eratosmusings - Tumblr blog

eratosmusings · 21 hours

Text

how dare he desecrate pancakes like that? i wonder if he has done this stuff before because he’s so good at it

the girl next door 9

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You don’t go straight home. You don’t want to upset your mom. So, you wander the suburbs, walking around cul-de-sacs, some you’ve never been down, and circling around the avenues. You pass mothers and fathers with strollers and children running and yelling on green lawns. It’s as if you’re walking through a utopia, floating by like a cursed wraith.

You glance down at the book in your hand. Maybe you should try some lighter reading. Your mind tends to go to dark places.

When at last you let yourself go back to the house, you do so cautiously. You don’t see Steve or your mom. As you come to the front door, you wonder if you should knock. You quietly let yourself in, gently closing the door as you stand on the mat. You leave your shoes on the low rack and tiptoe down the hall. Your mom can’t be mad if she doesn’t know you’re there.

“Hey, kiddo,” Steve’s voice as you tripping over your own feet. You turn to the archway as you pass and peer in. Your mother’s in her recliner, her eyes closed. Is she sleeping? You watch her warily. “How was your walk?”

“Um,” you blink and shrug, “fine.”

He stands by the window, his hand on the wall beside it. Did he see you come up? You hadn’t noticed him behind the curtain.

“Breakfast for you in the oven. Won’t be very warm but if it’s no good, I can start a new batch,” he offers.

“Don’t bother with all that,” your mother grumbles and shifts in her chair, groaning as she shakily rubs her cheek. Her eyes open only slightly. “She can warm ‘em up.”

“Always better fresh,” Steve stands straight and faces you fully.

“Thanks.”

You leave them with the single word. You feel like an intruder. You stop by your bedroom and hover in indecision. You just want to hide but you would hate to be rude. Steve went to all that trouble and you know, even as your mother says he’s already done too much, she’d be even more upset if you wasted his effort.

You put your book on the foot of your bed and go down to the kitchen. You take out the pancakes, content enough to have them cold. There’s a bottle of real maple syrup. Steve must’ve supplied that; you can’t afford the pure stuff. You don’t use very much, mindful of the expense of the sugary nectar.

You grab cutlery and bring the plate to the table. You sit alone. You can hear the hum of the ceiling fan from the front room and the dulcet song of birds floating in through the windows. Steve’s low tone rolls through the din but you can’t make out his words. You mother answers his with short mutters. She’s not having a very good day. You're surprised he stayed this long.

The pancakes are good, even at room temperature. They’re fluffy and taste richer than the frozen ones you get a bargain on. Is that blueberry too? With each bite, your hunger clenches your stomach tighter, mulching down the food greedily. When you finish, your body growls and aches.

You wash off your plate and put it in the tray. The lull of the house thickens as you pad down to your room. You slow as you near the door frame. Had you closed it? You can’t recall.

You turn into the room and let out a noise of surprise. Steve looks over as he stands over the folding table, his hand on your sketchbook, a page half-turned. Your heart drops as you clasp your hands together.

“Sorry, er, didn’t mean to...” he rescinds his hand and lets the page flutter down, “It was open and...” you don’t know whether he means the door or the book. “You’re really talented.”

Your forehead crinkles and you charge towards him. You step around him and shut the book, swiping it up. He leans back on his heel.

“I didn’t... I wasn’t trying to...” he sputters, “I just wanted to pass something by you.”

You hug your sketchbook at you face him. You stare at this chest. You feel violated. Not just that he’s in your space but he touched your stuff. The one thing that’s really yours; your drawings.

“Me and your mom were talking, you know, and she said it would be good for you to get out, maybe make some extra money,” he explains, “and I’ll be around so you won’t need to worry about her so much.”

You frown. You and your mother have had this talk a billion times. Get off your ass and get a job. It’s not like you haven’t tried.

“So, I got some work you can do. Like I said, I gotta get that pool open,” he continues, “and there’s little things around the house. You got a good hand so maybe some painting here and there.”

You push your shoulders up. You don’t think you can say no, especially if he’s already said as much to your mom. You half-suspect this is her doing.

“Complementary milkshakes?” He offers breezily.

You’re quiet. You have no choice. You know as much.

“You know,” he softens his tone, “if I’m gonna... hang around with your mom, we should get to know each other. It’s a good opportunity for us.”

“Fine,” you answer.

