light-up-the-night:

boobiemom:

fyeahpokemoncreepypasta:

atrius97:

gudroo:

ask-oncies-jizz:

ask-oncies-jizz:

remember the mirage island shit in pokemon r/s/e how fucked was that nonsense

you had to talk to an old man once per day. then the game would generate 2 random number bytes. those bytes would have to both match the also random and unseeable personality values of one of your party pokemon. assuming you had a full party of 6 that was roughly a 1/10000 chance. thats rarer than finding a shiny. and this wasn’t once per random encounter this was once per day. this was the only way to find liechi berries and get gold pokeblocks

this literally sounds like some fake forum post from 2004 but it was 100% real they really put this in the game un fucking believable

between this, feebas, and the regis im beginning to think the fucking riddler played a part in the development of r/s/e

For those who are unaware, Feebas could only be found in one location by fishing in a pool of water. However there are 400 tiles of water, and only 6 random tiles will allow you to fish up a Feebas. These tiles are randomly generated when you begin the game so they differ between all other players.

The Regi’s, (Regirock, Regice and Registeel), all had a puzzle to unlock their domain. Written in Brallie, in some hidden caves. The puzzles required you to:

Find the Pokemon Relicanth and Wailord and have them in the first and last slots of your party. (In Emerald version these instructions were reversed, Wailord first, Relicanth last.) This unlocks the other 3 puzzles.

For Regice: Wait 2 minutes with the game on without moving your player. (In Emerald the instructions had you run a lap of the room while touching the outer wall.)

For Regirock: The instructions had you move right twice, then down twice, then have a pokemon use the move Strength. (In Emerald it was left twice, down twice and then Rock Smash instead.)

For Registeel: Walk to the center of the room and have a Pokemon use the move Fly, which is a move that would usually let you fast travel around the map, and doesn’t work indoors except for this one single puzzle room. (In Emerald Version, they had you use the move Flash instead.)

Footnote: There was also a misprint in the original Ruby Sapphire Guidebook which showed the Pokemon Trapinch as having no evolutions, making the Vibrava and Flygon unobtainable to those who didn’t accidentally levelup Trapinch until it evolved seemingly for no reason.

R/S/E were scarier than most creepypasta.

That comment about The Riddler having a hand in making these games, the puzzle ridiculousness didn’t stop there. Because there WAS a Riddler IN GAME.

On Route 110, on the end closest to Slateport, there was a house to the left of Cycling Road called the Trick House. Inside this house, an older man lived, who called himself the Trick Master.

This guy, upon walking in, seems invisible, but is just hiding. There are several random locations he can be hiding in, although these locations were set for everyone, but changed every time you returned. If you manage to find the man, he’ll then disappear into the deep pits of his hell house and say “COME FIND ME AT THE END” and then you had to traverse through eight different puzzles, each one unlocking after a new badge was obtained.

Now here’s where it gets crazier because three out of eight of these will require HMs. Puzzle #1 requires Cut. Puzzle #2 required Rock Smash, and #3 required Strength. But to make this WORSE, Rock Smash isn’t given to you by any significant character. It was given to you by an npc inside of a house in Mauville City on the southeast corner of the city. If you didn’t find him, you could never progress because Rock Smash is required to reach the next city, as well as many other locations, including Mirage Tower on Route 111.


And speaking of that neat but fucked up place! Another puzzle would be the return to Sky Pillar, and the visit to Mirage Tower. Mirage tower was Emerald only, but acted as training for Sky Pillar. Sky Pillar was a location in R/S/E where you could go to find Rayquaza at level 70 either post game (R/S) or after the Sootopolis Incident with Kyogre and Groudon (Emerald). Mirage Tower was a tower located on Route 111 that appeared only once in the game, the first time you visit it after getting the Goggles from your rival and friend. 

Now what is so upsetting about these places? The fucking floors. At many segments throughout the towers’ floors have cracks in them. To get over them, you had to ride your Mach Bike at max speed and if you stopped, slowed down, or hit a wall while still on a cracked tile, you fell to the first (or previous) floor. The patterns and difficulty of each cracked floor increases as you go up. One example of this is the 2nd floor for Mirage Tower, which forces you to go through the whole room at max speed without stopping or else you failed, and requires sharp turns.

For Sky Pillar, well… look at this and tell me this isn’t the devil’s work.


YET ANOTHER PUZZLE! Was Shoal Cave. At predetermined times a day, every six hours (YES THIS STOPPED WORKING IF YOUR INTERNAL BATTERY STOPPED WORKING), the tide will shift. Because of this, half of the cave is unavailable during either time of this. If your schedule didn’t match up with the time frame, you’re SOL.

The entrance room at the different times.


AND FINALLY, FOR MY LAST INPUT! Remember how you needed both Relicanth and Wailord to get the Regis? Well that isn’t the whole of it. Routes 132, 133, and 134, where you go to GET to that place, were almost totally covered in tide tiles. Long story short, you had to Surf going west from Pacifilog and had to follow a very specific path which took several tries to remember. And if you failed to get the right path? YOU ENDED UP IN SLATEPORT! WHERE YOU HAD TO FLY ALL THE WAY BACK AND TRY AGAIN! Look at THIS shit and say that isn’t some Riddler shit.

One more weird thing about gen III: the Altering Cave.

Found in Route 111 in Emerald and on Outcast Island in FR/LG, it always plays the Mt. Moon theme and only ever has Zubat in it.

Here’s the trick: it was supposed to have its wild Pokémon change, via the Mystery Gift feature at Nintendo’s Wonder Spots. You were to get a message stating that there were rare sightings at the cave, and then one Pokémon out of a list of gen II creatures would be there.

The thing is, no country ever held an event that made use of the Altering Cave. So, it ended up forever being this weird, creepy cave loaded with Zubat and no explanation was ever given in-game as to why it was there.

Gen III was some weird shit.

Console-free Camping

scaliefox:

magic-in-every-book:

powells:

If you like to play The Last of Us, then try
Rot & Ruin by Jonathan Maberry

If you like to play Beyond: Two Souls, then try The Girl With All the Gifts by M.R. Carey

If you like to play Call of Duty: Black Ops (Zombies), then try
World War Z by Max Brooks

If you like playing Grand Theft Auto, then try
American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis

If you like playing Sid Meier’s Civilization, then try

A Game Of Thrones by George R. R. Martin

If you like playing Final Fantasy, try playing
Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa

If you like playing Mass Effect, then try
Illuminae by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff


If you like playing Alice: Madness Returns, then try Madness So Discreet by Mindy McGinnis

If you like playing Halo, then try
Starship Troopers by Robert A Heinlein

If you like playing Portal, then try
House Of Stairs by William Sleator

If you like playing Mario Kart, then try

The Lovely Reckless by Kami Garcia 

If you like playing Dark Souls, then try
Anna Dressed in Blood by Kendare Blake

If you like playing Life Is Strange, then try
We Are Okay by Nina Lacour

If you like playing Stardew Valley, then try
How I Live Now by Meg Rosoff

If you like playing Fable, then try
Young Elites by Marie Lu

If you like playing Borderlands, then try
Velocity by Chris Wooding

If you like playing Dishonored, then try
Airman by Eoin Colfer

If you like playing The Oregon Trail, then try
Under a Painted Sky by Stacey Lee

If you like playing the Elder Scrolls series, then try
The Naming by Alison Croggon

If you like playing Red Dead Redemption, then try
Vengeance Road by Erin Bowman

If you like playing Bioshock, then try 
Dark Life by Kat Falls

If you like playing Fallout, then try
Razorland by Ann Aguirre 

If you like playing Assasin’s Creed, then try
The Way of Shadows Night by Brent Weeks

If you like playing Dragonage, then try
Ember in the Ashes by Sabaa Tahir

If you like playing The Legend of Zelda, then try
Graceling by Kristin Cashore

If you like playing Until Dawn, then try
Ten by Gretchen McNeil

If you like playing Sonic, then try
Maximum Ride by James Patterson

If you like playing Overwatch, then try
Bluescreen by Dan Wells

If you like playing Uncharted, then try
Passenger by Alexandra Bracken

If you like playing Pokemon, then try
Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them by JK Rowling, and Newt Scamander

If you like playing Mario Party, then try
Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

This is amazing!!

I have to reblog for two reasons:

1)This is actually a good way to get people into reading.

2)That passive aggressive joke in the last one is pure genius. 

You said that your old house had 6 flamingos and a volunteer avocado tree. What is a volunteer avocado?

gallusrostromegalus:

sarahnevra:

the-last-hair-bender:

gallusrostromegalus:

A Volunteer Avocado is when you mom was raised in Cleveland by people with only a passing relationship with fruit but a tremendous interest in both urban agriculture and not paying for things, so she can’t stand to get rid of a perfectly good avocado seed, so she gets it to germinate in a mason jar on the kitchen counter, then plants it in the front yard to see if it’ll actually grow but your house is on what used to be a chicken farm so it’s got stupid good soil and the little avocado grows hell-for-breakfast in the CA sun and chicken-shit dirt and in three years it’s as tall as the house and your mom leaves the front door open at night so the wolfdog can get outside in short order because your neighbors love avocados too and come into your yard at 3AM with a ladder to steal them and you wake up in the middle of the night to your parents yelling at Mrs. Mcgurkey about what the FUCK do you think you’re doing, and you use that word the next day on your Demon of a fourth-grade teacher and she actually hits you because she’s a piece of shit but one of your classmates throws his chair at her first and you become best friends and spend the rest of the year giving her hell culminating in the Mantisocalypse.

I might have gone off-topic.

………….

I swear to God you’re the OC of some vengeful writer who keeps putting you shit for ‘character growth’

Like it’s the only explanation I can’t think of, other than you were cursed as a child to have an ‘exciting’ life.

…mantis-WHAT now?

TW: death, cancer, abuse, excessive religiosity, blood, mental illness, sexual assault and bugs.

1999 was a bad fucking year for me, though ultimately, it’s a hopeful sotry.  Mind the content warnings.

There is only one animal I’ve ever really earned the wrath of- The Praying Mantis- probably because in fourth grade I used about 50,000 of their children to fight evil.

Fourth grade started promisingly enough- had just had an excellent third grade with Mr. Jay, who was probably ADHD himself and therefore got me on a truly spiritual level.  I’d starred in the school play was reading at a freaking collegiate level and had a tremendous interest in marine science.  I’d been assigned to Mrs. Ruth’s class, the other teacher that regularly did theater with kids, and had any certification to deal with special ed kids like me.

When I arrived on the first day, she was smaller than I remembered, nearly bent double, skin like old rice paper. But she was still kind and sharp with a vivacity that I wouldn’t see again for years to come.  Her hands shook too much to write  I had her for three really great weeks before she gathered the class around her, and in a very gentle tone, told us we were going to be having a new teacher on Monday because she was sick, and couldn’t give us the classroom we deserved.

Two weeks later she was dead from the malignant breast cancer that had gotten into her spine and lungs.

I was still reeling from the sudden demise of my grandfather the year before, and mourning the disappearance of Hale-Bopp, who had come to me like a guardian angel in that dark time.  I went into what I’d later recognize as regular dissociative states, which was probably good because the rest of the class went insane as well.

The large boys, the ones who had hit puberty early, took out their anxiety by forming a gang that went around terrorizing anyone physically smaller than them.  By fall break, they’s started targeting the smaller girls, cornering them behind the school and tearing clothes off.  Since I was the second-smallest human in class and didn’t have a protective clique, I was a favored target. Mason who was aged 11 due to being held back, took to flashing his dick at anyone during class, up to and including our string of wholly unprepared substitute teachers.

Erica, the girl I was head over heels for, started a campaign of violence as well, though it was just as likely to be directed at herself as anyone in her immediate proximity.   Another girl, Sabrina, became convinced the world was ending on January 1st of 2000, and spent all of ‘99 telling us to repent.   Another girl cut her arm in the middle of a math lecture with a sharpened protractor.

