even if it sounds mostly like an old tale made by people who hated her. Jane doesn’t try to tell the truth. She hides it in her silence, just like she hid from Henry.

She should. She should make it better for Anne, but a part of her can’t do so. Can’t bring herself to tell the truth. To confront the other queen. She can’t break the need to be perfect, the need to be good, and innocent.

Talking to Boleyn would be an admission of guilt she is not ready to commit.

(…)

Jane Seymour fulfilled her most important duty as queen, but she was never crowned and died just twelve days after the long and arduous birth.

(…)

Catherine is distant, which shouldn’t surprise her.

Asking for help sounds like a trap. She can’t trust anyone. Even if she knows how much it would change things, even if she doesn’t feel like the queens would hate her or judge her, deep inside something tells her they will. And she can’t allow that.

She can’t break the idea of being perfect after fighting so much for it in the past.

(…)

The fact that she had died producing Henry’s only surviving male heir gave her a mythic near-martyr status in his eyes, and he would do creepy things like having her appear in a family portrait eight years after her death (and not even as a zombie or vampire, much to my dismay).

(…)

“Why are you here?” Her therapist asks.

Wasn’t being a reincarnated Tudor queen who died after giving birth to the next king of England enough reason to be?

“I think I’m having problems with being impulsive, and out of control, and managing my emotions.”

“Which emotions would this be?”

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s good that you are looking for help, Jane.” The woman says.

She takes the files and starts asking more questions, Jane finds herself being more honest than in a long time.

After the session she feels happier, lighter.

(…)

Let’s get down to business and look at just why Jane was in fact not a cute little wifey BUT a calculating master manipulator.

(…)

It doesn’t last long, and that is what hurts the most.

Feeling good for a moment just to then descend into the pain of unbelievable sadness that invades her. Not knowing how to handle it, making her go slowly mad.

It makes her think of her death.

Everything was good, happy, easy. But then it started going bad, failing. Her own body, organs shutting down, fever, agony. A pain in her chest that barely leaves her breathing. Death coming to her. And sometimes she feels it again.

Short, confused breath. A weight so heavy on her chest. Her thoughts all over the place. Death creeping on her. Her psychologist calls it a panic attack, stress coming to her. And she doesn’t know how to react to the idea that it’s just her brain. Drowning in thoughts, so deep that she can’t see the surface.

(…)

That’s two Queens brought back into the folds of power, a feat Jane achieved in just 6 months, thanks to her skill at manipulating Henry without him even realizing.

(…)

Anna doesn’t come to her, just the contrary. Jane tries to help.

Watching the queen crumbling down, makes her feel smaller. Just the contrary to her stage presence. This Anna is not partying, no joking. She is broken. Not a unidimensional character that they pull each night. Cleves has kept a mask for so long, that is just now breaking.

Jane can’t help but wonder if they all do. But it’s different. Jane had always been allowed to be sad, to cry, to be sensible and weak, while Anna never had that privilege. Each role assigned to them had their good and bad parts.

“We might not be great. I know I’m not. But we are here for you. We are all in this.”

“Do you really mean it?” The fourth queen asks.

She doesn’t doubt it. It’s just the way it worked, everyone had their places, what they tried to fulfil. It was harder on some of them. To keep or to destroy what they were. Create a new self being idyllic, impossible.

“Of course, I do.” Jane smiles.

(…)

Jane was not beautiful. She was not outspoken, or alluring, or exotic.

(…)

An article said he was sick for months. That he died slowly, painfully.

Her son had died when still young. And she never held his hand. She wonders if he was scared. If he thought what death might have felt like. Sometimes it keeps her up at night, her sick son who had to lay in a bed. Who she can’t help.

She wasn’t scared of death, as she never quite understood, fever coming to her, letting her slowly go. Making her confused, as she didn’t understand if she died until she came back.

What was better? To go without knowing or to stay knowing that the ultimate end is near?

Jane used to be catholic, used to devote herself to religion. But since she came back it all feels like a lie, an elaborated truth that kept her from making errors. Still, for his supposed last words, she hopes God had mercy on him.

(…)

Nobody wants an unfun queen.

(…)

“Jane, may I sit with you?”

The older nods, making space on the sofa. Katherine practically jumps to the spot but doesn’t relax until Jane opens her arms for the girl to get into the embrace. They stay like that for a few moments, just enjoying each other’s company.

They had managed to somehow have a good relationship. Maybe because Jane never feels as if Katherine judges. Maybe because Katherine never met her in life. Maybe because they know the least about their past. It somehow brings them closer.

“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” The third queen wonders.

She keeps in mind Aragon’s words, if Katherine feels safe enough, she will open up. Slowly the changes had been more noticeable, especially after starting therapy.

Maybe it’s the need to be a mother, maybe it’s just the way Katherine can charm anyone, with shy smiles and childish glee.

“I feel bad.” Katherine admits. “I… I have tried to ignore things and I just feel guilty about it.”

Jane nods, knowing what the feeling is about. Remorse is an even more common feeling in the queens’ household than it is probably in others.

Maybe they are both broken.

“What about?” She wonders.

Maybe it’s just meant to be.

“They beheaded the woman who helped me.” Katherine admits. “They beheaded her too.”

Maybe it’s because they both feel the blood on their hands.

“But it wasn’t your fault. You can’t make yourself responsible for others’ actions.” Jane confirms.

“I never cried. Since I came back, I never cried for her. I just pushed it to the back of my mind, acted as if it did not happen.” Her eyes water. “She died for me. And I am back, and she is not. I still don’t try to bring those memories back.”

“Some emotions need time.” The older one tries to explain. “Grief it’s not lineal, there’s denial, there’s guilt.”

“She didn’t deserve it.”

“You didn’t either. But you can honour her. We have a second chance, something impossible.”

“What are you using your second chance for?” Katherine wonders.

Jane doesn’t have an answer.

(…)

Jane Seymour: (shrug) enh.

(…)

Sometimes talking with fans is easier. They comment about the play with blissful glee, about the shiny costumes and loud music. Some go as far as making copies of her costume, to draw her, to write letters. They still don’t know her fully and they mostly don’t care to find out.