“Fine? So that’s a yes?” He asks.

You close your eyes and flick them open, “yes.”

“Great. Well, when can you start? How about tomorrow? Supposed to be another sunny day.”

“Okay,” you agree, “tomorrow.”

He doesn’t move. You want him to leave. The conversation is over. He got what he wants and your mom too. He’ll pay you dimes to clean the pool and your mom will reap the profit.

“You know, I draw a little too,” he points to your sketchbook, “maybe if we have time tomorrow, I can show you.”

“Maybe,” you mutter.

“Ah, uh,” he chuckles bashfully and rubs his neck, “right, I'm in your way. Well, er, I’ll leave ya be.” He turns and struts to the door. He stops just inside the frame and looks back, “oh, how were the pancakes?”

You take a breath and stay staring at the wall, “good.”

“Great, did you have some of the syrup? It’s Canadian.”

“Yeah,” you turn and tuck your sketchbook into your dresser draw. “Thanks.”

“No problem, sweetie,” he taps the wall and the door closes with a click.

You sit on your bed and hunch over to hold your head. It’s still heavy from the night before and now you’re even more tired than before. You don’t know if it’s from being out in the sun or all the walking you did, but your eyelids feel dry and seem to cling with each blink. You yawn and bring your legs up, curling your body up near the edge of the bed.

You know you shouldn’t sleep in the middle of the day, but you just can’t help yourself.

🏠

You wake up in the haze of the late afternoon. Your eyes hurt and your limbs are achy. You lay on your back as the curtains stir with the lazy breeze. You look over to find them open but you don’t remember pulling them apart. You barely remember anything past your awkward morning stroll.

It takes you a while to push through the stiffness. You never sleep on your back; it leaves it racked and your ribcage hurts. As you stand, you notice the door. It’s slightly open.

You get up and go to it, pull it inch by inch. The house is quiet but for a soft rumble, rhythmic and rocky. You putter down the hall and look into the front room. Your mom’s asleep in her chair. She’s almost peaceful as she snores in the recliner.

The scene strikes you as odd, almost dreamlike. Your mom’s never been much of a napper. In fact, she always nagged you about the habit. You think of waking her but think better of it. She won’t be happy to be awoken, even if she might be irritated later to know she slept away the day.

Steve is gone. You search each room to be sure then go to the kitchen. It’s clean and everything is put away, even the dishes you left in the tray. The large bottle of syrup is gone as well.

You mutter and go back to your room. Another soft wind drifts in. You stumble over to your bed and fall back onto it. You yawn again. Gosh, you’re so tired.

122 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 2 days

Text

im sure it’ll be so easy for Steve to convince mom that no, she doesn’t need the surgery. that it’s really all the medicine and tests that are keeping her sick. that her daughter means well, but he’s older and wiser and he just wants the best for his family. it’s only right that they change their wills together, make sure everything is in order just in case. marriage would be nice, but they’ve got to wait until he can get the right ring for her because that’s what she deserves, so how about a power of attorney? you know, just in case

the girl next door 6

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

This lewk but silverfox

You can’t remember the last time you had the house to yourself. Even if your mother’s just next door, it feels a little lighter around there. And you’re happy for her. Maybe having Steve around will be good. He can be an outlet so she doesn’t have to put all her frustrations on you.

She was happy when she left, even excited. That’s another rarity in your life.

You start your day off with a tea. The apple cinnamon bags are a bit old so you use two. You bring the cup into your room and get your table set up with your pencils and sketchbook. You open the window to let in the sunlight, the natural light much brighter than the yellowed bulb above.

You know your mom would tell you to do something more useful than just scribble in your sketchbook. You got the dishes done last night. Steve offered to help but you deflected as you foresaw your mom’s disapproval. You can’t let company pick up your slack.

You try to wipe away the anxiety of last night. It’s over now. You shouldn’t have worry very much about it again.

You finish your tea. It’s cold by the time you get to the dregs. You sit back to look over your sketch. Your eyes feel a bit fuzzy from hyperfocusing on that one stamen. You rub your brow and yawn. The sun shifts and you look over at the old alarm clock on your nightstand. It’s close to noon.

Something else catches your eye. You look up at the window across from yours. The curtain ripples around the gap before it’s pulled open from inside. Steve stands on the other side of the pane. Can he see you?

