#tw rape insinuated

[mutfruit-salad]

Long post ahead. My full thoughts on the fallout series. TW for references to Sexual Assault, racism, antisemitism. It's not particularly in depth here- but I do reference specific acts of violence done in the show.

I've had people insinuate I'm only mad because I'm a New Vegas fan, because I think they retconned the lore. I'm not upset at the fallout show for its dubious lore additions and reworks. I think they're quite bad in places, but they're by far the least of the show's problems.

This isn't a case of a New Vegas fan mad they messed with my game in a way I didn't like.

Please refer to literally any of my posts pointing out the racism and antisemitism in the show. They brand a black man in episode 1. They named the enclave scientist after a real life holocaust survivor and then spent most of the show lobbing around his decapitated head like a volleyball.

But I'd like to consider other elements of the show. View it as a whole.

Consider the inherent misogyny of having a female main character whose entire character arc is just her getting abused for 8 episodes. How the trajectory of her character revolves around not giving up on the humanity of the man who waterboarded her and sold her to organ harvesters. A female main character who is raped in the first episode and watches her entire community get brutalized and who comes out of it completely unphased- still as plucky as ever- just worried about her dad.

Consider the horror of having a black woman be the one to drop the bombs. Consider the horror of her leading a council of elites who have infiltrated and taken over the US government. Consider the ways this group is presented and shown, the ways every fault of the US government in the series is offloaded onto a shadowy group of elites.

Consider how the capitalist critique of the show only goes so far as saying there's a secret organization of bad people who must be purged. The antisemitism and conspiratorial nonsense inherent to that premise.

Consider the rampant classism with the show's depiction of Wastelanders as either animalistic monsters or too stupid to live.

Consider the ways the show punishes nearly every act of kindness- the ways the world rewards might-makes-right authoritarians.

Consider the way the NCR collapsed offscreen because a disgruntled husband was mad his wife left him, and how after it collapsed the army immediately became raiders and the survivors became blood drinking cultists. Don't give me "it's just shady sands that collapsed" because the NCR was a developed nation. If one of their cities blew up, they would send aid. They would assist.

Consider the way the show constantly uses sex crimes as comedy and horror- the incest jokes and the "chicken fucker" bit, and the Vault 4 monster impregnation and the main character's rape in the first episode.

Consider the ableism of the treatment of ghouls, how every ghoul is now a ticking time bomb, how Lucy helps free a small dementia-riddled old ghoul woman from a medical torture facility and then is immediately punished with the woman trying to inexplicably murder her. Thaddeus openly talks about ghoul exterminationism and it's never a joke or a bit- he just says it and nobody reacts or says anything.

Consider the way the Vault 33 town councillors use real world progressive talking points about restorative justice and prison abolition and multiculturalism- meanwhile Norm advocates for the death penalty and a closed society. How Norm is shown as good and righteous and the vault dwellers range from deluded to damningly stupid- how the mere concept of restorative justice is made a farce because the NCR raiders are screaming about eating organs and murdering people 24/7.

Consider the way they removed the Boneyard, and the Followers of the Apocalypse by extension. In New Vegas we heard about the Followers operating a university in LA. It's gone now. Not destroyed by bombs- but written out of existence because the Boneyard never existed, and Shady Sands is in its place. Consider what that says about this world- that the group most dedicated to peace and rebuilding has been surgically excised from the narrative- destroyed more wholly than even the NCR- written out of existence entirely.

This is the single most reactionary fallout story that has been produced. By a fucking country mile.

Whatever lore critiques there are should be secondary. The storytelling is reactionary in ways I straight up have not seen from other Bethesda entries in the series. It is cruel to a fault, and depicts a world that is incapable of healing or growing- where the best you can do is hold onto that small spark of goodness while every bit of the society around you tries to murder it out of you. This isn't a story about rebuilding, or about postwar politics, or about society- it's about dueling warlords and might makes right attitudes and grimdark views of the nature of humanity. It's fallout in aesthetics alone- and it's perhaps the most hateful thing I've seen come out of this series outside of the actual neonazis in the fanbase.

Whatever hope there is in Moldaver's final moments looking out over the glittering ruins of LA is undercut by the knowledge of what came before. What was destroyed. And it's undercut by the Brotherhood's totalitarian control. It's not hopeful, it's the bare minimum of survival. It's all the progress of the postwar world, 200 years of humanity and history, reduced to just barely getting the lights back on.

In the intro to fallout 1, "War Never Changes" is used as thematic glue. It ties together two concepts- past wars- and present capitalism and militarism.

Ron Perlman describes the Roman Empire, the Spanish conquests of the Americas, and the Nazi regime- and then he says "war never changes" and uses it to connect those past atrocities to the modern world of the setting- to the war that ended everything. The phrase existed to link the resource wars and their ensuing fallout to all the crimes of empire prior. War never changes wasn't a hard and fast rule of human nature- it was a specific condemnation of America.

Lonesome Road even ends with the phrase refuted. War Never Changes. But men do, through the roads they walk. There is hope. That's what this series has always been about. The Master died at the end of fallout 1 and said "leave while you still have hope."

In this show, the black woman Vault Tec exec who ends the world says the phrase. It's stripped of all meaning. Just a generic throwback because it's a famous phrase in the series' history. It's not a condemnation of America, it's a celebratory thing. Vault Tec toasting to the end of the world.

What a thing to see this series become. What a thing to see celebrated.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fallout show #this has gotten more feedback then I was expecting #and i'm glad this is resonating with some folks #turned off reblogs cuz i cant actually deal with the response this has been getting at this point 👍

[discluded]

Build Jakapan, Daemi's Poi, and other individuals stepping forward

I like my peace, but this situation is very serious and deserves to be documented clearly for the international/English-speaking fanbase, which was my original goal of archivism on Tumblr. Some of the posts have already been deleted and others will be washed away with the sands of Twitter time.

Please do not talk about this in terms of "drama" or "tea" because that does a disservice to the victims and people here on Tumblr who may have lived through these experiences watching you treat their trauma like nonsense.

I have no stake in this and do not claim to know the full truth. However, rather than seeing everyone vague about what's happening, I want to provide an account of what people on Twitter are seeing above the noise. I will try to keep this post updated with important developments when appropriate.

My only ask is please don't comment to my inbox about this post. I understand your anger and hurt, but I need to take care of my own well-being. Make a dummy account if you want to talk about it; I will not censor the comments section of post as long as you are reasonable and not victim-blaming.

Finally, please be kind to each other, including Pond (as long as he is doing the right thing) and [Jan 23 update: lmfao fuck Pond] the other actors in BOC given that Poi specifically said she hid this from the cast, and also especially fans who loved Build and were blindsided. There is no "deserved" to be upset, people who invest their love and free time into something are allowed to be hurt... the only thing that matters about a person's integrity is how they choose to act with this information.

tw: domestic violence, intimate partner violence, abuse, threats, photos of bruises, rape, miscarriage

On approximately Jan 19 2022, right after the BOC line-up announcement), Daemi announced they would be breaking up as a writing duo, which prompted fans to speculate about the future of Kinnporsche season 2. Daemi as a writing duo is made up of two members: Yok and Poi.

In the next day or so, Poi insinuated that Build had stolen the idea for 4 Minutes from her and given it to Sammon, who then helped cut her [Poi] out of involvement in the new series. Build responded to this by publicly crying and issuing a statement, going above BOC's management. Pond was with Mile in Pairis at the time/flying home and responded to Instagram comments that they would investigate fully before issuing a statement.

Approximately the next day, on Jan 22 2022 local time, Poi came out with a statement and chat logs with proof that she used to be in a relationship with Build, and he had cheated on her, financially manipulated her, physically abused her, and threatened to kill her.

The original translator is a ManUtd fan and had no involvement in the fandom but took the time to do the translation since it was blowing up on Thai twitter and known fandom translators were not doing them. They then deleted those tweets after being harassed by Build's fans, but has continued to tweet about the situation.

(please click on the image for the full translation of the chat, I stacked them to save space)

Here is an additional Thai summary of Poi's claims and an english translation of that.

Some people noted that in the original IGS where Poi references this abuse on approximately Jan 19, she used stock images from Pinterest. Those claims included that she had a miscarriage due to the fact he had hit her so hard. Poi again confirmed that she had a miscarriage and noted she had hospital documents to back up her claim. She also addressed the comment that she used stock images due to the fact that Instagram is a visual social media.

Poi also confirmed that the legal process was already started. Given her history with the BOC cast, she might have also felt the need to get the story out of accusations of her lying and starting "drama" about the situation by posting her chat logs and photos.

Subsequently, Build shared messages that Poi had sent him regarding a situation with a sponsor in an attempt to make her look like a "crazy" woman, but incriminated himself and deactivated on Jan 22 2022 (possibly temporarily).

During this time, additional people came forward about being a victim of Build. One Thai fan came forward about knowing another of Build's former girlfriends, who was the victim of gang rape. However, the OP is getting permission from this individual to tell the story first and so the story may not be released to the public. Update Feb 10: Most likely false. (leaving text here for honesty that this rumor existed and debunked)

Another one of Build's ex-girlfriends, who was previously silenced and shamed by his fans, confirmed again that she was physically assaulted by Build 8 years ago.

I will not add the tweets with evidence of Build cheating on Poi/involvement with other women while supposedly dating one of them as while cheating on a partner is bad, it is a personal indiscretion and not a crime unlike the situations highlighted above.

As for the fact that both authors in Daemi sexually harassed other actors in KPTS, I am not excusing those actions. People, notably WOMEN, should not have to be perfect victims to be believed. You don't have to like Poi or approve of her past actions to think she does not deserve to be abused.

Additionally, if you believe that Poi's past actions are indicative of her character, I want to clarify why people were upset with him in summer 2022 since that was not documented on Tumblr either. Having bad opinions online is not a crime, but they do show a pattern of behavior from him from attitudes to actions. Build's comments/attitudes from that situation are consistent with his abuser behavior that is documented above. (1) (2) (3) (4)

Any additional documentation from past victims will be a link to the reblog since I will run out of image space on Tumblr. I will not document things like BOC suspending Build for the time being since those are widely seen and have an English translation.

Final update update as of Feb 10, 2023: Updated on the false allegations about rape and this being debunked since it's important. Please do not ask me for updates about him; I don't care about him, he makes me miserable, people whose careers I do care about don't have to deal with him anymore. Please do not make me responsible for your mental health.

Jan 28, 2023: Build has left BOC. At this point, there's nothing else I can provide as context in English that will change people's minds so let's respect that this will be processed in a court like it should have been in the first place. Take care of yourselves friends.

Final notes: Genuinely fuck Pond.

Jan 25 2023: link to the latest post with evidence from Poi and Mynk

Jan 23 2023: Kind anonymous provided IDs which have been added. Clarified position on Pond, with link to latest comment. I have more posts with translations from Thai twitter and will update another day.

Please take care of yourselves and your mental health. 🙏

#build jakapan #build jakapan puttha #kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #kpts #kinnporsche cast #tw domestic violence #tw dv #tw abuse #tw rape #tw miscarriage #tw bruises #tw threats #thank you to anon for IDs #be on cloud

[crownedtargaryen]

ribs. - aemond x reader x lucerys

mine.

MASTERLIST | ( < this story has more parts that cane found here) A/N: this chapter HAS NSFW 18+ content!!! Also, I’m using the fanon adult Lucerys (harry gilby) (above) TW: THIS STORY WILL INCLUDE INCEST, SEXUAL CONTENT, ANGST, ABUSIVE TOPICS, INSINUATION OF RAPE, EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, POST PARTUM. NOTES ARE APPRECIATED! (SHARES, LIKES, COMMENTS) word count: 1.4k taglist: @daenerysapologist @twizzy123 @hopelesswritergall @clairacassidy

My heart raced. I sat in on my wed-to-be's loose conversation with my father, his voice trying to sound as serious as possible as he snuck cheeky smiles over at me and would raise his brows as I would gaze at him longingly, like a lioness with her prey. I could see his hands shaking and gripping the paper resting on the table, his leg bouncing beneath. Eventually, he could not take the conversation any longer.

"We do not crave a large drawn-out ceremony, we wish to wed as soon as possible. Is that alright with you?" He gazes at my father, who is easing at the idea of a simpler approach. A smaller wedding means less money spent; an excuse to cheap his way out of formalities without seeming careless.

"Yes. Yes, that works perfectly, I wish to create allegiance together as soon as possible. In a few moons, we shall pair our homes." He stands, Lucerys returning the action as they stare at each other quietly. Then, my father reaches out. Lucerys shakes his hand quickly. 

