Sometimes it’s hard to be ace around other people who claim to be ace or aroace and then disrespect that you don’t want to have sex or make out or provide oral.
You think you’ve found your people, and yet I have been out with several folk who get handsy and gropey or get offended when you don’t want their hand in your hair or a tongue In your mouth.
And I’m still getting the whole song and dance from them you get from somebody who is sexually active, where they accuse you of leading them on or that you are boring or a wet paper towel. Except now it’s couched in ace terms; it’s a spectrum or hey we ace people can be sexually active too! or some ace people just need release and I thought you’d be cool with that.
No! Asexual for me means without sex. Without second and third base. I’ll hold your hand, maybe cuddle if I’m not feeling claustrophobic. Getting the exact same sharp words from other people with ace pins and stickers on their car or entire online personalities touting their ace cred about that I do with sexually actively people sucks.
Some ace people are really just asexual and its bullshit how there is a big push from other Aces who want everyone to know they have sex too who -then- get upset when they are actually with someone who doesn’t. And no body wants to talk about it.
I had a very different message ready to go for today. I was fully prepared to leave this blog behind. But I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to let three years of really hard work go down the drain.
So today I am opting instead to lay my cards all on the table. I don’t care whose toes I step on, I’m tired of biting my tongue because I’m too anxious or too worried about causing a problem. I’ve finally realized I have to take care of myself too and have a right to my thoughts same as everyone else. Feel free to unfollow if this post bothers you, no hard feelings.
Under cut for fandom wank and mentions of: sexual assault, rape, abuse, csa, and for being (sort of) S*lver critical.
Full disclosure: I’m really tired of all the guilt tripping posts and arguments that some S*lver/Si/verfl*nt fans have been making, accusing people who don’t like S*lver of either being ableist or dismissing/downplaying the trauma of his backstory, specifically his supposedly being a sexual assault survivor/possibly a csa survivor) (I say supposedly because there’s nothing in canon that says this officially, and the creator’s quotes people attribute it to also aren’t specific, though I understand why people interpret them that way; still the fact is Silver being a csa survivor is speculation). I’m tired of people who use these two things to shut down people who criticize S*lver. It’s so upsetting to me how often this has been happening and that people are doing it so casually to dismiss criticism. It’s completely killed my desire to be here. That, on top of people continuously being harassed by certain people. Like I’ve said before I am truly busy, but the atmosphere here has just been constantly going from bad to worse and I continue to have no desire to make time for this place.
First of all, I’ve not seen anyone say that what he went through wasn’t horrifying, that losing a leg made him lesser as a person, or that he deserved whatever trauma that happened to him in the past. I’ve seen people criticize with his actions during the season, especially s4, but I’ve never seen anyone “dismiss” his traumas as in saying they’re not valid (ofc, I have no way of seeing what every single person has said, so I can’t say no one has ever done so, but if they have, I haven’t seen it.) Genuinely, it’s not an experience I would wish on anyone. But what I know is that people have GOT to stop treating previous abuse as a free pass to do shitty things. Whatever trauma he endured doesn’t change the fact he did an awful thing. It can explain it, but it doesn’t excuse it.
I’ve made a previous post on my personal blog months ago, but I’m going to put it out in the open here: I am a csa rape survivor. I’m still, and have been, in counseling the past couple years because of it and am only now beginning to come to terms with what happened to me. My stepfather who did it to me was also abused. Do you understand how completely it fucks me up, to come on here and see posts telling me how much of an asshole and a bad person I am, that I have no empathy, simply because I have an unfavorable opinion against someone’s favorite character? Do you understand how much it fucks me up to have the trauma I endured, used as a club to beat me and others with? To see the trauma I endured used to beat people down and try to derail conversations criticizing S*lver, to try and guilt trip them? Hell, I’ve seen other csa survivors get attacked outright by anons this very way!
It will never stop being absurd to me that I have to divulge this stuff because people care about a fictional character’s feelings more than the real people who’ve endured the trauma they’re supposedly sticking up for. Same thing with people throwing around accusations of ableism. You’re running around telling people they’re ableist because you don’t see their reasons for disliking your fave as valid and therefore assume they must dislike him because he’s disabled.