Jane can’t help but wonder if Edward ever felt love like that, blind, from someone who doesn’t know who you are. She can’t help but wonder what her son knew of her, because he never met her. She didn’t get to really meet him either, but she has Anna, who sometimes would drop a funny story of a young king, Katherine who remembers a little boy, and Catherine who talks about how smart he was.

She hopes that he had someone to tell him her story.

(…)

In her entire 18 months as queen, Jane Seymour failed to say one single thing that anybody thought was worth preserving for the future.

(…)

“Catherine, can we talk?” Jane asks.

The first queen nods sternly, sitting in front of her. Even though their relationship had been less tense since she started therapy a while ago, things were still not quite resolved within them.

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Catherine starts. “I shouldn’t have pushed, specifically not when I told you not to push Katherine.”

“No, it’s alright.” The blonde smiles. “Katherine shouldn’t be pressured, that’s true. But we are different. I didn’t understand what you were trying to do but now I do. And I’m sorry. I have been realizing things slowly and it’s just a matter of time until I will feel better again.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” The first queen asks.

“It’s the idea of being perfect. To fill in my own shoes. To comply, and obey and serve. You knew me before, and you know me now, but I just feel so much responsibility to be who people think I am. I talk about how I stayed, firm by his side, but in reality, I didn’t. I was scared. I am scared. And it’s such a weird feeling, because it drives me to do the exact opposite thing of what I try to do. My death was just something that happened, but I can’t help and think that I was lucky to have died. Who knows what could’ve been of me otherwise?”

“You don’t have to be perfect.”

“But I do.” Jane replies. “It’s just my place, and I’m a character. I just have to learn where and when I should be myself.”

“Are you sure? No one is expecting anything.”

“They are. And it’s okay. They want it, the love story, the tragic ending. I wish it was like that, but it was not. But I’m going to be fine, because I’m pretty tough. And it doesn’t come from screaming, being the loudest or the most anything. It comes from me, and I don’t have to prove it to anyone else.”

(…)

Or, god forbid, are you a fan of the insufferable Jane Fucking Seymour?

(…)

“I might miss some foods from the past, but I love this.” Anne said happily, devouring some chocolate lentils.

“Stop it! I want some too.” Her almost namesake replied, trying to take some.

“Anna, don’t worry about chocolate and help me pick a movie.” Parr insists. “I saw that this one was good, this account said that they used a new kind of animation to do it. Created a new program and all.”

Jane smiles, laughing lightly at Catherine who can’t keep facts for herself. Each time it becomes better, less superior talking and more nerdy, passionate about useless knowledge.

“Whatever you choose, please let it be short, I’m so tired tonight.” Aragon asks.

“That one is ninety minutes long.” Katherine offers.

The third queen sits, gossiping about the plot

(…)

So, don’t overlook Jane. Sure she’s quiet, but remember it’s the quiet ones you have to watch.

(…)

Second chances were overrated, that much could be said for Jane Seymour.

Sometimes, people don’t change, themselves or their minds. In her two lives, she dealt with it all. With trying and not, with fighting and keeping quiet, with being looked up to and with being irrationally disliked. Society, as a whole, would never be pleased. Setting standards too high, as much as those vary from time to time, from one century to the other, there was always going to be something wrong.

But it didn’t mean she had to just follow it.

Second chances were overrated, wasting hers into demonstrating things to anyone except herself. The general opinion might not change, but Jane does. She learns, grows. She cries, gets sick and has horrible days, she fights, speaks out, she loves, she smiles. It’s hard, to live a life she shouldn’t have, but it means that is her opportunity, not to be revolutionary, not to be a queen nor a mother.

Jane learns to be herself, to explore, to know her limits. And it never ends.

Second chances were overrated, but it doesn’t mean that Jane was going to try and make the best out of hers. Maybe it is boring, or naïve to not try to take an impossible opportunity, but she doesn’t need it. To be true to herself is more than just enough.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #six fanfic #jane seymour

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siluscrow · 5 years ago

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Life advice and shit

So it’s 3:30am and I’m waiting on a render to finish up so Imma drop some life advice on Tumblr ‘cause I’m bored as fuck. Well life advice and general life methodology.

Be excellent to each other.

Don’t judge people for shit they can’t control like race, gender, sexual preference, etc., judge people for their actions and words. They have a say in that shit after all.

Don’t hold people accountable for things they themselves have not done. An ancestor may have been a shit person but you shouldn’t have to pay for their crimes when they’re long dead.

Uphold standards evenly. Hold people to the same standards, don’t give people a pass for shitty behavior but then rip into someone for doing the exact same thing. Sometimes double standards are the only standards a person has. Don’t be that person.

If you HAVE to make arguments about/against demographics (based on sex, gender, etc.), switch said demographics up and take a look at it again. If it then seems racist, sexist, homophobic or what have you, you may wanna re-evaluate some things.

Also, don’t make arguments about/against demographics, make them about people. All [Demographic] people aren’t problematic, but that motherfucker there that’s shouting slurs sure as fuck is.

“Well the good [demographic] knows when I say ‘all [demographic] people are trash’ that I’m not talking about them.” No. Get better fucking wording you sack of shit. You’re assuming that people will pick that up and not read it like you’re throwing entire groups of people under the bus ‘cause you can’t be bothered to not blame entire demographics for the actions of a few people that just happen to be in said demographic.

If you start shit, don’t get pissy when someone tries to challenge you on said shit. This extends to both arguments/debates and physical violence. Don’t throw hands unless you’re ready to catch hands.

Personal attacks only serve to point out that your argument can’t stand on its own and you have to resort to tearing down the person as opposed to the point they are trying to make. Get a better fucking argument.

“I don’t have the time or patience to explain this to you” is a fucking lazy cop out, as is “just google it”. You’re making an argument? Fucking put in the leg work on it.

Don’t fuckin’ drag people that are just trying to learn or do better.

Do no harm but take no shit. Or, I would say, don’t hurt people, but be ready to break a motherfucker if you have to.

Don’t engage in cancel culture. Yes even against them. Them too. People seem to dig up shit from years ago and try to hold it over people’s heads like it matters now. I’m damn sure that you, dear reader, have done or said shit in the past that could be used to cancel you now. But you learned. You got better. You grew as a person and you’re not like that any more (I would hope). So yeah, fuck cancelling people, shit’s dumb and unhelpful.

