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venus-haze · 4 months

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No Other Gods Before Me (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Love is everything. Love is God. Homelander is love. Maybe you are, too.

Note: Gender neutral supe reader, and no descriptors are used. Takes place in season 1 during the Believe Expo. Inspired by Starlight’s comment that she didn’t have a crush on Homelander growing up because “he was like Jesus or something.” I'm sorry it took me so long to write another Homelander fic! Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Extremely unhealthy relationship, power imbalance (unclear as to who, as the reader has unspecified psychic powers), warped elements of Christianity. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Homelander saw them clear as day. The tears welling up in your eyes as you walked down to the baptismal pool. He barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. For all of his pandering, he was never fond of religious types–especially religious supes. You should know better than to buy into this bullshit, a cheap substitute for simple minds that couldn’t comprehend the modern gods that put the miracles of every religious text to shame.

Still, he held out his gloved hand for you to take, and you did, gingerly, as if his physical presence would be too much to bear.

Homelander had his fair share of admirers, but the reverent gleam in your eyes was nothing short of disarming. His name came from your lips in a soft, pious prayer before you hit the water.

You emerged from the chlorinated depths reborn, staring at him in a moment of blissful awe. “You are love,” you whispered, only loud enough so he could hear. And it stunned him. So much so that he couldn’t protest when you were ushered out of the pool, wet clothes clinging indecently to your skin. You disappeared with your fresh towel, and he resisted the urge to drown the rest of the devout in line to find you.

There was still time. Believe Expo wasn’t quite over yet. Surely you’d still be milling about, in some ridiculous prayer circle or buying one of the cheap trinkets the numerous grifters shilled. He’d never read the Bible, not all of it. Bits and pieces to understand what people were talking about, and a few feel-good verses up his sleeve for speeches and interviews. None of it made him understand what all of the fuss was about, anyway. Why his birthday wasn’t a months-long celebration, a cultural phenomenon. All Vought gave him was a TV special and a cake. It wasn’t the spectacular frenzy that people anticipated all year.

His fists clenched.

He found a volunteer who didn’t look all that busy, and offered a selfie with them before asking a favor. People would do just about anything for him, regardless, but posing his demands as if they were helping him out tended to get things done faster. As soon as the words left his mouth, the volunteer set off to find you. He retreated to his dressing room, waiting impatiently for your arrival.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” you asked, your distant voice growing louder as you approached.

“Homelander’s the best,” the volunteer agreed.

“Don’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“That warmth when you’re in his presence, something divine.”

“Well, he was chosen by God.”

“You don’t get it at all, do you,” you said, disappointment evident in your voice, just on the other side of his dressing room door.

He tried not to appear too eager when you entered, though you were in different clothes than before. Couldn’t expect you to spend the rest of the day walking around in soaking wet clothes, though part of him hoped you would.

“I knew we’d see each other again,” you said, not at all surprised by him summoning you.

He tilted his head, regarding you with suspicion. You didn’t seem like you were fucking with him, but he couldn’t be sure. “In the baptismal pool, you said I was love.”

You nodded. “Love is eternal. Love can conquer anything.”

“Love is God,” he said.

“I prayed to you, because I knew you could hear me,” you confessed quietly. “You’re the one.”

Your sincerity was genuine, the way your heart beat in time for him, tearful eyes glistening with an unprecedented devotion. Without an outstretched, gloved hand, he cupped your cheek, caressing it in his first act of blessing. Anointing you first. A ragged breath emerged from his parted lips. His dove, his lamb, his to guide and nurture the way these abstract figments couldn’t. You would be his Mary Magdalene, his Saint Paul, unceasingly devoted in your worship of him, proselytizing the good word to the masses.

And why shouldn’t they worship him? Look at him with the same admiration and awe that you did? Power in the blood, his blood, to save and damn as he saw fit. After all, he didn’t need to die to offer salvation. No great sacrifices on his part to provide for those who were worthy. The sky had been empty when he explored it, all the way up past the atmosphere, farther than anyone could possibly go until he reached the vast emptiness of space itself and found himself alone. Homelander wasn’t an unknowable god. He walked among the masses, pandered to their sensitivities because he knew just how small and insignificant they were.

