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writer-room · 4 years ago

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Siblings: Chapter One

AO3

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Summary: The Bats reflect on how their thoughts about siblings have changed over the years. Some opinions stayed, others didn't.

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Dick always wondered what it’d be like to have a little brother or sister.

He recalled asking his parents why he didn’t have one. Not accusatory, just curious.

His mother had smiled and said that they had their hands full plenty with Dick, and he was all they needed. His father, while still kind, said that they didn’t really have the time or resources in the circus at the moment to add another child to the family.

Dick was disappointed, but he understood the reasons.

Even still, he’d find himself staring at the kids that watched the acts with awe. Older kids lighty taunted their younger siblings, ruffling their hair and pretending they were too good for it all, and that they were doing their siblings a favor by being there. Kids who nudged their brother or sister to distract and steal the snacks from concession stands, later whispering words that’d make the other gape or giggle. Young children holding their sibling who was of toddler age or younger, pointing towards parts of the acts, their glee growing upon seeing the excitement of their sibling.

Dick hadn’t been lonely growing up in Haly’s Circus, he had his parents and the other people who worked there, from the handlers to the clowns to the tricksters.

And yet, he still found himself watching the kids who’d come in with one, or even two or three, brothers and sisters, taunting and laughing and sharing their wonder.

A sibling would’ve been nice, he thinks mournfully. It might’ve even been fun.

Ah, well. At least he had the circus.

“Hey, hey Dick. Dick. Dick, lookit.”

“If I turn around and I see you about to push Damian off the roof, I’m breaking your helmet.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Dick sighed, turning back from where he was keeping an eye on the streets below. Jason, who’d only been a few feet away, immediately took this moment to seize Tim, who had been too busy looking through his binoculars to care about whatever the two had been doing, and proceed to chuck him off the roof.

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan as Tim’s undignified shriek was cut off by him catching himself on a fire escape below, scrambling to get a good hold on so he didn’t fall the rest of the way.

“What?” Jason huffed. “You said not to push Damian, and I didn’t push Damian.”

“Of course,” Dick replied sarcastically. “My mistake, I’ll be sure to rephrase it as don’t push anyone off the roof.”

“Now that’s just unreasonable,” Jason huffed, hand on his hip as Steph and Cass snickered from the nearby chimney they were perched on. “I can think of plenty of people who deserve to be pushed off roofs. Like Scarow, for example. Bastard made me break my good hand last month and I still need to shoot a bullet in his back for that one.”

“Then don’t push your family off roofs, is that enough for you?” Dick sighed, standing up and peering over the edge of the roof. “You alright down there, Tim?”

“Names,” Damian finally chastised, not once having glanced over to the others from where he was on the corner of the roof, farthest as he could get from them.

“Oh, sure, now you worry.” Tim grumbled from the fire escape, finally pulling himself to his feet and brushing himself off. “Dick, please tell me I have permission to stab out Jason’s eye.”

“You do not.”

“He’d be fine!” Tim complained, snagging a hand on the stairs and instead pulling himself up along the outside of the fire escape instead of walking up the steps like a normal human being. “Harper could probably make him a new functional one in two days if she's in a good mood.”

“I’m not making him a new eye in two days. Maybe two weeks.” Harper informed from the other side of the roof, also ignoring the others as she tinkered with some gadget.

“Get anywhere near me and I’ll cough on you,” Jason threatened, also peering down off the roof. “You have basically no immune system, you’d die in a week. A long, painful death. Poetic cinema, really.”

“If you say it's poetic because you were beaten with a crowbar for two hours, I’m dropkicking you.” Steph warned, eyes narrowed.

“You’re so mean to me,” Jason gasped, placing a hand on his chest as he turned. “What did I ever do to deserve this? I’m nice to you!”

“No, you’re not.” Chorused Dick, Tim, Damian, Steph, and an extra voice through their earpieces.

“Wow, thanks, Babs.” Jason grumbled. “Showing up just to bully me, typical.”

“Names,” Damian warned a second time.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Babs crackled through their earpieces. “You’re not the only one I bully.”

“Everyone please stop harassing Jay,” Dick pleaded, though it came out more as an exhausted sigh.

“Names,” Damian growled a third time, losing his patience.

“I know it's fun,” Dick continued, ignoring him. “But this is supposed to be a scouting mission, and I’d rather he didn’t start taking out petty revenge during patrol.”

“I have no idea why he’s so surprised we get bored when scouting,” Steph mumbled quietly, to which Cass simply shrugged.

“You have no faith in me,” Jason snorted, and Dick could tell he was rolling his eyes under his helmet.

“I have plenty of faith in you,” Dick soothed. “I also, however, know how you are.”

“Don’t worry,” Steph raised a hand. “I already lost faith in you when you tried to kill Tim.”

“Which time?”

“Steph, don’t taunt him. Do it back at the Manor.” Dick lightly scolded.

“How many times do I have to repeat this?” Damian snapped, whirling from his post to glare at the others. “We do not use names on patrol!”

“Doesn’t Jon call you D on patrol?” Harper raised a brow, glancing towards him.

“That is different! He does not use my actual name!”

“Hypocrite,” Jason coughed under his breath.

Tim finally swung back onto the roof, skillfully rolling and dodging when Jason attempted to immediately kick him off again. Tim rolled close to the chimney, quickly pulling out his bo staff and crouching, glaring at Jason. It was reminiscent of two cats in a standoff, arched backs but neither of them making the first strike yet.

“Do not fight,” Cass said calmly.

“Thank you, C--” Dick hesitated, glancing at Damian for a brief moment. “--Orphan.”

“Fight in Cave,” Cass continued cheerfully. “We have sparring mats for reasons.”

“And I take that back.”

“You wanna hang with the cool kids?” Steph asked, leaning off the chimney to offer her hand.

“Yes. Have I mentioned you’re my favorite person?” Tim grinned, putting his staff away as he took the offered hand and was pulled onto the chimney beside Steph and Cass.

“You could stand to say it more often,” Steph teased.

“Cheaters,” Jason grumbled, relenting that fighting both Steph and Cass to get Tim was a losing battle.

The three were rather squished on the chimney, but none of them seemed to mind. Harper only rolled her eyes and went back to tinkering.

“We really need to bring D--Signal on one of these things.” Dick muttered, shaking his head.

“Because he’s sensible, or because you want him to suffer like the rest of us?” Tim raised a brow.

“Because he deserves the same family bonding time.” Dick said simply.

“Duke and Cullen are next to me listening in on this,” Barbara said through the communicators. “I am here to inform you that Duke is both touched and terrified.”

“The bumblebee was awake and didn’t even bother to join us?” Harper snorted. “Rude.”

“Cullen agrees with you.”

“He better,”

“I’m taking a ten hour nap after this,” Dick complained, sitting back on the edge of the roof, legs dangling in the open air as he leaned back dramatically on his hands. “I deserve it. Self-care and all that.”

“That is the length of a normal amount of sleep.” Damian raised a brow.

“Not in this family, it’s not.”

“Preach!” Tim pumped a fist.

“You don’t count, Tim.” Dick chastised, leaning his head back to look at Tim upside down. “Everyone here remembers to sleep at the latest once every two days. You don’t sleep for five.”

“I’m being harassed,”

“You’re being bullied into a proper sleep schedule.”

Damian suddenly whacked Dick over the head, startling him with a yelp as Jason hid a snicker. Harper and Cass looked over for a moment before continuing with whatever they had previously been doing.

“Names!” Damian hissed. “Do you all want your identities revealed?”

“Literally nobody is here,” Harper pointed out.

“If Gotham hasn’t found out our identities by now, they never will.” Steph snorted.

“Especially finger-stripes over here.” Tim added, a smug expression on his face.

“A nine-year-old finds out your identity one time and you never hear the end of it.” Dick muttered under his breath before sitting up and proceeding to snatch Damian, who had been previously stalking towards the others, by wrapping an arm around his chest and tugging him closer as the boy squawked.

“You were using a Flying Grayson move, dude.” Tim deadpanned. “You gotta pay the price for being flashy for no other reason than because you can.”

“That’s his entire personality.”

“Why do you all hate me?” Dick whined, holding a squirming Damian close as he gave the boy a noogie. “What did I do to gain such torment?”

“You want the list?” Harper looked up, finally putting away whatever she was tinkering with.

“We alphabetized,” Cass added.

“Wrote on the front and back,” Steph nodded sagely.

“I’m adding three more to the list when we get back,” Damian growled, looking ready to bite Dick if he didn’t stop soon.

“You better be joking about that list,” Dick warned, releasing Damian for his own safety. “Because if I ever find a list of reasons to be mean to me, I will not show mercy.”

“Do you mean you’re gonna attack us physically or emotionally?” Jason inquired.

“Emotionally,”

“You sick bastard.” Steph whispered in horror. “I can’t believe you would use your powers for evil.”

“Does it make it any better if I tell you the list, if it does exist, would probably only exist so that when we notice someone looks like they’re gonna do something stupid, we use the list to remind them of something you did so they take it out on you and not, say, turn all of Gotham into a gang war zone.” Harper said slowly.

“I hate you,” Steph glared. “You mess up one time--”

“You died, Steph!” Tim exclaimed, before getting a batarang chucked at his head that Damian somehow snuck into his utility belt.

“She didn’t even die,” Jason snorted, crossing his arms. “Both of you two had lame fake-out deaths.”

“Why am I the one who’s become the punching bag?” Dick complained, holding Damian back again when he tried to grab the batarang Tim had dodged and threw it again.

“Because you’re actually good at feelings and everyone else is emotionally constipated.” Harper deadpanned.

“And the Ric incident.” Damian added right after, giving up in his thrashing. A shutter passed over the Bats at the mention of the name.

“Aw,” Dick’s face softened, ignoring the Ric comment. “You guys care about my advice?”

“Congrats,” Barbara chuckled slightly. “You’re the therapist brother.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Jason groaned, flopping backwards on the roof. “Now he’s going to be mushy and clingy all week.”

“Lord knows you idiots need it,” Harper huffed as Dick practically glowed.

“I’m sicing him on you later.”

“Jokes on you, he hasn’t found my apartment yet.”

“Yes I have,” Dick raised a hand, turning towards her. “Well, Robin found it, but I still know it.”

Harper stared at him for a few moments, momentarily turning her head to Damian for a moment before going back to Dick, and then turning to Jason.

“You’re a monster,” She whispered, a look of true horror on her face.

“I know,” Jason cackled gleefully.

“None of you are leaving the Manor when we get back.” Dick said matter-of-factly, pointing a finger to his siblings. “We’re gonna bond, and you’re going to like it.”

“We’re already bonding right now!” Damian protested.

“You’ll have to kill me first.” Steph hissed, shying behind Cass.

“Bold of you to assume you can keep me confined to the Manor.” Tim huffed in offence. “Orphan, I’ll stash you in one of my safe houses if you promise to be my bodyguard.”

“Deal,”

“You guys are so dramatic--”

“Hey, guys? Crazed pyromaniac with flamethrowers to the north.”

The group immediately dropped whatever they had been doing, heads snapping up towards the direction Barbara had tiredly informed them of the attack.

It was only a few moments before the sight of flames peaked over one of the buildings, dying out almost immediately. Shouts and rumbles were steadily growing in volume, especially the cackling of Firefly, likely revving up whatever weapon he’d acquired this time.

“Fantastic, can’t even keep watch with you morons.” Damian growled.

“Oh you are not the only one trying to work here!” Tim snapped. “Orphan, for example, is doing a wonderful--where’d she go?”

He and Steph looked around rapidly, their sister suddenly missing from the chimney. How they hadn’t noticed she’d left their crowded space was a mystery that’d likely never be solved.

“Over there,” Jason said boredly, upholstering a gun and pointing across the rooftops.

The outline of Cass’s body could be seen sprinting across the roofs towards where the fire had been spotted, leaping with reckless abandon.

“Life lesson for the rest of you,” Harper hummed, getting to her feet. “Be like Cass.”

“Stop using real names!” Damian barked.

“Last one there is on cleanup duty!” Steph hollered, shoving Tim and taking off in the same movement.

“Asshole!” Tim yelled as Jason, Harper and Damian all bolted after her without a moment's hesitation.

Dick laughed, just getting to his feet as Tim stumbled up and after the others, swearing obscenities.

He quickly ran after his siblings, though he strayed a little further back, nobody paid attention to who showed up last anyway, his eyes darting from each of his siblings. Someone had to make sure they didn’t face-plant off a roof.

They shouted over each other as they descended down to take out Firefly. The guy had really picked a bad night to start causing trouble. It’d be over in no-time.

Even still, Dick paused on the roofs, scanning the streets below as the others ran to and fro, yelling over each other as Barbara switched between the coms to talk to them. It was a chaotic mess and Dick found himself grinning at it all.

His siblings were a hot mess, and it was amazing.

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drabbles-of-writing · 4 years ago

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Reverse Au! Dump

Don’t mind my idea dumping here. Brain decided to have fun while I was at work and I have too many wips as it is, so… Thought I’d ask before I dumped, experience. Used morningmark’s comics as a base, so if you want reference. Now this isn’t all that well compiled, but here it goes.

Magic in the Other World is varied as it is crazy. So many styles over the generations and not a lot of organization. There are some that try to categorize it all, but that works as well as you’d expect. Some were lost, some erased, some weren’t passed down/recorded because “the power is all mine! Ahahaha!” It took a lot of time and collaboration, but eventually a sort of system was installed to help out. Still a lot of work to do, but its a step forward. Nowadays the term Wild Magic is generally reserved for those that aren’t all that well documented and understood.

Some Magics are very powerful and desirable, but also tend to be very high risk/high reward, kinda pass/fail, pretty literally Do or Die most times. So not a lot of people can use those or are even willing to. Story says this one guy named Odin hung himself on a massive tree by his own spear for nine days, no food water or rest in constant pain before he could unlock the secret of Runes. But it’s also said he gouged out his own eye to drink from the Well of Wisdom so…

There are lots of different ways to channel magic too: wands, staves, jewelry, certain gems, familiars, potions, enchanted armaments, chants, scripts, etc. Each tool has its own advantages and disadvantages and play into a Witches’ style. Every Witch has at least two methods of spellcasting. Only children have one. Haven’t thought of how Luz gets her Palisman though. Maybe its one of those magic Artifacts like Dr. Strange’s cloak, Elder Wand, Thor’s hammer, or a Green Lantern’s Ring. Something that can’t be recreated because the secret is lost, materials no longer exist, too hard/dangerous to make, accident that can’t be recreated, etc. Happens more often than people like.

Camilla is sometimes called the Blue Witch. She’s a healer by heart and trade, but push her and she will become a one Witch Battleship. Bismark who? Aaaaand she just deleted a whole battalion. And the fortress behind them. Hide me. There are the very rare occasions, like count on one hand rare, when someone near and dear to her heart is in trouble that she takes up her other job. She’s especially terrifying when she decides to torture, those who know how to heal the body know best how to break it. Many shades of Blue, some are very close to Black. She doesn’t necessarily hate Humans exactly, but doesn’t have the highest of regard from past experiences.

Luz has training and is a proficient Witch for her age. Camilla and her father were adamant about having a general knowledge/skillset alongside her specialized skill. Jack of all trades and a master of none, still better than a master of one. She has gone through the system for her magic with varying success. Oracle magic? Zero talent. Bard classes? She can play an instrument, but can’t sing at the same time. When she does sing she tires too hard and messes up. It’s only when she doesn’t try, like absently singing along with a song or playing by her heart, that she’s good at it. Beasts? Can use them, but would rather play with them. Bleeding heart and all that. She does have a good handle on healing magic partly due to Camilla drilling necessary skills into her and partly osmosis. Her father arranged for some CQC lessons from an old friend of his which the girl loved. You get the idea. It wasn’t until she discovered Glyphs that she found her niche and her skills took off. Glyphs are one of those ‘eccentric’ or 'archaic’ styles since they haven’t been used in so long after being lost and are barely understood. She still has a long way to go, but she is on her way.

Luz never really had much in the way of friends, partly cuz of high profile parents which leads to certain pressures and a target on her head, partly because of her magic style and personality, and partly because of the trouble been going on. Luz grew up her whole life with this tension of a group of anarchists trying to burn society that’s just trying to do the right thing. The anarchists started small, but have been a growing problem the past few decades with talk how to 'reshape the world’ in not a good way. Anyone with critical thinking skills can tell this is a bad idea, but they are too brainwashed to notice. They harass anyone who doesn’t follow their rhetoric and attack anyone who even questions them. Luz’s parents put a real kink in a lot of their plans for years, which makes Luz guilty by association.

Luz got caught in one of those sudden larger scuffles and was accidentally chucked/blown through a portal created by an attempted tactical retreat that went off course. Hence why she can’t go home because she hasn’t learned how to do portals yet. Those are high level anyway so how did these guys pull it off so easily? Luz has a hard time blending in obviously. Learning how to use a phone was a fun endeavor. Internet was a trip. Luz is amazed how these people can do all this cool stuff without magic. Keep a low profile sure, she can pass off as a weird out of town kid. Keep the beanie on, underperform in gym and stuff because some things don’t change, like genetics. Someone sharp eyed will see discrepancies. The Beanie has a small Glamor spell built in that covers her witchy traits but she forgot the ears which is why it sits like it does. Luz can erase memories in case she has an accident, but it’s less of a 'remove my face from this picture with a scalpel’, and more of a 'lemme just hack off the past hour or three from your brain with an axe.’ If she tries to take any more then she starts burning into some more dangerous territory and those Wiped are groggy and disoriented for a while after already. Then the magic attacks start happening and her heroic instinct/anti-bystander complex kicks in and there goes that. It runs in the family so Camilla isn’t surprised in the slightest when she finds out.

“Oh titan, why did you curse me with another me?” “I’m right here Mami!”

Eda has a shack very akin to Grunkle Stan. Lots of junk that Lilith can’t believe that people are dumb enough to buy. She’s also involved in some not so legal dealings on the side. Well, Eda isn’t actually hurting anybody and the tax dollars she should be paying would only go towards some politicians’ next yacht or another pointless overseas 'investment’ instead of where it’s supposed to go so. Eda does give some good intel on occasion and a place to vent so Lillith overlooks her. Lil’s more of the secret police for witches and a petty crook isn’t part of her job anyway. Eda understands Luz’s predicament and is willing to help. The cover story is that Camilla work in hospitals and has to work crazy hours while her dad passed away so is living with Eda for a while. King is that kind of critter that grew up weird and acts like ten different animals all the time.

Gus is the nerdy kid who infodumps on everybody, even if they’re not listening. Loves anything fantasy/sci-fi related and plays Minecraft too. A good kid at heart, but needs some social skills. Keep him away from anything more sugary than tea. Luz learned a lot listening to him. Not all of it is entirely useful, but still. Some of his ramblings give her some good ideas for magic and stuff, like putting Glyphs on cards.

The Blights are the cool rich kids obviously, and have some discipline and social issues. Big family name makes them intimidating for normies and a meal ticket for the unsavory. These kids need real friends. They decided to act out to get some attention from the parents who then decided to ignore them. “If you’re going to act like a child tantrum, get treated like one.” Ed is perfect for Drama classes, if he were allowed to partake. Can’t decide what Em is great at, hacking perhaps? Amity’s car is an inheritance from the only family to treat her as such Twins aside, even if she’s too young to remember it. She only remembers that she has feelings surrounding the car. All three of them were pretty impressed with Luz for standing up to them, calling them out on their shit, and not giving a crap about their family name. Being treated like a normal person is pretty weird. Can we get her to do that again?

Amity tried dating Boscha once, didn’t work out very well. Boscha is still hurting over Amity’s comment of “I’d rather go date the new weird kid (Luz) than go back to you.” It’s one of the reasons she goes after Luz. She has that kind of Bud personality from Spider Man, feels lesser and so acts out so much.

“Wow, this new Witch is amazing. Not as cool as the original Witch.”

“What is it with the Witch with you?”

“Oh, she’s a hero. Looks out for the city and the little guy. She inspires me. Makes me want to be a bigger person. *sees Luz* What’s up Luz-er?”

And that’s what I got right now. I know there was more, but it’s lost to the void right now. Might come back later, maybe not. Lemme know what you think.

............

DAMN you weren’t lying when you said you had an info-dump this is *chefs kiss* you got me intrigued now

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aclosetfan · 3 years ago

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are u still doing the ask game? can i ask for 19 or 20?

for you anon, of course! 20 is actually a really lame two-sentence note that isn't worth anyone's time, so I'll do 19!

19 is a really sad story tbh. I've always really liked the character Sedusa and it kills me that the writers never did more with her. I believe they said the reason why was because they couldn't think of many kid-friendly scenarios to put her in, which is fair lmao.

lol one of my notes for this outline is "this is my dark manifesto to [Sedusa] and it comes off like a bad CW remake," which was written way before the CW show announcement. so not to get a big ego about things, but I totally beat them to the punch. This fic is my only rated M fic (though arguably Acting Normal may also change into M just for its dark themes as well).

This story is adequately tilted "Sedusa" and it follows how a plain jane named Sara became one of Townsville's most notorious villains. The plot's below, though content warning, please don’t read if your triggered by abusive relationships, domestic violence, child abuse, sexual assault/harassment, or gore. The outline won't be detailed (and tbh the actual story won't be heavily detailed either) but i believe that everyone still deserves a fair warning :)

The outline doesn't do the plot justice, but it's all I got so hopefully people just Get It.

CHARACTER NOTES:

Canonically, I believe the Sedusa's character was supposed to represent envy and lust. So, one of the main themes I try to stick with when writing her character is the definition of envy, which is a "feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else's possessions, qualities, or luck."

