#anarchist tendencies cw

[ohsoswitchy]

PINNED POST

check out my onlyfans <3 _____________________________________________

please read before interacting with my blog ⚠️ - i have a block button and i am going to use it; terfs, truscum, polyphobes, right-wingers, ageplayers, raceplayers, detrans/misogyny blogs, "icky" blogs of all types, anti-abortion folks, pro ana/eating disorder blogs, feedism blogs DO NOT FUCKING INTERACT

i used to have an eating disorder and i will block on sight if your blog is about losing or gaining weight in any way. leave me the fuck alone. i don't want your shit near me.

most posts on this blog are from my queued list, blog activity doesn't mean i'll react quickly to messages.

content warnings/tags of my original posts will be marked as "cw [insert triggering content]", though most likely not for all reblogs, so proceed at your own risk.

general triggers for this blog include anything listed below, but specifically blood, horror/body horror, slight cnc (nothing somno or "icky" though), murder/death/suicide, drugs/alcohol (not cnc)

---

about me:

- the name i use for this blog is prince. please don't refer to me with any other name unless i ask you to and we've established boundaries about it.

- positive nicknames (baby, love, darling, honey, etc) are okay tho

- i'm 18+

- i use neutral pronouns. DO NOT slide into my dms calling me a good girl/boy without warning.

- i'm autistic. i literally do not understand written irony unless you use /s, /j or smth like that.

- i am bisexual, nonbinary, and polyamorous/a relationship anarchist. i also use lesbian and greyromantic as a label.

- i would consider myself a switch with a sub tendency, and a bottom at heart, not in practice

- i am not looking for a relationship on tumblr, something casual is fine

- i use the stoplight safeword system (green for a-okay, yellow for slow down/pause, red for full stop/move to aftercare), i will only partake in sexual activity if we're using that

- i will only partake in sexual activity if we're asking each other for consent before and throughout

---

kinks/preferences:

impact play & marks, masochism/painplay, bondage, hypno, alien/monsterfucking, VAMPIRES, royalty/power play, social status in general, medfet/medical play, denial and edging, dumbification, tears/crying, just generally getting fucked into oblivion really, group fun/sharing is caring, brat/brat taming, intox/drug play (EXPLICITLY not in a cnc way), BEGGING, very vocal sex in general, languages, cockwarming, suspension/shibari, nipple play, leather, PRAISE, soft/gentle domination, spitting, sadism, anal, food play, findom, sex tapes, teacher/student stuff, voiceplay, murder and murder suicide kink, paraphilia/snuff to some degree, body horror, gore, blood, violence, choking

-

hard limits:

scat/vomit/piss, ageplay, raceplay, any misogynistic or transphobic kinks, sissification, anything that focuses on being skinny/fat or specific body types, anything actually nonconsensual, somno, "asking for it" narratives, feedism, incest/fauxcest, anything "icky"

-

soft limits/depends on the context if i'm into it, ask me first:

daddy/mommy kink, cnc, abduction, petplay, humiliation, free use, hunter/huntee / predator/prey primal

---

feel free to send me horny asks and love anytime 🥰

[theaurorfileshq]

M A R L E I G H   M C M A H O N /A U R O R   C O R P O R A L

AGE: Thirty-Six

BADGE NUMBER: S29G33

BLOODSTATUS: No-Maj Born

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Genderfluid, Any Pronouns

IDENTIFYING FEATURES: Heavily tattooed, bleached hair, eyebrow scar, heavy scarring on arms.

STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

(+): Combat Magic, Information Gathering, Criminal Underworld Knowledge

(-):  Conspiracy Theories, Obnoxious Personality, Anarchist Tendencies

BACKGROUND:

( content warnings: cancer, parental death, abuse, homophobia, drug abuse, alcoholism )

Their father is a no-maj Senator in the New York State Senate, a workaholic overly concerned with his image. He marries a nice, respectable woman because it looks good for his image. They buy a nice house in the suburbs because it looks good for his image. They spend a handful of months doing their best to get pregnant because it looks good for their image. When their child is born, in early December 1983, they buy all the parenting books, and while he isn’t home enough to get to know his child—working late, of course, looks good for his image, too—his beautiful wife stays home all day and dotes on their adorable little child and there are plenty of photo-ops to go around.

The child is well-behaved, adored by mother and grandmother and aunts and uncles, relatively unaffected by his father’s absence. A little effeminate, for a son, but everyone reassures the happy parents that that’s just what being a momma’s boy will do. It’s the kind of thing that might have been an easily overlooked unpleasantness, had other things not started to go wrong. Had items not started breaking in their presence, every time their father was in the room; had the brand new TV not set itself on fire when they threw a tantrum; had they not, at age 7, very solemnly told their mother that they’d put all their toys away with. magic and then proceeded to prove it when she doubted them. All of that makes them a problem, and the invitation to some magical school who-knows-where that comes when they’re ten is the solution to that problem. Sending his child off to an expensive and exclusive boarding school is certainly good for his image.

