One of the reasons I’m so like. Idk, intense I guess? About talking about how perisexist language affects intersex people is like.
I have the language to talk about my intersex experiences in a way to get people to understand me. I have had to walk a careful tightrope of not upsetting perisex people by using language that doesn’t belong to me, because language simply does not EXIST for the intersex community.
We have such little language to describe our experiences and so when people use transphobic language behind their threats of violence towards us, transphobic slurs against us, and we don’t know how to describe that, and and we’re like “i think i’m experiencing transphobia somehow? Even tho i’m not trans?” We’re not attempting to appropriate trans language or speak over trans experiences, we’re trying to figure out what the fuck intersexism actually is and find a way to talk about it to people who are also experiencing the same abuse. I never even heard the word “intersexism” until 2019.
I also didn’t start even THINKING about calling myself intersex until 2019. Before then, I was just a cis woman. With a beard. And a “masculine” build and frame that started developing that way when I was eleven that I was then put on hormones to “correct” (it didn’t). And a voice that sounds like the twink from Glee, not like a Real Woman’s Voice. And before the beard, I spent a decade and a half obsessing over making my body “pass” as “female”. And I experienced dysphoria and deep self hate, I was still misgendered regularly without the beard and with full makeup, I still experienced medical abuse for the majority of my life on the basis of having an intersex condition that I didn’t know WAS considered intersex by the community.
I didn’t know I was intersex until 2019. I’ll be 30 in July 2021. I’m JUST finding my voice as an intersex person, in a way people are hearing me and listening and understanding me. But before I identified as intersex, I was just. A cis woman. Who didn’t know there was language for all this abuse and pain and trauma, who didn’t know there was the potential for having a community of people who understand my struggles and whose struggles I can understand.
And when you’re Just a Cis Woman with PCOS, what are your options for community? There’s groups for women with PCOS, sure. They’re all hyperfocused on the best ways to lose weight, the best ways to become fertile, the best ways to be more Female. To remove body hair, quick outpatient cosmetic surgeries that can help feminize you, to reduce your body to a fragment of itself just so they can pass as female in cis perisex society. This is not only internalized misogyny, but internalized intersexism to not even realize everything you’ve been conditioned to believe about your body being inherently disgusting and wrong and not “female”. These are people living with deep self hate every day, working hard to “pass” so that they don’t have to face the reality of how people treat you if you don’t.
And I know another woman, with PCOS, who grew out a full beard for years. She’s cis, bi, and was a sideshow performer. She never had the language I have now, nor the specific community of friends and peers I have to learn the things I have. She was abused badly regularly and always reacted loudly and angrily, which is her right. Part of that abuse was people in the trans community accusing her of appropriating their struggle, because she’s just a cis woman who can grow a beard, if the abuse and violence she’s experiencing is THAT bad, she should just shave and get her cis privilege back, right?
But telling an INTERSEX PERSON who doesn’t have the language to describe their experiences to alter their bodies in order to deserve respect is so fucking intersexist and gross. But she did shave, she left sideshow, she moved across the country even to get away from it all. And as far as I’m aware, she still likely doesn’t know her experience is an intersex one. None of that is privilege. Hiding her intersex traits to stop receiving death threats and having men actually try to attack her on public transit isn’t a privilege. Intersex people trying to seek validity and community being told by trans people that our pain doesn’t matter if we aren’t also trans are not privileged.
I’ve legitimately had at least three women now, in their 50s and 60s, in grocery stores (before covid) approach me, ask me if I’m a woman who grows a beard, and then break down crying TO ME A COMPLETE FUCKING STRANGER IN KROGER OR SAMS CLUB about how they’ve fought hard every day of their life to hide their fucking beard, how their HUSBAND OF DECADES isn’t allowed to touch her face, and it haunts me. These are not fucking privileged cis people who happen to grow a beard they can hide, these are intersex people who don’t have and never will have the language to describe their fucking struggles.
And if you think this is me trying to center cis problems or something and not me pointing out that the erasure of intersex people and our struggles is so fucking REAL that most of us have NO IDEA we are intersex or that we’re experiencing intersexism that doesn’t align with the standard perisex cis experience, that’s fucking on you, buddy.
