Tw Sa Mention - Tumblr Posts

I COMPLETELY AGREE WITH THIS!!

But why tf is my ex, who has coerced me (more than once) reblogging this? Does he really think he's the victim here? Especially since he has received no negative impact for his actions. I received negative impact, I am still receiving negative impact. I am aware I told many people about it, probably too many, but he does not see how his actions are damaging. He hurt me and he will continue to hurt others.

Hey, so just with some of the discourse floating around this site, I just wanted to remind people of one thing:

It does not matter if you’ve been dating for a week or have been married for twenty years, being in a relationship does not and never will mean that you owe your partner(s) any form of intimacy. You do not owe them sex, you do not owe them xyz type of sex, you do not even owe them cuddling. Being in a relationship does not change the fact that you have bodily autonomy.


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1 year ago

StaticMoth Abuse

Featuring mentions of Angel Dust's relationship with Val

TW: ABUSE, SA

StaticMoth Abuse

SPOILERS AHEAD ↓

Here's a fact. Vox is not being abused by Valentino.

This fandom is so deep in fanon content that it heavily intertwines with canon. But let's try to understand where Val abusing Vox came from, why it's not true and how it correlates to Angel Dust's relationship with Val.

Let's begin:

In the, now archived, posts on Instagram (or voxtagram), it was revealed that Vox and Val were in a situation-ship, and canon officially confirmed it.

Now, Val as a character is heavily hated and for good reasons while Vox is not. Many people adore Vox and for that, his relationship with Val can be conflicting, adding a bit of difficulty in justifying their like for him.

Here's where Valentino's relationship with Angel Dust comes in.

Val has been shown to be abusive and to SA Angel Dust. First example of that being the Addict music video.

StaticMoth Abuse

This has created the need for people to give a reason behind Vox's relationship with Val and make excuses for him so they can validate their favoritism.

"Val is so awful! He must be abusing Vox! Breaking his screen and whatnot!"

What people don't take into consideration is the difference in their power imbalance or lack thereof.

One of the core factors in Angel Dust's relationship with Val is the power difference between them.

Val is an overlord while Angel is a sinner.

A sinner that signed a contract with Val and gave his soul. That alone makes their dynamic vastly different. Val feels it's within his right to abuse Angel, to test his limits until he breaks. And up until episode 4, Angel believed he deserved it because whatever Val did to have him sign the contract must have been his fault. Although that's not true, Angel felt so. Heck, he wanted to break himself so that Val would let him go.

StaticMoth Abuse

Vox and Val, on the other hand, don't have that. Both of them are overlords.

They are on equal footing. There is no power imbalance. In fact, the Vees could have not existed and both Vox and Val, including Velvette, would be completely fine without each other and continue to have their respective overlord status.

The reason it exists is exploitation.

StaticMoth Abuse

All three can and do use each other so they can have a more powerful front. A mutual alliance of exploitation. Within this, they have created their own fucked up bond. As a result of that, Val and Vox have an on-again, off-again relationship. It's far from healthy, but it's not an abusive one.

Vox knows of Valentino's behavior but as long as it's not effecting their shared partnership, he will not interfere nor will he care about it.

StaticMoth Abuse

Or maybe the next seasons will give me the middle finger and I'm completely wrong. Who knows? I just read a fic and saw posts about Vox being abused by Val and wanted to give my two cents on the topic.


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9 months ago

…you guys cannot be calling sexual assault (metaphorical, real in the text, or otherwise mirroring another character) “toxic yaoi”


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9 months ago

I'm no expert but I think shipping the guy thats heavily implied to be a rapist with the only character physically incapable of telling him 'no' is perhaps not a good idea! I think the point is that Jimmy is obsessed with control and only shows remorse for Curly because he uses him as a piece of meat to project his guilt onto! Just a thought


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9 months ago
Two Sides Of The Same Coin
Two Sides Of The Same Coin

Two Sides of The Same Coin

[Previous / Next] — {Masterlist}

Content: TW Restraints, TW SA Threat, TW Knifepoint, TW Threats of Violence, TW Fear, Siren Whump, Sadistic Whumper, Defiant Whumpee.

+++

Malik made sure to keep the crew below deck for the night. Not wanting to give the siren any attempts at enchanting his men with his singly voice. He knew his crew could be slightly weak minded compared to his own will, so it wouldn’t take more than a few hypnotic whispers from a siren to get them on their knees like dogs at your heel. That being said, he didn’t trust himself either, not having ever dealt with a siren before. He thought it strange for one to be so far off from the Mediterranean Sea where they are said to dwell.

Despite his caution, his intrigue was stronger. The thrill of having a threat on board and at his mercy. A creature of legend no less, his pride was beaming even under his cool facade while he cataloged in his journal about the days events. The warm light of a lantern softly illuminating the desk he was sitting at while the ship swayed in a lullaby motion. Absently signing his signature on the page before closing the large journal. His thumb ghosting over the golden lettering of the leather cover where it read:

Captains Log of the Sirens Solstice.

He always found that name ironic until today. Given that sirens rarely, if ever, came all the way to the Caribbean unless it was for a reason. On top of that, it was certainly out of place for a siren to be alone when traveling so far. A trinity of knocks at his door broke his thoughts. Sighing and standing up from his chair before he walks over to open the door, his boots softly thumping on the wooden planks with each step. 

When he opens the door, he sees Jovey standing on the other side. Holding a bottle of rum with two chalices in his other hand. He raises them up in his hands as if presenting them.

“Could I bother you with a drink, Captain?” He asked with a softer voice, with it being late in the night and not wanting to stir the crew from their sleep.

Malik smirked slightly at the offer and chuckled lightly under his breath. “I tell you to stay below deck, but you defy my order to offer me a drink? Some first mate you are.” Despite his chiding words, his tone held no bitterness. Even standing aside and allowing Jovey to step into his cabin.

“I didn’t think that order was directed towards me. Must’ve been some miscommunication.” His cheeky tone being accompanied by a playful smile as he took a seat across from the desk. 

Malik rolled his eyes to Joveys’ back while closing the door. Then he made his way back to his seat behind the wooden desk that separated them. Jovey already pouring two glasses of rum for them before offering one of them. Malik taking it gingerly and softly clinking his glass to Joveys’. “So… how is the lad. Cormack, right? He’s not dying or anything, is he?” He asked casually while taking a sip of his drink.

“No, he’s alright. The swellings already going down thankfully. It doesn’t seem like whatever that siren stung him with is lethal. Just knocks you down a peg.”

Malik nods slightly with an unconcerned hum. Tapping his fingers along the side of the chalice while he holds it on the table. It’s not that he didn’t care about his crews’ well-being, their condition just never weighed on his mind. He would internally scold them for being weak enough to get injured or comprised so easily, but he usually put up the persona of a caring captain that was only stern when he needed to be. That didn’t stop him from wanting to strangle his crew himself whenever they made amateur mistakes or found themselves incapacitated. His eyes drifting off towards a window to the side of them that showed the moonlight cascading over the waves. “Why do you think that creature was sent to us?”

Jovey follows his gaze towards the window for a moment before looking back towards him again, noting his almost distant tone as if he was filing through a million thoughts. “I’m not so sure about him being ‘sent’ to us for a reason, Captain, but I’m sure he’s just lost. Probably swam too far away from home.” Taking a sip as he takes a break to organize his own mind. He knew Malik could be ruthless, he’s seen it before even if the newer men in the crew weren’t there to witness it. When the siren came on board, although being at the stern side and taking over the wheel, he could see what was occurring on deck. Noting the way his Captains eyes glinted with a new found fervor, that smile that he knew all too well meant there was a danger brewing. “Why do you believe it was for a reason?”

“Because the tides strike with purpose…” Malik said matter-of-factly. Averting his eyes from the window and turning his attention back to Jovey. Noticing how he seemed to be almost analyzing him, trying to figure out his intentions. “… the sea does not act randomly as one might believe. Everything happens for a reason out on these waters, whether it be to our benefit or disadvantage.” Malik can’t help but smile faintly with a soft scoff as he glances down at his drink. “I’m starting to sound like that old quack Azure.”

