#metal against fascism

[sasuke-uchiha-started-antifa]

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Sepultura - Common Bonds

[buzzkillers]

WHITE HOUSE DOWN

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Black!Reader

Summary: You and Hobie fuck after he kills the President of the United States: Norman Osborne.

Tags|Warnings: Happy 4th of July (sarcastic), public oral sex, cum facials, enemies to enemies that fuck, exhibitionism, bratty reader, graphic violence, bad British slang, UNEDITED

WC:4k

In under an hour Fascism, Capitalism and President Norman Osborne died in the same way: pathetically and in a roaring beat of gunfire and raging anarchy.

It was so punk metal that Hobie reckoned he could've cried. 

Maybe even let out a blood curdling scream before he joined his mates in celebration; in a fight that continued to roar beyond the thick walls of this stupid building. Of the world's now fallen symbol of false freedom, colonization and white supremacy.

All of it was dead now anyway, all of it was gone. So yeah Hobie reckoned he should’ve cried; maybe he even was crying but he was too pent up on adrenaline and rock and roll to notice. Who fucking knew. Who fucking cared? 

What mattered was that Osborne’s head was detached, that his guitar was covered in guts and brain and enough idiocratic bullshit that it had clattered to the floor. 

His weapon stained against the fancy White House carpet. He didn’t mind though, it added to the decor. You didn’t seem to give a shit either. For you, blood still stained your locs and your lips stayed wrapped around his cock.

And well Hobie didn't follow rules. They were barely a suggestion in his radar. Yet apart of him knew this was off kilter, even for him. Even for Spider Punk. 

Spider Punk, the not-hero and the now killer who instead of killing capitalist and fighting corporate drones was here. Here with black nails that dug into your back and wicks that kissed the skin of your cheek. 

It felt good. 

This reward, you told him as you guided him towards the pigs desk. Your hands already at the buckle of his jeans before you looked up at him; eyes hazy and murderously dark. 

It reminded him of foggy London nights, of polluted air and days where he gasped for his inhaler. Something that tried to be something else. It made Hobe feel triumphant, out of breath.

And yet this was ‘His reward.’ You growled again as if this was normal and you weren't you but something different, something new.

At that, Hobie couldn’t help but laugh. It was a pretty comedy after all, a neat joke as your palm— shaking and slick with sweat wrapped itself around his cock and your knees dug into the floor. The blood stained floor. 

He inhaled sharply, either from the adrenaline or the genuine need to breathe before his smile slipped into something wide, dangerous. You shot a glare at him. 

"Something funny?" You mouthed, as if your eyes weren't muggy, as if there wasn't a revolution going on a wall away. Hobie of course simply looked down at you, his own eyes liquid dark, but alight with adrenaline and fire and everything that made a corporate pig like Osborne underestimate him. 

“Fuck yeah,” he rolled his hips up.

"Everything's a bit funny right now, love" 

Below him, you only scoffed as if what he said wasn’t sick given the circumstances. 

As if this was simply another one of those nights; those long nights where this would be your signal to leave. To keep your distance from Hobie Brown, the Spider Punk with too much venom on his tongue and righteous anger in his every word. But you didn’t, you simply looked at him, calculative, nervous. 

Around them, the war raged on and the sounds of corporate drones getting their ass beat made the floors vibrate. None of them aware of their leader's demise before his team crushed them into dust. Below him you sighed, that gleam still in your eyes. (murky puddles and polluted skylines.)

"Of course you'd make this hard," 

"Can't just let me suck you off and shut up huh, SP?" You muttered, and you see Hobie would respond. There was always an excuse to be barked, a word to be said. But music still thrummed through his veins, the air was singing (screaming) and you were here. 

Not with Osborne. Not in a lab, cooped up but here. 

He smiled. "I'm not known for consistency," 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you rolled your eyes, "I've heard the speech,” 

"can't be consistent, can't be bought, can't shut up,"

Shut up?

He licked his lips and tasted the metal, the blood. 'Im gettin’ tired of your mouth, boy.’ Osborne had sneered before Hobie broke his face in.

Yeah, he didn't listen to him either. He shrugged his shoulders. "Nah, I don't think so,"

You rolled your eyes. “Spider-”

“Aw, am I ruining your fantasy love?" You cut him a look.

“Catchin me off guard like this, you must’ve planned it, no?”

Your grimace deepened. Which was cute. Very cute. “So you’re just gonna keep talking?” 

“—I mean I'm not against you knowin' your onions and all that, but between you being stuck in your lab and arguing with us who knew you had the time,” he whispered, before your eyes went sharp and your nails dug into his thighs. A warning, that only made his cock hard and his hands crack the lip of the desk. Cute. He thought again.  

So bloody cute that he blinked and his heart raced like a drum, like a rip of his pick against his guitar. 

‘Lay on your back’ you said, ‘drop the guitar.’ and he did.

You had demanded it with a trained nonchalance. Completely unbothered as if he didn't hear the way your lungs sharply inhaled when his guitar separated Osborne's head from his spine. Cartilage, tendons and a thick spinal cord crushed into dust beneath his rebellion before you pounced on him.

You gave him that same look now and it was wicked hot. He couldn't deny it. A fun mix of cheekiness and nerves before you cocked your head and, “You know what, fine,”

In a blink, his back was shoved harder against the desk. His hands twisted into your locs, while your mouth wet, hot and slick like honey, like blood enveloped him, turned him inside out and made him want to curl over and actually cry. 

Not cause it felt good or spectacular or amazing but because it was you. Only cause it was you.

Below him you sucked him off like you had something to prove. Like it was a challenge. It would be a crime to look away. To not match rebellion with rebellion, your hatred with his faux indifference while your lips remained dry, your handwork sloppy and your rhythm off. It was honestly the worst blowjob he’s ever had. 

But you were enthusiastic and you looked up at him as if you expected more. Like Hobie was supposed to fall to his knees and thank you. Of course, a flicker of frustration came out when he gave you the opposite: a slick smile and his eyes wide in wonder.

"Leave it to you too give someone an angry blow job," He cocked his head, "Reckon you’re overthinkin’ it, love?” 

You choked in response. Your mouth off his cock and looking as if you were about to spit on the floor before you paused and Hobie watched you swallow instead. Something hot shot in his core.

“Never,” you sneered as if this was just another part of the battle, your own personal fight.  

Hobie just snickered, a gleam in his eyes even as you went still, embarrassment hot on your face. 

“Yeah that's what I guessed," he whispered, before gloved hands gripped your jaw. Tight and restrictive.

