#tw trafficking mention

[ramblesofakio]

If you don’t believe RAMCOA/TBMC is a genuine thing, please block me

I’m tired of seeing people post about how “it doesn’t exist” and say that “ramcoa doesn’t exist but the trauma does.” It’s irritating to be told what I went through doesn’t exist and does exist at the same time.

It’s important to hear survivors and to be able to understand that this shit happens and still does. Cults, trafficking rings, etc. they all happen. Just because you think that someone can’t force a system doesn’t mean it’s not possible. Do you know how much trauma that someone faces within shit like that? How easy it is for someone to see that there’s so much dissociation and use it against them?

I’m tired of so many people thinking that ramcoa survivors aren’t real. We are, we exist.

If you don’t believe it, please block me.

[ghxst-system]

as a programmed system i feel i need to say this:

if u EVER think being made to be a system is "cool" (@ THE PEOPLE WHO WANT TO MAKE MORE SYSTEMS????)

FUCK. YOU.

i did not get tortured and fucking trafficked for u to destroy the meaning of a *TRAUMA DISORDER*

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

Upper Crust

"Miss Nikos, I would assume you'd know how to wield a knife better."

Pyrrha was straight up not having a good time.

Learning Who the Arcs were was terrifying. Being in their house nearly made her heart stop.

Having Prismeya Arc, Mama Arc, the Mother of Malfortune, The Matri-Arc stand over her as she tried and failed to slice onions to caramelize them almost made her forget her own name.

"Although ... If all goes well you won't need to worry~ Jaune is quite the cook if you give him time to prepare~"

Pyrrha couldn't tell what was and wasn't a threat. She was shaking so bad she nearly cut herself with the knife three times over.

If she hadn't use the bathroom before this she likely would have peed herself.

And Prismeya simply sat there, watching. Judging. Calculating. Eyes half shut, a sharp smile other lips, swirling a rich, dark red wine in a beautiful glass.

Like a cat playing with a mouse, though Pyrrha would more liken it to a Lioness and the runt of a litter of mice.

One wrong move and her life would be over. Was the Prosthetic-Gun Rumor true? Or the Retractable Claw in place of her nails? DID SHE TRULY CONSUME THE SOULS OF THOSE SHE ENDED?

But Prismeya was simply ... Putting unneeded pressure on her. Pyrrha had wanted to kill Jaune at one point so ... Scare for a scare. Just a little bit of Schadenfreude.

The oven tim-

"AH!"

*Ahem*

The oven timer dinged, startling Pyrrha.

"Ah! The Pie is ready, I'll get that Dear~" Mama Arc lilted as she grabbed a set of Pot holders from a lovely wicker basket on a counter.

Then the Doorbe-

"AAAH!"

*A-HEM*

The Doorbell rang, startling Pyrrha greatly. Truly, there was little that could shoot her nerves any more than they already had been.

"Pyrrha, be dear and get the door~"

Mama Arc's sang out to the poor girl, who hopped straight into action and any reason to escape the kitchen. She raced to the foyer and threw the door open to reveal the new guest.

In the doorway stood a middle aged man, tired, red eyes piercing into her. His feathery salt-and-pepper hair stuck out in sloppy, odd ways, and a red cape hung off his back.

Pyrrha froze, her blood curdling in her veins.

No one made it alone in this life, and no one got to stab someone in the back without finding a knife in theirs at some point, I less you well and truly disappeared.

And the man before her was near godly at doing so.

If it weren't for the sound of her heartbeat skyrocketing in her ears, Pyrrha would've thought she was dreaming.

A hitman, a hunter, an intelligence broker, a heartbreaker, a bandit, a government officer, a cleaner, A Legend.

An Omen.

"Hey you " The smell of alcohol was strong on his breath. "Is Prismeya Arc home? I got some stuff to talk to her about."