Joveys’ smile mirrored Maliks’, his head shaking back and forth in an amused manner. “You sound more like him everyday. In a good way… it’s why he chose you.” Studying his expression, Malik had a gaze of longing, almost nostalgic. A soft smile that was rarely seen, if ever, only when they were alone. “You know, I remember when I first got pulled onto this ship. We were around the same age… not that we still aren’t obviously, but for some reason I always felt like you were older than me. You always knew what you were doing, and you were one of the few people in the crew who gave me a chance.”

Malik redirected his gaze to Jovey once again, a bit taken aback by the sudden throwback and vulnerability, but he tried not to soften his features out of habit of being stoic. “Trust me, I never knew what I was doing. I only ever acted like I knew everything because that’s the only way to get people to respect you.” He swished his rum in his cup absently before taking another sip. “You’re a good man, Jovey. For once, I might even admit to feeling a bit jealous of you. The crew loves you, and we’re all lucky to have you. But if you tell them I said that, then I’ll skin you and toss you off the plank myself.” He couldn’t help but give that teasing threat with a smug smile.

That drew out a soft snort from Jovey as he smiled a bit wider from the playful threat he knew had no real malice behind it. Not when it came to him. He leaned back in his chair as he took his own glass from the table to hold it on his lap. “Who’s to say I’ll give you the chance, Captain? I might just throw myself overboard before you can catch me.” He counters back jokingly.

“If you do that, lad, I’ll jump into the raging tides to fish you out just so I can have the pleasure of pushing you off myself.” 

“Maybe I’ll tie a cannon ball to my foot so I sink faster and you won’t be able to pull me up.”

“Maybe I’ll just shoot a harpoon into your leg and force the crew to hoist you out of the water.”

“You’d go through all that trouble just to feed me to the sharks yourself?”

“For you, Jovey, you better believe I would.”

They both stare at each other in silence for a few seconds that seemed to stretch on before they both began to laugh and heartily chuckle. Joveys indistinguishable snorts between breaths always made his laugh contagious to Malik. For a moment, he couldn’t help but just watch Jovey, seeing his smile and how bright he looked even in the dim lit quarters. He had to mentally scold himself for staring and allowing himself to find a sense of attachment towards him. He lightly cleared his throat before chugging down the rest of his rum and setting his cup to the side. “Alright, that’s enough banter for one night. Leave me be you scoundrel.” He said lightheartedly.

Jovey rolled his eyes slightly with a small smile and stood up from his chair. Grabbing the rum bottle from the table and collecting the other chalice. “Whatever you say, De Lir, sir.” A hint of sass escaping him, knowing he could get away with it. He turns and heads for the door, cracking it open slightly before turning back to look at Malik. “If I may, Captain. What are you planning to do with the siren?”

A soft tch leaves Malik as he smiles from Joveys sass. When he turns back to inquire about the siren, his smile fades. His cold and aloof demeanor resurfacing. “Good night, Jovey.” 

———

The tides were still calm the next morning. Uneventful, at least, it normally would be. Malik stood before the siren, the crew crowding around in a crescent formation behind him. It was still tied up tightly to the mast. Although it was apparently obvious that it struggled for most of the night based on the claw marks that were carved into the wood of the pillar. Even some of the rope looked shredded and loosened but it wasn’t enough to free itself. It looked like he was asleep. Limp in the restraints and head looked down with his chin touching his chest. They knew better, but that wasn’t what caught all of their attention though.

His tail was gone, or rather, replaced by a pair of legs. His fishy ears reduced to normal human ones. The gills along his ribs replaced by smooth skin. The dark blue claws at the tips of his fingers were now short and trimmed. It was an enigma to both the crew and Malik. The siren they brought aboard was now a seemingly normal young man. They knew it was him, but appearance-wise, it threw them for a loop.

Malik stepped up to the siren and gripped a chunk of the back of his hair before yanking his head back. Seeing the siren wince and let out a hiss of discomfort from his grip. He grinned as he stared down at the siren. Analyzing its features, seeing the marks of light blue along his skin. It’s golden eyes, now being up close, noting the two spots of gold in each of them. “What happened to you, little dragon? Lost your tail?”

The siren glares up at him with a fiery rage. He was frustrated having to be at the mercy of a pirate. He’d bite his hand off and claw that smug smile off his face if he could just loosen the rope enough to get one of his hands free. “I’m dried out you fucking assh—.” 

Malik dug his fingers into the sirens scalp and tugged on his hair harder. Ripping a few hairs out in the process, extracting a groan from him that cuts off his words. He leans down closer to the siren to loom over him. “Your tongue is still as vile as yesterday. Someone wasn’t taught manners growing up…” Malik shoots a quick and hard jab to the sirens gut, the wind being knocked out of him as he tries to double over but the ropes keep him up. “… then again, neither was I.” Malik yanks on his hair and pulls his head back to slam against the mast before releasing his grip. Letting the siren deal with the aching sting in the back of his head. He takes a step back to take in the sirens human form. Observing him with a fascination that was anything but innocent or kind. “What is your name, siren?”

A hiss escapes the man as he tugs at the ropes out of frustration. His eyes scanning the crowd of pirates behind their captain. All of them pathetic and weak in his eyes. How dare any of them even get the privilege of seeing me? They were filthy, pungent, cowards that had no right to be in my presence, let alone hold me captive like this. “Fuck you, fuck all of you!”

Malik simply smiles, not his usual cocky smirk, an eerily sweet smile that was too calm. "We can have that arranged, after all, it's not everyday the lads get to let off a little steam on this ship..." He turns to face his crew. Gesturing with his hand towards the siren, as if offering him. "... isn't that right, boys?"

The crew look amongst each other, wondering if their captain was being serious, if they really did have full liberty to do as they pleased with such a rare catch. The siren staring blankly, feeling a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the realization of what the captain just suggested. That was until Malik put his hand up and chuckled breathily.

"Of course, there's one small problem that I'd like to address before you get started."

Reaching for his hidden dagger tucked between the band of his pants, he unsheathes it and turns back to the siren with a quick step, being directly in front of him once again with the curved dagger swiftly finding itself pressed against the creatures neck. The curve of the blade cupping his throat just beneath his adam's apple. The siren freezing from the sudden threatening position but never faltering with his burning glare into Malik's eyes. The pirate staring back with a cold and foreboding gaze.

"That little voice of yours. I can't let you tempt any of my men with it. As disappointed as I'll be to not hear that foul mouth of yours anymore, its time to cut that pretty little voice box out."

Malik drags the dagger along the sirens neck and tilts it up so the tip of the bade was lightly pressed against the bump in the middle of his throat. "If I carefully cut a line right here...", dragging the dagger down along the sirens throat, making him swallow thickly, "... we'll find your larynx. It encompasses your vocal cord. If we just...", a quick flick of the wrist causes the dagger to slice a light cut just off the side of the apple, making the sirens breath hitch and he growls under his breath, "... you won't be able to sing ever again. Helpless... weak... feeble little sea dragon."

"If you fucking do that I swear you'll regret it."

"I don't think I will. In fact, I think I'll enjoy this more than I should."

Even his crew behind him, watching the scene unfold, felt chills go through them having never seen this side of their captain before. Malik grabs the sirens chin in one hand with an iron grip and tilts his head back against the mast. The creature struggling and trying to squirm in the ropes. The pirate carefully grazing the blade along the center of the mans throat. Agonizingly pressing the tip of the dagger against the curve bulging out under the skin slowly. The sirens breath quickening as he gradually becomes panicked, realizing how serious the captain was. He can't help the words that quickly leave his mouth when a trickle of warm blood escapes him.

"I DON'T HAVE A SONG!"

Malik stops progressing, but not drawing back either. He tugs on his chin to pull his head back down to look him in the eye. Gazing with a malicious curiosity but a hint of doubt. "Every siren does, why should I believe you don't?"

"I don't you fuckin' psycho. I wasn't born with it, don't you think I would've tried to use it by now if I had it?"

"I'm not buying that for a second, caviar."

Malik pushes his chin back up and continues where he left off. Digging into the siren's neck more. Drawing out blood as he carves a small line along the apple. Making the creature hiss and groan, his hands clenching into fists as he tries to press impossibly further against the mast to get away.

"I'm being serious! Stop!"

