#trying to frame this as ‘well you must be a terf if you are against bi lesbians’ is a shitty move and you’re not being original or clever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

laziestgirlintown · 3 months

Text

Something Sweet, chapter 5

Glimpses of why he's sad. Cw: transphobia (not by our protagonists) Also on AO3. Chapter 1 here.

PAGE 1-2

“... one of yesterday’s customers is a café reviewer …”

The baker lifts an eyebrow, but his mild-mannered smile remains soft.

“You gave him The Dimple of Your Smile and Glad You Came,” the waiter adds and the baker nods slowly. A very small wrinkle has appeared between his eyebrows.

“That was his third visit in a week,” the baker says, standing up and busying himself with cookies and dishes. There are lines by his mouth and his eyes that he doesn’t notice. “I suppose I should be even more flattered if he’s a professional.”

[chibi flashbacks: but he never once brought out his phone. no photos, selfies, notes. hands busy only with cake, though he obviously enjoyed them]

PAGE 3

The waiter takes up their phone and starts searching.

“I’ll see if I can find if he’s reviewed us. I don’t think he’s been over here before, it’s mostly in and around the capital … Come to think of it, it’s been a while since I saw him in my feed, but that could just be the algorithms …”

The baker’s busy hands freeze mid-motion when the waiter says,

“Well, damn.”

The baker’s worry lines shift. “‘Damn,’ what?”

PAGE 4-5

Glimpses of screenshots as they both look at the waiter’s phone.

“ ‘Queer-friendly’ blog praises terf rally café”

“Nazi nut cakes ‘nuanced’ says MyTwoCrumbs blog”

The beginning of a post on the blog MyTwoCrumbs: “I have deleted my most recent review since it came to light that the opinions and actions of the owners goes against everything I…”

“Woke cancel culture threatens Café Eris”

“ ‘They bullied him into retracting, we know the gays are on our side in the defence against these people trying to turn men into women and passing women off as men …’ ”

The beginning of a post on the blog MyTwoCrumbs: “To the extent that a reviewer of cookies can take such a stance it has always been my foundation that trans rights and queer rights are human rights…”

[picture of our customer, much younger, in Hufflepuff cosplay:] “not his first time supporting a terf”

“Café blogger doxxed”

The beginning of a post on the blog MyTwoCrumbs: “This will be my last post. I will be grateful forever to the people who have supported and encouraged me but I can’t…”

PAGE 6

“Well, damn,” the baker murmurs, slumped in his seat, even more horrible posts reflected in his eyes.

“His review led to it coming out that they were fascists,” the waiter summarises. “And then they came for him.”

“I hope every cake they bake tastes like ash,” the baker says, sharper.

PAGE 7

Two weeks pass. The customer does not return to the café.

A montage: the baker setting out cakes, looking up when the bell rings; the customer busy working [in a suit meeting customers, drawing plans on the computer, hanging art in a gallery], morose at home having tea with his cat.

PAGE 8-9

On Sunday, the baker visits an art exhibition, as he likes to do. Suddenly he spies our customer, experiencing the art with as much care and presence as he gives to enjoying cakes. The baker is torn, but leaves him to it.

In the next frames we’re in another exhibition, or different part of the same (the style of art is different) – and see the customer catching sight of the baker. The baker is absorbed, giving the art as much care and presence as he must lavish on his cakes. The customer stands watching for a moment, wistful, longing, before drifting away.

PAGE 10

The bell above the door rings and the baker looks up.

He smiles, relieved. "Welcome back."

The customer looks hesitant, skittish. He doesn’t read the signs in front of the pastries, just estimates how crowded the café is. It's not, as he'd calculated and hoped. "Thank you."

"Would you like to sit and have a pot of tea?"

The customer's face goes through emotions.

"I would like that, yes. Thank you."

PAGE 11

The baker comes to the customer’s table, quietly sets down a plate with two cookies, and pours the tea.

“What are they called?”

“I’ll tell you after.”

The customer nods, and waits till he’s alone to pick up the first cookie and smell it. Then he smells the tea, then the other cake. He chooses and takes a bite.

PAGE 12

Bite by bite, and sip by sip, the customer’s frowns, worry lines, and tension, slowly ease and float away.

When only crumbs are left, we see the baker’s finger pointing and naming the cookies, in the order the customer ate them. “Safeword.” “Aftercare.” The customer can’t help but laugh.

Chapter 6

#i wrote something #original fiction #yaoi #pastries #something sweet #fluff #food cw

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how-masterful · 3 years

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Remastered

Dhawan!master x reader

Chapter 3: New Earth

Summary: New earth, new adventures, but the return of a dreaded old face. You’d been acting strange all day, and despite the distracting wonder of the mysterious cures the sisters of plenitude were concocting, the Master had most definitely noticed. But when all is revealed in the hospital, things go from curious to complicated- especially when the sick break free, and the root of all the days problems decides she wants to try the masters body on for size.

Notes: At last! Another remaster! This time not a Matt but a David episode: loathed by some, but a guilty pleasure of mine! I mentioned wanting to write this fic while ago, and i finally got around to it on the eve of Doctor Who day! I hope you all enjoy!

As usual, this fic is dedicated to my dearly beloved queen @plethora-of-imagines. My watchalong companion, fellow soft dom lover, most trusted confident, and the most hat obsessed girl i’ve ever met. I hope it lives up to the hype!

They were surrounding you in droves.

The sick. The diseased. The nearly dead.

The filthy pipe covered walls of the hospital basement flying past your field of vision as you desperately raced towards salvation.

Or at least, the woman who was currently controlling your body raced.

Cassandra's presence in your head was agony- not just for the fact the woman was compressing you to death, but because she was so damn judgemental. In all of your adventures in time and space you’d never met someone so cruel, so self absorbed. And you travelled with the Master of all people, for crying out loud. You suspected the only reason you were being saved was because she was too self preserving to let herself, and by extension your body, go to waste. At least she had the common sense to keep up her speed, the Masters pace just in front of you as you bypassed the closing passageways of the intensive care unit and headed towards the room where she'd been hiding all this time.

“You’d better know where we’re going!”

The Master, for lack of a better term, was fucking pissed to say the least. The revelation that you weren't truly yourself was far more shocking than the revelation of the human farm the Sisters of Plenitude were hiding in their basement. He’d first accused the matron, who denied having any part in the ‘fuckery with your brain’, but it soon became clear who exactly had decided to hitch a ride inside your delicate human brain. The, as the Doctor's pet had once referred to her as, bitchy trampoline. You supposed he was also furious that she’d kissed him. You yourself were certainly boiling with anger at that fact. At least it was still your mouth, you reasoned.

“Keep a lid on it, handsome! This has been my terf much longer than its been yours!”

She knew the way well, the distance between yourself and the following lab grown humans strengthening as your feet lead you towards the dingy basement where your mind had been overtaken. Her assistant chip was long gone now, the boy probably dead from the swarming humans. All that was left was you, Cassandra, and the furious Master.

The pair of you skidded around a plethora of corners, the basement of the hospital built not unlike the elaborate mazes the Master would construct within the walls of the TARDIS. You very much wished to be safe in your home instead of running from manic nuns and the almost living dead, but you knew that travelling through time and space meant a girl couldn’t be picky. If only Cassandra also shared the sentiment

"THROUGH HERE!"

You still weren't used to the ridiculously posh accent coming from your mouth, her shrill yell guiding the timelord to the small door that lead to her chambers.

