#so many conversations about abuse focus on men abusing women or children but women are also often abusive especially towards their own | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

comrade-meow · 4 years ago

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“All women are controlled by men’s violence. Whether or not they are the ones on the receiving end, it affects every one of us. When we clutch our keys as we walk home at night, when we pick the safest route along well-lit streets but also when we worry about whether a new partner, or a troubled male relative, could become abusive: we fear the kitchen knife pointed towards us, or the hands around our neck.

I grew up in West Yorkshire in the 1970s, in the shadow of Peter Sutcliffe, known as the “Yorkshire Ripper”. We all knew, even children, about this bad man who was picking off women. And men’s violence against women was also around me as a child. It is there for so many of us — not just in public spaces but in intimate places too. That was one reason I have spent all my adult life working in specialist women’s services.

The deaths of Sarah Everard and Sabina Nessa have reignited a conversation about male violence, but it has focused on “stranger danger” when most women are killed by someone they know.

The Femicide Census, which I co-created with Clarrie O’Callaghan and which is supported by Freshfields, the law firm, and Deloitte, the auditors, annually publishes information about women who have been killed and the male perpetrators. We found that about 62 per cent of women killed by men are killed by current or former partners. About one in 12 are killed by strangers, roughly the same number as are murdered by their sons. Yet there hasn’t been any critical analysis of the danger sons pose to adult women; we never hear about “filial peril”. We don’t have an accurate picture of what men’s violence against women actually looks like in this country.

The census came about after I started my own record in January 2012, Counting Dead Women, which contemporaneously records female deaths at the hands of men. A young woman, Kirsty Treloar, who had been referred to Nia, the charity where I have been chief executive since 2009, was killed by the boyfriend she was trying to leave. I searched online to see what had happened to her. What I found instead was report after report of women who had been murdered. I have supported female victims of male violence for decades, yet the volume of crimes still surprised me. There was a phrase that kept appearing in these reports: “This was an isolated incident.” But there is nothing isolated about it. How could it be “isolated” when it was happening to so many women? And why were we not looking for the connections? That’s why I kept recording these deaths.

I was also angry that the government’s official data does not group together all the women killed by men. Even now, the Office for National Statistics records the sex of people who have been killed but not the sex of the person who killed them — so they don’t allow us to understand the difference between violence committed by men and violence committed by women. They only give you half the story.

You often hear the same, inaccurate, statistic: that two women a week are killed by men in England and Wales. That was the standard way murdered women were talked about — as a number. I wanted us to remember that they are human beings who are loved and missed. And recording all their names, I started to notice patterns: many older women are murdered and sexually assaulted during burglaries and women are often killed as they are either about to leave, or have just left, an abusive partner.

For many women, the moment they try to leave is incredibly dangerous. Staying with a violent man, horrific as this is, is the best survival strategy on offer for some women. Yet the places they would escape to, refuges, have had their funding cut for more than a decade and the expertise stripped out by allowing services to be delivered by the cheapest bidders, rather than specialist feminist organisations.

Young, professional, conventionally attractive, white women who are killed by strangers get the most attention but we must stop perpetuating this hierarchy of victims. I was really struck last week that in the judge’s sentencing remarks, he called Sarah Everard “a wholly blameless victim”. You can’t talk about her innocence without implicitly victim-blaming other women and we shouldn’t separate between women we empathise with and women we don’t. And women are killed by all kinds of men: from the unemployed to airline pilots and doctors — and, of course, police officers.

I think misogyny runs through the police. At least 15 serving or former police officers have killed women since 2009. The culture of the police needs fixing: it’s not a few bad apples; it’s a rotten orchard. We need an inquiry into institutionalised sexism in the police.

Killing a woman is not a gateway crime: it is not the first thing you do. If you murder a woman, you have usually been doing something abusive or criminal to women for a long time, you just haven’t been caught. And if Wayne Couzens is stage ten in violence against women, what are the police doing about officers, and other men, who are at stage three, four or five?

More broadly, we need to stop pussyfooting about naming men as perpetrators. Then to tackle the violence, we need a five-pronged strategy.

We need to focus on individual men, the perpetrators, and hold them to account. We must give women more options to leave. We should look at relationships and how those shape our culture. We need to ensure the police, the courts and social services are not institutionally sexist. Then we should address inequality: the objectification and sexualisation of women.

That is the only way anything will change.”

#Anglo.txt

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sasheneskywalker · 2 months ago

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3. It’s Not Actually About Fandom

It’s so, so, so easy to dismiss all this as being fandom drama. If you’re not in fandom at all, why should you bother? Sarah Z’s recent video didn’t help this, either, nor have other takes on the situation from people far enough from it to have those stances. But one of the absolutely key things to understand about anti-shipping is that it’s not just about fandom. I’m citing the radical feminist underpinnings not to inflate the importance of ships, but to make this connection… because it is often then the same people fearmongering about kink at Pride (a complex topic, for sure, but not one that can be boiled down to ‘sex pests wear leather and normal safe people don’t’!) or harassing authors for published books on serious topics. It’s the same people, too, who mobilize against PornHub or OnlyFans for being supposed hubs of “sex trafficking” and cheer when sex workers are driven into the shadows.

Simply put, fandom is the entry point for this rhetoric. Much like how Gamergate and the alt-right used videogames and 4chan to get to young men, TERFs and radfems have happily used Tumblr and Twitter to disguise their talking points in “low-stakes” affairs like ships. This serves several purposes. One, nobody’s really going to think about it too hard. It’s fandom. It’s not that serious. Two, nobody outside of fandom will take you seriously. If you’re harassed or lose your job because of dumb fandom drama, it’s at least partially your own fault for engaging in “silly fandom stuff for children” – at least in many people’s eyes. And three, it gives them direct access to a receptive audience; marginalized people in fandom who feel shut out for other reasons. This has taken so many forms. Young queer transmascs frustrated at the state of m/m representation in fandom and the still omnipresent “yaoi” stereotyping end up in conversations with TERFs who talk to them seriously about fetishization. Perhaps they start with how it’s the sexual aspect that’s ‘really’ bad about all those Grown Women doing it, or how it’s taking space away from Them, The True Men; after a while, perhaps, the idea that maybe the trans men only “want” to be men because of the fetishized ideals and misogyny in fandom gets floated. If they hadn’t started with a real grievance, this wouldn’t work. But this is a trusted person, now. And now you have someone detransitioning or dropping their plans for transition because well, their Trusted Friend said they were just fetishizing men… and their misery and confusion worsens and makes them even more vulnerable to being used as a weapon. The same thing is happening with aces, especially after a long period of time in which TERFs had asexuals as a primary enemy. A young ace person in fandom expresses frustration at the focus on romance and sexuality in fandom, and a ‘concerned friend’ (who will never actually identify themselves as a TERF) comes to agree with them and talk about how all of these people making light of Serious Problems like Rape just don’t understand. Again, it begins with a genuine grievance, and once the trust is established, it goes from there.

The extra horror of this, which you’ve likely picked up on in part already, is how often this comes hand in hand with sexual and emotional abuse from the adults in question. Even when it doesn’t explicitly come with it, this sort of deceptive relationship between an adult and a teenager is far more serious and impactful than even the most well-illustrated piece of non-con artwork. Once someone’s geared for this type of rhetoric, though, it almost inevitably leaks into their other stances as well. You can’t consign pro and anti-shipping to “fandom discourse” and then fight for sex workers’ rights without acknowledging where this radicalization is happening.

Behind the Curtain: Anti-Shipping is a Bad Faith Position

#fandom

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whump-town · 4 years ago

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Was Hotch Abused?

I offer you my 2,300+ worded thoughts on the matter with episodes included. There's going to be lots and lots of talk about abuse so you're going to want to steer clear of that if that's something you're not cool with but for those of you interested... I give you all the proof I could think of:

Natural Born Killer.

In the eighth episode of the first season, “Natural Born Killer”, we meet Vincent Perrotta. His father was abusive but from the outside looking in, no one knew a thing. Perrotta started drinking at fourteen and committed petty crimes, as well as assault, for pleasure. Going as far as to kill his own father not too long after. But Perrotta is a monster and a psychopath so it’s clear we’re not supposed to sympathize which makes his interaction with Hotch so peculiar.

Hotch is our “Captain America”. A true neutral with an infinity for doing what’s right so it’s inconceivable to compare him to Perrotta and yet Hotch gives us some rather conflicting lines to dissect.

Before Gideon hands the interview over to Hotch, he spends a moment talking with the others out in the bullpen. The whole time he’s leaned back and he’s watching Morgan and Hotch. Now, at this point, we don’t know about the sexual abuse Derek Morgan faced at the hands of Carl Buford but there’s something about the way that Gideon spends the entirety of the conversation only looking at the two of them. Waiting for them to put together what he clearly already has and when Hotch does…

Hotch jumps straight into Perrotta’s profile, asking: “You grew up in a house that looked normal and happy, didn’t you Vincent?”, “But your father beat you every chance he got”

Perrotta excuses it with a shrug, “he smacked me around some, didn’t everybody’s old man?”

Abuse is a complicated thing and, often, abused children just don’t know what their parents are doing to them is abuse. It can be a subtle and outright thing but there’s an element of normalcy to it. The parent’s abuse is as habitual, as minimal as biting your nails to the child. Adults often can’t identify their parent’s past abuse.

With Hotch you learn that his lack of expression is often as telling as his expressions and as Hotch looks back at Perrotta, there’s something so sad about his eyes. His voice goes from loud, assertive to his whispered answer to Perrotta’s question. “No.” As if, well, maybe that’s a question he’d raised once too.

Perrotta doesn’t care about that though and he taunts “well, maybe if yours had you would have learned to fight”. But is it not more telling that Hotch didn’t make a sound? Perrotta got in several hits and the only sound Hotch made was when the wind was literally punched out of him. Not even when Gideon called to him and at that point, Perrotta did not the garrote around Hotch’s throat. That’s another thing mentioned before in the profile and something Hotch mentions to Perrotta directly. You learn to take the beatings, smile even. So, it’s just a little odd how little Hotch responded…

But that’s all nothing, you can take that how you want

Which leads us to the fateful, not everyone comment.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent. When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers"

That can’t mean NOTHING, there’s so much there but there’s something about Hotch’s subtle wording. The way he’s unconsciously slipped himself in there (a very real thing that people do) and he hasn’t even realized it. Doesn’t even know he’s done it until Perrotta pushes and he pauses, asks what Perrotta means. And the subtly of it, the way he doesn’t even mean to that says more than anything else.

“And some people grow up to catch them.”

It’s a super-specific comment to make. He can’t possibly be talking about Derek because he doesn’t even know about Carl Buford yet not to mention saying that about him would be incredibly rude if he were talking about Reid (and again, he doesn’t know about Reid’s childhood yet). So… that really only leaves him because JJ, Garcia, and Elle were not abused.

“P911”

In season two, episode two “P911” the team is hunting down a man trying to sell a young boy, Peter, on the black market. Kevin Rose is an underage boy “selling” himself on the internet while his abusive father has been in prison. I’ll let you just guess who it is that leads the team on finding out more about Kevin.

Your guess is more than likely right-- Morgan and Hotch. Now, we know about Morgan but come on. Nothing to say about it being Hotch who makes the emotional appeal?

The camera even follows his gaze, he’s crouched down (to appear non-threatening because he’s so close) and we watch his eyes take in the scars on Kevin’s chest. You can also note that while Gideon remarks that Kevin’s father was “always drunk, you never knew why he was hurting you, why he was so angry�� both Kevin and Hotch look away from him.

AND FUCKING TRY AND TELL ME THE “some grow up to catch them” LINE WAS NOTHING TRY BECAUSE GUESS WHAT GIDEON SAYS? NO, NO GUESS--

Gideon: “At night you’d cry yourself to sleep hoping someone would come and save you”

And it’s HOTCH, HOTCH IS THE ONE TO SAY: “You have the chance to be the one who saves someone, Kevin. You can be the one who answers him, the one who stops his pain.”

PARALLELS PEOPLE THE PARALLELS

“Profiler, Profiled”

I bet you weren’t expecting this one, huh? But there’s something about people who faced trauma that makes it so perceptible to other traumatized people-- they sniff it out like coke to a drug hound. And, just guess, who it is that spends the majority of his time fighting with Morgan? Who knows (like I said about the bloodhound) immediately there is something Morgan’s hiding.

Hotch is angry, he’s upset that Morgan would hide anything. Mumbling about there being “larger implications” and how the team can’t have secrets. With the knowledge of exactly what that secret is it makes Gideon’s eye roll a little telling. Because it’s like they both know but neither will say. Driven home by Gideon turning the attention to Hotch, asking “would you want us profiling you?”

And again Hotch is the one to leap onto the abuse. The one to put the pieces together. Hotch’s anger makes no sense. He says he’s angry that Derek’s keeping a secret but the team has many, way too many. Over the years the team unwraps all kinds of secrets, he’s never angry then. So, it’s not about the implication of a secret at all. It’s what the secret is, like misplaced anger. Anger with himself may be leftover from his own abuse. But still…

Hotch lets Morgan escape. Knows exactly who and what Carl Buford is but all he tells the team is that “he won’t even speak about him”. He always knows how to find the abuse… like I said, a bloodhound.

George Foyet

I know you’re going to find this so fucking surprising but guess who also was abused? George Foyet was beaten by his biological father and his mother didn’t save him so he hates women (bleh, men are disgusting what’s knew).

Now, blah, blah, blah Hannah, I know you’re not about to say Foyet and Hotch are a lot alike-- no of course not. Don’t be silly. What I’m going to say is that they’re foil characters? They accent one another in an opposites sort of way. Foyet is a manipulative narcissist who doesn’t work well with others. Hotch is a guilt-ridden team leader who can’t let The Reaper’s case go. There are meant to be comparisons drawn between them. A good villain does that. George Foyet shows us that Hotch is not at all this removed, cool guy that we’ve previously assumed him to be. He cries in an alley because he blames himself when The Reaper kills a busload of people.

We see he has a rather compulsive nature. He never let The Reaper case go and has very personal ties in this case. Not even after Foyet attacks him, if anything it’s worse. He brings the case file home.

But it’s certainly interesting to see yet another “villain” with that same tragic abusive father and submissive mother come into play with Hotch. We’re nearing a point where it’s getting hard to call it coincidence (and according to David Rossi, there simply is not such thing).

Haunted.

In the second episode of the fifth season, “Haunted”, Hotch voice’s over a Dickinson quote: “One need not be a chamber to be haunted, One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing. Material place.” These quotes are often cheesy, if not a little cliché, but given the premise of this episode is in exploring the ways in which a man’s traumatic childhood has left him now grappling for a truth he can not define… well, maybe we can say the writers were onto something here.

Darrin Call, debatably the Unsub of “Haunted”, was abused by an alcoholic father. We see several signs of it throughout the episode-- Darrin’s delayed speech & severe neglect that leaves Darrin in dirty, hole-riddled clothing. If what we see is not enough, the reports that the team is given on Darrin explicitly state that he was extremely physically abused. It is this abuse that leads to the PTSD that he’s diagnosed with.

As sad and disheartening as Darrin Call’s life is, overall it’s the sort of episode that is forgotten over time. When it’s placed right after the episode that viewers have to watch Hotch say goodbye to Haley and Jack then, who is Darrin Call when compared to the agony of watching Hotch show genuine weakness? After watching Hotch lay in a hospital bed, tears in his eyes wondering if his son will remember him? His fears become our own and after watching George Foyet disarm and mutilate the one guy we’ve been led to believe for five seasons is infallibly, unflinchingly never going to break… well, Darrin Call has it bad but our focus is elsewhere.

It’s on Hotch, right?

The guy who is coming back to the job after only a month (and a day) off to recover. Who Morgan worries might have PTSD but he knows they can’t easily measure because Hotch wrote the questionnaire, he knows all the right answers. Who we see has had new locks installed since the attack and has Foyet’s file sitting open on a table for easy access. Who hears Darrin Call’s life (worked the same job without promotion for years before getting fired, no wife, no kids, a hermit) and bluntly asks why Darrin hasn’t just killed himself.

And let’s just take a moment to break down that comment. Hotch, who in the episode previously lost his wife and child, wants to know why a man who is steadily starting to sound a lot like him hasn’t just killed himself.

And I don’t say “sounds a lot like him” lightly.

Darrin Call has PTSD. Hotch, more than likely, has PTSD

Here are some signs just from that episode: hostility (he yelled at Garcia over something very small), self-destructive behavior (he ran into Darrin Call’s father’s house without a vest, back-up, or telling the other’s what he was doing), and guilt (blamed himself for missing the eye twitching Darrin exhibited because of his years of antipsychotic use)

Darrin Call was abused… this marks the second HEAVILY implied time that Hotch has been compared to another man abused by his father

Vincent Perrotta was the first with that hard to forget the exchange

George Foyet and his notably exactly the same past as Perrotta

“Haunted” feels like it’s supposed to prove to the audience that Hotch is losing it. He distances himself from Morgan, leaving every room that Morgan is in. He doesn’t pick up Garcia’s calls after Darrin Call attacks his therapist. The only glimpse we see of the old Hotch is with Emily, pulled to the side, but his guilt burns and he even brushes her off. Shaking his head and turning his back to her because somehow he should have seen something no one else did.

Throw in Reid’s comment about Call “victims are often drawn to the scene of their first trauma” and we’re painfully reminded of Hotch’s apartment. A place you’d think he’d want to escape but didn’t. The man was stabbed nine times in his own apartment and stayed in that same place. Almost sounds like that statement could be applied to Hotch too.

A dash of Hotch’s own comment about where Call would go to in his confusion and he says “to what he knows”, even the importance of how that orphanage is “where he became Darrin Call”. Where does Hotch go? What does Hotch know? The job.

So… we tally now three total Unsubs that Hotch has this direct relationship with. Three Unsubs with abusive fathers and mothers who couldn’t protect them. Hmm… coincidence?

