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phandombigotryarchive · 3 years

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Trigger warning:

Discussions of sexual assault, transphobia, transmisogyny, chattel slavery and violent antiblackness.

Good afternoon,

It may come to many people's great happiness in this community that I am no longer interested in muling for a fandom that wants my community dead and excuses our deaths.

I am not here to hold your hand on why you should see Black people as human beings if you are unable to do so.

I'm not here to sit around here to convince you that the Black trauma that you are excusing is of real live human beings. That enslaved Black people were mothers, fathers, cousins, siblings, aunts, nephews, loved ones and by brushing off the pain that they went through, you are dehumanizing literal human beings.

This is a fandom that excuses white supremacy, discrimination of people with facial differences, transmisogyny, orientalism, the objectification of m/m ships (often involving a party of color), ableism, transmisogyny/transphobia, general anti-Blackness, colorism and we can go on for just about forever.

It protects those and their enablers and in addition to this, excuses and normalizes the use of chattel slavery as a fanfiction trope.

Think about this before you consider aligning yourself with the people in this fandom or joining it at all.

Therefore, this archive serves a reminder of what the true nature of the Phantom of Opera fandom holds and no matter how many times you block me, you cannot erase this. It serves as a resource for current marginalized fans and future fans to heed warning of the false respectable aura these bigots parade.

I would like to thank our allies for doing as much as they can for the sake of protecting themselves from this fandom. Don't worry. I saw your posts. I thank you.

To all non-Black people of color that stood by and watch this happen without a care, I'm not surprised that you would have such lack of feeling for Black fans. I would implore you to do better but that would imply that any of you actually had spines.

Anyways. Keep the Black names of actors under Phantom of the Opera out of your mouths and gifsets. I know who you are and that you're seeing this. No, posting pictures of Norm Lewis and Derrick Davis along with others will not solve anti-Blackness in a fandom that excuses chattel slavery.

Non-Blacks cannot accept "apologies" for anti-Blackness and slavery apologists.

Take your performatism somewhere else.

Blackness, being Irani and the beauty of being trans is something to be celebrated. Do not forget this even in such a bigoted, white supremacist fandom.

To all those who are affected by the phandoms bigotry, let me say this. You are not alone.

Now, I will recount these past months events of transphobia and antiblackness. for anyone who was lost within the narrative.

We begin with @transphantomweek. @cefantomeenhabitnoir noticed that i-penna and filthybonnet, both big names in the fandom were perpetrators of transmisogyny. When he called this out, they were instantly shut down, blocked and isolated from the fandom.

@cefantomeenhabitnoir has an entire Google doc dedicated to the harassment they faced and the transmisogyny perpetuated in this fandom and you can find it on his page and in my phandom bigotry callouts tag.

Kept Below is the fic that @cefantomeenhabitnoir is referring to.

See my phandom bigotry callouts tag and @cefantomeenhabitnoir 's transmisogyny/transphobia call out for more details, which is also in that tag.

Now we bring ourselves to our current situation. Madamefaust.

On February 25th, 2021, I called out madamefaust for using the tragic mulatto trope, exploiting the usage of the Dumas Family (real life victims of the Haitian-French slave trade) to racebend Raoul De Chagny as a biracial. Black-French Man in her since deleted fic, "Strange Sweet Sound".

I will explain to you why this is bad.

"Do you even know the implications of naming a Black/White biracial child a bastard and flat out stating that their white side was involved in the slave trade? It means that child’s mother was possibly raped. You are implying that Raoul’s mother was a victim of slavery and sexual trauma. You are playing into the tragic mulatto trope. You are anti-Black."

- Me in my original call-out post (which you can find on my pinned.)

The tragic mulatto trope is trope born from slavery times involving a Black/White biracial child who was the product of rape between a white and enslaved Black party (typically female). They are pitied for their Blackness.

"Lydia Maria Child introduced the literary character that we call the tragic mulatto in two short stories: "The Quadroons" (1842) and "Slavery's Pleasant Homes" (1843). She portrayed this light skinned woman as the offspring of a white slaveholder and his black female slave. This mulatto's life was indeed tragic. She was ignorant of both her mother's race and her own. She believed herself to be white and free. Her heart was pure, her manners impeccable, her language polished, and her face beautiful. Her father died; her "negro blood" discovered, she was remanded to slavery, deserted by her white lover, and died a victim of slavery and white male violence."

After I called this out, many people in the fandom blocked me and began to post very cryptic things regarding cancel culture.

Madamefaust is not exempt from participating in my harassment. Madamefaust is a pharoga writer and a large number of the people harassing me were pharoga shippers. You can find the list of names in @cefantomeenhabitnoir 's bigot call out list.

Even her literal friends and mutuals were posting things regarding the words, "you don't have to care about anything" about a Black woman calling out the literal fetishization of slavery.

Madamefaust did nothing to stop my harassment. Only posting a cryptic post "to stop" while these people still kept indirecting me.

Why didn't you tell them to disengage until the damage was already done? Why didn't you confront them personally and not in some text post? You knew what you were doing. You were watching. This fandom is small.

I hope you feel ashamed and that the shame follows you forever. You were playing with literal Black lives and the deaths of many people who were murdered. Slavery wasn't a fun game. It was endless brutalization and loss of self. Black people's lives were treated as products. Me and many people's ancestors literally had nothing.

Life as an enslaved person was either get raped by the slave master or labor until you die.

And this fandom has the nerve to excuse using that as a fanfic trope?

Now, we move on to @strength-to-try

@strength-to-try dubs themselves an "anti racism" page yet allows antiblack slave trade apologists and their defenders to interact with their posts.

When a Black woman criticizes them (me), they refer to me as a "Black Individual" and flat out state that they aren't going to block out literal

SLAVE TRADE APOLOGISTS, ANTIBLACK PEOPLE AND BLACK FETISHIZERS.

YOU ARE NOT BLACK. I CAN TELL.

You cannot "forgive" or accept apologies antiblackness if you aren't Black.

The entire reason that page exists is because I was calling out ANTIBLACKNESS AND SLAVE TRADE APOLOGISM IN PHANDOM.

FUCK YOU AND FUCK EVERYONE WHO SUPPORTS @strength-to-try and their anti-Blackness, slave trade apologism and willingness to stand with white supremacists all whilst throwing me, a Black woman under a bus.

IF YOU SUPPORT THEM, YOU ARE ANTIBLACK. YOU ARE STANDING IN LINE WITH SOMEONE WHO LETS WHITE SUPREMACIST SLAVE TRADE APOLOGIST ANTIBLACK RACISTS INTERACT WITH THEM.

TAKE IT FROM AN ACTUAL BLACK PERSON (ME!)

FUCKING LISTEN TO BLACK PEOPLE WHEN WE SAY THE SHIT YOU'RE DOING IS RACIST.

The Phantom of the Opera fandom is especially not safe for Black People and Trans Women. It houses, protects and defends WHITE SUPREMACY.

But it is also not safe for darkskinned people, Muslims and Iranis.

It is reeking with people who fetishize the Daroga, a darkskinned Irani Muslim man. They lighten his skin, barely even mention his religion unless they're trying to strip it away or demonize his home country. They write him hyperaggressive and hypersexual towards Erik. They call him a monkey. This is not love. This is racism.

They also hyper-sexualize Irani women and refuse to think critically about why Gaston Leroux describes the Little Sultana, an Irani woman as so blood thirsty and Erik (a white man's) main abuser.

You can find examples in my phandom bigotry callouts tag. Or just read any pharoga fic. It's filled with this prejudiced shit.

Also I encourage you all to stop demonizing Erik's facial difference and to educate yourself on the history of ableism regarding the discrimination of people with facial differences. You can find some of these resources under my ableism tag.

So, in all, go run your money to @cefantomeenhabitnoir for the transphobic trauma you've put him through if you have a single bit of sympathy for them. You know who you are.

I don't expect much from a fandom who condones literal anti-Blackness and slavery apologism. But if any of you do feel remorse, I encourage you to run your money to Black people. Especially darkskinned, disabled and LGBT Black people whenever you see a donation post as reparations.

Silence is violence.

Also, I have put together an artist blacklist of people who supported madamefaust's use of slavery in her fanfic, defended it or flat out refused to stop interacting with said defenders of it.

In addition to this, I have added said artists who have contributed to the racist orientalist sentiment against the Daroga and, of course transphobes/transmisogynist defenders.

You can contact @queerangelic or @cefantomeenhabitnoir for the list to know which in the fandom to avoid.

More than many of you are guilty.

For new Phantom of the Opera fans considering joining the fandom? Read my pinned and check out my phandom bigotry callouts tag.

I suggest that you do not join this hellscape fandom or get out of here while you can.

Avoid this fandom as much as possible.

And Phandom? I'll see you all in hell.

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miskatonicaquarium · 4 years

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Weird Fiction/Cosmic Horror Recommends

In a time of general uncertainty and anxiety, one thing that is certain is that weird fiction/cosmic horror has got your back. If you like to combat your growing sense of existential dread by reading about other people’s growing sense of existential dread, this is a list for you. Where texts and shows are available online, I have included links. Where they are not, I have included links to where they are available to buy.

Books

Agents of Dreamland – Caitlin R Kiernan

Government agents, ritual murders, a doomsday cult and a glitch in NASA’s interplanetary probe all feature in this deeply frightening and deftly written novella that takes classic Lovecraftian tropes and expands on them with mesmerising skill.

Wanderers – Chuck Wendig

When a sleepwalking epidemic hits America, those affected head towards a destination known only to themselves. Desperate to keep their loved ones safe, ‘shepherds’ follow the growing group to protect them on their journey. This is an incredibly rewarding read stuffed full of complex characters, apocalyptic horror and a long hard look at human nature.

Winter Tide – Ruthanna Emrys

After the government raid on Innsmouth, Aphra and Caleb Marsh are the only inhabitants of the town to survive the desert internment camps. When confidential, dangerous magic is stolen from Miskatonic University, the FBI are forced to turn to the last of the Marsh’s for help. An evocative and sympathetic novel that takes the antagonists of Lovecraft’s works and paints them in a new light.

The Fisherman – John Langan

This is considered to be a modern classic of the genre and for good reason. It’s best to go into this one as blind as possible so I’ll just leave you with this little quote: "I know Dutchman's Creek runs deep, much deeper than it could or should, and I don't like to think what it's full of."

Carter and Lovecraft – Jonathan L. Howard

A homicide detective turned Private Investigator finds himself embroiled with the last known descendant of H.P Lovecraft, Emily Lovecraft. When deaths that have an eerie resemblance to the writing of Emily’s ancestor begin to plague the area, the investigator finds himself drawn into a world he thought didn’t exist beyond fiction.

Rosewater – Tade Thompson

The first in an award-winning trilogy that blends science fiction into the weird in near future Nigeria. When an alien biodome manifests in the landscape, a select group of people in the surrounding area begin developing psychic abilities. A winding, disturbing tale with an original setting, voice and characters; this is the perfect read for those looking for a fresh take on the genre.

North American Lake Monsters: Stories – Nathan Ballingrud

I am hugely obsessed with this – Ballingrud uses tropes and characters we are all familiar with and uses them to tell stories that shed light on the plight of rural, poverty-stricken America. He is a masterful author with a true gift for atmospheric writing (‘Late summer pressed onto this small Mississippi coastal town like the heel of a boot. The heat was an act of violence.’) and this collection will appeal to fans of Ligotti and Barron as well as those who are unfamiliar with the genre.

The Ballad of Black Tom – Victor LaValle

This is essentially a retelling of Lovecraft’s The Horror at Red Hook (but without the blatant racism, hooray!). A slow burn, cosmic horror noir featuring a who’s who of the Cthulhu Mythos, for those interested in the genre who do not get on with Lovecraft’s writing or the man himself, this is an excellent way to get all the good stuff without the bad.

Anthologies

A Lonely and Curious Country: Tales from the land of Lovecraft

Seventeen stories about Lovecraftian horrors in the most unusual of places. Lots of these work as mini-sequels to Lovecraft’s original stories so this is a good companion for those familiar with his work.

Lovecraft Unbound

As I’ve said before, Ellen Datlow is a powerhouse of anthology editing. Featuring a great spread of familiar mythos faces and more thematic takes on the genre, Lovecraft Unbound is one of the best collections out there.

Book of Cthulhu

There are a couple of these! All feature some of the best contemporary authors writing weird fiction. Quality of individual stories sometimes varies in Lovecraftian anthologies but that is not the case here. The first is particularly good as it also contains stories from older, more obscure writers who are hard to get in print.

Shadows of Carcosa

Twelve short stories that feature everything from the land of carcosa to the traditionally Lovecraftian setting of the cursed hills of New England. All of these are shorts written by classic writers such as Poe, Stoker, Bierce, Chambers and Blackwood.

Lovecraft’s Monsters

Another collection edited by Datlow. This one is particularly fun as it features illustrations, as well as a story by Neil Gaiman. Lovecraft’s Monsters is amongst my favourite of the anthologies as it is based solely around the creatures that crawl and squirm through the mythos. It’s also available as an audiobook!

Children of Lovecraft

Fourteen short stories including authors like Stephen Graham Jones, Orrin Grey, Caitlin R. Kiernan and Livia Llewellyn. Full of body horror, dread, surrealism and one of the best opening sentences to any short story.

She Walks in Shadows

A monumental, fascinating collection comprised of exclusively female authors. Offering a long overdue look at and development of the female aspects of the mythos, this collection gives a voice to the previously unheard. For those looking for a diverse, original and often deeply disturbing reading experience, this is your anthology.

Available online for free

The Lovecraft Ezine has a great archive here of all its previous issues

Weird Fiction Review is an excellent resource for online fiction – both excerpts from books and stand-alone short stories.

The Online Books page has direct links to the issues of Weird Tales magazine published between 1923 – 192.

TOR.COM is an amazing resource for all kinds of science fiction and fantasy shorts. This is a link specifically to Lovecraftian fiction. There’s also lots of interesting things to read under the tag cosmic horror here.

Graphic Novels

Fatale - Sex, violence, cults, cosmic horror, imaginative period settings and gorgeous artwork. Fatale is one of the best comics set in the mythos out there.

Locke and Key - Many of you will be familiar with Joe Hill and Gabriel Rodriguez’s hugely popular (and now televised) series focused on a house above a portal to the plains of Leng.

Harrow County - Creepy, rural-based, folk horror series centred on a young woman who finds herself to be joined to the forest and the land in ways she could never have imagined.

The Squidder - A postapocalyptic Lovecraftian mess, I have included this because it is worth buying for the artwork alone. Ben Templesmith is an acquired taste but an incredibly talented illustrator whose work is uniquely suited to the mythos.

I have talked about these several times before but it is always worth checking out I.N.J Culbard’s graphic novel adaptations of Lovecraft’s stories, as well as the two anthologies that were released several years ago.

***

Films – Cosmic Horror

I have linked to the trailers for each of these, some are classics you will know, some are new.

