#everyday my brain accuses me of crimes i’ve never heard of

[h0useofw0lves]

being mentally ill and online is exhausting bc i’ll see a post that’s like ‘if you ship marbo and grunch from strawberry timewarp fantasies you’re terrible for the following reasons:’ and i’ll be like oh god they’re right i am terrible and i should kill myself as an apology. and then once i calm myself down i realize i’ve never even seen strawberry timewarp fantasies, let alone participated in the sinful pleasures of the grarbo ship. bashing my head against the wall girl not everyone is talking about you things exist beyond what you are conscious of not all drama is worth being taken seriously stop listening to people online you are not evil

[dreamcatcherfication]

And Then The Earth Would Shatter

@nightingale6374 I tried not to do it again but I just had to

Hello everyone, welcome back to another episode of I’m dying inside - today we have: I’ve Been Watching We Are The Tigers On Repeat And I’m Sobbing While Also Binging Bandstand On Playbill! 

Current Mood: T I R E D. But anyway, anon requested a dark secret being revealed after one of the queens’ shows! I thought I’d do a Jane-centric fic because I don’t have enough of those. Unfortunately, that also means Jane is hardest for me to write, so I apologize if she seems a little out of character. Regardless, I hope you enjoy! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, you can read the above section for my excuse.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of beheading, implied disassociation

Big moments tended to start out normal, Jane realized. Every time there was a surprise in store, no one would be expecting it. That’s what made it a surprise, wasn’t it? The fact that before anything shocking happened, there was normal. The calm before the storm. 

The queens had just finished another evening show and were absolutely beat. Everyone was milling around the theatre, some of the queens even stagedooring. As for Jane, she was curled up in her dressing room chair, staring at her reflection in the mirror. It had been bothering her for a while, but today seemed worse than usual. Lately, during Anne’s song, Jane had been feeling a pit form in her stomach every time Anne shouted, “Oh my God guys, he’s actually going to chop my head off!”

Even though all of them brushed it off, they could see the small hint of fear in Anne’s eyes every time she spoke the words. It was eating Jane up from the inside out knowing that it was her fault. Yet still, she couldn’t say anything. She was known for being the silent one to the point where it was natural for her to hide everything - big and small. She never told the others that she was allergic to dogs, and she kept it hidden even when Anna and Kat would make her go with them to the dog park. That was something small, something inconsequential that no one had to know.

Then there were the bigger things. The things that haunted Jane everyday of her life. Her hollow eyes stared at the mirror, unblinking as white noise rang throughout her brain. It was the only way she could keep herself from thinking terrible thoughts. White noise and complete blankness was her only option. “Hi Jane,” she was broken out of her thoughtlessness by a voice at the dressing room door.

It was Cathy, of course it was, although a voice in the back of Jane’s mind told her there was more to it. That ‘Cathy’ was here for something more than to say hello. “Before you yell at me, I know it’s my fault.”

Cathy was understandably confused by Jane’s choice of greeting. “I wasn’t planning on yelling at you -”

“But you would have, I know,” Jane continued, her voice rising. “I know exactly what’s going to happen. You’ve been waiting for this moment, I know you have!”

When Jane’s voice got louder, the other queens slowly started filtering into the room to investigate. Aragon shot Cathy a questioning look, but Cathy could only shrug. She had only come to get changed out of her costume, but now Jane was having a full on breakdown. Anne had an arm around Kat as they walked into the room, the smiles on their faces fading slightly as they caught on to the atmosphere. Anna was standing in the doorway, silently watching everyone in order to make sure nothing went awry.

“Is everything alright, Jane?” Cathy asked, approaching the other queen. “No one is mad at you.”

“You will be,” she muttered, eyes breaking away from her reflection. “You’ll all hate me for it.”

Anne let go of Kat and moved next to Cathy. “What is ‘it’ Jane?”

All expression fell from Jane’s face as regret came over her. “Oh Anne, I’m so sorry.”

Unease started to build in Anne’s chest at Jane’s words. “What is it Jane?” she spoke more forcefully.