PLOT:

Sara is a sweet and mousy little girl, who tries her best to stay invisible. She's rather plain-looking except for her really beautiful long dark hair. Originally, she's not from Townsville, but somewhere in the "country" where a person could be considered a bumpkin. Sara's a smart young girl, but her intelligence is rather unrefined. She spends most of her time obsessing over greek and Egyptian mythology.

She's from a rather big family, but she's the baby. Her father is abusive. Her mother is neglectful and Sara resents her mother for just standing by while abuse is occurring. To cope, Sara dreams of running away and falls deeper into her mythology obsession--specifically Medusa. Sara feels like Medusa would understand her.

At 16, she runs away to Townsville where she tries to be a hairdresser. With no money, she ends up in a really seedy part of town and the beauty parlor she works for ends up being a front for more illicit activities. She still does hair, but really makes her money as a call-girl of sorts. Just one of those girls who gives handjobs in the back to sad old men. It's easy money (I'm pro-sex work lol so I don't make this a big deal, but she's still a minor and it's wrong), but she's disgusted with herself (and men). At this time, she isn't very good at manipulating men--it's more like they have power over her and it reminds her of her father, only making her angrier and angrier.

It is also of note that while she's working at the Parlor, she encounters Sarah Bellum via tv (Ms. Bellum is just an intern with the Mayor at this point). She's instantly fascinated by this other Sarah and forms an odd (slightly toxic) parasocial relationship with her. Sara thinks it's amazing that Sarah went to school and is just so glamourous. Ms. Bellum is really everything Sara wants to be.

*time skip*

Sara falls in love with some jackass. Still slightly obsessed with Sarah Bellum. Still working at the parlor. Sara feels stagnant and worthless. Her jackass boyfriend and a few of his shitty friends end up attacking Sara and cutting off her hair (which was her prized possession). She gets away, but not totally unscathed.

In the process of running away, she bumps into a mysterious man who promises He can fix whatever is troubling her. The mysterious man manipulates an affirmative answer out of Sara and he "fixes" her problem. The man is HIM and he transforms her into the woman we all know as Sedusa (who goes by Ima when disguised).

“And what is it that you want?” HIM tsked, almost sounding bored.

She looked back at the mirror, at her broken reflection and lipstick smeared down her face. With a sore, croaking voice she sneered, “I want my fu-fucking hair back.”

Behind her, the entity smiled, Its facing splitting wide into two, “Oh, now that I can do.”

She watched through the shattered glass how It—HIM—snapped its odd monstrous claw. HIM’s smile grew more grotesque, as a thin bead of sweat began to break out on her forehead.

“This might hurt a little bit,” the entity giggled as she began to hyperventilate, “but what is that you little humans say?" HIM paused, watching her with a tilt of Its head as pain shot through her temples, "Oh, that’s right—”

She gasped and then screamed, dropping to her knees as she clutched at her head. Something wiggled underneath her scalp, pushing harder and harder to break against the resistance of her skin. It felt as if something was pressing against her brain, trying to carve away at her skull.

“—beauty is pain.” HIM growled, appearing next to her so Its voice—now low and baritone—was right in her ear, and It grasped her by the chin forcing her to watch the mirror as snake-like tendrils sprouted from her skull. She cried out at the sight and her body trembled with the pain.

One black, oily, twisted snake after another shot out of a bloody crater on her head. She tried her best through the pain to shake HIM off—to look away—but It held her still with a twisted laugh. She thrashed and howled in agony as the blood poured down her face in rivets. HIM didn't let go. Instead, HIM forced her still, grabbing her by the chin so she'd peer directly into the broken mirror.

Sara paled right before her very eyes, from a peachy skin tone to a white paste. She tried to blink away the tears that wouldn’t stop welling in her eyes—the green of them becoming more acidic with every passing second.

“The fun should be ending soon.” HIM giggled again, Its voice back to a soprano, but she was too forgone to hear him, as her eyes began to lull into the back of her head.

Eventually, when the transformation is complete, we see this:

Sara had stayed collapsed on her knees after HIM vanished into thin air. She stared with wide eyes as blood, sweat, and tears dripped onto and rolled off her thighs. She hardly paid attention to her surrounding, all she could do was listen. She listened to her hair. She listened to the constant moving, living, mass that slithered around her head, neck, and shoulders. The coils almost seemed to be cooing at her, comforting her through her pain, offering sweet apologies for what they had done. They promised her nothing bad would ever happen again. They were a dangerous shield forged from her own body to protect her.

Her body. A vessel for this odd new life.

“Heh.” A deranged giggle escaped her mouth, “Heh. Heh ha—hahaha!” She laughed until her throat burned and tightened, her tears finally drying.

It was instantaneous. It was powerful. Sara had never known love before, but she loved them. She loved every single one of them.

And here she had thought she'd never be a mother.

Sara becomes Sedusa--taking inspiration from Medusa, her childhood fascination. She wonders if HIM knew, but she wouldn't bother asking. She feels sexy, powerful, and unstoppable. Her hair has instilled a new confidence in her and she's finally able to stand up for herself. Soon, she realizes that she's an "exotic" beauty and has men eating out of her hand. She isn't someone who kills, but if she gets bored (or feels threaten) she will.

Things are going good until the PowerPuff Girls are finally created. When she sees them for the first time, she pities them, especially when they're run out of town. She relates to them for not being loved little girls, but is completely shocked when she finds out they've won the town over. This shock turns into resentment and she decides she'll get even with the girls

Then, cue canon. Sedusa seduces the Professor. We see what happens in that episode plus a little more. Sedusa takes out a lot of her repressed childhood trauma on the girls and is plain awful to them. By the time her stint with the Professor is over, she hates them all.

Then, there's the episode with Bellum. Bellum becomes the Athena to Sedusa's medusa. Bellum is still this elevated person in Sedusa's mind, and it only makes sense to Sedusa that she should become Bellum. To become Bellum, Sedusa seduces Bellum and they end up having a brief relationship. (Sedusa pretends to be an intern at City Hall and the two ladies bond over having the same first name). Eventually, Sedusa reveals her plot and the canon events happen. (Bellum is heartbroken over Sedusa).

I'd like to emphasize that Sedusa's relationship with Bellum almost turns her "good," but her hair coils (HIM's curse) prevents her from taking those steps. Her coils prevent close loving relationships--since they're supposed to be shield that keeps people out, preventing any chance that Sedusa's heart may be broken again. [coils represent her inability to heal from the past]

Then we run through a quick montage of her other appearances.

[throughout all of this, I would write how her hair coils are making her more and more insane]

*time skip to after the events of the og show*

This is where my plot can go anywhere. I think Sedusa becomes sloppy, maybe kills a politican. She's spirialing out of control and mad that she can't find any real happiness in her life. I think it'd be interesting to show her interacting with the rrb, not necessarily to show their relationship, but to show how Sedusa would be infuriated that HIM had sons, especially sons who hurt girls for fun ( i.e. the ppg) (a real 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' moment for her). She's also infuriated at HIM for turning her into a monster, so being mad about his "sons" is just an excuse to get even with the entity.

To hurt HIM, she decides to hurt the boys, but the girls interfere. They won't let innocent live be taken, no matter the person's moral alignment. This infuriates Sedusa even more than HIM ever could. Because again, despite all the shitty things that have happened to the Girls, they are still good as opposed to Sedusa, who ended up bad. She doesn't understand why she had to end up the way she did.

However, the girls aren't the people who finally "defeat" Sedusa. Instead, that honor is left to Ms. Bellum (Sedusa's "Athena"), who Sedusa still very much loves in her own sick twisted way. Paralleling the Sedusa/Bellum episode in the og show, the girls (while protecting the boys) are almost defeated by Sedusa until Bellum intervenes. It's revealed that Bellum had a shitty childhood too (again enforcing the parallels/differences between the two women) and believes that it's not too late for Sedusa to change her ways (it’s a real “I’m rotten work” “no it isn’t. Not if it’s you” moment) In a moment of mental clarity, where the coils (and by extension HIM) cannot affect her judgement, Sedusa releases the boys and the girls. Sedusa doesn't stay though, like Bellum pleads, she gets scared and runs away. (but does tell Bellum she’d always love her, whatever that’s good for)

[also I decide bellum to defeat sedusa to show that the girls are still to young and that adults should be the ones dealing with other adults] [and bellum has a good track record of doing just that]

Idk if she'd be gone forever, but it's implied that she hasn't been seen in Townsville for a long time. What she gets up to is left ambiguous. She can't be good because of her hair coils, but she doesn't want to be bad. idk I don't want it to have a sad ending, but I don't think it can really be happy.

-----

I try hard to play with the concept of beauty, womanhood, purity, love and how negative/positive responses to trauma affect these concepts. Idk it's really rough and needs to be thought out more, especially the end, but I think Sedusa deserves her own story.

#this isn't edited sorry I'm tired #outline ask game #my outlines #sedusa #this story is near and dear to me #but i don't think i have the skills to write it yet #my writings #the boys are literally not important btws they’re knocked out the whole time or something idk #this story ain’t about them

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zachsgamejournal · 3 years ago

Text

PLAYING: Breath of Fire IV

I think we’re closing in on the end. But in good ole BoF fashion, the last leg is taking the longest. Also, Nina is totally the main character of this game.

NINA

I’ve only ever beaten BoF 3, 4, and 5--though I’ve played 1 & 2. It’s a constant that Ryu is the main character, and that Ryu is the player. Ryu is never (to rarely) given dialog because the player is meant to imagine the voice of Ryu. And while this definitely works for BoF 3 and 5, Nina is clearly the main character in 4.

1. We Start the Game as Nina

In both BoF 3 and 5, we start the game as Ryu, and that’s basically where we stay for the whole adventure (occasionally controlling other characters). BoF 4 has us start with Nina. It’s a simple distinction, but sets up my next point.

2. Nina Makes All the Decisions

My screenwriting professor said the main character makes the decisions that drive the story. In this sense, Ryu is extremely passive. He’s mostly just along for the ride. It’s Nina that offers to help him, Nina that decides he should tag along, and it’s Nina’s quest he joins. Later, Nina decides to rescue Cray. Nina goes to her father for help. Nina asks the gods for assistance. Nina insists they save Ryu. Nina encourages Dies not to abandon Ershin. Nina insists on the helping that furry...thing. All the while, Ryu is just like, “...sure.”

I vaguely know how the game will end, so we’ll see if this all holds up.

3. It’s Nina’s Quest

The game starts with Nina and Cray on a mission to find/rescue her sister. While Ryu is integral to the plot, he doesn’t have a lot of skin in the game. Nina is also royalty, and this game has some Games of Thronesian politics going on. While Ryu’s actions carry little weight beyond the act itself, everything Nina does has the ability to affect policy and international relationships. We see this when the Empire pressures the Alliance to cede territory post Nina’s rescue op failure.

Also, Nina just told Ryu that she loved Cray. Ryu isn’t even the love interest in this game.

I’m actually really happy that Nina is the star. Female characters aren’t normally given the respect they deserve. Maybe instead of Breath of Fire, they should have called this “Wings of Destiny”...cause Nina has wings.

Back to the Plot

So, Ryu went super-Dragon and killed some imperials. The gods have offered to help Ryu, (as long as he plays hide and seek first), and Fou-Lu has escaped the village in which he had started to feel at home.

Nina and the team discuss things and decide that if it’s Ryu’s destiny to meet up Fou-Lu, they might as well confront him proactively. They seem to be under the impression that the empire is using Fou-Lu gain power (if they only knew).

Ursala is the Imperial captain that captured us, but now she’s our captive. The team asks her to help them get into the Empire. She’s confused. It was her mission to bring the dragon to the Empire, so this kind of works out...She agrees and is now a playable party member.

I like her.

Heading back to the warp gate, we learn that it’s broken because of our previous activities (and because we were attacked by Captain Jackass). Ursala tries to make us feel bad, but she works for an evil Empire--so jog-on. We have to head north and need a sandflier but don’t have the cash. This is comical, cause I put in a cheat for infinite Zenny way back when...

We’re supposed to ask a merchant sandflier for help, but we’re too late. Ursala immediately jumps to action and without a word, Scias follows her lead. They take the merchant ship like a band of pirates and it turns out to be a French-accented froggy friend from before that sexually harassed Nina, Marlok. He tries to make use feel guilty, which works on Nina and Cray--but the rest of us know he’s a POS. He offers us a bond to buy a ship, expecting that we’ll do great things and thus able to cash in on our success.

We get to a checkpoint, but it’s blocked. Ursala wants to fight the guards, but Nina is against it. We do the non-violent solution of trampolining over the wall. We get to a ship yard...I only now realized in the game that the oceans aren’t water--but mud. weird...where’s all the water? So the only seas are up north.

The captain doesn’t want us on without the blessing of the sea god. We got to coastal cave and find the Sea Dragon there...I think. We get his blessing and are good to go. The captain now doesn’t want women on board. The women insist that they are tough and have been through a lot. The muscle the dude we keep fighting shows up, and it’s implied that his defeat would prove we’re tough. Ursala shoots him and falls off the mass of the ship. So a new test of courage is needed. Ursala and Nina must stay within the hull of the ship over night with ghosts and bugs. They succeed.

As we travel across the sea, we fight muscle dude again (he was much stronger this time). And then the wind stops. The sailors think this area is haunted, maybe by a god. We go check it out. The dungeon is interesting, but frustrating. You have to walk across planks to get to the other side, but the planks break and drop you down into the hull. There’s a light over your head to warn you when you’re about to fall, but I still fell a lot. In the hull, as you walk, skulls that are spread about rattle and vibrate: it’s eerie and entertaining. Eventually we find a rock creature that thinks of itself as a god, but it’s just a rock powered by god-power. So we kill it.

No remorse.

The wind returns and we make it across the sea. After traveling through a jungle, we meet a furry thing. I feed it some food and it seems happy...I think. At the end of the jungle we find a treehouse and are attacked by more furries. The previously furry comes to our defense and we meet Beyd. He has married one of the furries and maybe these are his children? Cray had my reaction and was like, “Well...uh, anyway--how do we get to the empire?”

One of the furries gets sick and Nina vows to save it (cause she’s the main character!). This brings us to an interesting, but not super fun mini game. We get to sail the boat, but you have limited supplies. Every second you’re on the seas, the supplies get used, but they’re used faster if you row. Rowing is necessary because the wind doesn’t always blog in the direction you need. So you have to decide whether to burn supplies by rowing, or wait for the wind to change directions. There’s places to find and treasure to discover. It is, kinda fun...

While we’re out here collecting medicine on the high seas, I also find the sea god: SCORE!

We save the furry and are guided to some islands that are available to walk across when the tide is low. So we venture a cross some tropical keys. It’s pretty. The group gets tired and Nina insists on taking a break: cause she’s the main character. After our rest, the tide has risen and the group is trapped. Cray is pissed and Nina feels responsible.

This is an interesting part of the game cause the group has to survive on an island and reflect on their mission. Ursala warns it could be months or years before the tide recedes. Chill Ursala. The group explores the island and finds both water and and great fishing spot. We’re gonna be fine. Just delayed.

Scias likes the island, as he just sleeps all day. After a while, Cray chills out and apologizes for his temper. While Ryu is casting a line, Nina reveals that she’s in love with Cray, causing Ryu to trip. Nina reflects on her feelings, unsure if they’re true and doubtful that Cray feels the same.

The tide recedes and the team escapes. We come to a riverlands that requires some log riding and log dodging. It’s cute, but I want to get out of here...

Fou-Lu, after escaping the village, receives a direct hit from the hex canon. They apparently used the friendly lady that help Fou-Lu as a “sacrifice” to power the canon. EVIL! Fou-Lu survives and arrives at the capital. He meets statue guardian that recognizes him as the first emperor. Fou-Lu orders the guardian to destroy the imperial city. Fou-Lu is pissed, and just doesn’t seem to think humans are worth it...

As the guardian destroys the city, Fou-Lu cleans up loose ends, finally killing the general that ambushed him on the night of his awakening, and then killing the current emperor. The Emperor first tries to act subservient to Fou-Lu, but then stabs him with the “dragon slayer” sword. It doesn’t work and Fou-Lu laughs in his face.

Similar to Breath of Fire 3, the game has reached a point where it doesn’t have more story to tell, but wants to add hours. So there’s tons of little quests and obstacles that have little to do with the overall plot. It’s sad, because the minigames and mini-nations they’ve created are really interesting.

I tried to think back to how Final Fantasy 7 handled this. I think, for the most part, the game doesn’t make its endgame clear until much later. Most of the game is, “What should we do now?” So I don’t feel there’s as much a “rush” to get to the end. Also, much of the game is about tracking Sephiroth, so you’re really looking for clues as you find obstacles, vs having an end destination and just running into a million reasons why you can’t get to it. You feel out of control and inconvenienced. But these obstacles would make really interesting and fun side quests. Having them as options would absolutely make them more interesting.

Another thing that Final Fantasy 7 really succeeds at is making each new area a new piece of the puzzle. You’re always learning history about the world or a character. So while it might be a brief obstacle, it’s also an interesting deeper dive into the world. Breath of Fire’s diversions don’t feel as enlightening.

Still, BoF4′s diversions still feel like progress cause we inch closer to the goal...it’s just that we’re not getting much character or world development in the process.

Combat

I do prefer the combat over BoF3 (and many RPGs). I like that the other characters are always on-call in the battle, and it’s easy to switch out (more so than Final Fantasy X -- how I remember it anyway). I’ve done zero grinding, and I’m pretty proud that I’ve survived so far. After crossing the sea, it seemed like the enemies were getting ahead of me, but I got better at using the spell combos (which are cool!). So surviving a few battles usually meant getting a few levels up. When I first played the game, i was cool with grinding, but I’m glad I don’t have to now. The only thing that is cheating: I gave myself 99999+ zenny. So I’m able to stock up on healing supplies. Though it helps, I’m sure a few hours of grinding would have me being just as well stock on healing supplies.

Is it better than Breath of Fire 3?

I’m a little torn. Breath of Fire 4 is “epic”. There are multiple nations that have a strong sense of culture and history. The mythology around the dragons is of the galactic scale. World War is in the balance and my party includes two members of royalty and two semi-gods. The world feels huge even if the story is pretty linear.

In contrast, Breath of Fire 3 had three nations--that I could tell: Wyndia, Eastern Kingdom, and across the sea. Strangely, Wyndia had gangster cities, gangster markets, and amoral lab that was accidentally making mutants. While eastern kingdom seemed pretty chill and peaceful--but lacked a ruling entity. Hmmm...

Where Breath of Fire 3 feels “better” is that it feels more personal. The story starts small: a lost dragon-boy found my starving thieves. We live in a small town and solve small-town issues. This slowly grows to include local gangsters, a kingdom, and a dragon holocaust before we battle God. I like Breath of Fire 4′s characters, but I feel like I have a stronger bond with BoF3′s. Also, I felt like BoF3 tried to explore the grey area: killing monsters that had feelings. I felt emotionally challenged in the different scenarios. Whereas, BoF4 is always: “We’re the good guys, and we do the good things!”

#Zach's Game Journal #PLAYING #Breath of Fire 4 #PlayStation #PS1 #DuckStation #Video Games #Nina is the Hero #Of Gods and Dragons #JRPG

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traincat · 4 years ago

Note

I've been catching up on the latest Fantastic Four issues and I kind of say that it irks me how they can easily joke about the 'Johnny accidentally marrying a skrull' It just seems a sensitive situation that really messed with Johnny. But now I see people saying that Lyja and Johnny are on their way to getting back together. That's messed up right? Even if she's a better person it doesn't fix what she did to him. It's messed up right?

Yeah, it’s messed up. I think there’s a series of things to going on here that haven’t been addressed in the comics, with the first being that Fantastic Four as a series has never been consistently upfront and honest about what Lyja did to Johnny. I mean, she does it, it’s on the page, they literally keep writing it -- there’s even an interconnected Namor issue where he mistakes Lyja for his shapeshifting rapist and that issue is much more open about what exactly the act of sleeping with someone else for nefarious purposes while disguised as a person they trust is, but still not great about transferring that label onto Lyja. So it’s hard to blame a lot of readers, especially casual readers or readers who are coming from a background where sexual assault isn’t something they’ve personally experienced or been under threat from, for not connecting the dots when the book doesn’t directly say, hey, this is bad, this behavior is wrong, and instead plays it both ways: it’s a horrific villainous assault and it’s romantic drama. Which it’s not, it’s just the first one, but the book needs to directly say that. And it doesn’t.

So if you have Johnny stuck in a dynamic where he’s explicitly gaslit and kidnapped (Fantastic Four: Secret Invasion) but at the last second you say, oh, she was doing it to protect him, without explaining any of the behavior that came before, what do you about that? If you have him harassed, if you have him explicitly stalked by someone who knows he wouldn’t want to see them in their own form (Fantastic Four: Unplugged and Avengers: Unplugged), but you say, oh, it’s okay, because she’s in love with him, what do you do about that? If you explicitly parallel the scenario against Namor’s rape down to Namor at first suspecting Lyja is his rapist, but then you don’t take that final step by saying these two situations actually are the same, if you twist it last second to try and make Lyja look sympathetic by having her weep over the egg baby she’ll later reveal she knew was fake, what do you do about that? And for me that’s tougher than the actual content of the Lyja arc. It’s one thing to depict a nonconsensual relationship, stalking, abuse, etc, in your work, but it’s another to continually refuse to label it as what it is.

It becomes a question of “are you actually writing this story as a fully fleshed out narrative where there are consequences” or “are you writing some kind of weird fantasy where your human wife turns out to be a hot green space babe in assless chaps”? And with Lyja we usually end up with the second and it just keeps perpetuating itself in a cycle, down to recently when Jeremy Whitley responded to criticism of her inclusion in his Future Foundation book by saying that Lyja redeemed herself for everything she did to Johnny when she “died” (she never died) saving him in Fantastic Four #359. Except the problem with that is that a huge amount of what Lyja does to Johnny (the attempt on his life that ends with ESU burning down, both pregnancy lies, stalking him as Laura Green, etc) happens after that. Not to mention that it’s just bad form to say that someone’s abuser is automatically forgiven for everything they’ve done to them because they did one good thing once.