And again, I’m trying to build solidarity and understanding between the intersex and trans community by educating on intersex experiences. If reading this makes you want to be angry at trans people, fucking stop, because it’s not the fault of trans people that cis perisex people have so thoroughly erased us and that’s why I’m educating. If you wanna be angry at me for any of this, you’re literally just dealing with your own intersexism and need to sort that shit out. “Cis” was never a word that considered or included intersex people and our experiences.
TW/CW : torture, abuse, whump, kidnapping, threats of violence, death threats, manipulation, graphic to implied torture/harm, implied self harm
1. “And what ? You’ll hurt me ? Go ahead, you’re already weak - I’ll just have to hurt you back”
2. “Is that a promise ? Oh wait, you realize I have the power here to do whatever I want to you”
3. “I’d choose your words carefully, one slip up and I could just snap that little neck of yours, would be a shame for you to go so soon”
4. “You’ll soon understand that messing with me has consequences”
5. “What is it that you want ? It seems a death wish, otherwise you’d watch your tongue”
6. “What makes you think you’re somehow different than other victims before you ? You’re nothing”
7. “You are just another target, and boy I’m having some fun with you”
8. “You may not enjoy this, but I am”
9. “Keep screaming - keep squirming, keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll only tire yourself out”
10. “You’re not allowed to have the blissful taint of death, I won’t let you - we only just started”
11. “You gonna back up your words with actions or are you just another coward with a big moth and no filter ?”
12. “Funny how you think you have a fighting chance, you’ll lose your hands before you’re able to even touch me”
13. “we could make some,, arrangements if you obey me - for now however, you must learn”
14. “How hot will it be seeing you in your own blood ? We’ll just have to find out”
- “N-no..no please —“
- “Bold of you to assume you had a say”
15. “Trying to stay alive is a lot harder with me, isn’t it ? More fun for me seeing you struggle and collapsing”
16. “You say anything else and I’m carving my initial on your tongue”
17. “Learn to keep your mouth shut and your jaw won’t be ripped clean off”
18. “I’d hate to hurt such a pretty face”
- “Then why do it ?”
- “Never said I’d feel bad”
19. “Aren’t you clever ? But not clever enough, move anywhere and I’ll brand your thigh”
20. “Burning you is so satisfying, your screams with the sound of sizzling is so, amazing - now you’ll learn not to question me, won’t you ?”
21. “Watch where you stare, you may get it, or you may get it taken off your body”
22. “If only I liked you enough to make you mine”
23. “You’re a bold little [guy/girl/person], [y/n], but not bold enough it seems”
24. “You don’t faze me, but this knife will certainly go into something if you keep that shit up”
25. “What are you thinking ? Escaping ? Don’t make me cut off your/break your legs”
26. “If I have to tie you up and put you somewhere far away, I fucking will - don’t test me”
27. “What is it like — knowing you could die at any moment ?”
28. “Are you sure to be so cocky ? No one is coming to save you, only you, me and my little toys, the scalpel will be first if you move again”
29. “Who has control here ? Me, and whose blindfolded and tied up ? The one whose gonna become my little punching bag”
30. “And who do you think you are ? You think you have any ounce of power, respect or even rights down here ? You’re with me, [y/n], you should know better”
31. “I could break your neck so easy, your body is so fragile”
32. “You look so different with bruises and cuts along your soft skin…I could get used to this”
33. “You’re begging for mercy ? You don’t realize how quick I’ll be to burning you alive”
34. “Go ahead, underestimate me, but remember who keeps you, who owns you, at the end of the day”
35. “What ? Bargaining ? You can’t trade me anything in the world to let you go, you look so good when you cry in pain”
36. “Keep still and maybe I won’t slit a vein, maybe”
37. “You’re begging for death ? I said I wouldn’t let you go, and I intend on keeping my word”
38. “If only you had someone who pitied you, someone who cared about you - maybe you’d be free by now if someone did”
39. “Well, it seems that you’ve been rejecting food as of late - I don’t intend on letting you starve yourself to death, I’ll force feed you if I fucking have to”
40. “What makes you think you even deserve life ?”
41. “What makes you think you deserve freedom ?”
42. “Everyone hates you”
43. “Everyone thinks you’re dead, no one is looking for you”
44. “No point in trying to beg, I never listened before - what makes you think I’ll care for your safety now ?”
45. “Such lovely scars, all made by me, on a canvas like you”
This is perfect. And I love that you thought of me when you saw it. :D Thank you!
