Telling oppressed minorities that they should be nicer to their oppressors so that they will “change their ways” is the same as telling abuse victims that if they were nicer to their abusers they wouldn’t hurt them anymore.
sometimes I wonder what goes through starkers’ heads. are they into pedophilia? is it their kink? i think about this with thorki too… “they’re not blood brothers!” isn’t a valid excuse. are u gonna fuck your adoptive brother? no? then what the fuck do you mean??????????
if yes, you would fuck your adoptive siblings, then you literally need help
Would you like an honest answer? Because you’re getting one.
I’m a thorki shipper with two adopted siblings. I have no desire to do anything romantic or sexual with them. I consider them to be fully my siblings and just as related to me as my blood relatives are. My enjoyment of thorki is entirely unrelated to my siblings.
I like the ship because it’s a complicated dynamic between two interesting characters with a lot of shared history. Yes, I’m aware that a romantic relationship between brothers in real life has a very high chance of being abusive and I wouldn’t support it. In fact, I often write thorki as heavily codependent bordering on unhealthy and sometimes as downright abusive. I don’t like thorki because I see it as some kind of “relationship goals”, I like it because there’s a lot of potential for interesting stories with this dynamic. Also because I relate to Loki and like seeing him feel safe and be cared for by someone he loves. It’s just a story, not a worldview. I don’t personally ship starker, but I would imagine people who do feel a similar way.
i can’t believe thinking shipping FUCKING ADULTS WITH CHILDRENorMOTHERFUCKING INCEST is wrong is an “unpopular opinion” on this hellsite
go outside for once in your life you fucking wheat bagels
really, go outside and tell someone ‘i think it’s okay to glorify pedophilia, abuse, and incest’…… wonder how they’ll react?
and yes, i’m going to crosstag this so all you absolute fuckfaced tree branches can see some common fucking sense in your ‘uwu shipping isn’t reality!!!’ echo chambers
As I’ve said before, I make it no secret that I have problematic ships in real life. I was actually talking to my therapist today about how the thorki community on Twitter was encouraging me when I said I wanted to write kinky stuff and you know what? He thought that was good. It’s a positive influence on my life. My mom knows about some of my weirder ships and she doesn’t care at all. In general, people don’t care about which fictional characters you like to imagine kissing. They care about how you treat people in real life.
Fuck it, I’m mad. Who wants to see receipts on a fucking abuse/rape apologist in my local queer community, who recently got a write-up in a Vancouver paper?
okay, I guess at least some of you are interested. I probably shouldn’t care, it’s my blog, and I’ll call out awful people if I want to, but hey, multiple years of abuse will do that to you ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
TW: mentions of sexual abuse, gaslighting, abuse apologism. This is long and image heavy- the screenshots speak for themselves pretty well. I can’t describe them, sorry, it’s just too much rn.
So, 2 days after I made this post, I got a message from a friend. Or rather, they forwarded a message to me that had been sent to them by a guy name Chase Gray, who goes by GaySalishArt on some platforms:
If you want to buy local native made stuff, there’s plenty of options (here’s a good starting point: https://www.indigenousbc.com/stories/responsible-wishlists). I’m sure you could find more folks in your own area who could use your business (& who don’t pull shit like the stuff shown in the screenshots) with just a little digging. All I’m asking is that you to spend your money, time, and energy supporting the many, many native artists who don’t mock and threaten abuse survivors.
(That also means don’t go comment on his shit or review bomb him btw, I’d rather you take that energy and use it to leave positive comments on/share other people’s work!!! There were a whole bunch of comments I didn’t manage to screenshot where he was encouraging people to dismiss me & playing the victim to people who were watching this shit unfold, so it’s not worth giving him ammunition- but if you happen to SEE someone sharing his work, feel free to message them a link to this post )
Lookit this fucking creep:
So, fun fact: I only know the white half of my family, because my mom and my not-so-white Mexican (aka visibly indigenous) father broke up before I was born. One of the regular fights that occurred between me and the person this guy is defending was about my discomfort at her making “authentic Mexican” jokes about my taco kit dinners, particularly during a time when I was very actively trying to learn more about my own heritage. She eventually agreed to stop making those jokes, only to replace them with self-congratulatory comments about how she would normally make “a joke” (as in, that joke) in that situation.
(Guess she forgot to mention that part, huh?)
I hate everything right now
(Yep, it’s the same guy. I seriously feel fuckin’ nauseous…)
Fuck it, I’m mad. Who wants to see receipts on a fucking abuse/rape apologist in my local queer community, who recently got a write-up in a Vancouver paper?
god the new episode of moon knight was so good. they explored marc’s trauma in such vivid detail and illustrated how steven became a coping mechanism so well, like i legit had a hard time breathing watching all the memories of his mum go by. it’s also so so so good that they acknowledge his D.I.D didn’t come from some alien space shit.
like yes there’s alien space shit with the gods but marc still has severe trauma that caused a response from his brain and it’s acknowledged and not danced around. he didn’t get steven from khonshu or through some weird magical stuff, steven was a response to childhood trauma and khonshu just. happened later in their life
like. this character is traumatized and mentally ill but he’s still the hero and NOT villainized and we still acknowledge what he’s been through and how he’s struggling. that’s so rare to see especiallywith D.I.D!!!
and god steven comforting marc after finding out everything BECAUSE THAT’S HOW HE CAME TO BE!! COMFORTING MARC AND HELPING HIM COPE WITH ABUSE!! with marc being the strong and level-headed one all this time that was such a good moment because it shows steven’s role and nature so well,,, ahhh i just. i really liked this episode a lot
“I was always different. Father will say it started with Saenus, but it didn’t. I was always different and I knew that. I guess we both were.”
