#they advertise themselves as 'open to debate' only to always sway debate into trying to win and not into actually discovering the truth

[katyspersonal]

[soulmate-game]

Okay, I’m not sure if what I was trying to say in my last post was said very well.

I completely understand the tagging situation from the First Wave with the DC fans. That’s discourse that is mostly solved and we can’t do anything about those who are forever gonna be bitter or lazy. I’m not talking about that stuff.

The stuff I want to prevent/limit is the hate that comes after our fandom deliberately. And yes, I know I can’t stop it. None of us can stop bitter, antagonistic people from being bitter and antagonistic. None of us can stop people who just want to be angry.

I’m not talking about stopping them, though.

I’m talking about what we can do to protect ourselves as creators and consumers in this fandom. As people who love and appreciate what the creations and people in this fandom have to offer. In simplistic form, I’m saying we need to learn how to shield ourselves from bullies. And there are methods we can use to make ourselves less of a target to the people who go after us, and methods to cut their attacks off short. None of these methods are fool-proof, but they will work to filter out a good majority of the shit we would otherwise be showered by, like a big umbrella against Assholery. Sure, the wind might still blow some in our face and we might splash in a puddle or two by accident, but at least we aren’t soaked.

So let me list the various things that can help you shield yourself from hate/harassment/antis who might just be out to get you.

1) leave the fandom.

The most effective, but least attractive method possible. This is limited to being a last ditch effort, if things have just gotten too hard to handle. I’m covering it first though, because we have to acknowledge that it is a viable method. If you feel trapped, hated, bullied, I’m sure all of us in this fandom would prefer you take a break and leave us for a while in the sake of your own health and safety then stay where you are miserable. This is less of a problem for us though, because mostly this option is gonna be for fandoms where the discourse and attacks are internal. Maribat is largely a peaceful and supportive/healthy environment once you’re inside our little bubble, the main discourse comes from outside in. So let’s focus on the main point of this post— how to keep our bubble from popping.

2) Make it apparent right away that you are Unapologetic.

Whenever you post content or are approached by someone about the topic of your fandom, don’t you DARE ever apologize for liking what you like or posting unproblematic content. You need to make it clear right off the bat that you are not gonna be swayed, bullied, or shamed out of your fandom. Stand with pride and make it clear, but don’t be verbose about it. A simple “Don’t like, don’t read” is classic but sometimes if you’re posting/talking during a more confrontational period of the fandom, you need to up your game to reflect that. The funny thing is, people can easily be intimidated by swearing if it isn’t directed at them or clearly antagonistic. If you’re swearing in a joking, casual or even in a manner that shows you’re not taking yourself too seriously, people will usually avoid picking fights with you. For this, my favorite lines to use on my work include;

“Don’t like, I don’t fucking care. I fell down the rabbit hole.”

“Don’t bother reading if you’re not into this, this shit bitch-slapped me and dragged me along on it’s adventure.”

“I’m addicted to this fandom, don’t bother trying to save me. If it bothers you, I don’t give a fuck. Save yourselves.”

3) Don’t approach or interact

Unless someone comes at you first, never try to persuade someone away from hating us. That just makes you a target in an empty field, for the vultures to surround and gang up on. If someone approaches you with provocative but not overly insulting or intelligent language— I.e; trying to start a fight, vague insults not always relating to the fandom itself, trying to insult your character/judgement— do not respond. Delete the message, block the account, and surround yourself with fluffy good stuff to forget the wanna-be harasser. These people are often not brave enough to outright start a fight, and want you to get defensive first so they know the weak points in your armor to exploit. Defensive statements declare your own insecurities, don’t get defensive. It gives them a way to win without having to defend themselves or feel vulnerable— it’s like exploiting type differences in Pokémon. You wait for an unfamiliar Pokémon to expose it’s type, then snipe it with the moves it’s weak to. Then, you have a near sure-fire win even with under leveled Pokémon on your team.

Don’t be a proud Infernape that gets sniped by a weak-ass level 5 Piplup. We’re strong, don’t show them the chinks in our armor.

4) Have a support network. Even if they don’t know they are your support network.