He’d read about the more extreme acts of devotion to gods in the past. Self-flagellation. Human sacrifice. Vows of poverty. Pathetic and desperate attempts to appease a supposedly powerful higher being who did nothing to help his people when they cried out for him. But Homelander was there. And just like you’d said, he could hear everything. He required so much less of people yet offered so much more.

“You’re the only one who sees me for what I am,” he murmured.

You nodded gently, your cheek rubbing against his glove.

He leaned in to kiss you, and you reciprocated without hesitation, pressing your lips to his, allowing yourself unprecedented closeness with the divine. Consume and be healed, forgiven, saved. Kissing you felt purposeful, made his heart race and his brain feel fuzzy.

Warmth washed over him, and for a moment the suspicious part of him wondered if this divine haze was related to your powers. Something about being able to get into people’s heads, mess with their emotions. He wasn’t sure. There was no reason for you to be on his radar before the spiritual encounter.

When you whispered his name against his lips like a prayer, he nearly choked. Devout. Unconditional. He held onto you tightly, lips attached to yours in his own act of worship.

Love was everything. Love was God. Homelander was love. Maybe you were, too.

#homelander x reader #the boys x reader #homelander imagine #homelander #homelander the boys #the boys imagine #the boys tv #the boys amazon #the boys

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sapphicherri · 11 months

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☆ about me! cherry, 21, lesbian, femme, she/her, switch

☆ nsft/nsfw

☆ MEN AND MINORS AND TERFS DO NOT INTERACT

☆ i block ageless and blank blogs

☆ asks are always open, lets talk baby<3

☆ loves: praise, humiliation, occasional mommy kink (giving and receiving), begging, edging, overstimulation, pet names

☆ hard no: age play, spit, body fluids (other than cum), knife play, slave play, r*pe, inc*st, heavy degradation, hitting/slapping, pregnancy, hypnosis

☆ trans women + non-binary people you are welcome here<3

☆ i hope you all enjoy ^^

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systemrestart · 2 months

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From Alison Bechdel's "Dykes to Watch Out For". Strip name "Au Courant", from 1994

I'd never seen this strip get posted, so I want others to see it. Mo, the character expressing 'concern' over the inclusion of trans women (as well as bisexuals) in lesbian culture, is often portrayed as being overly self-righteous, jumping to conclusions about others, and not critically examining her own biases and worldview. She was also the character in the comic commissioned for Transgender Warriors, where she learns she was wrong for being anxious about sharing a bathroom with a trans woman.

Mo is often either the butt of the joke, or receives a stark lesson in these interactions (whether by confrontation or just becoming socially isolated, because she's difficult to be around). And I found this framing important, especially as I've heard discussion of TERFs trying to claim Bechdel as one of them.

This comic was not made to validate Mo's opinions or feelings. The characters in Bechdel's comics are often messy, short-sighted, even bigoted. They're human. This comic does not valorize or 'condone' these flaws, merely shows them for what they are, as well as the consequences that come with them, and the effects they can have on your communities.

Transcript of the comic below the cut:

[ID: A "Dykes to Watch Out For" comic strip by Alison Bechdel, featuring the characters Mo and Lois. The conversation is as follows:

MO: Oh, jeez. Here's a submission for "Madwimmin Read" from someone named Jillian who identifies as a transsexual lesbian.

LOIS: Cool.

MO: The cover letter says, "I hope you'll consider changing the name of your reading series for local lesbian writers to be inclusive of transgender and bisexual women writers too." Oh, man!

LOIS: Guess it's time to get with the program, huh?

MO: What am I supposed to do? Have bi women and drag queens come in here and read about schtupping their boyfriends?

LOIS: Why not? I'm sure they'd have a unique perspective on the topic.

MO: Lois, I'm still trying to adjust to lesbians using dildos! What am I supposed to make of a man who became a woman who's attracted to women?!

LOIS: Love is a many gendered thing, pal. Get used to it.

MO: Well fine. Let people do what they want. But I'm not gonna add this unwieldy "bisexual and transgender" business to the name of my reading series. I don't even know what transgender means!