“Quick tip? You’re too rough with it love, let me guess didn’t watch enough videos?”  he teased, before he realized where exactly his dick was.

You gave him a sharp smile, "want to repeat that?" No, not particularly. He rolled his shoulders.

“Slow down,” 

“Where's the rush,” he teased before there was a thump and a scream and oh, he guess they've found the bloke's head. Took them long enough. 

If Hobie remembered how hard he kicked it correctly; The fuckers skull was three rooms away with thick walls and flimsy doors in each of them.

His smile turned giddy, "We all the time in the world," 

"Please tell me you're joking," and there it was again, that look.  That need for order and propriety. Hobie patted your cheek.

"What, getting nervous?" Your eyes shot to the door. To the distant footsteps that only got closer to the currently unlocked room. 

"Hobie,"

"Fine," he shot the hinges up with webbing. It wouldn't last. But you didn't need to know that.

"See? Good,"

Quickly, your shoulders relaxed; your nape warm beneath his hand, prickled and covered in sweat till he gripped it harder, guiding you down until your mouth was on him again. He shuddered. 

“Make it wet,” you looked confused, your eyebrows twitching before your mouth went agape and he felt it. 

Something hot and sticky that dripped down his cock. Your lips were now sheen, a messy mix of precum, sweat and everything that would never normally be in a pretty mouth like that. 

Of course, you still managed to glare at him. And yeah nah, he wasn't gonna think about why that made his mouth dry before he angled his hips up and up until the tip of him was at the rim of your lips; he took a deep breath. 

“Grip the desk for me,” 

You frowned again, harder if that was possible. And Hobie couldn't have that. 

"Wh--" in a blink he's already bullied his thumb passed plush lips and sharp teeth. Expertly, rubbing his painted nails against the soft flesh of your cheek until drool and spit slicked down his wrist and, 

"That's wicked," he whispered.

"You’re so fucking pretty like this," You shot him a look. Your eyes still shakingly looking towards the door. The soldiers have gotten louder, they've must've bursted pass the first room. But Hobie only sighed, unbothered

“Is this why you've been so nice to me lately? Been wanting to give me this," he rambled, his eyes back on yours before his smile melted into a smirk. The last thing Osborne ever saw, before his head rolled down the stairs. 

Now, the funny thing about trying to tell a punk what to do was that you shouldn't actually expect them to listen. Osborne learned that the hard way. But you weren’t like the rest of them. No matter what the team said about you turning your back on your upbringing for the cause. You weren’t like them. Clean and simple. 

It was written in the cracks of your face, in the corners of your eyes. That want for order that battled with the need to rebel and make things right. 

 It's probably why you continued to look at him like that; your eyes slitted, red and angry.

You hated it but you wanted it too. Which meant that it took no effort to grip your jaw, keeping it still as you moved to chop your teeth onto his thumb. Light work. 

But it was another thing to dodge the whistle of your studded fist and the gleam of spikes on your knuckles before they're webbed to the dead Pigs desk. You were smart not to try again. Still your face stayed twisted in anger. 

 Hobie couldn't help but laugh again, all sharp teeth and youthful indignation in his voice. 

“I'm not good with mixed signals love, you hate me, you don't, you want to give me a reward about a job well done and then whine about it,” 

“This is still a reward right?” he whispered, his voice deep and molten. It dragged you into a spell, made you nod.  “Good,”

"Now, why don't we start stickin’ to our words, yeah," you made no room to reply, just continued to look up at him with that fire in your eyes that reminded him of madness, of a man whose body could be found in various parts of this makeshift castle. For the first time, Hobies face went stern, his body hands suddenly on your nape gripping tight. 

"Yeah?" He repeated. 

That madness in your eyes only take a moment to flicker, a moment to wick and out before your face twisted again, "Yeah," 

"There we go," 

You made no room to stop him. As his prodded his cock against your lips again, against that slick heat, hellfire, glory, his reward that was found in the tightens of your throat. "Good," 

He gripped the back of your neck tighter. “There we go,” 

“Breathe through your nose,” Then you squeezed your eyes shut, prepared to choke, for Hobie to bruise your throat, for your jaw to ache while he used you like you prepared to use him. 

Then he hummed, like a thrum of his guitar, like the flutter of a hummingbird. It was your only warning before he brought you down, slow, sluggish. He made you feel the weight of him, the way it pressed against your tongue, expanded your throat. 

You couldn’t help it really, the way your eyes closed. The hazy sensation that made your vision blur. Hobie fucked your throat as if he had all the time in the world. As if a world leader wasn’t rotting in the next room. 

And this would be a great time to joke. For Hobie to make you regret bringing him here and not give the secrets to ruining him but nah, this was better. This was more satisfying. Worth the shock in your eyes as you tried to keep them open. Your cunt not so subtly grinding against his boot. 

“Don't look so surprised love” 

“Let me guess, you expected me to go hard?” he whispered, voice ragged.

“Wanted me to bruise your pretty throat?” He dragged himself out again. Withdrew his hips, until your lips were once again at the tip of him. A thick residue of spit left behind.

Good.

Perfect even.

But below him you struggled to remain composed. Your mind was a fog that thickened, and your ears roared with the music that was Hobie Brown. The sounds of his shockwaves still in the air. On a better day, you'd remain aloof. You'd look at hobie with bored eyes and tell him to do his worse.

Clearly, that day wasn't today.

Your eyes were still closed after all, and the taste of him still stained your throat. You wanted more. You wanted-

His hand tightened on your neck. 

“Now when did I say you could do that?”  You blinked up, teary eyed with more of Hobie’s cock in your mouth than he previously allowed.

Suddenly, your cheeks burned and Hobie watched embarrassment wash over you. Watched you drown in it, in an attempt to cover up the desperate move before you just sat there, unable to go forward, unable to move back.  “Cute,” 

And then he jerked forward, cock hitting your throat until tears brimmed in your eyes and well Hobie was only a man at the end of the day. He unwebbed you, “Use your hands wrap them around me,” 

Quickly, you complied. “Yeah love like that,"

You didn’t need further instruction. You continued the slow tempo he set. And for a moment, it stayed like that: you swallowing him with a sloppy mouth and tears in your eyes, your hands now slick with well, everything. Snot, spit and tears. 

He laughed again, a bit more choked up and bit more delirious as your tongue dragged against the undervein of his cock. Sharp pleasure blinded him, he felt like it was too much, not enough. Like his heart was gonna burst from the adrenaline, the heat. 