All of this was accelerated by the fact that the administration had crammed 35 “problem” children into Mrs. Reith’s class because she was the only teacher who had even a basic handle on classroom management, then refused to shell out the money for a long-term substitute, so we literally had a new teacher every week for a few months there.  Parents complained that this was bullshit, and my principal, former Procter & Gamble rep, suggested that we were at fault for behaving so poorly and that all 35 of us needed to be on Ritalin.

Yes, really.

By October, my parents were looking to get me the hell out of there, but School Choice had not come to that part of CA yet, and my parents were both working full-time and couldn’t afford to home-school me.  So they looked up truancy laws, and determined that I could “pass” as long as I didn’t miss more than 2 weeks of school.  

So they struck a deal with me.  As long as I went to school every day until April 15th, I didn’t have to attend the last fortnight of school, and could go anywhere I wanted for summer break.  I chose Humboldt State Park, and didn’t tell them about being beaten up at school so they wouldn’t take back the offer.  Armed with the promise of being able to flee to the woods come April, I was determined to survive the year, and took measure to do so.  

This started, as all good rebellions do, with an alliance.

Dashell was the only child in class smaller than I was, but he was approximately 39lbs of pure, unadulterated psychotic mania.  He could bend himself into a pretzel, small enough to fit in a backpack, ate nothing but slim jims and Hi-C brand punch and apparently didn’t feel pain.  He was not good with words- there were too many ideas trying to get out at once to finish individual words, let alone whole sentences, but I was unnaturally precocious with absolutely no fear of adults or respect for administrative consequences.  

Hence, every recess he’d follow me about as I hunted for the small lizards that lived on campus, and would beat the tar out of Bobby and Mason when they came for me, despite the fact they had a collective 150 lbs on him.  And during class, I’d engage any adult in verbal battle so that they wouldn’t call on him and he could hork down slim-jims in peace.

And for a time, things were good.

Eventually, the complaining had gotten bad enough that the administration shelled out for a long-term sub, though apparently not enough to get someone without major disciplinary issues.

And thus, we got stuck with Mrs. Linden.

Mrs. Linden was one of those “Old-Fashioned” teachers who started her introduction to the class by giving a rambling lecture lamenting that “Paddlin’ and Jesus” were now banned.  She then asked about all our families, including where we went to church.  I was attending a school that was roughly equal parts White, Black, Hispanic, Middle Eastern and Asian.  Literally only 40% of the class attended Christian Church, and most of them were Catholic and Orthodox. I was in the back row next to Saari and Parja, and by the time Mrs. Linden had finished lecturing them on The Dangers of False Prophets, they were in tears and I’d made up my mind about her.

“[FLAGRANTLY IRISH SURNAME REDACTED].”  She glared over her eternally filthy horn-rimmed glasses at me.  “Catholic as well, I assume.”

“I’m agnostic Ma’am.”  I corrected her.  

“Do you believe in The Lord?”  she asked, glaring at me like a particularly vindictive turkey.  Her face was comprised mostly of disappointment and wattles, as I recall.

“I believe in Hell.”  I offered.  

She looked like she was about to approve.  

“I mean, you had to come from somewhere.”  I explained.

At that point, the bell for recess rang, and Dashell kicked it off by letting out a truly demonic shriek and throwing his chair through the window.  Twenty minutes of broken glass and bedlam later, she’d forgotten she was going to beat me for that.  Saari and Parja decided to start hanging out with me at recess, which discouraged the budding rapists, for a while.

And so it went, Dashell and I playing a game of alternating Uproars, one directing rage away from the other based on ability to handle that particular bully.  I’d correct Linden on her teaching material in the most condescending manner a ten-year-old could pull off, which wasn’t difficult- it’s hard to teach geology curriculum when you think the world is 6000 years old and flat.  

Things died down for a bit during winter- the continuous California monsoons and Linden’s propensity for grounding the entire class for one person’s offense meant we spent most recesses indoors, where the Boys would have to leave the girls alone now that an Adult was watching, and Saari would let Dashell braid her hair while I re-explained multiplication to Parja.

In March though, things began to heat up.  We were let outside again and Bobby and Mason had quite a bit of pent-up ragelust to let out, and were now being commanded by Erica, who thought making me suffer for her affections was Great Fun.   I don’t quite remember what happened with the three of them and me behind the computer building, but I know I can’t stand the sound of and old apple computer starting up anymore.

Furthermore, Linden had figured out the disciplinary loophole, that while she wasn’t actually allowed to beat us, she could slam her ruler on our desks, and if your hands or faces happened to be caught in the blow, well, we should have moved faster. Not this is not actually legal, but she was banking on us not having the legal wherewithal to take her to court.

Dashell was growing tired of the constant stress of school and had taken to leaving early when he felt like it, leaving me to fend for myself in the afternoon.  My sole consolation for those long afternoons was that we were having a bumper crop of praying mantises that year, and I had found no less than four nests in the backyard, and was keeping them in a large jar in my room.

If you’ve never seen praying mantis nests, they look like someone fucked up and globbed insulation foam on a stick.  They sorta sit there, looking stupid, until it gets hot enough, then the day they’re going to hatch, they develop a large, ominous crack, and over the course of a couple hours, a Couple Hundred itty-bitty, very sharp flying rage insects will drip out, covered in ooze like some kind of alien, and once they are all dried out/carapaced up they fly off in a fit of barbarian rage, ready to slice up anything remotely edible or potentially predatory.  Like children’s eyeballs.

So imagine my joy that on April fifteenth, the last day I had to attend class, all four nests had developed their large cracks, and tiny little baby ragebugs were slowly dripping out of them.

My initial thoughts were not of malice, but of showing Saari and Parja my cool insect friends, the latter having gotten into entomology of late.  But after I arrived at school with the jar, I realized that Thursday’s usual show-and-tell had been replaced with Mrs. Linden’s Semi-weekly Rant About How We’re All Going To Hell.  So I kept them in my backpack, with the intent of showing Dashell and Parja at recess.

But, after dealing with Mason trying to flash me his dick all through math, I had grown a mickle furious, and was contemplating flouncing from my Final required Day Of Class In Grand Style.  But what?

Then Mrs. Linden started ranting about the Plagues Of Egypt.

She’d construed that the plagues were about Pharaoh Not Respecting God as We Students Weren’t Respecting Her, and hence he Needed To be Punished.

But from my perspective, I was rather heavily identifying with the slaves and would really like to call down the wrath of some higher being on Mrs. Linden and Mason.  Then I realized that the mantises had been sitting on my bag on top of the radiator for the past three hours, and were probably all hatched and furious by now.

And for the first time, I truly understood “The Lord Works In Mysterious Ways.”

I signaled to Dashell that I was about to start shit, then quietly went back to the coat room to retrieve the jar.  Sure enough, they had all hatched and dried, and were now clawing furiously at the glass, little scratches audible through the holes in the lid. I waited back there for a good minute, lightly shaking the jar to enrage the mantises, while I waited for Linden to get to the Locusts.

She really went overboard, claiming that entirely vegetarian grasshoppers could eat a cow to the bone in minutes, like aerial piranhas, and that they’d crawl under your skin and eat your eyeballs, because You Disrespected God So You Deserve It.

Unbeknownst to me, Dashell had gotten up during her rant and had pulled the loose plate off the lightswitch and had been tampering with the wiring, and just as she got to Darkness, he shorted out the lights.

I took this as my signal, and stepped out of the coatroom, and chucked the jar straight at the back of Mason’s head, shattering it, sending blood and glass everywhere, along with releasing approximately six fucktillion rage-filled insects into the room.

I cannot explain how deeply, soul-satisfying the chaos was.

Screaming children, screaming Linden, screaming insects, Mason screaming about the pain, Sabrina screaming that it was the End Of The World, and Dashell laughing demonically, wriggling the wire to make the lights flash like a literal Panic at the disco.  There was glass everywhere, Insects landing on and attacking children as they tried to escape, people running into each other, someone pulling the fire alarm, creating MORE noise and setting the sprinklers off.

After a few minutes standing and watching, feeling the satisfaction of releasing hell settling in my soul, I quietly packed up my backpack and left, walked home and ate six ice cream sandwiches before mom got home from work.

“I’m done with school!” I told mom happily, sitting on the couch and watching animal planet with the dog.

“Did you show your class the mantises?’  She asked.

“Yes.  I don’t think they liked them.”  I said, watching Steve Irwin juggle snakes.

“Aw, that’s too bad.  Are you ready to go camping?”

“Yes.  Yes I am.”

And so the next morning, we left for the wilds of the redwood forest, so my mom didn’t hear anything about the incident until we came back a fortnight later.  It never got pinned on me or Dashell, probably because Mrs. Linden left the classroom shortly after I did and was last seen in Arizona two days later.  The district never actually managed to Fire her, because they never found her.

And that’s the most Chaotic Evil thing I’ve ever done.

calystarose:

delotha:

writing-prompt-s:

You are a guard in a fantasy world. You notice a man in elegant armor kick a chicken in the streets. In your lawful rage, you manage to kill this man in the name of justice. To your dismay, you realize you just killed The Chosen One. You just doomed the world.

In my defense, it was self-defense.

I saw him saunter through town in his expensive, fancy armor, nearly bowling over Granny Fairchild when she didn’t get out of his way fast enough.  I didn’t think much of him – no one did, that I knew – but what was I going to do?  The man was clearly some sort of lord or higher, and I’m just a guard.  Not even a captain or sergeant!  Just a normal, everyday run-of-the-mill guard.

In short, there’s nothing special about me.  No special training, no special knowledge – unless you count laws, which I memorized – nothing whatsoever.

I didn’t say anything when he demanded prices to be lowered, and forced his “goods” on us.  Spoils of adventures, he said.  You can’t get them anywhere else.  What are we going to do with forty preserved wyvern eyeballs!  It’s not something any of us can use.  I don’t care how much some wizard in a city we’ve never been would pay for them.

I didn’t say anything when he aggressively flirted with all the women, to the point that little Maria started crying and her brothers looked for sharp objects.  Thank the gods that Maria’s wife is so quick-thinking, and got his attention elsewhere!  It would have been a very ugly, very deadly brawl, and Maria would have lost her brothers.

I didn’t say anything when he co-opted the blacksmith’s forge to make a few daggers to push on us – because his skill is so legendary, however were we to survive without his priceless daggers?  Ahmed was unable to fulfill his orders that day, and will now have to work twice as hard to catch up!  And I wanted him to look at my gauntlet, too, because it was starting to look a little warped at the wrist.

But when I saw that man start to kick around Granny Fairchild’s chickens, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer.  Those chickens are all she has!  Every morning, Granny Fairchild comes to market with a basket of fresh eggs, and we all buy some – even if we don’t need eggs – to make sure she doesn’t go hungry.  Like most of us, she refuses handouts and charity, preferring to get by on her own.

“You can’t do that,” I told him, using my sternest voice.

“Do what?” he asked, kicking a hen and sending her scuttling.

“That,” I said.  “Kicking chickens.  Or any animal.  You can’t do that.”

“Who’s going to stop me?” he asked arrogantly.  He looked me up and down, mockingly.  “You?”

And just to be an ass, he took out his sword and killed one of the chickens right then and there.

Now, killing someone’s animal isn’t necessarily an arrestable offense.  You get a fine, you pay it, and you go on your way.  Especially something small, like a chicken.  A cow, now, or a horse, that’s a different story.  But a chicken – no. 

But by this point, I was so tired and so fed up with his attitude.  Who was he to walk into our village in his fancy, expensive armor and harrass our people?  Making our shy girls cry, assaulting our widows and grandmothers, nearly robbing us blind by forcing his “goods” on us in exchange for ours, and putting good people out of work for his barely average daggers?  An entitled ass, I tell you.