The easiest way to get people to not give a shit about something is to preach at them and guilt them. Bring things to people’s attention, spread the word, etc., but don’t shame people for not knowing or caring about what you’re talking about. People got their own shit to deal with and some people just cannot or do not have more on their plate than they can deal with.

Stay hydrated. That means water ya ding dongs.

Make sure to get some Vitamin C in ya. Scurvy is a thing. Guy I had a class with a few years back got it and lost a tooth. So eat an orange or drink some citrus juice now and again or something.

Be sure to eat something. I know it’s hard for some people, but get some food in your belly if you’re having a bad time.

Be sure to get some good rest. Not even sleep (though that is important), just like...decompression time. Being constantly wound up isn’t good for you.

On a VERY specific note, Dramamine for anxiety/stress nausea, like holy shit guys.

If you’re gonna break up with a significant other, for the love of fuck don’t do it via text. Have the goddamn common curtesy to at least call them and tell them yourself. And actually tell them WHY you’re breaking up with them.

Relationship-wise, don’t fuckin’ play games and don’t be with anyone that plays games. You don’t need that kinda drama in your life.

For the love of fuck, communicate with your SO, and be receptive when your SO is trying to communicate with you. So much drama can be avoided if you actually TALK with your SO about what’s going on.

Hanlon’s Razor: “Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.”

Let people enjoy things. If it’s not blatantly illegal at least, ya know?

Cut the holier than thou attitude and virtue signaling. Makes you seem like a bigger asshole than you probably are.

Try to hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. This applies both to people and situations.

Try to worry about yourself before you worry about others. If you’re struggling to put food on the table it’ll do you no good to kick funds to other people in need. YOU are people in need. Get yourself sorted out and then extend a hand to those you can.

....I think that’s all I got for now. I may return to this later jf I get bored again.

#life advice #social justice #don’t be an asshole #be excellent to one another #text post

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monstersinthecosmos · 6 years ago

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The thing about whether or not fiction affects reality is only half the conversation, and most people who bring it up just drop it and walk away and leave it at that. It’s an empty gesture intended to be a conversation stopper.

Like, of course fiction affects reality to an extent, we know this. I mean anyone in a fandom space knows this--we’ve all been emotionally affected in some way by the fiction we’ve consumed.

HOWEVER. You can’t end the conversation there, because you’re not tackling the other half of it. Because what exactly do you plan to do about it? And when do we stop holding people accountable for their own actions and talking about personal responsibility?

Marilyn Manson was blamed for Columbine.

Judas Priest and Ozzy Osborne were blamed for inciting their fans’ suicides.

People will. not. stop. blaming video games for gun violence.

The thing is, yes fiction affects reality. To a point. But the idea that we should blame artists for what people chose to take from their work is fucked up and unwarranted and you’re placing the blame on the wrong party.

You know who was responsible for Columbine?

The shooters.

And, this isn’t necessarily fiction related, but I’d also like to introduce how many times innovations have been misused from the way the creator intended, because I think it’s the same. Like pop-up ads and K-Cup pods. Do we blame creators for what people choose to manipulate from their work?

Don’t sit here and rally against all types of victim blaming where we’re constantly reinforcing the truth that the perpetrator is the one responsible for the crime and then turn around and try to blame artists and writers and creators when it’s convenient for your virtue signaling.

Our culture is a complicated tapestry and while there are bigger conversations to be had about the ethics of having a platform and knowing your audience, media’s role in rape culture, the way we’re programmed to have biases that keep oppressive structures in place, that sometimes criminal behavior does take a village--blaming creators for their artistic expression instead of blaming the predators and criminals and holding them accountable for their actions absolves them of responsibility. You could say the same for people blaming their sociopathy on childhood trauma, where we’ve accepted that plenty of people endure trauma without turning evil, and it can’t be the only factor at work. We’ve all watched horror films and not murdered someone after, we’ve all played violent video games. Don’t blame the artist.

It’s my dream that instead of blaming creators, we start looking up and questioning the efficacy of our educational system, because maybe if the general public had a better grasp on critical thinking they wouldn’t be so prone to falling for stupid bullshit.

#honestly at the end of the day if we could fix education it would fix all the other problems lol #fucking educate people #this was a coded message where i'm actually just telling you to FUCKING VOTE #fix our goddamn country lol #fuckin tumblr lol #also i mean this ties into the idea of like #with the k cup thing like can naivete be malicious?#kinda like how people on tumblr think ignorance is malicious sometimes #when sometimes people just... don't know things #and it doesn't make them a bad person #sigh!#it's just!#a lot to talk about!#black & white thinking gets you nowhere if you can't have this conversation!#also as a metalhead this is a topic that hits really close to home #and is usually only a few degrees out from me bringing up the WM3 so #hey

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brycetaylorblog · 6 years ago

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“You Speak to Me With Respect”

Dissecting privilege, for the sake of productive discourse

Pictured: Revolutionary of the Black Panthers Movement Stokely Carmichael.

Background: This post has been inspired by Stokely, and my friend Nadine Silva. Nadine is passionate and works hard in addressing the current position of privilege people unknowingly take when engaging in dialogues with people about their community, and the way certain dynamics effect their community this will be the premise for the analysis that follows. She is a journalist and a model striving to represent her community in a positive light, and serve as a role model for young South Asian girls globally.

Stokely’s relevance is through his influence. Ironically Stokely’s importance and presence in today’s time is that the most intimidating thing about this man is how well spoken he was and how he articulated the thoughts and feelings of his community. He didn’t gain notoriety through wielding shotguns and AK-47s, whilst tailing police. He gained his notoriety, by making it known that America is on notice and his community refuses to be scared anymore, and will no longer take the back seat. I respect him immensely, and try to emulate the characteristics of him as an individual and as a movement.

“Our grandfathers had to run, run, run. Our generation is out of breath. We aint runnin’ no more.”

- Stokely Carmichael.

So lets begin .....

First and foremost let it be clear that no race nor creed or colour has the authority to take the moral high ground on any issue that effects everybody. That means no race or people is more or less entitled to control any one narrative that involves all. However, that in itself is indicative of what the issue is I am about to discuss.