You can’t tell as he turns away without acknowledgement. The glare of the sun should hide your room well enough. You never really thought of it as your blinds are closed more often than not.

You get up to rinse out your cup. You stretch your legs as you pace in the kitchen. You’re restless. You’re so used to your mom and her demands and expectations, that having your own time feels aimless.

You could surprise your mother with dinner. Have it in the oven when she comes home. It’s still early but you can make something more than boxed macaroni. It will be a good cushion to fall back on when you remind her about tomorrow’s appointment.

🏠

When your mother returns, you can see the fatigue around her eyes. For as little as she goes out, you’re not surprised. What strikes you, is how happy she is. You help her to her recliner and she sighs as she leans back.

“Such a nice man,” she keeps repeating.

You smile and let her regale you with a recounting of her day. Still, you can’t help but wait for the pendulum to swing back to normal. She leans her head in her hand, her eyes distant.

“I swear, the universe sent him to me,” she says, “it had to. It was how much I need someone.” She drops her hand and traces her finger around the armrest, “sick, got a lazy daughter, stuck in this damn house...”

There it is. You frown. You mash your hands together and waver.

“I made dinner,” you offer.

“I don’t want KD,” she snips.

“I made... I made shepherd’s pie,” you offer meekly, “should be almost done.”

“Hm, wondered what that stench was.”

You frown. “I can put it in the fridge for tomorrow. Be good to have something we can just heat up after the doctor’s.”

“Doctor?” She grumbles, “eh... I forgot.”

She slumps and her eyes dull. You can’t help the pang in your chest. Sometimes you wish it was you who was sick. It feels like you deserve it more than her.

“Hopefully it’s good. If you can get the surgery--”

“Surgery!? Surgery. You keep going on about the damn thing,” she barks. “They can’t fix me, girl, get that through your head.”

“I know, mom, but they can help--”

“Like you help me? Crittering around here like a rat!” She hits the armrest violently, “would ya leave me be?” She closes her eyes and turns her face away, deflating once more, “ruined a good day...”

You sniffle and slowly turn on your heel. You should have known better. You should have just left her alone. As much as she rants about you staying in your room, she prefers you there. Out of sight, out of mind.

🏠

The next day, your mother doesn’t say much. Her silence is just a bitter as her words. You don’t push it. She gets in the car without argument and you set off into town. Even if she says it’s a waste of time, she listens intently to the doctor and answers all his questions. It’s only when she has to go through the tests that she shows her agitation.

After some hours spent at the specialist clinic, you’re free to go. Your mom is just as quiet. You feel her mood roiling in the air. Her hand is shaking to the point that she’s hissing at it.

You steer down to the corner and linger at the stop sign.

“Mom,” you squeak, “you want some orange julius? A treat for the way home?”

“Don’t talk to me like a damn child,” she snarls. “Let’s just go. I’m tired. Got no blood left in me.”

You nod and bite your tongue. Maybe you can just put her to bed. Her naps are a respite, though you find yourself anxious in the silence, terrified of waking her prematurely.

As you pull onto the suburban avenue, you slow and approach your drive. You pull in and shut off the engine. You get out and go around to help your mom. You open her door and she hauls herself out, tisking under her breath.

“Didn’t see him,” she mutters.

“Good afternoon,” Steve’s voice answers your question before you can ask. You look over the hood as he waves from his porch, “busy day?”

Your mother steels herself and forces a smile, “just went to the doctors.”

“Oh, everything okay?” He asks.

“Sure,” she chimes, “just some tests. Nothing serious.”

“Good to hear,” he stands behind the porch railing, arches crossed, “day’s not over yet. Still lots of time to enjoy the sun.”

“Mhmm,” you mom grabs onto your wrist, shaking you as leans into you. “Nice day out.”

“I was gonna do up a milkshake, if you ladies wanted to join me I got plenty to go around.”

“Milkshakes?” Your mother considers, “mm, I’d have to change out of these.” She looks down, “smell like a hospital.”

“Sure, take your time,” Steve says, “how about you, honey? I got strawberry. You seem like a strawberry type.”

“Eh, she’s more a vanilla type,” your other cackles. “Plain.”

“Got that too,” Steve ignores the joke. “I understand if you’re tired out though. Don’t wanna be too desperate over here, just wouldn’t mind the company.”

“I’ll be over soon,” your mom assures him, “she’s got some laundry to do.”