You don’t have to see what he did as abusive, you just have to accept that I and others do, as is our right. And by telling me I’m an asshole with no empathy for not being more forgiving towards S*lver, you’re essentially saying that because he was someone who was abused and traumatized, I’m an asshole for not forgiving the person who hurt me, because he was also previously abused and traumatized. Maybe that’s not what is meant, but that’s the message I’m getting from it.
But because I do understand that S*lver is very important to some people, and that there are also csa/abuse survivors on the other side of this argument, I want to say that:
I am not saying that every person who was abused becomes abusive. I am saying that sometimes it does happen and that previous trauma is not an excuse.
I am not saying that anyone is a bad person for liking S*lver, or sympathizing with him. It’s okay to love flawed characters. If it weren’t, we’d all be screwed in this fandom. Believe it or not, I actually do understand why he did some things, and I can sympathize with the fear of losing people you care about, etc.
I am not equating what S*lver did with what happened to me, I was speaking of abuse broadly to make my point.
I simply have some very big problems with things he’s done, and I am allowed to.
If that’s not enough then consider the following:
S*lver used to be a character I liked very much, and I do think having someone disabled in a prominent, badass pirate role, and in an interracial romance is something very important. I used to ship Si/verfl*nt, and there are remnant gifsets floating around as proof. Through this blog, I met, fell in love with, and married a Si/verfl*nter who used to be one of the biggest shippers in the fandom. So if you still feel that I’m ableist, or heartless, or am hating just for the sake of it after all this, then I seriously don’t know what to tell you.
My point is this: I am done seeing this stuff. I am not going to tolerate it anymore. If I see any of these kinds of posts when it’s unwarranted, whether it’s reblogging, posting, etc. you’re getting unfollowed and probably blocked. You’re allowed to do whatever you want on your own blog, and I am under no obligation to see it, and I have every right to do what’s best for my own mental health.
As for this blog…
I can’t promise I won’t still have long activity gaps, or that I’ll be up for making new content anytime soon (I swear I’ve tried, but my motivation always deflates as fast as it comes, I am having some luck with fanfics though.) I can’t even promise that I won’t end up quitting anyway. But I can promise I will continue trying, for everyone here who’s stuck by this blog and me. I’m sorry I couldn’t leave a happier message here, but I’ve needed to say this for a really long time.
I really do thank everyone here <3 You’re the reason this blog has been as successful as it has, and I really appreciate you, even if I don’t know how to show it <3 Here’s to hopefully more years to come. Thank you for being here.
on a less eloquent note: it really does suck ass that we victims of violent sex crimes are then forced to carry the burden of healing, dealing, and “being the bigger person” in learning to live with life-long trauma in a society that actively looks down on us for showing any sign / symptom of our trauma when all i actually want to do is hit my assaulters / rapists with an 18-wheeler at 75 mph
for those who might not know, april here is sexual assault awareness month. as a survivor of repeated counts of it, i wanted to pass that along to everyone else who’s been traumatized by people who just didn’t want to hear the word “no”. you’re not broken. you’re not dirty. you’re not at fault for anything that happened to you. anyone who says you are deserves a swift kick to the shins and a drop off a pier. i’m sorry for what happened to you. i hope you’re given the space and time you need to heal. i hope those that did it to you face justice, or at least, some serious karmic retribution. you’re brilliant. you’re gorgeous. you’re deserving of so much love. i’m proud of you for coming this far, for fighting through the aftermath.
in my own journey, i’ve finally opened up to people about what happened to me. i’ve shared the most basic details with my therapist, my husband…. and with my mom, as she knows one of the people who hurt me. this is something i couldn’t have done a year, even 6 months, ago. but, i’ve done it, now. healing takes time. working up the courage to talk about it takes time. don’t be hard on yourself if you aren’t at that point, yet. i’m truly wishing the best for you. i’m sending you all the love and hugs ( provided consent is given ), and showering you in all the best vibes i can that you’re able to find people who’ll listen, someone you can rely on when the trauma hits hard, and that you’ll be able to talk to someone and work through this.