Pyrrha hit the ground with a solid 'thunk.'

~~~~~

Jaune replaced the ice-pack on Pyrrha's head, the poor girl running a fever. She conked out when Mr. Branwen had come over, leaving his sisters to finish dinner while Jaune handled his bodyguard.

The news played in the background, Jaune listening in on some very important information.

"This is Lisa Lavender being you the biggest news of the night! Jacques and Willow Schnee have both been arrested on the grounds of Ties to Organized crime, including Gang Violence, Drug Trafficking, and Faunus Trafficking. While there is strong evidence, a deeper investigation will take place. Their children are being moved to an undisclosed, safe location for the time being. We here at the Vale News Network will do our best to keep you Updated as the story develops and information comes to light."

@novankenn for archiving.

[written-by-jayy]

Prompt #6

Masterlist

••••••••••••••••••••••••

Whumpee was kidnapped to be sold to other Whumpers (maybe this is an au where its commonly accepted to own a whumpee, or maybe it's some kind of trafficking thing).

Caretaker is a part of some kind of team/organization that goes undercover to help people in Whumpee's position. But neither Whumper, nor Whumpee know this.

So when Whumper manhandles Whumpee and basically showcases them to a seemingly apathetic, and possibly slightly harsh Caretaker, is whumpee scared that they might be handed off to a worse Whumper? Are they attached to their Whumper and don't want to be sold period? Are they neutral or even happy because nowhere could possibly be worse then here?

Caretaker maybe tries to mingle the price down just because they only brought so much money with them, but regardless, they don't leave until they have Whumpee.

After they arrive at Caretaker's home or the hospital or wherever they're taking Whumpee, how does Whumpee react when Caretaker's personality completely shifts, and they're now sympathetic, worrying and gently tending to Whumpee and their wounds?

[wr3n-th3-4n1m4t0r]

revenge to @blossomnightshade… take that… you made me all sad…

TW: reference to kidnapping/trafficking

(this obviously wasn’t originally towards bloomie but NOW it is because i’ve been SCORNED. i don’t have a full timeline for what this is quite yet though :3)

small context: because dracula’s parrots in real life are a vulnerable species due to being hunted for their “spectacular” feathers, then we can assume that in the lmk universe, because they’re more humanoid demons, they’re more often trafficked for their plumage and such features that are very unique to their species. it would make sense, wouldn’t it?

[heart-hand-confessions]

Heart hands having to actually think of the fact you might of been in a cult and literally tortured and trafficked etc.

.

[morally-ambiguous-bird]

how much will you take to permanently fix a mutual problem. A jacyn Kaplan-Brake, in particular?

$1000 for the boy, how much for your expertise?

-YHN SAE

Oh I’ll give ya my expertise for free.

In this case it’s for you to take a short walk off Wayne Tower and take a long, long time to die.

I don’t see the kid as a goddamn problem because he isn’t. His actions sure, but he’s try’n’ to change. Is he still a bit misguided? Yeah. But you don’t get to put a price on someone priceless.

At the end of it though? His flaws be damned, cause Jacyn Kaplan-Brake is worth more than you’ll ever fuckin’ be.

[a-gaggle]

one of the badder parts of what we went through is a lot of ramcoa/oea survivors were in cults. ramcoa is most often associated with cults.

we weren't... in a cult. we were tortured(? i guess? it feels too extreme but) by people who got access to us through our school. whether they were teachers or staff members or just happened to be there... they tried to force us to be their perfect toy.

we don't remember there being others, but i remember that we had a specific handler. so maybe there were others and we just never met them because they all had their own handlers. i don't know.

it feels weird. like we're the odd one out. i don't know if we were trafficked (at least to people outside of the ones who hurt us), i think we might've been but i don't know, i was just supposed to keep the tasks in line, i'm not a memory, just a crawler. but everyone else we see who went through oea went through it because of a cult, and it feels kind of bad that we're the only one we know of who wasn't in a cult. not that we wish we'd been in one so our abuse was more "typical" or that we wish others had gone through what we did--just that we feel. lonely. especially since some people equate oea/ramcoa to cults and kind of leave behind survivors who weren't from one...

[coolrpblog]

Share a scary story from your life! Could be something innocuous or a nightmare, whatever you're comfortable with.

I'm not sure if it can be considered scary but the first thing that came to my mind was when I was a kid and was going to cross the road soon to go home. (school was out i was maybe 6-7 years old and thought my mom was friends with everyone in the town) But this lady came up to me and said she was friends with my mom and asked her to walk me home that day. So my dumb autistic child self went "okay!" and started to follow this lady, now going over my day and whatnot before my teacher (god bless her i wish i can get in contact with her) came over to bring me back to the group of kids and when I looked back that lady was gone and I then forgot about it and crossed the road to see my mom who was there to take me and my sister home.

And flash forward to many years later it dawned on me that I might have almost been kidnapped or tr*fficked because I thought my mom was friends with so many ladies.

Other thing I can think on is honestly fucking funny. So in SC near Murrells Inlet, there's this place called Maze Mania that is between two mini golf spots. You can go there and run the maze in the day or night (the maze is never the same as they can move walls to change it) and the goal is to, well originally, I'm not sure if it's still like this as I haven't been there in way over 10 years, was to find the "cheese" which is a box that will also be placed in a new location where you will have your time stamped on a card, you have your time stamped on the card before you go in the maze too and when you get out of the maze, if you get out in less that 4 minutes if I remember, you can get a free t-shirt, again, they might have changed it now to other prizes.

ANYWAYS, me, my sis, and my dad were there at night and I got separated from my sister. Let it be known I am a big baby who needs his older sister to help ground him as she's been by my side most of my life (I have sobbed before when she went on trips that were many miles away from me before, I am that much of a loser baby lmao.) But anyways, I started to panic and run around trying to find my sister and when I go around a corner, I see the biggest toad I have ever seen in my child life and while even then I love frogs/toads, in that moment that bugger scared the fuck out of me and I screamed and turned tail JNBJHVBGFHDJNFBDF. Later found my sis and dad and tried to find that toad again cause I wanted them to see it but that fucker was GONE.

Anyways, wild and funny memories lmao.

[lilac-set]

The thing about kitty broker is that we ARE cats. Im a lynx and the little is a baby kitten. So to both of us but especially to him, it feels like trafficking. Not only that, but if he were to do something not considered acceptable, his value would plummet. Which is stressful enough for an autistic cat. But combine that with the fact that we’re orange and orange cats are already devalued anyway for behaving eccentrically… it really just rubs it in that no one would ever love us, why would they? We would get placed in the free bin, and still no one would take us. Fuck that. Fuck the passivity, and fuck assigning values to people. Let us roam around and choose our person for ourselves. We’re not an object to be sold or discarded. No cat is

[sunset-peril]

Ashes Remain - Chapter Eighteen - The Fall of Apollo Justice

~~~~

April 3rd, 2027

???

~~~~

“Thank you, Wright, for being able to meet on such short notice.”

“Of course, Miles. What’s the occasion?”

“I have someone I’d like you to meet. Kay?”

Edgeworth’s twenty-six year old daughter stepped out from behind the corner, a ginger peeked out from behind her. She was only about an inch shorter than Kay, but seemed worlds smaller. 

“This is Doctor Cykes.”

“I didn’t realize she was already in the country.”

“Her visa arrived a little earlier than expected. Her caretaker and I decided it might be best to get her into the country early and let her settle. She’s quite gun-shy.” He turned towards the two young women. “Athena? Would you like to meet your new boss?”

Athena stepped closer. The first thing Phoenix noticed on her was the strange, frightened looking necklace. Once she was close, her head threw up and gaze hardened. That’s when he noticed the strange scar circling her throat like a collar. 

“She’s one of Franziska’s rescues, and the missing witness from the Blackquill case. A seasoned fighter both in and out of court.”

“Really? I didn’t know Von Karma was involved.” 

“Ever since the crackdown on illegal entertainment began, they’ve had a flood of people, mainly children, come into Interpol custody. Of course, because she was seized by Interpol, I’ve had some trouble finding a residence for her. Typically, I would have offered her the spare bedroom but, she’s�� afraid of Pess.”

“Afraid of your dog? He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“She’s afraid of dogs, large ones especially.”

“She’s got a pit history!” Kay blurted, clasping a hand over her mouth.

“Oh.”

“As you can see, it’s detrimental to her health for her to live with us, considering her history. Pess is currently boarded for his own safety, but it would be in his best interest to relocate Doctor Cykes as quickly as possible.”

“There’s the back room of the office. It wouldn’t be ideal permanently, but it would let you bring Pess home, and it’d give her plenty of space.”

“What do you think, Athena? Would you like to go with Mr. Wright in a few weeks?”

She wouldn’t look up at him, but bowed her head even more. “Of course, sir.”

Phoenix knelt down to her hidden height. “Well, I’m excited to work with you, Athena. My daughter, Trucy, is so excited to meet you.” 

Her head sunk even further into her shoulders, if that was even possible, and spoke in a hushed, rushed voice. “I won’t let you down. I’ll make you see my worth, sir.” Finally, she looked up at him. “You won’t regret me.”

“Oh… Athena, why would I regret you? You’re a promising young lawyer.”

Edgeworth’s face crinkled as Athena took a few steps back. “When Franziska found her…” He gestured for Athena to step behind him. “She came from human trafficking, Wright.”

“...oh.”

“I’ll do anything you say, Boss, anything at all, in fact, I’ll-” 

“Cease your rambling, Athena. You’re worth more than that.”“Yes, sir, yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir.” Athena’s voice was growing louder, but her words were becoming faster.

“Kay? I… think Athena has had enough for one day. Help her get somewhere quiet, would you?”

“Of course!” Kay held out one arm towards Athena, and the young lady had instantly darted into her arms before they exited the room.

“Her abusers were mostly male, so it’s been a pain getting her to open back up.”

“How… how long-?”

 “Since the incident, it seems. Our investigation into how she got there is ongoing. But Athena, and her special power, will be ready for you in time. She’s recovered vastly in the past week or so, and Kay thinks that one experience will cause the dominos to fall and for her to show her true self. She has an astounding temperament, Wright. I’ve no doubt that she’ll be a force to be reckoned with once she comes out of this state of extreme self-preservation.” 