The Master huffed, following your guide as you crawled through the square metal hatch. You heard the door slam and latch shut soon after, the chambers flying past as the far entrance arrived into view. With a heave the hinges opened, Cassandra letting out another scream as the diseased loomed large in the doorway. The door slammed shut as she pressed your back against the rusting metal and pulled down the lock, her eyes meeting the deadly glare of the Master in the middle of the room.

"My god, we're trapped in here! What are we going to do?!"

The Master narrowed his eyes, leering at the woman with a cast iron gaze that made you even shiver.

"Get out. I want her back. Now."

Cassandra rolled your eyes, the woman matching the Masters stance. He let out a low growl, the Master stepping forward with gritted teeth.

"I know you've met the doctor, but you've never dealt with someone like me. So let me be quite plain: I'm not going to play your stupid little human games, Cassandra. I want Y/N back, and I want her back now."

"God, you timelords are all the same, so demanding! You do know it's just a title, don't you darling?"

The Master scoffed, pure fury evident in his sneering grin. Cassandra took a step back, arms dropping from their fold as he took a step closer. His presence was intimidating to say the least.

"This plan of yours, it had potential. A psychograft- I must admit, rudimentary but creative."

It was Cassandra's turn to scoff now. The pair of them practically circling each other, the Master watching her turn her back as the last human stepped towards the ruined remains of her rusted frame. The Master stood besides the psychograft, the TCE now in his grip as he gestured with the small device squarely at the machine.

"Banned on every civilised planet, I can relate. But you know why they were banned, Cassandra? They were sloppy, completely unstable."

"Another thing you can relate to?"

"You're compressing my Y/N to death!"

Cassandra sighed, venom on her tongue as she kissed your teeth, scrunching her nose in disdain. Your fingers carefully traced over the metalwork of her frame, the jarred brain she once used now beginning to wither as the suspension fluid leaked and pooled out onto the rank basement floor.

"And where do you suppose I go, hmm? My skin is long dead." Cassandra snapped, head whipping around to glare at the man in the purple coat. She smirked cockilly, tilting your head.

"You ought to play softer with your toys, time boy. This very sore little human of yours is my one ticket out of this shit hole"

"I'm afraid you'll have to deboard your vessel, Cassandra. You can float in the air- like dust, or a disgustingly persistent mosquito. Quite on brand, for you-"

"Very funny-"

"But your self preservation, Cassandra, is nothing but a big, fat you problem. That body you're in is precious to me and I'm not letting you get even a scratch on her."

Cassandra glowered, clenching her teeth as the Master gripped the TCE tight in his palm. She stared at him, lips quivering as she planned her next rebuttal. The Master held his nerve, unable to help the tightening of his chest as he thought of you, stuck inside your own body. He knew the feeling of being kept from your own being all too well from his little stint in utopia. Cassandra finally relented as the Master slowly raised the TCE to aim at her head.

"Give. Y/N. Back."

Cassandra carefully stood, slowly stepping towards the Master as he brandished his weapon in his hand. She teasingly began to twist the charm on the necklace around your throat, holding the pendant between her fingers. The Masters glare strengthened, eyes focused on the jewellery in her grasp.

"You know, once you were dead and this place far behind me, I was planning on dumping the meat and pawning the bling as soon as I could. But you, Master, are too stubborn for your own good."

The Masters expression reeked of confusion, his head tilting to the side as Cassandra squared off her shoulders. The time lord took this as a threat, tightening his hold on the TCE as he watched her every move. You could see it in his eyes- Thousands of possibilities processing at once, the gears of his mind shrieking as they grinded through his manic yet methodical systems of thought.

"You want her back? You asked for it."

The tremendous pressure on your head suddenly lifted in a whirlwind of overstimulation. Every sound screamed in your ears, the basement around you caught in a surge of darkness as your hazed vision was stolen from you. A loud ringing persisted, if only for a few moments, the muted and muffled existence you'd sat within ripped from under your feet. Your knees weakly buckled, shoulders slumping as you felt the ground connect between your feet. You let out a gasp for air, eyes scrunching shut as you shook your head. The basement slowly came back into vision, your head recovering from the imprisonment with a low groan from your throat and a palm to the side of your skull.

"Ow, jesus christ, my fucking head. Where did she go?"

You focused your vision on the man in front of you. The Masters back was turned towards you, the timelord almost bent in half. He didn't respond, body oddly still as you dared to take a step forward. You had a dreadful suspicion about where she'd run off to after leaving your head.

"Master?..."

"Dear lord, I'm a bad boy now!"

No way. No fucking way.

Cassandra turned around with a flourish, hands upon the Masters chest as she let out an excitable giggle. His eyes sat wide, a half smile upon his face as she familiarised herself with her new body. She stumbled on her feet like a newborn deer, inspecting her fingers and rocking on her toes as she rubbed at her chin. The presence of a beard under her fingertips seemingly blowing the woman's mind. You didn't know whether to laugh at her antics or cry at the problem that just emerged before you.

"I've never been a bad boy before! Bad girl, for sure, but this?! Isn't he just delicious!"

His usual northern tone was long gone, a fact that hurt much more than it should. Cassandra couldn't stop giggling to herself, her hands playing over his cheeks as he hurriedly raced towards the cracked mirror placed upon the wall. She gasped loudly, rippling with excitement as her hands roamed over the Masters body: Fluffing his hair, synching his waist, popping the top button on his shirt. Seemingly doing everything she could to fill you with jealous rage.

"Are you about done?"

The Master flapped his hand in your direction, shushing you as she childishly jumped up and down on the spot. You folded your arms, biting your tongue as she preened and primped in the mirror, pushing his face within her hands and posing with narcissistic delight. You'd seen the Master do this himself, on occasion. But this was a completely different beast- especially since you didn't enjoy where her hands were seemingly wandering to

"Oh hush, darling. I'm just having a little fun with all these new… graciously extensive parts- these have definitely been well worn in, the saucy little thing. I'm quite the handsome devil now, aren't I?"

You growled, nose scrunching as she hummed to herself, smoothing down his purple tweed collar as she began to prance and strut around the room. She lept over various apparatus and rubble, spinning and watching the purple material of his coat fly like a skirt behind her. Cassandra let out a satisfied cackle, sighing with up most content. Your rage was furiously simmering within your chest.

"He's quite the riot, isn't he? He's so feisty, I love it. So edgy, so... Naughty! He has lots of filthy thoughts about you in here, oh the pictures i could paint for you."

"Get out of my- the Master now!"

Cassandra cackled, leering in towards you with a torturous grin. You'd feel rather flustered if it weren't for the fact this wasn't the Masters doing. Cassandra held her hands to his chest, stalking forward as you desperately clung to your stoicism. You wouldn't give her the satisfaction of watching you crack.

"THE Master? Or were you about to say MY Master? You forget darling- i've been inside your head. You want this samba in his chest to only beat for you."

You rolled your eyes, leaning away as the Master giggled and leant in closer towards your face. If Cassandra weren't within the Masters body you most definitely would've punched her. But your growing level of rage meant that was a fact you would possibly be able to overlook.

"It's a shame, really. If it weren't for the fact he'd kill me on the spot, I think i'd like to keep him. He seems like a seasoned professional in showing a lady a good time, after all!"

You let out a scandalised squeak as Cassandra grabbed at your hips, causing herself to dissolve into stitches of laughter as you shoved at the Masters chest. A blush of embarrassment flooded your cheeks, your fists bunching together in furious resentment.