You know I don’t need a gun pointed at me for me to be ready, willing, and eager to please you.
That’s not why you do it.
You do it because of the way I react. Because of the way I look at you. Because of the way my breathing changes. Because of the way I tremble, ever so slightly.
You do it because you know I crave that heady combination of danger, fear, violence, power, and arousal. Because you know how it makes me feel. Because you know how wet my cunt gets. Because you know how much I love it.
You do it because you’re just that kind of guy.
I never understand the threat in these pics. I get that being threatened with a gun is hot but this makes no sense. The pics always have the girl giving head while the guy points the gun (usually at her head). If he pulled the trigger the first thing that would happen is she would reflexively convulse and bite off his dick…
Ahahahahaha I died when I read the bit about the reflexive convulsion. You’re very right.
What I like doesn’t really involve pointing it at me to get me to do anything, definitely not give head. the caption I wrote really does describe what kind of gunplay I enjoy. I just like having a gun pointed at me and getting death threats. Guns are scary/hot in and of themselves.
pretty-prey…there’d be no ransom. You’d stay in my basement until your cunt was destroyed well beyond its usefulness, then I’d take you shackled and gagged out to the middle of nowhere, drop you to your knees, press a .38 special to the back of your head, and as the sun set under the horizon, I’d lean in close to your ear and whisper “sweet dreams, little one” as I pulled the trigger.
I’m always prettier with your hands wrapped around my neck.
I’d rather choke you and tell you “you could be so pretty”.
Would that be an implied death threat ( as in “You’d could be so pretty if I choked you to death”) or a statement about someone’s actual level of prettiness ( as in “You could be so pretty, but you aren’t.”) or something else?
Simply that I’d rather any girl whose throat I have my hands around feel like a disappointment rather than feel pretty. Though scared for her life? I could roll with that.
Mmm. Gotcha. I was curious. The disappointment thing isn’t my bag (except for someone being disappointed in me for bad behavior). I haven’t really tried it out though, so that could be something new to explore.
But death threats? Yes please! Especially death threats while someone is in a position where they could conceivably carry out that threat so that I feel afraid. Like, say, with their hands around my neck.
Just as quickly as the knife had become the focus of my attention, it was gone. My trials and tribulations were far from over, however, and Reaction Junkie began to use his hands. He started hurting me, hitting my tits and my stomach with open and closed fists, making me breathe heavily and gasp with the impacts. Still blindfolded, I was taken off guard when the first slap hit my face. Then there was another, and another. These were hard slaps, and as I yelped, he told me to be brave and take them, making it clear that he’d read the post I wrote about wanting face marks. Everything I said in the post is true, but imagining how painful and difficult it would be to handle enough impact to get a mark, and thinking that he meant to leave one on me during that very scene was enough to freak me out. My whimpering intensified. Then, suddenly, bright light hit my eyes, making me squeeze them shut. There were tears in the corners of my eyes from being poked with the knife and from the face slapping. I peered out from half-lidded eyes and saw Reaction Junkie’s grinning face. I grinned right back, and he leaned down for a kiss.
The blindfold now gone, the scene continued. Reaction Junkie began smacking my outer right thigh, warming it up. Then he began punching it increasingly hard. What had been controlled movement on my part turned into writhing, and then thrashing. Grabbing my leg, Reaction Junkie held me down and still and began elbowing me. The first time he did it, I was unprepared for how much it would hurt, and I cried out in surprise and pain. He repeated the action, kneeling next to me and dropping his elbow into my thigh, putting some of his weight behind it. I felt a deep pain each time, like he was hurting me all the way to the bone. I started whimpering, and felt the tears starting. Reaction Junkie made fun of me, asking, “Are you going to cry like a little cunt?” I nodded, and began crying. Just like a little cunt.
I took as much of the elbowing as I could, but after only a few impacts like that, I felt like I was going to break. “Yellow, ” I panted out. Reaction Junkie just looked at my frightened face and pointedly ignored my request to dial things back. He slammed his elbow into me again, just as hard as before. As he set himself up to do it again, I started to breathe faster and faster, half-panicked at the thought that there was nothing I could do to stop him. I watched him dropping his weight into me again, his elbow landing hard, and groaned loudly in response, the tears rolling down my face. He hit me again, and then again. Finally, he decided to stop. It wasn’t anything to do with me wanting him to, of course, but because he felt like it.