~~~~

December 19th, 2027

3:30pm

Wright Anything Agency

~~~~

She was sitting there, watching the world go by below. Apollo hadn’t wanted to talk to her, and the Boss had essentially just let her be.

This time, Apollo hadn’t apologized. It was their first day after being discharged (excluding their little escapade the first morning of Juniper’s trial,) and she already knew he wasn’t going home with her.

The lease was in his name, so it was only a matter of time before she was in the shelter. Edgeworth would try to take her in again, but she couldn’t do that to him. Not again.

Not to poor Pess.

She’d been so stupid. 

Stupid to believe someone would truly love her.

Stupid to believe everyone would trust her. 

In this Dark Age, of course everyone was looking out for themselves. No one was willing to just go along, not without a price. 

She tasted the blood already. The blood would never fall upon her hands or lips, but that didn’t stop the taste from rushing through. And honestly? She was overcome by the nostalgia of it. She looked forward to it, as much as one could without absolute psychopathy.

She ripped off her jacket and discarded it to the floor. The cuffs, warm from body heat and the space heater running nearby, glistened with a threat newly realized. The mark was well concealed, less she go feral.

Perhaps she should take the risk, health-wise and social-wise, and look for ways to get blood back in her diet.

What can she do? Old habits die hard. She was already legally insane, so she could freely blame that little tidbit. Of course, at the rate things were deteriorating, she may not have a chance to blame.

She’d nearly finished it off many times, stopped only by the coexistence of hope and fear. The hope was quickly dying, and the fear was rapidly consuming it. And she cared too much for the fear than to discard it to be trod on like the jacket.

Vivid as some parts were, recollection was denied. As much as fear and sorrow strangled her, the reasons why were lost. The reasons why she knew things that weren’t hers to know, the reason for the silver streaking through the lower layers of her hair when she had the burning feeling it wasn’t always so… 

And those fuzzy memories mess with her temper. 

“Daddy! Thena! We’re home!” A young magician burst through the door, ending her haunting. 

Athena gathered the jacket from the floor, before one of the security guards passed by and called Fulbright on her for noncompliance… again. “Afternoon, Trucy! How was school?”

“School. I like being home with you, Daddy and Polly more. I can practice my magic here!” Trucy shrugged. “You warm, Thena? You can take your jacket off, there’s no one here but us.” She flashed a grin and bounced on her toes. “And I’m not going to call the cops on you!”

“Thank you, Trucy. But I’m good, I was just… thinking. How was the weather, Apollo?” 

“Not bad, gonna investigate more later. Got a few interesting leads, a few people willing to talk. Things better done covert and solo.” 

“I see. That’s good at least. I shouldn’t expect you for dinner?” She unconsciously dipped her head away from him at the mention of dinner. He hadn’t even come home to sleep since Clay passed. Why would he bother to have a meal in her presence?

He never outright said it, but the reason was not because of Clay, it was because she lived there too… for the time being.

“Can’t. Crematory.” 

“I… didn’t realize that was today. I’m sorry.” It hurt, hurt deep inside. She knew in her heart of hearts that he’d scheduled the appointment during the dinner hours for the sole purpose of ignoring her.  

“It’s alright.” She couldn’t tell if that was genuine. “We’ve both been busy.”

All she could do was nod and burst out her suspicions. Last thing she wanted was yet another fight with him. The last thing she wanted was his anger. 

He heard that she wouldn’t respond. There was no way she could edge herself back in, he was just too stubborn.

She could only watch as he approached their boss with one eye, almost no exposed skin and a body full of business. “Sorry. But I’ll be taking a leave of absence.”

“Wait! What do you mean by a ‘leave’?!” A-Apollo? No… please… please no… 

Her boss’ brow furrowed. “Can you at least give me a reason why?”

The expression in her beloved’s eyes didn’t change. He was still focused on something far beyond them. “I can only say… that this is something I must settle on my own.” 

Before she could process what he said, he had left and shut the door behind him. 

When it finally made sense to her brain, a full five seconds after he left, she bolted out the door behind him. “Apollo, wait!” 

Unlike his previous announcement, she realized she’d made a mistake instantly. And before she could talk sense into either her or him, she had been knocked backward from the force of his hand against her neck, and had slammed into a table nearby.

The shooting pain was just below her shoulder. The way Apollo looked at her before running off, with fear and uncertainty, she knew everything was already falling apart. She gathered herself back up, bit back her tears and re-entered the Agency. This death was ugly, and despite what she’d experienced, it was kindest to finish it off while the wound was fresh. “If we’re going to solve this…” She threw her head up in the air, once more flashing the odd, thin scar circling her neck as if it threatened to suffocate her. “Then there’s something I’m afraid I must tell you, Boss. A… confession, of sorts.” 

No turning back now, but the beast just needs to die.

Her boss, obviously immensely bothered by Apollo’s odd and quick departure, bit into his frown. “Of course, Athena. What’s on your mind?”

A heavy sigh escaped her. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but, well…” She threw herself around, back facing towards him, as Uncle Simon always did. If her uncle really was the only dependable entity, she may as well lean into his mannerisms. 

“I’m not Athena Cykes.”

[deadsetobsessions]

Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.2

[Pt.1]

Peter’s no stranger to memories that comes as nightmares. There’s something different to them, the taste of terror that’s tinged with a feeling of “that’s happened.”

Flashes of Aunt May, dying as he stood next to her while choosing the city over her? Old hat. Inky darkness surrounding MJ falling as Peter reached for her, over and over again? Been there, seen that, didn’t even get a sick scar out of it. Racing against the clock to defeat some bad guy or an unknown threat? That’s his Thursday.

But this?

This isn’t his. It’s real, Peter could tell that much. Sure, it’s wrapped up in silk hisses and heart crushing terror, but Peter could always tell whether a nightmare was a nightmare or whether it was a memory.

This was a memory. Not his. His. It’s complicated.

“Your father, papito, he-,”

Then, it’d be the ruffle of his hair, brown eyes. It reminded him of his mom. But the crease of these eyes were different. Hardened, mean. Even towards him.

“Well, he said no, but I knew what he really wanted.”

The base of Peter’s neck always crawled when he remembered that line. His spider-sense warned him that whatever he’s remembering, he would not like.

