#you can block scream into the void if you want to ignore my personal posts

[meraki-yao]

You don't have to post it if you don't want to, you can also block me or delete it's ok, I just need to vent because this situation is hitting rock bottom and I can't stand how people don't want to see the problem:

In short: there is a video of the q&a where the female producer gets Casey pronouns wrong when talking about them. It's totally ok to point this out and give respect that Casey deserves BUT who was given the main blame? Taylor obviously, despite him also using the right pronouns during the panel, is guilty of not correcting the woman in front of everyone so he's bad again.

But this time we're not talking about that handful of idiot Nick fans, we're talking about the rwrb fandom that says they love him so much but once again for the umpteenth time they threw him under the bus without thinking twice even though he had no fault. And it will be the third time that the same fandom has exaggerated something against him, subsequently causing serious problems ( like racism and homophobia and doxxing which took place in december where everyone then washed their hands of it pretending nothing happened and they did nothing wrong)

And I'm so tired of reading that we just have to ignore that social because that social is the most active and followed and we know Taylor a few days ago saw stuff and posted and today Casey saw and posted a story. That social causes damage and everything they bring there is seen and affects all of them. So no it's not enough to ignore and put our hands over our eyes and just talk about how beautiful the sky is and I'm so tired and sad and heartbroken because every day even unconsciously they make it more and more evident that there isn't the same affection and respect for both, it's not true, one will always be seen with a critical eye "yes you are beautiful, perfect, so sexy, wow how beautiful these photos BUT you are a bit problematic, BUT you should be better than that, BUT you should learn better, oh disappointed but not surprised" and it is obviously always the poc man who has to be better who has to do better even when he does absolutely nothing wrong.

And this comes from the people who say they follow him and love him. It's no longer possible, that man has been attacked every single day for months, now he must also fall into the transphobic category because he didn't correct another person in front of everyone even though HE had used the right pronouns. But do we realize that this shit fucks up your mental health in the long run? But why doesn't anyone realize how serious the situation is? I cannot take it anymore and I feel like I'm screaming into the void and witnessing the moment when everything will get worse and fall apart and then we will be here sad because it didn't have to go that way for him

…Woah.

Jesus Christ what the fuck.

Okay um, here we go. This is a monster of response to write but here I am.

I’m gonna start by saying I am not a direct witness of any of this. I didn’t know about the misgendering issue during the Q&A, I didn’t really notice it when I watched the Q&A myself yesterday. I’m not on twitter and I don’t follow or look at Taylor or Nick’s tags. All insults I seen regarding the boys are either from assholes trying to bother me or from people who want to talk about the phenomena, both in my inbox.

Regarding misgendering Casey:

Firstly I’m gonna state the obvious and say of course it’s a bad thing to misgender someone. Don’t do that

However I will also say this.

In regards to the extent of reaction: it’s not always done in malice. And in this case, I think it’s a genuine slip up, which happens. I had to consciously remind myself to deliberately use the right pronouns after my friend came out to me as non-binary. I had to correct my friend using the wrong pronouns when talking about our mutual non-binary student. It’s not ideal, but it happens. It’s not mean, it’s just careless. And please note that I’m not saying it’s ok to misgender someone, no it’s absolutely not but I also don’t think this case calls for a big reaction.  If someone maliciously, deliberately, publicly and repeatedly misgenders someone, that’s problematic, that should be called out by the masses to this extent. This, we should acknowledge, make a note, and move on. I think there’s some cases where the reaction to certain issues are massively disproportional, this is one of them.

In regards to Taylor not correcting Sarah and being targeted for it: Firstly, Taylor didn’t misgender them, Sarah did. Taylor used the right pronouns. In fact when they hung out in New York last August, Taylor used the right pronouns on his Instagram story. Secondly, he might not have picked that up. Thirdly, even if he did, it’s awkward to suddenly cut off a monologue, let alone one from friend or not, is someone on a higher level than you, to correct a mistake that doesn’t directly affect comprehensive. Fourthly, bystanders are encouraged to step into situations, but they’re certainly not obligated to. So placing the blame or putting so much blame on Taylor is ridiculous and unfair.

In regards to Casey’s Instagram story: I understand where the connection comes from but honestly… I think there’s also a possibility that that’s just a post that Casey saw and wanted to share without reference to this issue. They don’t have Twitter, and it’s been several days since the screening. Truthfully, everyone involved seems really friendly with each other, and how this very project is advocating for LGBT rights, I don’t really believe that if they were aware of the misgendering, they wouldn’t apologize to Casey.

So replying to the “You don’t have to post it…” anon, I agree that putting any blame on Taylor is kind of ridiculous in this case, just like what happened in December. I think there’s a portion of “fans” that are fucking around with this and genuinely hurting him, but there might also be a portion of people who have a problematic/complicated perception of this type of situation, and it’s not targeted specifically towards Taylor. Either way I disapprove with what they’re doing, but here’s a hypothesis.

Regarding the damage these stuff causes:

I’ve addressed the insults thrown at Taylor multiple times by now. And I kind of agree with “I hate that there are idiots…” anon that really disgusting insults thrown at Nick tend to be overlooked, it’s not like there’s no Nick haters, there is. But because of the inherent racism, attacks on Taylor are much more obvious. Either way it’s cruel and disgusting and the boys don’t deserve to be thrown insults like that, nor do they deserve to have people enact cruelty in their name. Rarely is anyone deserving of that, and in the case of these two boys who have been proven to kind and wonderful people, it’s definitely wrong.

I’m tired of reading and seeing these bullshit on social media as well, which is why I actively avoid it, but “You don’t have to post it” anon, I definitely understand and share your worries of this fucking up the boys mental health.

But the sad truth is that we can’t decide what he can see and what he can’t. We’re just gonna need to trust him, to believe that he knows how to regulate the exposure of response he gets, that he knows what comments matter and what don’t, that he knows how to take care of his mental health. He actively avoids twitter, so I think he has an idea on what he can engage with an what he shouldn’t. Same goes with Nick, all we can do is believe he knows his mental health and how to regulate it. Meanwhile, those of us who aren’t assholes, we’ll show them all the love we have for him. I think public figures all struggle with this to some extent, so when they stepped into this career, I believe they saw this as a possibility, so they’re prepared to some degree. That doesn’t make any of this okay, but again, ultimately, we’re not people directly in their lives. We can’t do anything else practical.

Ultimately I want to say, be kind, compassionate and considerate. We can’t control what others do, and truth be told when it comes to the majority of the haters, I don’t think calling them out will change anything. They have their mind set. So the best we can do, is manage and control what we say and do, and to some degree, what we see and engage with.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #casey mcquiston #anon ask #answered #oh god this took a lot out of me

[whyshedisappeared]

How do you stand this website being so evil and ignorant and blind to reality? Every day I feel like I block dozens of people, and I've lost a ton of followers (not that they're really a loss, antisemites and terrorism supporters gtfo, BUT the depressing part is having to know that many mutuals and followers were antisemitic and full of hate all along). It feels hopeless and I want to delete.

thb I feel like im screaming into a void. the only people who interact with my posts about the war are Israelis and Jewish. and even they only like them and don't reblog.

I feel like im just surviving one hour at a time.

as to your original question, first of all I filtered the tags free pal*stine and pal*stine. i don't know how long you've been here, but I've had this account since 2012. I've been here during protective edge, during the almost war in 2021. I'm honestly used to the feeling of being isolated and called a monster because I don't want to die. I've had more than one person I thought were my friend essentially ask me to justify my right to live and when I didn't beg them to believe me that I'm not a monster and I actually support hamas and blah blah blah they blocked me. I lost over 200 followers, I blocked even more.

I see people wishing soldiers death knowing that my little brother is in the south, keeping people safe, having to lay on the ground more times than I would like to think while missiles shoot over his head. to the point that while on the phone with him there were missiles launched, he saw the trajectory and said "oh there's an alert in tel aviv" and 10 seconds later we saw tel aviv in the alarm list.

I'm going to my 6th funeral tomorrow, where two girls from my choir who lost their dad. I went to a funeral of a 23 yo childhood friend who was killed in kfar aza. another of a 25yo big brother of another childhood friend who was killed in gaza. to one of a 23 yo old guy who was with my brother in the volleyball team and my brother couldn't go so we went for him. to one of a 23 yo girl who went to the party and helped my brother for years with his bagruyot. to the funeral of an honorary uncle whose sister and her husband were murdered (to the point their limbs had to be gathers and they could only be identified with dna) while protecting their 21, 19, 16 yo kids safe. their kids lied in their parents' blood for 10 hours under the bed waiting to be rescued.

if people refuse to believe us, if they believe hamas are justified in their actions, I don't want anything to do with them. I'm ashamed of ever thinking they were nice people I wanted to interact with. I don't want them on my dash, or my blog, or anywhere near me.

I post so much about the war to force people to see the truth. and I will never be quiet about it. the youngest child kidnapped is no longer 9 months old, he's 10 months old. how can a baby be an occupiar? support an apartheid? support genocide? forget the fact that it isn't the truth. how can a 3 year old be a bad person? she's 3. if you can justify hamas' actions, I don't want anything to do with you.

I sometimes go to specific tags if I need to escape a little and I'm seeing a little too much about the war. I don't always have it in me to go and block and deal with it. and to be honest, I found who my real friends are and i learned about some new people who see the truth and it's great to know who the people I can trust are.

unfortunately the truth of being an Israeli jew is having hypocrits wish you happy Hanukkah and then when it actually matters, when your life is on the line (literally) wish for your death and celebrate it. the joys of being so detached from here that you don't even realise these are real people living through the most extreme life or death situation and you have the luxury of giving people lectures as if you know anything because you read a cute little 3 word comics on Instagram so now you consider yourself an expert.

all of this is to say, moderation is key. fuck nazis and I wish everyone who support hamas a miserable, sad (and long) life. use this as an opportunity to learn who your real friends are and fuck the rest of them. they aren't worth your time and effort, when all they wish for is your death.

#personal #ask #anonymous #asks like these are the reason im happy i turned anon back on #this came out longer than i expected and is probably not very coherent but im too lazy to read through this and make it make more sense

[neverwritewhatyouknow]

The way I want to scream so loud all the time because it’s like I’m in this void and trying to get people to hear me but no one is. The movie couldn’t even be fucking bothered to cast a Jewish actress as Nora and Amazon doesn’t care. The cast doesn’t care. The crew doesn’t care. Most RWRB fans don’t care. I’m so tired of never seeing Jewish representation on screen unless the character is a Jewish caricature full of stereotypes or is all about their religion or is played by a non-Jew. It just hurts so fucking bad. It really really hurts. It makes me literally nauseas that a Jewish character can be erased in the snap of a finger, because that’s what so many people wish could happen to real Jews too. It makes me so nauseas to think about all the Jewish actors who can’t find work because they look too ethnic to play non-Jewish characters and there are so few Jewish characters available (and even less that actually cast Jews). I know that it may not sound important, but it literally hurts so much. The amount of times I’ve cried over this since the cast was revealed is insane. What hurts even worse is people not caring. If Nora was originally Hispanic and was being played by a white actor people would be throwing a fit, but because she’s Jewish it doesn’t matter to people. It matters so much because the book was prided on its diversity, the movie casted actors to keep with that except for Nora. Do you know how much that hurts?? To see such care taken for every other person but not for someone who’s like you?? (I’m crying rn as I type). I just lost my job recently because I’m Jewish and all this happening just really makes me feel so sick because it’s just proof that nobody cares about Jews. Not when everyone stays silent. It just hurts so bad. I feel so alone. I’m literally the only person who’s been posting about this. I’m the one who gets all the hate comments, I get death threats, I get harassed. I get blocked and ignored. It just hurts so much. Why does nobody care about us?

#red white royal blue movie #rwrb movie #red white and royal blue #rwrb #rwrb cast #prince henry of wales #alex claremont diaz #alex and henry #nora holleran #red white and royal blue movie #casey mcquiston #red white royal blue cast #jewish #rachel hilson #red white royal blue #cmq #rwrb henry #firstprince #rwrb alex #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #red white and royal blue cast #rwrb film #nora rwrb #rwrb shitpost #rwrb fic #ols #iksw #amazon prime original

[kittykatkatelol]

Long post warning, but I just want to scream into the void my options on shipping . Yes, controversial takes, either ignore it or not, I'm just screaming into the void .