Ignoring his protests, Malik cuts deeper. His hearing tuning out as he focuses on cutting to his goal. His heart was beating steadily, he couldn't help the enjoyment he was getting out of seeing the creature struggle fruitlessly. A sadistic smirk plastered on his face. The siren trying not to let fear take over, but it was getting progressively difficult the more blood that cascaded down his skin. The stinging of the blade slicing through layers of skin. Never in his life had he ever experienced pain, let alone having his own blood leave the safety of his body. He was royalty, he should be the one inflicting pain, he should be the one making this pirate cower beneath him.

"Malik."

A soft voice broke both their thought concentrations. Malik stilling in his actions before he turned to glance over his shoulder with a piercing glare that quickly softened. Seeing Jovey standing behind him, his expression one of concern and trepidation. The siren staring at him with a hint of relief and caution. Jovey steps closer, his eyes darting between his captain and the creature. Swallowing his unease.

"I don't think he's lying."

Malik takes a breather, thinking about his first mates words before reluctantly extracting the dagger from the sirens throat. A string of blood staining the tip of the blade as he lets go of the creatures chin and stands up fully. He turns around to face Jovey, a calmer aura exuding from him. He averts his gaze towards the crew still observing the scene. Some looking uncomfortable and uneasy, others indifferent or even seemingly intrigued. "We arrive at Port Royal tomorrow morning. Toss the bilgerat into one of the cells below deck. If he truly doesn't have the gift, then nobody will have a reason to let him out by then."

Malik looks back towards Jovey, holstering his dagger to his side.

"We'll see if your judgement is as sound as it always is, savvy?"

+++

Date: September 22, 2024

Taglist: @paperprinxe , @melpomenelamusa


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1 year ago

depicting sexual assault in media is not an endorsement of it 🤝 it's reasonable for audiences to expect a certain level of care and awareness in its presentation 🤝 there is oftentimes an over-reliance on sexual violence in creating the backstories, trajectories, and conflicts of fictional women 🤝 sexual violence is prevalent in society and stories about it do need to be told as a reflection of our reality 🤝 sometimes male writers and directors are extremely bad at telling these stories and audiences are justified in demanding better


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10 months ago

You said you liked me, and I liked you, too.

It was refreshing to move slowly--to not rush into things. To ease into the physical affection and the romance.

Slow was what I needed.

The last person I dated SA'd me on our second date and acted like it was nothing. It was oh so familiar. My body remembers how to freeze like it always does.

You didn't do any of that, and I was so glad.

I know it's selfish to say this, but I wish I had more time with you. I wish that your feelings didn't change so swiftly.

I won't chase after you, though. I respect your decision.

Thank you for being kind to me.


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9 months ago

Written in all sorts of POV’s because I’m unorganized and angry. Will edit later, I need to vent.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions and implications of SA, suicidal ideations if you read between the lines, a now ex friend who made fun of my experience

This is a VENT!!!

Innocence died screamin’

Honey ask me, I would know

I screamed. Begged. Pleaded. Eventually I had to punch.

My innocence died at 13 and I still remember waking up in that truckbed with sore knuckles surrounded by vomit.

And I didn’t cope with it in any healthy way. All the way up until the night after my 18th birthday I let people use me and jerk me around with my emotions as a collar.

So forgive me, cunt; if I tell you something with the confidence you won’t treat it like a joke. Forgive me if I’m angry and explosive when you treat these things as if it’s another story to go and tell all of our friends because you think you’re soooo special for not “giving it away” until well after your 20th. Forgive me if that makes me “an easy lay” for being vulnerable around people I once trusted.

“I just feel like it should be special when it finally happens for me, you have expressed you don’t feel one way in particular about virginity.”

I didn’t get a choice, otherwise virginity would be way higher on my list. I don’t get to have the same experience you did. I’m glad and overwhelmingly happy you felt safe, I glad you weren’t gutted and robbed like I was.

When my partner and I met she had only the bullet points of what happened to me. She had an idea that the reason [redacted] and I stopped talking was because something happened.

[redacted] felt like everyone where we worked should know, even after I did my best to cover up what wasn’t even my fault in the first place. To this day I’ve never once tried to bring it up to other coworkers that [redacted] was lying about what really happened. I had to beg with my partner not to knock his teeth out.

She knew before we started dating that my outlook on sex was skewed.

“I think sex can be beautiful with the right person; but I don’t think I could personally see myself being sexually active.”

And she accepted that as my answer. Part of me feels bad, though. I feel like on some level that because of my (albeit valid) fear that I’m preventing some level of intimacy between us. Only time will tell if something ever happens in that regard.

Sometime I look at the photo drive of people I used to be friends with. Sometime I dig through my Polaroids to look at the frozen moments. I don’t have the heart to get rid of them. And I don’t know why.

I hope that one day I can untangle the mess in my mind, get rid of all the photos; and eventually be comfortable in my own skin as myself.


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10 months ago

09/13/2024

At around 11:25 pm

It was a nice man and his friend who I decided to help get to a destination since they were stranded. The nice guy was saying how he had been having a terrible day earlier while I was just getting gas. It was mostly all fine, just awkward as they hailed from a different type of town. Probably in a gang of some sort. They asked if I was into weed, but I declined. When I got to the destination I declined payment from the nice man and he got out of the car. His friend said something, probably implying something dirty, but I was too dissociative to fully register it or think about it. He attempted to reach for my chest from the back seat. I stopped him. I should've made him pay more than $5 for every time he attempted to get me to kiss him with his words. He tried to kiss my cheek after giving me the money. He got out of the car. He told me I was pretty.

Nothing truly happened that night but I was nearly groped and was harassed. I don't even know if this could count as SA at all. It made me shakey when I got back home. I needed to get the smell of the men out of the car so I just doused everything in as much perfume as I could handle. The smell burned my nose and stung my lungs. I couldn't be that touchy with my partner, not when the image of his hands reaching from the back seat was still in my head. It's just a really bad memory, though it was two days ago.

I swore to myself the day after that I wouldn't let the ignorant man make the word "pretty" a venomous thing. That I wouldn't let myself entirely break down. I have weapons and not weapons in my car now, and on my body. Two items created by me, and one item originally for cutting paracord. I'm still shaky and weak. I'm still recovering from the bad memory from three days ago, still calming down.

I refuse to let cruelty take my heart, though I'm more weary now of who I should help. Who I should let in my car. Hopefully this world changes for the better soon.


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10 months ago

09/13/2024

At around 11:25 pm

It was a nice man and his friend who I decided to help get to a destination since they were stranded. The nice guy was saying how he had been having a terrible day earlier while I was just getting gas. It was mostly all fine, just awkward as they hailed from a different type of town. Probably in a gang of some sort. They asked if I was into weed, but I declined. When I got to the destination I declined payment from the nice man and he got out of the car. His friend said something, probably implying something dirty, but I was too dissociative to fully register it or think about it. He attempted to reach for my chest from the back seat. I stopped him. I should've made him pay more than $5 for every time he attempted to get me to kiss him with his words. He tried to kiss my cheek after giving me the money. He got out of the car. He told me I was pretty.

Nothing truly happened that night but I was nearly groped and was harassed. I don't even know if this could count as SA at all. It made me shakey when I got back home. I needed to get the smell of the men out of the car so I just doused everything in as much perfume as I could handle. The smell burned my nose and stung my lungs. I couldn't be that touchy with my partner, not when the image of his hands reaching from the back seat was still in my head. It's just a really bad memory, though it was two days ago.

I swore to myself the day after that I wouldn't let the ignorant man make the word "pretty" a venomous thing. That I wouldn't let myself entirely break down. I have weapons and not weapons in my car now, and on my body. Two items created by me, and one item originally for cutting paracord. I'm still shaky and weak. I'm still recovering from the bad memory from three days ago, still calming down.

I refuse to let cruelty take my heart, though I'm more weary now of who I should help. Who I should let in my car. Hopefully this world changes for the better soon.


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11 months ago

Tw: mention of sa

The cousin that sexually assaulted me between the ages of 6 and 10 is back in the country. I am so scared and I probably have to see him next weekend...

I don't want to see him. I don't think I can. I have to act normal and like nothing ever happend while I get flashbacks of him doing all of it.