You sighed loudly, narrowing your eyes as you glared at the woman currently possessing your time lord. She was well and truly pushing your limits at this point and you weren't sure how much of her shenanigans you could handle.

"It's so easy to tease you, darling! You know at first, i just thought it was a personal interest of yours. But he actually calls HIMSELF the Master!-"

"Cassandra-"

"How fabulously kinky! Lucky girl, you did find an exciting bedfellow. How you kept hold of him i'll eternally have no idea."

"ENOUGH!"

The timelord paused from playing with his hair, turning to look you up and down with widened eyes. Cassandra took in your heaving chest, the tightening of your jaw as you glared daggers into her forehead. She raised his eyebrows, raising his hands in mock surrender. You could feel the sarcasm dripping from her actions, which served to infuriate you even more so than before.

"Struck a nerve, did I?"

"We're stuck in the basement of a hospital in QUARANTINE, chased by INFECTED LAB GROWN HUMANS! All of which, by the way, is ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT! And you think the best use of ALL OUR TIME is to play a game of musical bodies and piss off the only person able to help you out?!"

Cassandra pouted childishly at your words. You let out a frustrated huff, causing her to almost recoil in shock.

"We're short on time and big on problems. The last thing I need is you making this situation any worse than it already is!"

A thick silence sat between the pair of you. It was almost a dare to see who would attempt to move first, Cassandra's lips pursed and quivering as if the sarcastic retort was planning itself behind the Master's teeth and upon the timelords tongue. Your determined stoicism was completely abandoned in favour of indulging in the buttons Cassandra had been desperate to push. At this point all you wanted was the Master- not the stuck up snob currently cursing you internally in several languages.

You wanted to be out of this hospital and back in the TARDIS, to lay together and laugh at how a crazy old human who didn't know when to die decided to prance around inside the pair of you for an hour or so. But you couldn't. Because that crazy old human was ridiculously persistent. You thought her and the Master could possibly get on if it weren't for the current predicament you'd found yourselves in.

It seemed Cassandra had finally found her argument. The Master stepped towards you, hands on his hips as he sneered up and down your body. You opened your mouth to speak, ready to smack down any argument she could possibly have against common sense and decency, until a loud crash suddenly broke the pair of you from your standoff.

"Please… Help us!"

The far door to the basement slammed open, the sound of metal ricocheting against the aging stone wall. The diseased clawed and clamoured, spilling into the dingy room with a surge of newfound freedom.

The Master let out a petrified scream, hands flinging to your shoulders as he yanked you forwards to act as his human shield. Cassandra cowered behind you, peeking over your shoulder in terror. You could most definitely slap that woman, you decided. Guilt be damned. He let out a shrill yowl of panic, jutting you forward towards the oncoming hoard.

"TAKE HER, SHE'S LESS VALUABLE THAN I AM!"

Yep. Guilt be most definitely damned.

"Cassandra we have to work together!" You pleaded, turning over your shoulder to face the terrified Master cowering behind you.

"The Master would know what to do but since you won't leave his head you have to trust I know what he'd say!"

Cassandra whined, roughly pulling you backwards as she stepped away from humans that were slowly beginning to close in.

"And what would he say?!"

You assessed your options. The sick were surrounding you from most angles, your entrance still sealed from your previous escape. However, a possibility caught your eye.

A slender black ladder. Your way out.

You turned once more to the woman, confidence finding itself back in your stride.

"UP THERE!"

The Master screamed once more, heaving you forwards with a weak shove as he scrambled up the stone steps that just emerged behind him. You yelped, gathering your footing with haste as you saw the purple of his coat flail behind him.

“Out of my way! Pretty people don’t die first!”

You followed Cassandra's path, clambering through the remaining metalwork of her skin frame and heading towards the metal ladder that sat flush against the wall. The basement supposedly lead towards all manor of places within the hospital, this upward ascent leading you towards the hollow insides of an abandoned elevator shaft. You watched the timelord hesitantly grasp hold of the flaking and rusting rungs of the ladder, disgust evident on his features as he retched at every climb. You couldn't be dealing with any more of her antics today.

“WHAT’S THE PROBLEM!?”

“THIS LADDER IS FILTHY!”

“SO!?”

“I HOPE YOUR MASTER HAS HIS TETANUS SHOT!”

You shrieked in frustration as you shoved Cassandra further up the ladder, your wafer thin patience having been tested today by that woman more times than you ever thought you could possibly muster. Your time was very much running out, and getting a disease from a ladder was of more concern to the woman than obtaining every single disease on new earth. The audacity of that woman astounded you to a completely new degree.

“IT'S EITHER THAT OR PLAGUE!”

“STOP YELLING AT ME, I CANT COPE WITH ALL THIS PRESSURE!”

“FUCKING CLIMB, CASSANDRA!”

A metallic thunk erupted from the bottom of the ladder, the blistered fist of one of the lab grown humans clinging tight to the first rung of your escape. The flustered cry of Cassandra floated further up the length of the ladder, your stomach filling with pity as you watched the pained glances and heard the pleading cries of the sick. You only hoped you could get the Master back and figure out a way to help them.

“Please… help us!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll try, I promise!” you called in return, before turning to face the panicked clambering of the Cassandra possessed Master up to safety.

You could do this. If you were lucky, you reasoned. It was possible.

If you were truly lucky you could get your Master back, lift the quarantine, save the sick, and escape this dreaded hospital. Only four things. You could do this.

But first, you had to deal with Cassandra:

And judging by the fact she was still screaming, several rungs up the ladder, you needed all the luck you could possibly get.

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titaniumelemental · 4 years

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Someone in a non-binary Facebook group I’m in is talking about being worried about yesterday’s Supreme Court decision talking exclusively about “sex” and not mentioning gender, and that by saying “people can’t be discriminated by their chromosomal sex” they’re making “connections that are inspired by TERF talking points.” I’m trying to wrap my head around what’s going on with that opinion.

I get that “sex is real” is a slogan of the enemy, and people are going to pattern match to that. But come one, just because they say they’re only advocating against “sex-based discrimination” doesn’t mean we should take them at their word that that’s all they believe and ignore the key other component which is that evil males are oppressing defenseless females and they view everything through that lens.

Complicating the issue is the fact that the common liberal SJ framework for discussion discrimination or mistreatment is always polarized as a distinct power gradient, and doesn’t really handle well “you can’t discriminate against this feature in either direction.” There’s a lot of focus on how reverse racism doesn’t exist, or heterophobia doesn’t exist, or sure “patriarchy hurts men too” just not in a way we’ll ever treat as worth caring about. We might admit mistreatment of individuals based on those traits can sometimes exist, but we won’t go so far as to say we’re against it. The most important thing is to emphasize that it doesn’t matter relative to “structural oppression” and honestly it would be better if people who are hurt on an individual level but not by structural oppression should really just stop talking about it because it’s distracting...

As you can see I think there are some weaknesses to that framework, and this is another one of them. If you’re so stuck on that frame, then it’s hard to interpret “can’t discriminate based on sex” as something that cuts both ways. You can’t discriminate against anyone based on whatever their sex is and based on whatever way their presentation or behavior is perceived to not match it. That doesn’t fit the “one group oppresses another” framework, which encourages people to pattern-match to the TERF version that oppression of afabs is the only thing that matters, but that’s not what’s actually happening.

This isn’t establishing a particular sex as the special one that must be protected (as in the TERF position.) It’s establishing that sex is not permitted to be a factor in employment decisions. It’s not saying that physical sex is the thing that matters, it’s saying that physical sex shouldn’t matter and that you should be freed from an expectation by your boss that you look or act a certain way based on it.