“Ey, Peter.”

“Huh?” Peter blinked, looking up from where his arms were elbow deep in wires.

“Don’cha need gloves with that?” Frank asked, munching on some jerky. They were sitting in the living room, repairing a TV and a washer Frank had somehow managed to lug back to the apartment. It’s a toss up between Frank’s network of orphans (Peter included), street rats (these things are not mutually inclusive), or his own slightly higher than average strength. Not that they needed to thrift broken things, considering Peter’s funneling money from offshore bank accounts belonging to this America’s 1%. They just made it so easy! He and Ned had been hacking into government bases in middle school back on his world. This world? Not even a challenge. Regardless, this was kind of like… Frank’s version of those fancy sensory boxes for Peter.

“Oh, no. It’s not plugged in, see?”

“How’re ya gunna know it works then?”

“Plug it in after I’m done. Turn it off and on, you know?”

Frank stared at him, then rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

“If you burn down that portion of the house, at least we’ll be warm for a bit.”

“Thanks. Your confidence in me is astounding.”

“You talk like an old man.”

“I do not! Excuse you! If I’m old, you’re the expired knock off cup ramen in the back of a convenience store!”

“Yo, shrimpy, that’s rude, ya hear?” Frank snickered, impressed at the quip. The Alley kid turned brother stood up to plop next to Peter.

“So… you gonna go…?” Frank made a whooshing sound and held his hand in a web shooter position.

“Tonight? Prolly. Anything I should look out for?”

“You’re gunna get yourself killed, but yeah, heard the gang’s back up north.”

Peter flashed a smile, dimples coming out. “I’ll try not to. Thanks, Frank.”

“Anytime, Spidey.”

Frank, though little (to Peter), was a good friend. Then again, considering Peter saved his ass both in mask and out of it, it’s to be expected. One would think that after eight years of hiding his identity, Peter would be better at it. Then, he got punted into a different world and got made by a child.

To be fair, the circumstances all but screamed Parker Luck, so Peter’s not counting this instance.

See, the first few days of this sudden cohabitation, Peter had asked Frank to find them furniture. Both because he was getting real sick of eating on the floor and because Peter needed to fix his suit to match his much younger body. Then, once he readjusted the shrinking nanotech and the spider legs to fit him in a way that wouldn’t break him, Peter had promptly swung out of the building and went patrolling. He stuck with the wandering Frank, taking out muggers and robbers and everything in between and past that around the area where Frank is.

Looking back, Peter realized how lucky he was when he decided to go on the “helping joyride” at the beginning of the evening. His spider-sense activated way later in the night, the moment where he began seeing and sensing the cameras that kept pointing towards him. He ducked and dodged out of the way, and eventually, the feeling left. Somebody was watching. And he doesn’t know where they stood on the moral side of things.

Anyways, it happened after three weeks and a half of going out and just… settling into life in Gotham. He had already been struggling to find a way home, scouring the libraries around Gotham on any subject that would aid in his multiversal travel. Peter would like to know which emo kid named this city.

Eventually, Parker Luck decided to strike once more.

“Get back, freak!” The lady brandished a wicked knife.

Talk about deja vu.

“Oh no! Knives! My greatest weakness!” Spider-Man yelled, sticking to the shadowed windows as he let his voice echo in the alley. Gotham had a lot of nice hiding places. Spider-man dropped down on her head like a bat out of hell and webbed the knife out of her hands. He webbed the mugger up onto the alleyway above normal reach, and told the man to call the police.

Frank screamed, just as Spider-man wrapped it up, loud enough to reach his enhanced hearing.

“Wait-!” The man tried to stop him, but Peter, small, trained, and having readjusted his reach, slipped away.

“What’s your name?!” The guy he saved yelled at his back.

Spider-man, distracted, yelled back, “SPIDEY!”

He shot webs upwards and used them to slingshot his way towards where Frank was. And… car! Peter used his webs to swing up, up, and let himself fall to gain momentum. At the last moment, Peter shot a web to the top of the car and pulled himself to it.

Shit, shit, shit. He’s stupidly attached to the kid, and he was stupid enough to let Frank go out into Gotham looking both well-fed and well clothed.

The world slowed as he locked eyes with a terrified Frank, who was getting dragged into a car.

The world narrowed to speed and Spider-Man landed on top of the car roof, sweeping his leg out and thankfully remembering his much shorter reach. His foot collided with the kidnapper’s face with the equivalent force of a grown up, slightly annoyed Peter Parker who’s letting his strength go a bit unchecked. Basically, they went flying, blood spewing out of the undoubtedly broken nose Spider-Man had just given them.

Standing on business, the shorter webster promptly flipped down wards as he all but glued the would-be kidnapper to the curb.

“You alright?”

“You’re- You’re that new mask.” Frank whispered, scuttling away from the car where he’d been dropped.

“Yeah, man. You okay?” His voice modulator came in clutch.

“Fuck. Fuck, I gotta-” Frank stumbled. The kid looked like he was one bad break away from snapping. Peter hated it when kids got that terrified look on their faces, it reminded him of himself, helpless as Ben bled out because they should never have to fear something that much.

Something’s wrong, though. As much as Peter wished otherwise, Frank was a Gotham bred and true alley kid, through and through. These kids don’t spook easily. Peter already stopped a couple of kidnappings and at least two of the kids had yelled at him to stay out of the way before unloading a rain of nut kicks on their kidnappers that left Peter wincing for days in sympathy. Frank being this spooked? Something’s going on.

“Woah, easy there, I’m not gonna hurt you,”

Frank shot him a half hysterical, half condescending look. Yeah, that’s more like it.

“Ob-obviously. I have to go before more of them comes,” Frank muttered.

“More of them? You know what they want?”

Frank stared at him, looking up and down at his blue, red, and gold ensemble.

“I can help,” Peter promised.

“What’re your thoughts on metas?”

Suspicious.

“Uh, they’re fine? Depends on the person, why?”

Frank sighed. The skinny teenager, barely 14, tugged at his hair. “They’re traffickers. Meta kids, mostly, so the Bats don’t do nothing. I- uh, I got caught.” He held up a thin wrist, showing Peter his new accessorie, a think metal bracelet that was beeping red.

Peter cursed in his head. Fuck, of course he’d stumble into a-

“Caught? You’re a meta?”

Frank nodded. “Strength. This is an inhibitor, illegal kind, you know?”

Well, that explained how he got all of those furniture without struggle.

“Right. Hey, don’t stress, kid, I’m a meta too.”

Frank blinked.