Brothers Hotchner

Supervisor Special Agent Hotchner is a master of hiding, that is undeniable. It’s hard to see anything behind those furrowed brows and impersonal suits and that’s likely for a reason. However, anyone with a little sibling can tell you that no one on this Earth can and will annoy the ever-loving shit out of you like a sibling.

But that’s not really important. Sean and Hotch don’t talk about their parents. At all. Ever.

Hotch says that when Sean was in the first grade he got sent off to boarding school. “I was the screw-up making bad choices”. Interesting enough of a statement to make but you throw in the rough ages of Sean and Hotch at that time and it’s a little more than just “interesting”. You have Hotch at roughly 14-15 getting into trouble just like Morgan did at that same age (coincidence???).

(now you can certainly look at Hotch’s parentification vs. Sean’s immaturity doubled with substance abuse problems but we’d be stretching. “The Tribe” touches on the parentification but Sean just calls it “the big brother” thing and tells Hotch that he’s not Sean’s father and it’s fine it’s whatever. Hotch is a bit pushy. That’s not new. Substance abuse can just be a problem, it doesn’t have to be bc they were abused but again… a little coincidental)

So... was Aaron Hotchner abused as a child? I certainly think so

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner

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thran-duils · 4 years ago

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Total Eclipse (P.4)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part Four) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 3,068 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always

Part Three || Part Five || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Your wedding was fast approaching, a handful of days. Your engagement was rather short, the announcement Arthur, being older than Sherlock at 45, and widowed once already without children, he was eager to get you into his estate. He was able to pay enough to get everything set up on a faster track than other people and despite being less than excited about the prospect, you had to admit you were impressed.

The following day after the heartbreaking meeting with Sherlock, you had sent a note to his place. And did not receive a response.

Your notes sent to Baker Street remained unanswered in the following weeks.

Desperate, you addressed it to John this time.

That got a response.

He showed up at your place for the tea you extended an invitation for. To your servants that prepared the tea and lunch, you told them you were looking for his opinion on which doctor he believed would be best to oversee your care during pregnancy. You told them he was a great surgeon, so you respected him and valued his insider’s opinion on the matter. They accepted it without question; it was a perfectly reasonable reason to invite John here and it was not like you lied about him at all, so there was nothing to uncover.

“Well, the estate is magnificent,” John told you after you had exchanged pleasantries and you excused the maids from the drawing room. The door was left cracked for modesty’s sake.

You nodded, “It is. Expansive. I hardly can keep myself from getting lost. I daresay it’ll take years perhaps for me to explore all the corners. I have become fond of the willow tree in the back though. That is a point of relaxation for me.”

“That sounds lovely,” John commented, giving you a warm smile.

“Yes… would you like a ham and cheese sandwich?”

“Please.”

You served him up two and he smiled, thanking you as he took the plate. Giving yourself one as well as vegetables, you took a bite and said after you had swallowed, “I actually had a question for you. I… well, I’m looking for an opinion. On a doctor.” You noticed the look on his face and you gave a little laugh, “Not a surgeon. I know exactly where I would go for that. I’d trust you with my life. But a delivery doctor – or a midwife – that you would recommend would be greatly appreciated.”

John looked stunned for a moment, but he recovered quickly, swallowing his bite. “You… you need this?”

“Well… not immediately. We are trying though. Arthur is… quite desperate for children,” you admitted, keeping your eyes off of him, slightly embarrassed to be hinting at the fact you were sleeping with someone besides Sherlock. Even if the man being discussed was your husband. “I am just trying to get ahead because I do believe it will happen sooner rather than later. It does not hurt to be prepared.”

“No, it certainly does not,” John agreed. He cleared his throat and said, “Well, I do have some people I could recommend, certainly. I could give you their information and you could contact them?”

“That would be most helpful.”

John took another bite of his sandwich and looked in thought as he chewed. You followed suit, taking another bite.

“I thought perhaps you had called on me… for another reason.”

“Oh, I did,” you answered, smiling sheepishly. John took another bite, waiting for you to go on. He was giving you the floor to plead your case. You exhaled heavily and said in a quieter voice, “I appreciate you answering. He would not respond to me. I do not know how to get through to him.”

You shot a look at the door and John nodded, standing up. He walked towards the window near you, so he would be in plain sight from the crack in the door, removing any suspicion of what was transpiring. You could speak in hushed tones and still not be accused of engaging in unsavory acts.

“He’s… locked himself in his room.” John’s face fell at your upset sigh and he added, “If it makes you feel any better, he’s barely speaking to me either.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better. Worse actually.”

“I found him a case though. I am going to tell him about it when we get back. I hope that will draw him out and get him back on his feet.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him like I did, you know.”

“I know. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place.” He gave you a sympathetic look. “I am sure he knows that. He is just… absolutely dreadful at showing his emotions and even worse at processing them.”

Fighting back the tears that were starting to form, you took another bite of your sandwich, trying to focus on that to get yourself back under control. John was watching you closely, you saw that when you snuck a glance up at him.

“I didn’t want this. “I don’t want to lose… our relationship,” you said in a voice barely above a whisper, unable to stop the tears brimming. “He has to know that.”

“He will. He does.”

“Take him on the case, please, like you’re planning. That’ll clear his mind, give him something to occupy his time and lift his spirit.”

“I will.” John leaned in and told you sincerely, “And I will speak to him as well. I’ll get through to him.”

<><><>

Pouring a generous amount of spiked lemonade for yourself and the two servants you had brought with you, you sat on a bench in Hyde Park. Your servant girls were delighted to go out with you at these times. It was forbidden – illegal actually – to drink in public and the scandal if it were women.

It tasted well and you took a large drink. Your eyes ran around the park as the servants made small talk among themselves.

Your breath caught in your chest. He was gazing at you across the fountain. Hair windswept, his eyes bright. He looked better than the last time you saw him.

Shooting a glance at your escorts that were sitting beside you, Sherlock’s eyes glanced briefly to them before meeting your eyes again. His hands were in his pockets, looking calm. It had been a couple of weeks since you had spoken with John and two months since you had seen Sherlock.

“I am going to take a stroll,” you told your servants, putting your drink down. They stood with you, and you told them, “I… I would like to take a short walk alone. It’s becoming more common, is it not? Unescorted women? Plus, this is a park. How much trouble can I get into here?” The girls looked uncertain but sat back down. “Have some more of the lemonade.” You gave them a wink and they were all too pleased with that.

You stood, your umbrella over your shoulder still, protecting you from the sun. The gravel crunched underneath your feet as you made your way away from the fountain towards one of the flower gardens. Not quite in bloom yet but there were few people over here. You heard footsteps on the path behind you, and a smile came over your face. You tried to stifle it though; you did not want to seem too eager.

Coming to a stop before a statue, you pretended to be admiring it. The air shifted beside you and you turned your head, finding Sherlock, staring at it as well, a good three or four feet away.

“You look well,” he commented, breaking the silence.

“So do you.”

You hid another smile as best as you could, elated that he had come back to you.

<><><>

Present

Fingers intertwined with Arthur’s, the other on his shoulder, you let him lead you around the ballroom. He was a stiff dancer no matter how hard you tried to get him to loosen up. There was not love in his embrace, merely going through the motions. He was doing his diligence to keep up appearances. All his devotion had left with his first wife and what he had left for you was tradition. You had performed your role for him perfectly by providing him a son and you knew he had affection for you, but it was purely on a superficial level. You were not alone in this though; you had noticed it more with married couples the longer you paid attention to them. Many were in loveless marriages, hogtied by dowries and fortunes that landed them in their marriages in the first place. Business contracts is what the relationships were, not marriages or at least not what marriages should be, you believed.

The song ended and he bowed to you in unison with the other men around the dance floor to their partners. He held out his arm and you looped arms with him to allow him to walk you off the dance floor.

“I am in need of another refreshment. What about you, my dear?” Arthur asked, peering at you through his mask.

He had had matching masks crafted for the pair of you, mirrored after the fall season. It matched the shimmering, gold gown you were wearing. He wore the same fabric on his waist coat.

“That sounds lovely. That wine was delicious.”

“Yes, yes it was,” Arthur agreed.

Holding your wine, you took small sips, listening to Arthur make small talk with a group of men. The other women in the circle were doing the same as you, trying to bury their nose in their wine to make the conversation tolerable.

When you found your glass empty, you placed it on a tray passing by.

“Have the hors d’oeuvres come out yet?” you asked the waiter.

“Yes, ma’am, they’ve been put out on the east side of the room.”

The other woman, Alina, beside you looked excited by the news and the two of you locked eyes. Immediately, turning towards your spouses, you asked to be excused.

“Anything to get away from that boring conversation,” Alina muttered as the two of you made your way through the crowd. She was married to one of Arthur’s closest companions, so you had spent substantial time together.

You snorted and leaned in, “I don’t think the wine is working this time.”

“We just haven’t drunk enough. Thank god you have a wet nurse employed for situations such as this when you will be otherwise indisposed to do it yourself,” Alina told you, smiling.

Alina moved away from you at the table, her eye caught by something down the table that piqued her appetite. You stayed collecting your favorite and surrounding dishes.

“Old habits die hard,” Sherlock sounded from beside you, holding his own plate. He was wearing an elaborate black and gold mask.

“Did you even have to have that made or did you already have it on hand?” you jested.

“Had it for years. Never had a purpose for it until now.”

“Well, you can think me for getting you to dust it off and finally get some use out of it.”

“Is this your party?” he asked sarcastically. You resisted the urge to smack his hand. “Oh, here. These are delicious.”

He added his favorite appetizer to your plate.

“Don’t get too bold now,” you said under your breath.

“No, you’re right. That’s your area of expertise,” he responded just as quietly as the pair of you moved further down the table, opposite way from where Alina was.

“Where’s Watson?”

“Enjoying the gambling tables as per usual.”

“There are gambling tables? Here?” You were shocked. It was polite society.

“There are always gambling tables, darling,” Sherlock responded. You quickly stomped on his foot, and he grunted. “Right, ma’am. The gambling tables are just hidden in a back room.”

The two of you pulled away from the table and Sherlock took one of the appetizers in one bite. Your eyes went back to the table and saw Alina was engaged in a conversation with another wife who had also escaped to the food. Good, that gave you a few minutes. You took a quick couple of bites of different hors d’oeuvres before turning to him, leaning in.

“I am going to introduce you to Arthur.”

Sherlock choked on his bite, and you frowned. He gave a cough to clear his throat, hitting at his chest lightly.

“Are you alright?”

“Peachy,” he rasped. He swallowed and took a deep breath. When he was satisfied he could breath properly again, he leaned back in. “Have you gone mad? Do I need to send you to an asylum?”

“Don’t you see? If you are introduced, then I could invite both you and John to dinner.”

“I… I don’t see. You want me to come to your house and see you doting on him? Is this a sick game? Have I done something to offend you?”

Sighing impatiently, you pulled him even further away from the table, towards the wall. “No, it’s not a game. It’s a plan for us to see each other more often.” Even with the mask, you could see Sherlock’s eyes and he looked unmoved by the notion. “If you come to dinner, then you are a friend of the family. And if we see each other in public – or other’s see us in public, for that matter – it will not be suspicious. It won’t draw attention. We won’t have to always sneak around in the shadows. Now, do you see?”

Sherlock cleared his throat, staring back at you. After a few moments, he said, “Yes. Yes, I see.”

“You’ll have some people know your face but would that be so bad?”

His lip twitched before he answered, “No… it would not be if the end result is what you are describing.”

“So, escort me back to Arthur.”

He looked like he would rather swallow nails than hand you back over to Arthur, but he did it all the same. You told him to act natural – Sherlock quipping that he was a natural at acting natural – and you made small talk as you walked back towards the group of men and wives. Sherlock was being respectful with his distance between the two of you, like a gentlemen should with a woman. Arthur noticed the two of you coming back and his brow pinched.

“Oh, love, I brought you some of your favorites,” you told him, holding up the plate.

Arthur looked briefly down at the plate and he nodded, giving you a quick smile, taking the plate from him. But his eyes were back on Sherlock.

“And I ran into an acquaintance on my wander around the table. A friend through Dr. Watson, actually.” Arthur relaxed at that; he knew who John was and had respect for him. “Mr. Holmes.”

One of the other men in the group said, “Not the Sherlock Holmes we hear so much about in the newspapers?”

“One and the same,” Sherlock said before you could answer, giving the man a tight-lipped smile.

That broke the ice and the men’s conversation turned over to him. The plan was working out perfectly.

<><><>

“Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson have arrived,” your head servant announced to you and Arthur sitting in the drawing room with a handful of other couples that had been invited to the dinner.

Your heart was hammering, knowing that this would be the first time Sherlock had ever stepped foot in your home. You stood to greet your guests, your hands clasped in front of you. Your servant stepped out of the way and the pair entered. Sherlock’s eyes were running over the large drawing room, and you knew he was taking in every detail that he could. You wondered what was going through his head, but you had an idea.

They approached you and Arthur welcomed them, giving them both light handshakes. You stood beside him, nodding at them politely. Sherlock’s eyes only lingered on you for a moment before he busied himself with commenting on the painting above the mantel. Arthur was all too ready to gloat about how he had come to acquire it and Sherlock was doing his best impersonation that he cared at all. You could see through the façade, but you knew it would be lost on Arthur.

“I told him to behave,” John whispered to you.

“Let’s see how long that lasts,” you whispered back.

Another couple arrived and within fifteen minutes, your servant came back to announce dinner was ready. You and Arthur left the room first, going to seat yourselves at the table, and then the procession of the guests came after you.

For the ten-course meal, you had specifically ordered woodcock for the first main course, knowing that was Sherlock’s favorite. You felt him looking at you when it was announced and presented. You purposely ignored him. And ignored him again when the dessert came out and he found trifle in front of him.

After dinner, the ladies and you retired from the dining room, the men standing at attention to bid you farewell. Sherlock’s eyes were locked on you, and you noticed John elbow him discreetly in the side. You hide your smirk, leading the ladies from the room so the men could indulge in cigars and political talk.

You hated that you could not speak to him more with customs being the sexes were separated after dinner. And only upon his departure were you allowed to speak briefly with him again. He looked like he had controlled himself on the drink – although it was always hard to tell with him since he was able to hide his indulges with it so well.

At his absence, you felt a loss. It seemed the night had gone by so quickly and with so little interaction. But at least you had seen him and he had seen you.

When you entered your bed chamber later in the evening, you found a folded note on your vanity. Sneaking a glance over your shoulder to make sure Arthur had not entered the rooms yet, you picked it up.

Scribbled inside was an address and a date. Sherlock’s handwriting.

