tosinwithagrin

[tosinwithagrin]

Given the recent resurgence in purity culture and anti-villain sentiment on Tumblr, this feels like a good time to talk about censorship and bullying. This is not a call-out post for anything that's happened recently, just some commentary on what, to me, is a disturbing trend and some general guidelines for how to conduct yourself in fandom spaces.

Essentially, it boils down to this: You have the right to not interact with anything you choose in a fandom. You don't have the right to make that choice for anyone else.

Do you know why AO3 doesn't have content bans? It stems from anti-censorship beliefs and First Amendment rights, and it also comes from a long history of watching things like this go down in fandom. The thing about banning one kind of content--or that kind of mindset--is that it hardly ever stops with one thing, until fandoms are so scrubbed from anything that has the potential to be problematic that they collapse under any perceived threat to their rigid moral standards. If you doubt that, consider how it's taken less than a month for this to jump from Marvel to include other groups of villains and fandoms. Guaranteed, it will not stop there. (And that's to say nothing of how, historically, censorship leads to silencing marginalized groups, but that's a different post.) Conservatism is insidious and takes a lot of forms, but censorship is ultimately a conservative, even a fascist, action.

The fact is that what you enjoy reading or writing is actually no reflection on what kind of person you are. There's even an argument to be made that exploring darkness in fiction a) makes you a more empathetic human and, b) makes you better-equipped to handle those topics in real life (but that's another post too). I don't care what you want to write on your own blog. I don't care how controversial your muse or your ship is or if you write the darkest of dark fic out there. I may not want to write it, engage with it, or even see it on my dash, but I'll defend your right to write it.

Writing fascist characters (HYDRA, Empire, Death Eaters, etc.) doesn't make someone a Nazi any more than writing Hannibal Lecter makes them a cannibal or writing the Punisher makes them an advocate for gun violence. Saying they are breaks one of the primary tenets of roleplay: that mun does not equal muse. It's widely accepted in the roleplaying community that we don't agree with our characters' views, and we would never in a million years condone the things they do in real life. That rule doesn't go away just because you personally don't like the character.

So let's talk about what to do when you come across writing you don't agree with.

What you have a right to do: Feel however you feel about it. Ask for tags and readmores (they have a right to refuse). Decline to explain or justify why it makes you uncomfortable. Decide not to associate with people who write that thing. Blacklist. Unfollow. Block. Add to your DNI list. Vent about it in a safe space with your friends. Take a step back from the internet. Remember that the people on the other side of the screen are real, actual humans, while characters are imaginary. Embrace the fact that engaging in fiction is optional, and you can choose to stop any time you want. Trust that grown adults have the basic media literacy to understand the difference between reality and fiction. Remind yourself of the first rule of fandom, the one AO3 is built on (Don't like; don't read). Recognize that it's perfectly valid to not want to engage with something, but that expecting other people not to write it at all isn't your call to make and can lead down a dangerous path.

What you don't have a right to do: Bully or doxx other writers. Shame them for their choices when they don't agree with you. Demand explanations or justifications from them. Gaslight them into thinking nobody else will write with them if they continue to write this thing. (You don't speak for the entire fandom. You are a very small minority making a lot of noise.) Create call-out posts. Participate in witch hunts. Send anon hate or death threats. Make people feel unsafe in their own spaces. Police other people's content.

If you descend to bullying someone because you don't like what they're writing, you don't have the moral high ground. I can't believe it needs to be said, but real bullies are worse than fictional antagonists. Bullying and censorship are far more alarming threats than people who enjoy exploring dark topics in their writing. Nobody's asking you to like it, agree with it, or even look at it. And if you don't? Now is the perfect time to say nothing about it, block, and move on. Rest assured, we don't want you on our blogs any more than you want us on yours.

[tosinwithagrin]

@satanizcdaura chose to sin with a grin : “Your gentle side makes me weak.”

‘Are you fucking blind or something, mate?’ 

He spat, his voice laced with incredulity and disdain. The very notion of having a "gentle side" was utterly repulsive to him, as if someone had suggested he wear a clown suit to a solemn event. What was next—accusations of him harbouring a secret crush? He let out a derisive snort, his eyes narrowing into slits of contempt as they locked onto the stranger before him. ( Who on earth had this man been talking to? Had someone from STRIKE-A started spreading baseless rumors again? ) The situation was becoming absurdly ridicolous, a tiresome jest that had lost any semblance of humor long ago. And who was this guy, anyway? He looked like he’d stumbled out of a funeral procession, a sombre figure clad in black. All he needed was goth music and he’d be all set.