"Now, I must discuss with my wife-to-be some more serious matters. So we shall see you in the morrow my Lord." He steps toward me, my father nodding slowly then making his way out of the room. I stand, moving from my chair. But, Lucerys turns the chair and pushes me back into it, my eyes widening in shock. He walks to the door, making sure it's secure then walks back, getting on his knees in front of me unbuttoning his tunic quickly. "Princess, I crave you in such ways I cannot explain. Please, I must." he hooks his arms under my legs and opens them, pulling me forward in the chair. I stare at him as he returns the gaze with fire. He waits for my word, eager and ready as his tunic is halfway down his shoulders, open but not fully taken off. He lacks patience, it's flattering.

"Here? What if someone comes in? My room holds much more privacy." I say weakly, my breath and hands shaking as I pet his hair. He stares at me, swallowing hard and looking at the door for a moment. 

"Princess, I can't wait. I could barely stand still, your eyes are so very tempting," he whispers, his lips moving to my knee and up my leg as his hand moves up my dress. I inhaled sharply, looking around the room. "But if you wish, we will change locations. Or, we won't do it at all. Don't make my eagerness force you." He murmurs, nipping my thigh with his teeth and looking up to me. Those forest-brown eyes worked me up even more than I was before.

"Claim me, Lucerys Velaryon," I command, watching the childlike innocence snap from him. He hooks his arms under my legs once more, his forearms up my waist as he rips me from any undergarments I have. No hesitation, his head pushes itself beneath my dress where I cannot see him, confused about what he may be doing.

Then, I feel it. His tongue trails parts of me that haven't been discovered by anyone before in such a way, a slick pooling onto his tongue and my legs clutching his head as I feel his large hands grip my waist, pushing his muscles under my legs to force them onto his shoulders. He ravishes me, tongue dancing on my clit and prodding my insides. I choke on my breath, quickly lifting my dress up and off of me, watching his eyes immediately move to mine, not at all distracted by my chest. I could tell he wanted to look, but he wasn't doing this for him. He did this because he craved to please me, it twisted something inside me positively.

"Lucerys," I murmured, hands tangling in his hair. He raised his brows innocently, a glimmer in his eyes as he looked at me. I wanted to tilt my head back and yell his name for all the world to hear. But, I never looked away from him. He moved from my goods, looking at my dripping cunt eagerly with glossed lips.

"(Y/N)..." he whispers, kissing my lower lips and glancing up at me. He stands, his tunic finally falling as he slams his hand on the side of my head and leans over me with a predator-like gaze. His other hand grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him as he smiles. 

I melt beneath him. 

Luke kisses me, forcing me to taste myself on his tongue and lips. His hand trails from my chin to my thigh, rubbing it slowly. It moves inward, two fingers touching my entrance, slipping inside as I inhale sharply, he moves without rhythm, forcing me to guess his pattern and not expect the pleasures he fills me with. I peek at him during the kiss, his muscles dripping sweat and his cheeks pink. He pulls back breathlessly, looking into my eyes longingly he pushes a third finger in, shocking me, and my body tenses with excitement. "Please, let me make you mine. Your body is perfect, your cunt is tempting me, Princess." Lucerys' hot breath tingles my face, and his hand that was previously next to my head rests on my side. He pulls me in, pressing my wetness to his cloth as his fingers move in a slow and teasing movement, a smooth petting motion on my sensitive spots making me coo and whimper pathetically.

"Please, take me as yours... Swell me with your kin." I whine, watching his predatory gaze ignite once more. He quickly undoes his pants, letting them drop and ripping off his underwear, scooping me up gingerly by the waist.

"I'm giving you a night you'll remember for an eternity." He whispers, setting me on the table we previously sat at. He lays me down, grabbing my thighs and pulling me to the edge, hooking them around his lower half as he rubs his base against my folds, lubricating it for easier access. Slowly, he pushes inside.

I watch his eyes roll back for a moment, doubling over and gripping the table’s edges next to me. He stares into my eyes, dazed and panting softly with a groan. Slowly, he moves. I feel his cock drag in and out with deep-rooted passion, slow at first then pacing himself faster and faster. A soft growl escaped him as his hair sticks to his face from the sweat dripping from him. 

"Fuck," he murmurs, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, his muscles flexing as his chest heaves. I feel myself growing a ball of pleasure in my stomach, something about to explode inside of me. "Please, please please please." He repeats helplessly, moving his head down and kissing over my chest, lips teasing my buds. He looks up at me, with admiration and emotion I can't place in his gaze.

Suddenly, he says the words that drive me over the edge.

He moves his head up, lips hovering over mine as he smiles at me, panting heavily. 

"I love you." 

And with that, my vision goes white as his lips lock with mine, screaming his name into his mouth as I claw his back. I feel a warmth burst inside me as he cradles me close, squeezing me so hard I may bruise.

I catch my breath, looking at the man who confessed love for me. I gaze into his eyes, he refuses to separate eye contact, pulling out of me and scooping my shaky figure up, sitting on the chair, and setting me on his thigh. I feel him spread my legs, eyes wandering downward as he smirks cheekily and moves his fingers to my entrance, pushing our juices inside of me. Deeper and deeper. I whine in a stinging pain, burying my face in his neck. 

"You're beautiful, (Y/N)," he whispers, wiping his hand off and rubbing my back. "Let's get you dressed Princess." He holds me close for a moment before grabbing my dress, putting it over my head and adjusting it for me, fixing my hair, and using my ripped underwear to wipe my legs off from the mess we made. I watch him slip his clothes back on, stopping me when I try to stand and help.

"Stay." He commands with a tone I never expected from him, flushing and staying put. He picks up his belt, moves over, and grabs the underwear. Slowly, he scoops me up and kisses my cheek gently. Without a word, we walk to my bedroom after he cleans up any mess that was left behind.

He helps me get undressed once more, stripping from his shirt and crawling into bed with me, tucking us in and holding me close. No words were exchanged, we enjoyed our afterglow and the affection between one another.

"Goodnight Princess," he whispers, kissing my forehead.

"Goodnight Lucerys," I return, burying my face in his shoulder as he pets my back. I close my eyes, drifting slightly. But, before I rest I say one more phrase.

"I love you too." 

#lucerys velaryon #lucerys targaryen #aemond x lucerys #hotd lucerys #house of the dragon lucerys #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #aemond x fem!reader #house targeryen #house of the dragon #asoiaf #asoif fanfic #asoif/got #hotd #writing #hotd fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 23

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 23: A Woman's Shame

AO3 - Masterlist

(TW: Attempted Rape)

In the following days, Daenera kept herself occupied, intentionally avoiding encounters with Aemond. The incident in the throne room had been impulsive and risky, a dangerous game of passion that could have exposed them both. 

However, it seemed that luck was on their side, as no rumors or whispers reached her ears through the usual channels. Tris Caswell’s gatherings of gossiping ladies, the conversation among the servants, and even Joyce, who was always well-informed, remained oblivious to the incident. 

Daenera couldn’t shake off the caution and unease the weight upon her. It had been a foolish thing to do. And the feeling only intensified when Joyce made a disapproving sound when she had brewed herself more moontea. No words were exchanged, but the unspoken judgment lingered heavily in the air. 

Searching for her misplaced notebook, Daenera entered one of the sitting rooms within the Keep, where she had joined Tris for tea the day before. The room was adorned with carved furniture, elegant tapestries, and a collection of books. She scanned the space meticulously, hoping to find her precious notebook that contained her poultice recipes.

“Did you enjoy your ride on a dragon?” Aegon’s voice grated on Daenera’s ears, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand. She turned to look at him, finding him leaning against the table with a cup of wine in hand. The first buttons of his doublet were unfastened, and one was even missing. From his disheveled appearance, she presumed he was already deep in his cups. 

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion coloring her gaze as she tried to discern his intentions. “It was kind of your brother to fly me back to the Dragonpit.”

Aegon’s mischievous smile only grew wider, his amusement evident as if he held the upper hand, privy to all her secrets and desires. It made her skin prickle. It wasn’t the same as his brother’s smile; it felt more akin to a boy setting fire to a cat just to watch it burn.

“He did little more than fly you back, did he not?” The accusation hung between them. 

“I do not like what you’re implying,” Daenera said dryly. 

He responded with an upside-down smile, shaking his head and shrugging nonchalantly. “Am I wrong?”

“I am not in the mood for your theatrics, Aegon,” Daenera retorted coolly, dismissing him by turning around and focusing her gaze on the floor, hoping to conjure the presence of her book so that she may leave. 

“They say the first time riding a dragon it is like mounting the world,” Aegon continued, undeterred by the sharp glare Daenera shot his way. “Did it feel like mounting the world to you?”

“It felt windy,” Daenera replied, choosing to feign ignorance of the underlying meaning behind his words. 

Aegon laughed. “I will be sure to tell him that.”

“What do you want, Aegon?” Daenera cut to the chase, not wanting to prolong this conversation any further. 

“Well, I want you to answer my questions, of course…” Aegon pushed himself off the table and made his way to the other end where Daenera stood, his head tilting curiously. “Was that your first time?”

“No, I’ve ridden with my mother on Syrax before,” Daenera lied, attempting to deflect his torying. Aegon exuded the scent of wine and sweat, his hair hanging limply and greasy around his face. He looked tired, she observed, and dangerously bored. 

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Your insinuation is insulting and preposterous.”

“Not as preposterous, I presume, as it is for you to think that no one has noticed,” Aegon retorted, leaning in closer to her and sniffing as if he were some dog. Daenera instinctively leaned away, ready to shove him away by the face. Aegon straightened up again, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Definitely spoiled.”

Daenera grimaced and snarled, her disdain evident. “You’re disgusting.”

“I admit, I am insulted that you chose my unskilled brother above me,” Aegon said, his voice dipping low. 

“Does it really surprise you that someone would choose anyone above you?” Daenera shot back, her annoyance seeping into her words. “No woman in her right mind would choose to lay with you. No one knows where you’ve been and what disease you could have caught.”

“So you admit it?” Aegon’s voice carried a dangerous edge. 

Daenera glared at him with exasperation. “I have nothing to admit to. I am unspoiled.”

Aegon leaned closer, his eyes glinting with provocation. “How long do you think it will take for people to notice? I mean, it’s not far-fetched for two Targaryens… Well, a Targaryen and a dragonseed, to be found in inappropriate circumstances.”

“It does not interest me to feed into your conjecture, uncle,” Daenera retorted, her voice tinged with warning. “And I suggest you keep your imaginings to yourself, should you find yourself in worse circumstances. 

Her threat hung heavy in the air, a clear indication that she would make him regret his words if he continued down this path. But Aegon had never been good at listening to warnings. 

“There’s an easy way to prove you are right,” Aegon taunted, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of his wine. “I promise to be gentle… or rough, if that is what you enjoy. I won’t judge.”

“I am not bedding you or anyone else,” Daenera stated firmly, her cheeks flushing with indignation and shame. She despised the way Aegon looked at her, with seductive eyes and a cruel amusement burning within them. 

“I won’t tell my brother if that’s what concerns you,” Aegon added, his tone oozing with smugness. “I can keep a secret.”

He could not. Given the chance, he would exploit any vulnerability and delight in causing torment. Aegon had a talent for it, and would persistently probe at a wound until it bled, relishing in the suffering he inflicted. 

“What concerns me is your level of delusion. What makes you think I’d ever agree to lay with you?” Daenera scoffed at him. “I wouldn’t come close to your disease-ridden, shriveled up cock with a ten-foot pole.”

A muscle twitched in Aegon’s right eye, his anger barely contained. “You know, it’s so easy to ruin a girl's reputation…”

“No one would believe you,” Daenera shot back, her words sharp and insulting. “That’s what happens when you’re a disappointment to the family. Your mother is the only thing that holds any semblance of your reputation and respectability together.”

Aegon’s gaze fixated on a spot on the floor, his eyes growing distant as his expression seemed to darken. “Hm…”

Daenera took his silence as the end of the conversation and turned, but as she attempted to walk away, Aegon grabbed her wrist painfully. Without warning, he slammed her against the table with a jarring impact, the sharp edge digging into her hips. The suddenness of the atack left her breathless and disoriented, and she slammed her hands down on the table, trying to stabilize herself. 

His hand gripped around the nape of her neck, holding her in a vice-like grip.

Daenera’s heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and anger flooding her veins. She struggled against his hold, trying to free herself from his iron grip, but Aegon was unrelenting. 

The weight of Aegon’s body pressed down on her, trapping her beneath him against the unforgiving table. The treat in his voice sent shivers down her spine. 

