#but don't fill ship tags with misinformation and hate | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

antimony-medusa · 11 months

Text

So Why Do I Keep Talking About Don't Like: Don't Read and Block And Move On?

So there are ships in my fandom that don't do it for me. There are characters who I do not like, there are tropes that make me grimace, there are relationship dynamics that I can't see any way that they could be delivered and still bring me any joy (in fact they actively make my day unpleasant). When I fill out my Do Not Want for exchanges, I have a BUNCH of stuff on that list. There's stuff in every fandom that I'm part of that makes me go "Oh boy that's a no from me". And my reaction to that is to ignore it. Block terms if necessary, unfollow people, just— leave it along. Don't like: don't read.

But why? Because that's not necessarily the fandom norm. This fandom definitely has a tendancy to actively go after stuff that it doesn't like. Especially on twitter, but I've seen it here too, especially when it comes to ships people don't like, or character takes they think are problematic, or creators they hate. Sending messages to warn people about other blogs, searching up the thing you don't like to hate on the people who post it, screenshotting the thing you hate or just talking about how bad it is so you can all be angry together. And man I just think that's a really bad idea.

The reason I think going after the thing you think is bad is a bad idea falls under two major headings. The first is what it does to you. Some of the things I don't like are just because they rub me the wrong way, or I think it's rude. But a good portion of the stuff I don't like is because it taps directly into some pretty serious stuff. If this is bringing up actual major trauma in my life, things I'm afraid of or bad things that happened, I do understand the desire to focus on it and the eraticate it. It's the same thing that makes you keep biting down on a painful tooth or poking at a painful eye. The thing hurts, so I give my attention to it. But oh boy, giving extra space in my head to the thing that is painful to me is not something that I should be doing lightly, and especially not in my recreational space. I see people being like "I hate this/this is bad because it's related to my trauma", but I can't overstate how bad of an idea it is to go "okay, this is terrible and related to my trauma, therefore I am going to search it up and focus on it and talk about it and share it with everyone I know. I'm going to make this traumatic thing a feature of my life".

You're just giving extra space in your head to the thing that hurts you. Don't give it that. Block the tags, ignore it, go full "I won't see it and I won't respond to it".

And even when it's just that I think something is rude, there's posting a careful post about the rudeness that you think some people might not have thought of and washing your hands of it (which is fine but like the amount of times I've started typing it and then gone "wait, everyone who follows me knows this, I don't have to post this, leave it along"), and then there's making it a feature of your blog to talk about how rude something is— why are you giving a slice of your precious life to the rudeness. Why are you giving them the spotlight? Why are you choosing to celebrate the worst things possible, and not the good things?

And then the other thing where I'm like— you're gonna see stuff you don't like, it is the internet, when you do so I'm begging you to just leave it be and walk away— is what it does to other people.

So I spent ten years on twitter. And in that time I have seen my fair share of hate mobs. Some of them are attacking legitimately horrible people. Some of them are completely misinformed and/or operating off of pure hatred. Some of them are attacking people over the most trivial things. But the thing is that with amost all of them, once they really started rolling, the impact they had was disproportionate to what anyone who was talking in good faith wanted. Someone would start a careful conversation about racism, and then people would go "oh, something I hate", and twelve hours later it's just several thousand people screaming over the original people who just wanted something to be fixed, and instead the person who fucked up is scared off the internet and being doxxed. Sometimes the original problem got fixed, but over half the times the person just closed down because they were being screamed at and learned nothing, and that's pulling from the situations where there was an actual problem to be fixed, and not misinformation or hatred or like, liking the wrong ship motivating things. And like, getting mobbed can really fuck someone up. People have had to check themselves into hospital and worse over this.

There's participating in someone saying "hey, this is fucked up", and that's something we should all do when it comes to matters of bigotry, but it's real important to be able to tell when a conversation is no longer being productive and is just about calling for someone's blood. Saying "hey, this trope plays into sexist stereotypes and you should be aware of it" is a great conversation to have. Attacking and mocking people who wrote the wrong trope does not actually increase the store of justice in the world.