You smiled to yourself before you noticed your perfume was missing. Sighing to yourself, you said under your breath, “If he would have just asked…”

~~~

Fic tags: @undecidedsworld @mcnegan

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes rdj #rdj sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes movie #my shit

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scripttorture · 4 years ago

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Hi! A minor antagonist of mine survived the genocide/torture of his species (sci-fi setting) as a child. He's now a young adult and suffers from nightmares, memory problems, anxiety, etc. My worry comes from him being an antagonist who is in a position of power now and who ignores/implicitly encourages the extensive abuse/torture of someone beneath him because their people are the ones that perpetrated the genocide. Is this skirting too close to the 'torture survivors are evil' trope?

Honestly I think the best answer to this one is: how many survivor characters do you have in the story?

Purely from a writing perspective I think that you need multiple survivors in any story focused on genocide. Because if you only have one survivor then you’ll struggle to really communicate the scale of what happened.

I had an ask a while back about competing communities (I can’t seem to find it-) where I talked at length about how torture and genocide imply communities of abusers and communities of survivors. Because we’re talking about a scale of tens or hundreds of thousands of victims.

So if the genocide is a big part of the background to this story then it should effect more then two characters. Because we’re not just talking about a single ‘abuser’ and a single victim here.

Think about where you can have other effected characters and how those characters were effected.

Are there people who got away just in time, missing the worst of it? Do they have survivors guilt? How many members of their extended families did they lose?

Are there people with tales similar to this antagonist? How did they survive? Did they do things they regret? Conversely do they feel justified in doing what they had to in order to survive? Perhaps they don’t feel like they took any active role in their own survival. Did their families make it? Their friends? How big are the gaps in their lives?

Were there ex-patriot or diaspora communities away from the areas the genocide took place? How has the genocide effected their politics? How many friends and relatives did they lose? Has it made their community feel stronger, more involved in each other’s growth and safety? Has it led them to open their doors to refugees and survivors of their own species? Has it led them to do the same for other vulnerable groups?

I was reading the work of a Holocaust survivor a few weeks ago and I was struck by her observation that for survivors this was not something that ended. Yes she was freed from the death camps, yes she lived and yes she emigrated to the USA. But the experience moved with her and (from what I can remember of her words) ‘continued on the streets of Boston.’

She spoke about how she was the last person left in her father’s line. That entire side of the family had been murdered.

And that, that is what genocide is for survivors: the holes in their lives where other people used to be. People they loved and cherished. People they passed on the street. Strangers that they connected to however briefly.

Holes.

You communicate that to your readers by showing the people who are left and having them show what they lost in simple every day terms.

When I was a child there was a section of the souk which was full of jewellers. Most of them were Yemeni. And I liked shiny things as much as the next mammal but I never paid the Yemenis much mind. They tended to sell a lot of big, gold pieces, well out of a child’s price range and I didn’t find the style particularly pretty.

So I’d say my salaams and walk on past to the stalls that sold antiques or Afghani pieces to look at semi-precious stones I could afford.

They were young men, the Yemenis. They were probably only a decade older then me, if that. They were probably married. They may have had young children. A lot of immigrants in Saudi come over when young and have families (whether those families are with them or ‘back home’), this holds true of my family as well.

One day the government decided it didn’t want them any more, they changed the visa laws. It did not quite happen overnight but the Yemenis left.

There’s been a famine in Yemen since 2016. And I wonder how many of those men who smiled and said salaam as I passed are still alive. I wonder how many of them got typhoid when the infrastructure collapsed completely. I wonder how many of their children died and how many of them will be crippled for the rest of their lived because of hunger.

I could tell you about their neat clothes and carefully slicked back hair. I could tell you how much effort they put into their winning smiles and how they’d try to persuade my mother to stop and look even though she wore horribly unfashionable abayas. (The rich white women all wore terrible abayas as far as I can remember.)

And that’s genocide. Seen from a remove.

Survivors are not saints. The urge to put survivors of global atrocities up on a pedestal as if everything they do and say contains exceptional moral insight is… flawed. Surviving something awful doesn’t make people morally worse and it also doesn’t make people morally better. Acting ethically is something everyone chooses to do or not.

I don’t think there’s anything necessarily ‘wrong’ with having a survivor be one of the bad guys in your story. They’re people and they can make bad decisions like anyone else. As long as they’re not the only survivor in the story. Because you only get that implication when you’ve got one point of representation.

So include the community. Think about where you can work in other survivors. Think about the diversity of experience there. Think about how to communicate the scale you need to justify the term ‘genocide’.

There are a lot of books and survivor accounts of the genocides that have occurred since the 1900s. They’re difficult reading but I think picking up a few could really help you understand the kind of scale and diversity of experience you’re aiming for.

Mao’s Great Famine is a good one for scale but it doesn’t really focus on survivor accounts. I found that made it slightly easier reading. I still haven’t read all of We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families but it does contain interviews with people who were directly effected and people in the diaspora community. That may be helpful.

I think Amnesty International would also be a good source here. There are currently ongoing genocides in China and Burma which you should be able to find a decent amount of information on. The effected groups are the Uighurs and the Rohingya. There are diaspora communities for both groups and interviews with multiple survivors available online.

There are other genocides happening at the moment, but I think you’ll find the most free, English information and interviews looking at these two.

Overall, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with this scenario so long as you take steps to make sure this villain isn’t the only survivor we see. The message that abused people go on to abuse others only comes across if you have a single survivor. And I really think that your story will be deeper and richer in a lot of ways by including others.

Survivors are people. Most of the time I say that to encourage people to remember their positive capacities: their passions and relationships. But it goes both ways.

Survivors are people; which means we shouldn’t paint them all as saints and we shouldn’t paint them all as devils.

I hope that helps :)

Edit: Typos, whoops. Thank you for catching that.

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #tw genocide #writing survivors #writing responsibly #writing genocide #sci fi ask #Yemen #guilt in survivors #attitudes towards torture survivors #writing villains #that became a little personal

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96harmony96 · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 5

I had a vicious hangover on Saturday morning and figured it was no less than I deserved. As much as I’d resented Lauren’s insistence on negotiating sex with as much passion as she would a merger, in the end I’d negotiated in kind. Because I wanted her enough to take a calculated risk and break my own rules.

I took comfort in knowing she was breaking some of her own, too.

After a long, hot shower, I made my way into the living room and found Cary on the couch with his netbook, looking fresh and alert. Smelling coffee in the kitchen, I headed there and filled the biggest mug I could find.

“Morning, sunshine,” Cary called out.

With my much-needed dose of caffeine wrapped between both palms, I joined him on the couch.

He pointed at a box on the end table. “That came for you while you were in the shower.”

I set my mug on the coffee table and picked up the box. It was wrapped with brown paper and twine, and had my name handwritten diagonally across the top with a decorative calligraphic flourish. Inside was an amber glass bottle with Hangover Cure painted on it in a white old-fashioned font and a note tied with raffia to the bottle’s neck that said, “Drink me.” Lauren’s business card was nestled in the cushioning tissue paper.

As I studied the gift, I found it very apt. Since meeting Lauren I’d felt like I’d fallen down the rabbit hole into a fascinating and seductive world where few of the known rules applied. I was in uncharted territory that was both exciting and scary.

I glanced at Cary, who eyed the bottle dubiously.

“Cheers.” I pried the cork out and drank the contents without thinking twice about it. It tasted like sickly sweet cough syrup. My stomach quivered in distaste for a moment, and then heated. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and shoved the cork back into the empty bottle.

“What was that?” Cary asked.

“From the burn, it’s hair of the dog.”

His nose wrinkled. “Effective but unpleasant.”

And it was working. I already felt a little steadier.

Cary picked up the box and dug out Lauren’s card. He flipped it over; then held it out to me. On the back Lauren had written, “Call me” in bold slashing penmanship and jotted down a number.

I took the card, curling my hand around it. Her gift was proof that she was thinking about me. Her tenacity and focus was seductive. And flattering.

There was no denying I was in trouble where Lauren was concerned. I craved the way I felt when she touched me, and I loved the way she responded when I touched her back. When I tried to think of what I wouldn’t agree to do to have her hands on me again, I couldn’t come up with much.

When Cary tried to hand me the phone, I shook my head. “Not yet. I need a clear head when dealing with her and I’m still fuzzy.”

“You two seemed cozy last night. She’s definitely into you.”

“I’m definitely into her.” Curling into the corner of the couch, I pressed my cheek into the cushion and hugged my legs to my chest. “We’re going to hang out, get to know each other, have casual-but-physically-intense sex, and be otherwise completely independent. No strings, no expectations, no responsibilities.”

Cary hit a button on his netbook and the printer on the other side of the room started spitting out pages. Then he snapped the computer closed, set it on the coffee table, and gave me all his attention. “Maybe it’ll turn into something serious.”

“Maybe not,” I scoffed.

“Cynic.”

“I’m not looking for happily-ever-after, Cary, especially not with a mega-mogul like Jauregui. I’ve seen what it’s like for my mom being connected to powerful men. It’s a full-time job with a part-time companion. Money keeps Mom happy, but it wouldn’t be enough for me.”

My dad had loved my mom. He’d asked her to marry him and share his life. She’d turned him down because he didn’t have the hefty portfolio and sizeable bank account she required in a husband. Love wasn’t a requisite for marriage in Sinuhe Stanton’s opinion and since her sultry-eyed, breathy-voiced beauty was irresistible to most men, she’d never had to settle for less than whatever she wanted. Unfortunately she hadn’t wanted my dad for the long haul.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was ten thirty. “I guess I should get ready.”

“I love spa day with your mom.” Cary smiled and it chased the lingering shadows on my mood away. “I feel like a god when we’re done.”

“Me, too. Of the goddess persuasion.”

We were so eager to be off that we went downstairs to meet the car rather than wait for the front desk to call up.

The doorman smiled as we stepped outside—me in heeled sandals and a maxi dress, and Cary in hip-hugging jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

“Good morning, Miss Cabello. Mr. Taylor. Will you need a cab today?”

“No thanks, Paul. We’re expecting a car.” Cary grinned. “It’s spa day at Perrini’s!”

“Ah, Perrini’s Day Spa.” Paul gave a sage nod. “I bought my wife a gift certificate for our anniversary. She enjoyed it so much I plan to make it a tradition.”

“You did good, Paul,” I said. “Pampering a woman never goes out of style.”

A black town car pulled up with Clancy at the wheel. Paul opened the rear door for us and we climbed in, squealing when we found a box of Knipschildt’s Chocopologie on the seat. Waving at Paul, we settled back and dug in, taking tiny nibbles of the truffles that were worth savoring slowly.

Clancy drove us straight to Perrini’s, where the relaxation began from the moment one walked in the door. Crossing the entrance threshold was like taking a vacation on the far side of the world. Every arched doorway was framed by lushly vibrant striped silks, while jeweled pillows decorated elegant chaises and oversized armchairs.

Birds chirped from suspended gilded cages and potted plants filled every corner with lush fronds. Small decorative fountains added the sounds of running water, while stringed instrumental music was piped into the room via cleverly hidden speakers. The air was redolent with a mix of exotic spices and fragrances, making me feel like I’d stepped into Arabian Nights.

It was this-close to being too much, but it didn’t cross the line. Instead, Perrini’s was exotic and luxurious, an indulgent treat for those who could afford it. Like my mother, who’d just finished a milk-and-honey bath when we arrived.

I studied the menu of treatments available, deciding to skip my usual “warrior woman” in favor of the “passionate pampering.” I’d been waxed the week before, but the rest of the treatment—“designed to make you sexually irresistible”—sounded like exactly what I needed.

I’d finally managed to get my mind back into the safe zone of work when Cary spoke up from the pedicure chair beside mine.

“Mrs. Stanton, have you met Lauren Jauregui?”

I gaped at him. He knew damn well my mom went nuts over any news about my romantic—and not-so-romantic, as the case may be—relationships.

My mother, who sat in the chair on the other side of me, leaned forward with her usual girlish excitement over a rich, handsome man. “Of course. She’s one of the wealthiest women in the world. Number twenty-five or so on Forbes’s list, if I’m remembering correctly. A very driven young woman, obviously, and a generous benefactor to many of the children’s charities I champion. Extremely eligible, of course, but I don’t believe she's straight , Cary. She’s got a reputation as a ladies’ pleaser.”

“My loss.” Cary grinned and ignored my violent headshaking. “But it’d be a hopeless crush anyway, since she’s digging on Camila.”

“Camila! I can’t believe you didn’t say anything. How could you not tell me something like that?”

I looked at my mom, whose scrubbed face appeared young, unlined, and very much like mine. I was very clearly my mother’s daughter, right down to my surname. The one concession she’d made to my father had been to name me after his mother.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I insisted. “We’re just…friends.”

“We can do better than that,” Sinuhe said, with a look of calculation that struck fear in my heart. “I don’t know how it escaped me that you work in the same building she does. I’m certain she was smitten the moment she saw you. Although she’s known to prefer blondes…Hmm…Anyway. sHe’s also known for her excellent taste. Clearly the latter won out with you.”

“It’s not like that. Please don’t start meddling. You’ll embarrass me.”

“Nonsense. If anyone knows what to do with men, it’s me.”

I cringed, my shoulders creeping up to my ears. By the time my massage appointment came around, I was in desperate need of one. I stretched out on the table and closed my eyes, preparing to take a catnap to get through the long night ahead.

I loved dressing up and looking pretty as much as the next girl, but charity functions were a lot of work. Making small talk was exhausting, smiling nonstop was a pain, and conversations about businesses and people I didn’t know were boring. If it wasn’t for Cary benefitting from the exposure, I’d put up a bigger fight about going.

I sighed. Who was I fooling? I’d end up going anyway. My mom and Stanton supported abused children’s charities because they were significant to me. Going to the occasional stuffy event was a small price to pay for the return.

Taking a deep breath, I consciously relaxed. I made a mental note to call my dad when I got home and thought about how to send a thank-you note to Lauren for the hangover cure. I supposed I could e-mail her using the contact info on her business card, but that lacked class. Besides, I didn’t know who read her inbox.

I’d just call her when I got home. Why not? She’d asked—no, told—me to; she’d written the demand on her business card. And I’d get to hear her luscious voice again.

The door opened and the masseuse came in. “Hello, Camila. You ready?”

Not quite. But I was getting there.

___

After many lovely hours at the spa, my mom and Cary dropped me off at the apartment; then they headed out to hunt for new cuff links for Stanton. I used the time alone to call Lauren. Even with the much-needed privacy, I punched most of her phone number into the keypad a half-dozen times before I finally put the call through.

She answered on the first ring. “Camila.”

W that she’d known who was calling, my mind scrambled for a moment. How did she have my name and number in her contact list? “Uh…hi, Lauren.”

“I’m a block away. Let the front desk know I’m coming.”

“What?” I felt like I’d missed part of the conversation. “Coming where?”

“To your place. I’m rounding the corner now. Call the desk, Camila.”

she hung up and I stared at the phone, trying to absorb the fact that Lauren was moments away from being with me again. Somewhat dazed, I went to the intercom and talked to the front desk, letting them know I was expecting her and while I was talking, she walked into the lobby. A few moments after that, she was at my door.

It was then that I remembered I was dressed in only a thigh-length silk robe, and my face and hair were styled for the dinner. What kind of impression would she get from my appearance?

I tightened the belt of my robe before I let her in. It wasn’t like I’d invited her over for a seduction or anything.

Lauren stood in the hallway for a long moment, her gaze raking me from my head down to my French manicured toes. I was equally stunned by her appearance. The way she looked in worn jeans and a T-shirt made me want to undress her with my teeth.

“Worth the trip to find you like this, Camila.” sHe stepped inside and locked the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Thanks to you. Thank you.” My stomach quivered because she was here, with me, which made me feel almost…giddy. “That can’t be why you came over.”

“I’m here because it took you too long to call me.”

“I didn’t realize I had a deadline.”

“I have to ask you something time-sensitive, but more than that, I wanted to know if you were feeling all right after last night.” Her eyes were dark as they swept over me, her breathtaking face framed by that luxurious curtain of inky hair. “God. You look beautiful, Camila. I can’t remember ever wanting anything this much.”

With just those few simple words I became hot and needy. Way too vulnerable. “What’s so urgent?”

“Go with me to the advocacy center dinner tonight.”

I pulled back, surprised and excited by the request. “You’re going?”

“So are you. I checked, knowing your mother would be there. Let’s go together.”

My hand went to my throat, my mind torn between the weirdness of how much she knew about me and concern over what she was asking me to do. “That’s not what I meant when I said we should spend time together.”

“Why not?” The simple question was laced with challenge. “What’s the problem with going together to an event we’d already planned on attending separately?”

“It’s not very discreet. It’s a high-profile event.”

“So?” Lauren stepped closer and fingered a curl of my hair.

There was a dangerous purr to her voice that sent a shiver through me. I could feel the warmth of her big, hard body and smell the richly musky scent of her skin. I was falling under her spell, deeper with every minute that passed.

“People will make assumptions, my mother in particular. She’s already scenting your bachelor blood in the water.”

Lowering her head, Lauren pressed her lips into the crook of my neck. “I don’t care what people think. We know what we’re doing. And I’ll deal with your mother.”

“If you think you can,” I said breathlessly, “you don’t know her very well.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.” Her tongue traced the wildly throbbing vein in my throat and I melted into her, my body going lax as she pulled me close.

Still, I managed to say, “I haven’t said yes.”

“But you won’t say no.” sHe caught my earlobe between her teeth. “I won’t let you.”

I opened my mouth to protest and she sealed her lips over mine, shutting me up with a lush wet kiss. Her tongue did that slow, savoring licking that made me long to feel her doing the same between my legs. My hands went to her hair, sliding through it, tugging. When she wrapped her arms around me, I arched, curving into her hands.

Just as she had in her office, she had me on my back on the couch before I realized she was moving me, her mouth swallowing my surprised gasp. The robe gave way to her dexterous fingers; then she was cupping my breasts, kneading them with soft, rhythmic squeezes.

“Lauren—”

“Shh.” sHe sucked on my lower lip, her fingers rolling and tugging my tender nipples. “It was driving me crazy knowing you were naked beneath your robe.”

“You came over without—Oh! Oh, God…”

Her mouth surrounded the tip of my breast, the wash of heat bringing a mist of perspiration to my skin.