Like she had snapped her fingers, everything came tumbling out of Jane’s mouth, the dam breaking under the pressure of her guilt. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen. But when Henry said he wanted to marry me, I knew it would be impossible for an annulment. I thought - it was only a possibility, I didn’t really mean it.” Every sentence was a stutter out of Jane’s mouth.

“Jane,” Anne’s lip was curling upwards into a snarl, “Tell me what you mean.”

“It was my idea for Henry to accuse you of adultery. I thought if you were convicted of a crime, it would give him reason to break the marriage. I didn’t think he would kill you, Anne! But it was because of me that all of this happened and - and I have to live with that everyday.”

Fire was raging behind Anne’s eyes. “Oh boohoo, you have to live with the trauma of causing somebody’s death. Well guess what, I have to live with the trauma of my beheading. Do you know what it’s like to wake up every night, clawing at your throat because you’re back on that chopping block? No, you don’t. All you know is the pleasures of being the King’s favorite.”

“Anne -” Jane tried to explain, but the queen was hearing none of it.

“I trusted you Jane. I learned to trust you and you didn’t even have the decency to trust me back. So don’t bother apologizing, I don’t want to hear it.” And then Anne stormed out of the room, her footsteps loud as she got far away from the dressing room.

The other four queens were in varying degrees of shock. Cathy was watching Jane with disappointment, her head subtly shaking. “The least you could have done was told one of us,” she whispered, and then exited the room, off to go track down the furious Anne.

Aragon’s hands were shaking, even when she tried to hold them still. She wasn’t focused on Jane, instead dealing with her own inner demons. “I need a moment to myself,” she confessed, before following Cathy out of the room and making her way towards a bathroom.

That left Anna and Kat with Jane. Kat immediately collapsed into her chair at Jane’s revelation, her eyes glazed over and faraway. Anna tried to get her to stand up, but Kat flinched away. Despite her momentarily catatonic state, Kat didn’t want to leave her spot. Anna decided to leave the girl be and moved over towards Jane. “Jane?” she spoke lightly, her voice steady and emotionless. “Are you alright?”

“Why aren’t you yelling at me,” Jane choked out, her eyes refusing to meet Anna’s.

Kneeling next to the other queen’s chair, Anna shrugged. “Maybe because I’m not mad. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t agree with what you did,” Jane frowned and sunk further into her chair, “but I’m not going to yell at you for it. You seem to know your actions were wrong, so there’s no reason for me to lecture you. And you’re going to need someone on your side if things get bad.”

Jane glanced up, meeting Anna’s eyes. “You’re on my side?”

The German queen nodded, standing from her position next to Jane. “Yes, I am. And I’m going to help you make things right. Or better, at least.”

Ruefully, Jane picked at her shirt collar. “How am I supposed to do that? Anne will never forgive me for what I’ve done, no matter how much I regret it.”

“Anne’s angry, she’s betrayed,” Anna explained, “but she’ll forgive you. Maybe not today, maybe not for months to come, but she will. It’s your responsibility to earn her trust back. We’re going to do this one by one if we have to. Starting with Kat.” Anna pointed to the frozen girl next to Jane. 

The way Kat didn’t even respond to her name worried Jane, but she shoved it away in order to stand up and put herself in front of the girl. “Kat… I shouldn’t have kept that secret. Knowing what I did to Anne, knowing how it affects you. It was wrong of me. I should’ve said something and I’m sorry.”

Kat mumbled something, but it was too quiet to be heard. “What?” Anna prodded, putting a hand on Kat’s shoulder. The girl pushed it off and hid in her chair.

“You don’t have to say sorry to me,” Kat murmured. 

“I should,” Jane replied, moving her hand to Kat’s but then thinking better of it. “My mistake affects all of you, and I have to make up for that.”

Noncommittally, Kat’s eyes wandered the floor. “Apologize to Annie. Once she’s willing to forgive you, then you can apologize to me. She’s more important.”

