#I’ll feel like an attention seeker. so. we just say it was trauma response

[padfoot-lupin77]

Let’s play a game called was this a trauma response or a sign of neurodivergence

[hana-bean]

Close to you (2/7)

Yay chapter 2! Please enjoy y’all!

Also a huge thank you to @hoshi-and-hikari for spearheading SeiUsa week ❤️ You’re so great!!!

~~~

I must have walked on To meet you

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“Where is she? Is she in there?”

“Yes.”

Seiya bowed once he heard the sound of footsteps nearing. He could make out the hem of her white robe in his top peripheral vision before she stopped.

“Hello! You are the guardian from the bar?”

The voice was sweet and inviting which lowered his inner guard by a level. After straightening back up, he tried not to give much more thought that she looked just as gorgeous as she did on television and in pictures.

“Yes, I am, your highness.”

She gasped with a hand over her mouth, causing him to feel the body slam of self-consciousness.

“You’re… a man.” She moved the hand to her chest.

Seiya blinked, unsure of how to reply. But he knew he had to give her something, so he shrugged with a half-smile. “Guilty.”

Serenity relaxed. “I’m sorry. I just thought all guardians were female.”

“That’s true.” He cleared his throat. “We just use this appearance as a protective measure.”

“Huh!” Most intrigued, she then turned toward the two guardians at the door.

“Uranus, please remove his handcuffs.”

“Serenity, I wouldn’t recommend that.” The blonde started walking toward them.

“Why?”

“Because he could hurt you!”

“And I’ve never been able to take care of myself when, exactly?” Already over it, she pointed at Seiya. “Take them off.”

Uranus acquiesced with a huff, producing a small key from inside her boot and removing the shackles. Seiya didn’t waste the opportunity to give her a smug, victorious smirk whenever she was looking.

Serenity beamed. “Thank you, Uranus. That’ll be all for tonight.”

Uranus was about to protest once more, but the look from her highness already told her that her mind was made up. Scoffing and grumbling, the guardian stomped off and out the door.

Neptune, entertained by the whole scene, walked up to place the plastic grocery bag on the table.

“These are his things. Good night, my queen.” She then took her leave.

Once alone, Serenity released a breath as if she had been holding it for a while. “I love those two but they can be so intense.” She then extended a hand toward Seiya’s chair with a smile. “Please sit!”

He obeyed as she took her own seat beside him. Having carried a large crystal pad with her, she laid it aside on the table to give attention to the contents inside the plastic bag. The first item she grabbed was his cell phone, which itself was a smaller translucent rectangle of crystal. She placed it to the side before going for the next item: his transformation headset.

“Ooh, this is interesting!” Her face lit up as she turned it in all directions for inspection. Figuring out that it went on her ear, she did just that, and then put her hands on her hips and moved her shoulders.

“I feel like a pop star!”

Seiya laughed, his heart melting at her unqueenly yet endearing behavior.

She moved the mouthpiece up and down. “So you use this to transform?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“And it’s ‘Fighter Star Power?’”

His blue eyes widened, scared she was psychic. “Yes, how did you know?”

“There are videos of you transforming on the news.” She giggled as she removed the headset from her ear and placed it on the table. “That was quite a mess you were in.”

A blush appeared on his cheeks as he scratched his head. Despite knowing he wasn’t at fault, he still felt embarrassed.

“But,” she continued, “that’s also how I found out you were here. So something good came out of it at least.” She bit her lip as her eyes twinkled at him. “Are you okay, though?”

“Yes. Just a little banged up, but I’ll be fine.”

“The doctors said you should be healed in a few weeks. So you will stay here until you do.”

“Here? In the palace?” His eyes widened while he shook his head. “I couldn’t, your highness—”

“I insist. I can have doctors check on you daily to aid in your recovery.”

He gulped and kept quiet, afraid to refuse the queen again in case it carried a death sentence.

Interpreting his silence as acceptance, she grabbed her crystal pad and tapped on it to reveal a digital screen. “So tell me… Fighter… do you have a civilian name?”

“It’s Seiya Kou.”

“And where are you from, Seiya Kou?”

“All over.” He chuckled. “But our home is Kinmoku.”

“Our?”

“Oh yeah, there’s three of us!” Seiya had forgotten about Taiki and Yaten for the moment. Whoops.

She gasped in excitement. “Wow! Three of you? Where are they?”

“They’re, uh…” he scratched his head again, “in a detention center.”

“Ohh right, right…” The realization dawned on her. “I’ll make sure to have them brought here. I’d like to meet them, too.” She tapped around on the pad in different places, interspersed with some scrolling. “What was the name of your home again?”

“Kinmoku.”

“Kin… mo… ku…” After more tapping, she squinted her eyes in an effort to process the information that populated on her screen. Several moments passed before they widened in tandem with the smacking of her tongue.

“Wow… you’ve come a very, very long way, Seiya.”

“Not by choice…”

She nodded in agreement. “It says here that Kinmoku was one of the initial planets attacked by Galaxia.”

He had no words as his response, only rage, evident by his tight jaw and loud gulp.

Picking up on the heaviness of his energy, Serenity continued. “I don’t know if you know, but Crystal Tokyo has an open policy for refugees, even from an attack as long ago as Galaxia. I can have you registered as an asylum seeker—”

“With all due respect, your highness, we’re not here to seek asylum.” The sternness in his voice was palpable.

In attempts to maintain sympathy for his shift in emotion, and keep hers relatively stable, she placed her pad down and leaned back in her chair. “Then what do you seek?”

His gaze fell. “I can say what we don’t seek… is trouble. So we’ll leave this planet immediately. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“No, please!” Serenity leaned over, placing a gentle, desperate hand on top of his as if it were to stop him should he stand up. Eagerness met ambivalence as each pair of blue eyes stared deeply into the other.

“I’m the one that called you here.” She continued. “I want to know your story.”

The power of touch was a phenomenon that made his heart pump wildly to the point of confession. But it was taking his mind a while to trust her, so Serenity resumed her verbal coaxing.

“Seiya… I want to help you and I can’t if you don’t talk to me.” She squeezed his hand and bit into her lips. “As one guardian to another, let me help you.”

He sighed, having to reach deep within to find his words and courage.

“It’s our princess. We're looking for our princess.”

Serenity nodded, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, ready to listen.

Seiya continued. “She fled when Galaxia attacked. We decided she would go first and we would follow. We had a plan to meet at a neighboring planet but… when we got there, Galaxia had already ravaged through it, just like ours. And our princess was nowhere to be found.” He rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs, breathing through the trauma of the memories.

“And so we went on to the next planet, and then the next one… Each destination was based on hunches and hearsay mostly, looking for any hint that she was there or had been there.”

Serenity cocked her head. “How did you go about trying to find her once you were on a planet?”

“Singing. She really loves music.” He flashed a smile. “We sing familiar songs to try to draw her to us. And if they’re catchy enough, we hope that the locals might pass them along too, and maybe she’ll hear it and know we’re out there and haven’t given up.”

She nodded before looking down, almost afraid to ask. “Have you… considered the fact… that maybe she’s...”

“Yes, we have. We check for death records regularly wherever we end up.” He answered over her, sparing her awkwardness. “But we just so happened to catch a merchant on ætSe-18 who had sold a royal incense burner to someone here from Earth. He couldn’t confirm it was Kinmokian, but the way he described it—its design and scent—there’s no mistake it’s from Kinmoku.”

“How would the burner lead you to her?”

“She also harnesses the power of stars and can take on other forms. Her incense burner was her favorite hiding spot. She must have taken it with her when she fled, or at least that’s what we hope. It’s our only hope at this point.”

Moved by the story, a distant smile spread upon her lips, and she relaxed into her chair. “She must be quite a princess for you to spend ten years looking for her.”

He shook his head with a smile. “I know no other purpose.”

Serenity paused to give her mind a few moments to think before sitting upright with resolution written all over her face.

“We should get some sleep then. Tomorrow is a big day.”

Seiya’s face blinked into confusion. “Is it?”

The beam on her face lit up the whole room as she nodded and winked. “It’s the Queen’s Birthday Festival tomorrow. We’ll need our strength to celebrate.”

A smirk twitched on the side of his mouth. “Oh right. I remember that being advertised.”

“It’ll be a fun time. And I’m sure a much-needed and deserved day off for you.”

He breathed out a laugh, a twinkle forming in his eye.

“And then after that,” she continued. “We look for your princess.”

The twinkle then faded into distress. “Oh… no… no, no… It’s okay, your highness! I know you have more important things to do—”

“I’ve got people for that!” She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Plus, I said I wanted to help, so I’m going to help. You can't be going out there getting into more bar fights in your condition, and I’m sure the other guardians aren’t in that much better shape.”

He opened his mouth to speak but Serenity gave him that same look she gave Uranus earlier in the night, submitting him to speechlessness. While she seemed to make his mind spin, she also made him feel calm. Redness formed on his cheeks as he realized the subliminal control she had over him; whether it was intentional or not was a mystery, but he didn’t care.

A victorious grin spread across her face. “It’s settled then.”

---

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Please note if you would like to follow this story, I will be updating the rest of the chapters under the tag: hanabean close to you and other iterations of the spacing. I love you all!