The Women of Asgarda | In the Ukraine, a country where females are victims of sexual trafficking and gender oppression, a new tribe of empowered women is emerging. Calling themselves the “Asgarda”, the women seek complete autonomy from men. Residing in the Carpathian Mountains, the tribe is comprised of 150 women of varying ages, primarily students, led by 30 year-old Katerina Tarnouska. Reviving the tribal traditions of the Scythian Amazons of ancient Greek mythology, the Asgarda train in martial arts, taught by former Soviet karate master, Volodymyr Stepanovytch, and learn life skills and sciences in order to become ideal women.
daily reminder that ‘porn addiction’ is a myth perpetuated by far right evangelical groups.
As long as your porn consumption is not interfering with your work or social life, it’s considered normal.
Actual psychology research shows that people who identify as ‘porn addicts’ don’t actually consume more porn than average. What do they have in common? They were raised to view sex as shameful.
It’s also commonly used as a way to avoid taking responsibility. The number of men I’ve seen saying “porn MADE me misogynistic, porn MADE me dehumanize women, porn MADE me see women as objects, porn MADE me sexually harass women.”
On the flip side, I’ve also seen women blaming porn for the same reason. Instead of. You know. Misogynistic, dehumanizing abusers.
Porn is often used as the scapegoat for a lot of problems in our world, I’ve often thought it’s the equivalent of people saying video games causes mass shootings and a rise in violence.
There’s also a good bit of evidence and studies saying an availability to porn (as well as prostitution) has shown a link to decreased sexual violence.
i’m just glad these kinds of myths only exist among far right evangelicals like could you imagine how pathetic it would be if leftists thought certain kinds of porn could taint your mind making you inevitably become some sort of awful abuser? but surely nobody would believe such a thing and ostracize people for that kind of stuff while also regularly spreading around posts like this lol
In first grade, a boy named John— a notorious troublemaker—systematically chased every girl in our class during recess trying to kiss her on the lips. Most gave in eventually. It was easier to give in than keep running. When it was my turn, I turned and faced him, grabbed his glasses off his weasel face, and stomped on them on the hard blacktop. He ran to the principal’s office and cried.
In fifth grade, I was asked to be a boy’s girlfriend over email. It was the first email I ever received. He actually told me he wanted to send me an email, so I went home and made an AOL account. We went to a carnival and he won me a Garfield stuffed animal, and then he gave me a 3 Doors Down CD. A few days later, he broke up with me, and asked for Garfield and the CD back. I said no.
In sixth grade, a girl in my year gave head to an eighth grader in the back of the school bus while playing Truth or Dare.
In the summer after sixth grade, I kissed a boy for the first time at sleep away camp. He was my summer love. During the end-of-the-summer dining hall announcements, where kids usually announced lost sweatshirts and Walkmen, an older girl stepped up to the microphone, tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and proudly stated, “I lost something very precious to me last night. My virginity. If anyone finds it, please let me know.” The dining hall erupted into laughter and cheers. She was barred from ever coming back to the camp again, and wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to anyone.
In seventh grade, I told my brother I decided when I was older wanted a Hummer. What I really meant was I wanted a Jeep, but I didn’t know a lot about cars. My mother overheard and screamed at me for “wanting a Hummer.”
In the summer after freshman year of high school, I went to sleepaway field hockey camp with many of my close friends. One of them, named Megan, I had been friends with since kindergarten. One night when I was showering, she ripped open the curtain and snapped a photo of me on her disposable camera. I screamed. She laughed. We both laughed when I got out of the shower a few minutes later. After camp was over, her father took the camera to the convenience store to get it developed. When he gave the finished photos back to her, he said, “Your friend [Anonymous] has grown up.”