Just because he stopped hurting me that way in that location didn’t mean he was stopping altogether. He straddled my legs, sitting on them. That put weight on my now battered thigh, making me grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut from the pain. He started slapping my tits and my face. I struggled, but my arms were bound and now my legs were held in place, so it was even more futile than usual. When he paused for a moment, I realized that my thumb felt numb. Not an emergency, but also not something I care to experience for longer than necessary. I opened my eyes and asked Reaction Junkie if the rope could come off. He sat me up and obliged me, wanting his toy to be fully functional. By the time he finished untying me, my thumb was back to normal.
When the rope was off, Reaction Junkie allowed me a few moments to rest. He comforted me, telling me, “There, there. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay.” By the end of the night, those words would provide no solace. To the contrary, because of the way he was saying them, and because he would tell me such things in the midst of frightening me and hurting me, each time he said them, I became more and more certain that he would do the very things he was saying he wouldn’t. Promises not to hurt me meant pain was imminent, guarantees of safety meant certain danger. In my mind, reassurances turned upside down into threats. In fact, Reaction Junkie eventually had to switch to telling me “You’re not safe. I’m going to hurt you. You’re in mortal peril.” to convince me he meant me no harm. My mind was thoroughly and deliciously fucked.
When I stopped crying, Reaction Junkie resumed his lesson about what it means for him to own me. He made a comment about the horrible things he could do to me, and I replied that he probably shouldn’t do some of them there, at the playspace. He looked at me and, using that voice, he said, “I don’t think you understand how much power I have when it comes to you.” He reminded me that I’m his property, that no one else cares, and that he could kill me and no one would even notice until it was too late. Then he began to hurt my thigh again.
[Note: This is about the previous happy hour, on Tuesday, August 19 2014]
When we got to the fast food place, Reaction Junkie and Anderson Cooper ordered their food. Before we walked up the stairs to grab a table, Reaction Junkie handed me his bag to carry while he went to the bathroom. When Anderson Cooper came over, I decided to see if he would do something for me and, in an adorable little voice, I told him the bag was too heavy and asked him to carry it. He obviously did. Later on, Reaction Junkie told me he probably liked that. Hee hee hee. We all sat down and talked for a while. They both have appealing politics and I enjoy watching their friendship dynamic.
A little while later, another group of people from happy hour joined us, and we moved to a bigger table. Several of them were women who were, from what I could tell, toppy or top-leaning. I was really digging the energy at the table and the way people were interacting. I’m ridiculously into the idea of having a friend group, where I have lots of friends and they all know each other, as opposed to just having a bunch of friends. It’s about that community feel. It makes me feel like I have a home, a bit like having a chosen family. Maybe not quite that intense, although I also crave that family feeling, so I would welcome having a group of friends/a community develop into a chosen family.
The toppy ladies were talking about underwear and one of them said “Looking cute is important in the dungeon. You look cute and then you hurt people.” Role models! That’s exactly how I want to be when I’m topping/domming. Also, at one point I said something about having to play dumb or being submissive to men, or something. One of the women responded in a sardonic tone, “Oh, yes. Because women are inferior to men and should be submissive to them at all times.” She waited a beat and then continued, “Because the guys at this table definitely believe that.” It’s funny cuz subby boys. Later on, one of the women was talking about CBT and offering to give lessons to the other. I said I would be interested. She gave me her card and said she would definitely teach me some time. Heh heh heh heh.
I really liked these women, but they intimidated me. Not only because they were toppy, but also because they were women. Women are always more intimidating than men. Partially because I care a lot about what women think and find them harder to impress, which makes for a nervous little feminist bitch. Not to mention the fact that men are, well, easy. No offense, guys. Y'all are still superior and all that, but I know what to do with you. Reaction Junkie has promised to help me make some female friends, which I’m super excited about.
Before we left the restaurant, Reaction Junkie asked if I was in a toppy space. I’d been hitting someone pretty hard not too long before, but also I really like subbing for him, so I said I could be. It seemed like he wanted me to, so I resolved to try to keep my headspace. We headed out to take the train, and, as we left, Anderson Cooper called after us, “Have fun, you two!”, making me blush and smile. I like it when someone knows exactly what dirty dirty things I’m about to go get up to.