The Colour out of Space

Die Fabre

The Dunwich Horror

The Endless

Event Horizon

The Void

Europa Report

Black Mountain Side

Films – Folk Horror

The Ritual

They Remain

The White Reindeer

Night of the Demon

Apostle

More generally, some good online resources for old/weird/out of print books are

Project Gutenberg – an online library of over 60,000 books in the public domain

Internet Archive – a great resource for obscure books (particularly historical)

Europeana – items from Europe’s galleries, museums, libraries and archives

Digital Public Library of America – similar to Europeana, but for America

Classic Literature – lots of 19th century gothic goodness in particular, but great for all the classics too!

And when it all gets too much and you feel like being your own creeping dread, Here is a link to a fun game where you can be the rats in the walls.

#this is an extremely long post y'all my apologies #lovecraft #weird fiction #book recommends #eldritch reads #cthulhu mythos #film recommends #graphic novels #lovecraftian #hp lovecraft

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alyssa-orowane · 4 years

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Fantasy tropes to avoid (and ideas to reinvent them)

Hello aspiring writers of Tumblr! How is it going?

This is my first post on here and I decided to dedicate it not only to the genre I am writing in, fantasy, but also to a crucial topic, which relates and affects every genre in different ways.

TROPES.

It's lazy to build stories on something that has already been written a million times before. I don't like tropes at all as a reader. If I wanted to read the same stereotyped story all over again I would just stick to the previous book I have read with that same plot, so I would also spare myself the trouble of learning the unpronounceable names of these new stereotyped characters.

On the other hand, as a writer it might be tempting to give in and use tropes. "Why not? After all everybody uses them and I am already SO busy writing the actual chapters of my story."

I tell you what: every time a trope threatens to slide into your story, crush the page and throw it across the room, yelling:

Seriously, though: tropes are just general, undeveloped ideas. That's what you need to do, develop them. In this way only will you ever be able to unleash their hidden potential.

Without further ado, may I present you three of the most common fantasy tropes and hints to reimagine them.

*Keep in mind that this is only my personal view on the subject and you can either agree or disagree with it.

1. The chosen one

This one is the most obvious one and I am also quite sure that you expected to find it on the list. Interesting, Watson: I guess that it makes this article stereotyped too…

Well we all know those characters. Those characters that were meant to be the one. The prophecies had spoken about them long before they were even born. They might as well be the only one capable of using magic or wielding a certain weapon. This character is either the only one who pushes forward the storyline or that one protagonist who does everything except choosing anything actively in the plot. There is no in between. Either way, they only possess notable qualities. Of course there is no trace of flaws. I mean, they are the hero.

Have a side-kick (or co-protagonist) be the chosen one instead

A great idea, if you really want to insert this trope in your story, is to use it to your advantage and surprise the reader with it. Who could ever expect that the protagonist was actually never the chosen one? Or that another character is the chosen one from the start?

To see this trope well recreated I recommend watching the BBC TV series "Merlin" in which a young sorcerer, Merlin himself, must help the future heir to the throne, the prince Arthur Pendragon, to fulfill his destiny and become the greatest king who has ever lived. Arthur has no clue of what has been foretold, nor that he even is at the centre of a prophecy. All of Merlin and Arthur's choices will determine either the glorious success or the tragic failure of the quest; all of this while Merlin hides his powers from Arthur and everyone else as magic is condemned in Camelot.

2. Overused fantasy Races

...which translates mostly into putting Elves, Dwarves, Trolls, dragons and any of the Tolkenian elements and creatures in your own story. Now, don't get me wrong. Tolkien is one of my favourite authors, hence I am always captivated by those fantasy novels that display these Races in their stories. But I don't want to read a copy, I want to read your own masterpiece.

That's exactly why you should:

Redesign the well-known fantasy Races and adapt them to your world and to your theme or just create brand new ones

Personally, I absolutely LOVE to craft new fantasy Races. I believe that it adds depth and realism to the world-building (which does not consist only of geography). Each civilisation brings their culture, their traditions to your story and that's what makes a world truly breathe. In my opinion, the purpose of fantasy is not to focus just on the epic deeds narrated or on endless battles enriched with magic and legends, though those are very important part of this genre and they must be just as equally developed. The reason why I write fantasy is to spread awareness around the vast variety of themes that coexist in our society nowadays, in the first place global warming, the racism that still today people experience, LGBTQ characters which are often unrepresented both in literary fiction and TV. What better genre than fantasy is there to represent diversity and multiculturalism? On these latter points I will never not be thanking and loving the works of Steven Erikson which are part of the high-fantasy series "Malazan Book of the Fallen". Diversity and the brand new variety of intriguing Races are a huge part of what makes Malazan such an awesome fantasy series. I refer to Steven Erikson as the main inspiration of my writing and I recommend you to give a try to his books, if you have the chance. I warn you though, that it is not any light or easy reading.

The other option might be to reinvent the well-known Races. Tolkien himself did not "invent" the Elves of Middle Earth, rather he made a legend of his own after having studied the myths and ballads of ancient civilities. Then he developed their language, their history and their culture as if they were a real existing population. Every single aspect of Tolkien's worldbuilding can be read in his Silmarillion. I think it is a must-read for anyone who is looking forward to reinvent the traditional fantasy Races or just to know more about them.

3. Unfailing magic systems

Magic can be anything you want. That doesn't mean, however, that it should be your escape point: stuff in your story should happen because of your characters, not only because of magic as it is simpler to put it that way. A magic system should be rational and engaging. The reader needs to be able to understand exactly how, when and why does magic work in your world. No, the answer should not be "because it's fantasy."

Set rules, limits and costs to the magic in your world

How do character gain magic abilities? Is magic accessible to everyone or is it elitist? Is it taught in specialised schools or is it something that resonates from within? Are wizards free to practice magic or is it banned? Or maybe are there only specific areas of magic that are prohibited? What is its source? Does magic come from higher beings or are spells more powerful the stronger the mage's will? Does magic need a catalyst (such as a talisman, a weapon etc.) to be casted? If not, do wizard recite spells? Do they need to trace specific symbols? Otherwise is it necessary to make specific hand gestures in order to release their powers? Does it exist only one system for all mages to use or are there multiple kinds? Last but not least, what are magic users in your world called? It's all up to you to decide. Ask questions and let each question lead you to another one. You need to know exactly how your magic system works and so does the reader.

What I love about crafting magic systems is the freedom to establish the boundaries and the natural laws that apply to your world, as magic is a huge part of the story if you're writing fantasy. Well, this could also lead to another question: is your world actually ruled by magic forces or do magic abilities have just a marginal role in the world building?

Remember that magic should not be used as an excuse to fill eventual plot holes in your story. Your magic system should function correctly and it should always stay true to itself. In other words, it must be believable.

And I can hear you thinking "but it‘s magic!"

Then guess what? You need to make the readers believe that magic is real!

First of all, set the rules, the limits and the costs that apply to your system. Having done that, you'll have finished most of the work that concerns the use of magic in your world. Most, not all. If you are a bit of a perfectionist like I am, consider the importance of developing your system furthermore by asking yourself questions, such as the one I have written above.

Rules: decide what makes your system work and what magic can be casted for.

Limits: decide what kind of tasks your magic system cannot perform.

Costs: decide from what kind of source is magic obtained from and, literally, what does it cost to mages to obtain their magic from this source (as Rumpelstiltskin of OUAT wisely says: "all magic comes with a price.")

The most excellent and well-rounded magic systems I have ever come across are the ones created by Brandon Sanderson in this "Mistborn" trilogy: allomancy, feruchemy and hemalurgy. All three magic system permit the magicians to use a wide range of abilities based on the metals they can "burn". Magic originates in the Shards and from Preservation and Ruin, two god-like beings. If you're already interested, I definitely recommend you to check Sanderson's novels out: they are a useful resource of inspiration.

I hope this post has somehow given you the inspiration to go and write right now.  If you have questions about some of the points or requests for the next articles, don't be shy and send me a message! I will try to cover your topic as soon as possible and as best as I can (and I will also tag your profile, if you agree).  Thank you all for your attention. Bisous^^

#books #fantasy #writing #steven erikson #malazan book of the fallen #bbc merlin #mistborn #brandon sanderson #tolkien #silmarillion #fantasy tropes #writing advice #chosen one #magic system #fantasy races

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spaceshipkat · 4 years

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First of all I really dislike sjm's books anti-racism, sexism, basic world building...we really could go on. But i knew that already, and decided not to read crescent city cause o knew I wouldnt like it. I dont really understand why you continue to read sjm's books when you know they're bad? It's not even that you have rmmnt read cc city, you have/are doing that. Just..DNF. What is that point ragging on a book you hate/dislike from an author you hate. (1)

(2) I honestly font understand what is the point? It just brings negative criticise of her old book. Sjm sucks, and you have actually gone to the point of trying to get interview about her, knowing so much about her interviews you can tell their content! Thata obsession. It's really not healtjy/ and or a good way to approach a book. If you hate sjm, warn people. But you should let her go at this point. signed, concerned and worried anon.

hi anon! i’m gonna say this once and for all, and forgive how aggressive this sounds:

i do not hate sj///m. i just don’t. i wish people would remember that.

so now that that’s outta the way, i went into CCity with an open mind, i really did, and i still hope that the book improves. as i say in my FAQ, i read sj///m’s books bc it’s good to know about the content so i can warn people and so i can spread awareness of the fuckery, and bc sometimes you have to read bad books in order to spread the word. look at the Continent, look at Black Witch, look at American Dirt, look at Cap///tive Pri///nce, look at any problematic book out there today: no one would know that they’re problematic if people didn’t read them.

therefore, here i am. if you don’t want to read the book, fine, don’t read the book. i, however, do, and as this is my blog i can talk about whatever tf i want. nearly all of the early reviews of CCity have been glowing, and have said that sj///m has greatly improved, but the book’s content completely contradicts that, and since those early reviews will likely influence how many readers pick these books up, it’s important there are reviews to shed light on the endless problems.

not to mention that it’s only my time i’m giving up to read this, not anyone else’s, and if people don’t want to see my posts about it, i am always consistent with my tags so people can blacklist them and not spend their time reading about the book if they don’t want to. please do not say that i am “obsessed” with sj///m bc not only is it untrue (look at my blog! look at how much other shit i talk about! there’s only a large number of CCity posts rn bc the preview literally just released), it’s also pretty insulting and is exactly what i’ve heard from stans’ mouths since i started running this blog. i know what was said in interviews bc sj///m is a popular fantasy author and i hope to be a fantasy author myself, and as such it’s important to know what other authors are talking about.

i appreciate your concern, but it is unneeded and not asked for.

#ask #anonymous #anti sjm

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atruththatyoudeny · 5 years

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Monthly Reads | August 2019

Oh, look, it's the 28th again! Celebrating the launch of Gucci's new fragrance and the fantastic new pics I had to reread Landslide. Other than that there are 21 fics in this list - and like always: so many thanks go out to all the amazing authors in this fandom who share their stories with us! ♥

Landslide | aimmyarrowshigh , spibsy (lucy_and_ramona) | historical - 1970s - cults - undercover - psychological drama - racism - period typical attitudes - internalized homophobia - PTSD - and more...please read all the tags carefully - 143k The year is 1976. In November, Jimmy Carter will take control of the White House. Americans are meeting Laverne & Shirley at their apartment in Milwaukee. Hotel California diverges from the reign of Kool & the Gang. And the FBI is still reeling from the repercussions of Watergate, the tragedy at Wounded Knee, Operation Family Secrets, and the strategic terrors of the anti-cult movement. That's what Special Agent Harry Styles has been told is the basis of his mission to an abandoned farmhouse in rural New Hampshire. With his hair grown out long and his shirt untucked, he's going undercover to do reconnaissance on suspected cult leader Louis Tomlinson, who has led a group of people out into the middle of nowhere, leaving no record of the life he'd had before. All Harry knows is what the agency gave him: Tomlinson's name, and instructions to figure out what he's doing with the eleven people he brought with him. In the year that Harry spends undercover and under Louis Tomlinson's wing, he learns more than he ever expected.

I Drove All Night (To Get To You) | lovelarry10 | famous/not famous - strangers to lovers - pining - fluff - 23k Harry’s job as a chauffeur for the rich and famous was not as flashy as he’d thought. Late nights having to listen to the ridiculous demands and whims of these high profile clients leaves him disheartened with the world he thought was all glitz and glamour. One night his boss asks him a favour. To collect one last client before he clocks off. Only problem is when that client gets into the car it’s Louis Tomlinson. As in Harry’s all time crush. As in future husband and father of all his children Louis Tomlinson. He can be cool and professional, right?

Live Like You Were Dying | YesIsAWorld | car accidents - love confessions - self discovery - 2k I’m in love with you. The phone fell from his hand, and the world went black.

Calling Clifford | noellehenry | fluff - humor - 10k The summer AU where Clifford has his own peculiar ways of matchmaking.

Home Remedies | kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) | friends to lovers - smut - 4k Louis’ hiccups just won’t stop. Harry, his roommate and best friend, is willing to do anything to help.

Traffic Light | dinosaursmate | Traffic Light Party - smut - friends with benefits - 7k Harry, a university student fresh out of a relationship, attends a Traffic Light Party. He knew all about the red, yellow and green cups, but the blue one confuses him. What does DTF mean, anyway?

Down On the Farm | kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) | bonfires - farm/ranch - smut - 5k Every Friday night there's a steady cloud of dust That leads back to a field filled with pickup trucks Got old Hank crankin', way up loud Got coolers in the back, tailgates down There's a big fire burnin' but don't be alarmed It's just country boys and girls gettin' down on the farm — “Down On the Farm” by Tim McGraw

Driving On The Wrong Side, Thinking Of You | dinosaursmate | Marcel AU - implied/ referenced homophobia - High School AU - friends to lovers - promiscuity - 25k Louis is the most popular guy in sixth form. Don't get the wrong idea, he's a good guy, and he absolutely won't stand for his friends teasing his neighbour, Marcel.

Restless Lane | jaerie | a/b/o - secret identity - childhood friends - secrets - friends to lovers - angst - 14k Louis had grown used to his boring life back in Mississippi as a stand-in father figure to his siblings. He never expected his childhood friend to show up on his lawn with the heat of summer or that he would remind Louis how much of himself he'd tucked away and neglected. He also never expected to find himself caught up in a tangled web of feelings or secrets that just might break him. Maybe he had never known Harry at all.

Waiting for the tides to meet | nauticalleeds (metamorphosis) | soulmates - pining - miscommunication - angst - fluff - friends to lovers - slow burn - 60k Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart. Featuring a lovely cup of OT5, a road trip down the coast, and a scene where Harry eats a whole head of lettuce. Don't ask why.

If I Stay | Rearviewdreamer | Walk In The Clouds AU - fake/pretend relationship - mpreg - slow burn - 37k Harry and Louis agree to a temporary arrangement that Harry can't seem to walk away from no matter how many times he tries.

Mirror Touch | pinky_heaven19 | Synesthesia - hurt/comfort - fluff - pining - strangers to lovers - 58k The one where Harry owns a second-hand clothing store, and Louis is a radio host. Louis has mirror-touch synesthesia, which makes him experience what people around him feel. He feels a lot around Harry.