The fandom as a whole serves this purpose, and this is mostly gonna be a tactic you use when the discourse is inside the fandom, but there can be uses for this in discourse from outside the fandom as well. If someone tries to act like they like your story/art “but...” they passive aggressively state things they “would prefer” or they try to make it sound like you made stupid mistakes (a tactic to make you insecure about yourself) instead of kindly pointing out errors or offering constructive criticism (ex: “you know you put your trigger list somewhere where it’s useless right? Love your story though.)—THESE ARE ALL PROVOCATIONS. They are trying to make you insecure so that you change things about yourself, your work, or jump through hoops to try to “make it up” to them when you did nothing wrong and there are no problems to fix. Do not fall for it! Instead, politely as possible, bring the issue into a public space where you feel safe/trust the people in that space to keep the bullshit from escalating. For me, I straight up explain my reasoning for the placement of my trigger list as if I’m advertising a particularly boring but important product that I’m selling, then offer places for them to bring the issue into a discussion with others. I send them to a discoed group or right here to my tumblr, and I immediately make the issue into a big discussion (do YOU think there is anything to change? Let’s ALL talk about it) so that I am no longer isolated and easy for them to harass. They might refuse to join the discussion and further try to pressure you, but do not cave. Merely say that a public discussion has been started, and if they are actually, legitimately concerned about the way you do things then they can debate it in a public setting. This way, you have back up. 9/10 people who try to target you this way will back off and never enter the conversation you started.

5) Do not fight back.

This sounds counterintuitive, but a lot of the time once discourse gets this bad, arguing/defending/ trying to prove your point only fuels their rage more. I have found that people hate very little in this world more than they hate being wrong. And people who hate being wrong will fight to the bitter death about their opinions, no matter how invalid or hurtful they are, in the favor of their blissful ignorance. Remove yourself from harmful discussions or those that seem to be going in circles as soon as possible, and try to surround yourself in your support group. Never let people make you feel stupid, your opinions illegitimate, or your likes/dislikes invalid or evil.

6) Try to learn how to recognize bullies in disguise

It’s too much for me to try to cover here, but you need to PLEASE look into how to spot gaslighting. Tactics of gaslighting are often used to attack others and try to make them feel like their own opinions are invalid or their mindset untrustworthy. People will often approach you in the guise of friendship/support/ “I am not into this, but...” and while this is not always a red flag, we have to keep our eyes open for any signs of this person or their approach being rooted in anything other than legitimate curiosity or kindness. Not all suggestions that say they are out of concern actually ARE. Keep an eye out for warning signs, and cut off interaction once things seem like they may lead to an argument or you being in a vulnerable position if you continue interacting.

(Brief mention of s**cide and threats in the section below)

7) If all else fails, BLOCK THEM.

No hesitation, we don’t need this shit. They make a second account? Block that too. Don’t respond, only take screenshots or reblog if it is directly harmful information that can/should be documented (words that encourage suicide, threats, insults that seem a little too specific for comfort) and give the evidence to someone you trust to look out for you. A therapist, a family member, or even the authorities if you deem that necessary. Just don’t handle it alone.

We are not responsible for other people’s actions, opinions, or anger. Take the steps to protect yourself instead of trying to reconcile. Sometimes, reconciliation isn’t an option. Both parties have to be willing to reconcile, and it is clear they have nothing in mind but hurting us. So raise your shields and protect yourself and your friends, we’re not gonna lose a war to petty jerks.

[the-number-26]

Through the Handprint in the Steam

Thank god for the rain. It washes away all of the filth of this place, collects it all in dark tubes beneath the streets and carries it off to a place I don’t see and don’t have to think about ever again.

It rains hard here. It gets into your boots. Around here, when it rains, it pours.

Bottles and cans, and all manner of unwanted discarded things, substances, clumps, and piles, collect in cesspools around tiny barred cave entrances built into the roads.

One sip of this towns’ storm-water runoff would leave you drunk, stoned, high, and diseased for the rest of your life.

The clouds get all dressed up, they put on makeup, they puff up themselves like a prized hen out on the ocean before making their grand entrance. With all their white, black, and grey, they dressed for all the weddings, funerals, baby showers, and business meetings to be rained on today. They waltz in from the horizon like shining princesses down a marble staircase, always unfashionably early to the party.

People rush around, shouting, “Rain! Rain!”

Around here shouting “rain!” is like shouting “fire!” in a movie theater. People start frantically running about.

I see people ten stories up, reaching out their windows into alleys, risking their lives, trying to get their underwear off the clotheslines.