LOIS: It's sort of an evolving concept. I mean, we haven't had any language for people you can't neatly peg as either boy or girl.

LOIS: Like cross-dressers, transsexuals, people who live as the opposite sex but don't have surgery, drag queens and kings, and all kinds of other transgressive folks. "Transgender" is a way to unite everyone into a group, even though all these people might not self-identify as transgender.

LOIS: In fact, the point is that we're all just ourselves, and not categories. Instead of two rigid genders, there's an infinite sexual continuum! Cool, huh?

MO: How do you know all this stuff?

END ID]

#alison bechdel #dykes to watch out for #dtwof #transgender #lgbt history #thought it was important to share this. ive been reading a lot of dtwof #theres another strip im thinking of sharing about Mo being called out on her ableism #just not sure how to word my thoughts or if i should just post it or something #also let me know if the Transgender Warriors thing is wrong i got that info from another commenter and my copy hasnt arrived yet #and let me know if the transcript needs to be adjusted in some way for screen readers #anyways much love to my transgender sisters #EDIT: my copy of Transgender Warriors came in and i can confirm that the bathroom comic #was comissioned for it!!!

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lostloveletters · 1 month

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Damn Yankees (Bucky Egan x OFC)

Summary: The Great American Pastime puts Sergeant Holly Dean and Major Bucky Egan’s friendship to the test when her struggling Nationals play yet another game against his beloved Yankees.

Note: I introduce you to Miss Thing herself. By the way, the Yankees and the Nationals (also interchangeably referred to as The Senators back then) played 8 or so games against each other in mid-to-late June 1943, which I don’t think is a point of accuracy anyone cares that much about. Anyway, do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies. Internalized thoughts about death and loss. Holly and Bucky are extremely annoying about baseball so if that’s not your thing…

Holly didn’t flinch when the door to the Air Exec office abruptly opened, and she didn’t have to look up from her typewriter to see who pulled up a chair in front of her desk and made himself comfortable.

“Morning, Bucky,” she said.

“It’s a good morning to be a Yankees fan, Holly.”

The first time Major John Egan walked through the office door, restlessness radiated off of him. Holly didn’t understand why he was assigned to Air Exec in the first place. He didn’t seem to either, but he gravitated toward her, initially amazed at how quickly she could type. When the novelty of that wore off, her feverish devotion to the Washington Nationals made him hang around anyway.

“You’re not even from New York."

“Sure, but who doesn’t love a team that wins?”

She bristled at his gloating. “Being a Nats fan builds character.”

“You know what they say about Washington, first in war, first in peace, and last in the American League.”

“We’re second this year,” she reminded him.

Mostly because all of the good baseball players enlisted, including Bucky’s hero Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio, who had enlisted the USAAF earlier that spring. Bucky hoped he’d get assigned to Thorpe Abbotts at some point. Holly figured he’d stay stateside as a fitness instructor.

“Behind the Yankees,” he said.

“We’ll see after tonight’s game.”

“We’ve been wiping the floor with you.”

She scoffed. “Wiping the floor? It’s been pretty even wins.”

“You tell yourself that.”

“Well, we’re gonna win tonight.”

“Wanna bet?” he asked.

The incessant clicking from her typewriter stopped as she lifted her gaze to him. “When the Nationals win tonight, you have to do all of my filing tomorrow.”

“Alright.” He rapped his knuckles against the top of her desk as he considered his wager. “When the Yankees win tonight, you’ll do as much of my paperwork as I can get away with giving you tomorrow.”

Holly stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

Bucky gave it a firm shake. “Looking forward to my day off.”

“I’ll bring a radio to the hardstand tonight. Woody’s gonna be working late on Brady’s fort, so you can eat your words when no one else is around.”

“More like you’ll want Woody to tell you a joke to cheer you up when the Nationals lose again.”

Easy-going Woody was the perfect chaperone. Otherwise unnecessary, considering Holly and Bucky were both adults, but Holly quickly learned that just about everyone at Thorpe Abbotts had an opinion as to what constituted acceptable behavior between a man and a woman. She already had enough people talking about her, anyway.

Colonel Huglin approached, making a beeline for Bucky.