While we were waiting for the train, he started saying things to me, holding my hair, and generally being dommy. He started referencing the edgeplay I’m not allowed to tell anyone about, and I finally stopped him and ask him if he wanted me to top. I knew that if he kept doing what he was doing, it would render me unable to do so. He said he could go either way, I said that I could top, but then he just…kept doing those things and pushed me into a subby headspace. When we got on the train, we cuddled up and he started whispering terrible things in my ear about hurting me, killing me, raping me. About how nobody would even try to stop him if he just started beating me then and there. I was incredibly turned on and it was all I could do not to moan too loudly.
When we finally made it back to his place, he went into the kitchen while I took off my shoes. He asked me if I wanted water, and I said I did. He called me into the kitchen, telling me to come get it. I sighed to myself and thought, “He’s doing a thing.” When I walked into the kitchen, I found that I had been absolutely correct. He had a bowl filled with water and told me I was going to drink my water out of it, on the floor, no hands. Like an animal. That is my place, after all. I whined for a while, but I was always going to do it. It was new for me, and I tend to whine before doing new things, but when someone, especially someone with that level of control over me, tells me to do a thing, I do a thing.
He told me to drink it like a kitty, by lapping it up. I was thirsty and being a bit pert, so I asked if I could do it like a horse instead, since horses gulp. He agreed, although he did make me drink some of it “like a kitty” because he wanted to see it. When I’d drank most, but not all, of the water, I stopped. “Are you done?” he asked. I didn’t want more and I didn’t want to keep drinking off the floor, so I said, “Yes.” He repeated the question,“Are you done?” I whined that I couldn’t tell what question he was asking, if I was finished and didn’t want more, or if I had drank all of it. His tone changed when he asked the next time.“Are. You. Done?” I took a risk and said, “Yes.”
He picked up the bowl and grabbed a towel. “You know how we can check if you’re done?” he asked. I cringed, knowing I’d answered wrong. He dumped the rest of the water on my head, and I whimpered. Next time I’ll actually finish my water.
Now that I’d been properly put in my place, we went into his room. I stripped and went to the bathroom. He told me that when I was done pissing, I should spread my legs. I did as instructed, and he came in and pissed into the bowl through my legs. Some got on me, of course, and when he was done, he told me, in a disgusted tone, to clean myself off. I sighed, washed off, and brushed my teeth.
When I went back into the bedroom, he was already in bed. He motioned for me to kneel next to him and I complied. “I’ve reconsidered you letting me sleep in my bed. You can sleep at the foot of the bed.” he told me, noting that I was gross from being on the train and being pissed on. I felt a bit sad and let out a little noise. “Can you say there all night? he asked. I told him I didn’t know, and he seemed to pick up on the fact that not being allowed to cuddle up and sleep with him would have made me bad, and not in a good way, because he told me we could do it another time, he wanted a big spoon.
We cuddled up. I was super exhausted from all the fun I’ve been having, especially with him. He reached back and started playing with my cunt. I fell asleep with him touching me.
I like this kid. I slip into subspace ridiculously easily with him, and I love the rush of being afraid that I get when he tops me. It’s also fun to get to explore my dom side, even if I cede control to him at the slightest hint he’ll take it. Besides the kink stuff, he’s a genuinely interesting person and I really enjoy both having conversations with him and just listening to him talk. I’m excited to spend more time with him.
I was standing next to Reaction Junkie over on the side of the room, mostly just watching other people’s play. The next thing I knew he had his hand between my legs and was rubbing my clit through my panties. He moved me around in front of him, and I buried my face in his chest, somewhat embarrassed, despite the totally welcoming environment. As he was touching me, several people came up to him to talk. Not a one said “hi” or indicated in any way that they noticed me.
After the last person walked away, Reaction Junkie grabbed my hair and pulled it down, forcing my head up to look at him. He continued rubbing my cunt as he looked down at me and said, “You must be an object because I’ve been having conversations with people and they haven’t even acknowledged you.” I whimpered and pressed back against him, my face hot. Without a doubt, each person he’d talked to had known what he was doing to me. It just wasn’t worth mentioning.
He started whispering things into my ear. Terrible, threatening, sexy things. He turned me around so that I was facing out into the room. He leaned close and said, “How many people would even try to stop me if I choked you and killed you?” I couldn’t respond, but he answered his own question, “None. Not until it was too late.” The threat, and the knowledge that it was true, made me shiver and moan.
