i made a discord for secrets of the silent witch, specifically for fanworks and discussion of the web novel/gaiden! it features opt-in channel categories for a variety of ships, a bot that pulls the silent witch rss feed for ao3, and lots of space for sharing and discussing fanworks.
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Genuinely straight men who jokingly act gay with their friends to farm views and overuse the word sus and make yaoi jokes and then get up in arms about boundaries and invasiveness and parasociality when people actually depict them as gay are like . the lowest form of life to me
The video: BRO im like INSIDE YOU RIGHT NOW.. bro you did NOT just say that UM PAUSE!!!! yeah bro climb into my arms hahahaha ewwww bro that's so weird. no bro let's get marrieddddd omg can i put my dick in you. HAHAHA STOPPPP
The tweets afterwards: I just want to clarify something about my boundaries. Please do not depict me as having any kind of genuine loving relationship with any man as it makes me uncomfortable. Some of you guys are getting way too comfortable acting like you know me and you really don't. You don't know the relationships I have with my friends, we have many reasons to joke with each other about these things. We only say it because being gay is a really hilarious concept to us and the videos get more views when we do this. Please, respect this boundary or I will call you out on my Twitter Dot Com and send people who are way too invested in protecting my feelings at all costs to harass you until you delete your account.
i REALLY like victims that no one perceives as victims they're just abusers who constantly asking weird things like “u don't like the abuse? but abuse is so good. it's basically like sex, or love, or being fed when ur hungry. abuse is nice. abuse is my friend” and when anyone rightfully points out that this is fucked they're confused and kind of mad and start acting like ur the weird one for not wanting to be abused.
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there should be a term for characters you personally don't care about but you defend them anyways because the way people treat them is really uncomfortable. like ok this is a very middle-of-the-road character for me but the fandom's either been super misogynistic, racist, etc. about them or harassed innocent people who try to genuinely explore that character warts and all, and i find that more annoying than the actual character.
the term should by 'my client', like you're a lawyer defending your client that you are completely indifferent to but you are obligated by your job (or your morals) to defend
For those of you who aren't familiar, I live in an exceptionally flammable part of the United States, and despite the fact that every goddamn year multiple parts of my state catch fire, destroy homes and kill people, the local assholes insist on getting drunk and setting fire to a bunch of illegal explosives anyway.
In 2023, God granted me a Miracle that prevented my house from burning down.
Last year, I had to resort to Psychological and Chemical Warfare to keep the patriotic arsonists at bay.
This year is apparently An Important Birthday for the clusterfuck we have the nerve to call a nation, so despite the fact there is so much smoke in the air that the sun has literally been blood red for the last week, the pyrotechnic fetishists are out in force.
Last year, I hit upon the concept that if my neighbors were going to act like problem animals, it would make sense to use the management techniques on them that you might use on say, a Bear that was doing serious property damage. Thusly, I created The Stench, a nontoxic but FOUL smelling concoction that I could discretely spray around the flammable gatherings and render the area extremely uncomfortable to occupy for the rest of the night, forcing them to give up or move on.
If this seems harsh:
There is no story from 2024 because a grass fire was started by fireworks less than 12 miles from me and the high winds put me in the evacuation zone in under an hour.
Over fifty people lost their homes.
Errant fireworks burning my house down is a very real possibility, and I pay the price in anxiety and insurance premiums.
The Stench is noxious but harmless, and also very effective at building a buffer zone around my home. But sneaking up to parties on foot in this heat is both exhausting and nerve-wracking. There have to be more effective ways to do this
-And there is!
It involves Weeds and Business Cards :)
All of this spring, I've been battling Bindweed and my City Code Enforcement Officers.
The city code people have been professional, but the truth is that one of my neighbors is calling them on use because one of my housemates is transgender. It's extremely grating to get these notices, having to explain repeatedly that I *AM* working on the weed situation, I just have a heart condition and No Money. It's also deeply paranoia-inducing to know that the city is regularly coming by and photographing my house.