For a moment, he craved something on his lips too. Something just as hot and slick and you. He reckoned you'd like that. Want to shut him up with your thighs locked around his head and your cunt slick on his studded tongue. If you were gonna do this, you might as well do it right, do it in the worst way possible while Osborne's corpse rotted in the next room. 

Below him, you gripped him tighter. Suckled your lips at the head of him until he shuddered and groaned. His palms slicked in blood gripping right at your face. If he knew this would be the reaction to winning the war— he'd bring Osborne back to life himself. 

Let you watch him kill him again, again and again if it meant you looked at him like that. Like a drunkard, like the feeling he got when he strummed his guitar just right, just perfectly against his pick. Until you were like this: your lips, tight and harsh. Sucking him off as if it was another fight, your eyes red hot with anger and tears.

He was close.

He couldn’t even be embarrassed, if they knew what a pretty picture you made no regular bloke  would be either before he felt it. That liquid hot build up; like something molten that grew and morphed and dripped in his belly before his thighs trembled, his fist cracked the desk and you looked marvelous. 

He tried to draw away, cause he was proper and raised right but he couldn't get far. Not against someone who looked like they wanted to prove something. You started this for a reason after all. So of course, your hands pressed into his hips, kept him still. Fucking brat.

Before the room became an echo chamber of gasps and whines and— he lurched forward, hands on your shoulders, a sharp cry of your name. 

 The orgasm was just as violent as the murder. It ripped through him and rearranged his insides until it felt painful, overwhelming. Like he was stuck in his own shockwave, pulled at the seams, the points of musical notes at his ears. 

Then he whimpered, sharp and inaudible. But it made your eyes glitter all the same before you pulled off him with a satisfying grin as the violence in him transcended to a soft shudder. 

Both of you didn't talk for a minute. Just let everything settle. Until slowly the world trickled back in and Hobie watched half amused and half delirious as across your face, emotions flickered too fast for him to dissect. 

What he did know was that you were looking at him, at the floor and then randomly at the door. Oh yeah, the goons. He should focus on that, but you were still on your knees, looking pretty and fucked out and well Hobie couldn't help it. He suddenly had the taste for something sweet.

"Up, c’mon" 

You looked at him, leg kneeled. "Fuck you,” you coughed, throat dry. “Where do you think I was doing?"

He shook his head, and with little effort, he towered over you. You looked up at him, eyes wide, lips plush and the corner of your mouth twinkling with beads of white and shit, shit. Hobie did not wait for you to get up. 

In a blur of red white and blue, the two of you switched places. It was like carrying a stack of paper, a bag of groceries before you plopped into the desk; your eyes wide, legs spread and cunt wet through your trousers.

 "Hobie come on—"  

His thumb dug into the seam of your jeans, ripped them in two until you were cunt hit cold air. You dripped on the desk. "Don't be selfish,”

“I thought this was a reward,” And then hobie’s tongue was on you, desperate and hot. 

Studded fingers pressed into your hips, digging,digging and  "Hobie, what-”  Hobie pressed you further into the desk. 

His tongue was slick and sticky against your folds. The pleasure that was white and hot grinded you to a halt. Your brain morphed into mush. You weren't going to last. This, you can admit with a certainty as your thighs wrapped around hobie’s head anyway. 

You looked towards the door, but Hobie with his freakishly long arms gripped your jaw and forced your eyes back on him. Pay attention, they said. Until your eyes went wide, frantic; and your hips fought the battle of jerking away from Hobie and against him while he flicked your clit; his finger prodding against your entrance. 

It's almost embarrassing how fast you came.

Even worse how you tried to hide it. With teeth the bit into your wrist, and moans that you tried to choke down while your hips moved on him with a grind that only made it worst, made it last.

You grunted and swore, the flat palms of your hand slammed into the desk. Once twice and then Hobie got up, looked at you splayed out on Osbornes desk, jeans pooled to your knees, the hairs of your cunt glistening. 

"Good?”

With a gasp, you could only focus on the sound of the door as the screams of soldiers bulged against the doors frames. 

Your blood was pulsing but you couldn’t feel your throat. Couldn’t feel the scratches and bruises that later you won't be able to tell was from Hobie or from the fight. 

The wooden door bent beneath the weight of the army. Before eventually it popped and you threw the spider a smile. 

“Good,”

[fullmetal-scar-simping]

Love the symbolism of hands in fma 03:

they are the vectors by which alchemy is activated; the tension between philosophies, especially that of theologies and the sciences (scientism as its own dogma, theology as oppressor and a life raft, more personal, cultural) -> that clap-alchemy is performed with a momentary meeting of the palms, akin to a prayer; a prayer one can only make after slandering the cycle of life into death, performing metaphysical horrors;

the flesh contrasted to the mechanical, ability and disability, access to prosthetics versus those who have not -> class hierarchies; one who builds hands and arms and feet and legs, her own skilled hands she offers to those who cannot have a home with her or her family, they keep her far beyond arm's length but need her to keep their own hands working, seeking, fighting;

in the background, the tendrils of industrialism and the people trampled to make way for "progress"; on the other side, the inky hands beyond a gate, it's infinite eyes impassionate as it trades in flesh and souls, wrapping around any who knock at its door;

the hand, balled into a fist, held high as the fortitude to press on when drowning in the quagmire of an unrelenting world and systems of oppression; the capacity for fascism and resistance, annihilation vs survival and liberation;

the wounds we inflict with our own two hands against those we share bonds with, even when so much was sacrificed to hold onto another; love is not enough to avoid harm, it can even cause it;

the loss of sensation, fully or partially, what being a body means for one's own humanity; how much of a physical self makes you human?; if you're feared for losing even one limb and replacing it with a functional (but sensorily deprived) mechanical one, what does it mean for the soul sealed into a wholly metal form, who can't feel what he touches? who wonders if he was ever soft -> who swears he feels the warmth in his brother's fresh corpse, stroking his face, leather hand without nerves;

the one who uses alchemy through a singular arm, a defiance against his own religious dictates and cultural ties, born out of raw necessity vs the one who does not pray to anyone but clasps his hands in prayer in order to survive, after sinning within his own scientific principles and rupturing what remained familial of his family; the former had his family violently slaughtered, the other attempting to reform what withered away, with his own blood and losing far more in return -> the bizarre hand the demolishes the other's unique hand, a palm placed atop their head, defeated; an offering for momentary peace to pray, the rejection of prayer (in that moment the young one had his ability to perform the one prayer he cares to do torn away);

[kae-luna]

//WIP Intro Post: Ultra Drive//

Art by Computerizer

//Title: Ultra Drive

//Progress: Writing early chapters, planning for whole (hopefully) series out of order

//Genres: Sci-fi, cyberpunk, dystopian, biopunk, post-apocalyptic, action, LGBTQIA2S+, drama, psychological

//Links: Wattpad | Tapas (Coming Soon)

//Rating: 16+ for violence, blood, possible gore, swearing, and suggestive content

//Content warnings: death, pandemic, sickness, bigotry in general???, war, fascism

//POV: Third person First person. AlexiKa's POV.