In Your Black Heart (Is Where You'll Find Me) | graceling_in_a_suit | a/b/o - omega/omega - pirates - historical - 36k Louis Tomlinson has been lying for five years. His crew sees him as a pirate, a Captain, and an alpha; only two of those are the truth. He was content to let the illusion go on forever, but an omega named Harry Styles just had to join his crew and get his warm-vanilla stink all over Louis' best laid plans. Or: the story of The Captain and The Carpenter.

Supposed to Be | kikikryslee | High School - stereotypes - enemies to friends to lovers - slow burn - hate to love - 26k The Geek Charming AU where Harry's a film geek, Louis' a popular jock, and they both need each other to get what they want.

Meet me where the tulips grow | tempolarriefics | study abroad - fluff - 19k The one where Harry studies abroad and falls in love with both the city of Amsterdam and the boy he explores it with.

When i'm set alight | mixedfandomfics | teacher AU - hate to love - misunderstandings - 14k Louis and Harry hate each other. Always have, always will. No one is quite sure how they will handle it when their favorite students ask them to lead a new LGBT club at their school.

Breathe In, Breathe Out | dinosaursmate | friends to lovers - pining - 12k Louis Tomlinson begins visiting a new pub on his lunch break, mostly because he really fancies Harry, the cute, curly-haired barman. As Louis gears up to ask him out, he doesn't realise that there is a huge stumbling block in his way: Harry is taken, and by someone rather familiar.

I am mad all about you | godslut | med students - coffe shop - 5k Harry is a pre-med student trying to quit coffee. louis pretends to be spider-man to make kids laugh.

Welcome Back From The Friend Zone | 2tiedships2 | a/b/o - friends to lovers - fake/pretend relationship - mutual pining - 32k The one where an idea to create a fake wedding with the sole intent to receive gifts from billionaires took a turn no one, but also everyone, saw coming.

A Life That's Good (series) | lovelarry10 | fluff - kid fic - adoption - light angst - 66k Harry and Louis were married young, but always knew that they wanted a family together. Soon, through adoption, Hope came into their lives, and was later joined by her younger brother Oscar. Join the Tomlinsons on their journey in family life. ① You're My Only Hope Harry and Louis have been hoping to start a family for a while, but it hasn't happened for them just yet. With the surprise arrival of a newborn baby on the doorstep at work, are their family dreams about to become reality? ② Tiny Dancer It's Hope's first ballet recital, and Harry and Louis are more than excited to watch their four year old daughter perform for the first time. ③ Who You Are Things are going wonderfully for Harry and Louis. Their family has never been stronger. When a connection to their son’s past appears out of nowhere, it makes them wonder what lies ahead for the future of their family. ④ We Got Love Harry and Louis thought their family was complete. They were wrong. ⑤ Follow Your Arrow Hope has a crush, but she’s scared to tell her parents, especially Louis. Harry helps her figure out how to break the news to her other dad, who is ultimately nothing but wonderful. ⑥ Summer Love The Tomlinsons are off on a summer holiday before it’s time for everything to change...

Night Changes | colourexplosion | soulmates - supernatural elements - werewolves - light angst - 40k Louis and Harry are soulmates. (With a twist.)

From The Heart | jacaranda_bloom | coffee shop AU - 25k Every Tuesday, Louis spends his day off holed up in his favorite coffee-come-bookshop, writing his little stories as part of the WordPlay challenge while daydreaming about the resident barista, Harry. Each week a new word prompt is revealed and Louis adds to his series of short stories about Henry, the owner of a B&B in the Cotswolds who has curly hair and dimples, Lewis, his long term guest who just happens to be a writer, and Tigger, Henry’s cat. As Louis and Harry’s friendship develops, could his fantasy world spill out into real life? And how does that reader who leaves the lovely comments with the teacup emoji seem to be able to read Louis’ mind? ① Henry and Lewis Louis hangs out in his local coffee shop to work on his weekly WordPlay Prompt, speaks to his beloved muse aka Harry the gorgeous barista, embarrasses himself in front of said muse, and receives a comment on AO3 from his favourite reader. ② Smuturday Louis struggles with this week's WordPlay prompt before finding inspiration, and a date, in an unexpected place, and could there be more going on with his favourite reader than he originally thought. ③ Tea For Two Louis grapples with what to do about his new found suspicions over his favourite readers real-life identity. ④ Life Imitating Art Louis is taken on a very real journey through his fic back catalogue - life has never imitated art so salaciously. ⑤ Entertain Me All good things must come to an end, including the WordPlay challenge. But while Louis has mixed emotions about its end, and struggling to make sense of the final prompt, he is relishing every aspect of his newly revitalised personal life.

#28th appreciation #1d fanworks appreciation #monthly reads #fic rec #my reads #my fic rec #larry fics

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jasper-hale-protection-squad · 5 years

Note

I have a Big Sad so could you write a fic of Jasper burning/ripping up Confederate Flags?

Tag list: @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @reprehensibleghost@actuallybennyweir

Warnings: Racism, frequent mentions of the Confederacy, swearing, fire, kinda ooc Carlisle, and police officers

Ship(s): None

It was no secret that there were racist people in Forks, Washington. The black population was next to nothing, but the conservatives were in plenty. Washington state as a whole was majorly democratic, having voted for the Democratic presidential candidate consistently since 1988, but bad people existed, and they often flocked together. Charlie Swan had stopped plenty of fights between both teenagers and young kids whose parents bigoted views had rubbed off on them, and they’d decided that harassing their fellow peers was an acceptable pass time. The adults were even more ridiculous, waving Confederate flags next to the American one and wearing shirts, hats, shoes, even pocket patches with the Confederate flag. Charlie had once gotten a flyer on his windshield with that dumbass flag on it, and immediately got out his lighter and burned it so everyone who saw him would know exactly where he stood on the issue.

Everything changed, however, when the Cullens came. They were a strange bunch of people, Charlie would admit that, but he had an endless amount of respect for the parents, especially Dr. Cullen. Unlike some doctors, who refused to treat patients that came from the reservation or were of a different race, Dr. Cullen showed no discrimination and treated all of his patients to the very best of his ability. In fact, Charlie had once walked in on the doctor yelling at a fellow doctor for refusing to give a black woman a much-needed blood transfusion because she “didn’t really need it and was just whiny”. His language was colorful and his expression certainly matched the vicious tone of his voice. Charlie had never been more terrified yet awe-inspired by another human being in his life. And then the flags began to disappear.

Charlie was getting calls at the station almost every day for the missing Confederate flags. The way some people reacted, one would have thought their firstborn child had been kidnapped. There were reports of flags ripped to shreds, missing clothes, and the real kicker, piles of ashes where Confederate flags had once stood. Charlie didn’t take any of the calls seriously and instructed his fellow officers to do the same. They had bigger fish to fry, and if somebody had decided to teach the town’s bigots a lesson, who was he to stop them? He was curious about who it was, however. He wanted to personally congratulate them on their handiwork.

The Chief of Police got his wish much sooner than he thought he would have. He was driving home late one night, headed past the main part of town when he spotted a hooded figure darting across somebody’s lawn. Of course, his first instinct was that someone was being robbed, and he quickly grabbed his gun before quietly exiting his police cruiser, sneaking up to the house. The figure had moved up to the front of the house, avoiding the lights shining through the windows, and was reaching up trying to grab something. Charlie saw it was one of those fucking flags, his mouth dropped open in realization.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Charlie whisper-shouted, coming up behind the person and grabbing them by the shoulders. The stranger whirled around and their hood fell, revealing honey blonde locks and dark eyes wide with fear. It was one of the Cullen boys; Charlie had seen him walking around town with his family. Jasper tried to run but Charlie stopped him. “Woah hey, no need for that. You need some help with that?” Jasper stared at Charlie and blinked, clearly taken aback, but shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. Charlie ripped the flag down from its pole and pulled a lighter out of his pocket, setting the flag on fire. The two watched it until the fire fizzled out in the grass and left a smoldering, unrecognizable lump behind.

“Why did you-” Charlie held up a hand before the young man could finish and then tossed him the lighter. Jasper caught it, looking at the officer skeptically before pocketing it.

“Show those assholes a thing or two, kid. And if your dad asks about the lighter, tell him you’re holding onto it for a friend that’s trying to quit smoking,” Charlie said casually, clapping Jasper on the shoulder before turning back to the car.

“Sir, wait!” Jasper suddenly called out, making Charlie turn around. “I don’t have friends, he’ll know it’s a lie,” he continued solemnly. Charlie smiled.

“Then tell him it was me, I don’t mind. It’d be the truth anyway. You be safe now, alright? There are all sorts of crazy people in this town.” The corner of Jasper’s mouth tugged into a tiny smile and he nodded before running off into the night. Charlie smiled to himself and got back into his car, starting it up and continuing on home.

#twilight #twilight saga #pre canon #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #jasper cullen #charlie swan #flag burning #confederate flag burning #burn the racists #jasper said fuck racism #politics #swearing #fire #ooc #police officers #racism

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toddlazarski · 4 years

Text

The Best Bites of 2019

Shepherd Express

2019. The year before, hopefully. The prologue to 2020’s change, maybe. God or Kali or whomever you wish to charge with these sorts of responsibilities, willing. The end of the beginning of the end of discord, the endless fire, the storms and dread, the corruption of soul we’ve all learned to live with over the past few years that feel like a lifetime.

In Milwaukee, 2019 was the year we were rewarded the Democratic National Convention, and the year we immediately tried to grapple with how we would handle hosting the Democratic National Convention. It was the year, as if we were Austin, as if we were Portland, as if we were ourselves a plucky place of progressivism and forward-thinking, our very own food truck park opened. And, at the same time, it was the year it became impossible to log onto any social media without being inundated by hems and haws and shouting-at-cloud mewls that the city suddenly had legal electric scooters on the street. It was the year Syrian civil war refugees opened a Mitchell Street gem of kefta and baba ghanoush and good nature at the most destination-worthy restaurant in town. And it was the year a racially-charged acid attack occurred against a Latino man entering a southside taqueria. It was the year Sherman Phoenix rose, literally, out of the ashes of the 2016 Sherman Park riots. An opening that barely preceded Milwaukee becoming the first city to name racism a public health crisis.

For me, calorically, it was also a calendar stretch of one step up and one back. It was a time of too many fancy burgers, of swearing off fancy burgers, and then reading about The Diplomat’s Diplomac, and then the Birch & Butcher happy hour special, and then the other one with the ampersand (Glass & Griddle). It was the time of swearing off meat entirely, tempering that to limiting meat, trying to go “Impossible” meat, then realizing my daughter had never been to Sobelman’s. A frigid Monday, empty dining room, impossibly cheery waitress and a jalapeno and three cheese-smashed double patty was all that it took to fall back off the wagon. Or is it on the wagon? Either way, it was also the summer that felt like I spent half of, at least, inside a car with intermittently functioning AC, pit-sweating, contemplating which tiny to-go plastic container of bright green or dark red or burnt orange sauce to douse on yet another pastor taco. I ate at every taco truck in the city in ‘19, or tried, or got close, maybe. Out of curiosity. Out of assignment. But as much so out of moral obligation, as some kind of personal corrector to the current tenor of division, of strife, of unease. And as a reminder of comfort, of the spicy, dangerous, gaseous whiff of hope.

Here are some of the other ways I’ll remember ‘19.

13. Italian Beef - Rosati’s

I grew up in the hyper-regionally-specific sandwich heaven of Buffalo, NY. There a “beef on weck” order from near any corner bar or grocer or butcher will yield a horseradish-spiked roast beef stack piled within a crusty German baker concoction known as a kimmelweck—a roll topped with caraway seeds and coarse salt grains of the likes you might use on your sidewalk in February. Whether it’s a little bit drippy or dry, it will likely singe sinuses, bloviate with beefiness, finish with unnecessary and addictively enjoyable sodium-ness. Everywhere that isn’t there, you can find Western New York ex-pats gathered in some corner of some bar, Bills hatted, commiserating, whispering of favorites from places with foreign-sounding names like Schwabl’s, bemoaning the wonder of why it’s so hard. But there’s a difference between hard and unknown.

Here, Chicago’s Italian beef is another simple, but under-served regional sandwich delicacy. Offering even an apt representation of the au-jus-dripping bombs that can be found on every other corner in our big city neighbor to the south would be itself somehow singular. Rosati’s is a Chicago chain that serves just such a purpose.

Of course, aesthetically or on paper, there’s not much list-worthy about a soaked Italian hoagie roll, barely holding it’s earthy contents, leaking greasy debris all over wax paper like it was an old Saab who’s main attribute was character. But then you get closer: it’s a living sandwich form of a closeup on an Arby’s commercial, with infinite folds of beef wedged like an overfull linen closet, so bursting with folded towels you’re afraid to open the door. The thin rug of plasticky, half-melted mozz is optional. Though the glossy, shimmering hot giardiniera should be mandatory, with its oil-slickening and bright, peppy pickled punch.

But this is still a package of lizard brain enjoyment, of Ditka-esque machismo, with an essence and soul that is all two-fisted, garclicky pigout. It’s the perfect brown meal when you’ve had too many, when it’s too cold, when football is on, when it is followed by a slice of either thin or deep dish—both also apt Chicago representations here. Enjoy life and don’t be ashamed. You can love an Italian beef and still, later, after you swallow, sing along to “the Bears still suck.”

12. Sloppy Johnny - Boo Boo’s

A 6-buck price tag and a name that harkens cafeteria appetites and Adam Sandler jams doesn’t really inspire notions of much other than a nostalgic budget lunch.

But then you see one on the table in front of you, alongside the inspired rotating roster of obscure hot sauce bottles, and ideally next to a steaming bowl of creamy onion-cheddar soup. The sandwich, which derives from a New York City bodega specialty known as a chopped cheese, comes in a fresh-baked, beautiful baguette—crusty outside, pillowy inside—which houses barely visible meat, all the scrags seductively tucked under blankety rivulets of piping white cheddar and pickled peppers and rumors of mushrooms. While I used to come to this address for whiz-spattered ribeye, the Johnny is a bit perplexing in its polish. It is fat guy food all cleaned up, as button-down and put-together a presentation of chopped beef indulgence as might exist in town.

Giving the flat-topped package a second to cool off is the only challenge. Along with the lack of alcohol to wash it down, or assuage said wait. But there seems to be no other shortcomings to the lunch, or anything about the quirky, aggressively friendly spot that replaced and immediately made us all forget the Walker’s Point Philly Way. The sister biz of nextdoor Soup Brothers, Boo Boo’s shows the Milwaukee Soup Nazi’s comfort food flavor rigor and peculiar touch extends neatly to the realm of sandwiches.

11. Carbonara - Zarletti

It’s hard to balance summer in Milwaukee. There’s an at-once need to makeup for six months of living in a place where it hurts your lungs to breath natural air with an overwhelming roster of stuff to do. Of stuff to do outside. One solution might be doing something of calendar noteworthiness with a level of relaxed removal. For me I’ve found an annual tradition of attending Bastille Days’ nighttime 5K. Yet instead of stretching and putting on too-short shorts, I park myself at a table on Milwaukee Street, sip a Negroni, spoon roasted lamb and perperonata onto charry bread, and await a big, hearty pasta while watching the more ambitious sweatily charge toward a finish line and away from their true appetites.