I think shipping discourse is the stupidest argument . I get it, some things are very problematic (pedophilia, rape, incest, etc), but I swear to god, I could not give any less shits if you want to be problematic - just block and scroll .

now that the most controversial thing out of my mouth is out of the way, let's continue .

I am personally asexual and on the aromatic spectrum, hell I'm sex repulsed 98% of the time . And the way I see it, I don't give any less craps about if people want to ship canonically asexual/aromatic/aroace characters with other characters (I'm talking fictional), even if it is disclosed that they are sex/romance/sex+romance repulsed . I literally don't give a shit as long as it remains fictional *and* the creator of 'x' character gave the 👍 . I personally, enjoy some of these ships - I'm talking about you, Alastor . I love radioapple and staticradio personally, idk if it's romantic or platonic, I just love seeing their relationship in some way shape or form . And honestly, I'm so fucking sick of seeing people rant about how canonically asexual/aromatic/aroace characters that show little to no interest/repulsed in relationships and how they shouldn't be shipped . My God, it's the fucking internet, if r34 can be made of it, it will be - if it can be shipped, it will be shipped . Just block and scroll people, block and scroll .

That being said, I agree that asexual/aromatic/aroace characters are a good thing ! I love seeing represention, but I just can't expect the internet and the people there to leave it be . If it can be shipped, it will be shipped . My philosophy is "If you don't like it, don't like it, just leave it alone" because people aren't going to change their minds . Why should they? They aren't doing anything wrong liking/shipping fictional characters . I'm just kind of sick seeing people get mad about Alastor being shipped - I understand, it's annoying, ace/aro/aroace doesn't have much canon representation and people keep sexualizing and/or shipping the little representation, but as I said before, it's the fucking internet, just block and scroll .

So that I think concludes this tedtalk . So, yeah, enjoy you shipping or not shipping . I'm personally sex repulsed and most of the time romance repulsed, and I think shipping if fine as long as it's fictional (or self inserts with a fictional character) and the creator is cool with it . So uh, thanks for reading my little rant .

#roxxas's little hellhole #shipping discourse

[justtryingyaknow]

Guys I'm so sorry for being sappy on my tumblr tonight but just uuuugh. I want to talk about cory to anyone and everyone but I also don't want to be that friend that's like way oversharing and way over dominating the conversation. So just here have a brain dump about things related to my new relationship.

1. We walked over 45 minutes on our first date and he made some comment about holding my hand so we basically (less than 3 hours after meeting) walked well over a mile just holding hands and talking.

2. Our first date went from lunch to dinner because we had spent so long together. And then it went from lunch to breakfast because neither of us could bring ourself to end the date. I had a 26 hour first date.

3. He has a lot of physical comedy bits. My favorite is when he fake flirts and pops his hip and wags his eyebrows. Simultaneously adorable, funny and somehow still wildly seductive.

4. He falls into a bad Russian accent all the time.

5. The first fight I ever got into with my ex was that he lied to me about being high. I will never have this fight with cory. Because I just assume he is high. How did I end up dating a major functional stoner hell if I know but it's chill as shit.

6. He is. MASSIVE. 6'4" broad and strong as hell. I finally found my mountain human. He casually picks me up with no problem and like shit son. This is the dream. Also he's like my personal dream man. I have such a specific type for men (as I've said before I have zero preference in women they're all gorgeous but men I am particular about) and he is ALL OF THOSE THINGS. mildly hipster, beautiful eyes, beard, strong profile, tattoos. Ugh. I just find him WILDLY INTOXICATING.

7. On our first fucking date we discussed how right everything felt and though we didn't want to be weird we both had this weird feeling that that was it. We found the one.

8. I have never wanted kids. I want to raise a family with this man. And that's just wild to me.

9. Drew a crappy little drawing of him and he texted me about it over and over and it's the background of his phone.

10. Hes trusting and open and that's very new and very incredible. He is incredible. God I feel so lucky.

#i am so sorry #i just #ugh #im in love with this person #and its silly #but hes so good #and so good for me #and to me #screaming into the void #exulting into the void #scream into the void #you can block scream into the void if you want to ignore my personal posts

[missblissy]

Glad you're back!! Miss you! I see about your post, can I have some modern AU maybe of Human! Alastor x reader going to an aquarium? Maybe a cute date? Haha thx amazing to have you again

(( QwQ/ It's good to be back! And I would be honored to do that. I had a lot of fun with this. I hope you enjoy!!))

It was hinted with salt filling the air. Misty and warm, the summer sea winds rolled off the coast and into your hair. The Long Island sound was picture perfect, just as you remember in your childhood dreams. You were staying in a quaint little town your familly use to visiting summer after summer when you were a child. And it was the perfect place for you to bring yourself on a long over due vacation. Work had been too much to handle this past year, and now you could spend the next week relaxing on the soft sandy coastal beaches of Long Island. 

However today you had plans to take the ferry across the sound to the aquarium. Sure... you were going by yourself but... So what. You didn’t particularly have many friends, nor a partner in your life. But so what? You were an introvert natrually and a social gathering over five people where never your thing. 

You had just made it to the ferry docks. As always, you were fifteen minutes early. You couldn’t bear to be late, especially since you considered “on-time” to be late. You were sitting on a public bench facing the sound. Dozens of other people have started to gather around the same place as you. You were just about to take one of your favorite books out of our bag when someone approached you.

“Do you mind if I sit?” You saw a man standing before you. He had a pleasant smile. A soft one that just barely met his eyes. You took one second too long to peer at him.

“Uh-...” You tore your gaze from his soft brown hair and to his polished shoes. They were out of style yet he somehow managed to pull it off, “Yea-.. I mean no...! Help yourself.” You tried to return his smile but you were far more awkward about it. This man had some strange sense of fashion. He looked oddly in place, however, he seemed like he was trying to live in a time long since past. 

“Are you waiting for the ferry too?” He asked, making simple conversation to fill the void of silence. 

You glanced at him quickly a second time and made a nervous little laugh. His dark complexion matched his brown eyes hidden behind perfectly circular glasses, “Oh... yes.” You remember you had your ticket in your hand, “It shouldn't be much longer until it arrives,” 

The stranger nodded his head slowly, “Have you ever been on a ferry before?” You nodded your head to his question, “Ah, first time for me. They don’t have ferries where I’m from.” He said with a cool expression.

He seemed chatty for a stranger. Most of the time when strangers tried talking to you, you’d brush them off. But this man was lucky that you thought he was rather... stunning in the looks department. That, and he seemed rather harmless as of right now. So you indulged in his conversation, “Where are you from?” You asked. 

The man paused only slightly then turned himself to face you. He held out his left hand for you to take. You were hesitant but you still reached out, “Alastor,” He said, “I’m from New Orleans. I’m guessing you’re a local?” You wouldn’t have ever guessed that, he didn’t have any kind of southern twang or drawl to his tone.

You shooked his hand but you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing a little at his question, “No, no,” You waved your hand a little, “Uh- aha... I’m (Y/N). And I’m not from here, but my family and I use to come here all the time for summer vacations.”

“Well, it’s certainly a lovely place to visit. I’m here for business though so I can’t say I’ve gotten the real experience of it all yet. Today was my day off, however, and I thought I’d go see this aquarium one of my friends keeps telling me to go to. She’s rather annoying about it, truly, spoiled even and quite the nagging little thing. But she is my friend after all and I’d rather not deal with the consequences of not listening to her.” 

There was a moment there went you felt your heart stop for a minute, “That’s... really ironic.” You said slowly.

“Oh? You have a bossy friend too?” He jested with a smile. 

You laughed for a second then shook your head, “No, I mean that it’s ironic that you’re going to the aquarium,” You paused for a second then reached into your bag and pulled out your phone. You showed Alastor and said, “I’m going too.” 

He peered at the e-ticket on your phone, the pushed his glasses up on his nose with a deep laugh, “What a small world!” He laughed, then laughed some more, “How truly ironic indeed!” Then without a second to waste, he faced you once again then asked, “Would you like to go together?”

The question startled you. You didn’t expect that. He was very bold, wasn’t he? You had only just met and he was asking to spend probably what would be the rest of the day with you. You were flustered suddenly, then you were tongue-tied, lastly, you cracked your voice as you answered, “S-Sure! Yea- um--....” You felt your cheeks turn a little pink, “Sorry. It’s just... That was unexpected.” Just as you said that the loud horn of the ferry screamed as it pulled into the docks. 

Alastor stood up while smiling down to you, “Life wouldn’t be life if what you expected happened all the time.” 

He then held out his hand, offering to help you up from the bench. You took a moment, sitting there and taking everything in for what it was. Alastor stood before you, looking as though he was some kind of mathematician, or professor, now that you got a good look at him. His red tie was tucked behind a brown sweater vest that stopped just shy of his belt. His hand was offered to you, while the wind dusted his brown hair around in the breeze. And that smile on his face, it was soft yet firm enough to show that he was pleased to help you up. 

So you decided then... why the hell not? He was right, life wouldn’t be the same if it was exactly like what you expected. You took Alastor’s hand and pulled yourself to your feet. The two of you chatted while boarding the ferry, and then stood beside each other while leaning along the guard rails of the top deck.

The both of you talked about all kinds of things. You found out that Alastor was some kind of internet personality, not really. He had a podcast he ran and owned with some friends of his. It was apparently very popular and well known, though not that well known because you’ve never heard of it before. And to say that didn’t hurt Alastor’s ego a little would have been a lie. Apparently, Alastor also had a strong taste for liquor, because at one point he went to the ferry’s indoor bar and came back with two rum on the rocks.

You told him it was only noon, to which he replied, “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” And laughed before taking a sip of his drink. You decided to have the one he got you and told yourself it’d only be one which Alastor stayed true to. He didn’t wander off for another drink once he finished the one he had. There was another point that you learned that Alastor had the habit of ignoring his phone, to the instance where he got annoyed with it and turned it off. It seemed he only wanted to focus on talking to you and listening to what you had to say.

Alastor and you talked the whole ferry ride, which was just under an hour long. And when you docked, you both walked side by side down the three and a half blocks to the aquarium. It wasn’t a massive place, but it was a good size with a decent amount of animals. You originally came here with the idea of looking for inspiration within sea life. For you were an author, after all, writing stories for a living came with its ups and downs. For instance, right now, your much-needed vacation wasn’t really a vacation. The current book you were working on took place in late century seaside town, much like this one. And you had run into the worse possible writer’s block you’ve ever been in. 

As you and Alastor had finished passing the entry gates and showing your tickets, you wondered why Alastor would want to come here with you. Maybe because he realized how terribly awkward it would be if you continued to cross paths all day. You also thought about how you wouldn't be able to focus on working with him around now. You also didn’t really want to out yourself, or your current story. 

But that would soon be unavoidable. You and Alastor had just made it to the open exhibits of the aquarium. You had stopped on an old wooden bridge to briefly look out at a beautiful koi pond. Alastor leaned over slightly while resting his arms on the bridge railing. He had a soft smile that was barely on his lips, “This one oddly reminds me of home,” He sighed. 

You learned along the railing as well, looking over the swampy like pond. It lily pads all over, with a dark green water filled with dead trees and moss. You couldn’t see them, but you could hear the bullfrogs chirping away. Seeing it gave your a sudden surge of inspiration. Something about it made you get several ideas for your book. You couldn’t let them slip away, so you reached into your bag and grabbed your notebook.

While you became lost in your own world, scribbling down idea after idea, Alastor quietly watched you. It wasn’t in a way that you noticed, because he’d only take a side glance here or there. But after a moment or so, he finally asked, “Forgot something to add to your grocery list?” 

It was meant to be a joke but it went right over your head (Mush to Alastor’s dismay).

“O-oh..” You then laughed weakly, “No... It’s for a story I’m working on.” 

Alastor turned to face you slightly while still leaning on the rail, “Oh, like an author?”

You took a dry swallow then glanced away and shrugged, “Yea,” You didn’t want to egg him on. But of course, he asked anyways. 

“Are you published?” He seemed genuinely interested. Yet there was a reason you wanted to avoid it. Oftentimes when you told people about your books, the general reception wasn't that good. There was a reason you wrote under a pen name. 

However, Alastor wasn’t from around here, and you weren’t on New York Time’s Best Selling List yet, and probably never would be. So there was a chance he wouldn’t know or ever heard of your books. 