//Setting: In the city of Venicula on the island of Arasai and surrounding areas. Takes place in the future.

//Premise: AlexiKa's world was changed forever the day her family was forced to immigrate to the imperial city of Venicula after the Ebony Plague - caused by mysterious spores - infected her home town.

~(Continued under the cut)~

Now a young adult, she works as a courier (and secretly an anti-corporation activist). When going on a delivery for the all powerful Gaia Corporation, she accidentally uncovers dark secrets and ends up infected with the same Ebony Plague that haunted her hometown as a child. But when she survives the illness and instead develops superhuman abilities, she joins a mutant resistance group - who call themselves Ultras - to fight against the Veniculan Empire, the Gaia Corporation, and other mutants with immoral goals.

//Aesthetic: neon and pastel architecture, holograms, dyed hair, tech gear, infrastructure in derelict conditions, overgrown plants, eco-friendly technology

//Tropes + themes: anti-capitalism, equality, probably found family, female empowerment, globalization, super powers, POC characters, LGBTQIA2S+ characters

//Inspiration: Nausicaa of The Valley of The Wind, Ultraviolet (2006), Aeon Flux (show + movie), Alita: Battle Angel (movie, OVA, + manga), Ghost in The Shell (anime), Fallout (games), 86 (anime), The Last Of Us (games), Blade Runner, The Matrix, 1980s, 90s, and early 2000s in general, vaporwave art, the United States of 'Merica, Sims 4 eco lifestyle

//Characters:

AlexiKa: A young woman with fiery passion and an even more fiery temper, AlexiKa - AKA Lexi - fights for her family's survival in the rough city of Venicula. She hates authority and will gladly fight for you, despite the odds.

Yuki Raiden: Lexi's mom. Japanese. Super sweet and tries to keep the mood positive, even in dark times.

Alessandro: Lexi's dad. An Italian himbo who loves to tinker.

Ellie: Lexi's childhood friend. Super sweet, but a bit cheeky as well. Pacifist. They might have some gay tension.

Empress Vox: Rules the city of Venicula. Politician who does weird parasocial crap over VR/AR. Definitely a good person.

Donovan Vox: Brother of the Veniculan president. CEO of Gaia Corporation.

LaKellan Ramirez: Leader of the Ultra Resistance. Calm and may seem cold, but is actually just a bit awkward and emotionally constipated.

(More coming soon probably-)

//Tags: Ultra Drive, aesthetic, xxx, xxx, xxx...

//Tag list: @digital-chance

//Pinterest boards: Aesthetic inspo | Character inspo

//Playlists: Scenic/Chill - Used for imagining scenery and for calmer scenes.| Edgy - Lots of industrial, trip-hop, metal, and rock beats for angsty, intense, action scenes. Some songs may include explicit content.

//Changelogs:

1.0: Initial Post.

1.2: Added more tags. Added playlist. Added Pinterest board links.

[sendmyresignation]

hi are u into black metal? and if so are u aware of the community around it? bc i’ve basically been in the closet abt being a black metal enjoyer for yrs due to being unsure if it’s like safe enough for a queer person given the scene’s infamous history

hi anon! i am, to a degree, a black metal fan. because of the community as you say im much more disconnected from the Classics and such compared to other genres. i also am realllly picky about the black metal i enjoy bc a lot of it sounds like shit to me lmao. but i think it can be really cool in that lame-cool way.

that being said, i truly think there's so much possibility within black metal that hasn't been exploited or is in the beginning stages of bearing fruit. norman brannon wrote this really fantastic essay about black metal as a exemplification of camp, hedonism, anti-christian thought, etc all of which helped him come to terms with his sexuality and which presents an opportunity for future queer expression. i think as queer black metal fans it is defeatist to simply give up on the genre and not fight directly against the fascism and homophobia. I also think black metal has become a boogeyman which has allowed other genres and subcultures to feel morally more secure than they are in actuality. punk has a history of fascism and yet the revolutionary potential of the scene and music is still possible. so there is always hope.

that said, it's not a space or community i engage with often. i've been to one local show and i went with friends. it's not something I'd feel comfortable with otherwise without a bunch of background checking. so i do feel you and it sucks. finding other queer metalheads has really been my saving grace and we have the space to talk about black metal with the knowledge and intent we want to have. if all else fails, I'll answer an ask any day <3

[queersatanic]

Piggybacking off that last ask for being a weenie, but also making me think this clearly: do y'all have a good starting point for someone looking to vibe check satanism? Y'all's particular brand. Something that wouldn't make my cant-sit-still-brain yell at me if that's possible

Satanism's modern history is very much the reactionary centrism of cis white men who have little to no understanding of power dynamics because they've always benefited from it.

So when they talk about "rebellion" or "fighting authority", they mean stuff like "being able to say the n-word". You know the type; these are just sort who wear all black and listen to metal.

Basically, you need to look past the aesthetics of rebellion and see whether these are people who genuinely want to fight against tyranny that affects everyone or if they view tyranny in the traditional cis white male way: "I can't do whatever I want at all times and be thanked for it."

Now, as to whatever you take our brand to be, it's probably just Mary Nardini Gang but more explicitly Satanic.

Be Queer, Do Crime, Fuck Fascism, and Hail Satan

[studentofetherium]

for musicians who were engaged in the more fashy spaces of extreme metal or neofolk in the late 80s, there seem to only be two directions for their lives to go over the next 30 years

you have your Vargs, your Dougy P.'s, your Boyd Rices, who were fully in on the ideology and never left it. these guys are just straight up fascists and they see no problem with it

but on the other hand, you have the David Tibets, the Tony Wakefords, who were engaged with fascism for the aesthetic of it, but then one day seemed to look up and think "wait, these people are actual nazis. i need to get out of here" and then spend the next 30s years trying to put that past them, whether that's making art to strike against that ideology (like David Tibet did) or just try to avoid talking about it ever again (Tony Wakeford lol)

[marcianoliterati]

President Salvador Allende's last words

My friends,

Surely this will be the last opportunity for me to address you. The Air Force has bombed the towers of Radio Portales and Radio Corporación.