A young woman sat in a dungeon beneath the city of Mournhold. She spoke calmly, staring straight ahead at a rough-hewn stone wall. Her hands, shackled, rested on her bony knees, her long black hair hung limp over her face. By her side, a Hand of Almalexia stood with sword drawn. Before her was a Magistrix, taking notes on a board.
“My birth killed my mother,” the shackled woman continued. “Imagine growing up with that as your first legacy. Before I was a girl or a daughter, I was a kin-slayer. All because I had the audacity to insert myself into the womb beside my sister. Father never let me forget that. Even my name… they took the spare parts of my sister’s namesakes, cobbled it into one for me. She should’ve been called Ilinalta-Karliah Ra’athim. Poor her.
“But it’s funny– do you know who truly killed my mother? The fact nobody knew she was carrying twins. The best Temple healers overlooked that. Such is my fate, to have always been lost in my sister’s shadow. And yet it was me who was marked with her death from the start, victim of the Temple’s wanton incompetency. So that’s when my involvement with death started: at birth. I was doomed from the start.”
“Perhaps I should rephrase the question,” said the Magistrix. “When did you first make contact with the Worm Cult?”
“I had an aptitude for magic from a young age,” the woman continued. “I learned to cast magelights as a toddler because we were scared of the dark. Fireballs by age five. A regular prodigy. My favourite spells were the ones they now classify as belonging to the ‘school of mysticism’: levitation, chameleon, walking on water. Naturally, Father loathed my talent. He thought it proof I’d been born by some unnatural forces. Maybe it would’ve been different if my sister hadn’t been a talentless simpleton, but she was a mute for much of her childhood, and Father took to blaming me for her hapless ill-development. As if I’d robbed him of his perfect little heir! And of course, I couldn’t be the heir, for I’d killed my own mother. An unwanted second child, good for nothing more than to marry off; of course he hated my talents. The more I achieved, the more he resented me. He liked to hire ‘experts’, healers, to come poke and prod at me. Not to aid me, mind you, but to find evidence of what a loathsome little freak I supposedly am. He so wanted to prove to the world that I, a little girl, was deserving of his hatred.”
The Magistrix glanced at the Hand of Almalexia. “How long did you leave her in the dungeon?”
“A day.”
“By the Mother, I’ve told you not to leave them so long. They start writing monologues.”
“I’m writing nothing!” the woman exclaimed. “You won’t even listen to me! All my life I have been ignored and shunned, and now, at the eve of my execution, even the priests won’t listen to me?” Her voice broke with tears. “And you say you serve Mercy? How wretched my life has been!”
The two servants looked at each other. Then the Hand sheathed his sword and sat on the bench beside the woman.
“Forgive us, Karnalta,” he said gently, “We’re listening. Tell us about the Worm Cult.” And he placed his hand on her shoulder.
The scrap of sympathy seemed to thaw her; Karnalta turned her head in his direction, though her gaze remained unfocused, as if her attention were on something far behind his head. “I’m trying,” she said hoarsely, “I’m trying to tell you.”
“It’s okay. When did you first make contact with the Worm Cult?”
“… I didn’t know he was Worm Cult.” Karnalta turned her head away from him. “I met him… no, I fell in love with him. At first sight. He was such a handsome rogue, so exotic and troubled, and yet… there was a kindness buried deep down inside of him. He was the first man who ever treated me kindly, my only respite from my horrid life. He understood my magical talents, and he introduced me to conjuration, my true calling–
“Maybe I should have known he was a necromancer from the start. I felt dead inside, and he brought me to life.”
The Magistrix let out a long sigh.
“What was his name?” asked the Hand.
“I’m not telling you,” Karnalta said haughtily. A pause, and then she sighed. “I always called him Tanto. It’s a type of knife, Akaviri. Lithe, yet lethal… so sharp, but so easy to hold…”
“Almalexia have mercy upon us all,” said the Magistrix.
“This is an interrogation, Vox,” said the Hand. “Hold your judgements.”
“I hold no judgement. I, too, was once eighteen and in love.”
Karnalta seemed not to notice the argument; her eyes were unfocused, lost in the distant past, her hands pinched and twisted the fabric of the still-fine robe she wore. The Hand tapped her on the shoulder and she roused, blinking.
“Karnalta,” he said, “Did Tanto make you do these things?”
Karnalta stared at him, wordless.
“You clearly care for him. Did he make you do it?”
“What things?”
“The…” The Hand looked to the Magistrix.