Except that things get worse. On holiday breaks, they refuse to behave. Refuse to sit still. Their mother gets sick—cancer, inoperable, noticed too late—and they leave school to stay with her for the last few months they have left and by the time the family is making funeral arrangements, he can’t stand the sight of them anymore. Nothing about them is good for his image. Marleigh would tell you they parted amicably, a mutually beneficial emancipation, but it would be a lie, one that eludes the unpleasantries of their past they like best to hide: slurs, and blame, and bruises, the source of just a few of the scars they still bear.

They don’t do back to school. New York City is far away and, they know from their magic-born friends, has a bustling magic scene. The years between fourteen and twenty are a blur, a hazy memory, all specificity taken from them by the one certainty: too much alcohol, too many drugs. Not much of it matters, in the long run, except that they get good at fighting, good at learning secrets, and good at surviving. What matters more is what happens at twenty: they hold up a shop in a wixen square in Midtown and are stopped by one of the customers, a crotchety old woman in her mid-80s, wearing a long tweed jacket too big for her frail form and holding an aged and weathered auror badge that says Brendanawicz on it. “Shape the fuck up, kid,” she growls, wand pointed at their chest. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, you really wanna spend it behind bars for this?”

Margot Brendanawicz, they soon learn, isn’t technically an auror anymore, and her wand is just for show: an accident took her magic from her almost 30 years before, but she does a damn good job as a kind of neighborhood watch. They learn this because, in exchange for not robbing the poor innocent shopkeep of her favorite magical corner store, Margot Brendanawicz offers Marleigh the spare bed in her guest room—no sheets, nothing fancy, but a mattress and a roof and a full stomach, at least. And she keeps offering it, under two conditions: the first, that they stop robbing people; and the second: that they get clean.

They don’t learn to make an honest living for a while, still. They do odd jobs for her, not trusting themself to handle their own money. They don’t stop drinking—hard to do that, when Margot herself doesn’t even take her morning coffee without a little something in it—but they manage to flush their system of the rest of it. It’s a thing that works, for the two of them, as Marleigh finds their feet. Another six years go by, like that, and anything they might have learned from Ilvermorny that they missed when they ran away, she takes care of; it helps, for her, to have magic around the house again, and she knows enough to walk them through it.

Her grouchy, nasty attitude rubs off, in its own ways; between that and the anarcho-communist beliefs of the other friends they make—punks and other misfits, both no-maj and not—they end up an absolute bastard, but a functional one, and a clean one, and one who cares a lot more than they’d ever let on.

If you asked Marleigh why they became an auror, they’d say, “ah, for the hell of it” or “you know, thought it’d be funny.” They wouldn’t tell you the real reason—that at Margot’s funeral, in 1989, they meet some of the aurors she worked with, some of the people she helped in a more professional capacity than she helped them. And they want to do something about it, something for her. For her memory. Getting into the Salem Institute probably would have been easier if they’d decided a few months earlier, when the old bat was still around to put in a recommendation, but instead they have to do what she taught them: work hard, and figure it out for themself. And when their homage pulls them away from New York, first to Salem, then to a local squad in Boston, and then to Port Steward as they’re assigned to the Central Squad, they keep the old apartment she left, the old jacket she died in, and the mean old sense of humor she helped them hone.

[aeterno-if]

ABOUT

Aeterno: Saavan's Hymn is an interactive fantasy story created in Twine and includes elements of romance, horror, and adventure. (cw: Death, violence, memory loss, alcohol use, smoking, swearing, and suggestive themes.)

SYNOPSIS

There are holes in your memory. Pieces of your life before are scattered, vague, and otherwise out of reach. For the last three years you've lived in a southern province of the realm, out of sight of the High Council and their decrees. A recent loss, however, sends you to the mainland town of Iyre. But, as you know, plans are fickle things.

FEATURES

Aeterno offers readers a customizable experience via gender and pronoun choice, as well as several custom physical attributes. Readers can also investigate and explore the world around them, as well as initiate romantic encounters of their choosing.

COMPANIONS

Rozun (nb) | A curious traveller with an unfamiliar face. Murtagh Doran (m) | A warden of Iyre with anarchist tendencies. Vallan Izarra (f) | A friendly resident of Iyre just trying her best. Radia Sevayn (f) | A dutiful guardsman looking to rise in rank. Alyse Alsan (m/f) | A cool headed Eye bound to the empire. & Pyewacket (cat) | A black cat travelling with Rozun.