And that's for things that you have a rational, principled reason for thinking is bad. A bunch of the time you just don't like a thing! And that's fine! You're allowed to not like things! But starting the ball of hatred rolling because you don't like things— oh in that case you do not have the moral high ground. You're just a bully.

Like at a certain point you have to start looking at matters of harm reduction, and going "I hate this ship, is calling everyone who likes it filthy degenerates actually going to make the world better, or is it going to make them feel bad and then double down, and nothing good happens". Or is it going to get even worse? Is it going to lead to a mob that causes in real world harm— people's housing or jobs impacted, or mental health, or worse! Sometimes it gets worse!

Sometimes a ship or trope you don't like can feel like a personal attack, but like, in the vast majority of cases, you're having an emotional reaction to something you don't like, you're not actually being harassed. You can feel like it's a good idea and even justified to strike back at this thing that is so bad, but like, in actuality it's just some words on a page someone wrote. Stabbing back at it is biting down on the injured tooth again, it's making things worse. Your best bet is to not give it power. Block terms, block users, ask the mods to not match you with certain people or ships, unfollow people— walk away. Don't spend time on it. Ignore it and focus on something good.

Engaging with things you hate is bad for you, and it's bad for the people around you, and way too much of the time it's disproportionately bad for the people who like the thing you hate. So I'm all in on Block And Move On, and Don't Like: Don't Read.

#discourse #fandom meta

158 notes · View notes

pleasancies · 3 years

Text

Justifying The Aftermath

wordcount : 2.1k+

warning : mention of animal abuse, emeto

content : lashing out, electrocution, vomiting, whumper!caretaker, lady whump, lab whump, whumper pov, manhandling

This is it! The last day of Summer of Whump. It's been fun, writing and reading more whump from this event. Can't wait for next year! Tagging : @summer-of-whump

***

Previous Chapter

"Breathe deeply, Fenrir."

Her stare was full of contempt. There was still a sharp edge on her two fangs. Blue veins jutting out under her arms and legs. She was much older than John, late in her twenties. Prior affiliation indicated if she wasn't a murderer or an arsonist then she's an accomplice to one. He didn't dare to take a step further. Even when her left arm was tucked in a sling, the other connected to an IV, the general scrapes and bruises on her face, or the fact that she couldn't sit up so the infirmary nurse had to raise her bed to prevent her lungs collapsing in on itself.

Fenrir spat, and it hit him in the chest despite the distance.

John took out his napkin, "I mean it for your well-being. Your rib fracture wasn't severe, but your recovery will be greatly stalled if you manage to get yourself pneumonia."

"And then what? Brainwashing? I had to be Empire's hunting dog? I'd rather die."

"You're contributing to the public good. We're not lying."

"You think turning people into living weapons is for the greater good?" Fenrir grinned, covering the upper half of her face with her palm. "Rich kids are easy to brainwash."

"We were forced. If terrorist groups like those Heretics you love so much doesn't terrorize the managers then we wouldn't have to spend so much time on defense!"

John watched the rise of Fenrir's chest as she spoke. Her breath was fast and shallow.

"Heretics are a new thing. The humans living in the Orients and the Border Islands have existed long before the Ship fell into our grounds. The Empire wasn't reacting to them when they sent out the first Seed and they sure as hell does not need a living monster to weed out a bunch of poors with a handmade grenade. What the Empire doing is never defense, child. They're hungry for control."

Child. It filled him contempt. He might have been younger than her but look who had their life sorted out? An internship with the smartest minds of the earth, a girl waiting back home, and a few years worth of savings. John is more mature, educated in things other than the vulgarity of drink and merrymaking.

Forgetting his fear, John leaned on the side of Fenrir's bed. He loomed above her. "Your problem is that you're uneducated. You had a brilliant mind, but you didn't go to school or truly learn how to think the big picture. The facts you learned was baseless. The Radicals got to you first and I'm sorry for that."

The glare she gave sharpened, and for a second John believed she's going to lunge at him. Luckily she was only taking a deep breath.

"Uneducated? I've written essays, planned raids, and build gardens! I might not be an engineer, but I know more about the world than you."

"This is a waste of time. You're insulting instead of discussing."

"Explain how calling me uneducated isn't an insult."

