#I wasn’t going to engage but I keep seeing vitriol in the tag when all I want to do is decompress and I just…

[o-wild-west-wind]

A Biracial Reading of OFMD, ft. Iggy’s Revenge Izcourse

a.k.a. I typed out a sentence that turned into an accidental essay of meta, whoops!

Y’all…I love this fandom to pieces, but I don’t think some of you realize why not all of us love Izzy/may be critiquing him. And major disclaimer—I am in NO WAY telling anyone to stop enjoying him as a character. This is NOT an anti-Izzy post (I will go into more detail on why I in fact encourage you to keep doing so later, and to the people who are sending unsolicited hate mail to Izzy fans & haters alike: please don’t!)—I’m just tired of seeing vitriolic hate against the people writing about him as an antagonist, or critiquing his actions based on canon, or post after post of “why don’t people love Izzy like I do!!” and then aggression when people explain their honest opinions. Look: we all have our skrungly little bad guys. I get it!! I’ve got my own collection!! I too have become a consumer and enjoyer of the Izzy fanon!!! PLEASE don’t take this as an attack—I just want to provide some personal, potentially fresh context from at least one (obviously non-exhaustive) perspective for those who want to know why Izzy isn’t universally adored, and also to make a plea for a safer fandom space where we can talk about our perspectives on these fictional characters without escalating to unnecessary vitriol, especially as s2 be upon ye (bc holy shit fandom is supposed to be fun, we’re having fun and that’s an order 😤)

(Oh, and I know I’m potentially stirring the pot with this post, but this should go without saying: don’t send each other death threats. What the fuck. Nobody do this?!)

So now that the legalize is out of the way: I want to share that the reason I initially imprinted on this show—and on Ed specifically—was because I’d never seen an explicitly biracial character treated with such complexity, nuance, and grace. While our ethnic makeups are vastly different, I too am half-white & half-brown—which means we’re absolutely nothing culturally alike, but our worlds view and treat us as pretty much the same regardless. And like Ed, my dad resents my mom and my racial makeup, and is prone to what I like to call “white violence.” Not going to overshare on the internet, but let’s just say that all this compounded makes Ed feel highly relatable to me (although for legal purposes I promise I have not krakened my dad 🙃).

When I first watched the show (and honestly also until my 3rd or 4th rewatch), Izzy IMMEDIATELY made me think of my dad. He also immediately made me think of Ed’s dad. Their mannerisms, word choices, and tones of voice; the obsessive need for control; the default of violence; the gradual dehumanization until an ultimate kraken-ifying breaking point—it all read to me like an intentional parallel. A shadow of white violence following Ed around that he hasn’t been able to shake, and mirroring to him the things he fears the most, including the things he fears within himself and feels forced to become (he is half-white after all, and this is a whole other post, but tl;dr there can be a lot of baggage that comes with being half-white/half-poc in regards to grappling with your toxic relationship to that white side of yourself, and especially if your white parent was racist and/or violent). And you can claim a different reading of all of this if you want (I genuinely mean that, like I’m in favor of meta & I think it’s great to analyze these things) BUT. that does not change the fact that I felt what I felt as a result of what was portrayed on screen and combined with my lived experience. Because fictional characters are just that—fictional—and are vessels by which you can process the world; we will always bring our personal lived experiences to anything we consume, and that’s okay—that can be the point, even. Art imitates life imitates art. Interpretation is the name of the game!

(more under the cut)

So when I watch this show, it’s a helpful tool for me to process my own feelings of being victimized by the white violence that’s followed me around my whole life, as well as the ways in which I’ve rebelled against it/tried to make peace with a non-toxic version of whiteness (in parallel to the more overt theme of masculinity, which is—ding ding—inexplicably tied to whiteness and western colonialism) via chaos, love, hurt, and sometimes giving up and giving in—and in this process, Izzy is a safe target. And you know why that is? Because he’s FICTIONAL. I can feel rage towards him because he’s NOT REAL. I can better understand and process the pain I’ve felt and rarely seen societally acknowledged by watching it paralleled on screen via actors and writers who have likely also grappled with similar feelings (I mean, I genuinely have made more progress with my personal biracial trauma via this show vs. years of therapy), and if I want to assume the worst of Izzy based on my interpretation of canon to help me through this? That’s fine! Because I can’t hurt his feelings and he can’t hurt mine!! Because he’s not real!!!

And here’s why I still support the Izzy-enjoyment: I am sure that many of the people who love Izzy and defend him to the ends of the earth probably feel a similar way that I do about Ed. It’s why we get all riled up and protective of these characters, why we might take attacks on them as attacks on ourselves; recognition of the self in the form of the other, and all that. Izzy is a vessel by which to safely work through the dark feelings and the pain you’ve bottled up—and he’s a safe way to do that because he’s FICTIONAL. And that’s a beautiful thing imo!! That’s truly the beauty of art—it is what we make of it, and what we make of it helps make ourselves better. It’s good to be open to interpretation.

HOWEVER: that does not give you permission to discount my relationship to this show (as I will not discount yours), and more importantly: that does NOT give you permission to reject the notion that canonically in s1, Izzy is literally and thematically (emphasis on thematically) an antagonist who is purposefully written to cause harm that can be interpreted as a hate crime, especially to those with lived experience of homophobia/racism/ableism/bullying/etc.—and you cannot harass people about this when conversing about theories of canon. If someone sees Izzy’s dialogue as cutting, degrading, and even triggering, that’s extremely fair of them to do so—clearly Ed was written to feel it that way! Con himself has paralleled Izzy with Judas! And can interpret it all differently? Sure! But you CANNOT assume that everyone else will, and then get upset when people don’t. I can’t believe I need to spell this out about an angry white guy in a show about toxic masculinity, but if someone does not like Izzy, it is likely due to a personal history of harassment (or worse) that he is reminiscent of; by making a point to defend him to someone—even if you are well-intentioned—you are very much putting salt in a wound.

I want to take this opportunity to further emphasize some tenets of fandom in general:

you can like characters who do horrible things without needing to jump hoops to argue their morals as pure 👏

conversely, you can critique their actions and still like them (encouraged, even) 👏

you can like characters who do horrible things simply because they’re cool and hot and interesting—don’t worry, we know it’s not the same as liking people like them irl 👏

your liking a villain archetype says nothing about your own moral virtue 👏

you can like horrible characters and see reasons for why they are the way they are/view them as tragic/note sympathetic dimensions of their personality/root for them to have redemption arcs while acknowledging that said redemption arc may not have happened in canon yet and that these are implicit, not explicit, readings of canon 👏

and you can also reimagine canon and change their contexts in fan works so that they ARE morally virtuous 👏 but PLEASE just be mindful and accountable when you do this in a context where not everyone will see a character the same way as you, and where multiple of people of marginalized identities have spoken out about the harm not doing so can cause. Just be honest, sincere, and kind, listen and learn, and don’t harass people for understandably needing space from a character that symbolizes something different to them than it does to you.

Also: blocking tags or people just because they have character opinions different than yours is totally okay and does not mean anything other than “I am curating my online space to have a better time,” it’s NOT personal

And most importantly: FANDOM IS FOR FUN! This isn’t our day job! We come to fandom to decompress. Don’t ruin people’s safe spaces!!!