So you took the chance and said, “Yeah. I’m the author of Sea Rise.”

“Oooh,” Shit. “That book series about the pirates?” Dammit. 

You felt your cheeks burn as you took in a deep breath and nodded your head, “You’ve heard of them?” You wouldn’t look at him though. You just kept your gaze on some turtle resting on a log. 

“Yeah, never read them,” He gave a slight chuckle, “But the girl I work with-”

“You said her name is Charlie, right?”

“Yes- Well, she reads ‘em. She’s a big fan. I’m under the assumption that it’s about fictional pirates?” 

You took in a small breath then sighed, “Pretty much. It’s... not that amazing or anything. It’s okay.” You noticed that Alastor pushed off the rail and started to walk again, but slower this time.

“Tell me about it.” His words surprised you enough to look at him with a shocked expression. He laughed at you while giving a small wave of his hand, “Only if you want to. I’m sure you can’t talk much about spoilers.”

You blinked, then let out a shaky laugh, “I-I don’t know. It’s... A long story. This is for my fourth installation.”

He hummed with a slight chuckle, “Well it’s a good thing there is a snack bar over there.” He pointed to one not that far away, “And plenty of places to sit too.” 

There was something that flickered around in your chest. You felt butterflies you always wrote about in your stories. You peered at Alastor finding it hard to stare at his face. You glanced up from his shoes and got caught in that tilt in his smirk. Heat ran to your cheeks and spread across your nose, you gave a sharp nod of your head then awkwardly stuttered out, “O-okay!” With maybe a little too much excitement. Who knew that today, of all days... You’d run into someone like him. 

#hazbin alastor x reader #alastor #hh #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alaztor x reader #alastor / you #alastor reader insert #alastor imagine #hazbin hotel x reader #short story #cute #fluff #missbliss writes #ask #anon #anonymous

[heckpup]

I uh, made a little something to cope with Ranboo’s acting yesterday. (Which was a m a z i n g, everyone go subscribe to Ranboo rn)

Anyway, Ranboo is now my comfort character, you can pry him from my cold, dead hands.

Also I wrote this at like 2 am, then rewrote it as I worked it into my phone, and am now about to post it before I chicken out.

(How do you make long stories lock off so you don’t have to read the whole thing unless you click on mobile? I tried, but I don’t know it I used the right thing. Help.)

CW!: dehumanization, mentions of starving, isolation

Edit: I had to go back and reformat all of the story, cause apparently strike through a, italics, and bolds don’t carry over from notes.

Second Edit! I learned how to do the “Keep Reading” thing so that should make my unending scroll through my own stories much easier.

Ranboo is used to the cold.

Being part Ender makes him invulnerable to the freezing cold of the void that makes up the End. It’s always cold there, except for when you get close to the dragon. That’s why so many (of his kind) Endermen congregate on the dragon’s island.

They may be used to the cold, but that doesn’t mean it’s nice, or they like it.

Ranboo only knows this from feelings. Memories that aren’t tethered to anything, just vague thoughts floating around in his own cold void.

— — —

Memories of warmth, true warmth, begin in the Overworld.

There’s the sun, the moon, and stars (so many stars!) that make up the Overworld’s void.

They call it sky.

Sometimes, late at night, when everyone in L’Manburg is asleep, Ranboo likes to go out to his roof and look at the stars. They twinkle and shine, little lights in the overwhelming darkness. Some make pictures and stories, Phil tells him. Others just twinkle and shine, unconnected to any others, alone.

They’re like Ranboo’s memories, in a way. Lights in his dark void, sometimes they connect to each other, telling stories.

It’s hard to find the stories, sometimes.

— — —

Ranboo built himself a bunker. It’s a small, dark room, quiet (until he plays that disk) and as he sits, he can see purple particles from the crying obsidian. They remind him of something, but he just can’t remember.

(He does.)

(He doesn’t want to.)

(The stars spread the memories out.)

(Unfindable, untraceable, unable to be connected to each other anymore.)

(But they’re still there.)

(A friend.)

(Endermen surrounding him.)

(Purple particles everywhere he looked)

(Leaving him to survive)

(Sadness)

(Why did they leave me?)

(Why did they go?)

(Where am I?)

(Why am I here?)

— — —

He kept coming back, until it was too late.

It’s far enough away from the ruins (of his HOME) that he can’t see it, even if he tries. He’d be safe here, he’d always be safe here. He’d saved his pets, the three cats and the dog were here, with him.

So many animals had been left.

He hoped T̷̢̬͖̳̮̩̯̼̪͔̠̳̘̭̒̀̅̈́̽͒͐̒̂͂̔̎͠͝͝ͅụ̸̢̧̩̳̏̂̂̾̄̂͂b̷̨͙̮̰͇͖͎͔̳̮̆͐̆̈̐́́̂͊̈́̕b̸̞̭̫̘͕̏̎ò̸̡̖̍̑̔͆̽͒͘ found Ş̶̡̛͚͎̲̜̻͕̹͉̤͂̓̐́̓͘̕͘͝q̴͙͆u̴̝̥̻͉̯̯͑̿̏̇̾̏̋̐̒̓͜͝e̶̩̤̞͖̹̪͚͛̈̓̓͗̓̕̚a̷̡̭̱̫̭͈͚̙̗̜̬̅ḵ̵̨̧̭̥̬̓̌̏̇́̓̾̏͋ṡ̸͔̱͙̌̀̑͒̐̎̊̑̽͌͝.

Who?

That was someone important.

Why couldn’t he remember?

His memory book (not his anymore) lay on the floor next to him, forgotten.

He didn’t want to go back, to look at the crater. He could just stay here.

Right?

Endermen didn’t need food, why should he?

— — —

He’s alone.

He’s all alone.

Ranboo is certain that if he wasn’t lucky enough to have brought a measly stack of potatoes with him (why did he bring them with him?) the pain would have been unbearable. He could survive, he found, but it hurt.

It hurt so bad.

The animals are gone.

Ranboo (was that his name?) had let them go long ago. Let them run away, sent them off to get food, find new homes, new people. (Why didn’t he do that?) He hoped they found people. (Why wouldn’t they? They were pets, still wanted by people.)

He couldn’t remember their names.

It was dark, and he was alone. (Again.)

— — —

He doesn’t speak. He thinks he’s forgotten the common language, how it feels to talk to people. He still makes noises, to pass that time. One vocalization, each day, just to pass time. (How many days has it been?)

A disk lays next to him, scattered and broken from overuse. He’s hungry, but at the same time, he’s not. Why?

It’s so cold.

Why is it so cold?

He doesn’t like the cold.

But he can’t remember anything else.

Ranboo is used to the cold.

— — —

He won’t die. (Why can’t he just die?)

Endermen don’t die. (Unless they are killed.)

He’s just an Enderman. Right?

A creature, not powerful enough.

Weak.

A thing.

Easily killable.

He hasn’t even looked at himself for so long, he doesn’t remember what he looks like.

He lets out a quiet gr-rk! and looks around the dark room again.

The rock looks grab-able.

He wants to grab it. How long has it been since he held something, anything?

(He ignores both the broken disk and the notebooks.)

(He doesn’t need not blocks)

(He’s forgotten his inventory. He hasn’t used it in so long, he didn’t need it.)

(Why would he need it? He’s not a Player.)

(He’s just an Enderman, after all.)

He (It?) blinks, and suddenly, there’s water flowing. It hurts like hell and the water needs to go away. The water needs to go away, it hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS!

Gr-rk!

It’s above? It doesn’t know where It is, but there’s light, and while it’s too bright for It, It blankly remembers that it could be brighter.

(Why does It remember that?)

Where is this?

Where is the box?

The obsidian is still limply held in It’s hands.

It begins to walk around, slowly.

It sees something, in the distance. A wall of fence posts, small. It walks over, and looks out at what It sees.

Absolute destruction, blood and carnage, and it can (still?) see a big black creature (a lone Wither, left alive) at the bottom. Vines are beginning to grow over the stone, and It lets out a quiet, confused gr-rk? at the sight.

A small star twinkles in It’s void, unconnected, but there.

It looks up for a moment and is shocked to find clouds covering a dark sky.

(Where are the stars?)

It feels like something is wrong, something should be there, not clouds.

It teleports away, letting out vwoop-inv noises as It finds Itself in snow. It’s cold, but the snow isn’t the wet kind, thank goodness.

(Where are It’s boots? It had boots to protect It from the snow, once.)

Gr-rk?

It hears a twig snap somewhere behind It, and It turns to look at someone suddenly. A person? A Player!

They look It in the eyes.

It should attack!

No.

What?

Don’t attack.

Why not? They looked at It, It should attack them!

No. Not P̴̧͖̗̪̹͚̳̰̭̗̞̙̺͛͗͋́͂̈͊́͂̃͌͜͠͝͠ͅḧ̵̡̭̖̪͙̀̇̈́͆̉i̴̛̭̽̈̎̄̾̔̇̒̀͝l̸̡̛̛͔̪͖̦̜̮̐̂̄̋̈̋͘͝͠͝͠z̸̨̛̲̤͔̖̓̓̔͊͑̾̿͘͝͝ą̵̨̞̝̰̖̖́̽̿̓̐̀̋͐̊̌̆̈́.

Who?

“Ranboo?”

It hears the voice, and that’s enough to shock it out of It’s stupor. It won’t attack. It won’t. They’re looking at It in the eyes, and It really wants to attack, to scream, to throw the block at them, but It won’t. Not if the voice asks.

“Ranboo?” They ask again. It doesn’t understand what they are asking. What is a Ranboo? It is only an Enderman.

So, in response, It only lets out a quiet gr-rk? and a tilt of the head.

Clang!

Something falls off It’s head. What is that? It looks like a hat made of metal. It has shinies in it.

It ignores the metal hat and instead stares at the Player again. The Player only looks at It quietly, with water in their eyes. How does that not hurt, water in your eyes?

(It always did, but you could ignore it.)

The Player is holding a block! It looks like the trees around It, but already take . Can It have the block? It’s ears swivel up in excitement, looking down at the dark block in the Player’s hand. It wants the wood. Please?

The Player looks down and puts the block away. It frowns, but keeps Its eyes on the Player. It’s ears go down.

The Player’s arms move a bit, and before It can realize, It has dropped Its own block in favor of putting Its arms around the Player. (Why did It do that?)

(It’s been so long since It had a hug.)

The Player is warm. It practically melts into the warmth, purring a little. The warmth is so nice.

They both stand like this for a while, before It begins to get pulled by the Player. The warmth goes with the Player, so It will follow.

The Player leads It to a big house. (Anything is bigger than the box.) and then they lead It inside. There’s another Enderman inside, and It’s ears go up.

Gr-rk? (Friend?)

Gr-rk. (Hello, child.)

Gr-r-rk? (Where is this place?)

Vwoop. (A home. Philza has brought you back.)

Gr-rk? (Philza?)

“Ranboo?” The Player- Philza, It knows now- begins tentatively. “Where have you been? It’s been a year!”

Is Philza addressing It? Philza must be, since Philza has called It Ranboo since they met.

Is Ranboo It’s name? It knew Philza before?

Ranboo did, it realizes. Ranboo knows Philza! Ranboo remembered something!

With a happy vwoop, Ranboo teleports back over to Philza for more warmth.

“You ok, mate?” Philza asks Ranboo. A shake of the head into a warm shoulder tell Philza all he needs.

“You always did have memory problems, eh? That’s ok. We can work with that. You won’t have to forget again, alright?”

Ranboo is used to the cold.

But warmth, Ranboo decides, is much better.

#ranboo #dream SMP #Minecraft #philza #Edward the Enderman #writing #angst #Heckpup drabbles #text post #story #mini fic #pain #angst with a happy ending #kinda

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Helsuma + Evil X, confrontation

i love the helsmits so much omg this was interesting and fun to write :O

Requests are still open! Please read pinned post before requesting. 

…

  Ever since Evil Xisuma found out that there’s another evil version of Xisuma out there, they’ve thrown themselves into finding the person, determined to prove that they are the only evil clone Xisuma needs. They want to confront this person, to find out how much of a threat they are. 

  They’ve finally been able to track this person down and spots them going through a portal to the nether, so they decide to follow. Unfortunately, their first mistake is going in alone, without telling anyone where they’re going.