My gaze darted frantically to the clock on the cable box. “Lauren, no.”

Her head lifted and she looked at me with stormy green eyes. “It’s insane, I know. I don’t—I can’t explain it, Camila, but I have to make you come. I’ve been thinking about it constantly for days now.”

One of her hands pushed between my legs. They fell open shamelessly, my body so aroused I was flushed and almost feverish. Her other hand continued to plump my breasts, making them heavy and unbearably sensitive.

“You’re wet for me,” she murmured, her gaze sliding down my body to where she was parting me with her fingers. “You’re beautiful here, too. Plush and pink. So soft. You didn’t wax today, did you?”

I shook my head.

“Thank God. I don’t think I would’ve made it ten minutes without touching you, let alone ten hours.” She slid one finger carefully into me.

My eyes closed against the unbearable vulnerability of being spread out naked and fingered by a woman whose familiarity with the rules of Brazilian waxing betrayed an intimate knowledge of women. A woman who was still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor beside me.

“You’re so snug.” Lauren pulled out and thrust gently back into me. My back bowed as I clenched eagerly around her. “And so greedy. How long has it been since the last time you were fucked?”

I swallowed hard. “I’ve been busy. My thesis, job-hunting, moving…”

“A while, then.” sHe pulled out and pushed back into me with two fingers. I couldn’t hold back a moan of delight. The woman had talented hands, confident and skilled, and she took what he wanted with them.

“Are you on birth control, Camila?”

“Yes.” My hands gripped the edges of the cushions. “Of course.”

“I’ll prove I’m clean and you’ll do the same, then you’re going to let me come in you.”

“Jesus, Lauren.” I was panting for her, my hips circling shamelessly onto her thrusting fingers. I felt like I’d spontaneously combust if she didn’t get me off.

I’d never been so turned on in my life. I was near mindless with the need for an orgasm. If Cary walked in right then and found me writhing in our living room while Lauren finger-fucked me, I didn’t think I’d care.

Lauren was breathing hard, too. Her face was flushed with lust. For me. When I’d done nothing more than respond helplessly to her.

Her hand at my breast moved to my cheek and brushed over it. “You’re blushing. I’ve scandalized you.”

“Yes.”

Her smile was both wicked and delighted, and it made my chest tight. “I want to feel my cum in you when I fuck you with my fingers. I want you to feel my cum in you, so you think about how I looked and the sounds I made when I pumped it into you. And while you’re thinking about that, you’re going to look forward to me doing it again and again.”

My sex rippled around her stroking fingers, the rawness of her words pushing me to the brink of orgasm.

“I’m going to tell you all the ways I want you to please me, Camila, and you’re going to do it all…take it all, and we’re going to have explosive, primal, no-holds-barred sex. You know that, don’t you? You can feel how it’ll be between us.”

“Yes,” I breathed, clutching my breasts to ease the deep ache of my hardened nipples. “Please, Lauren.”

“Shh…I’ve got you.” The pad of her thumb rubbed my clitoris in gentle circles. “Look into my eyes when you come for me.”

Everything tightened in my core, the tension building as she massaged my clit and pushed her fingers in and out in a steady, unhurried rhythm.

“Give it up to me, Camila,” she ordered. “Now.”

I climaxed with a thready cry, my grip white-knuckled on the sides of the cushions as my hips pumped onto her hand, my mind far beyond shame or shyness. My gaze was locked to her, unable to look away, riveted by the fierce masculine triumph that flared in her eyes. In that moment she owned me. I’d do anything she wanted. And she knew it.

Searing pleasure pulsed through me. Through the roaring of blood in my ears, I thought I heard her speak hoarsely, but I lost the words when she hooked one of my legs over the back of the couch and covered my cleft with her mouth.

“No—” I pushed at her head with my hands. “I can’t.”

I was too swollen, too sensitive. But when her tongue touched my clit, fluttering over it, the hunger built again. More intense than the first time. she rimmed my trembling slit, teasing me, taunting me with the promise of another orgasm when I knew I couldn’t have one again so quickly.

Then her tongue speared into me and I bit my lip to bite back a scream. I came a second time, my body quaking violently, tender muscles tightening desperately around her decadent licking. Her growl vibrated through me. I didn’t have the strength to push her away when she returned to my clit and sucked softly…tirelessly…until I climaxed again, gasping her name.

I was boneless as she straightened my leg and still breathless when she pressed kisses up my belly to my breasts. she licked each of my nipples, and then hauled me up with her arms banded around my back. I hung lax and pliable in her grip while she took my mouth with suppressed violence, bruising my lips and betraying how close to the edge she was.

she closed my robe; then stood, staring down at me.

“Lauren…?”

“Seven o’clock, Camila.” sHe reached down and touched my ankle, her fingertips caressing the diamond anklet I’d put on in preparation for the evening. “And keep this on. I want to fuck you while you’re wearing nothing else.”

#camren shipper #camren fanfiction #camren #lauren jauregui #lauren jauregay #camila cabello #camila and lauren #lauren and camila #fanfic #gip #camren gip #Laurengip #g!p #fifth harmony #Jauregui fire

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comrade-meow · 4 years ago

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It's not enough to just listen - men need a seismic shift in our behaviour, starting with jokey banter

There are many factors that create somebody like Wayne Couzens but only a seismic shift in our concepts of masculinity will cure our society

Men have killed 80 women in this country since a man killed Sarah Everard in March.

If it reads jarringly put like that: good. It’s supposed to. We are so used to the insipid “officialise” of crime statistics – for the UK in 2020, there were 62,000 rapes and 1.6million women suffered domestic violence – that we no longer see what this kind of phrasing hides. “There were”. “Suffered”. Passive tense. These things didn’t just happen. Men did them. And while narratives around violence against women tend to focus on prevention, forever advising women how to avoid it happening to them – carry a rape alarm, go out in pairs, stick to well-lit streets at night, and dozens more – they rarely impress on men not to do it in the first place.

When talking to my male friends and acquaintances about the epidemic of violence against women, I’m almost always met with one or more of three reactions: “Most male attacks are on other men”; “Women are domestic abusers too”; and “Not all men”. The first two are statements of the bleeding obvious and the last confuses responsibility with involvement. All men are involved in this, for it’s a problem which one half of society foists on the other half while simultaneously blaming that other half for it. Every woman already knows she’s involved, but how curious then not every man does.

There are many factors which help perpetuate male hatred of and violence against women: physical (superior male strength), social (men see other men getting away with it), economic (at both ends of the scale; men who earn enough to feel themselves untouchable and men who earn less than they feel is their due or responsibility), cultural (deep-seated narratives of how men need to keep control of their houses), and political (a legislature which, the Domestic Abuse Act 2021 notwithstanding, seems to be doing a fraction of what it could be).

This is not just about rape and murder. It’s about the unwanted “flirtatious” comments, jokey banter, the unasked-for direct messages on social media, the touch which lingers too long, the constant low-level hum of threat and entitlement.

Attacks on women start long before physical violence; it’s in men’s conversations with our fellow men, how we treat women in our own lives and how we treat and perceive women we don’t know. Sexual abuse starts early and is a series of points on a scale. At one end is women being demeaned, called names, objectified. Next comes sexual harassment and pestering. Then sexual assault, then rape, then murder.

Not every man goes to the end of that chain, obviously, but no man who’s killed a woman has started right at the deep end either.

Only a seismic shift in the very ideal of what it means to be a man – our rights and responsibilities, our concepts of masculinity – will act as cure. Even if legislation and enforcement were adequate – which they aren’t, not even close – it’s not enough to expect them alone to handle this entire burden. Unless the change comes at the level of attitudes, hearts and minds, it’s not real change; it’s just fear of the consequences. It’s like watching motorway traffic bunch at 69 mph when there’s a police car in the inside lane and then all going back up to 90 the moment the cop car peels off. The equivalence is not in the measure of the offence, of course, but in the rationale behind it: not doing it because you know it’s wrong as opposed to not doing it because you don’t want to get caught.

Such a seismic shift will have to start early, with the values we instil in our children. Boys are taught to be tough, strong and unemotional, damaging them in two ways. First, it prevents them from accessing their own weaknesses, meaning they don’t know how to deal with emotionally anxious situations; second, it sets them up in direct opposition to women, who behave in very different ways. Boys who don’t assert their power over girls are shamed by other boys. Weaker girls are picked on because they don’t resist; more assertive girls are seen as needing to be put in their place and taken down a peg or two. There’s no way a woman, whoever she is, can win here.

Subverting this won’t be an easy process. These things take decades, centuries: they are always works in progress and they are always incomplete. But they need to start somewhere and be refreshed and improved daily. This spectrum of dismissiveness and entitlement has to stop. No: that’s the same impersonal language that has allowed us to evade responsibility. We men have to stop this, each and every one of us.

#Anglo.txt

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jaehyunspeachparty · 5 years ago

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1.11

warnings: This story contains content that could be problematic for one or the other. Among other things, the story may contain content about sex, late pregnancy, relationship with a large age difference, and others. Just because it's in the warnings doesn't mean these topics will appear, but they will definitely be covered in the story. The content of the story is fixed and doesn’t change. If you don't feel comfortable with these topics, then it's okay if you don't read the story. I just write down my ideas here and I just enjoy writing about life. The fact that some things in life are not rational or weird for some people is also part of it.

Miga was only able to meet Jaemin a few days later. Both had a full schedule and they had to find a place where no one could see them. Ultimately, they decided that Miga would just go to Jaemin's apartment. At first, he didn't want this, but they had no choice. When she got there she was surprised that there were so many boxes in the room. "Are you clearing out?" She asked as she put her shoes down next to one of the boxes. "No, I bought a house, I need more space if I adopt a child." Jaemin smiled full of happiness, apparently everything is now moving forward with the adoption. "Are you looking forward to it?" Miga asks gently and took a step closer. "Yes, I can hardly wait ..." Jaemin's voice also became calm. His fingers found suddenly hers and he brushed them against her palms. He was like in a world of his own when he was around her. He clawed his fingers between hers and he looked down at her. He knew he felt so much. Her eyes were so gentle and beautiful, her lips so red... When Miga looked up to Jaemin, her knees went weak too. She knew it always would be Jaemin. He should become her great love, he is her dream prince, he can give her everything and she can give him this too. And when she stood in front of him, her skin almost touched and Miga closed her eyes to finally feel his lips again but then Jaemin stopped. "I just can't. That's why I wanted to talk to you." He broke away from her as fast as he could and left Miga behind who looked at him shocked and hurt. "What do you want to tell me?" She looked at him confused. "That it was a mistake last time," said Jaemin then. "You need a conversation for that? You told me that last time." Slowly Miga got angry because she didn't like the game he was playing with her. "I just want to make it clear that it won't happen again." He turned away and tried not to look at Miga anymore, after all he was struggling with his own feelings. He expected a lot, but somehow not that Miga would now stand in the room and start crying. Her heart ached and she couldn't believe why Jaemin dumped her like that. "I thought you like me?" She was sobbing and Jaemin could barely look at her. She was so small and vulnerable and he would love to hug her. "But I like you..." "I wasn't wrong, or? You're interested in me ... I mean in a romantic way." She tries to understand the whole thing because there were so many signs. "No, you were right ... I like you ... more than just a friend," he finally admitted his feelings towards her. "Then what's the problem?", She then asked further and she got louder and louder. She didn't understand what the problem was. Yes, they had an age difference, but she liked him and he liked her. "You are so young, our age difference and then there would be your father ..." "My father? He just wants me to be happy." Several tears continued to roll down Miga's cheeks. "I don't think he'll ever agree if we date." "If we like each other, what's my father's business. I'm an adult, I can decide for myself what makes me happy." Miga was getting angrier now, she hated it when she was treated like a child. "No Miga! YOU CANNOT DECIDE THAT", Jaemin got louder without meaning it. But it was enough for Miga. She looked at him startled and turned around. "Wait Miga, I ..." But in those moments she was already out of the apartment.

"There are women in your organization who are mostly married, but often accompanied by violence. Statistically, such women often don’t come a second time to search for help. How does your organization approach that?" The interviewer leaned back in the chair and looked at you. A few years ago you founded an organization with Eunbi that is supposed to help women, regardless of their situation. Your focus is particularly on families who are confronted with a lot of violence and druguse. Your practice had expanded quite a bit by now. You manage everything, Eunbi takes over the legal affairs and you also had a psychologist, gynocologist and social worker in the team. "We focus on the children. We make sure that they feel particularly comfortable and that they ultimately beg their mother to come back. Our waiting area is almost exclusively geared towards children and they can often get toys to take them home." You stay serious and pay close attention to what you say because this interview was important for future donations. "In your advisory role you are often confronted with the evil side of men. How does that affect your home? You have three sons of your own and you are married. How do you handle this?" You didn't like it when journalists want to draw attention to Jaehyun or your children. You strictly separate your work and your organization shouldn't be about idols or pop culture. "I don't believe in evil. But I think the most important thing is to talk openly with the next generation about everything and to clear up outdated cultural values and stereotypes that affect women negatively." In the meantime you had already learned to answer neutrally to private questions. "You have been married to Jaehyun Jung for almost 20 years, to what extent did he influence you to found this here." The journalists did not want to deviate from the private topic. You paused briefly and think about how you can give a neutral answer again. But at this moment Eunbi suddenly came in. "I'm sorry Y/N for bothering you, but we have an emergency." Eunbi looked really worried and you get up immediately. "No problem, we're already done, aren't we?" You look at the journalist, who then nodded. Eunbi and you immediately run out of the room. "What's going on?" You ask immediately. "Pregnant woman, it looks like she is on drugs, who thinks she was held by her husband and beaten several times," explained Eunbi. "Have you contacted Dr. Oh yet?" Dr. Oh was the gynocology that worked in your organization. "Yes, she is on the way, but is stuck in traffic." Eunbi opened the door and you see a young woman standing in panic in front of the window. Her lips were all white and dried out. You could see abdomen and puncture marks on her arms. "Hey, I'm Y/ N Jung", you walk slowly towards her but she immediately jumped away. She was totally intimidating and trembling. "HE WILL FIND ME," she yells. "What's your name?" You ask ahead and take a few steps back. "There ... Dahae," said herself cautiously, but her body language was still scared. "Dahae. You are pregnant, do you know if you will have a boy or a girl?" You smile softly and you could see how she slowly lowered her shoulders. She just shook her head in response and you carefully take a step forward. "Do you know when your baby is coming?" You ask in advance. "I did the math ..." she said suddenly and at that moment she seemed clearer. "The time will come...in 3 or 4 months." She suddenly put her hands on her stomach and stared at it. She didn't look sober, she was probably high and that made the thing worse. "Would you like to see your baby once?" You ask and smile. Dahae suddenly seemed very small, almost childlike, so that you wonder how old she was.

Somehow you got her to have her checked out by a gynocologist and a doctor. Dahae trusted you more and more and so you made some progress. She was taken to a women's shelter, which was focused on women with addiction problems. "Hey Y/N, can I talk to you?" Dr. Oh the gynecologist came into your office. You nod and look at her expectantly. "Eunbi couldn't find Dahae anywhere. She has several signs of severe abuse. I fear that it started in childhood." That sounded like a serious case that rarely happened. "How old do you think she is?" You ask. "I think she'll be around 16-19". You always had a hard time meeting girls as old as your daughter. "Okay, she's just safe. How about the baby?" You ask. "It's alive, I can't say more yet." "At least good news." You sigh and turn off the light on your desk.

When you were at home you tried to switch off your thoughts, but it was difficult for you. Sunoh, Kiwoo and Jaehyun were boxing, Geon was with Jasper and Miga wasn't there either. You found it hard to be home alone after such a day. You had to think a lot about Dahae, you just couldn't get her out of your head. That's why you were happy when you heard someone come home. You could see through the window that it was Miga. But she didn't look happy. "Hey, are you okay?" You turn to your daughter who lay down on the sofa next to you. "Mummy." She lay in your arms and started crying. "What happened?" You stroke her dark hair and suddenly she was your little girl again. "Why can't I even be lucky in love?" She sobbed into your shoulder and it hurt to see her hurt. "At some point you will find someone who loves you as you love him." You keep stroking her head and Miga kept crying. She was so heartbroken and you wonder which boy gave her so much grief. Jaehyun shouldn’t know this because he would look for the guy immediately. "But everyone is in love and has relationships. I want that too." Several tears continued to roll down her cheeks and you try to calm her down further. "You will have this in the future, but it's okay to take your time. You should have someone who is good to you, respects you and both of you can move forward in life. Finding something like that takes time, but that's okay." You smile and look down at her. "That's a typical mum answer." And now Miga had to laugh a little too. "Hopefully you know that mothers can sometimes speak wise words." You stroke her forehead and feel how warm she was. Her whole body was heated up because she was so angry. "I also want to have a relationship like you and Daddy. The parents of so many friends of mine are either separated or hate each other. But you're still so in love." She looks up at you with her dark eyes and you smile gently. "We took our time too and we were older too. You are only 19 years old. You can still have so many experiences. I just want you to make good choices. Search for someone who respects you and values you. You are incredible great, beautiful, intelligent ... " "Mum ... you're already talking like Daddy." She rolled her eyes but laughed again. You kiss her forehead and continue to stroke her head. "Your Dad and I say that only because it's the truth."

"And now she's sleeping with the other guy too, because she thinks she loves both of them." Yuna and Miga were walking through the town and Yuna told the latest tea about other schoolmates. "Hmm ... can you love two people at the same time?" Miga then asked implausibly, but Yuna shrugged her shoulders. "I guess ..." "I don't know, and when you do, I think you love a person more." She also thought that she couldn't fall in love until she was with her feelings for Jaemin over. But was that even possible? "Don't be so pessimistic." Yuna poked her a little with her elbow and looked at her best friend. "Love is just stupid," said Miga, but Yuna immediately knew what was wrong with her. "Is it still about the mysterious older guy?" She knew this was what was bothering Miga. "I just mean ..." Miga's heart was still aching and Yuna at first didn't know how to cheer her friend up, but then she saw something. "Come over." She grabbed her hand and dragged it into a store. "What is that?", Miga asked when she was inside and Yuna finally let go of her hand. "We let predict your future." Yuna believed in all possible forms of horoscopes and fortune tellers, Miga has a different opinion to this topic. "Wha? No!" She shook her head but an elderly lady came along. "How can I help you two girls?", She asked gently, looking very empathetic and friendly. "My friend needs help in love," Yuna said then and pushed her friend out. The fortune teller looked at her and smiled. "Yes, I see a lot of pain. Come on, sit down my sweetie." Miga had no choice but to follow the woman. When Miga was seated, the woman took her hand and placed a few cards. She stared alternately at her and then back at the table and Miga doesn't quite know what to say or do. "I see ..." said the older woman after a few minutes of silence. "What do you see?", Yuna asked excitedly. "Love. It is there and very very strong," said the fortune teller then. "That must be the mysterious older guy she kissed." Yuna was very excited, but the fortune teller stopped. "No, I don't see an older man. I only see young love, but I also see a lot of blindness." She turned over another card and smiled. "The blindness will soon be resolved." The fortune teller ended her session and Miga understood even less.