John run his fingers through his hair, "I'm here only to look at your progress. Look, I think Heretics are too caught up in their pain. They experienced bad things and blame the Empire. But it's just the world. You need to struggle and work and-"

"Mind if I cut in?" Fenrir doesn't wait for John. "Since you want an argument, I want to acknowledge we both had a different view of reality. It's just our sources. But you need to think about what they taught you. I assume you're referring to the workhouses."

"Yes. That, and the jails. I know most of you are former convicts."

She ramped up in intensity. Fenrir raised her voice. "They might told you it's just a struggle, but have you even been there? Eat the rat-pissed grain and get yelled off for sitting? Have you ever questioned if the papers telling their story reflects reality? Managers owned the workhouses. They owned the papers. Of course they only said good things about it. They got away with untold evil because you trust them!"

The long histrionic rant left Fenrir with a coughing fit. John's answer were simple.

"Who's to say you didn't lie to me to sympathize with them?"

"Ask ten men working in the poor house. If anecdotes don't phase you then read some statistics my group works on."

"I'll do it." If John had the time, which was virtually nonexistent. If he had the guts because none of his friends including him know a guy like that, and approaching workhouse residents can get you robbed "Later. Wartimes are a bitch."

Fenrir chuckled, her mood has lightened up. "Aren't we all united under a single flag? Why is there still a war?"

A rhetorical question and a trap. Why is Fenrir likes to anger herself so much? Either way, he's not taking the bait. What a sad life, suspecting every thing you hear might be misinformation. The Empire could never lie about something so grave. They had principles. John had seen firsthand how his life have been easy because his family knows the rules and how go around the proceedings. It's imperfect, but it's definitely better than whatever the Heretics are going for.

For a week, John and Lisette have been adjusting. Visiting Fenrir separately, taking notes of trigger buttons and quirks. This Fenrir was different, and the way she was exposed to the substance made a different sort of Dog, besides the mutations. They need to re-do experiments, test new things, even change up their approach. Fenrir was always angry, and there's this restless energy around her. Avoiding certain topics and sneaking up sweets for her seem to calm her down a little, but that restless edge was still there.

Not a concern. Not since Fenrir's ribs and shoulder had mostly healed. Not after they've think up strategies to temper her prickly disposition and contain the emotional outburst after her first testing. Not when they drug her when she's already asleep before transporting her to the forest.

They were expecting a tantrum. The soldiers prepared stun guns, flash bangs, anything that could assault her heightened senses. Professor Clayton personally stitched the taser cuffs on her ankle. Something John had spent a great deal of time debating against. He was overruled. Lisette took their superior's side. In the end, the shock collar was necessary.

"I think she's getting through to you," Lisette teased.

"Oh shut up. I was trying to meet her halfway." The image in their cameras are somehow better. Some were blank, filled with static courtesy of Fenrir's rampage. But the few that left thrived, vivid contrasts and colours detailing her figure among the half-eaten animal. Alien techs are on another level. "She was taught to expect cruelty from us. We can't reform her if we proved her right."

"I think that's unfair. She'd done bad things, just because she was radicalized to do so doesn't mean she's exempt from punishment."

John leaned on his chair, "But we're not judges. We're scientists. We should refrain from any cruelty unless it's sanctioned by the State."

"Yeah, right." The speakers blared with a distorted buzz of a helicopter. They were silent as it lands at the edge of the forest. Lisette went on, "so you've already told the King you'll stitch Fenrir's wound without anesthetic?"

"You're missing the point."

"What is it then? Don't get me wrong, I think she deserves it. She was a terrorist. But I won't delude myself that they'll bring her to court. No, the way this goes is she'll work for us and be given an honorary medal when all of our testing eventually gives her brain damage."

Lisette leaned closer to the screen. Her expression unreadable. Professor and his soldiers had found Fenrir. She haven't moved from her position. Still kneeling, dirty blonde hair matted with blood. They practically jumped at her. Seizing the shoulders, heaving her up, and kicking her in the legs to disturb her balance. Two men at the side, another sticking a gun on the back of her head. Professor Clayton kept his distance, the switch for the taser cuffs firmly in his pocket.