Sophomore year of high school, one of my best friends Hilary had a party in her basement while her mom was away. We invited some of the guys in our grade and someone’s older brother bought us a handle of vodka. One of the boys who came sat next to me in Spanish class. His name was Thomas. I remember playing a simple game, where we passed the bottle of vodka around in a circle and drank. I remember being happily tipsy and having fun, to suddenly being very drunk. Thomas and I started chanting numbers in Spanish, and he leaned towards me and kissed me. We kissed in the middle of the party, with all of our friends cheering. Then we went into Hilary’s bedroom.
Hilary’s bedroom was in the basement, on the ground floor, with a large window next to her bed. When someone went outside to smoke a cigarette, they realized it was a front row seat to what was happening in the bedroom. It was dark outside, and the light on was in the bedroom. They called everyone outside to watch. I don’t remember getting undressed, but apparently we were both completely naked in Hilary’s bed. A friend of mine told me later she tried to open the door and stop what was happening, but Thomas must have locked it. They said they pounded on the door. I don’t remember hearing them pounding. I don’t remember seeing everyone’s faces outside the window. I remember Thomas holding my head down, and shoving his penis into my mouth. I remember trying to resist, pulling back, but he held his hands firmly on my head, pushing my face up and down. That’s all that I remember.
The next day, my friends and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. I couldn’t eat anything, and it wasn’t because I was hung over. Every time I tried to put food in my mouth, I felt like I was choking. Anytime a flash of the night before appeared in my mind, I felt like vomiting. My friends sat with me in silence. Then they told me a girl named Lindsey, who had briefly dated Thomas freshman year, had stood outside and watched the entire time. Even after everyone else stopped watching. My friends said they didn’t watch.
On Monday, Thomas and I sat next to each other in Spanish. We didn’t speak. We didn’t make eye contact. I went to the girls bathroom and threw up. I hear Lindsey and Thomas live together, now, ten years later.
Junior year of high school, my teacher for Honors Spanish was named Señor Gonzales. Señor Gonzales had all of the girls sit in the front row. Señor Gonzales called on any girl who was wearing a skirt to write on the chalkboard. Señor Gonzales asked a friend of mine, who had broken her finger playing an after school sport, if she broke her finger because “she liked it rough.” Señor Gonzales was a tenured teacher.
Senior year of high school, I got my first real boyfriend. His name was Colin. He was on the lacrosse team with Thomas. He told me that sophomore year, Thomas told everyone on the team what happened that night at Hilary’s. Everyone cheered. Colin said that, even then, he had a crush on me. Even then, he wanted to punch Thomas.
Colin and I lost our virginities to each other. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have the baby. He didn’t believe in abortion. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have a C-section. Colin said that if I didn’t have a C-section, my vagina would be too loose for him to ever enjoy having sex with me again. Colin said that he wouldn’t let our child breastfeed. He said his mother gave him formula, and that he turned out just fine. I didn’t get pregnant.
Junior year of college, I lived in Denmark for the spring semester and studied at the University of Copenhagen. Copenhagen is one of the safest cities in the world. Guns are illegal there. Pepper spray is illegal there. One night, my friends and I went to a concert at a crowded club in a part of the city I didn’t know very well. I brought a tiny purse with money, my apartment key, and my international cell phone. For some reason it made sense at the time to put my purse inside my friend’s purse. Maybe I didn’t feel like carrying it. We were both drinking. My friend left the concert to go home with her boyfriend. One by one, everyone I was there with left the concert, until I was suddenly alone and I realized I didn’t have my purse, or any money for a cab ride home.
I started walking in the direction that felt right. I walked for a long time. I had no idea where I was, and didn’t recognize the area. It was almost 4 am. I was on a residential street when a cab pulled up next to me. I asked the driver if he could drive me to an intersection down the street from my apartment.
I don’t have any money, I said.
I really need your help, I said.
I will do it for free, he said.
Sit in the front, he said.
I sat in the front. We drove in silence for some time, until he pulled over on the side of a dark street.
I don’t want to do it for free anymore, he said.
He locked the car doors and reached across the center console and slipped his hand up my skirt. He grabbed my vagina. Hard. I pushed his hand away and unlocked the door. I ran down the street and realized he had taken me a block away from the intersection I wanted. I walked to my apartment and threw rocks at my roommate’s window until she let me inside. She yelled at me for waking her up. I escaped. Nothing happened. I was fine.