When they went out of the store, Yuna was excited, but Miga not. "A young love. Did you hear that?" "Yes, but who should that be?" Miga rolled her eyes, because at the moment she couldn't think of who would be in love with her around her. "You have a lot of admirers, don't be so humble." Yuna rolled her eyes and Miga wanted to give up right away, but the phone rang for both of them. "School?" Asked Miga and Yuna nodded. "The math grades are there." Yuna opens the mail and Miga leaned over to look at the display. Miga's heart suddenly beat much faster and together they went through the list. "I have 70 out of 100 points. I'm relieved," said Yuna and grinned happily. "Why am I nowhere?", Miga asked more to herself, but Yuna continued scrolling and then it suddenly shows her result. "MIGA! 95 out of 100 points. How did you do that?" Yuna hugged her friend, but Miga couldn't believe it. She was in the top 20 of her year. She had never been so good at maths. "I'll call mum right away and tell her that we passed it." Yuna turned to the side and started talking to her mother on the phone. Miga actually wanted to do the same, but she wanted to call someone else first ... namely Hyunjin. "Hello?" Hyunjin sounded relatively sleepy and Miga immediately felt bad. "Sorry, did I wake you up?" "No, it's all good. You know, as a rookie and later as an idol, you don't have a good sleep schedule." "I just wanted to say thank you. I got 95 out of 100 points on the math test." "Wow. That's amazing." "I only managed that with your help." "No, you did it, you already knew so much, I was just helping you on your way." Hyunjin chuckled and everyone could hear his joy. "Am I still invited to your birthday party?", Miga then asked carefully and blushed slightly. "Yes! Of course," said Hyunjin immediately. "Well, don't forget, I'll bring the cake."

"Forget it, she's already half an hour late, she won't come," said Wonsik, looking at his band member. "Girls like Miga don't hang out with us rookies. Hyunjin, sorry," said Dabin and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Miga is not like other girls," said Hyunjin then, looking desperately at his phone. He had already given up the idea that Miga would come. But somehow the thought that she was interested in him was too good. "Still, you should be careful. You won't be the only one who finds her attractive." Wonsik wasn't really encouraging because this were thoughts that Hyunjin already had in his head anyway. "Hey, you didn't see them. Miga seemed to really like Hyunjin," Kiha defended his friend. But Hyunjin doesn't know what to do next. He stroked his hair and took a deep breath. "It's okay. Wonsik is right, I'm not in her league." Hyunjin bowed his head and stood up. He was about to get a beer in the fridge when suddenly someone rings the doorbell. "We haven't ordered yet, can it be?" Kiha started to grin. Hyunjin slammed the refrigerator door and immediately went to the door. And there she was ... she really come to his birthday. "Miga! You are here." He grinned and his cheeks flushed. "I'm so sorry. I pre-ordered your cake and then they swapped my order and then I couldn't find a parking space and ..." Miga could barely breathe and Hyunjin could only stare at her, so Kiha intervened. "We were just about to order something to eat, so you've come to the right time." He took the box with the cake from her and let Miga into the apartment. Wonsik and Dabin couldn't believe their eyes. Beomsoo now came into the kitchen too and smiled when he saw Miga. He was sure she would come, too, but the rest were perplexed. Everyone in the group knew for a long time that Hyunjin adored Miga. But they didn't think he had a lot of chances because she was very popular and many guys adores her. "Wow, your apartment is big. Does the whole group live here?" Miga asks and the boys immediately made a place available for her. "No, there are others living a few floors above us, but we are the cool dorm," Beomsoo grinned and the other boys nodded convinced. "A really?" Miga laughed and immediately felt at home in the group of friends. "Do you like a beer?", Hyunjin asked and became shy at the same moment. "No, but water would be great. I have to drive home today." Miga smiled gently and Hyunjin almost froze. "Wait, I'll bring it to you. It's Hyunjin's birthday today. You'd better take my seat." Kiha got up and made Hyunjin sit down next to Miga. "Do you already know your group name?", She asked carefully and looked around. "We kind of hoped that maybe you could tell us more about that." Wonsik grabbed his shoulders uncertainly and laughed. "No sorry, Daddy doesn't talk about work at home that much." Miga looked at the boys sadly, she would like to tell them more. "Ahhh your father is a strict teacher," Beomsoo said then. "Really?" Miga found this somehow surprising. "He's especially after Hyunjin." Dabin looked cheekily at his colleague, who glared at him. "Is that so?", Miga asked with wide eyes and turned to the boy next to her. "He just wants that I learn from his experience." Hyunjin looked down ashamed and couldn't look Miga in the eye for a moment, but Kiha tried to intervene again. "I think we should finally order something to eat."

After dinner everyone sat together and drank, but gradually Hyunjin and Miga fell into their own conversation as if they were in their own world. "I think you would get along well with my brother Sunoh," said Miga and looked into Hyunjin's eyes. "Oh, why?" He asked with a smile. But Miga just shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, you guys have the same vibe." Kiha, who has meanwhile already become the wingman, saw that the two were completely absent from the group and thought it would be good if the two were alone. "We still have your cake, Miga. What if we sit down in the living room and you two cut it?" The other guys got up immediately and took the hint. Only Miga didn't quite understand what was happening and Hyunjin was also clueless. But the two followed blindly and the two went into the kitchen. "I hope you like it. It's from the best pastry chef in Seoul." Miga grinned proudly while Hyunjin looked at the cake. "It looks really great. Is it chocolate?", He asked with a grin and Miga nodded. "Yes, do you like it?" She asked carefully. "I love chocolate." Hyun grinned and looked down at the girl. The two looked at each other briefly and Hyunjin lost himself in her eyes. But Miga also noticed that her heart was suddenly beating faster and she was a bit confused. "Let's cut the cake," she said and broke the silence. Hyunjin immediately nodded and took a knife. He put it on carefully and made the first cut. Miga meanwhile cleared the plates, whereupon Hyunjin put the cake pieces on top. "The cream looks really good," said Hyunjin and smiled at Miga. Slowly he loosened up and he felt more and more comfortable. "It looks a bit like a face cream, doesn't it?" Miga laughed and looked up. "Do you think so?", Hyunjin asked and she nodded. Then she took her finger, took a little cream and smeared it on his cheek. She giggled and Hyunjin's heart beat faster. "Then you need something too." He also took some cream and smeared it on the tip of her nose. Miga giggled and Hyunjin thinks she is so incredibly beautiful. "What is it?" She asked cheekily and grinned up at him. She noticed that he was staring at her and that he suddenly became calmer. "You are so cute," he said then, putting his hands on her cheeks. Her dark eyes looked up at him and she didn't know what was happening, but she somehow trusted him. The next moment his lips touched hers. His upper lip slips between hers and when she returned the kiss he became more passionate and showed it with his tongue. His heart was pounding wildly. An adrenaline rush flows through his body and he couldn't believe that he had dared to do this. But Miga was also surprised, she hadn't expected it. Although she liked Hyunjin, she was so focused on Jaemin that she had overlooked the signs. But she was glad the kiss happened because she enjoyed the presence of Hyunjin. After a long and intense kiss, the two separated slowly and Hyunjin became shy again. "I'm sorry that was too fast, right?" But Miga smiled and shook her head. "No, it was really wonderful," she said softly and put her hand on his chest. She felt his pulse and suddenly it made so much sense. That's why he hadn't slept and was at the company earlier every day ... he just wanted to be close to her. "I didn't know you liked me this way." She carefully brushed a strand of hair aside and suddenly she was shy too. "I'm sorry. Is that bad?" Miga still had her hand on him and she noticed how his breathing got faster and faster. But she shook her head and looked up at him again. "No, absolutely not at all." She then smiled and now she kissed him. She never thought that the evening would end like this. But Hyunjin never thought his dream would come true either. "You're my best birthday present," he then whispered and stroked her cheek again. Miga couldn't believe it, everything was like a dream. "I know it's difficult, but I'd like to take you out." He looks at her gently and Miga was still in a world of her own. "Yeah sure," she said quietly and Hyunjin knew that this was his best birthday he had ever had.

When Miga drove home she was still excited. She kept smiling and she liked her newfound feelings. Everything was exciting and new. She was so glad that Hyunjin had shown his feelings so openly. As Miga parked her car, she noticed that a familiar car was parked in the driveway. If she wasn't mistaken, it was Jaemin's. Her heart immediately started beating extreme fast and she just didn't know what was happening here. What was Jaemin doing here? Carefully she went into the house and saw how her father and Jaemin sat at the table and happily drank Soju. "Miga! Here you are." Jaehyun saw her and immediately waved her over to him and Jaemin. It was difficult for the girl to look her crush in the eye, everything was very confusing. "Is there something to celebrate?" Asks Miga cautiously, looking back and forth between the men. "Yes, there is," says Jaemin and looked deep into Miga's eyes, so that she briefly lost herself in them. Her heart beat faster and her knees got weak. "Jaemin, you and I are going to play in a drama together," Jaehyun said and poured his daughter a glass as well. "What?" Asks Miga, shocked. She doesn't quite know how to find it all. Jaehyun put the glass in her hand and put an arm around his daughter. "We must celebrate that."

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uncloseted · 4 years ago

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So I've had a conversation with a friend, and he was telling me that gay people are not Born gay but become gay because of social experiences and I called that homophobic he got really offended and said he was not that he didn't care if someone is gay or not but it's a fact and a point made by many psychologists that people become gay because of their environment, I said what I found homophobic was the implication it's like a mental disease he said he didn't believe it was a disease but that if you say it's inherent it's like saying it's genetic which it's not and that the same person has different chances of becoming gay according to their family and socio cultural experiences. It did got me thinking, are you aware of such studies and their revelance?

The answer to the question “what makes people gay” is really nuanced and I think probably more complicated than you might have expected. I’ll get into explaining those nuances the best that I can in a second, but I think the best answer to your friend’s argument is just that he has the correlation and causation backwards.

People who are raised in environments where being LGBT+ is permissible aren’t more likely to be gay; they’re just more likely to come out of the closet because they know they’ll be accepted and that they won’t be in any danger. In places where homophobia is rampant, of course there appear to be fewer LGBT+ people- the LGBT+ people who are out in those places are disowned, harassed, bullied, attacked, and sometimes killed. It makes sense that more LGBT+ people would opt to stay in the closet in a situation where violence is a possibility. This comes out in the data; although it appears that more gay men live in costal cities in the US, the percentage of internet porn searches for gay male porn are the same across all states, around 5%.

Moving on to the “causes” of homosexuality, it’s likely a lot of different things in combination, and there’s not exactly a scientific consensus just yet. Male homosexuality may have different causes than female sexuality and bisexuality, and trans identities are also a separate set of factors. For the purposes of this conversation, let’s focus on male homosexuality, as it’s the most studied.

First, a couple of things that it’s not: per the Royal College of Psychiatrists, there’s no evidence that parenting or early childhood experiences play a role in sexual orientation. Per the American Academy of Pediatrics, “there is no scientific evidence that abnormal parenting, sexual abuse, or other adverse life events influence sexual orientation. Current knowledge suggests that sexual orientation is usually established during early childhood.” Children who grow up to be non-heterosexual are, on average, substantially more gender non-conforming in childhood (even if they’re bullied for it), supporting the idea that sexuality is established early in life. Sexual orientation is not a choice (here, here, and here). In (old, unethical) studies where newborn and infant boys were surgically reassigned into girls and raised as girls, they did not become more feminine or male-attracted than their AMAB counterparts. Socialization does not induce feminine behaviors in men or make them attracted to men. “Nurture” is a lot stronger than “nature” in this case. There are no scientifically rigorous studies that support the idea that sexuality can be changed after birth, whether through surgical treatments, lobotomies, hormone treatments, electric chock treatments, aversion therapy, hypnosis, psychoanalysis, or any other type of conversion treatment. I would love to see his sources on all of these psychologists who supposedly believe people are gay due to their social environment.

Sexual orientation appears to be a complex interplay of biological and environmental (but not social) factors. Nonsocial, biological factors have more evidence to support them than environmental factors, particularly in homosexual men. So your friend isn’t entirely wrong, although he’s right for the wrong reasons. Environment is a factor, and so is family (since that’s where you get your genes and epigenetics from) but homosexuality is inherent.

Let’s start with strictly biological factors that go into sexual orientation.

One of the biggest hypotheses for the cause of homosexuality is the impact of hormones on a developing fetus. I’m going to skip over a lot of biology here, but basically the core of this theory is that gay men’s brains may have been exposed to less testosterone in the womb than their heterosexual counterparts, had less receptivity to the masculinizing effects of the testosterone, or experienced fluctuations in hormones at key times in their development. In women, it’s hypothesized that the opposite is true- lesbians may have been exposed to higher levels of testosterone. This is supported by right hand finger digit ratios (the length of the index finger divided by the length of the ring finger), which are a marker of prenatal testosterone exposure- lesbians have a lower digit ratio than heterosexual women, while gay men have a higher digit ratio than straight men. Gay men may have been exposed to more testosterone than their straight counterparts for a number of different reasons, including maternal immune response and fraternal birth order, genes, epigenetics, and prenatal environmental chemical exposure. We’ll go over each of those below:

Maternal immune responses during fetal development are demonstrated as being a cause of male homosexuality. During pregnancy of a male child, male cells enter a mother’s bloodstream. These cells are foreign to the mother, and so her body develops antibodies to neutralize them. Again, skipping over a lot of nitty-gritty biology here, but basically, the more pregnancies a woman has, the better her body gets at neutralizing male cells (particularly, Y-linked antigens) and the more antibodies she has against those Y-linked antigens.

In turn, this creates what’s known as the “fraternal birth order effect”- basically, the more male sons a woman has, the more likely it is that her next son will be gay. One study found that each additional older brother increases the odds of a man being gay by 33%. Researchers have found that mothers with a gay son have heightened levels of antibodies to the NLGN4Y Y-protein than mothers with heterosexual sons. The fraternal birth order effect is estimated to account for between 15 and 29% of male homosexuality. Some studies have identified structural differences in the brains of homosexual men as opposed to heterosexual men that are due to prenatal hormonal exposure. For example, straight men typically have right hemispheres that are 2% larger than their left, while in gay men the two hemispheres are typically the same size.

Genes also play a role in sexual orientation. Identical twins are more likely to share a sexual orientation than fraternal twins or adopted siblings (an estimated 80% of identical twins share a sexual orientation). The largest study on the genetic basis of sexuality, published in Science, determined that there are at least five different genes that are correlated with homosexuality. The genes identified do all sorts of different things, and some have functions that are yet to be determined. An estimated 25% of sexual behavior is attributed to genetics. Another study found that maternal female relatives of homosexual men tend to have more offspring, suggesting that genetic material that promotes fertility in women and homosexuality in men is being genetically passed down on the X chromosome. Researchers estimated that this explains about 20% of genetic homosexuality (which is right in line with the estimate that there are four other genes involved).

Epigenetic factors also impact a person’s sexuality. Epigenetic changes are changes in gene activity that are not caused by changes to the DNA sequence itself. Epigenetic factors can “turn on” or “turn off” the expression of certain genes. Per an article from The Guardian, “think of DNA as an orchestral score, the notes on the page unchanging. But the annotations on the manuscript will dictate how the music sounds, with crescendo and lento and adagio. The conductor and orchestra play their annotated manuscript, and each performance is unique, even when the original scores are identical.” Epigenetic marks can be “turned on” or “turned off” during gestation as well as after birth. Researchers hypothesize that epigenetic factors change how cells respond to androgen signaling, which is critical to sexual development. Like we talked about above, fetal levels of exposure to the androgen, testosterone, seem to impact sexual orientation. In gay men, the epigenetic marks responsible for managing the amount of testosterone the fetus is exposed to are thought to be too aggressive, blocking testosterone from reaching the fetus. This is pretty new research still, so the evidence to support it is limited, but one study found that the methylation pattern (the epigenetic change) in nine regions of the genome appeared to be linked to sexual orientation, and could use it to predict the sexual orientation of a group with 70% accuracy.

There are a handful of statistical physiological differences between gay and straight man in addition to the difference in brain hemisphere size I mentioned above. These are averages across populations, so they may not apply to each and every homosexual or heterosexual individual. The suprachiasmatic nucleus of the hypothalamus is larger in gay men than in non-gay men. The INAH 3 in the brains of gay men are the same size as the INAH 3 in women; both are smaller than in heterosexual men’s brains. Homosexual and heterosexual brains respond differently to two putative sex pheromones. The amygdala is more active in gay men than straight men when exposed to sexual material. Gay men are more likely to be left handed or ambidextrous than straight men. Gay men are more likely to have a counterclockwise hair whorl than the general population, which is also correlated with left handedness. Gay men have increased ridge density in the fingerprints on their left thumbs and little fingers compared to straight men. These are all minor, but support the idea that there is a biological basis to homosexuality.

Now that we’ve gotten through the biological factors, let’s talk environmental. When we say, “environmental” people usually think of the environment a child is raised in- who they parents are, how their parents act, who their friends are, what kind of activities they do, etc. But in this case, that’s not what we mean. The impact of a person’s environment after birth seems to have a weak effect on sexual orientation at best; there is no substantial evidence to suggest that early childhood experiences influence sexual orientation at all. So in that case, what do we mean by “environmental”? We’re really talking about the environment the mother was in during the pregnancy, and the prenatal environment that the fetus experienced (the hormonal influences that we talked about above). These may include things like maternal exposure to anti-androgenic chemicals and endocrine disruptors while pregnant. However, given that homosexual people have always been present, even pre-industrialization, these factors cannot be considered central to what causes homosexuality.

#Anonymous #effys-closet #effys closet

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dmitri-smerdyakov · 5 years ago

