In the quiet, dimly-lit corners of a notorious online forum, where frustration brewed and self-pity festered, two names
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Archived from the IMDb Discussion Forums — The Soapbox
Elle — 1 year ago(November 05, 2024 03:10 AM)
In the quiet, dimly-lit corners of a notorious online forum, where frustration brewed and self-pity festered, two names were on the rise. Both were vying for the elusive title of “Top Female,” a prestigious spot coveted by the most notorious members of the board — Vlad and Orson, the self-appointed kings of the forum’s misogynistic kingdom. Their influence on the board was unmatched, and they controlled the entire ecosystem of pity, rage, and resentment that pulsed through the digital veins of their followers.
azn_2, known by her followers as the “Korean Goddess,” was a mysterious figure. Her username was an enigma — a combination of her proud cultural heritage and a sharp, witty edge. She had emerged from the shadows of the forum in recent months, captivating the hearts of the incels with her calculated posts, her calm demeanor, and a level of self-assuredness that hinted at an otherworldly power. She knew how to play the game — how to lure the weak-minded into worshiping her with promises of validation, all the while maintaining an air of superiority.
On the other side was itsmonicah, the “Indian Goddess.” Her posts were fiery, unapologetic, and imbued with a fierce energy that seemed to cut through the thick veil of self-loathing that had settled over the board. Unlike azn_2, who preferred to remain more cryptic, itsmonicah was direct. She knew how to use sarcasm, mockery, and humor to keep the board’s men in check, making them question their own beliefs while simultaneously making them crave her approval. She had risen quickly through the ranks, and her influence among the incels had grown to dangerous heights. To Vlad and Orson, she was a force to be reckoned with.
The battle for the top female spot had been brewing for weeks, but now, it was coming to a head. The forum was alive with anticipation. Each member knew that only one woman could rise above the rest, and both azn_2 and itsmonicah had been engaged in a passive-aggressive duel for supremacy. Every post, every interaction, every comment was a subtle jab, a calculated strike at the other’s weaknesses. The stakes had never been higher.
Vlad, the Silent King, watched with interest. His eyes narrowed as he observed the ongoing rivalry. “Who will win?” he muttered to himself, his fingers tapping idly against the keyboard. “The Korean Goddess or the Indian Goddess? Only one can sit at the top of the throne.”
Orson, the Boisterous King, was less subtle. He had picked his side early on. He had fallen for itsmonicah’s charm, her fiery wit, and her willingness to mock the fragile egos of his fellow incels. “Monicah will crush her,” he boasted, typing out his words with a sense of finality. “She’s got the fire, the intellect, the spirit.”
But even Orson knew not to underestimate azn_2. She had a unique, almost ethereal quality that captivated the most jaded members of the board. She was not simply a woman online; she was an ideal. And as the days wore on, her quiet, measured responses began to erode the support of itsmonicah’s followers, one comment at a time.
The final confrontation came unexpectedly — a thread titled “Top Female” was posted by Vlad, with the simple instruction: “Prove your worth.” In an instant, both azn_2 and itsmonicah jumped into the fray, each determined to stake their claim to the throne.
azn_2’s first post was minimalist but calculated. She began with a question: “Why do you hate women? Or is it just that you can’t handle a woman who’s better than you?” It was provocative, it was subtle, and it sent waves through the forum. Her followers, the ones who had come to see her as more than just a woman, but a symbol of unattainable perfection, rallied behind her, cheering on her every word.
itsmonicah’s response came quickly — a sharp retort, cutting through the growing tension like a knife. “I don’t hate men. I hate weak men who think they deserve the world without doing a thing to earn it. Unlike some of you, I know how to fight, to thrive, to survive.” The words were blunt, unapologetic, and daring. It was a direct challenge not only to the men of the forum but to azn_2 herself.
The battle raged on, each post more vicious than the last. The insults grew sharper, the barbs more biting, but neither woman would relent. They were fighting for something bigger than just the title; they were fighting for respect, for recognition in a world where validation was a currency more valuable than gold.
