I could talk about the PE teacher in my town who was asked to resign due to his harassment of female students, who was then hired as a school bus driver for a rural route with both primary and high school students. I could talk about how, from the age of seven, I refused to wear skirts or dresses, and from the time I entered high school at 10 to when I moved at 16 I always wore bike shorts or CCC shorts under my dress, because he was not particularly subtle about the way he looked at us – and those bus steps are high. I could talk about how this was common knowledge and was never denied by any authority figure we ever raised it with, but rather we were just kind of brushed off. I could talk about how, sometimes, I was the last person on my bus in the afternoon and I was never quite sure if something bad would happen to me, even though for a long time I probably couldn’t have articulated what it was that I feared.
I could talk about how I spent ten years of my childhood believing it was perfectly normal and acceptable for a seven year old child to stop wearing her favourite clothes because a grown man she relies on to get to and from school from a relatively remote location gets a thrill from looking up her skirt.
I could talk about the art teacher at my high school who used to run his hands up and down our backs, right along the spot where your bra sits. Considering most of us were fairly new to wearing bras in the first place, this was a decidedly uncomfortable experience. I could talk about how he used to get just a little too close for comfort in the supply room. Nothing overt, nothing nameable – just enough to make you drag someone else along with you if you needed a fresh piece of paper or you ran out of ink. I could talk about how the odd comment or complaint that was made was completely handwaved, that we were told to be very careful about what we were saying, that we could get someone in a lot of trouble by “starting those kinds of rumours”, and did we really want to be responsible for that?
I could talk about the first time I was made to feel ashamed of my body, at twelve or thirteen, getting into a water fight with my stepfather and uncle in the height of summer. I could talk about my grandmother completely flipping out, talking about how disgusting it was, how grown men should be ashamed of the way they were behaving with a girl. I could talk about how she then spent the next few hours trying to convince me I was being somehow victimised, while I was mostly confused about what had taken place – it took me a long time to work it out. I could talk about the unvoiced but ever-present fear for months afterwards that my grandma would bring it up again, that she would bring it up in the wrong place or to the wrong people and that my uncle, a schoolteacher, would suffer for it.
I could talk about how that destroyed what had been a fantastic relationship with my uncle, and how, ten years later, he still won’t hug me at Christmas.
I could talk about being called a frigid bitch and a slut in the same breath in high school. I could talk about multiple instances of sitting in a big group of friends, hearing someone trying to get into someone else’s pants, starting off sweet enough but quickly descending into emotional manipulation and thinly veiled abuse. I could talk about the time I went off with someone willingly enough and being followed by someone I considered a friend, someone who would not leave no matter how many times I said “no”, who only went away when the person I was with said that he “didn’t feel like sharing”.
I could talk about the family friend who always made me feel a little bit off for no discernible reason. The one who if I was left alone in the room with him, I would always find an excuse to leave. The one time I expressed this, I was told I was being a drama queen, and that I needed to grow up and stop being so precious, that one day I was going to have to deal with people I didn’t like and I might as well get used to it. I could talk about how he never did anything untoward, never gave me any specific reason to feel unsafe – but years after I last saw him, when he was found guilty of four historical sexual assault charges, one of rape and three of indecent assault on girls under twelve, I was, for reasons I still don’t entirely understand, completely unsurprised.
I could talk about my boyfriend justifying his rape of me with “you could have fought me off if you really wanted you, you slut”. I could talk about how, when I tried to tell people, I was told I was being a nasty, spiteful, vindictive bitch. I could talk about how selfish it was of me to say such things, that he’d overcome such a hard life and was going to go on and make something of himself, who the hell was I to try and stand in his way?
I could talk about how my response to being raped was to sleep with anyone and everyone because I rationalised that if I never said no, then no one could force me. I could talk about how I have been told time and time again, by people who should know better, that this is a sign that I wasn’t really raped at all.
I could talk about how, when I finally worked up the courage to make a formal complaint of sexual harassment against my boss, I was asked why I had let it continue for so long, and what I had done to make him think his behaviour would be welcomed.
I could talk about how when a much later boss got me completely wasted at my leaving party, to the point where I couldn’t walk, and fucked me in a back alley, he waited until I was sober the next morning to tell me that he had a pregnant wife, because he heard through the grapevine that I was very strict about not sleeping with married people or straight women, and he thought I should “learn my place” and realise that I’m “not such a high and mighty bitch with a moral high ground after all”.
I could talk about these things, but I very rarely do. Since I was seven years old, I have been told that my body is not my own, that my consent is not my own, that my feelings of discomfort are not my own. I have taught myself to suppress my gut instinct upon meeting people. I have been taught to smile, to be polite, to suck it up if I feel unsafe. When I complain, I have been told I’m being irrational, oversensitive, and selfish. The underlying message is, how dare I try and ascertain any kind of control over my own body?