I can't stand the nightmares and flashbacks anymore, I just want to forget and be safe.

I don't want to relive him forcing himself onto me. I don't want to feel this helpless and weak again.

I need to get stronger. I need to be able to defend myself...


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11 months ago

Tw: mention of sh and sa

Randomly remembered that one time I met up with this guy from the internet and it was great and we talked about sa and when I got home he texted me that I am awesome but he doesn't want any contact anymore.

Which is totally fine and his choice and like yes, bro, set boundaries! But I just cried in his arms and thought he understood me and it came as a surprise.

This stocked on everything else I self harmed and had to go to the hospital at 9 pm for stitches, turns out I also cut open one of my arteries and my dad had to pick me up from the hospital at 3 am because they let me wait and cry for 5 hours before then judging me for self harming.

My dad cried that day, he never really cries. I felt very bad.

But the actual question is, why am I thinking about this right now?


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10 months ago

Tw: sa and rape

No, because why does a fucking language trigger me just because he speaks it. Why?

Why does long blond hair trigger me? Why does the mention of a whole country just because he lives there??

Fuck this. Why does a staircase trigger me? My aunts house? Seeing my little cousins grow up? Cold blue eyes?

Everything that reminds me of him. The way he forced himself onto me. I just want to forget it

I don't want to get flashbacks and nightmares and all that ahit just because of this one man that couldn't keep his hands of a 6 year old.


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11 months ago
(Shared By Fight For A Future On Instagram)

(Shared by Fight for a Future on Instagram)


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1 year ago

The Anti-Bojack: Anti-Intellectualism and the Death of Substance

In the blog essay “Staging Philosophy: the relationship between philosophy and drama”, Kristen Gjesdal opines on the home of philosophy. Many today would consider philosophy a relic of a bygone era with names such as Keikegaard, Voltaire, and Neitzsche. Many don’t know, however, of the close relationship philosophy has always held with the arts. Gjesdal mentions Ibsen in the article, discussing how many playwrights of the time were avid students of philosophy and how many philosophers regarded the arts highly. Nietzsche spoke of social leaders, specifically the religious leaders of his day in Beyond Good and Evil when he wrote, “Men, not great enough, nor hard enough, to be entitled as artists to take part in fashioning man.” Frankly denouncing the power and influence held by the religious men which he felt was more appropriately left in the hands of artists. In fact, Nietzche considered art the definition of culture and hence why he says that artists are the ones who should be responsible for shaping society and defining what it means to be “man”. As such, the expressions of art, poetry to cinema, is a definition of man and inherently a philosophy.

Bojack Horseman is an openly philosophical series that plays with existentialist schools of thought. Having liked several tweets endorsing the comparison of her work to that of Raphael Bob-Waksberg, Vivienne Medrano demands her work be valued the same way. From being favorably compared to Bojack Horseman to being praised as the “Anti-Bojack”. Which begs to question, what does that even mean? First let’s discuss the Philosophy behind Bojack Horseman, then compare the tweets Medrano liked and her series to that of Bojack directly, and then study the overlapping themes and why Medrano’s style of writing makes her storytelling a mockery to the art.

Existentialism in particular has been the darling of the theater for about the last 150 years, though generally ridiculed by “proper” society. For a philosopher to be labeled a nihilist or existentialist was often a denouncement of their school of thought, often for their general rejection of fundamental social structures like ethics. In 1942, writer Albert Camus published his essay The Myth of Sisyphus, rebranding traditional existentialist concepts as Absurd philosophy.

Camus begins his work poised with the question of suicide and whether life is worth living at all. He argues that life is inherently meaningless, an idea originating with Kierkegaard, but while the latter sided with finding purpose in constitutions like religion, Camus argues that religion itself is a philosophical suicide. In the Routledge encyclopedia of philosophy by Charles Guignon, he writes of the criticisms levied against existential and absurdist philosophies in a society awash in moralist anti-intellectualism. He opens this section by saying, “Existentialism has been criticized from a number of different angles. One line of criticism holds that the emphasis on individual freedom and the rejection of absolutes in existentialism tends to undermine ethics; by suggesting that everyday life is ‘absurd’ and by denying the existence of fixed, binding principles for evaluating our actions, existentialists promote an ‘anything-goes’ view of freedom that exacerbates the nihilism already present in contemporary life.” Which comes from this negative misreading of nihilism.

In their video Nihilism: Are We Missing the Point, youtuber Michael Burns of Wisecrack tells an anecdote of his time in grad school where he paraphrases his professor as saying, “This idea of the constant misreadings of Nietzsche’s writings on Nihilism leads to, his words, angry seventeen-year-old atheists.” Which tends to be the issue when discussing concepts such as nihilism, existentialism and absurdist philosophy. Nietzsche, the credited father of the school of thought, is often taken out of context or his views distorted by society’s sensibilities. For one, the quote given earlier extends further into a condemnation of religion by saying, “Such men, with their "equality before God," have hitherto swayed the destiny of Europe; until at last a dwarfed, almost ludicrous species has been produced, a gregarious animal, something obliging, sickly, mediocre, the European of the present day.” Which many an angry seventeen-year-old and moralist has seen as an endorsement of the might-is-right philosophy that the philosophy is credited with.

To a lesser extent, Camus writes in The Myth, “I must say what counts is not the best living, but the most living”. It feels like it should be rather straightforward then, the concept of the thought. More equals better, and Camus practically says as much when he later writes “Why should it be essential to love rarely in order to love much?” However, if one follows the first quote to its natural conclusion, he continues, “The most living; in the broadest sense, that rule means nothing. It calls for definition.” His wording may come off confusing as the essay is translated and the theories involved are dense, but Camus clarifies that “most” could mean the sheer number of experiences or the depth of the experience. He is not saying one or the other is the correct answer, but that both are equally valid ways to live one’s life. The focus, then, is not on directing anyone how they should live, but in the manner they should do so. He says, “It is not up to me to wonder if this is vulgar or revolting, elegant or deplorable … Suppose that living in this way were not honorable, then true propriety would command me to be dishonorable.”

Camus, and even Nietzsche, argue that truth is the only ultimate value. It throws back the moralist dilemma by arguing that living to a code of ethics or values when one is not truly that sort of person is to live reprehensibly. Better is it to live authentically “without appeal” as Camus says, than it is to live the lie of following the rules.

Thomas Polzler from the University of Graz in Austria wrote a 2014 article titled “Absurdism as Self-Help: Resolving an Essential Inconsistency with Camus’s Early Philosophy”. Personally, I fundamentally and adamantly disagree with his assessment that there is any sort of inconsistency in Camus’s writings. Camus’s books of The Stranger, The Plague, and The Fall are not inherently inconsistent, but depict his philosophy in layers.

Like water painting, Camus starts with a thin veneer of color, a loose and almost detached protagonist in Meursault from The Stranger. He is a man aware of the absurd as an individual, the story maintaining the focus of a man living aware his life means nothing and thus seems to have an almost neurodivergent disinterested in the world beyond himself. What he feels in the moment is all that matters, so when he commits murder out of feeling uncomfortable from the heat of the sun and the painful blinding of the light, he is then juxtaposed with the ethical society he exists simultaneously within and outside of. Meursault is held up as a sociopath for not wishing to see his mother’s body the night before her funeral and smoking by her coffin. Because he does not cry at her passing, he is deemed a danger to society. Because he goes on a date to a comedy picture the day after, he is denounced as a menace. None of which has anything to do with the man he killed. The trial highlights the absurdity of ethical society and how the moralists demand the appearance of values over actually having them.

In fact, the trial of Meursault closely resembles that of Bojack and Sarah Lynn. The end of season 3, Bojack and Sarah Lynn go on a cross-country drug-fuelled bender to apologize to people Bojack has hurt in the past, stopping at the Griffith Observatory where Bojack has a profound revelation. He talks about living in the moment and how neither the past or future really matters at all. What you did and your legacy don’t matter if you cannot exist now. It is this moment that he realizes Sarah Lynn is not responding. It isn't until season 6 that it is shown that Bojack waited before calling the police and thus played a hand in Sarah Lynn's death. He is taken to civil court by Sarah Lynn's mother and step-father and made to pay them a fine for his involvement. However, is it really justice when Sarah Lynn's mother exploited her in the business and never once supported Sarah Lynn for what she wanted and what her dreams were, or even just who she was? Can one argue that it is justice when Sarah Lynn was sexually abused by her step-father throughout her childhood? Yes, Bojack does have responsibility in Sarah Lynn's death, but so do her parents. The absurdity of it all being that in no way could there ever be justice for Sarah Lynn.