The final blow came when azn_2 posted a picture of herself — a stunningly beautiful image of her in traditional Korean dress, yet the expression on her face was cold, impassive. Beneath it, she wrote, “Beauty is a weapon, and I wield it with precision. You are all beneath me.” The post was a masterstroke, combining grace with a chilling display of power. The men of the forum, including Vlad and Orson, fell into silence.
itsmonicah’s counter was devastating. She posted a link to a video of herself, a raw, unfiltered clip showing her working out — li -
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Elle — 1 year ago(November 05, 2024 03:51 AM)
TaraDes had been online for as long as she could remember. Back in the early days of the internet, when forums were just starting to flourish, she’d made a name for herself. At first, it was because of her sharp wit and no-nonsense attitude, but over time, it was something darker that came to define her presence. In her small apartment in Frankfurt, with the scent of stale coffee in the air, she spent most of her days scouring message boards, her fingers dancing over the keys with the fury of someone searching for a fight.
No one knew how old TaraDes was, though some suspected her to be in her sixties or seventies. She never revealed much about herself beyond her self-imposed moniker. Her avatar—a stern-looking older woman with thick glasses and a frown permanently etched into her face—was as much a symbol of her character as her words were.
TaraDes was the queen of the boards, or at least, she liked to think so. She had a reputation that preceded her, and newcomers often feared posting when she was around. She was a constant presence, lurking in the shadows of every heated debate, watching for any opportunity to pounce.
“Liars!” she’d bark, when a user dared to share an opinion she didn’t agree with. “Filthy socks!” she’d call anyone she suspected of creating fake accounts. Her words were like blunt weapons, slicing through conversations, leaving bruises on anyone who dared to challenge her.
A “sock” was what she called people she believed to be using multiple identities to manipulate conversations. Of course, she was notorious for seeing socks everywhere, and it didn’t take much to earn her suspicion. If you posted too much, or if your opinions shifted too dramatically, you could bet that TaraDes would be there, accusing you of being someone else in disguise.
“Tell me why your story changes every time,” she once sneered at a user named Elle. “You’re either a liar or a sock puppet. Pick one.”
She would chase them from thread to thread, making their lives miserable. It was rare for someone to argue back effectively; the terror of being relentlessly targeted by TaraDes was enough to make most people shrink back into silence. The regulars of the forums had learned to ignore her, or worse, to bend to her whims in order to avoid the verbal barrage that awaited those who became her prey.
But one day, something changed.
A new user joined the board. His name was Juan Kerr, and he was calm, collected, and unusually kind in his posts. He didn’t rise to her provocations or try to defend himself when she called him a liar and a sock. Instead, he kept replying with a single phrase: “We all have a story.”
TaraDes didn’t like that. Stories were her territory. She was the one who dictated who could and couldn’t share their truth. So, she went after Juan with all the ferocity she had left in her. But no matter what she said, no matter how many insults she hurled, Juan simply responded with that same phrase: “We all have a story.”
Days passed, and TaraDes grew more agitated. She’d escalate, posting long, rambling messages about how everyone was out to get her, how they were all “fake” in one way or another. She berated the forum moderators, accusing them of secretly plotting against her, all while Juan remained unshaken, responding with his steady refrain.
One evening, after a particularly long rant from TaraDes accusing everyone on the board of being in on some vast conspiracy against her, Juan wrote something new:
“I know you’re hurt, TaraDes. I know you’ve been here longer than most of us, and you’ve seen a lot of people come and go. Maybe you’re scared that all of us are just passing through while you’ve been here all along. But your story doesn’t have to be one of chasing others. You can stop now. It’s okay to just listen.”
The silence that followed was heavy. The other members of the forum waited, some on edge, wondering if TaraDes would lash out once more. But after a long while, she didn’t reply. TaraDes simply… disappeared.
The forum continued, but it was different. There was no longer the constant threat of her accusations, no longer the shadow of her relentless pursuit of “liars” and “socks.” TaraDes had vanished, her harsh voice fading into the ether.
Some believed that Juan’s words had somehow reached her, that the old woman who had built her identity on tearing others down had finally been confronted with a truth she couldn’t deny—that her story, for all its sharp edges, had a softer side she hadn’t yet shared with anyone.
And so, the forum moved on, but there was an unspoken respect for Juan. Some even whispered that maybe TaraDes had left to finally find peace.
But no one could say for sure.
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