Like I said, I’ve grown to enjoy Izzy over time thanks to fandom and fanon, and I think it’s fantastic that fandom can have such diversity in the way it interprets canon. I can’t wait for his probable redemption arc (it will likely be a healing thing to witness for many of us) and I’m truly glad that we can all have different relationships to the same characters. But please—when some of us need Izzy to be a punching bag, just let him be a punching bag. No, it’s not homophobic and DEFINTELY not misogynistic to view him as an obstacle in Ed and Stede’s relationship (baffled by the amount of times I’ve seen this take—it’s a funny joke but if you actually think Izzy is treated the way female characters related to other mlm ships have been treated, the point is very much going whoosh). You don’t have to engage; it’s not personal. It’s not about YOUR relationship with him—it’s about MINE. Please let me feel and even discuss rage towards him when I think about episode 10. Please let me throw as many sandwiches at his head as I need to. Because I PROMISE, it won’t hurt him—because he, and none of these characters, are real; and yet we, the fans, very much are.

[first-and-last-neocount]

Whumptober Day 2

So much love to @theobscurepotato and @peregrinealpha, you guys are fantastic and I really appreciate the support, it means the world to know that I’m not the only one excited for this! <3

I have no excuse for this one. Pretty sure this is the purest definition of an id fic, because it just kinda wrote itself, and when I was done and went back to read over it the front of my brain was like ‘what the hell did I just create’ and my lizard brain was purring ‘yesss, good’ like goddamn Palpatine. This is definitely not a scenario that I think would actually have happened in canon, but apparently it’s a scenario my brain wanted to play with, and I definitely do blame it on Gerald canonically having way too much fun needling Damien for no obvious reason other than for the sake of winding him up. 

Much like day 1, this is right in the grey area where I wasn’t sure whether to tag it NSFW or not, but I’m erring on the side of caution because I’d rather be overly conscientious than not. I also wasn’t entirely sure how to word the content warning tags, so I tagged it for general self destructive behaviour, because uh - what Gerald is doing here is not how to have a healthy relationship, kids. This is ‘personal experience with adolescent trauma’ meets ‘horrifically bad coping mechanisms’ with a dash of ‘really really warped views on intimacy’. This is also a consent nightmare, because Damien is not aware that Gerald is intentionally provoking him. Please do not try this at home. 

Day 2 - Theme Chosen: Choking

Gerald Tarrant wasn't above using deception to further his own interests, but he preferred evasion to direct falsehood, and he certainly wasn't in the business of lying to himself. Thus, he was well aware of why he was engaged in his current endeavour – that being, inciting yet another argument with his companion, intentionally goading the priest he'd spent the last few months travelling with into a heated debate over the fate of the little girl they'd unintentionally absorbed into their group after encountering the Terata. The part of his mind that was coolly analyzing his actions, though, was smaller than the part which was focusing on the argument itself.

Both of those part combined were smaller still than the part of his brain that was fixated on what the priest's hands would feel like closing around his throat.

“For the last vulking time, I am not just abandoning her!” The Knight's fraying patience finally snapped, and the bulkier man took a step toward the adept, his eyes blazing. He was only letting go this much because Jenseny was well away from the cave that was currently their refuge, gathering sticks with Hesseth to make a fire; the rakh-woman had sensed the building tension, and had deliberately taken the girl out of the way so that the two men in the group could clear the air.

“I don't care if you think it would be easier, I promised to keep her safe -”

His hands were clenched into fists at his side, the force of his indignation expressed through the whitening of his knuckles, the corded tension in his arms as he held himself back from violence. Gerald fired back a retort on autopilot during an appropriate pause in the priest's rant, his own manner cool and detached, his mask of indifference firmly in place despite his mental preoccupation. God, the strength in this man – Damien Vryce was a fighter, and the proof of that was in every line of his body, the broad stretch of his shoulders and the thick muscle that layered his naturally-sturdy frame. His hands were large and strong-boned, the skin tanned and weathered by years of travel, thickly calloused by the tug of leather reins and the hilts of weapons. Fae-augmented healing or not, if Vryce hit him, it would hurt. It would leave a mark, at least for a while.

It would feel real, in the way things rarely did now, isolated as he was by his own carefully crafted cocoon of power.

The words of a past lover drifted through his memory, that long-gone voice dripping with disgust. You're pathetic. So desperation for attention, you don't even care what it looks like. I could make you bleed and you'd say 'thank you', wouldn't you?

“Are you even listening to me?”

Gerald snapped back into the present moment fully, his unnaturally slow heartbeat accelerating a little as he registered the building fury in Vryce's voice. His lack of attention had been noticed, it seemed, and the priest's handsome face was turning an alarming shade of red as his temper swelled. Pride simmered in Gerald's chest at the reaction he'd provoked from the normally level-headed man, satisfaction slithering through his veins even as he replied in a deliberately bored tone.

“It's not as if you're saying anything you haven't said before, Reverend. Given the intensity of our pursuit, the girl would likely be safer out of our presence than in it. Regardless, though, it comes back to the same point; our goals are too important, we can't allow ourselves to be sidetracked by one insignificant chi-”

He read Vryce's intentions through the fae before it happened, the sudden resolve bleeding off the priest in an unmistakable wave of crimson, but his own surprise at finally eliciting such a concrete and visceral reaction kept Gerald from responding in time – not that he knew, necessarily, what response he might have tried to make. In a single smooth movement, the Knight grabbed Gerald's shoulder with one hand, shoving him forcefully backward while the other settled around Gerald's neck. As the Hunter's back slammed into the rough stone of the cave wall, Vryce pinned him there, leaning in as he snarled out his words in a voice gone guttural with rage.

“Don't you dare call her insignificant.”

The vitriolic reply he would have given in any other situation died unspoken as Gerald's usually turbulent mind went utterly, blissfully quiet, only a single line of thought remaining to him.

Yes. That's it. Do whatever you want. Hate me.

Hurt me.

Just don't let me go.

A dark and twisted lesson it might have been, but Gerald had learned one truth of human nature early in life, and had never forgotten it even as centuries passed. People were more than happy to lie and cheat their way through life, and would deceive you at every turn; you could so rarely be sure of  where their real intentions, or attentions, might lie. They could talk, laugh, eat, fuck, and at every moment their thoughts could be elsewhere – but not when they wanted to hurt you. If they were that angry at you, no distractions existed.

Once you drove them over the edge enough to put their hands on you, you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Gerald tipped his head back against the unyielding stone behind him, just to feel the way Vryce's hand was clenched around his neck a little better; he didn't technically need to breathe to sustain himself, but he was reeling and lightheaded nonetheless, from the heady mixture of triumph and adrenaline pumping through his veins. A sensation of mingled horror and satisfaction, so deep it made him nauseous, made him swallow reflexively against the way his mouth flooded with saliva in response – and then swallow again, when Vryce's grip tightened on his flexing throat, strengthening the whirl of emotions in his mind until Gerald felt a very real stab of fear that he might actually faint.

All of it lasted, however, for only the briefest moment.

He could see it as the Knight came to his senses; their faces were only inches apart, wide grey eyes staring into burning hazel, and he saw the exact instant that the blind haze of fury fell away and Vryce realized how far he'd lost control. A wave of horror doused the smouldering blaze in those warm green-and-brown irises, and Vryce wrenched himself away, his hands going lax and falling back to his sides as he stared at the Hunter in horror.

“I'm – I didn't mean – hell!”

Gerald drew in a ragged breath, now bracing himself against the cave wall intentionally as his head spun; there was a vague sense of loss echoing in his mind, but far louder was the roar of victory, the greedy hunger in his chest transmuted to a throb of purring satisfaction.

Yes, I can hold you, I can draw your focus, I can make you care...