[senjuushi]

Hey, can you give me a introduction on the characters personalities? I really want to ask some stuff, but don't know the characters enouth. It doens't need to be long, just a small introduction! (:

OwO Absolutely!!! I’ve explained the characters in my writing Discord before, so I’ll just copypaste what I wrote there. The explanations are pretty long, but they’re detailed, so I like ‘em~

Long post below!

This is F. He's a flamboyant, eccentric sadomasochist, and deviant with a princess-type personality, who kind of never quits saying horrible, horrible things. He's very girly and over-the-top, and expresses a distinct crush on one of the other guns, who he refers to as "Onii-sama". 

He has MAJOR masochistic tendencies, like licking the barrel of his gun while it's still hot, but he shows sadistic tendencies too, such as treating his lowest-ranking soldiers horribly. It's very likely that these behaviors have been learned from others, though. One thing that I think is of note is that, despite his extremely sexual behavior and tendencies, he's not showing any more skin than his upper neck and a little bit of his wrists. 

He's an attention-seeker who struggles to stand out in the shadow of a remarkable older brother, and it's implied that he's pretty desperate to be loved. He values his appearance a lot, going out of his way to look good and be presentable, such as through doing his nails and wearing perfume. 

I think he's a very needy person who just wants people to look at him and care about him in any way, so he goes out of his way to stand out. There are a lot of implications that he's been through some pretty awful stuff, considering that his sadism and masochism are most likely learned.

. . . 

This is Belga. He's a loudmouthed idiot with a violent streak and a love of shooting everything in sight. Based on his face and calculated height, he's probably only like 13-15 physically, 16 at max. 

He's very childish and immature, is either ridiculously ignorant or pretty darn stupid, and has a horrifically foul mouth on him. He was described to me as a "laughing maniac". That said, he's got a major soft side, and cries easily at things like sad stories and his pet fish dying. The fish themselves are most likely a measure to control him by, with letting him gain an attachment just to threaten him with them. 

He's very manipulable and gullible, and gets called "birdbrain" by 89, a gun who shares the same superior as him. Overall, he's a childish moron who can probably only barely take care of himself.

. . . 

This is Mikhael. He's... kind of a mess. Outwardly, he seems like a calm, collected character who lives only for his music and his passions. When looked at closer, however, there are some very bad signs. 

First of all, he's blind. His eyes are bandaged over, which... does not imply good things. He also has what's almost definitely a brace on his leg, suggesting that he's kind of broken. Also worth noting is that in the art above, his gun is pointing at his head. 

Mikhael has a fixation on "beauty in destruction" which to me implies that he's trying very hard to cover for how broken he is. He does nothing but play his piano when taken to battle, basically leaving himself open to getting shot. I see him as an older, broken-down gun who's acutely aware of how horrible his situation is, as well as being passively suicidal. He won't do anything to kill himself, but if something happened, he certainly wouldn't complain. 

I think he's very sad, finding joy only in his music, and taking every chance to drown himself in it. Because of his physical flaws, I doubt the WE treats him very well. He's broken enough that he could be gotten rid of at any time, so he's struggling to make himself seem useful and good through his obsession with beauty in ruined things.

. . . 

This is Ninety. He's the "holy shit this is fucked up" one. Ninety is literally referred to as the WE's dog... and he acts like it. 

He's the youngest of the guns in terms of summoning order and has a mindset somewhere between a child and an animal. He can't speak, most likely trauma mute and connected to something like conversion disorder, is only barely literate, and communicates with a signboard. Do note that this boy is not wearing pants. 

He's sort of feral, going so far as to bite the soldiers under him when he doesn't get fed enough (they're probably starving him). He's known to be a "panic shooter", implying a nervous personality. Also worrying is that he has another mask under his gas mask. A lot of fans theorize that he has a slit mouth. 

All of that said, though, Ninety is surprisingly mature and probably a lot more intelligent than he acts. He comforts Belga when his fish die, and honestly, I think he's just acting the part of a stupid dog because it's been drilled into him enough. There's intelligence in there, he's just not allowed to show it. Also, he's tiny. My height calculations put him at somewhere in the 4' range.

. . . 

This is Ghost. His gun is an experimental weapon that was never actually released, and he's got issues because of that. He's a person with no presence who always goes ignored by those around him. His bullets are ridiculously expensive to produce, and thus, the only person who's ever given him a chance is Ashley, to whom he's ridiculous levels of grateful and loyal. 

He's got major abandonment issues and considers himself to be a difficult to deal with reject. He's very passive, cynical, and pessimistic. He has a very childish side, "cursing" people who upset or ignore him, and "blessing" the rare few who give him the time of day. He latches onto anyone who treats him kindly with an unrivaled sense of desperation. It's implied that he might be rather sickly, and he seems to have a poor physical presence. 

He feels like he's a failure who no one should waste their time on, and struggles a lot with believing that anyone could ever find him worth the effort to use or keep. He's always teetering on the fear of being abandoned and forgotten.

. . . 

This is 89. He's a dead-inside gamer otaku who's catchphrase is "Are you serious?" He's something of the straight man (in the sense of the comedy term) of the lot of them and is definitely the most "normal". 

On that subject, he wants to be normal very, very badly but doesn’t have a shadow of a chance thanks to his status as nothing but a gun and a weapon of the WE, so he forces himself to look down on everyone who does get a normal life. He’s so depressed and done with life that all he does is lock himself up in his room and play whatever violent fighting games he’s allowed as an escape from the misery that is his life. He's got a ridiculously obvious crush on Mikhael, and also very obviously just wants someone to love him. Belga calls him "virgin", and in return gets referred to as "birdbrain". 

89 is just tired and done and exhausted with life, and honestly, he probably doesn't get much attention. He slacks off from missions when he can (which he definitely gets in trouble for), and even his favorite foods are cheap things that sound like they've been shoved onto him out of sheer neglect. He's a little bit tsundere and a total softie inside. He's also my favorite of all of them.

. . . 

This is Eins. He's the powerhouse of the modern guns, and definitely the strongest person there. He's the highest-ranking of all of them, and his battle style/gun type is a sniper. 

He's a serious person who takes his job equally seriously and always produces exceptional results. He acts rather normal, and could probably pass for human if he tried. That said, he's also got major empathy issues, showing very little remorse for hurting people. He takes orders way too far to make sure he's gone far enough, in the sense that he'd kill 100 people if ordered to kill 1. He has his soft side, though, down to gardening, impressive cooking skills when it comes to the others, and considering many of the other moderns to be his "family". F has a crush on him, which he's totally oblivious to. 

Fal is his loyal right-hand man, and Ghost is ridiculously fond of him. He's merciless when it comes down to it, but probably just sees what he does as doing his job and not getting hurt. He definitely sees himself as nothing but a weapon and a tool.

. . . 

This is Fal. He's F's older brother, and most likely the reason why F is Like That. Fal is an insanely capable, efficient, skilled person– one who comes off as perfect in every way. His gun, the FN FAL, is known as "the right arm of the free world" and has been one of the most used firearms in history. 

Fal himself is a calm, collected sort who always seems poised. He's Eins's assistant and has a lot of responsibility, which he handles extremely well. He's polite, subservient, and soft-spoken, despite being very close to Eins in power and skill. He's well-spoken, eloquent, loyal, and basically embodies the perfect assistant. He's also very intelligent, and expresses a particular fondness for torture. He has a unique power in that he's able to manifest prehensile, thorned vines, which sets him apart from the others in strength and skill. 

He's basically the ideal modern gun, which gives F and everyone else a LOT to live up to. He does seem like a very stressed, worn-down person, though, and likely is almost crushed under the pressure of the expectations placed on him.

. . . 

This is Kirsch. He's a sadistic spoiled brat who's almost definitely been sexually abused. He's downright desperate for attention from Ashley, resenting Mauser (Ashley's personal weapon) viciously for taking that attention away. Creepily enough, he refers to Ashley as "Papa". 

He's sort of obsessed with being cute and attractive, emphasizing his charm and trying to play up how lovable he is. That said, he behaves like a spoiled child, down to throwing tantrums when he's angry. Kirsch is also a major sadist (a behavior which is definitely learned), and loves torturing people for the sheer fun of it. He's described as "sick in the head" by one of his superiors. Even so, he tries to paint himself as a harmless victim who can do no wrong, kissing up to and demanding attention from anyone he looks fondly upon. 

He's ridiculously immature, insanely clingy, and probably also has major abandonment issues. He acts like a love-starved child who acts out in order to get attention. There are also a few implications that he's been sexually abused, including his aggressively "touchy" behavior, personal-space invading sadism, attitude towards his superiors, and revealing outfit (short shorts and garter on his leg).

. . . 

This is Hokusai. He's an animated, wild-natured person with a major childish streak. He uses the pronoun "Boku-chan", which sounds straight out of the mouth of a kindergartener. 

He's something of a mad scientist who's associated with the science sector of the WE, and has honestly probably been the brunt of more than a few experiments. He has a massive fixation on the color blue that goes all the way to an obsession, and he's so dedicated to this that he keeps trying to dye his human self blue... which also keeps killing him. He's killed himself like this a bunch of times, but fortunately, Ashley can keep bringing him back somehow. He has a massive aversion to the color red too, straight to the point where he loses it if he sees his own blood. 