So I took out my sword and intended to bash him at the back of his head to bring him to his knees.  It’s not a very brave act, to attack someone from behind, but you must understand that even then, he was some mighty adventurer while I am a lowly village guard.  In a fair fight, I had no chance.

Apparently, I hit him too hard, or just right, because he went down like a sack of potatoes and didn’t get up.  I looked him over, then call for our healer.  When she arrived, she pronounced him dead and congratulated me.

Imagine that, being congratulated for being a murderer.

Well, we gathered his things and I sent out a report to my sergeant in the next village over, who must have forwarded it to the captain, because the next thing any of us knew, we had an entire garrison marching on us.  The captain demanded to see me, and I reluctantly made my way up.

I murdered a lord’s son, I thought.  They’re going to arrest me for murdering a lord’s son!  There goes my career!

I hadn’t murdered a lord’s son, of course.  I did something much worse.

“You killed Adam Draxon, Hero of a Thousand Lands?” the captain demanded.  He looked me up and down, much like the man did, but less mocking and more incredulous.

“I never knew his name,” I managed, nearly biting my tongue in two I was stammering so bad.

“He wore the Crest of King Ellifry!” the captain said.  “How could you not know?”

“Is that what it was?  I thought it was a fat eagle…”

The captain and all his men stared at me for a long moment, where I was certain that time must have stopped, because it lasted an eternity.

“He was on his way to slay the vicious dragon plaguing Balewood Forest!  And you killed him!”

“It was an accident!” I protested.  “I was trying to arrest him.”

“Arrest him?!”  The captain was apoplectic.  “You were trying to arrest the Hero of a Thousand Lands?  For what?  What could he have possibly done to make you arrest him?!”

“He, ah, well, you see… Hm.  It was like this…”

“Go on, I’m listening.  I’m very eager to hear your reasoning.”

I took a deep breath.  “IwasarrestinghimforkillingGrannyFairchild’schicken.”

“What?”

“He killed Granny Fairchild’s chicken,” I said again, slower.  I didn’t dare look up.  The captain wears some nice boots.  Shiny.  Tailored.  “So I was arresting him.”

“You murdered Adam Draxon, Hero of a Thousand Lands, Defender of the Free People, for killing a chicken?”

“It was an accident!” I protested again.  “I was just trying to… subdue… him…”

“And who, pray tell, is going to slay the dragon plaguing Balewood Forest?” the captain asked me scathingly.  “You?”

“I can’t kill a dragon!” I said.  I’m pretty sure I squeaked, too. 

“You killed the Hero of a Thousand Lands,” he told him, sarcasm practically dripping from his voice.  “You must be a mighty warrior, so a dragon can’t be too difficult a task for you.”

I stared at him in disbelief for a long moment.  In that moment, I saw something.  Okay, a lot of things, but mostly the one.  I saw fear.  Not of me, gods no.  The captain was afraid.  I had – accidentally or not – killed our only hope against the forces of darkness in our world.  Who was going to slay the dragon?  Certainly not me; I’d be lucky if I got close to the beast.  And certainly not the captain.  Really, there was only one person who was capable of such a feat, and he was moldering in an unmarked grave in our village cemetery.  

The next few hours went by in a blur.  I was given the Hero’s old things – things we had carefully packed away and inventoried to prevent theft – to protect me.  I was told some of it had magic, like protection against evil and the like.  It looked pretty, but ultimately worthless.  What would a shiny ring do against a dragon, except make it envious and eat me for the ring?

Really, what else did I expect?  If I had stayed, I would have been hanged for murder, at best.  At worst, I would have been drawn and quartered in some public place while my entire family was arrested and enslaved for my crimes.  In a way, the captain was saving me.  This was a chance to redeem myself – albeit a very small, very dangerous, and very, very stupid chance.  But it would keep me from a very public execution, which was generally better.

It’s not like the thought of chucking all of the Hero’s things the minute I got out of sight and running never occurred to me.  It did.  Numerous times.  I thought about it as I lay awake at night.  I thought about it as I heard story after story after story of the Dragon of Balewood Forest.  But someone had to try, damnit.  Someone had to at least try.

I never did get my gauntlet fixed.

When I had finally made it to the dragon – which, by the by, involved talking wolves and a bargain with a witch that I’m pretty sure she now regrets as you can’t exactly extract a dead person’s first born if they’ve never had children – I was tired, and hungry, and terrified out of my wits.

The mountain wasn’t as big as I pictured.  It was a large hill, at most, with a shallow cave.  I climbed up – a feat, I assure you, that sounds more daunting that it was.  I mostly walked, and like Balewood Forest, it was a pleasant walk.  And when I reached the mouth of the cave, I mustered all my meager courage to shout my challenge to the Dragon of Balewood Forest.

“H-hello?” I called out.  “Anyone home?”

A roar echoed from the cave – a massive sound that had me quaking – and smoke curled out.  I felt a blast of heat roll out of the cave.

“Look, I’d just like to talk for a bit,” I said.  “If you have time, that is.  I can come back tomorrow, if now’s not a good time for you!”

Heroic bravery at it’s finest, I tell you.

I felt an impact that was like being hit by a mountain.  I thought at first it must be some sort of cave-in or avalanche, but not.  Just dragon.  I rolled down the hill a ways, losing the sword and shield almost instantly along with my bearings.  I had barely stopped moving when a clawed paw pinned me to the ground, and I was face-to-face with a wall of long, sharp teeth and sulfuric breath.

“Adam Draxon!” the beast roared at me.  “You murdered my parents!  You have left me an orphan!  Do you have anything to say for yourself before I kill you?”

“Um, I’m not Adam Draxon,” I said.

“What?!” the dragon screeched.  It pulled back just enough to look at me with one beautiful sapphire eye.  Really, if you get the chance to look at a dragon’s eyes, you should.

“I’m not, um, I’m not Adam Draxon,” I repeated.  “I’m not anybody.”

The dragon pulled away, glowering at me.  “You’re wearing his armor. You’re wearing his Crest!”

“I still think it looks like a fat eagle,” I muttered as I took the Crest off and tossed it aside.  “Look, I know you were expecting Adam Draxon, and I’m sorry, but I’m here.  So can we talk, please?”

 “Where’s Adam Draxon?” the dragon demanded, arching itself up to look bigger.  For all the stories I’d ever heard, the dragon was really about the size of a large draft horse.  Certainly not the size of a house, like I was told.  And it’s scales – while very bright – weren’t exactly what you’d call shiny.

“Um, he’s, uh… well…”  How do you explain that the Hero of a Thousand Lands is dead?  Especially to someone who wants to cook and eat him?  “He, uh, he died.”

The dragon cocked it’s head to look at me with one eye.  “Dead?  You expect me to believe that the Slayer of a Dozen Dragons and Terror to the Dark is dead?” 

“Yeah, I was surprised, too,” I admitted.  “It was an accident.”

“Accident?” the dragon roared.  “An accident?!”

 “Well, how else was he going to die young?”

The dragon lowered itself and stared at me for a long, long, long time.  “You don’t smell like you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“But you don’t smell like you’re telling the truth.”

 “It’s… complicated.”

 “Tell me.”

 I took a deep breath.  “I was trying to arrest him.  His back was turned, and I hit him too hard with the pommel of my sword.”

 “… he’s really dead?”

 “He’s really dead.”

 “But he killed my parents!”

 I walked up and patted the dragon on it’s shoulder.  “I know, I’m sorry.”

 And that’s how I “defeated” the Dragon of Balewood.  He told me his story, and I listened for a while, and when night fell, he invited me to stay with him.  A dragon lair is surprisingly clean and comfortable, and we talked most of the night.  The dragon – Lorcanthan – was in need of a permanent home.  The terrorizing was merely to get Adam Draxon to his location, so he could get revenge for the murder of his parents.  There was very little terrorizing, I learned, as Lorcanthan mostly showed up and bothered the horses and maybe burned a field by accident.

 That morning, I decided to go to the villages around Balewood Forest.  For the better part of a season, I went to each village and spoke with the people.  In truth, very little actual damage occurred, and even then, it was mostly by panicking animals.  The mayors and headsmen were very reluctant to speak with me about the matter, at first, but slowly listened to what I had to say.

 Later, I went to Lorcanthan and had him come with me to the outskirts of Balewood, where the mayors and headmen were waiting.  I helped negotiate a deal for them, between the dragon and villagers.  And so the Dragon of Balewood went from plague to protector.

 Really, that’s how it started.

 Afterwards, I went to speak to the witch about the bargain, and she was willing to wait.  Being as the bargain was struck when I was under extreme duress, I managed to talk her down to shared custody.  We’ll figure out the details when I do have a child, I guess.  She sent me to talk to her sister, who was across the country, about a matter involving kidnapping.

 That was a horrible, horrible case, where I discovered the the Wicked Sorceress of the North was being blamed for the actions of a vile man.  The less said, the better, but when I had settled that matter, word go around.  

 And when a Horde of Orc Barbarians led by Thorid the Bloodthirsty threatened, I was sent to deal with them.  I don’t know how, exactly, it happened, because I had a few drinks with Thorid, but I ended up accidentally challenging his eldest to a duel and – purely by chance, I promise! – killed her.  Which made me, by Orc law, Thorid’s heir.  Somehow.  And second-in-command.

 When Thorid died from gangrene from an untreated injury by boar, I became the leader of the Horde of Orc Barbarians.

 From there, things got complicated fast.  And now I’m the Leader of the Dark Forces, and it’s the eve of war.  I sent King Ellifry a letter asking that he meet with me to negotiate this matter, but I haven’t heard back yet.  I’d really rather avoid the whole war thing, but honestly, when you actually sit down and listen to the Dark Forces, you learn that there’s a lot of inequality and oppression that really needs to be addressed.

 And as a guard sworn to uphold the law, it’s up to me to see that it is addressed.

Never did get my gauntlet fixed.

this is fantastic! I would read so many books in this series/watch so many seasons

hedron-crawler:

ghettablasta:

Kayla Renee Parker shared her story of how she managed to expose her racist teacher who appeared to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“She wears a safety pin so everyone knows she’s an ally for minorities. Her cover photo has a Black power fist. She regularly discusses her love for the Obamas, the Black Lives Matter Movement, and her admonishment for this current administration.”

However, it wasn’t enough to hide her racism. 

It all started with a simple question from a test. The question stated, 

“Historical research on African-American families during slavery shows that: A) Family ties weren’t important in African cultures where the slaves ancestors originated; consequently, family bonds were never strong among slaves. B) Two-parent families were extremely rare during the slave period. C) Black family bonds were destroyed by the abuses of slave owners, who regularly sold off family members to other slave owners. D) Most slave families were headed by two parents.

So, obviously, Kayla chose C. And it was incorrect. According to the teacher, the right answer was D.

The argument started when Kayla wrote her an email and respectfully provided the professor the evidence, even directly from their textbook. “However, my Professor continued to argue that family bonds were not destroyed and that 2/3 of slave families were headed by two parents.” The teacher cited Herbert Gutman, sociologist, who died in 1985 and surely took part in the whitewashing of Black history.

When they met to discuss the subject in person the professor gave Kayla books to read adding such statements as, “This book would be good for you to read. I believe it’s $6 so I could buy it for you if you’d like.” The stated that she spent her whole life fighting for minorities and something like “I’ve got Black friends.” 

When the girl was proving her opinion, she heard more comments as, “You’re talking to someone who has spent their entire life fighting for people of diversity and marched with my Black brothers and sisters.

As the result, the teacher asked Kayla to lecture the class on the topic and that was her fatal mistake.

Kayla took all her courage and made a presentation on the topic she was passionate about. She defended Black people and Black history. Here’s her presentation.