She keeps hold of you and points you towards the house. You help her inside, even though she does her best to hid how she clings to you. Her steps are uneven and stunted. You get through the front door and help her sit on the chair you keep by the door, just in case.

“Goddamnit,” she’s shaking pretty bad. “Help me, you dumb girl.”

“I... I don’t...”

“Get my goddamn inhaler. I forgot it this morning.”

“Oh, uh, okay.”

You hurry down the hall and to bathroom. It isn’t in the cabinet. You go back out and scan the table. Not their either. You find it next to her recliner. You wish she’d keep it one place. You go back to her and hand it over.

“I’m gonna go over,” she says before she huffs from the canister, “you’re gonna stay here. Out of my way.”

“Alright,” you agree. You prefer that anyway.

She takes a minute before she gets up. She shooes you away and you retreat to your bedroom. You sit on your bed and wring your hands, waiting as you listen to her. She doesn’t say goodbye before she leaves. Only the front door slamming lets you know she’s gone.

You exhale and pull the fold out table up to the edge of the bed. You open your sketchbook and stare at the pencil. You don’t feel like drawing but you have nothing else to do. You just sit, looking at the amaryllis. You can pick out every flaw in your work. You close the cover and frown.

A knock startles you and you stand up. Oh gosh, it’s probably Marge. What is it now? Is the siding too stained? Are the steps crooked? You get up and shuffles down the hall. You open the front door, hiding behind it as you poke your head around.

Steve has the screen door propped open against his elbow. He holds a tall glass filled with pink, “here. Figured I’d bring this over.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you accept the condensating glass, a wide straw poking out of the whipped cream topped drink.

“Maybe next time you can pop over too,” he suggests, “I’ve been working on getting the pool going...” he grins, “it’ll be a good summer for it.”

You nod and look down at the milkshake.

“Really nice of you,” you say.

“It’s nothing, sweetie,” he puts his hand on the door above him, looking down at you, “enjoy.”

“Uh,” you look at him then at the straw. You don’t want to be rude. You put your lips around the tip and take a sip. “Mm, yup, good. Thank you.”

His blue eyes stick to you and he drags his hand down the door, “I’ll make a deal. You come over to see the pool when it’s ready, and I’ll make you another. How about that, sweetie?”

You push your lips out. It’s not nice to say no. He didn’t have to bring you the milkshake or invite you. You shrug.

“Okay,” you agree, “erm, thanks again.”

He nods and taps the door frame before he steps back. He gently closes the screen door and you watch him through. He turns and strides down the stairs. You shiver as the cold glass numbs your fingers. Hopefully, he forgets about the pool thing. You don't even have a suit.

182 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 2 days

Text

I don't like many of the authors' decisions here – sometimes their tropes, sometimes their choice of how they present events, dialogues, sometimes their characters, relationships between them or their appearance. It's not a bad thing. I have a right to feel this way.

But I would never tell them about it. Not because I don't have the courage to do it but because it would give them nothing, nothing good. You criticise when someone asks for it – when someone doesn't, then you should keep quiet.

Why? Because perhaps someone does not want this criticism and it's their right too. I, for example, don't care and I don't want to know how much someone dislikes something in my work. I don't need the fake appreciation of others, just as others don't need mine.

If I don't like someone's stories, I just leave them alone. God bless all of them! Write and be happy.

No one here is an oracle or judge, and some people feel that way. If you don't like what the authors are writing and their choices, give them a holy peace or else all you'll achieve is that they'll be discouraged from writing – they'll think: maybe nobody wants to read this after all, look at my characters, maybe it's pointless, maybe everyone thinks about me and my writing this way.

Sowing doubt and passive humiliation is very popular here for some reason and I find it incredibly annoying. People don't know when to shut their mouths and when their private opinion to which they are, after all, entitled hurts others, making them uncomfortable.

Our right to free speech should not cut someone's wings and mock them. This is an expression of disrespect and basic culture.

Not everyone has to want to change, to develop if it is not their profession but a simple hobby.

Anonymity does not make malicious gibberish sound any smarter, and a large audience or reactions under posts does not make anyone entitled to post an opinion in which they criticise works of others for their choices.

"Why do you write with only small letters? It's so annoying. This character would never do this, are you dumb? Aemond would never betray his family! Oh nooo, next Visenya on a big dragon? Why these OC's are so boring? Reader insert is just for you because you are desperate to fuck. Why do your OC is fat? Why do your OC is slim? Why do make your OC look like this, why won't you try something new? Why do you put Alys in your story as a third wheel when she is Aemond's real love interest?"