Old men sitting in silence at the bar look out the window and finally have something to talk about, they all turn to each other and say, “looks like rain.” before turning back to their beers and liquors in silence.

There’s no calm before the storm, around here, there’s chaos and chaos and chaos. It’s a chaotic ballet- like the Number 26 bus’ window wipers sliding in and out of each others space in perfect harmony.

I swear I’ve seen big burly construction workers dodging raindrops, never stopping their working, oblivious to the rain, they somehow always seem dry.

I’ve seen little kids getting swept down the road like a kite in the wind.

I’ve seen an old woman pull umbrellas out of her sleeves like a magician.

Sewer grates start to steam like the whole town’s a steamboat running down the river; sinking. We all sink together, and the rain gets into everything. It gets into your boots.

When the cloud hits land it hits it like a sack of bricks, like a thousand pianos falling off a thousand towers, like a big wet wrecking ball, it smashes into the whole city at once. You can see it coming, a big black wall sweeping in from the horizon and covering ground with godly speed. It charges at you like a line of calvary.

Few things can make you feel so small, it’s a humbling experience, watching that army of seemingly infinite raindrops. The size of the cloud is unfathomable. There’s no comparison, no reference point, nothing to help you gain any perspective, except it would seem the entirety of the world’s curvature.  From skyline to skyline, there’s nothing but black, grey, and blinding white. It’s a colossal, unstoppable, beast.

Like a mother coming to give you a bath, it sweeps in whether you want it too or not. All of our kicking and futile screaming insignificant to its power and authority. It says, “you will be clean now.”

Businessmen groan like unruly children as if to ask self-righteously, “how dare you make me wet?” They blame everyone they can- the weatherman- but the only thing there to blame is that great big beast lingering just off the coast. They shake their fist at it as it comes in undeterred, and they’re left shaking in their impotent rage, soaking wet, their dress shoes full of water, socks and feet forever wet.

Savvier businessmen run out onto the sidewalk selling ponchos and umbrellas to passerbys for five times the value. Like a hoplite, they’re surrounded by a shield wall of umbrellas, advertising how perfectly dry they still are. But when the wind really comes, it’ll snap the umbrellas back, making them perfect funnels for collecting the water. Their boots will be left soaking wet.

Even the bees stop working when it rains, but around this city, people never rest. You should see the grey men in their grey coats rushing down the street. You can see their internal debate raging behind their eyes, the question, should they break the old rule they learned in the halls of their grade schools? And burst into an unruly and forbidden run- going against all social graces. They stand at intersections, rain getting into their boots, hating themselves for being ruled by a tiny neon red hand flashing across the street.

Rain. An ineffable thing. The feeling of the rush of the wind hitting you and snatching the breath out of your mouth, the sound of the applause of a billion droplets bursting on the ground, rooftops, and branches. The trees dancing, and the leaves clapping together in their praise. The petrichor wafting out of the earth, and with the smell, old memories thought long forgotten but buried deep within.

Rain, impossible to describe, yet understood by everyone.

They say no two snowflakes are alike, and the same is true about droplets. Like different instruments, each makes a different pitter and patter as they fall. The result is the most magnificent symphony ever orchestrated. I swear if you close your eyes and listen you can hear each unique drop bursting.

The first few brave droplets always come much earlier than the rest. They pat the heads, backs, and shoulders of a certain few.

I see one of those few look up to the sky in disbelief and shout, “It’s raining!” to all those around to listen.

The one next to him looks up to the sky for proof. Her palms held open to the sky swaying back and forth, trying to catch invisible falling specks of water.

Then the wind comes. Suddenly. It steals newspapers, and skips off with them down the street whistling. It opens windows, and it slams doors. It snatches hats, and it ruffles hair. It puts out fires and stokes embers. And it touches everything.

It grows strong and rips through the streets with icy fury. It passes straight through walls, jackets, and skin. It shoots right through me, rattles around inside my ribcage, and freezes me from the inside out.  

I see an old man walking bent over into the wind, each arduous step bringing him two backward.

Just when I think the world’s about to crumble and everything’s going to get ripped apart the rain finally comes. It starts slow, with a pitter and a patter here and there, a snap, a pop, a tap on the shoulder. Then it builds. It gets faster. Before I know it there’s more water than air. I see people struggling to breathe through the droplets.