Basically, I think this decision aligns with my existing ~liberal feminist~ leanings in which I believe we should first and foremost treat people as individuals who all deserve respect and equal opportunity, not as pawns in a struggle between groups first and individual people second (if at all.)

I don’t think transphobia as sex discrimination can cover 100% of the issue, specifically I don’t think this ruling has anything to do with access transition related health care? I’m also wondering how it applies to people trying to get their work to use neutral pronouns, because the employer can truthfully say they wouldn’t use “they” for anyone regardless of assigned sex. There’s probably many more complicated implications I don’t at all understand, but this is still a big positive in the exact direction groups like Lambda Legal have been fighting for for years. I don’t want to see people discount that just because their social circle has decided that TERFs are the only ones who are allowed to talk about sex discrimination

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malwarewolf404 · 3 years

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[[disclaimer: I will be using the words biomale and biofemale in this post several times in an attempt to avoid confusion as to the point I’m trying to make. I do not intend to upset or alienate anyone who is intersex or does not otherwise conform to binary physical sex in any way. Thank you.]]

Let’s put together a little thought experiment. You take 100 sexually mature biomales and 100 sexually mature biofemales, both with no knowledge of society beyond this social group, and drop them on an uninhabited tropical island. They have all the resources, food and water, and even materials to make clothing and textiles not far behind from what we have in modern day, perhaps even unique ones to the culture they will eventually create.

Terfs and other denominations of trans-denialists would have you believe some very strict rules would be set up immediately. The biomales would hunt or gather, build, and perhaps begin to create the rituals or beliefs that might one day become a religion, and eventually a societal culture. The biofemales might be relegated to the role of caring for the society’s homes but perhaps not in the way one might expect (when trying to view this thought experiment through the lense of someone who has some particularly backwards ideas about womanhood being equated to the ownership of a uterus that is.) Perhaps terfs would have some more progressive ideas regarding the role of the biofemales, and sure, a matriachal society in which biofemales are responsible for the creation of societal culture isn’t at all outside the realm of possibility by any regards. In the spirit of trying to frame this argument as something a particularly progressive Terf might come up with, let’s say this is the case. Biofemales are the owners of family names and all social status, and biomales are relegated to the duties of cleaning, maintaining, and providing for the settlement.

Now before I actually make my argument, I will say I’m no terf at all. I am not a biofemale person who believes transwomen are rapists invading female-exclusive spaces like wlw. I can only imagine what a terf would come up with when presented with the thought experiment, and because I cannot be fucking bothered to interact with a terf on the issues of gender and biological sex (oh god could you fucking imagine.) That said, I believe I understand the perspective and beliefs of a person with that sort of mindset enough to construct this imaginary facsimile of the thought experiment from a terf’s perspective. Or, maybe I’m dead wrong, in which case I’m sure they’ll tell me. Just gonna quickly address them here:

Hello eager, anticipatory terfs! I’m sure you all have been waiting with bated breath for a post like the first bit of this one to come along so that you can reply in all sorts of flowery ad hominem language, saying things like “I hope you die in a fire you dickless pig-fucker!” Or, even better “Of course this pitiful excuse for a MALE would just LOVE to come up with his own approximation of what we, FEMALES, must be thinking!” I can assure you right now though, I’m not going to reply to any comments like that. I know that’s probably a real turn off for you, probably nixed any motivation to even keep reading this post, I understand. That said, this first part of the argument doesn’t matter, I only included it so that I might have some sort of control to weigh against my own imagination of the thought experiment. Additionally, I reached out to my three sisters about the ideas that a terf truscum person might have about the thought experiment. Here are their responses.

Buddy it’s 4 in the morning in California I can’t fucking read a three page paper this early.

What the fuck? Why would I want to put myself in the headspace of a trans-exclusionist? Why are you even asking me this? What is this for? What the fuck bro.

What’s a terf

Not as enlightening as I had hoped sadly. Anyways, I want to emplore you, please continue to read. I have a lot to say about this imaginary society and what I believe their ideas about gender conformity says about us. I think you might actually see some things in a different light than our incredibly polarized and entrenched societal beliefs would have you observe the issue. If that sounds like something that interests you, please read on.

So, this society. 100 biomales and 100 biofemales. And what do I believe it would look like? Well, I’ll tell you, but first I want to touch on a separate aspect than those I covered in my facsimile of a “terf” island society, and that’s sexuality. The reason I didn’t bring it up at all is because the fact is, many terfs are gay or bisexual women. They are real people with their own feelings and damage and ideas about what it means to be wlw. While I may have momentarily felt only slightly uncomfortable creating the idea of a “terf” island society and talking about its concepts of gender identity and social expectations placed on our imaginary island refugees completely in a vaccuum with no real input from actual women, being a wlw is not an issue I can even begin to comprehend, much less create my own ideas of what an idealized island society would look like to a wlw. It was a bridge too far, and I will not speak over real women with real opinions about what that is like. In fact, if you do identify as a woman (trans or not,) please feel free to share your own input on how you feel my facsimile “terf” scenario might be improved/ammended.

With all that said, let me say that I am now choosing to bring sexuality to the court because I am a gay man/nb person, and can speak to my own experiences and the experiences of others I know about sexuality. Additionally, from a terf’s perspective, the gender identity issue is one irreversibly entwined with sexuality.

So, a society with 100 biomales and 100 biofemales. What would it look like to me? Well, firstly, I don’t think the society would be so divided by gender as the imaginary terfs (or for that matter, most traditional people cough cough) would have you believe. Anyone who’s been to a public highschool knows that BOTH males and females are athletic. Both sexes are creative. Both sexes are capable of being responsible and loving parents. The problem we encouter with trying to frame everything into “men do this women do that” categories is that that is what our traditions and society have programmed us into believing is the norm. This society has none of that programming. Because of this, I do not believe this society would devolve into such a simplistic and arbitrary culture as “you have a penis so you go hunt and gather.” Instead, why not imagine a society where people’s individual talents and skills take precedence over their sex in regards to what role they are able to fulfill in this society? Perhaps you are a biomale, yet you have a very nurturing and caring instinct. Why not serve as a midwife and care for the village’s infants? Perhaps you are a biofemale, but are very athletic. Perhaps then, you would best serve the society as a hunter, no? I think you get what I’m getting at, and I don’t think anyone, even terfs, would disagree with me that gendered societal roles are a pretty dated concept that does not line up with what we understand of real people living in situations like this. They are a biproduct of western civilization’s traditions, and are not at all the norm in dozens of non-western societies.

So, if we can agree that there most likely wouldn’t be overarching end all be all gender roles in society, where is the issue exactly? Well, it’s this: some members of our society do not fall into the traditional gender roles associated with their biological sex. So, what about in this society, where there are no meticulously well-rooted gender roles? It stands to reason that without these gender roles, people would be able to do what they wanted, dress how they wanted, love who they wanted, free of prejudice or judgement. Obviously I am GREATLY oversimplifying a very complex issue, but live with me in the bit for a moment. What would you be in a world free from discrimination on the basis of biological sex, gender, or sexuality. There would be no traditions saying “you can’t do this because you’re this.” Who would you become? Who would you have the boldness and the freedom to be? Now, a pre-agricultural society that hasn’t even developed traditions or laws is hardly the most desirable place to imagine oneself living, but just think for a moment. No glass ceiling. No homophobic. No oppression on the basis of sex.