Now I could sit here and explain through several paradigms how privilege operates and has transcended since that first boat left Britain, to the way our politicians engage in dialogue about issues that effect communities that are not their own. Most evidently of late, how majority of our government on both sides of politics have backpedaled in light of the recent atrocity committed in Christchurch. But that would be pointless .... Because the reason as all diverse people are aware, is that privilege and accountability to rhetoric is not about knowledge or discourse. It is about the retention of power, and hegemony.

What is discussed, and how it is discussed comes second to the position of the conversation. But i’ll stop there......

Rather what i’m going to do, is include in an interaction I had with an individual from the US to exemplify what POC mean when they refer to privilege. Typically I don’t engage with people online who are inclined to be argumentative, but on this occasion I thought I could document this interaction, and turn it into an example of something that can be used for productive purposes.

The interactions and my commentary are as follows:

*The original post was referring to someone I follow regarding how the Christchurch attack is indicative of ‘hate winning’ *

My initial comment was long winded so I’ll keep it punchy to the part that triggered this individual:

Myself - “They’re resorting to desperate measures, because they’re realizing that just by the virtue of being white doesn’t count for anything anymore.”

Lets call him Fred, initiated as follows:

Fred: “Virtue of being white? Your jumbled sentence with racist tones seems to have the desired effect of the gunman’s motive.”

| Note how he included the word ‘virtue’ whilst quoting me, but his response neglected the context that word provides? Never mind that a supremacist just murdered 50 innocent people, i’m racist because I addressed White virtue signalling and the unfounded fear that these people frequently share. So therefore i’m part of the problem. Deflection is a tactic that is commonly employed, this is a fine example. | (Lets continue) ....

Me: “This is a fair point (it wasn’t) one I am happy to discuss. As an Indigenous person of Australia in particular one that has spent a large part of my childhood growing up in the same community as the gunmen many people in rural NSW have only typically been there for 3 or 4 generations. They killed a lot of people in that time. Given that it was only someone’s grand father or great grandfather who were doing the killing. It is not unreasonable to claim that someone of today’s generation such as Tarrant grew up with a similar disdain for brown people. Given the contempt these people hold for people who were already here. It is not difficult to comprehend the psychological effect that would have on someone with the disposition that ‘foreign’ people are coming to take what is ‘his’ with the supposed threats of sharia law threatening this mans status as a white man in the West.

So to answer your comment do I think that by the virtue of being white you are inherently bad? Of course not! But given the very recent history where this man comes from, in context with today political climate it is hardly unreasonable to suggest that perhaps this man was defending his “whiteness” despite none of these people having actually threatened it.”

Me: And if you won’t accept any of that. You can read it in his manifesto because he has literally admitted to everything I have outlined himself.

Fred: Why would I read the manifesto of a nutter?

| Note the deflection again, no attempt whatsoever to address my response to an unfounded claim that I am a racist. But if you throw around words I will hold you accountable for them. |

Me: Well initially your comment stated that what I said had undertones of racist sentiment based on the “virtue of being white”? This tells me you received this as me saying this is generally how how white people think and feel when it was merely a reflection of this particular individual and many like him. So from an objective standpoint despite him being a ‘nutter’ it would give you an insight as to his views, and where my original comment derived from.

Fred: Lot of words finally getting to the point. People focusing on colour do not have the ability to see things clearly. When we stop giving people little ethnic terms people will actually co-exist. You’re definitely overthinking my comment with all that unneeded info.

| Quick summary: I wouldn’t need to write a paragraph breaking it down for Fred if he took the initiative to understand what the single word ‘virtue’ meant but that is how privilege works. “I’m right I don’t need to consider anything.”

Secondly, for anyone reading this for good intentions. This is a prime example of trying to control narratives. Because never mind hundred of years of colonial destruction and minimization. Fred has all the answers ... All we have to do is stop seeing colour! THEN the world will finally coexist. Fred knows this! Fred knows everything. Thanks Fred. |

Me: Is it unneeded because its irrelevant? Or because you personally don’t care? I feel as though you’re trying to oversimplify a complex conversation to give yourself the higher moral ground. Which ironically plays into the whole “virtue of being white” thing that you initially disputed. I didn’t originally place you in that category, but am now starting to see why my original comment may have caused a reaction from you.

These “little ethnic terms” you down play is quite condescending. Because to many ethnic people they represent a great deal of importance. So for you to suggest that i’m ‘overthinking it’ when 40 (now 50) people have been murdered. That is pretty arrogant of you. “A lot of words finally getting to the point” that’s condescending and exactly the type of attitude i’m talking about. You can disagree with me, but you will speak to me with respect!

| Note* I demanded respect in this manner for two reasons. Number one is that I deserve it. Number 2 is that for the purpose of this experiment I know that when you address people of privilege accustomed to dominating discourse the fight or flight response is triggered. Typically they will either get quite defensive and resort to aggression, or they will flee. The response that comes next is telling. |

Fred: You’re clearly disgruntled, i’ll just let you hit your keyboard.

|Note: For someone who initiated this interaction he was pretty quick to want out as soon as he realized that though emotionally driven, I am not emotionally operating. I am more than willing to hold him accountable for not only his comments but his motives, through reasonable dialogue. He is not.

Some will say he’s just a troll others may believe he holds white supremacist views himself. Perhaps a combination of both. The lesson for us no matter who we are though is that we maintain composure and refrain from giving these people the reaction they want. But also ensure that we hold them to account for their views. Whether it be an internet troll or a politician.

As a side note, whats also very indicative of privilege in this interaction. Is how quickly he removed himself from the conversation as it suited. People of colour don’t get to do this. Muslim women have their clothing debated in public domains, Aboriginal people have their blood percentage and pigment debated in public domains, African people have the morals of their children and their parenting debated in public domains. If you reserve the right to opt out of a conversation, my suggestion would be don’t enter one. Unless you’re willing to learn. Because sometimes, only sometimes, certain conversations aren’t about you. Unless you feel like the shoe fits. |

My final response: I’m definitely disgruntled 40 (50) innocent people were just murdered.....