He has a number of visible scars (rare for anime art), including one across his throat and one on his wrist, implying that he's been through some shit. His behavior also says to me that he might have some form of brain damage, probably of the nature that impacts his decision making and sense of consequences. He's very reckless and has little regard for his own life. Despite this, he's also a cheerful, sunny person who never really seems to be down.

. . . 

This is Love1. He's... a mess. His gun is majorly defective, and known irl as one of the worst and most useless firearms in history. Reflecting this, L1's body is kind of a mess. His gun jams constantly, which gives him nosebleeds, he's implied to be physically fucked up in general, and in the game, his bigger attacks did damage to him too. 

Personality-wise, he acts like an utter idiot. He's loud and goofy, with a lot of presence and seemingly no dignity. He's cheerful, explosive, and trigger-happy, acting like he doesn't have a care in the world. However, his real personality is very different. L1 is a massively intelligent and strategic individual. While Fal specializes in physical torture, L1 is the psychological torture master. He knows how to absolutely break people. He has a little brother, Like2, and the two of them are both in the "defective" boat. L1 loves L2 dearly, no matter how rude the other is to him, and gushes over his "cute baby brother" constantly. 

On the dark note, L1's life is kind of hanging by a thread. He's worthless enough that he could be gotten rid of at any time, and with the whole world seeing him as a failure, he's definitely got some major issues. He could be replaced at any time, and he's definitely living in fear of when that day will come. Since his physical body is shot, it's also likely that he's constantly in a lot of pain. No one is really very nice to him either.

. . . 

This is Like2. He's an effeminate, bratty tsundere who wants to be spoiled and loved. He's in the same boat as L1 in that his gun is sort of useless, but he's still quite a bit better off. He definitely shares the same worries about being replaced, but instead of covering it up with a smile, he fixates on making himself pretty and strong. 

He's a bodybuilder who focuses a lot on strength training, and is surprisingly tough for his looks. He loves fine things and getting attention and spoiling, and is pretty much desperate for people to like him. Because of his status as a rejected, mocked weapon, he's frantic to make himself useful and avoid being disposed of. He values his personal security massively, can't stand any form of discomfort, and is willing to turn traitor as soon as his safety is on the line. He's an aggressive, abrasive tsundere who constantly berates his brother, calling him "worthless" and "soon to be replaced". 

That said, he loves L1 dearly underneath it all, and winds up as something of his brother's caretaker. He's a fragile person who's desperate to be cared for an accepted, no matter what he has to do to get it.

. . .

Last is Mauser. He's Ashley's personal assistant and weapon, and is honestly a thousand levels of worrying. Mauser is the first gun Ashley summoned, and despite his size and young appearance, his gun is the oldest model as well, being made in 1896. He teeters right on the verge of modern and antique. 

He's an obedient doll to Ashley who seems to lack any form of personality or will of his own. He's empty and emotionless, only capable of expressing his loyalty to his Master. This lack of personality could be attributed to being a faulty summon, but more likely, Ashley has broken him of anything that made him a person. He's blindly devoted, endlessly loyal, and doesn't really have anything to live for beyond Ashley. His character is worrying because something must have left him so broken, and the implications with what Ashley could have done to mess him up so badly aren't pretty. 

His personality is rather flat, but his interesting side comes in what made him the way he is. He'd have nothing to live for without Ashley.

[theshatteredrose]

Turquoise Lotus Father (Treasure Seekers Saga 2) - Chapter 6 - Etrian Odyssey 5 Fanfiction

AN: Slowly working my way through these chapters. They’re not difficult, but sinus problems have been making things difficult, if you know what I mean. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading~!

Ao3 | Wattpad | FFNet

Chapter 6:

Drayce was about to ascend the stairs when a light, almost awkward knock at the front doors pulled him to a stop. He immediately turned around and hurried to the door. The stained-glass panels did not allow him to see who was on the other side, but he had a small hope that he knew who stood on the front porch.

Sure enough, as he opened the door, he was face to face with two familiar figures. Salim stood with his arms folded across his bare chest, while Tokala stood next to him with his hands folded behind his back and bounced lightly on the balls of his feet.

“Hey, you came!” Drayce greeted the two with a smile. “I’m relieved.”

“Yeah, well, we…sorta owe you for yesterday,” Salim explained as he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. “Tokala…was safe with you guys.”

Tokala’s energetic personality dimmed slightly, his ears folding against his head as he turned to give Salim a soft look. “Sal…”

Safe? And the look of apology from Tokala. That wasn’t the normal breed of protectiveness. Something must have happened to cause Salim to be suspicious of others. And for Tokala to feel the need to apologise, yet won’t say the words.

“Why don’t you come in?” Drayce offered as he opened the door further to allow them to step inside. “We just finished having breakfast, but we can whip something up for you if you haven’t eaten.”

Tokala soon plastered a smile to his lips as he moved first to step inside, with Salim close behind him. As they moved into the foyer, though, Tokala looked around in genuine surprise.

“Wow, this place is huge!”

“It looked big on the outside, but it’s bigger inside,” Salim commented as he looked around, too. “The hell?”

“I ask myself that every day,” Blayke said as he walked from the dining hall, no doubt lured out by the sound of new voices.

Salim immediately turned to give him a confused look. “Eh?”

“We haven’t even discovered all the nooks and crannies of this place yet,” Blayke explained as he folded his arms across his chest roughly, his expression in his usual scowl. “It’s like a labyrinth of its own.”

Drayce chuckled to himself and closed the door. “No monsters, though. Inside at least. The back garden is a little…uncharted right now.”

Tokala laughed good-naturedly as he walked around in awe. “This place sounds awesome! Right, Sal?”

“Yeah, it kinda does,” Salim muttered. He appeared rather stubborn and didn’t want to outright show he surprise.

But Drayce was fairly certain he knew how to win him over. “There’s a training room in the basement.”

“Aww, yes, sounds really awesome!” Salim immediately cheered, earning another laugh from Tokala.

Drayce had to have a laugh himself. They were an interesting pair. Tokala appeared cheerful and energetic. Very supportive of Salim. And in turn, Salim seemed single-minded and full of energy. Yet there was a sense of supportiveness in his actions, too. He wasn’t just protective of Tokala, he was determined to see him safe.

Prompted by the noise, the other members of his guild ventured out of the dining hall. Faelen spied Tokala and a bright smile appeared on his face and he hurried over to him. It seemed that there was something about Tokala that drew him to him. Perhaps it was the kinship between Therians?

“Tokala, you made it!” Faelen greeted happily.

“Yep!” Tokala returned just as cheerfully. “Said I would, didn’t I?”

“Ah, so we have company,” Ashton greeted politely as he cast a precautionary glance over their new guests.

Salim turned to regard him but did a double take. Even going as far as to reel his head back in surprise. “Eh? Are you a pugilist, too?” he blurted out.

Ashton arched an eyebrow. “Hm?”

Drayce felt confused by the question. Ashton as a pugilist? Sure, the guy was strong, but Drayce hadn’t seen him throw a punch at anyone. Never looked like he wanted to. Oh, sure, he had gotten frustrated with Drayce and his family’s work ethic, but he had never been angry.

“Huh? Ah, this is Ashton. He’s a scholar who works with my father. He’s also the guild dad.”

Salim frowned deeply. With a heavy dose of scepticism. “Just a scholar? Huh. You totally felt like a pugilist.”

Ashton regarded Salim with an unreadable expression on his face. He soon folded his arms across his chest, however, and smiled politely. “Flattering. But these muscles are from dragging around treasure hunters and archaeologists who are abysmal at taking care of themselves.”

“Ashton is really good at throwing Drayce over his shoulder,” Faelen added with a cheeky flourish of his tail.

Drayce spluttered and flushed. “Y-you saw that?!”

Faelen found great amusement in his reaction, it seemed.

Even Kamali had a soft chuckled before he introduced himself to their guests. “Hello. My name is Kamali. Faelen and Caelem have told me about you.”

“O-oh, it’s nice to meet you,” Tokala said in response, surprisingly shy or perhaps intimidated by Kamali. He was probably just embarrassed because Caelem and Faelen had gossiped about him or something.

Kamali suddenly tilted his head to the side as his brow furrowed lightly in concentration. “Hm? I detect a faint sense of mana.”

“Yeah? Where?” Drayce asked, though he had a feeling that he already knew the answer.

Kamali raised his hand in an attempt to narrow in on the source of mana. His hand soon moved toward the Therian before him. “On…Tokala.”

“H-huh?” Caelem was the one to react first. React with a sense of fear at that. “He’s not-?”

“No,” Kamali whirled around to give an anxious Caelem a reassuring look and word. “I don’t believe it was like…what happened with you.”

Caelem’s ears relaxed and he uttered a short, shaky sigh. “O-oh, that’s a relief.”

The trauma he had experienced when he was the vessel for the Moon Legacy still affected him. And he did not want anyone to go through what he had. Honestly, no one including Drayce himself did not wish for anyone to go through that pain again.

Tokala stared at Kamali with a subtly fearful expression on his face. His hands had reached up to the collar of his shirt and clutched the material tightly. “…It’s my necklace, isn’t it?” he asked, softly.

