twefs: we’re leftists! we’re rrradical!
twefs: *repeatedly side with anti lgbt right wing movements in order to take down mutual targets*
twefs: *openly push the trap narrative*
twefs: gender and sexuality are transhistorical biological facts. other societies are just too primitive to realize them/never existed at all and diamat just a cheap tactic to make male rape culture stronger.
twefs: you support refugees? you disgusting male/clinton supporter
twefs: *slap stalins ugly antisemitic, revisionist face all over everything like a fed trying to fuck minisoc*
twefs: intersex people?? whats that
twefs: *readily convert to nazism*
twefs: *doxx and make sexual comments about trans minors*
twefs: white liberal feminist “issues”? no sweetie this is radical praxis!
twefs: *harass black women for calling out their racism*
twefs: *perpetuate myths about transwomen created by the right*
twefs: anyone who wants trans people to have rights is a liberal
etc. ad infinitum
Flashfic: Continue of soul mates, Garak's discovery of Julian
If the Cardassian species had been designed to Tain’s specifications, no Cardassian born would ever have had a mate. This most basic of primitive sentient urges had no part in the work they did, could be nothing but a liability and a distraction. Or, if natural selection must be so indelicate as to insist on pair-bonds, they ought to be something discreet, easily suppressed, easily removed. Instead, the only way to free a Cardassian from the traitorous urges of their own biology is to blind them, and that will not do at all. It is rumoured, in the Obsidian Order, that Tain had his own mate murdered, years or decades ago, as a threat to his work. It is the sort of thing Garak can imagine him doing.
For himself, Garak does not believe he is missing much. Cardassia Prime is beautiful in a thousand shades of subtle grey, and the most brilliant colour could not make Terok Nor less of a prison. His colour-blindness is, perhaps, a drawback in his new profession, especially serving the Bajorans, who see colour all their lives and who claim to be called to their mates by the Prophets. Still, it can be worked around. He might have been left behind out here, bereft of his own people, quite, quite alone, but he could be useful yet. The Federation is not so very difficult to gain information from - the whole Promenade is buzzing with word of their arrival, and even he, the lone, despised Cardassian left cannot escape the rumour mill. Humans - a people so ill-concerned with their own protection that they wear this most secret thing on their skin, open to the world. The first time he sees words running up a customer’s wrist as he takes their measurements feels as much an invasion as it would to see any stripped and beaten prisoner in the cells.
He has never seen Julian’s Mark, just as he has never told Julian that the first colour Garak ever saw was warm brown, threaded with green, spreading out into golden-brown skin and dark hair and the absurd, over-saturated blue of a Federation uniform. They have never spoken of this, nor will they - Garak has tried delicately to weave words around to the topic a hundred times, and never quite managed it. Either Julian will raise his eyebrows and go haring off on another tangent too intriguing not to follow, or Garak’s own nerve fails him and he does the same. Because Julian must know. How could he not? Even humans, surely, are not so ill-designed that one might never find one’s mate in the mass of ‘hello’s and ‘excuse me’s that one exchanges every day, unknowing. There must be some other, internal sign that Garak does not know, that is not spoken of.
It doesn’t matter. Julian knows, and he has done nothing. That, on Cardassia, would be answer enough. Still, Garak keeps going. He weaves half-true stories, innuendoes, hints at all he has seen and done to keep the doctor coming to him, week by week. He makes perhaps a few too many allusions to colour when they talk - if only in the context of Julian’s utter lack of judgement in this regard - and at once despises and glories in the ignorance that means Julian can never know what it is he means. He is being obvious, and that is worst of all, but he is alone here - who is there left to know?
I can’t help but think that Jason is ridiculously strong. The kid was eleven and jacking tires. Not only that, but when he swung the tire jack at Bruce, Bruce doubled over. All the while, Jay is severely malnourished.
This boy has the strength of a lion while living on the streets. Makes me wonder what he was like when he was healthy. He could probably push down pillars like a regular Samson.
Sometimes I think of the pioneers of the Trek fandom, painstakingly putting together zines, copying their fanfiction over and over and over again on unforgiving typewriters and spreading their love for this show and these characters through secret clubs, through the mail, distributing their books and artwork by hand to people they knew they could trust.
Whenever I think things are hard as a content creator now, I remember them and just thank every star in the sky that they were willing to put in the hard work so that the passion they felt for this show would carry on. Without them, we wouldn’t have a fandom. We wouldn’t have spaces like this where we can share our fanworks with thousands of people. Instantly. Where we can openly and proudly talk about the things we love with those same thousands of people. Without leaving our couches.
So, thanks Trek parents, for all your hard work. <3