Now, I already have a good idea of what people are going to say about this post. “Tearing down the borders of gender and sexuality would only render our understanding of LGBTQIA ideas completely useless.” “There ARE certain things males are more inclined to do than women, biologically speaking. R*pe seems to come to mind.” “By refusing to give your imagined society any gender roles you have essentially made a moot point about what it means to be trans in our society.” Perhaps more broadly, “this thought experiment is dumb and you should feel bad.”

But here’s the thing. I’m not making this post in hopes of “dunkin’ on terfs” or even really challenging anyone’s opinions on anything. I have absolutely no hope that this dumb, worthless, ~3,000 word thought experiment will do any of that, let alone get any amount of notes. I only wanted to talk about this to put my own mind at ease in imagining a world I, a casual non-binary person, could exist without having to justify or prove myself as non-binary. I could, in my imaginary society, simply be myself. I could look up at stars. I could talk to gods of the wind on stillwater, of the sunlight through the palm fronds, and of the moonlight’s pale glow on the sand. I could do all of these things without constantly being percieved as a man because of the way I presented or behaved. And, I could find a masculine partner to be with, free of judgement.

“But Malwarewolf!” You cry, pleadingly. “What about all the people born as one sex that wish to transition into another sex? They would have no way of doing that in this imaginary society!! As a trans person, I do not experience the same satisfaction you do in this concept!”

This is, perhaps, the biggest hole in my argument. However, just because a person is born as one sex and wishes to transition in a relatively (oh, how do I say this without offending a lot of people,) quaint society doesn’t mean they’re just damned to live in a state of dysphoria or unhappiness with their body. I would argue, they might be able to live happier lives than trans people in our society do, existing as a fully welcomed and accepted member of society, with no oppression or suppression of their very valid desires to exist as they opposite sex. I would further argue that in a society without the proper foreknowledge and tools to perform gender-reassignment surgery, individuals who might identify as “trans” in our society would instead be free to express themselves however they wanted to instead of having to adopt a particular appearance or sex-identifying features to adhere to their non-existent gender roles. This is, very possibly, how the polynesian “third genders” came to be, such as Māhū in Hawaii and Tahiti, Fakaleiti in Tongan peoples, and Fa’afafine in Samoa. Now, these third genders are very important to many polynesian cultures and have very specific spiritual and societal roles in the island’s cultures respectively, the extent of which I am no way qualified to speak about (but would absolutely LOVE if some native Hawaiians could weigh in on!) It should be noted however, that a Māhū person can be born either male or female.

I say all of this to say, gender is a highly complex and winding topic. I could go on waxing poetic about my day-dream life in this idyllic society, but if you’ve made it this far in the post, you’ve probably had enough of that. Thank you so much for reading this far into a fucking hypothetical concept of all things. I will close by saying unironically, I’m gay as fuck, trans rights are human rights, and lastly trans-exclusionists if I see you bullying people in the comments I will suplex you through a plywood board.

I love you all and have a wonderful day.

#i have no fucking idea what to tag this as #rant?#gender politics #trans rights #anti-terf #LGBT #LGBTQIA #LGBTQIA+#LGBTQ #Yeah that’s about all I can think of right now

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insomniac-dot-ink · 4 years

Text

Breaking and Entering

Genre: ghost story, supernatural

Words: 3.9

Summary: two highschoolers break into an abandoned hospital to see ghosts and wonder the empty halls, but end up being caught by the police and perhaps something more.

It was the end of the school year and it was hotter than hormonal band kids at summer camp. You might as well prepare breakfast on the sidewalk and dunk yourself in ice water to get through the day.

The heat was one of the reasons I didn’t go to my graduation ceremony. My mom begged for me to show up because she was going through an “up” period and probably wanted something to show for her parenting. Like, “hey I screwed up my kid two ways to Sunday, but at least they graduated!”

I didn’t need to give her that kind of satisfaction. Sure, I graduated, but so did a bunch of other people. You didn’t need to throw a party about it.

I was at the old quarry instead and tossing tiny stones into it’s gaping mouth. Sarah Jane Johnson sat nearby with her short hair pulled back in tiny clips and sweating silently as she scrolled through her phone. She was a petite girl with a long black skirt, shredded white top, and hunking black shoes underneath.

I threw a rock at a particularly hard angle and watched it bounce off the wall with a clunk and dance down into the small pool of water below. I gave a small smirk and turned, “see that, Sarah Jane?” Sarah Jane was still going through her spotify looking for a playlist to put on and didn’t even look up. I rolled my eyes and picked up another rock to toss, “come on. I can show you how to do it.”

I flicked the stone with my wrist and listened to the hard knock of rock on rock and the soft thuds as it fell the rest of the way down.

Sarah Jane still didn’t look up.

I finally picked up a perfectly flat stone and went over to her, “don’t be like this.” I said with a huff.

Sarah Jane’s mouth became a hard line, “I’m just trying to choose the right mood music.” She said flatly, “you are graduated and junk. Maybe the Darth Vader death march?” I rubbed the back of my neck and bent over her, “what did I tell you before?” I huffed and stuck her with a hard look. “I’m not going anywhere. Not really.” Sarah Jane was a freshman that year and we had ended up bonding right away. There was always some gossip around seniors hanging out with freshmen, especially since we were both queer and dyed our hair black and didn’t exactly “get along” with authority figures, but none of the weird impliations were true. I had seen her on the first day and taken her under my wing as a baby punk and there wasn’t anything more to it. Which was all fine and good until it seemed to be coming to an end.

“You are.” She said softly. “You’re gonna find some job or some girl and then forget about me.” Her grip on the ipod was tight and bleaching, “I’ve seen it before.” “Ugh, that’s now how it is.” I scoffed and took a seat next to her, she turned away from me. I sighed, “Look, do you want to do the Mayfield hospital trip? Will that cheer you up?” Her eyes lit up and she twisted back toward me, “the hospital trip?” I had her attention and that made me smile, “yeah. Didn’t you say you wanted to try it out? Burn some candles, mess with some shit?”

Sarah Jane tilted her head to the side and sat up straight, “like, for real?” Her face fell a little bit, “didn’t you say that the hospital was for tourists and rubes?” She didn’t meet my eye as she asked.

“Nah,” I pushed on her shoulder gently. “I mean, with all the sightings in the place we’re bound to find something.” She gave a half-smile, “sure you aren’t scared?” I tossed my head back and laughed. “Of some spirit nurses and sick ghosts?” I snorted, “what kind of elder do you take me for? Now come on.” “Wait,” she flipped through the music. “This is the one.” She played a song from a new band called The Bad Sins about crushed butterflies and had a sick guitar riff in the middle. We nodded our heads along to the beat and watched as the sun crossed the sky with our mind’s elsewhere.

I taught Sarah Jane to toss stones all the way into the quarry’s opposite wall after that.

--------------

There’s a couple rules to breaking and entering, one of the biggest ones is choosing the right time and place. Breaking and entering into a summer home in the middle of July when security is high and the place is flush with other vacationers? That’s a no-go. Breaking into a modest winter cabin in July is a better bet.

Always try the windows first to wiggle the glass free, but it’s even better if the place is easy access- that means public areas, construction sites, and abandoned places. The Mayfield old patient hospital was both a construction site and an abandoned building- a twofer and Sarah Jane had been talking about it furtively for months now.

She set out Tarot cards with a picture of it on the wall and mentioned the online stories such as sightings of a “Grey Lady,” a muttering nurse in all white, and small boy tossing a ball down a hall. It was your generic kind of haunting tales, but it was the most exciting occult location within driving distance.