My words do not have bitterness but disappointment. May they be a moral punishment for those who have betrayed their oath: soldiers of Chile, titular commanders in chief, Admiral Merino, who has designated himself Commander of the Navy, and Mr. Mendoza, the despicable general who only yesterday pledged his fidelity and loyalty to the Government, and who also has appointed himself Chief of the Carabineros [national police].

Given these facts, the only thing left for me is to say to workers: I am not going to resign!

Placed in a historic transition, I will pay for loyalty to the people with my life. And I say to them that I am certain that the seed which we have planted in the good conscience of thousands and thousands of Chileans will not be shriveled forever.

They have strength and will be able to dominate us, but social processes can be arrested neither by crime nor force. History is ours, and people make history.

Workers of my country: I want to thank you for the loyalty that you always had, the confidence that you deposited in a man who was only an interpreter of great yearnings for justice, who gave his word that he would respect the Constitution and the law and did just that. At this definitive moment, the last moment when I can address you, I wish you to take advantage of the lesson: foreign capital, imperialism, together with the reaction, created the climate in which the Armed Forces broke their tradition, the tradition taught by General Schneider and reaffirmed by Commander Araya, victims of the same social sector which will today be in their homes hoping, with foreign assistance, to retake power to continue defending their profits and their privileges.

I address, above all, the modest woman of our land, the campesina who believed in us, the worker who labored more, the mother who knew our concern for children. I address professionals of Chile, patriotic professionals, those who days ago continued working against the sedition sponsored by professional associations, class-based associations that also defended the advantages which a capitalist society grants to a few.

I address the youth, those who sang and gave us their joy and their spirit of struggle. I address the man of Chile, the worker, the farmer, the intellectual, those who will be persecuted, because in our country fascism has been already present for many hours -- in terrorist attacks, blowing up the bridges, cutting the railroad tracks, destroying the oil and gas pipelines, in the face of the silence of those who had the obligation to protect them. They were committed. History will judge them.

Surely Radio Magallanes will be silenced, and the calm metal instrument of my voice will no longer reach you. It does not matter. You will continue hearing it. I will always be next to you. At least my memory will be that of a man of dignity who was loyal to [inaudible] the workers.

The people must defend themselves, but they must not sacrifice themselves. The people must not let themselves be destroyed or riddled with bullets, but they cannot be humiliated either.

Workers of my country, I have faith in Chile and its destiny. Other men will overcome this dark and bitter moment when treason seeks to prevail. Go forward knowing that, sooner rather than later, the great avenues will open again where free men will walk to build a better society.

Long live Chile! Long live the people! Long live the workers!

These are my last words, and I am certain that my sacrifice will not be in vain, I am certain that, at the very least, it will be a moral lesson that will punish felony, cowardice, and treason.

Santiago de Chile, 11 September 1973

#SiempreAllende

#AllendeVive

[therese-lokidottir]

You know it's will be good twist that if they showing actually using robot for workers then turn out they were human once, kang turn them into robot (for whatever resons because her showing to have and ODI g unnecessary cruel things) . It's definitely explaining why tva workers not aging and explaining why they so cruel because well they psychology can fit from fleet into metal and it can make viewers more sympathy because well humans got forced became mechine definitely so sad

But well budget and all. It's really van be good twist

Personally, I think that would just end up having the same problem as what already in the show. Whether it's robots or whatever blahblah technobabble augmenting Kang did in canon the question would still be why do that? Why not build robots that Kang never has to worry about finding out the truth because he just controls them and morality doesn't matter.

If I had to, I'd do it in the other direction. The TVA think they're people recruited for this grand glorious leader only for it to turn out it was all fake and they were artificial beings the whole time.

Or what I genuinely think would be better is they are just robots. They would be way more sympathetic that way. That way there could be a story about characters learning empathy and kindness rather than a narrative trying to justify fascism and say they're sympathetic because they were tricked into fascism. One of my biggest grips with the TVA as characters is they were fine with atrocities until it affected them personally. But if it was changed and the characters changed and turned against the system because they saw the wrongs and didn't want to do it anymore. Not because of themselves but because they couldn't stand how it was hurting other people then they would be characters worth sympathizing for.

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Sepultura  -  Hatred Aside

[doctor-seamonster]

Instead of writing what I get paid to write, I spent 30 minutes writing a 500 word rant about the rise of fascism in america post-ww2.

We grew up being told that america won ww2 and stopped the nazis for good.

They never told us about the fascists and nazi sympathizers in the US, who had open pro-nazi rallies before america got involved in the war.

And for as excited as the government was to round up random japanese-american citizens, they didn't do anything to stop the american fascists at home.

Not to mention all the nazi scientists that got smuggled into government research programs after the war, of course.

The nazis are here. They've been here the whole time. They never went away, they just got real, real quiet.

Private newsletters and secret meetings and published books with coded messages.

Politics ebbed and flowed over the decades since the war. When they could be more vocal, they took every opportunity. There was even a presidential candidate that ran on a pro-segregation platform. But for most of them, they were just waiting behind the scenes.

Sometimes they wore hoods, sometimes they wore business suits, sometimes they wore metal badges.

Then came the internet. It was so, so easy to put up anything they wanted. Websites like stormfront popped up like toxic weeds. And any place that wasn't moderated well, like image boards, rhetoric and propaganda seeped in.

Then we get to the turn of the century.

And there was a tragedy so massive that everyone in america absolutely lost their minds. Suddenly it was in vogue to blame everything on not just muslims, but anyone who had dark skin or non-european names. There's records of many indian people getting brutalized after 9/11.

And by then it was open season to spew propaganda against anyone who wasn't white.

They drummed up fears about north korean military threats and chinese businesses and mexican cartels and columbian drug lords.

Then a black man ran for president and shit just absolutely exploded. This isn't really about him specifically, he's definitely not my favorite person in the world. But just the very idea of a black man leading america brought out the very worst sides of the very worst people.

The public got fed lines about how "racism is over!", all the while online spaces were dripping with venomous conspiracy theories about the blacks and the jews.

And then there's this asshole.

A public figure, hot off his own network tv show, started to spew that same venom. Nonsense about "fake birth certificates" and anything else awful he could say that got people whipped up into a froth.

He's not so much making racist dogwhistles as he's blaring a klaxon, letting all the cryptofascists know that it's okay to be loud and proud, and telling the whole new generation groomed with online white supremacy that it was their time to shine.

Between the support he's drummed up for himself and the general fucking failures on the other side, it's a cakewalk for him to get into office. Finally, a real, red-blooded, blonde-haired, white-skinned american man is running the country again.