Kamali turned around to regard him again with a curious tilt of his head. “Necklace?”

So, Drayce was right. The necklace did have some significance. And was likely the core reason for Salim’s protectiveness. “That’s also the reason you’re in the labyrinth?”

“So, what if it is?” Salim immediately snapped defensively.

Tokala’s ears flatted sadly against the top of his head and he turned to give Salim that sad look, exactly like the one from before. “Sal…”

Drayce immediately attempt to pacify the protective pugilist. “Hey, no need to be defensive. We’re not a threat.” While he had been told not to go around discussing his resume, he felt it best in this situation. “I’m…a treasure hunter, also. If you’re looking for something, I can help. And…I may have already found it.”

That immediately gained Tokala’s attention. “What do you mean?”

Drayce paused for a bit as he thought about the best way to approve the situation. “Can you please show Caelem your necklace?”

“Huh?” Caelem blurted out in surprise and pointed toward himself. “Me?”

Tokala was equally confused. “Ah…ok,” he said after a moment of hesitancy. He reached beyond the collar of his shirt to reveal the red gem of his necklace and walked over to Caelem. With the chain still around his neck, he shakily showed the pendant to Caelem.

The moment Caleme saw the pendant, he stiffened. His ears perked straight up atop of his head and his tail bristled. “That’s-! Th-that lotus. It is the same as the symbol of my village!” he half stuttered, half yell.

Caelem’s reaction rightfully startled Tokala and he took a half step back in surprise. “Y-your village?”

“The village of the Turquoise Lotus Father,” Caelem explained, calmer this time.

A faraway look appeared in Tokala’s eyes. “Turquoise Lotus…?”

Caelem whipped around to face Drayce excitedly. “W-wait, Drayce, that pendent-”

“Yeah,” Drayce replied with a nod of his head. “I think it’s what we need to open that treasure box.”

“I’ll go get brother,” Kamali said before he turned on his heel and rushed up the stairs. His brother was likely to be in the library. His usual residence, it seemed.

“Let’s wait in the seating room,” Drayce suggested in an attempt to calm Tokala’s anxiety.

Tokala was understandably nervous as he clutched his red lotus pendant in both hands. But nodded his head, his curiosity of the mentioned treasure chest and whether his necklace was indeed vital to opening of said chest.

Drayce kept close to Tokala in order to give him some reassurance as Ashton and Blayke attempted to placate Salim’s protectiveness.

Not long after everyone who was curious gathered into the seating room, Shashi appeared with Kamali behind him. In Kamali’s hands rested the wooden chest.

As Shashi’s gaze landed on Tokala, Kamali placed the chest upon a table close by. “So, you’re the one I had sensed.”

Tokala was startled once again, the poor guy. “H-huh?”

“This is Shashi,” Drayce introduced. “He’s a scholar and sigil specialist. He’s been inspecting that chest I told you about.”

“May I see the necklace?” Shashi requested. As Tokala unfurled his hands around the pendant, Shashi leaned forward to visibly inspect the piece of jewellery. “This mana is similar to the one that the chest has been emitting.”

“Only one way to really prove it,” Drayce said as he guided the nervous Therian over to the table. He then motioned toward the small lotus shaped indentation that resided in the very centre of the wooden lid. “Tokala, when you’re ready, please place your pendent here.”

Tokala took a moment to study the treasure chest. “This…looks the same,” he murmured.

He reached around to the back of his neck to unlock the chain. With the chain free, he held the red pendent with his fingers. And though he was hesitant, worried about any possible reactions, he slowly and carefully placed the jewel within the indentation.

It clicked into place. Pressing in like a button.

A pulsing red light suddenly radiated out from where the pendent rested and spread out like a spiderweb along the wooden treasure chest. The ruby-red light pulsated for two heartbeats before dissipating as quickly as it had appeared.

The unexpected reaction caused Tokala to jump back a step. “It…s-something happened.”

Drayce pushed forward to lay his hands upon the wooden lid of the box. As he touched it, he immediately felt lighter than it did previously. That meant; “It’s been unlocked.”

Caelem immediately huddled against Drayce’s back. “W-what’s inside?”

Good question. Time to find out!

Being careful, Drayce lifted the lid and placed it upon the table next to the chest. Inside was a folded piece of parchment. Quite old, it seemed. Frayed and yellow around the edges. That piece of paper was all that the small chest contained. Other than a piece of green velvet lying the bottom.

“Hmm,” Drayce murmured as he carefully unfolded the parchment.

“What’s that?” Tokala asked as he also huddle close.

Instead of written words upon the parchment, there were just lines. A gridded system. “It seems to be…a riddle of some kind? No. It actually looks more like a map. But without any sketches or markings.”

“I sense more mana,” Shashi stated as he pushed his way through the small group to lay eyes on the parchment.

“Ah, could this be similar to that of the Moon Legacy?” Drayce mused.

Shashi kept his gaze upon the parchment as he held his chin in thought. “Invisible to the naked eye? Perhaps.”

Drayce handed the parchment over to Shashi to inspect further as he was indeed the expert in that area. If Drayce can’t see anything other than the gridded system, then he wasn’t of any use.

“Is this…connected to Caelem’s village?” Tokala questioned in a quiet voice.

Caelem turned to him and slowly nodded his head. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but that lotus crest is the one that adorns the altar in my village.”

Tokala’s gaze travelled down to the floor and a passive expression appeared on his face. “I could…be from there? So maybe I wasn’t abandoned…”

Drayce paused when he heard Tokala’s soft voice and Caelem’s ears perked up, having heard him, too. “Abandoned?” he repeated.

Tokala tensed, as if he realised that he had said those words aloud. His ears deflated slightly and his shoulders hunched forward. “Oh, I was…” he sighed and looked down toward the floor. “I was found wandering outside of an Earthlain village when I was a baby and Salim’s family took me in. We were raised together. But this necklace…”

He glanced over to the treasure chest where his necklace rested with the wooden lid. “I’ve always had it,” he continued. “They said that I had it tied around my neck when I was just a child. I don’t know what it means, but…I thought that it might lead me to my birth parents. Or something.”

Wow. Drayce hadn’t any idea. He immediately wanted to help him, though. Sure, he wanted to help him before but he was more determined now.

“My village raises masuraos,” Caelem explained. “Whenever someone reaches the age of seventeen, they are encouraged to leave the village and set out on a journey to become their own masurao warrior.”

Salim finally pushed his way from Ashton and Blayke and immediately glued himself to Tokala’s side. Tokala granted him a smile that was both of relief, and reassurance. “Is that so? You think someone could have taken Tokala with em?”

Caelem stilled as he pondered that possibility. “It’s…possible that someone, an older sibling perhaps, took Tokala with them when they set out on their journey. That isn’t unheard of, especially if there was no family left to take care of their younger sibling.”

“I see…”

That offered a small ounce of hope, and yet that led to the possibility that something had happened to said older sibling. If they existed.

“The labyrinth?” Kamali asked as he approached Tokala. “What brings you there?”

“There’s something written on the back of the pendent,” Tokala enlightened as he motioned toward the red jewelled necklace. “It just says Yggdrasil. So…”

Ah, that made sense.

“The Turquoise Lotus Father was believed to have fought in the Legendary War,” Caelem explained readily. “So, it makes sense that the pendent would lead to the labyrinth.”

“So Tokala could really be from Caelem’s village,” Faelen summarized for everyone and turned to give Tokala a comforting smile. “That’s amazing.”

Tokala glanced over at Faelen before he shyly looked over at Caelem. His gaze quickly shifted to the floor in front of him. A small smile soon appeared on his lips. “It…is.”

Drayce sincerely hoped that he was. The knowledge that he was part of a community would ease some of his concerns. Not all of them, however. But maybe help him feel that he wasn’t abandoned.

What really happened, though, they didn’t know. And in all honesty, they may never know. That may not be satisfactory for Tokala. Unfortunately, unless his possible sibling or other participant stepped forward with their words, finding the truth themselves would be extremely difficult.

“So, this treasure chest and potential map has strong connection to this Turquoise Lotus Father,” Shashi mused as he carefully folded the potential map and placed it back within the chest. However, he did not replace the lid, instead keeping it in one hand. “Best to start with gathering information on them, then.”

Ashton just had to utter a sigh as he folded his arms across his chest. “So back to the library then. Might as well put a bed in there.”

Blayke snorted. “It still wouldn’t be used.”

That brought a half smile to Ashton’s lips. “Ah, very true,” he said before he turned to follow Shashi and Kamali as they both made their way to the stairs and eventually to the library.

“Um, can I see the library?” Tokala requested.

“Of course, you can,” Drayce immediately replied. He had nothing to hide up there, after all. “It’s on the third floor. Fae, Cal, why don’t you show him?”

“Sure,” Faelen immediately agreed and took a hold of Tokala’s wrist. “This way, Tokala. We’ve got a lot of stairs to climb.”

“Kay,” Tokala smiled before he turned to regard Salim with a peculiar look. A silently questioning one. “Ah, Sal?”

Salim blinked, as if pulled from his thoughts. “Eh? Nah, don’t mind me,” he said as he made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on. I’ll find you there later.”

“Ok.” That cheerful smile of Tokala’s made a swift comeback. However, this one held a more grateful tinge to it. “Thanks, Sal.”