The next thing I knew, his hand was over my nose and mouth. He was not yet cutting off my breathing, but I knew that was what would happen next. I tried to make eye contact and sort of shook my head “No.” But it wasn’t a real “No.” I love having things done to me in public. Knowing that people are watching me accept my treatment, that they can tell I know my place, that they can see I’m the sort of cunt who enjoys being hurt and scared and degraded. These are a few of my favorite things. He ignored my feeble and disingenuous attempt to stop him and covered my mouth and squeezed my nose shut.
I didn’t want to panic or struggle too much because I didn’t want to make anyone think he was doing something I didn’t want. I was okay at first, less panicked than usual, likely because we were in public. I thought I might be able to handle it, since I am capable of holding my breath. Soon, however, the lack of oxygen and, more than that, the knowledge that I couldn’t get more if I needed it, took over. I struggled, grabbing at his arm and trying to pull it away from my face. Of course, he didn’t move an inch. He’s much stronger than I am, and we both know it. I panicked more, eventually stepping on his foot and trying to elbow him. He finally let go, holding me up as I half collapsed forward, gasping.
He laughed at me, amused by my panicked struggling and my relief and arousal after he’d let me go. A minute later, his hand was back over my nose and mouth and I couldn’t breathe. Again, I was calm at first, but then his other hand moved up around my throat and squeezed lightly. I was truly frightened that he was going to choke me out while cutting off my air, and he must have seen that I was on the verge of freaking out, because he let go more quickly this time. He laughed again at my reaction. His amusement at my distress and the display of his power and control over me were incredibly attractive and turned me on a great deal.
If he’d wanted to, he could have tightened his hand around my neck, stopping the flow of blood to my brain, and no one would have stopped him, least of all me. He could have kept going until it was too late, leaving me damaged or, more likely, dead. He could have killed me and I wouldn’t, and, realistically, couldn’t, have done anything to stop him. My life, what little it’s worth, doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to him. He decides whether I live or die.
Just in case I haven’t made my stance clear enough, I wanted to lay a few things on the table.
Tumblr is cancer, and the entire anti movement even more so. No one on this website knows how to do research and instead prefers just to make up their own definitions, spouting them as truth. Fujoshi does not mean what you think it means. Fujoshi are not inherently bad people. They’re in their right to ship whatever they can conceive. As it has recently been brought to my attention, let me also say that lolicon does not mean what you think it means. Loli consent is literally the worst case of Western bullshit I’ve ever seen. Its shorthand for lolita complex. Which by the way, Lolita is a name. There is nothing inherently sexual about the name. Its been twisted by trigger happy morons, but the lipstick or the fashion? Absolutely nothing to do with pedophilia in any way shape or form.
As a fandom old, I like and support “bad ships” because I have the brain capacity to wrap my head around the fact that these are fictional characters, not real people. If Inuyasha aired today, everyone would be having a fit about not only the Kagome x Inuyasha ship (15 year old human female x 50+ year old half-dog demon) but also the hugely popular Sesshomaru x Rin pairing (god only knows how old dog demon x 10~ year old human female). That being said …
My favorite Golden Kamuy pairing is Ogata x Asirpa (30+ year old man x 13 year old girl) and thats just the fucking facts. I like it. A lot. Its a good pairing.
I have no qualms about people shipping age gaps, whether legal (Endeavor x Hawks) or with minors involved (see above).
I have no qualms with people shipping incest. I’ve read a LOVELY Endeavor x Shoto series that was very cathartic for me regarding my own trauma and I’ve read plenty of BLmatsu fics as well. And to be honest with you? Incest isn’t even bad in real life, so long as its not rape. If a 25 year old man consented to having sex with his 22 year old sister? Its a non issue.
I harbor rape fantasies (being on the receiving end) as does a significant portion of the female populace. Stories about noncon or dubcon are not bad things. The people who read and write them are not bad. Its SUCH a prevalent fantasy that a published book written by a female author I’m currently reading wrote a staged rape scene. No trigger warnings. No notes that said “just so everyone knows, rape is not okay”. No deflecting comments to make sure that the reader knows shes not romanticizing it. The scene literally just IS.
Multishipping is not an endorsement for cheating (something else that was recently brought to my attention, much to my disgust). If someone wants to write about a female character fucking the ENTIRE male cast behind their backs, thats their prerogative and its really not that deep. Cheating in real life is bad because real people get hurt in the process. Fictional characters cheating on fictional characters is angst fuel. Plain and simple.