That was the point where the story should end, but NO.

The professor obviously forgot about privacy settings on Facebook and posted offensive comments about Kayla.

The professor’s last words to Kayla were:

This time The University of Tennessee stood up for the student. In July the teacher officially retiring from the university.

This is fucking insane.

The last paragraph of kaya’s story is everything:

To my Professor, I forgive you for robbing me of my focus last semester. I forgive you for calling my Father, a graduate of Yale Medical School, “educationally challenged.” I even forgive you for threatening me. However, I do not forgive you for being willfully ignorant to the subjects you teach students. I also do not forgive you for claiming to be an ally. An ally is so much more than wearing a safety pin. It also requires that you listen to the needs of Black people and respect the issues that we raise. When a Black student raises a concern over the way you are portraying her history, referring to all you’ve done for Black people doesn’t change the fact that you’re portraying slavery as some kind of slavery lite. As an educator and as an ally, you are not expected to know everything but this does not abdicate you from the responsibility of always continuing to learn- even from your students. Additionally, if you wanted to actually help Black men and women, you’d value our words. Unfortunately, your actions simply mirror how America values Black people in today’s society.

This Black girl is a hero who overcame her fear and faced her teacher defending Black people and Black history. 

#StayWoke #BlackPride #StopRacists

A mix of good an bad news from my school.

inkskinned:

incog-nemo:

glumshoe:

You wake in the night with your arm hanging over the side of your bed. It is still dark, and your bedroom is shrouded in deep shadow. Something unseen seizes your hand.

You grasp it tightly, knowing that first impressions are important and a firm, confident handshake will establish dominance.

A hollow voice echos under your bed, shaking you to your core, “You’re hired.”

my dad has been riding me for, like ever. get a job, ash. like, okay but. have you even heard of summer. plus i’m tired. plus i literally don’t want to do anything but wear a rainbow bikini and bake on beaches. 

“i’m serious,” he says, in Serious Voice, his hand on the door handle with white knuckles. “you can’t waste your time like this.”

“ugh,” i say, because, like ugh. he slams the door. i bury my face in pillows and like, “ugh” for a solid thirty second, limbs spread akimbo all over the place. without meaning to, i fall asleep. i told you i was tired, dad.

i don’t know what happens. maybe it’s all those times i had to stand in his office pretending to be official in white shoes and a pink skirt but when somebody grasps my hand, i grasp back. like lizard-brain response, i’m still half-asleep when i’m full-on up-and-down single-pump professional-style handshaking a demon. by the time i have bolted upright in bed and retracted my now-sticky (yet somehow also soggy?) hand, the voice is already speaking.

“you’re hired.”

excuse me? “I’m what now?” my voice in comparison is weak, slippery with sleep and fear, dancing all over the place.

i hear something shift under me. my heart is caught in my throat while there’s chuckles from the owner of the handshake equivalent of squeezing a taco bell meal. i’m having flashbacks to french kissing h.p. lovecraft in a bathroom in high school grade and i’ve never even done that. 

“i’ll have to look at your references, obviously, but that’s a hell of a handshake. i like you, kid.”

like but. for some reason, a giggle rises in my throat.

like okay. like. this is normal. i’m like. it figures there’d be something under my bed. like, with how much time i spent in the closet? who am i to even, like, judge.

“of course, orientation will be difficult,” the taco bell meal tentacle continues, “but you wouldn’t be the first we’ve hired like you.”

“like me?” like a woman or a gay woman or like a gay woman who’s really good at making hot cocoa or like

“a human,” taco bell says.

i’m actually almost awake now. like i’m pretty sure i’m awake and i’m talking to the CEO of creepy, incorporated. certified possible demon. sock eating friend of cerberus. 

for a second i’m about to call for my dad but then i remember those white knuckles around the door handle and my white shoes and how much gas money is and how he once made me shake hands for an hour but didn’t give me a hug for the next four years.

i clear my throat. like, abuela told us about devils since i was old enough to threaten me with them and like technically i can’t “commune with spirits” but i also know enough not to upset a creature like this so i figure it’s in my best interests to take this in stride and maybe tomorrow throw a little bit more salt over my shoulder than usual. and like, i mean, at this point it’s just negotiating right. and if there’s something i understand from dad it’s negotiating business. 

“hours?” i ask, sitting up straighter. i can’t see more than a writhing something that barely extends beyond the edges of my bedframe.

“night shift, obviously.”

“salary?”

“competitive.” a pause. “lucrative, even.”

well like. what else is there. “i’m in.” 

“wonderful,” says taco bell, expressing with an accent i’m unfamiliar with and a form of joy that i’m uncomfortable with, “i’ll go get the contract. be back in a jiffy.”

like, the sound of hell opening up isn’t exactly a slurp-pop, but it does sound a lot like the way my seventh grade math teacher’s tongue used to sound when she was about to make a harsh comment about my homework. and like, for a second there i’m like. wait what the fuck did i just agree to am i in a horror movie is chucky gonna be my roommate now like does dracula sign my contract as a witness like am i really doing this. like? i’m a smart girl (don’t look at my love life) how am i even considering this.

it’s also when my dad opens my door. “ash?” even when he’s just woken up, he looks tidy. he’s wearing his wingtip shoes. never slippers on this man.

i’m like. coming around to my senses at this point. i hallucinated all that. i ate too many crackers with cream cheese and guava before bed. i listened to too many of abuela’s supernatural sightings. and like, i told you, i’m tired.

“dad,” i say, blinking in the light from the hallway.

“you were talking in your sleep, ” he says.

“oh,” i say.

“it is keeping me awake,” he says.

“sorry,” i say.

“you know i am a light sleeper,” he says.

“yeah,” i say, “sorry.”

“please control yourself,” he says.

“yeah … i… okay.” i say. “sorry again.”

“goodnight, ash,” he says, and he turns to go. he looks back at me and says “and ash?” and for a second, because i always have this moment, because i never learn, because i’m not a good learner, for a second i’m thinking – oh, he’s gonna say something nice, “in the morning, please get a job.”

“yeah,” i say, and my voice cracks and the door closes, “sorry again.”

i sit there, staring at the wall, saying nothing for a long time, or maybe no time at all. thinking about nothing. like the feeling you get when you’re thinking too much so it all just sounds like white noise.

then i hear it again. the crack-slurp of hell. i jump about like twelve feet. when i return from the space station my soul ascended to, i see the barely-defined outline of something, like the leg of an insect outside of a tentacle inside of a crab leg outside of the right back support beam of the eiffel tower. and like, a sphere of dull green light radiates directly above it, which, like, isn’t even the weirdest part of my night. 

“howdy!” taco bell nacho supreme is back, “sorry for the delay, i was checking with management.”

“uh,” i say. 

“just insert your hand into this here contract and you’ll be employed part-time, pending references.”

“hang on,” i say. i swallow. “you said the rate is… competitive?”

“we got wishes, monkey’s paws, souls, video game cheats… you name it, we pay it.”

“…. USD?” 

“666 an hour to start. we do love tradition.”

i choke. “like six dollars and sixty-six cents?”

taco bell laughs. “you know what i meant. and we do direct deposit!”

i swallow. i think of my dad. 

words tumbling out of me. “do i have to hurt anyone? is my soul forfeit? can i ever get out of this? am i gonna turn colors how many days a week do i work is there a retirement plan can i readjust the terms after signing is it permanent will it harm me in any way how many people die doing this when do i start what’s orientation who writes the checks and” i take a breath “is the boss nice?”

“no, no, yes! but two weeks notice. no, usually five, if you sign up for it, yes, no, probably not, not many people are doing it mostly we’re non-physical or extra-corporeal so you’d have to ask H.R? tomorrow if you want, loads of fun and free sushi, H.R again, and” taco bell takes a breath, “usually but particularly on wednesdays.”

i sit there and curl my knees to my chest. 

“all this… because of a handshake?”

taco bell is silent for a moment. well, like, kind of. if eerie silence had a twin brother, or like the silence of a fast food restaurant exactly four minutes before the lights are shut off.

“usually, we come if we’re called by darkness. we deal in darker things than needs. i don’t tend to show up when someone needs something. but sometimes… the lines get crossed, that’s all. instead of your need heading on upwards, it called me instead.”

“uh,” i say, “are you admitting to the existence of like… angels?”

anyway,” says taco bell, “yesterday Georurng self-terminated.”

“oh my gosh,” i say, “is he okay?”

“oh yeah, no, he retired to live with his six hivenests in west Berlin. we need new blood,” taco bell says. “of course, metaphorically.”

okay. okay. like. i could say i was bartending? in a few weeks i could buy a used car. out of pocket. like. if i needed to i could always quit. and like. honestly, again, how many chances to make closet jokes. plus, time at the beach. plus like. okay like how cool would it be.

“okay,” i whisper, “okay.” i try not to shake as i reach my hand out to the contract. it feels like dipping my hand into the inside of a cold turkey. i repress the shudder that runs up me.

in an instant, the specifics of my job write themselves over my eyes. they burn into the back of my brain. everything is spinning. 

“see you tomorrow!” taco bell is saying. i want to puke. my ears are ringing. i barely hear the portal to hell open again. 

the fire of the contract’s words fade slowly until i am staring into the dark again. it’s not what i expected. it actually appeals to my sense of justice. taco bell was right about being called by something. i’ve just agreed to be the thing that goes bump in the night. the one thing left against the people nobody else can fight. i’m gay dracula. i’m both a lesbian dementor and the boggart. i’m a rainbow-flag-flying boogeyman and i have a long list of people who i got a bone to pick with. 

it takes me a moment to realize i’m smiling. sorry, dad, i’m gonna be like. ultra mega tired. but i got a job. doing what? oh, nothing.

just being the creature that lives under your bed. when bad men have darkness, we come haunting. 

PLEASE TELL THE CHILDREN THE STORY OF MS. STUBELS

shinyrock6498:

naamahdarling:

elialshadowpine:

couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name:

Grace fuck, why would you invoke her name like that???

Okay, fine, gather round children, buckle up because we’re going on a bumpy ride back to everyone’s collective least favorite place: 7th grade.

Some background: I went to a very small Catholic school. One class per grade (we were the largest with 19 kids), everyone knew each other whether they wanted to or not. Despite basically every teacher and faculty members insistence that we were The Best And Most Special Class In The School and that everyone loved having us, the longstanding 7th grade teacher Mrs. O’Hara decided to retire in the summer of 2008, meaning the school had to find us a new teacher for the upcoming year. This would be like, the first new teacher in the school in a while, and as she was getting the ‘best class’, it was viewed as a Big Deal. Somewhere in like July or August we got a letter announcing Mrs. Stubel, and it came with a list of books to pick for the summer reading, and that was basically all the information we had.

So…the first day of class. She seems nice enough. Very…ditsy, I guess? It was very easy for her to get herself off topic while talking. She constantly paced around the room, never staying in one spot for longer than a second, complaining she has restless leg syndrome. Which like, I’m sure she did, but she was in the middle of introducing herself and then went on a 20 minute tangent about restless leg syndrome without anyone prompting her. It was almost like you could see her scattered thoughts flying around her head.

So anyone, she eventually gives somewhat of an introduction- she had only taught in public schools before, and kept worrying she ‘didn’t know’ how to teach in a Catholic school despite the entire class insisting literally nothing was different, you just teach the curriculum, twice a week we have religion class with Sister Mary King, that’s literally it (she still talked over us in worry), she told us about her kids, she told us about her obsession with Emily Dickinson, stuff like that.

And then she hands us this worksheet.

She’s like, “Oh, these are just some basic questions for you to answer! Just so I can get to know you guys better!” like in lieu of an icebreaker game, which is fine, but…the questions. The questions were all “What is your most haunting fear?”, “What is your deepest regret?”, “Have you ever experienced the pain of loss?”, “What was your worst injury?”, “What was your worst nightmare?”, all questions like that, and then on the back she wanted us to draw a gravestone and write out what we wanted our epitaph to be.