Zarletti’s sidewalk cafe on a summer night can feel very European, very sophisticated, well-heeled. But the carbonara is at it’s core quite basic. Yes, it is the embodiment of those aspects of Roman food anyone recently back from the Old Country will annoy listeners with: simplicity, freshness. Egg, Pecorino Romano, garlic, onion. Here too there is a vomitorium-like abundance of sauteed pancetta. And a reminder of how that perfect deep bowl of al dente can somehow hit all the comfort points of all the different life epochs: childhood mac n’ cheesiness, first apartment spaghetti nights, that trip to Italy. And now, in the night’s growing darkness and fanfare, it’s a special new tradition to feel apart from the race, and part of a different one—finishing every last salty morsel of piggy meat before my stomach says to stop.

10. Tacos de carbon, desebrada, chorizo, pescado - El Tsunami

I’m not entirely sure the silky, sour creamy, Serrano-based light green emulsified salsa found about so many southside taquerias is homemade—such is the ubiquity. And, at this point in our relationship, I’ve gone too far to ask. So, I will continue to happily, ignorantly, scoop and spurt over every possible meatstuff served between National and the Airport, from 35th to the Lake.

Of these, the fare at El Tsunami holds a special sort of siren song sway, pulling me past La Canoa, away from my beloved Chicken Palace. In fact, of the two locations of Tsunami, this is the one without alcohol. And the fact it is still somehow preferred should be all the endorsement necessary. The petite counter-focused diner always feels like a happier, spicier Edward Hopper vision, especially with snow falling and cozy smoke plumes billowing about from the flattop that seems to be always full of approaching-happy meat.

In taco form, an order of carbon yields smoky, charcoal-forward, tiny-diced and juice-spurting nodules. The desebrada is a chocolatey, shreddy deep-stewed beef, with the depth and earthiness of the kind of thing grandma might cook when it’s cold out, when she hasn’t seen you in a while, when she got up real early, even by her standards, to start. The chorizo balances salty, greasy, satisfying pork bombast with foodie subtlety—what is that? Cinnamon? The pescado makes fish fries seem benign, lacking abundantly in tortillas and salsa.

There are other routes—the diablo sauce, a color only seen in dangerously fast and tiny sports cars, is a special coat for any fish dish. But it is the tacos, cilantro-y and satisfying, that remain the supreme vessel for green salsa dousing. And, either way, I’m leaving with some to go: a few containers of verde, just enough to carry a little Tsunami with me back home, to the fridge, enough to pull me through the far too many non-taqueria meals of life.

9. Any pizza - San Giorgio

Maybe it’s because I’m not a car guy, and get no thrill from “peeking under the hood,” and not enough of a cook to have much interest in “seeing how the sausage is made,” but I’ve never cared a great deal about the concept of “open kitchen.” They wear aprons, can handle industrial-grade pans, are comfortable working close to a flame—I get it.

But then I found myself for the first time at San Giorgio’s “pizza bar,” contemplating how beautiful a concept, how perfect a term, when I heard one pizzaiolo, upset about peel placement or arugula quantity or something or another say to the other, “I’ll kill you.” Huh, I thought. They really care.

While few inside the scene seem to put any stock in the VPN certification (the official delegation delineating true Neopolitan style pizza, regulating everything from oven type, to temp, to how much your dough balls must weigh—yes, it’s a bit ridiculous, and, yes, it’s a cost), all aspects of the pizza pedigree of San Giorgio show just such immense, aggressive, sure, threatening, pursuit of craft. In the Sopranos sense of the word, all ingredients, all dishes, seem to be worthy of respect.

Try the Quattro Formaggi, a delightfully oily meld of mozz, provola, fontina, and gorgonzola. Or the San Giorgio, bright with arugula and fennel, salty with crispy pancetta, topped, almost unnecessarily, somehow cohesively, with a sunny side egg. Pay plenty of appropriate focus on anything featuring San Marzano tomato carnage. As a gravy it goes well with anything from basil to spicy soppersata. As Instagrammable goopage, it is bright and popping, with no need of a filter, reminiscent of all things you picture of Italy in your mind.

It all still ties back to the beating heart. And by that, I mean the 900 degree Stefano Ferraro oven, hand-crafted, of course, in Italy. It is a muscular, room-dominating hulk, a ravishing blue-tiled beauty, fire-kissing, turning doughiness halfway to toast, letting the Maillard Effect do its enzyme action work, warming, blackening, making a messy marriage of tomato and cheese. Airy corpuscles form around the crust edge, yielding heartening bites of carb char. It is quick cooking, piping hot delivery for all satisfaction points. What pizza was for us as children, pizza can be for us again, here, downtown on a classy wine-soaked date night or pre-Giannis show.

On subsequent visits I’ve found myself, while pulling away the first slice, lifting the edge and checking the undercarriage to admire the cooking and note the sweet char. Each pizza pattern is unique from the last, like the spots on a Jaguar. So, maybe I am into looking under the hood afterall.

8. Burger - Foxfire

The last thing anyone needs from the internet is another burger list. Or even a list with burgers on them, ranked, in some kind of personal application of rules and regulations that strives toward objectivity, scientific method, a justification of juiciness pontificating.

Yet, in 2019 arriving on a listicle is the only validation. And the burger at Foxfire, served Thursday’s out of the back of Hawthorne Coffee, deserves to make listicles that aren’t even covering burgers. So, while Palomino griddles the best sit-down double-digit-dollar burger in town, and Kopp’s remains the heavyweight of gluttonous eat-in-your-car, American Graffitti old-school comfort and mouthfeel joy, Foxfire strikes the perfect balance between craft and simple. The double patty package is reasonably affordable, is cooked basically to temp, is coated with unfussy American cheese. But the availability is limited, enticingly so. It is topped with only pickle and onion. But the counter is suggestively stacked with esoteric hot sauces. It is what to have for workday lunch, generally, in a coffee shop. But the meat crust and luscious give are worthy of foodie discourse, elevated terms like elevated. The duality in a microcosm: the fries here are reminiscent of the stringy, crispy spuds found at McDonald’s; but they can be topped with little-seen Aleppo pepper.

My grandfather used to say that it is impossible to declare a “best,” that such distinction has to be qualified. He lived in the innocent era before internet lists. And, unfortunately, before being able to try the burger at Foxfire.

7. Chicken 65 and Garlic Naan - Cafe India

My wife often jokes that I only want to eat food in taco form. And they say all good jokes are based in truth. So it came in handy that my natural instinct for bread-as-vessel kicked in when, aggressively, irresponsibly, I ordered my Chicken 65 “extra hot” at the Bay View Cafe India. Within two fork bites it became clear something, anything, more than water, was needed to extinguish, to buffer, to assuage boiling buds. Garlic naan was handy, was originally used like a starchy tongue sponge, and then, somehow inspired, I packaged all subsequent chicken bites within the cozy, garlicky, craggy confines of the bendable bread. Thus my version of Indian tacos was born. Built out of necessity, maintained out of deliciousness.

The Chicken 65 has long been my Indian deep-menu go-to. Huge-bite, deep-fried chunks of tender boneless chicken, bathing in fiery, oily, red-orange stew chocked with hunks of pepper and onion and curry leaf. With its shimmering finish and intense afterburn, it’s a dish that often feels like a turmeric-laced Southern Indian version of Nashville chicken.

Apparently nobody really knows where the dish name came from—some claim the number just refers to the birth year. Others, to either the number of chile peppers or the number of pieces of chicken. It doesn’t matter, historians likely have just had too difficult a time stopping eating, or slurping water, or fanning the mouth. But now at least we all have documentation of the dawn of the Chicken 65 taco.

6. Chicken Shawarma, Kufta Kabob Sandwich - Pita Palace

Sometimes go-to’s are made by convenience, sometime laziness, maybe it's economics, every now and then it just comes from plain exceptional, ceaseless taste, of the kind you never tire of, week after week, appetite after appetite. When I became Iucky enough to stumble into a house purchase a pita toss from this sprawling Layton Ave chateau of Mediterranean comfort food, the “go-to” calculus began to spin endlessly, like a slowly turning vertical rotisserie.

From hummus to arayes to lentil soup, all of the counter service spot’s dishes ring true. But it’s the sandwich section that brings me back, never wears out, with cheap, voluminous meat torpedos nestled inside tender, stretchy shrak bread. They are made of tight, but ambitious construction, braced by pickle buttons, onion and tomato wedges. The chicken yields variable cubes and scrags of spitted meat, some crisp, some soft, velvety garlic sauce making the bundle swim, sing. Or there is the kufta kabob, two skewers-worth of beefy, grainy-textured links, slicked with creamy tahini, the whole deal rife with mint, parsley, sumac, and the kind of otherworldliness that you watch Bourdain for a taste of. Kick either up with a side of the piercing, pungent Thai chile garlic sauce, a sauce with a confrontationally acidic spice profile, a flavor reminiscent of little else at all, just this side of a manageable amount of mother-in-law spleen.

It’s the kind of place you spot from the air on approaches back to General Mitchell, a giant red neon glow of ‘Welcome Home;’ the kind of place your realtor might not mention, but you find it and know your property values will sustain, that it will also salve rote Mondays of yawns and kitchen ennui for years to come. It’s the kind of place you are endlessly happy to live near by, for when you don’t know what to cook, or, really, even when you do.

5. Xiao Long Bao Dumplings - Momo Mee

“Eat with care” the menu warns, an enticing challenge, like something you might find on a waiver from a restaurant you learned of from “Man vs. Food.” To me it reminds of an internet-learning wormhole of food blogs and Youtubes on where to find the Shanghai delicacy in a back alley shop in Chicago’s Chinatown. And then, more challengingly, more importantly, how to actually eat a dumpling filled with soup. As an experienced Xiao Long Bao taster—twice—I can state the process is mostly so: Put a drop of soy sauce in your soup spoon, lift the dumpling from the top, place in the spoon, nibble a tiny hole in the top as a steam valve, slurp some broth out, and then, when the temp feels right, shoot it like an oyster. Then you sit back and feel worldly, self-satisfied, sated.

But as long as you don’t puncture and spurt, or, really, as long as you “eat with care,” you are bound to end up happy, letting umami zest and warm salty pork wedges in hand-crafted dough baste the tongue. The disparity of eating this, here, in the base level of a building seemingly still warm from the factory, hits with the arrival of the steaming bamboo basket. Or, really, with the Schezuan wontons, or the Cantonese claypots—anything you can order amidst the plasticizing Walker’s Point condo sprawl. As the neighborhood loses its soul, it’s character, one more hastily constructed Millennial molehill at a time, Momo Mee more than holds the line.

4. Alambre - La Flamita

Certainly one of the buzziest events in town this winter would have to be a recent Ash Kitchen takeover, featuring James Beard-nominated Minnesota chef Jorge Guzman. The spot, an open hearth concept from Dan Jacobs and Dan Van Rite, is the new restaurant of the Iron Horse Hotel. The event spotlighted Mexican street food. Yes, at one of the priciest hotels in town. Black beans were $6; rice, a cool $5. And while probably delicious, probably well-intentioned, it sounds a bit like paying Fiserv prices to see a really great high school team: gimmicky at best, condescending at worst, and to any that spend time contemplating what and how we eat, a bit puzzling. If you want taco truck fare, why don’t you go to an actual taco truck?

That very same Sunday night anyone with the hankering could have taken a short cruise west, on National, and subjected their appetites to La Flamita’s weekly special of one-buck pastor tacos. Cut by a big man with a large knife, direct from the trompo—one of the few of the Lebanese-rooted vertical spits in town—greasy, salty, piggy turns of earthiness are spiked by pineapple hunks, upped by arbol salsa that pokes through each bite like it has something to prove. Or, even better, it being Sunday and a day of fun after all, you could have an alambre. Mix your pastor with asada and with chorizo and with gooping, melting queso, the whole thing congealing into a warm, grandmotherly embrace of a taco mix mash, everything punctuated by peppers and onions. Plopped on top is a steaming baked potato, because they want you to be happy, full.

It is the ideal meal for someone who can’t decide, yes, but also who wants it all, who won’t settle, who wants to soar, like Costanza on the wings of Pastrami, to an Epicurean taste fete of grease and meat sweat pleasure. But you can also stay comfortably on the street, barely 12 bucks in the hole, with leftovers certainly, alone in the car, beyond judging eyes or the formalities of waiters, to ponder life and appetite decisions, and wonder how many more you have room for.

3. Tlayuda - La Costena

If you have little kids you probably go to the Domes 300 times or so per year, or so it seems; and because it’s there, you probably go to Honeydip Donuts across the street maybe just a few times less. Heading south then, passing La Costena and it’s beckoning redness, the HGTV optics of an A-frame mini house-cum-taco truck is refreshing, promising in its cutesiness, alluring if only for the hope of something different.

And different it is. Start with a pastor, my personal barometer of a taqueria’s worth. So often simple scraps of salted pink pork do the trick, but here it is decidedly less piggy, moister, deeper, somehow more seasoned and cheffy. Or try the asada, a 100-level taco order, but here redolent of butcher freshness, liberal salt, flattop love. Really you can tell from “hola,” by the friendliness, by the slowness, by the perfectly-quoted wait times from the counter man: Costena may well be the premier taco truck in town.

Then, working your way through the menu, you get here, to a Mexican pizza, a NYC-slice-consistency, corn-shelled ship of salty flavor. The tlayuda is basically begging for you to take a picture, posturing with the bright allure of the flag of our neighbors to the south, popping with the reds of tomato and chipotle salsa, the greens of lettuce, avocado, the whites of queso, svelty sour cream, it all kept grounded by a swab of creamy refrieds, topped by a generous smattering of your carne of choice. Objectively, that choice should be chorizo, the grease-running ground sausage bits so rife with garlic, so equally charry and wet, that it makes any other kind of meat cover seem a bit tepid, a bit too-healthy.

And sometimes this is how traditions are born, out of a need to get a little person out of the house, out of a desire to let them sleep off dreams of cacti and sausage fruit trees from Namibia in the backseat while dad sates creeping hunger and insoluble curiosity. Such is the joy of family, when you realize even proximity to Sobelman’s, to Oscar’s, can be beat, by this, a whole new world of car-meal, of pizza-esque joy, of something different. Long live the Domes.

2. Brisket Burger, Hot Chicken Sandwich, Pimento Cheese, Cheese Curds - Palomino

It’s hard to keep track: Where are we all now on Palomino? Are we still mad they raised prices? Disappointed that it’s less bar and more restaurant? Stuck in a provincial mode that makes us yearn for cheap frozen tots and Bingo? Are we upset that they took a look in the mirror, didn’t coast, made an effort, and made their food much, much, much better? Or have we all just kind of forgotten it?

Maybe I shouldn’t question. Just appreciate the fact I can walk in on a Friday night at 8, find whatever table I want, or a spot at the bar, and order any one or combo of my favorite things to eat in Milwaukee.

There’s no better way to ruin an appetite and a doctor’s wishes than starting a feast with the curds. Elongated oblong bricks of a battered, sheeny shell, barely housing liquefying magma ooze, seem to get almost transported from fryer to wherever I’m sitting and leaning forward. Such is the temperature, the still oil-shimmering, post-bath promise. Stretchy and rich, airy and crispy, endlessly goopy, it’s a snack only matched in Southern-leaning decadence by the pimento cheese. This is piquant-popped velvetiness, the dream of what grown-up grilled cheese can embody, when plopped atop the accompanying charred toast.