‘I’m not gentle — ever. Fuck that shit,’ he declared, his voice a defiant growl, as if to ward off any notion that he could be anything other than the hardened exterior he presented.

[tosinwithagrin]

@mischieflawed chose to sin with a grin :

" You look cranky."

‘And you look like a piece of shit, so guess we both have problems.’

His response was tinged with boredom, his eyes fixated on the reprobate with an air of irritation. He hadn't anticipated being saddled with the task of babysitting the Stark son, merely because Rumlow had other pressing matters to attend to. What could possibly be so crucial? ( Surely the bastard just needed a breather and thought, oh, Jackie will handle it. ) As if his own plate wasn't already overflowing. With a resigned sigh, he shot the young man a steely glare before ambling over to the polished mahogany liquor cabinet, silently thankful for the existence of alcohol. The clinking of glass was a soothing sound, a promise of momentary reprieve.

‘You better not be a nuisance, I’m tired.’

[tosinwithagrin]

@fortitudina chose to sin with a grin : these people are counting on me to save them. ( from Sam Wilson )

‘Lousy layabouts, can't they fend for themselves?’

The world seemed trapped in a perpetual fairy tale, with everyone waiting for a knight in shining armour. What happened to self-reliance, to the ability to stand on one's own two feet? ( It seemed as though society had collectively surrendered its autonomy, leaning heavily on the supers and in the process, sacrificing its dignity. ) People seemed incapable of managing even the most basic tasks without guidance, as if they needed someone to hold their hand through every moment of existence.

And let's not forget their fragility, taking offence at the most trivial things. Humanity had simultaneously evolved technologically and regressed in spirit. With a dismissive grunt, he glanced at the new Captain America, casually waving a hand in his direction. ( The idea of doing the right thing seemed overrated—where had it ever truly led anyone? ) More often than not, to persecution and ridicule. He’d read enough headlines about Rogers to question why anyone would even bother. 

‘Alright, whatever. You better get to it then, eh?’

[tosinwithagrin]

There's days when I wanna give in ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But it's hard to be a saint when you're full of sin ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Why would I ever think of goin' back ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎When it feels so fuckin' good to be bad

[tosinwithagrin]

@jacobkowalskiisjewish chose to sin with a grin : “Jackie!!!” There’s now a much too hyper asshole of a CO wrapped around him like an octopus, “stop being a grump and come over here!” - @hailhydrasheads

A low groan escaped his lips, poised to protest when he felt the arms encircle him, leaving him unsteady on his feet. ( What on earth was this great ape doing? ) Jack muttered under his breath, flailing his arms in frustration, and shot  Brock an irked look. He was being grumpy, sure, but how could he not be with him clinging to him like this? It was the middle of the night, after all, and was it such a crime to crave a little peace and quiet?

‘Gerrof me and I will. I seem to have gained a limpet.’

[tosinwithagrin]

@ghostsandmirrors chose to sin with a grin : i don't have time for this. (from bucky)

‘Don’t have time for what, Barnes?’

His voice cut through the tense air, his words tinged with a mix of curiosity and caution. The question lingered, heavy and expectant, as his gaze fixed on Barnes. ( What exactly did Barnes think was about to unfold in this unexpected encounter? ) Jack's brow arched inquisitively, a silent testament to his scepticism, while he leaned heavily on his cane. The cane was more than just a prop; it was a necessary aid, especially today, as the torn muscle in his leg throbbed with an unrelenting ache. He hadn't anticipated crossing paths with someone like Bucky Barnes, a man whose reputation preceded him.

Jack's mind flickered back to the stories he'd heard, the fragments of history he'd been privy to. He had witnessed a brief moment of it himself, a kaleidoscope of chaotic images and echoes of a past he never truly belonged to. ( Yet, he was painfully aware that his innocence in the grand scheme might not matter to Barnes. ) The weight of those memories pressed down on him, a reminder of battles fought and scars earned.

‘I ain't even here for you.’

[tosinwithagrin]

@vulpuslunae chose to sin with a grin : "i don't have time for this."

‘Don’t ya? Damn sucks to be you then dun’t it?’