Holly resumed her typing without missing a beat, keys clicking along with the others in the room. “Good morning, Colonel,” Holly greeted.

“Good morning, Sergeant Dean,” he said, kindly enough. “Major Egan, I need to speak with you in my office.”

“‘Course, Colonel.”

“I’ll talk to you later, Major,” Holly said.

Bucky smiled, giving her a nod. “Sure will, Sarge.”

The game was technically at one in the afternoon on the East Coast, but the time difference made it a night game for those listening across the ocean. Unless Bucky got held up by Huglin, she knew he’d be there. He practically had the Yankees’ schedule memorized.

——

The summer sun wasn’t close to setting by the time the game crept up and Holly made her way to the hardstand. She kept the portable radio tucked securely under her arm while she walked. Silently prayed she wouldn’t somehow trip on the way and smash the radio to pieces just because she wanted to listen to a baseball game.

Woody waved at her in the distance, arm sweeping excitedly through the air.

“I haven’t seen you all day!” Holly shouted.

“Too long to go without seeing the likes of you!” Woody yelled back.

Woody, of course, being Private Kate Woodward, part of Ken Lemmons’ ground crew and her best friend on base, probably in general, the more she thought about it. Blonde hair in twin braids, green eyes that glistened with determination, grease smudged on her face, and a wrench in hand, Woody was practically the poster girl for the fearless wartime woman, in Holly’s biased opinion.

“What brings you to my humble hardstand?”

“Bucky and I are gonna listen to the Nationals-Yankees game. He has to do my filing tomorrow if the Nats win,” Holly said.

Woody laughed. “Good luck.” She scratched her forehead, marking her face with another streak of grease. “Just so you know, Brady might be coming out here later.”

“Checking on his fort?”

“I think he doesn’t trust me or something. He’s been coming around almost every day to see how the repairs are going,” Woody said. “I’m certainly not complaining about his company, though.”

“I’m sure.”

“Maybe one of these days he’ll give me a personal tour of his cockpit.”

Holly choked out a laugh, covering her mouth with her free hand. “Woody!”

“Get your head out of the gutter. I’m strictly talking planes here.” Woody grinned. “Your Yankee’s pulling up.”

Bucky parked the jeep next to the women, raising an eyebrow at Holly’s attempts to stifle her giggles. She handed him the radio as she climbed into the passenger seat.

“Hey Woody, how’s it going?” Bucky asked.

“It’s going, Major.”

He nodded toward the plane in question. “Everything coming along okay?”

“Just like Kenny said, it looks a lot worse than it is. It’ll be back in the air in no time.”

“Wouldn’t expect any less from you guys.”

She shook her head, an amused smile on her face. “I oughta get back to it. You have fun doing Holly’s filing tomorrow.”

“Hey, I thought we were friends!” Bucky shouted as Woody jogged away, leaving them to listen to the game.

Holly took the radio from Bucky, setting it on her lap. “I’ve used this one before,” she said. “It should pick up the station well enough.”

“How’d you get that out here?”

“Said it was your orders.” She smiled, tuning the radio until the boisterous announcer’s voice emerged from the speaker and nearly drowned out Bucky’s laughter.

“It’s a beautiful afternoon here in the nation’s capital folks! We’ve got the New York Yankees in DC up against the Nationals at Griffith Stadium. Now, the Nats have been down the past two games, but we’re hoping they’ll be able to rally this time around—”

“Is Early the starting catcher?”

“Yeah, pretty sure he is.”

“There’s a National I like.”

“‘Cause he’s the only person who might be chattier than you.”

“It’s one hell of a distraction strategy.”

“You’d know,” she joked, lightly elbowing him in the side.

Jake Early was one of Holly’s favorite players on the Nationals. Not a great hitter, but one hell of a catcher who took to imitating radio announcers and auctioneers or even singing to throw off opposing batters. It was one of the highlights of watching a Nats game in person, in her opinion.

“Have you ever been to a Yankees game?” she asked.

He nodded. “A couple. Listening on the radio is one thing, but seeing them in action? I felt like I got struck by lightning. How about you?”

“I went to a few Nats games every season growing up, but Stan and I went on a lot of dates to home games. One time he nearly broke his hand catching a ball that got hit into our section.”