The summer after I graduated college I helped Hilary find an internship. She was an art major and wanted something for her resume besides waitressing. We found a posting on Craigslist to be a studio assistant for a painter in the Bronx. It was listed as an unpaid internship. The toll for the George Washington Bridge was twelve dollars, plus gas, but she got the internship anyway. She wanted the experience.
The artist was a 38-year-old Canadian painter named Bradley. Hilary was 22.There was another intern there, an art student from Manhattan named Stella. Bradley needed assistants to help him make bubble wrap paintings. Stella and Hilary would take a syringe and fill the tiny bubbles with different color paints until it formed a mosaic. Bradley always had Hilary stay after Stella left to clean the paintbrushes and syringes. He told Hilary she was beautiful. More beautiful than his wife, who he only married for citizenship. He told Hilary they had a loveless marriage. He told Hilary he wanted to have her beautiful children. They began an affair. He told Hilary has wife knew and didn’t care. He told Hilary he was going to leave his wife soon.
Everyday Hilary drove to the Bronx, cleaned Bradley’s paintbrushes, and had sex on the studio floor. Everyday she went home with no money, and everyday she paid the toll at the George Washington Bridge. She needed the internship for her resume, she said. It was too late to find a new job, she said.
I could go on. I could tell you a lot more. About the whistles on the sidewalk, the kids who sat at the bottom of the stairs in high school to look up our skirts, my friend who was a prostitute in South Carolina, the men who’ve cornered me in parking lots and bars calling me a tease, the unwanted grabbing on the subway, the many times my father has called me fat, the time I traveled to the Philippines and discovered Western men pay preteen locals to spend the week in their hotel, the messages on OKCupid asking to “fart in my mouth.” About how I wasn’t sure if I had been raped because I was drunk and kissed Thomas back. How he raped my mouth and not my vagina, so that must not be rape. How easy it was for me to escape the dark street in Copenhagen, and how that made it not matter since “it could’ve been worse.”
Men have no idea what it takes to be a woman. To grin and bear it and persevere. The constant state of war, navigating the relentless obstacle course of testosterone and misogyny, where they think we are property to be owned and plowed. But we’re not. We are people, just like them. Equals, in fact, or at least that’s the core of what feminism is still trying to achieve. The job is not over. We’ve made great progress. There are female CEOs, though not very many. There are females writing for the New York Times and winning Pulitzer prizes, though not very many. There are female politicians, though not very many. But these advances are only on paper. The job won’t be over until equality permeates the air we breathe, the streets we walk and the homes we live in.
I think back to how easy it was for me, in first grade, to feel fearless and strong in my conviction to stomp on John’s glasses. I felt right in reacting how I did, because John’s behavior was wrong. But his was an elementary learning of the wide boundaries his gender would go on to afford him. For me, it would never again be so easy.
-75% of indigenous girls under 18 have been sexually assaulted
-indigenous women and girls are more likely to be killed by a stranger than a non-indigenous woman.
-indigenous women and girls represented approximately 10% of all female homicides in Canada. However, indigenous women make up only 3% of the female population.
-No one knows the exact amount of indigenous women and girls that go missing each year due to poor infrastructure on data gathering and underreporting.
- indigenous women are far more likely to receive abuse & the abuse they face is far more severe than non-indigenous women.
this is the messiest situation i’ve seen on stan twitter in weeks, y’all
context: BTS jimin released a song called filter in february 2020, and one of the nine producers on it (credited seventh out of nine; producers are always listed from most involved to least involved) was accused of sexual assault in november 2020, so BTS’s company cut ties and never worked with that guy again (he was previously freelance, not a full-time employee at BTS’s company). he only worked on a couple other songs for BTS and TXT over the years, but nothing after the allegations.