Brief mental health sidebar. While I have to expressly disagree with Polzler’s reasoning, I do agree with his conclusion. Philosophy and especially Absurd existentialism are powerful tools in the journey to self improvement. It is both the line from Bojack where Diane says "That's the thing. I don't think I believe in 'deep down'. I kind of think all you are is just the things that you do." And Dr. Wong in Rick and Morty when she says, “You seem to alternate between viewing your own mind as an unstoppable force and as an inescapable curse. And I think it is because the only truly unapproachable concept for you is that it's your mind within your control … You are the master of your universe.”

It may be shocking to know that Medrano was not a fan of Dr. Wong, considering the scene all about telling and not showing Rick’s problems. However, this is after two and a half seasons of witnessing Rick’s shortcomings and Dr. Wong is not telling Rick’s problems, but rather identifying the solution. In both the words of Diane and Dr. Wong, who we are, comes down to the choices we make. There is no moral argument being made with either of these comments. Bojack asked Diane to tell him that he’s actually a good person deep down. That he means to be good, that despite his actions he doesn’t want to hurt anyone and that his bad behavior is the fault of his emotionally unavailable and narcissistic parents. So really, he isn’t a bad person. Whereas Dr. Wong calls out Rick’s behavior as a choice because Rick knows he is making these choices.

The difference between Rick and Bojack is the level of personal awareness and responsibility. Rick knows he has the power to change, but simultaneously so miserable but is so afraid of change that he turns himself into a literal pickle and risks his own death over confronting his own choice to stay the way he is. It is easier for him to justify his lack of trying by simply claiming this is just what it means to be as smart as he is. Whereas Bojack feels helpless. Bojack was not set up for success as a child, his success was never validated by his mother and thus he never valued himself, and every time he tries to change he has no internal fortitude to keep from backsliding at the first sign of defeat. Rick knows everything that is making him miserable is himself. Bojack externalizes his misery and thus also externalizes the solution to his problems, which is why he lets himself return to square one whenever things don’t go his way.

Absurdism is the recognition that life is meaningless and thus we have two choices: Live or die. But these concepts are not so straightforward when discussed. To live, in Camus’s philosophy, is to live authentically to oneself. That may sound like Rick’s situation of accepting things as they are, but that is only true in the case of the individual genuinely wanting to be that way. Authenticity is a dichotomy consisting of both how we behave and how we feel. In the case of Rick he lies, cheats, manipulates, and behaves cruelly towards his family. However, it is implied and later revealed that Rick genuinely cares about his family, but is too afraid of experiencing loss to really let them in. So he’s abusive and insulting, keeping his family at an emotional distance that keeps them around, but never too close, making Rick miserable. He really wants his family, so his feelings are at odds with his behavior. So in reality, him claiming “this is just how things are/who I am” is just as weak an excuse and removes agency over oneself as Bojack saying “It’s because my mother was never there for me.”

The actions both Rick and Bojack partake in are what Camus would call a philosophical suicide. Concisely put, to commit a philosophical suicide is to remove one’s sense of agency in their own life. How can one claim to be living when they have no effect on anything including themselves? You would exist in a void no different than a dreamless sleep. Your actions are meaningless, your thoughts are meaningless, your feelings are meaningless because you are a passenger to the act of living. Everything else has power, everyone else can influence you, so you may as well be nothing. Camus includes religion in this section of his philosophy, as living for something other than yourself is the same as not living at all. And this encompasses Ethics.

There is a massive difference between being kind because you are supposed to, and being kind because you want to. This delves further into living inauthentically and how that mere act alone results in misery. Even if one is to behave in a way deemed “right” without making the choice, they will inevitably become resentful. There is no such thing as faking it until you make it. One has to actively choose and change themselves on a fundamental level to find happiness, and that takes work. Just as Dr. Wong says, “It’s just work. And the bottom line is some people are okay going to work and some people, well some people would rather die.”

Which gets to the main point.

Medrano’s liking of a series of tweets calling Blitzo the Anti-Bojack has both infuriated and confused me. I suppose that I should be embarrassed at the latter since it's obvious both Vivienne and her fans lack basic media literacy. It’s actually rather spectacular just how badly they misrepresent the situation of the characters in the narrative. I can only break this down comment by comment.

The Anti-Bojack: Anti-Intellectualism And The Death Of Substance
The Anti-Bojack: Anti-Intellectualism And The Death Of Substance

For one, Bojack’s entire character is that he doesn’t intentionally hurt others. He has his reasons that fundamentally comes from a weak sense of self associated with a child who never had the emotional support he needed growing up. Those aren’t excuses, those are the reasons. Bojack has an unhealed inner child who wants to be a good guy, but he is so caught up in his self-loathing and resentment that he doesn’t do anything about that inner child. Instead he indulges these immature emotions through self medicating with drugs and alcohol, lashing out, promiscuity, and careless spending. These are the symptoms of the problem, the problem does lie in past trauma. The issue is Bojack doesn’t see the solution as himself, but someone or something else. In my post comparing Bojack and Todd’s relationship to Blitz and Moxxie, I pointed out how Bojack and Blitz treat their “closest friends” exactly the same by verbally abusing them and tearing down their abilities. While not always consciously intentional for Bojack, it is to keep Todd feeling codependent on Bojack and thus never leaving him which is abusive and manipulative. For Blitz, the narrative says it's because he is aware of his behaviour and is intentionally pushing Moxxie to be better, which is abusive and manipulative.

My point herein being that these are the same people. There is no Anti-Bojack happening here. If anything, Blitz is more malicious in his abuse seeing as he appears actively aware and intentional in how he mistreats Moxxie. Bojack is abusive towards Todd, but in a way that is a reflection of Bojack. And the series acknowledges how Bojack's inability to be alone actively harms his other relationships. Not just Todd.

In one way, however, Blitz absolutely is the Anti-Bojack. Blitz externalizes the source of his behavior to a character failing on Moxxie's part. And the series reaffirms and justifies Blitz's abuse as okay.

The other misconception of this post is thinking that an explanation is an excuse. Creative Screenwriting did an interview in 2019 with Raphael Bob-Waksberg’s process and philosophy of writing Bojack Horseman, quoting him for the title of the article, “Characters should be understandable in their vulnerabilities.” What Medrano’s fans fail to do, fundamentally, is understand. Their opinions and twitter orations are so barren of understanding that one must ask if they simply choose to ignore what does not serve their narrative or if they really are just incapable of comprehension.

They see Blitz’s mother’s death as a reason for his attitude more than his behavior. His behavior then necessitates that it needs to be excusable. As such, Blitz cannot actually make mistakes. Things happen by chance rather than a deliberate choice on any of the characters’ behalf. The fire in Oops wasn’t a mistake made by Blitz, if it is anyone’s mistake, it is the no-named imp who lit the candle before getting to the room. Blitz didn’t intend to bump the other performer, he just happened to turn at that moment. His mistake, then, is one that only makes sense on a metanarrative aspect. His mistake was deciding not to confess his feelings to Fizz. Which… no. As novel as the concept of the butterfly effect was in 2015, the fundamental nature of something inconsequential being attributed to a disaster negates blame. No one is going to blame the butterfly for a hurricane. Similarly, Blitz’s decision to not confess has nothing to do with the fire, in fact the fire itself is not even his accident. His contribution begins and ends with accidentally bumping the other imp; a situation that would have been entirely harmless if not for another character’s unrelated decision made off-screen.

Additionally, Blitz is a heinously insufferable individual who has been nothing but insulting and abusive to his “friend” throughout the series. He sexually abuses Moxxie in Harvest Moon by touching his penis against his will. He threatens to rape Moxxie and Millie in Murder Family. Blitz humiliates Moxxie through emasculation by masculinizing Millie over Moxxie, mocking Moxxie’s anatomy through his weight and genital size, and degrading Moxxie’s hobbies and abilities. Often without any prompting whatsoever and for Blitz’s own personal enjoyment. Blitz simply is a malicious individual, and at one point the series seemed to know that. The issue isn’t that Blitz is an awful person, it’s the lack of acknowledging that fact. The fans and Medrano conveniently ignore who this character is and what he has done to justify him instead of seeking to understand him. This is a running theme throughout the show.