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jesiwrites · 6 years ago

Text

For Pride, For Honor, For Glory

Summary: “Tell me how you sucker punched the crap out of that piece of shit Loras and embarrassed him to the point he won’t even look you in the eye.”

Tanner is fifteen years old. The pretty bastard of the army, a fledgling soldier, and a popular subject of gossip; Loras wants to see if he can add another notch on his belt.

It’s a GOT-type setting, so genre-typical warnings apply. Attempted sexual assault of a minor, intoxication.

It said something about Tanner and Allister’s closeness to where, even after a fuck, they were cordial enough to share the same bed, hold each other close, and engage in pillow talk that ranged from military tactics to the going-ons of the campsite.

Perhaps cordial wasn’t the right word. Tanner knew, but he’d rather Allister figure it out on his own than be forthright. They had gone this long without saying what they were, preferring to let the others guess and know with looks, touches, and a need to be together to signal what they meant to each other. Tanner looked at it that way, in any case.

Allister snorted before tossing his head back and letting a laugh out from deep in his chest. “No, no, no, really? That was you? You, the pretty bastard of the army?”

Tanner crinkled his nose and made a snort, then a laugh. “What, you think I don’t know how to throw a punch?” He gave a light shove to Allister’s chest.

“Never said that! Tell me how you sucker punched the crap out of that piece of shit Loras and embarrassed him to the point he won’t even look you in the eye,” Allister teased, toothy grin and a devilish delight in his eyes. He pushed Tanner’s hip with a tease, laughing when Tanner brushed his hand away.

“It’s a long story,” Tanner offered, to which Allister gestured to the dark night outside. They had hours until the morning.

Tanner was fifteen years old and had been making a name for himself in the army. He was diligent, quiet yet friendly; a strikingly handsome bastard boy of Lord Aesnir Palatinus III who took to a lance like the fire dancers of the south to their batons, maneuvering a polearm the way a color guardsman did a banner. Caster took a shine to him as the boy was eager to learn and prove himself. It showed in the way he pushed him harder through drills, drug him up by the collar of his shirt and threw him back into the practice ring until Tanner would nearly pass out from heat and physical exhaustion. Without being told, Tanner would tend to the stables before the stable boys, taking his horse for obstacle course drills, moving with her as one unit and piercing through dummies with his lance. He had gotten to the point of training her to buck and kick to defend him should he make an oversight.

It was a team of rider and mare if he had ever seen one.

Loras, meanwhile, was a knight who was comfortable resting on the laurels of many things: his name; his skills; his good looks. A fine swordsman, all things considered, but the titles and various privileges that came with his station had made him comfortable in recent memory. He had a reputation for being quite the dog of the army, taking nubile young men and many a blushing maiden to bed with the deftness of a fisherman in a clear lake during spawning. And he eyed the young bastard boy the way a chicken hawk did prey, not that it was unusual for any of the men in the army to have their eye on fresh meat.

Especially if that fresh meat had cheekbones like his father’s and carried himself with dignity, but sand-colored skin; wine red eyes; and slate grey hair that draped down his shoulders all of his own. Tanner would play with his hair in agitation when he heard the same refrain across the camps: “Aesnir’s pretty bastard…pretty like a woman…pretty like his whore mother.”

That same old song and dance haunted him since he was born. Everyone knew that Tanner chose not to engage in relations with anyone in the army, for one reason or another. They had their suspicions of whom he bedded, but no one had ever heard of anyone bedding him; the idea of doing so a challenge of mythic proportions. He was perfectly aware of what people said about him. It didn’t hurt any less, even as he drove himself to be a good soldier. He was a boy becoming a man with eyes on a ranked position, titles and dignity that he was frequently told he didn’t deserve due to his pedigree.

He kept to himself mostly, overseeing and training new recruits, delegating responsibilities of the camp to people he sized up as worthwhile. There was a sense of caution in his eyes, despite his gregarious nature: sweet and kind, but keeping would-be paramours well over arm’s length. Some of them had been on the sharp end of his weapon, taking the hint or seeing it as an obstacle to overcome.

Loras had been one of the latter.

It had been a day they were sniffing out raiders like hounds on a fox. It was one of Tanner’s first missions as a member of the cavalry, being expected to follow before leading. Loras claimed glory for his kills and charisma towards the townsfolk; Tanner wasn’t faulted for observing him. Tanner continued to prove himself a worthy recruit, his horse bucking and kicking when he would miss a hit to make up for his oversight, lance spearing through a neck or skull like a fork into a cut of meat. It had been a good mission all around. The night ended with a celebratory meal, ale and mead flowing freely with roasted boar and root vegetables.

Loras took the opportunity to seat himself next to the recruit, who was being teased by some of the other men for a variety of things his tongue had let slip.

“Now now, what’s everyone teasing the little blueblood for?” Loras started, gentle smile as he looked down at Tanner. He was playing with his hair; he always did when he was flustered, like he was trying to hide behind it.

“Well, Tanner here just confessed an interesting little secret for us,” started Magnus, the axe-wielder. He was bulky but intelligent, like an ancient yew or oak tree. He started out a commoner, but one wouldn’t know with how well he could mimic the upper class when discussing tactics or going ons of the army when prompted. Craster looked to him to guide the foot soldiers for good reason.

“Oh?” Loras asked, looking at Tanner. “Not good to keep secrets from your brothers at arms.”

“It’s personal, no need to share it,” Tanner started, looking at Magnus with the slightest hint of embarrassment. Loras had to admit, he was cute, painfully so. He wouldn’t have been surprised—

“I’m surprised you’ve kept your virtue in tact with all these beasts here, little half-prince,” Magnus said smoothly, the table going silent as Tanner made a thousand yard stare into his mug of ale. That wasn’t a secret; everyone knew Tanner was a virgin of some capacity. Not totally, not with the way he flirted; but enough to prove he hadn’t quite let his boundaries be breached yet. “You mean to tell me none of these strapping young men have you curious to try?”

“Oh there’s a few--!” Tanner started before clamping his mouth shut; gods, alcohol was going to get him in trouble for half of the things he said. He wanted to sign a waiver to forfeit responsibility.

“Oho, a few, huh?” Loras grinned, sitting beside the younger man with a deliberate tap of his hip against Tanner’s. “Do tell; I may be able to make something of it.”