  They follow the figure carefully through the nether and up onto a ridge overlooking a sea of lava. But as EX creeps out onto the ridge, they realise that the figure is nowhere to be found.

  All of a sudden, something slams into EX and knocks them forwards, almost right off the edge of the platform. As they scramble to their feet, they spot the figure standing near the base of the cliff above them, an axe clutched menacingly in their hand. The person looks exactly like Xisuma, except their colour scheme is red, orange, and yellow: the colours of fire. 

  “Who are you?” yells EX, drawing their sword.

  “My name is Helsuma,” the figure replies, taking an ominous step forward. “And you are?”

  “I’m Evil Xisuma. The original evil Xisuma clone.”

  Helsuma scoffs. “The original? That’s cute. What makes you think being the first Xisuma clone makes you special?” 

  EX doesn’t really have an answer to that. “What are your intentions?”

  “What concern is that of yours?” Helsuma lazily twirls the axe in his hand. “I suggest you stop following me before you get hurt.”

  He turns away.

  This enrages EX. “Don’t you turn your back on me!”

  They charge to attack with their sword, but Helsuma whirls back around at the last second and blocks their blow. 

  “The least you can do is face me!” EX snaps. “What, are you too evil to have a little battle to prove yourself?”

  Helsuma knocks EX’s sword out of their grasp and grabs the front of EX’s shirt in a single smooth motion. He slams EX against the cliff and holds them there in an iron grip. “I don’t need to prove myself,” he says coldly. 

  EX struggles against Helsuma’s grip. “Get off me!”

  Helsuma gives a dark chuckle. “You’re pathetic. You call yourself “Evil Xisuma” but you’re not evil, are you? You’re just a whiny little brat with an inferiority complex. You have no idea what it’s like to be truly evil.”

  “Oh, and you do?” snarls EX.

  “I do. We Helsmits are the epitome of evil, all the darkest parts of our counterparts combined. I am Xisuma’s rage, his hatred, his selfishness, his deceit. You are just a mangled clone, meant to surpass the original but falling far short of even living up to him. I highly doubt you will ever be worth anything.” 

  Ignoring the stabbing in their stomach at his last remark, EX continues to push back against Helsuma. “Shut up! Have you even met Xisuma?”

  “No,” responds Helsuma calmly. “Why should I have to meet him? I will be destroying him soon enough.”

  “D-Destroy?” EX’s eyes widen. “Is that what you Helsmits’ goal is? To destroy your counterparts?”

  “Of course. What else IS there?”

  “Destroying him isn’t gonna bring you happiness, you know,” EX snaps. “Trust me, I know. The best part of our relationship is the battles and the banter we have so when I thought I had killed him forever, I just felt empty and lost. No matter how much I hate him, I couldn’t survive without him.”

  “That’s cute,” sneers Helsuma. “But I’m not you. My purpose in life is to destroy the original. That’s all.” 

  He suddenly slams the handle of his axe into EX’s temple, knocking them to the ground. As they struggle to get up, Helsuma kicks them in the side, pushing them roughly onto their back. 

  Teeth gritted, EX reaches for their sword, but Helsuma traps their wrist with his heavy boot, causing them to let out a cry. 

  “You really are pathetic,” snorts Helsuma. “If YOU’ve beaten Xisuma, I should have no trouble destroying him.” 

  EX coughs. “I never said I’ve beaten him. He kicks my butt every single time, and he’s gonna kick yours too. I just hope he lets me watch, you sadistic son of a-.”

  Helsuma stomps down hard on EX’s wrist, breaking it immediately. EX can’t help a scream at the agony exploding from their broken wrist. 

  “You’re not even worth the effort of killing,” Helsuma laughs coldly. “I’m sure this confrontation will be at the forefront of your mind the next time you feel like you might be worth something.” 

  With that, he retracts his boot and walks away. 

  EX struggles into a sitting position, leaning against the cliff, breathing heavily. Part of them wants to grab a weapon and go after him but they know they can’t. They’re in too much pain to stand a chance at winning. 

  Speaking of pain…

  Tears flow from their eyes as they cradle their broken wrist. The pain is immense, unlike anything they’ve ever experienced before. Being in the void was uncomfortable and somewhat suffocating, but not painful. Not like this. 

  After a while, they push themself to their feet and stagger in the direction of the nether portal they came through. There’s only one thing they can think of to do right now, only one person they know they have to find. If there’s one thing they’ve taken away from their confrontation with Helsuma, it’s that a serious threat to the safety of Hermitcraft is coming. 

  They have to warn Xisuma. 

#hermitcraft #helsuma #evil xisuma #vaunna’s requests

[beardofkamenev]

When Adults Attack! (Teenagers)

(Sorry to everyone for dragging this up again, but some people are chronically incapable of letting drama die down.)

The last time I posted about this was 18 February. It’s now late-March. Despite repeatedly claiming to be “over it”, a self-proclaimed “respected history blogger” has been screaming into the void for over a month now. She seems to be under the unfortunate impression that she’s completely innocent of wrongdoing, all the criticism is unprovoked, she has been targeted by “white bigots”, and that she’s somehow the real victim here. So now I have to explain why that’s bullshit. Unlike her and her two friends, I don’t make extreme but vague accusations with zero evidence. I don’t make empty threats about “exposing” people.

The short story? She involved her own self in a situation that had nothing to do with her, downplayed her friends’ racism towards others, incited her followers to harass a teenager, repeatedly lied to her followers about the multiple POC who criticised her friends being “white”, and has continued to inflame the issue while trying to downplay her role in doing so. The long story? Well, I’ll let the receipts do the talking.

That’s Olivia’s first post at the start of February, days before I or anyone else had even said anything. “My anonymous Jewish friend said!” should have been a red flag to anyone capable of reading anything longer than 280 characters. I’ve already explained why Haley (lucreciadeleon/turtlemoons plus her 92849374 alt accounts) is full of shit and so have plenty of others (here, here, and here, to name a few).

Olivia claims that, as a Romani woman, she’s not obliged to engage with content that offends her. Fine. So why is a black teenager obliged to engage with Haley’s deranged anons? Why are her hate anons are so worthy of a response that not responding is an act of ANTISEMITISM that warrants Olivia telling everyone what an antisemite this teenager is for not responding? FYI, NO ONE is obligated to respond to anon hate, especially from people they’ve already blocked. And considering Haley admitted not once, not twice, but three times to breaking Tumblr’s TOS to circumvent a mutual block and send those anons (including how she did it), people are especially not obligated to engage with her.

I made my first posts exposing Taylor (lucreziaborgia/elizabethblount) and Haley’s lies and backtracking on 6 and 7 February. This was before I acknowledged Olivia’s role in inflaming the situation. In fact, I didn’t even know about her tweets until 8 February. Yet, here she is on 6 FEBRUARY already bitching about my posts to her Twitter followers. She has some nerve acting like I victimised her, just because I posted the screenshots of her bitching about me. And bragging about ‘gaslighting’? The word that multiple people have separately described what her two friends subjected them to? Classy.

I can’t “stalk” her public Twitter any more than she can “stalk” my public blog. What an exceptionally stupid claim to make, considering her tweets kept getting recommended to my mutuals whether they liked it or not. Have some integrity and own the shit you say, rather than backtracking, deleting your posts, and pretending that you didn’t say the things we saw you say. If you want to talk shit about others in public, be ready to answer for it in public.

I also wonder how this started over Henry VII. I specifically wonder how this discussion between myself and May (richmond-rex) triggered Taylor’s totally unprovoked racist comments about how we and Nathen Amin “simp for a dead white man”, and we should “simp for someone who actually advocated for the rights of others” instead. The implication being that Tudor history is only for white people like Taylor, and that only her fave is worthy of discussion (“AnNe BoLeYn WaS oThErEd BeCaUsE sHe WaS tAn.” Good grief).

When multiple POC called bootleg Regina George out for it, not only did she say she couldn’t possibly be racist because Haley approved of her racism, but also tried to argue that Nathen Amin deserved it because it was inappropriate for a British man to joke about Brexit. She then claimed we called her “anti-Welsh” (another fucking lie) to make it seem like a bunch of cRaZy blacks and browns were attacking poor, innocent white her (with Olivia coming to the rescue, of course). And as if that wasn’t enough, Haley then sent these bad faith hate anons calling Nathen Amin’s tweet ANTISEMITIC, for no other reason than to retroactively justify Taylor’s racist comments (though I didn’t see Haley getting offended when she was hate-scrolling through his blog before Taylor was called out).

That was the “antisemitic shit” Haley “privately messaged about” that Olivia thinks deserves a response. In case it's not clear: defending racism makes you complicit in racism. Being Jewish is NOT a get-out-of-racism-free card, and Haley trying to use it as one is absolutely dishonest, especially when NO ONE even knew she was Jewish until she finally admitted in February she was the anonymous ‘Jewish friend’ who sent those batshit anons. Other Jewish people also called Haley out on it, yet Haley and Olivia have conveniently ignored that little fact since it contradicts their narrative.

You think it’s over? Nope. Taylor then slunk into May’s dm’s with a half-arsed apology, where she admitted that the only reason she made those racist comments about Nathen Amin was because we “attacked Gareth Russell first” (“BeCaUsE AnNe FaNs CiTe HiS wOrk”) and she “just wanted to educate us about not lionising Henry VII” (even though anyone with eyeballs can read our discussion see she’s full of shit). At the same time, she and Haley were messaging other history bloggers, telling them that everyone who called them out were antisemites (including an openly Jewish mutual of ours) in an attempt to alienate them from the community. And this was just in JANUARY.

“I can’t be racist! My Jewish friend agrees with my racism!” That steaming load of backtracking horseshit is unfortunately the kind of nonsense Olivia has chosen to defend. FOR WEEKS Taylor ignored May’s messages, explaining why she — a black woman — found Taylor’s comments offensive. Did Taylor listen? Nope. In fact, she only replied in February: after she already started posting about how ignoring Haley’s hate anons was “antisemitism”. How convenient. Taylor might be a fucking idiot but we’re not. She only replied to May because she was afraid we’d use her own words against her. Clearly she never learnt a damn thing because here she is on 6 February backtracking on her apology. “Actually, I did NOTHING wrong! Also, you’re all antisemites for saying I did because my Jewish friend agrees with me!” And what made Taylor feel as though she had permission to start deflecting her vile behaviour onto others in order to get the heat off her? Olivia’s post about ‘their Jewish friend’ Haley: the one that followed Olivia’s “private discussion” with “her two friends”. Taylor is a racist hypocrite who hides behind the few minority friends she has to justify her racism, and attacks every other minority who disagrees with her. It’s no coincidence that the majority of the history bloggers who have a problem with Taylor and Haley’s nasty behaviour happen to be POC.

Despite Olivia admitting that she knew nothing about that situation other than what those two told her, she still took it upon herself to misconstrue and downplay to all her followers the extent of her friends’ racism, lies, and general nastiness (here she is on 9 MARCH). For her, our problems with racism are little more than “stupid drama”, “Henry VII drama”, “Gareth Russell drama”, “overreacting to a joke”, and “petty disagreements over dead people” because her friends are the perpetrators. Yet she demands everyone sympathise with her never-ending dramas and projects her behaviour onto others, despite the fact that she’s shown absolutely no understanding for why so many people have problems with her friends and has consistently defended the perpetrators. She’s entitled to be upset at whatever she wants to be upset at, but she is not entitled to tell her followers that we can’t be upset about racism directed at us, especially when that situation NEVER EVEN INVOLVED HER.

I agree. It’s disturbing that three grown women in their mid to late 20s have a vendetta against an 18 year old. Olivia acknowledged that her posts were reckless and that she would have acted differently if she just sat down and thought for one fucking second. But rather than correct the record on the same platform she made those accusations, she doubled down and took off to Twitter, saying that her anger entitled her to act that way. All with zero acknowledgement of the fact that the teenager SHE falsely accused and repeatedly mocked for her age was still being harassed by HER followers as a direct result of HER posts.

She might love the ‘clout’ that comes with a large following, but she evidently doesn’t care about the responsibility that comes with it. In Taylor and Haley’s case, it’s little more than a means to intimidate others into silence. Olivia might be a “respected history blogger” or a “good historian”, but that definitely doesn’t make her a good person. Far from it, if her behaviour is anything to go by.