Any ship being labeled a “bad ship” is fanwank and nothing more.
Trying to tell people how they can and cannot enjoy their fictional media is wrong, and every anti should truly be ashamed of themselves for making people feel bad over something that doesn’t even exist.
I was raped by a father figure from the time I was 11 until I was 18 and I can assure you without a shadow of a doubt that there is absolutely nothing in shipping or fandom that even comes close to the real thing. Equating the two is honestly offensive to anyone whose actually been in that position and I honestly, truly believe that every anti who says they were abused in some fashion or another is lying. Because anyone whose really been there knows that fictional works on the internet are of so little consequence it doesn’t even ping on the radar. Its harmless. Real life though?
And no partaking in these things does not magically turn you into a rapist or a pedophile or anything of the sort. The man who took advantage of me for YEARS didn’t wake up one day and decide to fuck his 11 year old stepdaughter because he read a fucking incest fic on FF.N. He was raped when he was a child and the cycle of abuse continued.
Media effects reality but not the way you think it does. The power of suggestion only works enough to convince you that you need the newest Iphone or you’ll literally die. It does not somehow make you believe that real rape or real pedophilia is fine and dandy. It just does not work like that and anyone who thinks contrary needs to seek professional help ASAP. No amount of rape fic or lolicon doujins is going to make me go out and rape real children. Period.
Oh, and for the record? Theres nothing wrong with ageing up characters either. I don’t see the point (refer to this entire post) but if it makes someone else happy then so be it. They’re not pedophiles for wanting to age up a fictional character they have a crush on so THEY’RE more comfortable, especially considering that said fictional character will always be 15 in canon. Like these fucking mental gymnastics are astounding. Literally pump the brakes for five seconds and think about this.
If I had the power to magically warp into every anti’s house, or just anyone who believed any of the above “Bad Things” were true, I’d honestly kill every single one of them. Like, no joke. You’re a waste of space. You’re a waste of oxygen. No one loves and no one is ever going to love you with that attitude.
Peace.
that’s…….i…someone please launch a police investigation into this person’s life. this is actually a very concerning post.
This person said it’s okay if a man has sex with his sister. What the fuck?!
Whumper is draining whumpee A of blood for an experiment; whumpee B steps in so whumper can take their blood instead
Whumper has been experimenting heavily on whumpee A; whumpee B sees that A is declining quickly and offers themself for whumper’s experiment
Heroes and villains:
Villain has kidnapped sidekick and is torturing him; hero takes sidekick’s place, knowing that sidekick can succeed him as hero
Sidekick saves hero from villain’s attack and gets gravely injured; hero snaps but has to decide between attacking villain and taking care of sidekick
Villain kidnaps civilian and threatens hero with civilian’s death; hero rescues civilian knowing that it’s all a trap and villain just wants hero dead
Supervillain orders villain to kill hero; villain makes the fatal choice to save hero instead
Immortality:
Whumpee becomes a royal bodyguard; when whumper kidnaps the royal to execute them, whumpee volunteers instead, but neither the royal nor whumper know that he’s immortal
Whumper threatens whumpee’s team; immortal whumpee makes a deal: whumper will kill him once for every team member that was saved; only whumpee knows that he can only come back to life a certain number of times
Magic/curses:
Inhuman whumpee has their scales/feathers/blood etc. harvested for a spell to find others like them; whumpee decides to kill themself so the magic won’t work
Whumpee has been cursed and is very sick; caretaker can’t bear to see whumpee suffer and manages to shift the curse so they’re the one dying instead
Team whump:
Whumpee is on the run with a team and for whatever reason their affiliation with the group puts everyone in extreme danger; whumpee gives themself up to whumper to protect everyone
Whumper gives whumpee an enchanted dagger, telling him that his soul is the only thing that will save his team; whumpee stabs himself to save everyone
Listen up guys, I made a trans reader fanfic a while ago and I got sent death threats and was told that my older sister probably killed herself to get away from me. I ended up deleting the whole thing because of that.