I see a girl spread her arms wide, her hands open to the sky with little birdbaths in her palms, her hair blowing in the wind, sticking her tongue out at the dark cloud, drinking in the sky between her laughs.

With the world getting ripped apart around her, she stands facing that huge cloud utterly undeterred. She stands invincible.

I watch it all pass through the handprint in the steam on the yellow window of the Number 26 bus.

Read more short stories and check out the writing prompt at https://thenumber26.net/

[poweredbycoffeeandwine]

12 Days of Christmas (1/12)

Here we are! The beginning of the 12 Days of Christmas. This fic is for my perfect sunflower @lechatrouge673. Thank you for being a constant source of support, in writing and in life. You are amazing and I am so glad we are friends! You wanted  Mercedes and Anders walking in the snow. Ask and you shall receive, love.

***

Cold Outside - Mercedes Hawke x Anders - Holiday Prompt - Dragon Age Canon Verse - All the pining - 1628 words

***

The Hanged Man during Santinalia was boisterous, exciting, distracting. Mercedes still wasn’t used to being out in the open among people and on purpose. After a lifetime of hiding from strangers and Templars, being an openly apostate mage in the middle of Kirkwall could only be described as idiotic. If only her father could see her now.

In attempts to save up money for the deep roads, she has done odd jobs all over the city. She made quite a bit of coin finding and fetching things, serving as an inconspicuous bodyguard-nobody ever suspected the slight, female mage.

Even more recently, she’d volunteered time in the clinic with Anders. Helping people unable to help themselves earned her favor with the undesirables of the city. She knew they would never turn her in, but she still worried. It was hard to break habits instilled in her from such a young age. To trust nobody, stay out of sight, fight only when necessary, don’t advertise magic.

Sitting with her friends, taking in the decor for the holiday, listening to the off key singing she tried to relax. She was glad that for once Carver had some of his old spark back. He was too young to be dealing with the mess they were in. He should be working in the Lothering guard, and trying to woo farmer’s daughters or tavern maids during his off time.

She wanted to have fun, let loose, instead she checked corners, suspicious shadows, noticed and observed people she felt were paying too close attention to her group, she anticipated trouble. Mercedes knew she was a buzz kill, hated that her friends spent more time trying to include her in the merriment than have a good time themselves.

Maybe she wouldn’t mind so much if it was Anders attempting to engage her in conversation, in anything really. An entire evening of pretending not to watch each other, quick glances, shy blushes, and endless distance between them. He was kind, supportive, but so certain he could never be good enough for her. He might be right, but damn if she wasn’t ready to throw caution to the wind and give them a chance.

She caught him looking again, piercing eyes making her warm from the inside. Hawke considered taking matters into her own hands and speaking to him when a patron, a woman she recognized from the clinic, approached. She recalled the lady’s soft, dark hair, soft voice and sweet smile. She would be grateful, uncomplicated, perfect for Anders. He gave himself too much credit for the collapse of any hypothetical coupling. She had just as much baggage as he did, and less experience creating meaningful relationships. It was probably a good thing he was so weary about the formation of even a tentative friendship, too much tension, instant sparks, and apparently not the kind he was willing to deal with.

Maker, she felt foolish. The spirit of the season must have scrambled her normally sensible thought process. She excused herself from the table, collecting her belongings, and pausing to let Carver know she was heading home. Fenris politely offered to see her home, but Hawke declined reassuring him even Kirkwall’s thugs took a day off for Santinalia. Wrapping her cloak tightly around her body and pulling her hood up, she stepped out into the night.

***

He noticed the moment she left. Felt the void her presence left behind in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. He seemed to always know where she was when they were in the same room, and the shock of her missing always struck him to the core. Mercedes Hawke didn’t know him, but offered aide without question in what could have been a much worse situation when he finally tracked down Karl. She was loyal and fierce when she needed to be, kind and gentle when she helped in his clinic, and stunning. Maker was she breathtaking. And he was a fool.

He politely removed himself from the conversation from the Lowtown woman offering more than thanks for his healing ministrations and hurried to catch up with Hawke. He knew a general direction, he’d never actually been to Gamlen’s home. He knew she hated when anyone referred to the house as hers. He often wondered if it was because she was embarrassed of it, or if she really just hated her Uncle that much, maybe someday they would be close enough he could ask.