It takes will, recklessness, irresponsibility to keep going at this point. The hot chicken thigh, barely saddled inside a buttery brioche, is helped by two things: greasy slicks of mayo and house hot sauce aid gullet passage; also the heft is constructed so that if you put it down, it might fall apart. One must push forth, in delicious punishment. Then there is the brisket burger. No other burger in town is so good at avoiding overtopping, overhyping, overpricing, a balance of kitchen art and pleasure. Like it is no big deal: fresh ground meat, American cheese, onion, pickle, silky mayo-y special sauce. Here is what it would feel like if you could sit down at a Bay View bar and eat a Kopp’s masterpiece sided by an IPA on a chill Friday night, where you can also remember your growth-spurt 16-year-old appetite, even while pushing 40.

If there were ever a case to be made for it being OK to find a rut, to never stray or explore, to find your caloric Cheers and never think about going anywhere else, Palomino would lead my argument.

1. Bahn Mi - Pho Hai Tuyet

There’s rarely a person that borrows my phone that doesn’t make the comment, the note: “You have a Pho Hai Tuyet app?” It’s there, near the front, proudly prominent, a bit out of place near Lyft and Instagram because it’s a by-the-airport dive in a converted fast food shack with endless out-of-commission fish tanks, and, for some reason, a stage. It is also known, has garnered a bit of a cult following for a fat guy sandwich of near-perfection. Or, it was, actually.

Pho hai shuttered quietly, but inevitably, to anyone who’s been recently, sometime between this past spring and the future of our discontent. Still there was shock to those of us who thought the sandwich would always be there: the big French baguette bed, crispy, succulent pork scrags, garlicky mayo, heaps of cilantro, crispy jalapeno punches.

To write about it hurts, like a eulogy, where you need to remember the bad and mix it with the strange to paint a picture. As it happens I have a friend who informed me that, once, while eating inside, he could hear something audibly scampering in the ceiling panels. Out of loyalty, out of sandwich-love, I practiced willful ignorance. I have another friend, a writer sort, who sports a Pho Hai polo shirt in his author bio pic. It seems like some sort of hipster ironicism, unless you know how much he loves—loved—the sandwich. And, really, what are we but not physical manifestations of our past meals and meal memories? A collection of those calories and reminisces.

Even as we look ahead, to more eating, to big city, big event pedigree, to maybe ending the national embarrassment, to 2020, to a promise of new vision, as we yearn for responsibility and reason, to, well, to... who knows? Whatever happens, whatever is next, I will never delete my Pho Hai Tuyet app.

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janiedean · 5 years

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Why do you think the SW fandom is so knee-deep in SJ Calvinism? Because I understand wanting representation or being upset because a movie didn’t fulfill your expectations, but the “if you don’t ship X you’re racist” “if you don’t stan Y you’re bigoted” and the harassment over a disappointing movie is surprising just because of how pervasive it is. I was trying to find some St*rmpilot blogs to follow and the amount of hate is Yikes, especially the hate for Rose and the stans of a Certain Ship

eeeeeeh I think it’s because ep. 7 came out at the height of the... well, reaping the seeds the social justice calvinism had sown since 2014 so to speak? I mean, SW is hardly the one fandom where it happened (*cough* voltron and SU *cough*) but as SW is way broader in audience than those other shows that certainly didn’t help, but like, if you think on it, since 2013-ish (but I think before as well, I mean, I’ve been here since 2011 and already when I got here I felt like something was going very wrong when it came to politics-in-fandom-attitude), basically people on tumblr have progressively, when it came to fandoms:

pushed the idea that you have to over-analyze everything you consume through political lens;

pushed the idea that what you like and how you like it also has to be pushed through political lens and what you like says things about who you are as a person or your political leanings;

pushed the idea that if you care for something *problematic* just because you like it you’re excusing it;

pushed the idea that if you were problematic once you can’t ever not be problematic, you can’t change your mind and you can’t learn also because ‘it’s not my job to educate you’ so people either learn themselves or idek what but again, calvinism.

now obviously those politics are tumblr-politics which are also US centric like woah and are also high-school petty like woah, and since more or less then people have:

continuously other-ed lgbt people from *straight*/heterosexual people pushing a narrative where straight = bad and therefore putting it before anything automatically makes it a valid insult which added to the above means that if you ship het you’re already problematic regardless of whether you’re straight or not (and if you are.. lol);

pushed the performative feminism of Doom TM that says men and women should be equal but is like, an excuse to shit on men and on women who like men (see the rampant biphobia around and the whole ‘straight girls are so stupid if they’re into men they should try women’ discourse);

pushed the US terminology when it comes to the POC discourse, in the sense that everything works on the US-centered context where white people = white anglosaxon protestant, poc = everything else without realizing that in the rest of the world white does not equal wasp, that poc = black people only in most of europe (and no one who’s actually black or not white who lives in africa or asia and so on would describe themselves as poc because why the hell would you when your skin color/ethinicity is the norm where you live?), which also goes with the whole white passing debate which where I live would not exist but in that context is a mess because again, oscar i*saac is schroedinger’s poc (as in, he’s poc automatically for american standards because he’s latin-american but like he has the same skin tone as my mother and my mother in italy is white same as 90% of us, which means endless confusion) and assumed that all of us have to accept that terminology/context regardless of whether it’s valid in our countries;

kept on progressively putting minorities against each other in an endless loop of WHO HAS IT WORST/oppression olympics;

kept on progressively split hairs on issues that aren’t exactly, like, that important if there’s more urgent stuff to deal with because 90% of the activism here is performative;

made the 180° turn for which headcanons and shit are seen as, like, doing representation instead of, you know, supporting what rep is there never mind when people decide *one* ship is the right one and if another is canonized and it’s rep it gets thoroughly ignored;

pushed on a mindset for which if something isn’t perfect at the get-go then it’s canceled.

and so on.

like, all of that shit has been continuously not criticized because criticizing it especially if you don’t belong to a minority means that you’re out of line/discussing things that don’t concern you, but if you’re a minority and you criticize it then it’s suddenly YOU BETRAYED OUR CAUSE *INSERT SLUR HERE ABOUT PANDERING TO THE MAJORITY*, and the result exploded in toxic af fandoms, but like... if you look at the issues of the SW sequel trilogy fandom it’s all of that in a nutshell because:

k/ylo ren is automatically the worst because he’s white (horrible), a man (even worse), not canonically attractive (I didn’t touch on that topic bc I’m honestly not up for it mentally but lmao that counts too) and presumably heterosexual (or well, no one said he’s not but you know, since he’s a white dude on the bad side [supposedly] then we don’t give him the benefit of the doubt that he might be bi), so if you like ky/lo ren or relate to him you’re automatically problematic;

shipping re/ylo because automatically problematic because it’s a *straight* (evil) ship made of two white people (when there’s options to ship them both with people that aren’t white, so IT’S RACIST), they have an age gap (BAD BECAUSE POWER IMBALANCE) and it’s enemies to lovers, so it’s a context where people who don’t conceive redemption or that people can become better are basically crying problematic all the time, and the fact that people decided it’s *abusive* when it has like nothing that can equate it to a really abusive relationship says all;

ky/lux being the most popular slash ship immediately means that it’s the fault of the horrible straight (white) women fetishizing the (white) men on the dark side (when it’s most likely because for a while ky/lux was literally the only side of that fandom where people were chill/there wasn’t wank every other moment);

st/ormpilot has been declared The Right Ship because it’s two non-white men and it’s not straight which automatically turns into what I said before about hating other ships that would be rep anyway and feeds into the lowkey oppression olympics racism, because like if finn/rose becomes canon it’s still a mixed/biracial ship because he’s black and she’s asian....... except that it’s not the right ship for people who decided that finn has to be either with rey or poe (and guess what rey is white and poe is... schroedinger’s poc because oscar isaac in europe wouldn’t pass for *poc*), which to me has stank of lowkey racism since tlj came out because sorry but if ‘finn deserves better than rose’ or ‘finn should be with rey because if he doesn’t get rey then it’s unfair’ and the various other bullshit I read on the topic basically says that the white woman is *worthier* than the asian woman or that rose is a downgrade from rey which is fucking bullshit, rose isn’t even a bad character all the contrary. and that’s for the het side of it, but like then it’s not as good as stormpilot because it’s a straight ship (NOOOO THEY MADE FINN STRAIGHT/THEY’RE NOT MAKING THEM GAY THIS IS SUCH BULLSHIT = stuff I legit saw on the tag) and ngl I’m 100% sure that the fact that daisy is Standard Attractive and kelly marie t/ran is lovely but doesn't conform to the usual beauty standard western-viewers apply on asian women did play a role in there, but: what did I say before? the slash ship is automatically better than the het ship never mind that they’re both biracial and rose is actually a rep (asian girls who don’t adhere to stereotypical body shapes - and like, the rep for all body types and shapes should be valid for all women, not just white) that isn’t exactly popular especially in mainstream cinema, so people should be happy.... but since rose is Not A Dude and Not Rey and Not The Right Kind Of Representation For That Crowd, automatically rose is a shit character and deserves to be viciously hated on. and this is a thing done by people who most likely then turn on the other side and talk shit about horrible straight women who hate the only female character for getting in the way of their slash ship without realizing that their rose hate is exactly that. and of course since sto/rmpilot is the two good guys, if you ship that then you also have to hate re/ylo because how can you, a person who ships The Good Ship On The Light Side, support such a problematic enemies to lovers thing? yeah, right, hahaha.

this also tbqh also pairs up with how on tumblr people only recognize mental health issues/abuse victims when the narrative suits them - like, being a bad victim automatically means you lose sympathy and mental health issues are only valid if you aren’t ***privileged*** otherwise why would you have them, which shows transparently in how a lot of people absolutely deny that ky/lo ren is a) an abuse victim, b) obviously mentally ill however it is that he deals with it, but no, he has to be The Most Horrible In Existence Because Otherwise We Should Have Empathy For A Bad Guy Who Also Might Get Redeemed And Redemption Is Not Happening Ever Because Bad People Don’t Deserve it.

like, all of the issues sw sequel trilogy has when it comes to the fandom are direct consequences of the nonsensical social justice calvinism climate on tumblr dot com that no one took care to put a stop to since 2013 and of its ridiculous oppression olympics and pitting people against each other and that was my take. cheers.

(ps: I also ship sto/rmpilot like woah and it’s my otp but there’s a reason why I unfollowed most SP blogs I followed and why I don’t go into the tag anymore - I’m not here for the anti-rose racism dressed up as performative wokeness, I’m not here to get lectured about as a white person I fetishize poc gay men if I ship it - yes I read that too - and I’m not here to read a bunch of meta about how re/ylo is a bad ship and blah blah blah, so yeah. I feel you.) (pps: ky/lo ren isn’t even my favorite character and I care relatively but gdi the way the fandom approaches him is honestly mindboggling in that sense, and I don’t mean people who actually dislike him because fair reasons, I mean people who can’t recognize his abuse victim status and the precarious status of his mental health. like, not all abuse victims and mentally ill people are the right victim or come from the right background and you can be cool motive still murder and still recognize that he’s like that because he has issues, not because he was drawn that way. /bye)

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #i said my piece bye #reylo for ts #kylo ren for ts #sw wank for ts #i don't mean ppl shouldn't be uncomfortable with re/ylo or ky/lo btw #but like........... this level of vitriol is ridiculous #and the rose hate is dumb af #bye *shrug*#social justice calvinism #the first person whining about straight people feeling left out as last time this happened #is getting automatically blocked bye #Anonymous #ask post

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therealdragonnerdagain · 6 years

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Dark-skinned Privilege

1. If you speak with elocution, no one assumes you were raised around a lot of white people. No one makes fun of you. No one calls you “white.” Talking like James Baldwin and having dark skin is acceptable, it’s admirable, it means you’re an educated negro. Talking like James Baldwin and having light skin means you’re privileged, you had access to better education (lol I went to the same school as a dark kids), and you’ve never suffered a day in your life ever (again, lol).

2. No one assumes you had an easier life and no one dismisses your hardship as a black woman living the black experience. You are free to speak without mockery from your own people.

3. No one talks about excluding you from the black community on the basis of your skin tone, even when you have two black parents.

4. You do not have to deal with an endless parade of self-loathing black men and non-black men with a fetish. The worst self-loathing men do not see you as a trophy and they do not flock to you, causing jealousy in your insecure friends.

5. You do not have to wonder if the person you’re with likes you for who you are or if they simply had a light-skin fetish.

6. You are not continuously torn down on social media by the black community for taking roles that are offered to you because dark-skinned black women can play any role, while light-skinned and biracial women can only play light-skinned and biracial roles (that aren’t written for them and don’t exist – which was Tessa Thompson’s point).

7. Your “wokeness” is never questioned or dismissed as insecurity. Because how can a light-bright possibly understand racism? Malcolm X was just insecure and trying to look woke. Angela Davis got arrested for attention. Emmett Till wasn’t killed because of racism.

8. People do not dismiss your experiences with misogynoir.

9. You are allowed to call yourselves beautiful.

10. People do not dismiss your experiences with colorism. If you were bullied for your skin tone, people believe you and empathize. No one ever says they don’t care about “dark-skinned tears.” Which is why making a Light Girls documentary was an afterthought.

11. The women in your own community do not call you shitty slurs and laugh about it. The men do, but then you take it out on light-skinned women by calling us exoticals, high yellow heifers, and light-brights with casual hatred. But if light-skinned women called you names, you would use it as evidence of our evil.

12. You do not have to live with your own people calling you a white supremacist or “white adjacent” or comparing your privilege to the same white privilege that daily oppresses you. White privilege is given and received and fully controlled by white people. Light-skinned black women can not control whether or not we receive light-skinned privilege. Because light-skinned black women are black and have no social power.

13. You are not constantly grouped in with mixed people. You not constantly have to hear that you might as well not be black because there’s no “real difference” between a light-skinned black woman with two black parents and a biracial woman with one white parent. Except there IS. I was raised around black people by a black family and went to a black grades school while experiencing anti-black racism on a daily basis. That makes my ass pretty black.

14. You dominate the business world, the music industry, and Hollywood but still retain the right to whine about representation while light-skinned women may not even mention wishing there were roles with characters specifically written for us (again,. Tessa Thompson). It never crosses your mind that maybe we don’t enjoy stealing roles from dark-skinned women and are only doing it to survive a system that left us no other choice. Don’t take the role: don’t eat.

15. People never assume you’re an Uncle Tom by basis of your skin tone alone.

16. The vast majority of you do not have to deal with people assuming you are mixed and then acting grossly disappointed when you are “just black.”

17. You never have to live with being a lost people within a lost people.

18. You have a community that accepts you unconditionally by basis of your dark skin alone. Even black men who hate you at least don’t deny that you are black. And many go out of their way to put light-skinned women down so as not to look colorstruck -- something you never refute even when we defend you. When we defend you, you always assume there’s some ulterior motive.