Personally, I thought it was a little tacky, but I was graduating and my baby-punk was soundly frowning so I compromised. I drove with the sun gently glinting into my eyes and Sarah Jane bobbing her head along to some old Metallica.

We had a ouija board in the back, some incense, and an industrial thermometer that Sarah Jane nicked from the local Home Depot. The airconditioning blasted and we didn’t talk much since I could still feel her stewing over “being left behind” and it’s not like I could keep reassuring her.

The hospital was located off the highway in a wooded part of the city and with bright yellow construction tape surrounding the doors and outsides. I smiled as the large sycamore trees came into view and bright gasp of color approached.

“Ya ready?” I said and eased up toward the building off to the side, I didn’t plan to park us too close to it.

Sarah Jane glanced over to me with thick eyeliner and a thicker snort. “Don’t give me that look,” she said with a laugh, “you’re the one that should be ready! This is my terf.” “Ha,” I kicked the door open for effect. “Should I remind you of all the places I’ve gotten into before this? Follow my lead.” I could practically feel her rolling her eyes, “right, your cat burglar-ess. I’m coming.” She hurried after me as I surveyed the area. The sun had capsized past the horizon in a bloody death and the purpling sky was already popping out stars and a simmering hot summer night.

I was sure my mom had been calling me all day, but I didn’t really care. I had noticed Sarah Jane texting her folks on the way over, but it was probably more lies about studying at a friends place.

The second step to breaking and entering is surveyance: signs of recent footsteps or cameras or any kind of vehicle. There were some tire tracks of course, but I knew from some precursory googling that construction of the building had been postponed until funding confusion was cleared up.

The yellow lines were sagging and there was a lonely, desolate feel to the place. The hospital was dull white that almost broached into grey, it was four stories with multiple long empty windows on all sides. Some of the paint job had completely chipped away in places and left it bare and ugly dark brown. It was a boxy building with many turns and different bits sticking out and surrounded by dried grass and scraggly bushes.

I whistled lowly, “a looker.” Sarah Jane bounced on her heels. “Did you hear about the Silent Boy here?” She started chatting, she always was a chatter when happy. “He’s the one with the toy ball I was talking about. They say he was bed ridden here for almost his whole life with tuberculosis and could never get up and play-” “And now he wonders the earthly plane looking for people to play with.” I finished and Sarah Jane shot me a look.

“Yeah.” “Come on,” I waved, “let’s hang back.” Sarah Jane detailed different ghost sights of the hospital to me and I watched as all the stars erupting one by one from the nothingness and waited for it to be late enough. Finally, I waved us forward.

“Let’s do this ghost business,” I announced as we passed a “Wallis Construction” sign at the very front and crept to the front doors.

The door was jammed open with a big rock and I could already see the graffiti spray painted on the inside of the door. The peeled concrete wall had the regular phrases of WELCOME TO HELL and TURN BACK NOW.

It was the usual kind of fodder for other teens coming around these parts and I rolled my eyes at the sight. Several tags were on the walls as well for ‘BURNOUT KINGS’ and ‘CLOSED FIST GANG.’

The first hallway was dark and unlit and held all sorts of junk on the floors: there were bottles and plastic bags and piles of dead leaves. Sarah Jane followed close behind me. “We gotta go to the west wing,” she said quietly in the stillness of the dust and long shadows. “That’s where the children’s ward is.” That made me frown, but I shrugged and twisted around. “That should be west.” The only sounds were the thunk of our boots against the floor and the crickets chirping outside in the summer night. Sarah Jane was the first to speak again. She chuckled lowly, “this is so much different than our first time.” She said warmly. “Remember the big green house on Waterson?” I couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t remind me. It’s a gift I wasn’t eighteen yet and that couldn’t stay on my record.” I snorted. “You’ve still got two left feet.” We passed plastic water bottles and more scribbles on the wall, open doors revealing rooms with metal bed frames and plaster heaps in the corner. We passed an abandoned wheelchair at one point and that was probably the height of the scary business.

We even passed a hallway with some thick red X’s that the construction workers must have painted on the doors. Besides that it was just our steps and our voices and we started reminiscing.

We recounted our first concert together and the time I helped her get a septum piercing without parental approval and us standing up to my ex together and flicking through tinder on Sarah Jane’s phone just to laugh at it. We recounted the best music of the last year and the hollow place in my chest started to close.

I wasn’t leaving her behind, not really.

The crickets chirped even louder and I heard scuffling in one of the rooms which I assumed was maybe an animal or maybe branches scraping on the outside of the building. We stopped when we approached what must have once been an enormous mural.

“Stop!” Sarah Jane called at the top of her voice and looked left and right. “This is where we have to do the chant.”

I glanced at her and tried not to make a face. “Alright…” She gave a slim smile and took my hand with a squeeze, “Repeat after me: here we go round the mulberry bush-” “Seriously?” “It’s part of the ritual!” She snapped with a huff, “he reacts to playtime.” “It’s play time little ghost!” I called into the hallways and my voice echoed back and forth across the walls. “Haunted mulberry bush and all.” Sarah Jane let go of my hand and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine.” She sniffed. “I’ll do it by myself.” She turned on her heels and started down the opposite hall toward the back of the building.

“Wait, wait, I get it, we’re trying to do this right.” I trailed after her and we argued for a few more feet.

“It’s obvious you think this is silly!”

“I just got here.” I tried to defend, “and I want it to be a good night, really.” She glanced over her shoulder with a stinging hot look in her eye, “because it’s our last one?” “No!” I said shrilly. “Jesus, Sarah Jane, I’m not even going to college.” She frowned slowly. “You will.” She stopped in place and looked at her shoes, “you’re smart and good at stuff and you gotta go.” “You sound like my adviser.” I said and tried to make it sound like a joke instead of resentful.

“You’ll see.” She kept stomping down the hall. “And you’re missing the point. You’re gonna go off and have a real life… and I’ll just be alone at school.” “Sarah Jane,” I said and put my hand in back pocket. “You’ll meet some cool people next year, it’ll be fine.” “Not it won’t!” She said shrilly. “You’re the only one who even noticed me this year and that’s only ‘cause I was wearing the right clothes.” “Oh, come on.” She sniffed loudly and looked back at me. “It sucks. It all sucks so much.” “Get a few more years on you,” I tried to smooth out the lines in her face. I hated having serious conversations like this. “Then tell me how much stuff sucks.” “Yeah, yeah, it only gets worse.” She smiled. “And then you’re a ghost.” “And then you’re a ghost.” I agreed and Sarah Jane exhaled and looked down the long hall with cobwebs on the ceiling and a couple fallen tiles in the center. “Come on,” I tugged on her sleeve. “Let’s do this cheesy nursery rhyme and visit a sick kid. That’ll help.” Sarah Jane sighed at me and turned, “no rolling your eyes through it. We want him to come.” I shook my head but took her hand, “here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush…” We did the silly rhyme together and then looked left and right. A soft wind cooed outside, but the night was thick and empty.

Sarah Jane snorted and put her hands on her hips. “Fine.” She said flatly. “That was a bust, let’s go chuck stuff outside!”

“Deal!” We went running down the hall with abandon and for a moment I thought things were back to normal. Then something caught my eye, “Shit!” I stopped in place and pointed at a light by the road. “Shit, shit. Cops!” A bright yellow light was outside the building with a bobbing movement. A couple murmurs let me know they were probably two young cops investigating a tip-off about teens breaking in. And they were coming closer.