“Since you believe me a monster, I might as well prove you right. My reputation can hardly get any worse, yours however…”

“Aegon, stop this at once!” Daenera’s voice trembled with desperation and fear. She swallowed thickly, trying to regain her composure.

“Oh, my dear niece, I relish the challenge,” Aegon hissed into her ear, tightening his grip on her neck. “You will do best to keep this a secret, unless you’re willing to ruin your own reputation.”

Daenera’s pleas fell on deaf ears as Aegon persisted in his disturbing pursuit of the truth. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she desperately fought against his overpowering hold. Her nails scraped against the table, her attempts to break free growing increasingly desperate. 

The sheer terror coursing through her veins made it difficult to find her voice, but she managed to muster enough strength to cry out, “Aegon, please! Stop this!”

“I simply wish to know if you’ve fucked my brother,” Aegon persisted, seemingly impervious to her pleas. “And since you refuse to disclose the truth, I shall uncover it on my own.”

Daenera’s entire body trembled as she kicked her legs and thrashed against his grip, her primal instinct for self-perseveration taking over. 

The air grew thick with fear and tension as Aegon hitched up her skirts, his actions invading her personal space. Daenera fought back with every ounce of strength she possessed, her breaths coming in rapid bursts. She continued to implore him to release her, her voice trembling with a mixture of panic and anger. 

Dread filled her body as Aegon’s hand grazed the skin of her inner thigh, the touch sending an icy shiver of revulsion through her. Her attempts to reach for the small dagger hidden in her skirt proved futile as she remained trapped against the table, the edge digging into her hips with bruising force. Tears pricked in her eyes, lungs raw with panic. The pain intensified as Aegon’s grip on the back of her neck tightened, causing her head to throb with each forceful push downwards towards the table top. 

“Stop, Aegon!” She cried out, the desperation she felt evident in her voice. She despised how weak she sounded. 

“I only aim to prove that you are as much of a whore as your mother.” Aegon’s laughter only fueled her fury, his words slicing through her like a blade. His hand slid higher, grabbing at the flesh of her inner thigh, pinching at it. 

The revulsion surged within her, coiling in the pit of her stomach. The back of her throat throbbed from the force with which she suppressed her tears, her lashes sticking together as pearls of water clung to them. Daenera’s trembling lips were pressed tightly together, her teeth biting down hard to stifle herself. 

Closing her eyes, Daenera uttered a desperate prayer to whatever higher power might be listening, hoping for deliverance from this moment. And, in that moment, whatever it was, the gods or some mysterious force, her pleas were answered. 

Suddenly, Aegon was gone, leaving Daenera trembling and exposed. The reason he had touched felt cold and violated, and Daenera hastily adjusted her skirts, trying to regain a semblance of dignity. Though he hadn’t gone further, the violation she felt lingered, staining her soul with a sense of dirtiness and wrongness. 

“Have you lost your damned mind?” Aemond spat at his brother, his voice dripping with anger as he hurled him across the room. Aegon crashed into a heavy cabinet before falling to the ground, groaning in pain. 

“Ah, fuck…” Aegon moaned, clutching his side and rolling on the floor. He glanced up at his brother, a mixture of pain and amusement in his eyes. “We were just having a bit of fun, brother.”

“A bit of fun?” Aemond’s voice echoed with barely contained fury. His hands clenched tightly at his sides, the urge to unleash his wrath evident. “Do you even comprehend the consequences if anyone else had caught you?”

Daenera retrieved the dagger from her skirts, her ears ringing with shock and the sound of her blood rushing through her veins. Her head pounded and she still felt Aegon’s touch on her skin. Without fully processing Aemond’s words, she instinctively moved towards Aegon, fully intent on punishing him. 

“Oh, ooh!” Aegon exclaimed with maniacal amusement, pointing at Daenera and her dagger.

Aemond swiftly stepped in front of her, blocking her path to Aegon. His face was etched with a stern and resolute expression, while Daenera’s eyes burned with a vindictive fury. He had laid his hands on her, and she was determined to make him pay dearly. 

“Step aside,” she demanded, her grip on the dagger tightening. 

“I can’t,” Aemond answered firmly, his resolve unwavering, unable to let his brother come to harm, no matter how much he might deserve it. 

“I will have his damned cock for this,” Daenera growled, her grip on the dagger tightening with enough force to turn her knuckles white. She was determined to make him pay, starting with cutting off his cock before shoving it so far up his corrupted ass that he could taste the consequences of his own debauchery. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t choke on it. Or maybe he would. She was willing to find out. 

Aegon laughed from the floor, lying back down as if completely unconcerned by her fury. Of course, why would he be concerned when he could hide behind his brother for protection?

“And I was just about to give it to you, sweet niece,” Aegon taunted, his words dripping with sarcasm, “when my dear brother so rudely interrupted us.”

“Shut up, Aegon,” Aemond hissed, his voice laced with warning, silently urging his brother to keep quiet and allow him to rectify the mess he had created.

“Move, Aemond,” Daenera demanded once again, her voice barely containing her rage. Aegon couldn’t simply get away with laying his hands on her. He might be a prince, but she wasn’t just some common born servant, she was a princess. 

“My brother is a drunken fool,” Aemond declared, his voice carrying a practiced coldness. 

Daenera felt a surge of frustration and helplessness wash over her. Aemond’s words were like a cold, hard slap to the face, a reminder of where his loyalties lied. Aemond would remain between them, an obstacle on the path of seeking justice. The realization settled heavily in her chest, a mix of both anger and disappointment. 

“I bid you forgive him. He is blinded by wine and devoid of any sense, it seems,” Aemond elaborated, the lie hanging in the air between them.  

“Yes, forgive my insolence, princess. I am a drunken fool,” Aegon cackled from the floor, his mocking tone doing nothing to alleviate the princess's seething anger. 

“He doesn’t deserve your protection,” Daenera retorted, her gaze fixed solely on Aemond. 

“He is my brother,” Aemond replied firmly, unforgivingly. “He bears the title of a prince, he’s the son of the King. It would be preferable if he behaved in a manner befitting this position,” Aemond sneered back at his brother, then turned his eye back to Daenera before continuing, “But that does not alter the situation. You cannot take justice into your own hands.”  “What will you have me do then?” Daenera challenged, her voice filled with frustration. “Should I bring it to your mother’s attention? She would protect him as you are.”

Aegon scoffed, pushing himself to sit against the bookshelf. 

“Or should I bring it to the King?” Daenera threatened, knowing that Viserys, at the very least, would take her accusation seriously and perhaps even take action. If Viserys held enough sentiment for his son not to behead him immediately, he would surely send him to the Wall. Yet, even then, Viserys might succumb to the influence of Queen Alicent, who would do anything to evade justice. 

“You and I both know that nothing would come of it,” Aemond replied, her tone casual, as if going through the motions. “Continuing on this path would be ill-advised. If you become subject to unfavorable gossip, it may hinder your chances of securing a suitable husband. Ser Aran Blackwood could potentially be an option then, or perhaps a life dedicated to the Faith would be more fitting for you.”

This was the moment she had been waiting for ever since he took her maidenhead. He had finally resorted to using his power against her, threatening to destroy any potential future she could have. 

Daenera’s mind raced, contemplating her next move. The temptation to defy Aemond’s warning was strong, to reach out to her mother, to Daemon, and seek their support in seeking justice. But Aemond’s words lingered in her mind, warning her of the potential damage it could cause to her own reputation. 

“If I fall, I will take you down with me,” Daenera sneered through gritted teeth, her words venomous. She forcefully slid the dagger into the folds of her skirt, its presence no longer a comfort but a reminder of her powerlessness. Without sparing Aegon a second glance, she pivoted on her heels.

Aegon’s taunting jeering came to an abrupt halt as Aemond delivered a swift kick to silence him. The sound of a groan echoed through the room, momentarily breaking the tense atmosphere. 

Queen Alicent’s entrance only added to the spectacle, her concerned frown highlighting the unsettling scene before her. 

Daenera’s eyes, red-rimmed and filled with fury and judgment, met Queen Alicent’s gaze with a piercing intensity. 

“Teach your son the meaning of no,” Daenera declared, voice dripping with disdain. 

With that final statement, she turned on her heels, the rustle of her skirts marking her departure from the scene. Anger and weariness coursed through her veins as she retreated.

Frustration twisted Aemond’s features as he swiftly sidestepped to evade Aegon’s grasp on his boots. He resented the fact he had to protect his foolish brother but it was his duty. He couldn’t allow Daenera to carry out her revenge, no matter how justified they may have seemed. Aegon was his brother, and he had the responsibility to shield him from harm. His actions protected not only Aegon but also their mother, Helaena, and the twins. 

However, Aemond’s restraint only held so long, and his anger towards his brother boiled within his chest, threatening to consume any remaining patience he had left. 

Had he not warned Aegon of the consequences? How could his brother be so stupid?! Did he not understand that it wasn’t just his life he risked?

The door swung shut behind their mother, her sharp gaze dissecting the scene before her. A wave of disapproval radiated from her as she moved swiftly across the floor, her eyes narrowed with anger and concern. 

“What is this?” Alicent demanded, her voice cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. Her eyes flickered accusingly between her two sons. 

Aegon ran a hand through his tousled hair, a feeble attempt to appear somewhat repentant. His face held a childlike sheepishness, a pitiful facade he hoped would appease his mother. Aemond remained still, his face carved in stone. 

“We were only having a bit of fun, mother,” Aegon offered in a weak attempt to downplay the severity of the situation. He shot this brother a pointed look, silently try to compel his cooperation. The unspoken demand hung heavily in the air. 

“Aemond?” Alicent demanded. 

Aemond’s gaze shifted back to Alicent, his expression remaining stoic and indifferent despite the torrent of emotions raging within him. There were countless truths he could have revealed in that moment. He could have exposed Aegon’s shameful actions, how he had pinned down and assaulted Daenera. The mere thought tightened around his stomach like a fist. He could have divulged how Aegon, as the first born and the future King of Westeros, was single-handedly unraveling all of their efforts and ambitions. 

Yet, he chose not to speak those truths. 

“We were only having fun,” Aemond repeated, his tone steady and controlled, concealing the anger bubbling beneath the surface. 

Aegon pushed himself up from the ground, slapping Aemond on the shoulder in a display of feigned affection. The tension in the room grew palpable as Alicent refused to accept their explanation at face value. She seized Aegon’s face, her fingers digging into the flesh of his cheeks, forcing him to purse his lips in an ugly grimace. Her eyes bore into his, searching for the truth she knew he was withholding. 

“Tell me the truth of it,” Alicent demanded, her voice edged with accusation.

Aegon attempted to wave his mother’s hand away, trying to dismiss her probing gaze. “Why must you always assume I am lying?”

“Because I know you,” Alicent responded firmly, her grip tightening. “And I am no fool. The princess left in a wretched state, and if you do not confess the truth, I will have no choice but to assume the worst.”

Aemond clenched his jaw as he watched his brother squirm in their mothers grasp. Aegon finally managed to free himself, running his tongue over the inside of his cheek to alleviate the pain. It was a small price to pay.

“I was only jesting,” Aegon claimed, his words laced with a veneer of nonchalance. “I merely wanted to ascertain whether she followed in her mother’s footsteps.”

Aemond remained the pillar of restraint and control, gritting his teeth as he witnessed the unfolding scene. Alicent, on the other hand, struggled to contain her fury. She had firsthand knowledge of Aegon’s capacity for reckless behavior. It was only days ago that she had to dismiss a servant girl due to his inappropriate advances. But what he had done now was far more dangerous than mere misconduct with a servant. It could have dire consequences for their family, for everything she had sacrificed for. 

In a swift motion, Alicent slapped Aegon across the face, the sound echoing through the room. Her actions conveyed her disbelief and the gravity of the situation. What if their actions reached the ears of the King? Rhaenyra and Daemon would surely call for their heads. 

Aegon winched, his hand instinctively moving to his reddened cheek, his eyes wide and wet. He looked like a child then. 

“Do you have any inkling of the peril you’ve put us in?” Alicent hissed, her fury burning in her eyes and her teeth bared. Unable to stand still, she paced the floor, her anger palpable. “Do you hold so little regard for our lives? Are you truly willing to squander everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve sacrificed for! What if she goes to the King?”

“She won’t,” Aemond interjected, his voice steady and reassuring. 