The other kind of bigger picture problem is that Fantastic Four as a series has a lot of trouble when it comes to the topic of Johnny and the portrayal of his romance arcs. I have a lot of additional feelings about this -- I think at a certain point with incredibly long running characters they kind of take on a life of their own, and I think if you continually push a certain kind of subtext it rises into the text, and I think both of these things have manifested Johnny as a character who, intentionally or not, has been written as a gay man for decades now -- but they’re not my main point here, which is that Fantastic Four has a history of writing sexual assault narratives for Johnny and then completely brushing them off. You have the incident with Nebula/Ravonna Renslayer in Simonson’s run where he’s bodyjacked by her in what is shown to be an incredibly painful fashion and where she uses his body to, among other things, make sexual passes at Gladiator (a whole other thing for the subtext section) and where afterwards it’s compared to him losing control of his powers, a thing that is explicitly linked to his loss of control. So you’ve got all that on top of the fact that bodyjacking stories are, a lot of the time, sexual assault metaphors. And then several issues later the book has him be like “wow that blue woman who invaded my mind and used my body to hurt people sure was beautiful, even though when she tried to kiss me I initially reacted with horror.”

(FF #337)

You have the Lyja storyline, where even when Johnny tries to permanently cut ties and tells Lyja he never wants to see her again, nobody else in his life takes him seriously and she’s just allowed to violate his wishes to be away from her. You have the Dark Reign: Zodiac miniseries where a homophobic attack on Johnny (this is text, not subtext -- I don’t really recommend reading this miniseries for various reasons, but one of them is that the attack on Johnny is a fairly explicit gay bashing scene) is pretty deliberately paralleled against his attacker having sex afterwards with his girlfriend. It’s not subtle at all.

And then we have where we are now in Slott’s run with the whole Sky and Spyre “soulmate” plot, which started off with Johnny waking up naked in Sky’s bed with no idea how he got there and the soulmate arm band put on him without his knowledge or permission, hit its mid-way point when Sky declined to take it off of him even though he asked her to, and is now just kind of wading around with the book pretending this is all normal flirtation or something. It’s like a weak Lyja 2.0 happening over here and it’s so frustrating. Because all of this happens and then the book doesn’t address it, or if it does, it does it how you’ve mentioned, with people Johnny loves making jokes at his expense about his Skrull marriage. And it sucks! It’s really bad writing and it’s tonally awful and it just sucks.

I think ultimately another contributing problem is that there are kind of two very big weak spots in Fantastic Four canon when it comes to emotional coherency -- do these characters act in a way that make sense? Do they display empathy for each other? Do they respond to situations in ways that are informed by their histories and relationships with each other? And those weak spots are DeFalco’s run, where the Lyja retcon happened, which is like. Okay, it was the ‘90s. A lot of things were messy. But you have things like Johnny quitting the team because he can’t bear to be around Lyja in the wake of her lying about an egg being their child when it was a man-eating monster that was going to maybe kill his family and then Sue inviting Lyja to live with them. Which is just nuts even when you take Johnny out of the equation because there was a man-eating monster that was maybe going to kill Sue’s family and Sue is inviting the person who brought it into the building and lied about it to stay. This is not how any realistically written character reacts to that scenario. And then you have the other big weak point which is, unfortunately, right now with Slott’s run, where everyone is written with the emotional depth of flattened cardboard, which is why Johnny’s family is currently making fun of him for traumatic incidents that were totally beyond his control and acting like he married Lyja after getting drunk in Vegas instead of being deliberately targeted by an alien spy. It reduces Johnny to the irresponsible playboy stereotype that he’s never been for the sake of filling up page time with easy jokes because Slott’s run doesn’t actually have a story worth telling here so he’s falling back on Skrull jokes and stories about how if we just talked to big oil they’d be our friends. And it’s just all extremely frustrating.

#johnny storm #*replies #traincat talks comics #cw rape mention #long post/#Anonymous

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saintheartwing · 4 years ago

Text

The Continued Targeted Harassment Campaign from the Troll Mundo De Bee, aka Debtoons, Aka Dedehbee

I'm sure this particular person I'm thinking of who recently sent me some VERY unkind guest reviews on my "The Pigshit Troll" tale on FF.Net will find out about this. I didn't WANT to talk about them anymore but then they kept sending more and more vitriolic reviews. Not just to me, but to my friends.

See, here’s some of the things they said along with accusing me of trolling their fic, which I didn't, my critique was that their story seemed to be overlooking the fact Zim had done the mass slaughter of innocent humans and enslavement on top of that, and was Dib and Prof. Membrane hostage and can kill them at any time...all to make Gaz love him. So there's an inherently abusive power dynamic. But this person who I...at FIRST...was reluctant to name disregarded these very real issues I brought up and just told me, and I quote, "Go away, then. This story is happening whether you want it or not. :/" This happened months ago. In fact, I brought attention to what they said back in OCTOBER on my DA account. So now you’re getting an idea of what they’re like. In response to a reasonable critique about problematic undertones, they just basically told me to get lost, then blocked me before I could respond to that. I tried to reach out to her friends after she complained about my review, and then she got mad about my "Jeremy" story, seemingly thinking that because I did a story about dark subject matter, I was being a hypocrite for complaining about what Zim did.

Uh...that’s NOT HOW IT WORKS.

The issue was the story wasn't addressing what Zim did as bad, my story made it REAL DAMN CLEAR what Jeremy had done was a tragedy and horrible, and that what he'd been through WAS VERY BAD.

But YOU? YOU didn't do that in your story, it almost came off like you were putting Gaz in Stockholm Syndrome and going a kind of "Twilight" route of sort of glorifying a very problematic relationship. Now, I didn’t SAY specifically that in my review, do I actually think that what’s happening IS Stockholm Syndrome or exactly LIKE Twilight was, but it’s problematic in a SIMILAR VEIN. And THAT was my problem. Not the dark subject matter, but you not caring about the implications...at least, that's how it looked to me. Or at the very least, not, in-story, treating Zim like what he'd done was wrong when it was.

Anyway, that was months ago. I had basically forgotten about them until just I got these three anonymous guest reviews. I'm guessing that because they blocked me, they had to do it that way, they don't want to unblock me to leave a normal review. The reason why I'm pretty sure it's them is because they said, in their review, AND I QUOTE...

"And if my story had ANY grammar/spelling mistakes, that must be because I'm... not from U.S.? And don't speak English fluently? As a matter of fact, if you speak "only" intermediate English in my country (like I do), that's already one hell of an accomplishment. That's already getting xenophobic, ok?" Okay one, me criticizing spelling errors isn't xenophobia, how am I supposed to know you're from another country unless I actually go to your webpage or the like, and I'm not going to see that if I'm just replying to a review. So that's one reason I think it's her.

Another is that she wrote, in her third reply, from "Opinadora (Guest)". Since that's Portuguese, and it happens to be the most spoken language (based on my Google research) in the home country this person says she's from on her homepage, i was damn sure it was her. She saw my Pigshit Troll story, thought it was about her even though the story was really more about addressing the...well, the actual, real life Pigshit Troll going around FF.Net, while also doing a critique both of common tropes in typical Zim story fare and also critiquing the common critique. It was me addressing issues with my own stories just as much, with Gaz forcing Dib to realize his own flaws. It wasn't really about this person who happens to be from Brazil (if her page is to be believed). They also said stuff like "I would say you draw like a 12 years old, but that would be a compliment, 'cause when I was 12, I used to draw at least three times as better than you" and "Also:I forgot, but if we're talking s*** about each other's works: not only you draw like a 8 years old, but the titles to your stories are also so f*** creepy that they make me nauseous even before reading the first chapter".

So "Frost" is creepy? I can get why "The Pod People Invasion" is creepy, but a title like "Don't Read This Book" isn't inherently creepy. "Soft Hands" isn't. You're kinda just cherry picking. I made this journal pot on DA because she had decided to keep this "thing" going on going by leaving those guest reviews and assuming the story of “The Pigshit Troll” was about her, and she was just a total jerk about it. I had left her alone for weeks, MONTHS even until she popped up making those guest reviews again. And then she wrote "P.S.S.: If you give my name out to anyone who has nothing to do with this, and tell them to hunt me down, like you did to my watchers (which, BTW, wouldn't surprise me if you did), that just proves you're indeed a troll, and no better than PigShit here, okay? ".

I was trying to be civil... despite how INCREDIBLY PISSED I am at you. And she also kept calling me a religious fanatic and other crap to her friends. I'm not, a simple look at my journals on DA or my posts here would prove that, so it amazes me that you couldn't be bothered to do research on me yet you expect me to instantly know you're from Brazil. So I find it interesting you expected me to look you up and find out things about you so I wouldn't leave a review you could find objectionable...but you couldn't be bothered to do any research about me. I mean, you seem very liberal, concerned about LGBTQ rights, worried about the deforestation in Brazil, those are big issues. And I sympathize also with having a fascistic leader in charge. You got Bolsanaro, we have Trump. I get how it feels.

That doesn't excuse how you behaved towards me. I'd stopped reviewing your stories, you're the one who brought all this back by reviewing mine. So if you want to talk, unblock me on FF.Net or here, and let's talk this out like adults. If you've got a problem with me, actually outright say it, don't leave it in a guest review.

Now, if she’d said "Look, ZAGR is just what I'm into, it's just a fetish of mine", then fine! FINE. She should have just SAID that to me. But don't just dismiss the moral questions I had by going "Don't like don't read". Because that's a fallacy. A story can start out great, but turn bad. Or start out bad, but turn better. And how am I supposed to know if it'll do either if I don't keep reading? Take, for example, Star Wars's sequel series. Started great! Amazing!...ended poorly. Star Wars prequels! Started bad! But the ending was pretty darn good! So don't just go "don't like, don't read/watch", because that's not a real, actual good argument.

I had hoped, writing all this, she’d actually try and reach out. Or she’d stop.

But she didn’t. Let me quote what she sent to me next. "I was only mad because you plain trolled me on your review. Did you ever heard of "common sense" or "constructive criticism"?"

Which my critique was.

It was a critique of the character behavior of the main characters, not trolling. Bringing up the fact that Zim had taken Gaz's family hostage and could kill them at any time, but we were supposed to overlook that is a perfectly reasonable critique.

But instead of responding normally, you just leave another guest review. I was willing to talk to you normally and to work things out fairly, but you keep being a jerk. Everything you've said hasn't been an actual, reasonable, fair criticism of any of my stories. It's just been 'ad hominem'.

What IS ad hominem? That’s when you don't address the SUBSTANCE of someone's argument, you just attack the person arguing. Like if someone says "I think your story is glorifying abusive, unhealthy relationships" and you go "Yeah but you're into the inflation fetish so there"! That doesn't actually address the problem brought up about your story, it's just you attacking the other person. And she was doing that.

For weeks I was nice enough to not bring up your name, but I said “if you keep it up, I’ll reveal your screen name because you're the one being unreasonable now by keeping this going, when I was willing to let sleeping dogs lie.”

Her response?

“Opinadora:I find it funny how you know you can't strike me back, because you know that I'm ten times more talented than you and that you're just jealous of me... u.u I'm not one to talk down on other artist's work, but that's what you get for being a snob. You're no better than me and you know it. In fact, you're no better than ANYONE, and I say that because you really are worthless. Yet you like to act superior and talk down on everyone to have some fun or... IDK. People like you shouldn't even be called "people". You're just psychos.”

She was engaging in the very behavior she said I was doing. I don’t get how she functions like this. This was getting insane.

BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!

She posted a of blog entry and I'll quote what they said. "I've been contacting a troll of mine" Anonymously, you did it via guest reviews on my story, you started all this again after I left you alone for months with three meanspirited reviews insulting me and my work when I'd been leaving you alone. And yeah, I responded by making the "fight" public, you refused to speak to me normally. I was willing to speak with you normally through notes or PMs on FF.Net or DA, you were the one who ignored that and kept insulting me in guest reviews because you still have me blocked. "He's not being civil enough to keep anyone anonymous." I haven't used either your real name (which I don't know) or your screen name. So this is just a lie. "He's going after my watchers to complain about me" I contacted ONE of your watchers who I knew that also made a story in which an entire chapter was deliberately invoked to insult me because an obvious villain character with my SCREEN NAME was used as an easy enemy for Zim to blow up. I contacted them to say "Can you please tell your friend to stop". Here's the full text, basically. "I’m sorry I keep sending these messages to you, the only reason I decided to note you to begin with was because your friend (NAME REDACTED) sent me three anonymous guest reviews, and called me a bunch of names like “douchebag” while insulting my art at the same time. I was willing to ignore her until she sent not one but THREE meanspirited shots at me. And I can’t reach her, so..." So it wasn't "your watchers" plural, it was ONE watcher whom I knew you knew because I couldn't find any other way to contact you, because, again, you childishly blocked me and refused my olive branch. "He should have enough common sense to know that his issue is with ME and none other." But you refuse to let me talk to you openly. On top of that, you're the one who blocked me, not the other way around. "He's such a lunatic he said he would give out my REAL NAME, if he knew. O.Ò" I never actually said that, I was clearly referring to your screen name. "I was nice enough to not bring up your name, but if you keep it up, I WILL use your screen name, because you're the one being unreasonable now by keeping this going, when I was willing to let sleeping dogs lie. " So now you're just lying. Plain and simple. I would say you should be ashamed of yourself, but it appears you don't understand shame. I know some people say "don't feed the trolls" but that doesn't always work. Sometimes shining a light on them is the only thing that does. And I swore to publish every word they've said to me if they kept doing meanspirited guest reviews done solely to insult me.

What was their response to THIS? Well, they called me a retard.

"Seu retardado:It isn't Stockholm syndrome...? And I KNOW that nobody will believe you 'cause you're just using ANONYMOUS reviews against me. Now, you've been quoting me on your tweets nonstop even after I blocked you. Just so you know, I ALSO reported you for abuse multiple times." "But go ahead. Do you really believe that they'll take your side of the story? I only gave out your name to warn my watchers about you ONCE, but you just keep quoting me when I blocked you, so we'll see what happens THEN." "VSF:Wow... You must REALLY be retarded. And here I was just saying that to insult you. O.Ò But I'm not apologizing for that when you didn't apologize for flaming my story, attacking my watchers, nor even trying to act superior, when... You're not. O.Ò And still you want to believe that you're a better artist than me. I should be laughing about that. 9.9 Seriously, what did you take? "

I’D HAD ENOUGH. Because they didn’t JUST call me all these names. They started going after fellow artists on FF.NET and friends of mine and leaving insulting guest reviews too. So...

What’s their name? I dunno their real name. But their screen name is Mundo De Bee. AKA Debtoonz AKA Dedehbee.

This is their page.

https://www.deviantart.com/mundo-de-bee

This is their Twitter. Both normal AND NSFW

https://twitter.com/Bee_Zorra

https://twitter.com/Bee_Zorra_Total

Their current FF.Net account (or at least I BELIEVE it is) https://www.fanfiction.net/u/8252861/Debtoons

And their instagram. https://www.instagram.com/bee.zorra/

They keep leaving really nasty reviews on my work. You can find some of their “samples” here. https://www.fanfiction.net/r/13241492/0/1/

Here's what they've also said.

And this:

They also said this on a friend's story in an anonymous review.

""Debtoons chapter 1 . 3h ago

You think Shaeril McBozo did all this? You're mistaken troglodytes. Shaeril McBrown is a stand by, she works for me, doesn't have a choice in the matter. Pigshit is an urban legend, he works for me. You're all such fools, you have yet to realize there is more to come, much more, and I will bring you all down. I have not forgotten what you all have done. I'm always watching, you're all my pawns, the game is mine, and I play to win. La Cefiera Queen Bee AKA Debtoons Also, stop copying my ZAGR ships, yours suck was."

I've tried to ignore her. But this has now been going on for MONTHS. I am done trying to be NICE, and trying to hold back. So I’m exposing her for what she is. She’s a bully. A hypocrite. A troll. She NEVER ACTUALLY RESPONDED to any of my actual problems about her story, instead just DEFLECTING and misrepresenting my points, then attacking the misrepresentations.

I wasn’t even sure, at first, it was her Even after getting another anonymous review from someone who said "I already know your name. Shaeril and little Debbie told me. Hi I'm Striberz. Actually, I'm anyone I want to be, but let's go with Striberz for now. Good to meet you b***!"

Little Debbie. Debtoonz.

She also sent THIS anonymous review to me.

The way the review is written, the style, the little details, bringing up "Oompa Loompa" and the like and other little things that I never brought up publicly...this is why I believe Mundo De Bee, aka Debtoonz, is leaving me targeted harassment reviews.

But even THEN. After ALL THIS. My online friends suggested hold on, slow down. One of them said "I'll ask her about this". To try and get her side of the story. MAYBE it wasn't her. MAYBE it was just someone posing as her and trying to emulate how she talked. Months later, Mundo had written another story called 'Something called love', another ZAGR and DATR story. In the story, Zim was 20 years old, but Gaz was only 16. A friend of mine reviewed the story, making mention of the age gap and said 'Wait, that's illegal'.

It was mostly a joke review but in all of five minutes, Mundo furiously spouted off not one, not two, but THREE pissed off PMs, calling my friend “Some Dude Who Likes To Write” on FF.Net retarded and the review retarded. Pretty horrible. Nevertheless, Some Dude wanted to be diplomatic, even after Mundo left a super nasty review of my story. Theyw went to her Deviantart and asked if she left that revieand she said 'No', but the second they brought up the 'Oompa Lumpa' insult, a comment that Mundo had used directly to me in a note, well...she hid the comment and then ignored the other ones that were left and blocked Some Dude, pretty much indicting herself.

Then, several weeks later, guess who leaves a review in which she accuses Some Dude of being a xenophobe, transphobe, misogynist and homophobe? Well, Some Dude knows someone who knows Mundo. They ask to talk. She PM’s them, she asks "What do you want to accuse me of now”. Some Dude says he’s not accusing her of anything, they just don’t like being called a bigot. Her response was to just deny leaving that review...and then to block them AGAIN. Then we see a series of dozens of insult reviews, false accusations against myself, Zim’sMostLoyalServant and Some Dude along with others, all being attacked by her. She also evidently admitted to Some Dude that if she came across any review Nick and I left, even if it was positive, she would report it and tell the admins we sent the authors death threats. Which would be a LIE.

And so...that’s what happened. Now you all know the truth. This woman from, I assume, Brazil, has been harassing me for quite a while. Me AND my friends.

All this...because I wrote a bad review of her story asking why the story was glossing over Zim's cruel behavior and how much the story seemed to be like "Twilight" in a problematic way. I could have overlooked Zim falling in love with Gaz easily. My issue was why the story was overlooking his blatantly evil mass murder/blackmailing stuff and not acting like these were bad things at all.

Her literal response was, and I again, I quote from her directly, "Go away, then. This story is happening whether you want it or not. :/" So no actual response as to why the story wasn't addressing the elephant in the room. Just that...and then blocking me when I tried to reply.

I call that "cowardly".

She's always responded like that. She never unblocked me, she just sent nasty guest reviews to me instead of reaching out to me directly on DA, or Twitter, or a variety of other methods. It can never be her directly putting her name on anything because she didn't have the courage to do that.

She's a coward, she's a bully, she's a troll, and she's a hypocrite, doing all the things she's accused me of. What projection. How disgusting.

When I have an issue with a story, you know what my issue usually is? A moral one. And I'll say things like "This looks like domestic abuse, why are you acting like it's a you-go-girl moment for Gaz" or "Why is the fact Zim caused millions of deaths just casually overlooked".

It's not "YOU SUCK!" or lots of swears or insults or all caps. Cuz that sort of thing IS a flame. That IS a troll.

Saying things like "Why is the story acting like this character is a badass when their behavior's morally repulsive" isn't a flame. Or being a troll.

Anyway, now you all know. Mundo de Bee, Debtoonz, La Cefiera Queen Bee, Dedehbee , whatever you wanna be called, this is what she’s like.

SHAME. ON. YOU.

#Debtoonz #debtoons #Mundo de Bee #La Cefiera Queen Bee #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction net #fanfiction.net #troll #trolling #Dedehbee #call out #call out post #Invader Zim #ZADR

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fancyemowolfbat · 5 years ago

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Thoughts on Castlevania S3: Taka and Sumi’s abuse of Adrian

Season three spoilers below: and yes, this is plot heavy. So if you haven’t seen yet, read at your own risk.

But the TL;DR: I love Castlevania and this scene only made me love it more.

To start: This is entirely an opinion post. I don’t have enough energy to make it into a full analysis with resources and other things. So don’t take this as an essay with some deep meaning. This is entirely just an impressions post.

I love this scene. I love the writing and the visuals. And I love that it was handled in a very real manner. And I love that it represented abuse correctly, because make no mistake-- this scene was abuse--at the very least, and rape at worst. But I’m not saying that for the reasons others have given. But I’m going to get back to that in a moment.

I’m going to leave out the controversy that’s been spat about this scene, because honestly, I don’t feel like talking about it. Like I said, I’m tired. And I’m not gonna harass someone else over their opinions just because they’re different than mine. If you didn’t like this, that’s totally fine. Please don’t ask me to debate, I’m not interested in . I’m simply enjoying this show in my own little corner, and am sharing my own opinions and observations for those who might be curious.

1.) Adrian is confirmed canonically (as far as the Netflix series goes) Bisexual.