So now we've got open white supremacists on speaking tours and nazi rallies in the streets. Not only is it okay to be a racist piece of shit, just as long as you use the right turn of phrase, but it's even good for mass appeal if you do it stylishly enough.

And that's modern life in america.

[todaysdocument]

Speech given by college student Raymond Anthony Mungo at the Boston Common for an anti-Vietnam draft rally, 10/16/1967: 

“I'm here today, and this is a very historic day, to go with you . . .I say again, I have nothing more to do with the Selective Service System.”

File Unit: Boston Common, 1928 - 1976

Series: Precedent Case Files, 1928 - 1976

Record Group 118: Records of U.S. Attorneys, 1821 - 1994

Transcription:

RAY MUNGO:  I am going to talk very briefly.  I'm not exactly sure why I'm here to speak to you because I can't speak as elegantly as either of the two gentlemen who preceded me, and I'm not black, and I'm embarrassed by the fact that nobody black is up here; and I'm not working class, even though my parents are working class, because I obviously went to college, you know.  But I have learned a few things since I started going to college.

When I started going to college, the Civil Rights movement was the big thing and I thought that was great because there were these people down South pounding people and beating people and I assumed that was very un-American.  The American character was to be peaceful, to be non-violent, to be just and I assumed that south was the festering sore in American society.  That is why I started going to college.

In 1964, three men died in Philadelphia, Mississippi.  Their trials were just coming up this week in Mississippi.  Their murderers will no doubt be acquitted.  In 1965, I was aware of the war in Vietnam.  [following underlined in red ink:] I burned my draft card on the 20th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima.  In 1967, I'm here today, and this is a very historic day, to go with you to the Arlington Street Church to say that I have nothing more to do against, and I say again, I have nothing more to do with the Selective Service System. [end underlining]  Now I think this country is getting very close to being a fascist state and I'm afraid, I'm deeply afraid, and I'm afraid of the draft too and you know you are too because it affects all of our lives.  I am eligible for the draft and so are you, even though I am in college.  It affects people's career positions.  It affects the way you look at things.  I do not believe, for example, that it's a coincidence that the United States Army, that the same United States Army that is destroying people in Vietnam, can be destroying people in Detroit.  I think that it's connected.  I think people who go to fight and kill people find it easier to come back here and kill people, and I think killing

[page 2]

29.

BS 25-25171

people is wrong, categorically in any situation, because people are all that we have.  People are it, man.  You know!

For the fascism that we have in the United States of America is not like the German fascism.  It is not like World War II or the Atomic.  It is the fascism of the $100-a-plate diners in San Antonio, Texas, who can sit and mildly, smugly, applaud the President on his (word inaudible) when he makes statements that indicate that he's mad, that he is out of touch with reality, and it is the fascism of - yes, it is the fascism of BU student and Harvard University student and Brandeis University students who will not stand up and say anything about the war.  It is the fascism of people who continue to pay the taxes, and people who continue to register for the draft because they do not want to stir up any trouble.

I was in (place inaudible) with NICK EGGLESTON  (Phonetic).  I met a girl that was 23 years old.  She had 200 shrapnel wounds in her body because she was teaching in elementary school when it was bombed again and again.  I saw pictures of women whose children were born with metal pieces of lead in their faces that went through the woman's womb before birth.  I saw people that had their skin seared off by this war in Vietnam, and I've seen black guys in the United States that had their heads bashed in, and I think we’re all going to end up in the can sooner or later if we take a moral stand on this issue, so I'm willing to do it now.

I might be crazy.  Why am I subjecting myself to the possibility of jail?  Why do I not sit and accept the arguments that may political activists have offered me, that it is more effective to stay out of jail and play along with the system?  Because you can't revolutionize the system and you can't change a country that is rotten to the core unless you make a complete break.  I cannot object to American materialism if I depend on American affluence and if I'm afraid of jail.  I am not afraid of jail.  I'm afraid of killing people and being killed and I am afraid that this whole planet is going up in smoke if we don't do something about it immediately.  Jail is not to be feared.  Jail is an honorable alternative to this war in Vietnam.

[page 3]

30.

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I feel - Eugene Bent (Phonetic) said in 1918, "I am accused of being against the war. I admit it.  I am happy to be against the war.  I will be against all wars".  And then HENRY DAVID THOREAU said, considerably before that when he was in jail, somebody came up to him and said, "Why are you in there".  He turns around and says, "Why are you out there, baby?"

Because a society - in a society which is (word inaudible) unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison.  EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY said in the closing lines of a poem "Am I a spy in the land of the living that I should deliver men to death.  Though the password and plans of our city are safe with me, never through me shall you be overcome."  [following underlined in red:] If resisting the Government in the United States of America, which is killing people abroad and killing people at home, black people and yellow people and poor people, if that is treason, I want to be a traitor.  I want to be nothing but a traitor.  It's the only honorable thing to be, and I want as many of you as are ready to take this step today to come with me and a lot of other people down to the Arlington Street Church to tell the United States Government together, today, that you are men, and not tools, that you have rights and you have dignity and you belong to the human race.  That's all I'm asking you to do.

If you believe in killing people, it is crazy to register with the - if you don't believe in killing people, it's crazy to pay your taxes.  It's crazy!  Don't give them a nickel!  If you don't believe in killing people, it's crazy to register for the draft.  You've got to make a break now.  Please come with us today. [end underlining]

[asstrofem]

What it is, what it ain't, what it's all about, and whatever else...

(Former pinned post? Yes.)

I'm a married black nonbinary transfem (they/she). I am stubbornly leftist and very queer*.

This blog is 18+ and nsfw. However, none of that means it's a porn blog. If you're constantly coming to my blog to hide SWers in your likes, you're getting blocked.

My time on tumblr: 2011-2018 (deactivated); 2022-present.

I usually have a queue pretty much all day if I feel like it. If not, I'm tired lol. If I'm on your blog, and it seems like I'm kinda, sorta spam-liking your posts, then it's very likely I'm also sending them to my queue.

Common tags include: #txt (formerly #she speaks), #shxt (For shitposts. I came up with this while sleep-deprived. Let's see if it sticks lol), #audio, #vgmusic, #youtube, #soundcloud, #bandcamp, #spotify, #audio/video, #important, #later, and #asks. As for photos of #me, there aren't many, but they're there if you'd like to gaze upon my flesh prison.