[ DEMO ] | [ Q & A ] | @hagrockfiction

#rozun

#murtagh

#vallan

#radia

#alyse

#pyewacket

#aeterno co

#aeterno prompts

#aeterno playlist

#aeterno map

#aeterno lore

#progress update

[osberend]

You do realise the OP is a gay dude? Who’s warning other gay dudes about date rape??

I realized that OP was warning gay dudes about date rape, which was part of why I added that it was “especially fucked up to say [that men are trash] when you’re addressing men that you purportedly care about and are trying to protect.” I wasn’t specifically aware that OP was a gay man, but I figured it was likely from context. It doesn’t really matter to my point; men can be misandrist, just as women can be misogynist. And even people who aren’t trying to be bigoted can easily lapse into bigoted rhetoric from time to time, because it supplies ready-made expressions that require little thought to use.

[Direct answer to question ends here; extended tangent follows.]

Incidentally, the same is actually true of rhetoric generally, not just bigoted rhetoric. I used to consider myself feminist, but no longer do, principally because of a change in what I’ve come to view that word as meaning, rather than in my object-level beliefs about gender, sexuality, equality, etc. So it was curious when I was thinking about a folk song ( Crow and Pie, cw: rape, victim-blaming in the third-to-last verse), and how I would discuss my thoughts on it with someone. And I found myself thinking about how the last two verses (which form one ending, and the third-to-last another, in a weird order that makes me suspect they’re originally two different versions that got stuck together) are “surprisingly feminist” for the period and context, and how that contrasts weirdly with the third-to-last verse.

And then I thought “Wait. I no longer think of “feminist” as meaning roughly ‘good, in ways that relate somehow to sex, gender, gendered social issues, etc.’, so what did that thought actually mean?“ And what I realized was that putting it into words without that linguistic crutch was actually really difficult. It was a little about not being victim-blamey (in contest to the previous verse), a little about giving a rape victim an individual voice that doesn’t fit into the standard cultural pattern of how a victim should react, a little about rejection of aspects of toxic purity culture that say that being raped means your life (at least as anything other than maybe a nun) is effectively over, etc.

It was complicated, and not really something that could easily be expressed in a few words … and when you find that happening repeatedly, it becomes really tempting to identify a word or two with "good, as relates to that vague cluster of stuff over there *waves have in general direction of a big old region of concept-space*” and just use that for whatever you see as good that is in that general area.

And this is bad. It contributes to an illusion of clarity, because two people may have very different views on what is good in a particular area, but share a word for “good, in that area.” It contributes to the “all issues are really the same issue” mindset that makes it impossible to form coalitions with people who are with you on a particular issue, because they disagree with you on another.

And it contributes massively to polarization and demonization of people from different political tribes, because their rejection of the ideology they associate with the word you use to mean "good, in this area” now sounds to you like “I am for evil. Evil is great!

The best example I can see of this is the tumblr meme of calling people who self-identify as anti-SJ “literal Batman villains” and the like, because who but a literal Batman villain could declare themselves opposed to justice and compassion!? When in reality, the issue is precisely that we don’t think that “Social Justice” is actually just or (consistently and/or correctly) compassionate. But that view sounds patently absurd if you’ve internalized the idea that “Socially Just” means “good, in relation to big social issues.”

I'm reminded of George Orwell’s remark, in the appendix to 1984(so fiction, but fiction making a real point): “From the foregoing account it will be seen that in Newspeak the expression of unorthodox opinions, above a very low level, was well-nigh impossible. It was of course possible to utter heresies of a very crude kind, a species of blasphemy. It would have been possible, for example, to say Big Brother is ungood. But this statement, which to an orthodox ear merely conveyed a self-evident absurdity, could not have been sustained by reasoned argument, because the necessary words were not available.”

And let me be clear: This bad tendency is a very human one! As noted above, I caught myself falling prey to it myself, and regarding an ideology that I no longer identify with at that! One certainly shouldn’t be too hard on oneself over it. But it is still bad, and one should still seek to recognize when it’s happening and to avoid falling prey to it.

From Orwell again, this time from Politics and the English Language: “Political language — and with variations this is true of all political parties, from Conservatives to Anarchists — is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind. One cannot change this all in a moment, but one can at least change one’s own habits, and from time to time one can even, if one jeers loudly enough, send some worn-out and useless phrase — some jackboot, Achilles’ heel, hotbed, melting pot, acid test, veritable inferno, or other lump of verbal refuse — into the dustbin where it belongs.”