The Solution to the Bindweed is 1 gallon of high-concentration vinegar, half a cup of Borax, a quarter cup of salt, and a couple tablespoons of dish soap. Get one of those weed sprayers from a hardware store and mix it up in there. Spray it on your thistles, bindweed, kudzu, garlic mustard or whatever your local herbaceous invasive is on a day with bright sunlight, and in a few hours the entire part of the plant above the soil is Deceased. It's non-toxic to insects, pets and wildlife (just wait a few months before trying to plant anything in the area for the traces to wash out).
The only real downside to this stuff is that it smells HEINOUS.
Sure, The Stench is nauseating, but WeedFucker 5000 is genuinely painful to inhale. Again, it wont hurt people- even my asthmatic housemates can use the stuff- but boy howdy it sure smells toxic. I've got the ingredients for about 40 gallons of WeedFucker 5000 prepared and ready to go.
I've also got a disposable hazmat suit, rubber boots and gloves, respirator, goggles and a shitty little golf cart from the free section of craigslist to haul my shit around in.
I also have Business Cards!
See, the very nice officers from the City Code department left some Very Nice business cards so that I may contact them about "the fucking bindweed is gone, get off my back".
So I scanned the business card into my computer, fired up Clip Studio, and made my own business cards. I've turned my City's Abstract Triangle Logo into an Eye of Providence and the slogan of "E Pluribus Unum" to "E Plurbis Anus", Changed my city's name to a dumb pun, and stated the card originates from "The Department Of Public Nuisances".
Crucially, where the name and contact information of the real city employee has been replaced with the name and business email of the neighbor who has been bragging on facebook about calling the city code department on my home because he hates my housemate :)
It looks, at a glance, very much like the business cards of city employees. If you look at it for like 5 seconds though, there's no way it could be mistaken for the real thing.
I've printed out 500 of these bad boys and will have them on hand as I, a put-upon employee, am forced to work overtime on a national holiday doing weed mitigation, because my boss can't manage deadlines for shit.
You're mad about it? I've been out here since 5 AM! But if we don't finish by the deadline we lose the contract and I could get fired. You know what the economy is.
Here, this is my Boss's Business card- how about you send him an email about how this has ruined your barbecue?
It's golden hour now, so I'm Suiting Up and preparing to embark on some civil service in the form of Noxious Weed Eradication, and by coincidence, Fire Mitigation.
I'll report back later Tonight🫡
(If you'd like to support your local disabled storyteller in their Acts Of Public Service, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or supporting me on Patreon)
Well.
It's not quite an hour into July 5th.
I am very tired, may have destroyed my sense of smell, and am not sure if I'm proud of or VERY disappointed in my fellow citizens.
On one hand: FAR fewer fireworks parties this year!
- Only nine to last year's thirteen
- three of them had the good sense to be firing their recreational explosives out over the local reservoir
- That's far from foolproof
- and really bad for the fish
- also y'all are RIGHT NEXT to where the Bald Eagles are nesting
- but congratulations on at least attempting some risk mitigation!
On the other hand.
Absolutely NOBODY questioned why the hell I was out spraying weeds.
- In a Hazmat Suit (technically it's a coverall for painting rooms, which is much more breathable, but looks the part)
- In a Residential Area
- After Dark
- On a Federal Holiday
Like I'm glad I didn't get into a fight or something, but like.
I was Ready.
I had that conversation locked and loaded.
I MADE BUSINESS CARDS.
...But instead of Very Reasonably asking What The Fuck I Was Doing, the crowds at these parties saw me (5'0" flat, potato-shaped, sweating profusely) trundling up on the slowest and least-intimidating motor vehicle in the county*, hanging a bit out the side to spray thistles and bindweed on the streets and sidewalks**, and instead of raising a rival stink, I was instead greeted by some derisive muttering and a couple of "OH COME ON!"s, but the groups dispersed and retreated indoors or at least away from the general direction of my home.
*Like genuinely, I think Barbie's Dream Car has more horsepower than this golf cart. This thing doesn't have horsepower. It doesn't even have ponypower. It's running on duckpower. It waddles, something I didn't know a wheeled vehicle could do.