Shut. The fuck. UUUUUUP. GOD.

You say – you don't agree, don't read, I have a right to my opinion. Well, I say: your right does not absolve you from thinking about the feelings of others.

You are hypocrites. You cry and make a hiatus when someone sends you a nasty anon writing that you write crap, but you devote 2,000 words on your blog to why a certain trope doesn't make sense, why other authors don't have a right to make their OC's look the way they want.

What you write is not private, it's public. Who are you writing it to? Is it an expression of your frustration? Those you write it about can read it. They may feel very, very bad about it, they can think to stop writing at all or make themselves to do something against their will. But that's not your concern anymore, right?

Taking responsibility for your own words only when it's convenient for you is an expression of immaturity and that's what I see in this fandom – most people here are afraid of adulthood and the clash with it. Because in adulthood everything we do has consequences to face.

But it's easier to say that we simply have the right to express our opinion, no matter how hurtful and unfounded it may be.

I want to be clear – I will see anyone reblogging or write this kind of posts – I will block them. Even if I like you, if you are with me for a long time. I don't want to see this kind of toxic behavior on my wall ever again. Enough is enough.

79 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 2 days

Text

do ur fucking click

[pt: do ur fucking click. end pt)

733 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 4 days

Text

THIN HOUSE WORDS DIVIDERS.

Ok, so, let me give you these first. 😜 There‘ll come another set tomorrow. If you want one with a different font, just hit me up!

TARGARYEN.

STARK.

LANNISTER.

TYRELL.

GREYJOY.

BOLTON.

MORMONT.

BARATHEON.

ARRYN.

MARTELL.

Please like or reblog if you use.

49 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 4 days

Text

when a powerful figure is reduced to kneeling. when the lord is forced to bow. when the exile stumbles into an unwelcoming bar. when the “beast” is chained by their horns. when a god is dragged behind their enemy’s chariot, a captive and trophy. when the loyal “guard dog” character is muzzled and the silver-tongued thief falls silent in horror.

that’s the shit

it’s about the contrapasso. the reversal of roles and the sudden, plunging terror of being unable to hide.

15K notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 4 days

Text

THIN, MINIMALISTIC HOUSE SYMBOLS DIVIDERS.

TARGARYEN.

STARK.

BARATHEON.

LANNISTER.

BOLTON.

MORMONT.

ARRYN.

GREYJOY.

MARTELL.

TYRELL.

Please like or reblog if you use.

116 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 5 days

Text

The fact that this teams and stan crap is leaking over into real life again, needs to stop. Seriously, it's not a big deal if you want to keep things seperate so you don't wander into a fandom space you don't want to be in, but lashing out at the actors? Inexcusable.

First it was Fabien Frankel's social media comments being filled with hate for Criston Cole and for Fabien himself. Then it was Tom Glynn Carney's. Fabien has had to deactivate his socials several times and TGC's is handled by a manager now.

Then someone literally got in Olivia Cooke's face when she was minding her own business in a bar and called Alicent a "cunt".

Folks bitching at Harry Collet for being Team Black - HUH? Did you expect him to be Team Green? Give me a break.

And now it's racist crap being thrown at Bethany Antonia.

This needs to stop.

It's a fucking show. It's not that deep. It's a show.

Get some mental help if you struggle to seperate the two.

289 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 5 days

Text

“…you're too distracted coveting the feast your brother's gorging himself on to notice him begin to choke”

oh my god? oh my god? oh my GOD?

no one should want their fav to rule. thats why being militant about your 'team' is genuinely silly. the throne isn't a prize... it's a curse. most of the main characters dont even want it. rhaenyra only wants it because it's representative of her father's love. aegon doesnt want it at all. alicent only wants it as protection for her children. we see viserys trapped under his crown; the throne killed him and because of it he killed aemma. and whilst rhaenys may have wanted it once she is hugely disallusioned after seeing what its done to viserys.

the only ones who are or ever have been desperate for what the throne offers are daemon, corlys, aemond, and otto. and corlys wants it because of his specific obsession with legacy... whereas the rest of them. hm. oh the curse of the second son - an innate sense of inferiority breeds a desire for power at any cost. they're beaten back only by their love for their older brothers. brothers they sometimes hate almost as much as they love them. how agonising must it be to so narrowly miss out on so much power and influence, land and titles, in a patriarchal world that considers such things indicative of your masculinity and virility. you might as well be a eunuch, pushed further and further from power with each son born to your brother. while they never have to lift a finger, if you want even a pale imitation of the same you'll have to claw your way towards it; fashion yourself into the fiercest warrior, the most dedicated scholar, the shrewdest politican. and all the while you're too distracted coveting the feast your brother's gorging himself on to notice him begin to choke.