so, there’s a kpop journalist who stans bigbang (you know, the group featuring an actual rapist currently in prison, and the other members all still support that rapist and like posts about how ~bigbang is five members~) — and this kpop journalist tweeted about BTS “working with a known sex offender,” purposely twisting that wording to make it seem like they’re NOW actively working with him and getting him to write new songs. so, a shit ton of korean women and sexual assault survivors were like…….. now hold on, bigbang stan
and then people found out that this kpop journalist also regularly asks female kpop idols about what size bra they wear, if they’re wearing a bra, etc, and people of course found homophobic and antiblack tweets……. so things are starting to make a lot more sense with this journalist’s morals
so now: the kpop journalist turned off replies on their tweets (after blocking all the people who tried to have a civil conversation), but they’re receiving lots of DMs on twitter, and they keep posting screenshots like this:
……. but if you click on them and read the actual DMs:
they still haven’t turned off their DMs, btw
they’re now referring to these DMs as “terrorism” and tweeting #ProtectJournalists about the situation…. which is the hashtag for protecting the lives of journalists in places like palestine, afghanistan, and ukraine, and was trending earlier today because of the murder of a palestinian journalist
i want to make it perfectly clear, by the way, that i don’t support johnny depp and i don’t support the media circus around this.
all of this has manifested itself in an absolutely disgusting way. for instance, i just saw a post circulate around with screenshots of people making funney tiktok videos to a woman describing herself being raped and adding comments like ‘lol i wish that was me’, for instance.
EVEN if you do not believe she was legitimately sexually assaulted, what the fuck would compel you to make something like that, let alone be one of the hundreds of thousands of people watching, liking, and sharing those ‘jokes’. this is horrific. this is disgusting. this is shit people are going to look back on ten years from now and wonder how this was ever considered permissible in society. when people now are wondering how an entire culture of people was willing to hound celebrities like britney spears and mock their mental breakdowns, take a look at how widely normalized shit like this is.
i’ve been afraid to say anything at all because of the insane levels of vitriol and abuse that get hurled toward anyone speaking out against it, and i don’t doubt people are going to give me shit for this, but i refuse to be one of those people who, ten years from now, bemoans how disgusting a culture that makes jokey tiktok audios to a woman graphically describing her rape was but didn’t say anything about it at the time. i’m not uninformed; i’ve read up significantly about this case and read previous court decisions and i know what i’m talking about. this is absolutely disgusting and the fact that all of this is emboldening a culture of wildly normalized public misogyny is vastly intentional. fuck this, and fuck people who are participating in it.
17.2k likes… like i just. people realize this is the fear of so many survivors, right? to hear “oh, well, he was attractive, you should’ve enjoyed it”. this person isn’t even simply doubting the rape happened, but rather claiming it was somehow desirable, like because it was perpetuated by someone she considers attractive, that anyone should have enjoyed it. like…. 17.2k likes!!! am i… like are we in a parallel dimension here?? what the fuck is happening?? do people really think this shit is going to be constrained solely to these two people? like reinforcing the norm of “if you say you were raped and your rapist is attractive, you should’ve enjoyed it” isn’t going to transcend beyond just this one case? do people not realize how repeating that line over and over again and treating it as funny is going to affect so many survivors??? how many survivors are already reading that shit and thinking ‘this is what people are going to say about me if i speak out’???? how many other survivors who were assaulted by charismatic or “attractive” people are going to be told the exact same thing, because we’ve now normalized making these kinds of comments? i can’t form better words right now and i’m sorry about that but i’m fucking fuming right now.
Show this photo to your daughters as they grow up.
Show them that courage is important, even in the scariest of situations. This woman stood up and faced her fears, spoke her truth in front of a group of men while balancing the world on her shoulders. She is a hero. She is a representation for all women who are done being assaulted and abused.
I Believe Dr. Christine Blasey Ford
Show it to them because our mothers didn’t show us this one:
Who is she? Anita Hill.
What’s she doing here? Testifying about the sexual misconduct of then supreme court nominee Clarence Thomas aka nowthe most senior justice on the Supreme Court.
wes’ ex just came out with her story. i’ll attache the screenshot of the tweet and the images so you can read them. trigger warning for sexual assault.