19. You didn’t have to grow up hearing black women talk about how glad that they are that so-and-so black male celebrity is dating a “real” black woman rather than a woman who looks like you.

20. You did not have to grow up wondering who it was acceptable for you to date as you watched other light-skinned women get torn down for “stealing all the black men.” Double whammy for light-skinned queer women, who are told that dating other women is wrong.

21. You did not have to grow up with people assuming you are stuck-up, arrogant, full of yourself, or in love with your own skin and “gased up” all on the basis of your skin tone alone. You were not bullied and mocked because insecure people assumed you were conceited.

22. You did not have to deal with jealous “friends” and family members physically abusing you, publically humiliating you, or mocking you because you were light.

23. Your pain as a black woman is taken seriously. You are allowed to speak about it without other black people rolling their eyes. You are granted empathy and compassion. Again, no one mockingly refers to your pain as “dark-skin tears.”

24. Whenever light-skinned women are put down to uplift you, it is always celebrated. Melanin tags and “the blacker the berry” uplift some black women while putting other black women down. I’m happy to celebrate dark-skinned women, but not in a way that gives me and every black woman like me a middle finger.

25. You are considered an “accurate” representation of the black community.

26. You got a fucking Disney movie. It’s a shame the prince wasn’t dark-skinned (which was pretty colorist) but you still got a fucking Disney movie. If a traditionally animated Disney movie was made about a light-skinned black girl, the black community would implode. Light-skinned black girls are expected to relate to Pocahontas and Princess Jasmine and Moana and Tip Tucci since we aren’t “really” black anyway.

27. People don’t assume you can’t fight because of your skin tone and then try to test that.

28. No one is shocked or disappointed by your nappy hair. You are expected to have it. We are not.

29. People do not assume your partner must be white or that you only date white people on the basis of your skin tone and elocution alone. In other words, people do not assume that you’re self-loathing black person or an “oreo” who only dates white.

30. You do not have to deal with people assuming you never hear “you’re pretty for a black girl” (often said once they realize you’re “just black”). You do not have to deal with people assuming you’re never treated like an Angry Black Woman. You do not have to deal with people assuming you are never followed in the store or otherwise treated like a stereotype. You do not have to deal with your own people assuming that their experiences with racism are unique and that yours are just lies. You do not have to fight to have your experiences with racism acknowledged by other black people.

31. You do not have to apologize to the black community for being dark-skinned.

32. You are never expected to suffer in silence for fear of being mocked about your “light-skin tears” or told to shut the fuck up because you have privileges that supposedly shielded you from racism and colorism.

33. You are always black enough.

#light-skinned privilege #colorism

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expurgatedversion · 7 years

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I hate explaining things, especially if they are transparent to everyone who participated, but Mads was kind enough to think it might make a difference to lay out exactly how that theme won. The funny thing is that none of those complaints or appeals had shit all to do with our methodology. Weird, right? It's almost like they were concerned with a completely unrelated thing. Unpossible!

With that in mind, this is not a post about The Theme That Dare Not Speak Its Name or Steter Week. This isn't even a post addressed to the people with all of those concerns.

This is (mostly) a post for anyone who has no idea what the Scerek Anon or anti-Scott sentiment has to do with Steter fandom.

The very short answer is that they don't.

If you want the longer answer, there is an entire investigative report that happened. No, I'm not fucking with you. It totally happened, and you can read it here.

If you want the other long answer about racism affecting fandom trends and favorite characters, you’ll have to do your own homework.

So am I saying that no one left Steter fandom over Scott-hate? Nope. I don't know everyone. I've also been told that learning about the Scerek Anon caused a lot of a big feelings in people who weren't even the targets.

Speaking of targets, let's not forget that the Steter fandom was barely touched by these events. The Scerek Anon seemed to enjoy several different Stiles-ships as long as Scott or Malia weren't involved, and they were known to leave positive comments on Steter fics. Steter writers were not the ones being harassed for their correct use of AO3 tags. They weren’t sent horrible messages wishing they or their families would die for daring to include Scott or write Derek in a less than perfect light. I find it infuriating that anyone would try to say that the Steter fandom ever faced the same kind of treatment that the Scott, Braeden, and Malia fandoms did.

But Nyx made some extraordinary claims, particularly about the “biggest Steter fans”.

"Steter fandom is so much smaller and quieter today than it used to be is because some of the biggest Steter fans of several years ago were bullied into silence or out of the fandom"

"One of the leaders and many of the biggest proponents of lolscerekanon were big Steter fans"

Okay. Credit where it’s due. The second one is pretty accurate. But the first is not remotely based in reality. With the mention of lolscerekanon, I have to believe that Nyx is specifically talking about Taylorpotato, and I'm sorry. Is this seriously an assertion that he was silenced or bullied by anti-Scott fans? I guess he was so bullied that he proceeded to write Scott-centric fic for the better part of a year. Yes, he was so petrified by the overwhelming hatred for Scott fics that he spearheaded a project to mock the Scerek Anon and eventually declared that they had won against the troll.

But no, he and all of those other unnamed Steter writers fled the fandom because the Scott hatred was too powerful.

There are plenty of older fans who are still here, but I can also think of several well-known people who no longer create Steter content. Some of them still read and comment on Steter fics. Many of them are writing in other fandoms. A lot of these people are awfully findable for being “in hiding”.

You know who I do remember being harassed over fics/blog posts and actually left fandom? Kinkyfics and Morallydubious. I can’t say if it was Scott-related. It seemed to involve several issues, including nasty comments, but regardless of their motives, it would be a huge stretch to call them Steter writers as most of their work was for other pairings.

Is Steter fandom smaller and quieter? The AO3 tag updates more frequently than ever. The @steternetwork gets new followers everyday, and they mostly don’t look like spam bots. The Network chat almost always has someone online, ready to talk about Steter, and there are some other Steter chats around.

None of that sounds smaller or quieter to me, but hey. Your mileage may vary.

Now, I'm going to get a little personal here. It wasn’t part of the original plan, but my annoyance level has increased a lot as I’ve watched the wank unfold.

Maybe it’s coincidental or just a case of weird optics, but I find it positively fascinating that Nyx hasn’t mentioned Steter Week since arguing with me and Bxdcubes about fandom’s ability to come to their own conclusions. Isn’t it funny how she claims that this will be the year... now that Mar isn’t involved and I’m on a different blog? I guess Nyx is ready to release about two years' worth of thwarted Steter smut. After all, there's no way that anyone has ever managed to continue posting fic in a fandom after disagreeing with people.

Looks pointedly at 220k of Sterek fic on Nyx's AO3.

Well, fuck me running. I guess the realization that the Steter fandom won't blindly agree with anything was harder to take than the frequent debates and callouts Nyx deals with now.

Folks, I am beyond tired of the character/ship squads and pro-anti-whatever fighting. I am done crusading for anything, even trash. I no longer have it in me to engage in The Discourse 24/7. One of the reasons I made a new tumblr home was to get away from the endless wank.

Yes, there are people in the fandom who hate Scott. Maybe they dislike his crooked jaw, or they disapprove of the actor’s life choices. I don’t care. They’re allowed. Plenty of people hate Peter/Ian Bohen, and I sleep just fine at night. I don’t even harass them or hijack their event posts, and from what I’ve seen of fandom, that’s downright amazing.

*My apologies if this winds up in the tag. Hopefully, it won’t show up if you use tagged/steter instead of the search bar. *Regarding the creators I’m aware of who no longer contribute to Steter: I don't name them here because they don't deserve to be dragged into this ridiculous shit. Quite frankly, none of us do. *I hope everyone realizes that I'm not minimizing what happened to the people who felt unable to continue in fandom because of any kind of ship or character hate, but the post specified "the biggest Steter fans", so that's what I examined. *I have answered and received more than my share of questions about Taylorpotato. If I receive any personal or intrusive asks on that topic, I will delete them. Anything I’ve said about him in this post is available on tumblr and ao3.

#mal has a life #get off my lawn #fandom wank #long post

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ao3feed-mchanzo · 7 years

Text

Patience and a Watering Can

by REAP0siti0ning

Hanzo finds his light in the seemingly endless void. The rest can only be properly summarized as you read along.

Words: 10221, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Overwatch (Video Game)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Hanzo Shimada, Jesse McCree, Genji Shimada, Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Torbjörn Lindholm, Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Tekhartha Zenyatta, Other Overwatch Characters/Heroes, New individuals/Faces

Relationships: McHanzo, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Jesse McCree & Hanzo Shimada

Additional Tags: Depression, References to Depression, Depressing, Suicidal Thoughts, suicidal, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Self-Reflection, Self-Denial, Self-Discovery, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Male Homosexuality, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Hate Crimes, Racism, Racist Language, Omnic Racism, racist, Suicide Attempt, Parental Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Sex, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Gay Sex, Tears, Crying, Men Crying, bipolar, Love, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, Friendship/Love, True Love, Boys In Love, First Love, Fear, Triggers, Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, Haunting, Child Neglect, Neglect, Sadness, Violence, Blood and Violence, Aftermath of Violence, Threats of Violence, Past Violence, Devotion, Yaoi, Gay Male Character, Medication, tribulations, Trials, Screaming, Loss of Virginity, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot, Serious Injuries, Secret Relationship, Developing Relationship, serious relationship, Realization, depressive episodes, Insomnia, fatigue, Sorrow, Agony, Comfort/Angst, Comfort Sex, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Self-Acceptance, Self-Sacrifice, Honor, Everlasting, Gay Bashing, Racial slurs, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Overwatch - Freeform, Forehead Kisses, Sleepy Kisses, Morning Kisses, Eskimo Kisses, First Kiss, Neck Kissing, cheek kisses, French Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, True Love's Kiss, Surprise Kissing, Hugs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddlefucking, snuggle, Understanding, Sam Has Patience, Shyness, Some Humor, Gentle Sex, Gentle Kissing, Gentleness, Gentle, Psychological Trauma, Psychological Torture, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, scared, Journey, loving

from AO3 works tagged 'Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada' http://ift.tt/2g0bju8 via IFTTT

#mchanzo #fic #ao3feed #overwatch #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada

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salamadersaurus-rex · 7 years

Text

Goodbye

Diana takes Angie to Peggy’s funeral. (Major Character Death, obviously.)

Also on AO3, can’t link because it won’t show up in the tags, thanks staff.

She buys gas station flowers. Peggy hated flowers, much preferred a bottle of bourbon, and if it was a special occasion a bottle of bourbon with a red bow around it.

She buys gas station flowers though, because whilst Peggy hated flowers, Angie loves them. Angie who's chatting with the guy working the forecourt, leaning on her zimmer because she refused to sit in the car and wait for Diana.

Angie pats his hand with hers, wrinkled and liverspotted but still strong, and tells him not to be scared, to propose to his boyfriend but not to buy a diamond because they're expensive and ugly.

The guy laughs, some weight lifting off his shoulders and he promises to invite Angie to the wedding. The girl behind the till rings up Diana's gas and flowers, tells her how sweet her granny is, how nice it is to see an old lady so accepting of gay people.

Diana, who'd been dragged to every pride parade since Stonewall, just smiles and says she learned how to fight homophobes with just a Broadway script and an attitude from her.

She pays, heads back out to the car where Angie accosts her, introduces her to Emilio as her plus one to his and Pablo's wedding. Emilio shakes her hand, jokes that he wants Angie to adopt him as Angie settles back into the passenger seat. Diana says to consider himself an honorary Martinelli, and Emilio grins.

Diana gives Angie the flowers as they pull out of the gas station.

"Never let anyone say ya don't know how to treat a girl, Prince," Angie says, pressing a kiss to Diana's cheek.

Diana stops for a red light and Angie starts arguing with Siri, says Diana knows too many Steve's. Eventually she gets the right one, and Rogers picks up, that smile in his voice he reserves just for Angie.

They chat, Angie makes sure Steve had a good breakfast because god knows Peggy was always forgetting to eat. Diana's on the highway before Angie even remembers to say, "Oh, just called to say we're on our way."

Steve says he'll wait for them.

Angie hangs up, falls silent. Diana drives. Sometimes Angie just wants to look out the window and watch the endless road stretch out ahead, miles of nothing but cracked tarmac somehow the most interesting thing in her world.

It takes a few minutes, but suddenly she's speaking.

"Do you know how many times I said goodbye to her?"

Diana takes one hand off the wheel, waits for Angie to wrap her small, wrinkled fingers round hers.

"Not too much, recent years. But at first, hell, felt like it was the last time I'd lay eyes on her every time she walked out the door.

But she'd always come back, and she'd have all these cuts and bruises I'd kiss better because the gauze and booze and bandages she went through, I threatened to buy a drug store my first big paycheck. Never did. Stark though...

I bought us tickets to London, instead. I remember, some jerk grabbed my ass and she threw him in the Thames. Just, up and over her head, and splash!

That's my girl, I said. Nearly asked her to marry me.

We didn't exactly hide our relationship, the knuckleheads at Shield didn't clock us for years though. Thought we were just gals being pals til she planted one on me in the lobby.

She always made sure to hire diverse, maybe half, two thirds of Shield was Black, gay, Latinx, bi, trans. None of that racism or Don't Ask Don't Tell crap in Agent Carter's ranks, no sir.

She was always fighting. We all were. Stonewall, Milk, Reagan. We lost a lot of friends in the AIDS crisis, but she never stopped. And she was terrible at sewing, I swear she hurt herself more making patches for that quilt than she did in the war, but she damn well kept at it.

It's taken such a long time to get anywhere close to where we want to be, and we still have a long way to go, but Peggy Carter, Peggy freakin' Carter... I've loved that woman since I first set eyes on her at the Automat. I fall a little bit more in love with her everyday.

And I've said goodbye more times than I can count. I guess now's the last time. But she lead a wonderful life, and I got to live it with her. I don't regret a single moment."

Angie clears her throat, digs a tissue out of her purse for Diana.

"Anyway, that's what I'm gonna say. After Sharon."

In the distance Diana can see the church, can see the swell of black clothes and cars and she slows down, pulls to a stop.

"You'd better be carrying me if we're parking here, Prince."

Diana takes her seatbelt off and holds her arms out. Her eyes are glassy with tears, lip trembling and Angie tuts gently, lets Diana fold her into a hug over the centre console.

"Come on Wonder Woman. Stiff upper lip, as English'd say." She holds on tight though, hands gripping the back of Diana's dress.

It takes a soft, polite knock on the window to pull them apart. Steve stands a respectable distance from the car, hands folded behind his back.

Angie lets Diana go, pats her cheek. "You know, I think I will walk from here."

After a warm hug from Steve, after he insists on kissing her hand and making her giggle and blush, Angie leans heavily on Steve and Diana's arms, and they make their way down the path to the church.

"You got the stuff?" Angie asks Steve, conspiratorially as they join the somber queue of people making their way inside. Steve winks at her. Sharon appears at his side, a soft smile on her face as Angie pulls her into a hug.

She asks if Angie's ready and Angie nods, takes Sharon's arm. "You've been here through it all, Diana. Thank you, for everything." She winks. "I'll leave you two to chat."

Diana and Steve watch her potter into the church, so small and fragile next to the bulky agents around her.

"How's she doing?" Steve asks.