#the curse of the second son #hotd

122 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 6 days

Text

hopefully getting out a couple updates these next few days, sorry for the long wait 💕

#loyalty #stolen destiny

3 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 6 days

Text

saw a post shitting on people for liking female characters in asoiaf who were wronged and did not/were unable to fight back and "simply" didnt fight for a better life

like yeah its so simple to undo centuries of patriarchy. it's not like the female characters who did fight back weren't in constant danger because of all the forces working against them

there was also an implication that enjoying these characters somehow shows our own passivity and adherence to patriarchal values

(oh and apparently we hate strong women too. because as you know, only two types of women exist, and you can only like one of them)

turns out you can understand someone's entire ideology and psychological state based on which asoaif characters they like?

i don't think it's wrong for fans to feel a sense of kinship with tragic characters, especially if said fans feel trapped or have felt trapped by their circumstances irl (especially if they feel trapped because of conservative ideologies, like their favourite characters are)

yes it's good to have independent and strong characters to look up to. and it's important to advocate for yourself and make difficult decisions in life

but no one can be the hero of their own story all the time

sometimes you don't feel strong or brave and sometimes shit hurts and sometimes there's nothing you can do about it in the moment (or at all). and in those cases it's nice to have characters to relate to

just like it's nice to have sad music to listen to when you feel like crap. it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you

some women unfortunately are victims, and having empathy for them or even seeing yourself in them doesn't make you weak

edit: it's also very telling that the assumption here is that our interest comes from valuing passivity...what about anger and indignation at the way these women were treated? what about imagining better endings for them where they do get a better life? we aren't the ones who think so little of these characters that all we can imagine them good for is pity.

111 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 8 days

Note

Hi, Ange. I know you probably don't want to talk about this subject anymore, but is the screenshot you talk about about Brazilian fans true? I wanted to know because I didn't see any clarification in any other post and as a Brazilian who likes your stories I was hurt. If you don't want to answer that's fine, I just wanted to clarify this once in for all but you obviously don't own me anything

Hi, love.

No, it is not. There’s a very helpful post created by Hagi here regarding the reliability of most of those “screenshots”.

I have never spoken badly about Brazilians. The screenshot that is real in that post is the one where I mentioned that Mari (a mutual at the time) had unfollowed me around the time that I received an anonymous ask telling me to die in my sleep. When I checked my IP tracker, I had had a Brazilian IP address visit my asks, so I expressed my disappointment at this. Never once did I make derogatory remarks with regards to nationality. I never would.

I was confused as to why this would happen, until months later during “bimbogate” I saw people making mention that they had considered my actions around the time of the announcement of Ewan’s appearance at CCXP to be racist. I was still puzzled by this, as I don’t think I had posted anything that could be considered racist. I refused to believe Ewan would be attending until I’d seen official confirmation, and I noncommittally answered an ask from an anon expressing their concerns over fan behaviour. But the ask and unfollow suddenly made sense. That’s all of it.

I am genuinely sorry that you have been made to feel like I have prejudice against you. Regardless of the untruth, that can’t be nice to see and I hate that for you. I hope that my response goes some way in easing your mind.

18 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 8 days

Text

I am a graphic designer by education and profession. Looking for modifications and manipulations in graphics is my hobby. You can see the most in graphics when they are properly exposed. For example, using the exposure tool in Photoshop. I set the sliders to: first one: + 13.65, second one: +0.0096, third one: +1.65 and this is what my eyes saw.

Each application has its own way of encoding images and text. Here, apparently, when writing text, the application created transparent rectangular frames under each text, which you can clearly see below.

But I noticed something strange in some screenshots. Text without such borders. Text I think was added in a graphics program. There are only pixels around it.

Here, in turn, I noticed a different relationship. When the text comes from the original screenshot, the pixels around the text surround the text so that it floats on long letters like "d,t,l,b,k". However, somehow magically in others, the pixels around them are perfectly even and take the shape of a rectangle.