The contrast between her two sons was stark and undeniable. One embodied everything Alicent needed him to be–the protector, the dutiful son, the dedicated soclar. Aemond was honorable, courageous, and everything she wished Aegon could become. Aegon, her firstborn and the one who should inherit his father’s throne, had become her greatest disappointment and vulnerability. She longed for him to rise above his reckless impulses and understand the purpose she had dedicated years to. After all, it was to protect him that she was doing this. 

Life had never been fair, and this situation served as a bitter reminder of the fact. 

“How can you be so certain?” Alicent questioned sharply. 

“He’s sleeping with her,” Aegon interjected, a twisted grimace marring his face. He couldn’t help but drag his brother down on his level, to tarnish his reputation. 

Aemond, however, dismissed his brother’s claim with a wave of his hand, choosing not to acknowledge it. “She knows it would be her word against his. And I advise you, brother, to keep your imaginings to yourself. Spreading lies would only further complicate matters.”

“It is not a lie,” Aegon insisted, meeting his mother’s gaze with defiance. 

Alicent fixed him with a stern look. “Listen to your brother, Aegon. You are already in enough trouble. Do not besmirch your brother’s honor with baseless accusations.”

Aegon’s jaw worked as realized that his mother would not believe him, and he fixed his gaze on the floor. 

“You bring shame upon our family, and I will not tolerate it, especially while the princess is here,” Alicent continued, her tone laced with frustration. “She is already causing enough trouble with her political machinations, rallying support for her mother’s claim and interfering with governance of the kingdom. I will not have my son contributing to the chaos.”

Aegon sneered, a vindictive thought seeming to cross his mind. “Ruining her honor would serve as a fitting consequence. It would send her back to Dragonstone in shame, and perhaps she would remain unwed for a very long time as well.”

“And you believe that ruining your brother’s honor is worth such consequences? Ruining your own in the process? Where is the sense, Aegon?” Alicent’s voice rang out with scorn and disappointment. 

Despite Aegon’s troublesome reputation, she had always shielded him from the worst of it, hoping he would come to realize the efforts she had made on his behalf.

“It was merely a passing thought, mother,” Aegonr replied, casually picking at his nails. “Or perhaps you should consider marrying Aemond to Daenera.”

Aemond’s eye snapped to his brother with a piercing glare. Marry the bastard? The notion seemed absurd. They were too incompatible, destined to clash and bring each other misery. He only wanted to use her, ruin her. 

“Aemond has spent time with the princess, hasn’t he, brother?” Aegon continued, refusing to let go of his insinuation. “You took her riding on Vhagar.”

Aemond’s indignation burned within his chest as he met his brother's goading expression with an steely resolve. “The princess lost her horse. I didn’t want to leave her stranded in the middle of a field and have her walk back to King’s Landing.”

Alicent frowned. “Where was her servant?”

Aemond gave a half-hearted shrug, not caring to elaborate on what had happened. 

“You’ve been staring at her,” Aegon persisted like the child he was, trying to get his brother into trouble.

“Would you have me pluck out my remaining eye?” Aemond drawled with little care to his brother's answer. 

“I would gladly assist you with that, brother.”

“Enough,” Alicent interected, rubbing her temples in frustration. “There will be no mutilations, and there will be no marriages. Put these thoughts out of your minds.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #hotd fanfic #aemond smut #A Vow of Blood

[sizhui]

hello clari i hope you’re doing well! how do you feel about rei’s ending in slow damage? i know a lot of people don’t like that he drops his femininity but i feel like his happy end is accepting the masculinity he spent so long denying and i was wondering what you think! ^-^

Hello, hellooooo! Ok (cracks my knuckles) ive been silent on slowdam for a while with some thoughts cooking in my head and i feel like its time to let a few of them out - to talk about how i feel about rei's route, i must first explain my understanding of slow damage in its entirety... i talked about it here and there to emery and dove but here comes a synthesis!

I warn you: this is only my unconventional analysis, and I think that many will find it unsatisfying and disagree. If anyone wants to discuss or criticize any of my points, i am open to having my mind changed.

Huge thanks to Renne who introduced me to Surodame and set me on the path of studying it!

Under the cut TW: rape, csa

Slow Damage is a story about the consequences and the cyclic nature of abuse. Abuse sticks its claws into you and rakes down, leaving behind four ditches - orderly in some cases, and more chaotic in others. Either way, even as the skin and flesh heal, there is now a generous amount of empty space in you, and Slow Damage poses a question - what will you fill it up with, hmm?

I went into this VN knowing only that Towa enjoys rather extreme forms of self harm, and I have to admit that this was precisely what captivated my attention at first - the promise of a severely damaged protagonist, and the hope that he is more than a run-of-the-mill masochist. I was not disappointed.

The extent to which towa relates injury to sex and pain to pleasure immediately made me suspect the sort of trauma he must have endured in childhood. For a moment, I thought: Isn't the solution to this mystery a little too obvious? Looking back at the lack of subtlety, though, I don't think that Towa being a CSA victim was supposed to be some kind of a grand reveal. The point wasn't in cracking the mystery, in understanding motivations and getting concrete answers - the point was observing onr case of the consequences of abuse that will tell us - no, ASK us - something about all of them. HOW does the thing that happened to Towa keep happening over and over, and in silence too? What mechanisms allow it to happen, and to stay hidden? What all sorts of people, some of them generally good and kind, participate in these mechanisms?

Let us retrace our steps.

Maya forced her own son into violent prostitution from a very young age, all the while teaching him how to use charms to his advantage, how to manipulate people and fulfill their desires in order to gain control over them. The WAY she taught those things methodically seems to insinuate that this was something she herself had been taught at a young age and passed on; the art of assuming the exact persona you need to prod into people's insides. This isn't to say that her actions classify as excusable - in fact, isn't the fact that she's putting her child through the horrors she experienced herself even more disgusting? I wonder if her lessons in human psychology were all for the self-obsessed purpose of turning her son into a copy of herself... or was she, in a twisted way, thinking it would hell him endure and rise the way that she did? I am going to let that question hang in the air - after all, the point of Surodame isn't to review individual motivations, but to ask questions about the grander scheme of things. That is precisely why I cried together with Towa upon reading the strangely frail account of Maya's diary: I just can't make this work... realizing that the slow-growing disease had spread beyond that mother-son duo, beyond the walls of Euphoria, beyond Shinkoumi... in every corner of the world, there are hundreds of Mayas and Towas, and millions upon millions of Silent Takus wondering what they could have done differently.

For starters I want to focus on Towa himself. When I think about him, the first phrase that comes to mind is 'a void filled with the dregs of abuse'. Though he himself doesn't remember his abuse throughout the first three routes, his every move is a reflection of it: every sexual encounter both a self-inflicted wound and an attempt to affirm: IT'S ME WHO CHOSE TO DO THIS TO MYSELF, which is why Towa's breakdown upon realizing that not even his scars are his own is especially painful. I like the choice of stating that Maya did not like nor understand art. She COULDN'T understand it. Though the penchant for uncovering people's dark desires and the ability to read them were all influenced by Maya, the instinct to paint those is Towa's. The art that almost died together with him was the one thing that belonged to him alone - and yet, there is comfort in the fact that the true route ends with him saying that he doesn't know whether he'll paint anymore or not. What matters is that he quit performing euphoric episodes, closed the cycle of abuse and perpetuating Maya's ideals, and began walking towards a peaceful life. The sight of the atelier in the main menu all clean and bright upon Towa's vision returning to normal made me strangely emotional; the reveal that the painting was never dark and muddy, that the atelier was never that dark and scary... the final tour around Shinkoumi with everyone telling Towa that he looks like something good had happened to him... at the end of a very painful road, Towa still found some comfort in existing.

But what of Fujieda? Of Madarame, of Rei, Taku? For a BLVN, isn't it strange to go 6 paragraphs deep without mentioning any of the love interests?

I will preface this by saying that, to me, the very point of Surodame lies in the fact that none of them are ultimately good boyfriends to Towa. I really wanted to interpret the actions of the three sans Madarame more charitably than I do now, but in reasoning with myself, I failed at every single attempt. They are, to varying degrees and each in their own way, a deadend.

Let's go route by route.

Murase Takuma is a kind man in a way Towa is not - this is driven into our heads from the start, he is a doctor. He cares for children, workers and the elderly. He even lends an ear to them outside of his responsibilities as their physician, overworking himself to the brink of death. His role as a caretaker of a hopeless, bleak person like Towa, an addict who is destructive towards both himself and others, can certainly be percieved as saintly. Even his actions of keeping Towa's past from him, burning letters and throwing away packages, were all for the sake of preserving Towa's sanity! However, though Taku's intentions are pure, I can't read them as benign. Well - he is probably the most benign of the four men Towa involves himself with, being the only one who never physically lashed out on him. Neither abuser nor victim, Taku is a third thing entirely - an observer. A hider, a savior, a carer... and at its core, though not intentionally, an enabler. I do agree that there was nothing Taku could have done to save Towa as a child. There just wasn't a way to take Towa away from Euphoria while Maya lived. I do believe that he did the best he could, patching Towa up time after time... staying throughout the years, changing the bedding, throwing out the liquor bottles. Eat something, Towa. Smoke less, Towa. Once Towa got a lot older, Taku grew to love him romantically. Though I find it unsavory, Towa is over twenty-five at this point so it's not really some big deal. The much more dreadful power imbalance than that in age is the fact that Taku is holding the entirety of Towa's past, his abuse, and his identity over his head. Once again, I'm not calling Taku out as a gaslighter here - not in this route, at least, since Towa had no interest in his true identity at this point anyway. But you can't deny that their happy ending - embracing under the cherry blossoms with a calmer, more mature looking Towa, his hair a clean black, an orderly cardigan billowing behind him - is a sort of a quiet misery. Taku loves the man he saved (raised?), the man who presumably quit painful sex for his sake, and Towa doesn't even know what it is that he's being saved from. Towa is a hole. I really might not have interpreted this ending so negatively if it wasn't for the scene of Taku showing Towa a photograph of him as a little child in a restaurant with his mother. This smiling child prostitute in an orderly little boys' getup, dining with his pimp mother and his future lover. It felt to me like a means of truly driving into our brains the extent of Taku's helplessness, delusion, failure, and LIES. The photograph is a fabricated reality, a fabricated happy past that he feeds to Towa. In this route, this is what Towa filled the ditch with - a daydream, and sweet vanilla sex that doesn't scratch his itch. I can't give them more than five years before Towa falls back into his old habits. The end.

Now we get to Rei, who you originally asked me about. I am sorry I dragged it out to this extent, but I truly can't talk about Rei alone without addressing the grand scheme of things. Rei is also a sort of a carer to Towa, though a more casual one. A friend friend rather than a dad friend, I say this with half a scowl hanging off my face. Let us review Rei's situation with gender - due to his toxic, abusive dad (who was also a child sex trafficker, might I add!) degrading him for his homosexuality and saying it made him less of a man, Rei developed an aversion to masculinity, speaking in onee-kotoba and growing out his hair and such. At some point he attempted to cut off his own penis in Towa's presence, but ended up hesitating and not going through. All in all, he decided to drop all things associated with traditional masculinity other than street fighting, which he uses to vent out his frustration. This is the key word here - FRUSTRATION. Rei's frustration grows to hundred percent when he is forced to enter to-the-death matches. Killing opponent after opponent, Rei grows more frustrated and less and less like his friendly effeminate self. I think the key solution to the question of 'how is the writing of rei's gender handled?' Is the fact that Rei rediscovered his masculinity through violence. And Slow Damage is not a game that... likes violence, encourages it, or overall relates it to anything remotely positive. I don't think that Rei reconnected to his masculinity in a healthy way, and I don't think it's meant to be read as a cool finding himself arc. Most of all, it's not his or Towa's happy ending. Towa... the thing is that Rei only realized a sexual attraction to Towa once the amount of violence in his life amplified to the max. As his level of 'manliness' grew. Their sex scene is very frank about this - after he and Towa beat each other into bloody pulp, he says something along the lines of 'I'm a man and I want to fuck you.' I think it drives the point further that he was the only virginal love interest to that point - when he percieved himself as a woman, he had no violent sexual appetites, or at least didn't see a way towards realizing them. Once he 'reverted' into a man though, he could fuck Towa. He could claim his prize - who has no objections, given that it feeds perfectly into his own penchant that I described at the start. And their ending, showing us a casually manly Rei biking with Towa? We have no proof that he's in any way abusive, nor that they're unhappy, but... this 'new gender' of his, he built it up with bricks made of blood, some of it Towa's. I don't think Rei reached a happy ending. I think Rei is a feminine person, or at the very least a gender nonconforming man who retreated back into the closet within the violent festa that his father brought upon him... many will disagree, but this is how I read it - a manhood built up on violence equals unhapliness for two. I think Towa and Rei might stay together longer than Towa and Taku would, but it won't bring either of them any healing. The end.