This was on 9 February, 3 days after my first post. Bitching about me was all fun and games until the receipts came out, huh?

There’s nothing “insane” about keeping receipts, especially when Taylor and Haley are notorious for lying out of their arses and fake-apologising to people in the dm’s, only to continue mocking them on Twitter afterwards. You know what is insane though? Searching ‘romani’ on our blogs in a pathetic attempt to dig up dirt that doesn’t even exist (yeah, stat trackers exist). Do you know what else is insane? Haley spamming people with passive aggressive anons and sending anon hate to people who’ve already blocked her. She also “stalked” our WOTR group chat, though she’ll never admit to it, despite accidentally posting the dated receipts proving it. Oops!

It’s no secret that Taylor and Haley are cowards (as all bullies are), so it was no surprise when they eventually involved Olivia in their month-old vendetta against a teenager. They wanted to school a black girl on racism and Congolese genocide apologism, so they needed to get a “respectable history blogger” on their side. And Olivia happily obliged, kicking up such a fuss on their behalf that the teenager just offered to end it (despite the fact that Olivia vagued her first). Yet still Olivia continued, publicly mocking her age and calling her an “antisemite” long after the discussion was over (here she is on 24 February still carrying on). Either a teenager is old enough to be publicly shamed for being an “antisemite” and “antiromani bigot”, or she’s too young to be taken seriously. But at 25, Olivia is certainly old enough to know better than to participate in this kind of vile, petty, wannabe Mean Girl behaviour.

Olivia is not black. Taylor is not black. Haley is not black. So for the record, if you are not black, it is not your place to tell BLACK PEOPLE whether they can take issue with apologism for BLACK GENOCIDE. Multiple black history bloggers have already explained why they had a problem with Gareth Russell’s comments about the Congolese genocide (including the teen in question), yet that was less important to Olivia than not being able to call him a sexist weirdo because he’s gay. Olivia cannot speak on all minority issues — especially black and brown issues — and it is arrogant of her to assume that she can, especially since her understanding of the Gareth Russell issue came purely from “what she discussed with her two friends” by her own admission.

What a take. Here’s the “anti-Romani” post that I supposedly made. Precisely ZERO of my posts were about Olivia and not once did I even name her directly. So her claims that I mounted some kind of “vicious attack” against her is, uh, bullshit. Criticising her and her friends for their nasty, dishonest, and irresponsible behaviour isn’t “anti-Romani” just because she’s Romani. It’s no more “anti-Romani” than her erratic attempts to “expose” me are anti-Asian just because I’m Asian. It’s not any more “anti-Romani” just because the UK government has passed anti-Romani laws, any more than her telling deranged lies about me for over a month is an anti-Asian hate crime simply because there’s been an increase in anti-Asian hate crimes. I’m not British. I’m not from the UK. I have no control over whatever dumb, racist crap her government does. So she can fuck off and continue fucking off if she wants to make me personally responsible for that. The backlash she received had nothing to do with her identity and everything to do with how she purposely incited harassment against a teenager, defended her friends’ racism, and spread demonstrable lies to her followers. The “viciousness” of the backlash she received is directly proportionate to the viciousness of her own baseless attacks against others. She can claim to be more mature than an 18 year old all she wants, but do you know what the actual mature thing to do would have been? To not promote her friends’ lies and nonsense, especially when the other people they tried to involve had the sense to stay out of it.

Olivia, Taylor and Haley are fully-grown adults, but take no responsibility for their actions. Yet, they expect teenagers to have total control over not only their own emotions, but also the emotions and actions of others. Olivia thinks that a teen should be personally responsible for the behaviour of fully-grown adults, yet she’s close friends with Taylor — a racist, xenophobic bully who screenshots Tumblr people’s posts to mock them on Twitter (here and here from December), called Poles who’ve lost relatives in the Holocaust “genocidal loving freaks”, accused an openly Ashkenazi Jewish blogger of “internalised antisemitism” just for criticising her (a white gentile), said that people who like Mary I “resent their own siblings”, co-opted our struggles under Spanish imperialism just so she could bully ‘Spaniards’ (despite her being American and therefore equally responsible for genocide, by her flawed logic), and said that the black teen who called out her racism “really deserved to be bullied” and “needed to be policed”. Olivia is also close friends with Haley, who has a history of attacking people over posts that have nothing to do with her, publicly admitted to circumventing blocks in order to send hate anons, and likened me — a Filipino immigrant — to DONALD TRUMP and a neo-Nazi conspiracy theorist just because I posted the receipts exposing her lies, harassment of others, and projection.

Most of the people who have spoken out against these three didn’t even know each other until last month. Some of ‘us’ have actually blocked each other. Yet all of us agree that their behaviour towards others has been absolutely unacceptable. How is it that so many unrelated people from different corners of the ‘fandom’ have exactly the same problems with exactly the same people? If Olivia want us to take personal responsibility for “our friends’” behaviour, then she should first take responsibility for hers.

This is on 26 February, over a week after I last posted. As anyone with eyeballs can see, I called her British once. Not “repeatedly”. ONCE. So she can fuck off again with that bullshit. And why did I point that out? Because Olivia, a British citizen, made pejorative comments about “white Eastern Europeans!!!” just because she thinks some Polish people committed the heinous crime of... screenshotting her tweets. They didn’t even do it, and even if they did, how is that even relevant? Everyone knows that one specific Polish person lives rent free in Taylor’s head, so clearly Olivia just took Taylor’s word for it that it must have been The Poles who were “stalking” her. Maybe don’t take paranoid liars at face value next time?

Shameless, ignorant, tone deaf nonsense. Olivia constantly demands that people treat her and her identity with the utmost respect, yet here she was on 9 February already disrespecting the identities of others just so she can score some petty ‘oppression points’ against them. Why even bring their nationalities up? And why call them “white Eastern Europeans” instead of Polish since she knows they’re Polish? Is it because acknowledging that they are Polish would mean acknowledging that she doesn’t actually have a monopoly on a claim to discrimination or Holocaust trauma? Could it be that dismissing them as just some “white Eastern Europeans” was just another way for her to add credence to her own “pathetic lies” about the situation? There’s a word for that behaviour, and it starts with pro- and ends with -jection.

Let me reiterate: it is IGNORANT of her to use their identity against them, especially when hate-crimes against Polish immigrants have increased in her home country, and especially when the specific people she insulted lost close relatives (including Jewish relatives) in the Holocaust. It’s not “repeatedly mocking her identity” to point out her hypocrisy. Her being Romani is not an excuse for casual xenophobia. She might be able to hide her identity in the UK (though she shouldn’t have to), but Polish immigrants do not have the privilege of passing as first-language white British. I cannot pass as non-Asian. The black girl she and her friends tried to bully off Tumblr cannot pass as non-black. Olivia weaponising people’s identity against them just because she thinks they saw her public tweets is ignorant, petty, and completely uncalled for. She should be absolutely ashamed for using that pathetic argument, but based on her most recent farrago of nonsense, she probably won’t be.

Here’s her on 7 MARCH. And of course Taylor was the first to like it lol. Olivia may have deluded herself into believing she was just an innocent bystander, but unfortunately, enough people saw her admitting to inserting herself into the situation at the behest of her two friends. With every post before and since, her accusations have gotten wilder and wilder, falser and falser, and more and more irrelevant because she knows full well that none of her followers will bother fact-checking her. That’s the beauty of vagueing people. It’s how Taylor and Haley have been able to get away with pulling the wool over peoples’ eyes for so long. Too bad repetition, projection, and self-righteous outrage doesn’t equate to the truth because those are all those three have.

“SOMEONE NEEDS TO EXPOSE THE WHOLE DAMN LOT OF THEM! BUT IT WON’T BE ME!” 

No one has said anything since 18 February, yet here’s Olivia publicly inciting her followers again. She’s “done talking about it”, yet she’s the only one continuing the drama. She is being ‘persecuted’, yet she mobilises her followers to go after others. She needs to be defended against critics, yet she also can’t resist bragging about big her Tumblr following is, how “piddly” our notes are compared to hers, how she got over 30 followers to report my posts (they’re still up lol), and how many people she can get to dig through our blogs to find anything to “expose” us. Olivia, I’m sorry that you require constant validation from strangers on the internet, but not everyone has the same priorities as you. Some of us just come here to have fun, but having shitstarters in the community is decidedly un-fun.

All my posts were directed at Taylor and Haley, but since Olivia insists on making this revolve around her, let me clarify: she is a hypocrite and a professional victim. Words have meaning, and those words are the most accurate words to describe her behaviour. It has fuck all to do with her identity. She and Haley are professional victims because they act as if their minority statuses exempt them from basic rules of online courtesy and entitle them to run their mouths about others with no consequence. And Olivia is a hypocrite because she demands the respect and understanding that she has repeatedly refused to show to others. She made ignorant, xenophobic comments against Polish people because she falsely assumed they screenshot her public posts bitching about others. She pretends that the many POC who have spoken out against her are just some “white” hive-mind because admitting that we’re not white will discredit the victimhood narrative she’s been peddling to her followers. And she arrogantly presumes to be ‘our’ voice in the community, all while mobilising her following to intimidate and silence the minorities who take issue with her and her friends’ vile behaviour.

It’s extremely telling that in every one of her unlettered rants, Olivia made the conscious choice to conflate us with “white gentiles”, “white antisemites”, and “white Eastern Europeans”. Why? Because in order to “name and shame” us, she’d have to admit to her followers that the majority of the people criticising her aren’t actually “white”, but are in fact black, brown, and Jewish. Having repeatedly demanded that her followers defend her, her reputation and credibility now depends upon people continuing to see her as the oppressed victim of “bigoted whites”. Unfortunately for her and her friends, the truth will always come out. That’s what receipts are for, no matter what they claim.

The history community didn’t side with “a white gentile woman”. We sided with a black teenager who Olivia and her friends repeatedly mocked for her age, publicly and privately spread false accusations against, and incited their followers to harass with their never-ending posts. We sided against white racists like Taylor, and her white-passing enablers like Olivia and Haley. Since being called out for racism by a black girl discredited them, they had to discredit her. And unlike the others Taylor and Haley tried to involve, Olivia was their willing accomplice. If she has now been “alienated by half the history fandom”, it is because of her own behaviour and rightly so.

The ideal course of action would be for Olivia to finally take some responsibility for her actions, publicly apologise for her role in inflaming this drama, and move on like the rest of us have tried to do. But unfortunately, she may be too far gone in her own pathological need for online validation to ever admit wrongdoing without some serious introspection. So perhaps, Olivia, if anything else, you should just take your own advice and, once and for all, SHUT THE FUCK UP.

#here's my fucking rent #seeing as i've lived in your head for a whole month #dumb and dumber #disk horse for ts #long post

[nehawriter16]

2020 / 24

There are only 2 things I can do on an airplane – dose up on sleeping meds and pass out, or order one too many cappuccinos, keep my exhausted brain awake, and will it to talk to paper. The flight from JFK was in the afternoon and in the chaos of leaving for the airport early in the morning, I forgot to pack my pills.

Two cappuccinos in, my hands were shaking and begging to be typing out the Mrs. Maisel speed monologue that constantly runs in my head. Even though there is a month left in this year, I decided to do my annual New Years Eve post. Over the last 3 days, I’ve been drilling it down to go from gibberish to slightly readable.

Here it is.

Like the rest of the world, in January, I was blissfully unaware of the shitstorm that would follow. I got into several colleges on the East Coast for a Master’s in Finance degree. Every day, I would race down the stairs with my laptop and show my parents: another admit, another scholarship! On the surface, I was making pro and con lists for each one. Deep down, my heart had already picked Fordham in New York. It was New York. Nothing else would cut it.

The day after I turned 24 in January, I also met my (now ex) boyfriend on the internet. Completely by accident, he saw my profile because a mutual friend followed my writing. Two days later, she texted me and said he would like to talk to me. Did I want to talk to some boy studying in Paris? I was single and bored and already had my year laid out for me, so why wouldn’t I?

It moved quickly. Three months later, we had been speaking every day and were exclusive. We had not hung out in person. It was stupid, but I had never come across anybody who liked me as much as he did. In every relationship I had been in before this, I always knew I was more emotionally involved. I fell in love with his devotion to me – he would stay home (who stays home in Paris!) and choose to spend virtual time with me over going to clubs with his friends. I watched myself become the epicenter of his life and thought – this is how much I’ve always wanted to mean to somebody.