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The Fantastic Beasts Franchise and JK Rowling

Alright, so...hi everyone.

I don’t know how many people follow this blog anymore because my main blog of operation is now @alwaysahiccupandastrid - I still try to keep this blog relatively active though, just because it was my original blog, I’ve had it since I was 13, and I have so many memories attached to it.

I’m aware that a lot of the people who follow me, especially since late 2016, do so because a) I was a loud and proud Fantastic Beasts fan, b) I wrote some Newtina and Jakweenie fic, and c)...I don’t know. I literally don’t know why people bother following me anywhere because I don’t feel like I have a lot to say. But, anyway, many people probably follow me due to Fantastic Beasts and my posts/fanfics within the fandom.

Those who follow my active blog will already know my feelings and thoughts, but because of the fact many things about this blog - me, the posts for the last four-ish years, the url itself - are Beasts related, I felt it was necessary to come and write an actual post here instead of just reblogging things and calling it a day. I’ve always been very outspoken online, but I’ve been avoiding a certain topic of conversation on this blog for years now, and I’m finally in a place where we can discuss it.

I am, of course, talking about the hot topic that is JK Rowling.

Back in the days between FBAWTFT and FBTCOG, I was a very outspoken defender of JK Rowling and her decision to defend Johnny Depp’s inclusion in the films. Now, this is something I still stand by to this day, and due to the evidence that has since come out, I’m even more steadfast in the opinion that keeping Depp was a great decision. I am fully in support of him and the way he’s currently battling against his abuser. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about right now. As I was saying, back in the day, I was outspoken about the opinion that “we don’t know the full story” etc., and as a result I received very colourful anon messages. Now, to my knowledge, none of these were about JKR being a TERF/transphone, but I think it’s important to mention that at the time I scoffed at the idea she could be one. I openly admit that I didn’t listen to what other people - including actual trans individuals - were saying about JKR and her transphobia because I frankly didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to admit that the person who wrote something that saved my life could be so hateful and a bad person - that, and at the time I passed it all off as “wokeness out of control”.

It is now 2020. Up until last Saturday night, I was still in support of JK Rowling - I didn’t agree with some of the stuff she had said, but I was trying to be positive and have hope by telling myself that she didn’t mean to be transphobic, that she just didn’t know what she was doing was wrong, even though the evidence clearly showed otherwise (I.e. her liking transphobic / radfem tweets). I said to my followers on my Beasts page that instead of cancelling people outright, we should be attempting to educate them instead, and if they choose not to learn then fine. And, being 100% obvious, I didn’t want to admit it because I frankly already was feeling annoyed at two different Beasts cast members for different reasons: Ezra Miller (for choking a girl) and Dan Fogler (for his tweet about BLM - admittedly that was probably him being well intentioned but not saying it right). So yeah, I didn’t want to cancel another member of the Beasts “family”.

I had JKR’s tweets on notifications, and for the most part over the last few weeks, it was all about the Ickabog. However, on Saturday night I noticed that she had suddenly tweeted something completely different, and I looked at it. Given that I had adamantly defended her and said “freedom of speech” for so long, it’s telling that my first thought upon seeing her tweet was literally “for fuck sake, Jo, why”.

I won’t post her tweets here but to sum that first tweet up, it was her being annoyed over the term “people who menstruate” being used in an article instead of “woman”, and mockingly saying “there used to be a word for that” before pretending she didn’t know the word. She knew that tweeting it would start arguments and anger, and yet she still made the decision to do so. Her follow up tweets frankly dug the hole deeper; she tried to defend herself by saying, to sum it up, “I have a butch lesbian friend who agrees with me” “I just care about women’s rights!” And “IF trans people were marginalised I’d march with you!” (“If”, of course, being the real kicker here because what do you mean IF. They ARE. Every DAY.)

Since then, JKR has written an essay on her website defending herself and her opinions, and yes, I read it. I read it a few times, in fact. At first, I felt my anger simmer and felt I had been too hasty to make anti JKR jokes, that I was wrong...but then I read it again properly and realised that what she had written was a piece that turned herself into the victim, and that despite putting on the appearance of her saying she supports trans people, including the phrases “I support trans people” and “of course trans women are real women”, she still spewed much transphobic vitriol and hate. She cited no sources for any of her proclamations or statements about statistics, implied that trans men transition to escape their “womanhood”, that trans women are men in dresses, that trans women are dangerous to “real” women (aka cis women) and shouldn’t be allowed into women’s changing rooms or toilets. There was also the autism comment, and the implication of autistic girls somehow not being able to make decisions or whatever.

I’m going to get straight to the point: I don’t support JK Rowling or her radical feminism.

As someone who is a proud feminist (libfem?), I can honestly say that never have I felt threatened or like I was being silenced by the inclusion of trans women in feminist spaces or conversation. Never. In my second year at sixth form, I was in charge of the LGBTQ+ club until a new leader with better leadership skills could step in, and - put simply - that year, the club was made almost entirely of first year transgender students. Even though I had called myself a trans ally for years, I realised there was a lot I didn’t know, and I learnt quite a lot from these students. I continue to still learn today. They were some of the nicest and most intelligent people I got the chance to meet, and I can truly say that at no point was I ever worried to be in a room alone with a trans woman, nor was I concerned about which bathroom they went in - bathrooms are bathrooms. Speaking of bathrooms...when I was at uni during a particularly tense rehearsal a few weeks before our final show last year, a guy in our group made me cry and I ran to the women’s bathroom to escape. Not only did the other girls come to comfort me, but you know what? The guy came in and apologised profusely to me. Did any of us girls give a shit about having a guy in our toilet? Absolutely not. It’s a fucking toilet. And, on that note, I was never worried about a trans woman or even a cis man attacking me in the toilets. You know who DID attack me in the toilets regularly? Other cisgender women.

As a feminist, I fully support trans women and am not threatened by the inclusion of trans women in women’s spaces or in women’s rights discussions. While I agree that cis women and trans women inevitably go through different struggles, at the end of the day, we all identify as women and are women. I think that if your feminism is so threatened by the existence of trans women - TERFs, RadFems, JKR, looking at you - then your feminism is flimsy and not feminism at all.

As a woman, I find it highly offensive that JKR and many RadFems focus so much of womanhood and feminism on an involuntary biological function that, frankly, many of us would rather do without. Yeah, I’m talking about periods - no matter how proud I am to be a woman, I still fucking hate periods and would get rid of mine if I could without erasing my chance of having kids someday. I can hear the RadFems accusing me of “internalised woman hatred” for saying I hate my periods, but you know what, they suck and they hurt and fuck them. The fact that JKR (also the the radfem movement) reduced “women” to just people who menstruate and can have children, and vice versa, is incredibly offensive and misogynistic. For a start, trans men menstruate, intersex people can, non binary can etc. Next, not even ALL cis women have periods - women who are menopausal, young women who haven’t started puberty yet (some do start very late), some women don’t have regular cycles, some women have medical problems that affect their cycle, some women are on birth control that can stop their cycles. So the idea of women being defined as “those who menstruate” is offensive not only to trans/intersex/non binary individuals but also to cis ones too.

As I write this, I’m a 22 year old woman who is still learning and changing every day, and one of the things that I’ve found myself thinking about recently - especially since we’re in lockdown and we have nothing BUT time to think - is about myself and my identity as a woman. What prompted this was when I saw Greta Gerwig’s adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s beloved book, “Little Women”, which I’ve since read, for my birthday back in January, and I left the cinema feeling exalted and powerful with my own identity as a woman. (I’ll be returning to LW in a bit)

After some thinking, I’ve realised some things. For me, my identity as a woman is not just because once a month my uterus decides to shed; I do not identify as a woman just because I have certain physical features. I am not a particularly feminine person either, and I’m what some may call a “tomboy” (a phrase I actually don’t mind but I know a lot of people do for understandable reasons since it’s a phrase designed to differentiate people who don’t conform to society’s expectations etc) because I prefer video games and more geeky stuff to shopping or dressing up or make up.

For me, there is no one way a person has to be or appear in order to identify as a woman. Women are beautiful, complex human beings; we are not defined by our genitalia, by an involuntary biological process. Women are strong, intelligent, and interesting people - no two are the same. For example, some decide to raise families, some choose to pursue a career, some do both - all of these are valid and none are more “feminist” or “womanly” than the others, because it’s our as women. I guarantee that if you lined up every single woman in the world - cis AND trans - no two would be the exact same.

I mentioned “Little Women” earlier, and as I was pondering over what makes me identify as a “woman”, I thought a lot about a certain quote from the 2019 film that has stayed with me since it was first said in the release of the trailer. It’s spoken by Jo March to her mother, and I’ve started to understand what for me makes me a woman.

For me, being a woman is all of this: having minds, hearts, souls, ambition, talent, and being beautiful each in our own ways. Women are capable of love and empathy, capable of desire, capable of the most complex and human feelings and emotions, and coming out the stronger for it.

Sex is one thing; gender identity is another.

I won’t dissect every single thing JKR wrote in her essay, but I will just say this: her comments regarding autistic girls are extremely tone deaf and she does not speak for those with autism. I’m going to be honest and admit something here I haven’t before: I have not been diagnosed with autism or aspergers but I AM currently on the waiting list to see someone who COULD diagnose me. Apparently I show signs of a potential diagnosis, so...we’ll have to see. But I have friends who are autistic, and they’re disgusted by JKR trying to use them to support her TERF arguments. Autistic and other neurodivergent people are absolutely capable of making decisions and are NOT people who need to be babied or have their hands held, to be told who they are. It’s incredibly ableist of JK Rowling frankly.

I would also like to point out... I’ve seen people saying “but she doesn’t hate autistic people, Newt is autistic!!!” - yes, but JKR didn’t write him as autistic. Eddie Redmayne chose to play Newt as autistic - JK Rowling didn’t do shit.

It’s also time that I acknowledge that both Potter and Beasts inevitably hold JKR’s problematic views, and that by denying her ownership of her work, we’re not holding her accountable for the horrible things she’s done. This includes - but is not limited to -:

Anti-Semitic stereotypes in the goblins

Lycanthropy being used as a metaphor for AIDS - an illness that is heavily associated to the gay community, and also there was the panic of the AIDs crisis in the 90s where much misinformation and homophobia was generated and spread because of it.

Adding further to the lycanthropy point, one of the infected individuals - Greyback - is stated to have a sick preference for infecting children. Not only are werewolves tied to harmful gay/AIDs stereotypes, but also to the disgusting and frankly wrong notion that gay people are pedophiles.

The only Asian character is called Cho Chang. Cho Chang. That’s two steps away from outright just calling her “Ching Chong”. It’s not a name an actual Asian person would have.

The Goldstein sisters are probably distantly related to Anthony Goldstein, who JKR confirmed (on Twitter of course) is Jewish, meaning that Tina and Queenie are most likely Jewish too (and Goldstein is a Jewish surname). However, despite the fact that the first FBaWTFT is set DURING Hanukkah in 1926, there’s zero signs of them celebrating or observing it. Maybe that’s more on set design than anything else, but come on - if I, a fanfic writer, can do some research, JK/the crew of a major movie can too!

Adding on from that, gotta love how one of the JEWISH main characters then decides to join the Wizarding world equivalent of Hitler. I already had problems with Queenie’s characterisation in CoG, but that’s the icing on the cake.

POC/Black characters - in both series but since I’m a Beasts blog... Seraphina Picquery, a Black female president serving a term during a MAJOR wizarding world crisis, is severely reduced to have only 3 lines in CoG. Nagini’s only purpose is to be the only friend of Credence, a white man, before he joins Wizard Hitler and abandons her; she’s also an Asian character who we know one day permanently becomes a SNAKE, and who goes on to actually have a piece of Voldemort’s soul inside of her?? And some do see her as his slave, though you could argue that she’s actually the only being that he holds any love or respect for. Leta Lestrange is a half-black woman who is killed/literally sacrifices herself for TWO WHITE MEN, and who’s death was literally confirmed to have been added in last minute.

Also, the whole Lestrange storyline was fucking nasty: white Lestrange Sr imperius-ed a black woman (Yusuf Kama’s mother), raped her, and she then died in childbirth. I’m sorry, what the fuck??

In Harry Potter, Seamus is a terrible stereotype of an Irish person - he likes to blow things up. Look up the IRA and their bombings. Fucking Irish stereotype. As someone with Irish grandparents and who is proud of their Irish heritage, this really pisses me off.

Let’s not forget the whole Native American cultural appropriation. That truly speaks for itself.

So here is where I speak candidly to everyone who follows me and/or sees this post. While Beasts is no longer my No. 1 fandom these days, it and Potter still hold a huge piece of my heart. I have 5 wizarding world tattoos, so much merchandise, and I can safely say that being a fan of both series has shaped me as a person. Both of those series helped me get through the darkest days of my life, including bullying at school, my Nan passing away, and my mental health struggles.

This is why what’s happened has impacted me so much and broken my heart. For me, it feels like it’s tainted now because of Jo and her views. I know that we should separate the art from the artist, but when her views are so clearly woven into the very fabric of the Wizarding world, it’s a huge problem.

Here’s another part of the dilemma - I do not wish for the Beasts films to be cancelled. I’m well aware that the *cough* people who dislike me will say I’m trying to be negative, trying to boycott the series blah blah blah, but that’s truly the last thing I want. I still love the story, the characters, the soundtrack, and I want to know how it ends, if only for my own piece of mind. It’s also important to add that by boycotting Beasts, it’s also harming the hard working thousands of others who worked on the films: the cast, the crew, the extras, the musicians, etc., not to mention the fans who actually are invested in the series and have taken solace in it. It’s not fair for them to all suffer over the actions of one TERF.

This is one of my biggest worries, however: the Fantastic Beasts films do NOT have a good reputation as it is. The second film was boycotted by some due to Depp, and now there’s talk of people boycotting number 3 because of JK Rowling. Lots of people already talk hatred about it, and this will only fire that hatred up even more.

There’s also talk of Eddie Redmayne potentially being kicked from the franchise due to a “leak” that he doesn’t want to work with JKR anymore, but this could be sensationalist news reporting. But if it came down to it, I can honestly say that I would rather continue to have Eddie play Newt than keep JKR as a writer. Eddie has done more for Newt than even JKR has, and if he goes, then that will be the last straw for me within the fandom. That will be when I take a sharp exit out, sell my FB merch and have my tattoos covered.

To add, the Fantastic Beasts scripts are...not great. Or, at least, what we saw on-screen wasn’t. Maybe that’s David Yates being the literal worst (fuck you, Yates, you suck) and cutting all the parts with strong female characters, but I honestly don’t think that JKR can write screenplays well at all. I think she’s clearly better at writing books, and that’s fine - books obviously allow for more time to explore characters and story/plot arcs etc, and film scripts offer way less of those chances. I don’t think screenplays allow her to write what she needs to in order to tell the story she wants to, hence why CoG was kind of a hot mess. So maybe it’s just that she’s not suited for screenplays and should stick to books.

Honestly, I kind of just wish that WB would hire another person to finish writing the Fantastic Beasts movies - obviously they’d have to keep JKR on board to tell them the actual plot, but get someone who can actually write screenplays and not be problematic to write them.

By now I’ve gone on long enough that I’ve forgotten my original intent while writing this, so I’ll try to sum up and end now. In short, I am extremely disappointed in JK Rowling and do not support her or her views any longer.

I don’t know how any of you guys are feeling but I would be interested to hear other people’s thoughts, especially other Fantastic Beasts fans. I want to also add that, as always, my DMs and inbox are always open - if not here, then always at @alwaysahiccupandastrid where I’m more active nowadays.

Finally, you guys don’t need me - a white cis woman - to tell you this but you’re all valid and magical and fuck JK Rowling. Her characters would all be ashamed of her, and the characters we grew up with would not stand for the bigotry and vile hatred she spreads under the guise of ““protecting women””. Several of the amazing actors from Potter and Beasts have spoken out against her and her tweets: Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, Bonnie Wright, Katie Leung, Chris Rankin, Eddie Redmayne. Some have been...less inspiring (Tom Felton, Evanna Lynch, looking at you two 👀)

I’m sending love to everyone right now. I wish I could say something more useful but I’ve spoken enough - I’ve made my opinion clear. I love you all, please stay safe.

#fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts: the crimes of grindelwald #jk rowling #harry potter

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theatresweetheart · 6 years ago

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Desperate Measures [ 1 ]

Fandoms: Sanders Sides, G/t

Warnings: Swearing, fear, main character being treated like a pet, feelings of hopelessness, depressive thoughts. (If I missed something, please let me know!)

Pairings: Romantic/Parental Logicality, Platonic Logince, Platonic TLAMP

Word Count: 2830 words

A/n: This has been a story I have had in the works for quite awhile, and needless to say how excited I am to finally share it here!

Enjoy!

Taglist: @isle-of-gold @anonymous-bean @sandersships

Chapter Navigation: Chapter 2

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

Desperation.

Noun: a state of despair, typically one which results in rash or extreme behavior.

The fact that he was currently sitting in a cage, the bars towering high over his head with a large silver lock keeping him sealed from the outside world, was what proved that his actions had been in desperation.

He could see the key to his cage hanging on the wall across the shop and out of reach. It was taunting him, a sharp reminder that his size made him insignificant to save himself.

However, if this was the fate he was to suffer in return for his family remaining safe then there was nothing he would change.

The pet store itself was humming with life. The birds to his right would chirp at each other and the mice to his left would chitter quietly as if they were in a deep and meaningful conversation. They had partners to talk to, engage with, find comfort in.

Logan had no one.

Perhaps it was better that way.

If most of the others remained untouched and unknown. Though, there had been countless instances where his own kind had been found, stolen away and sold on the market as if they were some prize to be owned. There had been cases of malpractices with young children of his kind, or adults that were abused, bruised, skittish and treated as if they were worth nothing. The world had fallen from grace, that much was obvious and he was sick of it.

Sick of all of it.

The way humans would come in the store and coo at him. They would giggle and flaunt, tease sometimes. It was petty. There would be men that mocked him, made stupid faces or rude gestures. There would be women that would tug at their boyfriend’s arms, pointing and snickering. Some would talk to him—which he was prompt to ignore their ridiculous attempts at conversation—and some would croon and click their tongues as if they didn’t know he could speak English.

It was obvious that a lot of humans overlooked the fact that borrowers were pretty much exactly like their own kind, just smaller.