These screenshots come from the wonderful houseoftheassholes.

Now let's look at the couple of screenshots Em published. You can clearly see after I overexposed the area that she blurred in the program to obscure the data. Apart from that? Clean screenshot in very good quality. Eveything looks the same.

In graphics, nothing happens without a reason. The applications are created automatically and operate on the basis of numbers and calculations. They don't make mistakes, it's impossible for one text to be displayed one way and another another.

I haven't checked all the screenshots because I don't have the strength to do it anymore. I just felt that as a graphic designer I owed it to everyone to check it out.

No one told me to do this or asked me to do it. This is my personal opinion on my personal blog. I leave it to you to decide what you think about it.

75 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 8 days

Text

About the movie canon

What do you think about the addition of Feyd killing his mother?

Also...

maybe she was trying to force him to do something or maybe she was hurting him

and he was already brainwashed enough to want to stay so he lashed out

as a sort of initiation and bloody break with the past or anything not Harkonnen

maybe it's just rumour and the Baron had her killed in front of him

comment/reblog/ask

#my interpretation was in childbirth #he seems the type to buy into the mentality he was born with blood on his hands

31 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 8 days

Text

Please see the original post. Thank you to @queen--kenobi for sharing it with me.

You are correct and so very justified in this.

I have been hateful to others. I have been woefully complicit in the racial harassment of a POC user @themotherofblood—a girl who is so very young to have received the horror she did—and the harassment of several other members of the community during my acquaintanceship with Bel and Fae, in a manner that is at best cowardly and at worst morally and fundamentally reprehensible. I have behaved in a manner that is disgusting, deplorable, wrong on every level of measurement.

I either ignored the mention of or laugh-reacted at conveyance of numerous anons Bel and Fae reported themselves as having sent. I continued in conversation as they made lengthy, detailed insults about other users, offering no criticism of the behaviour. I said nothing while people experienced their frustration over receiving hate. I let my anger and paranoia fuel me into creating an entirely new Discord account for the sole purpose of ensuring that others weren’t committing the very same behaviours I was allowing against me. I created a burner account to retrieve “evidence” from another blog to support my statements, violating their right to feel entitled to privacy. I never once voiced suspicions over other anons I privately attributed to Bel and Fae due to the similarities in their cadence and seeming motivation. I fell into the most toxic cesspit of groupthink and let others direct my appalling behaviour without acknowledging the fact that as an adult, the only one in control of my behaviour should be myself. My entitlement gave me the illusion that my suffering during my time in fandom excused me from doing my moral duty to this community and to society. And, perhaps the most damning of it all, it was not until I was personally motivated by my own selfish fear and anxiety that I finally abandoned the source of so much hate.

It didn’t end there. I continued to say nothing, days and weeks and months after the fallout. I did not act quickly in the wake of the fallout. I sat, silent, complicit, soundless while the hate rampaged on.

Thank you to @/witheredoffherwitch for a thoughtful and well-articulated call-out of things I was too arrogant to see within the scope of my own circle. I deserved the things said, and I should have been far less up my own arse to see this for myself. I will not make any kind of excuse here. This is not the place for it.

I definitely do suck ass. I am and have historically been a petty, mean loser. I am a hypocrite, an asshole, and a piece of shit for the way I have behaved. I have done a great deal of harm in publicising the things I have, and even more in having ever been involved in the first place. Your lives are not sport for our entertainment. You’re real people too, just the same as me.

I will very much try to do better and be far more strong-willed in future. I will be kinder and devote my energy to being someone that no longer resembles a piece of human crap. Whether that be a journey I take with or without the people I have met and adored along the way, that is what must be. I want to get back to writing, but actively ensure I do not simply “leave this experience in the past”. It is something I need to carry ahead with me as a reminder of the damage I have done and the very many people I have hurt and disappointed.

I am going to try. It doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t make it okay.

58 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 8 days

Text

I have been off of Tumblr all day. But I am saddened and sickened to see what I’ve returned to.

I have a genuine love for the people I interact with here. While I have had my differences in the past with people, most have been resolved by talking it out like mature adults in private, so that we can move past it and resume our friendship. As it should be.