While the events that follow the scene absolutely make this scene abuse and manipulation, at the start, Adrian does consent to the sex initially (INITIALLY, I’m not forgetting what happens after). He willingly makes out with both Sumi and Taka, and he’s very obviously anally penetrated when Taka puts Adrian’s legs over his shoulders. It’s not subtle. This is probably the smallest thing to mention given what happens, but this did make me happy. Adrian is only the second character in my favorites list to be confirmed LGBTQIA+ (the other being Damien Bloodmarch from Dream Daddy: a Dad Dating Simulator). And I won’t lie, I cried for both instances.

This is a popular show, and Adrian is one of the main characters. This season had so many good examples of LGBT+ relationships-- including a very healthy partnership between two of the female villains which was openly discussed by them on screen. It’s treated as normal but not made the focus of the story, though it’s very obvious and not hidden. This was very impressive and respectful, showing a range of different orientations, and showing both healthy and unhealthy relationships.

I won’t address the games, because I haven’t finished playing them. I’ve heard some saying he’s always been bi, some saying it was never confirmed, and some saying he was confirmed straight. So I don’t know. I am of the opinion that a character’s sexuality does not affect the overall lore any more than their skin color or religion does. BUT, that is all I can say. I don’t know the games. And this scene certainly does include lore, as I will touch on in a bit...

2.) This scene was abuse, and the writing vilifies it as such.

As I said above, Adrian does seem to initially consent to the sex. He returns their kisses, he grips onto Sumi’s ass, and holds Taka’s shoulder as they make out. These are actions that imply he was enjoying this at the beginning. Although, it is possible he may have felt somewhat pressured to go further, as when they initially push him down, he does seem taken back, although that may have been mostly surprise.

However, as the scene goes on, it becomes clear that these two are attempting to make Adrian vulnerable. They continue with him until he is exhausted-- there are two of them and one of him. And given Adrian’s reactions, it’s very possible this may have been his first time. And I’m also not going to gloss over the fact that Adrian himself has said that he aged quickly. It is entirely possible that Adrian may still mentally be a child, in which case, this is also two young adults taking advantage of a younger teenager.

However, when this clearly becomes abuse and possibly rape is why they were having sex with him in the first place-- they wanted to make him vulnerable enough to kill him. They grew impatient with Adrian, wanting him to do things he could not do and teach them things he had not yet had the chance to. He gave them all he could, but their urge to return to Japan and free their people grew into a desire to kick out and replace the authority that abused them, to “make their own empire.” I also like that this makes this very real and tangible-- the abusers are not cartoonishly evil. They are real people with real motives who experienced abuse themselves. This hits a really sensitive topic many people aren’t willing to address-- that anyone is capable of abuse, villains aren’t alien, and people who may be otherwise trustworthy may commit grievous acts which can deeply hurt people.

What solidifies the idea in my mind is Adrian’s reaction after he kills them both and frees himself. We see him, having dragged himself to his childhood bedroom, laying on the floor in the spot where he killed his father, shaking and crying. He was violated. He was betrayed. The first time he’d been living a somewhat normal life in over a year, and the only two friends he had after Sypha and Trevor left stabbed him in the back. These humans, whom he killed his father to protect, took advantage of him and almost killed him, forcing him to kill them first.

I’m going to link to this post by @fandomwanderer and this post by @mega-ringsandthings-world, because the sum up the idea better than I ever could. But this sets up Adrian’s character superbly. I will say, my wish for the next season is a bit different.

I hope that, eventually, Sypha and Trevor do come back, expecting Adrian to be waiting for them with open arms. And instead they find a very cold, very detached Adrian who is not acting like himself. I want tension between these three characters who used to be friends, until it builds up and eventually leads to a clash, possibly in the form of a physical fight. I want it to escalate until something happens and causes pause enough for Sypha and Trevor to talk Adrian down, at which point we finally see him start to crack, and eventually break down in his friends arms. I want them to ask about the scars, and prod and push until he snaps and attacks them, only to lead to him revealing everything that happened and clinging to them for comfort, while they wish they could’ve been the ones to kill the bastards. I truly do hope this happens. It’s been Three Seasons. Two of them have ended with Adrian sobbing. I want him to finally get some relief. But, even with this, I’m sure whatever the writers decide to do, it will be amazing. They’re in a very precarious place right now, but I’m excited to see where they go with it.

3.) Adrian’s reaction is perfectly justified.

This may just be an extension of point two, but Sumi and Taka’s abuse is not excused by the writing. All too often in fiction, rape and abuse are written off as not being that bad or even being desirable. What happens to Adrian is not painted as positive. It affects him extremely negatively, and it is not treated as his fault in any way. Even though he initially consented, these two betrayed his trust and hurt him. That is never treated as something he should be responsible for. Granted, with this being at the end of the series, there wasn’t much time for this to digest. I expect to see some characters see how he reacted by killing and spitting them, and initially assume that he did so because “he’s Dracula's son and of course.” But these characters will likely be doing so without context. The abuse also isn’t blamed on Adrian’s apparent orientation. Hector is abused in the same way by Lenore, in a heterosexual female-on-male abuse scene. And as stated above, there are healthy LGBT+ relationships in the show, as well.

Also, as the above linked post states, this also leads to us seeing Adrian slip slowly into the mindset his father once held-- perhaps not completely, but it is beginning. And all I’m left to think is, how much must this hurt? How much must Adrian hate seeing himself this way after everything he did for humans? But he’s so hurt by this betrayal that he can’t see things any other way right now. He is in pain, and he has had no real rest from that pain since his mother was killed.

“I gave you everything.” Adrian opened his home to Sumi and Taka, and he opened his heart to them, as well. He gave them his home, his weapons, his knowledge, his body. He is very young and very trusting, despite everything he’s been through. And that trust was taken and shoved right back in his face with insult and humiliation. He gave his all, not just for Sumi and Taka, but for humanity as a whole. He killed people, he killed his own kind, and he killed his own father-- his only remaining parent-- after his own mother was killed by the very people he was trying to protect. He gave everything, and humanity took it all and then shat on him in return. Adrian has every. right to feel betrayed. I don’t think he’ll be the new villain solely because I believe they will stick a bit closer to game lore, and may rather have him simply put himself to rest until the next major disaster hits humanity. But I do think this event caused his view of humanity to be less rose-tinted. He was forced to grow up fast, and much more painfully than he should’ve.

I truly hope, more than anything else, in future seasons Adrian does get some form of relief. Though, I doubt the world is done kinking him while he’s down. Hopefully, sooner rather than later, something truly good and unbastardized will come his way. Until then, I’ll be waiting with baited breath. I couldn’t be happier that this series is continuing.

P.S.: Please let me hug Adrian.

#Castlevania #castlevania season 3 #castlevania spoilers #castlevania season 3 spoilers #castlevania s3 #casltevania s3 spoilers #abuse tw #rape tw #analysis #opinion #review #Self 🔅 Adrian

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butterflyinthewell · 4 years ago

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I’m gonna lose followers. Oh well... a rant by me.

People who harass others about SHIPPING FICTIONAL CHARACTERS are irksome.

Preface: if you say you don’t want someone role playing a NOTP with you or sending asks about it, or you don’t want secret Santa stuff containing it, if you ask people not to suggest fics with that pairing for your fic collections, if you stay out of your NOTP’s pairing tags, if you choose not to interact with material related to your NOTP, if you blacklist the pairing tag and ask people not to tag your fanwork with your NOTP, if you heed warnings and don’t click something with material you don’t like, I do not have a problem with you.

But if you write novel long posts about why a ship is gross to you and tag the pairing so shippers see it, send people hate over their ships, reblog fanworks of your NOTP with nasty messages to the op of the post, if you make a blog all about hating that ship and anyone who ships it, claim it must be grooming, or if you call people pedophiles or abuse apologists because they wrote something morally heinous in fiction that they will most likely never do irl, I’m not gonna have much respect for you beyond you being a fellow person.

Guess what? Shit you hate is going to exist on the internet. If someone tags their work appropriately or tags with appropriate warnings, you should not be clicking on it and harassing them! They have done what is necessary to protect those pearls you want to clutch.

Banning all questionable material is not going to save people who are targeted by predators and criminals.

Calling people pedophiles because they ship a fictional minor with a fictional adult gives actual pedophiles who go after actual minors a hiding place. These days you can’t tell if someone is an actual pedo or got called one over a ship they ship. Pedos are totally banking on that.

Fiction is supposed to break rules and let people explore dark subjects that are morally messed up because you can close a book or close a website if it gets too weird for you. A child with a predator’s hands on them right this moment can’t click an x or close a book to stop it.

Think about that.

No one is forcing you to go read morally messed up stuff. Not clicking on someone’s creepy fic with your NOTP is nowhere in the same realm as turning a blind eye to actual predators predating on someone.

Running someone off a website because your ass is on fire about them writing a pairing you hate or whatever is not going to stop the bad shit happening in the real world.

Predators and criminals will use anything, so someone’s freaky babyfur smutfic that they wrote to troll a fan website in 1999 is hardly going to normalize bad behavior.

I swear some of you insult the intelligence of people with your moral abuse garbage.

Teaching people to recognize predatory behavior and what to do about it will actually help. Teaching people what is and isn’t a healthy relationship will help.

Remember how people called out Twilight for how unhealthy Edward’s behavior towards Bella was? I’m sure a lot of preteen and teen girls learned to open their eyes a bit more. And I’m sure others still enjoyed the books and movies anyway because it’s fiction. It is the job of parents and guardians to teach their children what is and isn’t healthy in a relationship, but the unfortunate problem there is that can fail if the parents aren’t in a healthy relationship.

That’s why there needs to be more discussions about “this is healthy, that might be fun in a story, but that is not healthy in the real world and anybody who treats you like that is waving abuse red flags” rather than attacking somebody by saying “you’re a monster for shipping that”.

The whole point of art in any form is to create an emotional reaction in the audience.

Fucked up fictional shit exists on the internet. Get over it. I think the fact that people get freaked out by weird stuff in fiction is a clear indicator that it’s not being normalized by that piece of fiction. Flailing about it is not helping anything except your ego. It’s not gonna help survivors who write messed up stuff to cope, it’s going to make them go more silent.

Imagine being someone with an abusive pedo parent who takes comfort in the SessRin ship and being called a pedophile for it, or seeing people in the tag call Sesshoumaru a pedophile. That’s triggering as fuck for somebody.

Imagine being a Starkster going through sexual abuse who takes comfort in the ship, and being called a pedophile for it. Imagine seeing people in the tag call Tony a pedophile. That’s triggering as fuck for somebody.

Imagine having the heinous thing that happened to you being turned onto you as an accusation by people on a moral high horse who forget what pedophile means. That is triggering as fuck for somebody.

Nobody owes you a trauma history in order to be ‘allowed’ to create and post morally messed up fanworks. It’s on YOU to check for warnings and keep scrolling if it’s so offensive to your sensibilities.

What’s better? Discussion of tropes that are harmful if done badly. That’s a place to start. Save the accusations for people who are knowingly doing harm to people and not caring that they’re doing harm.

Go after shit that is actually exploiting actual people right now instead of harassing creators whose trauma you don’t know. Tell pedos their attraction to kids is not a sexuality and they have no place in the LGBTQIA+ community. Warn minors away from MAPs/NOMAPs. Expose predators who have exploitative materials of actual real children. Teach people to recognize predatory behavior like grooming. Find ways to get people out of human trafficking. Question adults if you see them touching or treating a child in a way that doesn’t look right. If you’re a minor and somebody keeps sending you porn material or pictures of their genitalia after you said stop, remind them that you’re a minor and expose the shit out of them. If you’re an adult and know somebody is doing that to a minor you talk to online, help them expose that person. That’s not all you can do, but I can’t think of everything. There’s a lot you can do that will actually help people!

But telling someone not to create something questionable because a predator might misuse it is utter horseshit.

I can bet you anything that every single person who hounds others about their ships has a whole bunch of fucked up stuff they read and never talk about because they know it will get them run off by the same people they use as shields against scrutiny.

I’ve read fucked up shit that I enjoyed because it was done well, but I can grasp that it is not okay to do the same thing in the real world and I would be horrified if I saw somebody doing the same thing in the real world. I am able to experience that moment of being horrified, sit with it and see where the fanwork takes me with that feeling.

I say this after I have just read an awesome morally gray Inuyasha fanfic called “Devour Prometheus” by ladybattousai on AO3. It’s gorey, there is murder, there is abuse, there is exploitation, there are allusions to animal trade and it’s the darkest thing I ever laid eyes on. My stomach twisted several times. It’s a fantastic lens on society right now. (Sesshoumaru’s speech about “don’t hold me to your hypocritical human morality” was epic af.)

And some of you are going to think the author is some kind of violence glorifying freak based only on that.

I feel like a lot of anti shippers and antis in general can’t get past that horrified feeling. They yell that they can’t enjoy the fandom if the material makes a hated pairing canon, so it’s like they don’t want anyone else to enjoy the fandom or the pairing. It’s very immature and scorched earth, and it hurts everyone.

Hey, guess what? I have written pairings with hella huge age gaps. Oh, the horror!

OptimusxMikaela? I headcanon Optimus as being 10 billion + years old, and Mikaela was 18 when they hooked up. Mikaela ages as the stories carry on through the years as my Danceverse series, so she’s in her 30s currently. They fucked and still fuck explicitly.

UnicronxStarscream? Unicron is as old as the universe, so 13 billion + (headcanon), and Starscream is probably 11 million or so (headcanon). They fuck explicitly.

Whouffaldi? The 12th Doctor is 2000+ and Clara is in her 20s. They fuck explicitly.

BeastGojixMiki? Godzilla has been alive for probably close to 65 years in the story, but he acts more like he’s in his 20s and he looks to be in his 20s when he turns back into a human. Miki is 18. They fuck in the story, but it’s written non explicitly.

Bowser JrxOC? Cherry is an oc who is 19. I aged Junior up in that story to be about 20. Their ages aren’t specified, but they’re mentioned to be adults. They fuck in the story, but it’s written non explicitly.

I have written fanfics with rape, abuse, murder, manslaughter, bdsm, stuff that’s morally messed up, etc, and I’m not a murdering rapist who eats children now, am I?

No, because I have no desire to do those things in the real world (because some are not possible...cuz I would date Optimus 😛) and I can distinguish fiction from reality. I can grasp the concept that fiction / art is not always endorsement.

Now get a grip on yourselves, put the pitchforks down and stop policing people’s imaginations.

#hypocrisy #purity culture #shipping wars #ship wars #fandom #anti antis #antis #swearing #pro shipping #tw csa #tw p e d o mention #IF I HAD A TARDIS I WOULD MESS UP SPACETIME SO BAD #if a MAP is getting help and stays away from kids then whatever #but if they parade around proud of it and see nothing wrong they better stay the f away from me or kids #if you are a p e d o harming real world children I will take your eyeballs out through your butthole

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elliemarchetti · 5 years ago

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Somewhere to Start (part 9)

Words: 1687

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Other Harry Potter fics:

Slytherin!Hermione AU (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7)

The Deal (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

The Polaroids The Sixth and Seventh Polaroids

Memories of a Survivor

On December 26th everyone woke up late. The Gryffindor’s Common Room was much quieter than it had been lately and frequent yawns punctuated lazy conversations. Hermione's hair was frizzy again and as if nothing had happened the previous night she and Ron had returned talking to each other, albeit in a strangely formal way. It was time to think about the homework everyone ignored during the first week of vacation, too busy preparing for the Ball, and the students seemed rather down while Harry was starting to get a little nervous again, and although he could hide it from Ron, it was another story with Hermione, who remembered that February 24th was fast approaching and he hadn’t yet done anything to decipher the riddle inside the golden egg. Not that it was the only problem: in fact, as soon as the lessons resumed, the Gryffindors had the bitter surprise of finding a substitute teaching Care of Magical Creatures and not their gigantic friend, that was indisposed, according to Professor Grubbly-Plank, his hateful substitute.

"I don't understand what Hagrid has." Hermione complained that day at lunch, when she was finally able to see Viktor again, who had been incredibly shy the previous week. "If he hadn't felt good he would’ve told us, wouldn't he?"

The boy agreed, obviously lost in his thoughts, and Hermione made a mental note to investigate further what was happening to him, only to be distracted, when she reached the Gryffindor table, by a copy of the Daily Prophet that went from hand to hand generating general discontent, where, on the front page, there was an article from Rita Skeeter entirely on Hagrid and how much the half-human was a favorite of Dumbledore despite being huge in appearance and having terrified students with a succession of hideous creatures. Hermione snatched the newspaper from Lavender's hands, which despite mumbling something, didn't have the heart to reply when the classmate crumpled it and threw away what she had called junk. It was what happened later to be blatant and to enter the annals of Hogwarts history, or certainly that of the feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin: Hermione marched straight to Malfoy's place and slapped him first and then Crabbe, below the everyone’s astonished gaze, including the professors.

"Granger!" Snape boomed, but Hermione didn't care. How could that worm lie that way? Hagrid was a good man, at times naive, of course she saw it too, but he had never wanted to hurt anyone, nor had he abused his power as a teacher; on the contrary, the opposite had happened and he had to endure Malfoy's harassment for two years, dreading that his father could take away with his influence the small space that, with Dumbledore's help, he had managed to carve out in the magical community that wanted so ardently to be perfect, to eliminate all those who could somehow be different and undesirable. If Rita Skeeter had to write an article about a despotic and aggressive professor, she should’ve done it on Snape.

"Detention. In my office, now. And apologize to my students."

“Never.” she hissed.

"Do you want to be in detention until the end of the school year?" he asked, rising from his seat and standing in front of the teachers' table.

"Is this what you teach your students, then? To lie to get what they want? To be mean? I deserve to be punished for hitting them while they? Don't they deserve it for lying?"

This was a huge affront to Snape’s authority, so much so that someone could have called it insubordination or lack of respect, but anyone who had seen the attitude that the teacher had held for four years against the most brilliant of the students in that school could understand why she was acting that way.

"And this is what you are taught in Gryffindor? To physically assault anyone who doesn’t agree with you?"

Probably the professor expected to put the girl, who was tremendously aware of all the students’ eyes fixed on her back and those of the entire teaching staff, in whose she read conflicting judgments, in the corner, but this didn’t happen, as Minerva McGonagall herself stood up to speak: "No, Severus, this isn’t what I teach my students so I advise you to return to your place. I will take care of Miss Granger, who will come to my office at the end of the lessons to decree what is the punishment that best fits her wrong gesture, myself. I advise you to discuss with your students, instead, about the weight their words." she finished dryly, and sat down again only when her colleague stormed out of the room, furious. Hermione sat back down in her place with her head down, but saw, out of the corner of her eye, that her housemates' attitude toward her had changed.

"You've been amazing." said Ron, vaguely breathless. Hermione smiled slightly. She feared McGonagall much more than any other professor and didn't want to disappoint her, which she probably did with that thoughtless gesture. She raised her head from the plate, that remained empty all the time, only in hope of meeting Viktor's gaze, but the boy was gone, and his place left empty.

McGonagall's punishment was much less harsh than what Viktor would’ve imagined as she merely forbade Hermione from participating in the Hogsmeade trip organized for mid-January. Obviously Viktor also decided not to go and they spent the day together in the cold and wet from the freshly melted snow park.

"We could take a bath." he said, clutching his own cup of hot chocolate.

"A bath?" she asked, puzzled. Probably there were about 4o C.

"We do it often, in Durmstrang. Besides, I should practice a spell."

Hermione's attention snapped like a spring: "What spell?"

"Transfiguration." he replied vague, amused by the light in her eyes.

"I'm very good in that area! Tell me, what do you have to transfigure? I hope it's not something too big, because these are very difficult spells and I can't help you, and probably not even Professor McGonagall, even though she's the best in that field…”

"I don't think it's something I could talk to your teachers about." he interrupted her, without raising his voice too much. Although almost all the students from the third year onwards had gone to Hogsmeade, he didn't want to be heard while talking about the tournament with Hermione, partly to avoid problems, partly because he wasn't sure anyone could help him when it came to what needed to be done to win, especially if it belonged to another competing school. Or any other school, actually.

"Oh ... You probably shouldn't even talk to me about it then." she replied, disappointed.

"I know, that's why I asked you to take a bath." he replied with a half-smile. It was horrible not being able to share everything with her, not to mention the fact that he still hadn't been able to give her his Christmas present, but maybe it was too late and besides she didn't seem to have been offended for not having received one, even if even Neville had bought one for Ginny, who showed it off with some pride. The girl was probably too good for him, and he was certain that she was destined for great things, especially after he had seen her in the middle of the night training with one of Hogwarts' brooms, the worst he had seen in a long time, and do prodigies anyway, but for the moment they were cute, although Hermione claimed that there was nothing between them.

"She would’ve told me, don't you think?" she had asked him, rather annoyed, one day, and he had dropped the subject, even if it was obvious that Ginny would surely not have told someone that she has settled with Neville after her obvious crush on Potter. Regarding him, and his friend, a kind of peace seemed to have been established between them and Hermione but Viktor still couldn't trust them, especially because he couldn't just forget how Weasley had attacked her on Yule Ball night, ruining, at least in part, his romantic projects. Since that night he had no longer thought of declaring his love, let alone trying to kiss her, even though there were days where he really didn't know how he managed to restrain himself, partly because he felt too embarrassed, partly because he had a crazy fear of losing her if she hadn’t returned his feelings, so he had contented himself with being something more than a friend and something less than a boyfriend, locked in that strange limbo that was like a bubble of happiness that by now no one, not even his friends, could conceive.