I should talk about it. But I don’t actually know whether I can.
(Note: While this post discusses the recent doxxing of a well-known member of the Welcome To Night Vale fandom, I will not be using her real name at any point. While the name is undoubtedly known to many people, I nonetheless ask anyone reblogging or commenting on…
Reblogging because this is *really important*, and some good commentary has been added since I previously posted it. Please, even with the best of intentions regarding social justice, don’t irresponsibly cause real-life harm by revealing the identities of pseudonymous fans/writers/authors — this is the kind of thing that can follow people around permanently, personally and professionally.
If you believe that someone has committed a crime or is at risk of causing harm to someone vulnerable (or to themselves), the right person to be contacting is the appropriate authorities. It is NEVER the right, or the responsibility, of fandom to carry on witch-hunts that involve outing other people’s online identity — not only are you likely damaging their reputation in a way that may not be recoverable, but you may also endanger their personal safety in ways that you might not have anticipated.
Particularly when, as in this case, many people passed on the allegations without confirming their truth — while one person may have objected to the author’s writings, that does not mean that the author is in the wrong for having written the fics in question (particularly since fic can be cathartic, can be a safe way to work out personal issues, or can involve fantasies that are intended to be shared with others who may share them — that’s what the content tags are *for*, so that people who will be triggered or do not wish to read material of a certain nature can avoid it.) And, as it turns out, the tags were deceptive — the content of the fic was not exploitative, but the excerpted tags *alone*, without context, appeared to be damning.
And this is why it is *incredibly* wrong and irresponsible to go off half-cocked and spread rumors without verifying their truth, particularly when they involve doxxing someone’s fandom identity in an extremely damaging and distorted fashion.
(Quite seriously, having worked in positions where I needed background checks and fingerprinting to do volunteer work with abused children, as well as having professionally worked with children, something like this coming up in a Google search could have barred me from jobs and gotten me blacklisted — not to mention that throwing someone’s legal name around in connection with the words “underage rape porn” is the kind of thing that can get them investigated, can cause them to lose custody of their children, or can cause someone to assault them with the belief that they are administering vigilante justice to a child abuser.)
Shining light on injustice, calling out terrible behavior, speaking out about bigotry and discrimination — those are worthy tasks, and I applaud them.
But, in your zeal, please remember that it is *crucial* to verify the truth of any allegations that you attach someone’s real name to (and, frankly, any serious allegations deserve to be checked out personally rather than simply repeating the words of others without critically examining them for factual accuracy), because the harm done in situations like these cannot be undone by the simple deletion of an accusing post — the harm done to a real person by the actions of the original accuser, and by everyone who reblogged that post and passed on the allegations, is permanent and irrevocable.
Arizona inmate Joseph Wood died some two hours after the start of his execution Wednesday, his attorney said, describing what happened as “bungled.”
I’m not a proponent of capital punishment by ANY MEANS but it BLOWS MY FUCKING MIND that the states (the providers of the drugs, really) that continue to do this haven’t fucking perfected a pharmaceutical cocktail.
YouTube comments aren’t “just the Internet.” They’re not the product of a group of otherwise nice guys who suddenly become evil when they wear a veil of anonymity. YouTube comments are actually a nightmarish glimpse into the sexist attitudes that define the fabric of our own existence in the “real world,” a world that, like YouTube, is owned and dominated by men. The most terrifying gift that the Internet has given us is that it’s shown us how men honestly perceive the world: as a place where women exist exclusively for their sexual pleasure.
In the wake of VidCon, and as more and more women start speaking up about the harassment they face online, it’s time to start realizing that our narrative of progress is deeply flawed. Things aren’t getting better for women on the Internet; they’re deteriorating and ignoring the problem amounts to being complicit in it.
“The average prison sentence of men who kill their women partners is 2 to 6 years. Women who kill their male partners are sentenced on average to 15 years. This is despite the fact that 86% of female offenders kill in self-defense, while males are most likely to kill out of possessiveness (82%), abuse (75%) and during arguments (63%). Women are eight times more likely than men to be killed by an intimate partner.”—
Tumblr user pyroluminescence is a rapist and manipulative abuser. Avoid him at all costs.
He is known to and has,:
coerced people into kissing him
coerced people into having sex with him
molested someone at an anime convention before
feigned illness to get his own way
give people ‘gifts’ with the intention of taking them back eventually, and has gone to extreme lengths to get these ‘gifts’ back, such as making threatening callout posts, lying about how these ‘gifts’ were stolen from him and were only meant to be borrowed.
purposely distanced people from each other to get closer to them and be the ‘better’ friend.