Careful this time to show nothing of the emotional tempest in his mind, Gerald lifted one hand to rub lightly at his no-doubt-bruising neck, casting the Knight a sardonic glance.

“Don't flatter yourself, Reverend,” he muttered, with a icy steadiness that he most certainly did not feel. “I assure you, if I felt you posed a genuine threat, you would never have gotten that close to me. You couldn't truly hurt me if you tried.”

At least, not when I can make you look at me with that much fire in your eyes...

Vryce seemed to have registered his words as the subtle threat Gerald had meant them to be taken for, though, if the priest's thoroughly shaken expression was anything to go by. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated for a long moment, looking deeply conflicted and vaguely sick. Finally, he shook his head sharply, and bit out a curt few words.

“It won't happen again.”

With that proffered statement – surely meant to be reassuring, or perhaps pacifying, for no doubt he assumed the Hunter was furious about Vryce's presumption in laying hands on him – the priest turned and strode hastily out of the cave. Gerald stayed where he was, hands splayed out against the cold rock behind him, feeling his pulse beating forcefully in his throat as he closed his eyes.

Oh yes, it will. If that's the only way I can have your hands on me, I'll make sure it does.

[chadillacboseman]

Tired of Being a Fighter - PART ONE

Pairing: Axe Woves x F!Reader (no actual pairing in this first part!)

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Violence, death.

Summary: Bo-Katan has become a woman obsessed with taking back the Dark Saber and will stop at nothing to reclaim it. Things come to a head, violently, one night, and Axe makes the difficult decision to leave her service. Left with no path and no oath to honor, he is unsure of what to do with his life until a fateful trip to Nevarro...

A/N: Did I write this to explain why he was absent in the finale? Maybe. Did I have to desperately try not to write with a bar as a setting?? Also maybe. Enjoy.

This will likely be like a three or four parter 😬

----

The night was cold on Lothal, and the streets were bustling with those returning home from their jobs at the local factories and warehouses. From his rooftop position, Axe could see the building he had been assigned to watch- waiting for their target to enter so that he could signal the other Nite Owls to begin the assault. In the alley below, a figure moved through the shadows and approached the large warehouse door before rapping, loudly, four times in a distinct rhythm.

Axe trained his night vision on the figure- a Rodian, eyes nervous and darting as if he expected to be attacked at any moment. Axe tapped his comm unit on and hailed Bo-Katan.

“Target is here. Looks nervous-”

The door opened with a pneumatic hiss and the Rodian entered a dimly-lit room. Axe could make out at least three figures inside before the door shut and the sound of jetpacks rumbled behind him. Bo-Katan and Koska landed softly on the rooftop, their armored boots surprisingly soft on the concrete.

“Where is he?” Bo-Katan’s voice crackled through her vocoder, impatient and full of venom as usual.

“Inside,” Axe had grown accustomed to her vitriol, “At least three others in there with him.”

There was silence for a moment before Bo-Katan spoke again.

“We’ll blow the door open, take them by surprise. Keep the Rodian alive, but kill the others.”

There was no point in arguing with her, Axe knew that by now. In her quest for Moff Gideon and the Dark Saber he carried, she had become reckless and gripped with an all-consuming rage. Since they had taken down the Imp cruiser on Trask, the missions had become more dangerous; Axe found himself patching wounds and repairing his armor more often than he liked.

But Bo-Katan pushed them harder each time.

Axe knew tonight would be no different. He hardly had time to think of the possibilities as his two companions leapt from the rooftop and jetted down to the alleyway. Axe landed behind them as Koska placed an explosive charge on the door and set the timer for ten seconds. As she hit the igniter, the three of them jogged for cover behind the opposite building. The beeps of the charge grew more rapid and Axe braced himself; there was a half a second’s pause, then the door erupted into pieces with a bang that shook the street.

“MOVE!” Bo-Katan gestured to the door and they moved quickly, drawing their blasters and engaging their thermal visors. Through the smoke, Axe could see four figures huddled near the center of the room, and one on the floor closer to the door. A blaster shot clipped through the smoke, narrowly missing Axe’s helmet, and he dove for cover behind a shipping crate as his companions followed suit. The haze began to clear and Axe glanced down at the figure on the floor- a human, dressed in the clothes of a warehouse worker, emblazoned with the Torrent Industries logo. A civilian.

“Shit-” Axe muttered under his breath before reaching out to grab the civilian by his boot and drag him behind the cover. He was still breathing- likely knocked unconscious by the blast.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bo-Katan screamed from her cover, blaster fire singeing the wall opposite her as their targets continued to fire on them.

“It’s a civilian!” Axe shot back, pausing to lean out from behind the shipping crate and return fire at the figures now visible through the fading smoke. One of the figures let out a yelp and fell to the concrete floor with a thud.

Axe silently prayed that he hadn’t just shot the Rodian.

“I’m moving out-” Bo-Katan moved, crouched, from her cover with Koska in tow. Axe engaged his jetpack and lurched forward, bursting into a jetted sprint. The smoke had cleared and he could see the Rodian now, crouched near a starship turbine.

“I’ve got the target!” Axe lifted from the ground with a leap and tackled the Rodian to the floor as Koska and Bo-Katan engaged the other three. He stood up and drug the target to his feet, producing a pair of stun cuffs and latching them to the trembling Rodian’s wrists. The last assailant fell to the floor with a strangled grunt and Bo-Katan turned her attention to Axe and his captive.

“Please-” the Rodian’s voice was brimming with fear, “Whatever you want-”

The butt of Bo-Katan’s blaster caught him in the jaw and sent him crumpling to the floor with a cry of pain.

“You know why I’m here, aruetii,” her voice was barely more than a whisper, filled with seething hate, "you helped to secure arms for the Empire."

Axe reached down and hauled the Rodian up by his jacket, planting him on his unsteady feet.

"I know you worked with Moff Gideon. And you will tell me where to find him." Bo-Katan moved closer to the trembling quarry as she spoke, her black visor trained, unwavering, on his face.

The Rodian let out a humorless chuckle, "You think I'd betray the Moff? Do you have any idea what he would do to me?"

Bo-Katan took another step forward and unsheathed her vibroblade, moving to hold it under his chin.

"It's nothing compared to what I will do to you," she tilted her helmeted head slightly, as though analyzing him, "have you ever seen a heated vibroblade at work?"

Bo-Katan ignited the blade and the Rodian's eyes flicked to it, nervously, as it began to thrumm and grow hot.

"A skilled Mandalorian could dismember their quarries entirely-" the blade glowed, ember-hot, in her grasp, "without letting them die."

The Rodian began to tremble at her words, and Axe tightened the grip on his jacket in case his legs gave out.

"The beauty of a vibroblade is that it cauterizes the wound as it makes it." Bo-Katan's visor was just inches from the Rodian's face, "So you won't bleed out before I finish."

She turned her visor to Axe, "Woves, hold him down." Axe obeyed without hesitation, moving to pin the Rodian on a nearby workbench.

"Wait-" the Rodian's voice was a strangled cry, tinged with hysterical fear, "I'll tell you!"

A chuckle cracked through Bo-Katan's vocoder and she sheathed the vibroblade. "I knew you would see reason. Now tell me-" she grabbed the Rodian by the front of his jacket and pulled him to his feet, "where is Moff Gideon?"

The Rodian produced a datapad from his jacket pocket and with the press of a button, a holo-projection of the planet became visible. "Here-" he used his fingers to zoom to a set of coordinates on the northernmost sector, "They have a hidden base built into the mountainside. Some kind of weapons lab. Lots of troopers and an AA gun on the roof."