Tanner snorted and shooed away Loras, the knight only mildly affronted. He hadn’t seen someone this shy since one of the handmaidens of the court, a soft-spoken nit named Agatha who turned out to be quite the screamer by the end of it. “Come on, there’s a few here you’ve clearly got your eye on,” the knight said with the tease of an older sibling, looking at the boy who kept squirming in his seat. He was thoroughly out of his element, dangerously close to being the butt of a joke. And with a crippling hatred of being embarrassed, to boot.

“Didn’t you mention one of those recruits? Alexander?” one of the younger soldiers offered to Tanner, whom corrected him: “Allister.”

“Ah, how cute, you know his name. Not bad though, you like that sort: manly, sure of himself.”

“I’ve also found that Scotch character rather handsome,” Tanner admitted meekly, taking another drink of ale in a meager attempt to shut himself up.

“Ahaha, two pretty men having their way at each other, looking like a pair of women without the bits!” Magnus howled at the observation. “Both of the two you mentioned, I bet they’re a right pair of cads. Allister probably fucks whoever looks his way right, and that noble boy could charm the pants off the royal family without even trying, from what I’ve heard.”

Of course Tanner had his eyes on men with experience, who had more swagger in their bodies than some men had in the experience of their lives. Loras took that assessment to heart; he could charm him, he determined. “So, those two specifically? Are men naturally your type, Tanner, or have you ever fucked a woman?”

Tanner felt his face grow a little warm but made a slow blink and nodded. “Of course. Just…servant girls, girls who were curious. Sometimes they felt bad because I’d been excluded, because they knew what I was. One girl told me that she wanted to see what it was like, fucking a pretty boy. She said I was gentle, scared even. I mean, I was twelve.”

“And your first time with a man?”

“I went to a whorehouse,” Tanner admitted. “I wanted to bed.”

Whatever embarrassment normally accompanied his admissions was surprisingly absent. Tanner was a painfully honest drunk, the kind that was perfect to assassinate literally or figuratively. Loras wasn’t in the mood for bloodshed.

“Was he pretty like you?” Magnus teased with a little sneer, more good-natured than anything.

Tanner nodded again as if a father or uncle was addressing him, coaching him through the minutiae of fucking versus lovemaking. “He was,” he murmured, “Fair skin and pale blue eyes.”

“Ah those are always gorgeous. You have good tastes, by all accounts.”

Tanner felt his face warm up more, deciding it was the ale and not the compliment. “I should probably go to bed, this is…quite a lot that I’ve talked and I’m afraid I’ll get myself into more trouble.”

“Come. I’ll walk you to your room,” Loras said, hand on Tanner’s back as he held him steady. Magnus watched the scene unfold and then back at Tanner, who was wobbling like a new fawn. Loras gathered himself and kept his hand on Tanner’s back, leading him away to the quarters.

Was it dirty-handed, taking advantage of an easily flustered, inebriated boy? Of course.

But you didn’t look at a lame boar and think “I should kill my food honorably.”

He could’ve been crueler and had half a dozen men who wanted to claim a piece of the royal bastard for themselves when he was finished, but he’d rather save the privilege in its entirety for himself. At the end of the day, Loras knew what he was: a glory hound. And he wasn’t about to look a feast away just because it had fallen to the floor. Tanner was unaware enough to not have registered where he was in the hallway, all the doors in all the corridors blending together. The braziers were like melted suns on the walls, the windows slightly tilted. He watched Loras open the door and looked around, and said something that made Loras’ blood start to run cold: “Did we pass my room, Ser Loras.”

“We may have, but do you really want to be alone in your state,” Loras replied coolly at the young boy who was doing his best not to show that he was at the halfway point of tipsy and drunk. Loras didn’t give Tanner an option to respond before guiding him into his room, the boy taking to it like a suggestion.

Loras’ room was no different than any of the other knights’ or soldiers’. Minimally decorated, a few medals and pins to suggest his stature and accomplishments along with his armor, but above all, he carried it all in his heart, character, and disposition. Tanner was both a little stunned and a little unsurprised, figuring Loras cared little for material tokens of his winnings. He looked back up at Loras, mouth against his and fingers holding his chin, firm lips against his.

A few seconds later, he registered: “Goodness, you are cute.”

Tanner overestimated his tolerance, the alcohol making the room tilt and waver, but not spin. He was still a lightweight, all things considered. Loras composed himself with enough swagger to diffuse his slight sway, the cant of his head weaving and bobbing like he had a good laugh. First-timers were always easy; get them drunk enough and say enough nice things to them, and they’d do anything to keep the night going.

Tanner was proving to be no exception, especially given the fact his self-esteem issues had all the subtlety of a gaping chest wound. He starved for affection; he didn’t quite believe the experience was real. Loras especially liked the way he sat in his lap and straddled him, draping his arms around him as the knight supported him from falling over. His inhibitions had been stripped from him like his trousers were close to being; a terribly lonely boy who wanted affection from anywhere, particularly from men. It was almost sad how easy it was. He could’ve done it here, pull himself out while Tanner was least expecting it and just hazy enough to register what was going on –

But he did have a soft spot for seeing Tanner on his back, being put in his place for good.

“Ah, ah, ah, what a sweet little thing you are,” Loras teased, leading Tanner to the bed and holding his side, tracing the slight curve to it. A pretty little prize, he determined, enjoying how cute he looked as he kept trying to blink away the effects of the ale, color in his cheeks. The knight grabbed his chin, pulling him down for another kiss as the hand stroking Tanner’s side went around and pushed his ass towards him. He restrained a laugh at Tanner’s expense when the recruit fell over himself and into the bed face first.

Tanner inhaled and pushed himself up, pushing back against the bed. His sway was becoming less pronounced, his faculties returning to him as he gripped his head and winced. He looked back at Loras, a hand around his wrist as he guided him back into the bed like a song. He had him, he needed to confirm it. He loomed over the younger soldier, pinning his arms back to keep him from moving and settled himself between his legs.

Tanner didn’t like the way the knight leered at him, not as a person but a conquest. It was becoming increasingly clear there was no kindness or consideration; he was a notch in Loras’ belt, a prize that he would gloat about winning to the whole army. Tanner felt a sense of dread pool at his stomach as Loras had his wrists gripped behind his head, thrashing and kicking.