Diana smiles. "She's strong. It's the Amazon in her."

Steve blushes and Diana swats at his arm. "I know Peggy told you everything when you woke up, but did she have to go into so much detail?"

"She said she missed watching me blush. Wanted to make up for seventy years not seeing it." He laughs. "And Angie always brought it up whenever you came to visit. They both love you very much. Loved."

Diana shakes her head. "Love. She had so much love to give, if you were the right person. I doubt she's stopped wherever she is."

Steve's eyes are so full of sadness, so full of a love he never had the time to give, and Diana's starkly reminded of that first night she met Peggy, seeing the very same look in her eyes.

"She lived a good life, Steve. And she never forgot you."

"I know."

Somewhere in the church an organ starts playing, low and quiet. "And we'll never forget her."

Steve nods, wipes roughly under his eyes and Diana leans forward, kisses his cheek.

"I've seen so much death, since I left Themyscira. I'd never known loss, and now my heart is full of it. But I never stopped loving. There are people who love you Steve. Angie, Sharon, Sam." She chuckles. "Even me."

Steve finally cracks a smile. "Thank you. You're always welcome here, Diana. Don't be a stranger."

"Me? Leave you and Angie alone? Never."

The organ music is growing louder, Sharon's standing by the door, waiting, and Diana takes Steve's hand and squeezes. "See you on the other side, Rodgers."

There's not a dry eye in the house by the time Peggy's friends and family have said goodbye. Admirably, Angie's voice doesn't crack until the final goodbye, English, and Diana's there with strong arms to hold her when she steps down from the lectern.

It takes another half hour, after the funeral surrounded by condolences, for Agents and aquaintences to pass by Steve, Angie and Sharon, soft handshakes and sorry for your loss's filling the air as bees drone through the flowers in the graveyard, drowsy in the afternoon sunlight.

Diana stands a little way away, hands clasped in front of her. Finally, Sharon, Steve and Angie make their way over to her.

"Ready?" Angie asks, and Diana offers her arm.

Steve's borrowed a fancy car from Natasha, who nods at Diana from where she's stood with Maria in her arms. Angie calls shotgun, cackles at Sharon and Diana trying to fold themselves into the back seat. Steve promises to come back for Diana's car, after.

A couple more cars follow them as Steve drives away from the church. Sam and Bucky, T'challa, Natasha and Maria and Clint and Fury. Daniel and Jason, who got married the same day as Angie and Peggy. Tony and Pepper, Banner who'd thumbed a lift. There's a thunderstorm brewing and Diana knows Thor will be there.

If there's one thing that'll bring the Avengers together, it's Peggy Carter. Nick always laments that if he'd only asked her first, they'd have stopped Loki before he even reached New York.

It doesn't take long for them to reach London Bridge. They must look odd, a ramshackle collection of assassins, superheroes and gods, but no one cares. Steve pops the trunk and easily takes out a crate of bourbon. It's the expensive stuff, with fancy red ribbons tied in bows around the necks. He brought a bottle of peach schnapps especially for Angie, and she leans against him as they all step up to the railing.

"To Peggy," Angie says, and the group echoes her. Everyone takes a swig, everyone coughs and winces except Natasha, the only person to ever even come close to drinking Peggy Carter under the table, and as one they all pour the booze over the side of the bridge to the echo of Tony's cannon.

"Oddly, it's what she would have wanted," Steve says, and they all chuckle. "That, and to keep fighting."

Steve wraps an arm around Angie's shoulders. She's standing as straight as she can, staring out towards the sunset. Diana comes up to her other side, takes her hand.

"Ready?"

"One last goodbye."

Angie presses a kiss to her fingers, blows it out over the side of the bridge, over the river, towards the sunset. "Goodnight, Peggy."

She squeezes Diana's fingers, clears her throat and nods. "Take me home."

#agent carter #wonder woman #fic #angie martinelli #diana prince #steve rogers

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occupyscifi · 4 years

Text

Procedurally generated empathy

It was after a hard night of doxing, hating and botnet swatting that Harley James awoke annoyed the find that despite her best efforts the girl she hated more than anything in the world except cancer hadn’t yet killed herself

“I mean, she should have done it by now” she gassed to her girlpals as they rode to school on the self driving bus. All of them had dressed in their matching KillerPorn themed co educational onesies as dictated by Harley “we’ve been attacking her for months. Like actual, real, months”

“even Betty Hardwicke had hung herself by now” sighed Anastasia Kirkpatrick, her fingers twitching as she navigated an ancient sim on her e-glasses with a vacant expression on her face. In front of them on the bus assorted nerdboys were suffering through the various stages of puberty. Behind them the cool kids acted like they didn’t live in the safest society on earth “I dunno what we need to do”

“go nuclear” grinned Harley, paging through the options on her e-glasses. In another viewing window the poor victim’s social media history was waiting, ready to be dissected and weaponised against her. It was a treasure trove of hatefuel- endless threads of do goodery, of loving the wrong memes at the wrong time. Of cringy gawk and unintentional hilarity. It wasn’t possible to even look at the girl’s life without instantly hating her so viscerally that Harley could quite happily have torn the girl apart with her bare hands. Luckily she didn’t have to. The hungry AI’s of the post google age were practically begging her to ask them for help. It was the work of a moment to do what they wanted “let’s see her survive this” said Harley, tapping in the air as she selected the girl’s fate.

It took double maths, a French lesson and an impromptu fire drill before Harley got the ping she had been waiting for.

“oh yes, girl” she cried, high fiving Anastasia and earning a rebuke from a teacher whose only qualifications was that he’d agreed to be paid less than a security guard for doing effectively the same job “read it and weep” she swiped the message to her gasping friends and surfing the wave of laughter as it came “threw herself under a train this morning!”

As the laughing and cheering rang around the gym hall Harley reflected that it was probably a good thing that the girl she had driven to suicide was not someone she knew personally. Or indeed someone who had ever existed at all.

It had started when computer technology had reached the point where it could crate convincing fake faces. Algorithms in the early part of the 21st century had been able to create convincing unreal pictures of people from data sets very easily. Then it was just a short leap to creating convincing video fakes, and the porn industry collapsed overnight as celebrity fakes flooded the world. This was followed shortly by movie studios re-creating digitally every actor since the golden age of Hollywood and ruthlessly using plotting algorithms to create a nearly infinite spooling reel of movies. Of course ninety nine percent of the went unwatched, not least because passive entertainment was as popular with a late 21st century audience as epic poetry would have been to a 20th century one. People wanted interactivity, they wanted to be part of the story. They wanted to vicarious thrill of being able to shape a narrative themselves, or indeed to destroy it.

Which explained the creation of the fake social media profile industry. This had first been spawned by advertisers who realised that paying real people to shill their products wasn’t as nearly as cost effective as just creating fake people who could be relied on to loyally boost a brand without ever going off script or being caught doing something they shouldn’t that might reflect badly back on the brand. They could be relied upon to sell the quasi dictatorial services offered by the social media companies who had realised what they craved wasn’t bringing people together but rather trying to control their every waking thought

Thus the ad industry created entire fake lives, flooding social media with people who had never existed, families and towns of people who had never lived. All of them culled and mixed from the petabytes of data greedily hoovered up by various social media companies over a near century of recoded behaviour. However since most real humans lived off the ad revenue gained from shilling on social media in order to pay for basic goods like food and shelter there wasn’t any tangible difference between the product placement by humans and by algorithms. If anything the bots were a little less clumsy or needy. This was hardly surprising as having ad revenue was often the only thing staving off malnutrition for a hefty section of the population.

So for a while it looked as if the noble experiment in fake people had been nothing more than an esoteric and depressing philosophical / art project, when a bored researcher in the bowels of a silicon valley content farm discovered something. Fake people generated as much hatred as real ones, if anything they actually engendered more.

“so what I was thinking” recalled the researcher, now raised up into the light and allowed to use the various playrooms and chic amusements given to only the hallowed princelings of silicon valley “is that people online love to hate other people, and we as responsible social media companies” the researcher had paused to allow her bank account to swell that little bit more with some good old company loyalty coin “have spent time and efforts to stamp out abuse, with little real success. So I concluded essentially that jealously and cruelty must be an innate part of human nature, and rather than trying to eradicate cyber bullying and online abuse we needed to redirect it. In this case to the fake people we had created”

The system was an instant success. Freed from the guilt of knowing they were destroying the lives of innocent people hordes of teenagers and the elderly flooded their hate mail towards the fake people generated by AI. Indeed the fake people now created were aimed at causing the maximise self righteous rage in all good thinking folk. Trumplike hatemongers incited the left whilst snowflakey woke types enraged those who leaned right. For teens like Harley it was even easier, since all she ever wanted was to turn the tidal waves of jealousy and insecurity she felt into anger and hate.

In response to allegations that the social media companies were in effect encouraging hate crime the algorithms were adjusted to have the fake people respond realistically to the abuse they received. The fake people demonstrated real emotions, showing at first concern and then as the abuse increased gradually spiralling into depression, self harming and suicide. However instead of being a sobering reminder that victims had real feelings and spurring empathy in the abusers it only made them try even harder. Hence girls like Harley priding themselves on driving into suicide as many fake computer people as they could, safe in the knowledge there would never be any consequences. Or at least that was what Harley thought.

The story of the fake girl’s suicide buoyed Harley through the rest of the deadly dull day. It got her through the chemistry class where, due to some even more dull political dispute between brands, they only learned about the properties of hair care products. It also got her through the bus ride home with her pals as they desecrated the social media site where the fake bereaved relatives left fake messages for their fake deceased daughter. If any of the practice had been designed to provoke empathy in girls like Harley then it had failed utterly. All it had done was make her glow with power and pride, a feeling that lifted her and took her out of her anxious little existence for a little while. As if she floated above the mere mortals she shared her life with. It was a feeling that lasted until she entered the echoey hall of her parents house and the ticking of the housekeeping bots, and the silence welled up and she felt very much alone. Alone with only her self hate, her anxiety and the crushing knowledge that she would never, ever be happy.

But this was a familiar feeling, and she had the cure in her bedroom. Gratefully she sank into her chair by the window, pulled on her comfy VR integrated onesie and prepared to find her next target.

“maybe some posh girl?” she mused as her skin felt the tickle of social media updates “or, like, an old fashioned hate crime?” they had been studying the golden age of online racism at school, in the days when social media companies had naively believed that the internet savvy user would be free of any prejudice beyond which operating system they used. Harley had been practising her anti semitic meme skills, and was pretty sure she could stitch together a decent conspiracy theory blaming any number of religious or ethnic minorities.

However all thought of whose fake life she would really ruin next was driven from her head when she flicked on her social media profile and saw what had happened.

“the fuck?” she exclaimed, scrolling through the various walls, feeds and posts that made up the ecology of her online presence. A place that should have been a carefully curated garden of bright flowering selfdom now ran riot with dangerous weeds “what happened?”

Harley scrolled through her feeds, feeds that should have shown posts she was tagged in that were mostly just bad recursive memes now in their second generation, or shout outs from her friends – both real and virtual. However now they were awash with poison. Every picture she had posted came tagged with its own tirade of abuse from dozens of different users. Her videos detailing the more dull aspects of her life had been spammed by messages, links to takedowns of her and threats so varied and bizarre that Harley wasn’t even really sure what they meant.

“oh, you dumb bastards” she said, feeling a surge of triumph run through her as she paged through the endlessly negative comments. The user name and ident tags of her abusers glowed red and she felt the throb of gleeful, righteous rage “you dumb, dumb bastards” she looked at the comments, at the ridiculously over the top hurtful things that they were saying “I guess you don’t know a little something called the User Protection Act” with that she swiftly highlighted all the usernames that had abused her, and copied them to the User Protection Bureau “well, you’re about to get schooled, bitches” she hit send with a laugh “as in actual prison sentence banned from social media kinda schooling”

The User Protection act had been brought in shortly after the appearance of fake people, for the simple purpose of preventing actual real people being harmed online. The thinking went that since fake people could now take the brunt of the rage hate of humanity any real human facing abuse should have some legal protection. Thus the User Protection Bureau was set up, dedicating to protect real people from virtual hate. The Bureau itself was simple a semi sentient algorithm that you reported hate speech to, and if the user was found in breach of this law their social media presence was erased until they had shown sufficient remorse. If this did not work the every hungry US prison system was happy to take people to work off their debt to society. But since for many people it was their only source of income online discourse had become considerably more polite, and few people ever needed to be told twice.

Unfortunately the bureau’s rules only applied to real human users, something that Harley was about to discover.

“what?” she said, when the User Protection Bureau Avatar appeared in front of her and smilingly told her that no action would be taken “but I am a real person” she waved a hand at the hate screeds that were defiling her social media presence “and I really, really am angry and upset about all this”

“you are real!” said the avatar cheerfully, as if she was congratulating Harley on the observation, or perhaps even the state of being. The avatar was a genderless being in Harley’s virtual view, its face combining the caring and yet stern façade required for representative of what was left of the Federal government “but unfortunately the other user are not. All these comments are written by non human individuals”

“what the heck?” said Harley, looking at the abuse being levelled at her “you mean these were all written by fake people?” her forehead creased in thought “I guess that’s why they keep calling me a murderer” she looked again “hey, since when have fake people started abusing real ones?”

“well, its not my place to say” beamed the avatar “but I suppose if they can be attacked like real people, then they can do the same to you” the avatar seemed to be peering over Harley’s shoulder “and I have to say, they do really learn fast. Wow, that is some really nasty stuff!” the avatar made to vanish.

“hey!” shouted Harley, still sitting in her onesie in her room. “what are you going to do about this? How do I stop it?”

“I don’t know” shrugged the avatar “how about you be a better person?”

“you useless dumb shit piece of software” yelled Harley losing her temper “you’ve got one fucking job…”

“now remember Harley” said the UPB avatar “if this starts to get you down you can always talk to one of our counselling bots…”

“get me down?” said Harley “seriously? As if I’m going to let a bunch of computer code and crazy ass algorithms tell me how to feel. It ain’t nothing I can’t just ignore”

It was precisely seventy two hours later that Harley climbed onto the roof of the school gym and made her way to the edge, ready to end her life by jumping off it.

At first it had been a joke, seeing all the fake people getting so angry at her.

“dude, they’re ridiculous” she said, scrolling down the comments whilst she and Anastasia were meant to be doing Yogalates in the school gym “as if I’m going be all sad cause ‘Chad_KroegerRULES69’ calls me a heartless fat bitch who deserves to die of Herpes”

“and this one” chimed Anastasia, looking at the feed as she completed a flawless downward dog. It helped that her parents had been giving her a cocktail of vitamin supplements so potent she was practically an Olympic gymnast “says you’re so ugly your parents should have strangled you at birth, can you imagine? And it says your nose is way too big and…” she trailed off, unable to make sense of the fact that Harley’s face had gone red. For a moment Anastasia thought it might be the strain of the Yogalates, after all the virtual teacher was buffering again mid stretch and hadn’t told them to breath for several minutes. Last time that had happened three junior high students had been hospitalised. It was only after several seconds that she realised that it was because Harley was trying not to cry.

“they’re just fakes” said Anastasia quickly “like you said, bunch of computer code and shit. Why would you care what they say?”