We were twelve year olds, mind you.

Oh my God and one girl missed the first day because of her grandmother’s funeral, so when she came the next day and saw what the teacher was insisting she do for homework, she almost had a panic attack? And the lady still made her do it? Literally who wants to think about death anymore at a time like that omfg.

Okay, so then we get to the summer reading book reports, right? Now, she had given a list of maybe, 20 books that you could pick from, read it, and then present an oral report on it. You had to have notecards and you had to be able to answer questions from the class at the end. All in all, I’ve had worse projects.

So, on this list, she apparently put Madeleine L’Engle’s entire book series on the list…only she did not make it known that this was a series and not multiple stand alone books, so when reports started up it caused mass-panic of kids trying to put together plot points and make connections on what the hell they had read.

I was the only kid in the class who had chosen to read “A Wrinkle In Time”, and that has since lead to a series of events that…really actually scares me, I’m still incredibly freaked out, I’m not going to get into it right now because it’ll take away from the current story, but just know that I’m not above wondering if it only happened because I read the book for Stubel.

Anyway, so like, I got through the report okay. The class asking questions about it was fine, but the teacher kept asking questions that didn’t make sense, like, at all. My friend Angie has always had super neat handwriting and Mrs. Stubel got like, obsessed with her notecards and asked if she could borrow them for something. When we got our grades back a few weeks later, Angie had points taken off for not having notecards.

And then her teaching just…didn’t happen. She’d never stay on a topic, she’d always get herself distracted! We were not learning anything. And like, this wasn’t a class of advanced smart kids that loved to learn. By all accounts we should’ve been thrilled. But it got out of hand. It got to points where we had to start teaching lessons to ourselves, asking teacher from other grades for help, always coming home in tears, complaining constantly to our parents and the principal because this woman wasn’t teaching us anything. There were two kids who asked her multiple times for extra help, and she told them each time to ‘talk to me after school’, but then she’d leave immediately after school so they wouldn’t be able to talk to her. They finally brought up the issue in the middle of class and she had a breakdown, yelling about how nobody ever thinks that maybe the teacher has a lot of work to do, and maybe she’s entitled to taking off early, but when we tried to argue she shouldn’t schedule meetings and then break them off in the name of relaxation, she stormed out of the room and tried to get the principal to give us detention. (Which, like, our school didn’t even do, and she was the only one in the wrong during this situation) We are still in September at this point, and already at least ten kids have parents considering transferring them to another school. (And remember, there was only 19 of us, and most of the class had been together since preschool, so that was a big deal).

Then, she starts coming in with all the weird bruises. All the Moms™ immediately started gossiping that her husband had to be beating her, and that’s why she was so screwy in the head. But the way she talked about her husband made it seem like he *might* be dead, and we actually did witness her fall and smack her head into a doorknob once, so no one really knew what to believe. (Also, I’m not trying to imply that abuse would make someone crazy or ‘damaged’ or anything, this is just what was being said. I think they were trying to turn her into a more sympathetic character, because if you feel sorry for her you don’t have to hate her for frustrating your kids so much, and Hate Is A Bad Emotion.)

Also…this woman and Emily Dickinson.

She talked about Emily Dickinson every chance she could get. None of us knew who Emily Dickinson really was before she got there and you could see in her mind it was a capitol offense. She found out the curriculum didn’t have room to cover her (because like, we had a text book), and was way too upset about it. She started reading her poems whenever she found the time (usually somewhere in history class), and always gave us very detailed accounts about her dressing up as Emily and reading her poetry at the library.

Now, two things to note here:

  1. The library did not hire her to do this. She would literally just get in the mood, put on an Emily Dickinson costume that she made by herself, drive to different libraries, and just read poetry out loud to everyone there until someone eventually asked her to leave.
  2. The way she described these events…her tone, the look on her face, her posture…you could just tell that she was getting some sort of sexual gratification out of this? Like dressing up as Emily Dickinson in public and reading her sad poems is really what got this lady’s jollies rocking? Got her all hot and bothered? Which is…a lot, but why would you tell a bunch of seventh graders about it holy shit. What about that sounds like a good idea! What about that turns you back on!

So anyway, we learned a lot about Emily Dickinson against our will.

One of the Davids™ was reading a book for pleasure- which shouldn’t have been a shocker, a lot of kids always had books on them, but Stubel got really interested and asked if she could borrow it from him. He was like ‘sure, after I finish it?’ but she took it that day. He asked her for it back for like five weeks straight.

And…the strudels.

Okay, so the school was trying some dorky thing to promote ~togetherness~ or some virtue or something, I don’t remember the specifics of why, but each class had to make a huge themed poster and hang it on the wall outside the classroom. Which was like, whatever, not the most thrilling project but at least it allowed us to be productive vs just sitting there as the teacher runs about the room rambling about her family vacation from four years ago. Mrs. Stubel decided we needed a quirky nickname and after like three days of deliberation we were christened “Stubel’s Special Strudels”!

(points for alliteration or whatever, but no one actually voted for that and what exactly do strudels have to do with Catholicism? It became a big running joke amongst the kids)

Also, in case you were wondering, she didn’t explain the assignment correctly to us- so every other class had like these beautiful, artistic, well-themed and put together posters, while ours was just…literally a bunch of shit thrown together on paper. Nothing fit with each other, it was literally embarrassing to look at.

But then…she wouldn’t drop the strudel thing. Like she kept bringing it up. She got really into strudels and would just tell us random shit about them. Finally, someone jokes that we should get strudels one day for a party (like instead of a pizza party), and she’s Freaking Out and On Board. She really wants to buy us strudels and have a breakfast party now. She talked about it for like two days straight.

So like… you know in school when you would have a pizza party, usually the teacher would buy it? That’s how they always happened in my experience (not counting the last day of 10th grade when some kid had pizza delivered to the school for lunch but it didn’t get there until math class lol). But especially in grade school? Like if it wasn’t a PTA made party that’s super organized, the school would buy the food, right? Right?

Yeah, so she was like, if this is happening you guys need to give me the money. Just give me the money and then I’ll pick them up on my way to work!! And after some arguing some kids are on board. Strudels should only cost a couple dollars right?

And she’s like, oh no, I’m gonna get them from this high end bakery near my house so it’ll be special, but they’re not cheap and it’ll be a big order! I’m gonna need like fifteen dollars from each of you!

And at this point I’m just like…lady. Come on. 

But she keeps insisting. She’s not gonna go until every student in class pays up.

And I’m like…I’m poor. I don’t even like strudel.  And some of the less-naïve kids are siding with me.

And then she pulls that “you guys are just spoiling all the fun for your classmates” shit, like the naïve kids who already paid up, so it gets to the point where we just gotta cave and give her the money.

(I ended up stealing it out of my Crazy Bitch Aunt’s wallet so it’s whatever, I guess.)

And then of course, shockingly enough, every morning she was met with “where are the strudels?” and every morning she went wide eyed, slapped her forehead and yelled in embarrassed horror “I totally forgot! Tomorrow, guys, I promise!”

Honestly, with how scatterbrained and confused she always was…like to this day I can’t tell you with 100% certainty whether she hustled us or was just actually forgetting about the damn pastries, I choose to lean towards the hustled us side because that’s just the type of people I’m used to, but if I found out it was innocent forgetfulness I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.

She couldn’t handle more than one person talking at a time. Like, we’d have break periods, or group work, or something and all the talking made her go wide-eyed and batty. She’d look overworked and anxious and would be darting around the room trying to do work or something but she couldn’t focus and she’d yell at anyone who tried to talk to her directly. I remember one time she was using this boys desk for something so he asked “where am I supposed to sit?” and she snapped “Sit on the ceiling for all I care!”. And this kid was the Class Clown™ , so he immediately grabbed a chair in one hand and started climbing the bookcase to try and reach the ceiling. She’s standing right next to this and doesn’t even notice. He got all four chair legs planted on the ceiling and was trying to somehow maneuver his way into the chair (I really don’t know what the plan was exactly– he was really tall and it was a small building, so I think he probably had the idea that if he can get his body upside down and in the chair, and stretch out his arms like a hand-stand to hold onto bookcase, he could arguably sit on the ceiling.) but he slipped. Crashed into my desk and the two desks next to me, knocked over the book case, broke the chair in half and hit the desks with enough force to knock them down lower. It was hilarious. Everyone was loosing their shit cracking up (he was fine) and it still took Stubel like five minutes to notice his lying out across the desks right in front of her eyes. She was pissed but how did she miss any of it in the first place? She was barely being helpful in whatever it was she was trying to do.

This was the year the Phillies were going to the World Series, and all the grades were having a Phillies Rally in the cafeteria so a news crew was coming to the school and each class was supposed to come up with fun little cheers for them to broadcast. Multiple cheer ideas were presented to her and she vetoed all of them, someone even suggested just singing the damn eagles theme song with replaced words and calling it a day but she vetoed that too, she was very adamant that she could come up with a cheer all by herself and it’ll be the best one (whoever had the best cheer was winning like an ice cream day or something idk). And then like…literally five minutes before the rally she just hands us signs with the letters and was like ‘we’re just gonna spell out Phillies it will be cute won’t it my strudels???’. We were the weakest class there, predictably. I think we lost to the kindergarteners. There might still be a video online of me yelling “ i “ passionately at the top of my lungs. It was online bc our cheer was so bland the news crew cut it out of the broadcast.

I literally can’t say enough about how she never taught us anything. She’d be going on some tangent about how she doesn’t understand the science behind skiing, and I’d be like “Okay yes but please can you just tell me where Romania is on a map???” And she’d start fights whenever someone actually wanted to learn. It was so easy to get her angry but so hard for her to stay on topic. Kids started teaching the class themselves! Like seriously, she’d be rambling and one of us would just go up to the podium, open the teacher’s guide textbook and just start reading out loud and talking over her. By the time she noticed we’d be halfway through a lesson. And we understood it better than when she tried! You know something’s wrong when pre-teens are more qualified for a job than an adult who supposedly went to school for this.

We were in the church having run-throughs for our upcoming Confirmation and she almost set the church on fire…fifteen different times. In less than half an hour. How hard is it to hold a candle?

Okay, and here’s when stuff starts kicking up. It was October 28th, a Tuesday, and it was our last day of school that week because they were having parent-teacher conferences the rest of the week. So we were just hanging out, watching movies in class and reading (lord knows we weren’t learning), and Stubel calls me over to her desk.

So like, she had given everyone little bags with candy for Halloween, but I get up there and she hands me an extra one. And she’s like “Molly I know your birthday is tomorrow and I bought you a present but I left it on my coffee table this morning by accident! So just have the candy for now!”

And I’m like….”Ma’am I’m like, the sixth birthday this year. You didn’t give anyone else presents?”

And she goes “Oh, I know but this is a special secret surprise. I just know you’re gonna love it! Do you wanna stop by my house later this week to pick it up or should I just give it to you Monday after school?”

And like…In writing this sounds like a non-threatening exchange, and like, it was, but I felt so uncomfortable holy shit. I’m looking over my shoulder and shooting my friends SOS signals. Something about this felt so weird in my gut omfg. I told her thanks and I’d just see her Monday.

So we flash forward to Wednesday- my 13th birthday, the day the Phillies won the world series, and also the day my mother innocently strolled into the school for her meeting only to be met with screaming, the sound of heavy destruction, and the school secretary Mrs. Daily running at her in a panic, waving her arms and yelling “YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED GET IN MY OFFICE NOW!”