You wanna know why that happened? Because I had this horrible awful character in the fanfic misgender the reader in an attempt to show the audience that the character wasn’t meant to be sympathized with. And people completely overacted about that. I even explained why I did that and no one was listening to me. So yeah I deleted it and took a break from writing. I almost deleted my whole account. Now I know that transphobia is terrible and I think that it’s completely unacceptable to be transphobic but don’t attack a writer just because they have a character be transphobic. Like plenty of writers write about r*pe, murder, stealing, Stockholm syndrome, inc*est, kidnapping and more. And I doubt that they condone those things IRL.
And if you don’t agree with something that someone wrote don’t read it. Don’t go sending death threats and making fun of someone’s loved one tragic passing.
Fanfic writers should be allowed to write about they wanna write about without the fear of being harassed.
here’s the first installment of @amonthofwhump’s Mafia Madness! I really hope to complete all of the prompts, but I’m not sure if I will able to since my senior trip this week. nonetheless, this series will be the prequel to my original story, The Devil’s Playground, and will include some characters from it. this first one is about Beth’s (from the first few chapters of my masterlist/Harper’s best friend and roommate) and Nate’s (character I haven’t introduced yet, but another whumpee of Dark) parents, and Ida’s father (the main boss of the Jaguars, the gang Dark works for). hope you all enjoy!
CW: child abuse, modern slavery, minor whumpees (16 and 17 y.o.), degradation, implied torture, mention of rape, death threats, waterboarding, shoe kissing, defiant whumpee
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The silk covered hand lifted up to the young girl’s face, brushing away a strand of her platinum blonde hair and tucking it behind her ear. She saw herself in the mirror and smiled, admiring her carefully constructed face. If her mother was here, she would say the same thing she always said; “You look liked me before the wrinkles.” Then her father would make a comment saying she always had wrinkles, or something or other.
Maybe that’s why their marriage never worked out.
Not one to dwell on the past, the girl got up from her chair in front of her vanity and threw on the fur coat hanging on the wall. It was from the skin of a blank panther, expensive, but can help her remain undetected on her date.
A rock then bounced off her window, making the young girl turn around. Speak of the devil.
Once she opened up the latch, sure enough, the young slave boy whom her father owned was waiting for her down below. The boy waved brightly, making the girl return the favor before she went back inside and grabbed the chest underneath her bed. Inside, there was a bundle of woven rope with a latch on one end, which she attached to the wall next to her. Carefully, as to not fall three stories down and die, the young girl made her way down the mansion.
“Ida,” the young boy breathed once she got done, running up to hug her.
“Harold,” she whispered, a smile on her face.
“You look beautiful,” he said as he grabbed her hand, and the two began running across the courtyard.
“Thank you, where are we going?” Ida asked, looking behind her in case anyone could see them and alert her father.
Harold led her behind the large pool house, to the gazebo located about two hundred feet away from it. The location was perfect, it was hidden behind some large trees and hedges, and already far enough from the mansion’s view.
A song played low in the radio, filling the silence between the vehicle’s two occupants, though nether were listening. The highway was empty, as roads tended to be at 3am, save the occasional truck lumbering in the right lane.
Their hands shifted on the steering wheel, sweaty, numb from how tightly they’d been squeezing. Their eyes shifted to the rear view mirror for the thousand time, as if the intruder in the back seat would disappear, as suddenly as they’d appeared.
In fading baths of light, the interstate lights silhouetted their figure. Exposing a sharp jaw line, inky black clothes, and of course, the gun in their right hand. The intruder was seated with their back to the door, legs thrown over the backseats. A glowing cigarette raised to their lips by the hand not holding the gun. As much as the driver hated people smoking in their car, it was the least of their worries right now.
As if they could feel their attention, the intruder looked up, meeting their eyes in the mirror.
“Eyes on the road.”
On command, the driver’s eyes darted back to the highway stretching endlessly before their headlights.
“Wh-where,” their voice cracked, the leather steering wheel creaked as their hands twisted. They cleared their throat. “Where are we going?”
Hate hate hate when exclusionists try to pass off their bigotry and lies as Enlightening Cutesy Fun Facts and “Teehee so here’s the truth!! ^^ This identity is trash and everyone attached to it should die.” Like it’s actually so fucking sickening. That y’all will just spread false info that feeds into the wants of our oppressors and cuts down your fellow gays and queers. Under this cutesy wutesy, “silly anon EVERYONE knows this identity is xphobic!! lol uwu” tone.
It just says a lot without saying the quiet part out loud. And I hate exclusionists, but I especially hate the ones who act like this. Just call all of us a slur like the bigots you are