More about me: I'm a car girl with a hot wheels collection and a love for every generation of Miatas (however, GO NB GO NB GO). I'm into racing games, cozy simulators, survival games, and the occasional RPG. I love literature and if I'm not reading my usual leftist, socialist, queer, or feminist literature, I'm reading fantasy novels, science fiction, and anything by Stephen King, or N.K. Jemisin. I also love music and dabble in music production as one of my hobbies, but lately, my other hobby, writing, has been taking up more of my time. The latter craft has grown more attractive as the barrier of entry to being or becoming a writer has remained relatively low. Plus, I love (most of) my writing (now-.....er). Also, the music industry is so garbo now, so I'll definitely pass on that.

Favorite music genres include: Pop (I'm very picky on decades, and so far, this is the best one), almost every subgenre of house, hiphop, r&b, jazz, rock and metal artists that skew more avant-garde, progressive, experimental, or alternative (btw, I'm really enjoying math rock, atm), trance, drum & bass, jungle, garage, breakbeat, neurofunk, ambient music, movie soundtracks, tv soundtracks, video game soundtracks, and many more that I won't list because I listen to too much shit.

I'm married to a cis woman. The relationship is monogamous, however, lately, I've been thinking critically about monogamy. While I'm not sure that I'm polyamorous, I don't feel that the monogamy label applies to me either; maybe somewhere in between. Idk, but with all that being said, do not come to my DMs expecting a connection outside a platonic relationship.

Started HRT on 4/20/23 (yay). Paused it late May (boo). Restarted on 11/18/23 (OOOOOYEAHHHH)

*I'm sexually attracted to many but not all; I'm extremely sapphic and, not in any order, most attracted to femmes, butches, studs, and nonbinary folks. I have a preference for trans men and cis bisexual men over cishet men. The term for this is polysexual (I could be wrong, but I'm not writing a book, so I'm not checking it lmao), but since that word is not a common term, I will usually tell people I'm queer, instead.

WARNING: I am strongly against capitalism, fascism, imperialism, libertarianism, conservatism, and any type of bigotry, including, but not limited to, sexism, misogyny, racism, fat phobia, body-shaming, ableism, queer phobia, transphobia, islamophobia, etc. Minors, ageless blogs, blank blogs, stolen porn blogs, the aforementioned in the first bullet point, TERFs, fascists, SWERFs, and bigots DNI because you will be blocked. Liberals will not be blocked, but I don't agree with every liberal talking point. Pedos and other creeps will also be blocked, as well as reported. Cishet men, y'all are forever on thin ice, so either act right or I'm cracking the ice you skate on.

Other Socials (I rarely use these but if you do, let me know so I can have a reason to gtfo this place lol):

Bluesky

Cohost

[clonehub]

Starting the finale!

It's been quite an uneventful journey I will say!

Oh muffled volume! You don't get that often. The coolest was when mace had his moment in s1

The pause in this clones when he says Kaminos been destroyed :(

"and I will be left here on my own" :((((

Damn crosshair is really down

Oh he's up

Why was it not in AZs instinct to help 😭

I wonder who taught her to swim

Damn is crosshair really this stubborn

This almost sounds like I think the clones theme from tcw??

Yeah being this deep underwater.....nah

CROSSAHIR BE FUCKING SERIOUS

"all those missions together and you threw away" bitch BE SERIOUSSSS

"soldiers follow orders" notice how he didn't say "good"

Ok crossie baby part of the reason they're all nearly dead is bc of you you know that right

They looooove shoulder bumps in tcw

Kinda crazy that AZ can just weld through two feet of metal

No this was driving me insane. All this running bc you knew y'all was finna drown now that you're on the ocean floor in a cracked tube you want to WALK

WALK AND TALK AT THE SAME TIME BETTER UET RUN

How is this the finale and they really had to slow this shit down 😭

"something on your tiny mind, wrecker"

See look. Wrecker getting the emotional development that everyone should have been getting simultaneously

But tech essentially saying Crosshairs severe and unyielding personality is in his nature is rubbing me the wrong way. It's like. Essentialst idk. Like a long that same thread of eugenics that's been undergirding this show more than an actual plot has, saying oh well Crosshairs never going to change he simply cannot help it. Form one PoV this could be tech being just as uncompromising as crosshair is. Another is the contrast between tech and wrecker as a mind/heart thing which theyve been semi doing for this season. But also does this not essentialize his fascist tendencies too. Nooo he can't help being a fascist or having a personality that lends itself toward authoritarianism it's in his nature and you cannot change nature. Which kinda goes against the whole choice thing Hunters been talking about up to this point. Idk.

"understanding you does not mean I agree with you" this line annoys me sorry it just sounds like. Every Single -Ist and -Phobic person I've come across who's like "yeah I ~understand~ you but I don't have to agree!!" Babygirl I think actual understanding at least on the level as deep as ideology (or in my case various positions of marginalization) would require......nvm I can see here that there's two ways to understand "understand" but also the line is still corny soz

WALK FASTERRRRRRRR

Ok if there's a problem why did you stop walking.

"run!" You should been doing that--

Man Crosshairs run was so dumb

Az was strong enough to carry fives I'm sure he could lift omega up some of these places

"where our MUTATIONS were MANIPULATED and ENHANCED"

Stop calling them defective lmao

"you take things too personally" stay on topic crosshair let's talk about the empire leaving you for dead 🧐

"kamino regs the Republic" wild wild wild

"the empire will control the entire galaxy and I am going to be a part of it" see how he's a fascist guys

Why is he having headaches

LMAO not even omega gave up on him

They've got buttons on the inside?

Oh btw omegas 10 which means tbb is like. Probably 7 if she remembers them being created.

AZI :(

NO BECAUSE WHATS RHE FHCKING POINT OF FOING AFTER HIM??? REALISTICALLY OUTSIDE MAKING CROSSHAIR HAVE HIS LIL FAKE OHT MOMENT OF GOOD

I mean at least they have him now 😭

This is the whitest they'll look in this series

"we want different things" I mean. Yeah. But like fascism is kinnndaaaaaaaa

Second use of the word brother in this series lmao

This Forgive a Fascist ass plotline

You don't get a lot of characters with bangs

DONE

Quite uh. I guess uneventful as a finale all things considered.

[sinkingtime]

After Phyrexia wins

First, obligatory reminder that this is about fiction, i do not in fact endorse theocracy or fascism or any of the bad stuff. The only thing endorsed here is good storytelling.

And i hate when stories set up for Big Consequences, then chicken out on them.

That was the single worst part of Justice League, even though as a comics fan i knew Superman would die and later revive from the moment the word "Doomsday" left Lex's lips. Though even that dissapointed me; i wasn't realistically expecting a full Reign storyline, but i thought he would stay dead for at least one movie.