Madarame's route is the simplest, since Madarame does not hide himself behind any masks. He is a violent, shameless pedophile rapist who gladly continues paving the road of self-destruction that Maya had left off half-finished. I think that placing this ending behind Taku and Rei's serves as a bit of a wake up call who felt pacified by the former two - um, hey, hello? Did you forget? This is not a 'happy story'. For some three hours you watch Madarame break Towa psychologically, repeatedly rape and torture him - only to release him back to Taku and Rei for Towa to find that he can't truly fit im with them anymore. What purpose does it serve? Well, I think it just shows us that there never was any long-term happiness waiting for Towa with either of those men. I think the purpose of the Madarame route, beyond preparing us for the true route, is to totally nullify the effect of the first two. A 'forget what you thought you knew' type of detail. Broken into obedience, a wild blond Towa kissed Madarame after a boxing match. The end.

Fujieda.

He perplexes me the most, and I'm still not entirely certain in the answer I arrived to. Why would the author who penned this painfully real story about abuse have Towa end up with a man who - midway through the route - raped him? I tried to work wonders to explain this to myself, try to interpret it differently, but the truth is concrete. Fujieda raped Towa in a fit of rage, and then with a sober mind refused to apologise for it. Why would this be in a 'painfully real story about abuse?'

...precisely because it's painfully real. It happened to Towa. It happened to a million others. It might happen to you. When you hit your knee, do your fingers not venture to fondle the bruise, press down for a small reminder of what the pain felt like? The fingers are usually kind, but once in a while, they press down.

And again - Fujieda does not consistently abuse Towa. In fact, he gives him his first taste of truly pleasurable sex in a scene that pushed me to the brink of tears in its sad honesty. When Fujieda has a good day, he gently washes the remnants of assault out of Towa. But when he had an extremely bad way, he was the perpetrator of the assault. I think it's 'painfully real' for Towa to end up with such a man. After coming to terms with his past, this was the best he could do. This was as much as he could save himself. The VN ends on such a note - don't be too happy for him, and don't be too sad. I do believe that Fujieda brought Towa some comfort and clarity, but I can't say that this isn't a deadend, too. Just a more peaceful one in the light. In the ocean.

What's the point then, if Towa ends up stranded no matter what choices you make? Let's return to the beginning, to the ditch abuse made in you. Sometimes you fill it in with fantasies, sometimes with violence, sometimes with the 'next best thing', a 'he's a good man you know, he's only rough when he drinks' typa marriage... no matter what, fact is that all abused kids seek to fill it in with something familiar. Something they know and recognize. It yearns to be filled, it aches for it - whatever you're ready to dish out, just put it in! I think this merry-go-round of victims and perpetrators is what Surodame is tryong to turn our eyes towards, or at least force us to stop averting them. So that you may not scorn the Towa in your life, so that if you are a Towa yourself, you may find comfort in knowing that someone somewhere dreemed you up, empathized with you and lead your hand along the path. Why, then, do we not see our Towa free?

Well, the future is long. He was in an ocean. Maybe he walked out.

[societalenemynumberone]

"You love me though."

"I love you though."

Tw: Fluff, Mentions of kidnapping, insinuations of rape

"Do you plan on following me around all day?"

"Do you plan on setting fire to another ex's car?" Adrian sighed, they'd been walking around the city for hours now. Her feet hurt but she unfortunately had to make sure that her best friend doesn't drag anyone down to the afterlife with her.

"Y'know, you might be deceased and all but I might be charged to all crimes you commit while you're six feet under." She complained, sitting down on the side of the road to remove her heels.

Johanna turned around with a pout on her face. "Since when did you become such a buzzkill? What happened to the little girl that would be in the principal's office every other day 'cause she was standing up for her best friend-

*cough* me *cough*?"

"Are you slow?" Johanna let out an offended gasp. "That little girl died when she saw her favorite girl taken before her eyes and woke up next to her lifeless body!" She wanted to cry, so badly she wanted to cry but she refused to, she knew what JoJo thought about crying: "Crying is like, small parts of your dignity dripping out. And then it dries up and you can never get it back."

"Ok...so obviously you have some issues with me that you wanna let out." Adrian sat up and Johanna dusted off her new dress. "As long as you promise not to cry, you know how I feel about tears."

JoJo just being herself put a smile on her face. "You can be so insensitive sometimes." JoJo opened her arms for a hug, which Adrian gladly took.

"You love me though."

"I love you though." She sniffed.

"So once we get home we could watch some of those white trash movies you like, get batshit high while making fun of those bozos you work with." Johanna smiled and picked up the heels Adrian tried to discard earlier.

"So what, I just walk home bare feet?" She complained but still started walking, her feet feeling much better now that they were out of those heels.

"What's the problem? In school you would pop off your shoes every and any time they got uncomfortable."

"I'm not the same girl I was when you died. I got a job-"

"Became a pushover."

"Helped my sister through a brain tumor and-- I did not become a pushover." Adrian seemed more disappointed than offended, like she expected this topic to come up at some point.

"Please. You so did." She dragged out every word she spoke. "You didn't see the way you let that guy, Chase, stomp all over you. We let a guys named Chase walk all over us now?"

"JoJo..."

"He literally could've spat on you and you would've apologized! And not in the hot way!"

Adrian would've fought for her dignity but her eyes caught sight of something that made her mind wander away from her dead friend's needless ranting.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're always right." She was in a daze.

She turned to her, unconvinced. "I'm always right?" Johanna blinked at her as if she just learned her dead best friend came back to life to help her achieve her life goals. "Girl, did something happen to Adrianna Whitman? 'Cause I know damn well she wouldn't feed me ego like that."

JoJo turned her gaze to what had caught her friend's attention. "Ohhhh..." Adrian and JoJo were walking right to Adrian's work crush.

"OoOoo, it's your boyfriend." Her teasing immediately forced Adrian out of her love filled haze.

"Are you five?" She sent a glare to her right before Matteo walked up to them.

"Anna?" He smiled as he walked over to the two girls. "I haven't seen you at work in a few days. Is everything okay?" JoJo watched as her best friend melted inside at this man's concern.

"Oh, I-yeah I've been fine, just been busy recently. My-"

"I am so sorry to cut you off but, why are you barefoot right now?" She had just noticed how his eyes moved from hers to her bare feet.

Adrian's face flushed while she crossed one foot over the other as if they weren't both shoeless.

"You like? Adri and I just got mani pedis and I refused to let her wear these awful things while her feet were still healing." JoJo intruded on their conversation, stopping her friend from further embarrassing herself.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't notice you there. I'm Matteo." He placed out his hand for JoJo, who graciously shook it.

"JoJo, the second hottest girl you have ever seen in your life." She smiled at him, eyeing him down, trying to decide how good he is for her best friend.

Adrian's face turned from a mocha color to a dark red in a matter of seconds, groaning into her hands. "I'm so sorry about her, she's in training to be a narcissist, and sadly she's the top of her class."

"It's alright." He only smiled in response. "How do you know Adrianna?"

"We're childhood friends. I'm in town for business and I thought we'd catch up." Matteo nodded in understanding, listening to JoJo as she ranted.

"That's so nice of her to let you stay with her for a few weeks." Adrian awkwardly smiled when he glanced at her.

"Adri, is like the nicest person you will ever meet." JoJo clung to the side of Adrian's arm.

Before Matteo could say anything else he got a notification on his phone. "I am so sorry, I have to go. It was so nice meeting you, JoJo. I hope to see you at work soon, Adrian." He smiled before walking to the other side of the street to get where he needs to go.

Adrian turned to JoJo, her face completely red. "What was that?" JoJo seemed to be in her thoughts while Adrian complained.

"He's cute, a little short for you but he's the most polite man I've met in your life since coming back from the dead, so that should say everything about the men you surround yourself with. I think you two would be cute but you're smooth as a field of broken glass --no offense, still love you-- so we'll have to work on that. But otherwise, I totally think I could get you two together before I go back to death!"

"J.J! Would you mind not yelling that? I'm trying to at least look like a sane person." She sighed, grabbing her heels from JoJo's hands to put them back on her feet, no matter how uncomfortable.

"Ok, babe, people literally think you're schizophrenic after my death. There is no way for you to look like a sane person right now. But now let's go back to your apartment and drink some wine and have you gush about Matteo to me so I can figure out how to get you two on a date."

"You are so annoying sometimes." Adrian mumbled as she stood to her pained feet, starting on the route to her apartment, JoJo clinging to her side.

"You love me though."

"I love you though."

It felt good to have her best friend back, even if she was back from the dead.

Not proofread!!!

Author's Note: Ok, so this was my first story on Tumblr. I really hope you all like it. I don't really have much to say, I have a bunch of things sitting in my drafts so there will be more stories like this

#creative writing #original characters #Jojo and Adrian #story prompt #zombie girl

[my-quirk-is-fred]

The Su*c*de of Rachel Foster is an Awful Game.

Tw: P3doph!l!a, Gr00ming, Su*c*de, ranting, r*pe, mentions of inc3st

This story was done poorly. It’s like the game developers wanted us to think what Rachel and Nicole’s father had was love. It was as if they wanted us to side with the p*dophile and hold the victim accountable for all of this.

What it really was, was a 16 year old dyslexic girl groomed and raped by a man who was supposed to help her. Then the evil bitch of a wife killed a girl for getting raped by her p*dophile husband.

Never have we got the perspective of Rachel in the game, it was always her delusional brother and the monster that r*ped her. And have I mentioned how disgusting it is that they displayed this “man” as a warm and all-knowing father??? Listening to his soothing voice talk to his daughter was fucking foul.

And the relationship between the MC and her father disgusts me. The daughter obviously seems Star-struck by her own father despite the clear fucking evidence in front of her face. She’s an adult woman. How did she not grow out of her admiration for this prick???

The game also insinuates that Nicole was jealous of what her father and Rachel had, which makes me think that the game was hinting that there were incestuous themes in it. It also makes me think that Nicole’s father groomed his own daughter as well, but didn’t go as far because he lived in the same house as her and she came from his ballsack.

The game also describes Rachel as an “adult” which is something that groomers use to ease their victims into their clutches.

The game would later contradict itself when we come across a room (or a shrine Nicole’s father created) made for Rachel that had things MEANT FOR CHILDREN. This means that Nicole’s father SAW RACHEL AS A CHILD. And he still r*ped her.

Everyone in the game sucks. The only one who doesn’t suck is Rachel, who we barely get to know despite the game revolving AROUND HER. Again, we never hear what Rachel has to say, which is common for the victims to not have an actual say in P3d0ph!l!c “relationships”.

And the ending. How the fuck do you make a whole-ass game about these deep subjects and NOT understand the concept of suicide, Grooming, and pedophilia.

The ending was a step by step on how to k*ll yourself.

And if you chose not to k*ll yourself? You’re punished by having Nicole fall into a state of delusion and insanity because k*lling yourself is good but choosing to continue on living isn’t????

What the fuck was wrong with those assholes when they were jacking themselves off at the development room???

And the whole mystery themes behind this shit pissed me off.

Leonard McGrath was a p3d0phile. Mystery solved.

Shame on these game developers for making this awful game.

#tw disturbing #tw suicude #tw pediophobia #tw grooming #the suicide of Rachel foster #rant #Rachel foster

[riarevenge]

TW Rape

The Premier League footballer who was arrested on suspicion of rape in July has had his bail extended.

And yet he gets to start in one of the biggest games in the country, he gets to score and be celebrated, he gets to hear his manger beg sympathy for him in front of thousands 😐

it’s so disgusting. i wish they would just name him and the club, bc it’s not like we don’t all know it’s thomas partey and arsenal. the fact that he’s not only playing, and getting paid, he’s being celebrated and even his own manager is coming on the telly to insinuate that we should feel bad for him and talk about “everything he’s been through.” HIM? the man that’s violent and evil, and doesn’t give a fuck about the way he’s ruined womens lives. he’s literally a danger to women and the football club isn’t batting an eye. how do they know he won’t rape someone who works there? how do they know he wouldn’t rape a female arsenal player given the chance? how do they feel safe having him around other young male impressionable players? it’s truly sickening. like actually sickening, bc they’ve shown their stance, they’ve had fucking arteta come out and essentially advocate for him. it baffles me so fucking much, bc as much as these institutions might want to ignore it, us women make up a huge portion of their fanbase and also their fucking players! even if yous want to argue that legally he has to be paid bc of contracts or whatever the fuck, why the fuck does he get to play, why’s he even on the bench? lash him on the fucking bench at bare minimum but imo he shouldn’t even be touching the stadium. like why’s he allowed to even be on the bench? go kick a ball in the basement you fucking freak like why do they even let him put on the shirt every week, it’s truly so fucking nasty i can’t even put it into words

#answered #futebol

[sweetdreamsbuck]

Is it confirmed in comic or movies or any insinuation that Bucky was raped? Or sexually assaulted? I see the headcanons and fics but I don’t know if it’s actually true or just theories

TW– RAPE AND PHYSICAL ABUSE well I have never actually read all of the comics, but I don't think explicitly it's been stated. (if someone knows the exact answer, please let me know!)