In March when the pandemic hit and India shut down, my father sent a car to pick me up from my internship in Bombay, where I had moved two weeks ago. I didn’t pack so much as my toothbrush – the driver brought me home and I had no idea that it would be months before I’d get to leave again.

Morales stayed high in the beginning – we thought it would end in 21 days, then 2 months, then 5. It has taken over the whole year now, and despite us gridlocking it into “2020,” we all know the first half of 2021 will also be filled with masks and sanitizers and not hugging your friends. I wonder if I will ever settle into somebody’s arms without cringing again.

March melted into April, that melted into one long drawl until suddenly it was August and college was beginning the following week. I found myself refreshing the US consulate’s website absent mindedly one afternoon, and all appointments that had been suspended suddenly showed you a tiny little bar that read “reschedule.” I screamed and clicked.

I had thought I would be spending the year stuck at home, awake and attending classes at odd hours. While my classmates went to happy hours in dive bars in Manhattan, I would be in my bedroom, still chained to my parents’ curfews and ultimatums. But then suddenly, I was standing before a US immigration officer in Bombay, and he was telling me I had been granted my student visa.

All that was left to do was book a flight to New York, and break the news to my boyfriend, who was on his way to my abandoned apartment at this very moment for our first date, 7 months after we first began speaking. He had come home in March when France went into lockdown, and it was starting to feel like a throuple with long distance, the third and very present member in our relationship.

I packed up the belongings I had left there, and we sat across from each other on the double bed. I kissed him first. There were roadblocks, and our personalities and views clashed on so many important things, but I loved him. Two days later, I said: I have to leave for New York in 3 weeks. He didn’t take it well.

In September, I landed at JFK. When the wheels of the plane made contact with the runway, I was smiling behind a mask I’d had on for 16 hours. On the Air Train to Manhattan, I felt a sense of happiness wash over me and toyed with the possibility that maybe I wouldn’t mind if it was just me in this city. I would be okay alone.

I found an apartment, a roommate, signed a lease in a beautiful building in Hell’s Kitchen, walking distance from college. I met lots of people from my class and instantly picked out the ones I wanted to become good friends with. I dove straight into academics and extra curriculars at college – after 5 months of nothing happening, life was suddenly exciting again.

When New York lit up every night, it felt like anything was possible. I started eating better and walking a lot. My hair grew out from the bad haircut I’d gotten the year before. Coffee was no longer just coffee, it was finding a new café and walking through Central Park. Drinks were not just drinks, they were about accidentally stumbling onto a secret bar in the East Village, finding favorite spots in the neighborhood, letting a cute waiter recommend a cocktail to me even though I was perfectly capable of picking one myself.

The boyfriend and I were fighting more than usual. I was getting tired of it. We had discussed a life together, but it was slowly and surely becoming clear to me that I would resent myself for making big compromises for a person who still had a lot of growing up left to do. As New York got cold, I did too – without trying. When one particular argument got really bad, I asked for a break from the relationship. He didn’t like it.

A week later, I woke up to a girl sending me screenshots on Instagram of her conversation with him (pre me asking for a break) on a dating app, and without getting into details, I will tell you it was not a conversation anybody with a girlfriend should have been having. I should have been broken in half on the inside, but now I could finally say, without feeling guilty – this relationship was not working, nobody was happy, and you were so unhappy you thought talking to other women was okay. I spent all of one day drinking with a friend in Central Park and sobbing myself to sleep.

But mostly, what hit me after the initial shock had died down was a tsunami of relief. I felt lighter, freer. I try not to think too hard about the trauma that comes from finding out that the person you think is so devoted to you, and definitely loves you more than you love them (or so you think) is being unfaithful, because it hurts a part of me that is already very bruised from all the things that have happened to me before. So I don’t.

But it was New York. I was young and smart and there was a wine shop down the block that sold $14 bottles of Moscato. I didn’t need much else to know I would be okay. At 20, I would have jumped right back into going on dates every other night to distract myself from what had happened, then never called any of those men back. At 24, this emotional speed bump resulted in a lot of quiet introspection in my bedroom. I spent a lot of time alone, on the phone with friends, and walking around the city. I had learnt to like my own company enough to not fill a suddenly empty void with anybody else’s, even though there have been several tempting offers in this past month, and sometimes, I have succumbed to them, but mostly I am very strict with who deserves my company.

It was nice to spend that second month in New York by myself. I owed absolutely nobody a single minute of my time. No one asked me questions, or called me and expected me to share my day unless I wanted to, and once I had worked hard and cleared out the things from my to do list for the day, time stretched out before me and I had the autonomy to decide the smallest thing down to who to meet, what to eat, how much to sleep.

I didn’t let my academics and ambition suffer – no matter what happens, I never do and I never will. The grades stay up – it’s built into my system. I am back home now and just 2 days in, I find myself wishing I hadn’t left New York. I was starting to build a life I liked there, and the only price I had to pay for it was a 4 pm sunset. It would have been slightly lonely, but I like the time I spend by myself. I worked hard to become like that.

This month, I will see my friends here at home. I’ve missed them. I can’t believe I grew up in this city and I already feel so alienated from it just from 60 days of living away. Is that how badly I wanted to leave?

I might be dramatic and fly back on my 25th birthday, so that I can say, “I was on a flight,” and ignore the slowly expanding bubble of dread that comes with turning that old. I like the ambiguity of airports and I’m the sort of inherently sad person who would love to be alone and unreachable on my birthday.

I acknowledge that my problems this year have been so small in the face of those of us who have lost family members, contracted the virus, had to give up internships or had jobs taken from us, been torn away from family, or had to make it through this alone.  

I feel almost guilty that good things have happened to me in a year that has predominantly been bad for almost everyone else. I feel apologetic, even though from 2017 to 2019, I was treated like life’s sick joke so I should deserve these good things that I worked hard for.

I definitely feel myself growing up, though. Emotionally I find I have a clearer idea of what I want from relationships and friendships, and I don’t second guess cutting off anybody who doesn’t serve that purpose or messes with my mental peace. I still have days when self-doubt comes over for a cup of tea, leaves me weak in the knees, but most days are free of it. I am also moving out of that chameleon phase where I mirrored what I thought a room full of new people would want from me, and I am unapologetically myself, irrespective of who’s watching.

Last year I remember wishing for something stupid, like “I wish there was somebody to kiss on New Years Eve,” because I’ve never had anybody to smack lips with when it’s midnight. This year, I don’t care. I’ll kiss myself in the mirror, for all I care. I love her. She’s my homie.

It’s been a weird year. I know who I was in 2019, and I remember wondering if I was proud of her. Things were still in purgatory then. But I steered my life and brought it back on track. This year, I am proud of myself without doubting it.

There’s no measuring scale for personal growth, but if there was, I feel at least a couple of inches taller in 2020.

#personal 2020 writing

[mensuckalways]

Let me just make this really clear:

As far as me venting on here goes, unless I ask for opinions I don’t care if anyone thinks I’m being rational or not. I purposely vent on a blog where only complete strangers follow me so that I can scream into the void what I don’t tell anyone in person. This is my goddamn blog and I’ll be damned if people are gonna tell me I’m toxic or that I’m shitty bc I complain about people they don’t know, talk about situations they are not a part of, etc.

I’m telling you right now if you don’t like what I post, if it depresses you, annoys you, whatever.. unfollow me or ignore that shit because I’m not tailoring my blog to what anyone wants it to look like except me.

And if you leave negative comments on my posts you’ll be blocked no questions asked.

#personal #don’t come in my safe space abd try and ‘call me out’ bc I won’t dm your creepy ass back

[wienerbarnes]

Cheek to Cheek (3/5)

Pairing: Bucky x Criminal!Reader

Word Count: 1,497

Warnings: Injuries, creepy kidnapping environment

A/N: wouldnt be my series if i didnt post late :) ngl i got drunk and forgot LMAO but here’s part 3! ill post again tomorrow to catch up <3

SERIES MASTERLIST

Bucky ignores Sam’s phone call asking him to go help out the next day. He’s set up a last minute appointment with his therapist after what occurred in that room yesterday; an appointment he’s on his way to now. As he reaches a stoplight on his bike, he pulls out his phone and listens to the voicemail Sharon left him late last night.

“Hey, Buck. Don’t worry about helping out tomorrow. I know Sam will ask you, but I can tell you need to rest. We’ll get this case figured out; we’ve already exposed her as a fraud. We’ll probably do some more interrogating tomorrow, she’s probably orchestrating the kidnapping for some reason. I’ll keep you updated. Take care.” Her voice cuts off with a beep in Bucky’s headphones and he lets out a sigh as the light changes.

He continues along the road, absentmindedly looking about his surrounds, when something catches his eye.

A light up sign of a waterfall, the neon not yet turned on now during the day, with the word “NIAGARA” spelled out; the building looks like a bar of some sort.

“Waterfall. W-water falling. N-not water.” Your voice flashes in his mind.

Don’t let her get in your fucking head, Barnes. Fuck! Get a hold of yourself, Bucky scolds himself. As Bucky nears the corner of the next block, he sees a statue of an angel with wings.

“An angel of stone.” He’s reminded of you again.

He turns right at this block and decides to take the long way to his therapist’s office. He lets out puffs of breath to calm himself and stop from freaking the fuck out. “It’s nothing. You’re creating coincidences in your mind.” Bucky says to himself.

As he drives down the alleyway, he slows down next to a large building, a warehouse. There’s a sign on the fence that says “CONDEMNED”. The chain around the lock has been broken.

“A cellar… Warehouse, condemned.”

Bucky parks his bike. 

He quietly sneaks throughout the warehouse, gun and pocket flashlight drawn in front of him. The warehouse is almost pitch black inside, smelling of gasoline, garbage, and death. There’s a steady dripping coming from somewhere along the ceiling and an occasional flutter of bird wings of pigeons who got lost in there. He eventually comes up to an open space, still lit candles scattered along the ground. Must of been recent if they’re still lit. Something shiny catches Bucky’s eye and he kneels on the ground to get a closer look. A gold bracelet. A very familiar looking bracelet. A bracelet he saw in one of the photos of Elizabeth Hawley Sharon showed him two days ago. He picks up the bracelet in his metal hand and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. He looks forward a few feet in front of him and sees a wire coat hanger on the ground.

“A-and a hanger. They whip him with a coat hanger. A wire coat hanger…”

Bucky cancels his appointment and calls Sam.

…

“They made a positive ID on the bracelet you found, Bucky. Good work.” Sharon praises him as they meet back at the tower.

There’s a moment of silence as Sharon and Sam organized their notes from the crime scene they’ve just left. The crime scene Bucky stumbled upon.

“I lied to the FBI about how a found the warehouse.” Bucky blurts out, not making eye contact with either of his partners.

“Excuse me?” Sam stares at him.

“How’d you find it?” Sharon’s voice raises.

“...It was where she said it’d be.” Bucky says and his teammates sigh with annoyance.

“Bucky, what if it was a set up? You could be dead right now!” Sharon scolds him.

“We have to go back and interrogate her again.” Bucky says. Sam and Sharon glance at each other before looking back at Bucky.

“We have three more days until those kids are dead and then our only connection to this case gets lethal injection two days after that. It’s the only thing that’s worked.” Bucky rationalizes to them.

Bucky sees the gears turning in their heads as they think about the non-existent other options they have.

“I’ll call the ward.” Sharon says before walking out of the room.

…

“His eyes are cold. So cold.”

“Describe him.” Sam demands.

Your eyes look tired as they look at Sams. You almost look childlike. Like a toddler who’s gone too long without a nap. Or a hug. Or any kind of touch that didn’t inflict pain. Bucky doesn’t know what it is, but he feels something deep down inside him for you. Maybe it’s sadness. Maybe it's pity. Maybe it’s his own instinct to save and take care of people. Maybe it’s guilt. For what, he’s not sure. But he wants to help you so bad and you don’t seem to know what you need help for.

“I see a, a scar. Tall, pale guy. Late 20’s.” You begin. You pause and your brows furrow as your lip begins to tremble ever so slightly. “He’s looking at Elizabeth. He’s gonna get the hanger…” Tear quickly gather in your eyes and you shut them tight.

“Where is he?” Sam asks.