Over the course of the six months Logan had been there, he had had a few different “roommates”—as the store owner had said—and they had each been wildly different.

One had been a cheerful young woman, happily chatting his ear off about how she hoped to be adopted into a forever home. One had been a young man that had been so abused by his previous owners he had refused to share anything about himself or his past. Another Logan had gotten to know was just a young kid—a boy that wanted to go back to his parents.

They had all been adopted and Logan was left by himself time and time again.

He wasn’t unused to this. He had tried to force himself to remain unattached from the others that were placed in with him because he knew it was only a matter of time before they would be found by a family and he would be left alone.

No one wanted him.

It was true that he was extremely vocal when it came to expressing his displeasure, which turned people away almost instantly. He would snap and snark.

He had been locked away for far too long for him to remain complacent.

He had been away from his family for far too long to remain silent and unheard.

Logan had thrown things, pushed the water dish out of the cage, tossed stuff through the spaces of the bars.

To the other borrowers that were ready to be submissive, he looked insane.

Desperate.

The young woman he had been with a couple weeks ago had gasped when Logan had all but thrown himself against the bars of the containment. She had hopped up and taken a hold of his arm to stop him from doing it again, a surprised look on her features as she met his eyes.

“Goodness, young man!” She had said to him, checking the arm that had been rammed against the bar for bruises. “By God, what do you think you’re doing? No one is going to want you if you keep acting like that!”

“That’s the point,” Logan had pulled away from her gentle touch, looking irritated but not with her.

The woman had been startled with his reply. “You don’t want to find a forever home?”

He had paused at her innocent question.

She had been brainwashed by so many years of living in captivity. The girl had told him that she had been born into custody and had never had the taste of freedom.

Logan had lived his entire life in that freedom. How he had been able to live his life the way he wanted it to be lived.

He had had the chance to share in such meaningful moments with his husband. Quiet times where they sat together, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. Or the first time he had gotten to hold his son in his arms. To cradle such a delicate life and feel like the luckiest man in the world.

Hell, he had had the chance to marry the man that he loved.

To see the way such a smile could brighten up his significant other’s face and send a burning warmth through his core.

He had gotten to feel the true freedom of making your own choices.

She hadn’t. So the girl didn’t understand how traumatizing this situation was for him.

He had sighed, showing his true exhaustion. “I already have a forever home.”

Which included only his husband and his son. Not some human that thought they could provide for him. Not some human that thought he was nothing more than a glorified toy to be put out on display for their friends and then natter to him as if he didn’t know better.

Not some human that thought they were bettering his life by spoiling him with treats and luxuries.

The only luxury he wanted was to go home.

Logan had never been proud to stoop to such childish measures, but sometimes that’s what it took.

The young man had been lectured, told off and scorned for his behaviour but he never changed his way because of it. It wasn’t something they were going to shame him for. They had even threatened to take him off display—which he had laughed at, as if that was even a threat.

To get off of the shelf and be “taken off of display” would be the exact thing he needed.

Logan knew what he wanted, he just had to find a way to get it.

He let his head rest back against the metal bars, the cool touch sinking into his skin and causing a light shudder to shoot up his spine. His hands moved up and down his legs, almost a nervous habit but mostly to keep his hands busy doing something. Sitting idly for too long made him antsy. There was always something to do, whether he was trying to think of a way out or trying to annoy the shopkeeper enough to let him go.

The fact that he had done pretty much everything he could today already was a bit upsetting. Waiting until dinner time would be another three hours and there had been a small cap put onto the water dish from his last stunt.

Logan removed his glasses and settled them off to the side, curling his knees up to this chest and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

There was just so much that he was missing out on. He had missed his wedding anniversary—that had been a rough night, knowing that Patton was alone in bed on one of the most important nights of their lives—and he was missing the chance to watch Virgil grow up.

The fact that he had been away from his family for nearly six months now was beginning to weigh in and it set a hard stone in his stomach. Six months and he hadn’t the foggiest idea of how his family was doing.

He didn’t even know if they were okay or not.

Frustration nipped at him and tears prickled the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He refused to let the humans see his weakness and find a way to use it against him.

His body was coiled tight as a spring, ready to snap.

Then, his shoulders relaxed and the tension melted away. His hands uncurled from their fists and he sighed. A deep breath of fresh air rushing into his lungs and allowing himself the chance to relax. To think rationally about the situation. There was nothing he could physically do to get out of this mess. It was all fairly startling, to be honest. The fact that reality can be such a punch in the stomach when it wasn’t wanted, but the reality check was helpful in some ways.

His blurred vision looked up from the slate grey metal of the cage floor and up to the rest of the pet shop. A lot of it was meshed into random colours and shapes, but he could make out certain things. Such as the shopkeeper’s desk and their bright firetruck red hair. The extremely colourful clothes they always seemed to wear.

He could see the vague shapes of other cages and animals moving inside them. Fluttering, walking, crawling or prowling.

Sighing again, Logan replaced his glasses and pushed them further up the bridge of his nose so they sat more comfortably. The world was brought back into focus but there was nothing there worth seeing.

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thepermanentrainpress · 4 years ago

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THE PERMANENT RAIN PRESS INTERVIEW WITH MADELEINE SIMS-FEWER AND DUSTY MANCINELLI

Violation is one of the most stirring films we’ve seen over the past year. Since making its world premiere at Toronto International Film Festival last year, the Canadian flick has been busy on the film festival circuit; now available through digital-cinema on TIFF Bell Lightbox, with Vancouver International Film Festival (VIFF) Connect to follow beginning March 26th.

What inspired the story behind Violation?

We were both dealing with our own personal experiences of trauma at the time, and wanted to make an anti-revenge film that deals with female rage, and emotional and psychological unravelling that trauma gives rise to.

We really wanted to make a revenge film that pushed the boundaries of the genre, challenging the tropes of the scantily clad woman becoming empowered by violent revenge against a menacing stranger, and that revenge is the cathartic climax we are all seeking at the end of the movie. Yes, it is a film about seeking retribution, but also about the cost of that retribution. It is a film about violation, but also about lack of empathy and selfishness, and how both can erode your morality and the relationships around you.

It’s been described as “twisted,” “feminist-minded,” and a “hypnotic horror.” At its core, how would you describe the film’s genre(s)?

Those three descriptors fit perfectly, actually! We weren’t thinking too much about genre when we wrote the script, mostly about the story and about how we portrayed Miriam’s journey. We were inspired by films that don’t sit comfortably in a genre box, like Caché, Fat Girl, Don’t Look Now. Films that are dramas with elements of horror.

When you were writing the script, can you elaborate on the dynamics between the two couples that you wanted to portray – Miriam and Caleb, and Greta and Dylan?

Miriam and Caleb are very much at an impasse in their relationship. The spark has gone out and they don’t know how to reignite it. Instead of doing the work it might take to get through a rough patch Miriam is very much running away. There is a real transience to modern relationships that we wanted to capture in their dynamic - this idea that when the romance is gone the relationship has run its course. Miriam wants to fix it, but doesn’t know how - she clumsily tries to fix it with sex (on her sister’s advice), and this echoes how she tries to fix her trauma too.

Greta and Dylan have a seemingly healthy relationship. But when you look a little deeper their outward affection and codependence masks a deep distrust. Dylan is having his ‘grass is greener’ moment, and he’s totally selfish to the impact this has on those around him. Greta can sense this, but she’s too enamoured by him to risk rocking the boat. It’s all a recipe for tragedy really.

Miriam and Greta have a complex relationship, to say the least. It’s natural to have distance between siblings as they grow older, did you always intend to have a sibling relationship be a centre of your story?

Yes, we always wanted to make a film about a person who suffers sexual assault and is not believed by their sibling. That was one of the first parts of the story that came together. There is so much to unpack in a sibling relationship like theirs. A rich history of mutual failures and resentments as well as so much camaraderie and love. The more painful betrayal in the story comes from Greta, not Dylan.

We wanted to explore the idea of trauma within families, and how abuse and violence affects everyone in the family, not just the person who suffers it. Everything else orbits around these two sisters — Miriam and Greta — as Violation mines the little resentments, commonalities, shared joys and sorrows that weave together a truthful portrait of these women.

A lot of the horror and dread in Violation comes from the way the sisters interact, and in the ways they react to each other from a place of fear. There is no filter in these close sibling relationships (we know this as we both come from big families!) which can be wonderful, but can also lead you to hurt and be hurt in ways that leave permanent emotional scars.

The non-linear editing engages viewers into the story, as do the jarring intercuts with imagery of nature, animals and insects. Tell us about the editing and post-production phase, and what you hoped to accomplish with the progression and symbolism.

The way we have edited Violation is very deliberate. We are forcing you to experience things you might not want to in a very specific way, guiding you through this post traumatic landscape where the past and present are constantly speaking to each other.

We chose to weave two timelines together — the 48 hours leading up to the betrayal and the 48 hours surrounding the act of revenge. This forces the audience to re-contextualize what they have seen, challenging their own opinions of the characters based on what information we choose to reveal and when.

Violation is told completely from Miriam’s perspective — we watch her emotional and psychological unravelling as she struggles desperately to do the right thing. There is a sequence in the middle of the film where we see this act of revenge. There is no dialogue for a long time, we just follow Miriam as she goes through these meticulous actions. And what we realize is that her plan, though well thought-out, is unbelievably emotionally and physically taxing. She’s not prepared, and we watch the real horror of her actions play out through her visceral emotional responses. It was important for us to really force the audience to experience things as Miriam does. The editing is focused and relentless; never letting you stray from her experiences and emotions.

Madeleine, for you, getting to play Miriam and connect with her pain and turbulent emotions through the course of the film, can you share your thoughts on that experience. How did committing to this character challenge you as an actor?

It was the most challenging role I have ever played, and in many ways was absolutely terrifying. I wanted to push myself as far as I could go as an actor and challenge myself to really find the truth of who this woman is, and reveal that to the audience. There are so many quiet moments where Miriam’s journey is so internal, so the challenge there was in truly living each moment as if I was her — getting lost in the role — so that I was not indicating what she was feeling, but living it.

What was it like having Anna, Jesse and Obi as screen partners?

Very liberating. They are all extremely dedicated, layered, engaging performers. They elevated me and challenged me every step of the way. Jesse and I have worked together before, and we have an ease that makes scenes with him very fun. The comfort level we share allows us to really experiment. It was my first time working with Anna and Obi, but it won’t be the last. They are both so open and sensitive that I felt our work was incredibly nuanced.

An overarching question is whether revenge is ever justified. Tell me about Miriam’s mindset, and the struggle between morals, motives and her actions. For you as individuals, is this something that you have had conflict with in your own lives?

In a way we wanted to make a sort of revenge fairy-tale. Fairy tales provide ways for children to think through moral problems, and to wrestle with life’s complexities. They aren’t depictions of reality, but reflect ideas about morality and humanity. We wanted the audience to think about consent, the rippling effects of trauma, how we judge women vs how we judge men, and perhaps consider those things more deeply.

In the end Miriam’s desire to punish those who have wronged her hopefully leaves the audience with a compelling ambiguity to be unpacked as they scrutinize her actions.

Tell us about the trust built between the cast and crew on-set, especially during the more intimate and grim scenes and tense conversations. How do you build that comfort level?

It’s really just about having open, honest conversations. We spent a lot of time with the actors during prep and rehearsals just talking, and building friendships. We are dedicated to creating a comfort level where actors can be completely transparent and open with us, so that when we ask them to go somewhere they know we are there guiding the process and aren’t afraid to take big risks.

To survivors of trauma, what do you hope this movie provides in its story?

We hope to provide a new take on the revenge genre - one that explores rape from a different angle and context - with the focus of the narrative much more on the psychological ramifications of trauma. We aren’t looking to tell anyone what to take away from the film, and we made Violation as much for people with no experience with trauma as for people who understand these murky waters. Really we hope the film sparks thought, discussion, and empathy.

You met at the 2015 TIFF Talent Lab; what drew you together as a filmmaking team? What advice do you have for artists/filmmakers looking for their own collaborators?

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what drew us together - it’s sort of an intangible thing. We developed a very candid friendship that we thought might translate well to a working relationship. Luckily it did!

Shortly after the Talent Lab we decided to work together on two short films, Slap Happy and Woman in Stall. Until directing these shorts neither of us had really had ‘fun ’making a film. Filmmaking was a drive, but it wasn’t a joy. These shorts gave us a totally new perspective, where we actually had a good time workshopping the script, creating a visual style, and just challenging each other. By the time we were making our third short, Chubby, we had decided to officially form a creative partnership.

We definitely approach filmmaking from different perspectives and with complementary strengths, but we don’t say ‘this is your thing and this is mine.’ We work collaboratively on every part of the process, and we built this unique way of working through our shorts, so that when we got the funding to make Violation (through Telefilm’s Talent to Watch program) we already had a solid method that works for us.

In terms of advice it really helps to know how you like to work before looking for a collaborator. Then it’s just about experimenting. It is very much trial and error. Don’t try to force a collaboration that isn’t working for you. There is no shame in a creative relationship not working out. But also it is important to be flexible and open to compromise - that’s how ideas flourish and grow. If you are too rigid then maybe collaboration is not right for you.

Going from short films to your debut feature with Violation, what new challenges did you face and how did you overcome them?

The endurance required to make a feature was something we weren’t prepared for. At about day 3 we turned to each other, totally exhausted, and were like: “there’s 30 more days of this.” It was brutally draining. Honestly every day brought its own unique challenges and problems to overcome, but we had such a strong, supportive team that it made each mountain a little easier to climb.

Aside from yourselves, who are some other up and coming Canadian filmmakers viewers should keep their eyes on?

Grace Glowicki and Ben Petrie are both doing really interesting work. Grace’s film Tito is a disturbingly good character study that builds a terrifying sense of dread. Ben’s short Her Friend Adam is one of our favourites, and he’s about to make his first feature.

Is there anything further you’d like to add or share, perhaps what you are currently working on?

Right now we are writing a slow burning mystery thriller and a twisted dark comedy. That’s about all we can reveal at the moment!

Thank you to Madeleine Sims-Fewer and Dusty Mancinelli for providing us with further insight into Violation! Visit their official website for more information on their projects.

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the-evil-authoress · 5 years ago

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GX Month Day 19: “I Was Here Too!”

GX has a vast array of unique characters, some of which we only saw once. Pick a “one shot” character and show them off!

WELP. Warning for minor character death.

Headcanon: ...too many to list. Oo, actually, no, I got one. The Gentle Darkness has favored the color red throughout all their incarnations.

Credit where credit is due, I got the name ‘Rune’ from @higuchimon and asked if I could use it too because I freaking love that name. As I’m sure you’ll be able tell, this is a vastly different character from the one they write. Also go check them out! They have amazing fics!

“Gather the prisoners!”

Rune didn’t think he could strain his muscles further, but when the shout rings out, he finds out he was wrong. All of his muscles freeze and lock in place, stretched taut with tension and screaming in agony, but unwilling to relax.

He’s trembling.

“Relax,” the man, Larz, whispers in his ear, a heavy hand on his shoulder and Rune flinches because everything hurts. Their captors - those creatures - work all of them from sun up to sun down with backbreaking labor, and Rune barely ever held anything heavier than book before being here.

Larz is probably the only reason he’s still alive. Rune still doesn’t understand why the man chose to stick with him when there are so many of his own comrades he should be looking after. But then again, Larz and his friends are all warriors. Everyone here is a warrior except for Rune. He still doesn’t understand how he got here. One minute he was walking peacefully alongside a wagon from the caravan; the next was utter chaos as the air itself split open and monsters charged out. Rune was knocked unconscious and woke up here in a cell with the ugliest face he’s ever seen leering at him. He hasn’t seen any of the other caravan members since.

Rune met Larz shortly after, the older man startling at the sight of him enough to whisper, “It’s you.”

Whatever the hell that means. At the time, Rune’s panic decided “where are we?” was a better question, and he still hasn’t gotten up the nerve to ask or tell Larz “I’m not who you think I am” simply because he knows he’d be dead if not for the man’s support. Any guilt Rune might have felt about lying pales in comparison to his desire to survive.

So he tries to relax but his shoulders are bunched and stiff and he’s fairly certain he physically can’t relax them because he’s forgotten how.

Thankfully, he does still remember how to take measured breaths.

The shout came from one of the lower ranked guards; a chaotic scramble ensues as they argue over where the order came from, and Larz gently pushes Rune back and nods to an unattended wagon. They walk toward it as if to pick up the work where it was left, then duck behind it.

There’s a stranger in the camp, obscured head to toe by a plain cloak, and Rune swallows back bile at the sight of the person who’s come out to face the stranger.

Zure, Knight of Dark World, right hand of Mad King Brron - who Rune dearly prays he’ll never have the misfortune of meeting - and the same ugly, terrifying face Rune had woken to that first terrible day of imprisonment.

“This is our chance,” Larz murmurs and Rune jumps.

“Wh-what-” His voice cracks and Larz covers his mouth with a calloused hand even as Rune snaps his jaw shut. That was too loud. He can’t draw attention to himself. He can’t draw attention to himself. The last time he did-

A heavy hand on his shoulder draws him out of the spiral before it can begin.

“How fast can you run?” Larz asks.

For a moment, Rune doesn’t respond. The conversation between Zure and the stranger has grown louder and angrier - well, Zure’s side of it at least; Rune still can’t hear the stranger’s voice. “I don’t know,” he admits. His legs ache, everything aches, and he never built up much physical stamina as a scholar. But if it’s for his life, his freedom, then- “But I want to try.”