So my poor mother, who thought she could handle this whole meeting in a few minutes and barely be an hour late for work, is now barricaded in the front office with the school secretary, as the noises from down the hall get louder and louder. The woman explains that they had gotten so many complaints about Mrs. Stubel that this morning, when she got to the school, the principal Sister Patricia called her in and said “Listen, we need you to be professional and still have the parent conferences, but we have to let you go. We just don’t think you fit in well here, and the kids need to come first and feel comfortable in their school.” and like, I’m paraphrasing because I wasn’t there, but we all know she was very polite and professional about it.

Mrs. Stubel, however…was not.

She flipped her chair and stormed out of the office, and locks herself in the seventh grade classroom. She started wrecking the shit out of that place, screaming obscenities and the top of her lungs, they had to call the cops on her! She was locked in there for almost an hour! And let me just give you a nice little list of everything she did in that classroom:

  • Smashed three windows.
  • Threw everything off her desk and carved swear words all over it.
  • Got cleaning fluid that she knew would damage the chalk boards, smeared it all over.
  • Cracked the chalk boards by repeatedly smashing chairs against them.
  • Wrote swear words all over the walls and on desks
  • Went into students desks, ripped up their books.
  • Stole my glasses. (which were in my desk bc I only used them in class at the time)
  • Threw some desks around.
  • Carved swear words into the boards. (there was so much carving I’m assuming she just had a knife on her person, which has to lead to the question, did she have a knife on her while she was in class with us?)
  • Physically ripped the hooks to hang backpacks on out of the wall.
  • Knocked the closet door off it’s hinges.
  • Ripped up all the books in the bookcases and threw their pages all around the room.
  • Wrote lewd phrases inside student’s desks.
  • Broke multiple chairs.
  • Used her podium as a battering ram against the wall that’s in front of where the backpacks go. (the wall won but Damage Was Inflicted)
  • Set a fire in the trash can.
  • When the principal and other teachers started trying to get in, she tossed her rolling chair at the door to scare them off.
  • She was screaming curse words at the top of her lungs the entire time, and cursing the school and the kids and the principal and the church in general, and the school building was small, so all the parents and the smaller children that had to come to the meetings (who were locked in their respective classrooms in fear) heard everything.
  • So much more? But it’s 4:30 in this morning and this list is already long.

So my mom is in the front office and deadass the

entire police force

shows up, running down the hallway to the classroom yelling at her to stop, and it takes a while for them to get her out holy shit. They knocked down the door and she tried to escape out of one of the broken windows! But they got her and dragged her out.

So of course, in such a small school with very involved parents this shit spread like wildfire. The entire town knew within the day. The poor principal called the newly retired old-seventh grade teacher and was like “So we…need some help” and the lady was like “I already heard I’ll be there Monday” omfg. I remember I got a text from one of my classmates saying “if your birthday wish was for us to be set free from the beast I love you” omfg.

So, we eventually go back to school on Monday and everyone’s buzzing. The principal has us go to the cafeteria and she ‘delicately’ explains the situation, and that the old teacher is coming out of retirement for us, the school has a restraining order against Mrs. Stubel now and that she’s sorry we had to deal with this mess. Our classroom had to go under some heavy reconstruction before we could be let back in there, so for like two weeks we alternated between the cafeteria and the preschooler’s classroom, we had no books or anything, just provided loose-leaf paper and pens. It was like, surreal, but everyone was just so happy to be rid of her and to be in the presence of a competent teacher omfg. We eventually were able to get back into our usual classroom.

  1. It took a while for things to go completely back to normal, though. After the big spectacle she made, for weeks after she was fired we were all very scared of the possibility of Mrs. Stubel returning to the school with a gun in hand. It was always a topic we whispered about at lunch with wide eyes and shivers. Like…genuine nightmare scenario.
  2. About two weeks after she was fired, a boy in the back of the classroom gasped loudly during SSR, and when we all looked at him, he whispered in anger “She never gave us our freakin’ strudels!”
  3. About three months after she was fired, we were lined up at the door to go to Library when a few of us looked through the windows and saw something darting through the trees. It was fast and we couldn’t make anything out, so we let it drop. When the class and teacher returned half and hour later, the book she had borrowed months before from one of the boys was sitting on his desk. It was just laying there, the room was silent, nothing had been disturbed…but I have never seen a book look so threatening. People were freaking out. Someone kept insisting that she turned the book into a bomb. No one figure out how she got in the school, and no one could figure out how she got it on the right desk, as we had switched the seating arrangement since she had last been there.  
  4. A full six months after she had left, it was nearing the end of the school year and our class was dicking around during our last computer class. Someone found a website (that we weren’t allowed to be on) that pulls up any police records attached to whoever’s name you enter, so someone decided to search Mrs. Stubel as a joke. We ended up finding out she had like six DUI’s.

Aaaaand that’s the story of the horrendous teacher I had for two months in 7th grade. One of my favorite party stories but tbh she still haunts me™ .

… I’m not sure this earns World’s Worst Teacher but it sure as hell earns World’s Most Bizarre Teacher. Good gods.

…Guys, I think she’s still teaching out there.

She might be in a classroom but this story is pretty definite that she’s not teaching anything.

nb-stuff:

emo420:

enderkevin13:

I want someone to explain to me this…

How are there more than just two genders?
How is it that gender is different from sex?
Why would you consider gender to be a social construct?
How is gender a spectrum?
Why do you feel the need to disassociate gender and sex when biologist have already proved that gender and sex are the same thing?

Personally speaking, I don’t understand why anyone would want to try and push gender identity shit down other people’s throats in the most radical way possible, but it’s fucking annoying as hell. To think that you know better than what biologist have studied for years makes me question your intelligence.

Here’s some food for thought people:

XX chromosomes = Female
XY chromosomes = Male

Penis = Male
Vagina = Female

Testosterone = Male
Estrogen + Progesterone = Female

Gender = Sex

Until you can come up with a reason as to why gender isn’t biological and why I’m a piece of shit for not believing your bullshit, then please stop trying to change around shit just because you hate to hear the opposing voice and accept the facts as they are.

This is an open response to those who believe in the multiple genders/gender spectrum bullshit.

oh boy, you’re in for a hell of a ride. and don’t worry, there will a TL;DR at the bottom of this post just in case you’re too lazy to read the evidence (that you specifically asked for, just saying) or are simply unwilling to have your ignorant worldview dismantled by actual concrete facts.

but first, let’s look into the social construction of the gender binary and gender itself. 

the narrow-minded idea that there are only two genders has been continuously debunked by biologists, psychologists, anthropologists, and doctors alike, first of all. second, gender and sex aren’t necessarily the same thing, but they are both the same in the sense that they are both social constructs made to describe natural phenomenon, not actually based in any scientific reality. much like the concept of species; it’s a
model, and no model is an actuality.

gender is only your sense of, and internal mental relationship to
masculinity, femininity, and androgyny, which can be expressed through words,
behavior, or clothes. in other words, it is simply an intimate and personal
sense of self in relation to gender, gender roles, and one’s physical body. it
does not actually have anything to do with biology—even less so than sex. suggesting your gender relies solely on your genitals is not only transphobic, but is also very
harmful for people who are intersex.
ultimately, your gender is in your head and it is mutually exclusive from your physical body. there is truly no
scientific, biological, or medical basis for any sort of binary system of
gender, and in fact the gender binary completely contradicts the laws of
natural human variation.

The Yogyakarta Principles on The Application of International Human Rights Law in Relation to Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity further elaborates on the definition of gender to be “each person’s deeply felt internal and individual experience
of gender, which may or may not correspond with the sex assigned at birth, including the personal
sense of the body (which may involve, if freely chosen, modification of bodily appearance or
function by medical, surgical or other means) and other expressions of gender, including dress,
speech and mannerisms.” the principle 3 of this document reads as follows: “A person of diverse sexual orientation and gender identities shall enjoy legal capacity in all aspects of life. Each person’s self-defined sexual orientation and gender identity is integral to their personality and is one of the most basic aspects of self-determination, dignity and freedom”.

citations from other works of
literature:

Judith Butler, Gender Trouble (1990)

– “If gender is the
cultural meanings that the sexed body assumes, then a gender cannot be said to
follow from a sex in any one way. Taken to its logical limit, the sex/gender
distinction suggests a radical discontinuity between sexed bodies and
culturally constructed genders. Assuming for the moment the stability of binary
sex, it does not follow that the construction of ‘men’ will accrue exclusively
to the bodies of males or that ‘women’ will interpret only female bodies.
Further, even if the sexes appear to be unproblematically binary in their
morphology and constitution (which will become a question), there is no reason
to assume that genders ought also to remain as two. The presumption of a binary
gender system implicitly retains the belief in a mimetic relation of gender to
sex whereby gender mirrors sex or is otherwise restricted by it. When the
constructed status of gender is theorized as radically independent of sex,
gender itself becomes a free-floating artifice, with the consequence that man
and masculine might just as easily signify a female body as a male one, and
woman and feminine a male body as easily as a female one.” (p.g. 10) 

Justin Clark,

“Understanding Gender”

 (2015) 

– “Western culture has
come to view gender as a binary concept, with two rigidly fixed options: male
or female, both grounded in a person’s physical anatomy. When a child is born,
a quick glance between the legs determines the gender label that the child will
carry for life. But even if gender is to be restricted to basic biology, a
binary concept still fails to capture the rich variation that exists. Rather
than just two distinct boxes, biological gender occurs across a continuum of
possibilities. This spectrum of anatomical variations by itself should be
enough to disregard the simplistic notions of a binary gender system. But
beyond anatomy, there are multiple domains defining gender. In turn, these
domains can be independently characterized across a range of possibilities.
Instead of the static, binary model produced through a solely physical
understanding of gender, a far richer tapestry of biology, gender expression,
and gender identity intersect in a multidimensional array of possibilities.
Quite simply, the gender spectrum represents a more nuanced, and ultimately
truly authentic model of human gender. (p.g. 1) 

– “Like other social
constructs, gender is closely monitored and reinforced by society. Practically
everything in society is assigned a gender—toys, colors, clothes and behaviors
are just some of the more obvious examples. Through a combination of social
conditioning and personal preference, by age three most children prefer
activities and exhibit behaviors typically associated with their sex. Accepted
social gender roles and expectations are so entrenched in our culture that most
people cannot imagine any other way. As a result, individuals fitting neatly
into these expectations rarely if ever question what gender really means. They
have never had to, because the system has worked for them.” (p.g. 1)

Gerald N. Callahan, Between XX and XY: Intersexuality and the Myth of Two Sexes (2009)

– “We understand that gender—the ways that society molds us into proper girls or boys, men or women—is complicated. Gender depends on lots of things—upbringing, culture,the stories fed to us by television and movies, hormones, and power struggles.” (p.g. x-xi)

– “…there is a naivete about the way we ignore the fact that some people don’t fit neatly into the either-or of gender. I believe that gender is rather a continuum than an either-or proposition.” (p.g. 108)

there are
no limitations on who you are, how you feel, or what identity you construct for
yourself, therefore people can and do construct more gender than the two traditional
ones, and all of them are valid. plus, the simple fact that some people don’t
identify as one of the two binary genders is proof that there are other
genders. if someone identifies are nonbinary, then nonbinary people exist. it’s
that simple. even if that’s just one person, it exists in society, ergo it is.

now this is a fun one; let’s move on to the social construction of “biological” sex. 

even if gender was the exact same thing as sex, neither would be a binary or a scientific absolute. while modern science measures “biological” sex by these 5 specific measures,