“By the window… he’s waiting… It’s a small boathouse on Lake Seneca.” You finally force out, your voice thick with emotion.

“You got that?” Sam turns to Sharon as she wordlessly finishes writing in her notepad before standing and collecting her things, Bucky following suit.

The three of them begin to file out of the room when she stops them.

“Miss Carter?” Your voice whispers.

Sharon turns to look at you, waiting for whatever you’re going to tell her. “Don’t go near the white cross… We see you down… and your blood spills on the white cross.” You warn.

Sharon looks at you for a few more seconds before walking out of the room, her two partners following after her.

…

The three suit up in silence in the jet ride there. Tactical gear, guns and knives, and bullet proof vest for Sharon. Bucky insisted she wear one after that white cross comment from you.

The boathouse looks abandoned. Grass is overgrown, floorboards of the front porch are torn to shreds and the paint is chipping on the sides of the house. There’s silence as they approach; not even crickets are sticking around this shit-hole. 

The air is cold and sharp, as though there’s thousands of needle pricks hitting Bucky’s skin as he walks, no matter how slow he steps. It’s the kind of atmosphere that makes you want to rip your hair out for no reason, or just scream into the void as loud as you can. It’s the type of atmosphere that can make a person go insane if they’re around here for too long. It’s eerie. And Bucky hates it.

The three of them finally enter the building, immediately finding Elizabeth and James tied up in the corner of the room. Sam rushes to them to rid the gags from their mouths and untie their restraints.

“Sweep the docks!” He orders.

Bucky and Sharon head off in a similar direction but split off at the docks to clear the area.

Sharon’s steps along the end of the dock are silent. She sees the water at the other end shifting calmly due to the small boat tied to the pillar. She raises her gun and flashlight towards the boat, the large tarp draped over it raising her suspicions. The longer she stares at it, the less sure she is that there is or isn’t something under there. 

It all happens in a second. It one small crease in the tarp that outlines a body and she yells, “Special agent! Don’t move!” before a shot is fired and knocks her off her feet.

Her back slams against the ground and a groan escapes her and the boat motor echoes into the night as it speeds off. She feels large hands rip her tactical gear open and she peeks down to see one single bullet lodged into the bullet proof vest. She glances at Bucky, who’s lightly feeling over her arms and the rest of her torso to ensure there’s no other injuries, and she closes her eyes again in both annoyance and getting the wind knocked out of her.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., get medical ready back at the tower, just in case.”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky sighs and glances around the area before noticing something.

“Don’t go near the white cross… We see you down… and your blood spills on the white cross.”

A tall white cross, standing about fifteen feet tall stands at the corner of the dock where Sharon lays. If not for her bullet proof vest, her blood would’ve splattered across the white frame.

A shiver crawls up Bucky’s spine and a hand on his shoulder makes him jolt.

“C’mon, man. Let’s get her up. Hopefully Red Wing caught some footage of the boat we can analyze back at the tower. Elizabeth and James are waiting on the jet hooked up to IV’s.” Sam informs him, crouching down to his level so they can hoist Sharon up.

Bucky’s takes one last look at the cross before walking with Sam back to the jet.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x criminal!reader #bucky x reader #criminal!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #x files au #series #bucky barnes series

[muchmorethanmuses]

@tragicgallery​ asked: 15, 16, and 19 for the honesty meme? 

Honesty is the best policy || Still (tentatively) Accepting

How has rp changed you personally? I think - RP wise - its made me stronger. Like, I won’t hesitate to cut out and block people that are causing me issues. I am better at saying ‘no’ to people who cross boundaries. Uhm - I think it’s improved my writing, for sure. Like I mentioned last night, I stated roleplaying with asterisks and one liners and now I do so much more than that. I have made friendships with strangers over the internet because of this hobby - some are still around and some are not and that’s okay. I mentioned last night that when I do go on hiatus - I don’t really leave the world behind in my head. So. Yeah. It’s been a gift for me. 

If you could change one thing about rp on tumblr, what would it be? Why? That it’s on tumblr? Lmao. I hate this site, so much, but there’s nothing quite like it sadly. I guess - for an honest answer - the way people still flock to ‘quality’ blogs when their ‘quality’ is based not on how well they write but how fancy they look.  Do you delete anon hate or post and address it? Why? I have - I don’t know what it is about me - but I seem to have some kind of anon hate repellent? I receive so little of it - which is amazing, that’s what you want, right? So I guess it would depend. Overall - I’d probably ignore it or dismiss it because if someone is sending that to you there are two things you should know - they want a reaction. They want you to see it and address it and I can imagine it must drive them crazy to continue seeing you on the dash, ignoring it, not answering it, not acknowledging it. And two - If it is something you want to address, fight your corner on, explain - there is... No point? The person that has sent that to you? Doesn’t care. Because if they cared - they’d approach you either off anon, or in a way that’s less aggressive. They’ve already made up their mind. It’s just like screaming into the void. 

#[😈] OOC #tragicgallery

[incarnateirony]

I’m seriously tempted to just start blocking people who unironically reblog-comment or tag things with “queerbait” that aren’t in the ballpark of what that word fucking means anymore. Because with my recent blood pressure, self care is essential, and I don’t have time to explain to every child on the internet What Words Mean rather than What Socially Aware Dialogues Fandom Has Misappropriated To Abuse In Conversation For Personal Wants and Liminal Gains or, for that matter, How The Representation Battle and LGBT Cinema History Actually Looks.

But I am most definitely exhausted with people stealing content posts pointing out problems in *fandom* perception issues only to, completely unironically, show the same perception issues, just framed in frilly socially aware sounding dialogue that they think hides the queerphobia and queer deletion they personally choose to partake in because they wanna argue with idiots and that’s what’s actually important to them.

Seriously. What the fuck. How can there be SO MANY people SO FUCKING IGNORANT to the actual history of the situation -- be it microcosm of a show or macrocosm of the entire LGBT representation fight -- and SO out of tune with what words they use all the time actually mean -- that they think maintaining a mass hysterical tone entitles them to shit and will Tulpa it into existence and warp the entire rule book. How do they think warping the rule book to LGBT and LGBT history disservice is allyship. What fucking loon normalized this. Oh my god. How are there so many people yelling about representation that haven’t even watched or read Celluloid Closet. How are there so many people echoing shit they were convinced sounded good by some other person in the echo chamber.

Like I want shit too. I’m mad the field is unlevel too. That’s why it’s a goddamn representation fight, not a representation twitter/tumblr trend, or trend in general. How are there so many people claiming they’re here for the representation fight and then simultaneously acting like there isn’t a goddamn fight and that there’s a magic clap on clap of that lets queer creators do whatever the fuck they want. How are there so many people willing to delete the pleas or even sociopolitical commentary OF queer creators while saying they’re representing them. I--

Also the bogus extremization of “You’re settling.” No, motherfucker, I’m not. Because between the two of us, completely theoretical person, I’m the person in this battle for the long haul, not just for a convenient point post of personal satisfaction to argue with a tinfoil clad jackass and feel vindicated online. The person that’s going to be involved in this long after this show, much less being aware and involved long before. Of the two of us, I’m the person who realizes deleting our current progress, just because it isn’t the face of it I want, isn’t fucking activism. I’m sure that buzz accusation and gaslight bullshit sounded great when you mimicked it off the last jackass you saw use it, but it doesn’t actually work if your head is anywhere in the realm of the reality of the situation.

You can simultaneously be mad and want more, while NOT deleting progress to date just because it wasn’t “enough” for you. Actually, you know, THATS HOW IT FUCKING WORKS YOU QUEERPHOBIC, GOALPOST SHIFTING, LGBT-OBSTACLE-TILTING PLEBS.

The fucking narcissistic audacity that someone pulled a “talk is talk walk is walk” about the actual feet on the ground activism one of our authors is known for, while that person unironically spewed online about emotions and feelings and not knowing where shit starts. One is walking, one is talking, and hint, the walking one is not the creature screeching on tumblr without investing any effort or an iota of research. That’s not a battle. That’s not activism. That’s petty ship war *bullshit.*

You wanna make change? Organize groups. Groups that contact corporations, don’t just scream into a void or at the easiest and most accessible target even if deep down you goddamn know better. Put together demographic evidence of being the high yield potential because I don’t care what perfect world you want to live in, we live in a capitalistic world and companies act on money, not ethics. Get involved in production. Lobby teams to open their options. Become an actual queer writer. Get involved on the inside and see what it takes to lay down groundwork to even tilt things at all. Can’t do any of that? Lift the work of the queer creatives, heed the effort they’re laying out and the limits they push within what constraints they have, even if Korrasami didn’t get to kiss or whatever the fuck, *recognize* it, and most of all, appreciate what effort is being made for you in this fight, you ungrateful little toads. Because they’re the ones actually fighting for you. Show that these steps are profitable, not drama-bombs, to the companies trying to make money.

Screaming at the wrong people and deleting progress on twitter or tumblr to compete with TV illiterate fuckballs is literally the opposite of progressive and I don’t know how this is fucking hard for people to wrap their heads around.

#lgbtqia #representation #supernatural

[thevoidable]

Small excerpts from my upcoming krbk fics

Aight, I’ve made a decision.

I have several Kiribaku fics (mostly AUs) that I’m working on, but my motivation has been on the down-low lately due to things going on in my personal life. SO, what I’m going to do is reveal a few small excerpts from each of them, and I’d be super grateful if y’all can take the time to quickly read them and let me know if you want me to finish them. 

Any amount of hype for even just one of them will really boost my desire to get them written as well as see which ones are more anticipated, so please don’t be shy! I love hearing what people think! [FYI, a majority of the following will be from the first chapter of each fic. Also, none of these are posted on AO3 yet; they’re all WIPs.] Hands of Smoke and Fire (Fantasy AU, longfic) ‘The darkness snaked on for what felt like an eternity, but soon threads of a gentle, silver glow slithered into view, and Katsuki charged straight into a lakebed of moonlight. Dirt flew into the air as he skidded to a halt in front of stark silhouettes that towered over him and swayed in the cool breeze, the moon itself just barely peeking over the top to give the light that Katsuki needed.  Having just come from the spire where the roaring flames had warmed the surrounding rock, his skin prickled with goosebumps from the night air’s chilly touch, and he wasn’t sure if it was a welcome change.  He shivered, but it was a small price to pay for what lay ahead. Katsuki looked back and caught sight of the rest of the kids finally catching up, their eyebrows furrowed in exhaustion and their mouths open with heaving breaths.  Katsuki wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so disappointed looking at them before.  “Are you serious?” he scolded.  “You’re out of breath from just that short of a run?  Are you Barbarians or not?!” “You’re way…faster than us…” panted a boy who was currently resting his weight on his knees and looked like he was about to throw up. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean that you should be that weak no matter what speed you’re going!  If something chases you, you’re on your own.”  Katsuki huffed, and he turned back in the direction of the forest, peering into its depths for any sign of movement.  He saw nothing, and pushed back that slightest hint of relief.  “Ugh, whatever.  Catch your breath and then start walking.  You’d better not slow me down, got it?  You’re such a bunch of losers.” Blocking out the kids’ mumbled groans, Katsuki paced towards the edge of the forest and peeked down into the grass.  Crickets and a few other insects he couldn’t name dotted the ground here and there, and then vanished just as quickly as he’d seen them as they fled from his invading feet.  Many twigs and branches lay broken and mangled in front of him; he absentmindedly picked up a decently-sized one and swished it around in the air, enjoying the slight buzzing sound it left in its wake. However, a stick could only keep him entertained for so long.  Too fed up with waiting for the others to regain some energy, he stomped back over to them and gave the stick a good thwack on the ground.  He grinned at the way they yelped and jumped to attention.  It was the same tactic his mom often used. “I’m not waiting around anymore.  Get up and follow me,” he barked, not giving them a chance to reply as he began to march directly into the underbrush.  With luck, they’d been startled into alertness, because they obviously weren’t paying attention prior.  Katsuki wasn’t denying that the hunting grounds were dangerous; it was actually the reason he even wanted to go in the first place.  So if these losers had their guards down, it wouldn’t be his fault if something snuck up on them while they had their damn heads in the clouds. They quickly followed into step with him, not wanting to be left behind.  It’d be funny to see that, though.  To watch them panic in the darkness alone. “So, where are we going?” one asked.  He was looking over both his shoulders constantly as they passed each tree – yeah, Katsuki’s stick trick had definitely snapped him to his senses. “Wherever I want,” Katsuki replied, and while it was true that the idiots were here just to follow him, being out in the wilderness made him think a little on his own words.  Out here, there were no rules or restrictions, no leaders or dictators.  It was simply the quiet in the air, the crisp breeze slipping through each rustling leaf, the moon as their guiding light.  He certainly could go wherever he wanted, and do whatever he wanted.  Out here, he was his own leader, regardless of whether he had followers or not.  This feeling…  It stretched a smile across his face, lifted his head high, made him tread forward with that much more confidence.  It was a feeling he couldn’t put a name to, but he liked it.  It flooded his whole body, rushed to his head, pushed and shoved at his feet and begged him to keep going.  Suddenly, the feeling was all around him, calling to him; it was out there and he wanted to find it.  Badly. Out here, he had something he wanted to run to. So he ran.‘