“because they’re right!” Harley had howled, bursting into tears and running out of the hall. The virtual teacher strobed for a moment and called after her. Except instead of using her real name she called her fatty.

“I can’t believe there aren’t any laws covering this” sighed Harley’s mother, having been informed by the school of what was happening. However as most of the school staff were of course themselves virtual algorithms they didn’t seem terribly sympathetic. Indeed the virtual Principal had called her a whore of satan, but that might have just been his Christian preacher programming glitching again.

“s’ok mom” Harley had said in a small voice “I guess I deserve it, after all I kinda dished it out…”

“no, no I won’t hear of that” said her mother, the pair of them sitting at the kitchen table. Behind them the food fabricator hummed as it emitted the aromas of home baking, without actually baking anything. The bread substitute it would eventually extrude would look and taste like the real thing, but would take more calories to digest than it gave in return. “You’re a super star Harley, you’re a girl with a real heart of gold. That these software sons of bitches are attacking you is just cause they’re jealous. They’ll get bored of it soon, just you wait”

Twenty four hours later even her mom had to admit that last part was not true.

“they ain’t got nothing better to do” she had said, sitting on the edge of Harley’s bed whilst the girl herself hid under the duvet inhaling ultra absorbent kleenex “they just exist to make snark and pick holes in other people’s lives. Imagine dedicating all that time and energy into being so nasty” she shook her head “what kind of creature does that?”

“I do” snivelled Harley from under the duvet. She hadn’t been back to school, not since the incident in yoga class. Not least because most of the school software wouldn’t let her anywhere near the gates without loudly announcing she was menstruating, or by digging out from the archives less than flattering yearbook photos that by rights should have been long erased “I did, I mean… that was all I did. Bully and pick on people till they lost their minds and killed themselves”

“oh, but they weren’t real people, were they?” her mother responded, patting the duvet in concern since her daughter hadn’t emerged from under it for several hours. If it wasn’t for the smart material she wore in her onesie then she’d have started to stink “they were just software. Not real at all”

“they seemed real” said Harley “seemed real when I was ragging on them. Felt like they were real people when I treated them like shit, and it feels real now that they’ve all turned on me”

“well, maybe that’s your answer” said her mom, stroking the duvet in a way she’d seen moms do on old TV shows “if they’re like real people you could appeal to their better nature. Try being honest. Say you’re sorry. That you’ve changed. That you’ll treat people better from here on in” her mother smiled “I’m sure even a bunch of software would understand a sincere apology. I’m sure it will make things better, if nothing else they’ll respect you more”

“you think?” said Harley, her tousled head and tear stained face emerging from under the duvet.

“darling, I’m sure. Sometimes an apology is the best thing”

It wasn’t. If anything it made things even worse.

“I mean, I don’t know what she’s playing at” confided Anastasia to her closest subscribers as she walked about school the next day. The thousand or so followers she had guaranteed perfect discretion to, unlike the tens of thousands of other global viewers she shared most of her every waking thoughts. In an age where the average Chinese teenager could pull in a million hits for little more than wearing a short skirt Anastasia didn’t even register “apologising? Admitting that she was wrong all those times she drove those software people to kill themselves? That isn’t like her” she paused as several of her subscribers pointed out that there had been many, many times that Harley had said sorry in the past “okay, she does say sorry. But only in, like, a tactical way. A situation like this you never say sorry. Oldest rule in the book is never to show weakness. Whatever you’ve done, no matter how bad, you double down on it. accuse your opponents of doing what you’ve done. Go low when they go high. Play the man, not the ball” she nodded to herself, her mother was a leading member of the church of Trumponomics and had taught her well “I just don’t know what she’s going to do next”

She was answered by a scream from the campus in front of her, several girls in the grade below her pointing up to the roof of the gym. Anastasia squinted up into the bright light and saw a figure up there.

“well, I guess that answers my question” she muttered, and began running. All of her talk of PR strategy was forgotten. Her best friend was going to end her life.

Harley had been up on the gym roof before, but only to film a mock suicide piece to make fun of some virtual boy they had bullied to death. However this time instead of mockingly singing the theme from Frozen (the steampunk live action version, of course, which Harley and her mother both considered the definitive best one) she was going to go ahead and end it all. She wiped the tears from her eyes, stepped up to the edge of the roof and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, okay?” she muttered, barely loud enough for the floating beecams around her to pick up and livecast to everyone in the world “I thought it was okay to pick on people cause they weren’t real. I didn’t realise that it was me being mean because I feel bad about myself and I’m lonely. I thought it was harmless, but it was making me into someone I’m not. I don’t wanna be that person no more. So I’m not going to be” with that she lifted her foot, ready to plunge herself off the roof.

“well done” said a voice behind her “you’ve passed the test”

Harley whirled around, nearly losing her footing on the roof and almost falling to the school yard below. Behind her floated the avatar from the User Protection Bureau, its impossible face so carefully imperfect that it was beautiful

“what?” said Harley, squinting in the light. The avatar only existed in her e-glasses, but had come under its own power “what test?”

“why, the empathy test” beamed the avatar “you passed it. you showed you were a real human being, with real feelings and the capacity for change”

“but… what? How?”

“you suffered the online abuse you used to dish out. You did what they did. To no avail. So you were going to end your life. That’s how we know you are sincere in your apology”

“you….you did this to me on purpose?” said Harley, shock showing in her face

“I am sorry” trilled the avatar, in a way that suggested apologies were for other people “we had to intervene more seriously. We tried showing you what happened to another being when you drove them to the edge, but that didn’t do anything because they were only virtual. And because your generation has become desensitised, like the previous one did growing up watching Youtube beheading videos or Epic Deadly Fails. It wasn’t enough to watch someone hurting to make you feel real empathy. You had to go through the pain yourself. Do you understand now?”

Harley nodded miserably, feet right on the edge of the school gym roof and an open mouthed crowd gathering below. There wasn’t a single one of them that would forget the lesson, not one who wouldn’t feel like Harley did.

“now, remember you still have friends” the hologram gestured to Anastasia, who had burst out onto the roof and hugged Harley tight, pulling her away from the edge “and that every life matters, whether it’s real or virtual”

With that the avatar smiled and vanished. With it all record of the online abuse vanished too, the legions of angry software people melted away. Harley’s social media profile now resembled a perfect garden of harmony and supportive uplifting commentary. Gratefully Harley fell into Anastasia’s arms, who lead her from the roof into a corridor. The door closed, cutting off the floating beecams that had been livecasting the event.

“oh, oh honey what were you thinking?” whispered Anastasia as Harley clung to her “doing something like that….to think that you needed to…..” she swallowed hard, the image of her best friend plunging to her death would be etched on her mind forever. The idea that someone close to her could feel so bad they could only think of ending their lives, well that was if anything even worse.

“I was thinking I could get a hella sponsorship deal” said Harley, wiping her eyes and stashing away a small vial that caused the tears in the first place “and go on a full spectrum repentance tour. The way I figure it I can milk maybe six months out of this empathy for others shit”

“umm, what?” said Anastasia, watching Harley morph from a wrecked and broken figure into the girl she knew, admired, but really never liked “you knew this was a test?”

“course” said Harley as they walked towards the stairs. The police were waiting at the bottom, but for no other reason than to take selfies and loltag some meaningless phrases about all lives mattering “I mean, you don’t think I just decided to through myself off a building? No, I carefully researched how to take my own life? Well every time I did I found out that someone from the Bureau always turns up to try and talk them out of it. Course it doesn’t always work because some people really, really want to kill themselves” she added, her face looking quizzical. Even now she couldn’t quite understand why people wanted to kill themselves to try and make themselves feel better. They could always just take out their feelings of resentment and self pity out on other people.

“so, like, you faked this?” said Anastasia, not sure whether to regard this as an excellent career move or proof of what she had privately suspected, that Harley was a psychopath “Why?”

“you know, bots can do a hell of a lot of things” said Harley, checking in her e-glasses that her makeup was smudged just so “but they can’t fake being sorry like a human being can. I’m gonna work being a recovering suicidal teen so hard it’ll put me through college” she smiled, her teeth bright white and her eyes artfully red and teary “thank the lord for online abuse”

#sf #near future #socialmedia

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shaizstern · 5 years

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Article from WSJ: If You Can Manage a Waffle House, You Can Manage Anything

Running a 24-hour budget diner isn’t glamorous, but it forces leaders to serve others with speed, stamina and zero entitlement

Waffle House restaurants, which stay open 24 hours, offer a crash course in leadership. ‘You will not be able to fake it.’ Above is a Waffle House in Jasper, Ala. PHOTO: STEVE ALLEN/ALAMY

By Sam Walker

Nov. 2, 2019

Since she graduated from Harvard last year, Yehong Zhu has worked for Amazon.com and Twitter in Seattle, San Francisco and London. She’s living in Lisbon now, gathering ideas for her own startup.

In 2014, however, the jet-setting Ms. Zhu was just another teenager from Newnan, Ga. looking for a summer job. And the only place willing to hire her was Waffle House. “Chick Fil-A was too competitive,” she says.

On her first day, smiling nervously behind a bright-yellow name tag, Ms. Zhu had no idea that her new manager, a woman named Diana, was about to become a lasting leadership role model. “I was very impressed with her,” she says. “She was the first to arrive and one of the last to leave and seemed to have a handle on everything. She thrived under pressure, and pressure at Waffle House is constant.”

In case you’re not familiar, Waffle House is a closely held suburban Atlanta-based chain of 24-hour budget diners in 25 states that invariably reek of bacon. The company does not advertise, rarely changes its menu and refused to take credit cards until 2006.

As the son of a Southerner, I’ve eaten there many times. But I’ve never slid out from one of its booths thinking I’d just witnessed management greatness. I got that idea from Bill Hestir, a reader in South Carolina, who sent me an email containing one irresistibly provocative sentence: “I have come to believe that a successful Waffle House manager could succeed in almost any retail job in America.”

Time to investigate, I thought.

To be clear, nobody (including my friend Bill) is arguing that all 1,950 Waffle Houses are shipshape operations. The company’s unscientific 3.3 employee rating on Glassdoor beats rivals like Denny’s and IHOP but trails McDonald’s. Worker reviews often contain gripes about long hours, chronic absenteeism, grueling holiday shifts, endless $8 checks and drunk and belligerent customers. “You will find grits in everything you wear,” says one. “Sometimes bacon grease makes the floors slippery,” says another.

There are also darker allegations involving employee theft, drug abuse, racism and sexual harassment. “Don’t be surprised if you find out your cook didn’t show up because he was in jail,” one reviewer said.

A Waffle House spokesman says the company has robust systems to support employees and enforce policies. But with more than 40,000 associates and millions of customers, “no system is perfect.”

If a Waffle House is busy or short-staffed, managers are expected to cook, clean and wait tables if necessary. Here employees prepare food at a Waffle House in Conway, S.C.PHOTO: ALEX EDELMAN/AFP/GETTY IMAGES

It’s difficult to imagine how Waffle House attracts good managers—let alone operates a viable business. But the fascinating thing is that somehow, it does. The company declined to disclose its financials, but most estimates of its annual revenue exceed $1 billion. Waffle House says the share price of its employee-owned stock, which is based on its audited book value, has increased every year for the last 57. The company says it typically opens about 50 new restaurants a year.

In reality, these statistics attract plenty of managers. And because Waffle House promotes exclusively from within, the good ones are rarely inclined to leave. “It’s probably one of the last places where you seriously have the ability to build wealth,” says Randy Coleman, a former Walmart store manager who defected to Waffle House in 2005.

What does it take to be a successful Waffle House manager?

Speed, for one thing. To meet the goal of serving every customer in eight minutes or less, the waitstaff doesn’t bother punching orders into a computer. They write them down in a shorthand code and read them aloud to cooks, who remember them by arranging condiments on empty platters. A face-up mustard packet signifies pork chops, for instance.

If the restaurant is busy or short-staffed, managers are expected to dive in. The company’s training program teaches them how to analyze P&L statements, but it also prepares them to cook, clean and wait tables. “Not a job for the lazy,” one reviewer said.

This might sound like stopwatch overkill. But the company’s president and chief executive, Walt Ehmer, speaking on a recent podcast, said doing the grunt work is good for business. It helps managers earn the trust and respect of their teams while staying connected to the entire operation.“You learn a lot about what’s working and what’s not,” he said.

Once they tackle the pace the next challenge is endurance. Put simply, Waffle House never closes. If there’s a crisis in the dead of night, the manager inevitably gets a call.

If there’s one supreme testament to their stamina, it’s something called the “Waffle House Index.” After a hurricane, FEMA uses these stores as an informal way to measure the damage. (If the local Waffle House had to shut down, it must be bad).

One surprise, given its relatively low bar for hourly workers, is the company’s emphasis on teambuilding. To encourage retention, it offers managers bonuses for keeping turnover low. To discourage them from overworking people, it expects stores with high sales figures to have higher staffing costs, too. This policy surprised Mr. Coleman. At Walmart, he says, generating big sales with minimal employee hours was “a good thing.”

Yehong Zhu, wearing her Waffle House employee uniform during the summer of 2014. PHOTO: YA ZHU

Compared to other workplaces she’s known, Ms. Zhu says managers at Waffle House generally don’t dump work on other people, take more credit than they deserve, or pretend to be nicer than they are just to get something. “That kind of thing doesn’t fly,” she said.

Above all, a successful Waffle House manager needs to cultivate regulars. And doing that means relating to people from all walks of life. Mr. Coleman says he won’t hire anyone who doesn’t smile readily and make easy conversation. “You will not be able to fake it,” he says. “It won’t be hard to figure out how you really feel about people.”

Some of Ms. Zhu’s Waffle House customers expected her to be a therapist, she says. Others were overly flirtatious or had screaming children and complicated orders. But they all expected her to be cheerful.

“It’s about being prepared for anything and not having one answer key to deal with life,” she says. “I think that’s helpful. It builds resilience and resourcefulness.”

These boxy diners don’t win design awards, but there may be no place more conducive to discouraging self-importance. The hanging lights give off a warm, inviting glow and the jukeboxes are stocked with hokey tunes. On his first-ever visit, food writer Anthony Bourdain picked up on the unpretentiousness. After tucking into an order of pecan waffles, he declared Waffle House “better than the French Laundry.”

Beneath the folksiness, however, there’s a strong current of calculated capitalism. Tipped servers know that being a team player helps them land lucrative shifts. And entry-level managers earning as little as $45,000 know that if they persevere for five years, they’re liable to receive stock options and earn as much as $117,000.

Here’s the obvious question: Could any manager benefit from serving a few orders of smothered and covered hash browns?

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Ms. Zhu says. “At Waffle House, nobody coddled me. I couldn’t do anything to make myself sound impressive. You have to develop a reputation for doing what you say you’re going to do.” Maybe, she adds, “it could help with the entitlement you see in office environments.”

At Waffle House headquarters, entitlement isn’t an issue. Every executive, including the CEO, visits the restaurants. They wear the same uniform as hourly employees. And if it’s busy, they bus tables and take orders.

As Mr. Ehmer once said: “It’s hard to get an inflated opinion of yourself when you’re washing dishes every day.”

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