Bucky shook his head. “What a souvenir, though.”

He knew about Stan. Everyone did. Bucky had the sense to not walk on eggshells if she brought him up. Holly had taken the news better than most people expected. She and Stan had a long discussion about it before he shipped out. Allowed herself to cry at night for a week or so afterward, but pulled herself together and pushed forward. At least, she tried to.

Every now and then, her sailor’s bloated corpse would inevitably be dredged up for curious newcomers to Thorpe Abbotts. Her ears rang with the whispers, always some variation of, ‘Her fiance—Navy, I think—yeah, at Midway—I know—poor girl.’ Stanley Conway’s ghost did little more than serve as an explanation to strangers as to why his former fiance could be…weird was the nicest way someone put it, though a plethora of less than complimentary adjectives had been applied to her and her odd behavior over the past year.

But Bucky liked her. Hung around her even when he wasn’t working in the office. Sometimes her melancholy made him do more of the heavy lifting conversationally. If he minded, he never told her. His friendship made it tough for her to remember to refer to him as Major Egan and not just Bucky, sometimes. Stan would be proud of this Holly, though, the one who made stupid bets on baseball games with an officer.

Bucky took out his flask, taking a swig before offering it to her. She regretted how quickly she accepted, her throat burning as she shoved it back in his hands.

“What is that?” she hissed.

“Whiskey.”

“That’s not whiskey.” She coughed. “You could put that in the gas tank and drive into town with it.”

“You’ve got the taste of a sailor, that’s what the issue here is. Should’ve joined the WAVES if you wanted rum.”

“I was going to. Stan said he didn’t think it’d be a good idea for us to be in the same branch and all that,” she said. “I kinda wish I had. The Service League is almost better than the Majors right now, especially the Navy league since they got Ted Williams.”

He balked. “You sound just like Crank! And DiMaggio’s in the Army league—he’s one of us!”

“So what? If it’s about who’s the best, Crank’s got a point, Williams can bat 400 no sweat.”

“DiMaggio did during his ‘41 streak.”

“Yeah, during his streak. Williams ended the whole ‘41 season with 406.”

“I was gonna be nice and drive you back after the Nats lose. You can walk, toots,” he half-joked.

“Woody can drive me,” she said, turning to glance behind her. Between the dusk and distance, she couldn’t tell if Brady had made his way out there yet. “I’m staying out here with her, anyway.”

“Want me to hang around?”

“If you want.”

“I’m asking what you want.”

She hummed, slouching back in her seat, a far away expression on her face. “I want the Nats to win.”

Bucky slouched against her, shoulder-to-shoulder. Glanced between her face and the radio a few times, hoping the Nationals would pull off something big for her.

He didn’t pry for details. Wasn’t quite sure how to ask her about it. Part of him was too afraid to know. He was afraid of a lot of things he’d never admit, but the place Holly drifted off to terrified him. So he took it upon himself to get her out of there. He talked about the game. And how he won the bicycles for Buck. And that he was just kidding when he said he wouldn’t drive her back to the womens’ barracks—couldn’t leave her and Woody out by themselves, after all.

Bucky didn't know how much time had passed before Holly finally spoke again.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

He blinked. “For what?”

“You know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I mean, the Yankees are down bad, and I’m having a ball,” he said. “So you’re apologizing for nothing, doll.”

He felt like someone poured club soda over his brain when she smiled, brown eyes glimmering gold. His gaze fell to her lips, his tongue darting out between his own for a moment. His shadow fell over her like a blanket as he leaned closer.

“And it’s strike three, you’re out for the Yankees in the top of the ninth!” The announcer’s voice blared through the radio, nearly making him jump in his seat. “That’s the game folks! The Washington Nationals win on their home turf against the New York Yankees—“

“We won! Oh my god, we won!” Holly sat up, nearly knocking the radio off of her lap in her excitement. She landed a few playful punches on his arm. “Take that, Egan!”

He rolled his eyes, smiling nevertheless. “It’s a good thing the Nats don’t win more often, because you’re the sorest winner I’ve ever met.”

“You can dish it out, but you can’t take it. That’s what I’m hearing.”