"How long do you think you can wait?" Andrei had asked him one morning during their usual run on the lake, and Viktor hadn't stopped thinking about it since then. How long could he wait? Forever, if things stayed that way. But it wouldn't happen, and he would be back in Bulgaria in a few months, and she would be more than two thousand kilometers away, with a life and habits that he didn't want her to put aside or distort every time he went to visit. Yet, on the other hand, he wouldn’t have let what was between them, whatever it was, merely be a nice memory, so he kept waiting and watched the two parts of his heart that fought against each other. Was it okay to act selfish? Or should he have been a gentleman and let her make her decision without intrusion? Darina had reminded him, when the topic came out again during the long nights on the ship, that Hermione, brilliant as she was, was still a normal girl, and a younger one, moreover, so it was up to him to make the first step, whatever he wanted to do.

"But isn't it too cold?" Hermione asked, snatching him from her thoughts.

"There are spells to solve this problem too." he replied as a wide smile opened on both their faces.

#somewhere to start #krumione #hermione granger #viktor krum #ginny x neville #ginny weasley #ginevra weasley #neville longbottom #ron weasley #rubeus hagrid #albus dumbledore #severus snape #minerva mcgonagall #lavender brown #triwizard tournament

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cinnaminsvga · 6 years ago

Text

Zemblanity | Jimin (M)

→ summary:

“I’ll write a song for you, Park Jimin,” you say, unaware of the weight of your promises slowly finding its way around your neck.

”Pinky swear?”

The noose tightens. “I swear on my life.”

→ genre: fan!jimin, idol!reader, horror/thriller, angst, smut || part of this collab!! → warnings: major character death, non-graphic descriptions of rape and sexual harassment, psychological + physical torture, physical violence, and obsessive behavior → words: 11.8K → a/n: this physically hurt to write, mostly because i was drunk 99% of the time. also a lot of triggering material in this, so be warned. and i’m sorry jimin for always making you the bad guy... some day, i’ll write a soft fic for you. (special thanks to @seokkbuns for supporting me the whole way... love you)

Sometimes you wished the universe would congratulate you for being a decent human being. Sure, that would defeat the purpose of giving awards in the first place, but can you really help that you wanted to be recognized for your mediocrity, occasionally? Maybe a little ribbon for opening the door for a stranger, or perhaps a coupon from Mcdonalds for not parking in the handicap spot. You weren’t asking for a lot.

Hell, where the fuck was your Nobel Peace Prize for not absolutely decimating your annoying, hoity-toity, bitchass, toe-sucking CEO? If you could somehow convert the anger slowly seeping its way through your veins into renewable energy, you could probably power the entirety city of Seoul at this point.

“Y/N. How difficult can it be to produce one fucking album?” President Kim Namjoon groans, gesticulating at the air madly like the buffoon that he is. All he needs is a banana and unicycle, and his Harambe cosplay would be complete.The ridiculous mental image hardly calms you down, dumbfounded by the absolute audacity of his question.

“Are you seriously asking me that question, or are you just pretending to be an idiot to make me angry?” You seethe, teeth gnashing in a way that would probably make your dentist cringe. Namjoon is not fazed by your reaction. Instead, he reaches into his desk drawers and pulls out a thin stack of papers. You can’t see any of the text, but you have a good idea as to what it was about.

“This is a compilation of news reports written about you and Serendipity over the past year,” he emphasizes, slamming a page filled with graphs and jargon whose meaning escape you. He jabs a finger at one of the angry red graphs, and you can see that he was pointing at what appears to be a significant drop. “As you can see, there haven’t been many reports, if at all.”

“So? That’s what happens when an idol group is waiting for their next comeback.” You shrug your shoulders, kicking a leg up onto his table just to piss him off. Namjoon is quick to stab your ankle with a pencil in retaliation, causing you to pull back with a yelp. “Yo, what the fuck! That hurt!” You exclaim, rubbing the reddening spot sullenly.

“It’s like you’re purposefully being difficult, Y/N.”

“So you’ve noticed?”

Namjoon heaves a sigh, and you speculate that it might have been his thirtieth one within the past hour. A tense silence befalls the two of you, and you watch as the older man rubs his temples in frustration. You can’t help but notice the age lines beginning to form on his forehead, and do your eyes deceive you? Were those wrinkles under his eyes?

“You’re getting old, chief,” you comment, grabbing one of Namjoon’s numerous pencils to poke the lines away. He swats at you tiredly, but it is clear that he knows it is useless scolding you. If getting mad at you would produce results, you would’ve bended to his will ages ago. As it is, the man looks ready to drop dead in his seat. He slumps over his desk, eyes closing in meditation.

“No thanks to you, I assure you,” he mumbles back, voice muffled from his table. “Why can’t you just be like Hoseok? He writes music like it’s his only drug.”

“That’s because that kid is literally always on drugs, chief.” You snort, crossing your arms. “And at least the drugs help him with inspiration. Me? I’ve been stuck in a ditch since January. You know this, Joon.”

“I know. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating. What happened, Y/N? I’ve given you almost everything you could ask for.” Namjoon says, lifting his head up to stare back at you. He appears as dejected as you feel. “Why isn’t that big head of yours making music like it used to?”

“You haven’t given me everything I could ask for.”

“What else do you need? You have the studio, the resources, the funding…”

“Time. You haven’t given me enough time.”

Namjoon sighs his thirty-first sigh. “That’s simply a request that even I cannot grant, Y/N. You and I both know that this industry… it moves quicker than any of us would like. Soon enough, people will forget your name. Your members will be left in the dust. Do you want that, Y/N? Are you willing to succumb to your writer’s block in exchange for your members’ livelihoods?”

The two of you already knew the answer to that. You could only glare back at him, irritated that he had used the only weakness you had, the only people you were willing to risk a limb for.

He smiles sadly back at you. “Three months, Y/N. We need an album by December, or else your group is gone. I don’t want you to fail, believe me.”

Oh, I believe you, you think bitterly to yourself, slamming the door to his office with more force than necessary. Of course the bastard doesn’t want you to fail. Other than Hoseok’s group, Serendipity was the only other money-making group in the company. Rookie group after rookie group have debuted in the past, but none of them have stuck out to the public. They were all waiting for you to come back, whenever that may be.

“Maybe I should just go solo,” you whisper wistfully to yourself, but the image of your three other members staring at you in betrayal is the only thing holding you back.

It would have been easy, too. As the main vocalist in the group, you could potentially survive if your group were to disband. With numerous songwriting and producing credits under your belt, you could definitely stay afloat for another year or so.

These thoughts have been burdening your mind for months now, but you have tried your best to hide this from your members. Perhaps the stress of speaking with Namjoon is what allowed your walls to crumble, making your internal conflict clear as day on your face. Contrary to how you had acted in front of your superior, you actually did feel the strain of your hiatus. Your members were itching to return to the limelight, especially since all of them lived and breathed performance. You hated going home everyday, their eyes sparkling with hope for news of a comeback, only for it to fizzle out as quickly as it had come.

With all this mind, you suppose you shouldn’t have been all that surprised when you arrive back in your dorm that afternoon, your three sisters are sitting forlornly in the living room, waiting for you to arrive.

“What’s with the impromptu meeting? Did Sooyoung clog the toilet again?” You try to joke, but there is no sign of mirth in the eldest’s eyes. Sooyoung clearly means business if she can’t even bother cracking a smile; the kind leader has never looked so dark.

“Y/N. We need to talk,” Sooyoung says. The two younger girls nod in tandem, their head bobbing like pendulums on a taut string. You feel sweat beginning to form on your palms.

“I know what you guys are want to say and I get it. We all want a comeback. Do you think I don’t want to return to the stage? To perform in front of thousands of fans?” You can’t help yourself for immediately going into defensive mode. It feels like you were being cornered by a pack of hyenas, as you were certain they had gathered here to gang up on you. Your worst fears are getting realized, and the thought of going solo passes your mind for the second time that day.

“You sure aren’t acting like it,” Hana murmurs, but the maknae stomps on her feet to silence her. Hana yelps in shock, pouting sulkily.

“Shut up, Hana,” Gowon warns, her normally bright face marred with a deep frown. She turns to you, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, Y/N… She didn’t mean it.”

You snort. “Yeah? If she didn’t mean it, then why the hell are you all sitting here just waiting to attack me?”

“We’re not here to attack you, Y/N. Stop overreacting,” Hana says, rolling her eyes. She yelps again, rubbing her arm petulantly where she had been slapped, but Gowon’s face is an indomitable fortress. For once, you wonder what your maknae would do if she were truly pissed off.

“Y/N, we just wanted to ask if you needed any… help?” Sooyoung tries, brows furrowed in concentration. It is obvious that she is choosing her words slowly, as if she is afraid to startle you off like a deer. “Like, I know none of us are even half as good at producing like you, but if you need someone to take the wheel instead…”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” you say, voice edged with ice. You had not meant to say that as coldly as you did, but you couldn’t help that the stress was talking for you. Hana’s face goes dark in an instant.

“Oh? Does little miss producer have her shit together? Because at the very least, you’d think you would have some work to show for it,” she mocks, irises dancing with flames. Gowon tries to get her to shut up, but the elder seems to have a lot more to say.

“You think we don’t know what you do in that studio of yours? Sooyoung-unnie looked through your hard drive and found hundreds of unfinished samples. Hundreds! If you’re so good at your damn job, then I don’t see why you can’t finish even one of your stupid––”

Before you realize it, your palm is stinging with heat as the two other girls stare in shock at Hana’s reddening cheek. Hana stares at you too, mouth opening in shock rather than in pain. You raise your hands up in surrender, appalled by your own actions. The silence is a blanket, suffocating the air out of your lungs as the two of you are locked in a heavy stalemate. Then, she scoffs.

“Oh, is that all you got? Not even an excuse? If you can’t even defend yourself, I don’t even know why I’m bothering to listen,” she says, standing up to leave. Gowon tries to tug her back down, but she swats the younger’s hand away. “Sorry Gowonnie. I know you care a lot for Y/N, but I can’t care for someone who doesn’t even care for us,” she hisses. The slam of her bedroom door reverberates across the dorm, rattling your bones.

With Hana gone, Sooyoung sighs deeply, rubbing her temples not unlike the way Namjoon had done earlier that day. You hate yourself for not noticing the deeper lines forming across her forehead, too.

“Y/N. We know that you are very proud of your work, and that you’re trying your best. We really do. But it wouldn’t hurt if you could at least… be transparent with us.”

You snort, disbelief coloring your face at Sooyoung’s audacity. “I can’t believe you can say that with a straight face after you looked through my stuff without permission.”

Sooyoung has the decency to look guilty. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You left your studio door open once and well… I was just curious, you know? You never talk about your music process with us, and the girls and I were wondering if you actually… still cared.”

The sadness in her voice quickly dispels any dredges of anger still left in your body. Sighing in defeat, you haphazardly throw your tired body where Hana had been sitting. With the cool leather of the couch enveloping you in a hug, it is only then that you notice how incredibly weary you felt.

“I know. I’m sorry, I really am,” you murmur, closing your eyes so you don’t have to see their disappointed faces. You can feel Sooyoung’s soft hands carding themselves through your hair. “I just… I’m trying so hard to make an album for you guys but it’s just so difficult because I have to think about charting on Billboard and adjusting beats to the choreographies…”

“We understand, unnie.” Gowon says softly, patting your knee. “And believe me, it’s all thanks to you that we were able to win seven times during our last comeback. We don’t always have to beat our last record, you know? I’m sure the fans will love anything you put out.”

“I know,” you sniffle, allowing a few tears to escape. The same gentle hands leave your hair to wipe them away. “But I still don’t wanna disappoint you all…”

“You won’t, Y/N. We’re all very proud of you,” Sooyoung says, wrapping her arms around you. Gowon joins soon after, and you feel guilty for allowing yourself to believe them. You don’t deserve their patience––not after all the grief you had inadvertently put them through.

“I doubt Hana feels the same way,” you laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a creaky door more than anything.

Gowon pinches your cheek lightly. “Ah, she’ll get around. You know how she gets when things don’t go her way. I’d say we were all itching to slap her once or twice in our life.”

The three of you laugh, only feeling slightly bad for bad-mouthing the poor girl. As grumpy as the younger girl might be, all of you still love her despite her faults.

“Y/N-unnie? I have a suggestion, actually.” Gowon says, once the laughter had died down. You hum, raising your eyebrow at her.

“Yeah? Do you want to help me write some songs?”

Gowon shakes her head, waving her hands in embarrassment. “No! Well, I do, but that’s not what I wanted to suggest,” she says, rubbing her neck nervously. You squint at her, curious as to what has gotten the younger feeling too anxious to say.

“Do you think that maybe… a vacation might do you well?” she says, almost too quietly. You think you must have misheard her, and judging by the way she pouts back at you, the confusion must have been visible on your face.

“I said, you need a vacation, unnie. A real one, and not one that will get filmed for a reality show or something,” she repeats, firmer this time. From the corner of your eye, you can see Sooyoung nodding in agreement.

“That’s a great idea, Gowon. Y/N, I think you need a little break from all the stress. Perhaps you can get inspiration during your time away from work,” Sooyoung adds. You turn to face the eldest, eyebrows reaching your hairline at the fact that she was even agreeing to such a terrible idea.

“It’s not a terrible idea, for your information,” Gowon huffs, seemingly having read your mind. “Out of all of us, I think you deserve to relax and learn how to have fun.”

You splutter indignantly, somewhat offended at Gowon’s frank admission. “I know how to have fun! I bought a rice cooker last week with a coupon from the newspaper. I saved $20!”

“Oh my God,” Sooyoung laughs, shoulders shaking with mirth. “How the fuck are you younger than me, ahjumma?”

“This is what I’m saying,” Gowon deadpans, flicking your forehead. You yelp, rubbing the area with a pout. What is it with this girl and doing bodily harm on her members? “When I mean fun, I meant regular, young adult stuff. Shit like…”

“Going to karaoke! Watching movies! Travelling! Spa treatments! Reading books!” Sooyoung lists, bouncing up and down in her seat. If you hadn’t known better, it is as if Sooyoung was planning her own vacation instead.

“Maybe sex?” Gowon adds, and that earns a strangled cough from you.

“Gowon!” You yell, slapping the giggling maknae in the back. “Who told you about the s word?”

“Learned from the best,” she says coyly, earning another slap from you. “Ouch! Okay, I’m joking. But I have to admit, Sooyoung-unnie has some good ideas. Maybe you should travel or go back home?”

“If the company will even let me,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Do you really think Namjoon-ssi will let me leave when he basically gave me only three months to produce an album? I don’t think so.”

“I’ll make him agree,” Gowon says ominously.

“You’ll make him agree,” you repeat.

“Yup,” she says, a mysterious smile on her lips. “So, since you’re agreeing to my proposal––”

“Who says I’m going?” you interject, but Sooyoung slaps a hand over your mouth, silencing you.

“Hush! I have an idea. You see, one of my old high school classmates owns a spa resort up in the mountains near Busan. It’s super remote, so you don’t even have to worry about being recognized by anyone.” She prattles on, already whipping out her phone to text who knows what. Her fingers are flying at the speed of light, and you try your best to snatch it out of her hands.

When you try to grab it, Gowon holds your arms behind your back, effectively imprisoning you. She points a shit-eating grin at you. “Nu-uh, Y/N. You’re going to relax, even if it fucking kills you. So let Sooyoung and I handle everything, okay? We’ll get Namjoon’s approval tomorrow, and you’ll be off to Busan by the weekend. Sound good?”

No, it did not sound good at all. You have been an idol for five years now, plus your three years working as a trainee. You hardly remember what it felt like to not work, and you can only imagine how bored you’ll be once you get there.

Before you know it, Sooyoung finishes speaking with her classmate, booking a room for three nights. Gowon claps excitedly, already planning to pack for you to lessen your burden. You smile wryly at the two of them because you can’t help but be endeared by their pure enthusiasm.

You go to your room that night, wanting to believe Gowon’s words. Maybe she’s right; all you need is a vacation. When your eyes finally close and your breathing has steadied, you go to sleep believing that everything might turn out okay.

––♡♡♡––

It does not turn out okay, unsurprisingly.

Like Sooyoung had mentioned, the spa is remote, far away from any semblance of city life. It sits halfway up the mountain, where it is said to have the nicest hot spring baths in the country. There is a small town at the bottom of the mountain, which is where the taxi had dropped you off. When you ask him why he can’t drive you all the way to the resort, he shakes his head apologetically.

“Sorry, miss. The roads up to Blue Springs Resort are pretty narrow and I can’t risk going up there at this time of night. You could probably ask one of the locals here to drive you up. Good luck!” He bids you goodbye cheerily, snatching your payment out of your hands and driving off without another word. You stand at the edge of the road, mouth agape at his brazen desertion.

“Fuck me, I guess,” you groan, taking your phone out to try and dial for help. Of course, the reception is horrendous, and you suppress your screams at this terrible turn of events.

“This is all Sooyoung’s fault,” you mutter darkly, dragging your suitcase into the dark town to look for help. It is only 7pm, but it seems like the townsfolk have decided to hit the hay for the night. The shop windows and houses that you pass are all dark, and your dying phone can barely light the way as you try to find any sign of human life that might help you find a place to stay.

After thirty minutes of searching, you are two seconds away from just breaking and entering into some poor bastard’s house when a young man exits his house. He stares at you, with your sweat matted hair and scuffed luggage, and you have half the mind to wonder if there were any traces of ketchup on your lips, leftover from the hotdog you had eaten on the way there.

“Hi,” you greet. You raise your hand hesitantly.

He raises his own, incredibly confused. “Uh. Hi?”

“Sorry, I know I look really weird and all, but I was wondering if you could help me find a way to Blue Springs Resort? The taxi I took pretty much left me on the side of the road, and I don’t have anywhere else to stay,” you finish, teeth chattering from the cold. The man’s eyes soften, and he approaches you.

“Oh, that happens sometimes. The resort usually has a shuttle come through here, but I guess it’s too late to call them now,” he explains, “I could drive you there, if you want? I was going to head to the city, so I could drop you off first before heading out.”

You can hardly believe your ears, unsure whether you could trust this man’s goodness or not. “Are you sure? I’m not bothering you, am I? Also, not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I don’t really feel safe going inside a stranger’s car.”

The man laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, I get you. If it makes you feel any better, I actually work at this town’s local police station. I can show you my badge in my car, if you want,” he says, rubbing his neck shyly. “My name is Jungkook, by the way. Officer Jungkook, usually, but I’m off duty so feel free to drop the title.”

You grin, charmed by his little awkward mannerisms. “Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m Y/N.”

To your relief, his expression doesn’t change at the sound of your name, but you had already figured that he didn’t recognized you from the moment you met. It isn’t like you expected everyone in South Korea to know who you or your band was, but it never hurt to be cautious. You loved your fans, but you never knew what type of things they could do to you.

The two of you jump into his car after he kindly pops his trunk open and takes your luggage from you. He lets you take control of the radio, and the soft sound of some American ballad fills the car as the two of you ride into the night. The drive is silent, save for the music and your occasional humming. True to his word, a police radio and badge are sitting idly on his console, and you half expect it to come to life with news of some incident or whatnot.

Jungkook notices your curious gaze, and he grins at you. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m off duty, so I doubt I’ll be getting any calls. Besides, hardly anything happens in this sleepy town, so I’d be surprised if that radio would light up, even when I’m on patrol.”

“Not to be offensive, but doesn’t it get boring around these parts? With nothing happening?” you ask, lightly fingering the radio and badge in fascination.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “Boring is safe, I suppose. That’s what my chief always says. Besides, it isn’t entirely quiet. There are always reports of crashes around the mountains because the roads are so difficult to maneuver. Speaking of…” he trails off, his driving growing increasingly slow as the path begins to grow narrow. “Gotta be careful. The mayor has been working to get railways around these roads, but funding it pretty tight. It’s particularly dangerous at night.”

You watch, tense as his grip grows tighter on the wheel. You are starting to get worried that Jungkook might accelerate off the cliff, but he manages to offer you a shaky smile in assurance. “Don’t worry, miss. I’m a good driver, and I’m used to these parts. Just gotta make it past this one particularly nasty turn and––”

He goes silent, brow furrowed in concentration as you arrive at the aforementioned turn. He slows the car to a crawl, inching his way around the sharp edge when the radio suddenly switches the song from a love ballad to an energetic pop song. The sudden noise startles Jungkook, and he jams his foot straight down on the pedal.

You scream, clutching your seatbelt as the car revs forward and for a brief moment––you are flying. Your stomach flies to your throat as you feel nothing but weightlessness, and you think you can hear Jungkook cursing obscenities as he tries to pull the break but––nothing.

The car drops, crashing like a tin can against a large tree. Pain blooms all across your body, and you want nothing more than to scream, but no sound would come out. In the edges of your consciousness, you can still hear the radio playing, the sound of your own sweet melodious voice being the last thing you remember before your world fades to black.

––♡♡♡––

Everything hurts. Scratch that––it feels like there were broken shards of glass that had a physical vendetta against your vital organs inside of you. You swear that there are weights attached to your eyelids, and it feels like hours until you can finally get them to open.

The first thing you notice is that it’s bright. The room (“A bedroom,” you murmur, noticing the bedside table and closet near the door. There is an electronic keyboard gathering dust in the corner too.) is filled with sunlight, the small window on your right devoid of any curtains. The sheets smell like lavender, and there are at least two pillows underneath your head. When you try to move, your body screams in protest as a sharp pain throbs somewhere on your torso.

Craning your neck, you gingerly peel the blanket off your body, and even then the effort is too much. When you successfully pull everything off, you are bombarded with the sight of bandages everywhere. You look like those discount mummy costumes, the ones that no one bought and are always sold for a third of its original price. You must have jostled one of your wounds while you were shifting, and you watch with morbid fascination as red starts to bloom across your stomach.

You think you are going to be sick.