"You made the right choice," Bo-Katan unholstered her blaster as the Rodian's eyes flicked between the three of them.

"I can go now, right?" His voice shook, but held a tinge of hope, "I mean, you got everything you w-"

The blaster shot hit the Rodian's chest point-blank and he dropped to the floor in a heap.

Bo-Katan retrieved the datapad from the floor as the smell of singed flesh filled the room. "We have our location. Let's go-" her words were cut short by a rustling sound from the front of the warehouse. The civilian was on his feet and moving toward them.

Bo-Katan drew her blaster and the civilian raised his hands to show he wasn't hostile. "He's a civilian- wearing a Torrent jumpsuit." Axe put a hand on her blaster, attempting to lower it, but she didn't budge. "I said he's a civilian-, Kryze," Axe raised his voice slightly as the worker froze in place, his arms still raised above his head.

"How do we know he wasn't part of this?" Bo-Katan's voice was steady- cold and calculating.

"I'm just a warehouse worker!" The civilian cried, "I worked late tonight- I had no idea what was happening. When the door blew it knocked me out and-" before Axe could stop her, Bo-Katan fired her blaster, striking the worker in the chest and sending him to the floor with a strangled cry.

"Haar'chak!" Axe cried out before he could stop himself, "He was a civilian! He was surrendering!"

Bo-Katan shrugged and holstered her blaster, "One less loose end."

"No-" Axe moved in front of her, anger burning hot in his chest, "You've gone off the deep end, Kryze. When this first started, I was with you. But you've lost your mind!"

Bo-Katan poked a gloved finger into his chest and shoved him backward, "If you're not with me, you're an enemy to Mandalore, Woves." She spat the last words out like a Voxyn spitting venom, and Axe knew she meant them.

"If this is how you plan to rule Mandalore, I want no part of it." Axe pushed her hand aside and moved closer, so his helmet was mere inches from hers, "And don't you dare try to stop me."

"If you do this, you abandon everything we have worked so hard for! You abandon your duty to your fellow Mandalorians!" Her voice was filled with her usual self-righteous fervor, but Axe had heard enough.

"I abandon nothing, Kryze. But you have abandoned reason, and you will pay for it."

Axe pushed past Koska and Bo-Katan and made his way through the doorway into the cold Lothal night.

---

TAG LIST FOR AXE:

@djxrxn​

@jango-fettish​

@lestrange2703

[greymattermaelstrom]

What she said

This has been a difficult post to prepare. After much thought, I wish to share some very interesting information. Some know from my recent post, I went to Ozlander in Melbourne, Australia on March 14 & 15, 2020, and I thoroughly enjoyed seeing Richard and Sophie. As a premium ticket holder, I enjoyed lunch with them on both days. They would individually spend 5 minutes or so at each table and rotate through the tables to meet the fans. At the event introduction on Day One, we were asked to respect Richard and Sophie by not asking questions of a personal nature, which naturally, everyone understood. Therefore, I wasn’t going to ask anything about Sam, Cait, or even Tony. So, I was more than surprised when Sophie briefly mentioned Cait’s wedding!

  Sophie visited our table and we talked about a number of things. It was Sophie’s first trip to Australia; Caitriona had been here and had told Sophie how nice it was. Someone asked Sophie, 'You went to Caitriona’s wedding, didn’t you?'

  'Yeah, Caitriona’s husband is a lovely guy.' (Did she just say that, I thought?)

  I asked Sophie, 'You and Sam were the only cast members that went?'

  And she replied, 'No, Tobias was there as well.' Interesting.

  Sophie then added she took the photo of Sam in the Dunhill suit (remarkable weekend).

  'The background had to be photoshopped as we couldn’t give away the location. It got onto social media and Caitriona wasn’t that pleased about it,' Sophie said a little ruefully. (Sam had posted the photo on IG. The right-side background looks very photoshopped.)

  During a photo session on Day Two, I asked Sophie, 'Did Caitriona marry Tony?' with the emphasis on the word Tony.

 'Yeah,' she said with a smile.

 'Really?' I asked.

 'Yes. Really,' Sophie said.

 Then I said, 'Well she doesn’t say his name and hasn’t released any photos so...'

 'I don’t know...,' Sophie said pleasantly enough. Wow!! Being so busy and so involved with OL for so long, I don’t think she fully appreciated how all the Tait secrecy is being perceived in the fandom.

Okay, a photo or some sort of evidence or it didn't happen. This info from Sophie was really unexpected. What sort of proof would be acceptable and not immediately suspected anyway? Nevertheless, I believe I have the evidence I need to satisfy myself. Someone else who was at the same Day One table, has confirmed to me in writing (I contacted her a week or so after the event) she heard Sophie say all this as well. I don’t think my acquaintance follows the ins and outs of the SC/Tait drama. I don’t think most of the people at Ozlander did from conversations I had and the general talk I heard. So, my witness doesn’t have a vested interest in The Narrative and, I believe, just gave a purely objective confirmation.

If I had heard Sophie say Cait married Sam, you would probably believe it, put this info in the receipt warehouse, and any evidence would be a bonus. I have been wanting truth no matter what it is. I’ll just deal with it. While it’s greatly disappointing, I do wish Cait and Sam happiness in life whomever they find it with.

I discovered OL 18 months ago and have only been active on Tumblr for 8 months. So, I am still a newb of sorts. Some might say a naïve babe in the woods with not much to lose. However, I’ve met some wonderful people on this side of the fence and I will probably lose friendships and reputation, be unfollowed and blocked, receive a lot of vitriol, be called a troll working for (fill in the blank), etc., due to this heresy. So, my info does come at a price for me. I understand I have not experienced years of surviving on this side of the fence, enduring the delusional tag and the attacks and insults from antis, NST, TPTB, Shamuso, and even some from Sam and Cait, and being thrown under the bus when convenient. I get, in principle, some shippers will close ranks and support any higher-profile shippers who don’t believe me. I anticipate this will be the response. One way to discredit information is to discredit the person presenting it, and I assume this tactic will be employed as well.

So why am I putting my head on the chopping block? Notoriety? Hardly. Well, as I said, I want intel even if it conflicts with what I hope for. I believe people can ship the way they want (within reason) and as KDS infamously said, believe what you want. I don’t wish to convince anybody, nor get into a slanging match with anyone. It would be pointless really. I feel obligated out of principle to reveal the info and not hide it no matter how controversial and inconvenient that might be. I understand some may not think it a good time in the fandom right now to deal with this but I didn’t want the info dating too much before putting it on the table. I understand and I am sorry. But is there an optimal time to hear this?

People like I, who want to know what is going on or had suspicions, and are prepared to accept this information, will welcome it. They have had enough of the mess that is happening right now in The Narrative as well. Also, I don't wish to be intimidated into keeping contrary evidence hidden just because it doesn’t suit the manifesto. And I apologise in advance to high-profile shippers who will probably be inundated with comments and asks. I accept there will be jealousy involved. Why did a newb get this intel? Believe me, I wish it didn’t happen to me; I really wish it was someone else. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

For the record, yes, I’m Australian living in Australia. I understand some people’s problem with that. Why does so much narrative controversy emanate from this place? I don’t know. I wish I knew. We often call it the lucky country (for various reasons). Do we appear have more luck than the Irish?!