Jane wanted to argue, but she knew Kat was right. Turning to face Anna, Jane hardened her face. “I’m going to go track down the others. You stay with her,” she spoke with resolve.

A small smile made its way onto Anna’s face as she nodded. “Do what you need to do Seymour.”

As Jane left the dressing room, she practically crashed into Aragon. The other queen seemed to have bags under her eyes that appeared out of nowhere, as well as sweat dripping from her forehead. “Catherine?” Jane questioned her friend.

“I would’ve done the same,” Aragon admitted, hanging her head in shame.

“What?”

It took all of her willpower to look up into Jane’s confused eyes. “Your idea for Henry to accuse Anne of adultery. If I was in your position, I would’ve done the same thing. And I hate myself for it.”

Jane grabbed her friend’s hand. “But you love Anne.”

“I didn’t back then. Neither did you, that’s why you did it. That’s why I would have done it,” Aragon huffed and clenched her fists. “That was a long time ago when we were pitted against each other.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have done it,” Jane scolded herself.

Her breaths were shaky, but Aragon tried to offer any consolation she could. “Don’t tell yourself off for things you did in the past. It’s done. Focus on the now. Isn’t that what modern life has taught us?” Without waiting for a response, Aragon left Jane and went into the dressing room where Kat and Anna were waiting.

Standing alone in the hallway, Jane took a moment to psych herself up. If she said anything wrong, anything that wasn’t 100% perfect, Anne would never forgive her. Maybe forgiveness wasn’t the goal. Maybe she was shooting for something else. But she needed to get this right. Gathering up all her courage, Jane started marching down the hall to where she knew Anne would be waiting.

When Jane reached the door to the rehearsal room, she was met with Cathy crossing her arms. “Jane,” she stated monotonously, “I don’t think it’s a good time.”

“It won’t ever be a good time,” Jane sighed, wringing her hands. “I made a mistake Cathy, I can say it a million times. But I need to talk to Anne.”

Maybe Jane was imagining it, but Cathy’s face morphed into one of respect as she stepped away from the door. “If you do anything wrong, she’ll never forgive you.”

“I know,” Jane said for what felt like the hundredth time. 

Inside the room, Anne was pacing furiously. She turned around when the door opened and shot Jane a glare. There were tears in the corners of her eyes. “What do you want? Come to tell me you planned to kill Elizabeth too?”

“No!” Jane gasped, putting her hands up. “I would never.”

“Yeah, well I’m not so sure anymore,” Anne hissed, digging her heels into the ground. “I forgave you, for everything that happened. You know, I probably would’ve forgiven you if you told me the truth from the start. But you had to lie and ruin everything.”

Jane looked at the ground and inhaled, preparing her words. “I’ve lost your trust. And I understand that. I hope that one day we can build it back -”

“Cut the bullshit,” Anne rolled her eyes. “I don’t want your premeditated, Oxford apology.”

Keeping her voice as steady as she possibly could, Jane answered, “You’re right.” There was a long pause between the two of them before Jane continued. “A lot happened in the past that we can’t change. I hate that I had a role to play in your death, but that’s the fact of it. So whether you like it or not, I’m going to do everything in my power to make this life better. I’ve already failed once by not telling you the truth. I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m asking for a second chance.”

At first, Anne seemed like she was going to reject the idea. Her eyes were narrowed as she glared at Jane, her nostrils flaring with malice. But she surprised Jane by saying, “We’ve already gotten second chances. What you want is a third chance.”

“Well then, I’d like to have a third chance Anne. Third time’s the charm?” Jane extended her hand as an olive branch. A hug didn’t seem quite right, but she wanted to offer something.

Anne watched the hand warily, her stance defensive. At Jane’s hopeful look, she gave in and grabbed her hand. “Last chance Seymour, make it count.”

----------------------------------------------

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thedemidisaster @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone

[comecollective-blog1]

3 things I thought I knew about sexualized violence – until I became a survivor

Trigger warning for anyone who has experienced sexualized violence or for whom this is a sensitive topic–find support here​.