Panic surges through your bones and you feel the desperate urge to get out of bed––for what reason, you do not know. It isn’t like you could go anywhere in your condition, but you just needed to do something. You don’t know where you are, or what happened, or even what day it is. You need to get out of here––

Suddenly, the door opens, and a man with blonde hair and droopy eyes enters with a cup of tea in hand. He yelps in surprise when he sees you, one leg already off the bed as you were still in the middle of your panic-induced escape. He rushes towards you, and gently pushes you back onto the bed.

“Hey, hey… Relax. You’re going to hurt yourself if you move too much,” he says, his tone soft and calming. Your heartbeat refuses to relax, and you must have looked crazed to the young man. He places the cup of tea by the table, and firmly tucks the blanket back over your body.

“Oh damn. I think your stitches might have opened… I’ll have to clean that up later,” he murmurs. He reaches behind you to fluff up your pillows, and you catch a whiff of his lavender body soap. He sits by your side, a worried look marring his soft features. He places a hand on your head and asks, “Y/N, does your head hurt? I’m not all that good with head injuries, so I’m not sure if I bandaged it correctly… I tried researching techniques, but I’m worried I didn’t do it right…”

His words feel like cotton in your ears, but you manage to catch the first part of his sentence. “Wait, how do you know my name?” You ask, voice sounding hoarse after hours (days?) of misuse. The man notices, and offers you his cup of tea. You try to wrap your hands around it, but even your fingers are wrapped in bandages. You notice there is a splint on your index finger, and you let out a sob at the sight. How would you be able to play the piano now?

Pitying you, Jimin brings the cup to your lips and lets you drink. The tea scalds your tongue, but your sandpaper throat accepts it with open arms. He places the empty cup by the table before answering your question. “My name is Jimin. I’m the owner of Blue Spring Resorts. I was a friend of Sooyoung back in high school.”

At the mention of Sooyoung and the resort, memories of the previous night floods your mind. You remember how the car had driven off the side of the road, the feeling of weightlessness and dread filling you like poison. You remember the sound of music playing as you slipped in and out of consciousness. You remember––

“Jungkook,” you say, gripping the man’s arm with frightening strength. He holds your hand, alarmed. “Jungkook,” you repeat, tears welling in your eyes. “Where?”

“Jungkook? Who’s Jungkook?” Jimin asks, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. You push his hand away, and shake his arm more urgently.

“He––he was in the car, with me. He was the one driving me to this resort when he accidentally drove off the cliff. He––where is he?” You stutter, words flying out of your mouth quicker than you can process. Luckily, Jimin seems to understand the gist of your babbling.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. When I found you on the side of the cliff, I only saw your body under the mangled car. I didn’t bother checking further, because I was more concerned with getting you back to safety,” he explains, tears springing in his eyes from guilt. Your heart drops. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to get you out of there.”

Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you sob, a loud wail escaping you as you think about the sweet police officer who was probably dead on the side of the road. Jimin wraps an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder as you choked on your sins.

“I––I can go check again later. I was meaning to head back to town to shuttle some more customers to the resort until I saw your car…” he says, lips pursing. “I can also go back to salvage whatever I can…” he offers, and you nod sadly, already weary despite having just woken up.

He gazes at you sadly, unfurling your fingers off of his arm and putting them back onto your lap. He does not berate you for the small nail marks you had left against his honey skin. “Go to sleep, Y/N. I'll be back by nightfall. Get some rest."

Soon after he had made sure your blankets and pillows are at their optimal position, you fall into a fitful sleep, your heart feeling heavier than it did before.

––♡♡♡––

Just as he had promised, he returns later that night. You had awakened when you heard the faint sound of a door slamming shut, the anxiety starting to build until Jimin's fluffy blonde head peaks out from behind the bedroom door.

He smiles apologetically, clicking the door shut as he enters the room quietly. "Sorry, did my arrival awaken you?" he says, sitting beside your form. He notices your breathing relax at his proximity, and the grin spreads like wildfire on his face.

"It's fine. I was going to wake up soon, anyway," you say, voice still warbled with grogginess. He smiles, patting your knee before standing up once more.

"I'm gonna get you some water and food," he says when he notices your curious gaze. "Also, I passed by the wreckage again, and..." he trails off, sounding worried for your reaction. You steel yourself, and you try your best to look like you weren't about to burst into tears at any moment.

"There wasn't anyone there," he says, finally. You freeze, confused by his admission.

"What?"

"It's true," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "I tried looking everywhere, even around the vicinity of the crash. All I found was the car and your things."

You deflate at the news, but you can't help the remaining dredges of hope beginning to resurrect in your heart. Maybe he had escaped and had run off to get help, or at least you wished.

"Did you try contacting the police? Jungkook mentioned that he was part of the police force."

An odd look flashes across his face, but it leaves before you can decipher it. He coughs awkwardly, rubbing his nose. "Uh, yes. I contacted the police about the crash a few days ago, and they said they would be focusing on looking for that Jungkook fella. For now, I'll take care of you until you can safely return to town."

If his reasoning sounds odd, you don't question it. You are too busy grieving Jungkook that you can barely think for yourself. Jimin rubs your shoulder, before turning to leave and fetch your belongings.

When he returns, he brings the remains of what was once your black suitcase. He places them by your side, riffling through the things he salvaged from the wreckage. "I tried taking some of your clothes and toiletries, but I'm afraid your laptop was crushed completely," he says, placing your folded clothes beside you. When he takes out the ruined laptop in question, and you gaze at it with empty acceptance.

It isn't the end of the world, you suppose. You saved most of your photos and music online and in your work computer, so all is not lost. To your surprise, however, Jimin pulls out another small black object from his bag and hands it to you.

"My hard drive survived?" You stare at it in wonder, turning it over in your hands delicately. You ignored the pain in your fingers as you clutch the small object to your chest, tear ducts starting to burn. You give Jimin a grateful look. "Thank you for everything," you whisper.

Jimin's cheeks turn a brilliant shade of pink, eyes downturned in sudden embarrassment. "I-it's no big deal," he stammers, twiddling his thumbs. You chuckle, pinching his cheeks endearingly.

"No, really. You did so much for me when I've done nothing to deserve it. You even bandaged me up, which I have no idea how you managed, by the way."

Somehow, Jimin's cheeks darken even further. The color spreads like wildfire, inking the delicate skin of his neck and ears. "I, um... About that..." He coughs awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. You raise your eyebrows in question.

"Yeah? You didn't do anything weird right? I'm not gonna get out of here with an extra foot, am I?" You joke, and it seems to have made Jimin loosen up slightly.

He shakes his head, a small grin on his lips. "No, of course not. But I did have to undress you, and uh..." He trails off once more, unable to finish his sentence. You feel blood start to rush to your face as well, but you try your best to seem unfazed by his confession. Clearing your throat, you pat his shoulder as nonchalantly as you can.

"I would hope so. Bandages wouldn't exactly work if I had clothes underneath them, wouldn't you say?" You quip, and your ears are blessed with the pleasant sound of his tinkling laughter. You feel your breathing stop, and you wonder if it would be weird if you could ask him to do it again.

"Cute," you eventually say, which probably isn't any less embarrassing than your previous intrusive thought. The blood vessels around Jimin's face must be working on overtime right now, but you can't find it in yourself to feel bad when he looked so damn cute.

"Me? You must be mistaken... You're the cute one here," he squeaks. He must have only belatedly realize what he had said because he slaps a hand over his mouth in shock, screaming slightly muffled by his hands. "Oh my Gooood I did not just say that!"

You let out a loud laugh, the action agitating your dry throat but you can't help but do it anyway. He takes a peek at you from behind his hands, eyes wide in awe.

"Your laugh is even prettier in person," he says absentmindedly, before slapping his hand over his mouth again. "Fuck! I mean––"

"In person?" You question, peering at him inquisitively.

Jimin shrugs his shoulders, sheepish. "I'm, uh... a bit of a fan of yours, I guess? When I found out that Sooyoung had joined a girl group all those years ago, I couldn't help myself from researching you guys and I supposed you've caught me in your spell ever since," he confesses, the redness in his cheeks never fading. "You could say that you're my..."

"I'm your favorite?" You finish, smiling cheekily. He nods back, his mortification palpable. Taking pity on him, you choose not to tease him and instead ask, "Speaking of Sooyoung, do you mind lending me your phone? I want to call her to tell her I'm alright."

"Oh, there's no signal out here, unfortunately," Jimin explains, frowning. "However, I do have a landline you could use, but it's too far away... I could call her for you, if you'd like?"

"That would be great, thanks." You say, grabbing his hand gratefully. Jimin stills, allowing your bandaged fingers to caress the calluses on his palms. "I mean it when I say that, you know? I owe you my life."

Jimin swallows, hands shaking as he laces his fingers through yours. Poor kid must be nervous being with his idol, you think to yourself, impossibly endeared by this lovely boy.

His smile is as sweet as his voice. "Anything for you, Y/N."

––♡♡♡––

After that, Jimin brings you some dinner. He bashfully admits that he isn't the best cook around, and he'd normally ask one of the chefs at the resort to cook something up but they were all incredibly busy due to the influx of customers. When he spoon-feeds you some of the kimchi stew, your eyes light up from the explosion of flavor on your tongue.

"This is wonderful, Jimin!' You exclaim, mouth already opening for the next spoonful. Jimin chuckles at your enthusiasm, beaming proudly as his favorite idol sings praises over his cooking.

The two of you spend the remainder of the night getting to know each other. You ask him a myriad of questions, mostly about his job and the resort. You find out that he had inherited this place after his father had passed away, despite his initial dreams of becoming a singer. You apologize for prying, but he shakes your concern away.

"Nah, it happened years ago. It's fine," he says, his eyes crinkling from the intensity of his smile. You can't help your face from mirroring his own, despite noticing the slight sadness tinging his tone. "Besides, I love my job. I get to meet lots of interesting people like you."

"You're just saying that because you're my fan. I'm not interesting," you say, cheeks dusted with pink. Jimin shakes his head, and you're almost worried that he might dislodge his head from how violently he moves.

"No! You're amazing! All your fans and members know that you're amazingly talented. The songs you write are so incredibly deep and meaningful, and you've helped a lot of them go through some tough times––me included," he admits. You gaze sadly at him, knowing that he isn't the first one to share this with you.

"I know... But I haven't been all that good at writing these days. In fact, the only reason I came out to this resort was to get some inspiration..."

Jimin stares at you, a look of concern in his irises and something... else. When you look closer, all you see are his shiny brown eyes gazing back at you. "I'm sure you'll be fine. You're the amazing Y/N. I'm sure anything you write will be fantastic."

You doubt it, but you nod your head anyway to appease him.

"Since you said you wanted to be a singer, maybe I'll write a song for you in the future," you say, laughing lightly when he stares at you incredulously. He points at himself, as if uncertain that you were talking about the same person.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, I was talking about you, silly."

He shakes his head, disbelief coloring his face but you don't miss the way a slight blush has invaded his honey skin. "For me? But I'm a nobody. You don't even know if I can sing well."

"I think you'd be a great singer, Jimin. You've got a nice, soothing voice," you say, shameless.

"Stop teasing me," he says, pouting in such an adorable way that you can't help but continue teasing him.

"I'll write a song for you, Park Jimin," you say, unaware of the weight of your promise slowly finding its way around your neck. “I swear on my life.”

Even if you had no intention of fulfilling that promise or not, it is definitely worth seeing the way a soft smile blossoms across Jimin's cherubic features.

"By the way Y/N, I had been meaning to ask... You don't have to answer by the way, but..." he starts, hesitant to continue. Judging from his sudden shift in demeanor, you have a feeling you already know what he's going to ask, anyway.

"You're going to ask about the comeback, right?"

Jimin's face lights up immediately. "Yeah! So, it's happening soon, right? We've all been waiting since November of last year, so I was wondering..."

You shrug your shoulders noncommittally. "I guess... But like I said, I haven't been writing as well as I'd like, so I don't know how soon it'll happen but... Yeah, it's in the works."

Jimin sighs as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank God... I've been arguing with people on Twitter who had been making weird rumors that you guys were going to disband... I knew you guys would never do that, right?" he says, eyes sparkling with pure adoration.

You swallow down your guilt, unable to bear looking at his hopeful face. You croak, "Yeah. We would never."

Two nights pass quickly as you lay in Jimin's cabin to recover. You had learned that he had placed you in his room because it was comfier than the guest rooms, and when you had insisted to be moved, he quickly shut you down, assuring you that he was perfectly fine with letting you stay as long as you needed. You acquiesce, pouting as the young man practically babied you and attended to your every beck and call.

You know he means well, and it isn't like you were averse to the attention being showered upon you by this handsome boy. So you allow yourself to be pampered just this once; after all, you were supposed to be at a spa resort.

"Speaking of," Jimin says after he finishes feeding you your lunch. "I wanted to offer you something, if you don't mind." You hum, eyelids closing from the blissful feeling of being well-fed.

"What do you think about having a massage?"

That wakes you right back up.

"What?" You ask, gaping slightly at the young man. Jimin, who had been previously emboldened by your satiated state, is sweating bullets, astonished by his own brazenness.

He tries to backtrack. "Uh, you can say no, of course. I was just, well, since we're at a spa and such, and it just so happens that I happen to be a licensed masseur, and uh––"

"I'd love one, if you don't mind."

"And just, I mean––wait? You want one?" He splutters, plump cheeks turning pink. You tap them gently, giggling when they redden under your attention. God, you wanted so badly to kiss them and see if they were as soft under your lips as they were under your hands.

"Yeah. I mean, my company did pay for this trip, and I'm supposed to be here to relax, so I might as well take advantage of the situation," you say plainly.

Jimin nods dumbly, semi-disbelieving that you had agreed so easily. He assures you that he'll be careful, the both of you still worried about your injuries. He says that he'll pay more attention to your shoulders and upper legs, since those seem to be the only areas where you aren't severely wounded.

He turns you over gently, a continuous stream of apologies leaving his mouth every time you let out even the slightest hiss of pain. With your back fully exposed to him, he carefully peels your the night shirt off of you, and you can only imagine the way his cheeks must be reddening all the while. Thankfully, he leaves your shorts on as he goes about to preparing the materials for the massage.

"Tell me if I'm being too rough, okay?" he says, and you can hear him opening the cap of massage oil. After a few moments, you feel his steady hands start kneading soft circles into your shoulders, and a sigh escapes you before you can stop it.

Jimin chuckles lightly. "Good?"

"Wonderful," you sigh, feeling the tense knots from months of stress starting to unravel under his skilled fingers. A particularly hard press of his fingers elicits a loud moan from you, and you whimper when his fingers freeze abruptly.

"Why'd you stop?" You whined, nudging his thigh with your foot. You can't see Jimin's face, so you are unsure as to why he had stopped so suddenly.

"N-nothing," he stammers, and he continues on as if nothing had happened.

Under his care, you release a litany of moans and whimpers, unable to stop yourself from enjoying the smooth glide of his hands. In the edges of your pleasure-addled brain, you wonder what would have happened if your body hadn't been seriously injured. You can imagine how his hands would descend lower down your back and onto your hips, pressing dangerously close to your center but never quite reaching it. You squeeze your legs, hoping that Jimin doesn't notice that your moans might have started sounding a little bit more erotic than before.

As if reading your mind, Jimin pauses to clear his throat. "Uh, would you mind if I moved on to your thighs? If you don't want me to touch you there, then..."

You don't know what comes over you. His fingers have you locked under some sort of spell, so you can only whimper pathetically back in response. He takes that as a sign of approval, and the next thing you know, you feel him grabbing fistfuls of your thighs.

"Oh fuck," you moan out, your voice loud in the silence of the room. Jimin's ministrations quicken, almost as if he was trying to milk the sounds out of you. Somewhere along the way, you moan something that sounds suspiciously like "Jimin," a fact that the man greatly appreciates.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Jimin groans, his thumbs snagging onto the edges of your shorts. He tugs them down slightly, and you feel your lower regions light up like wildfire. You lift your hips imperceptibly, but it's enough for Jimin to wrench your flimsy shorts out of the way, leaving you bare for him and his hands.

Breathing heavier than before, Jimin takes a moment to calm himself. He rubs himself against the edge of the bed, biting his lip as he tries to keep his own moans at bay.

"Touch me," you whine, snaking your hand around your back and grabbing his wrist in impatience. You direct him directly to your center, the both of you gasping at the wetness already there. Jimin experimentally swipes a finger up your slit, gazing in awe as your slick mixes with the oil already on his digits.

Ever the gentleman, he asks, "Can I really...?"

You think you might be going insane from his indomitable patience. "Yes! Just fucking finger me already, Jimin," you gasp, feeling his fingers rubbing small circles around your clit. He teases you like this for a few moments, and you're about to sneak your hand down there to take care of it yourself when you hear the sound of a phone ringing from downstairs.

Jimin pauses, removing his hands from your core and leaving you feeling cold and wanting. You manage to turn your head to the side, and you see Jimin looking torn as he stares at you and the door.

"I have to..." His voices tapers off, a war waging in his warm brown eyes. "Customers, and..."

Even though you would love nothing more than for him to finish you off, you of all people understand the importance of work. "Go," you say, offering him what you hope is a comforting smile.

He gives you one last rueful look before he leaves, the sound of the door closing echoing in your skull.

"Fucking hell," you groan, your treacherous hands trailing down your body after his departure. When you reach your climax to the image of blonde hair and plump cheeks, you trick yourself into thinking your fingers were not your own.

––♡♡♡––

"I don't think I can keep staying here anymore, Jimin."

The weather has turned colder overnight, and Jimin has to reinstall the curtains back onto his bedroom window. You had been stuck in this room for a week already, with only Jimin as your only source of comfort.

You would always be grateful for the kind man's hospitality, but sitting in a room for days on end was starting to get to your head. You didn't really see yourself as the type to get cabin fever, since you were used to being cooped up in the studio for even longer periods of time. But you suppose there is a difference, since you couldn't even properly make music here with Jimin always staring down your neck at every opportunity. At the very least, your days spent here have done wonders on your stress, as it has given you the time to ponder and contemplate some of pressing your life choices.

"Oh? But you're not fully healed though," he comments dismissively, collecting the plates and utensils you had used for dinner that night. You thank him quietly, but he doesn't respond to it like he normally would. He places them by your bedside before tucking you under your blanket until only your head can be seen.

"Yeah, I know but I think I should be well enough to head back home, don't you think?"

"Maybe in a few more days," he says, refusing to look you in the eyes. When you grab his shoulder to force him to pay attention to you, his gaze is still averted to the ground.

"Jimin."

"Y/N."

"Why won't you look at me?"

Jimin finally does, and you are surprised by the amount of sadness that you find. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just... worried? I don't want to risk taking you down this mountain and having you get injured again..."

"I won't though, right? You're used to driving down the mountain. I trust you," you say, honeying your words to try and get him to agree. It must have worked, judging from the way his shoulders droop in defeat.

"Yeah, I guess. But maybe after the weekend? It's a bit busy at the resort this week, so you'll have to wait until Monday."

Squealing at the prospect of going home, you envelop the man in a bone-crushing hug, ignoring the way your stomach protests at the sudden movement. "Thank you so much, Jimin. You don't understand how hard it's been being away from home, but I'm glad it was you who I got to spend this time with," you say.

Jimin smiles, patting your back. "Of course. Anything for you––"

"What's more, my time here has allowed me to really think about my life, you know?" You interject, prattling on as if he hadn't spoken. He furrows his brow, looking at you curiously.

"What do you mean about your life?"

"Oh, you know. I know that I said that I came here to write songs for Serendipity's comeback, but I actually came here to think about my own solo career," you say, shrugging your shoulders. You miss the way Jimin's entire body freezes as you continue on speaking. "I've been thinking about the pros and cons of what would happen if I actually did leave the band, and suffice to say I think it really would be for the best if I left the group. I was never the favorite member anyway, so I think it would be best if––"

"No."

"––I left the company and––excuse me?" You pause, finally noticing the rigid way Jimin was sitting. You stare at him, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. "What do you mean by 'no?'"

"I mean, you can't fucking just leave the band, Y/N," he snarls, standing up and beginning to pace around the room. You sit up on the bed, feeling on edge at this sudden appearance of a Jimin you had never met before.

"Of course I can. My contract is about to end in a year anyway, so it's not like the company can force me to stay––"

"What about your fucking promise then, huh? Was all of that bullshit?" Jimin roars, the volume of his voice startling you immensely.

"What promise?" You squeak when he slams a fist into the bed frame, rattling your entire mattress from the force.

He raises his hands in the air, unperturbed by the purple bruise already forming across his fist. "Of course you don't remember! It's because you were lying. You were lying to all of us."

"What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"On your first win, don't you remember? You made a promise that Serendipity would never disband, not even when you turned 50," he says, breathing turning ragged with rage. He stalks his way towards you, and you try your best to burrow yourself under the covers.

"Well, things change okay? The Y/N from 5 years ago probably didn't know she would be neck deep in stress to the point where she thinks she's going to die, okay? I thought you, as my fan, would understand that my well-being should come first," you say, your voice growing louder as you realized the ridiculousness of this situation. Who the hell did Jimin think he was? Who gave him the right to be angry when you were only doing what was best for you? "Hell, you wanted to be singer, didn't you? You should understand better than anyone how difficult it is to always be under public scrutiny!"

The sneer on Jimin's face is feral-looking, almost murderous. "No, I don't. I don't understand."

Before you can react, he goes to slam the door shut, the sound of the lock clicking in place. The final nail on your coffin. No matter how hard you twist the knob or bang your hands against the door, no one would come. No one could hear you.

––♡♡♡––

Jimin doesn't visit your room once in over three days. That means he has stopped giving you food and water, purposefully starving you until you bend to his will. He had only slipped a small note under the door frame, detailing the conditions for nourishment.

"If you want to live, then you'll write me a song. Prove to me that you don't break your promises."