Larz meets his gaze, and Rune hopes his determination shows through the fear- because he’s scared, he’s scared out of his goddamn mind. He has been since he got here. But he wants to live. He wants to go back home where Njal is waiting and forget this ever happened, forget about his silly, childish idea to travel the world and find ‘the thing he’s been missing’. It all feels so stupid and childish and whimsical now compared to this hell, compared to the threat of losing his life.

No, no. This is not the time to cry. Stop it, you traitorous tear ducts. You can cry when you’re safe, in a warm bed, with Njal hugging you.

With a nod, Larz reaches out with a glowing hand and snaps the chains that cuff their wrists. Rune feels a tingle, like something is resonating inside him, then the glow fades and takes the feeling along with it.

Most of the guards are distracted now by Zure and the stranger, even the other prisoners don’t pay much attention to Larz and Rune weaving their way across the camp. The few that do, Rune recognizes as Larz’s warrior buddies and aid in keeping the guards distracted.

So much compassion from people he barely even knows-

He sees Larz grab a sword in his peripheral. The gate is right in front of them now and Rune’s heart beats in his ears. They’re so close. They’re going to get out of here. He’s going to go home.

“Oi! Oi! Stop them!”

Rune forgets how to breathe.

Larz roars, yanking Rune forward by the wrist and breaking into a run. Rune stumbles before getting his feet under him. Red splashes in his vision as a goblin falls but Rune barely sees it, eyes focused solely on the vast expanse of desert in front of him. He just has to keep running. His legs burn, his chest aches, it’s hard to breathe-

Something grabs him from behind and Rune screams as he chokes on the collar of his shirt.

“Got you, filthy human!”

No. No! Where’s Larz?!

His eyes finally focus. The man stands several meters ahead.

When did he let go?!

Another goblin lunges and is quickly felled by the sword in Larz’s hand. Rune’s panic gives way to cold dread.

They’ll kill him.

“Run.” The word is barely a whisper; Larz can’t have heard it. Rune still sees the despair in the man’s eyes before he turns and flees.

Good. Good. He’ll be safe. He doesn’t deserve this. Not after the kindness he’d shown to a stranger, whoever he thought Rune was.

I don’t either, a smaller voice whispers in the back of Rune’s mind. He ignores it.

The goblins drag him back into camp. He doesn’t make it easy for them. He kicks and struggles but he’s never been a fighter - only held a sword once or twice while Njal gushed about his work, was always more interested in learning how the world works than throwing a punch. He gets maybe one good swing in and swears he feels something in his wrist crack.

He’s tossed to the dirt at Zure’s feet with soon to be bruises atop already abused muscles. A laugh grates against his ears as ugly, lipless teeth lean over to leer in his face. “Thought you could escape?”

Rune contemplates spitting in his face and decides, however slim his chances, he still doesn’t want to die today.

“Load him up with the others,” Zure orders when Rune doesn’t respond.

‘Others’? ‘Load’? Rune twists to look up and really wishes he hadn’t when he sees a misshapen mass of bone. A wagon, he realizes and feels sick. A wagon with people peering out between the white bars.

The edge of a cloak swishing into his vision. “Wait.”

The ground beneath him flips on its axis and Rune retches as something wrenches inside him as if trying to pull him apart from the inside out. For a brief few seconds, his entire reality consists of pain, nausea, and dancing colors. The sensation fades slowly, leaving Rune gasping against the dirt. He chances a glance up at the stranger, and piercing orange eyes stare down at him from beneath the shadow of his hood. Rune swears the person smiles.

“Not that one. Leave him here.” The stranger’s voice vibrates with an odd resonance that sends a shiver down Rune’s spine. He isn’t human, no matter what his face looks like.

“You have something planned?” Zure asks, ire in his voice but it’s obvious the two aren’t arguing anymore. What’s going on? Where are they taking everyone? Why not him? Who is this guy and why does looking at him make Rune feel sick?

“Yes.” The stranger still stares at him with those orange eyes and it makes Rune’s skin crawl.

“Fine. I’ll listen.”

With a wave of Zure’s hand, Rune is wrenched to his feet by the hair and nearly expels the meager contents of his stomach. He’s too busy fighting the nausea to struggle as the fiend drags him back to a cell. Unceremoniously dumped and arm cuffed to the wall, Rune can only watch and listen as the other prisoners are loaded into bone wagons and rolled out of the camp.

He’s alone and abandoned and in pain and can’t do a damn thing about it. He tugs on the cuff once as nearly screams as his wrist throbs.

He was so close to freedom.

Now is perfectly good time to cry.

Larz makes it back to the hideout in the mountain. Barely. Stumbling to the wooden door, he barely manages to rap out the secret code before collapsing to the stone beneath him. The door flies open as gentle hands pull him in. He can barely focus on the woman’s face.

“Larz,” a rough and worn voice gasps and Larz feels no end of relief to hear that voice.

Twins cries of “Father!” reach his ears next as Kyle and Gina rush him, and Larz’s eyes water.

“I made sure...I wasn’t followed,” Larz says, fighting for consciousness as he’s prompted to lie on a bed roll. He doesn’t protest as the women strip him of his rags to dress his wounds. His children hover nearby and, though he wishes they didn’t have to see him in such a state, he’s glad for their company.

He’s also glad for Freed’s company when the women deem it appropriate to let him join. “Larz, what news?” he asks softly, eyes haunted. Larz wonders if his own eyes look like that.

“Our men are being held in a prison camp to the north,” he murmurs to his friend.

“Was there a boy?” Larz jerks at the appearance of a strange face leaning eagerly over Freed’s shoulder. Freed turns an irate frown at the boy but nothing more, so he must not be a threat. “Blue hair. Strange clothes?” He plucks at the brightly colored garment he wears.

Larz’s breath sticks to his throat. The boy’s clothing is strange, far stranger than even Rune’s when he first came to the camp, and yet... “Y-yes. You know him?”

The boy hisses a word through his teeth that Larz doesn’t recognize and spins for the door.

“The candle still burns!” Freed snaps in the ensuing commotion as several other children in similarly brightly colored garments rush after the first boy. It takes Larz a moment of terror before he realizes the others are trying to stop the boy in red.

Red...? And if he knows Rune... No, it’s far too silly to hope for such a coincidence.

Scowling, Freed stands and Larz grips his arm before he can chase after the strange children. “Freed,” he rasps, consciousness slipping now that he’s safe. “He was there. Our King has returned.”

Freed inhales sharply, and Larz sees it, a tiny flicker of life and hope in his friend’s eyes. “I see,” he says, and pulls Larz’s hand off his arm to rest by his side. “Rest, Larz.”

There are still so many things to say - I tried to save him but they caught us, he’s so weak and frail now, you have to get him out of there - but the words fail him as Larz finally succumbs to exhaustion.

Rune is pretty sure his wrist is swollen. He doesn’t think it’s broken, it’s not discolored (yet) and it doesn’t hurt anymore than the rest of him. The bruises have set and he might as well be one giant lump of pain. He can’t even move without flinching. So he sits there, with his back against the hard stone, arm going numb and tingly as it hangs from the cuff above his head. His mind is foggy from pain but the same pain prevents him from slipping into the blissful dark of unconsciousness.

Basically, life sucks.

“Jesse!”

Rune pries his eyes open and risks looking up at the unfamiliar voice. The blurry shape of a person hovers over him.

Njal?!

“Jesse?”

No. No, that’s not... He looks different. Sounds different. What the hell is a ‘Jesse’?

Palpably excited, the boy chatters on in something distinctly foreign, neither the language from back home or the one spoken here that Rune had picked up in bits and pieces with Larz’s help.

“Who?” Rune manages to mumble and the boy trails off, excitement giving way to uncertainty. A girl with red hair lingers behind him, staring at Rune as if staring through him could answer her questions. Her eyes flicker over the space between them with a deepening frown. The boy looks back at her.

The girl’s hand moves and, despite the aches and pains, Rune jerks against his bonds and cowers against the wall as another monster appears from thin air. His voice shakes as he tries to warn them, but the boy chatters again, hands raised and waving. He doesn't look scared, and that terrifies Rune even more.

The monster looks like a woman - a barely dressed woman - and her mouth falls open at the sight of him. She shakes herself before Rune can decipher her expression and twirls the staff in her hand, saying something in that same foreign tongue.

Rune braces himself for more pain.

“Can you understand us now?”

What? He blinks up at the boy who looks like Njal. There’s a gentle warmth in his eyes, if disappointment. Rune’s eyes flick back to the woman, standing calmly behind the redhead girl, and nods.

“Okay,” the boy says, something in his voice changing. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Rune hisses as his injured wrist is freed from the cuff and steels himself as the boy pulls his arm over red draped shoulders and helps him stand. The bruises have not done his aching muscles any favors. Clenching the red fabric between his fingers, Rune rides out the urge to scream. The boy waits for his breath to even before prompting him forward.

They’ve barely taken a step when the girl spins around, air hissing through her teeth, and backs away from the entrance to the cell. “Jay, we got problems.”

The boy - Jay? - tenses beneath Rune, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Problems?” he asks like he doesn’t actually want to know.

“This was a trap,” the woman says, keen eyes fixed calmly on the exit - their only exit - as she flexes her fingers around her staff.

Rune’s breath hitches as the boy shifts again. He...was left as bait? For these two? Or just anyone unlucky enough to find him? No. He doesn’t want that. He didn’t want Larz to risk himself and he certainly doesn’t want a pair of complete strangers risking themselves for his sake. He’s about to voice as much when the boy reaches for the girl’s shoulder with the hand not keeping Rune on his feet.

“I’ll distract them. Get this guy out of here.”

The girl spins around. “Jaden--”

“I can handle this,” the boy says. “I won’t start a duel if I don’t have to; I’ll just stall long enough for you guys to get out.”

A duel...? A fight? He’s actually talking about fighting those things? Rune’s breath stutters and the boy mistakes it for fear - well, it is fear, but not that kind of fear - because he murmurs a gentle, “Hey, it’s okay, you’re gonna be fine.” To the girl he says, “I still gotta find Jesse, so I can’t die here, right?”

So ‘Jesse’ is the name of a person who apparently looks like Rune? After the month he’s had, he’s just gonna roll with it.

The girl sighs - Rune can’t tell if it’s resignation or relief - and offers her arm. Again, Rune considers telling them to leave him and get out of here, but the four of them are already cornered and Rune still doesn’t want to die. So he grits his teeth as his weight is shifted from one person to another and doesn’t stop the boy from walking out to face what waits.

“What’s your name?”

Rune startles at her voice by his ear. She stares at him as if searching for something. “Rune.”

Her eyes flicker, but she smiles as she nods and repeats his names as if committing it to memory. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Christina. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

There are so many things he could say to that - why, you don’t even know me, please don’t hurt yourself for my sake - but he’s scared and he wants to go home. “Thank you.”

Voices filter in from outside as they slowly creep up to the edge of the cell and Rune shakes as he hears Zure’s voice. He tries his best to block it out, but he still catches snatches and the confirmation that he was in fact left as bait makes him feel sick. He holds his breath as Christina carefully pulls him from the cell but Zure faces away from them, and Christina begins to slowly lead him past the inattentive fiends towards the exit while Jaden chats it up with Zure like this is a regular Sunday night.

It would be admirable if it wasn’t terrifying.

Christina’s eyes are focused on the exit, but Rune’s are on Zure, so he sees the blade swing toward them, sees the lightning crack off it’s surface. He plants his feet, yanks his arm from her grasp, and shoves.

Then Rune’s entire existence is consumed by burning pain.

Someone screams. It might be him.

He never feels himself hit the dirt.

Everything is white when his eyes flutter open again. White and blistering pain and a voice without words- O-oh. He knows that voice.

I found you.

The voice wraps around him and it’s warm and that should hurt but it doesn’t, it’s soothing and loving and urges him to rest. His eyes flutter as he sinks into the warm light.

Wait.

Njal. He’s still waiting.

But the voice urges him to rest and so he does.

#gxmonth2020 #rune #johan's dark world double #jaden yuki #judai yuki #gx #ygo gx #ygogx #yugioh gx #yugiohgx #yu gi oh gx #long post

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sky-sykes-starr · 5 years ago

Text

BTS Yandere Jungkook finds you after five years of your escape

Warning: abuse, violent, sexual themes

Note: This is actually a continuation of BTS Yandere finding out your pregnant

(Maknae Line)

Before you have left, you wrote a letter to Jungkook explaining why you were leaving. At the time of writing this letter it was the right thing to do. But you didn’t know that you would be regretting it.

Jungkook kept that letter and read it again.

Dear Jungkook,

We’ve been married for a year now, after you brought me from that auction sale. We’ve had good moments and bad, more bad than good and I’ve been on the receiving end of the stick with all the punishments you’ve given me. However, I have had enough of this and shall be leaving not on my own as you were able to give me something special that I shall be waiting for nine months. It’s such a shame that I’m not the only one despite the fact that I’ve always been nothing but loyal because if I did cheat on you, God knows what you would’ve done to me.

Jungkook had killed every women he had ever impregnated (which were the maids), feeling extreme guilt for cheating on you as you never cheated on him. Yet, he felt a sudden urge of anger that you thought you could leave with HIS CHILD. You were sorely mistaken as he has finally found you.

Well one of his many men found you, at the spa that you work at, when he was collecting his wife. That man got a huge pay raise for his services of locating you and Jungkook had tailed you the whole entire time not wanting to lose track of you.

You routine was simple send your twins of too school, work, finish work, collect your kids and take care of them.

When Jungkook laid eyes on the two boys he was shocked on how similar they looked to him when he was a child, the big brown eyes and their bunny smiles. Clearly, he had strong genes.

He was at the park, watching you playing with the boys. The only thing he knew about his kids were their names, Jae and Dae.

Time passed slowly, as he was watching the three of you without being noticed. However, when you had turned your back for a second Jae ran off to go play somewhere else as Dae was still standing next to you.

Jungkook saw his child running around without even Y/N knowing what was going on. Until Jae ends up coming towards, staring at him laughing. Jungkook smiles back.

Jae: Why are you alone?

Jungkook: I’m not alone I’m watching someone

Jae: I know you’ve been staring at mummy forever

Jae was quick and very intelligent for a four year compared to his brother whose face always lost in a dream like state.

Jungkook: I was not

Jae: Yes you were, lots of men stare at mummy because she got a big butt

He begins to laugh.

Jungkook doesn’t find it very funny though, just hw many men have been staring at you? Just how many men have you allowed to touch you? How many men fucked you?

His blood began to boil.

Jae: Mummy’s single

Jungkook: Is she now?

Jae: Come on, you can come and meet her

Jae takes his hands as his little legs begin to walk to you.

As you finish your conversation with another mother, who quickly ends the conversation after seeing the well-known mafia Jungkook. You turn to here Jae talking to you about a man he’s met.

Jae: Mummy, I found you a new boyfriend?

Of course you weren’t paying attention to the man as your full focus was on your son.

Y/N: Oh really?

You look up to see the man and it was none other than.... Jungkook, the man you ran away five years ago.

Your voice grows silent not knowing what to say to him. Until a light bulb flashes into your head.

Y/N: Come on kids, enough time at the park where gonna go home.

You grab Jae and Dae’s hand quickly and turn but you are stopped when a hand is on your shoulder.

Jungkook: I don’t think that be necessary as you all are coming with me!

You and your children turn towards him as his driver appears gesturing you to start walking.

Jae: Mummy, pick me up

You pick Jae and Dae begins to throw a fit and falls on to the floor crying his eyes out and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Dae: CARRY ME CARRY ME CARRY MEEEEEEE

Jungkook quickly picks him up in a rough manner causing Dae to cry even more not even knowing the man, screaming out your name.

Dae: MUMMY WAAHHHAHHHHHH

Jungkook: SHHHHH

Jungkook is trying everything he can to calm Dae down, but nothing is working.

Jungkook: QUIET

Dae stops and begins to whimper, burying his face into Jungkook’s shoulder. You were in complete utter shock on what the man did.

As you were all in the car the journey back to the house of horror was extremely quiet. You assumed that it was at least two hours long and with that time both the twins were asleep due to the boredom.

Jungkook: We’ve moved to a new place, somewhere further. I have my men collecting any valuable items, like pictures and stuff you know of you and the kids since I missed out on a lot

.....

Jungkook: The boys will easily settle down here, I even have built them with a play room that has a fort inside for them to be playing with something similar to mine. Yet, there bedrooms aren’t done yet, so they are going to be sleeping in the guest bedrooms. I’m not sure what they really like.

......

Jungkook: My mum was shocked when she found she became a grandma, she was devestated that she never got meet her grandchildren but mum and dad should be coming over next week to meet them and you. We live closer to them too.

.....

Jungkook: SAY SOMTHING

Dae begins to murmur with sudden outburst of Jungkook, not wanting to wake him up he rocks him back forth back to sleep.

Y/N: There gonna need there toys

Jungkook: Why would they need cheap ass toys when they can get the best of the best

Y/N: Because Dae can only sleep with his teddy and if he doesn’t he begins to cry and by the looks of what happened earlier you couldn’t handle

Jungkook: You raised them too soft to be attached, you need to be harsh with them, luckily I’m here

Y/N: You touch my kids and I shall kill you

Jungkook: Trust me, I won’t hurt them that much, as long as they obey, but is you who is going to be punished.

(Time skip)

It was dinner time and fresh plate of spaghetti and meatballs laid out on each persons plate.

Jae and Dae were awfully quiet.

Jae: Mummy who is he?

Before you can even speak Jungkook interjects.

Jungkook: I’m your Daddy

Jae: You are?

Jungkook: Yes I am and mummy’s been bad girl for not letting me see you

Jae: Mummy’s been bad

Dae was very pale, he quickly got up from his seat to run towards you as you pick him up and place him on your lap he wraps his small hands around you.

Jungkook, clearly wasn’t happy that he had to share you with two boys and the fact that Dae at four years old, according to him should have acquired some table manners.

Jungkook: Dae, your a big boy sit on your chair and eat like your brother

Y/N: Jungkook, stop it!

Jungkook: Don’t tell me what to do women, your the last person who should be ordering me about. Now Dae, I already told you once listen to daddy and sit on your chair and eat.

Dae begins to whimper and Jungkook snaps.

Jungkook: DAE!

Dae: YOUR NOT MY DADDY!

He begins to cry heavily on your shoulder as you pat his back whispering him to stop.

You get up with the plate and usher Jae to come with you to eat in the guest bedroom where they shall be sleeping.

“YOUR NOT MY DADDY”, ran round Jungkook’s head as his heart begins to break it’s not his sons fault that they don’t know him but yours and you shall truly be punished.

Time skip

With the boys asleep in the guest bedroom, you decide to go to the master bedroom to get your clothes and get ready for the night to sleep with the boys.

However, once you entered the room to collect you pyjamas you hear Jungkook walking into the room and locking the door.

Jungkook: This is all your fault you know. My boys would be calling me dad but they aren’t because of you.

He walks up to you with you dropping your clothes on to the floor.

Jungkook: BECAUSE OF YOU, YOU STUPID BITCH

You feel a harsh sting on your cheeck as you fall to the floor with a small cut from his ring leaking blood down on your face.

He takes off his belt, staring at you with cold eyes and you knew what was about to come.

He raises the belt up and begins to whip you savagely, non-stop as you scream for help he shouts verbal abuse at you.

Jungkook: SLUT, WHORE, FUCKING DUMB BIMBO BITCH HOW MANY MEN DID YOU SLEEP WITH? HUH?

This lasts for thirty minutes striaght as his arm gets tired he drops his belt to the floor and picks you up and throws you on to the bed.

He jumps on top of you, violently kissing and biting you making you let out soft moans. As he begins to tear of your clothes.

You feel his clothed boner near your wet pussy. You were so embarrassed with being turned on.

Jungkook: You feel that babe, that’s what you did to me and tonight. Tonight, shall be a long long night of pleasure. Who knows maybe this will be the day we have baby number three?

#BTS #btsjungkook #btsyandere #btsimagine #btsreaction #btsoneshot #btsyanderejungkook #yandere #yanderebts #btsjungkookyandere

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