Salim folded his arms behind his head. “Nah, forget it.” He sounded dismissive, nonchalant. Yet it was easy to tell that while Salim was still protective, he was supportive as well. And if Tokala wanted to visit the library, he wasn’t going to stop him.

Though, Drayce got the feeling that should Tokala held the most subtle of reluctance, Salim would step up and put up a fight. Verbal or physical.

With Faelen leading Tokala out of the seating room and Caelem close behind the two, Salim watched until he was certain they were out of sight and out of hearing range. After he was satisfied, he lowered his arms from behind his head and turned toward Drayce with a rather…serious expression on his face.

“Hey.”

Drayce regarded him with curiosity. “Hm? What’s up?”

“Tokala is…” Salim hesitated as he attempted to find the right words. “Is safe here, right?”

There it was again. Safe. Tokala’s safety was extremely important to Salim. Perhaps the most important thing to him. It made Drayce curious as to why. Though, the fact that Salim was protective made Drayce’s own protective heckles bristle.

There was always a reason for someone to be so concerned for someone’s safety.

“Yeah, he is.”

“Faelen and Caelem had told him about how you helped them out, too,” Salim continued, eyeing Drayce off curiously. “Rescuing others is your thing, huh?”

Drayce scratched his cheek with his index finger. “Seems that way, doesn’t it?” He dropped his hand to his side and returned Salim’s pointed gaze with interest. “So…you’re very protective of Tokala. That’s really obvious. Did…something happen?”

Salim’s expression darkened considerably. “That necklace…has caught a few people’s attentions before,” he muttered, his tone as dark as his expression. That soon smoothed out, however, and a satisfying and cocky smirk. “Took care of them, though. Hah, never saw my thunderfist coming!”

“Good.”

Apparently, Drayce sounded protective himself as he caused the smirk on Salim’s lip to turn into a sincere smile. “So, Tokala is…really safe here. That’s good.”

Drayce was relieved that he managed to gain his trust.

“You want to stay the night?” Drayce offered. After hearing what Salim had to say, he was genuinely worried for the both of them. Sure, Salim could protect the both of them. But he couldn’t be on guard all the time.

“There’s plenty of room. Tokala is likely to be up for hours in the library, anyway.”

Salim just looked at him for a few seconds. “…Yeah, alright,” he answered before he muttered something under his breath. Likely talking more to himself than to Drayce. “…odd guy, huh?”

Drayce didn’t quite hear everything he said. But he did hear something about someone being odd. Was he talking about him? “Huh?”

“Ah, nothing,” Salim quickly dismissed as he folded his arms casually behind his head and began to move. “Just going to check on Tokala. Later.”

Drayce didn’t press him. He simply nodded his head and let the pugilist go on his way. The library was easy to find so he was certain that Salim didn’t need someone to show him the way.

He would need someone to set a room up for them. They’d likely share out of sheer habit.

Blayke approached him and pulled him from his thoughts. “What should the rest of us do?” he asked, subtly edgy.

“I guess we won’t be heading into the labyrinth today,” Drayce replied, though he himself felt edgy, too. The need to do something to help in somewhere was always there. Especially now that they had a possible lead to go on.

“Not yet, anyway,” he continued. “I’m…going to head up to the drawing room. I haven’t fully inspected that room yet, but that parchment kinda reminded me of a map so maybe there’s something of interest in there.”

Blayke nodded his head. “I might snatch Nashoba and go for a walk around the perimeter. Just in case.”

“Sure.”

That should ease some of his tension. Hopefully, there was nothing untoward out there. Drayce still remembered that feeling of being watched while in the labyrinth.

He hoped he was, that the both of them where just being paranoid.

“Should we tell Ramus about any of this yet?” Blayke suddenly asked.

Drayce glanced up at the ceiling in thought. The little prince would be interested in their latest find, but he didn’t have much to offer him at current. “Let’s leave it for the day. I want a little more information.”

Again, Blayke nodded his head. “Sounds reasonable,” he said before he moved to leave the room. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah.”

[monkeyspawnskydiamond]

Don’t ask me to feel sorry for my rapist - Nina Funnell

Nine years ago I threatened to kill a man. I did not know his name or anything about him. And yet when I threatened to kill him, I meant it.

To this day I still wonder what would have happened if, by some fluke, the box-cutter had made its way into my own hand.

I wonder if I would have pressed the cold blade against his throat, as he had done to me just moments prior. I wonder if I would have found it in me to stab him as he lay there on top of me, strangling me, bashing me, indecently sexually assaulting me.

I still don’t know.

What I do know is that by threatening to end his life, I saved my own.

I know that if I hadn’t wrestled him for the box-cutter, if I hadn’t screamed and kicked and thrashed about like a wounded animal, I might not have survived the night.

I do not say this to imply that women who have acted any differently in sexual assault situations have done the wrong thing. On the contrary, a different perpetrator might have killed me on the spot for fighting.

So my story is neither cautionary nor instructive. It’s just my story and there is no way to tell it without including certain details.

I was 23-years-old and an honours student at the University of Sydney. I’d woken up that morning and showered like I would have on any other day. The only thing that was different about this particular morning was that it was the day of my honours presentation — a day I had been working towards for months. It should have ended in celebration and elation.

Instead it ended with me at a police station.

I’d gone out for some drinks after class had finished (yes, I was drinking, as women are permitted to do from time to time) and I was making the 20 minute walk home to my parent’s place in Sydney’s lower north shore.

I was a few hundred metres from my front door when I was suddenly attacked from behind.

A solid-built man I had never seen before had seized me. He held a box-cutter blade to my throat and began dragging me into an adjacent park.

I didn’t see or hear him coming as I was listening to music from earphones. (Later I would be told that this was just one of the many reasons why I was to blame for his decision to attack.)

He then said point blank: “I am going to kill you”.

He punched me in the face and the force of the blow was so powerful that it knocked me off my feet and onto my back.

I lay in the dirt, immobilised by fear, as he moved on top of me. They call this the “freeze response” and I have since learnt that most sexual assault victims experience this sort of shock and paralysis.

Then I felt the life being choked out of me. His hand was on my throat, my trachea was being crushed, and I could taste blood in my mouth. I was also vaguely aware of a deep pain beginning to grow in my shoulders and back.

Hours later at Gladesville police station I’d be photographed and swabbed. I’d be asked to go into a small room and remove my top. Once in there, I would examine my body in the mirror and find what would soon become dark bruising across my back — bruising that was apparently caused by large, protruding tree roots that had been grinding into my back while the weight of my attacker’s body pushed my flesh into them.

During the assault though, I didn’t process that sort of detail. All I could think was “How can this be happening to me? Is this for real?”

Then my mind went somewhere else altogether. I shut my eyes tight and an old, forgotten memory played like a video before my eyes. I remembered being a young girl, maybe six or seven years in age. I was standing in that same park and I was watching my older brother play soccer on the field. I remembered how at half time, I’d eaten quartered oranges with him and it had made me feel special that he’d included me and talked to me with his older friends around.

That was it. That was the simple memory that I shut my eyes and held on to. It seems odd, doesn’t it? That a man is trying to rape and kill you and you think about eating quartered oranges with your big brother.

I’ve since been told that my brain was valiantly trying to protect me from the trauma of what was occurring to me. In transporting me to another time and place — a safer time and place — it was trying to shield me from what was happening.

And yet, just as quickly as I’d slipped into that dissociative state, I slipped back out of it again. And when I did, I found myself looking directly into my attacker’s face which was only inches away from my own.

His grasp was still on my throat. I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t move. I felt a sharp pain across my body and I remember thinking: “I don’t want to die. Not like this”.

****

When it comes to sexual assault, women are forever being asked “why didn’t you say no?” or “why didn’t you fight back?”

As though a rapist would ever listen.

As though victims are the ones who should be responsible for preventing the violence we experience.

If you really want to know why most women don’t fight back, it’s because of one of two things: we are either immobilised by fear, or we assume that fighting back will make things worse. This is, after all, something that has been drummed in to us all from a very tender age.

But that night I did fight back, not at first, and not because I am courageous. The only reason I fought was because adrenaline took over and I had nothing to lose.

My mind had eventually caught up and computed that I was in a kill-or-be-killed situation. And if I was going to die anyway, why not fight the f***er? Get his DNA if nothing else.

I began thrashing and resisting, and then I exploded yelling “I’m going to kill you first”.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

I’ll never forget the look of shock and surprise on his face when I said that. What I don’t remember, is exactly what happened in the next few moments.

Again, this is not uncommon. The nature of trauma means that survivors often have memory gaps or recollections that don’t add up. One counsellor explained that if your memory is like a filing cabinet system, a traumatic event will effectively toss all the files onto the floor, mess them around, and then shove them back in.

Some files get lost. Others get out of order.

She also told me that she’s never once met a sexual assault survivor who had perfect, chronological recall.

Such is the nature of trauma.

And yet I’ve also been told that if I ever do go to court, defence lawyers will almost certainly try to use my memory gaps against me.

I can look forward to some smug lawyer arrogantly trying to discredit me by painting me as an “unreliable witness”. The fact that I’m even classified as a “witness” frustrates me to tears. I wasn’t sitting outside my body, eating popcorn watching this happen from the sidelines. It was painful. It hurt. I didn’t “witness” violence, I endured it.