**Actually completely legal and a welcome community service in my city. Thank you Neighbor Barbara for telling me the exact part of city code that details what civilians are allowed to do about weeds on public roads, which is apparently "LOTS". Theoretically I could bill the city for my time tonight.
Do people not know how to Make A Scene anymore?
I was absolutely sure I was going to get filmed and shit thrown at me, or someone would call the cops. My beloved was terrified I was going to get shot. I at least had ONE woman shout "YOU'RE RUINING EVERYTHING!" at me, which isn't quite as good as being told I'm ruining Christmas, but she said it with a genuinely heartwarming anguish while gesturing to a homemade "HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA!!" banner, with an attempt at rendering The Evil Orange that as so enthusiastically yet talentlessly executed I almost stopped to get a picture of it. He looked like he'd been put in a wafflemaker.
I promised my beloved that I would turn around and come home at midnight, and I did, having eliminated every fireworks party and Scottish thistle in a five-block radius despite the lackadaisical maximum speed of my Steel Steed.
The complete lack of protest is honestly shocking to me. My flabbers are completely gasted. I waddled home on the golf cart in a sort of stunned silence that this HAS worked so well. The whole world is almost eerily quiet, and reeking of vinegar.
...Which is maybe why I didn't notice the cop pulling up beside me at a red light until he rolled down his window and leaned out at me.
"WHAT'RE YOU DOIN'?" He asked, in a voice that could be used as a foghorn in emergencies.
I probably would have jumped were I not currently melting into a semblance of the Chernobyl Elephant's Foot in the heat, which was the first thing that saved me.
The second was the voice of my Grandfather, coming to my aid through decades of generational memory, to tell me his words of wisdom, usually spoken right before doing something wildly inadvisable:
The Age Of Miracles Is Not Yet Over.
"Weed Mitigation!" I called back.
"CHRIST ON A BIKE, THEY GOT YOU GUYS WORKING THE HOLIDAY TOO?" He said, in the same fontissimo as before. Apparently Officer Foghorn just talks like this.
"Yep." I nodded.
"SHIT." He blared in solidarity. "WHEN DO YOU GET OFF?"
"Just finished."
"MOTHERFUCKER. THEY GOT ME OUT HERE UNTIL GODDAMN 5 AM." Officer Foghorn whined in THX.
"Shit." I commiserated.
The light turned green.
"ALRIGHT YOU GET HOME SAFE! GOD BLESS!" He waved, and drove off at something significantly above the speed limit, and I trundled on home.
I must have still looked shocked when I came in, because My Beloved immediately got up to hug me and ask if I was alright.
"The Age Of Miracles Is Not Yet Over." I nodded slowly as the animals all battered me about the legs for attention. "...For real though, absolutely nothing happened."
"What?" he squints, wobbling slightly as Charlie tries to shove him aside for better access to me. "That's... Is it weird to say I'm almost disappointed?"
"I mean, I confirmed that I inherited my Grandfather's supernatural ability to get out of trouble for no good reason, but we knew that from the code enforcement people." I shrugged. Selene finally noticed the smell of vinegar and retched in disapproval.
"How about a shower and some Ice cream?" My Beloved suggests.
So now it is July the 5th.
- My house is not ablaze
- There are four medium-sized carnivores sleeping on me
- I am freshly bathed
- and I have a pint of Americone Dream all to myself
Here's to you, your health and your happiness, and a reminder to go make good trouble. Goodnight all.
---
(If you enjoy reading about my adventures (and the occasional curious non-adventure) I'd appreciate it if you could tip me on Ko-Fi. Apparently my Patreon link is fucked but it's basically 1 in the morning and I can't be arsed.)
Okay, I don’t normally add on to posts but in this case I’ve got to.
Rachel Ann Bovier is a Pittsburgh legend who has been publishing her poems in city newspapers for decades. In more recent years, she started putting up these bill boards along major roads. For what reason? I have no clue. But I would often pass them on my way to Oakland for therapy. They never failed to cheer me up.