Easier said than done. Even during a life and death situation, that specific part of your brain refuses to cooperate, and you can hardly write a verse without breaking down and crying.

How pathetic. What type of producer were you, if you couldn't even safe your life by doing the only thing you were supposedly good at?

On the third day, your vision has started to grow hazy from dehydration. You have yet to resort to drinking your own urine, but you were hoping to attempt to satiate Jimin before that. With the lyrics and notes hastily scribbled on a piece of paper, you slide it under the door, waiting for your captor to judge your draft. Never has a song frightened you as much as this, and you laugh mirthlessly at how you had been worried about charting just a week prior.

You hear his footsteps approaching, and you wait with bated breath as the rustle of paper signals that he has begun to read your song. You hold your breath, the seconds feeling like decades as you wait for him to pass his judgment.

The lock clicks. The door opens.

Jimin, with his blonde hair and plump cheeks, crumples the paper in his hands without a word. He rips the paper in shreds, and you watch in horror as he grinds his foot into the sorry remains of your draft.

"Nice try, but I know this song. I listened to the songs on your hard drive all those nights ago, and I know this is a draft for a solo song," he says, grinning sadistically at the sight of your face crumpling in despair. While you are still in the midst of mourning your one chance of escape, he walks past your kneeling form, grabbing something from the bedside table.

When you look, you see the small black hard drive in his hands. He waves it at you, almost mockingly, before slamming it onto the ground––hard. He stomps on it, grinding his foot onto it just like he had done to your draft just minutes ago. You scream, jumping to save your precious hard drive from further harm––but alas. It is too late.

Bits of wire and shards of plastic are all that's left of your entire library of secret solo songs. These are the files you hadn't saved to your studio computer in fear of it being discovered by the wrong people. Years of blood, sweat, and tears––gone.

In an instant, your vision grows red, red, red.

"I'll fucking kill you!" You scream, hurtling your weak body at him with all the power you could muster. Despite his small frame, he is able to wrestle you down quickly, barely breaking a sweat as you squirmed and screamed murder at him. Tear blurred your visions as you tried your best to hurt Jimin in any way you can, but he takes it like it's nothing. Growing tired of your noise, he slams your head against the floor, knocking you unconscious.

––♡♡♡––

When you awaken a day later, you find cuts all over your legs and arms, as well as a strange ache between your legs. You don't even have the energy to let out a sob as you curl back into yourself.

A note by your bedside table:

"Since I took something away from you, I thought it was only fair that I gave you something back in return. Something you will always remember me by."

––♡♡♡––

You keep trying to write songs to please Jimin. As it turns out, anything you churn out will earn you his seal of approval, so long as it is none of the drafts from your old hard drive. Every song you write garners you a meal and cup of water. You don't know what he does with the songs you write, and you honestly don't care. None of the songs have any meaning to you; they are all just strings of words and notes hastily sewn together for the sake of having something to present to Jimin.

Five days since he had broken your hard drive, and you have written almost twenty songs in that time frame. "Enough songs for an album," you mutter darkly to yourself, staring forlornly out the window. Some time during your confinement, Jimin had installed metal bars across the window, leaving you no means of escape––or death.

You were his own personal music box.

In the distance, a police siren blares. Your ears perk up, straining your eyes to find any signs of an approaching car. To your incredible joy, you can see the telltale signs of a blue and red light growing closer to the cabin. You start hammering on the windows, hoping for them to notice you, but your cries are unfortunately unheard from the third floor. You watch, hopeless as two police officers jump out of the car and towards the front door. From your perch, you cannot see their faces, but you think you can see one of them dragging their foot with a light limp.

Pressing your ear against the floor, you try your hardest to listen to their conversation, but Jimin has always talked in very hushed tones. You catch the sound of a deeper voice, loud enough to hear but not enough to decipher his words. There is another voice, but this one is slightly familiar. You pound your fists against the floorboards, but neither of the police officers seem to have noticed.

You try your best to scream for help, but your voice is too hoarse from hours of crying yourself to sleep. You punch the floor in misery, despair wracking your body as another chance to escape slips through your fingers for the second time.

Your gaze catches on the keyboard in the corner of you room. You had forgotten about its presence, largely unable to use it due to some of your fingers still being broken. You plug the thing in, raising the volume to its highest setting and testing it out to find that it was much louder than you had anticipated.

Despite the insistent throbbing of your fingers, you begin to play.

––♡♡♡––

"What's that sound?" Officer Yoongi says, turning back just as Jimin was about to usher him out the door. Jimin huffs in annoyance, but his face melts back into its usual sunshine-y way when the officer stares at him expectantly.

"Oh, probably my guest. She likes playing the piano during this time of day," he replies smoothly. Officer Jungkook limps back into the house, peering at his chief curiously.

"Chief? What are you waiting for? We still have other houses to search," he says.

"I recognize this song," Officer Yoongi replies, humming slightly as the piano's haunting melody echoes throughout the house. "I used to play piano back in the day. I think this is Schubert."

"Shoe who?" Officer Jungkook laughs, the mirth dying in his eyes when he sees the concentrated look on his chief's face. "Yoongi-hyung?" He questions once more.

"Nothing," he finally says, his gaze still turned upward in thought. He waves absentmindedly at Jimin. "Sorry for intruding. Like Jungkook said, we still have other houses to search. Let us know if you hear news about Y/N."

"No problem," Jimin says sweetly, shutting the door firmly on their way out.

When the car reaches the bottom of the mountain, it is only then when Yoongi remembers. "Erlkönig. That's the song," he says.

Something stirs uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

––♡♡♡––

Days have passed and it takes longer for you to produce enough songs to feed yourself. Malnourished and severely weak, you pass out almost consistently, unable to keep awake long enough to even leave the bed to write. After the fourteenth day, you suppose Jimin must have taken pity on you, because suddenly you find yourself submerged in a warm bath with his gentle hands rubbing soap all over your body.

You might have tried resisting, or you might have not. It’s hard to remember the details, even while it is happening You are too weak to even speak, allowing this wretched man to wash you without struggle. He rubs at your breasts and thighs, his fingers grazing your core teasingly, but you feel nothing. You are a living corpse, waiting for your captor to let you rot in peace.

"This must feel good, huh? After weeks of leaving you in your own filth... See? I can be forgiving too," he murmurs, fingers rubbing circles over your slit.

Your tired eyes can barely keep themselves open, but as luck might have it, you manage to see the toilet's porcelain cover is slightly ajar. Perhaps Jimin had been busy repairing the toilet earlier that day––it did not matter. All that matters is that you had one final chance to escape right under your fingertips, and you'd be damned if you wouldn't try one last time before completely submitting yourself to your fate.

I will not die. I will not die. I will not die.

You chant these words incessantly into your head until it is all you can hear, see, feel. Jimin turns his head for a moment to get more soap, and in that moment, you are filled with enough energy to grab the porcelain slab and slam it against his head. Jimin crumbles against the impact, his body folding in agony as he cradles his head in pain.

You swing it again and again, aiming for his head every time until he moved no longer.

"And stay fucking dead," you finish, dropping the chipped slab onto his unmoving carcass.

Adrenaline continues to pump through your veins as you slump back into the tub, the gravity of what you had done still keeping your mind on overdrive. After a few more minutes of heavy breathing, you manage to pull yourself out of the tub. You shrug on your shirt and pants, limping haphazardly out of the door.

When you go to lock the bathroom door, you scream in surprise when Jimin jams his foot in the doorway. Awake and alive, he struggles to go into a sitting position, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. You slam the door repeatedly over his foot, but he manages to hold the door open enough to pull himself up.

"You bitch," he growls, blood dripping from his broken skull. You scream louder, desperately pushing his foot out of the way in order to close the door. Despite Jimin's unexpected reanimation, it appears that he is still weak from your brutal battering to his head, so you are able to push his foot out of the doorway and lock the door. To your horror, you can hear his nails scratch against the wood, his cries of anguish sounding warbled and inhuman. You step back, waiting for the door to burst open and for your inevitable death––and it never comes. The scratches stop, the wailing ends, and the house is still.

Finally free of your captor, you run out the front door and take your first breath of fresh air in weeks. With a smile on your face and blood on your hands, you promptly pass out in the middle of the lawn.

––♡♡♡––

You wake up in the back of Jungkook's police car.

"Wha––?" You jolt awake, fear starting to pump through you as you whipped around to survey your surroundings. A large hand pushes you back into your seat, and your eyes focus on the face of a dead man standing.

Well, sitting.

"Y/N, relax! You're safe with us," he whispers, urging you to take deep breaths. You inhale and exhale, eyes still wide in shock at the sight of the man you had thought to be dead.

"I––Jungkook, I thought you were de––"

"I'm so sorry Y/N," Jungkook says instead, enveloping you into a tight hug. You release a sob, partly in confusion but mostly in relief for having a friend around you. The two of you cry in tandem, apologies coming out of your both your mouths as you tried to make sense of what was going on.

"Wait, why are you sorry? I was the one who crashed the car and led you to being kidnapped," Jungkook says, tears staining his handsome face.

You shake your head. "No. This is all my fault. If I hadn't asked you to drive me all the way to this stupid resort at night, we wouldn't have crashed and just––"

"Hey," Jungkook whispers, shushing with a finger. "Let's stop blaming ourselves, okay? We're taking you to the hospital downtown so you can get your injuries checked. Yoongi-hyung sent the other officers to clean up Park's resort while we––"

"No!" You scream, shaking Jungkook off of you in a panic. You shake the driver, begging him to turn around. "Jimin is still alive! He's going to kill them––"

"Aish. Jungkook-ah, restrain Miss Y/N, will you? I don't want the three of us getting killed by an avoidable car crash, okay?" The driver growls. Jungkook carefully hugs you to his chest, effectively imprisoning you in his gentle but firm hold.

"Yes sir, Officer Yoongi," he says before turning his attention to you. "Don't worry, Y/N. Jimin's dead. We found his body outside his garden. He jumped out of the bathroom window, probably in an attempt to escape the authorities," he explains. You shiver at the news, knowing full well that Jimin had probably been on the way to murder you.

“How did you find me? I thought I was going to die in front of that house,” you ask, hands trembling despite the warmth of the car. Jungkook cups your bloodied fingers in his larger ones, being careful not to jostle your wounds too much. You want to tell him that it’s fine––most of it was Jimin’s blood, anyway.

“After the crash, I had woken up alone with my legs broken. I called dispatch to try and look for you, but it seems that we had been missing for two days already,” he explains, voice soft and smooth. It’s almost odd hearing him speak, after being so used to listening only to the sound of Jimin’s voice and your own sobs.

“We had visited Jimin’s cabin a few days ago, trying to find you. Yoongi-hyung already had a bad feeling about him, since his mannerisms seemed too practiced and controlled––trademark signs of someone who is very good at hiding his secrets. Then, we heard the sound of your piano,” he says, gazing at you in awe. “It was brilliant of you.”

“Erlkönig,” Yoongi comments from the front, nodding grimly. “I thought it was an odd choice to play. It’s a song laced with death. I’m glad I trusted my gut instinct and returned to the cabin after we received a search warrant.” He shifts his head slightly to look at you, his gaze piercing but kind. Different from the sickly saccharine gaze that Jimin always used to have. “Music really did save your life.”

You don’t want to think about music right now. You don’t want to think about anything at all. "I just want to go home," you whisper, body slumping from exhaustion. Jungkook cards his hands through your hair, murmuring words of comfort as you slowly dropped off into dreamland.

"It's going to be all right... You're safe now... Nothing can ever hurt you again..."

––♡♡♡––

5 years later.

You enter the concert venue's VIP booth without a sound. Most of the other attendees hardly bat their eyes as you slink your way to your seat. You hold a picket fan with Gowon's smiling face on it, a banner with Sooyoung's name, and a wristband with Hana's grumpy face emblazoned on the side. You make it just in time for them to open the concert with their opening song.

The deep bass of Zemblanity filters its way through the overhead speakers, and the sound of thousands of screaming fans almost drown out the song entirely. You grin at the sight of young men and women screaming the fanchants in tandem, even laughing loudly when you'd catch the faint sound of "Y/N" mixed in at the end. You join the chants for most of the songs––all except the first song.

A boy with pink and yellow hair notices your silence, and points a boxy-grin back at you.

"Not a fan of Zemblanity? Even though it topped the Billboard charts twice in a row?"

The boy looks nothing like him. His cheeks are too thin, and his eyes are too dark. And yet, there's something about him that brings a chill up your spine. You make a mental note to make an appointment with your therapist first thing in the morning.

"Nah. Not a big fan. Heard the producer is an asshat," you say, shrugging your shoulders. The boy laughs, loud and pretty.

#BangtanWriters-Net #networkbangtan #jiminnetwork #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts #bts imagines #park jimin #jimin #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin au #bts horror #bangtan #BTS x you #bts fanfic #bro im... what the fuck was this LMAO #anyway... im going to bed

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defendtranswomen · 6 years ago

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I am too sick to write this article. The act of writing about my injuries is like performing an interpretative dance after breaking nearly every bone in my body. When I sit down to edit this doc, my head starts aching like a capsule full of some corrosive fluid has dissolved and is leaking its contents. The mental haze builds until it becomes difficult to see the text, to form a thesis, to connect parts. They drop onto the page in fragments. This is the difficulty of writing about brain damage.

The last time I was in the New Inquiry, several years ago, I was being interviewed. I was visibly sick. I was in an abusive “community” that had destroyed my health with regular, sustained emotional abuse and neglect. Sleep-deprived, unable to take care of myself, my body was tearing itself apart. I was suicidal from the abuse, and I had an infected jaw that needed treatment.

Years later, I’m talking to my therapist. I told her, when you have PTSD, everything you make is about PTSD. After a few minutes I slid down and curled up on the couch like the shed husk of a cicada. I go to therapy specifically because of the harassment and ostracism from within my field.

This is about disposability from a trans feminine perspective, through the lens of an artistic career. It’s about being human trash.

This is in defense of the hyper-marginalized among the marginalized, the Omelas kids, the marked for death, those who came looking for safety and found something worse than anything they’d experienced before.

For years, queer/trans/feminist scenes have been processing an influx of trans fems, often impoverished, disabled, and/or from traumatic backgrounds. These scenes have been abusing them, using them as free labor, and sexually exploiting them. The leaders of these scenes exert undue influence over tastemaking, jobs, finance, access to conferences, access to spaces. If someone resists, they are disappeared, in the mundane, boring, horrible way that many trans people are susceptible to, through a trapdoor that can be activated at any time. Housing, community, reputation—gone. No one mourns them, no one asks questions. Everyone agrees that they must have been crazy and problematic and that is why they were gone.

I was one of these people.

They controlled my housing and access to nearly every resource. I was sexually harassed, had my bathroom use monitored, my crumbling health ignored or used as a tool of control, was constantly yelled at, and was pressured to hurt other trans people and punished severely when I refused.

The cycle of trans kids being used up and then smeared is a systemic, institutionalized practice. It happens in the shelters, in the radical organizations, in the artistic scenes—everywhere they might have a chance of gaining a foothold. It’s like an abusive foster household that constantly kicks kids out then uses their tears and anger at being raped and abused to justify why they had to be kicked out—look at these problem kids. Look at these problematic kids.

Trans fems are especially vulnerable to abuse for the following reasons:

— A lot of us encounter concepts for the first time and have no idea what is “normal” or not.

— We have nowhere else to go. Abuse thrives on scarcity.

— No one cares what happens to us.

This foster cycle relies on amnesia. A lot of people who enter spaces for the first time don’t know those spaces’ history. They may not know that leaders regularly exploit and make sexual advances on new members, or that those members who resisted are no longer around. Spaces self-select for people who will play the game, until the empathic people have been drained out and the only ones who remain are those who have perfectly identified with the agendas and survival of the Space—the pyramid scheme of believers who bring capital and victims to those on top.

My first puberty was a nightmare—faced with the opportunity to make my second one a healthy, healing experience, I was instead abused and broken. The community practiced compulsory BDSM sexuality, which was deeply inappropriate considering it was one of the only visible spaces for trans people interested in making games. I didn’t need that coercion in my life; I needed safety and mentorship.

I spent those years of my early twenties not making connections or gaining valuable socialization that I had missed in my youth, but being exploited and brainwashed in nightmarish isolation. I was scared away from the “inclusive” coding spaces, the “inclusive” conferences and their orbiting alt events, and everything else that people like to pretend is available for trans fems.

Things escalated at the Allied Media Conference of 2013. Unfortunately I was traveling alone. People from the abusive community overheard me asking about safe-space resources in Oakland and became angry that I was seeking to escape their community. I was intimidated in person by someone who had a great deal of social power over me. I had a panic attack and went to the bathroom to dry heave and cry. Shortly afterward, threatening messages began bombarding my Twitter and my phone, and the community began to develop a coordinated political response to my desire to leave. People suddenly stopped talking to me, and I felt the icy net of isolation drawing tight.

This was the only time a conference responded appropriately. AMC apologized, notified their security team to check up on me, and encouraged me to submit a talk next year. I came back and ran a workshop (with two friends for security) and a small amount of healing was possible.

This reintegration was not made anywhere else. I was excluded from the vast majority of game spaces because of what happened to me. Of course, the multimedia nature of AMC meant it had the least stake in preserving the reputation of games and other things that matter more than people.

When I got back home, I was kicked out of my housing. I later learned that the community had been contacting my landlord for months prior to the actual eviction, as well as spreading rumors throughout my field. These seed rumors are a common tactic in those spaces, cultivating a brittle structure around people that can be shattered when necessary.

Living was my sole attempt at innocence.

ATTACK

One of my abusers was sent a list of the nominees for the upcoming games festival Indiecade. Unfortunately, I was on the list. I ended up winning an award, ostensibly to recognize my feminine labor in the areas of marginalized game design—years of creating access for other people, publicizing their games, giving technical support, not to mention the games I had designed myself. Instead of solidarity from other marginalized people in my field, I was attacked.

Anyone else getting that award would have been able to just … get that award. But people like me aren’t allowed to just have careers. Feminist culture saw fit to give a pass to every man and every cis woman who got that award, but when a trans fem from a disadvantaged background stepped up, she somehow happened to be the worst. The culture was fine with me as long as I was window-dressing, but daring to excel got me kneecapped.

They spread rumors that I was sending harassing messages to people, even as the messages streamed one-way toward me. They said I controlled a misogynistic mob and was using it to attack people. (I had never been more alone.) I was called a pedophile, a rapist, an abuser (the typical dog whistles used in feminist spaces to evoke the dangerous tranny stereotype invading ur bathrooms.) Even when the rumors were debunked, even with a history of co-habitating respectfully with partners and a history of being a respectful tenant, the damage was never repaired. The purpose was to keep firing until I was gone, until every possible bad thing had been said about me.

The reputation game was used to paint a vulnerable, isolated trans girl, too scared to leave her room most days, as having power which she did not have—power which my abusers, veterans of queer and artistic scenes with decades of institutional privilege, did have.

It happened without warning or recourse, without a single attempt at conciliation. Multiple times I had noticed tension building and had asked explicitly for mediation. Each time this was refused. When you’re exiling someone for petty political reasons, it works best when they can’t tell their own story. By privately vocalizing concerns that I was being abused, I became a public target—presenting a false chronology to observers.

Previously their ostracism had been silent, made simple by the fact that no one cared about what happened to trans fems who made games. The fact that my games had inadvertently made me visible meant that the attack had to be devastatingly public, my fake crimes commensurate to the amount of disgust required to repel me. This is the danger of the token system—it elevated me to a level of violent politics I was unprepared for.

Very few people want to defend a target of disposability. I was told by one person that she couldn’t risk losing her job, another that she didn’t want to become a target too.

I was threatened into not defending myself, gaslit into silence, told that people knew “things” about me that were never explained. When I asked how I could do accountability, when I said I would do whatever they wanted, they said that I was “incapable” of accountability, that my crime was unknown and my sentence was permanent. That is the point where the body starts to die.

My attackers were expert pathological liars who had been getting away with it for years—entire fictional realities playing out on their social-media accounts like soap opera. Escaping from abuse is the most certain way to become painted as an abuser, and being an abuser is the most sure way to be believed. You know how movies are realer than reality? How the sound effects and physics become so normalized to us that reality seems flat and fake? Talking about abuse is kind of like that. Abusers know what sounds “real.” They are like expert movie-effects artists. Victims are stuck with boring fake reality.

SOCIAL MEDIA AND HEALTH

Social media is significant to my story because for a long time it was my only outlet as a disabled individual barred from many physical spaces, and a way to express myself artistically when traditional outlets were closed to me. However, it came with its own set of problems.

When I told another trans person that I had been abused, I was told in response that my follower count on Twitter was higher than hers.

I tried talking to people about my poor health, how I needed to withdraw and have space. After unfollowing most people related to games, a subject which was quickly becoming a trigger, I was told that I was “manipulative” for unfollowing, and my following list on Twitter was scrutinized and brought up as evidence that I still followed certain games people and that I was doing this to hurt people.

I was pressured not to post about certain things I cared about (“crystals,” ”slime”) and not to use my favorite emoticons. I was pressured to join in social-media smearings of other trans people (which I frequently rebelled against, to my detriment) and to RT things I didn’t want to RT.

My twitter was incompatible with the rest of the network because I mainly posted poetry-style tweets that had no connection to anything else. I would be accused of subtweeting or encoding hidden messages into my tweets. People would associate random words in my tweets with some random thing going on in their life that I surely must be commenting on.

Social media became a scientific metric for my abusers, a set of numbers and behaviors to obsess over and divine hidden messages. The games network constantly abraded against my nonparticipation—my desire for a safe, therapeutic online space, not a competitive one.