He rolled his eyes with a casual indifference, barely concerned about what he might be interrupting for her. ( His team had caught her nosing around in places she had no business being, and he was left pondering who might have sent her. Was she a pawn in someone else's game, or was she acting alone? ) Neither possibility offered much solace. His operations were shrouded in secrecy for a reason; he was on a mission that he was determined to complete. He needed to strike them where it would hurt the most.

‘What exactly were you looking for? Might be able to help ya.’

[tosinwithagrin]

@domuslux chose to sin with a grin : "I heard many things about you," Jim ran a finger beneath his lower lip, coming out from behind the corner, his voice a soft lull, resonating playfully around them. "I'm sorry to just drop in on you, I was simply dying to meet you!" he smiled and walked closer, his hands in his pockets, looking completely unassuming and harmless in his expensive Westwood and perfume.

‘The fuck?’

Jack muttered, his gun instinctively aiming at the figure lurking in the shadows. The Irish accent was unfamiliar, and he strained to match a name with the shadowy face, but his mind drew a blank. ( Though he wasn't always the sharpest tool in the box, he was confident that if they'd crossed paths before, he'd remember. ) The approaching footsteps were casual, almost nonchalant, yet Jack knew better than to trust appearances. A chuckle slipped from his lips as he finally holstered his weapon, a sign of cautious ease.

‘That so?’ he drawled, straightening up and giving the stranger a thorough once-over. ( In comparison, this newcomer was petite, almost diminutive, but Jack knew size often meant little in a confrontation. ) Still, he had faith in his own abilities, assured that if this mysterious figure made a move, he'd be ready to counter with full force.

'Who are ya then, tiny tots? What ya want?’

[tosinwithagrin]

'Oh boo hoo, cry me a fuckin’ river.'

His voice dripped with sarcasm, each word coated with disdain. His eyes rolled so dramatically that he half-expected them to retreat into his skull, a testament to his exasperation with a conversation that had barely begun. ( He couldn’t muster any genuine concern for the man standing before him. ) It hadn’t turned personal until this insufferable wanker had slammed him against an elevator roof. They’d never stood a chance against a super soldier, even when armed with magnetic cuffs and stun batons. Pierce had been foolishly optimistic.

‘Remind me when that became your business, Princess?'

He retorted, arching his brow with a hint of mockery as he leaned heavily on the cane, which had become a weapon in its own right. Necessity had forced him to improvise and adapt his combat tactics. ( He was no longer the man he once was, with nerves and muscles damaged beyond repair. ) Popping Vicodin had become as routine as breathing, but that didn’t mean he was a pushover. He certainly wasn’t about to spill all his secrets to Rogers, was he?

‘As Brock used to say: Not my circus, not my clowns. Only met Barnes a handful of times.'

"I'm not sure whether I want to punch you or not yet, but I suppose I could say I missed when I thought we were on the same side," he added looking at the other with a raised brow and seeming to consider the situation. He'd gotten Bucky back now but he still longed for something darker once and awhile. He wanted someone to challenge him and he found himself enticed by the idea that Rollins still stood for the hard ass that he was.

"Whatcha been busy doing, Rollins? You have something to show for all the carnage you wrought?" He questioned, raising a brow and shuffling a little from side to side.

"Tell me, did you enjoy torturing my best friend?"

[tosinwithagrin]

Anonymous chose to sin with a grin : Your Jack is SO awful. I love him. You write him PERFECTLY.

[ He really is isn’t he? I don’t think he’s capable of being nice. Respectful, sure. To an extent, but not sweet to anyone but Brock. I’m glad you like the way I write him though, cause I’m always doubting myself. ]

[tosinwithagrin]

Trust gets you killed.

Love gets you hurt.

And being real gets you hated.

[tosinwithagrin]

'I ain't excusing what I am or what I've done, but you just don’t get it. You don’t understand how they operate. I signed up for STRIKE, not HYDRA. By the time I realised it was HYDRA, it was too late.'

He had fallen completely, irreversibly in love with Brock, like a moth drawn to a dangerous flame. The only escape seemed to be a grim one, sealed in a body bag. ( His loyalty was unwaveringly tied to the Commander and would remain so, like an unbreakable tether. ) His jaw tightened as he nodded, permitting him to voice his opinion, resisting the urge to react rashly despite the sting of the words. He wasn't ignorant or foolish. The situation was far more messy than it appeared.