Bucky Barnes has been a victim, has been physically assaulted and his body has been used for countless years without his consent, by people with this really dangerous and uncontrollable power over him. We see it almost his entire screen time:( HYDRA, the doctors that used and abused him, dismantled him and literally fried him down to his very core. the information was never not intended to get into the hands of the wrong people... Zemo knows how to get what he wants, and we see another glimpse in FATWS of how natural it is for people to take Bucky's autonomy away from him– and to me, it is insinuated there as well that he has been raped. The way he talks of the WS, circling him, "he'll do whatever you want", the touching. (The look on Bucky's face that entire episode is devastating and gutting. He just wants to be respected damn it😭 the fact that they made him go through with any of that...) Remember, sexual assault has nothing to do with pleasure, connection, or sex. It is a complete display of abusive power and twisted dangerous control.

And with Bucky, we see how he went through a lot of responses shown in those who have experienced any similar trauma. he dissociates, becomes something that isn't himself, and I think the term is depersonalization. And in the MCU, people disrespect the fact Bucky is a human and is now trying to be one fully. even his asswipe of a therapist refuses to call him by the name he would like to be called, furthering the idea that Bucky Barnes will never have the boundaries and control he is 1) deserving of 2) protecting his want to live with 3) trying to find himself inside of. It all hurts my heart nonnie, he really is such a beautiful angel😭

unfortunately, it really isn't that far of a reach to assume the torture went any further as he was only ever viewed as a thing to be used without it ever granting consent. But what's really beautiful about Bucky (that the MCU clearly ignores times and time again) is he is a survivor through and through. And I wish his screen time became reflective of how strong and wonderful he is, how deserving he is of a life of peace and boundaries that are respected in abundance.

#sweet sweet asks <3 #Bucky Barnes

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Silver Linings, Chapter Seventeen

Word Count:  4409

TW:  Heavy angst; canon angst (Barba murks that baby); smut (PiV, unprotected).  18+ only.

AN:  Part of a series.  The series masterlist here.

What is there to say about the years that followed?  Rafael’s life resumed its dreary greyness.  If anything, it was greyer now, because he’d had that bright moment with you.  You had been like a little songbird that flitted into his life and gave him joy – and now everything seemed sadder because of your absence.  

He worked, mostly.  The cases he prosecuted were uniformly awful.  There were too many of them, too many rapes and assaults.  The domestic violence cases hit him the hardest though.  They reminded him of you, all those women with blackened eyes and broken bones and resigned eyes that seemed to expect nothing good to ever happen to them again.

Rafael, in those bleak, lonely years, went on a single date.  Liv had set him up with a friend of a friend, and the woman had even looked like you a little.  Liv must have thought that you were his type, physically, and found a lookalike in her stable of impressive friends.  It only made the date worse.  The woman looked a bit like you, but she wasn’t you.  

No one was.

He thought about you all the time.  He set up a Google alert on your name, and while he understood the fuzzy grey line between missing you and stalking you, he didn’t care.  He’d given you up.  The least he could do is follow the bright path you were flying now.

He knew he’d done the right thing in sending you away.  In his line of work, he constantly tortured himself as he questioned his decisions.  Did he question this witness too hard?  Did he offer too lenient a plea deal?  Did he take the right cases to trial, did he explore every option?  There was too much at stake for him to not agonize over everything he did.

But you?  Opening that cage door and setting you free?  It was the best decision he ever made.  He’d never felt such certainty in his life.

Until, one day, a strange little case crossed his path, and he made another decision that seemed questionable to the world – but one that sat perfectly still and light on his conscience.

*****

There wasn’t much to say about your life after Rafael.  Your resume could serve just as well:  you graduated from Stanford Law with honors, and you got a glittering little heap of lucrative offers.  Two were even in New York City, with prestigious firms, but you politely declined.  You had your eye on one role only, and you had to restrain yourself from accepting it too eagerly.

You left California for Florida.  Rafael had been right – once you were out of colder climes, you felt a million times better.  Your healed broken bones hardly ached in the heat of Miami.

You worked for the Miami-Dade State Attorney’s office, in the division of Domestic Violence and Stalking.  Was there ever any doubt that you’d land somewhere else?  Between your own sad history and your brief time watching Rafael find justice for the bleakest cases, it had been a no-brainer to take the job.

You bought a charming little place in Riverside, which either was or wasn’t part of Little Havana, depending on which stodgy old timer you were talking to.  And your neighbors were all stodgy old timers – old Cubano widowers who wiled away their hours playing dominos, old abuelas who plied you with food when you moved in.  There was even a small enclave of old Jewish women, holdovers from before the demographics of the neighborhood changed.  They invited you to their Passover feasts and talked endlessly about their myriad grandchildren.

You were a sort of mascot to them all, the young, single woman who bought the candy-colored Art Deco house on the street.  You’d been told that the neighborhood was insular, but it wasn’t your experience.  The people were inviting and kind, and it wasn’t long before those nosy old grandmothers were heavily insinuating that you should meet their grandsons, who were always ostensibly a gorgeous doctor or handsome lawyer or some other unicorn of a man.

You’d only smile at them enigmatically (which made it worse, you eventually realized).  How could you tell them that you had already met and lost your own proverbial unicorn of a man?

You checked up on Rafael from time to time.  His name usually brought up the latest terrible cases that Manhattan was prosecuting, and your heart ached for him.  Sometimes there was a picture of him, sometimes a video clip.  He looked older.  His hair had more grey.  He was still as handsome as ever – just seeing him made you ache with the memory of your few months together.

You did date sometimes.  A few dates a year seemed to be all you needed to remind yourself that if you couldn’t be with Rafael, alone was the best second option.  

To fill the quiet hours alone in your home, you got a dog.  Bear was a ragged little thing.  He was flea-bitten and too skinny and missing half of an ear.  He trembled when any human approached.  He urinated from fear, and he was always afraid.  He’d been terribly treated by people, and you understood his fear.  You adopted him despite his brokenness – he had been scheduled to be put down by the shelter – and you nursed him back to health until he was a little too chunky and completely spoiled.

You took care of yourself too.  Therapy, always.  Anxiety meds, ad hoc.  Support groups once in a while, when nightmares flared up.

You wished you could tell Rafael how well you were doing.  He never reached out to you, and you gave him the same courtesy.  You hoped he was doing well too.  Every so often, there’d be a picture of him at those D.A. dinners and events that he’d skipped when you lived with him.  He was almost always standing next to Olivia Benson, his arm around her waist.  You felt a sting of jealousy and tried to wish them well.

When you left New York, it had taken you awhile to unpack your bags.  You only found his gift a few weeks later when you emptied out your last suitcase.  Rafael must have slipped the little box into it that last evening together.  You’d been distracted and hiding in the bathroom, and you hadn’t been there when he left.

It was a pendant.  It wasn’t anything fancy, but that was the thing with Rafael.  He was thoughtful to his core, so it was the perfect gift.  It was a small circle of silver, and it had been crafted from the impression of an 1800’s wax seal.  It was a unique, lovely little piece.  There was a swallow in flight with the French legend, toujours errante, jamais infidéle.  You looked it up – it meant always wandering, never unfaithful.  You got a silver chain for it, and you wore it every day.

The accompanying note spoke more to the depth of his feelings for you.  Rafael had always teased you about your love of Russian literature.  He’d joked that it was all bleak suicides and gulags and doomed romances.

In his slanting handwriting, Rafael had written that he loved you so much and that he knew that you’d fly high and achieve amazing things.  And then he included a poem by Pushkin:

I loved you. And, it might well be, this notion Is not extinguished in my soul just yet; But may it cease to bring on you commotion; I do not wish to make you feel upset. I loved you mutely, hopelessly, and dearly, With bashful, jealous suffering one can’t know; I loved you tenderly and so sincerely, May God grant that another love you so.

You kept it propped up on your nightstand – a nearly perfect love-note marred only by one tear that fell before you could stop it.

Time passed.  You worked, you drank strong Cortados and let your neighbor, Señor Ramos, try to teach you dominos.  You walked Bear.  You read and learned to salsa and you took up jogging.  And you checked on Rafael from time to time via the internet.  You never dreamed of intruding on his life now.

Until one day:  you were idly messing around on the internet and typed in the usual search for Rafael.  And the results?  He was going to trial for murder in the second degree.  Your mind wondered when Rafael switched from Sex Crimes to Homicide, but then you read the article closer.  The gears in your brain kept slipping, refused to understand what was plainly spelled out on your screen.

Rafael wasn’t prosecuting someone for murder.  He was on trial for murder.

The next steps came automatically:  you called Carmen for the details.  You put in for a leave of absence from work.  You booked a plane ticket and hotel.  You left Bear with Señor Ramos, with strict instructions about not over-feeding him that you knew the old man would tacitly ignore..  

Rafael would never even know you were there.  You’d sit in the back of the courtroom where he couldn’t see you, willing the jury to acquit.

And you dug out your robin’s egg blue winter coat from the back of your closet.  It was February in New York City, and it would be cold.

*****

If Rafael ever felt alone before, he knew now that it had been nothing compared to what he was feeling at the moment.  

Word spread fast.  His mother, the only close family he had left, didn’t parse the legality or morality of his actions.  Murder was murder.  Killing a baby was even worse.  It didn’t matter that the baby was suffering.  Rafael had played god, and Lucia had disowned him as a result.

Casual friends fell away.  Coworkers, including the detectives at SVU, didn’t come to his trial.  It was only Liv sitting behind him.  

He didn’t bother turning around.  He heard the courtroom doors open and slam shut several times, and he assumed it was baby Drew’s family members.  They were pretty evenly split, from what he heard.  Half thought that he was a monster, and half thought that he had been a necessary angel who freed Drew from endless suffering.  

He hoped he had those odds with the jury.

Rafael was in hell.  He wasn’t sleeping or eating.  The guilt ate at him until he was certain he had an ulcer.  He had a low-grade migraine that never relented.  His hands shook, and he cut himself shaving because he could barely look at himself in the mirror.

Worse yet, he was obviously hallucinating.  Halfway through opening statements, he swore he could smell your perfume, that bright orange blossom smell that immediately punched him in the gut with the nostalgia of his time with you.  

He was losing it.  He only focused on appearing stoic and sane throughout the day’s statements and testimony.  When court adjourned for the day, he only waited a long moment, kept his head down, and then escaped through the side door.

He just wanted to go home, shower, and lie in bed until morning.  He wasn’t hungry, and he knew he wouldn’t sleep. But Liv was standing in the small side hallway, waiting for him.  She had a strange little smile on her face.

“Look who I found in the gallery,” she said, and she gestured towards to ladies’ room.  Where someone was exiting.  He recognized the coat first – that vibrant blue like the sky on the first day of spring.  Then he saw you – pale, nervous-looking, fidgeting.  Already apologizing.

“I just wanted to support you,” you said, hardly able to meet his gaze.  “I didn’t…didn’t think anyone would notice me…”

He didn’t even let you finish the sentence.  He took three wide steps to you and pulled you into his arms.  It was just like before, with one key difference.

Before, when he held you, he had been the strong bulwark that supported you.  Now, you were the strong one that held him up.

----

He barely heard you and Liv talking in low voices.  He couldn’t look away from you.  You were exactly the same.  Your hair was a little shorter, and aside from your winter coat, you were woefully underdressed for the weather.  You were in a thin-looking wrap dress, and your legs were bare.  Your feet were the worst – you were in delicate looking sandals, and your toes were painted a cheerful coral color.  It made him smile.  Florida was rubbing off on you.

Rafael gave himself a little shake and focused.  Liv was asking to you see him home and make sure he eats a real meal. You tried to decline, but Olivia Benson didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer (ironic, given her career in special victims).

“I don’t want to get in the middle of anything,” you said quietly, and both Rafael and Liv exchanged confused looks first, then looks of dawning understanding.  Liv, god bless her, played it off as gracefully as possible.