Feminist practice of declaring privilege and marginalization became a way to collect information about victims: Look at someone’s profile bar for their elemental weaknesses. Being frank about my health problems was never an advantage for me in feminist spaces, only something to be used against me. I was an object, an invalid on a bed that could be infinitely manipulated and extruded through social media to fit the agendas of a thousand bored strangers.

The ethereal potential of the net had become rigidly hierarchized and numbered to the point where I could be managed and controlled as efficiently as if I were in 3-D space.

MOBBING

CALL-OUT CULTURE AS RITUAL DISPOSABILITY

Feminist/queer spaces are more willing to criticize people than abusive systems because they want to reserve the right to use those systems for their own purposes. At least attacking people can be politically viable, especially in a token system where you benefit directly by their absence, or where your status as a good feminist is dependent on constantly rooting out evil.

When the bounty system calls for the ears of evil people, well, most people have a fucking ear.

When I used to curate games, I was approached by people in that abusive community who pressured me not to cover a game by a trans woman. Their reasoning was blatant jealousy, disguised under the thin, nauseating film of pretext that covers nearly everything people say about trans people.

When I rejected their reasoning and covered the game, the targeting reticule of disposability turned toward me. What can we learn from this? Besides “lofty processes in queer/feminist spaces are nearly always about some embarrassingly petty shit,” it’s about the ritual nature of disposability, which has nothing to do with “deserving” it. Disposability has to happen on a regular basis, like forest fires keeping nature in balance.

So when people write all those apologist articles about call-out culture and other instruments of violence in feminism, I don’t think they understand that the people who most deserve those things can usually shrug off the effects, and the normalization of that violence inevitably trickles down and affects the weak. It is predictable as water. Criminal justice applies punishment under the conceit of blind justice, but we see the results: Prisons are flooded with the most vulnerable, and the rich can buy their way out of any problem. In activist communities, these processes follow a similar pragmatism.

Punishment is not something that happens to bad people. It happens to those who cannot stop it from happening. It is laundered pain, not a balancing of scales.

If a man does something fucked up, all he has to do is apologize, if that, for feminists to re-embrace him. If a trans fem talks about something fucked up that happened to her, she is told to leave and never come back.

MOBBING

A common punishment for infanticide in the Middle Ages was living burial. This was a feminine-coded punishment, often reserved for women, one that allowed execution without having to actually be there at the moment of death. This line of thought pervades feminine punishment to this day.

One of the most common tools of exclusion is through mobbing, which is rarely talked about because unlike rape, murder, etc, it’s not easy to pin it on a single person (or scapegoat). Mobbing is emotional abuse practiced by a group of people, usually peers, over a period of time, through methods such as gaslighting, rumor-mongering, and ostracism. It’s most documented in workplace or academic environments (i.e. key points of capitalist tension) but is thoroughly institutionalized into feminist, queer, and radical spaces as well. Here is why it is horrible:

1) It has an unusually strong power to damage the victim’s relationship to society, because it can’t be written off as an outlier, as some singular monster. It reveals a fundamental truth about people that makes it difficult to trust ever again. People become like aliens, like a pack of animals that can turn on you as soon as some mysterious pheromone shift marks you for death.

2) The insidious nature of emotional abuse: How do you fight ostracism and rumors? They leave no bruises, they just starve you.

3) Mobbing typically occurs in places where the victim is trapped by some need or obligation: work, school, circles of friends. This can prolong exposure to damaging extremes.

For these reasons, PTSD is an almost inevitable outcome of any protracted mobbing case.

In ideological spaces, this damage is exacerbated by the fact that the victims are often earnest people who take the ideals to heart and can’t understand why the culture is going contrary to its own messages. They appease, self-incriminate, blame themselves—anything to be a Good Person. They don’t want to fight. Fighting sickens them.

From a report by the Australian House of Representatives Education and Employment Committee: “90 percent of people being bullied make the comment: ‘I just want it to stop.’ They don’t want to go down a formal path, but just want the behaviour to stop.”

Those who participate, even unwittingly, feel compelled to invest in the narrative of victims as monsters in order to protect their self-conception as a good person—group violence creates group culpability. For their ego they trade the career, health, community (and sometimes life) of the victim.

MOBBING AS WITCH HUNTS

One lesson we can draw from the return of witch-hunting is that this form of persecution is no longer bound to a specific historic time. It has taken a life of its own, so that the same mechanisms can be applied to different societies whenever there are people in them that have to be ostracized and dehumanized. Witchcraft accusations, in fact, are the ultimate mechanism of alienation and estrangement as they turn the accused—still primarily women—into monstrous beings, dedicated to the destruction of their communities, therefore making them undeserving of any compassion and solidarity.

—Silvia Federici

The term witch hunt is thrown around a lot, but let’s look at what it really means. Witch hunts, as discussed by Silvia Federici, were responses to shifts in capital accumulation, as is slavery. To jury-rig the perpetually self-destructing machine of capitalism, huge amounts of violence are required to obtain captive labor (fem and non-white). The effect is to devalue our labor as much as possible, and to destroy the bonds between marginalized people.

You see this in games and tech spaces where the intense amounts of competition and capital accumulation, both physical and social, are a breeding ground for mobbing. But the popular two-sided discussion of mobbing as carried out in numerous clickbait articles ignores the fact that mobbing goes all the way down—even as white cis women struggle for safety, they participate in the exclusion of others, creating a hierarchy of labor and competition. Because mobbing is a form of capitalist violence, the popular discussion (conducted by those who are intricately entwined with the flow of capital) must omit the nuances of mobbing in favor of a narrative that is about replacing uncool regressive masculine consumerism with liberal feminist consumerism.

When the people who are scapegoated happen to be from the most disadvantaged backgrounds, the culture calls it coincidence, clutching our respectable counterparts to their chest like pearls, a talisman of tokens to ward away reality.

SEXUAL MENACE

I saw a queer black woman, struggling to survive by her art, falsely accused of rape by a white queer. The call-out post was extremely vague and loaded with strong words designed to elicit vigilante justice. Immediately, hundreds of other white queers jumped on the bandwagon. Many of them likely didn’t know either of the people involved.

Accusations of sexual menace are a key weapon used against marginalized people in feminist spaces, because it arouses people’s disgust like no other act—the threat of black skin on innocent white, of trans bone structures on ethereal cis skeletons. It’s as common for many of us as cat-calling or any other form of ubiquitous harassment that cis feminists talk about, except no one wants to talk about it. It’s a way for the dominant people in the group to take us aside and say, you are not welcome here, or do this thing you don’t want to do or I’ll ruin your life. But frequently it happens without any particular thesis, just as a general tool to keep us destabilized and vulnerable. Don’t forget who you really are in the unspoken hierarchy.

Mobbing uses these rumors to trade a vague suspicion for the actual reality of violence. It’s like turning the corner and watching someone on the street having their teeth kicked in by a mob who assures you that just before you appeared, this person had committed some mysterious act which justifies limitless brutality.

DAMAGE

PTSD AS DISPOSABILITY ALCHEMY

I was, in effect, beaten until I had brain damage, over a long period of time. Unlike some other survivors of trauma, I was unable to heal because I was never separated from the source of the danger. I was never given the chance to vent, to express myself, to tell my side of the story—but I had to keep working, harder than ever, while being constantly exposed to violence.

The pressure on me was not merely to survive but to display no signs of the incredible amounts of damage pouring into me daily. To never display the slightest hint of anger, to never cry, to not argue with people telling me horrible things. Every hint of damage was an excuse to further isolate and demonize me.

The cost of resisting disposability was PTSD. It was catching a lethal amount of negative energy with my body and becoming a poison-processing factory.

My job is wired to give me electric shocks. What do you do when your alternative is homelessness?

“The allostatic load is ‘the wear and tear on the body’ which grows over time when the individual is exposed to repeated or chronic stress.”

“Stress hormones such as epinephrine and cortisol in combination with other stress-mediating physiological agents such as increased myocardial workload, decreased smooth muscle tone in the gastrointestinal tract, and increased coagulation effects have protective and adaptive benefits in the short term, yet can accelerate pathophysiology when they are overproduced or mismanaged; this kind of stress can cause hypertension and lead to heart disease. Constant or even irregular exposure to these hormones can eventually induce illnesses and weaken the body’s immune system.”

To cover up the abuse and protect the “reputation” of the games industry, it was deemed worthwhile to lower my lifespan, weaken my immune system, and permanently damage my body.

Even if I drink multiple cups of water before bed I wake up with severe dehydration. An interesting side effect of being a trans fem on hormones is that spironolactone (an antiandrogen) is a diuretic, so the dehydrating effects of stress are added to the dehydration of my gender, tipping it over to agonizing extremes, the unspoken tax of pursuing both gender and a career. The amount of water in my body is political.

I wake up feeling burnt. Damaged. Corroded. I crawl up from an insane, nauseating, unreal pit and slowly come back to the world. I have constant headaches.

By the end of the day my neck and left arm are aching from nervous tics.

I forget things rapidly. Triggers leave me exhausted or panicking at inconvenient times, sometimes for days or weeks.

My hair fell out in handfuls. I still have a nervous tic of running my hands through my hair to pull out loose strands.

Having PTSD is like breaking a limb and never being able to rely on it as strongly. The sudden weakness of standing on it wrong, suddenly being unable to hold something, a fatigue and spasm of nerves.

It became difficult to diagnose other medical problems because of the all-consuming nature of the symptoms. It became difficult to talk about what happened to my body in general. When my hairdresser asked, the only way to explain the damage was by saying I had been in a car accident.

Attacks on marginalized artists go beyond merely denying them access to networks; they also damage a person’s faculties of expression.

For a long time, PTSD deprived me of the privilege of being a multitemporal being. The space of time I was able to safely think about shrunk to about a minute. Larger projects, the kind most tied to commercial value and to the media coverage apparatus, were difficult for me due to the traumatic potential of expanding my aperture of time.

The diversity-centric system expects more jobs to fix the problem, ignoring how long we’ve been damaged and made unfit for their jobs. They encourage the Strong Woman stereotype because it means taking the damage onto ourselves. We need more than jobs; we need social reintegration.

COMMUNICATION

INABILITY TO SHARE STIGMA

Traumatic events destroy the sustaining bonds between individual and community. Those who have survived learn that their sense of self, of worth, of humanity, depends upon feeling a connection to others. The solidarity of a group provides the strongest protection against terror and despair, and the strongest antidote to traumatic experience. Trauma isolates; the group re-creates a sense of belonging. Trauma shames and stigmatizes; the group bears witness and affirms. Trauma degrades the victim; the group exalts her. Trauma de-humanizes the victim; the group restores her humanity.

—Judith Herman, Trauma and Recovery

The worst thing is not having other survivors to commiserate with. I can think of people who went through similar situations and were defended, re-integrated. Their stories are paraded through feminist spaces, saturated through social media, and every time I’m exposed to them, I feel less safe, not more. This enhances my feelings of dehumanization: “Why was I not worth protecting in the exact same situation? I must not be human like them”.

I often have the overwhelming physical sensation of having a dead person in my life, someone as close as an identical twin. The sensation is of me being the only one still alive after a terrible accident, lingering like an unshriven thing. The inability to share stigma is even worse than the original act of violation. The greater part of a wound is its inability to heal.

INADMISSIBLE NARRATIVES OF ABUSE #1

The typical narrative of abuse on social media doesn’t include the problems of the most vulnerable, like how public verbal harassment may only be an ultimately minor part of a trans fem’s exile.

The most skilled abusers know that a good exile is done with pure silence, through the whisper network, by having the person wake up one day and have every second or third person she knows or who practices her profession block her and/or stop talking to her. No one tells her why. She has to painstakingly talk to every friend, every contact, every person she would normally have a cheerful conversation with. The electric shocks of knowing that every simple human interaction you have with a friend or stranger could turn into a nightmare of victim blaming or worse, a cold iciness where they pretend nothing is wrong. Imagine repeating that experience hundreds and hundreds of times, with no way to end it. After the noise, the long years of silence are what kill us.

The backchannels that should be used to protect people from abusers and rapists are instead used to protect abusers and rapists. Any usefulness these channels have is reserved for Real Women. No one warned me about any of the comically large number of predators in my professions. I was considered unrapeable, unabuseable, not worthy of protection. A trans fem can try to talk about her experiences of abuse for years and have no one listen, but the instant one of her abusers smears her, everyone is alert and awake.

One reason it took me so long to talk about my experiences was that I associated being able to speak against abuse with being an abuser. Because every abuser throughout my life was so good at being believed, I thought that being believed was the exclusive domain of abusers.

This is why my first months in therapy were spent convincing me that I wasn’t a sociopath, crazy, abusive, or any of the other terms I had been brainwashed with. Abusers don’t spend years disabled by those thoughts because they don’t care if they hurt other people.

INADMISSIBLE NARRATIVES OF ABUSE #2

And when verbal harassment does occur, it’s often cloaked in feminist language, making it impossible to fight.

If they call a woman a bitch, people comprehend that as misogyny. But they call trans fems things that are harder to respond to. Rapist, pedophile, male conditioning, etc. They call us things so bad that even denying them is destructive. Who wants to stand up in public and say they aren’t those things? Who has the privilege to not get called those things in the first place?

When I look at a cis woman these days, the first thing I think is, I bet no one ever casually called her a rapist.

TRASH ART

When it was really bad, I wrote: “Build the shittiest thing possible. Build out of trash because all i have is trash. Trash materials, trash bodies, trash brain syndrome. Build in the gaps between storms of chronic pain. Build inside the storms. Move a single inch and call it a victory. Mold my sexuality toward immobility. Lie here leaking water from my eyes like a statue covered in melting frost. Zero affect. Build like moss grows. Build like crystals harden. Give up. Make your art the merest displacement of molecules at your slightest quiver. Don’t build in spite of the body and fail on their terms, build with the body. Immaculate is boring and impossible. Health based aesthetic.”

Twine, trashzines made of wadded up torn paper because we don’t have the energy to do binding, street recordings done from our bed where we lie immobilized.

Laziness is not laziness, it is many things: avoiding encountering one’s own body, avoiding triggers, avoiding thinking about the future because it’s proven to be unbearable. Slashing the Gordian Knot isn’t a sign of strength; it’s a sign of exhaustion.

Although I’ve fashioned this reflection in a manner that some may find legible, it is not a fair representation of my sickness. Writing these paragraphs has taken constant doses of medicine, fevered breaks, a few existential timeouts, and a complete neglect of my other responsibilities. When I tried in true form to write – in my realest moments of sickness – all that emerged were endless ellipses and countless semi-coherent revelations.

—Alli Yates

With the trashzine, I tore up the pages because I didn’t have the time or energy to bind them. I put them in ziploc bags—trash binding. In this new form they were resistant to the elements and could go interesting places. I hid one in Oakland under a bridge, and posted coordinates online. Someone found it.

When read, they come out of the bag like my thoughts—fragmented, random, nonlinear. If dropped they become part of the trash.

SOCIAL DYNAMICS

COMMUNITY IS DISPOSABILITY

There are no activist communities, only the desire for communities, or the convenient fiction of communities. A community is a material web that binds people together, for better and for worse, in interdependence. If its members move away every couple years because the next place seems cooler, it is not a community. If it is easier to kick someone out than to go through a difficult series of conversations with them, it is not a community. Among the societies that had real communities, exile was the most extreme sanction possible, tantamount to killing them. On many levels, losing the community and all the relationships it involved was the same as dying. Let’s not kid ourselves: we don’t have communities.

—The Broken Teapot, Anonymous

People crave community so badly that it constitutes a kind of linguistic virus. Everything in this world apparently has a community attached to it, no matter how fragmented or varied the reality is. This feels like both wishful thinking in an extremely lonely world (trans fems often have a community-shaped wound a mile wide) and also the necessary lens to convert everything to profit. Queerness is a marketplace. Alt is a marketplace. Buy my feminist butt plugs.

The dream of an imaginary community that allows total identification with one’s role within it to an extent that rules out interiority or doubt, the fixity and clearness of an external image or cliche as opposed to ephemera of lived experience, a life as it looks from the outside.

—Stephen Murphy

These idealized communities require disposability to maintain the illusion—violence and ostracism against the black/brown/trans/trash bodies that serve as safety valves for the inevitable anxiety and disillusionment of those who wish “total identification”.

Feminism/queerness takes a vague disposability and makes it a specific one. The vague ambient hate that I felt my whole life became intensely focused—the difference between being soaked in noxious, irritating gasoline and having someone throw a match at you. Normal hate means someone and their friends being shitty toward you; radical hate places a moral dimension onto hate, requiring your exclusion from every possible space—a true social death.

CURATING QUEERNESS

An entire industry of curation has sprung up to rigidly and sometimes violently police the hierarchy of who is allowed to express themselves as a trans or queer person. The LGBT and queer spheres find it upon themselves to create compilations of the “best” art by trans people, to define what a trans story is and to omit the rest. Endless projects to curate, list, own, publish, control, but so few to offer support and mentorship.

The stories that reflect poorly on alt culture are buried in favor of utopianism that everyone aspires toward but where few live. People feed desperately on this aspiration, creating the ever more elaborate hollow structures of brittle chitin that comprise feminist/queer culture.

To find the things I wanted in queerness, I had to find those who had been exiled from it, those who the name had been torn from.

COMPLAINT AND PURITY

there is nothing “wrong” with a politics of complaint but there are several risks like developing a dependent relationship with “the enemy” politically neutralizing oneself by dumping all of one’s subversive energies into meaningless channels or reifying one’s powerlessness by identifying with it because it makes one virtuous complaint becomes a form of subcultural capital a way to morally purify oneself —Jackie Wang, the tumblrization of everyday life

Popular feminism encodes pain into its regular complaint/click cycle, keeping everyone on the rim of emotional survival. Constant attack, constant strength, constant purity.

Lacking true community, the energy spent is not restored. Those with more stability in their life can keep up the cycle of complaint, and those with lower amounts of energy are filtered out, creating culture that glorifies a “strength” not everyone can access.

There is immense pressure on trans people to engage in this form of complaint if they want access to spaces—but we, with our higher rates of homelessness, joblessness, lifelessness, lovelessness, are the most fragile. We are the glass fems of an already delicate genderscape.

Purification is meaningless because anyone can perform these rituals—an effigy burnt in digital. And their inflexibility provides a place where abuse can thrive—a set of rules which abusers can hold over their victims.

Deleuze wrote, “The problem is no longer getting people to express themselves, but providing little gaps of solitude and silence in which they might eventually find something to say. Repressive forces don’t stop people from expressing themselves, but rather, force them to express themselves. What a relief to have nothing to say, the right to say nothing, because only then is there a chance of framing the rare, or ever rarer, the thing that might be worth saying.”

ENDING

People talk about feminism and queerness the way you’d apologize for an abusive relationship.

This isn’t for the people who are benefiting from these spaces and have no reason to change. This is for the people who were exiled, the people essays aren’t supposed to be written for. This is to say, you didn’t deserve that. That even tens or hundreds or thousands of people can be wrong, and they often are, no matter how much our socially constructed brains take that as a message to lie down and die. That nothing is too bad, too ridiculous, too bizarre to be real when it comes to making marginalized people disappear.

Ideology is a sick fetish.

RESISTING DISPOSABILITY

— Let marginalized people be flawed. Let them fuck up like the Real Humans who get to fuck up all the time.

— Fight criminal-justice thinking. Disposability runs on the innocence/guilt binary, another category that applies dynamically to certain bodies and not others. The mob trials used to run trans people out of communities are inherently abusive, favor predators, and must be rejected as a process unequivocally. There is no kind of justice that resembles hundreds of people ganging up on one person, or tangible lifelong damage being inflicted on someone for failing the rituals of purification that have no connection to real life.

— Pay attention when people disappear. Like drowning, it’s frequently silent. They might be blackmailed, threatened, and/or in shock.

— Even if the victim doesn’t want to fight (which is deeply understandable—often moving on is the only response), private support is huge. This is the time to make sure the wound doesn’t become infected, that the PTSD they acquire is as minimized as possible. This is the difference between a broken leg healing to the point where they can run again, or walking with a limp for the rest of their life. They’ve just been victim-blamed by a huge number of people, and as a social organism, their body is telling them to die. They need social reintegration, messages of support, and space to heal.

— Be extremely critical about what people say about trans people, especially things said in vagueness. The rumor mill that keeps trans people out of spaces isn’t even so much about people believing what is said, it’s about people choosing the safest option—a staining that plays on the average person’s risk aversion.

— Ask yourself if the same thing would be happening if they were white/cis/able-bodied.

— “Radical inclusivity recognizes harm done in the name of God.” —Yvette Flunder

Marginalized spaces can’t form healthy community purely from rejection of the mainstream. There has to be an acknowledgment of how people have been hurt by feminist spaces and their models.

— A common enemy isn’t the same as loving each other.

— Don’t be part of spaces that place an ideal or “community leader” above people.

DREAM

On January 18, 2015, I woke up from a dream. It was early morning, still dark. I felt very sad that the dream wasn’t real. I wrote it down, like I’ve written down all my dreams for the last eight years.

“She was my abuser. She came to my house on the island. I begged her to stop what she had done, to clear my name. She would not. It had been two years of being abused like a child because of her. I turned to walk deeper into the house. I looked back. She had a knife. She stabbed me. It was the happiest dream of my life. Because finally an abuser had done something to me that people would pay attention to. When I woke up my entire spirit was crushed because I had not been stabbed. I felt the weight of all these years of abuse. I wished so badly I had been stabbed.

I pulled the knife out. I wrestled the knife away. I called my friend to come over and help me.

I walked along the beach of the island and saw for the first time how PTSD had numbed and corroded every perception I’d had since that August, this debilitating disease. I finally felt the brightness of the air in my lungs, the color of the sand and the waves. It was so beautiful. I just wanted to experience all the things that had been stolen from me.”

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