“What?”

Peter walked up the side of the car and did jazz hands.

“You’re a meta?! But- but you’re a mask operating in Gotham!”

“Yeah…? Is that weird?”

Before Frank could reply, Peter’s sense screamed and Spider-Man shoved Frank away from the spray of bullets.

“Move, Frank!”

Peter flipped away, vaguely aware of Frank’s gaping realization. He took down the shooters in quick succession, stopping the speeding car with his bare hands and some webs.

“Shooters, no shooting!” He yelled, liberally applying force he tended to keep under wraps. Frank was like a brother to him, and there is no universe where Peter Parker would hold back when his family was in danger.

When he got back to Frank, who had oddly stayed instead of running, Peter found out why the kid stayed.

“Peter?!” Frank hissed lowly, looking more pissed off than terrified. “Are you fucking insane?! Why are you running ‘round as a mask?!”

“Shhh!” Shit, he got made. “Come on, get back to the apartment and we can talk there. I’ll get rid of this-”

Peter casually snapped the bracelet in half, tearing the tracker out, and tucked it away to study later.

“Fuckin’- shit, fine, but you’re explaining everything, motherfucker!”

They split, Peter guessing correctly that he was in another lecture of a lifetime.

——

“Your vigilante name is Spiderman?”

“Hey, I can hear you say it without the hyphen! There’s a hyphen in there!”

“You’re not a man! You’re a twerp!”

“I’ll show you twerp, you-”

Five minutes of tussling later, in which Peter did not try to bite Frank’s arm off, thank you very much, Frank leaned back on the couch.

“Besides. People in the streets are calling you Spidey, anyways.”

“Spidey?”

“Some dude you saved from a mugging said you told him.”

Peter slammed his head on the floor where he was laying face down.

“Ughhhh.”

——

“He could have been great. I saw his potential.”

Anger. But he shouldn’t be afraid. The woman loved him.

“Hey, Peter. You’re up here again.”

“Hi.” Peter stayed curled up. His mind had refused him sleep for the last three nights, causing dark circles to appear underneath his eyes. The memories of what he assumed to be this world’s Peter was merging with his. What he’d seen so far did not fill him with confidence of a happy childhood. Flashes of wielding weapons, the sterile smell of a metal dissection table, and hundreds and hundreds of spiders crawling over him, getting startled into biting down. Plus, the stress of tracking down the meta trafficking circles in Gotham was no joke. He doesn’t know Gotham nearly as well as he knew New York, and he had to be extra careful running around and trying to catch every bit of the circle before making any moves. Frank was helping with his network of homeless Meta kids, but the traffickers were everywhere except for Crime Alley.

He should be dead. They sold his body to an organ harvester who dumped his venom filled corpse on the side of Gotham. At least he didn’t have to worry about killing his alternate version.

“Everything all right?” Red Robin clambered down to sit next to him, cowl hiding the concerned scrunch of his brow. He’s never seen Peter like this.

Peter grumbled, staring down at another alleyway. He knows his alternate died. His shit excuse for another sold his body to an organ harvester, when he seized on the operating table, who dumped his venom filled corpse on the side of Gotham. At least he didn’t have to worry about killing his alternate version. He does, however, have to worry about missing vital organs.

“I… remembered something.” Peter remembered a lot of things. And pretty much none of them were good. This Peter suffered a lot in his short life.

Red Robin nodded. The issue of Peter’s spotty memories had come up in their discussions over the past month.

“Ah. Something unpleasant?”

Peter thought back to the voice who, despite all of the other, highly traumatic memories, haunted his brain like nothing else.

“He didn’t live up to it. He refused to kill. So I made the decision for him.”

“Yeah. Not for me, but unpleasant that I know about it.”

“Yeah, I get that. You wanna talk about it?” Peter hid a small smile. Even though Red Robin kept his tone light, the concern still bled through. Warm. It made Peter feel warm. Even if it appeared that the Bats don’t really care about the trafficked meta kids… maybe Red Robin would come save normal kid Peter if he got kidnapped. A backup plan to consider. For now…

“Sure,” he said. Red Robin waited patiently.

“I think, I remember someone. Maybe, maybe my…” Peter grimaced. “My mom? She… told me something. And uh, I think I’maproductofrape.”

“Oh,” Red Robin said, so awkwardly that Peter had to crack a small smile despite the gravity of the topic. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too. Not myself, but for…” Peter waved a hand. “You know.”

“Yeah.”

“She wasn’t a good person,” Peter whispered and hated how he missed the browns of her eyes- her middle name was Marie, and god, Peter wished he hadn’t known that because he gets why her eyes reminded him so much of his own mother- and she besmirched everything Mary Parker stood for.

“You have our combined potential, Peter. Make sure not to be like him too much and live up to it, papito.”

“It’s okay, to love her even if she hurt other people,” Red Robin said, gently ruffling his greasy hair. Peter’s spidey-sense tingled and he ducked away. Red Robin withdrew his hand. “Because you can’t really help that. Trust me, I’ve tried. You just have to make sure they don’t get the chance to do what they did again.”

Cold, cold voices and his voice gave out from screaming. “You really are your father’s son. Never being able to do what’s necessary.”

And Peter wondered what happened to Red Robin and who hurt him. Peter would just like to talk. Red Robin reminded him of himself, way back when being Spider-Man meant finding out Harry became Green Goblin. Pained. Tired.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. But that’s not really a problem, considering the last thing the organ harvester said before dumping him in an alley. “She’s dead in a ditch in Siberia or something. I’m not really worried she’ll do it again.”

“Uh.”

“It’s cool,”

“Right. Have you… remembered your dad?”

“Yeah. He’s in Gotham,” Peter unfurled a little.

“You want help tracking him down? I’m good at that kind of thing.”

Peter glanced at Red Robin. “I think you just admitted to being a stalker.”

“Vigilante,” Red Robin shrugged, like it explained everything. And yeah, it kind of did. Peter snorted.

“Nah, it’s okay. I don’t want to meet him anyways.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about me,” Peter ticked off his fingers. “I’m a literal walking, talking, breathing reminder of his trauma. And I don’t need a dad.”

Red Robin looked at him silently. Peter doesn’t think about it.

He never wanted to see his parents suffer. An alternate version of his dad, hurt so irrevocably by an alternate version of his mom?

Peter hated that this Catalina dirtied his mother’s name, and went against the most fundamental parts of what the spider symbol was meant for. And considering he’s been doing this longer than her, he had first dibs on defining it. He’ll look after his dad, as long as he’s stuck in Gotham. It’s only right.