“Hey, I’m a man of my word. I’ll do your filing tomorrow,” he said, bringing his flask to his lips. “Damn Yankees.”

#bucky egan x oc #bucky egan x ofc #bucky egan #john egan #john egan x oc #john egan x ofc #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air x ofc #mota x oc #mota x ofc #mota fanfic #hbo war fanfic #hbo war #ch: holly

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hussyknee · 4 months

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You were right about tankies. They do not talk about tiananmen square. They do not talk about Tibet. They do not talk about uyghur. Wtf. No how is this possible? What?

The thing is that most white and western leftists are exactly as racist, imperialist, ethnocentric and tinhatted as right-wingers. For Global South people there's literally no difference in interacting with them sometimes, even if they talk more sense by virtue of their leftist politics. In that, they have a lot in common with liberals; they say all the right things until they're challenged in any meaningful way, which is when the mask slips.

Self-serving, egoistic people aren't saved by reading a bunch of political posts and books. True dedication to social justice requires humility first and foremost, a solid set of ethical and moral hard lines in engagement, and constant self-interrogation. It has to be moved by compassion for your fellow human and sense of accountability, not ideological fanaticism as result of personal disenfranchisement and sense of victimization at being excluded from privilege. Marxists (not even just Tankies) love to accuse conservatives and liberals of unquestioning ideological servitude and selfishness without ever looking in the mirror. They have absolutely no racial or decolonial praxis because that primarily involves listening and centering colonized and Global South people, instead of amplifying themselves to virtue-signal and chase clout.

In essence they're just bad human beings, exactly like every other self-victimizing, self-aggrandizing Zionist, TERF and MAGA-hat (both red and blue) that treat accountability like a personal threat and place ideology over human beings. That's why I say it's important to separate politics from your morals and ethics. Your politics are supposed to change but your moral and ethical foundation cannot.

Personally I take great comfort in being proven wrong about my beliefs almost daily. At least 95% of everything I have ever assumed to be true has been proven wrong, which is what gives me more confidence in the remaining 5%. I love being wrong because knowing that means I'm doing something right. I see so many people on here be the same way, it's honestly lovely and gives me faith and hope for humanity. That's real leftism.

#asks #anon #tankies #western leftists #western imperialism #colonialism #racism #decolonization #knee of huss #leftism

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fatphobiabusters · 7 months

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Idk why, but the "semi-permanent" version of the hair dye I like stays vibrant for way longer than one marketed as "permanent." The "semi-permanent" needs refreshment after over a month, which is reasonable, but "permanent" is faded after just 2 weeks, which is not sustainable to maintain. Maybe if you try something different, try for consistency instead of hoping for a one-time solution, and do what works for you based on experience rather than what you think should work, you'll have more success. ✌🏽😜

Hello. I believe this is the post you're referring to. This post was a metaphor for fatphobia and intentional weight loss. The post compared the temporary nature of hair dye to the temporary nature of weight loss, as there is no scientifically-proven way to lose weight long term. 95% of people who attempt to lose weight instead regain the weight within 3-5 years, most people gaining more weight than what they started with. This is why dieting is a constant cycle of weight loss and weight regain, aka "yo-yo dieting." Intentional weight loss has such a miniscule success rate, but the research and information that explains this is rarely talked about in this society because doing so would threaten the fatphobic status quo, and oppressing fat people makes a lot of thin people rich. Weight loss companies always point the blame on the consumer of their product instead of acknowledging that their product is literally designed to fail. Weight loss products have made the same claims for over a century, which I've talked about on this blog before. We have not come any closer to actual sustainable weight loss methods than before the 1900s. That was the point of the post you're talking about. Also, you're a terf. This blog and all of its mods support trans people, especially fat trans people who terfs like you love to abuse. If you don't support trans people, you're not welcome here. Please learn how to obtain the most basic level of human compassion for other people who aren't cisgender women if you want to interact with this blog. Viewing fellow human beings as fellow human beings is not difficult criteria to meet, I can assure you. Goodbye! -Mod Worthy

#tw transphobia #diet culture #fatphobia #Mod Worthy

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princesseils · 2 months

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I'm just confused why people running accounts which DEMAND MONEY FOR SEXUAL DOMINATION are all just free to go.