However, and unfortunately, this does not provide closure for me. I accept the Tait wedding. I do have problems with the Tait marriage, sorry to say. I don’t know why games are being played. Cait still doesn’t call her husband Tony, there were no wedding or engagement photos made public, and no confirmation from her PR team when wedding articles hit the magazines. It seems like secrecy, not privacy. Why so secret? We continue to see gaslighting, innuendo, and an intentional vagueness, to keep us all engaged it seems?! And Hawaiigate is certainly a head scratcher at best.

So, in summing up, the four things I learnt about the wedding are:

1. The wedding happened.

2. Cait married Tony.

3. Tobias was there.

4. Sam posted Sophie’s remarkable Dunhill manipulated photo on IG and Cait wasn’t too happy about it.

Most shippers won’t like my saying Tait is real and most antis won’t like my saying Sam and Cait continue to play games. But that’s ok. I knew this going in. I just think it is important for the info to be put out there. I don’t wish to appear foolish, talking about a fake wedding, now that I know Cait married Tony. I think there must be other intel such as this out there. Perhaps the time is right for others to make their intel known.

I believe the four things Sophie said about the wedding. I do not have any further intel to share, nor do I have any further theories on what is happening with Sam, Cait, or Tony that haven’t been discussed on Tumblr already. With this in mind, I’m prepared to answer every constructive and civil comment I may receive on this post, including any DMs. If you wish, please look through my blog to see what I have posted. You will find it aligns with this side's thinking. You may see some names that do not. Please consider the message, not the messenger. And please, it would be appreciated if you would do some homework before making any comment. Thank you for your time in reading this long and very difficult post. I imagine, many will take some time to process it.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Theoretical Knowledge: Two

The Taproom was a quiet little bar. Not too Divey. Not too Trendy. They hosted Karaoke nights and had craft beer and cocktails. It was just posh enough to discourage students but not so posh none of you could afford it. It was nice.

Nicer still was sitting in a back table where you could all drink and argue to your heart’s content as snow lashed against the windows. Winter’s wrath had finally been unleashed after a too warm Christmas. “Sam,” you grouse, “You were supposed to bring me back a handsome Italian man who could cook. Not this bullshit weather.”

The Physics professor only chuckled and raised his glass in mock toast, “This is the best I could do, baby. Alessandro wouldn’t fit in my carry on.”

“Lame,” you sigh sipping your gin and tonic.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises, grinning.

“That... That does not make me feel better,” you say hesitating.

Sam winked and waved over your shoulder to get the attention of the two men just walking in. “Sam you didn’t,” Nat said smacking her forehead.

“What?” he said commandeering an extra chair for Bucky as you turn around to look and trade frantic looks with Nat. “Bucky never comes out anymore. So Steve made him... Beside. You’d look cute together,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively and you felt your stomach sink to somewhere around your knees.

It really wasn’t fair that someone that fucking unlikeable was that handsome. It really wasn’t. You had an insane desire to muss his hair and askew his tie. Not one hair was out of place and you felt shabby, despite being dressed like everyone else. Casually. To fit the environment. “Sam,” Nat sighed.

“What?” he repeated, not missing the way that Bucky looked at you. Like he was pissed that you were there.

“I trust you got my last email?” he said taking a seat.

“And I elected to ignore it,” you answer, taking a sip of your drink.

Steve and Nat trade looks and Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He liked you and he couldn’t Believe YOU of all people were who Bucky was picking a fight with now. You were new to the College. You’d been office mates with Nat for a hot minute while they’d found you your own cozy little broom closet. And that had led the others to you. Except for Bucky.

Bucky had missed the introductions a few months ago. He’d been elbow deep in his divorce. Digging through the corpse of his marriage looking for something, anything to save in the face of Yelena and her betrayal. It had been a bitter, brutal fight that had culminated in him becoming even more cynical and reclusive than he had been before.

At your blithe refusal to acknowledge his current aggravation with you a muscle in his jaw ticks.  Steve knows the only thing keeping him from saying something scathing is that Natasha can and will drop him if he acts like too much of an asshole to her new friend. He can see Bucky practically choking on the words he wants to say. Natasha tried not to feel guilty. She should have told you that she knew him. Should have told Bucky to back off. Or given you some context but. Honestly you were hard to get a fix on. Like now. Your eyes had narrowed and you were focused in on the ticking muscle in his jaw. Watching his every move like you were aligning mental crosshairs. Bracing for a fight.  But you don’t. Before bucky can open his mouth you’d tossed back the rest of your drink and murmured a quiet, non-confrontational excuse about wanting to leave before things got slick. You politely, but firmly refuse all offers of company and pay your tab before slipping out of the bar.

Your scarf, left behind in your haste stares at Natasha in reproach and she mentally makes a note to bring you an apology coffee and an explanation in the morning. Even if your reaction was curious and left her slightly more uncomfortable than the way bucky glared after you.

“Such a fucking grump ass,” Sam said shaking his head, “That’s a damn pretty girl you just scared away.”

Bucky glowered at Sam and took a sip of his drink, “She’s not my type,” he said shrugging, “Too big,” Even as he said it he felt like an asshole. He couldn’t even be mad at Natasha who kicked his ankle with enough vitriol to leave a bruise.

“Fuck you, Bucky,” she said, “That is a gorgeous, smart woman.”

“Yeah, Buck, don’t be like that. At least don’t say it like that if you do mean it,” Steve scolded.

“I got used to a certain body type,” Bucky said shrugging, “And it’s not as if she’s interested in me anyway.”

“Body type,” Natasha scoffed, “Yeah. Okay. No you just got used to a crazy bitch and now anyone normal seems like a fucking space alien.”

Bucky started meticulously peeling the label off his beer. He felt guilty. He really did. The truth was complicated. He really did find you pretty. It was a different pretty from Yelena’s cold beauty. If she was a perfectly frozen pond in the winter. Black tree branches bent with the weight of the ice and snow on the banks as the sun sank below the horizon. You were... You were well. He didn't know what you were but there was no austere marble facade with you. He kept seeing the way your eyes had narrowed. The way you watched everyone at the table, suddenly... uncomfortable. The way you fled the table. Forgetting your scarf. He felt like a heel.

But that had been the point.

Heels don’t have feelings.

Steve watched his oldest friend for a long minute, several things clicking into place as he stared. Two really important things. One being Yelena hadn’t really killed the Bucky they knew and loved. The one they’d just gotten back after the Army. And Two you might be the way they could get him back for good. And keep him this time.

He just had to figure out how to do it. How to get the two of you together.

________

You let yourself into your apartment and put your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’. You don’t wanna talk. Or think. It’s really hard to deal with that level of anxiety in public. The best thing to do is to retreat. Retreat and regroup. You slide down the door and sit on the floor, accepting the licks and headbutts from your dog. A faithful little mutt that had been a “Christmas puppy” someone had cast aside. A shaggy labradoodle mix and a whole mess that you adored. Her name was mostly Lady. But she also answered to Porkchop, Wiggle butt, Asshole, and Princess. She leaned against you, anxious that you were anxious even as you lavished attention on her. “I’m all right, baby girl,” you tell her. “I promise,” you say giggling as she licks the end of your nose carefully.

When you get off the floor finally, you go to the kitchen and rifle through the fridge looking for a bottle of cheap Blackberry Merlot. You keep it for emergencies. It tastes more like pop than alcohol. It’s great. And perfect for a night like tonight. A night where you need to numb the discomfort enough to sleep.