“I have to get home to Noah,” she said.  “The only man in my life.”  She gave you a slight smile and gestured at Rafael.  “Can I count on you to get some food in him?  Actual food and not just scotch?”

You bit your lip and nodded, and Rafael didn’t miss the obvious relief in your face before you schooled your emotions.  You reached out and touched his elbow with a tentative hand, then led him to the exit at the back of the courthouse where the press was less likely to be hovering like vultures.

Florida may be rubbing off on you, but you still remembered some of your time in the Big Apple.  You stepped to the curb and flagged down a taxi with the casual panache of a lifelong resident, and it made Rafael smile.  The ride to his apartment was mostly quiet and blessedly quick.  Once in his place, you stood in his entryway for a moment, uncertain until he told you to make yourself at home.

The awkwardness melted away bit by bit.  You seemed shy, and somehow embarrassed that you’d been caught in the gallery of his trial.  He was embarrassed to have you there, at his murder trial.  He didn’t know what you thought about it all:  you obviously cared enough to be there, but did you think he was a monster for what he’d done?  

If you thought that about him, you were hiding it well.  You did make yourself at home in his kitchen, and you clucked in disappointment at the contents of his refrigerator.  You held up a bottle of some sauce to show him.

“I bought this when I lived here,” you teased him.  “It expired a year ago, Rafael.”

“Maybe I kept it because it reminded me of you,” he teased back, and that made you roll your eyes and laugh.  It sounded like a song, and it made his heart soar to hear it.

“That’s just what every woman wants to hear,” you sassed back.  “That roasted tomatillo sauce is what springs to the minds of their former lovers when they think of them.”

Given the limited resources in his kitchen, dinner was a cobbled together affair of a fluffy omelet and thin, crepe-like pancakes.  Every cabinet you opened elicited more disappointed clucks from you, and the more comfortable you got, the more hell you gave him about taking care of himself.  That was new – you having the confidence to chastise him.  Rafael knew he should be upset at being criticized, but he only felt a warm flush of emotion to have someone care about him.  Even when you threatened to pry his jaws open and jam a multi-vitamin down his throat made him smile.  You, threatening him with good health.  He loved your newfound confidence.

As you ate, he begged you for all the details about your life that he couldn’t glean from the internet.  A selfish part of him wanted to know if you had someone, a boyfriend or a casual lover.  The bigger part just wanted to hear about you so that he could forget about his own, more pressing issues.

You told him about Stanford and your job with Miami-Dade County.  You told him about your dog, and your house in Little Havana (he smiled at that – had you moved there unconsciously because of him?).  You cleared the table and kept talking, describing your home, some Art Deco confection.

“It’s ridiculous,” you told him as you eventually joined him on the couch with a glass of wine.  “It’s literally mint green stucco on the outside.  I love it.”

Rafael felt like a glutton – actually eating a meal instead of picking at it, but more than that – you sitting beside him, giving him every delicious little detail about your life.  It was like a feast after a long famine – he felt stretched and languid and even a little sick.  He wanted more.  He wanted to hear you talk all night, so when he was found guilty and sent to Rikers, he’d have a big store of memories to sustain him.

There was a lull in the conversation, though, and your face was thoughtful.  Finally, you said, “I’m sorry to just turn up like this, Rafael.  I really did just want to support you from the sidelines.  I thought…there’d be more people there.”

He could tell you about his lonely life without you, and how the few people he had fell away when he did what he did.  He could tell you that your sudden appearance had done more for his spirits than you’d probably ever realize.

He could tell you that he wanted so desperately to reach out for you, to touch you, to never let you go again.  That he’d have to let you go, because he was going to be punished for what he did…

Instead, he blurted out, “did I do the right thing?”

Your eyebrows knit together as you considered his question.  “Well, it’s hard to say, Rafael.  But if I were in baby Drew’s position, I’d want someone to set me free.  That doesn’t seem like much of a life, and if he was in as much pain as – “

He cut you off.  “No, did I do the right thing with you?  When I pushed you away?”

You didn’t answer him right away, and he continued, his voice shaky.  “I used to think I knew what was right, but now I don’t know.  I thought – thought you, then the baby…thought I was doing the right thing, even though it was hard, but now…”  He trailed off and took a deep breath.  “I’m going to be sent away – “

He only noticed the tears rolling down his face when you made a dismayed sound in the back of your throat and leaned over to pull him to you.  You tucked your bare legs under you and held him close; his face was buried in the soft nook between neck and your shoulder.  In your life together before, Rafael had held you exactly the same way, a million times as you wept about your ex or your abuse.  Now you held him as he cried.

And just how he used to murmur comforting words over you, you did just the same now for him.  You rubbed comforting circles on his back, and your other hand cradled his head gently against you.  You told him that he’d done the right thing with baby Drew, from your estimation, and more to the point, he’d done the right thing with you.  You told him that you understood the sacrifice he’d made – now and then.  You told him that he was a good man.

Then you pushed him away from you gently, and you cupped his drawn face between your hands so that he was looking at you.

“Of course you did the right thing with me,” you told him softly.  “Rafael, you saved my life, and then you pushed me to go make that life something wonderful.”  Your eyes peered into his intently, like you were trying to discern if he truly understood you.  “I’m in the career I always wanted, in a vibrant city.”  You smiled at him.  “And I like in a house that looks like a macaron,” you added.

“I’m so scared,” he admitted.  “Prison goes hard for a prosecutor.”

You clucked at him in disappointment.  “This is a show trial, Rafael.  The D.A. has to prosecute you for appearance’s sake.”

“Yes, but – “

“And if you’re found guilty, I’ll bust you out of jail.  We’ll find somewhere with no extradition agreements with the U.S.”

That made him smile, the thought of you leading a jailbreak on his behalf.  You saw it and smiled back at him.  It was the first real smile of yours that he’d seen in years, and just like the first time he saw it.  You were just the same as you’d been, only stronger.  More confident.  It gave him confidence.

“Will you stay with me?” he asked.  “At least just tonight?”

You smiled at him and said of course you would.  And, you added, you were on a leave of absence, so you could stay as long as his trial lasted.

You only left long enough to get your luggage and check out of your hotel.  Then you were back in his apartment, and while Rafael still felt like a dead man walking, he’d happily admit that having you there made the entire terrible situation more bearable.  More bearable by far.

Come bedtime, the awkwardness between you returned a little.  You were both in uncertain territory, but Rafael was out of time.  

“Will you sleep with me?” he asked.  “Not…not for that.  Just, sleep in bed with me?”

That smile again.  You nodded and went to brush your teeth and dress for bed, and when you entered his bedroom, Rafael saw further proof of your Florida assimilation.  Half of his short time with you had been in the wintertime, and you had always bundled into flannel pajamas and long-sleeved thermal shirts when you slept.  

Now, you were in a delicate silken chemise, a peach-colored confection that strained ever so slightly around the curves of your hips and breasts.  Rafael swallowed audibly, and you blushed.

“I forgot how cold it really is,” you explained.  “And I didn’t think I’d be…sleeping with anyone…”

“I’m not complaining,” he managed to choke out despite the entirety of his blood heading southward.  He was a consummate gentleman though – he pushed back the covers for you to crawl into bed, and then he turned off the bedside lamp and plunged the room in darkness.

You laid your head on his shoulder, but his hands moved of their own accord.  First, he only reached out to finger-comb your hair like he used to do, and he smiled at the little hums of contentment you made as he worked out the snarls and tangles.  

But then his hands reached for you in the darkness.  He worried for a single moment that he was being pushy, but your own hands reached for him too.  

Every time he’d made love with you before, it had been a slow-moving, carefully choreographed dance.  He could never make a quick move or be too rough because it might trigger your trauma.  Now, though, he followed your lead, and the more you touched him, the more frenzied you got.  Then he felt you shift beside him, and he felt you grope for his face in the dark, and then your mouth was on his and he was a goner.  

There was hardly any foreplay this time.  Rafael felt like a man who was drowning, and he clung to you as if you were his only salvation.  You pulled away for a moment to strip, and he took the opportunity to do the same.  When you rejoined, it was your naked body stretched against his.  Nothing between you.

“I’ve missed you so much, Rafael,” you muttered as you kissed a fiery trail across his chest, and he could barely choke out the he’d missed you too.  He was overcome with emotion and felt like he might burst into tears if he tried to put his feelings into words.

So he put his feelings into his actions.  He broke away to fumble for a condom from his bedside table, but you stopped him.  You told him that you’d had a bill of health for years and that you were on birth control besides…he didn’t even let you finish.  He settled between your thighs and felt you reach down to grasp his cock and line it with your entrance.  

You barely had time to remove your hand before he was pushing into you, slowly and carefully, as he felt your tight core stretch to accommodate his length.  You gasped at the sensation; you panted in his ear that he felt so good, and when he was fully hilted into the clenching wet heat of you, you let loose a strangled sort of sound.  It was halfway between a sob and a groan.  He tried to make out your expression in the darkness of the room, but you reached up and kissed him hard.

Rafael laid perfectly still, letting you get used to him as he willed his own overheated blood to cool a bit.  When you opened your legs more to him and started pressing up against him, he took that as his cue to start thrusting.  

You were far more talkative than you’d ever been before.  He bit back a grin as he fucked you – maybe becoming a prosecutor had helped you find your voice in the bedroom too.  You panted as he pulled himself nearly out of you and then reseated himself – you babbled a million things:  that you missed him, that he felt so good, that he was doing so well.  That you loved him.

“I love you too,” he groaned in reply.  “Always.  Forever.”  He leaned down to kiss you, stilled your mouth with his, and then he felt you come against him.  You broke the kiss to sigh his name, over and over as you had before.  Like a song to his ears.  Your sheath gripped him like a vise, and he gave a single last thrust before he came too, pulsing his release deep into you as you gave one final, throaty sigh.

#rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tropes-and-tales

[andromedaexists]

A Feather On The Breath Of God || Sigrid Nunez

Technical Skill ★★★★☆

My Opinion ★★☆☆☆

Okay! So I finished reading a book!! I have been wanting to post about the books that I read over here, I just haven't gotten into it yet lol

But that's okay, I'll just start now with A Feather On The Breath Of God by Sigrid Nunez! I'll start out with the technical stuff first:

I was assigned this book to read in class. We were to read the first half for Monday (2-6) and the second half for Wednesday (2-8).

This book if exceptionally well written. It is written in the first-person following an unnamed narrator (in interviews, Sigrid mentions that this narrator is a fictionalized version of her. but for the purposes of this I will leave it as an unnamed female narrator).

The story is told in flashes of memories organized into four sections. This works wonderfully for the story, as chapters would break apart the specific clusters of memories that pertain to each of the four topics and would make the story feel clunky.

The four topics include: Chang (her father), Christa (her mother), A Feather On The Breath Of God (her childhood), and Immigrant Love (a story about her doomed relationship).

Through these sections we, as the audience, learn the story of the narrator from her own mouth. It feels like we're sitting and listening to her speak about her life. The way that it is written is incredibly personal and leaves nothing to the imagination.

At first, I was a little confused as to why we went so in depth on the parents, but she manages to tie everything back in and piece every bit of information together.

This book is meant to make you feel. The descriptions she gives walk a fine line of making you feel incredibly uncomfortable and disgusted but not so uncomfortable and disgusted that you want to put the book down. That is an incredibly fine line and she navigates it well.

Now, for my opinion:

I do not like the book. It is not something I would have read and I hope I never have to read it again.

I am about to speak on some of the heavier topics of the books and I would like to warn you TW: EATING DISORDERS, SEXUAL ASSAULT, PHYSICAL VIOLENCE, MARITAL VIOLENCE

Okay, now that that's been said: I did not make it out of this book unscathed. I mentioned earlier that this book walks a fine line. Well, if you have "issues" that can be triggered by reading about them, then that line is crossed in this book.

The biggest issue for me that I had to push through for class is section 3 (A Feather On The Breath Of God). This section is where the narrator talks about her time as a ballerina as a child. During this time, she develops an eating disorder: anorexia. That is fine and all, as that is heavily present in the ballet world, but what pushed me was that she wrote out the line of thinking that lead her to develop anorexia.

These are thoughts and paths that I had to work my way out of. Not only did this section, and the whole book really, hit very close to home as I was a kid who did dance (including ballet) for years and developed an eating disorder but it also threw off my classmates who don't have that experience. The general class consensus today was that this section and the next section of the book are just... ick

This section also talks about the rape and murder of another ballet student as if it's nothing. And I get why, it's something that happened and the way that it's mentioned really shows the way the narrator fears the world and has become numb to stuff like that. But still, ick

Then, in the final section, there's just so much that I was uncomfortable with. Right off the bat there is an insinuation of sex where the man (debatably her 'lover' Vadim, though only the professor made that connection) says "Aren't you just a kid" 🤢

It gets much worse but by this point I had fully checked out and just skimmed the rest of the book. There were talks of cheating, a father beating his child, a man killing his father-in-law, and others.