I also briefly compared the scene in Oops to Herb and Bojack in this post, but I didn’t focus so much on the characters and more the metanarrative reason why Bojack worked and Helluva Boss didn’t.

Here, let’s look at why Bojack went to see Herb: Because Herb told him to. Unlike the scenario between Fizz and Blitz where they didn’t see each other for fifteen years and then conveniently run into each other and just so happen to be spotted by Crimson and Striker who, for some reason, know all about Fizz and Ozzie being a thing and they just keep Blitz around because … he’s the main character. Sure, one could argue both Crimson and Striker have a personal thing against Blitz, makes you wonder why they didn’t, you know, do anything to him? No torture or revenge of any kind, he’s just there now. Conveniently tied up and kept with Fizz instead of literally anything else they could have done with him. There is no internal logic to the characters as to why things turn out this way. As seen in the Mammon episode, it's a metanarrative compulsion to make sure Blitz is in every episode regardless of whether it makes sense or goes anywhere, or not.

Another sidebar, but the fact that so much of the series is not able to be explained within the narrative and requires an understanding of how Medrano and her team formulate a script is a huge issue. It removes the ability to properly dissect the characters as individual people and necessitates a reading of them that is how Medrano wants the audience to think about them. When it comes to the character dissections, it is effectively impossible to have a complete or coherent reading in regards to the literary philosophy of the Death of the Author. You have no story or character if you remove Medrano. The world as a whole completely falls apart unless you inject it with her metacommentary and narrative intention like one would preserve a corpse through glycerin. There is absolutely no substance here. And the longer she goes on, trying to compile the whole show into a coherent narrative of its own is like building a skeleton with a human ribcage, an ostrich spine, an elephant skull and the lower half of a barbie doll.

Bojack calls Herb after finding out he is dying from cancer, Herb tells Bojack to come visit him. He refuses to talk to Bojack any other way, and Bojack is compelled to go by his guilt, not ego. Herb calling him to his house obliterates Bojack’s ego, this is Herb’s home and he is the one being summoned. This is where Herb has the most power compared to, say, over the phone. This is not only a move of superiority on Herb’s part, but an act of submission on Bojack’s. Herb forces Bojack to come to him. Once again, this is what power dynamics look like. But, despite the resentment and awkward bitterness, he does want to see Bojack.

I don’t know how many times I can articulate this. Herb is the one in control and he is the one who wants to see Bojack and he is the one calling the shots. Not at all comparable to Fizz being kidnapped, forced to interact with Blitz and then wholly reliant on him due to the narrative in order to facilitate this forced reconciliation. Herb and Bojack are people with complex feelings and agendas. Blitz and Fizz are two dolls being smashed together and held in place by the will of a childish god.

Second, the reason Bojack calls Herb is because he feels guilty, not for abandoning Herb but because he betrayed Herb. He told Herb he would stand with him and walk off the show if they tried to fire his friend, but according to Bojack, he was a coward and didn’t keep his word. He feels guilt for that, he regrets it. But when he apologizes to Herb for it, Herb corrects him. It isn’t because Bojack didn’t keep his word, like the horse man thought, it was because he thought the betrayal was more important than their friendship.

He’s a coward, but not for staying on Horsing Around. He’s a coward because he didn’t believe in their friendship. They were together for years and Herb thought that meant something, but Bojack avoiding Herb and never reaching out to him showed how little their friendship meant to him. And it wasn’t because Bojack didn’t care, Herb knows that. And that fact is necessary to understanding the sequence. Bojack didn’t value the friendship because he thought he was valueless. He avoided Herb because he thought Herb would never forgive him, because that is how little Bojack thinks of himself. Him calling Herb is the active display of him still not forgiving himself, so he needs Herb to do it for him. And Herb knows all of this.

“You know what your problem is? You wanna think of yourself as the good guy. Well, I know you better than anyone else and I can tell you that you're not. In fact, you'd probably sleep a lot better at night if you just admitted to yourself that you're a selfish goddamn coward, who takes whatever he wants, and doesn't give a shit about who he hurts. That's you. That's BoJack Horseman."

Bojack has no value in himself, leaving him extremely fragile. So he took what he wanted, he took their relationship and defined it for both of them. He ran away, protecting himself while determining that this is what Herb would want, and left Herb alone and powerless even in his closest friendship. Which is why Herb demands Bojack come to see him, it’s Herb reclaiming his power in the relationship. And all of this only has any meaning if you clearly define the fact that Bojack apologized for the wrong thing.

There’s an alternate universe where Bojack doesn’t go back and apologize at all, and he and Herb rebuild their friendship anew in Herb’s last days and they simply, quietly agree to start over. Because that’s not off the table. Herb still values the telescope. He still values their friendship. Bojack, once again, takes it away. And Herb, a dying man, fights viciously to keep hold of it. Him not forgiving Bojack is not wanting his friend back, if anything, it’s because he desperately wants Bojack back that he won’t forgive him.

The telescope isn’t just a metaphor when it breaks. It's the symbol of their friendship the entire time, and the physical actions taking place over it are a screenshot of what happened. Bojack took their friendship and left with it. But it meant something to Herb, and you would only know that by how he fights over it now. And when it breaks it shows that, because of Bojack and his cowardly need to run away from his problems, their relationship is now, finally, beyond repair. Not because Herb didn’t forgive him. It wasn’t over when Herb didn’t forgive him. Bojack ended it, not Herb.

But just like Bojack, Medrano and her fans believe that forgiveness is the end all of the story. It’s why so many people were not invested in Fizzarolli and Blitz makeup. Because Fizz just forgiving Blitz makes everything they went through meaningless.  It strips the characters and what they went through of depth and nuance in a single moment. It also validates Bojack's general mindset in the belief that one moment can fix a systemic problem. In this case, Medrano isn't the Anti-Bojack, she just is Bojack.

The issue between Herb and Bojack wasn’t the job, or even the time. It was Bojack. And it is the failure of Bojack identifying the part of himself that resulted in this outcome, and not making the choice to do anything different that results in the end of everything. Maybe Herb would never have forgiven the Bojack who left him. But that’s why Bojack needed to be a different Bojack. And he wasn’t.

Wrapping this back around to the start of the essay and how Absurdist philosophy plays into Bojack intrinsically, Herb says exactly that truth to Bojack. That if Bojack was only honest to himself and lived authentically, maybe he would be able to sleep at night. Because being good is less important than being real.

This reminds me of Jean Baptiste Clamence from Camus’s The Fall. A Frenchman in the seedy center of Amsterdam, a city encircled by canals like the rings of hell. He spends his nights in the bar just outside of the red light district, drunk off his ass, it is uncertain if he is actually telling his story to anyone at all. Over the course of four nights, he tells his story of his fall from grace. His self exile to Hell after being unable to cope with his guilt. He tells so many stories of himself, egotistically claiming he has the lost panel of the Ghent Alterpiece in his apartment, the piece titled The Just Judges. 

Even his name is a plea for repentance. John. Baptist. Clemency. He claims to sleep with Judges looming over him. Words endlessly flow from him and he confesses his sins.

It’s when he fesses to witnessing the suicide of a young woman in Paris that he explains why he ran away to Netherlands. He says how she called for help after jumping into the water, but he quickly fled the scene, hearing the splashing below become eerily silent. One could argue that he couldn’t do anything. In the Paris winter, the freezing water of the canal could kill them both, let alone the dangers of trying to save someone who is drowning. The main concern being the victim drowning their savior in a frenzied panic of keeping themselves above the water. It could be said that he did the only thing he could. However, he knows she was aware he was there, so she called out to him specifically when she came to her senses. No one witnessed the incident or knew he was there but her, and no one could fault him for doing nothing.

But he feels the guilt in himself, and thus runs away.