Please note that this piece is based on personal experience and thus completely subjective. There is no right or wrong way to be a survivor.

I call myself a feminist. Even though I still have a lot to educate myself on, I thought I had one topic pretty much figured out: sexualized violence.

I am familiar with the national and global discourse, know the laws on sexualized violence in my country (Germany), and like to keep up to date on research and statistics. In a way, I was always prepared to become part of these statistics. After all, ​35% of German women*​ report having experienced physical assault and/or sexualized violence from age 15 onward. Taking into account that only ​5–15 % of survivors​ chose to report, my odds looked even grimmer.

Knowing this, I was, as bitter as it may sound, not really surprised, when one night some years ago, I experienced an attempted rape. I was shocked, however, by what followed. Even with all my reading and research, I was in no way prepared for how I and the people around me would handle the situation. Five things I thought I knew about sexual violence did not hold true at all in my personal experience.

1. I will be sure that I’ve experienced sexualized violence

During my lifetime I have experienced my fair share of sexual harassment, just as many feminine presenting folks do––from catcalling and groping up to being followed home by strangers or stalked by a public masturbator. All these experiences had 3 things in common:

I knew exactly what was happening and that it was wrong

I defended myself, called for help, and informed security, doormen, or the police

I did not know the perpetrator prior to the incident

For my assault, however, the last one of these points did not hold true, which, in a way, changed everything.

I had known my attacker since we were 5 years old. We had grown up together, went to kindergarten and primary school together, graduated from high school, partied and hung out together. He was my friend. My friend wouldn’t do such a thing to me, that’s what my brain kept telling me. I must be wrong in feeling violated, disgusted and shaken to my core, because my friend would never do anything that would make me feel that way. I must have misunderstood what he was trying to do, he must have misunderstood my signals. There must have been a mistake.

Thankfully, somehow, I managed to not let my doubts control me. I defended myself, I got out of the situation before anything more could happen. Yet, I could not for the life of me explain or put into legal terms what had just happened to me.

Later, on the phone with a ​crisis hotline I had called, knowing I wouldn’t make it through the next few hours alone, I told the counsellor what had happened in detail, step by step. When I heard them say the phrases “sexual assault” and “attempted rape”, I was in disbelief. I couldn’t understand that according to the law I had prided myself on knowing, my friend had acted as the perpetrator and I had become his victim––to this day I struggle with the term victim, I like survivor better.

The first thing I needed to understand is that the experience of sexualized violence can be so overwhelming that it becomes hard to recognise and name what happened to you. This is why professional help can be so important––but more on that later.

2. My friends and family will support me

I had been aware that 77% of the women* who experience sexualized violence know their attacker. What I hadn’t thought about, however, was what that meant for my lived experience. A majority of my friends knew the perpetrator. They were not only my but also his friends. My family had watched my attacker grow up. They were acquainted with his parents, had arranged our playdates and heard me tell countless fun stories involving him.

When I approached the people around me, who I considered my support system, and told them what had happened, they responded similarly to how I had first reacted: with disbelief

and dismissal. It was incredibly hard for them to grasp that this was not just a fight between friends. That this was not me asking them to “pick a side” or to be on my team. It hadn’t even occurred to me that any of my friends might still want to hang out with my attacker after hearing what happened.

But some of them did and here’s why: Everyone, including myself, had known the perpetrator as a nice guy. He had always gotten along with everyone, was socially and politically conscious, he volunteered in his free time and got elected class president. At the time of the assault his best friend was in the police academy and he himself was a law student. I’m sure if you asked him, both then and now, he’d call himself a feminist.

In addition to the perpetrator seeming like a perfectly good guy, I didn’t exactly act like a victim myself. When I first told everyone about what had happened, I was still in deep shock. I didn’t cry, I didn’t want to be held, I didn’t ask for anything––I just needed people to know. From an outside perspective it looked like I was handling things just fine. My friends and family mistook this first “autopilot survival” stage of my trauma for indifference.