I’ve also been advised that in addition to my memory gaps, the fact that I had been drinking that night will almost certainly be used against me.

I’ll be painted as licentious. As slutty. As stupid. As a liar.

But to be very clear, my memory gaps are not evidence that I am lying. To the contrary, they are evidence of the traumatic nature of the violence I have experienced.

So here is what I do remember from that point on. I remember a sudden feeling of lightness on my chest and an awareness that there wasn’t a heavy body on me anymore. I have no recollection of climbing to my feet but I do remember being in a standing position and noticing a small amount of blood on my hand. I remember wondering if it was my blood or his (this would later turn out to be a defensive wound.) Then I remember picking up my bag and reaching for my mobile and dialling triple 0.

****

I wasn’t technically raped that night. And boy do people love to remind me of that.

“I know what happened is bad and all, but he didn’t actually, you know, get it up you, did he?”

This was the question put to me by a male manager at my casual job, a week after the assault took place. My bruises hadn’t even disappeared but the implication was clear: if there’s no P-in-V, it’s not so bad, is it?

Sure, I’d been indecently sexually assaulted, physically assaulted, strangled, told I would be killed, and held at blade point. But in a phallocentric world, sexual violence isn’t measured by the trauma the victim experiences, but by the perpetrator’s assessment of the event: and if the penis didn’t get its way? Then what right should I have to expect the same supports and police resourcing that a “real rape victim” would get?

This wasn’t the only insensitive comment people made.

“You’re a pretty girl, you know. You could take it as a compliment that he selected you.” (This piece of unsolicited advice was kindly offered by a female journalist working for a women’s magazine).

“You have to admit Nina, you were pretty stupid for walking home alone”. (This gem was offered by an old friend I went to school with.)

One woman asked in all seriousness: “Do you ever think this might not have happened if you had a closer relationship with God?”

Another woman took the time and trouble to email me to inform me that she had real pity for me until, that was, she learnt that I had been “doing all the wrong things”.

Since then, I’ve been told it’s my fault for drinking. My fault for listening to music. My fault for travelling alone (as though women should only ever venture out in public if they are in the company of a chaperone).

People have called me a liar and an attention seeker.

I’ve had one stranger persistently request that I share the police photos taken that night with him.

I’ve had other strange men send me messages of sympathy, immediately followed up with a sunny little dick-pic. For condolence, I guess. (No, I do not want to commiserate with your boner).

I’ve had schools ask me if I will come speak to their female students about the “risky situations” that women put themselves in (no, I won’t, don’t ask me again).

I’ve been asked whether the problem lies in girls “not respecting themselves” (and here I was thinking that my assault happened because my attacker has no respect for women, for me, or for my right to live a life free of sexual violence.)

I’ve also had someone suggest that the poor guy probably “just had no money, otherwise he would have gone to a prostitute”. As though sexual violence isn’t about power and control at all, but a man’s simple desire to have certain sexual needs met.

Over and over I have been asked the questions that so many other survivors have also been asked: “What were you wearing? How much did you have to drink? Don’t you know how stupid you were being?”

And each and every one of these questions (and so many more) serve to silence women. They do this by deflecting attention away from the actions and choices of perpetrators, and by insinuating that women are responsible for the violence we have experienced.

And finally there was this remark made by some clever chap who wanted to discuss my attack online:

“What a conceited bitch for thinking she’s even worthy of rape. The guy just probably wanted to give her a good bashing in which case job well done.”

Charming stuff, isn’t it?

Of course, this is only a fraction of what women deal with when we speak out publicly about sexual violence. And in many ways my own assault was easier to speak out about than many others. That’s because I was assaulted by a stranger and there was physical violence involved. But most victims aren’t assaulted by strangers and rarely are there physical signs of violence, and this makes it even harder to be believed.

And this is why so women stay silent. Why so many choose not to report.

It’s also why perpetrators feel so entitled to keep on offending: because our society continually affirms for them that women are in the wrong. That women are untrustworthy. That stranger-danger rape is the only “legitimate rape”. That women make-up sexual abuse in order to assuage sexual regret. That the word of a man is worth far more than the word of woman.

Over the last week I, along with so many others, have read the extraordinary victim impact statement made by the young woman who was raped by Brock Turner behind a dumpster at Stanford University.

Her words resonate deeply.

In addition to exposing the systemic victim-blaming that occurs when survivors disclose, she has also elucidated all the ways that perpetrators attempt to minimise responsibility, shift blame and discredit victims.

Her analysis of how some media will humanise perpetrators (by including references to their skills, hobbies or interests) while reducing victims to nothing more than invisible, silent “others” is equally compelling.

And in her words so many survivors the world over have found recognition and comfort. They’ve also found the courage to speak out and own their status as survivor.

I suspect this is because she is radically rewriting ideas about victimhood.

In the cultural conscience, victims are often presented as broken, voiceless and downtrodden. At best, we are pitied. At worst, we are despised and devalued as “damaged goods”.

Yet though her victim impact statement she has debunked those stereotypes and advanced a new image of a survivor who is intelligent, articulate, analytical, insightful, bold, brave, reflective and persuasive.

Her words are resilient, strong, and hopeful. She reminds me that even though my assailant has never been caught, and even though I am yet to have my day in court, recovery and hope is possible, and above all, I am not alone.

https://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/rendezview/dont-ask-me-to-feel-sorry-for-my-rapist/news-story/36d4af5f0cc287ba53eeb163bbe28841

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 46 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Language! Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Never A Moment

She had to tell Cullen.

What a fun conversation that would be. How do you tell a devout workaholic with past trauma issues operating under too much stress and an honorable streak a mile wide that you're carrying his illegitimate love child? How the hell is he going to react? She couldn't even process how she was feeling. Panic was reasonably high on the list, closely followed by shock and abject terror. This couldn't be happening. Whose bright idea was it to make her give birth in a place where epidurals and proper surgery didn't exist?

"Evy," she called to her friend, ducking out of the tent once she'd tidied away the evidence. "I need to talk to the commander about something. Are you all right to hold the fort here for a little while?"

Evy looked up from her work, a faint flicker of concern crossing her face as she took a good look at Rory. "Of course," she answered easily enough. "The nurses have everything under control - I just have to show the new healer around. Are you all right?"

Right, so I look as pale as I feel. Great. "I'm fine," Rory promised her with a weak smile. "Just a little tired, but what else is new?"

The younger woman didn't look convinced, but she knew when not to push. "Take your time," she told her friend. "It's just recovery care right now, anyway."

"Hopefully I won't be too long," Rory assured her, though she had no way of knowing that.

It wasn't as though she could knock, walk in, drop the news, and immediately skip out. If she was lucky, his response wouldn't be audible all over Skyhold or hazardous to his continued health, but whether luck was with her or not, this wasn't a quick conversation in the making. Should she even take this to him now? He was swamped with work; this was just another headache to drop on him, and it wasn't even a headache he had any power to influence. It was a fact. And while there was a way to make it go away ... Rory didn't want to do that. She couldn't imagine Cullen pushing for her to do it, either. So that was that. She was a mum, for better or for worse. Holy crap, I am so screwed. A world of what ifs were open ahead of her, too many to make coherent sense. The panic was simmering - it, at least, was going to be with her in some capacity for the next, oh ... twenty years or so.

The nearest gatehouse tower was still closed off while workers toiled to make it safe. She could have passed under the stone arch and used the steps up to the battlement there - it was the fastest route to Cullen's office. Her feet, however, took her up the stone steps to the upper courtyard. It seemed as though her panic was enough to make her delay this inevitable conversation, even if it was only for a few more minutes. Her mind was racing. Now she thought about it, how could she have missed the symptoms? She was more tired than usual; her toilet breaks more regular; her sense of smell more acute; she did ache in some very specific places. She hadn't had any morning sickness, but then, some women didn't, did they?

So how long do I have, she wondered, lost in thought as she climbed the steps to the main hall. The only mistake had been that night, and that was ... Rory frowned, counting the weeks in her head. Seven or eight, so two months ago, give or take. Seven months to learn as much about midwifery and babies as she could. That really wasn't long enough.

"Looking very serious, Cupcake," a familiar voice drawled nearby.

She blinked, finding herself by the hearth in the hall, with Varric eyeing her from his table. "Hmm?"

"Serious," the dwarf repeated, laying down his quill. "You, looking very. Problems?"

"When aren't there problems?" she asked evasively, chuckling a little in spite of her turmoil. "No, I'm just thinking. Sometimes it hurts."

"Last thing we need is you and Curly with headaches," Varric commented mildly. "Just him is bad enough."

Great, he's having another bad day without telling me. She sighed wearily. "How bad?"

"He's just cranky," her dwarven friend assured her. "Pretty sure a visit from his girl would clear that right up."

"I'm not making any promises," she answered, feeling her anxiety ratchet up a notch. If he's already cranky, this isn't going to go well. Yay. "What are you working on?"

"Huh? Oh, this?" A very nearly evil smile crossed Varric's face. "His illustrious Inquisitorialness wants the next chapter of Swords and Shields for Cassandra."