Bucky’s jaw had twitched and you’d immediately been kicked into gear. He’d looked angry. Angry and like if he wanted to, he could do something about it. It had put you on guard. You really weren’t trying to catch someone’s hands. Not today. Preferably not ever again. Not after the last time. Times. Whatever, you amended. It didn’t matter now. It was over. All you had to do was keep going.

There weren’t going to be any more holes in the drywall.

No more men in your house. You really didn’t need anyone else with severe emotional issues and, if you knew anything, you were willing to bet that Bucky did too.

“You’re not a rehabilitation center,” you tell yourself firmly before taking a pull from your bottle.

“Don’t engage. Just don’t. Right, Porkchop?”

The dog barks, wagging her tail and you flip her a treat idly, smiling a little as she crunches it down. “Right.” you say, nodding to yourself.

Tags: @lancsnerd​ @thorfanficwriter​ @blameitonthecauseway​ @stevieang​ @etherealwaifgoddess​

[trilies]

Imma keep this short. you can defend people shipping things until they’re shipping pedophilia and incest and other crap like that. you’re defending people shipping pedophilia. you’re a pedophilia apologist, and sympathiser, and defender, and supporter lol

As a note to everyone following along, I told this person and all their supporters that I was a CSA survivor and was worried/frustrated about careless pedophilia accusations such as theirs diminishing the meaning of the word. I had other points- you can see the argument for yourself if you want- but that was my main point:

I, a victim of pedophilia, was worried that their allyship was hurting more than helping.

The above is their response, along with the below.

[an image of the tags on one of what-the-fuck-khr’s responses to me: “get fucked lol, imagine defending pedophilia, in any shape or form, […], imma keep it short since you think i’m trying to be passive, you’re a cunt”]

In a conversation about pedophilia, CSA victims have the most relevant voices…. or, at least they should, much like how queer voices should be the priority in conversations about homophobia, transphobia, etc, and POC voices should be raised in various conversations about racism.

Yet it feels very often that, if you are not the Perfect Victim ™, if you do not passively agree with every take of theirs, if you are not the demure princess waiting in the tower for their righteous fury to save you…

Well, then you get this response. Or, at least I did.

Maybe it’s just me, but that makes one’s whole allyship feel…. conditional. Performative. As though I have to prove myself worth of basic respect for the fact that I was sexually assaulted as a child, and “proving” in this case means not having a different opinion, let alone a contrary one. If a person says they are against pedophilia, CSA victims such as myself shouldn’t have to worry about if they’ll throw us under the bus just to look good.

The fight against pedophilia should, as all social justice issues, be done with compassion and caring. Caring for people who should never be victims of it, and compassion for those who have already survived it.

Where’s the caring in lashing out at a CSA survivor when they don’t agree with you? Where’s the compassion in calling a CSA survivor a “cunt” because of that?

There’s someone in the notes of the original post to all of this who tried to claim I was “re-traumatizing” myself while they agreed with OP here. (In the same post where OP called me a cunt, yes.) I respectfully disagree, but let’s go with that hypothetical for right now because it’s very clear that they won’t accept the alternative of me possibly having any sort of point. The scene then becomes:

1. A traumatized CSA victim2. who is re-traumatizing/self harming 3. that they are hurling insults and gendered slurs at before abandoning to be lumped in with pedophiles aka the people that made the CSA victim a victim in the first place

(The only real change, admittedly, is the addition of #2 there.)

That vitriol then not only harms the CSA victim they’ve engaged with, but any minor watching who wasn’t sure if they agreed and is now too scared to reach out in case something happens.

If this was really about protecting minors and CSA victims… Maybe someone else can explain to me how this specifically accomplishes that goal, because otherwise it looks like throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

Funnily enough, this is all proving why I was so worried in the first place about a random post yelling about pedophilia on the main tag.

If anyone wants to have a conversation with me, by all means, especially since I don’t think this is the last we’ll see of this kind of thing in the KHR tag. Certainly I won’t slur at you, you can be assured of that at least.

[literarygoon]

So,

When trans rights activists began to mobilize in opposition to feminist thinker Meghan Murphy's appearance at the Toronto Public Library in October 2019, I was only half-interested in the controversy. Several literary figures I admire had become swept up in the pseudo-religious fervor, and I was shocked to see them enthusiastically championing censorship. I figured this person they were protesting must be some ghoulish anti-intellectual, spewing hate speech and vilifying marginalized communities. I assumed that a quick Google search would result in a list of published works worthy of this sort of opposition, or maybe news items about her provocative past.

Imagine my surprise, then, to learn that not only was Murphy innocent of the hate speech accusations she was being doggy-piled with, she was actually advocating on behalf of marginalized populations and rape victims — something I'm personally passionate about. Her highest profile dust-up was with a pedophile trans activist named Jessica Yaniv, a true villain if there ever was one, and now she was facing death threats for publicly questioning whether convicted child killers who self-identify as female should be allowed in women's prisons. As far as I could tell, she was a strong-willed social crusader making a real positive impact in the world.

So how come everyone was treating her like the Antichrist?

In the week leading up the event, I followed the controversy via Twitter and began to educate myself on the subject being discussed: trans rights. I learned that this new slur "TERF" is an acronym for "trans exclusionary radical feminist", though it was being used as a catch-all for anyone who disagreed with their rhetoric, and it wasn't immediately apparent what trans people were being excluded from. I learned that "dead-naming" someone means using someone's name from before they transitioned (like calling trans icon Caitlin Jenner by her birth name Bruce) and that there were a few koan-like mantras everyone felt strongly about: "Trans rights are human rights" and "trans women are women."

As I engaged on Twitter, posting a few comments and questions, I became increasingly aware of how toxic this discourse was. These trans rights activists were looking for people to crucify, drunk on self-righteousness, and were incapable of having a nuanced conversation about this new worldview they were wielding like a weapon. As I consumed their vitriol, following accounts on either side of the spectrum, it occurred to me that all of this anger wasn't only being funnelled towards anti-trans bigots. It was also sliming well-meaning leftists who weren't sufficiently up to date on how this conversation has been progressing (learn your acronyms!) and people blissfully unaware that this esoteric social justice battle is even happening. According to their standards, not only was I a TERF but so was everybody else in my family, from my toddler niece all the way up to my grandparents. We all believe in something we've been taught since childhood, biological sex, and that makes us the enemy.

But how could I make my own position known without offending and alienating the trans people in my life who I love, regardless of how I feel about this new gender ideology? Could I oppose the indoctrination while embracing trans people themselves? Was there some sort of middle ground I could take, where I could express my support and love for them while simultaneously refusing to drink the Kool-Aid?

Then the big night came. By this point the Toronto Public Library scandal had taken up three or four days of my attention, and I remained glued to social media so I could follow every development. I read an extremely thoughtful prepared statement by a city councillor named Gord Perks and thought "finally, a voice of reason!" only to see his contribution written off and misrepresented. Hundreds of people took to the streets, necessitating a police presence to keep the audience and speakers safe. Videos posted on Twitter showed this hate mob, led by Governor General Award-winning author Gwen Benaway, shouting violent epithets at cowed women while pretending they were the victims. These bullies were out for blood, and anything less than full surrender wouldn't satisfy them.

The thing that struck me the most during all this was that the two sides of the political spectrum were arguing different points. While one side was insisting that Meghan Murphy deserved free speech, the other side was arguing about the perceived content of her talks as they pertained to trans rights. They weren't meeting anywhere near the middle, because they weren't even having the same conversation. The result of this was that trans rights activists were passionately mobilizing certain nuances of their worldview, and demanding these tenets be accepted, while the other side was simply saying "let her talk". The protesters had smeared her as an anti-trans speaker, though that wasn't how she self-identified. For a movement so obsessed with self-identification, this was a huge blind spot. Just like misgendering someone, they were accusing her of being something she's not.