Kirkwall almost looked clean, white snow covered the streets in a heavy blanket. Humble homes lit with cheer for the holiday made the night glow a soft gold. Anders had been on the run most of his life, except for the time in Amaranthine with Amell and the friends he made in the Wardens, he hadn’t spent much time noticing Santinalia. He never had the time to worry about celebrating when he was trying to survive away from the Circle. Nothing had changed, not really, but he found himself beginning to hope for something new.

Hawke’s form was ahead of him, hood pulled up over her long, dark hair, but he knew it was her. Head high, light tread, she swayed-not exaggerated like Bela-her movements were fluid and captivating.

“Mercedes,” he called out before he could stop himself, “wait!”

She paused and he was able to see the profile of her face. Her warm breath frosting in the night air blending with the light, casting a hazy fog. She looked ethereal in the festive light surrounding her, a clear sign he was a sap falling in love. “I do believe that is the first time I’ve ever heard you use my given name.” Her face flushed prettily, but it might just be the cold. “A true Santinalia miracle, one of my friends knows my name.”

He fell into step with her, delicate flakes of glittering snow glinting in the light landing on her deep crimson robes. “Of course I know it,” he scoffed.  “I just figured it would be safer to use in this moment. Two mages walking the dark streets alone, not the best time to bring attention to the city’s most prominent apostate.”

She grinned, elbowing him in the side in mock offense, “Don’t worry. I’m more than capable of keeping you safe.” She allowed a small tendril of lightning chase a streak of fire around her forearm dangerous gleam in her eyes. “We would make a pretty good team in a pinch.”

He followed the display of nature magic wind up her arm marveling at her abilities. “You said it yourself, ‘a team.’ Even you need someone to watch your back, keep you alive.”

“Volunteering to watch my back?” She chuckled, giving him a sideways glance, “You’d better be careful, I might take you up on that offer. It’s been a little too long in that department.”

“I can’t even imagine how,” he muttered looking down at his boots scuffing in the snow.

“What can I say,” she shrugged, “being a small, angry apostate doesn’t lend itself well to companionship.” The comment cut, he knew it was directed at him for the many times he refused her attentions. She paused at the base of the steps leading to Gamlen’s home, piercing him with a hard stare from her chocolate colored eyes, shifting slightly as if trying to make a decision. She began in a low-smoky voice, “I have something for you, but I’m not sure about it anymore.” Now almost a whisper she continued, “It might be presuming too much.”

Anders was stunned. She had a gift for him. Something that made her nervous from the looks of it. He felt hyper aware of everything going on around him, the numbing cold, light snow swirling around her, warm glow on her cheeks, eyes cast down in a sweet, shy way he’d never seen from her. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve had someone to get me gifts, much less for Santinalia.”

“We can’t have that,” she smiled warmly, decision made, “come on inside. Pretty sure Uncle Gamlen is gone so you won’t have to deal with that mess.”

“And your mother?”

“Why, serrah, are you worried to be alone with little ol’ me?”

“Maybe I’m worried for your reputation. I’m a dashing mage, and if I’ve read Varric’s novels correctly, you are supposed to swoon and fawn over me under a mistletoe you’ve strategically hidden.”

“Maker,” she gasped, “I knew I forgot something! I guess you can’t have your present. I am unprepared.”

“Quiet you. Let’s go inside before I freeze. It’s cold out here and I’m not as good maintaining fire spells as you. I will catch my death since your healing spells leave a lot to be desired.”

“Making it personal are we?” she arched her brow. “It’s a long walk to Darktown, sir healer. I would hate to see you tossed out and miserable in the cold.”

“I think we both know you wouldn’t do that,” he replied softly, searching her face for some sign that he was being too familiar. For her to be reasonable since he could not.

“No,” her face serious, “I wouldn’t.”

“You’re too nice.”

She laughed, “Not nice enough. You better believe I’m going to tell Varric you read his books.”

“I take it back, you’re the worst.”

“I know,” she smirked. “Come inside before I change my mind. No mistletoe traps, I promise.” she motioned her head in the direction of the door.

He debated continuing the banter, letting her know that a Santinalia kiss wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen, but that might be pushing his luck. He followed her into the house, thankful that she was allowing him to be with her when she could be with literally anyone else.