1. chromosomes (male:  XY, female: XX)
2. genitalia (male: penis, female: vulva and vagina)
3. gonads (male: testes, female: ovaries)
4. hormones (male: high testosterone, low estrogen, low progesterone; female: high estrogen, high progesterone, low testosterone)
5. secondary sex characteristics (male: large amounts of dark, thick, coarse body hair, noticeable facial hair, low waist to hip ratio, no noticeable breast development; female: fine, light colored body hair, no noticeable facial hair, high waist to hip ratio, noticeable breast development)

very few people actually match up with all five categories. estimates by the

Intersex Society of North America notes the frequency and prevalence of intersex conditions, and puts the total rate of human bodies that “differ from standard male or female” at one in 100, while biologist Anne Fausto-Sterling estimates this number to be around 1.7%. both of these estimates are somewhat outdated, so the actual number of intersex people in the world may be much higher.

humans naturally fall along a wide spectrum of variation; it’s a normal and expected biological occurrence. in fact, the more we study sex, the more we discover that reality does not fit the narrative. our estimates of how many people have chromosomes that don’t fit in the XX=female/XY=male binary continue to grow as we actually test people’s chromosomes more often (esp. since most people don’t actually know what their chromosomes are).

there are lots of people out there with XY chromosomes, testes, a vulva, a vagina, female secondary sex characteristics, and female hormone patterns; there are people with XX chromosomes, testes, a penis, male secondary characteristics and male hormone patterns; and there people with both male and female secondary sex characteristics or hormone patterns at the same time, regardless of their genes, gonads, or genitalia. these people are technically intersex assuming that the two sex system is absolutely true. however, in order for the binary to even be considered real, every single person on earth must completely match up on all 5 markers of sex, all the time. that’s not what happens in real life. in real life, there are literally tens of millions of people whose very existence defies the socially constructed concept of a two sex system.

there is no immediately obvious way to settle what sex amounts to purely biologically or scientifically. deciding what sex is involves evaluative judgments that are influenced by social factors. in actuality, the only thing in your body that has a “biological sex” in any real sense is your gametes, which 1) some people don’t even produce, 2) which your body can easily stop producing, and 3) which are a very minuscule part of the rest of your body. the rest of your body, including your genitals, has no “biological sex” at all.

moreover, as far as medical issues are
concerned, treating common correlations as discrete categories is very harmful
to people who don’t fit in those categories. modern medicine acknowledges that chromosomal
sex, gonadal sex, hormonal sex, morphological sex, and behavioral sex
(extensive overlap with but not the same as gender and/or gender role) are
different and need to be considered differently under different circumstances. no one thing is biological sex. there is no reason for a male/female binary of
it; not only is it intersexist and transphobic, but it’s just bad science.

citations from other works of literature:

Anne Fausto-Sterling, Sexing the Body: Gender Politics and the
Construction of Sexuality
(2000)

– “We stand now at a
fork in the road. To the right we can walk toward reaffirmation of the
naturalness of the number 2 and continue to develop new medical technology,
including gene ‘therapy’ and new prenatal interventions to ensure the birth of
only two sexes. To the left, we can hike up the hill of natural and cultural
variability. Traditionally, in European and American culture we have defined
two genders, each with a range of permissible behaviors; but things have begun
to change. There are househusbands and women fighter pilots. There are feminine
lesbians and gay men both buff and butch. [Transgender people] render the sex/gender divide virtually unintelligible.” (p.g. 101)

–  “Because of their
loyalty to a two-gender system, some scientists resisted the implications of
new experiments that produced increasingly contradictory evidence about the
uniqueness of male and female hormones. Frank, for example, puzzling at his
ability to isolate female hormone from ‘the bodies of males whose masculine
characteristics and ability to impregnate females is unquestioned,’ finally
decided that the answer lay in contrary hormones found in the bile.” (p.g. 191)

– “…not everyone responded to the new results by trying to fit
them into the dominant gender system. Parkes, for example, acknowledged the
finding of androgen and estrogen production by the adrenal glands as ‘a final
blow to any clear-cut idea of sexuality.’ Others wondered about the very
concept of sex. In a review of the 1932 edition of Sex and Internal Secretions, the British endocrinologist F. A. E. Crew
went even further, asking ‘Is sex imaginary?… It is the case,’ he wrote, ‘that
the philosophical basis of modern sex research has always been extraordinarily
poor, and it can be said that the American workers have done more than the rest
of us in destroying the faith in the existence of the very thing that we
attempt to analyze.’” (p.g. 191-192) 

Penelope Eckert  and Sally McConnell-Ginet, Language and Gender (Second Edition) (2013) 

– “People tend to think of
gender as the result of nurture—as social and hence fluid—while sex is the
result of nature, simply given by biology. However, nature and nurture
intertwine, and there is no obvious point at which sex leaves off and gender
begins. But the sharp demarcation fails because there is no single objective
biological criterion for male or female sex. Sex is based in a combination of
anatomical, endocrinal and chromosomal features, and the selection among these
criteria for sex assignment is based very much on cultural beliefs about what
actually makes someone male or female. Thus the very definition of the
biological categories male and female, and people’s understanding of themselves
and others as male or female, is ultimately social. Anne Fausto-Sterling (2000)
sums up the situation as follows:  

labeling someone a man or a woman is a social decision. We may use
scientific knowledge to help us make the decision, but only our beliefs about
gender – not science – can define our sex. Furthermore, our beliefs about
gender affect what kinds of knowledge scientists produce about sex in the first
place. (p. 3)
 

Biology offers up
dichotomous male and female prototypes, but it also offers us many individuals
who do not fit those prototypes in a variety of ways. Blackless et al. (2000) estimate that 1 in 100 babies are born with
bodies that differ in some way from standard male or female. These bodies may
have such conditions as unusual chromosomal makeup (e.g., 1 in 1,000 male
babies are born with two X chromosomes as well as a Y, hormonal differences
such as insensitivity to androgens (1 in 13,000 births), or a range of
configurations and combinations of genitals and reproductive organs. The
attribution of intersex does not end at birth–for example, 1 in 66 girls
experience growth of the clitoris in childhood or adolescence (known as late
onset adrenal hyperplasia).” (p.g. 2) 

 Sarah Richardson, “Sexing the X: How the X Became the ‘Female Chromosome’” (2012)

– “…the human X
chromosome carries a large collection of male sperm genes.” (p.g. 909)

– “Currently, there is a
broad popular, scientific, and medical conception of the X chromosome as the
mediator of the differences between males and females, as the carrier of
female-specific traits, or otherwise as a substrate of femaleness… associations
between the X and femaleness are the accumulated product of contingent
historical and material processes and events, and they are inflected by beliefs
rooted in gender ideology.” (p.g. 927) 

Gerald N. Callahan, Between XX and XY: Intersexuality and the Myth of Two Sexes (2009)

– “In truth, humans come in an amazing number of forms, because human development, including human sexual development, is not an either/or proposition. Instead, between “either” and “or” there is an entire spectrum of possibilities. Some people come into this world with a vagina and testes. Others begin their lives as girls but at puberty become boys. Though we’ve been told that Y chromosomes make boys, there are women in this world with Y chromosomes, and there are men without Y chromosomes. Beyond that, there are people who have only a single unpaired X chromosome. There are also people who are XXY, XXXY, or XXXXY…There are babies born with XYY, XXX, or any of a dozen or more other known variations involving X or Y chromosomes. We humans are a diverse lot.” (p.g. xi-xii)

– “Nondisjunction can happen with any chromosome, including the sex chromosomes X and Y. A single sperm or egg may end up with two, three, or more X chromosomes, and a single sperm may hold more than one Y chromosome. In truth, sperm and eggs come in variety packs. If that alone isn’t enough to derail the simple XX/XY, female/male idea, a mystery known as anaphase lag can also cause developing sperm or ova to lose an X or a Y chromosome along the way. And even after fertilization, sex chromosomes can be lost or gained. And even among men with the normal 46,XY karyotype, the size of the Y chromosome can vary. That means that my Y chromosome might be three times the size of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Y chromosome. Here certainly, quantity matters; perhaps size does as well. The end product is a panoply of possible sexes by any definition, an array of human beings as grand and as varietal as the fragrances of flowers: 45,X; 47,XXX; 48,XXXX; 49,XXXXX; 47,XYY; 47,XXY; 48,XXXY; 49,XXXXY; and 49,XXXYY.” (p.g. 62)

– “Intersex people are not a few freakish, unfortunate outliers. They are instead the most complete demonstration of our humanity… We, as a society, are very hard on people who don’t fit out preconceptions, especially our preconceptions about sex. What intersex people have shown us is the truth about all of us. There are infinite chemical and cellular pathways to becoming human. […] Sex isn’t a switch we can easily flip between two poles. Between those two imaginary poles lies an infinite number of possibilities.” (p.g. 163)

 Anonymous Author, “The Problematic Ideology of Natural Sex” (2016)

– “Around the world, over the past four or five hundred years,
people have been cajoled, threatened, beaten, imprisoned,
locked in mental hospitals, put in the stocks, publicly humiliated, mutilated,
and burnt at the stake for violating one or more of the precepts of ‘[Biological] Sex.’ That’s the sure sign of enforced ideology, not a true natural law.” 

 Courtney Adison, “Human Sex is Not Simply Male or Female. So What?” (2016) 

– “While these gendered
binaries play out in social life in reasonably clear ways, they also seep into
places conventionally seen as immune to bias. For example, they permeate sex
science. In her paper ‘The Egg and the Sperm’ (1991), the anthropologist Emily
Martin reported on the ‘scientific fairy tale’ of reproductive biology.
Searching textbooks and journal articles, she found countless descriptions of
sperm as active, independent, strong and powerful, produced by the male body in
troves; eggs, in contrast, were framed as large and receptive, their actions
reported in the passive voice, and their fate left to the sperm they might or
might not encounter. Representations in this vein persisted even after the
discovery that sperm produce very little forward thrust, and in fact attach to
eggs through a mutual process of molecular binding. Martin’s point? That
scientific knowledge is produced in culturally patterned ways and, for
Euro-American scientists, gendered assumptions make up a large part of this
patterning.”

– “In Gender Trouble (1990), the feminist theorist Judith Butler argues that the insistence on sex as a natural category is itself evidence of its very unnaturalness. While the notion of gender as constructed (through interaction, socialisation and so on) was gaining some acceptance at this time, Butler’s point was that sex as well as gender was being culturally produced all along. It comes as no surprise to those familiar with Butler, Martin and the likes, that recent scientific findings suggest that sex is in fact non-binary. Attempts to cling to the binary view of sex now look like stubborn resistance to a changing paradigm. In her survey paper ‘Sex Redefined’ (2015) in Nature, Claire Ainsworth identified numerous cases supporting the biological claim that sex is far from binary, and is best seen as a spectrum. The most remarkable example was that of a 70-year-old father of four who went into the operating room for routine surgery only for his surgeon to discover that he had a womb.”

– “Looking to other
times and to other cultures, we are reminded that sex is to some degree
produced through the assumptions we make about each other and our bodies.
Modern science is moving towards consensus on sex as a spectrum rather than a
simple male/female binary, and it is time to start casting around for new ways
of thinking about this fundamental aspect of what we are. Historical and
anthropological studies provide a rich resource for re-imagining sex, reminding
us that the sex spectrum itself is rooted in Euro-Western views of the person
and body, and inviting critical engagement with our most basic biological
assumptions.”

 Asia Friedman, Blind to Sameness: Sexpectations and the
Social Construction of Male and Female Bodies
(2013)

– “Thomas Laqueur argues
that in the past, specifically prior to the 19th Century, male and female
bodies were seen very differently than they are today. They were perceived as
more similar than different, and instead of two sexes, there were just two
variations of one sex. Laqueur further demonstrates that the shift in
perception to seeing the sexes as two categorically different things was not
the result of gaining more scientific knowledge, since many of the relevant
discoveries were actually made after the fact… So the question for Laqueur is,
if it was not due to advances in specific scientific knowledge of sex differences,
what was responsible for that shift from seeing one to seeing two sexes? And
his answer is essentially cultural change. He argues that sex or the body is
the epiphenomenon, while gender, what we would normally take to be the cultural
category, is what is primary. Marian Lowe makes a similar point when she argues
that ‘if race, sex, and class were not politically and economically significant
categories it is likely that no one would care very much about biological
differences between members of these groups. To pay attention to the study of
sex differences would be rather peculiar in a society where their political
importance was small.’” (p.g. 45-46) 

– “Further, regarding chromosomes,
keep in mind that XX and XY are 50% the same, and the egg and the sperm
actually have the same sex chromosomes every time both contribute an “X” to
make a female. Sarah Richardson offers a much more scientifically precise
version of the same fundamental argument in her critique of recent accounts
claiming significant genetic variation between males and females. 