“Illegal possession of a corpse,” the Magistrix began to read, “Mutilation of a corpse, mutilation of a spirit, grave-robbing, heresy to the profoundest degree, necromancy, and… murder.”
Karnalta’s brow creased. “I don’t understand.”
“Did Tanto make you do these things?”
Karnalta looked around the cell slowly, her brow furrowed, as if it took some great effort to understand what she was being asked, or why. “No…” she began, slowly. “Not him.”
“Are you saying someone else made you do it?”
“Yes.”
The Magistrix held her pen at the ready.
The Hand leaned closer. “Who, then?”
Karnalta fixed her gaze on him. “You.”
Suddenly the life returned to her, suddenly she was on her feet. “And you!” she shouted at the Magistrix, who’d stepped backwards. “And your healers, and your priests, and the wraiths you call gods! You made me do it! You damned me to this path!” She waved her hands frantically, the shackles rattling, she stumbled around the confines of the cell as if possessed by her own anger, gesturing at everything. “You, and you, and my father and my sister and my horrible dead mother and every wretched person who’s ever looked down on me! Everyone who’s rejected me, everyone who’s called me evil and twisted and wrong, you were the ones! You were the ones who never gave me any kindness! You forced my hand! For every person I’ve killed and corpse I robbed, every daedra I summoned, you are to blame! You!”
The Magistrix had backed away to the corner, but she held her board and pen still. “So you admit it?” she asked quickly, “You murdered the girl Elvali?”
“Yes!” Karnalta wept, half-laughing, shaking with hatred. “So kill me, kill me for it, I’m already a corpse!”
The Hand gripped the handle of his un-drawn sword, but he released it when Karnalta collapsed back onto the bench.
“… Come,” he said to the Magistrix, voice raised to be audible over her sobbing. “We’ve heard enough.”
“Wait.” Karnalta seized the Hand’s arm and tugged at it. The fervour had left her, her head once more hung down to her chest, but her hands on his arm were frantic and tight.
When she spoke it was in an unintelligible mumble.
“What was that?” asked the Magistrix.
“I said,” she repeated, “Will Iliah come see me?”
The Hand waited a long moment before replying. “Apprentice Ordinators aren’t permitted to visit prisoners of your… accused crimes.”
“But she’s my sister.”
“I believe your Father disowned her, did he not? In the Temple’s eyes she is a stranger to you, I’m afraid.”
Karnalta released him, slumping in on herself.
And the Hand must’ve held a grain of mercy within him, for he added, “I can take a message to her from you, if you wish. What do you want to tell her?”
“Tell her,“ whispered Karnalta, "That she’s a corpse too.”
James: Of course you are. I’m okay, Sunshine. Really. You don’t need to worry about me.
Amber: James, what would you do if I walked in here with a black eye?
James: I’d fucking kill somebody.
Amber: Exactly.
James: It’s not the same.
Amber: Yes, it is.
Amber: I think I understand why you didn’t tell me, but I want you to know–you could have. You can still.
James: When should I have told you? The first day of class? ‘Hey, I’m James. I like guitars, Eddie Vedder, long walks on the beach, and oh yeah, my asshole dad started drinking after he lost his job a few years ago and now I’m busting my ass playing football so I can go pro, get rich, and get my mom away from him. Now let’s write a paper!’ No way, you’d have run away screaming.
Amber: I wouldn’t have.
James: No, you wouldn’t have. But it’s just… it’s really not a big deal, okay? He got a new job this summer and things have been getting better.
Amber: Your eye says otherwise. Did he put that scar on your cheek too?
James: Yeah, but it was a long time ago. Things really are better now.
Amber: Well… I don’t want to push you, but I have to say a few things. One, you can always talk to me. About anything. Always. Two, if you say the word, I will figure out how to get to Twinbrook and I will crazy murder him. Three, you can always come and stay with me and Ingrid in San Myshuno. Your mother, too. No questions asked.
Amber: Four, when you move in with us, you have to bring your guitar. I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve heard you play it. Or sing, for that matter. You’re actually quite good.
James: Yup.
Amber: [laughs] And modest.
James: You should hear my Lady Gaga.
James: [singing] Tell me what your heart wants, such a simple thing. My heart is like paper. Yours is like a flame.
Amber: No, he said it was a ‘dumb mistake’ and got pretty defensive about it.
Jonah: Shit.
Amber: What?
Jonah: That means it wasn’t an accident. If he’d really just been goofing off with his buddies or something, he’s admit it. This is bad.
Amber: Wh–what do you think happened? I feel like I’m missing something.
Jonah: It was probably his dad. The guy sounds like a real douche. I mean, you know James and I aren’t exactly having heart-to-hearts, but I overhear stuff. This probably isn’t the first time it’s happened, either. That would explain why he’s always fucking apologizing.
Amber: How do you know all this stuff?
Jonah: My mom’s a social worker. I’ve picked up a few things.
Amber: We have to do something! We should–we can’t kill his dad, right?
Jonah: [laughs] Easy, Lizzie Borden. I wish we could beat the shit out of him, but that wouldn’t actually help anything. There’s not much we can do, honestly. It’s complicated.
Amber: No, it’s stupid. I’m gonna go talk to James.