Jean-Baptiste, Bojack and even Diane all have the same mentality. They fetishize their misery and trauma, making themselves important through the loops of suffering they inflict on themselves. Thinking that because the events happened to them, it must mean they are somehow special. That their damage meant something out of all the other people on this planet who suffer. That because they felt alone and responsible, they are a mythical chosen one selected from the masses to do something. They find value in the negative self-image they have, their pain being their purpose.

Because if it didn’t matter, why did it happen to them?

The Anti-Bojack: Anti-Intellectualism And The Death Of Substance
The Anti-Bojack: Anti-Intellectualism And The Death Of Substance
The Anti-Bojack: Anti-Intellectualism And The Death Of Substance

This is where I normally would keep just ripping apart the arguments, but frankly, there isn’t one anymore. For one, the original poster just blatantly lacks any fundamental understanding of Bojack as a series since the entire premise of the show is every season Bojack tries to change.

On a narrative basis, the lack of intentionality on Blitz’s part absolves him from needing forgiveness. Fizzarolli forgiving him holds no weight because Blitz didn’t intentionally set the fire, he didn’t see Fizz in the explosion when he ran away, he didn’t not try to see Fizz in the hospital and then Medrano puts the cherry on top about how Fizz’s life is actually better because of everything that happened. It’s equal parts boring and vile. The conflict is artificial, the resolution is repulsive and contrived. There is no depth to these characters and Medrano actively removes depth, either because she herself lacks the ability to comprehend it or because she knows her fans are incapable of doing so.

The Anti-Bojack: Anti-Intellectualism And The Death Of Substance

Also, let's just not comment on how this line explicitly overshadows Fizz's trauma. Everyone knows you don't end an apology with "but". That negates the whole apology. This is literally "I'm sorry you got hurt and I can never make that up to you, BUT my mom's dead so you don't even know what it's like being me and feeling responsible for that."

While the writers of Bojack sought to make their characters understandable and thus empathetic, they at no point excused or retconned the behavior. The writers on Bojack didn’t do anything to justify their characters, they were not at all focused on controlling how the audience felt about the characters. They were showing that the characters were well rounded, had reasons, why they had those reasons, what core memories made them who they are today. And the audience had the choice in how they responded to the characters. Medrano needs her audience to feel the same way about her characters as she does in order for the story to work, because she has never put forth the effort of actually telling this story.

One does not need the interviews with Bob-Waksberg to understand his cast and their story. Everything a viewer needs to know can be found in the show proper. There are not huge points of context happening just over there, off screen, between episodes and relegated to background details. Everything relevant to these characters and their stories is in the show. That has not and at this point never will be the case for Helluva Boss. So in many ways, yes. Helluva Boss is the anti-Bojack.

That's not a good thing.


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1 year ago

Ik prev rb already said this, but its high key giving SA apologia. Like my guy, do you think non aspec female celebrities who do sexualise themselves want to bang their fans? Heck, do you think p0rn stars want a random creep all over themselves? They don't and it's less about clothes and more about men not being able to comprehend women's bodies as anything more than an offering to them.

The definition of aroace is a person who doesn't experience sexual or romantic attraction. It doesn't matter whether or not she's sexualising herself, because her doing so would still not mean she is attracted to anyone. Fun fact: Women(especially woc) should be allowed to love and feel confident their bodies without weirdos thinking it's to please them.

When People Say Acephobia Doesnt Happen In The Queer Community
When People Say Acephobia Doesnt Happen In The Queer Community
When People Say Acephobia Doesnt Happen In The Queer Community
When People Say Acephobia Doesnt Happen In The Queer Community

When people say acephobia doesn’t happen in the queer community😒


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3 years ago

tw: school shootings, gun violence, SA

i memorized how to tell if i was out of view from a school window or window on the door in kindergarten. my school constantly has bomb or gun threats. i live in texas. i watch all of these things happen a few hours away. a kid at my school brought a handgun with him one morning and i was not informed about it until 6 pm because they “had the situation under control.” multiple people at my school have fallen victim to gun violence in their neighborhood a few miles or less from my own. i was much more naive in middle school, i had hope that every time we got a threat it would be the last one, i thought i was going to go to highschool and something would have been changed. yet here we are. i am lucky enough that they caught the kid before he did anything and i am lucky enough that threats never got inside before that. i am not lucky enough to not have to text my friends if they are okay when a 9-10th grade campus somehow didn’t notice a student with a military grade gun. i am not lucky enough to feel safe at my school. not just because of gun control but that has been the most consistent worry of mine. which is insane to me because i walk by my rapist everyday. i had people coming up to me in the halls and talking behind my back because they thought i was just faking it to cover for the fact i’m gay. i am bisexual, i am still attracted to men, and i had already been out for at least a year. and the school administrators asked me if i was promoting people to give him threats of being beat up or telling them to be mean to him despite the fact that i had not spoken to him in two weeks at that time. i walk by that man everyday and yet i worry about “bigger things” like when is the next day we’ll get a threat? when is the next day someone will come on campus with a gun unnoticed? when is the next day someone will have access to guns and try to use them in the middle of my school day? and my friends school days, and the kids in my city, and the kids in my state. i am going to be a senior this year and nothing has changed since kindergarten. i’m tired of empty promises and solutions that only include the increase of guns in police force and to citizens. i’m tired of it not being changed so i am asking for adults and all of the people voting next election to please look out for kids that have already been born and are living with this news right now in texas. too many lives have been lost. my love and condolences extend to those in uvalde. please consider donating to any organization that is actively helping the people in uvalde!! help kids in texas please.


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1 year ago

TW!! Suicide, implied SA

TW!! Suicide, Implied SA

I look out onto the midnight breeze, watching cars pass by.

Repeat to myself over and over again it wasn’t my fault—was it?

In the end was it worth it? It’s only a permanent solution to a temporary problem.. right? I don’t know. I should know; im the one on the edge of a building right now. I should know.

Who would miss me? Would anyone realize im even gone? No to both. It wasn’t my fault in the end.. right?

I said no, which in result my mouth was covered. I could still taste his hand in my mouth, almost choking me. His hand wasn’t even in my mouth; it was on it.. I could still taste him. My body screamed and screamed for him to get off, to stop; but he didn’t. No one ever stops. Right?

I stand up to my full height, I feel invincible—like I could fly. So thats what I did, stepping closer as I lean forward till im floating. Then I sink, deeper, deeper, deeper.

Im alive, then im not.

Was it worth it in the end?


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1 year ago

Yea, let me just... *goes to his bedroom to cry*

Aftermath (odypen fanfic)

TW: mentioned SA and (according to my friend) slightly (and I mean SLIGHTLY) suggestive

[I was pretty proud of this one so I wanted to share :D]

[credit to @dootznbootz for the Water Wife™ headcanon]

The palace halls were deserted this time of night. The two lovers had taken an evening stroll — more like midnight stroll — and were still drenched from the creek. It wasn’t her fault, she insisted — Odysseus started it. Had he never smugly commented about his “godlike looks,” Penelope might have not used her naiad powers and they both would probably still be dry. But no.

That lovable little bighead, she thought to herself, smiling.

“What is it?” he asked from beside her. She snapped out of her thoughts and glanced at him — then, seeing his cocky grin, looked back down. Her cheeks felt hot.

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how embarrassed you looked after the creek incident.”

“Did not!”

“Did too.”

“Did not!”

“Quit arguing like a child,” she chuckled.

He pretended to pout, softening his expression like a little pup as he always did to persuade her.

“Don’t make that face at me.”

His grin returned, wider this time. “Why not? Too gorgeous for you?”

She stopped walking and playfully shoved his shoulder into the nearest pillar. Before she could say anything else, he grabbed her arm and pulled her close. For a second, they stayed there, looking into each other’s eyes, barely able to breathe.

She eyed his lips. He eyed hers. She inched her face closer, almost closing the gap between them —

“Wait.”

Confused, she pulled back. “What?”

Odysseus was trembling. His breathing was shallow and uneven, his skin pale. “I just … I can’t.”

“Why not?” Penelope’s brows furrowed. “Odysseus, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond. His chest was heaving, his eyes flicking wildly from one spot to another — looking at everything but her. And he wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Odysseus. Ody, look at me.”

He did, but his eyes were wild.

“You can tell me if something’s bothering you. Did I do something? Say something?”