As the think pieces and news articles began to come out in the following days, I read opinions from both sides and searched for even a shimmer of mutual understanding. This divisionary rhetoric was going to have devastating consequences, I figured, including within the literary world. And if people were continuing to be scared into silence for fear of being mobbed like Murphy, how could we ever have a meaningful dialogue? Who would be the next person to inspire one of these hateful clown parades?

This was the headspace I was in when I came across a story in Flare written by Benaway in which she narrates her experience addressing representatives of the library during a feedback session leading up to the event. With purple prose, silly histrionics and self-aggrandizing rhetoric, she singles out Head Librarian Vickery Bowles (who didn't speak a word during the exchange) and accused her of being transphobic simply for supporting free speech. In the most embarrassing passage she repeatedly challenges those present to tell her which bathroom she should use, which is so off-topic it comes off as nonsensical. I couldn't take it anymore. I left a comment under the article, calling Benaway "so dishonest" for misrepresenting Bowles and Murphy, and accused her of "tilting at windmills, hard."

This was it. The first public stance I'd taken on the issue. I knew that nearly every literary figure I was associated with on Twitter probably disagreed with me on principle, and would probably only experience this as some privileged white dude punching down on a poor trans activist. That being said, I really believed in what I was saying and legitimately believed trans rights activists who were vilifying librarians and feminists needed to be fucking stopped. I felt a twinge of vertigo as I let go, allowing myself to tumble head-first down this howling rabbit hole. I'd heard that these activists are militant, sometimes going after people's livelihoods if they disagree with you, but I was feeling ready for a fight.

It was around this time that a Twitter account started retweeting some of my comments, tagging my employer Humber Literary Review, adding melodramatic captions about how I was a trans-hater. This Internet stranger made me uncomfortable, but I didn't engage, comfortable in the knowledge that my editors had known me for five years and understood I was incapable of hatred. Anyone who took a moment to read my timeline would see that I wasn't a zealot; I was just a newbie to this particular conversation, trying to make sense of what was going on in a respectful manner. Also, I wasn't interested in having a conversation about trans rights -- the issue is hardly relevant to my day-to-day life -- I was interested in talking about Meghan Murphy's right to free speech, a right that had been thoroughly trampled for no good reason.

One thing that occurred to me was that the library protest ultimately had the opposite effect of what was intended. Rather than silencing Murphy, they'd elevated her to a new level of prophet-like prominence. I'd never heard of her before, but now she was being profiled in newspapers and discussed all over social media. I'd gone from having no idea who she was to being one of her most ardent fans, keen to hear what she was up to next. And pretty soon there were titans of the entertainment world stepping in to take her side, including J.K Rowling and Ricky Gervais. The haters tried to silence her but instead set her on fire, leaving us all to watch her dance wreathed in holy flames.

Then they came for me. Three days after my comment on the Flare article, which inspired a long back and forth with a Toronto poet, Humber contacted me to say that I no longer had my position as interviews editor. According to them they were restructuring, but we were in the middle of an issue and that made no sense. I sent a few exploratory emails, one proposing a book project that would be a collection of the interviews I'd done over the years, and I was mostly met with silence. Was it possible? Would they actually pull something like this? Would they take sides with the trans mob over me? And why?

The way I figured, if the move to take away my position was actually motivated by my Twitter interactions then their real motive was both to shut me up and to distance themselves from me professionally. The hate mob who had attacked would be waiting for word that I'd been turfed, and I wouldn't give them that satisfaction. For the following weeks, and then months, I made sure to routinely tag Humber in my posts, reminiscing about my interviews of the past and looking forward to the one that hadn't yet been published with Yasuko Thanh. I sent my editor an email and asked her to retweet some of these posts, which she said she would, but then didn't. I started escalating my rhetoric, criticizing trans activists and calling out their bonkers nonsense, all with Humber's twitter handle nice and prominent in my bio.

Finally, just before the holidays, vindication came. The founding editor of Humber Literary Review, Meaghan Strimas, contacted me to say that the collective had "grave concerns" about my Twitter content (even though she admitted she rarely uses the platform) and then demanded I remove her magazine from my bio, even though my interview with Thanh had not yet been published. Her email confirmed all my concerns: they had a staff meeting without me to discuss my conduct, they took issue with my views on trans rights, and they were hoping to make an example out of me. It was two weeks before Christmas and they were picking a fight with one of their employees for no good reason. The positive relationship we'd enjoyed for half a decade wasn't enough to shield me from their poorly researched dogmatism.

I knew what to do right away: I alley-ooped the email, and a bunch of screen-shotted Twitter posts, to a journalist named Anna Slatz. She was an active participant in the trans rights conversation, and had appeared at an event in Vancouver in which activists showed up wearing a guillotine for TERFs. She was just as outspoken as Murphy, I knew, and would be just as infuriated by this turn of events as I was. This was a minor freelance gig for me, but what if it was my main livelihood? Would they come after my other job next? My fiancée was six months pregnant with our first child and now I had to worry about these pitchfork-wavers? Slatz was thorough, professional and tactful: within 24 hours my story was live on the Post Millennial website. Watching the story rack up engagements was one of the most vindicating feelings of my life.

Within hours I was contacted by the Justice Centre for Constitutional Freedoms. I'd heard of them through the Yaniv debacle, and I was thrilled to learn that their potential involvement in my case would be free of cost. I took them through what happened over the phone, step by step, and revelled in how appalled they were. I wasn't the only person who thought these activists had gone too far, targeting people's jobs and smearing them in public. They told me that if it went forward my case would have the potential to affect a huge number of people's lives, perhaps setting a precedent that would dissuade these clowns from using sinister tactics like this in the future. And I wasn't the only person this was happening to -- online there were examples of people like Maya Forstater, who lost her job for saying that biological sex is real, and others who lost gigs for something as simple as retweeting a gender critical account.

The stress and sudden attention from all this hoopla had me panicked. I was worried both about my employment, and for the financial future of my baby. As my case drew the attention of names I recognized, like Jordan Peterson, I worried that I would be submerged by this trans rights tidal wave. I knew my misgivings were shared by many, both in the literary world and everywhere else, but people were too afraid to speak the truth. For a few nights I couldn't sleep. I didn't feel like fighting; I just wanted to be left alone.

But then I began to reflect on what actually mattered. I have a number of trans friends who are intensely important to me, and it's them who are suffering the worst consequences of this toxic rhetoric. As activists continue to over-reach and inflame controversy, the blow-back is hitting people who would just like to quietly go about living their lives. They don't believe in some of the more ridiculous aims of these activists, like plugging biological males into female sports or subjecting female prisoners to the company of murderers hiding behind self-identification. They're just as embarrassed by the Gwen Benaways and Jessica Yanivs of the world, and believe just as strongly as I do in Meghan Murphy's right to free speech. They don't believe in vilifying strangers, or taking away their jobs, because that's the purview of idiots and assholes.