Sex differences in the genome are
very, very small: of 20,000 to 30,000 genes, marked sex differences are evident
in perhaps half a dozen genes on the X and Y chromosome, and, it is
hypothesized, a smattering of differently expressed genes across the autosomes…
In DNA sequence and structure, sex differences are localized to the X and Y
chromosomes. Males and females share 99.9 percent sequence identity on the 22
autosome pairs and the X, and the handful of genes on the Y are highly specific
to male testes development. Thinking of males and females as having different
genomes exaggerates the amount of difference between them, giving the
impression that there are systematic and even law-like differences distributed
across the genomes of males and females, and playing into a traditional
gender-ideological view of sex differences. (Richardson, Forthcoming: 8-9) 

The essential point is
this: Males and females are much more genetically similar than different.” (p.g. 206)

basically, “biological sex”
is just as biased, unscientific, and subjective as the concept of gender is,
and to base sex or
gender on chromosomes or genitals or some other arbitrary feature is to ignore
and marginalize the truth. there are millions of people who have
different genitalia or lack them all together, individuals who are infertile,
people with differing karyotypes (i.e. XXY, XXX, XYY, X, etc) or chimerism (a
body where some cells are of one karyotype and others are of another), and
there are people with all kinds of secondary sex features or
genetic/epigenetic/biological conditions. these are all normal, natural
variations of the human body that aren’t inherently connected to each other. to
say sex or gender is defined by any of these features is erasive, intersexist,
transphobic, and entirely contrary to what actual scientists, biologists, and geneticists have been saying for decades.

not to mention, the idea of a gender binary is a very, very recent concept solely rooted in colonialism and racism, not science.

in fact, the idea of third and nonbinary genders is as old as human civilization. (the list below is a very VERY brief history of nonbinarism):

§ 2000 BCE: in mesopotamian mythology, among the earliest written records, there are references to types of people who are neither men nor women. in a sumerian creation myth found on a stone tablet from the 2000 bce, the goddess ninmah fashions a being “with no male organ and no female organ”, for whom enki finds a position in society: “to stand before the king".

§ 1800 BCE: inscribed pottery shards from the middle kingdom of egypt, found near ancient thebes, list three human genders: tai (male), sḫt (“sekhet”) and hmt (female).

§ 385-380 BCE: aristophanes, a comic playwright, tells a story of creation in which “original human nature” includes a third sex. this sex “was a distinct kind, with a bodily shape and a name of its own, constituted by the union of the male and the female: but now only the word ‘androgynous’ is preserved.”

§ 77 BCE: genucius, a roman slave is denied inheritance on the grounds, according to art historian lynn roller, of being “neither a man nor a woman.” he is “not even allowed to plead his own case, lest the court be polluted by his obscene presence and corrupt voice.”

§ 1871: british administrators pass the criminal tribes act in india, effectively outlawing the country’s hijras—a community that includes intersex people, trans people, and even cross-dressers. celebrated in sacred indian texts, hijras had long been part of south asian cultures, but colonial authorities viewed them as violating the social order.

§ 1970: mexians in oaxaca state establish vela de las intrepidas (vigil of the intrepids), a festival celebrating ambiguous gender identities. the zapotec culture embraces a third-gender population called muxes. muxes trace back to pre-columbian times, when there were “cross-dressing aztec priests and mayan gods who were male and female at the same time”.

§ 2014: india’s supreme court recognizes the right of people, including hijras, to identify as third-gender. the court states, “it is the right of every human being to choose their gender.”

the idea of third and nonbinary genders is as old as human civilization, because gender is socially constructed and therefore subjective. thus, people’s ideas about gender have changed over time and between cultures, and continue to change. 

this binary gender system of ours is comparatively very new, and has been
forced upon the rest of the world by white europeans in destructive and
violent invasion, genocide, and complete appropriation and destruction of the original cultures
of each land. really, it is the binary system that is unnatural. multiple genders have always existed in this world. and despite the best attempt of european colonialists, they continue to exist today, indicating that it is part of human nature to not fit in a neat binary and instead have multiple genders. 

even within the united states, multiple native american tribes have a system that includes up to six distinct gender categories.

multiple countries and cultures around the world have either three or more genders officially recognized, or no genders recognized at all. plus, there are also many completely gender-neutral languages, where gendered pronouns and/or gendered categories don’t exist whatsoever.

citations from other works of literature:


Maria Lugones, “Heterosexualism and the Colonial /Modern Gender System” (2007)

– “…gender itself is a colonial introduction, a violent
introduction consistently and contemporarily used to destroy peopks,
cosmologies, and communities as the building ground of the ‘civilized’ West.”
(p.g. 186)

– “As global, Eurocentered capitalism
was constituted through colonization, gender differentials were introduced
where there were none. Oyeronkk Oyewhmi has shown us that the oppressive gender
system that was imposed on Yoruba society did a lot more than transform the
organization of reproduction… many Native American tribes
were matriarchal, recognized more than two genders, recognized ‘third’
gendering and homosexuality positively, and understood gender in egalitarian
terms rather than in the terms of subordination that Eurocentered capitalism
imposed on them. Gunn’s work has enabled us to see that the scope of the gender
differentials was much more encompassing and it did not rest on biology.”
(p.g. 196)

Gerald N. Callahan, Between XX and XY: Intersexuality and the Myth of Two Sexes (2009) 

– “

Like Hinduism, many other religious traditions speak of deities and humans who are neither men nor women, including the androgyny of the Judeo-Christian Adam. But those are very old stories that have passed through many hands. Much may have changed or been lost in translation. A better way to test the foundations of the two-sex mythology would be to look at the peoples of our modern world and see if such beliefs are universal among human societies. Do people raised with different worldviews see the sexes differently? The answer is an emphatic yes.” (p.g. 144)

 Justin Clark, “Understanding
Gender” (2015)
 

– “This diversity of gender is a normal
part of the human experience, across cultures and throughout history. Non-binary gender diversity exists all
overthe world, documented by countless historians and anthropologists. Examples
of individuals living comfortably outside of typical male/female expectations
and/or identities are found in every region of the globe. The calabai, and
calalaiof Indonesia, two-­spirit Native Americans,
and the hijra of India all represent more complex understandings of gender than
allowed for by a simplistic binary model.” (p.g. 2) 

• Phoenix Singer, “Colonialism, Two-Spirit Identity, and the Logics of White Supremacy” 

– “Colonialism as practiced by Western
culture is used to erase traditional non-binary roles of gender orientation and
systems of sexuality, i.e. the Two-Spirit. Identifying as Two-Spirit becomes
not just a traditional way of expressing Indigenous beliefs of gender
orientation and sexuality but a political identity in resistance of
colonialism. Through the use of inherently violent, assimilative measures,
these traditions of the Two-Spirit in Indigenous societies are lost in many of
our communities and are replaced by the Western gender binary and spectrum of
sexual orientation. As this paper will show, this plays into the colonialist
logic of white supremacy and how it relates to the Indigenous body, colonizing
Two-Spirit identity.” (p.g. 1)

– “When Europeans came to Turtle
Island, much of their culture, their ideals, their beliefs and institutions
came with them through the continued centuries of settler-colonialism. Building
their own nation upon this land, they were able to more permanently construct
and impose their culture upon others. The Western colonization of the Americas
brought forth many institutions which sought to erase and displace Indigenous
cultural traditions and beliefs. Through the use of violence, forced
assimilation, demonization of Indigenous beliefs and then appropriation of
Indigenous culture, the subjugation of Native sexuality and gender roles have
continued unquestioned in the minds of the settler and of our own people. It
can be said and will be shown, that the Western binary is a system of
oppression and repression and is actively a form of institutional violence
against the Two-Spirit. This is all connected to the idea of white supremacy
and domination over Indigenous bodies and beliefs, of colonization of our very
selves. Thus an analysis of colonization and white supremacy is not complete
without an approach towards Two-Spirit identity in our own communities.” (p.g.
1-2)

– “Before
the colonization of this land, there were as many as six traditional gender
orientation roles among numerous tribes. However, due to boarding schools erasing
these traditions […] the Christianized related the existence of the Two-Spirit
as sin… The Western Gender Binary is thus superimposed upon all cultures and
their histories seen through the gaze of not only male dominance but a
male/female paradigm that does not account for the existence of third, fourth,
fifth and even more varieties of non-male/female expressions and identities. The Western Gender Binary does not see the Two-Spirit, the Western Gender
Binary only sees a Man acting in ‘Unmanly’ ways or a Woman acting in
‘Unwomanly’ ways… As part of the settler mentality, we can see these actions as
colonial violence against the Two-Spirit and are also the results of genocide.
To reiterate previous statements, the Western gender binary is a form of
superimposed and universalized colonialism upon Indigenous bodies and minds.”
(p.g. 5-6)

Anonymous Author, “The Problematic Ideology of Natural Sex” (2016)

– “…we have ignorance of the long and violent history of the imposition of the Ideology of Natural Sex under European colonialism. The genius behind framing an ideology as ‘natural’ is that its history erases itself. Why would anyone study the history of something natural and eternal? We don’t study the history of covalent bonds in chemistry or cumulus clouds in meteorology.  And so we don’t study the spread of European binary sex ideology under colonialism. If you do, you’ll find that all over the world before European colonialism there were societies recognizing three, four, or more sexes and allowing people to move between them—but that’s a subject for another post. Suffice it to say that societies were violently restructured under European colonialism in many ways, and one of those was the stamping out of nonbinary gender categories and stigmatization of those occupying them as perverts.” 

to say
that nonbinary genders don’t exist would not only be historically and scientifically incorrect, but it would also be saying that the cultural traditions
of hundreds of cultures are invalid, it would be ignoring millennia of history,
and it would be insisting that only the white european standard of gender,
which was used to justify colonialism and was forced onto indigenous people via
genocide and forced assimilation, is “correct”. trying to enforce western
concepts of gender on other cultures is an act of racism and imperialism, and
presumes that one group somehow knows more about the human condition, which is,
on all levels, factually as well as historically and ethnically wrong.

TL;DR: 

neither gender nor “biological” sex is innate or binary, and the vast majority of biologists, scientists, doctors, psychologists, historians and anthropologists have been debunking these ignorant claims for decades and proving that both of these concepts are socially constructed. and since gender is completely subjective, nonbinary genders have existed since the dawn of human civilization, even dating back to mesopotamia, the VERY FIRST human society, at that. there are many countries today where there are officially more than two genders recognized, and there are multiple languages that are entirely gender-neutral. the gender binary itself is an entirely european theory based on a complete lack of understanding of science, and was only recently forced on the world via colonialism and genocide. saying that nonbinary genders aren’t real is an act of transphobia, racism, and imperialism, and is the same as saying that thousands of cultures around the world, millions of personal experiences, and entire societal structures throughout history are not real, which is not only dehumanizing, but makes no sense. it is literally part of human nature and basic natural variation to not fit into oversimplified binary categories.

but you know, curse those special snowflakes, or whatever.

EDIT: this is the final UPDATED version of my original response, please reblog this edited version of my post instead if you’ve already reblogged (any of) my previous/original version(s).

I try not to reblog many things but this is amazing