I recounted the details of the assault and told everyone that I did not want to see the perpetrator ever again. I believed the support I needed would automatically follow. But here’s the thing: People like what they already know.

Actually believing my story would have significantly disrupted everyone’s world view. It would’ve raised uneasy questions and required actual effort and changes in people’s everyday lives:

Did my friend really commit a sexual offence?

Did he always have that potential in him?

How did I never notice?

Do I confront him about what I’ve just learned?

How do I act around him?

What does that mean for our circle of friends?

My family and some of my friends chose to openly face these questions and put the effort in. For these people I’m incredibly grateful. Others chose differently. They had heard “both sides of the story”, my recollection of an attempted rape as well a the perpetrators insistence that this was all a big misunderstanding and he was incredibly sorry, and they thought it best “not to get involved”.

I will say this now in case someone out there needs to hear it: There is no such thing as “not getting involved” when one of your friends is accusing another of a sexual offence. If you choose not to confront the alleged attacker, if you choose to act like nothing happened, if you treat both parties just as you did before, you’re giving power to the perpetrator and taking it from the survivor. The attacker will interpret your non-action as tolerance of their crime while the victim will understand that their experience is insignificant and that people don’t care.

It would have been nice to tell my story and be instantly surrounded by understanding and support. In my experience, however, even the people willing to be there for me often did not know how best to help. They cut all ties with my attacker but in fear of doing something wrong, they did nothing besides that. Only when I actively and specifically voiced my needs did I receive the support I needed. Asking for help is exhausting but healing. Cutting ties hurts, but just one person who sees, believes, and supports you can make all the difference.

3. I will report

I didn’t report. At least, I haven’t reported yet. This is still a hard one for me to grasp, even years later. I struggle to talk or even write about this. It is the only part of my experience as a survivor that fills me with shame. So why didn’t I just do it? After all, I have reported many other acts of sexual harassment, way less serious cases, to the police.

In this statement alone lies part of the answer. After the assault happened, I was simply too overwhelmed. It was too much, I couldn’t grasp what was going on and was in complete survival mode. This state was followed by a year of strict repression. I pushed every thought of the assault into the deepest depths of my brain and locked all of them in a box. I needed to do this, so I could go on with my life. Only when that sealed box of repressed thoughts broke open and caused a complete meltdown once the anniversary of the assault neared, did I realise, I should probably deal with this.

I still am dealing with it. I found a counsellor for victims of sexualized violence and have been going to sessions for a year now. These sessions are healing and necessary (for me personally) but they are also extremely draining and require a lot of energy. At this point, I simply do not have enough strenght or emotional resources to heal myself and also report.

After all, reporting does not only mean reliving the traumatic experiences––I do that every other week in therapy. It means reliving the traumatic experiences in an unsafe space. In a space, where I will be asked, whether I had been drinking, what I had been wearing, if I am sure it wasn’t just a friendly cuddle. It means retelling my darkest experiences and maybe not being believed.

A sad truth for my case is, that the chances of the perpetrator actually being prosecuted are slim to none. It will be his word against mine and there is no physical evidence. Cases like mine, where there was no penetration and there is no rape kit, rarely even make it to court. So why do I feel bad for not reporting?

I feel that by not reporting, I’m not standing up for myself the way I would want to. I feel that I’m letting him win and am not warning other women out there about him. It makes me feel weak and incapable.

The main reason why one day, when I have regained my strength and am ready to face the authorities’ bias and scrutiny, I want to report is this: sexual predators tend to be repeat offenders. In my case, the perpetrator did not even understand that he did something wrong––so what’s keeping him from doing it again?

There is a considerable chance that somewhere out there is another woman who has fallen or will fall victim to his violence. And if this person chooses to report, I want her to have better chances than me. I don’t want it to be her words against his, I want it to be OUR WORDS against his. I want to lay the groundwork for exposing the pattern. If not for myself, then for other women like me.

*The statistics cited here focus on cis women. Trans women and feminine representing non-binary people are affected at an even higher rate.

- Anonymous Survivor