I looked around quickly, “I can’t afford another charge on my record.”

Sarah Jane bounced in place. “My mom will kill me if she knows I’m still hanging out with you!” We ran in opposite directions, but I turned quickly on my heels and followed after Sarah Jane’s back toward the end of the ward.

“We need to get back to my car,” I said breathlessly and reached for Sarah Jane. “Turn, turn.” “There!” She pointed at a large door that was thick and metal and looked like it led to a stairwell. She yanked it open and went stomping for the steps.

I paused in place as I saw the light of the flashlight enter the building. “Hurry!” I said but I was the one that needed to hurry as the door slammed shut behind Sarah Jane and left me alone.

There was a moment, just a moment, but I swore I saw a small face in the darkness near the end of the hallway- smudged and smeared and most likely from the pump of fear in my veins.

I reached for the door and yanked it open and blindly ran down, down, down. The steps were concrete and my feet loudly slapped against them until I reached another heavy metal door at the bottom and tugged on it.

My arms strained against the weight of the thing and sweat poured down my brow in the humid stairwell. I had to strain to get a crack open and then slipped through with effort. The first story hall was different than the second.

The windows were farther apart and fewer between- making the scene dim and with only splotches of pure white light here and there. Instead of the doors being carelessly left ajar to reveal disjointed bed frames and wheelchairs they were all firmly closed. I noted that all of the painted white numbers on the doors were scratched off.

I turned left and right and realized I didn’t remember which way was the car, “Sarah Jane!” My voice hit each surface and seemed to amplify down the hall. “Sarah Jane Johnson!”

I twisted in place and almost fell over myself as I chose a random direction and walked.

I checked over my shoulder a few times for the flashlight, but it was only dull grey hallway behind me and moonlight catching the walls ahead. I must have walked for at least a couple minutes before I stopped and called again, “Sarah Jane! Come out.” Sweet was pouring down my back and I was starting to get angry. “I’m not playing around here!” I growled and balled my fists up, “we need to get out of here, now.”

I finally spotted a door ahead that was slightly ajar and hurried over to it, “I know you’re freaked out, but-” I pushed the door wider and the words died in my mouth. The next room was full. I had broken into several places before with abandoned stuff like plastic mannequins and weird animals and some old dolls stacked on top of each other. But nothing like what I saw in that room.

This room was completely filled top to bottom with pale blue hospital shoes. They were piled in the center of the room and looked old-fashioned and frayed. Many of them appeared to be tiny children’s shoes with holes in them and worn fabric. They stacked on top of each other as an ocean of discarded clothing and my stomach somehow lurched at the sight.

There were scorch marks and burns and little tears in each one it seemed.

I was gawking at the sea shoes when something flashed behind my shoulder, “Goddammit!” I cursed and glanced just in time to see a flashlight at the end of the hall.

“Sarah Ja-” I tried to call out but was interrupted.

“Here.” A hand grabbed mine from behind the door and we started to run. I kept my eyes over my shoulder as I squeezed Sarah Jane’s hand and we fled down into a darker portion of the building where maybe the cops wouldn’t find us.

I was breathing hard in the incredibly long hall and the flash light trailed after us slowly, but persistently. “I can’t,” I gasped for air, “let’s find a room to hide in.” I called ahead, but Sarah Jane didn’t slow down. My lungs were burning with a feverish fury in my very center and my body shook with it.

“Come on.” I let go of her hand and turned to the closest door. “I can’t keep running.” I grabbed for the nearest handle and twisted it open. I wish I hadn’t.

On the other side of the door was filled with piles and piles of what appeared to be human teeth. My eyes went huge and scanned the hills of white molars and sharp canines and various baby teeth scattered across the floors in heaps. They all appeared to be riddled with cavities, at least one or two little black spots on each tooth and all spotted with decay and blackness.

I took a step back as my legs grew weak. “It remembers.” A voice said from nearby and I wrapped myself in a hug. “Sarah Jane, that’s such a-a fucking weird thing to say.” I called softly and my voice was too loud and too strange in the empty dark hall. All of the windows had disappeared from view.

I stood stock-still as the flashlight flickered from behind me and a cold seeped through the air like a vent blasting chilled air from somewhere. It was then that I reflected on the fact that the cops had not yelled for us to stop or called out any warnings or commands. They hadn’t said anything at all.

It was just a light. Drawing closer.

I glanced at the fuzzy glow behind me and it was too pale, too white, not yellow enough to be a proper flashlight and my stomach dropped. There was something behind me and it wasn’t an officer.

I turned forward and scanned the way ahead. Why hadn’t I noticed sooner? I reflected, but everything seemed to freeze in place as I couldn’t see Sarah Jane ahead of me.

There was however, a solitary white hand sticking out of the darkness ahead. It was just a small hand and the outline of maybe something- just barely a thing at all behind it. And it wasn’t Sarah Jane Johnson.

I gulped. “Where is she?” I whispered. “What did you do to her?” The hand shook itself in midair insistently and the cold was crawling across my neck and seeping beneath my skin as the light bore down on us. The fingers wiggled and reached for me and I had a choice at that moment to take the hand or wait for the cold to consume me from all sides.

I could hear breathing at that point, heavy, wet breathing from behind the light.

I took the hand of the thing in the darkness and we started running again. We ran straight, ever forward and away. We shouldn’t have been able to run that much and should have had to turn at some point.

But we only tuned once and a second pale white hand reached for a door and heaved it open with great effort. The door lurched open with a screech and a puff of warm air blasted into my face and then I was falling out.

I toppled forward onto the yellowing grass outside and crawled away from the hospital as fast as I could. The door slammed behind me.

I climbed on top of a hill and looked back at the hospital. I was out and free of the sticky cold and terrible straight halls.

I turned back and stared at it. My eyes went wide in realization, and I had left her behind.

“Sarah Jane!” I called across the hill in a vain hope and I needed to go back into the hospital and find her. I needed to go back, but when I looked back to the building, a small stray pale light was hovering through the hallways. Searching and scanning and blinking.

And I knew it was still looking for me.

I turned like a fool and ran back to my car. When the search team came back the next morning there was no sign of Sarah Jane Johnson. It was nothing but heaps of plaster and stray wheel chairs and bed frames and bad graffiti. Sarah Jane was nowhere to be found.

There was no staircase with a heavy metal door and no hallway with no windows and doors with shoes.

And there was no one in that building at all.

#ghost story #supernatural #spooky #ghosts #writing #my work

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auspicixus · 6 years

Text

A more formal commissions list

Since that other post is a bit... Yeah... I’m making a formal commissions list.

I will make:

Sigils for pride/identity as well as more standard ones. I have currently only made “simple” sigils (single word) but I will make a complex one upon request.

Homestuck talksprites (either a singular static one, some “frames” which make up a sprite deck and can be made into an animation by yourself or someone else, or a single-emotion animation loop in gif format)

Please be aware if you send an ask saying you want a commission, you need to be OFF ANON.

Things I will NOT do (sigils):

Any anti-anything words or phrases, such as: cisbian, gendercritical, TERF, tucute, truscum, anti-cis, DWC, or similar hatephrases aimed at ANY group of people, including “punch nazis” type ideology. I do not wish to be taken down for hatespeech so I support it in no capacity. This includes any kind of homo/trans/bi/etc-phobia, racist, cis/exor/etc-sexist terminology. Slurs are acceptable if used as reclamation.