I mean, this has been a problem on Tumblr for so long. I've had 3 or 4 separate stints/accounts on here over 5 years, and all of them have been subject to the 'hello, sissy' or 'Hey slut' message opener. Then they ask if you're into BDSM and say 'I need a slave. Oh BTW, it's $200.'

I'm not kink-shaming - you do you. But why the f*ck is it OK for people to send us unsolicited d*ck pics, demands for cash and unwanted raunchy messages, but a seemingly innocent selfie gets someone banned for life? We aren't using our brains here, people.

Thousands of accounts dubbed 'mistress' this, 'lady' that, 'sub' the other if they're advertising what they do to you. I'm not here for that, but these random people get away with sending me the sort of sh*t that would make me punch someone if I heard it in public (or at least, want to punch someone. I'm too weak to try)

And hey, I get it. We all act irrationally when upset. I play Fortnite with other people on a live mic. When I'm annoyed, I hang up. I shouldn't. It makes me look silly and immature. I do it because, in the moment, I'm not thinking straight. And what's happened here might be an example of people doing that.

Where can transwomen share their progress and speak to other transwomen? X is a right-wing hellhole - I imagine we all have our stories about lovely interactions on there - I certainly do. Facebook is too personal and invasive, Instagram's a quasi-p*rn site, Snapchat doesn't save anything, Tiktok's full of abusive 12-year-olds who haven't been educated (the abuse I see on transTok accounts is way more vile than a cartoonish death scenario, just FYI.)

We don't need fake mistresses. We don't need TERFs. We're not calling for them not to exist - they have the same rights as we do. We just want to be safe from them, and for us to be treated as equals when it comes to safety.

If trans people are the tigers, TERFs and false 'dommes' are the poachers. We don't want poachers to have nowhere to talk - it's a hobby, and their ideas are as valid to them as ours are to us. We just don't need to be placed in the same zone so we can be easier hunted down and killed off. Keep the tigers away from the poachers, like any sensible place would.

I'm hoping the staff will use this train they are on ATM to turn their attention towards things that have been long-term problems on the site. If you're really about keeping Tumblr safe, you'll make sure these mistresses can't message us anymore. I'm not even calling for a ban on their accounts, really. Just block their messaging so they can't attempt to mass-recruit trans women, some of whom are really transgirls and have their age in their profile as '13'. You want more teen girls approached by 'mistresses' as I was approached years ago, pre-transition? Is a trans selfie really the greatest evil?

If it is, let's really see it. I'm attaching to this post some of my best selfies of 2023. If Tumblr want to take my complaints seriously, the images won't be the thing they look at. And if not, and I do get banned, please remember to find me on DeviantArt - PrincessEils.

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daffodilmornings · 1 month

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I appreciate everyone's concern over my stances on what I believe. Radfems make victim spaces unsafe because people who are non-women get abused. My boyfriend would never be safe because you would assume he is a perpatrator and not a victim. My trans partner would be assumed a predator too because they have male genitalia. Trans people are not safe around terfs and radfems, so they would not be safe in victim spaces. Even cis men can never talk about being victims of abuse.

You can call me a terf for not wanting terfs to interact. You can call me a terf for not liking radical feminism. Radicalization of any belief leads to people getting hurt, oppressed, or left out of the final goal: which is to make men and women equal I hope.

I am not silencing rape victims. I am silencing terf and radfem ideology. You can call yourself a man-hater, but I am NOT a man hater. I am an intersectional feminist who understands how the patriarchy works and actively tries to unlearn my own biases and teach those around me.

You don't have to agree, but actively attacking me and calling me horrible names is what all my oppressors do anyway. The comments and asks I've gotten sound like every butt-hurt man when I say I'm not interested in them. You sound JUST AS BAD AS YOUR OPPRESSORS WHEN YOU START HARASSING RAPE VICTIMS!

Make your own space for radfem terf victims. Because I want a place that my genderqueer ass can go to cry with other gender-fucked people.