“Easy, easy, thought you said you were curious to try,” Loras whispered in his ear, coquetry with a bite of expectation. “Come on now, I know you’re pretty like a girl; didn’t think you’d be a fucking tease like one, too.”

Tanner’s nostrils flared at that sentiment. “Get - the fuck - off me,” he snarled, every syllable and fragment clipped like stabbing.

Revulsion coursed through him like sickness, feeling the urge to vomit in the pit of his stomach and to the back of his throat as Loras smashed his wet lips against his, taking a hand away to reach around and find the waistband of Tanner’s trousers, beginning to yank them down. Red flags were in Tanner’s eyes with alarms ringing in his ears; he had to do something. Loras was between his legs, pinning him down and he was scared; gods above, he was scared. He was in possession of himself to not cry or shut down, trying to relax himself from the thrash but thinking of a way to get out of the hold quickly and give enough distance between the two of them. Without fail, he curled his legs to his chest and kicked firmly into Loras’ shoulders, launching the knight off of him and a good few feet away from the bed. For a moment, he thanked the fact he was more flexible than he gave himself credit for.

He quickly scrambled off the bed, keeping a wide distance between him and the other man. He looked like a feral animal ready to strike, Loras seeing that he snatched his hunting knife off the bedside table and had it unsheathed at him.

“You come near me and I gut you. Stand down,” Tanner warned. He had all the fear of a young man but with all the determination of someone ready to kill. Loras kept down to the ground, not unlike a wolf being challenged by an upstart and aware it was losing. Tanner was merely threatening him; he was a little stunned Tanner didn’t take the opportunity to mount his back and put the knife to his throat.

“This does not leave this room. There will be no discussion of what happened tonight. So gods help us both.”

And with that, he backed against the door and slipped out, keeping Loras’ knife as protection.

---

The morning had started normally, with an average breakfast of smoked meat, gruel and water. Men had split off into their factions and groups, sitting around their compatriots who would hear their stories and entertain their bullshit.

Tanner came in, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he was still dressed in riding leathers. It was the middle of the week, his usual day to do his drills with Silverfish. What made today unusual was how silence came like a wave the moment he walked in the door. He looked around at the men and chose to not say a word, making his breakfast and slinking to an unoccupied table to assess the day.

Then he heard snickering, tucking his hair behind his ear. He was always self-conscious but something told him he had every right to be right now. He could feel eyes looking at him, the whole room watching him; something wasn’t right. He looked up and scanned the room. Everyone was looking at him, staring at him, leering at him. And he was alone, the fact making the situation worse than usual.

Where was Loras?

Something between hurt, anger and embarrassment set in like teeth. Another soldier grabbed him by the shoulder and teased: “Hey, so that’s your type? Didn’t think you’d be so quick to bend ov—“

Tanner turned at the soldier who looked at him like the he had yanked the tongue clean out of his throat. He put up his hands to his chest in a show of surrender. Tanner snarled, “Where is he? Where is Loras?”

The soldier tried his luck again. “Why, so you can demonstrate your oral abilities?”

He went white as a sheet when Tanner had his eating knife at the soldier’s throat. “I’d say you calm your oral abilities before I remove them. Permanently.” Whatever warmth left in Tanner’s eyes was replaced by indignant fury, out for blood. He repeated his question one last time.

“He’s over by the fires,” the soldier spat out, legs halfway ready to give out. He was used to enemies ready to hack him to size; an ally and fellow soldier wasn’t exactly who he had intended to piss off this early in the morning. Tanner lowered the knife and turned on his heel.

He made a beeline to the fireplaces, boots stomping into the wooden floor. He stalked like a wildcat, ready to pounce and tear limb from bloody limb, finding himself next to a certain blonde and overly cocky (and not particularly handsome in hindsight) knight, glaring down at him. The knight looked up at him, a cocky smirk on his face as he rested his chin on the back of his hand.

“Well, good morning, Tanner. How’d you sleep,” he offered sweet like honey. Tanner wanted to give the world to spit it in his eye.

“What did you say this morning.” His voice was grave, holding his anger in his fists like white-hot coals, the knife shaking in his grip. He didn’t care if his hands were on fire; he was ready to burn the man alive, shove his face into the damn fire to watch him scream as the flames licked off his skin.

Loras looked surprised, letting way to mild amusement. “This morning? I didn’t take you one to care about idle gossip around the camps, always so serious.”

Tanner cut him off. “Don’t skirt the issue; what have you been saying.”

“Goodness, Tanner, I thought we had a rather pleasant evening last night,” Loras started, corners of his eyes crinkling with delight. “You were so sweet, so eager to please, you know; who knew such a cautious, skittish little boy was such a sex kitten in the sack.”

Tanner felt hot in his face, his nostrils flaring even more as Loras spun a lie from his own ego, relishing in Tanner’s humiliation. “Mewling like a wanton queen, I always knew you liked cock, but goodness, not so voraciously. Couldn’t seem to keep your hands off me, practically begging me with that mouth of yours, like that cheap whore of a moth—“

One minute, Loras had his shit-eating grin like he had his cake and ate it too. Somewhere in the slow motion memory and adrenaline-fueled haze, he was up at his feet, fury and agony mashed in his eyes and brow line. His hands had flown up to cover his clearly broken nose, blood dribbling down over his lips, chin and onto the floor. It took a few seconds for pain to register on Tanner’s knuckles, blood smeared on the back of them as testament for the punch.

He didn’t remember feeling his mouth move but he heard his voice say, “The ring. Now. Gather your lance. Don’t bother with your armor.”

It took at most twenty-five minutes, a small procession behind Tanner not unlike schoolboys excited to see a fight at the nearby field. Tanner still had his riding leathers on, his hair done in a sloppier rendition of his usual topknot, curls of his hair falling out the bun and over his ears. He gripped his lance like a throat in a stranglehold, lips in a firm frown. He was ready. Loras had bandaged his nose, gauze bandaged haphazardly over it but still oozing confidence. His victory was certain; he did have more years on him in the army, after all.