All in all, I never would have picked it up and I hope I never have to read it again. Though it was written exceptionally well

I am planning on writing little things like this every time I read a book just to help me keep track of them. If I don't write down my opinions and thoughts right away I am liable to forget them. I am hesitant to call these a review because i'm really just not comfy with that lol I will do my best to make sure I appropriately tag and warn about topics. If I miss any please let me know! Next up on my list will hopefully be something I am more positive about, so I'll see y'all after the next book!

#tw: eating disorders #tw: sa mention #tw: violence #andi reads #a feather on the breath of god #good lord i just #really did not need this book rn #and apparently the next one we're reading isn't any better #the class is starting a novel #couldn't we read something a little more upbeat?? #also you can tell that my prof is older because all the novels we are reading are older and she has to keep saying #'oh well it was a different time then' as if that's an excuse for us to just ignore the horrific things being talked about #anyways #back to doing literally anything other than thinking about this book

[oh-dear-sally]

tw: mention of rap3

“well if you are being assaulted or harassed tell someone” i told my boss that my coworker insinuated he would rape me if my mom wasn’t a manager and she laughed. this was the same coworker that had sexually assaulted people at work.

#maybe stop shaming people for staying quiet and start shaming the people that make them quiet #feminist #feminism #tw rap3 #trigger warning #i love my job! #/srs #and then when you do speak up you are accused of lying

[crownedtargaryen]

ribs. - aemond x reader x lucerys

enough.

MASTERLIST | ( < this story has more parts that cane found here) A/N: This chapter includes topics brought up of rape. TW: THIS STORY WILL INCLUDE INCEST, SEXUAL CONTENT, ANGST, ABUSIVE TOPICS, INSINUATION OF RAPE, EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, POST PARTUM. NOTES ARE APPRECIATED! (SHARES, LIKES, COMMENTS) word count: 1.4k taglist: @daenerysapologist @twizzy123 @hopelesswritergall

Silence. It was deafening, my head banging as I held the letter that rested within my hands. It had been days since I heard from Lucerys when he promised me he would grant me letters daily. My heart felt as if it was going to explode, shakily opened the slip of paper. 

(Y/N), 

I know I hadn't kept the promises I shared, and for that, I give my deepest apologies. When my uncle Aemond and I had made our travels to Winterfell, he had pulled an attack on Arrax and me. Though I escaped, I made my way toward my mother in a panic. I had no time to write, and I tell you now, with all of my heart, I am sorry. I hold your words dear to my heart, my thoughts clouded with you when the days drag longer than I wish. 

Jacaerys' wife-to-be is a beautiful woman. A Stark, a wolf. Though, I do not feel she is as beautiful as my Princess. She is a strong soul, reminding me much of you. I wish to see you soon. Though I hold deep joy towards my brother and his future, I cannot bring myself to focus on the present we live in. It feels selfish to crave you in such ways when this isn't my time, but I cannot wait to embrace you. I can never get enough of you. The smell of rain lingers in your hair. The smoothness of your fragile skin, your beautiful eyes shining in the lights above; I wish nothing more than to experience you in ways I cannot describe, my friend.

As for political matters, my mother was hesitant about us being wed, but after convincing, she agreed to the tie between Storm's End and Dragonstone.

I will write to you as morrow rises, my friend.

Yours, 

Lucerys Velaryon.

The mix of emotions hit me like a wave, my eyes welling up with tears. I imagined the fear Lucerys must've felt. I hadn't seen Aemond's dragon, but from what I had heard it was much larger than Arrax. I sunk into my bed, tears rolling down my cheeks and neck, hiccuping weakly. If only I had stalled longer and kept him here as Aemond retrieved a head start, Lucerys could've been spared the scare. My chest heaved, choked sobs escaping me. I wasn't just crying for the attack; I was crying for him. I yearned for him as well, and it hurt knowing he felt the same way. The desire to be in his warm embrace made my body tremble, aching where he should be touching. I clutched the parchment to my chest, burying my face into the letter and taking in the subtle scent of Lucerys' figure. I felt my body relax, eyes closing as my sobs turned into gentle cries, tears, then nothing. My eyes stung, lips trembling as a knock came to my ears.

I wiped my face swiftly, voice croaking as I sat up straight. "Come in," I call, looking towards the door. 

"Your grace, another letter has arrived for you," they started. I looked at them with growing curiosity. "From who?" I ask, watching as they look over the folded sheet.

"Prince Aemond Targaryen."

My heart sunk, eyes widening in surprise. I stood swiftly, scaring the poor messenger as I snatched the letter from their hands. "You may leave," I demand, refusing to look in their direction once more after they'd uttered his name. I heard the messenger shuffle with a bow and rush out the door. I stared at the letter in silence, anger burrowing into my stomach.

The thunder blew loud behind me as I slammed the doors to my father's throne room open, watching his guard's post before easing at the sight of me. I stormed forward, fire burning in my eyes.

"Dearest daughter, what ails you?" He says, slightly annoyed. I glared at him, slamming the letter onto his chair's arm and staring into his gaze. He was illiterate, so I couldn't just show him the letter and expect him to read it. He doesn't flinch at my actions, merely gazing up at me as I pant, trying to keep in my fury.

"I demand Prince Aemond Targaryen's head," I snap, lightning echoing behind me. I watch my father's eyes widen as he gulps. I feel the eyes of the guards rest on my back, my hands shaking.

"(Y/N), do not say such things," he whispers angrily to me. I do not silence my voice, stepping back and reading the note aloud for all to hear. 

"Dearest (Y/N)," I start, my father, looking around at those around him. Servants, guards, caterers, even my dear sisters. "I come to you with a promise, one I ensure to keep." I feel anger swirl larger inside of me, tears dancing on my lash lines. "With you wedding my bastardly nephew, Lucerys, the selfishness of your lack of loyalty to the true heirs of the Iron Throne show. Girls such as this will be punished, a whore who cannot keep a true ounce of care to those who hold power over her kingdom." I inhale sharply, looking at my father with pained laughter as I speak. "I will take you as mine, you are well aware of where your kingdom belongs. If I have to swell your belly with my kin to show so, I shall. I will be seeing you soon, dearest. With adoration, Aemond Targaryen." I moved my gaze to my sisters, Ellyn specifically, who looked at me with a pained gaze.

Silence.

My father speaks after what feels like an eternity, not moving from his throne even an inch. 

"I will not behead anyone for loose threats, daughter. You've become delusional thinking I'd ever commit such acts on your accord." He says, a numbness to his voice. I froze, time feeling as if it was no longer moving forward. I replay the words in my head over and over, craving an ounce of sympathy from my blood. He merely looks at me, his gray, stormed eyes staring into mine without any show of faltering from his statement. I couldn't accept this. I wouldn't.

"Then I will sever his filthy head from his shoulders myself," I say coldly, turning around and beginning to step out. 

"You will do nothing of the sorts," my father returns the coldness, making me stop in my tracks. I turned around, staring at him. The emotion drained from my gaze, and my limbs fell numb.

"What's stopping me? A lazed man who sits upon his throne and relies on the sea around us to protect him? They've proven they can get here, father. I do not see why you feel safe. They have dragons who are masses larger than our storms. The only protection we hold now is what we work for." I spit, watching him rise from his throne. He steps toward me. I know his fury; I've felt it thousands of times before. I stand my ground, my eyes never leaving his.

"You dare not leave this kingdom. You will not seek out Prince Aemond; you shall stay within these walls and wait for your wed to return from his travels. Then, you will marry. Do you understand me? These are orders, (Y/N)." He growls, his breath sinking into my face. I smile slowly, no light coming to my eyes.

"So you'd let the life of a man who craves to deflower me to force alliance upon us stand these grounds instead of defending your blood? What a father you are. Mother would never let me hurt in such a way and you know it, you selfish cunt." I snap back, looking at him up and down. Then, I spit on his clothes, watching his brows furrow as he raises his hand, striking me along the face. I fell to the floor, wincing and whimpering weakly. Fury fills my gaze, looking up at my father, who stares at me in disgust. 

No tears are shed; I merely stand and inhale deeply, my face stinging to an absurd degree. 

"No amount of strikes to me will stop that I will strike Aemond down if he dares step foot into my chambers," I murmur, voice shaking. With that, I turned, and stormed out of the room to go write to my beloved Lucerys about what had happened, my anger boiling like a hot stew. 

I wanted to kill Aemond Targaryen.

And I will.

#lucerys velaryon #lucerys targaryen #aemond x lucerys #house of the dragon lucerys #hotd lucerys #house of the dragon aemond #house targeryen #house of the dragon #asoif fanfic #asoiaf #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond fanart #aemond stannies #house of the dragon x reader #house of targaryen #house of the dragon x you #hotd #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

[aikeasworld]

John of God (more like john of evil)

TW // rape, sexual abuse

Wow i’m so mad right now. Where do i even begin? I apologize if you’re planning to watch this make sure you have a strong stomach. It angers me that he even used God just to get away with his crimes.

MONEY AND POWER. These are two of the reasons why victims of sexual abuse choose to be silent. They are scared of the stigma that surrounds this issue. Dahil takot silang mahusgahan at masisi para sa kababuyang nangyari sa kanila.

NAKAKAGALIT. Let’s not normalize this thinking. That man deserved to go to jail. Can’t believe his lawyers really still try to insinuate that he’s “innocent”. Based on what? Based on his words. More than 300 victims have spoken up and you still choose to discredit victim statements? If you’re really trying to defend the assaulter, you can just say that you will try your best to look for a way to get a lighter sentence instead of still choosing to believe that your client is innocent. Kasi putangina 300+ na pare-parehas na storya is not a fucking coincidence.

He doesn’t deserve to be given house arrest. He deserves to suffer in prison dahil sa taun-taong pasakit na dinulot nya sa mga kababaihan. Just do your time and stop asking for appeals. I’m sorry. I’m not God. I’m not as forgiving. Sue me!!!

GALIT AKO TALAGA SA SEXUAL PREDATORS MABULOK KAYO SA IMPYERNO

just needed to let that one out. grabe ano? whether he was able to heal people is one thing. but it DOES NOT and SHALL NOT erase the fact that he assaulted women period!!! there is no excuse. he deserves to be punished for his crimes!!!

#galit ako #john of evil #rot in hell

[i-am-an-abyss-of-gender]

“It’s not all men” 

Not all berries are poisonous but if I walk into a forest and all the berries look the same to me I’m not taking any chances 

#tw rape insinuated #tw insinuated rape #not all men #Politics #Feminism

[outcrying]

YOU WANTED A STORY? WELL HERE IT IS. UNEARTH IT ALL AND WATCH IT ROT. WHEN I GOT A NEW PAIR OF SHOES, ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT WAS THE HOLE IN THE OLD PAIR. IT WAS RAINING WHEN I REALIZED.

DO YOU BITE YOUR FINGERNAILS UNTIL THEY BLEED? THE FEELING OF SKIN, RIPPING, WILL NEVER NOT BE WORTH THE CONSEQUENCE: WARM, METALLIC, ENTIRELY MINE.

WHEN I LOOK AT MY SHOES. MY NAILS. MY ZIP CODE, MY SEVENTEENTH SUMMER, MY FIRST JOB, MY FIRST KISS, MY FIRST MY FIRST MY FIRST MY FIRST—

WHAT AM I TO DO THE NEXT TIME IT RAINS, THE NEXT TIME I BLEED? I CARRY AN UMBRELLA IN MY PURSE AND HOUSE KEYS BETWEEN MY KNUCKLES AND I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL THIS PINCHING FEELING—EITHER IN MY TOES OR FROM THE GRIP THIS HAS ON MY HEART—SURRENDERS TO ME, FINALLY

BREAKING THEM IN, A BLISTER FORMS ON MY ANKLE AND I CAN’T HELP BUT BE REMINDED OF WHAT HAS BEEN TAKEN FROM ME, IN UNFAIRNESS AND IN VAIN. 

THE ONLY THING THAT IS TRULY MINE IS THE WEIGHT I CARRY, 2021 | n.p

#im rly still processing something from 4 years ago wow #so emotionally taxing #poetry #poem #spilled ink #blood tw #i feel like this is insinuated so.. #abuse tw #rape tw