Rory's eyes narrowed warningly at the mischief in his face. "Varric ... don't you dare muck up their relationship just to get a petty jab in at Cassandra."

"Would I do that?" he asked innocently.

"Yes. Yes, you would."

He chuckled, conceding the point. "Well, I'm not," he promised faithfully. "If only because I think you and Ruffles would hold me down and stab me with my own quill if I did."

She snorted with laughter. "You could be right."

Josephine had worked out that Kaaras liked Cassandra when he'd asked her to explain his book of Antivan poetry to him. The ambassador was a staunch defender of the drive to give the Seeker and the Inquisitor alone time in the hope that one of them would crack and just admit to being in love. She'd even expressed a certain frustration that they didn't even argue properly, unlike Cullen and ...

Rory's smile abruptly faded as she remembered why she was here in the first place.

"All right, Cupcake, what's hurting?" Varric asked, his face creased in a worried frown. "I've never seen you lose a smile that fast before."

Rory sighed, shaking her head. "It's nothing you can fix, Varric," she told him reluctantly. Wish you could. "I'll deal with it."

He eyed her for a moment with vague suspicion, but managed to suppress his natural desire to help with whatever it was. "Here if you need a splendid chest to lean on."

She smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

"Heads up, though," he added, jerking his chin toward the other end of the hall. "Ruffles incoming."

"What?"

Rory glanced over her shoulder, surprised to find Josephine bearing down on her like a woman on a mission. It was unusual to find the Antivan woman out of her office before dinner, but apparently some things required her to seek people out personally.

"Mistress Allen, I am glad to find you here," the ambassador said with a purposeful brightness to her tone that instantly made Rory suspicious. "Madame De Fer's seamstress has arrived. She would like to see both yourself and Lady Trevelyan this afternoon, to begin designing your gowns."

The healer just about managed to bite down on her groan. This was all she needed right now - dress plotting for Halamshiral. "I'll tell Evy," she promised politely. "I think her wedding gown is a little higher on the list of priorities."

"We have only two months to help you prepare for the Imperial Court," Josephine reminded her. "Though several people need that preparation as well. You will not be alone in your lessons."

"I can't promise to always have time for those lessons, Josephine," Rory countered, but the Antivan lady was already ahead of her.

"We will, of course, work around your duties," she insisted with easy aplomb. "You will need to be aware of courtly etiquette and dance, that is all."

Oh, is that all? Lovely. Knowing she couldn't get out of this, Rory decided to give in gracefully. "All right. Just let me know when."

"I will keep you informed," Josephine agreed. "but you must see the seamstress today."

"I will," Rory promised her. "I have things to do first, but I will." Things like give the commander a heart attack and then cry for a solid hour. Shouldn't interfere too much, should it?

She turned to open the door into the rotunda, unsurprised to hear Josephine focus her attention to Varric as she slipped into what was now Solas' work space. Empty, of course, with the elven apostate in the Emerald Graves with Kaaras, but still very much his space. From high above, she heard the croak and flap of the ravens in the rookery and, a little closer, another familiar voice calling down to her.

"If it isn't my favorite unicorn!"

Biting back a frustrated reply, she turned, tilting her head back to find Dorian leaning over the railing above her. "Unicorn?" she repeated incredulously. "Seriously?"

He laughed at her expression. "Perhaps not," the mage conceded with an ostentatious shrug. "Come up, I have something for you."

Can't this wait? But despite her faint annoyance, she wouldn't say no to Dorian. With a rueful smile, she altered her course, turning to take the steps up to the library. It's only a few minutes, she reasoned with herself. You've got about a month to break the news before it becomes blatantly obvious; a few minutes isn't going to make any difference.

Dorian was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. "You're looking done in again," he said, by way of hello. "Tell me, do you ever sleep a full night?"

"Occasionally," Rory heard herself say, a split second before her brain reminded her just who she was talking to.

"How marvelous," the altus teased brightly. "Who would have thought the commander had it in him?"

This time, the answer was out before she could stop it. "I think you'll find it's more often in me." There was a beat as she caught up with herself. "I did not just say that."

"Yes, darling, you did." Dorian laughed, pleased with her snarky reply. "I'm delighted for you."

Mortified and blushing, Rory rubbed her forehead. Why pick today, of all days, to revert to the blurting nug-woman with no boundaries? You've been doing so well! "You said you had something for me?" she asked in a desperate attempt to take control of the conversation.

"It isn't as exciting as what Cullen gives you," the mage warned, chuckling at her slightly outraged squeak of embarrassment. "You are utterly adorable when you're embarrassed, you know. But, as I promised, I have put together a small medical library for you."

Instantly, her embarrassment was gone. "Really?" she asked, curiosity mingling with excitement as she followed him to his little corner of the library, where he indicated a small stack of books on the table. "Thank you! I didn't think you were serious when you suggested it."

"My dear girl, when I say I will do a thing, it gets done," Dorian informed her comfortably. "You were in something of a lather about the gaps in your knowledge."

Rory tilted her head to read the spines. The Leech Book of Vald, Genitivi's Compendium of Thedosian Medicine, Plinth's Anatomical Studies, De Materia Medica, Historia Naturali ... She paused as she found a title that had nothing to do with medicine at all, clearing her throat to get his attention as she extracted Swords and Shields, Vol. III, from the pile. Dorian didn't even blink.

"It's your turn to read the dreadful thing," he pointed out, "though where you find the time to read, I have no idea."

Laughing, Rory put the book down. She actually rather enjoyed Swords and Shields - it was terrible, but entertainingly so. "I don't suppose there's anything on midwifery in this pile, is there?"

"Sadly, no," the mage told her. "Why? Is our blushing bride expecting, too?"

"No," she answered, her smile just a little wan. If only. "But I know virtually nothing about it, and now we're settled again, it's a certainty that someone's going to ... slip."

She wasn't sure she liked the way he was looking at her, but thankfully, he didn't say anything aloud. "I will keep my eyes open for you," he promised instead. "Should I have these delivered to the tower? I saw the workers manhandling a bed in there earlier, so I assume you are moving out of your charming tent at last."

"That would be lovely." She reached up to hug him gratefully, waiting until he responded before pulling back. One of these days, he was going to react instantly to her hugs, but she was patient enough to work on it slowly. "Thank you, Dorian."

"It's my pleasure to be lovely," he answered, the fingertips of his right hand brushing over the smooth curve of her flat stomach, one brow raised curiously. There could be no doubt what he was asking, though she was deeply grateful for his discretion.

She felt the determinedly calm facade she was holding in place crack just a little. "Keep it to yourself?" she whispered, the panic shining through briefly.

Dorian's mustache twitched as he smiled far more gently than she had expected. "Until he tells me, of course," he agreed without a moment's hesitation. And Cullen would tell him, she realized. The two men's friendship had blossomed far quicker than she had expected. "That does rather require you telling him."

"I'm working on it," she promised softly. "I was on my way to try, actually."

"Good." Dorian patted her hand gently. "Don't let me detain you."

Encouraged by his calm confidence, Rory headed back down the stairs, crossing the rotunda to the external door with his eyes on her back all the way. She had a feeling that deviating from her course would result in her being frog-marched directly to Cullen and possibly locked in with him until she 'fessed up. Dorian Pavus might only ever openly admit to having one friend, but he was compulsively protective of all the friends he made. Making her tell the truth through sheer bloody-mindedness was not beyond him. And, besides, he was right. Cullen needed to know. He deserved to know first.

It was breezier up here than it had been in the courtyards. Tucking her arms inside her cloak, she headed across the stone bridge, ignoring the shiver that ran down her spine at the icy gusts that rushed her, albeit gently. Pausing at the door, she knocked, wincing at the sharp, "Come!" that answered her. Sounds like he's in a wonderful mood. She pushed open the door, peering inside warily.

Cullen was standing behind his large desk, leaning on the surface as he scowled down at the papers that covered it. The two other doors to the tower stood open, allowing that healthy breeze to rush through, ruffling his weighted paperwork as it did. He looked tired and angry, and that vein in his temple was throbbing again. The elfroot potion she always made sure he had plenty of was sitting on the desk by his hand. Headache or no headache, here goes nothing.

"Are you busy?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

He raised his eyes from the desk, and his scowl melted away at the sight of her, replaced with a weary smile that made her heart ache pleasantly. "I can always make time for you," he assured her quietly.

"But not to take the potion that will deal with that headache," she pointed out. Despite the anxious knot in her stomach, her smile was fond as she moved toward him, stepping over fallen debris to do so.

"I was just about to," he told her, the guilty cast to his expression telling her the bottle had been sitting there for a good hour or more. Under her knowing gaze, he unstopped the potion and took a healthy gulp, grimacing at the taste.

"Have you taken a break at all today?" she asked then, again knowing he hadn't before he admitted to it.

"There's so much to do," he tried to say, but Rory was just as stubborn as he was. It was part of the reason he'd noticed her in the first place.

"And nothing is going to fall apart if you take ten minutes to walk the battlements with me," she informed him, her expression daring her lover to argue. "Please?"

Cullen's brows drew together in concern at the unexpected plea. "Are you all right?" he asked her, straightening to come out from behind the desk.

Just that tender concern was enough to destabilize her composure, but she managed to keep it together. "I'm worried about you," she told him. It wasn't a lie; it just wasn't the truth, either. "Ten minutes, that's all I'm asking."