“Really, Tanner?” Loras taunted. “A bastard-born greenhorn challenging a knight to a duel of honor? What honor could you possibly have?”

“I don’t lie,” Tanner started, bracing himself to either move, parry or strike at a moment’s notice.

Loras charged first; Tanner parried. The knight expected that much, swinging his blade over. Tanner read the move, ducking and rolling to the side while keeping his lance close to his chest. Loras was puzzled for a moment, but not surprised; it wasn’t too unusual for lancers to wield their weapons like spears. Lancers without training, he snorted to himself.

“You did last night-“ He swung his lance again, his cocky stance making his attacks too wide, too easy to read, too easy to dodge. He wasn’t taking a single part of this fight seriously, determining he was fighting an indignant, hurt child with wounded pride. Tanner’s face said it for him, the way rage was setting in his eyes; it reminded him of a bull to a slaughter.

He sidestepped, pushing Tanner away, who stumbled but didn’t fall. “When you said you were ready-“

They continued the back and forth, Loras dodging and Tanner attacking; impenetrable force of a man who underestimated the indignity of a boy. “When you said you wanted it-!”

It got quiet. Loras was stunned. Tanner’s lance had ripped through his shirt and shoulder, another nick on his neck. It was too shallow to damage his jugular, but the fact he even went that far made him painfully aware of his situation.

“I don’t attempt to rape one of my brothers at arms.”

And then Loras was thrown like a haystack from a pitchfork.

The knight guarded his shoulder, hissing. The blade had grazed him, but what surprised him was the maneuver. Tanner had caught his shirt, twisted the lance to catch again to be able to have him in a distance hold before throwing him to the side and knocking him to his flank. The knight only had experience of doing that move with a man in armor. His lips set into a firm line; Tanner was good, frighteningly good.

What made it worse was the maneuver proved that Tanner was ready to kill him to prove a point.

Loras drew his sword, parrying Tanner’s swings, knocked back half a pace each time blows were countered. He had gotten sloppy, not counting for Tanner’s footwork with his lance on top of the sheer force he was commanding with his polearm. The way he swung it, not only intent on slicing and eviscerating Loras, but actually hacking him, was more reminiscent of handling a halberd. The counters kept going until Tanner sliced at Loras’ hands, making the man hiss and drop his sword. Some of the men took to retreating to call for backup, someone to stop before things escalated. Tanner had him on the ground, without a weapon, and with intent in his eyes. He raised his weapon, rage replacing inhibitions, pride mercy--

“Tanner, yield!”

The whole army watched, the captain the only person who had the gall and balls to grab Tanner and his lance with his bare hands, not bothering to parry with his sword. The field was silent in awe, Tanner looking at Craster, stunned out of his indignation and brought into the reality of the moment: he was going to murder Loras in cold blood over a spiteful rumor and his wounded pride.

“Explain yourself, boy.”

Tanner was wide-eyed, angry and damn well terrified, the one man who had any right to be considered a father figure to him staring him down and gutting him with cold disappointment. Color drained from his cheeks as he looked down at the rightfully terrified Loras, who was peeking out from under his arm that he had flung to futilely protect himself from an upcoming beheading. His lance was several feet from him to his right, several paces further his sword; if he had tried to grab either weapon, he would’ve been cleaved in half.

“I-I,” Tanner started; gods above, it had been a minute since Craster had been that pissed off at him. “Loras – I, it’s personal, Loras was calling me a pretty bastard whore, lying about – I was defending my honor!” he explained, embarrassment making him trip over his words. He felt the ground wanting to sink under him; he hated being embarrassed, hated disappointing people—

His head snapped to the right as his lance fell, Craster’s right hand flat and crossed over to his left side with his left hand wielding Tanner’s lance. “Defending your honor how? By being a knightslayer on top of being a bastard? For gods’ sake, Tanner, you kill everyone who called you a pretty whore’s bastard, there’d be no one left in the country; fuck, the whole realm!”

He then looked at Loras and said, “I’ll deal with you and your stupid mouth in my quarters.” He then looked at Tanner again. “The both of you – separately, if I can help it.”

---

Allister looked at Tanner, wide-eyed and propped up on one arm. He threw his head back for a belly laugh, watching Tanner tell the story, the way he recounted his embarrassment and sheer loathing of Loras being his typical piece of shit self. “The hell did you tell Craster?”

“The whole thing, about how Loras tried to pin me down and was trying to assault me. He patted my back and said good job on kicking him off of me and would’ve paid all the gold he was worth to see it. Then he told me that, while I shouldn’t have been alone with Loras, that I had handed his ass so thoroughly that he wouldn’t have thought to antagonize me again. And he was right.”

Tanner had rolled to his back as he recounted the story, looking up in the direction of the ceiling but not focused. His eyes fluttered a hair, closing them as he chuckled. “Can’t believe I almost killed that idiot, thank the gods Craster stopped me. Would’ve taken weeks to clean up the blood.”

Allister looked at the lieutenant for a moment, eying his frame: sturdy as a birch tree, but not as hefty as his own; sharp cheekbones and equally sharp nose; muscles toned, not made from work like his had been. His hands were roughened from the army and from years of attempting to be a leather maker’s apprentice and son, while Allister had always hefted rocks and mortar for his father and brothers, thighs and buttocks cut from years of squatting and heaving the workload. Tanner had the body of a disregarded boy who proved himself to be a man in due time; Allister’s was the body of a boy who was expected to work like a man the day he crawled out of his mother’s womb.

To any other man, it would’ve been humbling that Tanner chose him to share it with. Allister was pleased he was the only one who had any real chance.

He broke the silence. “I suppose Loras is right about something though.”

Tanner scrunched his nose at the comment. “Gods, how?”

“You are quite the little sex kitten,” Allister teased, wrestling on top of the lieutenant and kissing his throat. Tanner came undone when he played with his bare nipples, laughing as Allister made little bites at his throat. “Glad I got to be the one to see it.”

Tanner looked at Allister for a moment, a look in his eyes that radiated something that Allister couldn’t – didn’t want to - place, but felt warm all the same. He pecked the stonemason’s forehead and murmured, “Me too.”

#writing #oc: tanner dubois #friend oc: allister #GoT verse

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