She glanced at John. The silence of the room grows opressive. He leaned to his microphone, eyes still intently looking at the screen. Fenrir let her feet dragged against the ground. Her head hung low, eyes half-lidded. Not looking at anything at particular. Quiet.

That period of trepidation passes. Fenrir doesn't fight, doesn't even squirm as they put the earmuffs and blindfold on her. She arrives, her knees buckling and fall on the floor. The strength had gone out of her.

First test passed with flying colors. The trigger serum worked. They didn't have to kept her half-dead to maintain her beast form. But the devil is in the details, how much does she have to lose? It was John's assignment to figure it out.

On first glance, Fenrir seemed to have crossed that line. John could smell death from her. Her entire body is covered in dried blood, yet she didn't seem bothered. She stared at the desk, gripping the towel they gave and picking at the threads.

"Fenrir."

"My name is Avis."

John kneeled in front of her, taking the towel. She was shivering, and her fingers were shaking in a way that suggest it was more than the cold. He wrapped the bloodied cloth around her shoulders.

"You're supposed to cover yourself like this," John brings the ends of the towel to her two hands. He hold her clasped arms, gently pulling it so the fabric would cover more of her body.

"I know that," Fenrir absently murmured.

Looking closer, it was a grisly sight. Blood runs from her gums. Pieces of the camera were stuck under her long nails. Dust and dirt were sticking under the coat of dried blood. The shock bracelet was still there.

"I was going to give you a few test before we took you to the infirmary again but maybe you need medical help and a shower first. How's that?"

She looked at him. The hateful stare was still there. "Do you think this is justified?"

"We needed to test your power. Your blood could save millions, only if we know what to do with it."

Fenrir burst into a laugh, "Making me ate two dogs alive could save people?!"

"Fenrir—"

"Don't call me that!" She stood, still taller from the transformation. Her eyes were burning from tears she's desperately holding back. Her stomach hurts. The smell of her body made her sick. Even more disgusting when it reminds her of what she'd done. "I'm not fucking stupid. I'm going to be a warbeast and the only thing I'll save is the Empire's stolen property!"

"Sit down. Please. Let's get you a bath and we'll talk this out, alright?"

Fenrir took a step back. John wished they bother to bring in her handcuffs, if only for his piece of mind. "How could you see me out there and think this is okay?"

"You're right. It's not okay."

It's justified. But John was at lost for words. He nodded, "I know you're in distress. I hear you. Let me help."

"Then leave!" Fenrir yelled. "Acknowledge for once that this entire operation is senseless violence!"

John throw his testing papers on to the desk. His voice grew cold, "You're a hypocrite. You burned houses, destroyed machines, terrorize my friend's families. How could you do all of that and think this is bad?"

"You didn't know, no, you refuse to see the destruction and terror they've caused. And when it became too big for you to ignore, you're going to pretend they've hid it from you all this time or you've got no choice but to follow their orders."

Fenrir reached for the papers, and for the next thing they both now was that her screamed reverbrate through the room. She was on the floor. Seizing. Her limbs jerked, hitting the nearby table. Blood runs from her ankles, and John looked at the door to find his mentor leaning against the frame with the remote.

"Get her a bath, John."

He nodded. She was too weak to fight him off. Little aftershocks plagued her body even as he helped her sit.

"Come on, we should go."

"No, wait." Fenrir hold the leg of the desk in a vice grip. She kept her mouth tightly shut, and there's a bit a green around the outlines of her face. She felt her cheeks burning. Saliva pooling in her mouth. John shook her shoulders. The movement was a straw that broke the camel's back.

She gagged, heaving out a gush of acid and pre-digested flesh. The chunks of meat triggered another bout of vomiting. Each wave of nausea more stronger than the last.

"It's alright," John said, rubbing her back, "Let it out. You'll feel better."

Soon enough, her stomach was empty. She was nodding off, her eyes glassy with tears. John the only thing keeping her from slumping down on her own sick.

"You're a monster," Fenrir muttered.

Next Chapter

#summerofwhump30 #summer of whump #lady whump #lashing out #lab whump #electrocution #emeto cw #animal abuse mention #whumper as caretaker #futuristic whump #manhandling

7 notes · View notes