As a young trans writer, they gave me this precious little spark of joy. There was someone like me, a writer, a Pittsburgher, a trans person, who was confident enough to put their face on a bill board! I would always smile as we passed by and my mom took note.
Fast forward a few years and it’s my 21st birthday. My mom has been super excited about my gift and teased me about it over and over again. She said it was the best gift she’d ever gotten me and in many ways she was right. It was a custom poem she commissioned from Miss Bouvier! It congratulated me on my birthday, my academic success, lots of little stuff. It was simple and sweet and perfect.
I’m still not out to my parents about being trans, but that poem serves as a reminder to me that trans people are every where, they are artists, they are all ages, and their visibility is essential. So thank you to Rachel Ann Bouvier for being a great poetess and a Pittsburgh treasure!
“Inclusive community arts festival!” “Everybody welcome!” “Events for all!”
No access info for any of the venues
Box office is inaccessible
Google “[festival name] accessibility”; get info on their “accessible pricing” (pay £1 less if you want to). No mention of free tickets for essential carers
Do a lot of disability detective work; most venues don’t have wheelchair access
One claims to be accessible, look inside: “we’re an accessible venue. There are three steps to get in, but we can help you with those”.
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When it comes to chronic illnesses, mental illnesses, and disabilities, I've noticed that a lot of able-bodied people either don't take names seriously, or don't understand and ask you to explain what it is to them.
Now, if you have any kind of disability, you know it's fucking annoying go have people make you explain something over and over again, or have people go "oh, you have X? You mean, like the [awful stereotype] thing?"
So, I have realized recently that being Vague As Shit is great for making people leave you the hell alone.
I have autism and anxiety, and with that comes the symptom of selective mutism. If you don't know what that is, Firefox is free. But I had an episode where I couldn't speak today in one of my classes, and knew I would have to explain it to my partner and probably my professor.
This usually goes with me writing that I can't speak, them asking why, me saying selective mutism, and them asking me what that is. Then I have to painstakingly write out an explanation. And, obviously, I'm tired of this. So I tried something new. When he asked, I simply told him I couldn't speak, and when he asked if I physically couldn't or just didn't want to, I just opened my mouth and unleashed the terrifying, awful, broken stuttering that comes out when I try to speak while mute.
His response was "OKAY OKAY OKAY YOU CAN STOP NOW" and he did not question me for the rest of class, and even explained to the professor what was wrong when she tried to make me popcorn read.
This also works on doctors. When I tell doctors I have PCOS, POTS, or hEDS, they usually hear "oh the crazy women self diagnosis disabilities" and treat me accordingly. So, instead I drop unhinged symptoms until they leave me alone.
"Yes, my last menstrual cycle started on December 12th, 2025 and ended January 28th, 2026." "I have experienced several events where I have passed out randomly, yes." "My hip has subluxated six times in the past week."
It's like in the principles of writing horror. If you name and describe the problem, it's easier for people to minimize and ignore. Don't let them. You live with this fucking bullshit every day. Let your symptoms haunt people. They don't need to know everything about you. Besides, it makes them treat you better than when you give them names.
Note how these columns are designed to perfectly allow the climbing of small lizards up and down their faces. This is a typical example of Gecko-Roman architecture
Take yourself out on dates. Go to the movie theater alone. Go out to eat alone. Enjoy life alone, it's okay. Enjoy life with friends. Take you're friends out on dates. Have sex with people you don't love. Have sex with people you don't want to marry. Have friends with benefits and hook ups and one night stands and situationships. Never have sex. Never get married. Marry your best friend. Kiss your friends. Date multiple people. When people say you'll never be happy alone kill them with hammers 🔨🔨🔨🔨. Live alone with several pets. Be happy. Be free. Do you.
sorry, I don’t swing that way. no, not that way either. or that way. in fact, I’m not even on the swing. instead I’m chained to a boulder in the middle of the park while the other kids run rings around me.
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