As J.K. Rowling recently wrote on Twitter: this is not a drill. The time for ignoring or being complacent about the trans rights conversation has passed, because it is now doing real harm not only to trans people, but also everyone else. With my daughter en route to Earth, I want to create a future where this dystopian rhetoric is a thing of the past, and I don't have to worry about her being indoctrinated into a worldview where biological sex doesn't exist. I believe that inclusion is non-negotiable, and that trans people should be embraced and supported, but that should never come at the expense of people who reject their ideology or have beliefs of their own. It's possible to love someone even if you think their worldview is nonsensical, and trying to speak sense to them is the opposite of hate speech.

You could even call it love speech.

The Literary Goon

[judieasley57]

My Disclaimer:

I purchased a copy of this book at the current price. I am voluntarily providing an honest review in which all opinions are fully my own. I am not being compensated in any way.

~ Judi E. Easley for Blue Cat Review

What it’s about…

Sophie DiRossi was the “bad girl” who got pregnant by one of the boys from the manor when she was young and left town. She and her daughter are back in town and Sophie’s working at the manor again. Her daughter, Mia, was traumatized in a fire and doesn’t speak. Sophie’s got secrets she’s protecting with her life.

Liam Gallagher is a son of the manor, a firefighter, who’s taking a break after a traumatic fire that caused the death of a friend. He can’t seem to get past the trauma of the fire, but he doesn’t want anyone to know. He was once in love with Sophie DiRossi when they were younger.

Colleen Gallagher, the family matriarch, dies at the age of 104. She has been a strong hand on the helm for so many years. She has been the keeper of the secrets as well. In fact she wrote all the secrets down in a book, but she can’t remember where she put it. But everyone wants to find that book before someone else does so that their secret doesn’t get out. Because Colleen knew everyone’s secrets.

Can Sophie and Liam work out their own secrets before someone causes any more harm? Can they admit what everyone else already knows about them? Can Mia speak up in time?

Technical Tidbits…

The cover is beautiful with all its rich color and Christmas theme. The red boots with snowflakes are right out of the book, too! Nicely done and not overdone!

The story line is a familiar one with the young woman with child returning to town and meeting her childhood love. They both have to deal with all the secrets that a small town has as well as the secrets they each have before they can come together and be a happy couple.

The characters were outrageous! These people were so real that you felt like you knew them from somewhere. Colleen as the matriarch was familiar as she went through trying to do the best for each of her family members. She was a delightful character. The two primary characters, Sophie and Liam were so well written, too. They were exactly what they should be. Two young people caught in a situation not quite of their own making. They each had their own secret to reveal and pain to deal with before they could come close enough to really fall in love. And Mia! Wow, what a dynamite little character she was even when she wasn’t speaking. She was a strong presence and made herself felt in every situation perhaps especially because of her silence.

The pace was smooth and brisk. There was no choppiness here. You moved from one event to another rapidly, but the transitions were fluid.

The tension, perhaps due to the smoothness of the transitions, built nicely. A slow, steady building of pressure as events unfolded.

The writing quality is wonderful. Ms. Mason has a style of writing that invites you in and takes you for a ride. She writes wonderful dialog as well as colorful description. And yet, her action scenes make you feel that you are part of the action, too. No stilted conversation here. Everything sounds just like you would expect it to really sound if someone were speaking. You can hear the accents of the butler greeting a guest compared to the tones of the Italian grandmother scolding her adult grandson. She can create a playful character and a depressed character just with the way she describes them and makes them speak. You can actually feel the emotion of the character.

And this is where you STOP if you don’t want to see any SPOILERS…

The good, the bad, and the ugly…and how much it lit up my life… ✰✰✰✰✰

I already said so much up above, is there more to say here? Well, let’s see what my notes say. There’s Colleen Gallagher, the matriarch of the family. She’s so cool! She has managed her family for her whole life, 104 years. Now she has a heart attach and dies. But she resists going to heaven, so she ends up haunting the family while they work out who’s going to be in charge now. Kitty is the grandmother, but she has her issues and not everyone would follow Kitty. Kitty wants to be in charge at the manor and bring it back to its former splendor. Kitty’s ideas haven’t been successful so far. A number of the grandchildren, Liam included feel that the manor should be sold and the money divided throughout the family. They see the manor as a drain on the family resources and not something that they want to be involved in. Their lives aren’t focused on Greystone Manor. Liam, for instance, is a firefighter up in Boston. He’s only at home currently resting after the traumatic incident of his buddy’s death. Liam’s still having flashbacks, which is his secret. Or so he thinks. His father, Colin, is the local fire chief. And his best friend, Marco DiRossi, works as a firefighter under his father’s command. They both recognize what’s going on with Liam. But for Liam, the manor doesn’t play a large part in his current future the way he sees it. At least not until he reconnects with Sophie.

But even the town isn’t necessarily all of one mind about the manor. The mayor and a real estate agent seem to be in cahoots with a developer who wants to buy up the manor and tear it down to built condominiums there or something. The retailers are all for the manor getting itself pulled together and doing business as it has in the past or as Sophie and her team foresee, as a location for weddings and other special events. With that solution, everyone wins because the manor would use the unique local retailers as their resources and everyone would prosper.

I always love a book that has a cat in it that plays a special role. Simon is a black cat with blue eyes. He was with Colleen when she died. And he keeps her company on her haunts after she dies and does small things for her. He also likes Mia, who seems to see Colleen, also.

Michael Gallagher is Liam’s cousin. He’s the young man that Sophie had been seeing before she left town seven years ago. Now, he’s engaged to Bethany and it’s their wedding that’s supposed to save the manor by providing some great press! So what does he do at the rehearsal party? He stands up to give his speech and tells them all, Bethany included, that he no longer wants to be a Senator or a lawyer even, but that he has applied to the Police Academy. His future mother-in-law is the first one to react with the vitriol she is famous for. Then Bethany seems to finally wake up and realizes what he’s said. She whips off her engagement ring and flings it at him with her by now famous vitriol. He makes a comment about it’s a good thing he found this out before they got married and had kids. And, of course, her comment is, “What kids?” And with that, the wedding is off for Michael and Bethany. But never fear, there’s always someone willing to step into the spotlight. This was the only wrong note for me. Liam goes down on one knee and proposes to Sophie and they get married in Michael and Bethany’s place. Not that we get to go to the wedding, but I just thought it was a bit hokey. Oh well. I suppose it had to happen.

This book left us with some questions. Who is Dana? Through the whole story she’s an older woman who changes wigs and such to change her appearance. She’s obviously been around the upper crust as she’s very comfortable with them and they don’t ruffle her at all. She has a wonderful knack for decorating beautiful homes and planning events. And she has an extensive wardrobe with beautiful clothes. So, who is Dana?

What is Julia’s secret? Julia wins Mistletoe Cottage in the drawing. Simon put his paw prints all over he tickets when she was filling them out. Then Mia made sure she got one of those tickets at the drawing so that Julia won. Then Julia read the tag on the key that said “to Mia” and knew it was from Santa. Since she’s a Santa’s Helper and has taken the pledge, she has to give the cottage to Mia. She and Mia whisper back and forth a bit and Julia leaves. But Colleen knows that Julia has a secret that has to be revealed. What is her secret and why does it have to be revealed? What does it have to do with her shop Book and Beans?

And last of all, where is Colleen’s book? In her video message to the Widow’s Club, she’s just about to tell them where her memoirs are when she leans against the TV for support and falls into it instead. That destroys the video and no one knows where the book is. They do know what it looks like because she was holding it in her hand in the video before it went all static. But Colleen knew everyone’s secrets. And everyone has a secret. So, now everyone wants to find that book so that they can hide their secret before it gets out. So, someone has it, but who? And what will they do with all those secrets?

Highly Recommended