That was also the worst part of Infinite War/Endgame, again even though we already knew the dead wouldn't stay dead because one of them was Peter and his next movie was already announced. And back then i had a very faint hope that some executive would announce in interview that, sorry, "Far from Home" was a mistranslation, the movie is actually "Miles from Home". Again, not realistic, but it would have been hilarious.

This was also the only bad part of original Avatar and the single worst part of the sequel. I also have a rewrite of that which i've been telling myself i would post "some day". But today is not that day, it's Magic day.

So the way the story is going, i have two Worries(tm). That New Phyrexia will be restored to its earlier "Mirrodin" state, and/or that most or all of the compleated planeswalkers will be purged and restored to their earlier existences. And, related, that the ending will be Iron Man tossing a nuke into Phyrexia's Core and all the drones everywhere shutting down. Either would be unsatisfying. No takes backsies, please!

The ideal result would be the bad end, various worlds and multiple planeswalkers being absorbed. At least enough that we can get a few sets IN the phyrexian world(s), getting to know the daily lives of the oppressed people. Which should be actual people, not just puppets. At least a few we can sympathise with and root for their eventual liberation and a general good ending; but specifically an ending in which the liberated people remain metal/flesh abominations.

Which finally leads me to the point of today's post: Here's some ideas for HOW various compleated planeswalkers can turn against the Machine Orthodoxy without shedding their metal parts (mostly):

First, the most obvious and least interesting: Chandra rebels immediately, because she's red and that's what red does. This is basically the free square on the bingo card. To make it a little more interesting, let's say they recruit her specifically to join the Praetores in Urabrask's place, after they've tired of his treachery and destroyed him. And then she starts immediately burning them.

Next is the cheaters. The Emperor of Kamigawa and the Kenrith twins have nonstandard sparks, Liliana already has her own source of perfection and immortality, and Elspeth apparently has the blood of angels (and specifically angels with vague anti-phyrexian properties). Any or all of them could reject the procedure, entirely or in part, in ways which lead them to retain or regain their personalities and rebel, either immediately or later on.

Related: unless i'm mistaken, Arlinn can only transform while in Innistrad, yes? This could mean her procedure apparently goes perfectly, having her serve loyally until a mission takes her there, her transformation messes her up, and while being repaired she would have the time to introspect and eventually decide to rebel.

Next is the tampering. Saheeli and/or Tezzeret could hack their own biomechanical parts after being compleated. Possibly Kaito, too? I don't know enough about him to say if he would be any good at that. I particularly like this one because they don't need to be non-evil: they can start improving themselves with the sincere intention of becoming more useful to the Cause, and the system will still oppose them because it's fundamentally against that sort of self-determination. That could lead to some fun internal angst as they go from trying to prove their worth to deciding to overthrow the system and take over, and either becoming less evil along the way or pretending to be for the popular support, and then getting their movement hijacked by actual good people at the finish line.

Speaking of (potential) evil vs evil: Nissa and/or Wrenn could be brought in for their ability to interface with Phyrexia's Core or the World Tree Knockoff, respectively. The Praetores would naturally assume these inanimate objects will align with their own goals and plans once animated, but they could easily be wrong about that. Again, i would be a little worried about Nissa specifically purging the phyrexian oil out, but so long as that doesn't happen, their alliance against the system could be pretty interesting.

Also i guess Ajani could already be a traitor in search of an opportunity. Maybe Tezzeret gave up too soon on that. I don't have an interesting twist on him, though.

Then there is the inherently traitorous traitors. Nixilis, Oko, Tibalt and Ashiok are all variously untrustworthy, and could immediately fail to fall in line upon compleation. I wouldn't expect any of them to become good, but the destruction they wreak on their flight to freedom could do enough damage for someone more interested to take down the system.

Honorary mention to Niko, who had already rebelled against having an heroic destiny. Kid just wants to be a nobody, which is honestly very relatable. It works out more or less the same as above: they just flee to beyond the reach of anyone, possibly destroying some stuff on the way out, and inspiring a revolution in their name by people who misunderstood entirely, and who probably assume Niko is dead and/or will one day return to lead them to glory. That may even BE the original heroic destiny that was foretold, if we allow a little cheating.

For someone actually good, Vraska had already been vaguely evil and decided against that. All the reasons she had remain true, and she would presumably remember them. It just takes some time for her to do the soul-searching. With maybe a particularly dramatic atrocity on her part, to trigger her initial realization; though i actually prefer if she's vaguely uneasy from the start and it just takes her time to decide to stand against her superiors.

After that, Kaya could actually cheat, by stepping out of her body while they operate on it, then repossessing it once it's done. I don't think she's actually been shown to have a power like that, but it doesn't feel out of place, at least. After that she could immediately attack, of course, but again i prefer this as a long term thing, her pretending to be loyal while secretly minimizing harm as much as possible, setting up some more traitors for the future, waiting for an opportunity, etc etc.

Jace would be similar, and is the first one i thought of actually. He would spend his operation reading the mind of his technicians, and trying to mess with them to get them to stop. Jin-Gitaxias would just scold him for wasting his time and theirs, they are actually protected against writing even if they fail to keep him from reading; but secretly he's glad Jace's already learning, since it will just make him more useful once he's assimilated. What he fails to consider is that Jace is also an illusionist, so he actually messes up the procedure by tricking them into cutting the wrong wires and so on. And then it's pretending to be evil, biding his time, and so on.

Nahiri could be interesting. We already saw she had big plans for a plane under her control. Still tyrannical, but definitely not as bad as Elesh Norn. I see her compleated version deeming the Mother of Machines "inefficient", overthrowing her and taking over the church to run things RIGHT. Which may or may not need overthrowing in turn. Let's call this "evil vs lesser evil".

Sorin could do a similar thing, but honestly less so. He's still a planar ruler, but much more laissez-faire. Let's call him a "maybe".

Which leads to my actual favourite idea, both for an internal church schism and in general: Serra. Her corpse is just held in a random cathedral in Dominaria, right? We already know the phyrexians can reanimate pre-mending corpses. She's immensely good, she has experience being worshipped as a goddess, she's perfect. And i guess she probably wouldn't be a planeswalker anymore, but phyrexians can take portals so that's fine. Also they could just give her Karn's spark; we know that one works for both organic and inorganic planeswalkers, so a mashup should presumably be fine. I'm picturing a double-sided card, "Serra, Evangel of Perfection//Serra, Compassionate Heretic".

And that's all i got. Thank you for reading and i hope i gave anyone ideas. Also if someone could tell me how to make this a numbered list or otherwise make it more readable, that would be nice.