“His name? Oh, my son, it’s Richard Grayson.”

——

Peter, who Trusts his instincts: no head rubs?? awwwww

Tim, who’s been trying to get a dna sample for the last month: how does he keep evading me?? He must be a genius or a spy or- *spirals down the conspiracy board*

——

Tim: I’ve connected the dots!

Peter: you’ve connected jack shit

——

Listen, the moment I learned Catalina Flores’ middle name, the pieces clicked, okay? Like legos. It’s like, former FBI agent in this one and former CIA agent in Peter’s home universe? Wow. Middle name Marie? Mary Parker? Incredible. Spider themes run in the blood apparently?? They both have brown eyes!! Trying to do good with no qualms about murder!! (I’m assuming since Mary Parker was SHIELD and I don’t think SHIELD cared much for the sanctity of human life if it threatened the country or something)

[aspartameabuser69]

I love how Hazbin Hotel brushed over Angel Dust’s drug use, because in the eyes of the show drug use isn’t something very traumatic, leads to much more vulnerable to human and sex trafficking, SA, and abusive relationships. Drug use is very complicated but in Hazbin Hotel Angel Dust’s drug problem is mentioned like…four times and one of those three times was a fucking joke. Drug use is often very misrepresented in media, also being an addict doesn’t make you a bad person, drug use shouldn't be criminalised (it makes it much harder to seek help), and rehab shouldn’t expensive as fuck. And also Angel Dust’s name? Weird as shit. That’s like naming your OC crack. It’s treating Angel Dust like he’s only his addiction wich is really horrible representation for obvious reasons. Vivziepop does not know how to represent serious topics, she either uses it for fetish bait or an actual literal joke. Also his name? Doesn’t make any sense. The effects of PCP were discovered over ten years after Angel Dust canonically died. It’s so clear Vivzepop didn’t do any research on the topic she’s trying to represent, it takes five seconds to google this shit.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Preserve Us

You know how in conservation biology you sometimes try to introduce a pair to be mated and one will just... just fuckin' merc' the other? Just absolutely obliterate them in a hissing, growling, nightmare ball of fury? Before anyone can stop them? Territorial and (to put it lightly) "uninterested", dispite your desperate desire to save their species from extinction, and need for them to get frisky?

I know.

Holy SHIT do I know.

There's a lot of reasons. Ways you can (hopefully) get around it. But first? Is finding out WHY it happened. Was it just the one? The environment? Were they sick? Or... as is the case sometimes, did they decide their Handler was their mate? Some species only mate once. Are loyal for life. You gotta work around that.

Which is all well and fine and good.

When we're talking about ANIMALS.

Non-sentient, non-sapient animals! Not ALIEN SPECIES! What the ABSOLUTE FRESH HELL did they expect from me!? Compliance?! This was UNETHICAL! Monstrous! I had been trying to slip my gaurds long enough to radio for help SINCE I GOT HERE.

I hope the fuckers ROTTED in whatever their Gods considered a Hell.

"Conservation facility" my ENTIRE ASS. You can't run CONSERVATION EFFORTS like this on SENTIENTS. Eugenics loving, atrocity fetishizing, immoral BASTARDS!!! And they KNEW it too. They HAD too! Or they wouldn't be HIDING it! Fucking KIDNAPPING scientists! Biologists! Doctors!

I was on my ways to study Lekku monkeys!

God...

I'm? I'm so tired of being pissed.

Furious and outraged and SCARED. Horrified and sick. There are PEOPLE here. Kids! And I don't... oh god, I don't... H-How LONG has this been going ON? Why did no one NOTICE?

Every day I feel my heart break. The desire to scream and scream and never STOP, grow inside me. I have to get out. I have to get us ALL out. Get these people FREE. Do SOMETHING. But I am forced to "conserve" the species assigned to me. The group assigned to me.

It's killing my love for the field. Making a mockery of everything I worked for.

I don't... I don't think my hands will ever be clean again.

But I have to help. Do everything I can. Make hell a little kinder, if nothing else. At least while I figure out a way OUT. My group deserves better. The groups I do not work with, deserve better.

I disguise games as "testing". Pages and pages of meaningless numbers ans scores. INSIST that enrichment is the key to success. Diet is EVERYTHING. Oh, and habitat? Well unless we can mimic their habitat there's no WAY they'll "breed".

No, no, using machines would stress them out too much.

It's like you DONT want babies!

Who's the expert here? That's RIGHT! Dr. Cho, but FAILING her and like five other people? Me. And I know for a FACT they are pulling the same scam. We ALL fucking hate you. Dr. Cho has KIDS, you FUCKS. Hasn't seen her son in YEARS thanks to you bastards. He was engaged. She's probably missed his WEDDING thanks to you!

Getting distracted, spiraling again, gotta stop DOING that.

It wont help anyone.

But God, if my brain doesn't slowly feel like it's shorting out the longer I'm here. Stress is called the silent killer for a reason. Or what that something else? Fuck. I can't even look it up! Bastards cut us off from the galactic web. Full information blackout. Because of COURSE they did... can't risk us rightfully calling for help.

Getting the Feds involved to shut this hell pit of a black site DOWN. Or a "whatever it truely is" site. Because it sure as SHIT has nothing to do with conservational biology. Except maybe the abuse of it.

But that doesn't help me right now.

Focus, damn it!

The Yanderens. Old, absurdly rare, nearly extinct, with a home planet they'd reduced to uninhabitable wastelands millennia ago due too... something. No one knew what. There had definitely been fighting. It WAS documented they were excellent fighters. Ruthless ones at that. But it was ALSO documented they strongly pack bonded.

There had been a lot of strongly worded warnings on what few documation my captures were able to find, translate, then shove at me. But honestly? They said the same thing about humans. Ooooh big scary persistent hunters~ oh nooooo! Watch out for the omnivores with a history of war! Sins of the father and we are defined by our diets! Class systems! Let's all JUDGE each ooooootheeeeer~!

Yeah, no. Not buying it.

Especially when the "warnings" were so damn vague and poorly documented. All "the HORRORS!" and "we barely SURVIVED!". Cause honestly? The Yanderens I was watching over? Easily the most mild and temperate individuals I had ever met. No tantrums from the kids, no big emotional meltdowns, just curiosity and at WORST? Mild frustration.

It made everything ten thousand times worse for me, that these poor people were in this hellish place. They were calm. Curious. Meant for greater, BETTER things! They should be out, playing and learning. Exploring and enjoying peaceful strolls in some art gallery or zen garden somewhere! Not... not this sterile fucking LAB.

But then M-17 loses his SHIT.