In my personal experience, when I had told him I had no interest in kissing him ever, he continued to push at it and say things to me like “it’s in cosplay it doesn’t count,” and “i’m so turned on right now, i want to fap.” (these are approximations and not exact wording because this was a long time ago and i do not have the best memory.) Also, he only paid these inappropriate attentions to me when I started losing weight/started to be more physically appealing.
He goes by Pyro but his real name is Keegan Robinson. He is currently 21 years old and about 5’8”. He has a tall, slender build. He lives in Northern New Hampshire and is known to frequent the following New England conventions:
Another Anime Convention (Manchester, NH)
Queen City Kamikaze (Manchester, NH)
Possibly Ota and Katsu
Current known fandoms and cosplays:
Pokemon (Red, Rosa)
Dangon Ronpa (Naegi, Hinata)
FMA (Ed, Roy)
Also, if you follow him, you know he has posted a lot about an ex he abused and calls himself their abuser and references them as their “survivor.” They have asked him to stop posting about them on multiple occasions and he never follows through, there have also been multiple times where he’s contacted them against their will, as they had requested him to never contact them again.
Please feel free to reblog this and add on any additional information/warnings/personal stories to this. If you want to but feel uncomfortable having a name put to it, you may contact me, and I will add your story, free of your name and any connections to you.
Please stay safe and avoid this boy. He doesn’t belong at anime conventions. He is not safe.
What’s a post without receipts?
He’s also plum full of lying:
Interesting, seeing as he’s admitted to using IP trackers to friends of his in the past (and they’ve told me). To the point where they outright fear lurking on his blog when they’re in his crosshairs. Not to mention he constantly seems to know who anons him:
He’s bragged to having over 1000 followers and any one of them could send such a message. How does he seem to know who it is? The exception is when he doesn’t know which computer/IP address he’s looking for. Calling it ‘creepy’ he’ll try to do, but when he drags people’s names through the mud at the slightest infraction, one deserves to know what he’s saying publicly about them.
I know multiple people who are afraid to cut ties with him because of the fallout it will cause. He doesn’t let people out of his web quietly.
Ignoring the racist comments he’s made IRL to his ex. We have more subtle, sally-esque versions.
I like to call this “I dated a latino/have a black friend, so I know the struggle”. He backs it up with the whole “I’m gonna change” argument, but, he really hasn’t changed other than taking a huge dose of Tumblr white guilt.
Add that to some subtle segregationalism under the guise of “protecting” his friend:
I’m not going to speak for Asher’s experience because I have no right to. However, implying that two cultures would be better off 100% separate from each other is the exact same rhetoric employed by the KKK. It’s that ignorance of culture that spawns racism and hate. Piss stands for this in the only way a sally could.
A list of other shit:
- He’s also a bone fide pedophile, and yes, I’ll kink shame the fuck out of pedophiliac ships if you use them to make others uncomfortable. Especially when that ship is a creepy rendition of Red/Giovanni, and when expressly asked to NOT talk about that ship in front of a friend of his ex’s, he continued as if it was funny.
- Pulls that “multiple” condition BS/self-diagnoses himself with mental illnesses which is severely damaging to the communities and people who actually suffer with the diseases. What makes it worse is that he turns around and stands on a soapbox for the sick community, using these undiagnosed problems as his weapon.
- Pretends his shit Denny’s diet is IBS.
- Touches people without consent (me), even when he knows they don’t like to be touched (even in a platonic way).
It’s always about him.
Above is related to other posts said about him. He LOVES to buy affection with gifts and then use that leverage to get favors out of you. The best is if you sever ties with him after the fact, he will try his damndest to take back what he gifted you. You know, like a good friend would. I also love that he views his gifting as an act of charity to those less fortunate than himself (once again, to bring it back to him).
I got more.
That last receipt is about me. The minute he realized I no longer wanted him in my life he started making up stories about the gifts he gave me.
Also a receipt for that.
There’s more to it, like how he permanently took back a birthday gift he had given me previously and decided I didn’t need it anymore since he was giving me a 3DS instead.
Also the pronoun thing is bullshit. I know for a fact that he yelled at several of our mutual friends for using ‘they’ pronouns for me (my preferred pronouns) and insisted that my pronouns were ‘he.’ He hadn’t had any communication with me in months at this point.
“Well, once you make it ten, then why would you draw the line at ten? What’s wrong with nine? Or eleven? And the problem is once you draw that limit; it’s kind of like marriage when you say it’s not a man and a woman any more, then why not have three men and one woman, or four women and one man, or why not, somebody has a love for an animal?”—
That’s actual member of Congress Louie Gohmert explaining his opposition to a ban on high-capacity magazines.
As a wise man once said: Ask not what you can do country, ask why not somebody has a love for an animal.