I will admit, I have been unkind about people I have had mutual enmity with, where a resolution was not possible and there was ill feeling on both sides. But who is not guilty of that? The post circulated today contains a blend of genuine screenshots, and a lot of ones that have been doctored. For those that converse with me on a regular basis, you’ll be aware of my use of syntax, turns of phrase and general mannerisms of speech. To quote a good friend “this Ange feels very ooc to me.”

To further address the racism, I will hold my hands up and apologise for not speaking out sooner. I have never excused it, simply been avoidant of it because I did not feel safe to speak out. When someone repeatedly uses the p-slur, laughs at your discomfort and continues to do it, claiming it’s fine because they are of mixed race, it’s difficult to know how to respond beyond simply pulling away quietly and hoping it stops.

I didn’t feel safe to speak on it sooner. To be honest, what forced my hand was finding out that I had been doxxed. That was frightening to me, and has very real life consequences. I have since learned that further illegal action has been taken against other users. That’s not something I want to be a part of. No, I can’t excuse racism, and I can’t excuse doxxing and cyberstalking either. If you felt there was a genuine concern for your safety, wouldn’t you want to act on it? Everything that has transpired since is utterly bewildering to me. The level of hatred is atonishing.

I don’t care what happens to me or this blog, if I’m being perfectly honest, but I do care about the feelings of others, and I appreciate that my inaction has hurt people. If your space feels safer without me in it, please feel free to do what you need to do to remedy that.

All I have ever wanted is to write, and to encourage others to contribute towards the community. I genuinely love this fandom and the friends I have made within it, but sometimes when you love stuff you have to let it go. And I am willing to do that if it means people can move on and continue to be creative.

44 notes · View notes

eratosmusings · 8 days

Text

Y'ALL CAN EXCUSE RACISM?

Let's get one thing straight: I have no part in this chaotic mess (infact, I have blocked all the accounts mentioned below), but it's grinding my gears how it's devolving into another petty fanfic drama: case 607. I know this drama is getting the attention for certain individuals who are demonstrating mean girl behaviour and gossiping about other writers behind their backs. However, I am solely focused on addressing the racist and discriminatory remarks made by these individuals in the leaked text messages.

For those not in the loop, there's been a huge drama in the fanfic community involving leaked text messages from a group chat of four prominent members. In these messages, two users - Fae and Bel - have admitted to sending hate anons and talking smack about other writers behind their backs. Two other members left the group after it was revealed that B tried to make amends with someone who these two, Em and Ange, don't particularly care for. As a move to clear their names, Em exposed all the texts, trying to prove that Fae and Bel are the real villains here.

But wait, there's more! In these same chats, Bel not only mocked fellow non-English speakers but also bragged about sending rat emojis to an 18-year-old Pakistani writer who was already receiving racist anons. While everyone is focused on getting back at these two women for being shady af, it's mind-boggling how Em and Ange are suddenly jumping on the anti-racism train.

These two ladies stayed in the same chat as a fellow Pakistani writer was driven away because of racism, knowing full well that one of their own was contributing to it, and said NOTHING! Zero discouragement, no condemnation - they only hopped off when things got personal.

So here it is… I've had it with all of you hypocrites. You praise and encourage these women at every turn, feeding their egos like they're the second coming of Beyonce. But let's not forget who's always stirring up drama in this fandom - hint: it's these same people with a sense of entitlement the size of a planet. The issue is groupthink and y'all have all jumped on the bandwagon. You're worse than HBO's marketing department because just like their shitty teams, everyone involved here SUCKS ASS. You don't have to pick a side because they are all petty, mean losers. Bel and Fae are facing the consequences of their actions, which they rightfully deserve.

However, Em's exposé on Bel's racism seems more like an opportunistic move and it's disappointing that so many of you are supporting it. It's a predictable cycle now; there will be a half-hearted apology, an announcement of a hiatus, and then tons of people will flock to their inboxes to shower them with praise and excuses. It's ridiculous! I know there are many who feel the same way as me but are afraid to speak up because they don't want to upset the "village elders" and risk losing their connections and engagements. It's a joke atp!

Instead of taking responsibility for their own wrongdoings, they will come up with a list of 10 different cyber crimes by others to divert attention from their own nonsense. These very same women have confessed to creating multiple fake accounts, secretly stalking servers without mods noticing, and constantly harassing individuals through anon messages.

Yet, we are supposed to consider them as examples of moral integrity and ethical behavior? 😒

232 notes · View notes