And now I'm kinda panicking. Because F-6 is not just dead, God rest her soul (she didn't deserve this. Oh god. She was so SWEET.), but M-17 might just be too, soon. If I can't find out what HAPPENED. Because if he's "feral" or "diseased" or whatever other horrifying terminology they end up using? They DO something about it.

And I can't actually stop them.

I... I don't know if it was a trauma response. Or I did something wrong. I could PROBABLY pass it off as my needing more studies into their observed "mating habits"? That... that I somehow... turned it... uuuuh... dominance battle? Shit. Where are my notes?!

F-6 is DEAD and its all my fault.

She was such a cuddle fiend too. Always excited to hear about my studies, from before. My life. Wanted to join me after we got out of here. I never should have let her volunteer. Granted, she wouldn't have taken no for an answer. Wanted to spend the pregnancy plotting our escape. Asked me to help raise the kid once we got out. Had a whole grand plan. But I...And I...

God...

I should have said NO. Insisted. It was just so hard, when F-6 had made it all sound like it would be okay. Like she had a plan and all I need to do was trust her. Believe in her. Then we could be free.

I had hoped M-17 would work best. He was always the most agreeable and quick on the uptake. I figured... well... ha ha. God, I'm such an IDIOT. I should have CHECKED. Who KNOWS what happened before I arrived? What triggered I just accidentally rammed my foot into? FUCK! I sweep everything from me desk onto the ground. Don't give I shit that I'll have to clean it up later,

I had figured M-17 would be COOL with it.

This place is getting to me, isn't it?

Why the FUCK would anyone be COOL with getting jumped? Bred like an animal? Shoved in some random ass room, with a vaguely familiar stranger, and told "now fuck. We want a literal litter from you two"? All while some biologist watchs and makes god damned NOTES!?

Of course he fought back. OF COURSE he didn't stop!

The only one there he could trust was himself.

I...I'm becoming a monster... aren't I?

Oh god.

At least we're in the satellite facility. The gaurds are definitely going to rat me out, but the news will take time to filter back. And... and the Yanderens being so "dangerous" might work in my favor. I... I can spin this. I HAVE to spin this. I can't let TWO people die for my fuck up.

I promised myself I would get as many people out as I could. I refuse to back out now. Even if that means crying, puking, then going out there to lie my ASS off. This was TOTALLY NORMAL. In fact, expected! Yep! It means that's we've determined that M-17 is the alpha Yanderen! A thing that is both REAL and possible to BE!

I rinse my mouth, stomach empty. Crying has exhausted me. But I can't give up. Too many lives count on me now. I... I wish so badly I was just a nobody again. Just some random biology student, trying to make a name for herself. Being "important" is a CURSE.

I try not to chug my water as I half stumble out of the glorified shoebox that is my bathroom into the much larger and Fancier CLOSET that is my room. Truely, no expense spared, for the captives they ripped away from their lives. So glad I am here willingly and of my own volition.

I gather myself. Finally ready to go and try to untangle the mess I have made of everything. When a deep booming alarm rattles my bones. The lights flickering to red. Blast doors slide down, SLAM shut over the transparent recessed bit of wall that counts as my window, the door to the rest of the facility.

Trapping me inside my small room.

Almost immediately after, an EXPLOSION rocks the world hard enough to knock me from my feet. Only the bed's limited padding keeping me from a nasty concussion. The edge of it still ramming painfully into my shoulder. Another explosion. Then another. I sit for a long, terrible, second stunned.

The moment passes.

I scramble on my hands and knees for the in facility communication device that I had knocked from my desk in anger, grief. Not daring to stand lest I be thrown down again. I manage to find it as the world shakes again for the fifth time. Followed by what sounds like gun fire out in the halls.

I fling myself back towards my shitty little bunk. Drag every bit of padding and protection I can, down and under it with me. If the roof goes? I want shock absorption. If shots get through the door? I want something to slow those blasts down. Anything. ANYTHING! To increase my fucked chances of surviving.

I burrito up and wriggle back as deep as I can. The world muffled but ending just outside my crawlspace. Then I desperately try to get one of the others on the line. I got nothing but chaos. Running. Running. Hiding. And Dead.

Dead. Dying.

Remember me.

And GONE.

Some of them fighting with their groups too freedom. Some being targeted right along side their captors. Others savaged by the ACTUAL animals they had been working with, the one's Galacticly deemed too dangerous for effort like this. Someone or something had set EVERYONE free. A simultaneous attack on all fronts that our captors could not put down or escape.

The Yanderens were out there.

Oh god. Please let them be okay. They wer-

My thoughts ground to a halt as M-32 LAUNCHED his tiny body onto the screen of one of the security feeds I was desperately looking through. F-6 had figured out how to get us a backdoor to them a long time ago. M-32 was just a kid. A small, soft, cuddly little thing that loved to lean against me and crawl into my lap. All cherubic cheeks and cute little curls. Shy!

Yet I watched... in mounting horror... as like a lion on some unfortunate animal, he landed on a gaurds back. Small arms going around his body in a mockery of a hug. Head tilting so he could BITE at the back of the man's neck, small hands clawing and ripping at weak points in his armor, as he screamed. Thrashed. Tried desperately to get M-32 OFF of him.

There was so much blood.

My hands were shaking. So much, I accidentally hit the next screen button. Jerked my thumb back. But... but oh god. There was F-26. Using the butt of a rifle to slam down against the head of a scientist. Again and again and again. Long after the begging and thrashing stopped. I flipped again. M-4? No... please not M-4. Not the soft spoken and wise...

I watched as he grinned, a cold thing, and shot out another joint. His foot on the chest of the head scientist who had moved him to a different group. In the background, his supervisor lay dead. They had not died quickly. The head scientist was begging. A mess of tears and pain. M-4 shot another joint, pressing his foot down harder.

I wanted to be sick.

I flipped again. And again. And AGAIN.

H...Had I known them at ALL? Like demons wearing the faces of those I'd known. People I'd trusted. Not a SINGLE ONE was... oh... oh god. F-6. Had she been too? Would I have ever known? Was THIS what all those warnings meant? I couldn't think. Couldn't breath. Had... Had never had a panic attack but... BUT-!

I wheezed.

Shook.

"Oh, Clever giiiirl~" A familiar voice sang, before a blood splattered face flickered into being on the screen in my hands. "Where aaaare yoooou~?"