He held her gaze for a long moment, clearly trying to decide if he should be worried. "Ten minutes," he agreed finally, laying a hand at the small of her back to escort her out into the sunshine.

They walked in silence along the crenelated battlements, passing the guard patrolling this section before coming to a halt to look out over the snowy vista side by side. Cullen's fingers brushed hers, a single point of contact that meant the world to her as she struggled to find the words for what she needed to say. I'm pregnant was too blunt, too unexpected. Marry me, I'm up the duff likely wouldn't go down too well. Remember that time against the tree lacked the gentle tone she thought he needed. What about ...

She squeaked as his arm wrapped about her waist, drawing her close into his side. "You're fidgeting," he murmured against her temple. "Why so nervous?"

A low sigh escaped her lips. "Because there's something I need to tell you," she confessed, tilting her head to look up at him. "And you might not be happy about it."

"I already know you're going to the Winter Palace," he told her in a disapproving tone. "Which you somehow failed to tell me yourself."

Red heat spilled guiltily across her cheeks. Is that better, or worse, she wondered. "No, it's not that."

The wrap of his arm squeezed supportively about her back. "What is it, then?"

"I, um ..."

But Fate has a funny sense of humor. Sometimes it enjoys throwing obstacles in your path. In this case, as Rory braced herself to share her news ... it threw a goat at the outer wall directly below them. She distinctly heard the bleat, and the splat, leaning forward to look down at the man who had thrown it as Cullen exclaimed in affronted surprise.

"What in the name of -" He drew back from her, already shouting to his men. "Detain that man!"

As the soldiers scrambled to catch the Avvar hooting in satisfaction on the mountainside below, he began to follow, only to turn back to her with an apologetic look in his eyes. She sighed, shaking her head with a helpless laugh.

"It'll keep," she promised, waving him away. He needed his duty to come first, at least until he could make the decision about his priorities. "Go."

With a last concerned look, Cullen moved away, quickly out of sight. Rory turned back to the view, leaning against the gray stone to watch as the Inquisition apprehended Movran the Under with no small difficulty. Typical, she thought resignedly. Goatus interruptus.

[chiefjusticechui]

me too

Over the past several days, I have seen more and more “me too” posts on social media in regards to sexual harassment and sexual abuse awareness, and I have some mixed feelings about the amount of posts... heartbreak, resonation, anger, annoyance. 

Because of associated stigma and trauma, I have been reluctant to write, “me too,” but I've perceived the goal of the “me too movement” to be (at least in part) to raise awareness for victims that they’re not alone, not crazy, not pitiful. Feeling any of those is hard for me, and I really don’t want others to feel that way; so I choose to share.

I don’t wish to share my experiences with sexual abuse and sexual harassment in much detail, and I actually don’t even wish to share them in much extent at all. I’d rather share my thoughts on the effects--the stigma and the trauma--of such abuse and harassment.

The worst part of a car accident, for me, is usually (not that I usually get in car accidents...) the aftermath rather than the accident itself. Getting back in the car and continuing to drive immediately after a traumatic event is kind of terrifying even if the accident wasn’t my fault. 

I suddenly feel paranoid and more cautious, aware of my driving and my surroundings. I flinch when another car comes to a stop behind me or changes lanes in front of me. I don’t trust myself or other drivers.

And something similar happens with sexual abuse and harassment. (I think it’s called PTSD :P).

I mean, it happens with traumatic events in general. Over the last decade and a half, I’ve trusted myself and other people (mostly males, to be frank) less and less because of traumatic experiences. 

How would you feel after your family member threatens to take your life? Isn’t he / she supposed to care about you more than your friends, your friends’ parents, classmates, a grocery cashier? 

How would you feel after your close friend asks for your trust and then betrays it? Isn’t he / she supposed to retain your confidence more than your acquaintances, supervisors, teammates?

Following events like that, I have trouble sincerely accepting that I can trust anybody else, be close to anybody else.

With regards to sexual abuse and harassment, it breaks my heart to just admit that, after such events, I’m terrified of things that, in some situations / with some people, are supposed to be good. I’m slow to accept and enjoy even the feeling of liking a boy just because I have a hard time imagining that he would be kind, be gentle, be caring.

After somebody proudly takes your virginity without your consent and then repeatedly urges you to partake in similar activities again, it’s hard to imagine (more so to believe) that sex could actually be a good, enjoyable, positively meaningful experience.

Forgive me for being a romantic, but I had looked forward to my “first time” being at least with somebody that I deeply care about. I can’t really look forward to that anymore. In fact, part of me doesn’t want that day to come.

It shouldn’t be this way for anybody. 

Beyond fear of similar experiences, trauma has manifested in my life through nightmares. Throughout and since high school, I have nightmares about men I know and trust making unsolicited and unwanted advances on me, and I wake up feeling like I’m in danger even though I’m alone in my room.

I wake up feeling like there’s an imminent threat to my life and my body. I wake up in tears because I was crying in my dream. I wake up, afraid to go back to sleep.

It shouldn’t be this way for anybody.

Another couple of ways in which I’ve been affected and which, I think, are common among victims of sexual abuse and / or harassment is a change in self-perception and a confusion of accountability.

I started seeing myself as damaged goods, to be honest. I’m more sensitive, more paranoid, less trusting--and all of it strikes me as results of the “damage” or trauma. 

That’s not fair. I don’t want somebody else’s malice to mean that I’m any less funny, any less personable, any less friendly or anything as I’ve ever been (and let’s face it: I’m really, really funny). I don’t want somebody else’s selfishness to force me into being a different person. It’s not fair.

My mom reminded me pretty early on that I can still be myself (as hilarious as I am), and I think that her support has helped me cope in that way a lot. But I also started seeing myself as a slut and an attention-seeker, and I blamed myself for some of the abuse and thought I deserved it.

It took about three months for me to stop blaming myself for losing my virginity when I didn’t want to, for me to stop calling myself a slut. And after that, it took another three or four months to come to terms with just the idea that I was raped. I even looked up dictionary and legal definitions of rape, consent, etc. to see if there’s any definite distinction... 

...but I kinda didn’t land on anything specifically with regards to my own situation. One of my friends said made me feel better though; she said, “I’m not going to tell you that you were raped because I don’t want to put a label on you and I don’t know how you feel, but I do think that resembles rape.” I don’t know; I guess I don’t know if I was raped.

It shouldn’t be this way for anybody.

As aforementioned, I hadn’t wanted to talk about my experiences or their aftermath because I am afraid of any associated stigma. Not because of “society’s” reaction and response to stories of sexual abuse and harassment, but because of my own experiences in telling people about traumatic events in my life (related to sexual abuse or not).

I’m tired of being seen as a charity case or like a puppy in a rescue shelter. I don’t need (nor want) anybody’s help, pity, or sad faces. I mean, seriously, I’m a happy person who knows what she wants and works had to get what she wants. I generally have a very positive outlook and attitude, and I don’t feel that “the world” owes me anything or that I’m entitled to compensation for my sad life events.

I’m tired of people hearing my story and responding with, “I’m sorry.” Even if it’s not meant this way, it feels like people are sorry that I’m “damaged” (also, what a horribly connotated word). I mean, I know better than anybody else that I’m damaged because I see it in my daily decisions.

It shouldn’t be this way for anybody.

I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want to be scared. I don’t want to be discouraged, reluctant, paranoid, or lonely. I want to be encouraged, confident, and I want to know that I have comfort. I want to know that I’m safe.

I want other people to know that they’re safe, and it’s hard to convince somebody that she is safe if she has reason to believe that danger is out there.

I guess what I’m hoping that people get out of my sharing depends. 

Because I often feel alone and pitiful, I really hope that others who have experience sexual abuse and / or harassment know that there is at least one other person out there who cares to be vulnerable and to listen. I hope that they feel at all comforted or in-community by this and other “me too” posts. 

I’m hoping that people who do not share in these experiences can understand that, sometimes, abuse / harassment victims just want others to show patience. I am slow to enjoy (and show enjoyment in) certain kinds of relationships, slow to trust, slow to a lot of relational things. I need that time to be sure that I’m safe and to believe that some people (some men) are not dangerous.

Patience and understanding, I guess. I hope that others see me the way I see myself (or want to see myself). I really don’t see myself as a charity case, and I still think I’m a fun-loving person who has goals and likes to work to achieve them on her own as much as possible.

The most encouraging response I received went along the lines of, “I don’t really know what to say or what you need. I won’t push you to talk about it, but I’ll listen if you need an ear.” That friend went on to offer love in the form of food (also appreciated...)

I’m hoping that perpetrators of sexual abuse and / or harassment might realise the potential extent of their actions, their selfishness, their inconsideration. I don’t consider my life completely ruined by the occurrences of abuse, violence, etc., but... but there are some things which cannot be replaced. 

Feeling guilt and shame isn’t what I want such persons to do. Feeling guilt and shame doesn’t really help anybody, even the wrongdoer. If you feel guilty, then explicitly admit that you’ve done something wrong, that you are sincerely sorry, and that you want to / will repent and / or face the potentially harsh consequences of your actions. 

We all have to for something. And we learn not to do it again. And seriously, don’t do it again. Please.