ANTI TERF ANTI RADFEM ANTI BIGOTRY

#anti terf #anti radfem #not cottagecore #radfem dni #terf dni #trans rights #tw abuse mention

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acrystalwitch · 8 months

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(***NO N*zis or TERFs allowed to interact with this post or my blog*** This is a post for Norse pagans or polytheists looking to work with Odin. This is all based on my own experiences working with the all father and nothing here is to be taken as a hard fact. If your practice differs from my own that is totally fine. There will be a lot of UPG and SPG)

An incomplete summary of Odin in Norse mythology.

Odin, god of war and wisdom is a key figure in the Norse myths and is involved in a lot of the stories. He is the head of the Norse gods and is called the All father, because it’s by him that all of humans were created. He is married to Frigg and together they had Baldur and Hodr. Odin also has other sons, Thor, Vali, and Vidar.

He has two ravens Huginn and Muninn, and two wolves Geri and Freki.

He only has one eye, he sacrificed his other eye by throwing it into Mimir’s well in exchange for knowledge that could better help him prevent Ragnarok.

Another famous story of his is when he hung upside down from the tree of life for nine days and nine nights to get knowledge of other worlds and to be able to know everything about the runes.

The type of magic he practices (Seiðr) was a feminine type of magic that wasn’t always looked highly on when men would participate in it. Yet our Allfather was very practiced in it.

My experience working with him: One thing to know about working with Odin going in, he will be very honest and blunt. My other deities have a habit of being softer on my feelings than I’ve heard other devotees say they’ve been with them, I’m assuming because I’m very sensitive. But Odin..? He does not care. He will stop giving advice if I tell him I don’t want to hear it. But, if I ask for advice…oh boy, am I gonna get his full opinion. He is very much a father in the way he goes about things, he cares but he wants his followers to push themselves as much as they can, learning as much as you can and always growing, never staying sedentary for too long.

I have a notebook dedicated to him that I’ve been using to work on learning the runes and that seems to be the best offering to give him in my practice right now. He never misses a chance to remind me I need to get back to learning the runes too.

I always wondered why it mattered so much to him that I learn them. Eventually he told me that it was because they really would be useful in spells, and wards and making bind runes out of them is something I’m learning to do now.

He is not the easiest deity to work with, he may even push your buttons on purpose to get you to think harder on things. I’ve noticed he’s even been rude before just to see if I’d stand up for myself and set boundaries and then he’ll explain himself after. Lots of tests trials and teachings. But man, is it worth it for the immense amount of knowledge and mentorship that he can bring. All in all, I’m glad he came to me later in my practice as I might’ve been scared off from deity work if he was the first. But, I love him to pieces and hope to work with him for a long time.

Offerings and associations of Odin

(Odin does not eat food so I’ve seen many people say not to give him food offerings, I disagree! Give him things that he can feed to Geri and Freki. He is known to still fill his plate and just give them bits over meals. So don’t hesitate to gift him any food offerings you would to any other Norse god)

-colors: gray, dark blue, black

- tree Imagery, Yggdrasil in particular

- raven Imagery, black feathers

- wolf Imagery

- clear quartz

- onyx

- blue goldstone

- amethyst

- carnelian

- the hermit tarot card

- the hanged man tarot card

- the four of cups tarot card

- the king of swords tarot card

- mead, wine, alcohol

- poetry (he writes poems!)

- mugwort scent/incense

- Ansuz rune ᚨ

- learn about the runes

- learn his myths

- learn useful and practical knowledge

- read books

- ask him for advice

There are many more ways to learn about him and get close to him. A great one is reading the Hávamál. If you meditate or do tarot or rune casting those are also great ways to contact him and get closer to him.

Signs he might be reaching out; seeing ravens more than usual or in non native areas, very windy days, rain, seeing his name often, feeling drawn to his mythology, seeing his tarot cards pop up often, you already work with one of his sons (I think he sent Thor to me first to soften my idea of the Norse gods and be a warm intro into their pantheon.)

He is a great god to work with, lots of work though. Odin is not for the weak minded, but he’s been so worth getting to know.

#norse paganism #heathenry #odin #norse deities #deity witchcraft #deity worship #deity work #Norse #norse mythology #Norse gods #paganism #Odin deity guide

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