--- Kiss of the Sea (Pirate + Merman AU, longfic) ‘At first, he wasn’t even aware he was awake. The weightlessness enveloped him like a bubble, suspending him in what he assumed was a dream-like state. Everything was quiet, save for the low hum in his ears of something slow shifting around him. But then he felt the feather-touches of...something...against his skin, twisting and moving and wrapping itself around his torso, but never squeezing. Something was underneath him as well, though it remained still, holding him in place...wherever he was. So, wait, where was wherever, exactly? Oh, right, he had eyes. He should probably open them. Before he even had time to focus on something solid, the amount of blue in front of him was overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It was comforting, actually. The colour was relaxing, calm enough that it almost made him want to close his eyes again, but the thing underneath him was itchy and uncomfortable. Part of it was in front of his face, forcing him to go cross-eyed to see it. He could grab it with his hands and push himself up a little, and it was then that he could make out the brownish colour and criss-cross pattern - rope? Yeah, it was definitely rope. Okay, so that was two things figured out… Kind of. Twisting to look behind him, he wanted to address whatever was brushing against his body. The white folds of the shirt he was apparently wearing were unmistakable, and it was loose and just gently waving about in the current. It was kind of bothering, to be honest. Well, off with that, then. The rope gave him little space to move around, so removing the shirt wasn’t the easiest of tasks, but once it was off he shoved it through one of the holes and watched it float as if suspended by some invisible string.  But, now that he thought about it, he wanted to be out there too - not really floating like the shirt, but...the endless expanse of blue below him beckoned him, and it got darker the further down it went. Up here, in the open and the light, he felt exposed, too close to...well, he wasn’t sure what he felt too close to. But something stirred deep in the back of his mind, whispering to him that he wasn’t supposed to be here.  He tried shifting about again, trying to survey his surroundings some more. He could see blue for as far as his eyes could see, but he couldn’t swim out to it; he was stuck here.  Wait. The rope. It surrounded him on all sides, almost clinging to him, and no amount of moving seemed to open up any points of exit. This was a net. And he was caught in it.’ ---

Initiating Sentience (Futuristic Robot AU, longfic) ‘At first there’s blackness.  A consistent void of nothing sits in front of him while he waits for the tiny flickers of red static to turn blue, giving him access to the motors in his eyes.  He can hear something though.  Voices.  Some kind of clicking he doesn’t recognize.  Footsteps.  Clanking metal.  More voices.  Pings sounding on and on in his head, alerting him that something isn’t right, that he’s not doing what he’s supposed to, that he’s being damaged, he’s screaming, crying out, needs to get away, needs to get back to-! His eyes open. 

The pixels in his vision slowly shrink down until a grey floor comes into focus beneath his face.  A yellow alert box also materializes in the corner; his breathing system is overworking itself and needs to slow down.  He feels his whole body pulsing with energy – he should be able to move now. Blinking a few times to check his eyelids are moving fluidly, he moves his hands into view and pushes himself up to sit.  There’s a slight tingle in his right shoulder, something had hit him – oh, there’s a metal table next to him.  Then…did he fall?  He recognizes nothing else in front of him…  This is all new, shouldn’t he know where he is?  This isn’t the first time he’s been activated, so why- >MEMORY FILES CORRUPTED “Oi, Metal-for-Brains, I’m over here.” His hearing sensors detect the voice coming from behind him, and he’s almost startled into falling back over.  He turns around nonetheless, and he looks up to see a human standing over him with his arms crossed, and his expression doesn’t look happy. >INITIATING FACIAL RECOGNITION >SCANNING: >FACE NOT RECOGNIZED >FACE STORED INTO DATA BANK >NO PERSONAL INFORMATION AVAILABLE’ ---

Glass Box (Canon-verse, oneshot) ‘The incoherent rambling of Deku’s muttering was just as annoying as the ticking of a clock in an empty room, echoing a repetitive tune like a drum beat with no song, constant and so monotonous that it would drive anyone stir crazy from the desperation of trying to stop it being committed it to memory – and it was that very reason that Katsuki hated the seating plan from day one of U.A.  He wasn’t just hearing Deku from across the room anymore, no; his voice was hovering right behind his ears like a fucking mosquito that wouldn’t leave him alone no matter how many times he tried to ignore the high-pitched buzzing. It was damn-near making him ready to snap. He didn’t even need to turn around to know that the little moron had his nose buried in his notebook, eyes staring so hard at the pages like he could burn holes through them.  And all the while he was tapping his pencil on the desk in rhythm to the bullshit he was spewing out of his mouth.  Every time Katsuki tried to think, to create even just one small space of solace for his thoughts to gather, Deku’s ever-present cacophony came barraging in like roadworks right outside his damn house. He could grip at the edges of his desk all he wanted, grip them until he broke his fucking knuckles, but he wouldn’t be able to shut the little nerd up without getting shit from Mr. Aizawa. Because Deku was muttering about their newest assignment. Which Katsuki also thought was bullshit, by the way – how the hell was this even supposed to help them become better heroes?  “Cultivation of Inspiration” his ass. “Of course, feel free to be as creative as you like with this.  There’s no right or wrong way to go about it.” “Then that could mean that anything goes and we won’t necessarily be graded on the subject so long as we present it well enough to-” At this point he was only half-listening to his teacher explain the basics, because the more he tried to focus on just Aizawa’s voice, the more it blended in with the hospital bed fucker behind him and he could no longer tell which were actual instructions and which was a useless cockroach he needed to crush beneath his foot.  He wasn’t even sure if Mr. Aizawa had gone over why they were doing this.  Only more reason to kick Deku’s ass for distracting him later. “However, due to the free-form nature of this assignment, your photographs will be looked over before you present them in front of the class to avoid any upset from students who may end up in them.” Katsuki felt the entire energy and gaze of the room shift to a couple seats behind him. “When you’ve finished thinking it over and you’re ready to start taking photos, head to Power Loader’s workshop.  You’ll find all the cameras stored in there.  Now, use up the rest of this time to brainstorm ideas.  I want to sleep.”’

---

Where the Sky Meets the Sea (Half-bird AU, longfic) ‘His scuffed-up boots kicked up loose stones and pebbles as they shimmied towards the craggy rock face, toes bravely peeking over the edge to meet the swirling grey below as the debris fell within and vanished not a second later, never to be seen again. The air was cold and unforgiving, whistling and howling its monotonous song that slapped at his exposed skin like an ice-covered whip. Surging up with weighted chains came the ever-familiar sensation that wrapped completely around him and yanked, fighting to tip his body and pull him down. It sank through his skin, bled into his veins, ate away at his very core, and he loved every second of it. He let the anticipation fuel his adrenaline as a fire spread out at his sides, wind licking the bright orange tips to make them sway and ripple with excitement. This thrill that swallowed him whole hadn’t changed since the first time he stood here as a child, when his wings were no bigger than himself and the breeze barely lifted his feathers. So now, with sculpted muscles hidden beneath downy layers of black and confidence built from years’ worth of training and endurance, letting the ground tilt beneath his feet was as easy as breathing - the forces around him had no need to fight or beg. Slowly he felt his blood stop dead in its tracks as his weight ceased to exist for a fleeting moment, and then in a single rush he couldn’t have felt heavier. The cold, the wind, the emptiness below - he tucked his wings in close in preparation to pierce it with just his body alone. He plummeted.  And there wasn’t a gale in existence that could wipe the wild grin from Katsuki’s face.’

--- Aaaaand there you have it! Those are all the previews I have for now - again, please let me know which ones you want to see most! Thank you!

#krbk #kiribaku #bakushima #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfic #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou

[madseance]

Some reminders, since the TERFs seem to be coming out of the woodwork lately. (TERFs, block me instead of wasting my time or yours.)

As a cis woman, it is absolutely appalling to me that other queer people are promoting transphobic views in the year 2019. And as someone who has argued with people like this on the internet for far too long, I’ve come to the conclusion that the most damaging thing to them is to ignore them and shut them out. Don’t engage with them; they wouldn’t be letting their transphobic flags fly all over the internet and saying ridiculous things like “if you support trans people you must hate lesbians/women” if they weren’t desperate to start fights. Don’t give them what they want. Just block them. The purpose of this post is to highlight some currently prominent characteristics of transphobic social media accounts so you can pre-emptively block these people and let them scream into their hateful void.

Magdalen Berns was a TERF. She promoted blatantly trans-exclusionary bullshit like the idea that only cis women who exclusively are attracted to other cis women are “real” lesbians. She was not at all subtle in her transphobic views; all you have to do is glance at her twitter. Whatever she might’ve done as a lesbian activist was unavoidably tainted by her insistence that transwomen aren’t really women.

Anyone with a Magdalen Berns profile pic may be safely assumed to be a TERF. Again, she was not subtle in her transphobia. No one who followed her closely enough to splash her face across things is confused about this point. They feel the same way about trans people that she felt.

Related: the lesbian website AfterEllen.com published a memorial of Berns applauding the transphobic things she said and did. This isn’t the first time After Ellen has been blatantly transphobic. Younger queer women probably don’t care about After Ellen much anyway, but at one time it was a Big Deal as a lesbian website. So, FYI to other cis women in the queer community: After Ellen is a transphobic publication. Don’t support them.

“Genderfree” is not to be confused with “genderqueer” or “agender”. The term “genderfree” is, at least lately, a TERF dogwhistle. You will see it in conjunction with things like “cis is a slur” and “don’t call me cis” and “not your cis-ter”—these are slogans adopted by transphobic women who resent being reminded that cis women are not the only women in the world. The reason they hate the term “cis” is because they think it’s an unnecessary modifier to “woman”—they think you shouldn’t have to specify “cis woman” because, in their opinion, only cis women are women and “transwoman” isn’t something you can really be. Luckily, their opinions don’t change reality.

Some people may use “genderfree” thinking it’s the same thing as “agender”, so it’s worth double-checking to see if the person using the term is also espousing transphobic views, or if they’re genuinely not aware of the implications of this term. Also, some people in the nonbinary community feel strongly about reclaiming the term from TERFs, and we should be aware of this and help out however we can.

The term “gender critical” is used by TERFs interchangeably with “genderfree”.

Another slogan you will see TERFs using: “biological reality” / “I believe in/ accept biology”, which refers to the (scientifically nonsense) idea that biology, as a science, somehow “proves” there are only two sexes and/or genders. Biology, of course, does not in any way do this. This is just another thinly-veiled way of saying you don’t believe there is such thing as a transwoman or transman. Again, lucky for the rest of us, what TERFs believe ≠ what’s actually true.

You’ll also see TERFs, especially on Twitter, using “XX” in their display names to represent their belief that only people with the XX karyotype can possibly be women. Again, no point in arguing biology or genetics with these people, because they don’t understand those subjects and they don’t care. This is just a half-assed attempt to justify transphobia to people who don’t know any better by pretending to have a scientific argument they don’t actually have.

They also use the checkered flag and spiderweb emojis, but these are less of a certain TERF dogwhistle by themselves because, well, they’re emojis and millions of people use those same emojis for other reasons. But again, TERFs are not very subtle, so you can easily double-check for the other, more obvious indications of transphobia on display.

In conclusion, transphobia is sad bullshit and you should block TERFs early and often.

#again I will be immediately blocking any TERFs who attempt to interact with me so don't waste your time or mine #this ain't my first rodeo and you are not going to score any points with your bullshit #you will be blocked and immediately forgotten