“No — no, I …” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“It’s okay, Ody. You can tell me.”

“Ca — ” his breath hitched. “Calypso,” he breathed, barely audible.

“What — ” Suddenly, Penelope understood. She’d heard that word before. Calypso wasn’t a what.

She was a who.

“Another woman?” Penelope took a step back. “Is that what this is about?”

No response. Just more ragged breathing.

“Answer me, Odysseus,” she spat angrily. “Who is this woman you slept with? Why did you choose her over me?”

His eyes widened more, suddenly flicking up to meet hers. “No! No, it’s not like that. She — ”

“What’s going on, Odysseus? What else haven’t you told me? What else are you hiding?”

“Penelope, listen — ” He paused, choking a little as tears formed in his eyes. “I tried to stop her but she — ” Suddenly, he dissolved in tears. “I’m so sorry.”

Oh.

Penelope’s heart dropped. He didn’t choose Calypso over her — no, the reality was much worse.

She stepped closer again. “Ody, it’s okay — ”

“No. No, it’s not. I’m sorry.”

Reaching out to touch his face, she repeated, “It’s okay — ”

But he jumped away from her hand like it was the point of a sword.

“Don’t touch me.”

She froze, realizing why he said that. “I’m sorry, Ody — ”

His expression softened. “No. I’m sorry. I — ” his voice caught in his throat as his eyes widened again.

“I have to go,” he said, slowly backing away.

“Odysseus — ”

“I’m so sorry.”

And he turned and sprinted away.

•••

“Odysseus? Ody, where are you? Odysseus!”

Penelope ran through the halls, almost tripping and cursing at her dress for being so long. She called her husband’s name over and over again, worry blossoming in her heart like a poisonous flower.

She checked the gardens. Nothing.

She checked the main hall. Nobody in sight.

She checked the courtyard. Completely empty.

Where was he?

Realization struck her — there was only one place left.

Panting, she knocked on the bedroom door. “Ody? Ody, it’s me, are you in there?”

No response. She was about to knock again but then —

Sniffle.

Her heart felt like it had been ripped into pieces. Just that one sound made her knees feel week. Odysseus was crying — because of her. Because she decided to do the one thing that made him uncomfortable — touch him.

Although, she thought, Odysseus had never acted like this before. If anything, they both loved curling up on that wedding bed of theirs and losing themselves in love. It made them feel … intertwined. Not just their limbs. But their hearts. Their souls. Like two olive bushes — one tame, one wild — growing from the same stem with their branches wound together so tightly that nothing, not even the wind or rain, could pass through.

Now, it felt as if someone was hacking at the wild branch with an axe, trying to cut him off from his stem and pry him away against his will. That someone was Calypso.

Or maybe — Penelope dreadfully thought — it was herself.

Either way, she could not let him feel like that any longer. She opened the door, stepping inside.

“Ody?”

Another sniffle.

She gently closed the door, then followed the sound to behind the bed. Curled up in a corner was the king of Ithaca — shaking, sobbing, choking on his breath with his head against the wall and knees tucked into his chest.

“Odysseus.”

A pained groan escaped his throat as he winced. His eyes were shut tight, his skin dripping with sweat and tears.

Her gut twisted. What was happening to him? “Odysseus. Ody, wake up. Please.”

“Enough, goddess,” he croaked quietly. “Please.”

“What — Odysseus, it’s me —”

“No!” His body twitched as if someone had sent a bolt of lightning through him. His brows furrowed in pain. “You’ve — you’ve hurt me enough. No more — no more games. Please, I beg of you.”

“Odysseus! Please! Wake up!” she cried, crouching down and desperately taking his face in her hands. She could feel tears forming in her eyes, clouding her vision. What must he have gone through to get this upset?

His eyes still squeezed shut, he jumped away from her touch. “Get away from me!” he yelled. “Please — leave me alone. Let me — let me have one peaceful night. One. Please —”

“ODYSSEUS, IT’S ME! It’s Penelope! You’re home, remember? You’re safe. Please, come back to me.” She choked, the tears flowing freely down her face now.

His eyes flew open as he jolted awake. At the sight of her, his breath hitched. “Penelope,” he whispered. “It’s you.”

She nodded, smiling through her tears. “Yes, my love. It’s me. You’re home.”

For a second, he was silent, taking in everything about her — her face, her electric blue eyes, now overflowing with tears. She held his gaze, watching him realize that this was Penelope — his loving wife. She’d never hurt him. Never.

Suddenly, he threw his arms around her, dissolving in tears again. She hugged him back, her fingers combing his sweat-soaked hair as sobs racked his body. She fought the urge to cry with him, knowing that she had to be strong for the both of them if she wanted to help him.

“It’s okay,” she whispered into his ear over and over again until he had somewhat calmed down. “You’re okay.”

He waited until the tears stopped flowing, then let go and met her gaze again. “I’m sorry.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Penelope.”

“No, I’m sorry. I made you uncomfortable. I won’t touch you anymore —”

“No!” he exclaimed. “No, please do.” His eyes glinted with longing. “Twenty years I have been starved of your touch. I can’t hold back any longer. I just — it’ll take some time for — for me to get used to it.”

“Take your time, my love. I’ll be right here by your side.”

He nodded, biting his lip as his eyes moistened again. Burying his face into her shoulder, he sat with her in silence.

After a moment, Penelope spoke. “If you ever want to talk about it —”

He shuddered.

“You don’t have to,” she stammered. “Talk about it, I mean. I know it’s hard. I know you’re hurt. But if you do —”

“No, I do. Just — give me a second.”

“Take your time,” she repeated.

A few seconds passed as he steadied his emotions. Separating himself from the embrace, he took a deep breath. He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“It wasn’t just Calypso. Before that … Circe.”

Oh, gods. Penelope felt dizzy.

“But at least I got something out of that. Hermes told me that for her to release my men, I — I had to allow myself into her bed. So I did, reluctantly.” His voice cracked. “It worked. She released my men and sent us on our way to the Underworld. I thought that would be the last of it.”

Penelope started to take his hand in hers, then stopped herself. But Odysseus looked down, then took her hand instead. She smiled at him comfortingly.

“Calypso was a different story.” He swallowed. “After my ship was struck down by Zeus, I washed up on an island. She greeted me, appearing kind at first. She gave me shelter, food, clothing, and company. One day, I told her that I must be on my way. But she —” He hesitated. “She had different plans. ‘I gave you everything I could. It’s time you repay me.’ I agreed. ‘Anything, goddess.’” He paused. “I wish I had known what she had meant.” His voice cracked again as he finally met Penelope’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

She shook her head.

“I'm just a man, Penelope. A mortal. I was no match against this goddess. I’m so sorry. Every night, no matter how hard I resisted, she’d — she'd force me into her bed; every night after … her, I’d lie awake thinking of you — of how I betrayed you, even when you were waiting for me for all these years —” He choked, letting out another sob.

She wrapped her arms around him again as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t, Ody.”

Silence fell again between the two as he composed himself. Penelope spoke again — “This happened … every night?” she whispered.

He slowly nodded into her shoulder.

“For how long?”

No response.

“Ody —”

“Eight years.”

Gods.

Now tears fell from her eyes too as his fingers dug into her back, desperately grasping for her affection. The realization that this — being forced to betray his beloved; not the monsters, the gods, or anything else he faced — was the worst he could have ever suffered.

For eight years. Penelope felt sick.

“I’m so sorry,” he kept saying, but she only shook her head.

Her heart shattered. None of this was his fault; why was he apologizing? And this was nothing like the Odysseus she knew. Odysseus was a hero — strong, brave, and cunning. No, this was … broken. A man who had been through far more than he let on; far more than he deserved.

Even heroes need to be consoled sometimes, she figured.

They sat like that for a while, taking comfort in each other. When they finally parted, they both felt different — healed.

All that was in the past now. They had each other now, as they always would. They were safe. They were home.

They were together. And that’s what mattered.

“Penelope?” Odysseus asked.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

She only smiled.

That night, the two of them fell asleep in each other’s arms — the two olive bushes, intertwined again at last.

Never to be separated again.


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1 year ago

A petition Exclude Known Sexual Offenders from Participating in the Olympic Games

https://chng.it/jVwjKmXxvN


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