Kink pride (including CGL*) - EXCEPT for those interconnected with LGBT pride history, like Leather pride.

Any joke suggestions, such as an anti-MOGAI blog requesting a MOGAI type identity, or a non-serious looking blog requesting something used as a meme (like “Gay Shrek pride please!”, “Bi Barry B. Benson!”, etc.)

No “protect me from hate towards <thing listed above>”. That circumvents my entire reason for having them there.

Kin sigils without pride/identity or an affirmation. “Grey-sexual Panromantic Shulk please!” or “Please help me to remember my life as Dave Maryam!” is okay, whereas “I would like a sigil for Kenny from South Park” or “Could I get a Edward Buck sigil?” do not make sense.

Sigils require an affirmation. Pride sigils are made by creating a sigil which creates pride for <your identity here> in you and gives you protection related to your identity in your life. Having a sigil for any random thing isn’t possible and doesn’t make sense. There has to be a meaning behind it..

( * SFW age regression as a mental health coping strategy does not fall under CGL, but I am not doing coping methods anyway as they do not make sense, so if you request this, I will not do it. And no, “a sigil for protecting me against people who hate SFW age regression”, doesn’t count.)

Things I will NOT do (talksprites):

The canon characters without any edits whatsoever, mostly because my style isn’t very developed and looks very similar to the canon style. I also will not do Hiveswap talksprites unless they are non-canon types (eg: bloodswaps)

“<character> with a down with cis/punch nazis/gender critical/TERF(/TERF is a slur)/etc shirt!!!” for the same reason as the first point above.

Heavy gore or lots of animated blood (open wounds, dripping down face, etc) - only because I suck at drawing gore, not because I can’t handle it.

Fancharacters (eg: not swapped characters) or non-canon kinnies without at least one visual guide. You can provide one photo and lots of description, but I need at least one visual in regards to colour scheme OR physical design.

Walksprites, hivesprites or minisprites. I said talksprites for a reason! (Panel edits MAYBE if you ask nicely.)

If you have a complaint, talk to me. We could work something out if it is just a misunderstanding (i suck at writing words in the way i mean to).

Prices are £5 for simple sigils, £7 for complex sigils, and I’m yet to price talksprites (likely £5 for single static emotion, +£2 per extra frame, +£2 for each animation loop from a sprite deck, depends how long I take to make them - I’m going to trial myself and I’ll have a definite answer by the end of today... hopefully). There will be a +£1.50 charge if you do not want me to publish the final versions to my blog. I will place a watermark on these, however. Crop it out, and you will need to credit me somewhere else (bio, about page -- really it depends where you use it). Regardless of if you let me post it to my own blog, you will receive them through Tumblr DM or email - your choice.

Payments can be done through Paypal, or I can set up a private Etsy listing, which will be an additional £0.20 + 4% of the total cost to cover Etsy fees..

I’m willing to try other kinds of drawings, as well as OC frameworking, but you must contact me for details on this as it will be case-by-case.

I reserve to refuse to complete a commission for any reason.

#commision info #commisions open #art commisions #please share #auxcoms

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borntobekings · 6 years

Text

my exciting backstory

Tomorrow is the twenty-sixth anniversary of Freddie Mercury’s death. I have a post prepared but I want to give some explanation now.

This is about how I fell in love, and it gets weird and complicated.

In late 2015, just turned 30, I finally moved across the country, out of my parents’ home. I’d lived there under the shadow of a million personal issues all my life: depression, anxiety, ADHD, and struggles with my own gender identity and sexuality.

In spring of 2016 I started pursuing a personal spirituality for myself, seeking it first in Jewish mysticism and then in ancient Greek gods. I built a small practice, meditating regularly and learning all I could.

Unfortunately I also got sucked into a soul-crushing, abusive, exploitative job, and that summer my father died suddenly. I had a lot to deal with. I took shelter in my new faith.

In spring of 2017, almost exactly a year since I’d been attempting this strange new mysticism, I started listening to the discography of Queen. Sitting at work with only my headphones and MP3 player to keep me from sinking into excruciating numb depression and paranoid anxiety, I listened to Innuendo and was awed. I knew the context. I knew that this man singing about how much he loved his cat was dying at the time.

I did the natural thing and built him into my new religion. It made sense to me. I’d started the whole thing out seeking someone like him, a force of all-encompassing queer love and creativity.

I read a book of his collected words. I gathered anecdotes from other books and from articles on the internet. I watched interviews and performances on Youtube.

I fell in love with these glimpses of a dead man. I know I can’t ever know what such a private man was “really like.” Still, I can’t shake the feeling that the image he did his best to present to the world was largely genuine, even if it was sometimes very hard for him to walk that fine line between being authentic to the public and his fans and protecting the privacy of himself and his friends and loved ones.

Of course there was a problem, though.

Like I said I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety for most of my life. All my friends know this. What they didn’t know was something I almost never spoke about, which was what triggered it in the first place. Not to say it wouldn’t have been triggered by something else otherwise--the seams were always there in my head, brought on by genetics and environment alike.

But this was how it happened: I was nine years old, with no conscious idea of what my own gender identity and sexuality would be in two decades or more, and I went to a museum that had an exhibit about AIDS. It was late 1994 or 1995. I looked at all the huge lurid pictures of dying bodies, probably the text too--it was long enough ago that I don’t remember much in the way of details. What I do remember is the crippling anxiety that consumed me for two years afterwards as I struggled to deal with the feelings these images had unleashed.

The form of my mental illness has eternally shifted and changed since then, but it’s never left. And I never bothered confronting the thing that started it. Why should I? It had nothing to do with me at the time, a little girlchild with no idea of their sexuality, who would later spend fourteen years identifying as lesbian, trying to live up to “feminist” (mostly veiled TERF, really) ideals of the pure woman-loving woman who had nothing to do with men.

Transition changed that; identifying as a bisexual man changed that. I was nine years old and I looked at pictures of outcasts dying, turned into monsters by the society that should have been helping them, and something in me decided to identify with them instead of against them. I have always known, even if I didn’t realize it.

I can’t pretend I don’t anymore.

On September 5th, for Freddie Mercury’s birthday, I went to a gay karaoke bar in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle, intending to sing. Outside the bar I stopped to fiddle with my phone.

A man on his way into the bar stopped and asked me what song I was looking up. I told him that I was planning to sing “Killer Queen” for Freddie Mercury’s birthday, but that this was the first time I’d gone to karaoke alone.

He was delighted by my confession, and we talked about the pictures released that day in Entertainment Weekly of Rami Malek dressed as Freddie for the upcoming movie. And he said, “Well, you won’t be alone here, because we’ll all be your family.”

I went into the bar, and the karaoke host for the evening was setting up. To sound test, he sang “The Show Must Go On.” I felt slightly preempted, but it was a very good rendition and I was grateful.

I sang “Killer Queen,” and the host wished Freddie Mercury happy birthday after I was done.

There is a community there that I can belong to.

Listen, I can frame my feelings about Freddie Mercury in a lot of ways, some weirder and wilder than the others. But in the end he has opened doors for me like the divine guide he named himself after. Some of them are inside me and some are in the world outside.

This isn’t necessarily relevant to what his music and the story of his life have done for me, but I do feel there is still Someone out there in the aether who used to be this man, who watches over his fans when he can. I can tell stories of the signs I’ve seen or I can just say that it should be self-evident. He was already a god in life, after all.

#my fucking queen #eastling's wild mystic ride #eastling life

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