M-17. He'd somehow managed to take over the security cameras. That or the communication feed. His eyes were bright. A grin on his face like I'd never seen from him. ALIVE in a way I'd never seen him. The excitement transformed his face. No longer softly doll like, but something DANGEROUS. Unhinged. His eyes dilated and deadly teeth on display.

"Come out, come out wherever you aaaare~. I have so much to TELL you! We have so much to DO! I'm going to make you MINE sweetheart! No one else can have you. So come out. I won't hurt you much, I promise! Just gotta make you mine then we can leave okay~?"

Furious snarls echoed through the halls. Male and female alike. Old and young. I... I recognized each of those voices. What was HAPPENING?

"Aaaah? Did you TRASH really think you DESERVED her? Ha! Please." M-17 grin was cruel. Mocking. "You don't have a chance in hell of taking what's MINE."

His eyes seems to shift away from unseen enemies and back, somehow, to me. Warming to something euphoric. Resting his head on his hand as if to consider me. His fingers spread, stroking his own face, as if the desire to TOUCH was simply too great. As if what he was imagining was bleeding over into the real world.

"Oh clever girl~ my clever, clever girl~♡ I can't wait til it's just you and ME. Start think of where you want to go first, okay? We're going to get married. Have that child you wanted me for. All the things you ever dreamed~♡ I'm going to have you all to myself. No more annoying others. Ah~ can't wait to find you soon!"

"But first?"

"May the best of us Win."

[furiousgoldfish]

Abuse seemed normal and justifiable to me, the entire time I was living in it as a kid. I didn't question it, the justifications and defenses would appear in my head before I would even start to get upset about it. 'They didn't mean that, they did it to make me stronger, to teach me how hard life is. They only did it out of anger, they wouldn't have done it if I didn't make them angry. It happened because I did x. They're my parents, they're doing what's best for me. I just don't understand yet because I'm not old enough but eventually I'll get why they're acting this way.'

It feels like that when you've never had a life away from abuse; it is the only normal way of life you've ever known, and implication that it might not be normal are too scary to explore, but also completely unbelievable. Because you would have to believe that you yourself are in a special situation where normal rules no longer apply. Rules like 'your parents love you and do everything for your own good', 'you need to listen to your parents, they know what they're talking about', and 'Your parents are just trying their best'. And you feel like you're nothing special, nothing that happens to you is special, nothing is out of the ordinary, you're feeling even less than normal, you feel like something is deeply wrong with you, rather than the situation you're in. Of course your parents are normal, and mean well, it's you who needs to get their shit together and stop being, whatever you are, it's unclear.

It can seem from an outside perspective, that a child would recognize at least some of the abuse for what it was, even if subjected to the rules of 'parents love you, they know best, you need to obey them', if the abuse is extreme, but no, they wouldn't. Looking back at my experience I was able to justify not only the physical violence, neglect, insults and humiliation, but even the constant, very detailed death threats that would constantly come out of the abusers. I listened to them describe to me how they would kill me, often implying they should have killed me already, and all I thought was 'they are just saying that, they're not actually going to kill me, they're saying it because they're angry, I shouldn't take this personally'. When I think about that now, I am appalled, you would think anyone subjected to constant detailed death threats would know for sure that this is wrong. But I was also hearing about how they 'sacrificed everything for me' and 'nobody else would ever love me like this', and how could I have known, as a kid, which one of these are lies, and which are the truth? I was heavily pressured to believe that they loved me. How would I have known that my parents had reasons to convince me that their murderous intentions were fake, but the love they had for me was real?

Without a clear reference to how parental love looks like, there's no way to tell. And if you ever do see a depiction of a loving family, your abusive family will be very quick to tell you that they're "doing it wrong", "spoiling that child", and "created a selfish brat". And how would you know that this isn't true? You don't yet know that they have reasons to lie to you. You've been told they're your parents and they only want the best for you, like all parents do. They just don't want you to grow up a selfish brat, so that's why they don't do all of the listening, hugging, caring, paying attention, conversing, and advocating for you. To make sure you're strong and responsible as a human being. It makes sense when you're a kid. When you're an adult, you understand that it never made any sense, that shaming good parents only served the purpose of making you feel like you're having a normal experience, and that your parents were right to abuse you, even superior for it.

It's possible to endure any amount of abuse and to be convinced that it's normal. I've talked to adults who've been sexually abused and trafficked by their parents and still believed the parents loved them. There's no limit to what you can convince a child is normal. Any abuse can be hidden by a guise of normalcy.

[poolboyservice]

really don't know why endos are trying to take syspunk/systempunk/etc. and then losing their shit when they find anti endo content like

you guys have pluralpunk, GO THERE!!!!

you say you're plural, but you don't have DID/OSDD? great!!! SO YOU'RE NOT A SYSTEM, and therefore, you need to STOP TAKING TERMS FROM SYSTEMS AND TRANS PEOPLE!!!!!! MAKE YOUR OWN TERMS AND STOP STEALING FROM PROGRAMMED SYSTEMS!!!

"but anti endos are invading their spaces!!" tags like #did system and #osddid? oh, totally. how dare we steal the spaces that were originally ours in the first place! I am so so so sorry, I'll give everything to you my dear royal ruler (can you feel my sarcasm. I feel like it's oozing from my pores atp)

"hating on endos is not punk" stop stealing terms from a minority that's actively being targeted by law by methods such as murder (trans people), stop telling systems they're lucky to have been abused/trafficked/etc., stop appropriating a ritual from a culture that isn't yours, stop invading spaces that have never been yours, stop telling people to kill themselves for existing, and THEN we'll talk

I'll be aware, I know some anti endos genuinely go out to attack endos, but that is a very small %. The only reason there's so much accounts that express they're anti endo and multiple tags that are basically "endos fuck off" is because you keep invading OUR spaces and attacking US, you big fucking baby

If you don't want to get mauled to death, then don't tread on wolf territory, easy as that.

I'm definitely making this too long and rant-y but holy shit, y'all, come on.