'They were masters of deception, yanno? Everything was on a need-to-know basis. Most of us had no clue we were working for HYDRA until they brazenly revealed themselves, and love—man, it messes with your head, in both the best and worst ways.'

His hand slid down his jawline, the rough texture of his skin reminding him of Brock, a thought he wished he could dismiss yet clung to. ( Not because he wanted to erase Brock’s memory, but because the recollection was still raw, like an unhealed wound. ) Grateful for the diversion, he reached for one of the boxes on the nearby shelves, dragging it towards him and extracting the top files, his eyes swiftly scanning the contents.

'Yes.'

"Irrelevant. It isn't as though Captain America wasn't a major part of American culture for nearly 70 years, with movies, cartoons, and comics all depicting his fight against HYDRA. So it was ignorance, or stupidity on your behalf." His tone was calm and surprisingly non-judgmental in comparison to his words as he spoke. "Arguably, being a part of a military arm of HYDRA in some capacity should be a larger cause for concern, wouldn't it?"

He glanced over at Rollins quietly, examining him for a long moment in the silence, before settling in for a rest of the ride. As they arrived, he was content to wait, for the most part, though it didn't make him any less attentive to his surroundings. Somehow, looking as though he wasn't paying attention was coming considerably easier to him than it had before, despite that every part of him felt as though it was alert.

He did his best to be cautious with the door handle, staring at it as he slowly managed to open the door without tearing the thing off of its hinges. Getting out of the vehicle went as smoothly as anyone could hope. He nudged himself through the door to the house more than anything, making clear efforts to keep his hands to himself.

"Is there something you're hoping to find in these raids of yours, in specific?"

[tosinwithagrin]

SEBASTIAN STAN Behind The Scenes as Bucky Barnes in "THUNDERBOLTS*"

[tosinwithagrin]

‘Difference is faggot, you like it.’

He was cruising for a bruising. Jack’s patience wasn’t unlimited and sudden touches such as the one he’d received weren’t allowed from anyone. ( Rogers wasn’t some special snowflake like he liked to believe he was. Not when it concerned Jack anyway. ) His eyes narrowed at the smile, snorting at the thought of doing ‘better’ things with his dick. Yeah, he was begging for it - who knew Steve was such a slut? STRIKE would have a field day with him.

‘Cute. Nah. Be off with you. You not got some poor shit to save or somethin?’

Steve reeled at the backhand that he received but he didn't do anything just yet. He just wiped the blood from his lip and looked at Rollins with a smile on his face. It was cheeky, it was still his pristine self. He was definitely looking to cause trouble and he wiped the blood with a fist and tilted his head to the side.

"There are better things to do with my cock and balls than sandpapering them, Rollins," he shook his head and paused for effect. "Okay you didn't like the biting. Got it, no touching. But it's a little one sided if you do all the touching isn't it?"

"Well, I'll listen to instructions and I'll be the good little soldier if you keep the sandpaper for the construction workers and I'll let my neck be collared with your colors if you're so inclined?"

[tosinwithagrin]

[tosinwithagrin]

Whoever was inside seemed to have been roused from sleep, startled by his sudden intrusion. ( He tried to shake off the feeling that he recognised that particular noise, though deep down, he wished it were Brock. ) Suppressing his frustration, he muttered a curse and made his way back towards the door. It was clear they weren't going to emerge easily. Typical. 

‘This is private property, arsehole. You've got ten seconds to show yourself, or I'll bomb the building.’

In reality, he didn't have any explosives but deception was a skill he had honed to perfection over the years. ( He was exceptionally convincing, his threats laced with an air of authenticity. ) With a sneer etched across his face, he stepped back, allowing the space for them to make a decision—to open the door and come out peacefully, or at least as peacefully as the situation permitted.

‘One, two, three.’

Brock jolted at the sudden banging. An instinctive squawk of pain and surprise escaping him as he flailed and fell off the couch. Stunned for a moment before he realized he’d given himself away to whoever was outside. He swore quietly to himself as he dashed away from the door. Trying to remember where he’d stashed his weapons. He hadn’t needed them when he’d first arrived. But now he did and they were nowhere to be found.

Swearing again as he turned for the kitchen to grab a knife. Hoping that whoever it was didn’t try to just shoot him through the door when he was so out of sorts. It would be humiliating to go out like that.